#sharp a1

[bluntloyalist]

PLS...HIS SHARP LIL TEETH.......MY KITTY CAT CODED SON

[fairys-enid]

🟨 🟨 🟨 \\ 🟨 🔵 🟨 // 🟨 🟨 🟨

[divider]

Egg A1

ft. meddal pethau a glow sticks am fy hun

Egg A1

ft. soft things and glow sticks for myself

[blackfeathercourt]

Bliss has never taken Hist sap, being born to a pair of former slaves in the middle of Morrowind. Later, he was given up to a Dunmeri family for upbringing, and never connected to the Argonian culture at all during his youth. He had a Dunmer name, spoke Dunmeris, lived in a Dunmer society... basically the whole Dunmer software installed on an Argonian. While he was always treated as an equal by his adoptive family, he did feel a sense of cultural uncertainty, and longed to connect more to his Argonian heritage. Joining the Morag Tong opened up a window of opportunity to him — he took up a new, Argonian-sounding name for himself, left his old life behind and since then has been pretending to be a normal Argonian, with connection to the Hist and the culture. He never hid his fluency in Dunmeris though lol, I imagine it'd be beneficial for working in Morag Tong. In all other ways though, Bliss acted as eccentric as he could, explaining his behaviour with the norms of his (made-up) tribe — just so no one could suspect him having an actual understanding of how the Dunmeri society works. Poor boy really doesn't want to be associated with it and keeps details of his upbringing a secret. Other Argonians though Immediately sense that Something Is Wrong with him, and him not knowing a word in Jel or understanding the body language doesn't help at all lol. So now he's on a quest of finding a Hist tree he'd be willing to connect to, all while hiding his true identity to nearly everyone he knows... I wonder if it will end well?

[so-bitya]

Whitewashing in Anime - Agni ft. Cithis

Browns of the Same Shade

Hello again! I decided to revisit this topic again now that we have Agni's official appearance in the anime. I also wanted to go over some aspects that I did not get to include in my first post.

In the end, Agni also got lightened! His skin tone was always somewhat darker than Soma's in both the anime and manga appearances. Yana does describe his appearance as a "dark-skinned woman" in her genderbend sketches. So, for the anime to lighten him this much to such an degree is disappointing.

The skin diversity in the anime has been pretty lacking so far. Once again, A1 studios was not perfect, but they did manage to give all three Indian characters different dark skin tones, while this anime has every Indian generally the same lightened shade.

(every indian character in the anime are the same skin tone... cloverworks stand up, you can't let a-1 studios beat you like this)

Personal opinion of mine, I feel like animation studios aren't willing to play with skin color values as much anymore. I remember even seeing white characters being various shades of brown, especially under certain lighting and environments. Unlike now, when every character looks bleached the second they hit the sun.

I also wanted to review what I think of Soma's appearance. Soma's skin tone isn't any darker than it was in the teaser shot sadly, so we can't blame the lighting. I already was expecting it, but it's still a shame.

One positive feature I'll give to the anime is that Soma's nose isn't pronounced all the time. In certain scenes, his nose isn't as sharp as it would be for other characters. I believe that's just the style for the anime and its dependent on the shot.

Anyway, I felt this image was pretty on topic with Soma and Agni's situation and just anime remakes/reboots in general lately:

Brown ≠ Grey

Something I'm embarrassed I forgot in my last post is saturation! I mentioned often how darker skin tones tend to be neglected, but not only that, but the color! The vibrancy in the skin, the life!

A common feature I noticed, especially in East Asian media, is how they avoid the "brown" in dark-skinned characters, by constantly making their skin tone duller, ending up with more grey-toned skin.

I often see art advice for digital artists that they should pick desaturated colors or colors in the "grey zone" as to not overwhelm the art piece. Which is fine most of the time! But when you apply that advice for brown skin, what you get are mostly grey tones, and end up having your character look like a zombie.

Here are some colors I randomly picked. The colors on the left are those sandy, dull grey tones I was talking about. If you want to get those richer, deeper-toned browns, you need to pick colors with more saturation like the ones on the right.

Now of course, color is relative and you can't just color pick your way around without considering how it fits in with the rest of the piece. You can even end up washing out your brown character despite choosing a strong brown color. You have to consider the background, lighting, undertones, the environment, and how they'll affect your character. There may even be times desaturated colors work better, but you have to at least consider why it works "better".

Let's take a look at everyone's favorite manga artist right now, Ryoko Rui! Ryoko Rui is praised often for her diverse character roster and creature design, however I always found her darker skin tones rather... lacking, as such for the elf Cithis.

(I color picked her skin tone and it matched my light grey shades above lol)

Her skin tone is very washed out and grey. She not nearly as dark as she appears in the manga. Once again, there's that dissonance between skin tones. Now take a look at the manga's grey tones.

When you see this, what skin tone do you imagine for her? Do you imagine the greyish, washed out tones from above or do you imagine something more akin to these black fae models I found?

(credit: @jaharajayde on twitter and @glassmarigolds on pinterest)

I'll give Rui credit that her color illustrations of Cithis improved and she's gotten better giving Cithis stronger undertones. I really like how the fandom has been illustrating her too, there's been some amazing fanart of Cithis such as these (the lighting in the last one is lovely).

Just adding saturation helps so much with skin tone. I even found an fan edit of Soma that added more color back into his skin, and he looks so much better for it.

One might say, "Oh what's wrong with having grey skin tones in a fantasy story!" Well... nothing really! You can have green or purple or blue characters if you like. But when there's already a startlingly lack of brown characters in a fantasy story, it can get awfully uncomfortable seeing the story portray different fantasy "races" with obviously non white racial features... but don't want to include any black/brown skin tones.

(fantasy artists would sooner give an orc dreads than a human, forget a "noble" creature like an elf... such decisions only reveals the artists' viewpoints)

It all just comes back down to avoiding that dreaded "brown". When it comes to these "reasons", we have to question whether they aren't just more excuses to not include black and brown people in stories, which makes me come to my next point:

Essence of Brown

There's some severe misinformation I want to address about Soma. I saw a fan a while ago say that Soma has a white mother which explains why he has light skin.

Firstly, that information is false. It was a concept Yana had for Soma, but quickly decided to drop it. Soma is not half white.

In the early drafts of the series, Soma had a white mother and, thus, white skin. However, this was later omitted in final revisions.

(quoted from the official kuroshitsuji wiki as an excerpt from the character guide)

Yes, you can have mixed parents and any kind of skin tone really! But it feels... dishonest to create "reasons" why the manga's first major Indian character, joining a cast of white people in a European country, should have white skin as well. Especially considering Yana's artstyle, without Soma's skin tone and Indian wardrobe, is his physical characteristics like his face even distinguishable enough for him not to be mistaken as white?

Imagine I wrote a story set in France, and teased an appearance of an African character in story that only had white characters until now, only for him to be completely white in appearance, and identical to every other white man, except for the occasionally exotic dress and other drab stereotypes.

What would you think? That his race is only a dressing to fulfill an exotic need at times? That he's a supposed homage to another culture, but it's wrong to have him actually look like the majority of people who made said culture? Why is he even this way?

Did he have a white parent? A white upbringing? Lived in a white culture, lived a white life? Maybe he was separated from birth! From his hometown, his country, his people, anything to justify why my "brown" character is so divorced from that part of his identity, from that side of the family whose skin tone runs a little too dark.

And I think that's why Yana decided to drop the concept of giving him a white mother. Why go through all those loopholes and explanations? Why all that justification for him to have white skin?

It's just another way to avoid the "browness" again for a character, what makes them brown in the first place and related to black/brown cultures. It's what we should consider in the future when we find ourselves coming up with "reasons" why black/brown characters should be anything but themselves.

Whitewashing in Anime - Soma ft. Usopp

[just--space]

The Tail of a Christmas Comet : The tail of a comet streams across this three degree wide telescopic field of view captured under dark Namibian skies on December 21. In outburst only a few days ago and just reaching naked eye visibility Comet Leonard (C/2021 A1) is this year's brightest comet. Binoculars will make the diffuse comet easier to spot though, close to the western horizon after sunset. Details revealed in the sharp image show the comet's coma with a greenish tinge, and follow the interaction of the comet's ion tail with magnetic fields in the solar wind. After passing closest to Earth on December 12 and Venus on December 18, Comet Leonard is heading toward perihelion, its closest approach to the Sun on January 3rd. Appearing in late December's beautiful evening skies after sunset, Comet Leonard has also become known as 2021's Christmas Comet. via NASA

[lorifragolina]

Fleabags

I got a row in the @harringrovesummerbingo card! it's the first I wrote when I hadn't plan the others but I deferred the edit until now :) I'm just patting my back because I am editing surpisingly quick XD

Title: Fleabags

Square & Prompt: A1 "Wet towel"

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3794

Major Tags: WARNING IMPLICIT VIOLENCE,Harringrove, cats, rough sex, abusive home, twisted personality

Summary: Billy and Steve rescue a litter of kittens together. They softened Billy and make Steve feel in love. But Neil Hagrove's hand puts a shadow over them, making Billy hurt and cry, and making Steve taking steps to solve the situation. With fire and iron, if needed.

Read on AO3

Steve saw Billy run into the locker room and take a towel from the towel rack, so he followed him outside, too curious to miss it. 

He looked around and saw Billy at the side of the road, kneeling on the ground, and he got nearer. Billy was wrapping the towel carefully around a skinny, ruffled cat, and the towel was stained red. The little cat was bleeding from the mouth and the nose.

“What happened?” Steve knelt at Billy’s side. Billy's hands were shivering, and his voice was broken. 

“A car hit him, I just heard the brakes…”

The cat appeared seriously injured. He wasn’t moving and his breath was short and heavy. Billy was shocked. 

“Let's take him to the vet, come on,” Steve grabbed Billy’s arm. Suddenly, Billy raised a hand and listened.

A feeble weeping came from the side of the road. Steve kept the cat in the towel and Billy went searching in the short bushes.

“Shit!” he cursed, and Steve went to look: there was a carton box, wet and dirty, and four little kittens inside, crying out loud calling their mom. Their mom was laying half dead in the towel not far away.

Steve looked at Billy, but Billy kept his head low. Steve could see his upper lip trembling and his eyes taking a bitter, sad crease looking at those little things, the eyes still half closed and so unsure on their little paws.

Steve grabbed Billy’s arm again and shook him. 

