#male!addition

[stars-obsession-pit]

Danny got out.

Danyal al Ghul was created by the League of Assassins alongside his brother Damian.

Created, not born. Though they were both grown in the same lab, Danyal always felt the status quo. Damian was the heir, the real son, the one they cared about. Damian got to be a person, the one for whom human terms like “born” would fit.

Danyal was just the extra. The bodyguard to die in his brother’s place and a spare should he be lost.

And Danyal died.

Shed his old life like a snake’s skin and vanished into the bustle of a crowded city.

They would tell Damian it was a mission that went wrong. A failure, like Danyal always was.

But Danyal would call it his first real success.

Danny Fenton loves their new life.

Jack and Maddie, for all their unsafe work practices, care for them. That’s far more than their blood “family” in the League ever did.

Far more than they felt they deserved for the longest time.

So when their brother reached out, tried to reconnect as if they were normal siblings instead of born tools, is it any wonder they lashed out, told him to never come back?

Danny got out. Danyal is dead, one ghost Danny is happy to put down forever.

[houpss]

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

soft and fluff, will be about all members (!), there may be hints of smut

Chan, who sees the meaning of life in you and wants to see you always in front of him all his life.

What do they say? People who truly love will die one day.

Chan, who promised to love you until the day death finds him, and even after that. He doesn't want to leave you.

The most tender dates, the most tender times. He will give you all his love and attention.

Chan, who tells the members so much about you, you are their “9th member”

Chan, who you're talking to video call with his family! and btw with yours too.

Chan, who, regardless of how busy the day is, will spend the evenings with you. Whether it's cooking or watching a movie/serials/k drama

Chan, who remembers every little thing about you and does what you don’t even ask for, but are clearly thinking about.

Meeting Chan was fate, maybe you were given each other by fate?

Oh..he looks at you like an angel, his eyes shine so brightly when he sees you!

Chan, who gives you a large bouquet of your favorite flowers every Friday.

He writes you songs, from the sad to the most vulgar... oh, the boy is simply overwhelmed with emotions for you.

Chan, who takes you on all his world tours because he finds it difficult without you.

He is the most gentle and sweetest with you! your heart literally breaks with love for him, you want to love and kiss this man.

Chan, who sits you on his lap while he works and holds your waist with one hand...babe, he has hot and big hands

Chan, who pays for ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING for you. seriously, even if you argue with him.

I wrote this situation, but...

"Channie, make me some coffee please"

"Ugh...I'm late, little mouse"

"So you won't do it? :("

"That means I’ll be late” and goes to make coffee for his beloved woman/man

His favorite terms of endearment for you are subtle but classic: “sweetheart” and “baby,” but on special occasions he will call you “sweetheart” with a matching saccharine expression. Or “little mouse”, which is also very cute

Chan, sometimes he can get angry and yell at you, but that's because he puts too much pressure on himself at work.

Oh..during your quarrels even plates and insults fly. After one quarrel, there were broken plates and you cut yourself, he noticed this and took you to the bathroom, where he treated the wound and apologized to you almost a hundred times. And the plates...buy new ones.

Chan, who practices flirting with you like you're in high school, but he learned it from STAY

Chan, who gives you all his hoodies and absolutely everything... for some reason you love to steal his shorts and walk around the house in them. Ooh, he thinks they fit really sexy on your hips.

He'll give you a bear hug when you sleep, he's a big spoon

He also always kisses your forehead when he leaves for work, because you are still sleeping, and he is already leaving.

but keep in mind, Chan makes sweet sex to you, but his stroking game is so crazy, even when he takes his time with you, he's so deep inside you that it drives you crazy, you're literally pray

Chan is an experienced and mature man, he is completely confident in himself and in you. He takes the leading position in the relationship, he is the one who leads.

Do I need to tell you that all his things smell like your perfume? What if all your things are in his perfume?

You sometimes help him with lyrics or with song arrangements when he gets stuck and doesn’t understand what’s best to add.

You, who pulls the vat out of the studio.

You, who always checks how he ate or how much he slept. You absolutely monitor his regime and make sure he doesn’t overwork.

You are flying to Australia together to visit his family! they will bless your couple.

Hannah will definitely say funny things about Chris, and Lucas is so shy around you.

Oh...Berry, baby Berry 🥹🥹🥹

How about date nights?

You really raised Chan's self-esteem, with you...he fell in love with himself, just as you love him.

He's just grateful that you exist.

First love is always last love.

“Home” is not a place, it is sometimes only a man, the man whom you consider your home.

When you come, all Chan’s problems and wounds heal, he wants to live next to you.

[missbubblesoda]

2024.09.18

buy me a ko-fi?☕️ ^^

[mio-nika]

disgusting

Part 1

[gremlingirlsmell]

queer tme ppl when they see an extremely transmisogynist TERF movement in a different country: "this is so punk rock" "based" "heck yea" "faith in humanity restored" "this is so cool to see" "literal history happening there right now"

[rockethorse]

The basegame wedding dress has a pregnancy morph??

[cheolcor3]

[◉°] ... ⃕ STAY, cheolcore_ has uploaded a story !

📸🎥FROM YUNCHEOL : October 25, 2024 - 10.19 AM KST

[songfell-ut]

The High Priest

So you know how @iamjoekurose asked me about if Frisk met an opposite-gender version of herself? The idea high-key got its hooks in me and I procured a little something from the sublime @skyworkartzzz and this is male Frisk.

What's that, you say? Mr. Frisk isn't enough? Well too bad, I definitely didn't spend almost a week one-finger typing a la George RR Martin and this totally isn't a scene taking place the morning of All Souls Day in chapter 6. If it was, I'd clarify that this Frisk doesn't need help putting earrings on...it's a little more involved.

You also won't find a casual version of his outfit at the end of it beneath the cut. Nope nope.

Frisk half closed the bathroom door, eyes squeezed shut as he flicked on the witchlight. He slumped against the sink, groped around for the left handle, and ran the water at full blast, yawning mightily as the steam rose. First step, wet his face: grab a washcloth from the pile he knew was beside the tap, shake it out, and reach down to...jerk his hand back, his stupid brain catching up just in time to avoid being scalded. He forced his eyes open and adjusted the water temperature to a less damaging heat, muttering under his breath. He needed to hurry up and finish shaving, couldn't be late to tea with—

To his surprise, the door opened and Sans ducked inside, slumping onto the floor behind him. The skeleton gave him a little salute in the mirror and yawned wide enough to make Frisk wince a little. “Mornin', chief. Gettin’ dolled up already?”

Frisk didn’t dignify that with an answer—Sans had initially believed that “dolled up” applied to all humans dressing nicely, and when Frisk tried to explain that it mostly meant a woman putting on makeup, Sans insisted that all humans were the exact same, and Frisk was a human, and it was therefore a correct thing to say and he now said it almost every morning. Unfortunately, that happened to be how often he came in as Frisk was trying to shave, sitting far too close in the narrow space to pester him with smart remarks.

Well, Frisk had heard much, much worse, and on mornings when he wasn't tired and cranky, he generally didn't mind if Sans wanted to amuse himself observing human grooming rituals. At least he wasn't saying "Okay, I'll shave it for later" and making Frisk laugh too hard to get a blade near his face safely; he had had to order the giant skeleton out of the room and shut the door at least twice now.

