#slush’s other designs

[notodysseusofithaca]

hollyleaf

[schlushiii]

I think Slush would be very easily fooled into shaking Bills hand (￣∀￣)

(I totally and intentionally forgot elements of slush’s design while drawing them… totally)

[ahqkas]

“HE MOVES MOUNTAINS AND POUNDS THEM TO GROUND AGAIN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce likes to spoil you, especially during christmas WORD COUNT! 3.4k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce ‘let me spoil my girl’ wayne + lmk if more! NOTES! wanna be spoiled by a rich guy sb , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE STREETS OF GOTHAM, OFTEN SO COLD AND CRUEL WERE CHANGED UNDER THE FIRST TRUE SNOWFALL OF THE SEASON. Blankets of pristine white coated the rooftops, softening the jagged skyline into something almost whimsical. The sidewalks were a patchwork of footprints and slush, as bustling crowds meandered through the early morning chill. Each breath of air carried the scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby stand, mingling with the crisp bite of snow.

Children’s laughter rang out in bursts, slicing through the muffled quiet that came with the falling flakes. A group of them had gathered at the corner of Robinson Park, throwing handfuls of powdery snow at one another while some tilted their heads back, tongues outstretched, hoping to catch a flake or two. Their squeals of delight painted the city in a light Gotham rarely allowed itself to wear.

Storefronts glowed with soft, twinkling lights, festive decorations hanging from doorways and window displays dressed in shimmering reds and golds. Every shop seemed to beckon, promising warm escapes and holiday cheer, from tiny mom-and-pop bookstores to designer boutiques with mannequins posed elegantly in the latest winter fashion. Salvation Army bells jingled near donation buckets, blending with the soft hum of carolers just off the main avenue.

The energy was infectious—families strolled arm in arm, couples leaned into one another for warmth, and even the loneliest passerby seemed to walk with a lighter step.

Christmas was approaching.

That was how you found yourself walking arm in arm with Bruce, the world narrowing to the warmth of his presence beside you despite the winter chill. His grip on your arm was steady and sure, his hand a comforting weight where it rested over yours. Even through your gloves, you could feel the faintest trace of his warmth, a contrast to the icy air that kissed you cheeks.

He guided you effortlessly through the busy crowd of people, and his towering frame acted as an anchor amidst the chaos. You noticed the way heads turned, how people instinctively parted to let him through—not just because he was Bruce Wayne, the name that commanded attention, but because he carried himself with a quiet, natural authority. Still, his touch on your arm was gentle, not hurried, as though he had no place to be except here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to stick?” you asked, nodding toward the layer of snow coating the rooftops and trees. Your breath slipped through your lips in visible puffs.

Bruce glanced skyward, his eyes softening in the glow of string lights overhead. “It’s Gotham,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. “The snow never lasts long. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy it while it’s here.”

There was something so rare about seeing him like this—relaxed, his usual sharp focus softened by the holiday atmosphere. His other hand reached up briefly, brushing a stray snowflake from her your before it could melt, his touch so natural it made your heart stutter. “You’ll let me know if you’re getting cold, won’t you?” he added, his gaze flickering down to you, concern laced in his words.

You tilted your head, a playful smirk curving your lips as you glanced up at him. “I’m fine, Bruce. I’ve survived Gotham winters before.”

The words were teasing, but when he looked down at you with that gentle, pointed expression—his brow slightly furrowed, lips tight with that quiet intensity—you felt the weight of it, as always. It was as if he could see through you, straight into your heart, expecting an answer more than just your usual wit. He always wanted to hear it. A simple reassurance, whether you were okay in his arms after a quality night with him or sharing a quiet moment in the middle of the city’s frenzy.

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, the teasing edge fading into something more genuine. “I’m okay,” you assured him quietly, words a whisper that seemed to linger in the cold air between the two of you. “Really.”

Bruce’s expression softened, but there was still that hint of concern in his eyes, the faintest crease in his brow. His lips parted for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “I know you are,” he admitted. “But I like hearing it anyway.”

Your heart fluttered, and you gave him a soft, affectionate smile before he shifted his attention. Bruce pulled his phone from the pocket of his coat, the sleek device easily fitting in his hand, and he flicked through it with practiced ease. The light from the screen cast a subtle glow across his sharp features, revealing the concentration as he scanned his list.

“Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Alfred’s gifts—need to pick up something special for him . . . then there’s Damian, Dick . . . Jason . . . oh, and Tim.” He paused, scrolling through the notes app, his brow furrowing just a little as he went over his meticulous list of people to buy for. “It’s harder than it sounds—every one of them has something they’ll really like.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the contrast between his usual effortless decisiveness and the almost comical way he planned out every detail. It was such a Bruce thing to do, and yet it was endearing in its own right. “It’s just shopping, Bruce,” you teased. “You’ve got enough money to buy Gotham if you really wanted. Just get them whatever’s shiny and expensive.”

He shot you a glance, lips quirking into a barely-there smile. “Not for them,” he replied, voice thoughtful. “They’re not impressed by the shiny stuff. I want to get something meaningful, even if they act like they don’t care.”

Your teasing smile faded into something softer, touched by the sincerity in his words. He was always thoughtful, always careful, and it was something you’d grown to admire more than anything else. But you still had to comment, your voice light again to keep things from becoming too serious.

“Alright then,” you said with the twinkle in your eyes Bruce adored to see, “just don’t forget the part where you buy me something too. You know, for the ‘special girl’ in your life?”

The man gave you a look, not quite amused but not entirely serious either, his fingers scrolling on his phone as he half-listened. “Of course. You’re on the list, don’t worry.”

The way he said it, though, with that glimmer of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, let you know he was absolutely serious with it. And you knew, in his own quiet, understated way, Bruce would spoil you just as much—if not more—than anyone else.

As you continued in your stroll down the street, the quiet chatter of the crowd around thr two of you felt like distant noise, a soft hum that blurred into the background as your gaze drifted to one of the storefront windows. Nestled in the corner of the display was a delicate bracelet—its silver links shimmering beneath the soft glow of the shop’s warm lights. Each facet of the small diamonds glistened, catching the light just right, creating a mesmerizing sparkle that seemed to draw you in without you even realizing it.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took a step closer, breath caught in your throat as you admired the elegance of the piece. It was everything you loved—simple, yet exquisite, with just the right amount of subtle luxury. You could already imagine it on your wrist, the way it would catch the light, how it would complement the delicate necklace you wore around your neck. But, of course, you couldn’t be too obvious.

You quickly forced your feet to move, pulling your gaze away with an almost guilty glance toward Bruce. You could feel the warmth of his presence beside you, and you tried your best not to linger too long, not wanting him to see the longing in your eyes. It wasn’t like you wanted him to buy it for you—you weren’t the type to ask for extravagant things—but the thought of having something so beautiful . . . well, it made your heart ache just a little.

But of course, Bruce noticed.

He always did.

Without skipping a beat, he slowed his pace to match yours, his sharp eyes flicking toward the window where you had just stopped. He said nothing at first, but his gaze was keen, taking in the way your attention had been captured by the bracelet. It didn’t take much to read the silent longing in your eyes, and though he didn’t say a word, his lips twitched upward in that knowing, almost amused way he often did when he could see through you better than you could see yourself.

“Something catched your eye?”

You turned to face him, offering a quick, almost embarrassed smile. “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you waved a hand dismissively, though you couldn’t quite hide the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “Just . . . admiring.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, as if debating whether to push you further or let it slide, but his gaze never left yours for a moment. “You know,” he started, his voice low, with a hint of amusement. He was enjoying the moment. “I’m pretty sure I could arrange for that bracelet to be . . . yours, if you really like it.”

Your heart skipped again, and you couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound was breathless. “Bruce, you don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he interrupted, his gaze flicking back to the bracelet. “You deserve something beautiful.”

You met his eyes, a warmth blossoming in your chest at the way he spoke so naturally, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. You didn’t need to ask. He’d already thought it through, already seen something you hadn’t even let yourself admit.

Bruce, as always, seemed to be one step ahead of her.

Before you could protest, he gave your hand a gentle but firm tug, guiding you toward the shop entrance with a determined stride. Your protests, half-hearted as they were, barely made it past your lips before you found yourself caught in his wake.