“Come on, we have to go to the doctor with them, I’ll drive”.

Billy seemed reviving, and nodded. He passed a hand on his face and took the box with special care.

Steve drove to the vet and Billy kept comforting the cat mom on his knees during the road. 

“Come on, baby, your kittens are here, come on, be strong, we’re almost there”.

They sat while the vet took a look at the injured cat, lying rigid and suffering on the white towel; they tried to give her a shot touching her back, her paws, but all was useless. 

“The cat is dying, she has internal bleeding and she’s really weak to face a surgery,” said the doctor, and Billy whined. 

“But the kittens?” 

The doctor took one of the babies, red striped like the mother. “Well they can’t eat alone for the moment… they need the bottle every four or six hours”.

“I’ll do it”, said Billy vivaciously. He was pale and tired, but his look was sharp.

“We’ll do it,” nodded Steve, and Billy opened his mouth in surprise.

The vet gave them some milk for the babies and showed them how to feed them with a syringe, then they had to say goodbye to the mom. 

Billy took his wallet and counted some bills, concerned.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay,” said Steve.

“No,” Billy finally took every bill in the wallet and gave it to the doctor. “I can pay,” he said, stubborn, putting the empty wallet back in the pocket. 

Steve didn’t insist, but when they stopped at the supermarket to buy some necessary supplies, he played when Billy wasn’t looking. 

“Will you take them to your house?” asked Steve, a little doubtful, recalling some of the talks of the kids about Max’s house.

Billy hesitated. He got out of Steve’s car in the school parking lot and carefully put the box on the passenger seat.

“I… I don’t know. I can’t take them in the house… but I will manage somehow".

“We can take them in my house,” suggested Steve.

“You already did enough, there’s no need”.

“You can’t keep them in the car or outdoors,” he insisted.

Billy sighed, then nodded reluctantly. He followed Steve to his mansion and waited at the gate with the box in his arms. 

“Here,” Steve made way. “My mother wouldn’t let them in the house but they can stay in the shed, nobody uses it,” Steve opened a little metal door in a sort of storehouse. “They’ll be fine here”.

“But I have to take care of them”

“We both can take care of them,” said Steve diplomatically. “Anyway you can enter from the backyard, the door isn’t closed”.

Billy placed the box in a sheltered corner. Steve took all the things they bought and they set a comfortable home for the babies. Billy cleaned them and petted them a little, giving them some more food, until they finally curled up warmly together and fell asleep. 

“Poor babies without your mummy,” he whispered, covering them, in a low voice, convinced that Steve didn’t hear him. 

“They’ll need the next feed at 4 am…” he said then.

“I can take care of it”.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here”.

“You can rest,” insisted Steve.

“I’ll take care,” growled Billy, and Steve shooked his head for the fucking stubbornness. 

“Ok, whatever”.

Billy went home, and Steve closed the garage looking at the Camaro going away raising a dust cloud. He didn’t think he would ever say that side of Billy.

“Fleabags'' was the collective name Billy gave to all the four kittens; they were too little to think to definitive names, he said, and probably he didn’t want to growing fond; too late, thought Steve, because he was always on time even in the night to feed, clean and comfort the babies. Steve tried to wake up to help him, but he always found Billy already there with the kittens on him, smiling and baby talking with them. The four fleabags cried a lot for their dimensions, and their little claws were sharp and pointy, but Billy was very attached to them, he was determined not to let them die. It was a little difficult to conciliate the feed hours with the school, but they took turns and somehow they could do it. The kittens opened their eyes completely and started to crawl more confidently in the box and try to jump out, so they changed the box with a bigger one and stayed large minutes looking at their little brats, jammed. 

Steve looked at the secret, tender smile Billy gave the babies, and once or twice he caught his look and his smile too. They didn’t talk much, but Billy appeared more relaxed at his side, now that they were sharing that task and that secret.

Steve’s parents came home and Steve kept his mouth shut about the garage, then after a couple of weeks they went away again.

The kitten kept growing and became louder and fluffier, and really clinged to Billy; Steve felt a little jump of his heart when he saw Billy smile and make faces to the babies.

One time, they sat side by side with a cat each, while the other two were wandering near them. Billy raised the kitty, kissing him sweetly on the pink little nose, and he crossed Steve’s eyes looking at him, charmed. Billy stopped smiling, incapable of taking off his own look, and Steve put a hand on his tight, getting closer. He closed his eyes, reaching Billy’s lips, but Billy made a little noise and flinched a little. 

Steve stopped, and looked again to him; Billy gulped, sighed and nodded imperceptibly. His eyes were glossy and sad, he was shivering a little and blinking.

It wasn’t a rejection, otherwise he would mock and insult Steve loudly, it was more a “I would, but I can’t” look, a mix of fear and sadness that made Steve’s heart sink. 

They didn’t talk about that and they had never talked about Billy’s house, but Steve suddenly understood some of Billy’s erratic behavior lately. He would say he was sorry but he wouldn't ruin the feeble  friendship they were building with difficulty. 

Billy went away that night without a word, and the next day all returned to normal, apparently; but Steve kept looking at him furtively and noticing some little, sweet things that drew him more to Billy

Then, a night Billy didn’t come; Steve waited a little at the window and then went himself to attend to the kittens; he put some kitten food in a bowl and they ate by themself for the first time. He was thrilled to share that milestone with Billy, and he stayed an hour with them, but Billy didn’t appear. It was strange for him, but maybe he had just overslept.

Steve was about to go to bed when he heard the Camaro parking in the back; he looked from the window and saw Billy opening the gate, walking not really straight, and he gasped when Billy passed under the street light; he could see his face bleeding, a dark circle around one eye and bruises on his neck.

“Shit,” he shivered, and took a wet towel going to the garage. 

He found Billy sitting against the wall with two cats in his lap, hiding his face and sobbing.

Billy jumped when he heard the door opening, and he lowered his head trying to wipe the tears; Steve sighed seeing the cuts in his face and the dried blood and the bruises, but the worst thing was he looked defeated and desperate.

“Billy…” he whispered, kneeling at his side, gently passing the towel on the cuts. Billy whined and moved his head. “What’s happened?” Steve found himself hoping he just had a random fistfight out there, rather than thinking about the reality. Billy’s face started swelling up and the beat appeared more savage than at the beginning.

“Billy,” whispered Steve again. “Shit…” he glimpsed the bruises under his shirt, the marks on his chest, like the mark of a boot in his ribs. “Who did…” he said, but Billy cried again and he shot up. 

He felt stupid, stupid and inattentive, because he realized it wasn’t the first time he saw bruised like those on Billy’s face and body, but he never paid really attention, thinking he deserved it in some fight or, if sometimes he thought he could be abused at home, he only checked if Max was wounded too, but never really took care of Billy.

Steve took the cats, already fed and attended, and raised a hand to Billy, helping him stand up and pushing him gently into the house. Billy kept crying quietly and Steve clenched his fists, trying to calm down his boiling blood.

“I just came home a little late,” babbled Billy after a while, and Steve instinctively hugged him, provoking another fit of tears.

“It’s ok, Billy, don’t worry… you can stay here. I’ll take care of… this”.

Billy nodded, but he released Stevs hug, curling in an armchair. Steve sat on the sofa at his side and they fell asleep after a while, without touching each other. 

The cats had definitely learnt to eat alone, but Billy kept going to check them in the evening after dinner, when he could sneak out of his house; Steve always looked at him with certain concern, worried about the scars that were slowly fading on his face.

The next Friday, he saw Billy leant to the Camaro, in the arcade parking lot, smoking nervously while waiting for Max. He was jumping from one foot to the other and grumbling, knowing that it was getting late. When Max came out of the place with the boys, Steve stopped them to talk about the plans they had for the weekend. He saw the same worry in Max, who was looking furtively at a fuming Billy waiting for her, but he kept talking with her until Billy started screaming.

“Max! Max, for Christ’s sake! Come on!”

Steve knew they had a curfew, even in summer, and the consequences of breaking it, but he walked MAx to Billy, putting on a friendly face.

“We’re just talking, Hargrove. Do you have plans for the weekend? You can join us if you want”.

Billy threw away his cig and looked at Steve with a mix of rage and panic. Max entered the car, but Steve stayed in his way a minute more.

“I fucking need to go, Harrington,” he growled, and Steve smiled, raising his hand. 

Billy screeched the wheels, while Steve kept smiling and took his car too, going in the opposite direction.

“Stupid shitty Harrington,” whined Billy, looking at the clock. They were so fucking late and Max was panicking too. She grabbed the handle while Billy speeded up insanely, going through a couple lights and cursing

Obviously he didn’t see the police car hiding behind a curve, and he cried when he saw the light and the siren.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grabbed the steering wheel, and Max cried softly.

Hopper knocked on his windowpane and Billy smiled. “Problems, officer?”

“Come with me.” Billy whined loudly, following the sheriff to the police station.

They were so dead. Neal didn’t care if they were late for a flat wheel or an accident, and he would be really pissed when he’d know the police stopped him again for speeding.

“Officer, please, can you just give me the fine and let us go?”, said Billy after a while, after Hopper lectured him once again about driving dangerously. They were late, now, so late, and Max was whining and fidgeting in her chair. It was friday and she was afraid of being grounded all the weekend, Neal would be so satisfied to punish them… 

Hopper took the phone. “She’s a minor and I have to call her parents”.

Being late would be bad, but if Neal would answer a call from the police, he would beat him to a pulp. Billy looked at the clock, at that hour his father was surely at home.

He looked Hopper waiting at the phone, scared, but he hung up after a while. Susan was in her night shift and if Neal still wasn’t at home, maybe they still had a little opportunity.

“I’m an adult, officer, and she’s my sister, so please, just fine me and…”

The telephone rang. Hopper answered, then he sent the call in his office, closing the door. Billy considered if they could run away, but Hopper was looking at them through the window, concerned.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said then, pushing them in the car. He drove until the old road near the mill; Callahan was already there with the light flashing, near the ambulance. 

“Stay in the car!” ordered Hopper, and they could see a thin wisp of smoke and the firemen around a burnt car. It appeared completely destroyed and black, and the smell of gas and kerosene filled the air. 

Hopper was looking at his car, shaking his head. He opened the door. 

“You, come on. No, you stay,” he closed the door on Max’s nose. 

Billy got near and could look better at the bone of the car. Hopper prevented him from getting near the driver window and dragged him to the back.