Luckily, Sans remained silent as he watched this morning's routine unfold. Once Frisk had dunked the washcloth in the basin and scrubbed his face in a still-too-hot attempt to wake up, he tapped the vanity's middle drawer to remove the barrier. Therein lay a spotless straight razor, a large silver case of shaving soap, and an immaculate brush, kept locked up out of habit from the days at the monastery where everyone stole everyone else's bath items. The priest checked the soap and made a face at how thin it was getting, which amused Sans, judging by his smirk as their eyes met in the mirror; Frisk ignored him and wetted the brush down, swishing it across the soap till he worked up a good lather, and dabbed along the lines of his beard and mustache, tilting his head to slather it thickly beneath his jaw. Then he checked the mirror one more time to see if Sans thought that was funny, too - no, he just seemed mildly interested - and picked up the razor. It was time-consuming but not too difficult, just quick, careful movements to scrape the stuff off a few little strokes at a time—

Except Frisk was so tired and squinty that it wasn't long before he gave one little stroke too hard and flinched. “Dirt on a frigging—”

“Atta boy. Cuss away,” Sans said cheerfully, and gave another huge yawn, ignoring Frisk’s glare in the mirror. “Yer face is leakin’," he added. "Need some help?”

Frisk stared at the tiny trickle of blood that was indeed starting its way down his cheek, then sighed in defeat, wiping the blade on a hand towel. “If you could, please.” However smirky Sans was, there really was some benefit to having company with the power to heal stupid inju—

The razor was suddenly enveloped in red mist. "All righty, one sec." Frisk jumped as the blade tugged itself out of his grip and settled on the counter. “There we go. Now hol' still.” The priest watched Sans raise a bony finger and rest the very tip on Frisk's sleep-ruffled hair; a flick of green later, Frisk's cheek tingled as the cut vanished. "Done."

“Thank you,” Frisk said, scrubbing the blood away and steeling himself - ha, steel - to get back to work. Tired as he was, he couldn't walk out of here with only one side of his face done. But he’d probably be fine now that he was more awake, right? He wouldn’t be more nervous and likely to make another mistake in front of Sans, right? Ha ha, of course not. His hands weren't shaky at all from nerves or exhaustion...

Sans broke into his thoughts with a thoughtful sound. “Ya know what? Just lemme do it. Hold real still, okay?” He sat up, his finger curling very gently to rest over the crown of Frisk's head and keep him in place. “Seriously, don' even breathe wrong," he added, lifting the razor on another wisp of magic.

The human’s eyes widened, hands rising in protest as his brain caught up. "No, no, no thank you," he almost whispered, and cleared his throat, pulling enough of himself together to say louder, "Don't worry about that." He ducked out from beneath Sans' finger, smoothing his ruffled hair. "You're a bodyguard and a diplomat, not a valet."

"Dunno what that is. I'm guessin' somebody who shaves rich people?" Sans waggled the razor in midair. "Ya hired me to protect you from gettin' cut up, an' now you want me t'just sit here and watch ya play with sharp objects in your goddamn sleep? Dunno if I'm good enough ta heal you if ya take yer ear off."

That gave Frisk far too much pause before he could answer, "I'm not going to cut my ear off," with very patient dignity, trying to ignore a bit of lather dripping off his neck.

The boss monster snorted. Up came the shaving brush, but before Frisk could tell him to put it down or at least be careful with it, Sans' magic dipped it into the case almost daintily and worked up more soap. "Look, kiddo, lemme try it. If I fuck it up, I'll heal you an' I won't ever mention it again." The brush rose and drifted close enough to dab Frisk lightly on the neck, which tickled enough to make him crack a smile. "See?" Sans said gleefully. "We're good. Just hold still." And his forefinger settled again on the priest's rumpled head.

Frisk opened his mouth to order him out of the bathroom. But…after a long moment of panic warring with irritation and self-doubt, and hearty embarrassment...he swallowed, and, against his better judgment, said, “All right.” He allowed the razor to approach, and watched in the mirror as it drifted close enough for the lightest experimental scrp, scrp on his cheek. It paused, Sans meeting his eye for an inquiring stare; Frisk started to nod, and was stopped by a growl. He tried a smile instead, but that made his cheeks bunch up; he rolled his eyes instead, gesturing to keep going.

Sans chuckled. It seemed he had been watching the morning routine closer than Frisk thought, because there was no need to tell him to pull the skin taut for a closer shave: a speck of magic pressed just hard enough to help the blade pass over the stubble just so. A few swipes, a wipe on the towel, and Frisk let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I lied. You can breathe," Sans deadpanned, but when Frisk tried to smile, he got another reproving tap.

It was easier to mock-glare at Sans in the mirror than watch as the blade moved a little faster, with increasing surety, though the skeleton was intent on his work. Difficult as it was shaving oneself for the first time, never mind someone else, the razor made absolutely no nicks, no missed bits; Sans did pause frequently, forefinger tilting the priest’s head this way and that to check his work in the mirror— “Screw this,” the skeleton said presently. “Just turn around.”

With all the cool indifference of a boy letting his mother spit on her hand to fix his hair, Frisk shuffled around in a half circle and waited for more, only for Sans to chuckle again. “Don't give me that look, pal,” he said, sounding…exasperated, but something else, too.

That was it: the High Priest gave up any remaining dignity and sat down cross-legged on the bathroom floor. Sans shifted onto his side, jaw propped up on on hand, then took a sideways one-fingered hold on Frisk’s head and began scraping away again, much quicker and more confident than he ever was.

Well, dirt. The priest wanted desperately to say something, but his skin would be in peril if he moved his mouth; he opted to keep his eyes closed, allowing Sans to turn his head this way and that to get each side, gentle as always. He never touched him with any more force than necessary, Frisk thought, at least after that first encounter in his prison cell; even when the assassin was after him and Sans was physically maneuvering him to safety, he had been careful not to hurt him. Having much more direct proof of the monster's determination to protect him, trusting Sans with a literal blade at his neck? It was incredibly endearing.

Actually, given Frisk's thoughts of skeleton parts and pondering conjugal relations, it was better – worse? – than that. Definitely more confusing; all these years of struggling to muster interest in any of the women chasing him, of ignoring accusations of preferring men because if he did like them, he surely would have noticed it in all those years at the monastery—Frisk had started to think he was just...broken in that respect. Why in every circle of Hell was he feeling so strange about exposing his throat to a gigantic monster in total security that Sans wasn't going to hurt him? It wasn't fear that made his skin tingle like that, or at least not more than a tiny bit. It definitely felt nice, except that that wasn't the word for it.

When the process was finished, Sans gave a satisfied grunt. “Ha. See?” He nudged Frisk’s shoulder, and the High Priest shook himself, then obediently shuffled around in another half circle, then remembered to open his eyes and pull himself to his feet for an inspection in the mirror. “Beautiful,” the skeleton said triumphantly, setting the razor on the sink.

Wha— Frisk couldn’t help staring at him in the mirror, eyes wide, feeling and seeing his nicely shorn cheeks redden further. “Once again, you have the wrong word,” he said as coolly as possible, and tore his gaze away to busy himself rinsing and drying the brush and razor.

“Wha?” Sans blinked at him, sockets also going wide, and Frisk watched his cheekbones suddenly change color. “Not you, goddammit! Beautiful work,” snapped the boss monster. “As in, I told ya you needed help, an’ then I did it totally perfect. Not like I was gonna cut yer…” He gave a fake cough, evidently remembering that Frisk might not like to hear any hyperbole about having his throat cut.

“Yes, well done. Thank you,” Frisk said hastily, reaching for the towel and barely remembering to run cool water to splash his cheeks first. He needed something cool right now.

...

...

...

