#sewing is a LIFE SKILL. REPEAT AFTER ME

[maraeffect]

going 2 a thrift store and seeing the shelves lined with shein clothes fills my body with a rage i can only describe as murderous.

[lunaatthezoo]

Introducing: What None Saw

Update: Chapter 1 (Cloudberries) is posted!

As I'm finished writing and now just in the editing stage of the final chapters of She'll Wait No Longer, I have begun work on its prologue: What None Saw. This will be a dual-POV mostly canon-compliant multi-chapter Elriel fic leading up to ACOSF Solstice. I wanted to explore interactions with them that we didn't get to see in the first four books, and I've been having so much fun writing it. It's unfortunately not smutty, but a whole lot of mutual pining, angst, and fluff. We're talking a WHOLE lot of soooooooft Azriel and blushing Elain. Preview below ;)

🎨: padawan.carol, commissioned by stephdaydreams

“Another question?” Azriel asked her, as if he could sense that void still pulling on her. Elain nodded again.

Azriel considered for a few moments.

“What did you dream of becoming, when you were a child?”

Elain blinked. She gazed down into her tea again. 

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “When my mother was still alive, she expected me to marry and unburden the family of my care, I suppose. Or perhaps bring them further fortune. I was only ever encouraged to think, act, and look like a highborn lady. I played the pianoforte, I learned to read and write with my tutors, and I attended society events. I was never told I could be anything other than a wife and mother.” 

A pang of guilt swept through Elain at the thought that Feyre did not get that chance to learn to read and write, and that she and Nesta had done nothing to teach her. 

Azriel only watched her, impassive, so she continued. 

“When we lost our fortune, I had no time to dream. I became quite skilled with sewing, as we could not often afford new clothes and ours always needed repairs. I gardened seldomly, only when I could afford seeds and had the time to. I helped keep our cottage in working repair and cooked in my father’s stead, because he was injured. The only thing I ever allowed myself to dream about was falling in love and marrying. Partially because it was something I desired, but also because it was a way out.”

Elain had never admitted any of this to another before, and she didn’t know why she did now.

But Azriel just listened, so quietly and thoughtfully, and the words falling from her felt like…a relief. A grounding. He listened to her without judgment or concern, only honest curiosity.

“What did you dream of becoming as a boy?” She asked him.

Azriel kept his cool, collected mask on his face, even as Elain swore she saw something flicker through his eyes.

“I had no dreams as a child.” 

Shame flooded Elain at what an insensitive question it was. Azriel had just told her he was locked in a dungeon for eleven years. Of course he wasn't thinking about becoming a warrior or a courtier or an artist. He was just trying to survive. 

Azriel must have seen the guilt on her face because he considered. 

“I suppose I dreamed of freedom.” 

Elain let out a breath. 

“As did I,” she answered. 

Their gazes locked and they simply stared at each other for long moments. 

“What is your favorite dessert?” Azriel asked her. Elain felt the smallest semblance of a smile tug at her mouth. 

“Do you enjoy sweet things, Azriel?” She asked him, surprised once again by his question. She couldn't imagine the warrior eating a slice of chocolate cake or lemon tart. 

Azriel grinned a bit, too. “I do enjoy sweet things, Elain,” he answered, holding her gaze with intensity. 

And despite everything, despite her doomed engagement and the unfolding war and her stolen life and her daunting mating bond, Elain felt a blush kiss her cheeks. 

She looked down, feeling bashful. 

“Strawberry shortcake,” she told him. 

Azriel grinned a bit broader at that. 

“Strawberry shortcake,” he repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “I have never had that.”

“Really?” Elain asked. “Is it not eaten here?”

Azriel shook his head. “No, I have never heard of it.” After a few seconds he added, “Perhaps I can try it one day with you.” 

Elain fought a blush once more.

“And you?” She asked, curious now. 

Azriel leaned back, considering. 

“Honey biscuits.” 

And despite herself yet again, Elain swallowed a laugh. Azriel raised a brow at her reaction, which made a true giggle escape her lips. 

“I'm sorry,” Elain laughed. 

Azriel's mouth twitched at her amusement. “What is it?” He asked her.

“It’s just,” she chuckled. “Honey biscuits are rather a…a youngling snack, are they not? A snack for a hungry toddler stomping his feet?”

Azriel chuckled a bit himself then, smiling truly. Shadows flitted around his head as if in response to his laughter.

"Yes," he answered, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I suppose they are."

Elain giggled once more. She imagined Azriel munching on honey biscuits in a secret Spymaster lair and laughed harder still.

"But can you deny their perfection?" Azriel asked her with an amused smile.

"No," Elain answered, shaking her head with a smile. "No, I cannot."

Azriel's smile seemed to falter as he gazed at Elain's face.

"That's the first time I've heard your laugh," he noted.

[missmimii]

୨ৎ －𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐒 | 𝐌 - 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

♡︎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which the reader uses her artistic skills to make herself a new top takes a turn for the worse when it ends up ripping during a family dinner. Or maybe for the better..

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. None! Maybe a teensy bit suggestive, but mostly a whole lot of tooth rotting fluff ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 －I fear this may not be what I intended it to be, but I’m just going with the flow

✃－Y/n remembered the exact moment she fell in love with art, like it was the back of her manicured hand. It was an indescribable adoration that she failed to linked to any particular emotion, none of which fitting the description for just how much loved it. The girl’s eyes would twinkle as she stared up at ethereal art pieces that hung in museums, her hands would shake until giving up when she sewed new fabrics, and even still, she gazed at the work like it was everything.

✍︎︎－This love for all kinds of creativity carried throughout the girl’s entire life, and career. She’d always considered it a spectrum, there was so many things that could be considered art. Drawings, paintings, cinematography, music, and even clothes. And even though sometimes she lacked confidence in her own artistic abilities, Matt was always there to support her along the journey.

✃－A safety pin sat between the girl’s two plump lips, eyebrows knitted together with concentration as she looped the sewing needle through the soft fabric. Her finger tips ached from the tight grip she had on the darn thing, wrist shaking ever so slightly as she finished off the loop with a cross switch. Finally. Shoulders falling with relief, she gently sat the shirt back onto her small desk.

✍︎︎－Just as she plucked her dressmakers scissors from aside her, two soft knocks were placed on the already cracked open door. “It’s just me,” A hand wrapped around the edge of the door, Matt’s head poking in as took in the sight of his girlfriend in her zone. “you’ want me to come back later?” He asked, taking a step back before he even could finish his sentence.

✃－“Hey－” the door creaked open again, making the girl giggle. “I’m basically done.” Matt threw a sheepish smile her way before pushing the door open with a gentle nudge of his hand. Her two hands rested behind her on the table as he approached her, looking a little too happy to see her. “Hey baby.” The boy murmured, hands cupping her cheeks. The girl’s eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, pulling away not long after.

✍︎︎－She let out a hum of happiness, the girl’s eyes swam with gratitude as he peered up at him. “Hey you.” She mumbled with a smile tugging at her lips, playfully poking his chest. Matt tilted his head down at the girl with a lopsided grin, dodging the touch with a huff of amusement. “Someone’s happy.” He chuckled.

✃－He watched as her smile grew bigger at the remark, rubbing his calloused thumb against her cheekbone. “Mhm,” lifting a eyebrow, he watched as she brushed off his touch, turning around. The triplet let out a small grunt of surprise, her jean covered backside pushing into his clothed front as she bent across the table. What was she － “Ah~” She hummed, a hand snatching a tiny pair of scissors.

✍︎︎－Matt watched as she shuffled around with a few items, all of which he’d only knew the names of because of his girlfriend. That’s .. that’s a marking pen, a seam ripper － maybe not. Okay －maybe not off the top of his head, but he knew some things. The girl’s newfound interest in designing was something that he’d have to research more before commenting on, but with the rate she was working at, he was sure he’d know every term within mere days.

✃－The room dedicated to her projects, in his house, was usually reserved with more artsy objects. Which if he’d repeated in front of the girl, he’d end up getting lectured on how almost everything is art. But to Matt, art was drawings, or paintings －maybe even some music. Not that he’d ever tell her that. So when he saw boxes upon boxes of ribbon and satin fabric being delivered to his house, you could say he was shocked. to say the least.

✍︎︎－Matt’s one hand ran up and down her side as she toyed with a few foreign objects, tilting his head in interest as he watched he lift the main piece. “Ta’ dah’!” The girl mused softly, holding up a cream white top, pink ribbons adorning the underside of the breast area. Matt’s eyebrows drew up in surprise as he observed the clothing article, pride filling his chest. My girl did that. “Wow, dolly.” Reaching out a hand, he rubbed the soft material between his fingers.

✃－His girlfriend practically shook with excitement, having been waiting weeks to show the now finished product. “And look,” turning the top, it revealed the open back, ribbon crisscrossed in a corset like manner. Cute. Matt thought to himself, knowing it’d look even better on her beautiful body. “You’ likeee?” She drawled out, withholding a giggle of glee.

✍︎︎－Tearing his gaze from the shirt, he watched she tipped her head upward, their faces upside down to each other as she stood facing away. “I love it, pretty.” That smile －he watched as it grew, splitting across her pink lips with excitement as her hands shook ever so slightly out of pure joy. “Almost as much as I do you.” He murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead.

✃－Peacefulness soothed through her body at the loving gesture, the girl’s eyes fluttering shut as his arms slowly weaved around her shoulders from behind, lips still pressed to the skin of her forehead. Placing peck after peck down the span of her forehead, down the bridge of her cute nose, till his lips met hers. Matt’s arms loosely caged around her neck, one hand slowly gliding down her chest from behind.

✍︎︎－She playfully rolled her eyes as she felt him palm over her one breast, breaking away from the kiss for a moment. “What’re －” she let out a sound of surprise as he almost immediately forced his lips back to hers, a laugh leaving her lips. “got it.” She murmured into the kiss, Matt’s hand slipping down to her belly. Running his tongue along her bottom lip as a silent plea for her to part her lips, she complied without hesitation. Though, she did love a good fight for dominance. As his tongue slid past her lips, she gently nipped at the tip.

✃－The male grunted at the contact, eyes opening with reluctance. “Brat.” He mumbled against her lips, lips twitching as he heard her giggle.

♡︎－ His girl．

✃－ Yelping, the girl spun around with a glare on her face as she felt yet another swat against her bottom. “You,” Matt nonchalantly leaned on his counter, eyes wide as he held up his hands in defence. “Not’ me.” She narrowed her eyes on the boy, before flicking them down to the washcloth in his hand.

✍︎︎－Matt let out a small gasp as his girlfriend’s hand reached out, swiftly snatching the stained cloth from his hand. “Hey－” he stepped forward, watching as she tucked the towel behind her back with a devious smile on her perfect lips. “I have to do dishes.” The triplet excused, half-grinning as he put his hands on his hips. “unless you want to do them－” Her face fell.

✃－She looked into his eyes for a solid ten seconds, tongue poking inside her cheek as she glared. Ugh. “Slap my ass again,” She grumbled, shoving the cloth into his chest with petulance. Swat. “Matt!” She hissed, reaching behind her to shield her backside from his hand as he slapped it, again. Matt’s head tilted back, chest shaking with chuckles as he stumbled back. “Your parents are here!” She whispered embarrassedly, looking around.