“I don’t think I need anything,” you started, but the words felt flimsy as he nudged open the door for you to enter first, the warm air from inside the shop spilling out like an invitation. The shop was just as elegant as the bracelet itself, filled with gleaming displays of luxury and an array of fine jewelry that made your eyes sparkle. Even the air smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive perfumes, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place in your cozy winter coat compared to the sleek interior.

Bruce, however, seemed perfectly at home.

He was already scanning the shelves with the kind of focus he reserved for planning an important mission, his eyes darting between the glimmering items like a child in a candy store. “What do you think of this?” he asked, pointing to a necklace encrusted with gorgeous diamonds, its center stone a vivid shade of sapphire. “Or this?” His finger then hovered over a ring so opulent it seemed to catch the light from every angle, a stunning emerald set in platinum, polished to perfection. “I’m sure you’d look incredible in this one.”

You had to laugh, despite yourself. “Bruce, they’re beautiful, but I don’t need anything like that,” you said, trying your best to steer him toward a less extravagant choice. You couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by how effortless he made it look—like money was a toy for him, to be spent and discarded without a second thought. But you weren’t that girl. You didn’t need diamonds and gold to know he cared.

Bruce merely glanced at you, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’m not saying you need it,” he explained with a knowing glance, “but you deserve it. Every piece in here, and more.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through you at his words. “I’m really fine with just looking.”

Yet, his hand never wavered as he pointed again—this time toward the stunning bracelet you eyed earlier, a sleek chain with delicate diamonds set into its links, glistening under the shop’s overhead lights. “What about this one?” he asked, voice smooth and persuasive, as though he knew exactly you would choose this one. “It would go so well with the necklace you already wear.”

Oh, he knew you so well.

Your breath caught for a moment. There it was—the same bracelet you’d seen outside, now glowing with the same captivating brilliance up close. You felt your resolve falter, but you quickly steadied yourself. “Bruce, it’s beautiful, but—”

He cut you off, his voice warm but insistent. “I know what you’re thinking, but I can tell you right now, it’s not too much. Not for you.” His gaze softened as he met your eyes, almost pleading with a subtle intensity that you couldn’t ignore. “Let me spoil you, sweet girl, just a little. You’ve earned it.”

You swallowed, your cheeks warming up with emotion at the sincerity in his words. It wasn’t the extravagant pieces he had pointed to earlier that made your heart swell; it was the thought behind it all. He was offering what you had always dreamed of—the luxury, the feeling of being cared for so much that it made you almost melt.

“Bruce, really,” you tried again, voice softer, more vulnerable now. “I don’t need any of this.”

But his eyes, dark and unwavering, held yours, and you knew—he was determined. And deep down, you knew there was no way to say no.

Your words hung in the air for a moment as you smiled sheepishly, trying to ease the tension you could feel building between them. “I was just window shopping. I wasn’t planning on buying anything. It’s just . . . pretty to look at, that’s all.”

But when Bruce’s expression shifted—eyes narrowing ever so slightly, lips pressing into a thin line—you instantly knew you had made a mistake. His posture straightened, his gaze hardening in that way you knew too well. It wasn’t anger, exactly, but something else—something deeper, like he’d just been presented with an insult he hadn’t expected.

“You were just window shopping?” His voice was soft, but there was a steel edge to it now, one that told you he wasn’t pleased with the idea of you limiting yourself to just looking. “With me?”

For a moment, you were silent, surprised by the strength of his reaction. It almost felt like he’d been wounded, as if the idea of you standing in front of something so beautiful—something you deserved—without actually taking it, was too much for him to bear. The hint of disappointment in his voice caught you off guard, a realization dawning on you that you’d underestimated him again.

“Bruce,” you started, your tone softer now, trying to piece together the right words. “It’s not that I didn’t want it . . . I just didn’t want you to—”

He shook his head, cutting you off gently. “No. You don’t just window shop when you’re with me, sweetheart. Not for things like this. You see something you like, you take it. And I’ll make sure you get it.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the gentle cut-off from him stilled the words before they could escape. And before you could even process the shift, his fingers were already moving—sliding his sleek black card from his wallet with an ease you had come to expect, but it still made your heart flutter every time he did it.

The sound of the card swiping against the boutique’s terminal felt like a soft crack of thunder in the quiet of the shop, and the realization you her all at once—he wasn’t just offering to buy you the bracelet. He was already doing it.

The cashier smiled warmly, already taking the sleek black card and ringing up the bracelet. The sparkle of the diamonds under the soft shop lighting seemed to mock your hesitation, making the choice you had avoided all along suddenly seem inevitable. Your gaze flicked from the bracelet to the man who liked spoiling you a little too much, then back again, your chest tightening with a swirl of emotions.

Bruce caught your eye, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t take no for an answer when it comes to you,” he murmured quietly, his words soft but sure, as though the decision had been made the moment he saw you admiring the piece. “You deserve to have everything you want.”

“I . . . I didn’t want to feel like I was asking too much,” you admitted softly to him, fingers lightly brushing the delicate fabric of your scarf.

He stepped closer and his voice lowered just for you, the softness of it carrying a weight that made your cheeks warm up. “Sweetheart, you’re not asking for anything. You’re not asking too much. You never have to. Let me spoil you, let me take care of you.”

Before you could give him a response, the cashier handed him the small box containing the bracelet, wrapped with a care that only seemed to make it more precious.

“Enjoy the holidays, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Bruce turned to you then, the box resting in his hand, his dark eyes fixed on you with an almost expectant look.

“Go ahead,” he urged, his voice soft but firm, “Try it on. It’s yours just like I said it would be.”

Your fingers hovered over the delicate box, the weight of Bruce’s words lingering in the air like a soft promise. You opened it slowly, almost reverently, and your breath caught in your throat as you saw the bracelet in its full brilliance for the first time up close. The diamonds caught the light, glinting like tiny stars, each one reflecting a different facet of the warmth you felt deep inside. It was beautiful, in a way that made you feel a little lightheaded, and as you slipped it onto your wrist, you couldn’t help but glance up at Bruce, who was watching you with an almost proud smile.

“It’s perfect.”

Bruce’s eyes softened with something close to satisfaction, but the teasing smirk tugging at his lips was unmistakable. “I told you it would be,” he said, his voice rich with affection—and something else, something playful that you knew all too well.

You smiled, reaching up to adjust the bracelet slightly, the delicate metal cool against your skin. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually buy it, though,” you admitted, still a little embarrassed by the extravagance of it all. “You could’ve just let me keep window shopping.”

“Window shopping, huh?” He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “You’re with me now. Window shopping isn’t a thing, sweetheart. Not for you. You deserve more than that.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but before you could say anything else, Bruce’s voice turned more teasing, that mischievous edge creeping back in. “Although,” he began, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something more, “now that you have that beautiful bracelet, I wonder what else you might need. I’m sure there are plenty of other lovely things out there for you. More necklaces? Maybe some earrings? Or,” he paused dramatically, looking you up and down with a grin, “how about a whole set?”

You rolled her eyes, half-amused and half-embarrassed by the thought of being so utterly spoiled. “Bruce, I don’t need a whole set.”

“Oh, but I insist,” he teased, his smile widening. “There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to you. I’d spoil you rotten if I could.”

You could hear the amusement in his voice, but there was a layer of genuine affection beneath it all. It was the way he looked at you, the way he spoke—like you were the most precious thing in the world to him, and nothing was too much to give.

For a moment, you let yourself bask in the warmth of that feeling, your new bracelet gleaming against your wrist, a symbol not just of his generosity but of something much deeper—the connection the two of you shared. “You’re impossible,” you laughed softly, but there was no real heat in your words. Only affection, and the quiet joy of being loved in a way you’d never quite expected.

Bruce’s smile softened, and he leaned in just a little closer, his voice low and sincere. “I’m not impossible, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.”

[angelofthenight]

“Are We About to Kiss?” Pt.3

(Vance Hopper x gn!Reader)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Vance can barely function on your date

Warnings: Tsundere!Vance, Swearing, Flustering, Mutual Flirting, Kissing, This is just super fluffy okay

Word Count: 4.2k

( I just noticed Vance is literally ‘When He Sees Me’ and YN is ‘Never Ever Getting Rid of Me’ )

Requested by: @idk-callmewhatever @luveslasher @b3taaasquad @lanadelraystan @scarlettisconfused @gleamingpinksnake @aaronackerman @viidemoo @nepttune0 @vanceem @theteabush @kinnievan @onlyheretoreadfanficsstuff @brattzslattz

Vance paced his room like a madman in a padded cell, his closet now empty as his small amount of clothes were sprawled all across his floor. He told himself to stop acting like a chick and just pick something to wear but he couldn’t help but overthink every little option.