(His more everyday garb:)

[heybirb]

jungkook (ocean boy🌑from busan city 🦾) x jellyfish // ᗷts⟭⟬

[nanssssssssssssssss]

𝗒𝗈𝗎 ⠀⠀ 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 ⠀⠀𝗌𝗈 ⠀⠀𝗈𝗎𝗍 ⠀⠀ 𝗈𝖿 ⠀𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩⠀⠀, ⠀⠀𝓉𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁⠀⠀, 𝙩𝙤𝙪ᥴh⠀⠀

˖ ⌕ . 𝐉𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐕 ( Korean 제이드 이바노프; born August 1st, 2003 ), better known by the mononym JAIDE is a Chinese-Russian singer, rapper, actress, model, songwriter, Global ambassador, and dancer. She first began her career as a model at age ten and has modeled for fashion brands such as Chanel, LV, CELENE, Dior, Levi's, and GAP. As a singer, Jade debuted as a member of the global girl group KATSEYE under Hybe and Geffen Records.

PROFILE. MASTERLIST. DISCLAIMER.

[dean-a-mean-tae]

The Shrinkage Is Real | Stray Kids Additional Member AU

Nicholas, with the help of Minho and Chan, teaches the boys how to care for his hair.

WARNINGS: Cussing, normal banter between the boys, and description of the long and aching process called washing your hair.

Nicholas Ross Master List | Requested: Yes | This was requested last year, and I'm so sorry. I got inspiration from me needing to wash my hair tomorrow ;-;

It was that time of the month filled with pain, shoulder and back aches, lightheadedness, and random gushes of liquid. One time, Nicholas got an ache on the back of his elbow. He didn't even know that could happen without hitting it. One of the hardest tasks of Nicholas's life needed to be completed again. 

Wash day.

Technically, he needed to wash it yesterday, but that wasn't happening with the crick in his neck. Thankfully, today was a good day. His back wasn't aching as bad, and his legs were feeling great. Maybe Nick could use today to teach the others how to do his hair. They had all known each other for years now. There were slight cultural differences, but all of them were quickly explained. 

Wash day was one of these differences. Having to plan the day to wash his hair instead of washing it whenever he showered. Starting at a certain time so he could finish by a certain point. Timing the breaks to stretch and eat. Running around to check he had everything so he wouldn't have to pause unless necessary, and still having to get up to get something.

It was a process. A painful process, when done by himself, that leads to healthy hair, when done properly.

Starting small, Nicholas got some of the boys to help him take down his braids. It was a fast process. Hilarious and fun, but still fast.

"It's so dirty," Jisung gagged as he looked at the root of Nicholas's hair where the younger had just taken out a braid. The hair was matted together and covered in dandruff particles.

"If you think that small piece is dirty, look at the towel," Nicholas huffed, wincing when Chan snagged a small tangle. He hummed in acknowledgment of his hyung's whispered apology. Everyone made some noise of disgust at the amount of dandruff on the towel and Nicholas's shirt.

"Besides the dirt, this is so exciting!" Hyunjin smiled, clapping his hands from the couch next to Jisung.

"Calm down," Minho said.

"Someone get me the detangler," Nick ordered. His hair was free of braids and sticking in weird directions. Looking in the floor mirror nearly made him laugh. His hair was sticking up from different members pulling at it to unbraid it.

He kind of looked like that doll from Rugrats.

"Um, which detangler? There's a cream and a weird thing," Jeongin mumbled, holding up two containers. His eyes strained as he read the labels aloud, "One says hair mayonnaise and the other says Cantu? What is Cantu?"

"Cantu is a brand," Minho answered, separating a section of Nicholas's hair and tying up the part he didn't need. He held his hand out to Jeongin, mumbling, "Hand me the mayonnaise."

"You're seriously putting mayonnaise in his hair?" Seungmin asked, watching Minho put a glob of the mayonnaise in Nick's hair before brushing it out. He twisted the piece before pulling another section from the bundle of hair atop the taller boy's head.

"What the hell is hair mayonnaise? Why not something else? Like dressing?" Jisung asked, rolling his eyes when some of the boys laughed at him.

"Yeah, Jisung, because Nicholas wants a salad on his head," Hyunjin scoffed as he rolled his eyes and shoved Jisung out of the way.

"The mayonnaise has a lot of ingredients in it. Maybe it gives his hair nutrients?" Jeongin answered, leaning down to look at the folded Nicholas. He frowned when the taller man shrugged.

"I've always used this because my mom used it when I was younger. It's just something to detangle and then immediately wash out."

Everyone nodded as they watched Minho work in silence. He used two fingers to pull a section of hair out before finger-working the hair mayonnaise through the strands. He had to search for the brush a few times after one of the boys would take it to admire it.

"Why do you keep taking it? It's a brush, not a magic wand," Minho said. His brows furrowed in concentration, brushing through the fifth clump of hair. 

"Hyung, how much hair do you have?" Felix asked.

"A lot."

"Alright, we're done," Minho said, leaning against the couch. Nicholas smiled as he shook his head. The tips of his twists left mayonnaise residue on his neck and cheeks. Minho raised his arms against the twists released as they threw glops of hair product onto his shirt.

"How did you know how to do this?" Changbin asked as he carefully moved the towel on the floor to put away later. Minho shrugged, patting Nick's shoulder so he could stand. They both stretched and let out groans of satisfaction as pops rang throughout the room.

"We learned by watching and asking questions," Chan answered, using the towel to wipe his hands. Nicholas left for the bathroom as Chan answered the boys' questions.

He had his shampoo, conditioner, and a hair mask. Where the hell was his hair towel? Nick turned around and screamed at Jeongin and Hyunjin standing in the doorway. They screamed back before Nicholas waved at them to be quiet. He huffed, "Why are you following me?"

"We want you to teach us to wash your hair," Hyunjin answered, wrapping his arm around Jeongin's shoulders.

"This is going to be a long process."

"I thought we were going to wash your hair," Hyunjin grumbled around a mouth full of his sandwich. Jeongin nodded from his spot at the table, a bowl of noodles in front of him.

Nicholas and Minho rolled their eyes, the younger washing his finished plate. Minho closed his chips as he spoke. "Trust me. You'll need to eat something before washing his hair. We started at 6 in the morning and after only taking down his hair it's already 9:20 something."

"I'm finished," Jeongin declared, dumping the last scoops of noodles and placing his bowl in the sink for Nicholas to wash. Hyunjin followed shortly after with a thank you. 

They sat at the counter as Nicholas finished the dishes and cleaned the sink before setting a table tray down. He gathered his hair products down before doing a mental checklist.

"You're missing your brush," Chan said, setting a detangler brush on the tray.

"Wash my scalp! Not my forehead," Nicholas whined as Hyunjin's nails went a little too close to his eyebrow. Hyunjin giggled out an apology, moving back to Nick's scalp. Nicholas lay on the kitchen counter with his knees bent, head hanging into the sink, and a towel under his neck.

Jeongin had done the first shampoo, and now Hyunjin was doing the second. At some point, Felix had waddled his way into the kitchen, dwarfed by one of Nick's hoodies and holding one of the many plushies from his room. Not that Nicholas could see him.

"I thought you already finished his hair?" Felix whispered to Jeongin. The pair sat at the kitchen island, watching Hyunjin and Nicholas shout at each other about the water temperature.

"I did the first wash, Hyunjin is doing the second," Jeongin answered, leaning his head against his hyung's shoulder. He continued, "If you ask, Nick might let you put the conditioner in his hair or do the leave-in. Whichever one he does today."

"Nick said he can do the leave in," Hyunjin answered, turning to look at them before screeching when Nick smacked his face.

"Pay attention before you get soap in my eyes," He groaned as he squinted his eyes.

"It's not soap! It's shampoo!"

"It's another form of soap!"

"It's for your hair! It's shampoo," Hyunjin shouted.