“Do you know this car?”

Billy felt his head spin, and he grasped Hopper unintentionally. 

“It’s my father's plate…” he said, before fainting in the sheriff’s arms.

He didn’t really remember what happened after that. Hopper took them home, someone called Susan and they waited for her at home. 

She took the news surprisingly calmly, but she pointed at Billy, whispering to the agents. 

“Witness said your husband left work at 5.30, and… the kids were with me at that moment”.

Billy clenched his fists. He couldn’t realize well what’d happened, but Neal’s car had a hit in the back and he eavesdropped that the body had the head smashed before burning, so it wasn’t an accident. He was hurted that Susan could think he had something to do with that, so when she and Max went to a friend to sleep, he didn’t go with them.

“You can sleep at home now, but please, come tomorrow morning to the station,” said Hopper. “Ehi,” he grabbed his arm. “Don’t worry. You’re not suspected of anything, never mind what she said, she’s shocked”.

Billy sat on his bed, alone, in a trance, looking at the void. Then took his jacket, still smelling of gas and burnt, and left the house.

Steve heard him open the garage’s door. He found him standing on the door, looking in the void, breathing really low, pale, smelling awfully and shocked.

“Billy? What’s the matter?”

Steve tried to get near him, and Billy oddly noticed he was freshly showered, smelling of soap and shampoo.

“My… father…” he whispered, incapable of finding the words. “He… had… an accident”.

“Oh? And how is he?”

“He… he’s gone,” Billy’s voice was almost inaudible. 

“Oh. Oh, shit. Come on, come with me”.

Steve grabbed him gently and dragged him into the house.

It was hot inside, Billy felt the smell of smoke and kerosene but it was stuck in his clothes and in his nose, and saw that the chimney had been recently used, so probably Steve had used some starter… It was odd how his brain was registering stupid things trying not to think of the “big” thing.

“How do you feel?” said Steve,  handling him a glass of water.

“Free,” said Billy suddenly. 

Steve nodded. “Indeed you’re free”.

Billy looked away and saw a piece of fabric in the chimney, but he was too confused to think. 

Steve had a grin on his face. “People like him have to burn in hell”.

Billy smiled a little too. He knew he had to feel sorry for his father’s death, but he couldn’t. He was shaking. 

He was free. No more curfew. No more beating. No more insults. No more… he clenched his fists again and cried. The tears ran on his face slowly, almost quietly, without a whine. 

Steve took him in his arms and hugged him. Then he took his face in his hands and dried his tears. 

Billy, finally, nodded, and closed the distance between them, kissing him, shily at first, then deeply and then again ferally, that time crying out loud, devouring Steve’s mouth, pressing all his body against his. 

He was free. He felt free. He was free and excited and… euphoric and Steve laughed out loud, throwing away their shirts.

He grabbed Billy’s belt and dragged him up the stairs, on his bed. He opened Billy’s pants and whined while taking them away. He undressed himself too and grinned their hard cocks together. 

“No,” said Billy. “No foreplay, Steve,” he urged, with a harsh, broken voice. 

Steve had a ferocious grin on his face when he lubed Billy’s ass with two fingers, and groaned wildly when he placed his tip on Billy’s rim.

“Fuck me, please, now,” begged Billy, turning on his stomack and Steve fucked him.

Billy felt he was broken in two in pain. Steve’s dick was ripping him apart, raw and barely lubed. He felt every inch of his skin tearing, Steve’s cock rummaging in his guts, while his body tried to resist and push him away.

It was painful. It was wild. 

He was free. 

He felt everything in his body and he wanted to cry and scream, he pressed his face on the pillow to bear the pain. Steve kept thrusting at his back, fucking him, and it was… it was the first time he felt his body really his’. He had fucked multiple men in motel beds or cars and everytime he thought if his father could smell his queerness, could feel he had a man inside, and he wasn’t free. He had always been in danger, but… not that time. While he was suffering for Steve inside him, he was… completely free. His body was nobody else’s, he was so grounded and conscious of it he felt almost dizzy.

Steve reached his dick and pumped it, murmuring obscenities at his ear. Billy was crying but Steve made him hard again, hitting his prostate and his dick at the same time. 

“Cum for me, baby, let me feel how you do it…” Steve purred in his ear, and Billy couldn’t resist. He came in Steve’s hand and passed away, and regained consciousness when Steve grabbed his hips and broke him with the last pushes, coming inside him. 

He couldn't open his eyes when Steve came out of him, and he felt his cum dripping on his own legs. 

“We need… to check the cats,” he whispered.

“They’re fine,” answered Steve.

“No, we need to check…”

Steve pushed him on the bed with a hand, firmly, almost hurting him. Billy opened his eyes wide.

Steve let him go. “Ok, if you want”.

The cats were sleeping with the full belly, they ate by themselves, but Billy lightly touched them as he wanted to check they were still alive. Steve’s cum kept running on his legs when they returned to the house, making him sure it was real. The smell of fuel he kept smelling made him a little sick. It was stronger in the house, and he felt uncomfortable in his clothes. 

“Let’s go to bed again”, Steve gently took Billy’s hand when he looked at the chimney.

Billy followed him and lied again on the bed. Steve took him again, and again, with and without foreplay, wildly, ignoring his whining of pain and his tears. Billy felt he was maneuvering and manipulateing his body, moving him and taking him, marking him with his fingers, his teeth, his cum, but it wasn’t a torture like before, like with his father. 

When Steve finished, he left Billy spreaded and leaking on the bed, barely awake. He went down to the living room, he made sure the fire in the chimney had burned all his clothes, soaked in blood and kerosene, then cleaned the ashes and buried them under the roses in the garden. 

He took a last look at the car, it had a dent on the front but he managed to hit a garbage container in front of the party, earlier that afternoon in the arcade parking lot, before going to chase Neil Hargrove’s car.

He knew Hopper’s habit to hide near the road late in the afternoon to catch kids speeding, and knew that if Billy had been late he would push the gas, creating an alibi for him.

He checked the trunk just to be sure, although he left the kegs near the car after setting it on fire, and he threw the iron bar in the lake. 

He nodded, everything was fine, finally.

He returned to the bedroom, and gently passed a wet towel on Billy’s tortured body, cleaning the sweat, the drool and the cum. Billy whined, incapable of opening his eyes.

“Shh, baby, quiet, rest, baby,” he chanted a little, taking his place at Billy’s side, caressing his body under the sheets. 

“You’re free now”.

[look-sharp-notes]

Летная куртка А 1, является настоящим символом эпохи развития Авиации 20-30 годов XX века. Данная модель, это нечто особенное, для ценителей винтажной одежды, так как изготовлена она почтенным французским домом Chapal. Компания была основана в 1832 году во Франции и по сей день выпускает летные куртки из кожи и фурнитуры, что и 100 лет назад. Chapal многие годы оставалась официальным поставщиком летных курток для ВВС Франции и США. Так что это живая история в непревзойденном и проверенном временем качестве Chapal.

The A 1 flight jacket is a true symbol of the era of aviation development in the 20s and 30s of the 20th century. This model is something special for connoisseurs of vintage clothing, as it is made by the venerable French house Chapal. The company was founded in 1832 in France and to this day produces flight jackets from leather and fittings, as 100 years ago. Chapal remained the official supplier of flight jackets for the French and US Air Forces for many years. So this is living history in the unrivaled and time-tested quality of Chapal.

#Chapal #A1 #Flight Jacket #History #Sky #Wings #Legends #Aviation #Airplanes #Flight #Gallery Inspiration #Look Sharp #Elegant Notes

[staybabblingbaby]

SKZ x Coordi (Han Part) a1 d4

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader is a successful makeup artist with a notorious and prolific career and no self awareness. Reader joins JYP as a part of Stray Kids' team and encounters their hazing ritual for new coordis: flirting.

Word Count: 2,190 Notes: Needs Editing for clarity, but I'm otherwise very happy w this part :D Found the pronouns btw! Warnings: None that I know of? Reader has weird self esteem but it's not bad? Reader referred to with She/Her pronouns

Masterlist link :D | Prev Part Link <3 | Next Part Link ;3

That leads you to now, about to come face to face with the group you’ve been assigned for the foreseeable future. You’re very excited, actually, because you’ve been a fan of Stray Kids’ music for a long time. Well, long for you, anyways. You had a tendency to flit between genres and bands as your whims directed and rarely stuck with one band or sound for more than a few months at a time.

Something about Stray Kids’ music just spoke to you, though. If you were having trouble getting motivated or inspired, playing with new techniques with Stray Kids’ discography in the background cured you. You think their music hijacks your brain somehow, honestly. You were excited to work your magic on the people who inspired that magic. Maybe you get some sort of creative feedback loop going and never fall into a slump again. That’d sure be something!

You’re just idling in the dressing room, lanyard with your temporary title of ‘Junior Stylist’ on proud display around your neck. You’ll receive the title you were hired for, ‘Senior Stylist’, when your probationary period was over in 3 months time. Coincidentally, around the time the group was starting the tour you were contracted for. Funny, that.

You’re on location hours before you should see hide nor hair of the artists. You usually are, lending a hand for whatever production is one of the fun parts of your job, honestly, but today it’s just because you need to meet your supervising stylist and other coworkers before the shoot was to begin. You’re not 100% sure what’s happening today, but you know it’s a photoshoot and you know the style of makeup being asked of you. Quite frankly it’s not your job to know much more than that yet.

Soon enough a few other stylists start trickling in, introducing themselves one by one. Some tell you which member they’re assigned to, some only tell you their names, and you make sure each one knows you’re excited to work with them. You’re not quite sure how it happens, but by the time your supervising stylist shows up some minutes later (exactly on time, you note), you’re already fluttering between the stations being set up and carting this, that, and the other, between them while you chat with the other girls. They’re all very nice, you find, and eager to catch you up to speed on how things are run around here.

Your supervising stylist introduces herself as Lee Ji-Won, tells you the two of you would be working with Felix today, and shuffles you over to the appropriate counter to start setting up. You find the space a bit crowded with your addition, but luckily you’re soon directed into action and busy with work away from your new home base.

You find Ji-Won to be a no-nonsense type with a sharp sense of humor and a stern countenance, and a reasonable and pleasant person to work with. You also find out that she’s the head stylist for your team, not just the stylist supervising you. You’re very glad you find this out before you managed to call her supervisor to her face.