✍︎︎－He continued to laugh, shaking his head while his cheeks turned red. It was not funny. She stomped forward with one step, slapping his chest. “You told me to!” He argued, laughing even harder. “I was warning you －stupid.” She tried to sound angry, so damn hard. But eventually she broke the facade, rubbing her jaw as she felt her lips tip up. “Ah ah－” Matt tutted pointing an accusing hand at her.

✃－The exposure only increases her amusement, chest moving with small laughs as she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Matt stalked forward, carefully tugging her hand away from her face. “You’ angry, doll?” She nodded her head, more giggles eliciting from her lip. “Yes?” Matt mused, lifting an eyebrow as he tilted his head down at her. “Cause those little laughs say somethin’ different, baby.” She shook her head, still trying to cover her large smile.

✍︎︎－The male pried her hand away, his own lips breaking into a huge grin as he saw her foolish little smile, laughs lulling off of her tongue. “My angry baby.” He murmured, grabbing her cheeks in one hand as he condescendingly shook her head back & forth, still smiling as he slammed his lips to hers. Matt’s hand ran down her jaw as she melted into the kiss, moaning softly.

✃－Matt’s free hand slid down to her neck, rubbing his palm over the mantra of her pulse, before it trailed down her side, squeezing the dip of her waist in a clingy embrace. The girl giggled into the kiss, avoiding the touch. “Stop.” The triplet smiled, mumbling a small ‘nuh uh’. His fingertips brushed her side, making the girl laugh. “What?” Matt murmured against her lips, her hands pushing against his chest. “that tickle?”

✍︎︎－ “Yes!” He chuckled at her addictive giggle, bringing the hand back to her face, tucking stray hairs behind her one ear. “That’s my bad, baby.” His girlfriend just rolled her eyes, grinning softly as he blinked up at him with a resting comfort. He was so .. Matt. The girl wasn’t fond of change, but he could change himself ten times over and she’d still be the happiest girl to live, by his side.

✃－She’d noticed the tone of his mood had immediately shifted the second they hopped off the plane to Boston. He was home. And other than being with her, home was the happiest place for Matt. He swung the keys to the rental car around his index finger while him and his brothers approached the vehicle, one arm draped over the girls shoulder as he smiled at nothing.

✍︎︎－And while she’d met his parents on more than one occasion, the girl felt a little nervous on how they’d perceive her now. After all, she wasn’t the poster girl for an amazing girlfriend. She stuttered when she was brought up in conversation abruptly, chit-chat wasn’t never her strong suit, and a solo career may not have seemed like a great job to most parents. But with these ‘flaws’, she made up for with just how much she loved Matt.

✃－ “Good job setting the table, you two.” Matt and his girlfriend pulled away from each other as a familiar voice spoke up, Chris, alongside the eldest triplet, walking into the dining room. Matt threw the youngest a little glare, tugging the girl closer to him. “Fuck off, Chris.” Chris being－ Chris, mocked his brother, mumbling a squealy ‘Fuck off, Chris’. The girl blew out a small laugh as Matt place his head into the crook of her neck, murmuring a small. “I don’t sound like that.” Her baby.

✍︎︎－She and him proceeded to set the table, per Marylou’s request, the couple sneaking soft touches, and quick kisses whenever they squeeze past each other. Chris and Nick saw their miniature rendezvous from their place on the couch, the youngest resisting the urge to faux gag, knowing that Matt would probably throw a glass at him. Nick silently admired, happy that his brother had found the peace he deserved.

✃－Mwa’. The girl pulled away with a small snort, a hand placing on the dinner table as she felt tempted to laugh at the male’s action. “Stop doing that.” Matt hummed, tipping his head to the side as he giggled. “Doing what?.” She rolled her eyes, reaching across the table to place the last fork on the placement mat. “You’re not supposed audibly kiss someone.” She murmured, blowing a few hairs from her lips as she spoke.

✍︎︎－Matt came up behind her, placing two of his hands on her lower waist. “I’m not ‘audibly kissing’ anyone, I’m audibly kissing you.” He mumbled, his hands gliding up to run over her adorable little top. She’d ended packing the shirt, knowing that she probably would’ve regretted not. Bows and ribbon crisscrossed the back, revealing small spans of her soft skin. The shirt wasn’t even scandalous, and still, he wanted to bend her over the table, fuck her while pressing small pecks to the openings of satin.

．．．．．．

✃－ “－and the whole thing just fuckin’ exploded.” The giggled around the edge of her glass, listening to Nick tell his parents the story of how Chris had shaken his drink prior to handing it to him. Chris leaned back in his seat, a grin on his lips as he threw back the remaining Pepsi in his can. “You deserved it.” The eldest threw him a glare, shooting ready to bolt across the table.

✍︎︎－Matt sat aside her, his hand resting innocently on her thigh, thumb running up and down her soft skin every now and then. The girl taken notice of Matt’s lack of conversing, but payed no mind as she watched her boyfriend happily nod and listen to everyone else with content. It wasn’t unusual for him to be this quiet, nor did she immediately label it as him being ‘upset’. She waited, and waited, up until she found one particular sign that he was acting the way he was.

✃－Like the current for example, though he was keeping to himself and opting to keep his talking to a minimum, she could still tell that he was in a good mindset. Matt’s hand would softly squeeze her thigh every now and then, shooting her a little smile when she looked up. The triplet’s eyes practically swooned as they met hers, love glittering in the blues.

✍︎︎－Marylou stood halfway, her hand reaching out the grab the salt shaker that sat beside Nick and Chris, who bickered to no end. “Oh －I got it!” The girl shot in, Marylou sending her a warm smile as she leaned across the table, swiping the salt from the surface before placing it in the woman’s hand. With her eyebrows drawn together with confusion, she slid back down into her seat, feeling a large hand glide up her back. “Baby,” She turned her head in Matt’s direction, seeing his eyes widened. “Your shirt －”

✃－Huh? Her own hand reached behind her, sliding up her back. What －her jaw went ajar as her hand came in contact with the bare skin, no ribbon or material felt as she palmed around the area. “It must’ve came undone, or something－” Matt rambled in an undertone, cutting himself off as he realized the overwhelming state his girlfriend was in. Shit. “Hey,” He placed a hand on her jaw, tipping her chin in his direction. “look at me.” He watched as her breathing picked up, one hand shaking softly as she brought it up to the one of his that held her jaw, placing it atop his as she seaked comfort

✍︎︎－ “It’s gonna’ be fine, doll.” He whispered, nodding his head a bit as she shook hers. “yes it will－I’ll make sure it is.” Matt’s eyes flicked around the dinner table, everyone too caught up in either bickering or conversing to notice him and his girlfriend’s current dilemma. He turned back to her, seeing her eyes glaze over with incoming tears. “You’re gonna’ stand, and I’ll come up right after you.” No. She immediately shook her head.

✃－It was too risky she thought. His parents probably didn’t even like her as it is, and now this? God, why did she have to wear the stupid top －“Y/n.” Matt snapped, her stressed movements immediately coming to a halt he leered into her with a sharp gaze. “It’s okay,” he reassured softly, running his thumb along the underside of her bottom lip. “do you think I’d let you go topless in front of my entire －”

✍︎︎－Her one hand slapped over his mouth, cheeks tinting red with embarrassment. “Okay, okay!” She whisper hissed, eyes flicking back to his after looking around the table. “Tell me when.” Matt lifts a brow, we didn’t have time for a countdown, he thought. “Now.” Now?! The girl’s eyes flew open, staying in her exact place. Rolling his eyes, he chuckled a bit while standing up, one hand sliding down her waist from below, pulling her up with one final tug. “Upsie’ daisy.” He murmured against her jaw, placing a playfull kiss on the skin.

✃－The couple waddled around the corner of the dining room, his chest pressed to her back until they were free from his family’s eyes. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god－” The girl ran her hands down her face, distressed as Matt closed the washroom door behind the two. Matt ran his tongue over his teeth, finding himself oddly attracted to her back of all places. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.” She whispered, elbows falling onto the sink counter as she leaned over with a groan.

✍︎︎－Matt on the other hand, found himself lost in his own little world as his eyes glued onto her back. With every inhale the faint outline of her lats would appear, the soft skin painted with a hue of pink due to the overload of sun she’d gotten at the beach, a week prior. Her waist .. Matt’s adams apple bobbed he saw the dip between her hips, just above her perfect ass. Faint freckles littered across the surface, begging to be kissed as he buried himself in her from behind.

✃－The girl let out a sigh after ending her sentence, narrowing her eyes as she was met with silence. “Matt?” Her head lifted from the cold counter, looking at the male through the mirror. Again, silence filled the air as she watched Matt lift a hand to his jaw, running his palm across the curve. “Hm?” Finally, his eyes drew from her ass, meeting her gaze through the mirror.

✍︎︎－She rose a brow of accusation. “Did you hear anything I just said?” Matt bit down on his bottom lip, a smirk cursing his lips as he softly shook his head. She rolled her eyes with a soft groan, head dropping into her arms again. “What do I dooo?” Her voice came out muffled while her lips pressed to her forearm.

✃－He cocked his head in contemplation for a second, humming softly as he pressed a hand to his girlfriend’s back, her head snapping up. “C’mere.” Matt mumbled, guiding the girl up gently. Her shoulders were tensed in embarrassment, a little frown upon her lips as she straightened her body. His finger tips brushed the girl’s shoulders as he gently slid the shirt down her shoulder, a gasp eliciting her lips. “Matt.” His eyes fell to her’s through the mirror, momentarily flicking to her hands that pressed to her chest, holding the top up. “Put your damn hands down.”

✍︎︎－Her head tilted with a huff of amusement, but complied, seeing Matt’s jaw go slack as it fell from her now bare chest. “What’s got you in such a mood?” She mused, the males eyes darkening as she sent her boyfriend a flirtatious smile. “Always a brat.” Matt murmured, feeding his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes took in the sight of her tits, now free of clothing. God, his hand twitched with the temptation of palming over his semi. But he didn’t, he wouldn’t. Not when she was so stressed.

✃－Matt’s hand reached over his own shoulder, seeing his girlfriend’s perfect nose scrunch a bit as he lifted the graphic tee from his own back. “What are you ..” Her voice trailed off, swallow thickly at the sight of Matt’s bare chest as he shook his brown head of hair, the shirt he wore now in his hand.

✍︎︎－The girl’s breath got caught in her throat as he slid a hand around her waist, flattening his warm palm against the skin of her stomach. “I love everything about you,” he murmured softly, her eyes softening as the words lulled from his tongue. “your voice, your lips,” his breath fluttered against the shell of her ear, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes as he nipped at soft skin. “your tits.” Of course. She jokingly rolled her eyes. “Mostly just you though.” Mostly? She thought, inwardly laughing.