"Right, soap for your hair. Hair soap," Nick grinned, shrugging his shoulders in triumph. His joy didn't last long as Hyunjin sprayed him in the face.

"Please don't dirty the kitchen," Minho said, leaning against the doorway.

"Sorry, hyung," The boys at the sink whispered before side-eying each other.

10:46

"You look bald," Jeongin smiled, smacking his hand on Nicholas's head before screeching when he squelched from the water. The curls stopped at his shoulders, which compared to how they usually were when stretched and dry, did look short.

"What hairstyle are you going for?" Seungmin asked, turning down the TV to hear Nick's response.

"Felix is gonna help me condition and stretch my hair. Then Minho is gonna twist or braid it." Nick placed a container of silk hair ties and the leave-in next to Felix before sitting in front of the younger male. 

"How do you stretch hair?" Changbin asked.

"Remember when Hyunjin pulled at one of Nick's curls and it seemed like it just kept going? He was stretching at the curl," Chan answered, from his place next to Nicholas. 

"What is this? Miss Jessie's," Jisung read, squinting at the label on the tube. Next to him, Minho huffed as he carefully placed the tube back into Felix's hands.

"You couldn't see the big words saying Leave-In Condish?" Minho asked. They watched Chan talk Felix through Nick's hair process. Take a chunk of wet hair, work the leave-in through it from root to end, and put the scrunchies on them. Making sure to evenly spread the scrunchies for maximum length and volume.

11:34

Almost an hour later, Felix finished the last piece of Nick's hair. The boys couldn't help but laugh. With all the scrunchies holding bundles of his hair, Nicholas looked weird.

"You look like a poodle," Seungmin chuckled.

"Honestly, fuck you," Nick retorted, getting up and stretching.

"Come on, Flippers! Your hair should be nearly dry by now," Minho shouted as he walked into the living room and glanced at the clock on the wall. 1:12. After this they could have a snack and admire the art that is Nicholas's hair.

A thud echoed with multiple footsteps followed, and Minho dived for the couch. Shortly after Minho sat down, Nicholas sat in front of him with Jeongin and Hyunjin crowding the pair. Felix and Jisung sat on the sides of Minho, the crate of hair supplies sitting in Felix's lap.

"Right now I'm going to do a protective style so he can sleep later," Minho explained, carefully taking the scrunchies off a section of Nick's hair. He took a rattail comb and parted the hair before twisting together different strands. 

Minho repeated this process until he got to the middle of Nick's head. He grabbed Nick's forehead and pulled him back, Minho whispered, "You need a break?"

"No, I just wanna get this over with," Nicholas answered, and they glanced at the clock. 2:00.

"You're halfway there," Chan said, before groaning when Changbin's character drove him off the map.

Finally, with a head full of freshly done twists, Nicholas stood and stretched. His body popping and groaning from being moved. There were two wonky twists on the right side and three on the left side of his head, courtesy of Hyunjin and Jeongin practicing their twists on him like a mannequin. 

From 6:00 AM to 2:49 PM.

Wash day is a long process, but at least he got to spend this day with his friends. Snagging knaps, sore fingers, and stiff shoulders. All are perfectly seasoned with hair care products. Taking the time to teach them the importance of taking care of hair and how to care for it.

At least the boys would be prepared if they ever had a partner of color.

Nicholas Ross Master list | ©️DEANAMEANTAE2024

TAGS LIST: @bada-lee-ily @jinnie-ret @hwxnghyynjin @foxilsdenn @rensahazard @mynameisnotlaura @lucianidealz @ziipzeepzop-eez @ilovejeongin007 You can be added by asking in the replies, sending me a message, or doing an ask thingy.

[pokemon-radical-red]

I hate it when I headcanon a character who’s canonically a girl as a trans man and make ships of him and a character who’s canonically a guy and I refer to it as a gay/mlm/guyxguy/whatever ship and someone gets mad. Like omg let trans people have FUNNNNN. Why are queer headcanons and genderbends cool until they’re saying that the character is trans???

“OMGGG you’re so misogynistic I can’t believe you would erase FEMALE representation!!!”

and like half of the characters in the franchise are women, and a total of… NONE of the characters are trans men. Also, my headcanon doesn’t change the source material. If my stuff upsets you, you can block me and go engage with the source or maybe every single other fanwork, since mine is the only trans man hc for this character that I’ve ever seen.

or when people are like “WTF??? this is so transphobic!!! how dare you imply that a character who looks like that could be a trans man?!?! do you think that trans men are women or something??? she uses she/her, and you’re misgendering her!”

No, I don’t think that being a trans man makes you a woman or vice versa. That’s why it’s a headcanon, and the headcanon is that this character is actually a trans man and not a woman at all! You’ll never guess what pronouns most trans men had to use at some point in their lives, and you really won’t like it when you find out about pre-(or no-)transition trans men… or trans men who are in the closet… or trans men who don’t know that they’re trans yet.

“But the character is a kid!!! Saying they’re trans is sexualizing them.”

I’ve seen this one from other queer people. Like did you miss when all of the homophobes said this about your identity, or do you think that bigotry is only bad when it’s directed at you?

“Why would you say ‘testosterone could fix her’??? Are you trying to call her a delusional woman?”

Why would your brain even go to that first? This literally has to be a bad faith reading, because there’s no way that someone could see what I said and get this unless they were specifically looking for something to be mad at me for.

(Note for anyone unaware: “Estrogen would’ve fixed him!” was a meme going around at the time I said this. I’m not sure if it’s still super big, but this was a joke to the effect of that.)

“So girls can’t be tomboys anymore? You just wanna trans everyone?”

This is like actual real life transphobic rhetoric. This isn’t even just shitting on my headcanon, but in fact, sending transphobic hate to a trans man. Thanks 👍. Maybe you should go send JK Rowling another message about how much you loved her essay instead of bothering me.

[kiiyunz]

what are you listening to? ☆

kihyun likes music as much as the next person. he’s not picky about what he listens to—what he likes, he likes, although he doesn’t make much of an effort keep up with new releases from people who aren’t in his slightly preferred circle of genres. he’ll shazam without shame, lean over as many people as he needs in order to peer onto uber stereos for a glance at what’s playing on the radio, and has quipped once that he’d be making his living as a ‘what are you listening to’ tiktokker in an alternate timeline.

genre-wise, he mainly listens to rap, pop, and dance (or just electronic in general). in terms of favourite artists, the ones he’ll mention the most are azealia banks, michael jackson, exo, f(x), and gsoul. some more that have begun to crop up more in his playlists include rihanna, tomorrow x together, miguel, and frank ocean. and, finally, when asked about his absolute favourite song, he’ll most likely say “miss amor. or.. wait.. and gravity!”—by azealia banks & miguel respectively.

at a glance ★ kihyun’s spotify

he has five main playlists (despite one of them being named ‘PLAYLIST #7’—he just thought it sounded cool) that, despite him attempting to keep loose themes for each of them, have ended up all vaguely jumbled in one way or another. their covers are a mix of photos he’s stolen from pinterest and ones that he’s taken himself (namely the cover of ‘423,’ one of his favourite pictures of jeno).

playlist rundown ☆

‘클럽 클래식’⠀(club classics—very much a reference) is for everything & anything. old, new, any genre, any language. it’s unsorted and he doesn’t intend on organising it any time soon (although he does occasionally sit and rearrange them by the colour of their covers). if he hears a song in the club, if one of mark’s recommendations really resonate with him, if he’s taking blind suggestions and needs somewhere to put them in order for him to listen later—this is where it all goes. made in 2016, ones he finds himself listening to more than once include forever yours—brent faiyaz, flowers—sweet female attitude, and 魂の叫び—soul scream.