Really, you quite enjoy working with Ji-Won already. You almost wish you’d done your apprenticeship under her instead of the giant weirdo you’d landed yourself with in Hollywood. [Your mentor had been a nice guy, affable and wise, but he’d been odd, to put it kindly. Unfortunately for you, you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t have gotten a better education anywhere else. Your fellow Apprentice at the time had wanted to be just like your mentor, and you prayed for the sanity of whatever clients he scrounged up these days.]

Before too long everything is set up and you’re bestowed with praise for helping everything go so smoothly. You put it down to experience and a lot less fumbling than your average apprentice or even an actual junior artist. Nobody argues with you, and soon you’re tailing after Ji-Won to go help the clothing stylists get ready with a few of the other girls.

By the time you’re done with that and heading back to hair and makeup, Stray Kids is on set and the already buzzing set is swarming with activity. You once again admire Ji-Won’s impeccable timing as your group settles in just before the boys are ushered in and immediately beeline for their chairs. You assume they have a usual team and just head for the most familiar stylists, but you can’t be sure.

One thing is for sure, the eight of them are loud. Not in any one way, but as soon as they’d entered the room it was like a cacophony of jokes and laughter and sound had followed them. They seem to brighten up the dressing room with their mere presence and you smile to have seen it. You’ve definitely done makeup in more somber places.

Felix settles into his station with a questioning glance in your direction and Ji-Won sets to work even as she introduces you.

“Yongbok-ah, meet our newest make-up artist,” She introduces you, and you note the familiar address. It’s a good sign that Felix is probably very nice, for someone like Ji-Won to call him so comfortably.

“She’s new to us, but she’s well respected in the industry, so you boys be nice, alright?” You blush and duck your head at the praise, missing the absolutely bug-eyed look Felix shoots you and Ji-Won. Ji-Won catches it, though, and simply glares back at him.

“I’m really not all that, Ji-Won-ssi” you murmur, embarrassed. You rally yourself quickly and give Felix a sheepish smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Felix-ssi. I look forward to working with you.” You finish with a small bow. Felix grins back at you, echoing the greeting, but you’re put to work before much more conversation can take place.

At some point you’re sent from the room to fetch everyone a round of water bottles and other beverages. By the time you come back you can tell something has changed. Bangchan and Lee Know both give you a considering look, and Seungmin on the other side of the room looks downright impressed with you. You’re not sure what you’ve done, but you simply go about distributing the drinks, greeting and being introduced to each Stray Kid in turn as you make your rounds.

Ji-Won is about halfway done with Felix’s look when you return to her side, a hair-stylist eonni going at his head in tandem with her. She doesn’t have anything else for you to do at the moment, so you let yourself idle, examining Ji-Won’s products and handing them to her as needed, studying her techniques. You see her hands shake every now and then, and wonder if she’s eaten enough today.

Felix takes the opportunity to distract you, and you don’t notice Ji-Won’s sigh of relief as your eyes slide off of her.

“So what were you doing before this?” Felix inquires, “Ji-Won doesn’t give out praise so freely, you know.” He teases both you and Ji-Won in one fell swoop. You wonder if it’s the consequence of living with essentially seven brothers for years that one becomes good at teasing multiple targets. You settle for answering the question while ignoring the praise as Ji-Won sends him an intimidating look.

“I did a bit of everything,” You answer truthfully, “I was doing SFX makeup for an indie film that comes out soon right before this, and I was offered for London Fashion Week, but I decided on this instead.” Felix gives you a wide-eyed look before Ji-Won taps his forehead to make him relax his face again.

“Why’d you pick this,” He gestures to the room at large, “Over fashion week?” He questions incredulously. You shrug indifferently at him but answer when you notice Ji-Won giving you a curious look too.

“This seemed more fun,” You answer honestly. Even Ji-Won pauses completely to look at you funny this time, so you elaborate, “What I mean is, I’ve done fashion weeks before. I’ve even done London Fashion Week specifically before. In my opinion, if you’ve been to one you’ve been to them all.” You shrug again, “I’m not really interested in European faces right now, or high-fashion makeup. I know a lot less about Asian faces and the Korean styles of stage makeup.” You explain.

Ji-Won seems to understand you a bit at this point, but Felix still looks a bit lost, so you pivot to the more practical side of things. “Besides, this is a longer and more stable job for me.” You lean onto the counter behind you with your elbows and cross your legs as you continue. You find yourself idly counting Felix’s freckles as they disappear under layers of foundation and color while you speak.

“I’ve been independent for a long time, so the question of a year-long contract at lower pay and a shorter contract at higher pay was a no-brainer for me. It’s easier to live when you know where your next paycheck is coming from.” You can tell by the look on his face that he still doesn't find his daily life more interesting than London Fashion Week, but you just offer him an amused smile. He seems to accept it, Ji-Won finishing with one of his eyes as the conversation closes out.

She turns to you now, palette in hand. “You’re known for mimicking styles pretty well, right?” She questions. At your nod, she hands you the palette and gestures to Felix’s other eye. “Why don’t you do his other eye? We’ll be able to judge your capabilities a bit better if you’re actually doing makeup instead of running all over the place.”

You smile as you move to do as you’re told, jokingly complaining, “It feels like I’m an apprentice all over again!” as you do. Felix meets your eyes almost daringly as you approach and you offer him a small smile in return. The smile fades as you gently turn his head to properly study Ji-Won’s work. You memorize what you can and mentally flip it onto the other eye and get to work.

What you don’t see as you concentrate is some of the other artists pausing what they’re doing to watch you work, Ji-Won in particular scrutinizing every movement of your hand. The Stray Kids who’s artist could afford to pause their work also look over, curious. The fascination only lasts a moment though. They all have work to be doing right now.

A single eye doesn’t take you very long, and soon you’re leaning back to do a final study of your result with a satisfied smile. You were asked to imitate so you’d done as perfect a recreation as you could manage with a different eye. Looking over at Ji-Won for approval you’re met with a satisfied nod.

It doesn’t take Ji-Won much longer to finish up with Felix’s face and you’re left only a moment to admire the look before a manager comes in to corral everyone to their places for the shoot. Ji-Won's preternatural timing deserves to be admired.

Unfortunately for you you don’t get to do much makeup after that, being regulated to doing just about every menial task under the sun. It’s part of being the most junior person on staff, you know, but it’s still terribly boring.

You do get a bit of entertainment in the form of what is, according to one of your sunbaes, a traditional hazing of new SKZ coordis. You’d been following around Han’s dedicated coordi and were helping her fan him and pat the sweat off of his face when he tuned in enough to realize he didn’t recognize you.

It was kind of funny how you could almost read the thoughts off his face as his intrusive thoughts got the better of him. First the eyes on your face trying to place you. Then darting to your lanyard when he doesn’t. Registering the words ‘Junior Stylist’. The split second hesitation as his inhibitions war with his impulsiveness. Then he catches your eyes. Hesitates a moment more. Then winks and blows you a kiss.

The smirk he’d ended his little flirt with widens into a goofy grin as you simply blink in response and the other coordi starts giggling madly. Once you figure out it’s some sort of joke, you remember your sunbae’s warning about their ‘playfulness’ from the other day. You think you finally figured out what she meant.

After all the pieces click together for you, you let your eyes roll almost fondly. You always did enjoy clients who weren’t afraid to joke with you much more than the stuffy over-formal ones. You blow a kiss right back, but with no winking of your own, and get back to patting sweat off of his face. You note the red tinge to the very tips of his ears victoriously. Coordis - 1 SKZ - 0. As it should be.

The shoot ends with no further excitement, and you make your way home feeling over all very positive about your new job.

[polizwrites]

Shooting for the Moon

This is a fill for today's @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt [#FFF240 Broken Moonlight] as well as my @thehawkeyesbingo A1 - Werewolf AU square. It's also a POV-swap remix of A Hairy Situation.

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Pairing: Bucky Barnes/ Clint Barton Rating: General Tags:  No Powers AU,  Werewolf AU, werewolf!Bucky,  hookup to dating,  Summary:  Bucky was surprised to find himself in a former hookup’s bed after having wolfed out; but maybe he shouldn’t have been.   Word Count: 811

Bucky ached all over, his head was pounding like crazy and he’d swear his  tongue was covered in fur … unlike the rest of him, which no longer was.  

While none of this was unexpected, waking up in bed - instead of a filthy alley or under a tree in Prospect Park - was very much out of the ordinary.  Even more so the fact that it was someone else’s bed,  and very much still occupied by said someone.  

The last thing Bucky remembered was staring up at the moon, its light broken up by bands of clouds, but its power over him still very much in effect.   He’d been out for vengeance - and from what he could vaguely recall, he’d more than settled that score. 

It still didn’t explain what he was doing here,  in bed next to a man who was not only still breathing; in fact, he was snoring slightly, and smelled vaguely familiar on top of everything.  One more impossible thing to believe before breakfast, Bucky supposed. 

He opened his eyes to see  the back  of a dark, sandy blond head; no help there.   “Huh? Wh’re ‘m I?” Bucky managed to mumble around slightly too-large teeth; apparently spoken words were still a bit of a challenge.  

The man rolled over, stared at him for a shocked moment and blurted out “James?!”      

“Clint?!  Oh my god, did I…?”  Bucky was equally shocked to discover he’d somehow ended up in the apartment of a former hookup.  A hookup that maybe he’d managed to fall a little bit for, too.   He went to sit up and a sharp stabbing pain in his side made him hiss; he pressed his hand to his side to discover  a couple of loops of elastic wrap wrapped loosely around his torso.

Break into my apartment while you were all wolfed out? Yeah. But you obviously didn’t tear me limb from limb, so that’s a win.”   Clint flashed him what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but Bucky was still too busy trying to process what had happened. 

He looked down at his side to see a knife wound every bit of five inches long; its inflamed edges proof that silver had been involved, but clearly it had been cleaned and bandaged.  “You let a werewolf into your home,” he asked in disbelief, poking at the elastic wrap, “and then … gave it first aid?”

“You snuck in through the window and scared the hell out of me at first, but then I saw you were hurt.” Clint shrugged. “For what it’s worth, you were a pretty good patient. What do you remember about last night?”

Bucky gave a guarded explanation, finding Clint’s reaction to the mention of Wanda somehow encouraging.  Maybe he had more of a chance with him than he’d thought.  When Clint asked why he’d come here, Bucky danced around the question, focusing on what had happened to his victim. 