✃－She felt her heart pang slightly as his touch left her belly, his two hands straightening out the head of his larger tee shirt. “This should do for now, hm?” She nodded, tipping her head up a little so he could tug the soft fabric over hide head. “What will you wear?” His lips twitched, her muffled voice coming from inside the top as he pulled it over her head. Matt nudged her around to face him, her face scrunched with discomfort as little hairs combed across her eyes and lips. “I’ll grab one from my old room.” He whispered softly, tucking the hairs behind her ears as he observed down at her with a look of adoration.

✍︎︎－Not that the male would ever admit it, but he found himself liking her in this shirt a lot more. It did nothing to showcase her perfect body, the body that despite she criticized often, Matt would remind her that it was just for her. It was a gift that his eyes got to lie upon such a beauty, and god he’d be sinning to say he didn’t thank the lord for allowing him to every damn day. Falling down, the hem hit just mid thigh, covering the denim shorts she wore. Matt saw the glimmer of her beaded bracelet, the small ‘M’ gem taking him back to the day they’d made it.

✃－His little artist, he almost cooed to himself. How did he get so lucky? The moment sun shone through his curtains in the morning, his waking thought was always her. I wonder if she’s awake, maybe I should wake her, god she looks so cute when she’s asleep. Though, not nearly as adorable she was fully woken. That gorgeous smile, the pure beauty and warmth her presence brought to the entire household the minute her lips parted to speak.

✍︎︎－Matt blinked himself from the inner trip up in his own mind, swallowing thickly as he looked down at his girl. “No more ribbon tied tops?” The girl’s lips curved upward at the words, giggling with a bob of the head. “No more ribbon tops.” On her tippy toes, she pressed a chaste kiss to the triplet’s lips, breathing out a soft moan as his one hand slid down to palm at her backside.

♡︎－ Matt smiled while cupping her cheeks, pulling away after seconds while the tip of his nose grazing hers. “My own little piece of art.” Because lord, if she wasn’t painted across every inch of his brain.

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓈 － Taglist! － @fratbrochrisgf @jetaimevous @sturnstvr @sturnrc @stonermattsgf @imwetforyourmom

[rust-painted-fingers]

Day 4 ... Revival

"—swear to god if i have to bust another cemetery I'm giving up on humans, why do we even have so many nerves?"

A blink and the world came to focus.

Pacing back and forth wildly, the owner of the voice continued his tirade. It was… weird. Blond hair, pale skin, even his nose is small and narrow.

"Rex, you're my only companion left, so I'll let you do the honors of pecking my body away. I can't have my body getting reani— holy shit!"

The man startled as they locked eyes, and a blur of feathers fell. A crow, Rex? was sitting on the man's shoulders. Curiously, the feathers didn't have the usual gleam birds often do. There was even a bald spot peeking out behind the bird's back.

A cough. "Uh, hey mate, can you hear me?" The voice broke his eye contest with the bird. A nervous smile rested on the man.

"Do you think you can like, shake your head? Or even blink, I don't know if I got the lids right."

It was odd, and looking down didn't help matters. It seemed as though different grafts of skin were sewed together.

Eh, beggars can't be choosers.

Techno spoke, interrupting the man babbling about ocular nerves, "Hello, how long will this body last?"

The man blinked, before scrunching his face in laughter. "Wait what the fuck?"

"I mean, you obviously don't have much skill in creation— "

"Hey!"

"— so apologies if I don't trust your work to last me more than a week," Techno finished, idly inspecting his fingers.

The blond huffed, "Ok, so you're pretty familiar with life, which technicallly means I failed but providing a working body is a start. Now I just have to figure out…" Out of nowhere a journal appeared, and the man started scribbling and mumbling at it.

Well that's useful.

Techno quickly tested his mobility. A quick hop deduced this body would be limited to walking only. Five steps later and Techno yoinked the journal away from the scientist.

Ignoring his exclamation, Techno repeated, "How long will this body last?"

"I don't know, maybe a week or two. I tried gathering all the materials in the same time frame but I had to store some for longer," the scientist huffed, refusing to attempt to reach the journal over his head. "Why are you conscious anyways? I would of thought you'd gain the same sentience as a newborn, if at all."

"Hmm, that sounds like a reasonable hypothesis," Techno said, now flipping through the pages, "Unfortunately for you, I am not the result of creation, but possession."

Glancing over the journal, Techno saw blue eyes widen before the journal was snatched from him. That's fine, he already saw what he needed.

"The fuck? So you're telling me your spirit was just wandering and happened to find us at the perfect time?" Even with the journal back in the original's arms, he didn't look away from his pieced together body.

"Yep."

"What the fuck. Brexit, are you actually the fucking queen?" At this he directed the statement to the crow, who supposedly was reanimated in a similar manner.

"You named your pet bird Brexit?"

"I usually call him Rex," he said distractedly, inspecting the bird closely as if he could sense souls, which he couldn't. Not if he couldn't sense Techno.

Techno looked away, more interested in his surroundings. It was pretty inviting, all things considered. It looked like someone's revamped shed, a few garden tools and pots stored in a corner. Opposite that sat a shelf holding several solutions of varying colors, some vials full of eye balls or fingers. Normal shed stuff.

Two weeks of walking, not even in daylight with this amount of stitching, and after it would be back to wondering in nothing.

"Hey how easily can you get me a body."

The scientist looked up from Brexit, "You want another?"

"You said it wouldn't last."

"Yeah, and so would any future ones I make. Flesh is gonna decompose mate."

Techno snorted. "You're telling me you're ok with murder but some kidnapping is too much?"

"Excuse you, I got these bodies by unethically grave robbing," the other quipped. "Can't you just possess someone else? You can walk now."

"Two things: who in their right mind would talk to me looking like this?" Techno put up another finger, "Two, what's your name? I can't be a partner in crime with a nobody."

"I think it's rather beneficial to partner with a nobody, but you can call me Phil. You?"

He would have grinned if he wasn't worried about his teeth falling out, "Techno."

[insomniac-dot-ink]

(they are all universally Sapphic romances too)

Fool's Errand

Genre: Adult fantasy

Summary: A jester is beheaded for blasphemy and sent to find a witch to sew her head back on. The witch doesn't want to get involved with the court politics and a half-dead knave, but the fool is entirely persistent.

Words have power in a world of a paranoid king and a queen playing the game with unseen chess pieces. Including a headless one.

You Are the Bitch

Genre: Horror parody

Summary: Much has been said about The Last Girl, but what about the First Girl? The Bitch is always the first to die in her slasher movie universe. A cycle that repeats itself. After remembering her last death, Jessica “wakes up” and decides to stop the cycle through celibacy, studiousness, or changing the game itself. Unfortunately, the literal world wants to kill her.

A Ground Hog's Day story asking the real questions: What is a bitch? Why is a bitch? How is a bitch?

Damned is the Daughter

Genre: Mafia crime body guard romance

Summary: Set in a secondary world of Saints and Sinners, Genevieve is the heir to a crime empire after her eldest sister seems to have disappeared with all her secrets and spy network with her. Contrary to popular believe, Gigi did not get rid of her sister to get ahead and instead plans to track down the darkened path she led.

Genevieve's childhood friend, Landyn, left their seaside city to become a combat medic in the Great War, but was propelled into deeper sects of the bloodshed. She returned only to be summoned by a crime lord. Best friends with both Genevieve and Cecily growing up and now skilled, their father will pay her to keep his daughter safe-- and away from the underbelly of the city. Genevieve on the other hand, has no use for a cage.

Childhood friends bodyguard AU.

(Inspired by The Green Bones Saga but I haven't decided whether to add a magical element now or not)

A Practice in Imperfection

Genre: Contemporary romance

Summary: Dannie is a perfectionist and knows it’s probably ruining her life especially in the realm of romance. She decides to do something about it through the only way she knows how, practice.

Ash needs a place to lick her wounds after her band breaks up in the worst of ways and their tour is cut short. She agrees to the free rent at Dannie’s place in exchange for the oddest agreements she’s ever heard of: help recreate an imperfect relationship to practice on.

Complete opposites, both are sure they would never fall for each other. But there is something about a fake very bad relationship that might make a good one.

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

I still haven't figured out where I want to post my next serialized novel after MRIAC. I may just go back to Tapas, we'll see, even if they do take a pretty big cut though.

(If anyone has any hosting sites for chapter by chapter works, let me know. I'm looking for something that is discoverable, has a tipping option/payment option, and relatively no-pressure to use. Thank you!!)

[the-scouts-codex]

This takes place during the "Glorious Masquerade"event. This can be read as a one shot or even a full length work. Each part connects and can be its own beginning. I hope you all enjoy these.

The fifth person, to join the work is The fourth was Silver, third was Sebek. The second one was Deuce. The very first was Epel (Each part can be read there if you click on their names.)

Word Count: 1356

“Dance with me!”

Renmu didn’t get a chance to reply. His body began to move on its own. Like a puppet on a sting. Renmu’s moments were being mirrored by Ruggie’s. Whatever Ruggie did, Renmu did. Renmu realized that Ruggie was using his signature spell on him. 

Ruggie snickered. “What? I don’t expect ya to keep of wit’ this dance so let me just guide ya through it.” 

They were positioned the same way you would start a Foxtrot. Their hands were in each others while Renmu’s other arm and hand rested on Ruggie’s forearm and Ruggies on his back. 

“Here’s the tricky part, Prefect. We have to step in quick successions of “Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow.”” Ruggie explained. 

Ruggie guided them around the Lecture hall effortlessly. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Everyone repeated those movements in chaotic sync. They were all going their own way, somehow managing to keep pace with the other dances around them, creating a serene sense of chaos. 

“I got a small job once at this fancy smancy place back home.” Ruggie explained. “Had to teach some kiddo’s how to dance real fancy like. So I learned the dance to teach ‘em. It paid real good too!” 

Leave it to Ruggie to learn a new skill to make some money. But that was one of the things Renmu admired Ruggie for. He was willing to do almost anything to make some money. Need to learn all of the Queen of Hearts laws to get the job? Done. Ruggie would be getting lessons from Riddle. Need to learn how to make clothes for the job? Done. Ruggie would be taking classes from Vil after school. Need to know how to fight with a sword for the job? Done. Ruggie would be training with Silver at first light.

Some people saw Ruggies want, his love for money as greed but not Renmu. Renmu knew it wasn’t those things but a need. He needed money to survive. Renmu realized that most of the other students were well off. A lot of them had money to blow and didn’t care where it went. But then, you had people like Ruggie. He didn’t come from a wealthy background. Renmu always heard Ruggie talk about coming from the slums back in the Sunset Savana; That he wasn’t well off. So being resourceful was a must to Ruggie. He could sew clothes to keep them longer. Fixing up the things that broke so that buying a new one wasn’t needed. He knew a lot about herbology to know that dandelions were edible. He learned to make meals out of what people would call “scraps”. Just having food on the table was a luxury to the Hyena. He hated when food went to waste especially. It was food to Ruggie all the same and Renmu could understand that. 

