#pinky put a lot of references in here

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society. 

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black. 

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways. 

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun. 

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused. 

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.” 

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt. 

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?” 

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?” 

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.” 

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—” 

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society. 

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly. 

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.” 

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?” 

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!” 

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. �� ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity. 

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give. 

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress. 

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry. 

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat. 

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period. 

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then— 

“That’s Sirius.” 

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit. 

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.” 

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.” 

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either. 

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.) 

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.” 

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.” 

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.” 

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.” 

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.” 

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.” 

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.” 

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice. 

You nod. 

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.” 

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe. 

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.) 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.” 

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you. 

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.” 

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?” 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?” 

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.” 

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.” 

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?” 

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath. 

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly. 

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?” 

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.” 

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?” 

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes. 

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.” 

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be. 

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”  

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space. 

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered. 

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved. 

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease. 

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open. 

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.” 

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!” 

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.” 

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.” 

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked. 

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?” 

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations. 

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?” 

Were you? 

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend! 

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize. 

Then, you find it. 

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face. 

It’s a space on that wall just for you. 

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.” 

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much. 

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.” 

That’s all you say before you run out of the door. 

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.) 

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe. 

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.” 

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.” 

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well. 

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.” 

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes. 

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.” 

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!” 

You don’t look back. 

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.” 

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair. 

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.” 

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you. 

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?” 

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?” 

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.” 

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater. 

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra. 

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” 

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more. 

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones. 

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!” 

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out. 

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came. 

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.” 

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.” 

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?” 

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora. 

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—” 

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.” 

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.” 

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home. 

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order. 

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips. 

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.” 

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.” 

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back. 

How lucky you are. 

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen. 

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.” 

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!” 

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.” 

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway. 

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.” 

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.” 

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will. 

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!” 

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.” 

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?” 

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.” 

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.” 

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.” 

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.” 

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?” 

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.” 

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll. 

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in���I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.” 

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them. 

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.” 

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?” 

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.” 

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.” 

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness. 

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters. 

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement. 

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue. 

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead. 

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.” 

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?” 

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor. 

“No!” 

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice. 

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh. 

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?” 

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need. 

“Expulso!” 

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down. 

“Accio wand!” 

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense. 

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt. 

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!” 

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.” 

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.” 

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat. 

“Defodio!” 

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground. 

That just leaves one more problem. 

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.” 

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.” 

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.” 

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die,  s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.” 

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow. 

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work. 

You just wanted to rest now. 

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms. 

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.” 

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely. 

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?” 

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?” 

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?” 

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.” 

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?” 

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors. 

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!” 

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.” 

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus. 

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains. 

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.) 

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by. 

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for. 

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

[cherrifire]

Please share your thoughts on the other 5 cutie marks, I'd love to hear!

Hi everypony! I got like 20 asks for the Dogwarts cutie mark lore so I'm here to speak my truth!

Before we start, I would like to write a quick reminder that a pony's cutie mark is not always their "special talent", but can also represent who they are, their personalities, and a possible destiny. Different cutie marks have different meanings and interpretations, but they're not just about representing what you're good at.

That being said, let's start with the cutie mark design I'm proudest of!

Ren's Cutie Mark

Ren's cutie mark is of a sunrise and looks pretty simple at first glance but there was a lot of thought that went into this one.

First of all, I bet you're wondering why a sunrise? Well, in the show, it is pretty typical for unicorns with great magical abilities to have one relating to space (examples being Twilight Sparkle, Sunset Shimmer, Starlight Glimmer, and Sunburst). And I figured since I wanted Ren to fall into a similar position of potentially becoming an alicorn, I gave him a cutie mark following the same trend. And I chose a sunrise to reflect the way Ren seems to glow when he enters a room. The way he carries himself is very warm and bright it just catches your eye in a similar way the sun would.

Also, Ren wears sunglasses. So a sun-themed cutie mark seemed appropriate.

Additionally, there are a couple of smaller details I want to point out too. Like the sun rays, if you look at them for a moment you'll see they're shaped like little crowns! I of course had to put a crown in thanks to how much Ren likes to play royalty, so I snuck it in there. And then the red spots underneath could both be interpreted as the sun reflected over water or blood. (But of course, this is a kid show AU so there wouldn't be any blood in Ren's destiny, just a fun reference to the red king and his whole thing about blood dyeing the snow red)

Martyn's Cutie Mark

I explained this one in an earlier ask but I thought I'd explain it again here for anyone who didn't see it!

Martyn's cutie mark is of a chopped log and a small stick.

This one is mostly a play on the name "Littlewood" but has other meanings too. As a character, Martyn tends to travel and explore quite a bit. In the Life Series specifically, he is usually the last one to find a permanent base and even then doesn't spend a lot of time in one place. Always on the move. Additionally, he's more of a wild card compared to other characters, always trying to be as unpredictable as possible.

The smaller detail here is the little swirl on top of the log is the same as the one on his Minecraft skin's shirt.

BigB's Cutie Mark

Cookies! Cookies! Cookies! BigB's cutie mark is of 3 cookies where one is trying to eat the others. There are also a few sprinkles there made to look like action lines.

We all know BigB loves cookies so of course I had to give him a cutie mark with cookies in it. For this one, I decided to follow the cutie mark trend of "symbol/item important to the pony duplicated 3 times" (examples being Fluttershy, Applejack, Rarity, Pinkie Pie) but I added a bit more creativity to it with the top on trying to eat the others to represent just how tasty they are 😋

Additionally, rather than the first cookie trying to eat the others, you could interpret it as opening its mouth to talk. Because BigB can not keep a secret to save his life! In Double Life when he started "secret soulmates" with Grian, he didn't last a day without opening his mouth. He told Ren about it immediately because he felt bad for keeping things from him.

Also worth quickly mentioning: People pointed out in my original post that they don't think BigB would be the element of honesty because of his behaviour in Secret Life. But that's just Secret Life. I think Secret Life to BigB was like that episode of My Little Pony where Discord makes the main 6 act the opposite of their true element. BigB was just going through a weird phase of telling very obvious lies because a book told him to.

Skizz's Cutie Mark

Skizz's cutie mark is of a lightning bolt from a couple storm clouds hitting the ground.

I think this is the cutie mark with the least thought put into it, unfortunately. There was still though just not as much as the others. The big thing I thought was fun was I made the lightning bolt shaped like an "S" to stand for Skizzleman. But other than that, this cutie mark sort of has the same meaning as Rainbow Dash's cutie mark. Quick like lightning, loud, bold, dangerous, and powerful.

Impulse's Cutie Mark

Impulse's cutie mark is of a lit-up lightbulb.

I absolutely crowded this cutie mark with the letter i. If you look closely, there are 6 of them. Impulse's design also has an i-shaped pattern on the belly if you look closely enough. But that's more of a fun easter egg and doesn't exactly reflect Impulse as a character.

There are a couple of reasons I chose a lightbulb for Impulse, the first and probably most obvious is that he's a redstone guy! He's a technical guy who likes to work smarter, not harder. So I figured the My Little Pony equivalent would be a light bulb/electricity. The second reason for the lightbulb is that it's usually used as a visual representation when characters have that "eureka!" moment in cartoons. When someone has a brilliant idea a little lightbulb turns on above their head. So since Impulse is the ideas guy, I figured a lightbulb would work for his cutie mark.

Etho's Cutie Mark

Etho's cutie mark is of a snowflake with a missing branch.

I promise there is more to this cutie mark than just "Canada is cold" even if that's part of the reason I wanted to give him a winter-themed cutie mark. While it is fun to make a nod to Etho being Canadian, I thought a winter-themed cutie mark would be fun to represent how he sometimes presents himself. Cold and a bit mysterious. I think deep down once you get to know him, those attributes melt away, but for people who have never met him, he may be intimidating that way.

I'll be honest, I don't watch a lot of Etho content, but I do have a few friends who identify as Etho girlies so I did my research. I was told in his Minecraft Let's Play World, that he has a snowflake build somewhere. I believe they said it was an iron golem farm? (Please correct me if I'm wrong) but I thought that was perfect for the cutie mark. And if you're wondering why there's a branch missing, it's because one of my friends said he was incapable of finishing builds sometimes so I thought that would be fun to include.

-=+=-

Alright. Rant over. To celebrate, here are a few pony doodles so I can put this post in my art tag.

[hpdmguy]

ways they show each other love !

loads of rambles + clutter-less version below the cut

the yellow lines highlighting things is actually marking (almost) everywhere they touch since the primary theme of this piece is physical affection! the stars were just for fun

top left (kissing): pretty self explanatory! fun fact, it was the first thing i drew for this piece :)

top middle (hand on back): i was trying to sleep the other night and my brain suddenly went. drarry physical affection and that was the first thing i pictured! i kind of imagined this one as like... dracos stressed or something and harry just puts a nice comforting hand on his back

top right: the good ol pinkie hand hold,, link, ,think. yeah. no real thoughts behind this one. it fit the box and its cute

middle left (speech bubbles): one thing i see a lot (im pretty sure this is ((implied in)) canon as well, but dracos a big yapper! so its kinda showing here that harrys just listening to all hes got to say. probably my favourite one of the lot, i had fun rendering it. (looking at this post i too am a yapper)

middle (orange slices): theres this thing where you peel an orange for the people you love. you can look at it either way; draco providing food for harry, knowing his childhood food insecurity and always wanting to make sure he has something, or harry (whose love language is acts of service) giving something to draco, maybe after a long day

watermarked middle (draco constellation): just some fun symbolism i thought i might try to fit in

middle right (legs): in this theyre just chilling. dracos reading (the book didnt come across well ((i cant draw hands very well)).

right edge (flowers): these are narcissus flowers, also known as daffodils. a reference to narcissa malfoy, and also a reference i suppose to how she saved harry in the forest, because draco was alive, because harry saved him in the room of requirement

bottom left edge (flowers): these are lilies. partly to complete the circle of mothers saving sons saving the world, and partly because i wanted to fill space. (theyre fucking terrible to draw tho i do not recommend)

bottom left (hand in hair): well harrys hair is very luxurious as you can see and i imagine during cuddles draco cards his hand through it and teases out snarls and such. (i know hair pulling is something that can be seen as sexual, this isnt that and it isnt meant to be that and please dont see it as that :(

bottom watermark (stag): harrys patronus because why not

bottom middle: so this is a bit obscure but theres this post by @/iamnmbr3 that talks about a headcanon that they can share wands and its kind of special and intimate. so thats what ive depicted here. also for funsies harry has the draco constellation on his arm. not the big dipper. also i cant draw the dark mark for shit

bottom right (shoes): just a subtle way they can touch, not always big. just under the table or sitting on the sofa together, just to feel the other person there.

i knew i wanted a warm scheme and i knew i wanted orange and blue to play a big part in this. i was going to have warm colours on blue and cool colours on orange as a sort of contrast but that didnt end up working out.. the wand scene is an attempt at it except i mixed it up and made it cool on cool, its so washed out and i didnt bother to fix it

[taintedcigs]

GETAWAY CAR — rockstar!e.m. x f!reader

CHAPTER ONE: BEST OF TIMES, THE WORST OF CRIMES

next chapter →

✦ summary: in which you return to hawkins to attend your best friend nancy's wedding, facing the problems you left behind, and the one person you abandoned; eddie munson. (wc: 9.4k+)

✦ warnings — ANGSTANGSTANGST, pining and slowburn, reuniting <33, strong language!, mentions of alc*hol and drg use and a toxic relationship, reader is sad and feels guilty. kinda mean eddie but not rlly.

✦ pairings — rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader, past billy hargrove x fem!reader

✦ authors note — okay so its finally HERE. im SOOO EXCITED for u guys to read it!! i have tried to proof-read this a lot but my mind is fuzzy so ignore all mistakes!! if u need some stuff to listen to while reading this long ass chapter or the songs mentioned in it u can check out the playlist !! hope yall enjoy it mwah &lt;3

series masterlist | series playlist

I'm a cold heartbreaker Fit to burn and I'll rip your heart in two

The sound coming from your slightly jammed stereo while the rain gently pattered on the roof of your car could’ve been heavenly. 

If only it weren’t the roads of Hawkins that you were travelling in. Five years that had passed were seemingly nothing when you recognized the familiar streets and the infamous forest, heart skipping a beat when you finally arrived on Maple Street. 

The cars parked just outside of the Wheeler House were enough to give you anxiety, especially when your eyes spotted that van. His van. Why did he still have it? Wasn’t he a rich rock star by now? There was an unnecessary bitter taste in your throat, and your gaze was stuck on the van now, gulping physically as you tried to ignore those guilty feelings bubbling up inside of you. Mind quick to revel in all those memories you had with him in that stupid vehicle.

5 YEARS AGO.

“Hurry!” You whisper-yelled, still looking around, Eddie was right behind you, his tongue darting out of his mouth as it always did when he was focused, running like hell as his calloused hands harshly gripped the tequila bottle that you two had just stolen.

The angry voice of the shop’s owner had long disappeared by now, but you could never be too careful. When you finally got close to his van, you stopped Eddie immediately. “Behind you!” You yelled in a fake-worried voice, causing Eddie to start sprinting forward toward the car.

When he noticed you not following and breaking into laughter, his worried face eased as he realized your little prank, giving you a humorless laugh as he started sprinting towards you.

You squealed when he grabbed you by your waist, lifting you off in one swift motion, spinning you around as your giggles filled the space.

Eddie’s grin faltered quickly. “I hate you,” He mocked in a serious tone.

 “I’m sorry, but I just love that worried look on your face. And, oh god, that sprint! You know what you should be?” You asked, a smirk forming on your lips as you waited for him to fall into your trap.

Eddie sighed exhaustedly, a grin plastered on his face, he put you down.

You squealed happily as he did so, “A... Tiger!” You mimicked pompoms with your hands as you tried to re-do your cheer routine, chanting after Eddie.

He playfully nudged your shoulders, “Oh, Pinky... You are on a roll today, huh?” He asked, the nickname rolled off his tongue so sweetly. It was a stupid fucking name, sure, but you loved it. It somehow stuck, the entire town calling you Pinky ever since you pronounced ‘Pinky Promise’ wrong once and your parents funnily referred to you by it.

You nodded, giggling, stealing the bottle from his hands, and chugging a sip. “This was a great idea.” You hummed, pointing to the bottle, the bitter taste burning your throat, almost coughing with how big of a chug you took.

He quirked his brows, flying over to your side as he opened your car door.

“Let’s go, thief.” He tilted his head, hands gesturing forward animatedly.

“What a gentleman!” You mocked dramatically, sliding into the messy van easily as Eddie heaved a sigh.

He sprinted toward the other door, cursing as he struggled to open the rusty door, eyes bulging out of his head almost as he checked to make sure the coast was clear. “You know…” He started with a muffled sigh as he hopped into the driver’s seat. 

“Everyone thought I would be a bad influence on you… or that you would at least be a good influence on me, but ever since I met you, all we have done is illegal shit.” His voice was mocking. “I think it’s time you give up that good girl cheerleader title, princess. Because forcing your best friend to steal booze is definitely not good girl material.” 

Throwing your hands up in defense, you turned to him. “And they still think you are the devil worshipper!” You added, a hearty laugh escaping from your slurry lips.

Eddie sighed when he couldn’t turn the ignition properly, his van—Aurora, which Eddie of course named himself—was too old now.

“Oh, come on, baby,” He whispered when his fingers roughly tried to turn the key further, earning a hesitant cough from his precious Aurora. “Pleasepleaseplease…” He whispered, engine roaring back to life now with his second try. “There you go, honey, thank you!” He exclaimed as he threw his hands up in the air, mouth quick to press up against the wheel, giving Aurora a thousand kisses, causing you to squint your eyes.

“You are… pathetic,” You scoffed with a shake of your head, a teasing smirk playing at your lips.

“Oh, we’ll see who’s pathetic,” He disagreed dramatically. His eyes diverted from the road as he sneakily grabbed your bag, causing you to protest quickly. “Hey!” He didn’t mind your tug on his bicep when he dug his whole arm into your bag, fiddling as he tried to find your cassette tape under all the mess.