But Clint wasn’t that easily put off, and when he asked again why Bucky had come to his apartment after the fight,  he decided honesty was the best policy.  I … uh … guess part of me thought this would be a safe place. That I could … trust you.”

Even though I never heard back from you after our little hookup?”  Clint’s response was a little sharp, and entirely earned. 

“That was kind of shitty of me, wasn’t it?”  Bucky admitted. “But it’s not like I can let anyone get close, not with being what I am.”

When Clint assured him that his secret was safe,  Bucky’s heart skipped a beat; after  thanking him, he nearly kissed Clint, but was afraid of pushing too far, too fast.  Sure, they’d fooled around, but that was a one night stand kind of thing.  What Bucky truly wanted was so much more.  

As if he hadn’t intruded on Clint’s life too much already, Bucky shamefacedly asked if he could borrow something to wear home.  One drawback of being a shifter was the whole clothing - and lack thereof - situation.  

Once he was dressed, Bucky had one more request.  “I hate to ask you for anything else, but I am dying for a cup of coffee.”

“Unfortunately, I’m all out.” Clint replied, “but there’s a pretty good diner about a block away from here. How about we head over there together? My treat.”  

“That kind of sounds like a date.”  Bucky said before he could think better of it. 

“Because it kind of is.”  

Bucky couldn’t leave well enough alone -  he had to know for sure that Clint was on board with everything that he was.  “Even with the whole ‘wolfing out’ thing?”

“Call me crazy,” Clint replied with a grin, “but yeah.”

Bucky couldn’t help but break out into a relieved grin in return. “Huh. In that case, call me Bucky. All my friends do.”

[writing-oof]

what am i if not a dog - El (9)

(or: the E.G.G.s have superpowers. this, surprisingly, is only the beginning of El's problems.) (or: or: El Quackity gets rehabilitated like a rabid dog, Quackity yoinks his evil little brother, and A1 is safe and sound at the end of things)

TW: dehumanization, headache, loneliness, trauma

El wakes up with a headache.

It's not really an abnormal experience, feeling as his brain is tugged in a hundred different directions, a thousand tiny strings stretching and coiling around the base of his skull. Still, just because something's normal doesn't mean that he has to like it. Especially when it makes the edges of his vision hazy and his hands a hair shakier than usual.

He groans, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to remember why he thought sleeping in a tree was a good idea.

Something about Philza and birds' nests, he thinks, but his insides are twisted up enough that he might have just been drunk.

Not very drunk, he figures, sniffing the damp sleeve of his shirt only to find a very pleasant mixture of water and monster guts assailing his nose.

He tries to ground himself and ignore the headache as he makes his way out of the tree and towards Roier's home, ducking into the underbrush when he catches the sound of islanders headed his way. He waits until they've passed, and then a beat longer, before hurrying back along.

His head throbs just a bit more. It stings a bit, to be hiding again.

He thought things were going well.

After Fit let him crash inside his base, Ramón poking at him to keep him awake as he shook under a dozen different blankets, things had finally started to shape up for El. For the first time in probably ever, the islanders looked at him without the usual open hostility and hatred he'd grown accustomed to.

And then, probably predictably, things had gotten bad again.

Whatever happened isn't his fault, he's pretty sure, but crashing into Roier and sending both of them sprawling right outside his home probably is.

"Fuck!" Roier says, his usual cheer replaced with something sharp as he scrambles up, "Be careful, man!"

"Sorry," El says, and for the first time in weeks he flinches when Roier's hand settles in front of his face, frozen for half a beat before he clasps their hands and lets the islander pull him up.

"What were you even doing here?" Roier asks with a grin, but it feels sharp and wrong and--fuck, Roier was supposed to be the one normal Islander-- "Were you coming to spy on my house?"

He wiggles his eyebrows, but El feels a line of tension in all of it like maybe he was actually worried about El coming to spy.

"No way, man!" El says, trying to bring the conversation back to normal, even if it means being a bit more excited than usual, "I found a dungeon no one's touched yet. You in?"

"I can't," Roier says, shrugging apologetically, and El rolls his eyes.

"Come on, man," he protests, knocking their shoulders together playfully, "You love dungeons!"

"Yeah, yeah," Roier agrees, picking up his fallen sword and handing El his own axe that had fallen out of its sheath and onto the ground.

"Come on," El needles, and Roier shrugs again.

"I really can't."

El rolls his eyes. "I bet you're just avoiding me, huh?" he says, knocking into Roier again. Roier, who'd been trying to sheath his own sword again, fumbles as it clatters to the ground again.

El can feel the moment things snap. It's like the air itself gets electrified--has been getting electrified--and Roier spins on his heel, his expression twisted.

"Would you stop it, man!?" Roier demands, "I said I can't! Just go find someone else to bother! Or go back and report to your Federation bosses!"

"I--" El feels the words die in his throat. He feels Roier's eyes digging under his skin, frustrated and annoyed, and knows he can't fix this.

El doesn't even know what he did, not really, since his words made it clear that Roier was bothered by more than dropping his sword.

Something sinks deep in El's gut.

Roier lets out a cross between a sigh and a huff, dragging his hands down his face.

"I'm sorry, man," he says, but it sounds uncomfortably flat, "I'm crazy busy right now, you know? Maybe later?"

El just nods, trying to keep whatever's growing in his chest off of his face. Roier sighs again.

"See you later, man," He says with a little wave, and just like that El's alone again. His hands are cold again at his sides. Maybe that's just how things are meant to be.

(Maybe that's what he deserves.)

---

El should have known not to take Roier's advice.

He stumbles down the trail, still not far enough from his superiors' offices to get away with collapsing onto the floor like a tantruming toddler, and he keeps his eyes focused on the path in front of him.

His legs feel like dead weight, suddenly heavy and exhausted. His ears ring, a shaking shriek between his skull, and the space between his temple and his eye throbs. It's going to bruise, he's sure.

That's what he gets for following Roier's ideas and reporting in to his bosses. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but he didn't have anything new for them at all. Worse, he'd tried to stick around and ask questions after they'd dismissed him.

El's lucky a freshly revived headache--his new constant--is all he'd gotten.

Still, it isn't fair.

He gives his whole life to the Federation and they still skirt around him like he's a particularly live wire, a stack of TNT ready to go off at a moment's spark.

El's doing everything for them, but it's barely anything at all.

And no one will tell him anything. He can hear the operatives get quiet the second they spot him peering around the corner, voices hushed and files shoved into drawers like he's spying on the Federation for the islanders, and not the other way around. The sanitation workers won't even meet his gaze anymore, turning away like he isn't even there. Every sense of camaraderie he had with anyone is gone, replaced with a stiff and unrelenting tension.

The helpless frustration tugs at his brain like a really persistent alligator, stretching his thoughts in a billion different directions. It's painful, almost as painful as a boot to the face. His skull throbs and his whole body feels hot with frustration. His eyes well up with embarrassed tears.

El grits out a cross between a scream and a groan between his teeth, clenching his jaw and his fists tightly as he walks.

Why is it all going wrong now?

Just when things started to be almost okay for him?

El wipes at his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt; it's fine. He moves forward, aimless but steeled, trying to redirect his thoughts away from the static that consumes them.

'I'll just go to the dungeon myself,' he thinks, kicking at the ground while he walks. 'Who needs Roier anyways?'

El pauses, processes what he just thought, and then immediately scowls. The guy's so annoying El can't even escape him in his brain. He would never say it to him, but if the islander were some sort of disease, El would definitely have it.

It's like he's an infection, always festering on the forefront of El's mind.

And, now he can't stop thinking about the dismissal, the way Roier used to be with him painfully different from the way he is now. The distance between them stings something fierce, and he grits his teeth harder as the static in his head grows louder, more present, almost like it's zeroing-in.

Then, because he isn't dealing with enough right now, voices come into focus.

"Ḿ̸̻͂̅̔̍a̵̢̻͍͊n̵͉͕̮͈͎̑,̸̡̤̻̦̫͊́ ̷̻̆̕w̸͚̪̓͝h̷̺̪͔͊͊a̷̗͕̝̭͘t̵̲̭̗̠̫̍̎̉͋ do you think?" Roier asks and El jumps, his heart in his throat.

It only takes a second for him to decide to duck behind a bush, pressing a hand over his face in an effort to keep himself quiet. He's already in hot water with the islanders, they already think he's spying on them. He does not need to make that worse for himself.

"I̶͓̼̋͊̚̕͠ͅ ̷̣͇͈͓̗̎̈͛̄̕m̸̢̖̗̋̄̂̈̕è̸͍̺̯̟͈̃͊͘ā̴̻͋ņ̷͐́̒ͅ,̶̧͕͘ who knows," someone--Foolish, maybe--says with a laugh.

El tries to breathe, his headache pounding in full force and only getting worse as his heart pounds inside his chest. His breath comes faster with every second, his lungs aching, and his hands are starting to cramp from the force he's been clenching them.

A pained noise covered in static rings out and it takes him more than a moment to realize it came from him.

"W̴͓̉͌̆̉h̵̯̐̕o̷̰̥̍̇'̷͙̯̦͕̀̾͗͗́͜ș̷͛̔͊̍̂͌ there?" Roier asks, his voice tense and suspicious.

El stills. He can feel the blood draining from his face.

He is so, so fucked.

---

Part 9 of ? First Previous Next

[bestastrologyservices]

The Hidden Power of Ashlesha Nakshatra in Astrology

1. Introduction

The cosmic domain is split into 27 parts, known as Nakshatras in Vedic astrology. These Nakshatras have great importance and affect many facets of a person's life. Of them, Ashlesha Nakshatra has a special, frequently enigmatic potency.

2. Mythological Significance

Ashlesha Nakshatra is connected to the serpent god Vasuki in Hindu mythology. This Nakshatra is thought to have a close relationship with the energy of the serpent and to represent metamorphosis, wisdom, and healing.

3. Characteristics of Ashlesha Nakshatra

Personality Traits

Ashlesha Nakshatra sign natives are renowned for their sharp minds, sly demeanors, and profound emotional range. They have an inherent charm that entices people to be around them..

Strengths and Weaknesses

Natives of Ashlesha are strong because of their intuitive insights and capacity to adjust to shifting conditions. They might, nevertheless, also experience emotional instability and a propensity for manipulation.