Of course he wanted to look good for your date but not too good that it made him look like actually cared, despite it already being obvious to you that he does in fact care. But he also didn’t want to look like a slob! He kicked through his pile of jeans that all looked the same… but they were slightly different shades and some were more rugged than the others!

His mom ironed a few pairs of his jeans which made his decisions harder. Would it be obvious to you that they were ironed? Would you think he ironed his jeans just for this stupid little date? He could perfectly picture your smug grin as you would ask him, “did you iron your jeans just for the movies?” He would probably strangle you out of embarrassment.

He looked over to the pile of his shirts. Should he wear a t-shirt or a muscle shirt to display his biceps to you? He wore muscle shirts practically every day though, so would the change to a t-shirt be obvious to you?! He hated t-shirts, he felt like a priss in them… but they did look nicer… what color would he even wear?! Should he be sneaky and wear your favorite color? Or would you catch on to that? Would it make him a creep that he even knows your favorite color?

Vance growled to himself and ran a hand through his curls. ‘It’s just the movies, we’re gonna be sitting in a dark room anyway.’ He lectured to himself about his paranoid, mad worries. His muscles physically tensed and his blue eyes widened in shape. It’d be just you and him, alone, sitting right next to each other, in the dark. The realization made his mind do flips, face reddening in heat. His hands clapped over his face to rub the heat out, grumbling swear words under his breath.

Through his fingers he noticed the arms of the clock on his wall inch closer and closer to the time you were supposed to meet up at the movies. Which led to a new stress: should he be early, on time, or fashionably late? Did he want to get there before or after you? Would he look desperate if he was early? Would he look like a time freak if he was exactly on time? Would it be cool if he came late so it looked like he didn’t care that much or would you think lowly of him?

God, he absolutely despised you for making him fall apart like this, for making him feel so weak, for making his insides feel like slush, for making his pulse absolutely freak out, for making the veins in his face feel like lava. He cursed this all in your name as he sat on the bench outside the theater a few minutes after the designated time. His arms tightly crossed over his chest to hide his sweat stains from the nerves, his legs manspreading in his ironed jeans as one of his legs vaguely bounced.

He kept checking the time every other second, his jitters getting worse and he nearly considered running out on cold feet. You were late. It was ten minutes past the meeting time and the credits were going to start very soon. Was this all in a jest? Was all your constant flirting and advances just one big joke about him? He was such an idiot to fall for it all, to actually believe that the specimen of his dreams truly liked him in that way; that you even thought of him in that way at all. That you-

“Hey, Vance!” You shouted as you sped walked over to where he was sitting, visibly out of breath. Once you reached him and smiled bright down at him, Vance blinked as his doubt and self-insecurity released him. You came. You were serious about the date. His eyebrows snapped together all of a sudden, “Did you fall in your toilet or something? The fuck took you so long?”

You chuckled bashfully, lacing your fingers together. “Sorry, I couldn’t decide what to wear.” You admitted with an embarrassed flush threatening to crawl up your neck.

Vance bit the inside of his cheek and faked a scoff and forced an eye roll. “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. It’s just the movies, you’re not getting your picture taken for the paper.” He hissed his self-projection, mentally noting that he still needs to shove the scattered piles of clothes on his floor back into his closet.

“It took forever to get you on this date, might as well make it worth your while.” You remarked with a flirtatious grin sharpening your lips and mischievous eyes that made you look like you were going to eat him alive, which was exactly what he feared; because he knows that you could. You verbally ushered him to his feet as you started toward the ticket stand. Vance scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over them, to follow after you like a clingy cat.

He tightly crossed his arms as he stood beside you while you paid for the tickets at the stand. You thanked the unenthusiastic worker before leading Vance through the doors, the thunder rumbling behind the approaching gray clouds in the sky making Vance slightly gulp as he walked towards his doom.

The two of you had no trouble getting concessions and finding your seats, and you just couldn’t fight off the wide, giddy smile plastered across your face and excitement bubbling in your stomach. Not for the movie, though, of course. In fact, although you’d never speak it aloud, you couldn’t care less for this Mad Max movie. What you were truly looking forward to was getting to sit right next to Vance in this dark room and tease and torment him to watch him unravel over and over again into a blushing mess.

Hm, maybe you were evil.

Vance glanced over to your fixated gaze and his brows scrunched together while he avoided your eyes. “Stop looking at me like that. We’re in public, creep.” Your eyebrows copied his as you quickly glanced around the theater consisting of only three small groups: a small family in the back, a mother and her two sons a few rows to your right, and two middle aged men more near the front row. You didn’t even think the other groups registered your existence. You amusedly rolled your eyes at Vance’s embarrassment.

The theater screen was still blank so the two of you were stuck sitting in silence. Well, it would be silent if Vance wasn’t crunching up popcorn in his open mouth. You slowly turned your head to him with a glare sharpening your eyes. You parted your lips, trying not to make a comment on how he’s already diving into the popcorn before the credits even started and how he should chew with his mouth closed.

In the state of disgust you even caught yourself wondering, this was the guy you were attracted to? You were even about to question what you exactly saw in him but your eyes then landed on how his prettily structured nose wiggled just the slightest as he ate. Your pupils traveled up the bridge of his nose to his eyes. Did his eyes invent a new shade of blue? Because you swore you've never seen that shade before, you’d remember such a pretty shade. But maybe the shade was only pretty because it was in his iris’.

You looked higher till you got to the roots of his hair and traveled down his blond curls. God, his blue eyes and blond hair combination really did make you wonder why you wouldn’t be attracted to him. He physically kind of reminded you of a male version of Cinderella. He really was a pretty guy, probably would be even prettier if he didn’t have the attitude of a hissing wild cat refusing to be pet.

You realized you had been studying his face like it was the first time you were ever seeing it, and the crazy thing was… staring at him made you a little flustered. So flustered you had to force yourself to look away as you felt heat swarm within the apples of your cheeks and your stomach get a little queasy, a feeling you hated to call butterflies.

The second you looked away is when Vance slowly glanced over to you. Both of you not knowing the other was admiring their faces. He nearly sighed at the sight of your pink tinted cheeks, it was as if they were actually glowing. Was that even possible? His enchanted eyes got distracted when you fleetingly bit your bottom lip, his attention now on your mouth. Your teeth had noticeably left your pink lip a shade darker.

Vance pursed his own lips together as he stared at your mouth, trying his hardest to not imagine how your lips would feel against his own… or even taste. Nope, that thought was too overwhelming as he thrashed his gaze off your pretty lips and they landed on your hair. Your… hair.

“You got a haircut.” He subconsciously stated aloud. You hummed as your confused response, looking over to your date. You remembered the haircut you got the same day Vance asked you out. You touched your ends a little. “Oh, I mean, barely. It was just a trim.” You let go of your hair. “Can’t believe you noticed.”

Vance’s eyes widened and he whipped his head away from you. “Don’t get your fuckin’ diaper in a twist over it.” He barked before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. You smiled at his reaction. “No, I meant thanks for noticing.” You said, a soft fondness resting in your eyes.

Vance grumbled out a tight scoff through his scowling frown. “Whatever…” he paused and your eyebrows slightly raised in anticipation. “Clown cunt.” He finally added which made your smile widen as you sat back in your seat. “There it is.”

The opening credits finally started playing as you verbally stated your opinion on each short movie trailer and whether or not you were going to see it. Vance told you to shut up each time followed by a degrading name that sometimes made your jaw physically drop. You’d rather change your name to ‘Clown Cunt’ than be called a “maggot eating carcass” again.

You swore sometimes that he had a little notebook where he would take hours to think of and write the most creative, insulting names to call you. Yet you’d rather focus on the image of him even owning a little notebook made just for you. Little did you know that Vance would laugh at all the things you said at home, in privacy where he didn’t have to suck in his smile.

When the movie started you both went peacefully silent, focusing on the movie and the introduction of all the characters. You and Vance were all settled in and comfortable when it got to a part where a long conversation between two of the characters began to grow boring to him and when he glimpsed over to you he noticed you were getting bored too. Vance’s heart rate started to pick up over an idea that popped into his head. Would you make a big deal out of it? Would you obnoxiously point it out with that shit eating grin of yours? He tested the waters of your awareness by doing a high elbow stretch. You didn’t seem to care enough to glance at him.