“There we go,” He hummed when he animatedly pulled it toward your sight. ‘BEST MIXTAPE’ The tape dramatically read when Eddie snatched it out of your view stuffing it away from you. 

“If you make fun of Aurora, you lose your music privileges.” He hummed all-knowingly, a troublesome look overtaking his features as he focused back on the road. Your gaze squinted, barely able to see his plump lips that were now quipped into a grin.

“Really…” You hummed, hiding behind the way your lips twitched mischievously.

Eddie’s curiosity was quick to perk up; you not whining ‘Eds!!’ as you elbowed him and huffed when you called him a jerk meant only one thing.

You had some really good new music.

“You sure about that… Munson?” You quirked a brow, grin growing wider as you seized your bag from his hands, earning a groan from Eddie.

“What have you got up your sleeve, sweetheart?” He asked, stealing a quick glance at one of your pretty smiles before he turned his attention to the road.

“Something really good…” You hummed, hand diving into your bag again before you reclined in your seat, throwing him a knowing look.

“Jesus…” He whined. “What d’ya want?” He implored, his gaze squinting.

You wanted to keep the game going, tease him further, and get him to his breaking point. But the way his eye twitched with curiosity, tongue licking his lips with need made you want to tell him everything, let him in on your little surprise.

“Hmm… Music privileges…” 

“And?” He asked with a huff, knowing that’s not all you wanted.

“And, I’m gonna pick the place where we drink this cutie!” You exclaimed, hand pointing toward the tequila bottle you had a firm grip on.

He threw you a glare; it wasn’t a hard glare, you knew it and he knew it, he did it just to tease you, and that’s exactly what had you so giddy about him. “Fine…” He whined, teasing further. “Whatcha got?”

You clapped animatedly, pulling out the cassette with a huge grin. The Cure’s ‘The Head on The Door’ album was swaying in your hands as Eddie groaned.

You pouted. “You got me all excited for The Cure?” He pinched his brows together, causing you to gasp dramatically, huffing.

“What’s wrong with The Cure? You love them!” You protested, glaring at him.

“You love The Cure, sweetheart.” He grinned, earning a scoff from you as your hands were quick to wrap around your chest annoyedly.

“Just for that, you won’t get to know what the second album is. And it really was a good one.” You shrugged, putting the bag in front of your legs, just out of Eddie’s reach.

“Oh, come on!” He sighed, eyeing you with squinted eyes. 

“I was joking! I love The Cure.” He murmured, but you shrugged again, eyes falling toward the window as you started giving him the silent treatment playfully.

“Really?” He understood your play. “Jesus H. Christ.” He huffed, attention turning toward you.

“Just check the glove compartment.” You ignored him again.

“Pinky.” He called out. “Do it.” His eyes pointed toward it, causing you to sigh as you opened it unenthusiastically.

A bunch of cassette tapes fell toward your lap, you squealed at the contact. “Eddie!” You exclaimed with a chuckle.

Three Imaginary Boys, Seventeen Seconds, Faith, Pornography and The Top was sprawled across your lap, and your eyes widened.

The Cure’s discography. Just sitting in his glove compartment.

You turned to him with an affectionate gaze, hands covering your mouth as you stood speechless.

“Wh-what are these?” You were a stuttering mess. Did he really do all of this for you?

“Uh–I’m pretty sure those are albums, princess,” He mocked you in a playful tone as you tilted your head, tongue sticking out in a childish manner.

His smile grew wider before he shook his head. “Started collecting those–uh… after that day–uhh, you remember that?” His gaze avoided yours. 

“We–uh almost got kicked out of The Hideout?” He muttered with a sly grin, eyes focused on the road just so you wouldn’t notice the slight flush on his cheeks.

“Eds–” You attempted to speak, but he didn’t let you. “You remember that day? You asked me what my favorite band was?” You nodded furiously, Eddie didn’t even have to take another glance at you to know you had a warm smile on your face, sensing your head bobbing up and down excitedly. 

“Y-you know, before they tried to kick us out?” You gave him a slight giggle, humming.

“I told you mine was Dio. And you told me yours was The Cure?” A dizzying grin was stuck on your face, cheeks stretching with pain from how big it was. And Eddie knew if he looked, even for a split second, he’d fall for you all over again. He knew that he couldn’t contain those feelings inside of him anymore. So he avoided it. He avoided that one glance thrown your way because he didn’t want to lose you.

You bowed your head to say ‘yes’ again, words didn’t dare come out of your grinning lips. You didn’t know what to do; you wanted to hug him, feel his arms wrapped around you. You wanted to kiss his flushed cheeks and his apparent dimple, which you couldn’t get enough of.

The silence hanging in the air was killing you. “I remember.” You muttered, almost shyly, like the two of you weren’t teasing the hell out of each other mere seconds ago. 

His brows furrowed when you leaned over your seat again, digging something from your bag as you hid it behind you.

“That is why…” You smiled, hands shaking as you hid the cassette behind your back. “I got you this!” You exclaimed, swinging the tape in front of his bulging eyes.

His eyes squinted before the realisation set in. You remembered that day. Just like he did. You remembered his favorite band. Just like he did yours.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, you were just being friendly, right? You didn’t do this in the same loving, caring way he did. You did this as a friend. You were a great friend. And he was an asshole for harboring these feelings for his best friend.

He couldn’t help the squeak that escaped his plump lips. The car came to a halt quicker than he intended it to. Swinging you over your seat, making you squeal with him.

“Jesus, Eddie!” You giggled, turning to face him and seeing his speechless face as he admired you. You could feel your cheeks heat up, and it was embarrassing.

Why did he have to look at you like that?

Why did he have to complicate things for you?

You wouldn’t be good enough for him.

And there was Billy. Billy. Billy. Billy—

Your inner thoughts were interrupted by his childlike screams as he seized the Sacred Heart album by Dio from your hands.

He didn’t hesitate—like you did—to engulf you in a hug. Hands securely resting on your lower back, and you could feel your breath hitch.

You would spend all of your work pay checks on stupid damn records if it meant you could see him like this again, and you’d happily starve if it meant you’d have him hug you like this again. But that’s what friends did, right? 

“Oh my god.” His eyes widened, tone much calmer before his excitement rose up again. 

“Oh my fucking god, Pinky!” He yelled in delight again, taking you by surprise when his hands were holding your shoulder in excitement. 

“Y-you… shit- you got this for me?” He asked with a sympathetic gaze.

You nodded quickly. “Of course!” 

“Why’d you think we had to steal that bottle?” You winked teasingly, causing him to snort.

“Pinky, you’re the fucking best.” He muttered into your hair, a grin overtaking your features when he held your face in his hands, honey-glazed eyes boring into yours.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.” His fast-paced mantra left you giggling again before he pressed a small, appreciative smooch on your forehead.

He was just being friendly, you thought. There was no way he could want something more. You were beyond fucked up for that, and Billy was the only proof you needed.

He sighed contently when he relaxed back into his seat. “Wherever you want to go, princess, let me know.” He winked with a childish smile.

The two cassettes were replayed over and over again before the two of you made your way to your ‘special destination’.

Dragging Eddie through the woods while he whined earned several giggles from you. He chugged the bottle in his hands with a sour face.

“How much longer do we have to fuckin’ walk?” He complained, his feet dragging on to exaggerate.  

“We’re almost there, you dork.” You squinted your eyes at another frustrated groan escaped his lips. Laughter erupting from your stomach teasingly before you handed him the stolen bottle, Eddie chugged quickly, and his face soured, “How did you even find this place anyway?” He asked.

“Skull Rock?” You asked, and he nodded. “Wait, you don’t know about Skull Rock?” You questioned, eyes widening, causing Eddie to roll his. “C'mon, Pinky, not all of us hang out with the prissy popular kids.”

You gasped and playfully but still harshly hit his chest, “Ow!” He flinched. “Shit, are all cheerleaders as heavy-handed as you?” He asked, furrowing his brows. “Hey, I barely touched you!” You smirked while he faked getting hurt, rubbing his chest mockingly.

“Skull Rock is known as the make-out spot of Hawkins.” You enunciated dramatically as Eddie ooh-ed, “Thanks to, ‘King Steve’”, you mocked, mimicking air quotes.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Wait… wait,” His walking came to a halt when he tried to process that information. “Y-you and Steve?” He asked, dumbfounded, a slight overtone of jealousy was apparent in his tone, mixed with his own insecurities, and your face was quick to sour. “God, no!” You scrunched your nose; you loved Steve, but not in that way, never in that way.

“Who do you think taught him this place?” You tilted your brows. 

“I came here the first time my parents left with a tiny note stuck on the fridge.” You shrugged. You were used to your parents always leaving you without any notice other than a scribbled note that told you that they’d be gone for a while. And you never knew if it would be for days or for months. Now that they've been gone for the last four months, you assumed it was permanent this time, and even though you never admitted to it, it fucking hurt. Coming here has been your only escape lately. And all you wanted to do was share it with Eddie, have him in your comfort zone. 

Eddie’s face soured; you could see that red tint on his cheeks, almost like he was furious. And he was, because he understood. He understood what it was like to have deadbeat parents who were fucking useless, he understood the pain it brought and how it could make a person feel so fucking unwanted. But at least he had Wayne. You didn’t have anyone. The closest thing to you had that resembled a family were your friends and the Wheelers—and even that wasn’t enough to give him some peace of mind. 

“When Steve had his first heartbreak, I brought him here, but that fucker turned this place into an orgy party,” You continued, a simple chuckle escaping your lips. 

“And after that, people started coming here all the time for their little make-out sesh.” Your hands stretched forward to make a point, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Even Billy took me here one time,” You murmured the Billy part, wanting to avoid the talk with Eddie because you knew neither of them liked each other, and you rarely, if ever, spoke about him with Eddie, while Billy always announced his distaste for Eddie, murmuring about how it was obvious that the “freak” just wanted to get in your pants.

“You know, Billy is one of those people who think I’m a bad influence on you because I’m a “freak” and “devil worshipper,” right, sweetheart?” You avoided his gaze.

You didn’t want to talk about Billy, at least not with Eddie, and not now. You just wanted one thing to yourself without him being involved, which seemed impossible.

You forced a smile. “Well, Billy is…” an asshole, an idiot, and sometimes a fucking narcissist, you wished to say, but you didn’t want to drag Eddie into your relationship problems. Billy was still your boyfriend, and in all honesty, your on and off relationship was something that no one actually understood.

Nancy gave Billy a glare each time he came around, Steve and Robin constantly reminded you how awful he was. But it didn’t matter, because you couldn’t let him go, each time he fucked you up in a different way, you went back to him.

You took him back because you didn’t know any better, you accepted him because love was supposed to be like this, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be a challenge, it was supposed to be fucking hard. It was supposed to be something to fight for.

But it was so…exhausting. Trying to get him to understand you, trying to get him to care, trying not to make him mad—walking on egg-shells each time you were around him.

And everything was so fucking different with Eddie; things were so uncomplicated with him and so fucking fun. You didn’t want to admit that you wanted that… that you wanted him. 

Because he was easy—and in the best possible way. He was so easy to love. He was safe and he made you feel safe. When he caressed your back, when he opened a door for you, when he let you walk in front of him with his hand ghosting over your lower back, when you asked him to hold your bag and he swung it over his shoulder. He laughed at things easily, he made you laugh easily. He listened intently, when you just wanted to open up for a bit, he was quiet; when you needed someone to talk to, he gave you all the advice in the world.

And more than anything, Eddie cared. He cared about you, in a way you had never been cared for before.

He brought a side out of you that you never knew existed; relaxed. He was gentle with you, he knew how to joke around, and he didn’t have any problems being who he was. He was open and nice; he didn’t get angry at everything, and it was just… nice to be around him.

You shook your head at your thoughts, “Billy is Billy.” You concluded, eyes fixed on the ground. Eddie just gave you a small smile, as if he understood your train of thought. His hands caressed your back reassuringly in a way that was telling you that it was okay to think what you were thinking, and it brought an imminent smile to your face, knowing that he would always be there for you.

You remembered that night clearly when the two of you drank an entire bottle of booze you stole, and smoked Eddie’s stash, bodies lazily laying next to each other, Skull Rock had the best view, stars filled the empty sky, and a crescent moon appeared between them.

It was relaxing, lying with Eddie, high out of your mind.

“There’s no way you think Honeycomb Cereal is the best breakfast food.” You shook your head as Eddie scoffed.

“I do! It counts as breakfast, and you can also eat it as a snack on its own, what more do you need?” He raised his brows, taking a puff from the joint sitting between his index fingers.

“Uh? I don’t know, waffles? Eggs and bacon? Actual good cereal?” You mocked, causing Eddie to nudge your side lightly.

“Oh, and which cereal does the princess think is the best?”

“Cinnamon Toast Crunch, of course,” You said proudly.

“You are disgusting.” Eddie scrunched his face. You shrugged with a grin on your face as you snatched the joint from his fingers, reaching for the lighter in his hand. And before you could even light the blunt sitting in your fingers, the carved lighter caught your attention.

It was a silver Zippo lighter with a dragon print and had scratches all over it. You scrunched your brows as you looked up at Eddie and said, “What the hell is this?” You held the lighter up, and Eddie seized it from your hands.

“A lighter?” He replied smugly, causing you to huff, “Where did you even get it?” Your curiosity peaked.

“Bummed it off a guy at the bar last night, pretty fuckin’ cool, huh?” He asked, getting excited as he showed you the print, the carving of the dragon was so detailed that you could basically count its scales.

“Stealing is considered cool?” You murmured, causing Eddie to give you a huff as he placed the lighter on the rock between the two of you, allowing you to get a more detailed look. 

“Really, Pinky?” He almost snorted. “How about you answer that one, because the tequila bottle you’re holding wasn’t paid for... If I remember correctly,” He mocked a thinking face, dimples ever-so apparent as he tried to contain his grin.

“I–We!” You expressed in a higher tone, “Didn’t steal that bottle because it was cool, doofus. We! did it because we’re poor.” You enunciated the ‘us’ part again before nudging his rib slightly and prodding, earning a “Hey!” from Eddie, who was ticklish. 

“Anyway.” You giggled, handing the lighter back to him with a grin on your face, “Would’ve been cooler if it was pink.” Eddie gave you a weird look.

“What?” You implored, shrugging carelessly.

“Pinky liking pink… what a surprise, huh?” He said sarcastically, causing you to groan.

“Don’t be such a guy, Munson,” You warned, you liked pink, but both of you knew that wasn’t why the nickname stuck. And it didn’t matter what it truly meant because you liked it. You liked that it was the only thing you had from them that didn’t leave—something that was truly yours, something that would never abandon you. 

“Oh, you know that’s not why, you doofus.” You rolled your eyes. “Have you ever seen a pink dragon?” You gushed, and Eddie shook his head. 

“See! Case closed.” You grinned.

“Pink dragons are cool,” You said with a determined face, and Eddie couldn’t help the grin that was plastered onto his face now.

You spent the rest of the night giggling like a bunch of kids over nothing, the chilling breeze of the Hawkins nights providing comfort to you that you had never felt before.

When your shivers hadn’t stopped, you heard Eddie sighing, “Okay, you are getting my jacket,” He insisted, annoyed, because you had refused his offer for a jacket a million times just because you didn’t want him to be cold.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head before you could open your mouth to refuse. Calloused hands quick to securely wrap his infamous black leather jacket around you. You looked up at him, a sympathetic gaze apparent, as you tried to refuse, tried to insist that he would get cold, but he didn’t accept it. “Better I freeze off than you.”

Your heart fluttered before it was apparent on your face, lips twitching into a warm, sickly sweet smile as you accepted, “Thank you,” You murmured, almost shyly. The jacket fell comfortably on your shoulders, a whiff of weed, beer and the old leather smell engulfed you, warmth taking over your entire body.

You liked the feeling of wearing something that was his. In fact, you liked it too much. Something about Eddie always provided some sort of security for you. He made you feel comfortable in your skin, like he was meant to be there for you, like he was supposed to help you, even when you repeatedly told him you didn’t need it. You cleared your throat to gather your thoughts, taking the joint in his hands as your head slowly but comfortably fell on his shoulders.

Taking a puff from it, you looked over at Eddie. “As soon as I graduate, I’m leaving this place.” You could feel his head turn toward you, his gaze almost burning its way through your hair. 