4. Career Paths and Professions

Those born under Ashlesha Nakshatra frequently succeed in professions requiring a strong sense of intuition and analytical abilities. They are particularly successful in the healing arts, esoteric sciences, psychology, and research.

5. Love and Relationships

Ashlesha people are incredibly passionate and loyal partners in relationships. Nonetheless, their strong feelings can occasionally result in jealousy and possessiveness, necessitating tolerance from their partners.

6. Health and Well-being

Natives of Ashlesha may experience digestive and reproductive system problems. They must have well-balanced lives and learn how to properly handle stress.

7. Financial Outlook

Ashlesha people are drawn to chances involving financial change by nature. By making intelligent decisions and making wise investments, they have the ability to amass money.

8. Compatibility with Other Nakshatras

Hasta and Rohini nakshatras work well with Ashlesha nakshatra. Mutual understanding and harmonious relationships are frequently the outcome of these pairings.

9. Remedies for Negative Influence

Rituals include wearing jewels, chanting mantras, and practicing meditation can help people lessen the harmful impacts of Ashlesha Nakshatra.

10. Celebrities Born under Ashlesha Nakshatra

Ashlesha Nakshatra is associated with a number of well-known spiritual leaders, healers, and creative thinkers who have had a profound impact on society.

11. Rituals and Practices

Ashlesha Nakshatra is linked with a number of rituals and practices that are meant to help one harness its transforming energy and seek blessings for their well-being and personal development.

12. Astrological Predictions

Ashlesha Nakshatra is frequently used by astrologers to forecast significant life events, professional turning points, and interpersonal dynamics for those born under its influence.

13. Harnessing the Power of Ashlesha Nakshatra

Through embracing Ashlesha Nakshatra's attributes and energies, people can develop their intuitive insight, experience personal transformation, and meet obstacles head-on with grace and resiliency.

14. Conclusion

With its rich symbolism and transforming energy, Ashlesha Nakshatra provides significant insights into both the cosmic order and the human psyche. People might find their latent potential and set off on a voyage of self-discovery and spiritual progress by comprehending its influence.

15. FAQs

Q1: Can Ashlesha Nakshatra individuals be overly secretive?

A1:Indeed, because Ashlesha people are naturally inclined toward solitude and reflection, they may display secretive tendencies.

Q2: What gemstones are recommended for Ashlesha Nakshatra?

A2: The energy of Ashlesha Nakshatra can be balanced by gemstones like moonstone and pearl.

Q3: How can one strengthen their intuitive abilities associated with Ashlesha Nakshatra?

A3: For Ashlesha people, practicing mindfulness, meditation, and introspective activities can improve their intuitive insights.

Q4: Are there specific rituals for appeasing the serpent energy of Ashlesha Nakshatra?

A4: Absolutely, in order to please the serpent deity connected to Ashlesha Nakshatra, rituals including making sacrifices to snakes, reciting mantras, and keeping fasts on particular days are advised.

Q5: Is Ashlesha Nakshatra considered auspicious for starting new ventures?

A5:Ashlesha Nakshatra is seen to be a good time to start transformative initiatives and go on self-discovery excursions.

[spicysix]

your sweater (up over your head) | 1/6

2.9k words | next | masterlist | ao3 warnings: period-typical homophobia, Steve's parents are their own trigger warnings, implied use of a word as a slur (word doesn't actually show up on text), canon-divergence author's note: happy Stonathan saturday, and happy pride! 🧡🏳️‍🌈 this first chapter is cute and fluffy, but don't let it fool you! *taps fic on top of its head* this baby can hold so much angst. happy reading! ♡ written for @steveharringtonbingo, square/prompt: A1 - "you just gotta be yourself".

Steve’s new house is nice. It has a heated pool, and he can look at it from his bedroom window. His dad has his own office, and he won’t be pissed to have to work in the living or dining room when Steve was there at the same time anymore. His mom has a lot more cabinets in the kitchen and that makes her happy for a reason that only moms understand.

There’s a weird creepy forest behind their backyard, but Steve is old enough and brave enough to not fear it. He ventures it, actually. Explores it. It isn’t as creepy in the daylight, Steve is more weary of it at night when he looks at it through his bedroom window, past the blue glow of the pool. There’s a huge facility in the middle of it, Steve finds it someday. A lot of guards with guns and people with white coats and suits and Steve doesn’t like the looks of it, so he steers away from it. Goes a little further east.

That’s when Steve first sees him.

He’s a scrawny kid, and his tee and bagged shorts are way too big for his body. He’s short, and tiny altogether but his bowl cut is voluminous, which Steve thinks is a funny view. He has a camera in his hands and is taking pictures of the trees when Steve steps on a twig, and the noise startles them both. The kid looks back and their eyes meet.

He has these tiny eyes, but Steve can see from afar the contrast of how dark brown they are against the boy’s pale skin. He narrows them at Steve, making them almost disappear. He has a sharp jaw and a chin dimple, an almost cartoonishly-drawn cupid bow, and exceedingly pink lips.

Steve only remembers thinking how weird it is, that a boy is so pretty.

He tucks that thought down way in the back of his mind archives.

“Who are you?” the other boy asks, and his voice has that funny husk of puberty to it.

“My name’s Steve. I just moved here, my house is that way through the woods.” Steve points at the general direction of his house, even though he isn’t so sure where it was anymore. “You?”

“I’m Jonathan. I also live nearby,” he says and only then Steve notices that it might have been kind of dumb of him to tell an unknown kid where he lives. Jonathan seems smarter, though, and doesn’t make the same mistake as Steve. “You moved from where?”

“Chicago.”

“Not far.”

“No.”

They keep staring at each other for a while. But Jonathan isn’t squinting at Steve anymore, his posture seems more at ease, and Steve takes that as a sign that he can come closer. He then notices Jonathan’s camera is one of those instant films.

“Those are nice.” Steve points at the revealed films Jonathan was holding. “You like taking pictures?” he asks, and Jonathan nods.

He hands the films over to Steve, and he doesn’t know much about pictures, but he likes Jonathan’s. It’s a clear summer day, no clouds on sight, and so the pictures are well-lit. Jonathan captured some funny-looking trees, a few beautiful flowers, even a squirrel going up on a trunk.

“They look good,” Steve compliments, and again thinks about Jonathan looking pretty once he blushes at the praise. And again Steve tucks that thought into a hidden mind spot.

Jonathan suddenly lifts his hands holding the camera and takes a picture of Steve. They both laugh when the film clears and Steve is captured looking startled, eyes huge and mouth half-open. Jonathan tucks the picture into his back pocket.

They wander through the woods together after that. Jonathan takes a few more pictures before putting away the films and letting the camera hang from a strap around his neck. They talk a lot too, getting to know each other. Steve had just turned fifteen late July, and Jonathan was going to turn fourteen in November. Steve was going to start High School in this new town, Jonathan was going to start his final year of Middle School. Steve is an only child, Jonathan has a younger brother. Steve likes sports, Jonathan doesn’t. Steve likes the poppy tunes on the radio, Jonathan likes weird European rock bands that Steve had never heard about. They had basically nothing in common, and yet Steve wants nothing more than to be Jonathan’s friend.

“I have a few of those films back home. My uncle gave me one of these cameras last year but I don’t use it at all. I could give them to you if you want them?” Steve doesn’t lie when he offers. He really doesn’t use the cameras, and Jonathan clearly will.

“Are you sure?” Jonathan asks, carefully excited.

Steve nods with enthusiasm. “Sure! They gotta be put to good use!”

And so they agree to meet at the woods again the next day, near that big facility Steve had seen earlier, and Steve will bring the films and see Jonathan once more. He barely sleeps that night thinking about it, not really understanding his weird reaction, but plays it off as excitement for his first new friend in the new town, even if they weren’t going to share classes or anything. He didn’t have many friends back in Chicago, and he wants to change that. Jonathan is a good start.

That was day one.

They spend every day after that together over the rest of the summer. Steve’s father doesn’t notice his absence, since he works all week at the office he opened downtown, and he works all weekend at the office in the house. His mother goes out some days too, but she doesn’t seem to mind Steve’s absence as well after he explains he met a nice neighbor his age, and doesn’t pry about it as well. Steve likes that she respects his privacy.

Steve and Jonathan talk about everything. Jonathan doesn’t like sports and especially hates baseball because it’s his father’s favorite, but doesn’t seem to mind when Steve talks about basketball. Steve understands why Jonathan likes those obscure European bands once he borrows a tape and actually gets to kinda liking them too. Jonathan takes other pictures of Steve and keeps them all, and Steve convinces Jonathan to take a picture of them together and Jonathan lets Steve keep that one.

Steve has had crushes before, he knows what they feel like. Kristine B. Williams was his first one, back in third grade, and he remembered the butterflies. Betty Turner, on fifth, and the way she smiled at him and his cheeks burned. Sarah Wells on seventh and the way it felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Laura O’Neil on eight and how he would sweat so much when she looked at him and he hated it, but she didn’t seem to care about his wet palms when she held his hands at the Winter Ball last year.

He never got to kiss any of them, always too nervous about it, but he remembers how much he wanted to.

His mom swooned when he told her about Laura O’Neil and their hand-holding and shared dance, and his father looked proud and said something about how Steve’s good looks would get him famous at High School before he found the perfect girl to marry.

Matty Boswell said he didn’t want to kiss Sharon Blake at her fourteenth birthday party and the rest of Steve’s classmates called him a weird word. When Steve asked his parents about it, his mom said that it was a bad word about bad people. Steve’s father said they were deprived, those men who liked men and women who liked women.

Steve feels dirty when he notices that through summer —  through all of their afternoons talking and listening to music and taking pictures and sometimes just laying in the grass together; he notices that the way he feels when thinking about Jonathan is the same as he felt with Kristine, Betty, Sarah, Laura. He remembers how his first thought when he saw Jonathan was how pretty he looked, how weird that was. He remembers the way his father spat out that word with so much hatred. And yet he can’t help the butterflies, the blushes, the fast-beating heart, the sweats. He can’t help how much he wants to kiss Jonathan every time they see each other.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” he asks one day during the last week of summer, on impulse because the sun is hitting Jonathan’s face in a way that makes him look like something from a movie, the ones Steve’s mom likes to watch. Steve wants to take a picture, but he doesn’t have Jonathan’s talent for it. It wouldn’t look as good as the real sight.

“No, not really,” Jonathan answers.