Renmu was no stranger to living a resourceful life. He grew up in the countryside where an agricultural lifestyle was all he had and sharing what you had was always appreciated. If someone didn’t have something, there was someone always willing to trade for it. Whether it be a skill or a talent or an item for sale.  That being said, Renmu knew a lot about carpentry, herbology, and Animal Husbandry. Those were things he learned from others, in return, he helped out where he could. So Renmu fully understood where Ruggie was coming from.

“Now this step is a little tricky. It’s called a skater chassé. It’s like a normal chassé but quicker.” Ruggie explained. “A regular chassé was a gliding step where one foot displaces the other.”

Renmu understood what Ruggie was talking about. They had to be in perfect sync to pull the move off. Renmu guessed it was a good thing that Ruggie was using his signature spell to help out. 

“Then we move right into a Lock step. Just think of it as a diagonal Chassé there, Prefect.” 

Renmu could definitely see the similarities in the two steps. Whenever they move in a diagonal step it is a Lock step. If it was in the same box steps, it was a chassé. The only thing was that the Lock step came after the Chassé. 

“I would go over the rise and fall with ya but ya seem to have got that part already.” Ruggie said over a laugh.

“Well I don’t think I have a choice here.” Renmu replied mirthfully. 

“Yeah, you kinda don’t.” Ruggie replied smugly. 

At first, Renmu wasn’t too fond of the kleptomaniac Hyena. But once he got to know and understand who he really was, behind the sly smiles and mischievous laughter, he was like him. Someone scraping to get by and survive. Sure he liked to play tricks and swindle the next unaware student who wasn’t paying attention where their wallet just went, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nice.

“So, how’s ya first time rubbing elbows with this rich lot at this school.” Ruggie asked.

Renmu laughed briefly, “Not what I was expecting.” 

Ruggie chuckled. “Ya got that right. I was expecting more fancy things for me to swipe.” 

Renmu eyed Ruggie and Ruggie smirked in return. “What, ya should be used to my behavior by now. Besides, whatever I don’t want I’ll just give to ya.” 

“It would be a tempting offer if it wasn’t stolen previously.” Renmu replied. 

Ruggie cackled. “That’s the best part though, Prefect. It’s practically free!” 

Renmu just shook his head and smiled. There was no changing the Hyena’s mind and Renmu knew that. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that.” Ruggie said over a chuckle. 

Renmu could never be truly mad at Ruggie, well, only when he tried to steal things from him. There were too many things they did together to help each other out. Renmu cherished their late night couponing sessions at Ramshackle, their days when they split Leona’s laundry together, or their quiet nights in the school kitchen, exchanging resources and tips to use in their cooking. Only they could do things like that together. Not Ace or Deuce, or even Epel. No one else could fill that role for Renmu. It was something only they could relate to; An all too familiar aspect of their lives they grew up with. Renmu was grateful for it. 

“By the way,” Ruggie mumbled. “Ya gotta learn how to haggle better there, Prefect. Ima teach ya all about once we get home. For a price that is.” 

Renmu sighed mirthfully. “And what’s the price?” 

Ruggie smiled, full of teeth and fangs. “You gotta make me more of those dumplings. 6 dumplings per lesson!” 

Renmu couldn’t help but laugh. “How many lessons then?” 

Ruggie smirked. “Oh it’s gonna be quite a few…” 

They both erupted in laughter, for their dance was coming to an end. Ruggie guided them around the Lecture hall effortlessly. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Everyone repeated those movements in chaotic sync. They were all going their own way, somehow managing to keep pace with the other dances around them, creating a serene sense of chaos. It was orderly in its own way, as much so when they all came to a complete stop. 

“Thanks a bunch for dancn’ with me, Prefect.” 

Renmu bowed softly. “Daijoubu desu.” 

“Yeah, I don’t really like fancy stuff like this unless there’s somethin’ in it for me.” Ruggie said with a shrug. “Besides all of that, I’m glad you got to go in the end, Renmu. It would be boring without all the trouble you and Grim get in.” 

Renmu was gonna take that as a compliment. He and Grim loved to spice things up wherever they go it seems. 

“See ya later then!” Ruggie yelled running off into the crowd, his cape fluttering behind him. 

It seemed that he would end up dancing the night away and it didn’t take long for the next person to show up. 

“Prefect.” Riddle said softly; His head bowed slightly, his hand over his heart and the other offered to Renmu. Riddle took a deep breath and said…

[townsenddecades]

1324 – Day 4 – Lüghaven

Despite Mariora’s hopes that her third child, too, would be born ordinary, Simon senses the gift of magic in their little girl almost from the first moment he holds her in his arms. He decides not to tell his wife then; her labour has been quicker than those of their sons, but any birth is taxing on the mother’s body. She deserves to rest in peace, and to enjoy the happiness of having another healthy child.

 “She’s perfect”, he tells her as he carefully lays the child back into her arms and sits down next to her on the bed, still gazing at his daughter’s little face.

Mariora smiles tiredly. “She is, isn’t she? Our first girl.”

“She’ll need a name”, Simon says thoughtfully. “We could name her Anne, after my mother.”

“Oh, are Anna and Annette not enough?”, Mariora quips, and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Maybe. What would you suggest, my wife?”

Mariora is silent for a way, stroking the dark fuzz covering their daughter’s head with tender fingers. “Misty”, she says finally. “I always liked nature names, and it just seems to…fit. Don’t you think so?”

“Misty”, he repeats. It’s an unusual name, to be sure, but when he looks at their little girl, born in this forbidding, mist-shrouded village at the edge of the woods, he can’t help but agree. It fits her – and, even if Mariora can’t know it for certain at the moment, he thinks it a decent name for a witch.

Mariora recovers quickly from this birth – helped by some potions her mother, pleased with her witch granddaughter, brings over – and Misty, too, flourishes, despite the deprivation winter always brings with it. Potions and Simon’s magic help sustain them, but they are still rather poor. Magic sadly isn’t that which will come to be called a ‘marketable skill’ in later centuries.

Simon does odd jobs to earn them some money, whose nature Mariora doesn’t ask about, even when his wages start to become better than they usually are for that sort of thing. They’re still not high, though.

“I wish it wasn’t so risky to expose magic to anyone”, Simon says, when they are sitting at their table one evening. “I’m sure some noble would pay handsomely for it.”

Mariora looks up from her sewing. “I fear that would not just be reckless, my love, that would be akin to having the town crier shout out about it. From what my father has told me, things rarely stay secret in the earl’s household.”

“I know”, Simon says, a little disgruntled. “I just can’t stand having such a gift and not being able to use it for anything – neither to help those suffering nor to better our own lives. I understand why your mother is difficult. Always being forced to hide in the woods is no life.”

He speaks from his heart, but he can tell that his wife isn’t impressed. “Isn’t that what I have told you from the beginning, love? I’ve spent my life hiding because of my mother, without even the benefit of magic. It’s why I wanted to leave.”

“But you don’t regret staying, do you?” Simon asks, a little fearfully. “With my magic, I don’t know if I could have a normal life, even if we left this place.”

Her face softens. “Of course I don’t regret it. I knew the life I was choosing, better than anyone. And who says that slaving as a servant in some house or something like that would be better? I just want you to be careful, Simon.”

“I will be”, he says, taking her hand in his across the table. “I know that it’s more than my life that’s at stake, now.”

Prev: 1324, Day 3, Part 3/3 <--> Next: 1324, Day 4, Part 2/3

[smallnico]

3 and 4 for durge asks part two pretty please!

under the cut for uhhhhhh durge! (and more specifically consent issues and abuse but not sa)

3. Bhaal can control his chosen and force the Slayer or actions upon them; did he ever force your Durge to do something against their will or would they obediently follow?

oh, definitely. esper is terribly obedient to bhaal after they join the cult, but bhaal's favourite way to communicate with esper is by fucking with their body in the usual durge ways -- making their stomach twist, making their brain chemicals jump around with anger and arousal, making their muscles twitch, and of course the lingering memories of full durge blackouts from before esper joined the temple, as well as the fact that bhaal can just will them to die after they reject him -- so the threat is always there, and the fact that bhaal can control their emotions means that esper's free will to obey itself comes into question. bhaal promises that if esper obeys, he won't have to puppet them around and the urge won't consume their mind (the one thing they have, since their body isn't their own), but at that point, what choice is there but enthusiastic obedience and the delusion of will?

the slayer transformation itself was never forced upon esper the way it was forced upon orin, but esper made a point of getting so good with their swords and psychic bard powers that they wouldn't have to use it. they would never say it aloud, only repeating that it was a holy gift and they are honoured to accept it, but they found it revolting and terrifying. being the slayer in that moment felt like a sneak peek into bad end durge for esper, and they had no intention of using it if they could possibly avoid it, so they did what they'd always done -- overperform as a high-skill assassin to perfection so they would be praised instead of punished.

4. Durge has an inherent skill for anything medicine; what was their greatest skill? Sewing, caring for wounds, brewing potions or concocting poisons?

esper has both an innate and well-honed sense for the things that kill people and the different ways it can happen. that means they also generally know what's wrong with the body when they see something wrong. their ability to fix what's wrong is pretty rudimentary and brutal, but effective. i like to exemplify this with the fact that esper's main party in-game consists of themself, astarion, karlach, and lae'zel, making them both the glass cannon and primary healer of the lot -- that said, the only healing spells they know are healing word and lesser restoration, so i would say the healing they specialize in is "yeah, that'll do".

binding and closing wounds is something they have a lot of experience with, though. since esper hated relying on others growing up and well into adulthood, they usually patched their wounds up themself. they've definitely dislocated their shoulder and reset it themself before. whether they're any good at it is a question with a subjective answer, because look at them, but it deserves to be said again that their healing philosophy is utilitarian. they don't care what it looks like as long as it works.

and, of course, they grew up in a noble house in the underdark, including work as a poison taster. they know a lot about poisons. they don't use them, though. they think poison is a bit chickenshit and ineffective compared to other methods.