“Eight months, eight fucking months left.” Your tone was the most serious he had heard that night, and he couldn’t help but have a baffling look on his face. You had mentioned something about ‘leaving this hellhole’ before, but he never knew how serious you were, at least until now.

He shook his head quickly to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and scare you away, so he shrugged. “Fine, but you can’t abandon me, I’m coming with you.” His tone was nonchalant, and it brought a smile to your face.

“I would never leave without you.”

NOW.

You shook your head at the memories, at least you had achieved one of those things. You got out of the hellhole that was Hawkins as soon as you graduated, being selfish enough to not care about the ones you had left behind, but you needed to do whatever you could to survive, and you shouldn’t have to apologize for it, right?

Right?

It’s what you kept repeating to yourself, but there was one part of you that always felt guilty for leaving without a goodbye, cutting off all contact. And that guilt returned with Nancy’s invitation; you knew you couldn’t hold off on her wedding, no matter how much you wanted to escape the town that caused you agony.

Nancy was your best friend when you were living in Hawkins, she was there with you through everything, and the Wheelers were there when your parents abandoned you, inviting you to their home as if it were nothing. 

You've seen Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin several times in the last couple of years. Especially after Nancy told them the exact reason why you left, they understood and welcomed you. 

That’s what you loved about them; even though you spent some time apart, they would always be your best friend. And that is exactly why Nancy picked you as her maid of honor—because she knew you’d always be there. She trusted you with her whole life, and so did you. The two of you knew things about each other that no one else did. 

And I'll leave you lyin' on the bed I'll be out the door before you wake

You huffed when you turned the stereo off, the lyrics giving you a stupid familiar  feeling, like it was written about you and Eddie. Like Axl and Izzy were hiding somewhere in the California apartment you and Eddie stayed in right after you left, as if they witnessed you leaving him there. 

The song became an afterthought when you realized you actually had to go in now or one of Wheeler’s snobby neighbors would surely call the cops on you for suspiciously watching the house while hiding in your car like a coward.

Eddie was already in there.

What if everyone else was there too? 

Would they cuss you out and tell you to fuck off? 

You surely deserved it.

You cursed yourself when you exited the car, feet dragging you all the way to the door, knowing that you needed to do this. Inhaling a deep breath, you rang the bell, even the tune sounded the same, and the guilt inside of you started rising up again.

“Will you get that?” Nancy’s screaming voice could be barely heard from your side of the door, and your eyes immediately pressed shut together.

Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don’t let it be Eddie. Please don't let it be Eddie—

When the door swung open, the eyes that met yours blinked quickly, not knowing whether they were imagining it or not.

Your blinking eyes were quick to open widely as well, and a sigh of relief left your chest.

It wasn’t Eddie.

But it still wasn’t any better. Your face was quick to feel hot as your gaze met hers, and you felt ashamed. Not knowing what to say, you murmured a simple “Hey.”

Max stood in front of you with an unreadable expression, and you were afraid. For the first time, you were afraid of her.

Was she going to slam the door in your face? Was she just going to ignore you? 

You bit your lip out of nervousness at the silence, and just as you were about to open your mouth again, Max squealed—which you had never, ever heard her do before—as she wrapped her arms around you in a jump-like hug.

Your breath got caught in your lungs, and a hearty giggle escaped your plump lips as you embraced it, melting into the hug. 

“I can’t believe it.” She squealed, pulling away from the hug to see your face fully again, her eyes almost prickling with tears.

Jesus. She had grown up so fast.

Her face that fell around your shoulders felt weird now that she was so much taller and much closer to you in height. She looked different, and you couldn’t decide whether to feel ashamed or guilty about it.

Your eyes widened, almost in shock, you never expected to be perceived in any way positively, especially by Max. And she could sense that shock on your face, with the way your mouth visibly stood agape. 

“You-uh… you’re not mad?” You implored, eyes almost widening with the need to know. 

Her eyes softened, and the sorrows in your heart were quick to dissipate with it, she shook her head lightly, almost in an all-knowing way.  “Uhm- I-I know what happened.” She almost whispered, gaze falling toward the kitchen, implying that Nancy had already babbled about the day you left. 

Damn you, Nancy Wheeler. 

Your head popped up toward the kitchen, where Nancy was, as if you were going to run up to her, your cheeks fluttered with embarrassment, you never wanted Max to find out. 

“Don’t… please don’t be mad at her.” She turned your attention back to her with a gentle touch on your arm, easing your tense body with just one touch. 

“If she didn’t tell me what happened… I don’t think I’d even talk to you, Pinky.” She admitted shyly, your gaze on her still widening. 

“Wh-what exactly did she tell you?” You asked, you weren’t going to get mad at Nancy, you knew she didn’t have any malicious intentions, you just never wanted Max to know what her step-brother did. At least not until she was much older. Your brain almost short-circuited as you looked at her once again. She was already much older; you knew Nancy made the right call.

“Not much!” Max blurted quickly, maybe to ease your worries; maybe it was the truth. 

“Just that- uh-that… Billy did something horrible, and that you and Eddie left and then uh… the two of you went to.. uh—Chicago?” She stuttered, head hanging low before she looked back at you, trying to read your expressions.

“California,” You muttered.  “Uh-Los Angeles, to be exact.” You breathed, correcting her. Did she know more? Did she also know that you left Eddie after that, too? Did she know that you had been carrying the guilt of leaving Eddie, her and those four little idiots too? The only ones you didn’t have any contact with in the last five years?

“Is that… is that where you are now?” Her brows pinched together; she knew where you were—New York, Nancy had told her. But she just wanted to hear more from you, and you could sense it. 

You shook your head. “New York.” Your lips pursed together, and she gave you a slight nod as if to ask if there was anything else going on in your life, you caught it immediately. “My cousin helped me get this apartment, and she, uh, has this record shop there.” Max gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“And, uh, it has like a tattoo shop behind it—records by day and tattoos by night.” You revealed more, awkwardly, your stupid joke made you want to hit your head against the perfectly white marbled walls of the Wheeler’s. “I’m actually training to become a tattoo artist now,” You said with your gaze stuck on how much she had grown now, almost feeling embarrassed for some reason before Max’s gasp turned your attention back to her.

“No way.”

“Dude, you’re still so fucking cool.” She nudged your shoulder, and your face instantly lit up. All the worries in your head disappeared, giddiness replacing it when you realized Max still saw you as her cool older sister.

“You think so?” You teased, giving her a light-hearted chuckle, “Uh… yeah? Dude, you work at a record store that has a tattoo shop in the back… you invented cool at this point.” She encouraged, surprise and fascination washing over her face.

“If Mad Max says so” You teased, muffling her hair and earning whines from her. 

And you hated that it took you back to five years ago. Every stupid fucking thing you saw or did in this town made you take a trip down memory lane, but it was the worst with Max, because almost every memory with her had your head wandering off to the certain redhead’s step-brother. A chill ran down your spine at the idea of him even being back in town. But there was no fucking way, right? 

You had heard from Nancy that the Mayfield-Hargrove’s had moved out and returned to California by the time Max started going to college—somewhere far away from them. However, she and the other kids always returned to Hawkins in the summer. You assumed she wanted to reunite with her friends and that she was trying to avoid the step-fuckers—a nickname Max herself gave both Billy and Neil Hargrove.

“He-uh… He doesn’t know about the wedding, right? Or he isn’t… he isn’t back in town? Is he?” You stuttered eerily; you knew Nancy would never invite him, but you still wanted to make sure that he didn’t know about it or that he wouldn’t know you were back in town.

“No—god, no.” Max shook her head quickly. “He’s in California with the ‘parents’.” She scoffed. “He has no fucking clue.” She added.

And you nodded simply; one of your worries was now at ease.

“What about…” You trailed off, pretending to sound nonchalant about wanting to ask about Eddie, you were anything but as you fiddled with your fingers.

Max picked up on it immediately. “Eddie?” she asked almost smugly, making you nod quickly—too quickly to appear nonchalant.

“Oh!” She grinned, making your cheeks feel hot.

Damn it. How did he still have this effect on you without even being present?

“He came like an hour ago. The last I saw him he was arguing with Dustin about their nerdy game.” She rolled her eyes slightly. 

“Oh, uhm, that’s—that’s good…” You said unsurely, you knew he was here, because of his stupid van that was parked outside just behind your car, but what the fuck were you even going to do when you did eventually see him. 

Would you pretend like nothing happened?

Would he pretend like nothing happened?

How the fuck were you supposed to do that when your feelings for him were still all over the place? You already felt dumb for not managing to get over him in the last five years, it just seemed impossible considering how things were left off.

You cleared your throat, turning your attention to Max. You didn’t need Eddie to cloud your mind right now, the guilt of abandoning Max still filled your stomach.

“Max…” You caught her attention softly, and almost as if she knew you were going to bring up the subject, a pout overtook her features. 

“I—I’m sorry…” You started, voice shaky. “I fucked up, I should have let you know... A message, a call, a note… Jesus—anything.” Your voice was meek, causing you to gulp.

“I should have done something, I—Fuck… I don’t know what to say, just that I’m really sorry.” You were stumbling over your own words when your vision got blurry, eyes glossy as you looked up at her.

“Pinky…” She muttered comfortingly, you didn’t expect this kindness from her that you thought you were unworthy of. You had left her without anything, and she still greeted you with open arms.

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe people could forgive you, maybe they could forget. Maybe Eddie would laugh it off. 

“I know that…” She offered a sympathetic gaze. “I knew deep down that you would never leave without a goodbye if it wasn’t important.” She gulped, physically, that familiar lump in her throat returned with the emotional weight her words held. 

“I’m not a kid anymore.” Max gave you a small smile. “I know how hard that must’ve been for you, okay?” Her hands were quick to take yours into hers, fingers gently soothing you. “I don’t blame you. So don’t fucking blame yourself… I know how you get.” Her hands stood on your shoulder now, shaking you lightly in the guise of making you feel better. 

A poor smile appeared on your lips, Max possibly didn't realize how much her words mattered to you, how you needed to relieve yourself of the guilt. One gesture from her almost enough to heal the wound that coming back to Hawkins split open deep inside of you. 

“Oh my god!” Nancy’s shriek caused you to turn around. 

“Pinky, finally!” Her voice beamed, and before you even got a chance to say anything, she engulfed you in a hug.

 “I was about to lose it,” She whispered into the hug before her eyes widened at you and Max.

“Shit…” She muttered, knowing Max had probably already told you that she blabbed about your disappearance.

“I was going to mention that…” She tilted her head adorably, a shy smile adorning her lips as you brushed it off with a laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, Nance.” You waved your hands in dismissal. “I can’t be pissed at you for anything… at least for the next five days…” You hummed. 

“You better use your wedding privileges wisely.” You said, throwing her a wink, as you pulled away from the hug. 

Your hands rubbed together quickly. “So... uh–where’s everyone?” You stammered, you were mostly asking about Eddie, but you also wanted to know where the hell Steve and Robin were. You missed those two idiots who were attached at the hip. They could calm you down better than anyone.

“The other kiddos are only going to be able to make it to the rehearsal dinner and the actual wedding.” She pouted, knowing that she planned a five day full of activities for all the people closest to her and Jonathan, but Mike, Lucas, El and Will were all going to miss it. 

She huffed. “And uhhh… Steve and Robin are coming later tonight.” 

“You remember we got that brunch thing at Steve’s tomorrow, right?” She asked, eyes squinting with doubt, before her arms crossed against her chest. 

You almost groaned, head falling back. Fucking Steve and his stupid brunch plan. 

“How could I forget?” You said through pressed lips, trying your best to seem enthusiastic, it wasn’t that you had a problem with it—it was because you were nervous, so fucking nervous to be in the same close proximity of Eddie again.

“And Jonathan should be...” She eyed the backyard. “Yup, in the backyard with the band. I left all the band planning to him.” She shrugged, making your eyebrows quirk. 

Shit. She really did fucking love Jonathan, didn’t she? She would’ve never let anyone meddle with her own plans otherwise. 

“Uhh–Dustin and… the others–” Her voice slightly cracked, and you instantly knew she was talking about Eddie. 

“They’re-uh they’re just in the basement… uh—getting something I needed.” She nervously scratched her head. “I’m sure they’ll—uh… say hi when they can.” She gave you a nervous smile, eyeing Max before turning her attention to you.

And just like clockwork, just as Nancy started to babble more about the plans she had for the five days you were supposed to be in Hawkins, her words were quickly interrupted by the loud voice of Dustin, “Shut up!”

“Shut the fuck up!” He exclaimed excitedly as you gave him a slight giggle.

“I wasn’t talking,” You joked, and before you could get another word out, Dustin squeezed you in a tight hug, causing more giggles and excited squeaks to escape your lips.

“Looks like somebody missed me, huh?” You raised a brow.

“What have you been up to, Dustybun?” You asked with a sly smirk, causing Dustin to cringe at the nickname.

“Me? Jesus, you’ve been gone for five years, and you’re asking what I’ve been up to?” You shrugged.

“Where the fuck have you been?” You couldn’t pinpoint if it was genuine curiosity or a slight anger lingering in his tone.

“New York,” Max spoke before you, the attention in the room shifting towards her. 

“She’s a tattoo artist now.” She exclaimed excitedly, causing Dustin’s eyes to widen.

“You?” He questioned, causing Nancy to join in and nod in excitement.

“No fucking way!”

“Well, I’m not exactly—”

“Dude, that’s so fucking cool!” Dustin gushed, interrupting you.

“Man, I knew those sketches were too cool to let them go to waste on Eddie’s bedroom walls,” He snorted, but your brows quipped, his bedroom walls? Did he still keep those? 

“You have to tattoo me,” He raved, interrupting your thoughts as you stared at him in disbelief.

“No way, do you want Miss Henderson to kill me?” You huffed, crossing your arms against your chest.

“Oh, come on, just one little favor?” He pouted.

“Nuh-uh! The last time you asked me for a favor, she chided me for months, months!” You emphasized, “She even left me one too many voicemails scolding me!” Dustin sighed.

 “How about something not-too-big? Like the bat one you did for Eddie, it looks so fucking—”

“You talkin’ bout me, Henderson?” A voice rang from the basement, and the slight sound of his footsteps dragging closer and closer toward the two of you caused you to stop dead in your tracks. You always knew Dustin was too loud for his own good.

You gulped, physically, and that lump in your throat reclaimed its place, his voice caused further suffocation in your throat, not being able to breathe when you could recognize that husky tone anywhere.

But it felt different.

Something about him felt different.

Your brain was struggling to comprehend a thought, your mouth had dried up, and it was getting harder to breathe.

“Dude... you could not rock a tattoo like me, no matter how fuckin' hard you—” And there was a pause, a small hitch in Eddie’s breath, as he finally realized who Dustin was talking to. And you could feel that hesitation, that uncomfortable tension filling the room that was once comfortable.

“Pinky?” You could recognize him just by his footstep alone, but now you’re sure it’s him, the nickname still rolling off his tongue so easily and sugary, like you had never left, like everything was okay again.

You’re slow to turn to face him, heart pounding with worry before you fully take him in, trying to decide his facial expressions, waiting for the anger, disappointment, shame, and fury.

You cannot place what his gaze holds, but you have missed the small glimmer in his eyes, the same one he always had when he saw you, so promising, so mellow that you feel your heart tightening.

You take him in now more than ever, his cheekbones are hollow and his face is more defined. He has so much more muscle on him, and it makes you question how long he has been working out.

His hair still lays messily on his forehead, bangs framing his face perfectly. Black jeans paired with a band-tee, and not just any band-tee, a Corroded Coffin shirt that unintentionally has you smiling. His dark brown eyes are mesmerizing as ever, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to accept the sight in front of him. Trying to make sure that he isn’t hallucinating, that you are actually here.

He looks good, so good that you can feel your mouth dry up, words getting stuck in your throat, the guitar pick necklace adorning his neck makes you want to pull him closer toward you.

You study him more than you should; those deep brown eyes are staring at you like a deer in headlights.

When he takes a step closer, gaze still locked to yours, you feel as if your souls have made a bridge, one you weren’t sure if you would be able to mend.