What would happen if he just…

He quietly faked a yawn and pulled out another arm stretch above his head. He glanced over to you to make sure you were still distracted before he slowly brought his arms back down, one arm on the head of the empty seat next to him and the other on the back of your chair. He did it! He actually did it!

You felt Vance’s flexed arm rest on the head of your chair and you were pleasantly very surprised he made such a slick move like that. Your lips widened to a soft smirk as you glanced down at his legs that were spread far apart, one of them invading your personal space. You had a flirty idea for a move a while ago during one of the car chase scenes but you didn’t want to ruin his clear enjoyment of the high tension action scene or distract him from it. Plus you were scared he would literally grab your leg and snap it in half if you disturbed the scene.

But if Vance was going to make such a bold move, then you were too. So you crossed your legs and used your top calf to gently nudge and rub against Vance’s knee, just a harmless little tease.

Vance did not find it harmless.

His shoulders visibly tensed upwards and he sucked in an audible breath. He reacted like someone shot him. Even in the dark room you saw how badly his face flushed red like a sunburn. He snapped his seemingly furious stare at you and thrashed his leg away from you, as well as retreating his arm. “Keep it in your pants, you twat” he grumbled. You wheezed out a chuckle at his reception as scrambled into the empty seat next to him, leaving an open chair between the two of you.

You moved into that chair to be next to him again but as soon as your bottom was seated Vance moved down another seat… as did you. This went on throughout the whole line of seats until Vance reached the very last chair and he would have to stand up and move up or down to a different row. He groaned in defeat as you plopped down beside him, humored grin intact. “I promise I don’t have cooties, Vance.”

“You sure? It’d explain your face.” He replied snarkily as he tightly crossed his arms once again. You tilted your head so you could get a better view of his face as you put on a mischievous smile. “Are you saying I’m ugly, Vance? Is that why you can barely look at me? ‘Cause I’m just sooooo horrid to even look at?” You teased.

Vance looked right at you, glare and furrowed brows and all. “No but it’s why I wouldn’t share a drink with you.” You dramatically gaped at him and made a theatrical offended face. “You’re so mean to me, Vancy Poo~” You pouted with another tease.

Vance’s eyes embiggened and his upper lip formed a snarl, his blushing nose and ears completely ruining the threatening facade. He jabbed your shoulder with a mild punch to make you sit back into your seat. “Don’t fucking call me that unless you want me to shove your head down the toilet. And I’m not that fucking mean. I’m just honest.” He shoved his fist back under his bicep like a spoiled child. “Now shut up so we can get this movie date over with and I can go home.”

You playfully but annoyedly rolled your eyes as you rubbed your stinging shoulder, noting that he punched less harder than he usually would. “It’s not even close to midnight yet, Cinderella.” You mumbled loud enough for him to hear. Vance’s hand flew out again to smack the same shoulder with hardened knuckles, making you gasp in a wince again. “Don’t call me a princess either, you fuck.”

“Why not?” You said through your wince, still rubbing your poor abused shoulder. You looked over to Vance and teasingly smirked with coquettish eyes as you leaned against the armchair closest to him. “Oh because that would make me Prince Charming? I’d say the roles suit us perfectly.” Vance scoffed and looked back at you with a raised cynical brow. “You calling yourself ‘charming’?” He teased back. You smiled foxily and shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

“You also saying I’m gonna turn into a shit-scrubbing peasant at midnight?” He questioned with the smallest smile creeping up onto his lips at your banter. You shrugged again, “If the shoe fits.” Vance hid his snigger in his throat. “And you call me mean?”

“Hey, calling you a princess is the nicest thing I’ve ever said about anyone.” You defended. “Cinderella only got to be a princess after she married Prince Cuntwad.” Vance corrected with a snarky matter-of-fact tone.

You barely even registered how close both of your faces were together, matching teasing smirks and impish foggy eyes, creating your very own atmosphere. “Hey Vance?” You spoke. “What.” You shifted in your seat to lean more into the armchair, keeping your eyes locked. “Are we about to kiss right now?”

Vance didn’t redden or glare or resort to violence, he just held his smirk and eye contact. “Shut up.” He mumbled, your lips merely inches apart. It was like there was a telepathic mutual agreement as you both leaned closer at the same time, your lips finding each other and clicking together perfectly like two puzzle pieces. You barely even got to feel the heat off his lips or taste the hint of soda past them before Vance abruptly peeled his lips off yours, your head slightly falling forward when he did so.

Your eyes shot open with pure, raw confusion after the literal two second perfect kiss in that perfect moment and caught the sight of Vance running down the stairs of the theater. You practically threw yourself out of your seat and ran down the steps after the blond-haired boy wearing a baby blue muscle shirt and navy blue jeans, him occasionally glimpsing over his shoulder like he was trying to escape you.

You swore you’ve seen this in a movie once.

Vance rushed out the doors into the empty theater lobby with you hot on his trail and calling out his name. “Vance! Vance, wait!” You yelled and he finally stopped, allowing you to catch up to him but leaving about a meter of space between you. You took a few seconds to catch your breath when Vance turned to your flabbergasted expression. “What happened?” You asked in complete dumbfounded bewilderment with your arms slightly out.

Vance’s jawline tightened alongside his fists. He let out some sort of vicious growl as he thrashed his fists down in the air. He pointed an accusing finger at you, his nose scrunched and nostrils flared as he bared his teeth. “You, you bitch! I can’t fucking do this anymore! It’s just, urgh! It’s just getting way too fucking much!” He spat out like a bellicose brute.

You frowned. You were beginning to assume your advances had turned annoying and harassing to him. “Vance…” you started sadly while rubbing your wrist in shame, “if you want me to stop, I will. Just say the word and I’ll leave you alone from here on out. And I’m sorry for everything I did-” Vance cut you off loudly. “What? No! Don’t turn yourself into the fucking victim, you dickhole!”

You blinked at him, now even more confused. “Well… then what’s wrong? I thought everything was going really well back there?” You asked softly with your cute little frown making Vance even more heated. “I know! That’s the fucking point, you stupid little clown cunt!” He snapped viciously, he had never sounded more audibly rogue with you.

He began pacing a short distance in front of you while he was going berserk. “God I hate you so much! I hate how you make me feel! You make me feel like a weak little sap! I feel like I can barely stand around you!” He looked over to you then hastily looked away with a growl. “I can’t even, fuck, I can’t even keep eye contact with you! Especially with how you look at me!”

He continued to complain and pace. “I hate that you make me feel pathetic and stupid! I feel like I have no dignity when I’m even near you!” He finally halted his movements. “I-I like you, alright?!”

Your amusement formed a smile. “Vance, I know.” You said, wondering if he honestly thought you still didn’t know even though that was the sole reason why you felt confident enough in pursuing him in the first place. “I know!” Vance snapped again. “And I hate that you know! I can’t fucking hide behind a secret anymore, goddamnit! And with what you make me feel, I can’t even try to be in denial! Do you even know how long it took me to decide what to wear to this stupid fucking date! Did you even notice I’m wearing ironed fucking jeans for you?!”

Vance growled out again with a homicidal-like scowl in his face and raised his curled fingers like he was getting ready to strangle you. “I hate you so fucking much! Stop giving me those eyes! You always know exactly what you’re doing, you fucking shithole bitch!”

You laughed aloud over how he was acting before slamming a hand over your mouth to cut it short. He was so dramatic. “Vance, that’s just how crushes feel. Everyone gets those weak feelings, even me. It’s completely normal and common.” You explained with a fond smile nestled in your lips. “No, it’s bad with me! You don’t get it!” Vance argued.

You laughed again at him, choosing to not be cruel and tease him about how he basically admitted that he has it bad for you. “Meow.” You chuckled out, pretending your hand was a cat clawed paw. He truly was a pussycat. “You’re such a dramatic baby.” You said as you took the steps needed to get closer to him as he huffed down at you. “Don’t forget that technically you made the first move when you went out of your entire way to find me and give me the drink I dropped when you tried to kill me.”

Vance slightly rolled his eyes and pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He murmured. Your smile enlarged with genuine infatuation. “So just… let your guard down for me. Face your fear.” You stepped closer so that you were toe to toe.