“Never wanted to?” Steve asks again, toying with his shoelaces and not looking at his friend.

They had gone further south this time and ended up at a lake, Steve isn’t sure which one it is. They are sitting on a high rock with a privileged view of the water.

“No, not really,” Jonathan repeats, and Steve sees from his peripheral vision that Jonathan is already staring at him. “Not until recently.”

Steve’s heart is so beating so fast he’s afraid he’s going to pass out. He gathers  the courage to look back at Jonathan, and he has that pretty blush across his cheeks again. The sunbeams highlight some locks of his hair into a more golden shade, and Steve wants to tuck them behind Jonathan’s ear.

Steve remembers the disgust in his father’s voice.

Steve feels the butterflies throwing a party inside his stomach.

“Jonathan?” Steve simply calls his name, afraid to ask the actual question.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” Jonathan counters.

“No,” Steve answers.

“Never wanted to?”

“A few times, some girls back in Chicago,” his voice is faltering, and Jonathan’s voice is steady, and he looks much bigger than he is and Steve feels much smaller.

“Girls?” Jonathan asks, as if Steve is the weird one for wanting to kiss girls. “No one recently?”

Jonathan is asking the brave questions. Steve wants to be that brave.

When summer had just started and the Harringtons had just moved in, Steve had ventured and explored that weird creepy forest in his backyard and found a pretty boy there waiting for him. He had pink cheeks and lips, a chin dimple, a hideous bowl cut, and a puberty husk in his voice that sometimes made Steve laugh and sometimes gave Steve good goosebumps. He blossomed a weird creepy feeling in Steve’s chest, a forest full of butterflies inside his belly, and Steve wants to be brave enough to venture and explore those as well.

Summer is almost at its end and Steve drinks from Jonathan’s braveness.

“Recently, yes. There’s this boy,” his voice is still faltering and he still feels small, but he answers anyway.

The blush on Jonathan’s cheeks intensifies and it is worth it.

“A boy?” he asks and Steve nods, head bobbing up and down way more times than necessary.

He stops playing with his shoelaces and instead plants his palm right beside Jonathan’s on the rock they are sitting in. His pinky brushes Jonathan’s pinky, and he feels a wave of electric current through his body, like nothing he’d ever felt before.

“Do you think this boy wants to kiss me too?” Steve asks once again because that electric shock makes him even braver and Jonathan’s smile is worth it.

“I think he does.” And so he did.

They both surge forward and meet in the middle. Just a touch of lips, a chaste thing, but it is warm and it is soft and Steve has goosebumps and butterflies and he feels as if he could defy gravity and soar away. The only thing keeping him on the ground is Jonathan’s pinky intertwined with his and Jonathan’s soft, wet lips on his.

As they separate, Steve’s cheeks are burning and he sure looks just as pink as Jonathan does in front of him. They both smile, Steve wide and toothy, Jonathan with his shy little smirk. The sun is starting to set and it casts a golden light onto them and Steve wishes his eyes were a camera, capturing every moment.

That was kiss one.

Days keep coming and going, and they keep spending them together and Steve never wants the summer to end because he won’t be able to see Jonathan every day, not at school and not at their forest — Steve knows his parents will be more strict about school’s duties once he has them.

But Steve rejoices in the last days of summer anyways, and he admires Jonathan’s golden highlights under the sunbeams, and how he isn’t as pale as he was when they first met because the sun kisses his skin a little more golden too every day. And Steve kisses his lips a little more pink too every day.

They still venture and explore sometimes, but mostly they’d sit under a big old hickory tree (Jonathan tells Steve it’s a hickory tree, Steve knows nothing about trees), exchange cassettes and comic books, talk about their favorite movies — Jonathan likes horrors, Steve likes action — or just sit next to each other in silence.

And sometimes they just kiss all afternoon.

It never goes far, they don’t want to, don’t even think about it. They just caress each other’s faces, Jonathan’s cheeks always so pink and warm, and sometimes their tongues brush against each other’s and that electric wave goes up to a million watts, and Steve never felt happier. Whatever it is with Jonathan, and maybe it’s because he actually got to kiss him, but it’s much stronger than whatever he had ever felt for Kristine, Betty, Sarah or Laura.

Steve never wants the summer to end, but it’s ending anyway.

“I’m scared about High School. Moving cities was so weird, and I don’t know anyone in Hawkins besides you and you won’t even be there,” Steve murmurs on their last full day together before school starts. Their backs against the hickory tree, their pinkies intertwined just like after that first kiss and every kiss after that, and Jonathan squeezes his finger tighter.

“You’re a nice guy, Steve. You just gotta be yourself and you’ll find friends. And next year I’ll be there and we can hang out together too,” Jonathan assures him and Steve saves those words to repeat to himself later.

“You think I’m a nice guy?” he smirks at Jonathan and the other boy huffs. “I think you kinda like me…” he bumps their shoulders and that earns him an actual laugh. The butterflies are having a party. They always do, when Jonathan’s near.

“You’re a dork,” Jonathan says.

Sun is almost setting and that’s their cue. They share another chaste kiss, Steve’s butterflies go crazy again, and they part ways.

Steve walks a good bunch of steps before he looks back, as he always does. Jonathan is looking right back at him, as he always is.

“Don’t get some new friends and forget about me,” Jonathan yells and the trees carry the sound to Steve.

“I could never!” Steve yells back.

They wave at each other and follow their paths.

They don’t see each other much through September, because Steve has to study twice as hard to understand the subjects and keep his grades at a level his father can be proud of. He also joins basketball team and the practices take some space off his free time. On one of the only days they get to see each other, Jonathan explains that he’s having problems at home as well, his dad’s an asshole and his parents fight all the time.

They are only able to see each other once a week at most, and sometimes when there are too many tests and projects due, or an important game, Steve can’t meet Jonathan under their hickory tree. He always apologizes later when they finally see each other, and Jonathan always forgives him because he bets that High School is harder than Middle.

Steve doesn’t forget about Jonathan, though, he could never. He thinks about him every day, and he misses him every day, and when they meet up they make plans together.

They plan on going trick or treating together on Halloween at the fancy neighborhood — Loch Nora, Steve thinks that’s the name — but Steve’s father has no time to take him all the way across town and he says, “Steven, you’re too old for that children’s nonsense anyway.”

They plan on having their own Thanksgiving picnic — the day after the actual holiday, of course — but Steve’s mom doesn’t let him out and she says, “we are supposed to spend the whole weekend together as a family, Steven!”

They plan on meeting during winter break and maybe exchanging gifts — “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, Steve, I know your folks are rich, it can be something handmade” — but Steve’s parents take him with them when they travel to Illinois to see their family.

Steve’s and Jonathan’s plans never go right and they never get to see each other after October. Steve even misses Jonathan’s birthday in November, and he cries silently in his room after his parents are asleep. Steve doesn’t forget about Jonathan, though, he could never. He thinks about him every day, and he misses him every day, and he can’t wait for the new year to come, bring a new wave of Freshmen into High School, Jonathan along with them. Steve’s butterflies have parties only thinking about it.

That was year one.

[cerenemuxse]

The engines as different basis (EoSR but built different) - 1

(Tender engines as tank engines, vice versa)

From No. 1 - 6 (Thomas, Edward, Emily, Henry, Gordon, James)

NWR 1 Thomas (formerly LBSCR 307, SR 2307)

Class: London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway (LBSCR) Class C3 Horsham Goods

Previous Owners: London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway; Southern Railway; British Railways (Southern Region)

Built: August 1906

Real-life Withdrawal: May 1949 (never received a BR number)

Designer: Douglas Earle Marsh

Builder: Brighton Works

Bio:

Thomas is the first tender engine purchased by the NWR, after the withdrawals of the original NWR 1 - 6 (the last one being in 1925). The NWR had believed that they wouldn't need any tender engine power until the withdrawal of NWR 1 in 1925.

NWR 2 Edward (formerly W&SR 5)

Class: Dublin, Wicklow and Wexford Railway (DW&WR) 52 class; North Western Railway (NWR) Class S-W52

Previous Owners: Wellsworth & Suddery Railway

Built: 1893

Real-life Withdrawal: n/a

Designer: William Wakefield

Builder: Sharp, Stewart and Company (Glasgow, Scotland)

Bio:

Edward was commissioned by the Wellsworth and Suddery Railway. His design was altered so that he could run on standard gauge rails. When the merger occured, he was passed down to the NWR, along with Emily, and the NWR attempted to rebuild him so he could handle the new jobs. This did not work out, resulting in Edward having poor steaming issues. He was swapped with Emily, working lighter and fewer jobs.

NWR 3 Emily (formerly GNR 1009 and W&SR 6)

Class: Great Northern Railway (GNR) Class H1 Stirling Tank; North Western Railway (NWR) Class S-S1 Stirling Tank

Basis (Inspiration): GNR Stirling Single A3, GNR G1, and B&ER 4-2-4 tank engines

Previous Owners: Great Northern Railway; Wellsworth and Suddery Railway

Built: 1882

Real-life Withdrawal: n/a

Designer: Patrick Stirling

Builder: Doncaster Works

Bio:

Emily is an experimental tank engine version of the GNR A1, A2, and A3 Stirling Singles, with a wheel config of 4-2-4T. While she did perform decently, she did not perform as they expected so she was withdrawn. The Wellsworth and Suddery Railway took interest in Emily. They purchased her from the GNR before she could be sold to a scrapyard. She worked welled on the W&SR, able to be passed down to the NWR in 1915, along with Edward. She ended up replacing Edward on the express passenger service when the latter's rebuilds proved to worsen his performance.

NWR 4 Henry

Class: North Eastern Railway (NER) Class F; North Western Railway (NWR) Class S-S5 (4-6-4T) Black Five Tank

Basis (Inspiration): NER Class D (pre-1935); LNER Class A2 (pre-1935); LMS Class 5MT Black Fives (post-1935); LMS 4MT 2-6-4T (two-cylinder) (post-1935)

Previous Owners: Unknown

Built: 1920

Real-life Withdrawal: n/a

Designer: Vincent Raven; Henry Stanier

Builder: Unknown

Bio:

Henry was built from stolen duplicates of Vincent Raven's plans of a 4-6-2T, which were derived from the NER Class D (4-4-4T). Unfortunately, these duplicate plans were the discarded designs due to uneven weights on the chassis and the use of a Schmidt boiler. He was under-powered and a hazard to operate. Sir Louis Topham Hatt I was swindled to buy Henry in 1922 when promised that Henry would be the next best thing for railways. This was when the NWR believed that they wouldn't need tender engines to run the railway. After the Flying Kipper crash, Henry was rebuilt into a new class of his own, the LMS Class 5MT Black Five Tank.