Close. He’s very close, but still, not close enough, not to your liking anyway. You want to be close enough to take him in wholly; you want him to engulf you in his arms, protecting you from all that’s bad in the world, feeling every ounce of him. The one person you had been yearning for was standing a foot away from you, and it was truly painful.

“You came,” Was all that left his plump lips, his gaze was still soft. He was as nervous as you are, something that you didn’t manage to pick up on. 

If only he knew why you had to abandon him, maybe he would understand… Maybe he would even rid you of your guilt.

“Y-yeah, I did,” You stuttered.

“Max, Dustin!” Nancy announced. “Why don’t you two help me in the back?” Nancy threw a look that both of them understood immediately, running off after her without another word exchanged.

The incessant throb in Eddie’s heart returned when his attention turned back to you, he knew you would come, but he didn’t know how much that would crush him.

That rage in him, bubbling up at the surface, subsided quickly when you gave him that gentle look. “What’s Dustin yapping about?” He asked with a chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood and ease his own worries.

“Oh— uhm… just that he wanted me to tattoo him,” You couldn’t help the nervous crack in your voice.

“You? Oh my god, you finally did it?” 

“Well… not exactly.” You gave him an awkward chuckle. “I’m training to be one, though.” You shrugged. 

“You know I’m a happy customer of yours.” He gave you a smile before he flashed his forearm, showing you the bat tattoo that you gave him five years ago.

He had much more tattoos now, but the bat tattoo you gave him still stood out among the thousand others on his forearm, at least it did to you. “Oh!” He breathed, attention diverting to something else as his hands fiddled behind him. He dug them in his back pocket, he struggled to get something it out. “Aha!” He exclaimed, waving the worn out notebook in front of your curious gaze. “But I’m definitely not giving you the ‘Promise’ notebook back!” 

Your pupils dilated at the sight; he still had it. He still had the notebook that your stupid sketches were sprawled all over. You gave it to him sometime during senior year, when he was having some trouble with his songwriting process. Your parents got you that notebook as a joke as soon as they saw the handwritten ‘Promise’ on the front, a silly play on your nickname. And you wanted him to have it; you wanted it to inspire him as much as it did you; your art mattered, and you wanted him to see that, so did his. 

“You… you still have that?” You asked, an astonished look still not leaving your features. “Yeah, it really played a key role on our first album.” He beamed. A crimson red blush was quick to wash over his cheeks; he wasn’t sure if he should’ve told you that or let you in this quickly when you left him on a whim in LA. 

“But… that’s— that’s still so fucking cool, Pinky,” His eyes widened, he shook off his thoughts in a flash. He had missed you, so fucking much—more than he let you on.

“So I’ve been told.” You meant to sound nonchalant. 

“What have you been up to?” You asked as if you didn’t know, as if you didn’t try to gather some information about him from Nancy and Jonathan. As if you didn’t listen to their album the second it came to your record shop.

“Just making some music, here and there.”

It was a lie.

He knew it was a lie, and you knew it was a lie.

Eddie made it big after the last time you saw him, signing onto the biggest record label and releasing an album that became way bigger than even his group had intended to.

“You don’t have to be so humble, I know how big you guys have made it.” You offer him a slight smile.

“Maybe a little bit.” He gestures with his hands, causing you to giggle. “Even had a gig here last week, the crowd was crazy.”

“It’s funny, though.” He murmured, causing you to raise your brows. “All the fuckin’ people at Hawkins who called me a freak and tried to shun me out was screaming my name... pretty weird fuckin’ feeling, huh?” He shrugged.

“I guess I know how the popular princess feels now,” He teased.

You nudged him slightly, “Guess you’re the popular boy of Hawkins now, huh?” He gave you a slight smile, and it felt comfortable, he was so easy to be with.

“Yeah, Jonathan worked really hard to get us for this wedding thing, you know?” He joked, giving a slight smirk.

“You and Jonathan, huh?”

“I don’t even know how you guys became best friends.” You added, wanting to joke.

“Yeah, I guess a lot happens when you don’t abandon people.” Ouch. You guessed you had deserved that one, but it still hurt to see him think of you this way, the entire atmosphere of the room had shifted, the casual conversation you had wasn’t as genuine as you thought it was, and you could see that he was hurt.

You knew he would be angry, but this seeming grudge wasn’t what you were hoping for. Maybe it was selfish of you, but you wanted him to miss you, tell you that he wanted to be with you, engulfing you in his arms as he spun you around, muttering how much he loved you.

But that wasn’t realistic, was it?

You gulped, feeling awkward, and now it was Eddie’s turn to feel bad. He internally cringed as he saw the look on your face, he knew that look so well. The way you played with your hair for some sort of comfort, he could sense that the guilt was eating away at you.

“I— I guess I deserved that.” You forced a smile, chuckling ironically, sensing the visible shift in Eddie’s face, the initial shock of reuniting with you wearing off, and his anger and hurt taking over. 

The tension that lingered in the air was interrupted by Jonathan swinging open the sliding door in the backyard and the four people standing behind him.

Before you could comprehend who they were, a squealing voice caused you to turn around, and a blonde-haired woman brushed past you. “Eds!” She called out, walking toward Eddie.

You looked up to see Jonathan leading Gareth, Jeff, and Frank to the backyard, telling them something about their gig, but you could care less as you stood still in your place, eyes glued on how Eddie greeted the girl, focus shifting solely on her as his hands caressed her shoulders, comforting her, as if you weren’t there, as if he didn’t care.

That screeching voice sounded familiar, but you couldn’t tell who the hell she was supposed to be when all you could see was her back and Eddie’s hands ghosting over her waist.

You were starting to feel small, trapped in your own body, with nowhere to go. Why was she hugging Eddie? Why were they so fucking close?

When she finally turned around, tucking her straight blonde hair behind her ears, glimmering blue eyes met yours, and you immediately realized who it was.

Chrissy.

The same Chrissy that was your supposed friend in high school, the same Chrissy who suddenly turned on you and made your life a living hell in senior year.

That’s why you didn’t recognize her—the strawberry blonde color she had was now more vanilla, and you hated to admit that she looked pretty—too fucking pretty.

Your eyes were narrowed with distaste; you had no right to be jealous, but you were powerless against that ugly emotion when it came to Eddie, swelling your chest way quicker than you intended to and stinging you harder as you struggled to keep a forced smile on your lips. 

Huffing, your mind drifted to Eddie. Surely he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, you decided. He knew some of the horrible things she did to you during your senior year, so there was no fucking way he would want anything to do with her.

Right?

“Oh my god, Pinky!” She squealed once again when she saw you, and you wanted to chuckle bitterly. With your tongue rolling inside your cheek, you tried to keep your damn mouth shut. She didn’t get to call you that nickname. Not when she did all of that during your senior year.

You didn’t return the hug she forced you into, eyes drifting to Eddie who was now avoiding your gaze. Lips pursed shut as he twisted his rings. Something weird was going on, and your stomach churned at the thought.

When Chrissy’s forced embrace on you ended, you barely forced a smile, and with a dead look on your face, you waited for her to disappear.

Why was she even here?

Who even invited her?

Running up to Nancy and asking her what the fuck she was thinking inviting her here would’ve been an exaggeration, you realized.

As envious thoughts sank further and further into your head, you realized something was wrong now. The way Chrissy leaned in to whisper something in Eddie's ear, giggling as she threw her head back.  

It meant something. It was like a sick feeling of deja-vu. A sinking feeling twisted your stomach, and a pang of insecurity gnawed at it. Your jaw clenched involuntarily; Eddie didn't even spare a glance in your direction. His attention was fully on her, and a wave of rage surged within you, threatening to overflow. The need to separate them, to pull her away from him, was almost unbearable.

Still, you knew you couldn’t do anything, and that was what made your blood boil, Eddie was nothing to you, he wasn’t even a friend to you—at least not anymore, something that you made sure of five years ago.

And before you could say or do anything more,

Chrissy smashed her lips against Eddie’s.

[toastedclownery]

Shrike as Huitzilopochtli... 2!

Ah shit. Here we go again. This time with some more facts (and some corrections lol) 

Huitzilopochtli, “Hummingbird of the South”, is the patron god of the Mexica (historically called the Aztecs). He was the patron of the capital city of the Aztec empire, Tenochtitlan (now Mexico City). He was the god of warfare and the sun, as the sun of the fifth and current era. 

We'll start with the iconography, and then possible themes

—

Huitzi is nearly always represented with quetzal feathers (quetzalli) on his headdress, a lot of gods in the pantheon have them (In my last post I called them hummingbird feathers but those are the ones on his back. Whoops!). These appear in Shrike’s design as the spikes of his tentacles.

Huitzilopochtli is most known for having a black mask around his eyes. Shrike has dark circles around his eyes. His namesake, shrike, is a bird also known for having a mask of black feathers around its eyes. Additionally, when he’s dressed up as Bandito in ep2, he puts on a dark antiface. And as a potential extra layer, this is to imitate the black masks that raccoons also have.

Huitzi is called the "hummingbird of the south", and so he wears the head of a hummingbird on top of his own. The Aztecs also believed that warriors who died in battle got reincarnated into hummingbirds, so that’s another connection to warfare. Shrike has a beak-like mouth that has visibly been getting longer throughout the episodes.

The god has a pectoral circle made of seashell on his chest (anahuatl). I’m not entirely sure if the collar of his jacket is supposed to be a reference to this. In his reference sheet it’s a circle, various animators draw it as a circle, but Zeurel never draws it as a circle when animating, so it might be a stretch.

Huitzi commonly carries Xiuhcoatl, the “Turquoise Serpent”, as a weapon, mentioned in the story of his birth in the Florentine Codex. When dressed up as Bandito, Shrike grabs one of the floppy leaves of the plant, resembling the shape of the snake.

But Xiuhcoatl can also be found on the pattern on the sides of his shoes!

Also mentioned in his origin story in Florentine, he has a xiuh atlatl, a “turquoise dart thrower” (although it can also be associated with Xiuhcoatl as the same thing).

That would be his gun. It’s not the only time that guns are gonna be compared to dart throwers.

—

Huitzilopochtli was the sun of the fifth era to the Mexica. This sun has the symbol “Nahui Ollin”, which means “4 Movement”. The Ollin is one of the Aztec calendar day signs, it means “movement” or “earthquake”, and it is represented as two intertwined lines. Here it is represented in Codex Borgia.

Now here’s what I’m thinking

This might just be where Shrike’s pinky quirk comes from! Shrike was the one to tell Beebs about pinky promises, and they seem to be very important to him. So much so that he subconsciously keeps his pinkies up whenever he’s holding his guns or his phone.

The reason why each era has a name and symbol attributed to it is because they’re named after the way it would end. This fifth era is named after earthquakes because the Aztecs believed that this world would end with strong tremors, the sun would lose its perpetual fight against darkness, and the stars would come down to earth in the form of creatures called Tzitzimime to kill all of humanity.

This god represents the sun. The sun in the solar system. Earth’s sun, our sun, the Terrans’ sun. Yeah, that sun.

The sun’s job was to illuminate the world for us humans, and to not let it fall into darkness. This could be why Shrike has a fear of the dark, and has such appreciation for Terrans!

Shrike, as the protagonist of the show, is Huitzilopochtli, the god most important to the Mexica. Zeurel currently doesn't have a specific nationality for him, he's generally hispanic, but the crew's Spanish consultant is Mexican, and so is Sr. Pelo, the voice of Bandito. In Bandito's show there are curtains with the colors of the Mexican flag and a prickly pear cactus, which appears in the coat of arms in the middle of said flag.

This symbol actually comes from the legend on the origins of Tenochtitlan! Huitzilopochtli told the Mexica to leave Aztlan, the place where they were originally from (that's where the term "Aztec" comes from). He told them to build a new city where they found an eagle perched on a prickly pear cactus, devouring a snake. That was in the middle of lake Texcoco, where Mexico City still stands on today.

I'd say Shrike is the one who has the strongest connection to his past life memories because he feels a strong connection to Mexican culture and language (if he spoke ancient Nahuatl it'd be too obvious so they made him speak Mexican Spanish instead). He also has the habit of calling everyone “amigo”, even to the people he dislikes or doesn’t seem to know at all.

Maybe it’s because he did know them. A long time ago?

[anheliotrope]

Rambling About C# Being Alright

I think C# is an alright language. This is one of the highest distinctions I can give to a language.