[fillyourwounds]

father's day

the term "i am my father's daughter" has never applied to anyone more than me. i was born made to be his mirror image.

when i was younger, it was fire all the time. i spent much of my time afraid. i remember he would shake the walls with his anger. he would spark at any moment over anything at all--loud noises, cleanliness, interruptions of his time alone. i did everything i could to save us all from what was to come. i would clean consistently, i would be as quiet as possible, i would try to warn my siblings of how they could avoid the impending anger. there would be good weeks and then one of us would tip the scales. all the work i did to prevent and protect would fall. it followed the classic pattern well until my adulthood: good weeks, followed by horrific ones, then repentence (rare) or a standstill between parties, until things repeated. then on sundays, he would get up and advise others how to live their life. no matter how bad the week was for me, he was sought after as a teacher. he was upstanding to society. he was the confidant of the downtrodden. and i was his perfect eldest daughter, who loved her dad, and was devoted to him.

depression in men presents in two ways: the sadness we often allocate to depressed people and sometimes, only through anger. he was in a constant state of distress, leading to the weeks that put me in a position of taking a verbal barrage. the amount of times my mother would tell me we must give grace because it's something he cannot control, it is his sin, that i must forgive him and his words because he cannot help it. it was countless.

there are things he has said that i don't think i will ever forget. it's one thing when you make stuff up that people think about you, it's another when there are clips of your life that can play back, the inflection of their voice etched into the memory.

i remember them all the time. i am unsure if i can ever forgive them.

something shifted when my brothers moved out of the house when i was 21. the realization of adult children spurred long term reflection. i think he began to feel intense amounts of guilt.

he began to notice the things we would say to him as a natural response for the way he conditioned us to be. he would apologize and say we shouldn't feel that way, that he was wrong to make us feel that way in our youth. the outbursts of anger are not gone but they aren't as intense--he doesn't use words in the sense of weaponry as openly, he doesn't move in for kills the way he used to. the cycle that i have been caught in my entire life seemed to dissipate, and now at 23, they are few and far between. he began to garden and paint on the weekends and text me I love you at random. he has never missed an opportunity to eat lunch with his children if he could help it. he writes books where he makes little maps and he actually talks with me about them, we sit at dinner and talk about life circumstance at length, we can have productive conversations about ideology without him telling me something i will never forget. he has softened in the face of ever continuing change. he has never been this way.

many days, i don't know what to do with it. i don't know how to convey the unfairness of having the dad i always wanted right now instead of when i was just a young girl. i was emotionally and verbally abused my whole life just to come to a place where i don't have to try so hard. the hurt, the shame, the never being good enough, never being right enough, never being important enough comes to a clearing where he paints on saturdays and he tries to not be as loud. where he says "it's okay" when i say things to try and fix something he may find broken.

i am my father's daughter. he taught me how to be in the world, and he sewed me tight into my skin. i know the value of being on time. i know that honing your mind and skills will always be worth your effort. to pursue a hobby takes your entire being. always try to get a job done even if you don't know how to do it, because you are smart enough to learn along the way. education is a joy of life. public speaking is easy and so is writing. you should enjoy old video games, listen to people talk about their interests, and when it's all said and done, finish well.

today my dad wore a hawaiian shirt with photos of my brothers and i as kids on it. he wore it in front of everyone, all day, and he said it was the best gift he has ever been given.

happy fathers day to everyone who is realizing your dad is just a human. may we all find forgiveness for things said that shouldn't in the corners of a life we can't go back and change. there is always time for them to finally paint on saturdays.

[ursbearhug]

Somehow I have doubts my doctor knows how... Life works?

"Oh you know these surgeries usually heal very ugly and take a lot of time, like 72 months, you know. Everybody is different".

Yeah, everybody is different. That's why my nipple piercing healed fully within 24 months and not usual 12 for other people. But that's not explaining why surgery that I already had 8 years ago now takes twice the amount of time with 4 times the amount of trouble.

It almost like your negligence to your patients and their health, life and well being is outshining the lofty promises you made while taking up the job after 8 years of studying and work practice.

Like, I cannot be the only person, who's driven by frustration, to see that something is off here. Alas, anything else would require the ability to self reflect and we absolutely cannot have that.

There is only so much you can pin on me and call my fault before you run out of options. When is it the fault of the guy that cut me up and did very poor job of it? Or is it just always my fault no matter what? "Oh it seems I didn't did the stitching right! Whoops! Wouldn't happen if you weren't such a disgusting and clumsy slut Karen, oh yikes!". Is it skill issue I'm not aware of?

Listen if I managed to have the same surgery before and I walked out of the hospital almost problem free and it worked for 8 years and then I go, have neglected repeat, cannot spend a week without visiting that bloody office, maybe the fault is at your side? It's inconceivable to me that you can make so many mental gymnastics before you admit "yeah, I did a whoopsie". I already know you cannot sew for shit, admitting that you've done goofed wouldn't really pissed me off any more than I already am.

But after all why would they care? It's me wasting my time, money and life to get this to heal. I look like somebody raked me across my back, my bank account will never forgive me for the meds I'm not using that I cannot return and this is 2 months of me running like an idiot, trusting with my health to 12 idiots.

I'm just soo done with this whole situation and the prospect of having to endure it any longer is making jumping in front of the next train (that is within 34 minutes) very very tempting. Let my body be someone else's problem.

[zecretsanta]

To: @heypilot

From: @juricha-art​

Notes on piece #1:

This one was possibly the hardest to work around, since there is a pretty small chronological window where they would be able to spend some quality time together, so I'm sorry if this isn't exactly "growing up". I knew I had to include Akane though, since she was such an influential figure in K(yle)'s life. I imagine that all three of them would enjoy spending the time in the Biotope Garden. Akane would teach them a lot of things, read aloud or tell stories about her life. She was probably telling them about the meaning of different flowers and of love, and that would inspire Luna to make those flower wreaths for everyone (that one she's making is for Sigma) while Akane would take a nap on K's shoulder - she's just an old woman, after all. Considering the calla lily's symbolism, I'd say it is rather fitting for the place - purity, faithfulness, death. I tried to make it sweet and a bit melancholic. Materials used: watercolors, watercolor pencils, Faber-Castell Pitt pens.

Notes on piece #2:

This one really stuck with me, because I love those two and that timeline still gives me the feels. At first, I'd wanted to make it into just a makeshift wedding. Then - bam! - I remembered the famous painting by Gustav Klimt, "The Kiss". Thus, this one artwork was born. The story is that Sigma wanted to make something to cheer Diana up after they find out that she is expecting, and to prove his love to her, so at least if something happens, they would be together. And so he secretly prepared all those elements and clothes and rings (he's so skilled on tech stuff - and most likely chemistry as well - that it wouldn't be a problem at all to do even with scarce supplies. My headcanon is that he would also be good at sewing and such, with his fine motor skills). The environment is the mix of the Healing Room elements and also that official artwork where Diana is holding a skull and a bouquet of daisies. You can tell that I've got just a little bit carried away, lol. I've specifically left it up to the viewer's interpretation, so it could be both happy and angsty at the same time. Remember: Memento mori if the nineth lion ate the sun. Materials used: gouache, Faber-Castell Pitt pens, Sakura Pen-Touch gold marker.

Notes on piece #3:

This was the first out of the three I'd finished actually. I didn't want to repeat myself, so I've made them don the traditional Japanese kimonos and make Carlos go and visit Kurashiki family in Japan instead. Uchikoshi did say that Akane is an ideal Japanese woman, after all, and she certainly lives up to the title here, hehe. Guess who got drunk and is about to get an earful from his sis because of  photobombing: "It wasn't THAT finger!". Carlos is very excited to be celebrating the holidays with the crew (Maria is the one taking the photo), and Junpei is just very proud of his wife and children (Rei is holding a temari ball and Quark a kagami mochi. Nova is just there being cute) . I aimed for a very light-hearted vibe here. Materials used: alcohol markers, pigment liner, Uni Posca pen, Sakura Pen-Touch gold marker and several types of washi tape (which were a major headache to work with, and I had to use tracing paper to stick them on and then cut them out. I hope it was worth it).

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

Cross-stitch and Coming Out

yes i made percival trans as well 😌

”Gwen?”

Gwen was walking past the knights’ corridor with a basket of sheets when she heard her name being called.

She turned to see Percival poking his head out of his room, looking harried. "I'm sorry, do you have a minute?" her brother’s partner asked anxiously.

Gwen smiled and walked back to him. "Of course, what’s up?"

He beckoned her into his room and picked up a square of white fabric, beautifully embroidered with all manner of bugs: butterflies and dragonflies and ladybirds, but also snails and spiders and wasps. "I was hoping Elyan would wear it as a favour in the tournament next week," he said shyly.

Gwen grinned. “The one he’s competing against you in?”

“Mhm,” Percival said happily.

She chuckled. "I'm sure he'd love to." She took it from him, marvelling at the careful stitching. Amazed how someone so big could've made something so delicate. "It's beautiful."

"Am I going to have to start again?" he asked worriedly, pointing to a tangle of thread on a half-finished bee.

"Of course not, I can fix it." She couldn't help grinning as her eyes fell on a particularly leggy spider. "You know most people would find this horrifying right?"

Percival was unabashed.  "Elyan isn’t most people."

Gwen beamed at that. "No he is not." She took a needle and got to work unpicking. "Who taught you how to do this?" she asked, curious.

Percival hunched his shoulders a bit. "My mother," he answered quietly.

"Oh," Gwen said softly. She didn’t know much about Percival’s life before Camelot, but she knew his family were no longer alive. “My mother taught me too," she offered in lieu of something appropriate to say. "She was a wonderful seamstress. I taught Elyan though, til... well, it wasn’t really his thing." She laughed a little.

Percival nodded solemnly. "Me neither. I was like him, see."

"Oh.” Gwen frowned. "But then why…" She wondered why he would go to all this trouble if he didn’t enjoy it.

Percival was looking significantly at her and she felt like she was missing something. "I was- am-  really like Elyan," he said, his voice meaningful.

Then it clicked. "Oh!" she said in realisation. "Right. That’s good." She nodded vigorously.

 "Yeah?" Percival asked hopefully, a cautious smile on his face.

She smiled gently back. "It’s not bad, is it?”

He grinned. "No." His gaze fell on the handkerchief again. "I thought I hated sewing because people saw it as only as a woman’s skill, and- well. But after she died... it was all I had left of her. And... I don't know. I like it."

"Good for you!" Gwen encouraged.

"It's stupid that something so useful has a gender attached to it. I mean you're a blacksmith, aren’t you?"

Gwen chuckled. "When I can find the time, yes."

His eyes widened. "Oh I'm sorry! I’m keeping you!"

"No, you’re not!" She rushed to reassure him. "But..." she scrunched up her face apologetically and handed him the fixed handkerchief.  "I should be getting on. These sheets aren’t going to wash themselves."

He jumped up. “I’ll help you."

She was shocked. "You can't do that! You're a knight, and you’ve got to finish this!"

"You helped me," he returned. "And I've got til next week."

"You're a knight," Gwen repeated stubbornly.

"And I owe you," Percival repeated, folding his arms just as stubbornly.

Gwen sighed. "Fine. Finish the bee, and I'll be in the laundry room.“

Percival beamed at her again, and she couldn’t help but return it. "Ok. Thank you for your help."

He walked with her to the door, but before she left she gave him a quick one armed hug. "You’re good for him you know,” she said. “I worry about him less because I know he’s got you."

"Thank you my lady," Percival mumbled, ducking his head but she could see his smile.

She smiled too. "See you in a bit then."

He beamed at her. “Bye Gwen.”

[sky-berrie]

Stitch - Damian

Summary: Another favorite trope - reader patches up a wound. Warning: mentions of blood. 

The window opened behind you and you felt a cool summer night breeze brush against your neck. You didn’t bother to give the intruder any attention because you knew that Damian was the only person who could disarm the alarm and crack lock mechanism with ease. You thought the whole system was overkill but it pleased Damian to have it installed so you didn’t complain.

“Hey, Damian,” you greeted him robotically with your gaze still transfixed to your laptop screen and your back to the window. You were watching the events of the latest episode of your favorite show unfold.

You heard Damian land in your room with a grunt. He was usually quite graceful, however you guessed that his ribs and hip were still sore from the last sparing session he had with his brothers and sisters. That family took everything to a whole other level.