“I’m not scared of you.” Vance defended with an annoyed glare, that redness you always work towards blooming into his cheeks. “And I’ll fucking prove it.” He added before aggressively grabbing your head and dipping his lips down into yours. And just like Cinderella reuniting with her glass slipper, you and Vance’s lips were a perfect fit. You hummed happily into the kiss, one hand gently resting on one of his wrists and your other hand gently resting on his toned bicep. Your hand softly squeezed his bicep when Vance’s lips parted to overlap with yours from a different angle.

Getting caught up in the moment, your hand on his wrist moved to his other bicep while your other hand glided upwards. Your hand slowly moved up his neck to nestle your fingers into his curls by the roots. Vance hummed and pulled away from the kiss, snatching your wrist that was nearly buried in his hair.

“Don’t do that!” He barked with rosy hued cheeks that basically told you that did in fact like it. Vance didn’t bother to continue to argue or deny his weak feelings as he sloppily pushed your hand back in his hair to pounce his lips back into yours again, except this time with one hand around your waist and the other at the back of your head.

The sweet tasting kiss lasted only a couple more seconds before Vance parted again, still leaving mere centimeters between your mouths. You almost wanted to snap at him to stop talking.

“Don’t make a big deal out of this.” Vance grumbled with a fiery glare. You rolled your eyes. “I can try… Pussycat.”

“Clown Cunt.”

“Princess.”

“Shut up.”

You both pulled the other closer to reunite your lips to melt into each other, a moment you’ve both been waiting oh so long for. And Vance thanked the world for your clumsiness as it was the thing that finally brought you back into his life when you messed up his pinball score.

He just hoped he would get used to these weakening feelings.

[inthedarknessofnight]

I watched The Holdovers for the first time over the holidays (loved it btw), and for some reason I've also been getting flashbacks to last year when I basically devoured The Secret History and If We Were Villains back to back... And because I have this little devil on my shoulder constantly telling me to Steddie-fy everything, my brain immediately went like, ‘but what if Steve and Eddie both ended up stuck at their college campus over winter break.’ Consider this my pathetic attempt at their little forced-proximity romance story.

So, without further ado, I give you... Part 1

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Steve Harrington leaned out of his dorm room window, filling his lungs with the chilly air of a New Hampshire winter morning. Underneath him, the courtyard was brimming with students scurrying left and right, bags of various shapes and sizes slung over their shoulders, and even an occasional suitcase being dragged through the wet slush that covered the paved pathways, courtesy of last night’s snowstorm. Lively chatter echoed off the walls of the residence halls enclosing the courtyard, as his fellow students tried to squeeze in as many well-wishes, festive greetings, and goodbyes as they could, before their designated rides took them to whichever overpriced holiday destination their families chose this year. Steve tried his best to avoid getting too morose about it all, focusing on fumbling around his jacket pocket for a cigarette and lighter. He knew Patrick, their resident assistant, would have been on his ass before he even drew the first breath, but to everyone’s great surprise, he’d started his holiday a week early, prompting Steve and pretty much every other person in the building to take up smoking out of the window.

As soon as the first plume of smoke hit his lungs, Steve could feel the negative thoughts trickling away. He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and exhaled, savouring the moment. Unfortunately, his moment of bliss was short-lived, as Tommy Hagan barged into his room in his usual fashion—without so much as a knock.

“Harrington! You trying to get sent home or something?” Tommy asked, an annoying smirk stretching across his face.

“Fuck you, Hagan. I’m not that stupid, okay? RA’s gone, it’s basically a free-for-all over here,” Steve replied nonchalantly and leaned out again, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Alright, alright, we get it, Henderson Hall’s the coolest. Unless y’all burn it down,” Tommy clicked his tongue, “then, probably not so much,” he delivered what, Steve could only assume, was supposed to be the punchline. When Tommy realised Steve wasn’t going to deign that with a response, he merely scoffed and continued.

“So, hey. I thought I’d check if you’ve changed your mind about that ski trip? I know you said you wanted to stay here, catch up on whatever crap you’ve got going on with that ridiculous degree of yours, but…” Steve glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Tommy quirk an eyebrow at him suggestively. “Well, Carol stayed at that same place with her family last year, and according to her, they have a sauna and, like, a bunch of hot tubs. And, umm… Tammy will be there, if you know what I mean,” Tommy winked at him.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reaction Tommy expected from him, especially since he’d never really had a thing for Tammy beyond them hooking up a few times during their first year of college. In fact, he had no intention of going on that trip if Phoebe Cates herself walked in and personally offered him daily blowjobs. But he couldn’t exactly look Tommy in the eye and say, ‘Funny story—I got into a fight with my dad because he’s being an asshole, and now he’s refusing to give me any more money unless I come home and talk it through with him in person’. Instead, it was easier to turn around, face Tommy, and say…

“Nah, man. Already told my parents I can’t come to Cancun with them, because I need to study or I might fail and waste three years’ worth of their precious investments in my education,” which they didn’t even approve of in the first place, Steve finished the sentence in the privacy of his own mind. “They’d probably skin me alive if they found out I blew them off just so I could run off with you guys.” At least he didn’t have to lie about that last part.

“Dude, aren’t you, like, majoring in philosophy, or some shit? I thought you guys just sit around and talk all day,” Tommy scoffed. Philosophy and drama, actually, Steve thought, but knew all too well the addition would do little to help his case, so he didn’t bother correcting him.

“Yeah, well… Apparently, you have to have at least some idea what you’re talking about before you get to ‘just sit and talk,’” Steve countered. “But, hey, for all it’s worth, I really appreciate the offer, man. You enjoy that sauna for the both of us, okay?” He threw Tommy a wink, which immediately caused him to cringe internally. Tommy, resigned to being unable to persuade him, simply shook his head and shrugged.

“I don’t get you man but, uh, suit yourself,” Tommy said after a brief moment of consideration and gave Steve a dismissive wave. “Have a good one. I’ll see you after break, Harrington,” he added before promptly turning his back to Steve and exiting the room.

With Tommy gone, Steve felt like he could finally breathe again. The feeling didn’t last, though. A cold breeze blew through the open window, bringing with it a familiar feeling of loneliness that always settled deep inside his bones. Steve knew all too well the feeling had nothing to do with a little movement of air. Because it felt more like an old wound reopening. Because maybe it’s always been here, Steve admitted quietly. Etched into his skin. Blended into his marrow. Flowing through him like blood through his veins. It was the kind of cold he couldn’t just close a window on, no matter how hard he tried. Instead, he opted to close the one in front of him, making sure to stub out the cigarette he’d left burning on the windowsill before lowering the window pane and twisting the handle. He leaned his forearms on the inner ledge and rested his forehead against the cool glass. It was only a few weeks. He could do this. After all, he was used to empty rooms and haunted halls—these just happened to be slightly bigger empty rooms and haunted halls. Right?

—

Steve Harrington had never been more wrong. By the time day three of his self-imposed exile rolled around, he was fairly certain he was losing his mind. The worst thing was, he couldn’t do anything about it.

The first weekend passed with little fanfare, the campus growing quieter with each passing day. From Monday morning onwards, the whole thing was practically haunted. In fact, Steve was the only occupant left in Henderson Hall, barring some guy in the room down the hall from him. Steve didn’t really know him, but he was pretty sure he was a Music major—a suspicion the asshole happily confirmed by treating the seemingly empty dorm to a full-on concert in the middle of the night. When Steve ran into him in the dorm’s communal kitchen the following morning, the guy looked startled by his presence at first, then simply offered Steve an apologetic smile and mumbled something under his breath before darting out. Great, Steve thought to himself and slumped against and empty chair at the dining table. He was already well on the way to going batshit crazy, and now, his only company was the dorm’s resident weirdo. To be fair, there were at least two other people on campus that he was presently aware of, down the road in Mayfield Hall: a girl from the languages department he knew from Mrs. Click’s first-year rhetoric class, but wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with, and a girl he was pretty sure was in the Dance program, since they’d attended a movement class together the previous year. He’d noticed the former while out on one of his regular morning runs, catching sight of her just as she slipped on a particularly nasty patch of the frozen path, landing gracelessly on her backside. He went off course to help her and make sure she was okay, but she merely levelled him with a deadly stare. That was all the encouragement Steve needed to get the hell out of there.