Warning: This post is verbose and rambly and probably only good at telling you why someone might like C# and not much else.

~~~

There's something I hate about every other language. Worst, there's things I hate about other languages that I know will never get better. Even worse, some of those things ALSO feel like unforced errors.

With C# there's a few things I dislike or that are missing. C#'s feature set does not obviously excel at anything, but it avoids making any huge misstep in things I care about. Nothing in C# makes me feel like the language designer has personally harmed me.

C# is a very tolerable language.

C# is multi-paradigm.

C# is the Full Middle Malcomist language.

C# will try to not hurt you.

A good way to describe C# is "what if Java sucked less". This, of course, already sounds unappealing to many, but that's alright. I'm not trying to gas it up too much here.

C# has sins, but let's try to put them into some context here and perhaps the reason why I'm posting will become more obvious:

C# didn't try to avoid generics and then implement them in a way that is very limiting (cough Go).

C# doesn't hamstring your ability to have statement lambdas because the language designer dislikes them and also because the language designer decided to have semantic whitespace making statement lambdas harder to deal with (cough Python).

C# doesn't require you to explicitly wrap value types into reference types so you can put value types into collections (cough Java).

C# doesn't ruin your ability to interact with memory efficiently because it forbids you from creating custom value types, ergo everything goes to the heap (cough cough Java, Minecraft).

C# doesn't have insane implicit type coercions that have become the subject of language design comedy (cough JavaScript).

C# doesn't keep privacy accessors as a suggestion and has the developers pinkie swear about it instead of actually enforcing it (cough cough Python).

Plainly put, a lot of the time I find C# to be alright by process of elimination. I'm not trying to shit on your favorite language. Everyone has different things they find tolerable. I have the Buddha nature so I wish for all things to find their tolerable language.

I do also think that C# is notable for being a mainstream language (aka not Haskell) that has a smaller amount of egregious mistakes, quirks and Faustian bargains.

The Typerrrrr

C# is statically typed, but the typing is largely effortless to navigate unlike something like Rust, and the GC gives a greater degree of safety than something like C++.

Of course, the typing being easy to work it also makes it less safe than Rust. But this is an appropriate trade-off for certain kinds of applications, especially considering that C# is memory safe by virtue of running on a VM. Don't come at me, I'm a Rust respecter!!

You know how some people talk about Python being amazing for prototyping? That's how I feel about C#. No matter how much time I would dedicate to Python, C# would still be a more productive language for me. The type system would genuinely make me faster for the vast majority of cases. Of course Python has gradual typing now, so any comparison gets more difficult when you consider that. But what I'm trying to say is that I never understood the idea that doing away entirely with static typing is good for fast iteration.

Also yes, C# can be used as a repl. Leave me alone with your repls. Also, while the debugger is active you can also evaluate arbitrary code within the current scope.

I think that going full dynamic typing is a mistake in almost every situation. The fact that C# doesn't do that already puts it above other languages for me. This stance on typing is controversial, but it's my opinion that is really shouldn't be. And the wind has constantly been blowing towards adding gradual typing to dynamic languages.

The modest typing capabilities C# coupled with OOP and inheritance lets you create pretty awful OOP slop. But that's whatever. At work we use inheritance in very few places where it results in neat code reuse, and then it's just mostly interfaces getting implemented.

C#'s typing and generic system is powerful enough to offer you a plethora of super-ergonomic collection transformation methods via the LINQ library. There's a lot of functional-style programming you can do with that. You know, map, filter, reduce, that stuff?

Even if you make a completely new collection type, if it implements IEnumerable<T> it will benefit from LINQ automatically. Every language these days has something like this, but it's so ridiculously easy to use in C#. Coupled with how C# lets you (1) easily define immutable data types, (2) explicitly control access to struct or class members, (3) do pattern matching, you can end up with code that flows really well.

A Friendly Kitchen Sink

Some people have described C#'s feature set as bloated. It is getting some syntactic diversity which makes it a bit harder to read someone else's code. But it doesn't make C# harder to learn, since it takes roughly the same amount of effort to get to a point where you can be effective in it.

Most of the more specific features can be effortlessly ignored. The ones that can't be effortlessly ignored tend to bring something genuinely useful to the language -- such as tuples and destructuring. Tuples have their own syntax, the syntax is pretty intuitive, but the first time you run into it, you will have to do a bit of learning.

C# has an immense amount of small features meant to make the language more ergonomic. They're too numerous to mention and they just keep getting added.

I'd like to draw attention to some features not because they're the most important but rather because it feels like they communicate the "personality" of C#. Not sure what level of detail was appropriate, so feel free to skim.

Stricter Null Handling. If you think not having to explicitly deal with null is the billion dollar mistake, then C# tries to fix a bit of the problem by allowing you to enable a strict context where you have to explicitly tell it that something can be null, otherwise it will assume that the possibility of a reference type being null is an error. It's a bit more complicated than that, but it definitely helps with safety around nullability.

Default Interface Implementation. A problem in C# which drives usage of inheritance is that with just interfaces there is no way to reuse code outside of passing function pointers. A lot of people don't get this and think that inheritance is just used because other people are stupid or something. If you have a couple of methods that would be implemented exactly the same for classes 1 through 99, but somewhat differently for classes 100 through 110, then without inheritance you're fucked. A much better way would be Rust's trait system, but for that to work you need really powerful generics, so it's too different of a path for C# to trod it. Instead what C# did was make it so that you can write an implementation for methods declared in an interface, as long as that implementation only uses members defined in the interface (this makes sense, why would it have access to anything else?). So now you can have a default implementation for the 1 through 99 case and save some of your sanity. Of course, it's not a panacea, if the implementation of the method requires access to the internal state of the 1 through 99 case, default interface implementation won't save you. But it can still make it easier via some techniques I won't get into. The important part is that default interface implementation allows code reuse and reduces reasons to use inheritance.

Performance Optimization. C# has a plethora of features regarding that. Most of which will never be encountered by the average programmer. Examples: (1) stackalloc - forcibly allocate reference types to the stack if you know they won't outlive the current scope. (2) Specialized APIs for avoiding memory allocations in happy paths. (3) Lazy initialization APIs. (4) APIs for dealing with memory more directly that allow high performance when interoping with C/C++ while still keeping a degree of safety.

Fine Control Over Async Runtime. C# lets you write your own... async builder and scheduler? It's a bit esoteric and hard to describe. But basically all the functionality of async/await that does magic under the hood? You can override that magic to do some very specific things that you'll rarely need. Unity3D takes advantage of this in order to allow async/await to work on WASM even though it is a single-threaded environment. It implements a cooperative scheduler so the program doesn't immediately freeze the moment you do await in a single-threaded environment. Most people don't know this capability exists and it doesn't affect them.

Tremendous Amount Of Synchronization Primitives and API. This ones does actually make multithreaded code harder to deal with, but basically C# erred a lot in favor of having many different ways to do multithreading because they wanted to suit different usecases. Most people just deal with idiomatic async/await code, but a very small minority of C# coders deal with locks, atomics, semaphores, mutex, monitors, interlocked, spin waiting etc. They knew they couldn't make this shit safe, so they tried to at least let you have ready-made options for your specific use case, even if it causes some balkanization.

Shortly Begging For Tagged Unions

What I miss from C# is more powerful generic bounds/constraints and tagged unions (or sum types or discriminated unions or type unions or any of the other 5 names this concept has).

The generic constraints you can use in C# are anemic and combined with the lack of tagged unions this is rather painful at times.

I remember seeing Microsoft devs saying they don't see enough of a usecase for tagged unions. I've at times wanted to strangle certain people. These two facts are related to one another.

My stance is that if you think your language doesn't need or benefit from tagged unions, either your language is very weird, or, more likely you're out of your goddamn mind. You are making me do really stupid things every time I need to represent a structure that can EITHER have a value of type A or a value of type B.

But I think C# will eventually get tagged unions. There's a proposal for it here. I would be overjoyed if it got implemented. It seems like it's been getting traction.

Also there was an entire section on unchecked exceptions that I removed because it wasn't interesting enough. Yes, C# could probably have checked exceptions and it didn't and it's a mistake. But ultimately it doesn't seem to have caused any make-or-break in a comparison with Java, which has them. They'd all be better off with returning an Error<T>. Short story is that the consequences of unchecked exceptions have been highly tolerable in practice.

Ecosystem State & FOSSness

C# is better than ever and the tooling ecosystem is better than ever. This is true of almost every language, but I think C# receives a rather high amount of improvements per version. Additionally the FOSS story is at its peak.

Roslyn, the bedrock of the toolchain, the compiler and analysis provider, is under MIT license. The fact that it does analysis as well is important, because this means you can use the wealth of Roslyn analyzers to do linting.

If your FOSS tooling lets you compile but you don't get any checking as you type, then your development experience is wildly substandard.

A lot of stupid crap with cross-platform compilation that used to be confusing or difficult is now rather easy to deal with. It's basically as easy as (1) use NET Core, (2) tell dotnet to build for Linux. These steps take no extra effort and the first step is the default way to write C# these days.

Dotnet is part of the SDK and contains functionality to create NET Core projects and to use other tools to build said projects. Dotnet is published under MIT, because the whole SDK and runtime are published under MIT.

Yes, the debugger situation is still bad -- there's no FOSS option for it, but this is more because nobody cares enough to go and solve it. Jetbrains proved anyone can do it if they have enough development time, since they wrote a debugger from scratch for their proprietary C# IDE Rider.

Where C# falls flat on its face is the "userspace" ecosystem. Plainly put, because C# is a Microsoft product, people with FOSS inclinations have steered clear of it to such a degree that the packages you have available are not even 10% of what packages a Python user has available, for example. People with FOSS inclinations are generally the people who write packages for your language!!

I guess if you really really hate leftpad, you might think this is a small bonus though.

Where-in I talk about Cross-Platform

The biggest thing the ecosystem has been lacking for me is a package, preferably FOSS, for developing cross-platform applications. Even if it's just cross-platform desktop applications.

Like yes, you can build C# to many platforms, no sweat. The same way you can build Rust to many platforms, some sweat. But if you can't show a good GUI on Linux, then it's not practically-speaking cross-platform for that purpose.

Microsoft has repeatedly done GUI stuff that, predictably, only works on Windows. And yes, Linux desktop is like 4%, but that 4% contains >50% of the people who create packages for your language's ecosystem, almost the exact point I made earlier. If a developer runs Linux and they can't have their app run on Linux, they are not going to touch your language with a ten foot pole for that purpose. I think this largely explains why C#'s ecosystem feels stunted.

The thing is, I'm not actually sure how bad or good the situation is, since most people just don't even try using C# for this usecase. There's a general... ecosystem malaise where few care to use the language for this, chiefly because of the tone that Microsoft set a decade ago. It's sad.

HOWEVER.

Avalonia, A New Hope?

Today we have Avalonia. Avalonia is an open-source framework that lets you build cross-platform applications in C#. It's MIT licensed. It will work on Windows, macOS, Linux, iOS, Android and also somehow in the browser. It seems to this by actually drawing pixels via SkiaSharp (or optionally Direct2D on Windows).

They make money by offering migration services from WPF app to Avalonia. Plus general support.

I can't say how good Avalonia is yet. I've researched a bit and it's not obviously bad, which is distinct from being good. But if it's actually good, this would be a holy grail for the ecosystem:

You could use a statically typed language that is productive for this type of software development to create cross-platform applications that have higher performance than the Electron slop. That's valuable!

This possibility warrants a much higher level of enthusiasm than I've seen, especially within the ecosystem itself. This is an ecosystem that was, for a while, entirely landlocked, only able to make Windows desktop applications.

I cannot overstate how important it is for a language's ecosystem to have a package like this and have it be good. Rust is still missing a good option. Gnome is unpleasant to use and buggy. Falling back to using Electron while writing Rust just seems like a bad joke. A lot of the Rust crates that are neither Electron nor Gnome tend to be really really undercooked.

And now I've actually talked myself into checking out Avalonia... I mean after writing all of that I feel like a charlatan for not having investigated it already.

[ilyasorokinn]

surprise ― pyotr kochetkov

note, i. was inspired by this post. i know nothing about tennis, so i'm sorry i don't understand the niche, but i was inspired and remember when p shaved his head? truly awful. this is the post for reference. another note, i made a little blurb not too long ago where, instead of putting the actual russian translation in the fic, i put the parts where they would be speaking russian in italics, so that's what i'm doing here as well. here's the blurb if you haven't seen it :) summary, y/n finds out her boyfriend shaved her head through social media. warnings, pyotr's shaved head word count, 461 words

you let out a sigh as you got into your car. it had been a long, but exciting, off-season, and you were excited to be back with raleigh, but you were completely out of food for a good 2 days and had been solely relying on doordash.

while you got to try new restaurants every meal, it was also a costly bill, so you were excited to finally have groceries. you reached for your phone and finally decided to check your notifications.

your eyes widened when you saw all the Instagram notifications and group chat notifications. you tried to decide where to start first, but ended up opening every app you had a notification coming from.

you ended up on instagram and opening a dm from some random person who had sent you a new picture of your boyfriend with a fan. the fan wasn't surprising, it was your boyfriend in the picture, hairless.

"oh, my god," you muttered, closing the app and immediately calling him.

"hello?" he answered.

"what the hell?" you gaped, "what happened to letting your girlfriend know when you're gonna go all eminem and shave your head?!"

"i'm sorry." to his credit, he did sound remorseful about it, "it was spur the moment."

"you said you were gonna get a haircut, not buzz it off." you pinched the bridge of your nose.

"i was, but then i was convinced to buzz it."

"i'm coming home now, you better be there," you told him. you hung up, giving him no time to argue with you, and immediately turned your car on.

you got home quicker than you thought you would and quickly grabbed the groceries and made your way up to your apartment. you opened the door and quickly made your way inside.

"where are you?!" you shouted, dropping the groceries on the counter and all your other stuff on the floor. you rushed around the apartment and were about to turn into the bedroom when he showed up in the doorway.

"pyotr..." you gaped at his hairless head. you reached up and ran a hand through his hair.

"what do you think?" he looked nervous.

"all right, i know i sounded mad on the phone, but it was just a lot to take in." you took a step back and just stared at him, "it does look nice." you smiled.

"you think?" he looked nervous.

"all right, i'm sorry my first reaction wasn't happy, but you look great, p." you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, "i think you look great no matter what. i'm a bit biased though." you shrugged.

"okay," he looked a little more confident, "you promise?"

"promise." you nodded, holding out your pinky. he smiled, linking his finger with yours.

-

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[leighsartworks216]

Mutually Assured Destruction

Sylus x gn!Reader

I don't remember anymore how this idea came to me but I needed to write it. Makes references to other stories in the Raven series

Warnings: spicy but no smut, collars, leashes, muzzles, marking, ownership, master/pet, light bondage, halloween, slight swearing, established relationship

Word Count: 2,667

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You glare at the twins with a hardened fury that could scare any client of Sylus’s into pissing their pants and apologizing to you for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, this is Luke and Kieran. They don’t crumble under the stare. They laugh.

It’s stupid, you decide. Before, well, you were open to the idea. Miss Hunter needs “Skye” to make an appearance at a Halloween party thrown by her colleagues and friends, so it’s only natural he’d want to bring his partner along to join in on the fun. She didn’t argue against it, but she did warn about keeping you - hm, how did she put it again? Ah, yes, on a tight leash.

Why’d she have to say it in front of these chuckleheads?

The black collar is lined with spiked studs, connected to a long leather leash. Sure, fine, whatever. You even like the idea of wearing it, so long as the leash is in Sylus’s hand.

But a muzzle?

“Awe, c’mon! We don’t get to go, so you might as well let us have some fun with it!”

“We can run out and grab you a box of milk bones, if you’d like.”

Sylus wraps an arm around your shoulders and steers you away from the twins before you can successfully wrap the leash around their necks. “You’re dismissed,” he orders with a wave of his hand. He takes the muzzle from you, idly studying it.

You glare over your shoulder at Luke and Kieran, who snicker as they finally do as they’re told. The sound grates on your nerves until the door closes and shuts them out.

You shift out of his hold easily. He perches against his nice, expensive desk as he watches you pace back and forth, fiddling with the leather collar and leash in your hands. He sets the muzzle aside and crosses his arms.

“What are you thinking about?”

A lot of things, quite frankly. Your position as the fearsome guard dog of the great Onychinus leader, Miss Hunter and her little friends, the party, your costume, your increasingly complex feelings on being “owned” by someone…