‘FOR K’⠀is for him—not that any of the others aren’t, but in this one they’re just more so. they’re songs that are close to his heart, that mean something special to him for a whole variety of reasons. they’re words he can’t say, feelings he can’t describe—or just sounds he really, really likes. sometimes he’ll grow out of a few and do some reshuffling, (or take a screenshot and send it to chenle so they can both laugh at what he was listening to as a teenager) but for the most part it’s always been a hub for all his favourite favourites. ever since 2013, his soft spots lie for songs like crazy for you—gsoul, chasing time—azealia banks, me+u—f(x), get on the floor—michael jackson, and i want it all—arctic monkeys.

‘423’⠀is for jeno. he’s never told him about it (and doesn’t intend to, because he dreads the relentless teasing he’ll receive if any of the others find out) but it’s still for him. it’s a collection of all the music that makes him think ‘jeno,’ and whether it’s lyric-wise or a two-second-long instrumental moment, he’ll put it on there. first made in 2018, some of his favourites include bonnie & clyde—dean, sweet lies—exo, lost—frank ocean, and james joint—rihanna.

‘PLAYLIST #7’⠀is for his friends & members—both in a ‘my-friends-made-these-songs’ way and a ‘these-songs-make-me-think-of-my-friends’ way. mainly kpop, with the occasional heartfelt anthem thrown in every once in a while, he’ll usually listen whenever he’s feeling a little down—thinking about those he loves is a surefire way to make him feel better, after all. circa 2017, his top picks from this list include drama—txt, anl—nct dream, and glow—kelis.

‘###’⠀is for rap, mainly. he’s found a lot over the years, and just.. likes it. one of his goals is to make a full-rap song of his own, but while he plans and practices and brainstorms, he’ll be listening to something from this list instead. mark or johnny is his go-to person whenever he finds a new song by a western rapper he likes the sound of, asking if they know anything about them or listen to them themselves (the answer is usually no or sometimes. to say he was disappointed when he found out johnny prefers coldplay was an understatement). first created in 2018, faves from this playlist include i serve the base—future, fell in luv—playboi carti, body language—doja cat, and hazard duty pay!—jpegmafia.

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Six

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale Chapter 26

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] Part Twenty-Six [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You’re grateful this gala does not require a grand entrance despite it being the last of the parties at the Governor’s house and in Connton. Instead, you're on a dais to one side of the room in a sort of receiving area. Everyone who's come to Connton but will not be going to the wedding itself on the Northridge estate has come. They all want a chance to speak to the Northridges and express their well-wishes before you leave town. You've had no moment to yourself since arriving. 

It's a real test of your memory. You've met so many new people over the course of these galas and now you must see if you can match the faces to their owners. Dale is surprisingly good at doing so, thank the light. Your notes help you to remember specific details with the names, so you end up working well with each other to ensure no one thinks you’ve forgotten them.  

You fall into an easy back and forth rhythm and you can't help how satisfied your partnership makes you feel, even if you begin to grow tired with the constant social interaction. It's been over an hour without a pause in conversation you're expected to be attentive and contributing to. Dale appears ready to continue into perpetuity, but you hope when the next round of food is announced, the unofficial line of those you need to speak with will have dwindled enough that you can stop for a time. You’ve never been so eager to join the typical press and crowd of a typical gala.

Of course, after you've spoken to those who sought you out to, there will likely be a number requesting dances with yourself or Dale. You can only hope that's after the food as you've once more reached the part of the evening where your anxiety has been quelled by weariness. 

Something bumps your hand and you turn to see Dale offering you a goblet of wine, light and cool. You smile gratefully at him, murmuring your thanks and unsure why the kind gesture brings heat to your face. You sip on the drink, your throat thankful and your mind appreciating the reprieve from talking as Dale brings your current discussion away from the intricacies of divining new mineral deposits and onto the wine. You're able to hum appreciatively in all the right places and the couple moves on with a polite smile.

Dale presses close to you, leaning over to peer into your nearly empty wine glass. "Another?"

You shake your head, resisting the urge to lean into him. The evening's just begun, you remind yourself, it's too early to be tired. "I am fine for now."

"I'll be fine once it is time for the main course," Dale grumbles good-naturedly. "Grandmother ushered us up here so quickly I could snatch nothing more than a single roll."

"I think the crowd around us is thinning," you attempt to console him. Dale is nearly always hungry, or so it seems to you, but he isn't wrong. Between the meeting this afternoon to discuss the assassins, the preparations for this final gala, and then being whisked away to hosting duties as soon as you arrived, you two haven't had a meal since breakfast a little before noon. "The later crowd should not gather until after supper."

"Thank the stars for that," Dale mutters as he takes your goblets to leave them on a side table. "This day has been nothing but talks and discussions."

"I agree," you say. "I do believe the musicians Grandmother hired for the wedding arrived in town tonight and shall be playing at this gala."

"Oh? Good, good.” Dale looks cheered by the prospect of some physical activity as you’d hoped. “I know some of our guests are already filling our dance cards, but the first few I intend not to give away." 

You know he's probably only looking forward to not having to make conversation, but you like to imagine he also simply would appreciate your company. "I agree." You share a smile with him.

You look away only so as to locate the next guest and finish, itching even more for this first round of focused socializing to end. Instead you hear a familiar voice greeting Grandmother. You stiffen, but at the same time, you're grateful that this final shoe has dropped. You've spent all evening anticipating your family's arrival. At the same time, you're still surprised to see your mother speaking with Grandmother, your father at her side and your brother on the other. 

You can feel Dale turn with you, but you can't look away. Has it truly only been a couple months since you were last living with them in your home fief? It feels like so much longer. 

Your father meets your eyes first and you can see he also needs a second to take you in. He looks the same as always, the crisp lines of his naval uniform that he prefers to wear for any event is as neat as always, the buttons shined to perfection. It's you who has changed. Still, he smiles, tilting his head for you to join them.

You start toward them automatically and glance up at Dale when you sense him following. His eyes are fixed on them and from the way his bearing and attention have sharpened, you know you don't need to tell them who they are. 

"...cannot be helped, of course," your mother is saying to Grandmother.

"Of course," Grandmother says sympathetically. "We are pleased you were able to make this gala if that is what you have been dealing with."

You only hesitate when you get closer, habit telling you to stand behind your father, but you take your correct place at Grandmother's left. You’re surprised to see your oldest brother is here as well. As the inheriting lord, he had every reason to stay at home given your parents’ presence. Your mother's eyes land on you immediately, you can feel her looking you over, but it's your father who speaks first.

“You look lovely, my child." His smile is minimal, but his voice is quiet and warm. He’s where you get your desire to avoid the spotlight from. He’s more than happy to stand in your mother’s shadow at events and he was the one who often employed your ill health to excuse himself from events he couldn't get out of with other obligations when in the country. When you were feeling up for it, he would read to you. On the other hand, if you were too ill, he could never bring himself to stay long. 

“Thank you, Father.” You try to push down the return of feeling like a child play acting an adult, something you haven't felt in weeks. Your hand still can't help but smooth your skirts before you meet your mother's eyes. 

"You do," your mother confirms, her expression schooled politeness as it always is at public events. It makes it hard for even you to read her. "Even if it surprises my mother's heart to see you in your betrotheds' colors rather than our own. They suit you well."

"Thank you, Mother,” you reply, more focused on your role as a host than fully absorbing her comment, though it echoes one of your own thoughts when you first donned your Northridge dress. Since Father and Grandmother Northridge were the ones who arranged this marriage contract while Dale was away, none of your family has actually met him. You gesture to Dale. “Please allow me to introduce Lord Dale of Northridge, my fiancé.” Dale bows as you continue. “Lord Dale, allow me to introduce my parents, Lord Henry and Lady Fiore of Portsmith, and my brother Lord Asher."