With no company to save him from boredom and distract him from the gnawing sense of loneliness, Steve kept busy as best as he could. He even came to consider the dining hall being closed for the holidays a small mercy, as he occupied himself with planning his meals and taking the time to prepare them. On Tuesday, he made the short, fifteen-minute drive to the nearest town and bought a week’s worth of groceries, in case the weather prevented him from being able to make that trip again in the coming days. Steve was happy to find the fridge in the communal kitchen nice and empty for once—well, except for a frankly impressive supply of beer, which he could only assume belonged to the other remaining resident. 

Speaking of the rather unusual fellow—they’d started to develop a sort of quiet camaraderie, the two of them. They would usually bump into each other at lunchtime and again at dinnertime, and once Steve had been able to let go of the resentment he held towards his fellow resident, for the little nocturnal performance he put on the first night, they’d even gone as far as greeting each other.

“Hey, man,” the other guy would say, as he leisurely strolled into the kitchen, normally around noon, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Hi,” Steve would reply, giving a quick nod and small smile.

And that’s essentially how the entire first week of winter break went by. Slowly, Steve began to find comfort in the little routine they’d established. In a way, it soothed the ache inside him, to know that, without fail, his weird neighbour would always wake up way too late and meet him in the kitchen at mealtime to exchange a greeting or two. The guy had even taken to hovering there while Steve finished whatever dish he was making that day, and Steve was surprised at how quickly he became used to his quiet company (and Steve was applying this term liberally, by the way, since the guy clearly found it impossible to move around without making an array of random sounds). But despite how strange he was, Steve found his presence oddly calming, if not comforting. It also gave Steve a little insight into his habits, which were no less strange than the man himself. Over time, Steve noticed the guy seemingly lived on nothing but Cheerios, beer, and the occasional microwave meal. It made Steve wonder how the hell he was still alive—or how he managed to keep such a slender physique. Not that he’d been paying much attention to said physique, of course. Steve guessed he was just one of those people who lucked out with their metabolism. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the man’s curious gaze on him every time he saw Steve crafting his next meal. It even got to the point where Steve was half-convinced he could hear the guy sniffing the air as soon as he walked into the kitchen at mealtime, but whenever Steve glanced over his shoulder to check for proof, the other man immediately corrected himself, pretending to be occupied with with trivial tasks, like pouring more milk into his already full bowl of cereal. 

Steve found it sort of endearing—and, if he was being totally honest, it filled him with a sense of pride, to see another person react to his cooking that way. He loved cooking. Hell, he loved cooking for other people even more than he did himself, even if that opportunity rarely presented itself. True, he’d gained his cooking skills mainly out of necessity, having to take care of himself from a young age, but he knew not everyone grew up with a fully stocked pantry and the same resources and tools he had at his disposal. Who was he to assume that hadn’t been the case for his mysterious roomie? At the end of the day, even if he turned out to be too lazy to cook, it wouldn’t kill Steve to toss a double portion of spaghetti into the water and add a bit more tomato purée to his sauce—it would still be the most nutritious meal the guy’s had in days. If nothing else, you’ll gain a new friend and maybe you won’t have to do this alone, his brain supplied. Steve pushed the thought to the back of his mind. 

Emboldened by his newfound purpose, Steve put down the book he’d been trying to get through for the past week and made it for the kitchen. If he was lucky, he still had about two hours before his neighbour got up, which should give Steve enough time to have the sauce ready by the time the guy walked into the kitchen. At 12.30 pm, like clockwork, a familiar mop of curly hair peeked through kitchen door.

“Hey, man,” the guy said, his voice still groggy. Steve smiled to himself. He was nothing if not consistent. Not wanting to spook him by being too forthcoming, Steve stirred the sauce a few more times, then turned to face the guy fully and opted for one of his warmer smiles, as he said, “Hi.”

In his sleep-addled state, he didn’t seem to suspect that anything was out of the ordinary. Steve watched him go through his usual routine of dumping a bunch of cereal into a bowl and retrieving the milk from the fridge. He sat down at the opposite side of the dining table, facing Steve, and moved to pour the milk over his cereal. Steve couldn’t, in good conscience, let him ruin a perfectly good bowl of cereal if he decided to accept his offer (he was decidedly not getting ahead of himself just there), so he figured now was as good a time as any to speak up.

“You do realise you can’t keep eating cereal every day for the next three weeks, right?” Steve said, making sure to keep his tone light and playful. The last thing he wanted was for the guy to think he was judging his eating habits. He set the timer for the spaghetti, then leaned against the counter next to the stove and crossed his arms. Across from him, the poor guy seemed to have stopped dead in his tracks, still holding his milk at an angle. Confusion was clearly written all over his face, as he grappled with the fact that Steve had just addressed him directly. He looked up at Steve from beneath his messy fringe, big brown eyes slowly traveling upward until they were level with Steve’s, unsure whether he was allowed to look or not. It crossed Steve’s mind that he looked every bit like a frightened young deer, and he had to mentally stop himself from letting out a laugh.

“Umm… sorry?” His eyes darted confusedly between Steve and the offending bowl of cereal in front of him. “I didn’t realise there were rules about this stuff,” he said, though his tone wasn’t defensive. His voice was soft and shy, almost apologetic, and Steve immediately regretted his choice of words.

“No, shit… Sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve chuckled, desperately trying to salvage the longest conversation he’d had in days. “It’s just that, well, I can see you obviously really enjoy those,” he quickly motioned to the box of Cheerios on the table, “and, I mean, not to yuck your yum, but they really don’t make for the most nutritious meal. Wouldn’t want the rest of this dorm to come back to the smell of a rotting corpse because you, like, dropped dead of malnutrition or something, you know?” Oh god, what was he even saying?! Nice, Harrington, real nice. Idiot.

Too busy chastising himself for the word vomit he’d just unleashed on this random dude, Steve registered somewhat belatedly that the guy was now laughing, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Steve couldn’t help the expression of pleasant surprise creeping onto his face, as he watched the other man come down from his fit of laugher. He was now beaming at Steve, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how he had one of those smiles that light up a person’s entire face.

“Well, it does sound kind of grim when you put it like that, but what can I say?” He plucked a single Cheerio from the bowl and held it up close to his face, as if to examine it. “What you sacrifice on nutrition, you save on money.” Then, with a quick flick of the wrist, he tossed the Cheerio into the air, caught it in his mouth, and flashed Steve a triumphant grin. Steve chuckled, giving him a quick round of applause, to which the guy responded with an exaggerated bow. And if Steve found himself somewhat surprised at how quickly he was warming up to his new roommate, nobody needed to know.

Despite the cheerful nature of the encounter so far, Steve couldn’t help but feel a little guilty after hearing the guy explain his peculiar diet. Here he was with half the grocery store at his disposal, while, across from him, sat a guy forced to live on the same kind of cereal, meal after meal, for the sake of being frugal. He could imagine how difficult it must be to feed yourself on a budget when you don’t have the knowledge or skills to cook in the first place. The sound of his timer jolted Steve out of his thoughts, and he turned back to the stove to check if the spaghetti were cooked. He manoeuvred a single piece of pasta out of the water, blew on it a couple of times, grabbed it with his thumb and index finger, then tipped his head back and lowered it into his open mouth, blissfully unaware of a pair of brown eyes trying their best to look at anything other than Steve. After giving them a few more stirs, he strained the spaghetti in the kitchen sink, then paused for a moment, pretending to deliberate, the guy’s gaze still fixed on him. Before he could overthink it, he turned to face him again.

“Listen, you can totally say no if you want, but I think just made way too much spaghetti for one person. Would you like some?” He heard the guy take a breath, preparing to say something, then remembered. “Oh, and I have this sauce too, by the way,” he quickly added, taking the pot with the sauce off the stove and bringing it towards the other man. Steve tipped the pot slightly, trying to show him what’s inside, nearly causing a bulk of it to spill over the edge. He then realised the contents in the pot were essentially liquid and he probably shouldn’t have been doing that, which prompted him to a curse under his breath and carefully set the pot back on the stove. The guy, clearly amused by the whole display, just giggled and Steve had to take that as a win, even if he ended up rejecting his offer of a warm meal. To his credit, the guy seemed to weigh the idea carefully for a moment. All of a sudden, it looked like something clicked in his brain, and he offered Steve a lopsided smile.

“Well, then, if there really is sauce involved, I don’t see how I could possibly refuse.”