You know Sylus doesn’t own you. You know, if ever you wished it, you could walk right out of here and go on into forever, and he would let you. It would hurt. But he wouldn’t hold you back.

Is it so wrong if you want him to…?

Your body has never been yours. As a kid, it belonged to the streets and the failed help programs of the city. As a teen, it belonged to your damned tormentor, the Devil. Even when you escaped as a young adult, you didn’t know enough about who you were anymore to hold any claim over yourself. You fought, you struggled, you became cleverer, and scarier. You became the Raven. And for the short time you’ve carried that name, you have learned to own yourself again. Even the ring on your pinky, that eternal promise mirrored on Sylus’s own hand, could not steal that from you.

Maybe it’s not quite ownership you want to give up, then.

You want to keep owning yourself, but you want him to, as well. You want to be that hopelessly loyal guard dog to him. You want to be obedient to his commands, and defiant in order to protect him. You want to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at him the wrong way. You want him to watch….

You want to be wanted.

And you are, aren’t you? He has never made it seem like he wants anything else but for you to be by his side. Not only that, how many times has he made it clear that he belongs to you? How many more times must he before it sinks in? Before you can grasp the fact that he wants to be your hopelessly loyal guard dog? That he wants to be obedient to your every command and defiant in order to protect you? He wants to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at you the wrong way, and he wants you to watch him do it.

He impedes your path, stopping you in your tracks and tilting your head up by your chin. He’s frowning. There’s a furrow between his brows. “What’s wrong?” he asks, more insistent than before.

Wrong? Is anything wrong here? The twins’ meddling in messing with you, maybe - but they weren’t exactly wrong. You are his dog on a leash, a dangerous animal that will bite if given the chance.

But… so is he.

You’re two wild, vicious animals. You’ve lashed out to save yourselves. Done horrific things in order to keep the weaker dogs from challenging you, and even worse things to those who dared to try. But you hold his leash, and he holds yours. You could so easily choke him with it. He could choke you with it. And yet, you are at peace - content in your mutually assured destruction.

“Sweetheart?”

You breathe in deeply. You hold the collar out to him, the leash loosely coiled and dangling from your fingers. He glances down at it, but his attention is focused solely on you.

“I want to wear it,” you say quietly. “But only if you’re the one putting it on.”

Something flickers in his eyes. The furrow in his brow is gone, replaced with silent understanding. He releases your chin. Long fingers wrap around the collar and leash, pressed between your palms as he holds your hand. “What about the muzzle?”

You grin slightly, playfully. It’s that same satisfied smirk you had back when he first met you. “I may need it around all those people, don’t you think?”

He chuckles. “If you behave, I’ll give you a treat after. How does that sound?”

He takes the collar. You can’t deny the thrill that runs through you as you watch him deftly undo the silver buckle. You stare up at him as he wraps the leather around your throat. He stares right back with a hungry look in his eyes as he slowly tightens it.

The leather is surprisingly soft. Not for a dog, that’s for sure. You’re almost grateful the twins regard you with enough respect to buy a collar made for humans. Almost. Not enough to let this whole incident slide unpunished. You think a little target practice to try shooting off the rings on their horns is a good warmup.

He tightens it a little more than necessary. You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, or the soft sigh that escapes through your nose. You’re rewarded with the familiar press of lips to your own. “Good dog,” he hums teasingly. You hate how much you love it.

He loosens it back up, enough to sit comfortably without rubbing your neck raw. His face is still tauntingly close to yours. Every breath fans over you, daring you to close the gap.

But you don’t.

He draws back once the buckle is secured. The leash hangs down, long enough to reach your mid-calf. “I wonder if you know any tricks,” he muses with a smirk and that cocky head tilt he does. He nods over to his desk. “Sit.”

You narrow your eyes up at him, but you smile. It reminds you of the commands he usually uses to control you during negotiations, and just how you both came to the agreement of using them. And like the good little pet you are, you saunter over to the desk and pull yourself up to sit on it. Back straight, legs crossed at the ankle, hands in your lap. He loves it.

He follows, standing in front of you and picking up the muzzle from his desk. It’s a basket muzzle, shaped to fit a human’s face instead of a dog’s snout. Silver bars weave together in an imprisoning array. Two straps hang in loose circles, held together by silver buckles. Sylus deftly undoes them, while his eyes appreciate the line of the leash that trails down your body and disappears between your thighs.

Holding the basket with one hand, and a strap in the other, he reaches forward to place the muzzle on your face. You turn, dodging the contraption, to catch the meat of his thumb between your teeth. He chuckles. “Behave. Be a good dog, won’t you?”

You bite down slightly harder, enough to leave a mark without breaking skin, but don’t let go. He smirks, leaning down until he’s at eye-level with you. “Here I thought this pup was properly trained. Do I have to tame them myself?”

It’s intoxicating, the playful yet almost threatening lilt in his voice. If you didn’t have a party to go to for Miss Hunter’s sake, you would love to test the limits of your handler even further.

As it is, you do have a party to go to, and time is ticking away.

Your teeth release his flesh. Left behind is a pretty red mark with indents from your canines and incisors. You stare into his eyes as you slowly lick the mark. His eyes follow the swipe of your tongue, darkened with desire.

With no more protests, he affixes the straps around your head - one that goes over your ears and one that goes under. The metal cage over your nose and mouth is cushioned by a strip of soft leather. It’s restrictive, but it’s not uncomfortable. If you wanted to, you could speak… or bark, if you felt like it.

Sylus places a kiss over the metal wires with a devilish grin. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

His hand traces your jaw, fingertips dancing over the straps, to your neck. He idly brushes over the studs along the collar, trailing down the line to reach the D-ring at the front. It’s large enough that he could hook his finger in it, but why do that when there’s a perfectly good leash right there?

The metal clasp of the leash jingles lighty against the ring. You can hear the leather sliding between his fingers as he pulls it from between your thighs. It creaks as he wraps it around his hand. He tugs on it experimentally. You’re jolted forward. The collar is tighter against the back of your neck, straining toward the pull.

“I enjoy it, too,” he hums lowly, for your ears only. He keeps the tension on the line as he leans in to press soft kisses at the edge of the muzzle. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, falsified wariness shining back at him. They flutter shut as he smiles against your skin, trailing his lips lower and lower, over the straps of the muzzle and to the top of the collar.

“I wonder…” His breath is loud in your ears, mixing with your heartbeat, as he leaves an open-mouthed kiss at the line where skin meets leather. “When we get back…” His teeth ghost over your pulse. “How I would look in your place?”

Your eyes snap open and lock onto him. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze with a wide smile. “Would you like that, my beloved?” He kisses your cheek. “Me, collared and chained, obedient to your every command?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I wonder how obedient you really are. Does this dog bark?”

He pulls tighter on the leash, causing you to strain your neck against it. “Growl?”

He suddenly slackens the lead. You’re unsteady as you press your hands into the desk for support. Before you can growl at him, his fingers are pulling down the collar to get to your sweet spot. His teeth nibble at it, pulling an unexpected sound from your mouth. “Oh? So they can whine. Do you howl, too?”

He kisses your skin more intently, sucking on it and leaving little bites, soothed by his tongue. One right below your jaw makes you whimper. “Good dog,” he whispers. His free hand pets your hair, the one holding the leash coming to rest beside your thigh as he leans over you. “Maybe I should cover your whole neck like this.” He bites harder at the spot. “Make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Would you like that, hm? Being mine?”

You nod. You're on cloud nine, mind fuzzy from elation. He tugs at the leash again, this time pulling it behind you so it presses up against your trachea. You gasp in response, fighting to keep sitting upright even as your head is strained back.

“Speak.”

“Yes.”

He slackens the lead again, breath growing heavy and with a growl at the back his throat as he goes to work devouring you. “Good dog.”

-

Miss Hunter greets you a few paces from the door with wide eyes. She stares at the (very fresh) marks littering your neck, some hidden by the collar and some with oddly suspicious teeth marks. She gives Sylus a dubious look. “Just who needs to be muzzled here?”

He smirks lazily. “The difference is who gets bit, kitten. I would hate to rush your coworkers to the hospital tonight.”

She glares at him, before glancing at your neck one more time. “Somebody’s gonna think this is some weird BDSM thing…” Nonetheless, she moves on. “What are you two supposed to be, exactly?”

“Can’t you tell? After all the effort we went through…” He sighs, feigning disappointment. “I’m a vampire. You seemed so insistent on it, because of my red eyes, remember?”

His costume is very toned down - some custom-fit vampire fangs and some nice clothes. Kieran suggested the fake blood, which runs from his lip down his chin.

“And what are they?”

You think Luke snuck into Linkon City for supplies purely to mess with you further, because while Kieran was handing Sylus a bottle of fake blood, Luke was handing you fuzzy animal ears and a fake tail. If it weren’t for the muzzle, you probably would have bitten him when he pat your head.

“My pet werewolf, of course.” He gestures to the leash. “This is just to ensure they don’t go on any rampages while they’re here.”

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh huh, is that the only reason?”

He tilts his head back at her. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m afraid our relationship is rather exclusive. We’re not looking for a third member right now.”

Her cheeks heat up as she sputters out, “Th-That’s not what I meant!” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Anyway, everyone’s inside. Just, don’t scare them off,” she gives you a pointed look, “and keep your fangs to yourself.” She turns it on Sylus.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I’m as docile as they come.”

She shakes her head again and runs off, slipping inside the house where the party is taking place.

A warm hand scratches you playfully behind one of the fake animal ears. “Ready?”

You turn to him and crook a finger to beckon him down to your height. Even without a collar to control him, he does as you ask, until his sharp eyes are level with yours. He shouldn’t have been so caught off guard by the sudden feeling of the leash at the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. He huffs a laugh once he realizes what you’ve done.

From the outside, it looks awkward and uncomfortable. Your leash pulls at your own collar as you hold it around his neck, pinched together at the front with one of your hands so he can’t pull away. From there, it trails down to his own hand, where it’s still wrapped around in his hold.

From the inside, Sylus’s eyes glance down at your mouth, and how he wishes the muzzle weren’t there so he could kiss you. You lean forward until the cold metal wires of the muzzle brush against his ear. “I’m looking forward to my treat.”

He turns his head to meet your eye, a wicked little gleam shining back at you. “So am I.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton

[mochminnie]

What to expect for my Outgrown Ken x Reader/OC fic

Reader’s is a plus sized Filipina named Hana Takahasi a Elementary English Teacher in Japan & Content Creator

After 8 years not seeing Kenji and not spending time like you both used to. Back in the states. Paano kung, magkita kayong ulit dalawa? (What if you both meet again?)

Meeting him again at the elementary school.

Mina “Ken you have to go to the school as a visitor.”

Ken rolls and his eyes, groans. “With children Mina? I expect senior highschool students having a sports scholarship to college.”

Ken sneaking into your class. 

Finding out he’s Ultraman and that his dad was also Ultraman

Cooking/Baking for him and he joins and he grows to love cooking again

Him taking you out shopping

Spa days with Emi and Ken

Putting Ken on new skincare

Him secretly watching your videos and performance since you both drifted apart.

Writing letters cause that was your thing. And he kept all of them.

Him lifting you up and spinning you around. But you’re scared you might fall or for him and him sending you gifts

Having such a good friendship. With his parents especially his mom and helping him trying to find his mom. His mom was good friends with your parents.

Reader have a good relationship with both of her parents. (Finally making a story where both parents having a good relationship with their kid)

Helping him find Kaiju Island

“It’s going to be tough. I know she’s a 20 foot kaiju. Its not going to be easy. That’s why me and Mina are here to help you. It’s okay not to be okay and to ask for help.”

Helping him take care of Emi

-calling her pinky baby, “my pinky binky baby”

-lots of Disney and Marvel references and letting her watch Disney movies

-singing and dancing to her

“I have had it with that stupid song!” Ken screaming and stressing.

-teaching her sign language

-Doing the old Godzilla dance with her, clapping and doing little dances Listening to Emi watch and the song in 'Kaiju Step Wandabada'

-she wants to chase you and carry you all the time

-reading to her

Ken gave you his bunny (Ollie) when you were both kids. When you moved to Japan you gave it back to Professor Sato. And Professor Sato gave him to Emi.

Even the hello kitty dodgers Ken sent you. You showed it to professor sato with the box full of remembrance of your friendship both you and Kenji. Showing his father everything and Professor Sato showing you his signed baseball and Ken’s baseball card.

“You are the best thing that happened to Kenji and grow up a beautiful strong young woman.” Professor Sato.

"Wow my dad and Hana are Kaiju whisperers." 

“How are you still bright and up early with a lack of sleep?” Ken with messy hair and black coffee in hand with a mug that says, ‘I hate mornings’

Him fighting bullys

Him fighting with the opposing team because he was talking negatively about you.

Arguing and it was more than the bickering.

“No! Don’t talk to me like that. I am not going to let you do what you did to me. Eight years ago because that hurt more than what people(bullies) have said or done “

Making Ken do the High School Musical Now or Never trend and other trends on the internet.

Being in social media, the news, the tabloid mags, newspaper

“Hana are you the ‘Ken Sato’s special girl in his life?’ “ Jade (Hana’s Bestie)

Taglist: @flowerloves @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @kikostarshooter @miffysoo @jvg0902 @pattycakes2024 @redblueequalhot

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

To the Other Side

Spontaneous fic I decided to write because I want to witness Fellow and Rollo interact (outside of fan art) 💕 I took a lot of inspiration from The Other Side and The Greatest Show from the same musical, and this fan comic and this fan art.

There’s just something so fun about Fellow’s happy, playful vibes mingling with Rollo being deadly serious and hateful 😂

***SPOILER WARNING: Glorious Masquerade and Stage in Playful Land!!!***

Imagine this…

The nearby town was the only reprieve Rollo had from Night Raven College. Magic was school-sanctioned (in theory), but the rule did little to curb the spells fired off in spontaneous spats between classes, pranks, resolving minor inconveniences, and—this made his lip curl the most—for fun. He turned the other cheek in the presence of instructors, chided classmates when catching them in the act, and vented his anger in private.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, this loathsome school exchange program would be over, and Night Raven College put behind him. But one man can only take so much sin before his patience threatened to give, irritation spilling over his carefully constructed walls.

Out here, a bus ride away from campus, he was free from those vile villains, however fleeting it was. The air cleaner, his mind clearer, as he breathed in the salt-kissed, balmy air. Waves lapping against the pier, the town’s comfortable hum as time rolled by, a soothing song.

He looked out at the waters, blue tipped with the white of sunshine dappling a painting. It was alive, yet at peace with the world. Knew its place.

Rollo's eyes drift shut, and he allowed the sea to envelop him. Quiet, calming, completely—

“Oya? Oya oya oyaaaaa?"

An exaggerated drawl invaded his ears. It was an unfamiliar man’s voice, slick with overly honeyed friendliness.

“You there, sir!” he called out. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ignore him, Rollo coached himself. He is not referring to you. There are many people in the town he could be accosting.

The crack of a clap on his shoulder suggested otherwise.

Rollo’s tranquility splintered and shattered, like glass dropped. His eyes snapped open again, alert and irritated.

A man had emerged on his left, and a small boy on his right. They stood too close for comfort, and seemed to be leering at him. From up, from down, encasing him in a web of excited stares.

The man had ginger hair in a widow's peak, the rest swept aside to make way for sharp eyes. His suit was fine at a glance, olive vest and neat cravat, violet coat with golden details and tassels cinched over it—but upon closer inspection, there was a hole in the pinkie finger of his long white gloves, and a miscellaneous diamond patchwork of patterns running down his trousers.

Something about him screamed “showman". Perhaps it was the jaunty half cape that hung off his left shoulder or the knee-high spats over shoes that clicked loudly, calling attention to him, with each step. Maybe it was the sparkle-studded top hat upon his head, nestled between two twitching ears, or the cheery flicker of his bushy tail, or the cane in hand, topped with a golden fox. (... Rollo suspected it was his boldness, the sheer audacity to insert himself where he wasn’t needed.)

The boy with the showman was a cat beastman, shorter and disposition shyer. His hair was a red-brown rat's nest even clamped under a smaller, brightly colored top hat, his fur just as unkempt. The only thing that seemed to fit on his slight frame is a lilac shirt and a small bow tie. His mustard yellow jacket looked as though it has had its body sheared in half, then the fabric stuck back onto the oversized sleeves, the pants attached to his overalls saggy and patched up with the wrong patterns. Even his boots were wrong—untied—and socks mismatched.

He blinked at Rollo through eyes that sloped downward, his expression lax. His mouth was steady beneath a spray of dark freckles. The boy held onto a comedically large hammer, hands still trapped in his enormous sleeves as he gripped its handle.

Suspicious, Rollo concluded. They are highly suspicious individuals.

“… May I help you?” he asked, not out of kindness but as a courtesy.

“Ohoh!!” The man grinned broadly. “That composed stride! That stern, solitary gaze! Those extravagant robes! So sensible, so conventional. There’s no doubt in my mind! You, my good man, must hail from THE Noble Bell College!”

Rollo’s mouth was quickly forming a frown. A fan of flattery he was not. "What of it?”

The stranger chuckled, the coy hand on Rollo's shoulder not budging. The warmth of it made his skin crawl in spite of the layers of fabric separating them. "You've come a long way from the Shaftlands then! Tell me, how do you find Sage's Island? Is it everything you’ve dreamed it to be—or, dare I say, more?”