You heard Damian shut the window after himself. The sound of the latch being secured came next. Then you heard electronic beeps as he reactivated the alarm. “You –” he let out a sharp exhale. “You took home economics, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, nonchalantly with a mouthful of popcorn. You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, but you heard the sound of his heavy boots carry him across your room.

“Good,” he said. A shaky breath infiltrated his normally self-assured voice. “And you remember most of it?” The bed springs creaked under his weight.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Great,” he said. “What grade did you receive?” This wasn’t all that out of character for him. Damian was competitive in all aspects of his life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to compare home economics grades just so he could vaunt his skills.

“I don’t know, Damian,” you said honestly. You turned up the volume, hoping that Damian would get the hint that you wanted to watch your show in peace and quiet. “I think it was a good mark.”

Damian let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Excellent.” His voice sounded less troubled than before.

“Jon did most of my assignments,” you admitted unapologetically.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but you attended the classes, correct?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too focused on the climax of the episode. “Oh my goodness,” you muttered under your breath to yourself as the plot twist unveiled. “Um,” you said, remembering that Damian had asked you something. “Yeah, yeah, more or less.”

“Do you remember how to sew?”

“Sort of,” you told him. You had sewn on a button once. It didn’t look great, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well enough,” he said. “I need you to suture a laceration.”

“What?” you choked out. He said it so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, because a sane person would not be so stoic. You whipped around to find Damian lying on your bed in his Robin uniform. It was soiled with a layer of black, like he had been charred. It was so dark that it masked the staining of his blood and you wouldn’t have known he was bleeding if it weren’t for the pool of red soaking through your white comforter. He was holding his side with his hands at an awkward angle.

You had seen him with cuts and bruises and even broken bones, but never with the life bleeding out of him. “Oh my goodness!” you shrieked as panic filled your lungs. Your face contorted into a horrified grimace as you tried to stifle an expression of disgust. The strong stench of metal made your stomach churn and your head woozy.

You immediately felt horrible for not paying attention to him sooner. “Damian, why didn’t you say something? Holy crap! What the hell happened? You need an ambulance!” You turned around to reach for your phone.

“No,” Damian choked out. “Secret… identity,” he said with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Your dad? Alfred?”

“On their way. No time to wait. First aid kit,” he implored weakly.

You ran for the bathroom and tore into the cabinet to find the massive first aid kit that Damian insisted you store. You had opened it once or twice to grab a bandage for a paper cut but you never touched the majority of the contents. You didn’t even know what half of the kit was for. You guessed that you might find out today.

When you returned to your room, Damian was moving slowly to unbutton his uniform. You helped him with the rest, trying to do it quickly without jostling anything. You tried to ignore the squishy wetness of the uniform, but your hands came away covered in a layer of crimson blood. Beneath the outer coat, his white undershirt was seeping with blood. There was a large tear in the fabric and a bit of the raw wound peeked through.  

You didn’t have a fear of blood, really. You had no qualms about donating blood or seeing it on TV. This, however, was completely different. You were more terrified than you had ever been in your entire life. You had no idea what to do - everything you knew about CPR and standard first aid had inexplicably disappeared from your brain. Silent tears began to spill from your eyes as your breaths tore in and out of your throat, ragged and shallow.

“Y/N,” said Damian, firmly. Through your blurry, wet vision, you could see him straining to make eye contact with you. “Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my instructions.”

Normally you trusted Damian, but this time his reassuring words didn’t have any kind of soothing effect on you. Your whole body was shaking now. You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N. It is going to be fine, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?”

You tried to take a deep breath, but an uncontrollable sob cut it short. If Damian could lie there halfway to death and still be composed, then you could at least pretend to be calm for his sake. You nodded your head this time, trying your best to even out your breathing. It was no use though. You couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Thank you. Cut it,” he said, motioning to his undershirt.

You did as he ordered and cut a line right down the centre of his shirt. It was warm and wet and clung to his skin, so you peeled it off to reveal the full extent of a nasty looking wound. Even through your distorted, teary vision, you saw enough to know it was not good.

You felt faint at the sight of his insides. Or maybe it was your hyperventilating making you dizzy.  

“Breathe, Y/N. Breathe and then get the sterile solution to irrigate it.”

You returned with freshly washed hands, a pair of gloves and a jug of irrigation solution. Following his instructions, you squeezed the syringe and expelled the liquid over his wound. It ran down his side and carried even more blood into your comforter.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “There should be a small white packet with a curved need and thread and a pair of suture holders. They look like scissors but without the blades.”

Your trembling hands had a difficult time picking out the items. Once you collected the materials, you looked at Damian for further directions.

“It’s a bit deep so you’ll need to close the layer under the skin first. Can you see it?”

You shook your head. His side was a giant red mess. You couldn’t make out anything except for blood and jagged skin. It was nothing like the clean and clear-cut diagrams you’d seen in class. “This is crazy! I can’t do this,” you cried. People spent years studying and training to do procedures like this. Stitching up a body was not something that a person should wing, and definitely not on their best friend, lying in an unsterile room.

“You can,” he assured you. “Pretend like you’re sewing some fabric. Start with this layer here.” Damian pulled at his skin and pointed to the inside with a pair of suture forceps. You couldn’t help but turn away and shut your eyes as he prodded himself. “Y/N,” he called your attention back. “Make sure the needle goes in like this and comes out like this,” said Damian as he demonstrated.

You were shaking your head. “You are absolutely insane! Sewing fabric is nothing like sewing a wound! Can’t we just wait for your dad or someone?”

“No time,” he said.

“Please, Damian,” you begged. “Let me call EMS.”

“No,” he asserted with what little strength he had.

“Please! I…”

“No,” he repeated. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“I understand you have to protect your secret identity, but Damian, come on. There won’t be an identity to protect if you die.”

“Batman…Nightwing…” he said weakly.

“They’ll understand!” you argued with desperation.

“No,” he mumbled. He shook his head.

Without any thought, your next words came flooding out straight from your heart. “Damian, I love you and I don’t want you to die!” Oh. That came as a shock to you. You’d never said anything like that before. In fact, you’d never even had a thought like that, but you knew it was the truth. Your hands almost flew to cover your mouth in regret, but the blood dripping from your hands stopped you.

Damian didn’t seem to notice your confession, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Had you not been utterly distracted by the emergency before you, you might have run away with embarrassment from your sudden proclamation.

“Please try for me, okay?” His eyes were starting to close, but you could see him struggle to keep them open.

You searched his eyes, to see that his once vibrant green eyes had a dull, hazy colour to them. Seeming to find what you were looking for, you conceded. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Okay.”

It was the worst experience of your life. Damian walked you through the process, but nothing could prepare you for the nauseating feeling of piercing his skin and pulling the nylon thread through the thickness of the tissue. Seeing the inside of his body made you want to vomit but his life was at stake, and you had to be brave for him. Besides, he was the one who should be worried, not you. Your technique was obviously non-existent and you were certain that you were hurting him a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. He hissed and groaned and you apologized profusely but he insisted that you continue.

“Thank you,” said Damian after you tied the last knot. His eyes were heavy and lidded and you could tell he was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Knew you could do it.”

You had no response. Now that the worst part was over, the adrenaline had left your system and you were in shock. His hand lolled out in an attempt to offer you comfort, or maybe to seek comfort for himself. You weren’t certain which is was, but nevertheless, you instinctively clasped his hand in yours.

Then he said something that caught you off guard. His voice was so faint that you barely heard him. “For the record, I love you, as well.”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it. Maybe he was delirious. He did lose a lot of blood. You pondered it for a moment and wondered if you should feel mortally embarrassed when he was fully lucid, but just then, a gentle squeeze on your hand told you that you didn’t have to worry.

[roscgcld]

HEADCANONS + GOJO SATORU || onii-chan

note: this was a few ideas given to me by my beloved 🌸Anon - a bunch of new gojotwins!au headcanons c: this one is a little different compared to my other story, so this is a stand alone one. might turn it into a series if it gets enough love, but we’ll see~ you can read the original ask here!

pronouns: she/her

note: mentions of blood and death and spoilers for volume 8 & 9 of the manga. SUPER LONG by the way lol

gojotwins!au masterlist

twins have always been viewed as a bad omen for the parents - there are high chances of both twins developing no Cursed Technique at all, or have a Cursed Technique that is not desirable. So there had been no hope when one of the wives from the main family of the gojo clan was pregnant, and from what they can tell with twins at that

so it was a huge surprise to not only the elders but the entire jujutsu world when not one, but both of the twins were born with the coveted Six Eyes - something that had never happened in the history of the gojo clan. it was a moment to be celebrated!

if only they knew just what was lies ahead

much to the delight of the elders, the older one of the twins was the boy, satoru, while the girl was born 20 minutes after - it wouldn’t have mattered if it was the other way around, but just having the young boy being the one born first was definitely the icing on the cake

both of you were an absolute headache to deal with, causing so much chaos and mayhem that the elders had wondered if they should have celebrated at the idea of having two Six Eyes users under the same house was a good thing

the both of you trained together throughout your younger years, with satoru becoming super overprotective even though you were twins - he understood from a young age that the both of you were starting at different levels of footing because of your gender

yes, you are a girl - but at 7 years old you had exorcise a Grade-Two Curse by yourself with no more than an annoyed click of your tongue and a snap of your fingers, walking away whilst whining about how it got your favourite dress dirty

with that being said though, he loves to tease you are still the younger one between the both of you, and had teased you about how you should refer to him as ‘onii-chan’ instead of his first name

“come on, Y/N~ it’s a sign of respect~”

“i am going to spend you to outer space one of these days.”

the two of you were already known about the jujutsu world way before you even became old enough to enroll in Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College - you two were even allowed to enter without an interview with the then principal of the school

who would want to waste their time interviewing two highly over qualified teenagers anyway?

the first time you met geto and shoko, they were both intimidated by your sheer presence. the both of them have heard talks about the gojo twins entering their year as a pair

so when they had first met you, standing there in your uniform with your bright blue eyes hiding behind a pair of blacked out sunglasses and an indifferent look on your face - they definitely felt a shiver go through their bodies

however, when they saw your twin brother appearing behind you with the biggest grin, hugging you from behind whilst you scowled and tried to push his head away - they were definitely less intimidated now

“now, now, Y/N-chan, stop being so scary~”

“nii-chan, i am giving you three seconds to let go of me.”

the two of you quite the duo, especially when you two are always pinned against one another with more difficult and more challenging missions compared to when you were under the care of the gojo clan 

geto felt less pressure to match up to his friend, since satoru and Y/N are always at each other’s throat - wanting to outmatch the other and one up the other with silly things like Curse head counts and how difficult its level is

with that being said, satoru is very protective of you - if any so much as speaks poorly of you, he would not hesitate to put them in their place

“oya? what makes you think you can speak of my baby sister like that?” satoru had hummed towards the small group of men, who were commenting on how beautiful the young woman was followed by a lot of unsavoury comments. 

satoru still sported his casual smile, yet there was a certain air around him that made them shut their mouths up real fast. “mind repeating that? just want to make sure that i have a good enough reason to put your lazy asses six feet underground..”