Everyone murmurs pleasantries and greetings while you wait for your nerves to relax. It looks like Asher left his wife home to manage the fief, but did bring at least some of his children, who you can see behind him. You spot your older sister as well, with her husband and heir, all the way from Khinat, but they’re speaking with a few other guests nearby.

Grandmother, and Grandfather move to greet them with Asher acting as the spokesperson for your family, allowing you a moment with your parents. Your mother clasps your arms, making a bit of a show of looking you up and down, before she pulls you into a quick embrace that ends nearly as soon as it started. “I’m pleased you're doing well,” she says quietly enough only you can hear. “I’d been worried about you, away from us.”

You flush. “Mother, I’ve been away longer for school.”

“It is not the same,” she insists, but refuses to elaborate. She steps back and frowns at your dress. “While the colors are lovely, your sleeves are too short,” your mother tuts. “You must be having chills with these.” She gives one of your short sleeves a small tug. “I know they are the fashion now, but you mustn’t neglect your health. Do you have a shawl? Obviously not, or you’d have worn it. I shall have one over to you tomorrow. We’ll ensure the rest of your clothing is sent to Northridge once we return.”

You resist the urge to sigh, to say anything about her own fashionable dress. You merely wait for her to finish speaking her piece. “Thank you, Mother.”

“This gala looks lovely,” Mother continues, looking around with sharp but pleased eyes. “Most befitting such an occasion for Northridge,” she nods graciously at Dale, but continues before he can reply. “I’ve never been to Connton, but it's a charming city. We had some difficulties with the weather and some troublemakers on the river, so it is relieving to have arrived. Although I suppose we have yet to make the final ride tomorrow.”

‘Troublemakers’ likely means folks upset about a tax raise who tried to hold up the boat when they saw the family flags flying, saying those who levied said taxes were aboard. Mother had all sorts of euphemisms for various spots of danger or attacks that might occur. ‘Troublemakers’ meant no one was injured or else they would have been ‘ruffians’. As far as you know, they are not common codewords and exist primarily to keep up appearances.

Dale sees his opportunity and says, “The ride is an easy one, only a day or two depending primarily on how quickly the traffic in and out of the city is moving.”

“Very good,” Mother says. “Are there proper wayhouses betwixt your estate and this city? Given all of our travels, we are likely to leave later and I’ve no desire to ride much in a day or overnight.” Mother gets sick to her stomach if she spends too much time in a carriage, you remember. She’s likely bothered that they can’t continue to sail. 

“Yes,” Dale answers before you can. “I can provide the name of where we stay if we stop for the night. We’ll be leaving early enough tomorrow that we won’t be stopping. My understanding from speaking with other guests is that many will arrive gradually throughout the week so it should not be overcrowded.” There will be dinners each night on the estate, but no more formal galas until the wedding. You cannot wait for the lull of social activity before you must be put on a stage.

“Wonderful,” Mother says with a smile up at Dale. She glances around for her secretary who starts to make her way over once Mother makes eye contact with her. “We had meant to inquire sooner, but had never anticipated being so delayed.”

Dale dutifully relates the necessary travel information to her, without you needing to say a thing. Once she has the information not only about the wayhouse, but also regarding what wing of the estate your family will be staying, Mother bustles away with her secretary to ensure your siblings and their families receive the same details, Nevermind waiting to do so in the morning or trusting her secretary to speak with theirs. Nevermind if any of them had planned to leave earlier or stay in Connton an additional day or so.  She’ll want the family to all stay together.She leaves, but not before saying, “And I shall check to see if we’ve brought along a spare shawl for you.”

You give your father a look and he nods before following her, so there’s hope she won’t actually return with one to give you. You stay where you are, needing a moment to recollect yourself after seeing them again.

Dale’s quiet voice, leaned close for just you to hear, interrupts your thoughts, “It is not cold and her sleeves…” You wave off his logical points about the fact that it is nearly halfway through Hectary and Mother’s own sleeves were short before he can make them. “Do not try to make sense of it. I’m receiving a shawl now and there would have been no persuading her otherwise.”

“As you say.” Dale sounds confused and skeptical, but he doesn’t argue with you. It is too much to try to explain that Mother often thought your fits were motivated by cold since they at times resembled shivers. She often tried to dress you far more warmly than the occasion called for and had only mildly backed off after you had heat exhaustion once while home on holiday a couple years ago. 

A tug on your hand draws your attention to your niece, who you’re guessing is allowed to attend this gala for a couple hours and only on her best behavior. Naturally, she’s snuck away from Asher’s side already. Ten year old Rose had followed you around the family house when you returned from schooling a year ago, suddenly fascinated by you. She’d actually been upset when you left for Northridge and refused to say goodbye.

Instead of greeting you or introducing herself, she narrows her eyes, looking suspiciously from you to Dale. "This is who you are marrying?"

"Hello to you as well, Rose,” you say, but she just crosses her arms with a huff. Deciding that it is not your job to teach her manners—especially not when you feel she is only choosing to ignore them, not ignorant of them—you simply answer her question. “Yes, this is Lord Dale.” Turning to Dale, you explain, “Rose is my niece, Asher’s youngest."

"Pleased to meet you Lady Rose," Dale says with a short bow.

Rose blinks before executing a perfunctory curtsy, though it does nothing to diminish her frown. "You're not what I expected," she says bluntly. 

"Rose," you admonish. This is pushing it, even for a child at one of her first events such as this. You have seen her deal politely with guests at the house before and have no idea what could be compelling her to be so rude. Not to mention you've not seen Dale interact with any children and have no idea how he will take her attitude. After all, he didn't grow up with siblings underfoot nor their children. 

"In what way?" Dale asks instead, only sounding curious.

Rose hums, tapping her chin in an exaggerated mimic of Asher that you feel some of your frustration melting. If Dale's not put off, and your Mother is out of earshot, then you don’t mind indulging her to an extent. It’s curious to see her almost suspicious on your behalf. Whether or not you usher her back to her father’s side will depend on her answer to Dale’s question. "You're too tall," she proclaims as if that contained all her criticism distilled to one comment.

You blink in surprise, but Dale laughs. "My apologies, but I've no way to change that."

"I suppose," Rose replies grudgingly. She bites her lip, looking between you two, a question clearly on her mind. "Can I visit? Even after you're married?"

"Of course," you say with a frown. While you’d not been allowed to travel out of your home fief when you were young, most noble children often visited cousins and extended family members before formal schooling at an institution. "Why wouldn't you be able to?"

Rose shrugs. "Father said that things change after a person marries. That you might be too busy."

"I would never be too busy for you.”

"He said, it would be his," she points at Dale, "house and so he might not want me to."

You suppose you could see your brother's point. He likely said that more out of an abundance of caution and knowing couples prefer some time to themselves to settle in. Perhaps he was even trying to give you an excuse ahead of time if you’d didn’t want a nosy niece underfoot. However, you do not like the implication you would need Dale's permission for your family to visit. You open your mouth to say so, but you're not the one who answers her.

"Nonsense," Dale says, clearly confused. "With our marriage, it will be our house. Any family of my spouse would my family as well. You are welcome to visit as you please, though I'd caution you to send word ahead of time. We'll be touring the fief in our first year."

"Truly?" Rose asks before grinning, not waiting for confirmation. "Thank you!"

"You also need your parent's permission," you add, knowing exactly how her mind works. Predictably, she pouts. "But we would love to have you. Tell me what you have been up to since we last spoke. You never answered my last letter."