“I was beginning to enjoy it, right up until you and your companion happened upon me,” Rollo grumbled, jerking his shoulder away from the stranger’s touch. “I do not have many opportunities to steal away into town.”

“You have my humblest of apologies!” The man bowed deeply. It took a few seconds of lag, but the boy clumsily followed suit. “Gidel and I, we’re the curious sort, you see! We come across many wary souls on our own travels, and we want to get to know them. Isn’t that right, Giddie?”

Gidel nodded eagerly.

The fox beastman stuck out a hand, taking Rollo’s before he was given the chance to reciprocate or decline. He shook firmly, with enough strength to rattle around Rollo’s bones. “Fellow Honest’s the name! And you, my esteemed gentleman?”

“Rollo Flamme.” His reply was curt, intended to cut the conversation short with its bluntness. He tried to sidestep the man, but failed as Fellow slid to block him.

“Rollo—may I call you that? Great, greeat!!” he gushed, again not pausing for a “no” to potentially slip in. “From just a glance, I can tell you’re an upstanding, diligent student. You’ve been hitting the books so hard, you’ve barely gotten in a wink of sleep!”

Rollo’s mouth pinched. It was not an uncommon comment for him to hear, but he wasn’t the least bit delighted to have it spun as a compliment either.

“You poor, poor boy! You must be a nervous wreck!” Fellow sighed, sympathetically stroking the back of one of Rollo’s hands with his own. The student shuddered and pulled away with a slight glare. Rather than taking note of the displeasure, Fellow brightened, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! You are a nervous wreck!! We must diagnose this case at once.”

To Rollo’s bewilderment, Fellow produced a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket and slipped them onto his face. Gidel whipped out a notebook and a pencil from his overalls, poised to take notes.

“Let’s have a look at you!”

Fellow circled the dazed Rollo, poking and prodding at the boy’s lean frame with the butt of his cane. It bit into his ribs, his cheek, his thighs, as Fellow rattled off nonsensical phrases, Gidel reverently scrawling them down. Rollo swatted at the fox as if dispelling a pesky bug—but Fellow was too fast, too slippery, to land a clean hit on.

He at last stepped back, snatching up the notes from Gidel. (Rollo caught a brief glimpse of the writing—it was nothing close to what could pass as language.)

Fellow raked a hand through his hair as he seriously took in the report of scribbles. With each passing second, his features increasingly crinkled with concern. "Oh me, oh my, oh dear!! Alas, it's just as I suspected!"

"... What?"

The glasses and the notepad were promptly discarded. Props made meaningless now that their purpose was fulfilled.

Fellow snaked an arm around Rollo. Firmer this time, not something to be shaken off. "You, my boy, are allergic! To this drudgery! This cage, these walls!" He wildly gestured with his cane to their surroundings. "This life you're trapped in! You're stressed, depressed, mad, sad, miserable, all of the above!"

Each adjective thrown out drew Rollo's brows closer and closer together until there was no hiding his grimace. “I do not appreciate the unwarranted judgments being made of my character.”

"You see! My hunch was right!" Fellow flicked at a corner of Rollo's frown. It deepened. "There's only one cure for what you have: a vacation! And luckily for you, I have exactly what you need right here…!”

Reaching into his sleeve, Fellow retrieved a single ticket, sandwiched between two lithe fingers. The sepia image of an amusement park wreathed in flags was frames in crimson, blue, and gold. Admit One, trumpeted the ticket, to Playful Land.

“It just so happens that I, Fellow-sama, am the manager to the fabled amusement park of wonder, hopes, and dreams... Playful Land! Have you heard of it? It's a magical place with a plethora of rides, games, song and dance! Why, there's even a big stage where any member of the audience can be a rising star! The food, all free and ample!! You can gorge yourself on fun!! Doesn't that sound like a swell dream?"

Rollo deadpanned. "If by 'dream', you mean dreadful. To encourage casting aside one's inhibitions to indulge in all manner of vices... Your establishment is no paradise. It is a den of depravity, hell masquerading as heaven.”

"Eh?"

The strong hostility seemed to throw Fellow for a loop, gave him pause. He fumbled for a moment before finding his words again.

"My, my! Your allergies are worse than I thought...! Every kid needs to kick back one in a while, and you most of all! Since we're such good friends now, I would be more than happy to gift this prized ticket, good only for tomorrow, to you free of charge!" He winked, giving a theatrical twirl of his cane. Stars and sparkles exuded out from it. A small charm, a harmless trick. "No need to thank me!"

Rollo's eyes flashed, instant recognition setting him on edge. Similar items infested the City of Flowers every Topsy Turvy Day—enchanted handkerchiefs, tambourines infused with meager magic.

Disgust roiled through him.

"We have no such friendship," Rollo snippily corrected him. Is this man delusional? "Furthermore, tomorrow is a school day. It wouldn't do to miss it in favor of gallivanting."

“Now, now, I insist!!” Fellow pressed. “Please accept this ticket and take a load off, enjoy yourself. Live a little, laugh a little! The last thing I would want is for you to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity!! Skipping a single day of school wouldn't be too harmful for a star-studded scholar like yourself."

His gaze flicked to Gidel. The two shared a keen glint, a subtle signal, then broke out into a show, a flurry of tap dancing along the pier.

"Trade in your typical for somethin' magical!” Fellow cried with the tip of his top hat. “Where it’s covered in all the colored lights!! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night!”

Gidel fished out a party popper from under his own headwear. When he tugged on its string, crackles filled the air, the popper letting loose a shower of glittering particles. Fellow belted out a hearty laugh, swinging his cane to catch confetti.

"Come on to the theater!!” he urged—mostly likely reciting some park motto, Rollo ventured. “In Playful Land... Life is Fun!!"

Fellow struck a pose with his arms thrust out, punctuating the performance. Gidel was less dexterous, and settled for an awkward approximation of the same pose.

Expectant for applause.

“… Charming display,” Rollo remarked dryly. He picked out a limp streamer from his hair. With a huff, he blew the remaining confetti off of him. “However, only a blithering fool would accept such a dubious offer. Is that what you take me for, Mr. Honest? A blithering fool?”

Fellow recoiled, his ears flattening, and his bravado faltering. Gidel glanced at the older man, soulful eyes full of worry.

"You must have fantasized about a day off before! Don't you want to get away and forget about your work and worries? Don’t you crave freedom?”

"No."

"What of the desire to chase thrills? To see and to experience what few others have before, or to relive a childhood you've perhaps never had? Don't you want to cut loose? Go crazy? Party all day?"

"Never."

"How about stardom? Play a different role? Have you a longing to stand upon a grand stage, hundreds of thousands of adoring fans applauding your passionate performances?"

"Not once."

His patience wore thin like a braided rope down to its final connecting threads. Rollo tapped a finger against his folded arms. "Are you finished? I tire of my precious time being wasted. If you will kindly excuse me."

He turned back toward the town. Rollo was a few steps along a shop-lined street when, suddenly, the odd duo reappeared. They skidded to a panting stop before Rollo, walling off his path. Well, more Fellow than Gidel.

A look of annoyance ripped across the fox’s face. “HOLD ON!! What kind of person plays hard to get and then walks away from a conversation like that?! Would it kill you to stop and just listen to me, you bra…”

Fellow petered off midsentence and backpedaled, smoothing out his spite into a smile. "...aaave soul! I've yet to meet someone as assertive and as self-assured as you are.” He reached out and brushed off an invisible fleck of dust from Rollo’s robes. Simpering. “You're a man that knows exactly what he wants!”

Rollo bristled. He hadn't missed the sudden shift in his chummy behavior. All the more reason to suspect them. They’re very clearly up to something.

"Yes, yes, I can see it now!" Fellow continued, stroking his chin in contemplation. "What you seek is not amusement! You’re longing—no, aching—for something far greater, more ambitious!"

He leaned into Rollo's ear, cupping a hand to it. Gidel came from the other side, staring up curiously. Fellow’s voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Power, perhaps? The magical kind, even.”

Rollo visibly stiffened.

“Oh, have I got your attention?” The curve of Fellow’s mouth cocked, going crooked. A triumphant smirk. “You’re interested, I know it! Buried in those bones of yours, there's an ache, a thirst, for knowledge that you can't ignore!"

The fox wiggled a finger, his words rapt with wonder. “Playful Land is the product of maaany wise and talented mages! If you pay us a visit, you might be able to learn a thing or two from observing how we run the show. It's a valuable learning opportunity for a student of an arcane academy! How about it, kid? This surely is a deal you wouldn't want to pass up!!"

There was no indication of any feeling in Rollo's face. His eyes had glazed over, as though haunted, a veil shrouding his vision. He stared at Fellow as though he were a distant phantom.

Spin, spin. Fellow's cane did a little dance of its own. "Think of it: the fire, the freedom, the flood of magic. Blinding and outshining anything that you could know!"

Fire.

Rollo blinked. The veil lifted, and the man was rudely roused from an awake slumber. Neutrality replaced with a kindling emotion, sparse embers that did not yet know they would converge into flames. "... What did you say?"

"Everything you could ever want. Everything you could ever need," Fellow tapped the waiting ticket, "is here right in front of you. This is where dreams are made, where the impossible comes true: Playful Land. This is where you want to be—"

The fire flared, bile rising from his throat. Beneath his skin, blood came to a rapid boil. Hot, screeching, an intense fever pitch. The heat like a knife slashing through strings.

Hands lashed out, fervently seizing Fellow's arms. Rollo clutched onto him, a desperate parishioner to a priest preaching at the pulpit. But there was no such blind devotion in his expression, only something wild, untamable, twisted.

“What did you say?!” Rollo hissed, low and dangerous. Threatening.

Gidel jumped and skittered behind Fellow, hiding himself from view. The fox's hand found its way to Gidel's back to support the trembling boy.

"You've been mouthing off for quite some time, and I've been far more patient than you deserve." Rollo cut to the mustard yellow sleeve clinging to Fellow's leg. "You have a child with you. Refrain from spouting such ridiculous vulgarities in front of them.”

“Wh-What…!!”

“Is this the game you play?” Rollo’s grip tightened. Voice hoarse, a pained shudder threading through it. “Tempting children with the promise of whimsy and fun, encouraging them to be intoxicated by magic...!"

While you stand by, doing nothing.

An untimely demise by magic, a fate he knew all too well.

Consumed alive in a hellish inferno. Only a curtain of smoke and ash remaining. Slipping through his grasp when he was standing right there.

Brother...

Hot tears stung his eyes—but they dissipated near instantaneously, staved off by his burning fury. Anger and upset rapidly overtaking him.

Not again. He would not stand for it to happen, would not surrender. This, he swore, with a resolute breath, and cried out with all of his seething soul.

"Hmph! I thought you witless before, but it seems you are not a clown," Rollo spat. "You are the entire circus."

Fellow gave a light, cumbrous chuckle—but his eyes narrowed. Gone was his cheer, his merrymaking. What remained was serious, astute. "... Hey now, that's a scary face you're making. Is this really how you want to spend your days? Let's lighten up a little."

A bitter scoff sounded.

“Continue this farce, and I will not stop at raking you across the coals," Rollo warned darkly. Fire licked his fingertips, close to bursting free. "I will show you just how scary I can be. The righteous flames of judgment are cleansing. They will purge all sin, reducing the wicked to mere specks of ash."

He released Fellow with a slight shove. The older man fell back a few steps, finding his balance again when Gidel pushed him upright with a silent grunt.

“If you understand, then I will be on my way. Good day to you.”

With the path cleared, Rollo stormed right by them. Robes billowing in a passing sea breeze and austere face to the town, he almost looked the part of a hero emerging triumphant from battle.

Back to his everyday life, the same side as always.

Fellow gaped after the boy’s retreating figure. At the prey slipping away from every carefully placed trap he and Gidel had laid out for him.

"Well, I never...!!" he groused. A fresh, foul mood ripe like a rain cloud over his head, Fellow discarded his smile for a sneer. "HIIIIIIE~ What was up with that arrogant brat?!”

Gidel shrugged, his comedically large sleeves flopping as he threw his hands up.

"Damn it!!" The curse was out before Fellow could cut it off. "Next time I see that guy, I'll teach him a lesson for looking down on us!"

He angrily kicked at a soda can on the ground—abandoned by a wayward townsperson. With a CRUNCH, the can launched into a nearby lamp post, ricocheting off its base and bouncing back. The can connected with Fellow's kneecap. He yelped and seized his injury, trying to contain the pain.

Eyes blown open in alarm, Gidel rushed to him. The boy was waved off, Fellow's whimpers eventually dying down.

"My sulking worried you? … You're seriously too good for this cruddy world, Gidel," Fellow muttered, shaking his head. He ruffled the cat beastman’s mane of hair, the roughness of it grazing the unguarded pinkie poking out from his one damaged glove. "Never change, got that?“

Gidel bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Good.” Fellow drew himself up and adjusted his jacket. “Tch. Kids these days sure are spoiled rotten. You promise them the world and they still blow you off."

His thoughts settled on the boy from before. The remarks they had traded, the resistance the target had put up.

I thought a bit of magic would help loosen the kid up—but Life is Fun didn’t work on him, Fellow mused. I cast it so many times too. Between my magic and charisma, they usually cave so easily.

Yet Rollo had regarded him like a man possessed, had regarded him with such hatred. The mad, tormented look in his face. An iron barrier against the fluttery, champagne laced lull of his spell.

"... Must be somethin' wrong with him," Fellow concluded. All kinds of fucked up in the head and in the heart. "Yup, that's gotta be it! This Fellow-sama's way too cool to be outdone by any old student.”

Again, Gidel nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s alright, there’s bound to be flops! We’ll have to pick out our next mark much more cautiously.” Fellow shaded his eyes and squinted. “Let’s see…"

Gidel trailed after his gaze. Combing through a crowd for easy pickings was child’s play for Fellow, but the young boy struggled to hone in on the monotony of minute details. Little nervous tics and hesitations, chinks in armor to exploit. They were present, but Gidel’s eyes were like a broken camera. Zooming in, then out, blurring, never able to fully focus.

His attention strayed, slowly meandering back back to the piers. The sea was a simple thing compared to the town—natural, unrestrained. So easy to understand.

“Maybe that one… no, no, that would never work,” Fellow mumbles to himself. “They’re in too large of a group to comfortably break through. The girl over there? Tsk, the parents are hovering, can’t risk that…”

His eyes ran along the bustling town and along the docks. Like fingers along book spines or piano keys, a quick, light caress. Effortless.

Then he came to a full stop.

Did a double take.

And stared.

Hard.

There, lazily parked by the piers, was a small gang of boys, each dressed in the same smart black blazer and trousers, vests and armbands an assortment of colors. Tucked into their breast pockets were fountain pens topped off with magestones. Their style, those emblems, famous.

Fellow smacked Gidel’s back, snapping the boy to attention.

“Look alive, Giddie! You see that?” He pointed with his cane. “Those uniforms are…!”

His face lit up with understanding. Mouth ajar, eyes wide, brows raised.

“We’re in luck today!” Fellow snickered. He tugged on Gidel’s sleeve, yanking the youth to him. “Hurry, let’s get in front of them! We’ll cut them off, pretend as though we’ve bumped into them by accident. Then, we pounce…!!”

Gidel lifted his hammer—a cheer.

The duo scampered down the street, hearts drumming in their chests and adrenaline pumping. In that moment, they brimmed with all the hope and the excitement that Rollo had failed to exhibit. They were children racing to a dream destination, fools wishing upon stars.

Elsewhere in the town, someone sneezed.

Rollo pressed his handkerchief to his nose, retreating further into his robes. “… The weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. What an ominous omen.”

[icarusredwings]

Various head canons for my Saxteen/ Temple Noble household series.

As the board of headcanons, I declare these headcanons as offical.

Shout outs for the ideas or just being OGs:

@roxannepolice

@kidshows-are-life

@strobbiery

@the--quotifyer--innit

@huntersroses

Now- Onto the headcanons!

-Sylvia still gets nervous when the Doctor does weird shit and will often tell him off for it (which often backfires)

"why cant you be like that one? Sit quietly and stop catching the kitchen on fire!"

".....Him? You mean... The master?? You know he eats people right?"

".... Dont be like him then. I take it back."

-They take bubble baths together quite often

-Rosie has given Sax advice on which brands of make up to buy (vegan or cruelty free)

-Sometimes Wilf and Shaun witness a weekly ritual of donna, rosie, and two old gays doing face masks, nails, and other 'sleep over' things in the kitchen. They call it Gals night.

-When Shaun questions it even in the slightest, 14 responds with "Were all girls here."

"Even him?" *points to sax whos passed out cold with cucumbers on his eyes* "well not yet. But yes."

"Not yet??"

"Alien stuff hon. Alien stuff."

"Regenerative alien stuff to be exact!"

-Shaun was actually very excited when Rose came out because he had always wanted to be a girl dad. Sometimes, he asks her paint his nails and wishes that she was young enough to have tea parties with.

-This being mentioned leads to everyone in the house participating in the South France House Annual Tea Party (14 even gave out offical invitations) Everyone gets a boa and a crown. Saxons crown is not cheap plastic, though. It is real. He demanded it to be. Even wilf has on a pink boa in his wheel chair.

-The evening is filled with tiny sandwitches, tea of all kinds, donna talking about Agatha Christie, the time she almost got murdered by a massive bug, and 14 dosing his husband with catmint tea (which makes him very purry)

-Rosie sleeps with a bonnet. So does saxon. He thinks itll stop him from balding.

-When walking to the store, They hold each other. Depending on the day, it's the Master on the Doctors arm or vise versa. Sometimes, they'll hold pinkies. The Master HAS bitten someone for negativaly commenting about it

-The Doctor falls asleep on the loo sometimes

-Shaun is so madly in love with the new Donna and will sit and stare at her while asking math questions in utter awe. Hes OBSESSED with her, of course he loved her before but now its like meeting a newer, BRIGHTER, happier Donna and he constantly is taking her on dates, getting flustard, and is more handsy. This overall has improved their marriage (not that it was in any danger to begin with)

-When the two are being flirty and frisky in the kitchen, Rose will audibly say "GAG" and then walk away

-Wilfred is very happy to see his grand daughter shine, and you can find him repeating his favorite stories from when she was just a girl. It's part of his Alzheimer's.

-Wilfred sometimes forgets that the Doctor isn't actually his real son and will refer to him as his child when talking to people, and depending on who the person is, the doctor won't correct him.