after that specific incident by the way, satoru had you and your friends out on a little excursion around tokyo - where they just did a bunch of stupid things together to calm down

you can read him like the back of a book though, so when both of your friends went away to browse through some shelves in a video game store, you just wrapped your arms around your brother with a smile. “you know, nii-chan, you don’t need to go about protect my honour. i’m a big girl now.”

he’d just blink down at you before giving you a soft but genuine smile, petting the top of your head with one of his hand while the other was resting inside of his pocket. “if i don’t protect you, who am i going to protect?”

that statement was proven during your second year - a cursed user had overpowered you and shoko and had taken the both of you hostage. the curse user had practically beaten you into a pulp, knowing that you were the stronger one between the two

shoko had been tied up and beaten as well, but you were definitely taking the brunt of his anger - along with being forced to listen about how he was going to sell you to some low life family that had been trying to get you to marry their sorry excuse of a son. 

you don’t even remember meeting the father of the boy, who had claimed to visit the gojo clan home a few times now

“you gonna be a good girl for me?” the man had gripped as he gripped your hair in his hands, giving you a smirk whilst you scowled over at him in annoyance, blinking the blood out of your eyes from the wound on the top of your head. 

before you can give another snarky answer in reply that will get you another beating, the sound of someone kicking the door in. before either one of you can move, the man suddenly let go of your hair with a pained gasp as someone grabbed his hair and forced his head back, looking up into a pair of glowing blue eyes

“get your filthy hands off my baby sister.”

geto was in charge of taking care of the both of you, leaving the room with a simple reminder to satoru that they needed to bring the man back alive

both of you spending most of your time trying to unlock the many secrets of the Limitless, and how to control it better

during the entire star plasma vessel fiasco, you had stayed by geto’s side. and while you didn’t manage to save rika from being murdered, you had, like gojo, managed to touch the core of cursed energy

toji had ‘killed you’ before he went after geto, yet like satoru, he did not decapitate your head; so you had slowly started to use the reverse curse technique to heal your wounds

so you couldn’t believe satoru’s belief when he found you using reverse cursed technique to heal geto, wrapping you up in his arms while you just smile and hold him as well

the three of you plus shoko had turned to one another for comfort, because along the way you four have grown close to the young girl, and her death really affected all of you

but if there is something bright that came out from this, is that you and your brother had really elevated yourselves to become the strongest duo of the new generation - both pretty much an entire chest above the current active sorcerers

after satoru had calmed down, he had told you about what toji had said to him before his death - about how he has a son that he had planned to sell of to the zen’ins

the two of you went to visit the young boy, discovering that he had an older sister as well; and without hesitation you had taken the both of them under your wing, pulling a few strings behind the scenes while also trying to provide him with as normal as a life as you two could

megumi had viewed you as a mother figure, someone who looked out for him and tsumiki, teaching the two of them life skills like sewing and cooking, making sure they always have warm meals. 

you never miss their birthdays either - always making sure to get them either a cake or a small cupcake with a candle on the top to blow out just for the sake of tradition

sure, satoru loves to spoil them too, but he acted more like their chilled older brother - he definitely relies on you more as a parental figure he had lacked for quite a huge part of his childhood

he had remembered how once, when you had made him his favourite curry and rice after a long week, he just sighed and said, “thanks mum,” before he started to eat his meal 

at first you froze in shock, and  megumi did too - but before the blushing teen can apologise, you had already wrapped him up in your arms as you just cried your heart out

satoru had teasingly asked him if megumi can call him ‘dad’, to which megumi just scowled and sent his divine dogs after your brother

satoru loves to introduce you two as the ‘strongest duo’ by the way - which makes you super awkward and you hate it with a passion. he wasn’t wrong, but it’s still awkward

“we’re the Gojos - the strongest duo out there.”

“please stop calling us that.”

feel like because you’re there, geto might still be on the path to the light lmao - like mans will be a teacher in school and you three will be dub the ‘idiot trinity’ or some bullshit nickname lol - the three biggest troublemakers in the jujutsu world

yet the three most capable ones as well - absolutely drive the higher ups of the jujutsu world insane

with that being said though - the three of you definitely hashed a plan to change the jujutsu world together. even shoko agrees that there should be some change to the old ways of the jujutsu world; so the four of you decided to sign up to work as teachers at Jujutsu High 

the first group of students you took under your wing was the then first years - maki, toge, panda, and eventually yuta when he joined your little class

you are the mother for the students while geto is the responsible dad; satoru is the crazy uncle that is not allowed to supervise the students alone, and shoko is the cool aunt who lets you skip class in her office if you want

all the students have, at one point, just referred to you as ‘mum’ and you had always just accepted that with a soft smile and a pat on the top of their head

even if they are taller than you, they will willingly bend down to your height so you can pet them on the head - even megumi lets you get away with it

when itadori and nobara came into the picture, you had taken them un as your own as well - but you did spend a good 5 minutes laughing with geto at the idea that yuji manages to control sukuna like he is just an annoying imaginary friend in the back of his head that refuses to shut up

you had tried to give them some form of normality and comforts as teenagers, even if many times they were forced into very uncomfortable situations

all in all - it was utter chaos the moment both you and satoru were born. yet it was a miracle nonetheless. many times you prove to the world that your bond is stronger than people think it is, and that you two will go through anything to make sure the other is safe. 

you are the younger one, but the more responsible one too. the motherly figure that everyone turned to, even your friends and brother, who needs comfort and a warm meal. yet if provoked, you can become deadly and kill with no hesitation. it’s because of this, both you and your brother are considered as quite the deadly duo; the strongest ones around. 

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[writing-in-a-chipotle]

Unbearably Mortal (Part 2)

(Alcina Dimitrescu x gender neutral reader)

Part 1

Words: ~2.5 K

Summary: In which a lot of things happen and none of them are good.

A/N: Hey, y’all! Back at it again with another chapter! Hope you enjoy!

“Nope nope nope nope… no way in hell…” You shook your head violently, unable to process what Mary had said. “This is… this is all some sort of elaborate prank, right? You’re messing with me. Yeah.” You swallowed. Your saliva felt like acid.

Mary grimaced. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a game. This is very much reality.”

“So… what are they then?” You began pacing the floor, anxiety clinging to the pit of your stomach. “You expect me to believe that they’re some sort of weird, blood-sucking vampires?? You must be out of your mind… they don’t exist! They can’t be real!”

Mary stood up and walked over to you, gently placing her hands on your shoulders. With her blocking your path, you were forced to stop pacing and look at her.

“Listen,” She began, eyes gleaming with fear “I have no need to lie to you. Believe whatever you want to believe, for the only thing on the line right now is your head. Jane and I risked our lives to save you. If we were caught, all of us would have died. So, are you going to freak out and get yourself killed, or are you gonna listen to me?”

You were stunned into silence. Mary was being deathly serious. You nodded shakily.

“Good.” Mary breathed a sigh of relief. “If you had a mental breakdown and they heard…” She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t need to either; the implication was horrifying enough as it was.

“Thank you, by the way,” you sighed, sitting back down on the bed, “you really didn’t have to save me.”

“Honestly, I’m still scared out of my mind,” she admitted breathily, “but I’m glad you’re better now.”

“Thanks.”

She hummed, then pursed her lips. Her frown deepened even more. “Well… now what do we do? The Dimitrescu family is notorious for slaughtering any trespassers they find.”

Your eyes widened and your stomach dropped. “Oh no… oh no, no, no…”

You were stuck. You were stuck in a terrifying castle with horrifying, blood-sucking monsters who would gladly turn you into a mangled corpse on their living room floor. You had no way to call for help, and your parents probably didn’t even know what was happening…

Your phone.

You patted your pockets and fished through them. Let’s see: some dirt, a crumpled flight itinerary, your house keys… aha!

“...what’s in the box?” Mary asked, “I don't think I’ve seen anything like it before.”

You blinked. Box? “Oh, this? It’s my phone.” You rotated it slowly in your fingers so she could easily see all its sides. “It’s a bit larger and blockier than your average iPhone because it’s designed to connect directly to the satellite, making it easy to call anyone from anywhere in the world. It cost me a lot of money, but since I was planning on traveling the world after I graduated, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to have it a few years early.”

Mary gave you a completely confused stare. “What’s an… iPhone? Or a sad-del-light? Did you make those up?”

You frowned, your eyebrow twitching in confusion. “Uh… no? I wouldn’t make anything like this up. You… you truly don’t know what modern technology is like?”

She shook her head. “I’ve… never been outside the village. I have no idea what the rest of the world is like.”

“And you don’t have a phone? Internet? Anything??”

“I’m afraid not,” She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “the Lords don’t allow anyone to leave the village or write letters to the outside world.”

A chill shot up your spine. “That’s… terrifying…”

Mary nodded, then tilted her head, thinking. She pursed her lips and motioned with her finger for you to come closer. You lean your ear to her.

“What is it?” You whisper.

“There are rumors of a girl who escaped the Lord’s wrath,” she began, “apparently, she managed to leave the village unharmed. There was an old hag who used to moan about how her daughter left her for a new life. She sounded half mad, so no one bothered listening to her.”

Your grandmother. She was talking about your grandmother.

And your mom.

This meant that… your mom knew about these crazy monsters? That she let you come here, to a place where you would most likely die? Alone??

Nothing made sense anymore.

You realized you had zoned out of Mary’s story. You shook your head, bringing your attention back to the present.

“Is that a good idea?”

“Uh, sorry, what?” You blinked. Mary was staring at you like you were an idiot. (Which you were, but that’s not the point.)

“I said,” she repeated, “you need to blend in until we can figure out how to escape.”

“That’s… that’s a pretty good idea. And wait….” you repeated her words in your mind. “We? You want to come too?”

“Goddess, it’s like you’re dense or something.” Mary muttered under her breath. “Of course I want to leave! Are you out of your mi-“

“I get it, I get it,” you huffed, interrupting her, “What do we do now?”

“Now,” she folded her arms, “we need to get you a disguise.” She walked over to a tiny dresser in the far corner and pulled out a neatly-folded maid’s uniform. “I hope you’re my size.”

————————

Turns out you weren’t Mary’s size.

You couldn’t help it; your new friend was practically a walking stick. Your shoulders were too broad, your legs too long; but with Mary’s excellent sewing skills, you were able to make it work… sort of.

“Damn, this uniform is itchy,” you complained, scratching at the neckline.

“You’ll grow used to it after a while,” Mary replied. “Now we need to get to work or-“

“We’ll be made into wine. Got it.” You straightened out your sleeves.

She nodded. “Just follow my lead.”

The two of you walked quickly and quietly out of the servant’s quarters. Your heart was racing. Every time you turned a corner, you half expected a bloodied monster to jump the both of you and tear out your arteries.

You rounded another bend and nearly walked into Mary. She had stopped suddenly and immediately fled to the side of the hallway, bowing deeply at the corridor. You quickly followed her lead.

The moment you bowed your head, a steady buzzing filled your ears.

Swarms of flies flitted through your vision as they flew down the hall, buzzing excitedly. Maliciously. You don’t know how they managed to convey such emotions, but they seemed…. off.