It took Steve a little while to register that he was, in fact, not being rejected, but as soon as he did, he couldn't help the way his face lit up, not caring anymore if he came across as overeager. He snapped his fingers and made finger guns at the guy, clearly high on some kind of playful energy the exchange had incited in him.

“Alrighty then,” he said cheerfully, turning to plate their meal, trying his best to ignore the warmth spreading through his chest as he looked down at the result. Two plates.

Steve carried both plates and some cutlery to the table, setting one plate in front of his guest, who followed the motion with fervent fixation. He thought the guy might actually start drooling if he didn’t get to dig into his meal soon. As Steve plopped into the chair across from him, though, he was struck with the realisation that they were about to have their first meal together, yet didn’t even know each other’s names. He cleared his throat and extended his hand towards the stranger.

“Oh, sorry—I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington.”

His companion broke out of his daze, beaming fondly at Steve as he firmly grasped the offered hand.

“Nice to meet you, Steve. Steve Harrington. I’m Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

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Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it ☺️ Just fyi, I don't have this whole thing written yet, so I'll be posting it in parts here, on Tumblr, until I do, and then once it's been edited a bit and given a title, I'll probably put it up on ao3 as a longer oneshot. I'll make sure to reblog with the first part every time I post a new one, and I'll also link all the previous parts, so don't worry! It's gonna be so so cute and I'm so excited to share this story with you guys. Check in to see what the boys will get up to next!

[howlingday]

Jaune Arc fell into ice. That's the last thing he remembered. Now he's in a strange grove with spirits watching him all the time.... He thinks they might be broken.

Team RWBY are faunas researchers who've found the discovery of the century. A human man still alive in ice. It's a contested theory that ancient humans eventually evolved into faunas and with a member of the previously thought extinct species they might just be able to prove it. Now how to get closer to him

(tldr stone age jaune dealing with modern day faunas RWBY being horny on main for him. The spirits must be crazy)

Last Man Standing

The last thing Jaune remembered that cold winter evening was sulking across the ice to get away from his cheating ex-girlfriend. What was supposed to be a romantic night of welcoming in the new year instead became the worst heartbreak of his life, made worse when she called him out as a spineless nobody that no woman would ever want. She also said his hair looked shaggy, which didn't hurt as much as the betrayal itself, but it still stung.

Then everything got fast. Then everything got cold. And then everything got dark.

When he awoke, he took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling a sweet scent of strawberries. His eyes still shut; he leaned forward to get closer to the smell. This earned him a yelp, a slap, and a scream. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a girl in a red hood running around the corner. Did she have dog ears?

"Where..." Jaune groaned as he leaned forward, noticing the hot air blowing over him. Though he was still partially frozen in ice, he managed to push his way through the, at best, hard slush of his cocoon. He looked down to see his clothes were soaked. "Ah, man..."

"I'm telling you, Weiss, I know what I saw!"

"Ruby Rose, the specimen has been frozen for at least a thousand years! Even if he did manage to thaw out, he wouldn't... be..."

The two young women stared at Jaune as he twisted his hoodie like a used dishrag, water spilling onto the floor. He turned and saw them, his eyes nearly as wide as theirs as they stared at one another.

For Jaune, he'd never seen anyone like them before! It was like something out of an anime. Two beautiful girls, one with pointed, dog-like ears, while the other had a long and bushy tail twitched back and forth. For them-

"CODE GRAY!" Screamed the tailed girl. She then rushed out of the room, dragging the other girl behind her. The dog-eared one glanced back with sort of sad eyes. None of it sounded good to Jaune, and considering the wailing sirens and flashing lights, he had to get out of wherever he is and fast!

Tossing on his still damp shirt, he made for the exit, accidentally knocking over a poor girl with rabbit ears. He gave a hasty apology as he continued to bolt down the hallway. Unfortunately, this caught more people's attention, and eventually a woman came barreling after him, hand on her beret to keep from flying off her small, round ears. He couldn't see much of her eyes past her designer shades, but what he could see spelled death.

"Incoming!" Jaune looked ahead, flipping backwards as his neck slammed into an extended arm. He gave a hoarse groan as he looked up to see three women towering over him. One was the same woman as before with round ears poking from her beret, the cute appearance contrasting with her snarling scowl. Another had gave a cheeky grin as she leaned forward a bit, showing off her cleavage to her catch, all the while a long, blonde tail swished about.

But the third and final woman gave no hint of any sort of emotion. Neither anger nor joy, but simple indifference. She reached behind her and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, tethered by a thick cable with glowing blue lights that ceased and revealed an opening with the click of a button. Her pointed, red dog-like ears made her look all the more intimidating.

"You're under arrest."

[katsukikitten]

Sae lingers in your office when he's blowing off a meeting, you always find him leaning against the edge of your desk with a bored expression and he stays unbothered even as you lecture him.

Today will be no different, you'll come back from the corner store, drinks in tow and a rare cold treat thanks to the sweltering heat. A cherry twin popcicle.

You plan to eat the whole thing, you'll have to eat them both at once the second you get into the office even if it's only a short walk from your office to the store.

Riding up the floors as you get your sweet ready to eat. Elevator doors opening, unlocking your office door to see that annoying icy teal gaze.

"Itoshi. Dead ass I know you're not here instead of three floors down in meeting room 360B." You're growling as you toss your purse on to the couch by the door along with the other drinks.

His eyes stay locked on the popsicle, nothing you say registers and that pisses you off more.

"Flavor?"

"What, Itoshi are you ever listening to me?!"

"Just like you don't. It's Sae. Now what's the flavor."

"Cherry. Here." You snap the frozen treat down the middle holding them out to him so that he can choose.

He picks your left. Watches your breath fog over the cherry delight before it disappears behind pretty lips as you round your desk. He stays unmoving, his own breath fogging over the popcicle as he leisurely eats the slowly melting treat. If he doesn't eat it fast enough it'll stain his fingers just like the sticky nostalgia of the memories bubbling to the surface.

"Oh!" Excitement from behind him, glancing over his shoulder to see you presenting the wooden stick, swallowing the last of the cherry slush while your clawed fingers point to the word, "I got lucky!"

Winner.

Smiling sweetly before tossing the red stained wood into the trash. Sae knows what his will say, knows what will be written under the dripping red.

He eats it anyway, quickly before it slides off and tries to tarnish his designer pants.

He knew what it would read, staring at the word he's seen more often than not at the end of a stained wooden stick.

Loser.

He tosses the word into the pink trash can by your desk before pushing away from the desk, can't help the words from slipping past his lips.

"Don't use up all your luck on that."

[ranticore]

Damn I wanted to ask pretty much the same about Félix :( anyways 1 2 3 and 6 about Bowman because I love him and I love to learn more about OC creative processes

>:) time for bow man

1: What was the original thought that led to the creation of this character?

Literally 'snake oil salesman'. Of the main three he was the first I made and the reason anything else happened in the story. He was this kinda untrustworthy guy who'd try to sell you Tonics that were either water (if you were lucky) or just straight up poison, but he was somehow also really charming and would give up any sales attempt if it meant he could hit on anything that moved

2: How long was the process before the character reached its final version? (or a version that would be clearly recognizable as the character?)

Design has been p.much the same since 2019 but in terms of story, that came with the slush draft 0 of stbh in 2020.

3: What was the first thing you decided on, the character's name, appearance, personality or their role in the story?

His name :)

6: What was the thought process behind their appearance? Did you go mostly for the aesthetic or are there other reasons they look the way they do?

he was intentionally made to have the same physical traits as one of my friend's characters but in a very different way (they're both blond but bman has curls etc), so it could be said that Bowman is the wario version of someone else ;)

i don't really remember picking the other features, it all kinda developed each new time i drew him. picked a shape and ran with it kinda stuff. i DID intentionally pick his draw arm for the phallo scar because using a longbow compresses the bow arm while lengthening the draw arm, so when given the option for which arm would provide the graft, bowman obviously picked his longer arm

he has a sailor tattoo of a topless mermaid that i almost always forget to describe but it's on his left arm. he got that from some guy at the docks once. i remember thinking what kind of tattoo he would choose to get and mermaid titties is the obvious answer

[ratherbefangirling]

Belong 8

Pairing: ot7 x reader

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, omegaverse au

Summary: where Jungkook has to make decisions.