"I'm sorry," Rose says dutifully, but she isn’t truly bothered. "I always forget. It's half finished. Everything was boring until Aunt Callalily came. Come on, you have to meet Sara and Kanti.”

“I’ve already met them,” you point out, but take her hand anyway. “So have you.”

“But they were just babies then,” Rose says dismissively as she pulls you over. “Now they’re almost real people.” Dale laughs and Rose grins, always pleased to entertain an adult. Your heart warms at Dale’s indulgence of her, grateful you do not have the original Dale who likely would have dismissed her outright.

You follow her over to your siblings and find that your other sister and her husband are here as well. Introductions fly around as you all fulfill etiquette’s demands. Your nieces and nephews end up sneaking away before you can see how much any of them have grown. Dale ends up talking to your father and brother, but you are able to talk with your sisters. 

“Douglas is coming?” you ask, unable to keep your surprise to yourself when you learn from them that your remaining brother is going to be at the wedding too. All four of your siblings will come, you’d never thought… “I thought he was stationed on the northern border for the rest of the year. Fort Rhimer.”

“He is,” your oldest sister, Callalily, confirms. “However, knights are allowed leave,” she says, as if your surprise is what’s odd. “A family wedding is more than an acceptable reason to take such. We are not at war. He is more than capable of leaving his command for a fortnight or two.”

“Of course, I simply did not think…” You just didn’t think he’d bother to come. Douglas is the sibling you saw and knew the least, with him having been off in the capital for training or on active military duty for most of your life. Perhaps he wants to take leave for other reasons and saw this as a convenient opportunity. Or maybe he wants to see the rest of the family. “Well, I’ll be happy to see him.”

“Yes, it's been too long,” Marigold, the sister closest in age to you, but who is closer still to Douglas. She’s nearly a decade older than you are. “Douglas is too focused on his career and would do well to take more time to enjoy the rest of what life has to offer. And to see us, of course. He neglects his family.” 

“Hush,” Callalily rolls her eyes and makes a show of looking around. “Don’t let Mother hear you or you’ll be treated to another lecture on the importance of a noble’s getting married, even though we are already married.” 

Your mother is still off somewhere else, but everyone’s making their way down from the dais to join the gala proper. You’re still a little nervous with your family around, that you’re not sure how much you’ll actually end up eating, but you’d like to get away from even this minor stage. Callalily must agree as she leads the two of you over to one of the buffet tables. “No doubt she shall be searching this gala for eligible matches the entire night, especially since he is the only one of her children left who is not even betrothed.” 

Marigold laughs. You used to be envious of how effortless she makes everything look. If you tried to wear that bright red scarf with its foreign patterns, even if it matched your dress like hers does, you’d only look out of place and awkward. She has the ability to keep abreast with current trends and styles and play them to her advantage. She has an eye for fashion even if, as a sculptor, she primarily uses no color in her work.

Even Callalily who should look out of place in her Khinat dress manages to only look elegant and interesting as a diplomat should. Your plainer clothes, especially growing up as you only had a few nice dresses given your shyness and often inability to attend more important events, had always left you feeling more than a step behind your worldly older sisters. “Oh, I wonder if he’s realized that now, given the wedding we’re attending.” Marigold leans over and gives you a hug around the shoulders. “Our youngest, all grown up. He’s going to regret coming, isn’t he?”

You’ve often felt cut off from your siblings, being so much younger than them. Now, this gala is for you, for your wedding that you’re helping to host in your lovely Northridge dress. It's fun to be included in the joke with your sisters. To feel like you’re within reach of the same plateau of ‘proper adult’ as they are. “Perhaps.” You smile back at her. “Maybe Mother will succeed in her matchmaking.”

Marigold stifles a snort. “Oh, yes, and then perhaps he will fly back to the fort on the wings of such a mystical love.”

Callalily swats gently at Marigold’s arm, but she’s smiling. “We didn’t think he’d holdout long enough to be the last one, did we?” She looks over the hors d'oeuvres laid out as she decides what to eat. You find you’re not ready to have anything after all. “Who knows what will happen?” 

She turns to you and you’re surprised to have her attention at such an event. Callalily always tries to have at least one longer conversation with you when she visits, but she doesn’t often seek out your opinion in a group, or even at dinner. “How are you faring?” Her eyebrows tilt down in sympathy, a common look she’s given you—one that always makes you feel like a child, though you know she means nothing by it. “I hope these preparations have not been too much for you. Or did the Northridges’ take care of everything?” She doesn’t give you a chance to answer, before she looks at Marigold with a smirk. “I must admit, it would be novel to think of a wedding for one of us that Mother did not try to manage all of.”

You know she sees you as someone still ill, someone who tires easily and is overwhelmed easily, but you thought she could see you’ve moved past that. She’s the one who encouraged you to pick your own school, your own courses of study. Did she think you were still so moldable to even the family you were marrying? Or did she think the Northridges were overbearing? You’d not thought she had any particular thoughts or opinions on them.

“Your fault for getting married first,” Marigold says to Callalily. “My fault for getting married to someone without their own mother to fight her off. And Asher’s fault for being the heir. Only you have been so lucky.” She winks at you. You wonder if that’s truly the reason because you remember the arguments and control Mother had sought to exercise over your other siblings' weddings. It was why you’d been almost expecting her to come with you to Northridge, even though it was uncommon for a parent of a betrothed to come with them to stay with the family they are marrying into. Mother hadn’t pushed to be involved, besides ensuring you had all you needed, shawls aside. 

You think she’s more committed to acting as though everything is typical, to show too much of her traditional concern over your health. She’d been extremely concerned regarding your health reports and how they might taint a prospective marriage. You hope she’ll continue to act as if she isn’t worried about your health or a relapse, but you don’t know how you feel about it once more resulting in treatment other than what your siblings received. Even if you don’t want her to interfere with the wedding.

“That luck is likely to be running out,” Callalily cautions. “Now that she’s arrived.”

“Everything’s already settled,” you protest, hoping you weren’t wrong about her overstepping to manage what you and the Northridges have well in hand. 

“Not sure that will stop Mother if she sees something she feels is missing,” Marigold teases. “You know how she is when she sees a problem she feels she knows how to solve.”

She’s not wrong and you anxiously peer around to see if Mother’s returned. Callalily’s hand on your arm brings your focus back to her. “We shall keep her busy as best as we are able,” Callalily reassures you. “I’m certain you’ve enough to worry about without Mother’s particular style of assistance. She truly hasn’t said anything about the wedding preparations. I believe she is merely delighted to see you wed. I’m not sure she’d thought…” Callalily trails off but you hear the words regardless. Thought to see you marry at all. All your family had thought you’d not live past thirteen, the age at which your aunt had died. “Well, the wedding itself is not her worry. Discussing your health, in private, is likely on the table.”

Mother was the one who managed your doctors and treatments while you grew up. She would go through different phases of how involved she was and what she left to the individual doctors, but she always pushed for new techniques and options to be tested. She’ll likely have some new compound she wants you to take to ensure your condition doesn’t resurge or simply to enhance overall health. “Of course,” you acknowledge ruefully. “I only hope I do not have to talk her out of substances that are actually poisonous once more.” Half of what you’re learned about medicine was defensive, not mere curiosity on your part, due to Mother’s willingness to experiment.

“To her credit,” Marigold says with a grin, obviously remembering the incident a few years ago since she had been visiting them at the time. “I knew a number of people who were using belladonna as well. They were all very convinced of the therapeutic benefits if one did not use too much.” 

“Your people—artists—are always so ready to believe beauty is pain,” Callalily says with a smirk before helping herself to a stuffed mushroom. 