And then, they changed.

The insects spiraled and spun into a large, buzzing mass, sewing themselves into a completely different form; one with a deep black cloak, ghoulishly pale hands, wild blonde hair…

And blood-stained teeth.

Mary curtsied deeply and you were quick to follow suit. “Good evening, Lady Bela,” she said softly, refusing to look up, “how may we be of service?”

Bela gave a bored wave of her hand. “We’re a bit... short-staffed in the kitchens at the moment,” she drawled, “Mother doesn’t want dinner to be served a second too late. She-” Her eyes fell on you and she stopped dead in her tracks. “You smell familiar, human…” she growled.

Oh no, you were dead, you were dead, you were dead. Cold sweat fell from your neck, and your heart raced. Bela stepped closer to you, brows furrowed and hungry eyes glinting.

“They’re new, Lady Bela,” Maria said quickly.

She raised an immaculate brow. “New, you say?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“... I see.”

It was only a moment before she leaned away, but to you, it felt like hours. The Dimitrescu was a terrifyingly deadly whirlwind, one that seemed to stare directly into your soul… maybe even smell your fear. Bela’s lips twitched, giving you a glimpse of sharp fangs.

“Well then, newcomer,” she hissed, amusement dripping in her voice, “if you’re so eager to serve us, I want you to pour the wine.”

Your heart raced in panic, your hands shaking. Pouring the wine meant seeing these monsters at their most bloodthirsty. It meant you would get caught.

I won’t survive, you thought fearfully.

You quickly dropped into a clumsy curtsy before you forgot yourself. “A-as you wish, Lady Bela,” you choke out.

“Hm… we’ll see, won’t we.” She dissolved into a sea of flies and flew down the hallway and out of sight.

You breathed heavily. Your heart was still going a mile a minute. Before you could say anything, Mary grabbed your arm and tugged you along.

“Wha-“

“Shh,” she hissed. “Not yet.”

You followed her silently to the kitchen. This whole situation was too hard to process… you’d barely been in Romania for a day and you suddenly had to face the reality of your imminent death.

You felt lightheaded. Your vision swam.

“Where are you, draga mea?” A smooth, enchanting voice swirled in your mind. You felt your pulse hammering in your temples. The voice sounded so close, yet so far away. It was familiar and warm… but it was too hard to tell if it meant anything. You were too woozy, too lightheaded…

“It’s time to wake up, darling,” the voice continued dreamily, “Open your eyes for me?”

“...hey… hey!” A familiar voice hissed, “hello? Are you alright?”

Your eyes snapped open.

Mary stood in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. Once she saw you move, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you alright? You haven’t blinked for the past few minutes, nor have you responded to anything or anyone around you.”

“Yeah, I just…” you swallowed thickly. What was wrong with you? “... I just spaced out.” Mary frowned, giving you a suspicious glance, but didn’t push.

You were in the kitchen. Cooks and maids bustled around in an organized fashion, whispering instructions to each other while slicing, cooking, and plating bright red slabs of meat. You definitely didn’t want to know what kind the Dimitrescu’s were eating tonight.

Someone grabbed your arm and you flinched, turning around. It was one of the older cooks, a salt and pepper haired woman with soot-stained clothes and greasy calloused hands. She shoved a a bottle of wine into your hands so fast, you nearly dropped it. She glowered at you.

“As soon as the meal is served, you pop open the bottle and pour for everyone.” She hurriedly rattled off instructions. “When they finish their drink, pour them another. You do not look at them, you do not touch them or their glasses, you don’t even breathe around them. And for the love of the Goddess: Do. Not. Spill.”

You gulped and nodded. You just had to do your job, then leave. That’s all. You could do this.

Or so you told yourself.

The old woman gave you a quick look, and for a moment it seemed she gave you a twinge of a sympathetic smile. But just like that it was gone, replaced by her signature scowl.

“Alright, we go in three…” she held up three fingers covered in burn scars. One second passed. Then another.

The kitchen maids smoothly entered the dining room in one sweeping motion; a flurry of skirts and iron serving trays. You followed them close behind. The maids placed the trays in front of each Dimitrescu before fleeing to the kitchen single file.

And then it hit you.

You were the only maid who was supposed to stay throughout the entire meal.

Without you even knowing it, Bela had assigned you one of the most dangerous jobs at the castle; one where you had to stay, alone, in the same room as four hungry, bloodthirsty vampires.

You quickly began pouring the wine.

You walked around the massive mahogany table, trying your best not to spill the blood-red drink. You poured for Bela first, and you tried your absolute best not to look her in the eye. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw her grinning.

You moved on to the next Dimitrescu: a redhead with glistening fangs. As you poured, she suddenly hissed. In your surprise, you fumbled the bottle. But you didn’t spill.

The last sister (you assumed all three of them were sisters based on their similar appearances) was a brunette with mischievous eyes. You didn’t mean to look at her… you really didn’t…

Based on her low, rumbling cackle, you knew you were doomed.

The last Dimitrescu, the Lady Dimitrescu, was much different than the other three. She was incredibly tall, with a flowing white dress that fell to her ankles, a wide-brimmed hat…

And pearly-white satin gloves.

Why did that seem so familiar?

You shook your head. You had to stop thinking and just pour the wine! You only had one more glass to fill, after all.

The brunette stuck out her foot, and you went down.

You landed on top of the bottle, and it shattered under you. Glass and wine flew everywhere, piercing your clothes, slicing your skin, staining the rug…

And completely drenching the front of Lady Dimitrescu’s immaculate dress.

The air cracked with electricity. “You...” she hissed, in a stranglely familiar voice.

Before you could even beg for forgiveness, the towering terror of a woman stood from the table and grasped you by the collar before you could even blink.

She growled, breath smelling of blood. “You will pay for your insole-“ her breath hitched. Her death grip on you loosened and faded, till you dropped to the floor like a rag doll.

Fearfully, you looked up at her.

Her demeanor had completely changed. Where once stood a cold-hearted monster was a shocked, crying… woman. Tears streaked down her face, dripping from her chin as she sunk to the floor. She didn’t look like a monster, she looked… human.

The lady reached out a gloved hand, then flinched as if burned. She looked lost and confused and sad; unable to process what she was looking at… or rather, who she was looking at.

A chill ran up your spine, fearful tendrils snaking through your system as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

And then, Lady Dimitrescu uttered a single word, barely a whisper at all, and your stomach dropped. Your world spun.

“Y/N?”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Everything you had ever known was completely useless, and your life would end at any moment, you were sure. You felt like crying, you felt like throwing up.

She said your name.

Lady Dimitrescu, one of the most powerful supernatural beings in the world, who couldn’t possibly know who you were, had said your name.

It was too much. There were too many strong emotions, too many near-death experiences in one day. Your body was bloody and exhausted, your energy spent.

You collapsed on the dining room floor, and your vision faded to black.

[messengerhermes]

How to Change Your Suit

Content Warning: This post discusses coping with suicidal thoughts (also known as suicidal ideation)

I'm gonna speak from experience here. Suicidal Thoughts (ST) show up in my life when I find myself feeling trapped in my life rather than living my life. This started in childhood for me and over time I've learned to recognize these feelings of hopelessness and being stuck as indicators that my metaphorical suit isn't fitting anymore. It is helpful to realize "oh, I don't actually want to burn this suit, but I definitely don't want to wear it as it is anymore," but it's also daunting. After all, I put so much work into that suit, and people in my life have helped me get that suit to how it is, and now I'm saying I don't like it? Who am I to reject a perfectly good suit? And also, where the hell do I even start in changing it? What if I change it and I still hate it? Darlings, your suit is yours. If it does not fit right, if it's scratchy, if it doesn't suit you, you have the right to transform and play with it a hundred times over to find a style that fits. And you don't have to do it all at once. Especially if you're finding yourself in the pit of depression when your bones ache and all the world tastes like ash. As always, take what works from this post and leave what doesn't, but here are some of the guidelines I keep in mind when I start to notice my suit not fitting:

Assess things by categories: What are the parts I am happy with in my suit? What are the parts that bother me, and how do they make me feel? What things are internal (a thing that comes from within me, ie my thoughts, my skills, my emotions)? What things are external (my living situation, support system, job/school, et al)? Make note of things I want to keep and things I want to change.

Start Small: It's a lot easier to swap out the buttons on a suit than replace the lining. Looking at my "stuff I want to change" section, I come up with "fast, medium, slow" changes I can make. For example, if I'm unhappy about my appearance, a fast change is buying myself clippers and cutting my hair how I want, a medium change might be phasing out wardrobe items that I no longer like and introducing new ones, and a slow change might be exploring HRT. Some items may be solved in a single quick fix, some may be slow fixes that you switch up halfway through. The point is to get yourself to think of these things as changeable instead of fixed in stone.

Invite others into the process: I get this is scary as shit and your mileage may vary on this. Others does not have to be your family of origin. It can be friends, it can be found family. If you have access to counseling in some form, whether group or individual, that can be a huge help. It can be looking up online support groups for depression, for an identity you would like community around (parenting, gender, divorce, neurodivergence, et al). Having access to places where you get to share about struggling and wanting to change, and also witness folks sharing about their own paths, helps break down isolation and create spaces for mutual care. You are not in this alone.

Seek out new additions. Sometimes the tricky part about feeling stuck in your suit is feeling something is missing, but you aren't sure what. This is where I start writing down all the shit I've wanted to try and what the barriers are to me trying it. Once I have my list, I repeat steps two and three. For example, I've felt ashamed of envying cosplayers who could make their own costumes for years. I had a sewing machine from childhood, and a couple years ago, I looked up free patterns online, bought some clearance fabric, watched a fuckton of videos, and sewed my first dress. Now sewing is a big part of my creative life. On the flip side, as a teenager, I got curious about bookbinding. So I checked out some resources from the library, looked at some blogs, stitched a couple books from dollar store sketchbook paper and lost interest. But I still enjoyed bookbinding when I was doing it, and it was not a waste to learn it. Explore things where you feel called to, let yourself pick things up and put them down. Engage in community, online and in meatspace.

Create a space of security. This is another tricky one, particularly if you're in an abusive environment or one where you don't have a lot of control. Maybe your safe space is not where you live. Maybe it's a swing at the park. Maybe it's a forgotten corner of the library. Maybe it's a cafe. Maybe it's inside your journal and between a pair of headphones. Maybe it's a playlist. But, whatever sense of security you can build for yourself, prioritize spending time in that space even for just five minutes a day.

My suit has looked so many different ways throughout my life. At times, I've felt like it would never fit right again, or would never be anything other than a joke to other people. And maybe some people would find my suit funny. But my suit belongs to me. I have the right to make it what I wish and to use whatever agency I have to transform it how I please. Everytime I have the urge to burn it, I pause. I consider who stands to benefit from me hating my suit, from me hating myself. I consider what radical power there might be in becoming. I will not throw my suit or myself away. I will remake us, as many times as we need. I hope you snatch your suit from the fire, every time. I hope you keep making something new with it. I'm excited to see what you will do. Again and again and again. I know they'll be brilliant.