NWR 5 Gordon

Class: Great Northern Railway (GNR) Class B1; North Western Railway (NWR) Class S-G1

Basis (Inspiration): GNR Gresley Class A1, GNR Gresley Class A3, and GNR Gresley Class N2

Previous Owners: Great Northern Railway

Built: 1920 - 1923

Real-life Withdrawal: n/a

Designer: Nigel Gresley

Builder: Doncaster Works

Bio:

Gordon is an experimental tank version of the GNR Gresley A1s, in hopes of surpassing the capabilities of the Gresley N2s. This did not work out but served as a basis for the LNER V1s. He was sold off to the NWR, replacing Emily on heavy passenger duty, which was the express service for the NWR.

NWR 6 James (formerly L&YR 506, LMS 11546)

Class: Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway (L&YR) Class 24; NWR Class S-A25

Previous Owners: L&YR, LNWR, LMS

Built: 1919

Real-life Withdrawal: 1959 (BR number would've been 51546)

Designer: John Audley Frederick Aspinall

Builder: Horwich Works

Bio:

James was bought as he was originally built in 1925. However, Sir Bertram Topham Hatt II ordered for James to be rebuilt into a 2-6-2T. This took well over a few months until they finally came up with a decent design. Unfortunately, James' great performance came at the cost of James' loosing his memories.

[mentallyinvernation]

Dreamling Bingo WIP - Beta/Omega Relationship

The lovely mods at @dreamlingbingo​ have let us submit previews for our squares, so I will be posting as many as I can before the day is up lol

This is from an unnamed omegaverse fae fic - A1: Beta/Omega Relationship

CW: implied later mpeg, ref to canonical child-death, ref to canonical death in childbirth

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

“I can grant you riches. Save you from the depths of famish. Restore you to your former glory.” The Fae purrs, curling pale arms around Hob’s shoulders, possessive, nails biting into his skin, toying with the frayed edge of the rags he’s been wearing for months. “But it will come at a price.”

“I don’t…” Hob winces, arms tightening around his middle as he attempts to starve off another sharp pang of hunger. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to give.”

The Fae hums, petal-soft lips brushing over the shell of Hob’s ear. “Oh, you sweet thing, there is always more left to give, and you have Endless.”

Hob grimaces. His life is endless until the day he decides otherwise. He’s not sure how he feels that this creature discovered that with such ease. He can’t find the will to care much right now.

“What service would you ask of me, then?”

“Service?” The fae repeats, their arm slipping off him like liquid silk as they trail around to face him. “Is that what you would offer me? An act?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I suppose I could ask you to silence church bells. Swear fealty to the Archfey. Learn the name of a devil. Lay with me.” The fey winks as Hob’s shoulders tense. “But that would be such a waste when I can smell the life on you. All those memories. Would you surrender one of those to me? Your first kiss. First mate. First love,” The fey pauses, tilts their head and smirks some dangerous thing. “A flame that’s yet to burn out, I see. And such an ill-advised candle to worship at that.”

“Fuck off. What use could you possibly have with my memories?”

“That is my business. I owe you no explanation. But where there is love there is also loss. Let’s see here…firstborn fell casualty to a tavern brawl. The second lost in birth along with the mother. Poor Robert Gadlen. All that life and yet here you are drowning in tragedy. I suppose you must be numb to it all by now?”

“Just get on with it and name your price. If it’s a memory you want well - well my answer is no.”

The fey smiles some beautiful, fanged thing. “Not a memory. No, I would claim to something far more precious than that. Your third born. That is my demand.”

And Hob, who has no intention of ever siring children again, snorts. “Deal.”

.

Of course, when Hob gets Dream pregnant three hundred years later, that becomes a bit of a problem. In his defence, he didn’t realise Dream could get pregnant.

[oddcryptidwrites]

The Murder of Fredrik Lexand (Space Clue)

ATTENTION ALL CITIZENS OF STARSEEKER A1 AND BEYOND: AS OF 18:16 21/3/314, FREDRIK MAXIMIL LEXAND, CORPORATE KING OF LEXAND STARFLEET, WAS FOUND DEAD IN HIS POD. AN INVESTIGATION IS CURRENTLY UNDERWAY. PLEASE REMAIN CALM.

General Information

Genre: Sci-Fi, thriller

POV: Unknown, likely third limited like every thing else.

Setting: 314 years post-takeoff in a giant, self sustaining spaceship (a la the Snowpiercer train crossed with the Axiom Spaceship from Wall-E)

Content warnings: Murder (obviously), blood, gore, emphasis on class divisions, politics

Status: Planning document plus about 2k words.

Cast

Fredrik Maximil Lexand :: he/him :: 58 :: deceased :: Corporate King of Lexand Starfleet :: descendant of the original Fredrim Maximil Lexand :: telekinetic

Maximil "Andren" Lexand :: he/him :: 25 :: alive :: Heir to Lexand Startfleet :: Member of the Triple L :: telekinetic

Aurelia Margreve Lexand :: she/her :: 24 :: alive :: Professional Socialite :: Member of the Triple L :: telekinetic

Ailyx Yante Lexand :: she/he :: 22 :: alive :: Leader of the Triple L :: no known powers

Corceles Ance Moncell :: he/they :: 25 :: alive :: Bioengineer for HydroCell :: biokinetic

Aayrne Ocanos Coopet :: he/him :: 26 :: alive :: Heir to Cooper Circuit :: telepath

Ristie Hitte Hayeston :: xe/she :: 24 :: alive :: Architect for Hayeston Constructs :: magnetokinetic

Betiz Dorne Wison :: she/they :: 29 :: alive :: Head of Lexand Household :: no known powers

Scoud Jawn Tambry :: xe/xir :: 30 :: alive :: Detective with A1 Police Squadron :: no known powers

Baen Asiric Kemat :: he/him :: 24 :: alive :: Hitman for the Lexand family :: prophetic visions

Mashinsa "Mashie" Werne Moncell :: she/her :: 54 :: alive :: Lead Bioengineer/CEO of HydroCell :: Biokinesis

Corven Ocanos Coopet :: he/him :: 53 :: alive :: CEO of Coopet Circuit :: Ex-Member of the Martian Coalition :: Telepathic

Notable Companies and Lexand Starfleet Subsidaries

Lexand Starfleet: Builder of the Lexand Starfleet, the last havens for humanity. The firstborn of each generation inherits the company, earning the title the "Corporate King". Lexand Starfleet controls the everyday workings of the average person and most means of production in order to keep the Fleet thriving. All of the legal companies on the Starfleet are either under Lexand Starfleet as a subsidiary or are closely linked to Lexand Starfleet. Lexand Starfleet has created sharp divisions between the different class of citizens, with those who paid more for their ticket in the beginning having higher status.

Coopet Circuit: Coopet Circuit is the closest thing Lexand Starfleet has to a rival. The families have their issues with one another, and Coopet Circuit did leave the Mars Coalition, but they still produce most of the electronics for the Starfleet.

Hayeston Construction, a Subsidiary of Lexand Starfleet: Hayeston Construction works directly for Lexand Starfleet, leading all major construction projects within the Starfleet. While there are technically other minor construction companies which are Lexand Starfleet subsidiaries, Hayeston Construction is given control over them.

Celse Purification, a Subsidiary of Lexand Starfleet: Celse Purification handles all water production and purification within the Starfleet. While Celse Purification originally started as its own seperate company, it was recently brought under Lexand Starfleet's official umbrella when Fredrik Maximil Lexand married Margreve Tael Celse.

HydroCell: Although HydroCell is one of the few remaining independent companies within the Starfleet, the Moncell and Lexand families have been close for generations. HydroCell bioengineers and grows all of the "natural" products within the Starfleet, which includes food.

Concepts

Triple L 

Triple L, or the Lexand Triad, is the nickname of the three children of Fredrik Lexand: Andren, Aurelia, and Ailyx. They hold immense power on A1, and can manipulate practically anything to their liking. Andren serves as the political/economic side, often making deals either in service to his father or in service to himself. Aurelia is the social butterfly, and often helps her brother, flirting and befriending her way to what she wants. Then there’s Ailyx, and their twofold strength. Ailyx, first off, is brilliant, despite most people underestimating them. They can often dig up information that no one else should know. Additionally, their close link to Baen Kemat allows them to access the last resort: assassination. 

Mars Coalition  

The Mars Coalition is the original band of companies that came together under the leadership of Fredrick Dean Lexand (Fredrik Dee Lexand), and formed the original Lexand Starfleet Corporation. The heads of the companies planned to build 25 Starfleet cruisers, to harbor the last bits of humanity. These companies include Cooper (Coopet) Circuit, HydroCell, Celsius (Celse) Purification, and Hayes Town (Hayeston) Construction. Today, all of these companies are still collectively known as the Mars Coalition, although Coopet Circut has exited the group. The name originates from their plan to recolonize Mars, which never came to fruition.

A/N: So yeah I just cranked this whole thing out in one afternoon, after posting WAY too much stuff today. I probably won't touch it for a HOT minute but I might come back every now and then to work on it. Also Fine Print by the Stupendium absolutely nails the aesthetic of the Starfleet in general (capitalist hell).

Tag List (Let me know if you wanted to be added or removed): @thetruearchmagos @the-down-upside-finch @aether-wasteland-s @shay-creates @n1ghtcrwler @writingonmymind @dyrewrites @writeblrsupport

[thecensusbureau]

[Scene takes place before Asha (A1) is set free.]

Cucurucho had been running. Not alone, it had A1 in its arms and she was holding on to it as if she was going to lose it. (She did, but only one of them knew.) It held her the same way, but more securely and in a position where she wouldn't be able to see or try not to hear any of the alarms and screams the Bureau could hear from the distant halls.

It wasn't a very pretty scene. Hopefully A1 actually couldn't witness it. Cucurucho wouldn't want this to be the last thing she saw before it would eventually let go.

Please, not now.

It shook its head, turning a sharp corner from a hallway. It nearly skids into someone as it recognized them.

"J-Jeremy?"

< @quesadillaislandofficial >