“Oh yes, only us artists could be so vain.” Marigold rolls her eyes. “And how long did it take your maid to do your hair up in this manner?”

You eye the beautiful and elaborate braids Callalily has her hair in, she even has a few strands of jewelry in that make her chestnut hair look particularly lustrous. It must have taken hours. “The usual amount,” Callalily says with a sniff.

“Of course,” Marigold replies. She never takes anything too seriously nor does she hold Callalily’s, or anyone’s, teases or criticisms against her. “I did want to compliment the work. It truly is lovely.”

“Thank you.” Callalily smiles and then reaches out to touch one of your curls. “Yours are sweet, I hope you do not follow Marigold’s example.” You feel younger in your basic hairstyle, but at least you know you won’t need to respond.

“My hair is fine,” Marigold says quickly enough. “Covered, as propriety dictates.”

“It’s still down,” Callalily tuts.

“And no one has fainted from the sight, since it is covered,” Marigold reiterates. “I have to have my hair pinned up so precisely and tightly to my head when I work that I cannot abide having it done so when it can be helped.”

“Why not cover it while you work?” 

“It does not work as well,” Marigold insists around a piece of bread and some cheese, a hand to cover her mouth while she rebuts Callalily. “All my scarves get covered in clay and I overheat.”

“It’s hot enough in this ballroom.” Callalily reaches for a fresh glass to drink, passing one to Marigold and to you. 

Your pleasure at the lack of hesitation in her inclusion of you is overshadowed by the reminder of your mother’s intentions. “Mother hasn’t returned with a shawl for me, has she?”

“No…” Marigold frowns, looking baffled. “Why would she? It’s a week into Hectary with nary a sea breeze to cool us.”

“You know how she feels about our sibling and chills,” Callalily reminds Marigold before looking back at you. “No, I believe she’s returned and is speaking with the Governor. If she had found a shawl to foist upon you, she would have done so before joining that conversation.”

“Thank the light,” you mutter and take a sip of the wine she’d handed you.

“You poor thing,” Marigold coos. “She’d have stifled you. I’ve no notion how you put up with her fussing.”

“Yes, truly. I managed to have her stop by the time I left for schooling.” Callalily doesn’t mean to sound scolding but you can’t help feeling like she is. “You should assert yourself more clearly with her.”

Callalily’s never understood how differently Mother treats you than she does your other siblings. She doesn’t see that you could behave identically to how Callalily did when she was your age and not be permitted the same leeway. “She does not listen.”

“You must make her,” Callalily says, as if it is that easy. As if you have not tried. “She’ll never see you as grown if you do not.” You know that too, but you can’t seem to get through to Mother. You’re not sure you ever will be able to. And you’re tired of attempting so.

“Well, it will cease to be much of a problem going forward, will it not?” Marigold asks. “Fussing during Solstices is easy enough to manage.”

You miss what Callalily says in reply because your eyes catch sight of an unnatural shadow. A long tail cuts across the ballroom floor and you follow it back to where Dale stands with Grandfather and your brother. You reverse, looking to see where it leads and spot the end on the buffet. It’s reared up onto the table and you swear there is a mouth on the end of it, trying to steal some cheese. 

Your heart pounds at this blatant display. Someone’s going to notice sooner rather than later. How can you get Dale to be more subtle? He’s going to worry you to an early grave, illness be damned.

You need a reason to squash it or cover it up. Your eyes land on a familiar figure at a nearby table and you blurt out without thinking, “Lady Breighton!” She somehow hears you over the noisy crowd and looks over at you. In too deep, you link your arm with Marigold’s. Your sisters look startled and confused by your outburst, but you simply smile at them. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you to Dale’s aunt. She’s an avid admirer of sculpture, Marigold, and I’m certain she would enjoy conversing with you.”

“Oh, of course, ” Marigold still seems surprised that you’re the one trying to bring more people into a conversation, but she can’t resist talking about her art. She grins. “I’d be happy to.”

You head over to Breighton, keeping Marigold on one side and the buffet on the other side. Callalily slides her arm into Marigold’s other arm, which helpfully puts both of them further from the more obvious end of Dale’s most recent slip up. You can see that everyone seems to step over the shadow without thought, as if they instinctively know they shouldn’t touch it.

You deliberately step on the shadow tendril while simultaneously disposing of your napkin directly on top of the little mouth at the end. The texture of the shadow under your foot is somewhere between what you imagine a snake would feel like and pudding. It is profoundly unsettling. You're grateful you haven’t had anything to eat after all. You don’t look at Dale, but you’re relieved you don’t hear any sort of sound to signify what you did hurt him over much.

You concentrate so much on not looking at Dale that you introduce your sisters to Breighton without much thought, relying on the etiquette lessons drilled into you to get through it. Breighton does appear to pay greater attention when you mention Marigold’s passion, so you’re glad you didn’t guess wrong about her interest.

Only once the conversation has started, do you dare chance a look back over to Dale. He’s standing just where he had been, but there’s no longer a shadow connected to the buffet. He looks perfectly ordinary once more and you breathe a sigh of relief. Taking a grateful drink of the water glass Breighton has handed you, you can’t help but hope this gala is done sooner rather than later.

[Part Twenty-Seven]

[katsigian]

── ⁺⭒*˖ ☽ ˖ 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 ˖ ☾ ˖*⭒⁺ ──

I was tagged by @gothimp @strafethesesinners @aceghosts @onehornedbeast @amalkavian @cloudofbutterflies92 @simonxriley thank you! ♡♡♡

𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙊𝘾, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙛𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮'𝙙 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧

𝘼 𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙮 𝘼𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙧𝙖

"ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ

ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪꜱ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ

ɪ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴛʜɪɴɢ"

𝙎𝙪𝙜𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙮 𝙎𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙏𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣

"ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴡʀᴀᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɪɴꜱ

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ, ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴠᴇʟᴏᴘᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ"

𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙗𝙮 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙚

"ɪ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ꜱᴡɪɴɢɪɴ' ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀ ꜱᴡᴀʀᴍ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴇꜱ 'ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ

ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʜᴏɴᴇʏ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ

ɪ'ʟʟ ʀɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴍᴀꜱʜ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀɴᴇᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴇꜱᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ?

ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ɪ'ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ

ɪ'ʟʟ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ 'ᴛɪʟ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɴᴇᴇᴅ"

𝙄𝙩 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙗𝙮 𝙃𝙤𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧

"ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɴᴏ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴍᴇ

ᴊᴇꜱᴜꜱ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʜᴏɴᴇʏ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ

ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ɪ'ʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ

ᴏʜ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ ɴᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴀꜰꜰᴏʀᴅ

ɪ ᴡᴀʀɴ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴇᴀᴄʜ ɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴀꜱ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʙᴏʀɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛꜱɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴏᴏʀ"

𝘽𝙖𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙗𝙮 𝙅𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩

ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴇ

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ

ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ʙᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟ ʙᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

[All of these songs I really associate with Valen in some way - they apply to some part of his life or character. Bad Things and Sugar apply to his husband and the stuff they get up to 🫠 Black Honey, It Will Come Back, and Dangerous Thing speak directly to Valen's character and the things he's done]

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙛𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙑𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧

[He dresses pretty simply - a lot of dark colours and the words 'comfortable', 'tactical', and 'utilitarian' come to mind. Valen doesn't mind spending more on items that he really likes and knows will last him for a long while. About 40% of his attire is gear for work; lots of tactical clothing that gives him a bit of protection and holds his other gear. Such as holsters, tac vests, and other related things.]

[squiddlysq]

The only thing better than pathetic men is pathetic men who are out of their fucking minds. I want Gabriel carnally and I can only express this through shitpost art