-The Doctor is trying to grow his hair out to put them in braids. Unfortunately, he gets sneezy rosemary oil, so he uses a lot of castor oil and rose oils. (The Master thinks he stinks when he does this)

-The master suggests dying his greys but the Doctor refuses, wanting to be a "Silver fox"

-The master, to this day, uses the exact same box dye that he did all those years ago. His hair is fried, LMAO

-Rosie has made the master a stuffy called Shadow. Sylvia once got bitten for washing shadow, and the master sat at the door and watched her get washed the entire time, growling at donna, who in turn had learned to growl back.

-The Doctor proposed on Christmas and the master slapped him. They then proceeded to get married NEXT Christmas due to saxon demanding a custom traditional outfit to be made.

-Both have gained relationship weight, and Donna is the only one allowed to poke fun at them for it. "Not a pole anymore, I see, hmm?" She does not comment on saxons new small streach marks as that is blantantly rude. Wtf? Who does that? Not in this house.

-They take up the entire couch for naps. The doctor has told him multiple times that he likes his weight on top of him. "You're like a warm weighted blanket." And was then smothered with a pillow because saxon is insecure about it still.

-When meeting new people the Doctor keeps slipping that hes an alien. Hes said he wants the neighbors in France to not know hes an alien because hes curious about how people treat him differently compared to if they know or not.

The neighbors wanted help moving their sofa so the Doctor picked it up... the whole thing... by himself.

"Wow!! Its like you have super human strength!!"

"Aha- well... about that.. not human-"

"What?"

"Shit- honey I did it again!"

[candycorncremator]

Unfortunately lower visual quality than I wanted be because Tumblr only allows 10 images so I smushed them into three canvases instead of two post. Anyway beta trolls Headcanon and some thoughts below the cut.

Aradia

Aradia is the design I probably have the most experience drawing of the beta trolls purely because of how many zines I’ve drawn her in the last year. I like thinking of her hair similar to Pinkie Pies’ in g4 of mlp, where it’s very curly bouncy in her alive and godtiered forms but straightens out more when she’s ghosting up the place and in Aradia-bot form. I didn’t realize until a recent zine I had been drawing her horns ways too low for comic accuracy but I am a creature of habit so I keep drawing them like that.

Tavros

I’ve grown to love this kid because of my recent reread but I do not like drawing them. Between the Mohawk and the long, straight horns, I don’t care to draw their most important traits so he unfortunately only gets drawn in these group drawings. As for the one ear being pierced, it’s kinda a reference to cow tags but also I think it just fits them.

Sollux

Sollux a pretty easy character to design. I just have to imagine a greasy nerd kid growing up too fast for him to put on weight, add his troll bits and voila. The snake bites are definitely a hold over from the humanstuck I made for him last year but I think it just kinda add to his whole vibe. The undershirt comes from someone who also sits in a hot-ass room most of my days and will wears a second layer so leaving the room won’t feel like stepping out into a frozen wasteland.

Karkat

Karkat for me has always been short and stout guy. Other than that most of his facial features are taken from me, being someone who also over exaggerates their faces and nearly always is squinting a little.

Nepeta

Between all my designs of Nepeta the only thing that ever changes with any consistency is her hair. Like giving her cleft lip scar because I gave it to my fan-descendent of her and it’s cute.

Kanaya

Like two months ago I saw a post on here saying give that girl a nose (in reference to Kanaya) and it was the single most true HC I have ever seen. I also like completely throw out any references I have of her when I draw her hair because I think she should have 1930’s waves and curls. I typically only have to draw the super simple eyes so the only thing I had to change was giving her actual eyes.

Terezi

Got pretty comic accurate but probably would erase some of the chin to imply she’s fat a little better if I wasn’t doing this more rigid style.

Vriska

Also pretty comic accurate with the exception of the snake bites which is probably because I don’t draw her a lot and I don’t think about her much enough looks wise to have any specific head canons.

Equius

Goodness his hair gave me a struggle, kept on looking like a balding metal head until I added the pushed back stuff. Also returned back to drawing pseudo animal ears by giving him horse ears only angle to better fit a humanoid head.

Gamzee

I hate their make-up but every thing else about drawing them is a dream; goat ears, not straight hair, simple horns, silly little guy. What more could I ask for.

Eridan

And I’m almost done but unfortunately this doofus is next and requires the most detailed bust even in canon. Due to drawing them in this year’s 413 countdown I know how I like styling their hair and fins so I basically just chop the hair up since this is suppose to be during comic hcs and then follow their canon and Pesterquest designs with a few added features and boom. I was drawing everyone with the dark grey lips but I forgot for Eridan so I’ll just say they use concealer on their lips.

Feferi

Yippee! Back to ignoring canon and just giving her the biggest eyes on account of her glasses and cute piercings. I originally based her fins off of lion fish fins but they’re definitely more based off of betta ventral fin now.

[the-thieves-gambit]

“It’s obviously not my back you should be watching here. But by all means." The pinky promise made her chuckle. It didn't mean much to her but the action of it was funny. Seeing as he seemed more comfortable she shifted a bit closer making sure that he didn't hurt himself any further, helping prop him up in support as he talked. Taking in all the information her head began to swirl with so many options, so many ways this all could go wrong and prioritizing things in her own way. She wouldn't bother with rummaging through the computer, she trusted he gave her all the information he had available. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It's not like I'm your partner or anything." She sighed. "You asked me to go for a ride along, here I am. Why are you doing this solo? Where's your partner? Don't you boys usually come in with one, no and ifs or buts ?" There was an anger that rose in her involuntarily, know realizing why he had always come around injured. Did he really not have anyone watching his back out here? Why did she care so much?

"Ugg, an agent with a conscious, why couldn't you have been a double agent. That would've been fun." It was a jest, trying to bring some sort of levity to the heaviness that enveloped this moment, a callback to a better time. "I get it, I really do. You're trying to do good, but know that I am a lot more capable that it seems. Just tell me what is needed and I will do it. Had I known what was on the line, I would have been doing more than lounging around with the wives." There was a part of her that wanted to tell him why she would be better use to him if he just told her what to do. But there were truths she needed to keep heavily at the front of her mind, he was still an agent and there were still rewards out there offered for her head by both sides. The one thing she was thankful to Jennifer for, was that whenever she had booked her jobs, she always referred to her moniker as a him. "If it makes you uncomfortable to share the load, then just let me know what it is so I can help however I can. I need you to talk to me. Tell me things, not you running head first into danger taking it on yourself." She knew her words were just the pot calling the kettle black, but she didn't care. " I'd rather not have a repeat of tonight. We need to be on the same page for this to work." For both of them to survive and for her to deliver him home to his family.

There. She had said what she needed to and felt better about moving forward with this. She just hoped that he had listened and not just heard what she said.

With that, she realized she was still in the dress she had initially picked out for the club and wanted out of it immediately. "I should go change." With a sigh, she looked at him feeling a lot better now over this. " I'll go bring up something to eat. You need to eat." Then there was the smell, feeling guilty, she offered. " Sorry, again about spilling all of that on you, you smell like a bar dishrag now. Need me to put you in the bath again or do you want me to just change your clothes? "

━━ ✦ @clubsmarties cont from here

[b1asho]

What's your alien design philosophy? What evolutionary laws do you heed?

Sorry I know I said I'd draw these but I was mostly referring to questions about the sophonts/world and not me XD I'm too boring to draw, and I'd just put this text in any drawing anyway, so here it is:

My main philosophy is make it believable enough for what you're going for.

Use suspension of disbelief, but with biology. You can spin together a hard realistic design, or make a deisgn that has enough believeable elements for someone to say yeah that thing can walk and be alive and do the things you say it does, and there's also a certain point you can cross where something just becomes impractical/not real looking. Like, there's a lot of ways you can draw a dragon, some of them more real to life than others. What way you choose to draw it depends on what dragon you want in your setting.

For me, I don't really have the knowledge to make anything crazy realistic but that's not what I'd want to do anyway because it takes some of the fun out of it for me. But I know enough that it still annoys me when something doesnt make sense or doesnt have an explanation, so instead I try and get close to something that'd "work"

This is based on the usual stuff, that you're referencing; there's limits to what's possible with nature (example, there's a lot of specific things that an animal needs to be able to fly, especially if theyre big.

I decided against true flight for Arasit because their transformation into a gliding adult stage of the Kixeli species happens after birth during their puberty.

The necessary chest, head, and limb adjustments (not to mention any internal stuff to help with their weight) that they'd have to develop basically out of nowhere would be too much in my unprofessional opinion, and it didnt make sense from anywhere else in their biology for them to just go into a cocoon and do this.

So instead I made them grow a little bit longer limbs with an altered pinky and elbow area, and keep everything else (other than a cartilagenous head fin) the same as their normal adult Kel counterparts.

Another "law" I guess is there is/should be a justification for everything a species has

(even if the justification is 'it looks cool'. If youre just keeping it at that, maybe come up with how it affects them. Adding realism from a social or cultural side can help make a setting more real even if the deisgn isn't super hard scifi. If youre giving them a crazy color scheme, what colors do they think are prettier? What colors are "masculine or feminine?" (if thats applicable), how do they think other peoples colors look like in comparison? Etc?

if you're going for more realistic, this can still be used if you want something there because a lot of weird features can be sexually selected, and you can just say that. are the colors there because theyre poisonous? Effectiveness for choosing a mate? What color spectrum can they see if these are the colors they have? Do they have different blood pigments that cause these colors or use any chemicals that we dont have to make themselves that color? Combining realistic social/culture with the physical can make for a very believable alien, but it's a spectrum.

even if you come up with a reason after the designing it part, it can retroactively lead to adding more things to their design or behavior (example with the Kixeli again, but I originally had no purpose for that opening by their eyes but kept it there because I wanted something in that space on their head. Now, it has a function as a salt removing gland that helped them in their ocean environment and as part of the hollow cavities in their beak area that keep it from being too heavy for them. )

Idk definitely look at da rules for how things work on earth but You're the one that's designing them. The possibilities are endless

[starweru]

Hello! My name is lola but you can call me loli, I’m a new follower and i love you’re art style!🪻💜 (Another blue color fan i see..💙) anyways, the news year post of 2025 (the 7th frame) i noticed the anatomy was so good!?? I am young artist trying to master (strangle-) the art of anatomy, do you have tips? Any way to make it easier? And the perspective is *chefs kiss*!

(My fist language is not english so sorry if i have any spelling or grammar mistakes💜💙) -lola🪻🪐

Hi Loli! Thank you so much for following and the kind words, i really appreciate your support, for real 💙💙💙�� I'm not the best teaching someone, I'm really bad actually jfiuhgdf But I'm really trying here English is not my main language either, so this will be hard I never did something like that, but I really hope you understand my explanations and hope this helps at least a little. I dont know how much you know, so you can disregard some informations if you want. Im a woman of images, so i made a few, i thought this might make it easier to understand. (Sorry for the delay, i was thinking how to put this all together without make it all nonsense iojdfiojsd) So, the anatomy is tricky to master, but can be easier if you learn the proportions of the body first. The Legs usually are the same size as the upper body, an average adult can be 7-8 heads tall, of course this will change for kids or short/tall people, more short or tall the person be, less/more heads she'll measure, but the legs will aways be close the size as the upper body. (Some real people can have the legs a little bit taller than the upper body, and some artstyles can have that as well, nothing wrong with that.) The ears are localized from the top of the eyes to the bottom of the nose. Male ears are usually bigger than female ears, but this can vary to person to person.

The elbows line up with the navel/middle of the belly, wrists line up with the crotch, and hands go mid-thigh. Talking of hands, they are sure difficult, but can be simplifying, i use the shape in the example for the palm and then just draw the fingers. Fingers are close size of the palm, with the middle finger being the same size and the index and ring fingers being shorter and the pinky being the shorter. Legs and arms can be simplifying with cylinders, they will be your friend, they can help with the perspective of the members of the body.

Simplifying the rest of the body can be made with some other shapes (like i did) but i really recommend using boxes, they show us the sides of the body, making it easier to make dynamic poses and perspective. You can rotate any box to make any pose, that so cool Not gonna lie, making boxes is a real pain, like, you think you can draw a box really easy, like, it's just a box, but then you make it, and it's hard (for me at least uhguidfg) It's a habit, the more you do it, the more you get the hang of it, i know we all want to make a final drawing, with a lot of details and cute clothes, but i really recommend to you to at least you make five of these per day, using references of course.

References are your best friend in art, if you are struggling with an art piece, go see some references or tutorials, they'll will be handy for sure :3 A tip i have is to simplifying the reference photo, try coping it to make your sketch, don't trace the reference to use it as your sketch, in my opinion this will not help you at all.

It it's just the way i personally do, and i really hope this can serve you for anything. There have other ways to study anatomy you can try, so I'm going to leave some videos that can maybe help you more! Video 1 Video 2 Video 3 I hope they can help you more, they explain better than me isifopdjfs This is going to be cliche, but it's true, it will be a long way of learning, it will be hard, you will be sad will some results, thinking "why can't i do it? Why can't i do it right?" But you will can do it in the future, as long you have the passion and the determination to learn, you can do it until you like the result. Keep studying and learning, you can do it, i believe in you. Thank you again Loli! Have a wonderful day/night! Wowie, this is my first ask :0

Thanks for coming to my yapping section guyssss

[hannahssimblr]

can you put on your creative director / marketing hat and talk about the cover art for lucky boy (and/or both) 🎤

!!! I've actually never been asked about visuals before this is so fun!!

Okay! So here's the cover in question

Honestly I love this and I was really proud of how it turned out.

The raw & more detail is below the cut

Alright! so the idea for this was that it's simply an image of Jude: finally free!

Here he is backpacking in Thailand which he hasn't done yet as of the date of this post, but Lucky Girl readers will know that he eventually Does Do That.

You can tell by his hair here too that he's older. He has this haircut when he reunites with Evie briefly in 2012, so I imagine this trip took place sometime around summer-autumn 2011.

To be honest the whole purpose of Lucky Boy was as sort of an extension of the original story for Lucky Girl readers who wanted more in-depth detail about Jude's life, more than what he ever had the time to tell Evie during her portion of the story, so for that reason the story is filled with little hints of what we know will happen, as well as nods to specific things about him that some have already learned - Like, how the story opens with him getting both ears pierced. The fact that he was a boy with two (and eventually 3) piercings was something that Evie found particularly cute and unique about him, and it's something he references in jest from time to time. ("haven't you seen my cute little earrings?")

Anyway, Thailand is where he gets that rather meaningless forearm tattoo, but it's also a place where he spends a lot of time alone. He does travel with a friend, but said friend is holed up with food poisoning for a significant chunk of the trip, which makes me quite certain that Jude spent a lot of time doing a lot of thinking. I'll explore this more in the actual story when I get there, but it's worth pointing out that when Evie meets him after this trip she notices a certain calmness in him, and like he's lost a lot of the boyish energy ("I realise I am looking at a man"). I feel like this trip is somewhat responsible for that.

He's also, clearly, facing away from the camera, which is probably self explanatory. In the chapter with Jen's birthday, as they take the train to the aquarium in Bray he waxes lyrical (as usual, yawn!) about his preference to sit facing the engine, never looking back. It's the same in this image. He is always moving forward.

YET - that is his school bag. (It is the wrong colour, yes, i didn't have the recoloured version when i made this poster lmao) so there's a sense that he's still in some way tied to childhood, to the things that are unresolved. Lucky Girl readers already know what (and who) those things are but I'll develop all that further from my controllers seat here inside Jude's brain.

"It seems like we wanted the same thing (...) Not to grow up too quickly, like, to be allowed to just be a kid.”

Also - the toy attached to it represents Ivy. It's never explicitly stated in the story, but I think it's probably not in his character to have something like that on his bag unless it was gifted from someone important. So, he's carrying her with him too on his travels.

Now, for the artistic stuff (eek!)

I chose this pinky purple as the base colour by messing around with some hard light blending and the colour balance adj. because it creates that kinda fantasy feeling, like wonder and/or enlightenment is ahead, which hopefully for our dumb boy, it is. Purple is also often used in graphic design to indicate creativity, which is apt, seeing as he's an artist and all that.

I slapped in some sun in the corner ala 3 year old child's drawing, and added the text in yellow for no reason other than it's a complementary colour, and it picks up some of the yellows in the image.

Then added a text gradient to blend it in better and a little drop shadow effect

And finally some grain, paper texture and rounded corners because I wanted it to feel tangible, that sweet, nostalgic 35mm camera effect, or like a postcard.

and that's it!!

This was so fun, you know I love 2 yap and you gave me a platform to do so.

Thanks so much for your question!