Masterlist

Previous / NEXT

You browsed through the aisle looking for something that wasn't the worn out clothes you owned and was somewhat picture worthy.

Jin showed you a pale pink shirt with a little heart on it.

"Oh that looks cute." You comment.

"What about this?" Taehyung asks pointing to a sundress.

"Is this even appropriate for camping?" You asked unsure.

"You'll rock this I promise" Taehyung told you.

"Ofcourse we're just suggesting feel free to buy what you like." Jin reassures you.

"But seriously this screams you." Taehyung added.

"Tae." Jin warned.

"Fine." Taehyung said.

"Do you need something else? Did you get a torch or rain coat yet?" Jin asks checking the list Hobi sent them.

"Not yet. I'm glad I asked you guys to help me." You say.

Jin smiles at you fondly.

"Ofcourse we're happy to help." Taehyung replies.

You guys shop for everything you need. Jin and Tae don't let you carry any of the bags. When you insist Taehyung buys a slush and designates you as his slush holder. And when your hands get cold he gets Jin to chug it and then both of them hold your hands to warm them.

And some part of you thinks that you should be setting boundaries but you're so cold and they're so warm and maybe you are just a moth to their flame and maybe you'll burn in the end but the only other option the moth has is a cold and dark life.

Namjoon is met with the grim faces of his pack. But even if he hates it he has to take these decisions, hold these meetings.

It doesn't look that different from the regular, Jungkook lies in Jin's lap who is stroking the little alpha's hair. Jimin is feeding himself and the other two apples which yoongi continues to peel. Taehyung and hobi are cuddled together. He too wants to sit between the pack and enjoy the lovely weather.

"So I went to meet Jungkook's professor luckily he's only going to supervise a trip. So crisis averted." Namjoon tells them.

"Thanks hyungie." Jungkook says.

"You're welcome. Now I want to talk about y/n. " He can see the change in atmosphere. "We need to decide if we will officially court her or not. Till now we have sent unofficial courting gifts but reflecting on it I think it wasn't the wisest decision to proceed because Jungkook still hasn't asked her officially. I want to know what everyone thinks" Namjoon says.

Everyone turns to Jungkook.

"I dont know." Jungkook says.

Namjoon rubs his forehead. He feels a headache coming.

"Me and Taehyung saw her with another alpha." Jimin says.

Yoongi nods too. "Me too I saw him come out of her house."

"The flashy car?" Taehyung questions

"The flashy car." Yoongi confirms.

Namjoon's jaw clenches. Even though the courting had not officially began. He considered you pack. The news that another alpha was courting you brought an unpleasant taste to his mouth.

Jimin looked as Namjoon's face darkened. He could sense the bitterness of Namjoon's scent seeping in. While angry Namjoon looked hot. Nobody actually wanted to anger him because angry Namjoon was bitter and petty and his rational side was nowhere to be seen.

" Namjoon, dont" yoongi said softly.

Namjoon forced himself to relax.

"So tell us Jungkook what do you want?" Namjoon asks keeping himself in check.

"I dont know hyung." Came Jungkook's weak reply.

"You don't know fine. I will give you a week and I want an answer. We can't keep waiting anymore." Namjoon said firmly.

"Yes hyung."

"I'm going to bed." Namjoon announced feeling very drained.

"I will come with you." Jin offered.

"Me too." Jimin added.

"Thank you. Good night." Namjoon said leaving.

There was silence until Hobi finally spoke.

"Who wants to try Yoongi hyungs famous seafood ramen recipe? Me. Hyung make some."

Taehyung raised his hand and then lifted Jungkook's as well.

"Ok." Yoongi said as he walked to the kitchen.

"I will help" Jungkook offered.

Yoongi nodded.

You giggled at something Jungkook said. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping.He smiled happy to make you happy. There were flowers around so he made you a flower crown. For his pretty omega.

"Thank you alpha." You said.

"I can be a good alpha."

"I know you can. The flowers are so nice."

"Not more than your scent."

Your smile faded. You threw the crown away.

"You think this lousy thing will make me happy."

A guy with a red car drove destroying the garden. He pulled out a huge bouquet of roses and a diamond ring.

"Now that's what I like." You said and held hands with the alpha and left.

"Mate.. mate" He whimpered.

"Y/n please come back."

Jungkook awoke with a tear stained pillow. He rubbed his eyes. The nightmare still fresh.

Pack. He needed pack. So he trudged pillow and blanket in hand. Usually he'd trouble Jimin because Jimin was a night owl like him but since Jimin was with Namjoon, he decided to go to Taehyung. Despite being older than him he treated Jungkook like a friend.

He entered Taehyung's room.

"Taehyungie hyung" Jungkook called out.

Taehyung looked up from the game he was playing.

"What's up Jungkookie?"

"Had a nightmare. Couldn't sleep."

"Aigoo. Our baby. Come to hyung." Taehyung said putting the laptop aside and patting the bed.

They both snuggled under the covers.

"What is it?" Taehyung asked.

"It's about ... y/n. I don't know what to do?"

"What are you really scared of jungkookie?" Taehyung asked cutting to the chase.

Jungkook hugged a plushie looking away from Taehyung's penetrating gaze.

"It's just... what if..."

"It's ok tell me Jungkook-ah." Taehyung said softer now.

"What if everyone likes her more than me? What if she hates me? Who am I kidding she probably already does?"

"Jungkookie listen to me. I promise you nobody is going to stop liking you because of her. I'm pretty sure you're going to gate keep her. And yeah you were mean to her. But you need to apologise for that. Me and Jimin fight all the time. I'm pretty sure at one point Namjoon hyung was convinced Yoongi hyung didn't like him. Misunderstandings happen. The thing is you need to end it well. And it's you we are talking about once you set sights on something you're relentless. So if you decide to ask for forgiveness do it like you always do things, with sincerety and preserverance it will all work out in the end."

"Thanks hyung."

"You're welcome. Now go to sleep we both have things to do and places to be. Unless you want to start the morning with Jin hyung twisting your nipples."

Jungkook giggled.

Taehyung smiled.

"How was the birthday?" You ask Suyeon as you open the door for her.

"Don't get me started. It was super hectic and like I got to interact with his pack so that was like something." She proceeds to provide a detailed account of the instances around Soobins birthday."Anyway I'm just glad it's over and very happy Soobin liked it. And that I didn't castrate anyone in frustration. Now enough about me How's been everything?" She asks sitting on the barstool.

"It's been alright I went to shop Seokjin and Taehyung accompanied me. It was nice."

"I need details bestie." Suyeon said. "Wait let me get some popcorn. I have a feeling it needs popcorn."

"Don't be dramatic tell me."

You start making popcorn for her.

"I'm thinking of returning the gifts the pack gave me after I.. uh 'helped' with Jungkook's cycle."

"Why?"

"It made me feel a little cheap?"

"Have you opened them yet though."

"No."

"Atleast check them then" Suyeon urges.

"I'm not sure about that."

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"Me actually liking the gifts knowing I can never be part of the pack."

"Girl calm down. You don't know that. Why are you so stuck on the worst scenario. Maybe things can still turn around and if not you always have yeonjun and then we can be part of the same pack."

"Do you.. does Yeonjun.. is he interested in me?"

"Duh. Like I can't tell you details because Soobs has been super secretive whenever I try but I'm definitely sure they have discussed this." Suyeon said.

"Whatever. Let's just open the gifts and get done with it. I want to go to our trip relaxed and stress free." You reply giving the popcorn bowl to Suyeon.

"Sounds good to me. Ready when you are"

You nod. "Ok let's do this."

You sit on the carpet placing the gifts on the coffee table and some next to you. Suyeon sits on the sofa opposite to you.

The gifts have been packaged with care and great details. You open the first one. It's filled with candies that remind you of a familiar scent.

The second box is of shoes. Golden in color which light up and fit you perfectly. You can guess its Hobi's pick. It's a little outrageous but also slightly cool.

There is also a card inside. A thank you card.

Dear Y/nie.

We may not say this enough but we are really grateful to know you. Thank you so much for everything. Thank you for being the kindest sweetest soul.

Love, joon, jin, Yoongi, hobi, tae, jimin, and JK

The next wrapping paper reveals customised pink stationery. It's an expensive brand which you buy and use occasionally. But you can see the thought behind the gift and you are surprised by the cute charm and shimmer details. Jin definitely took charge on this one.

The next is a Teddy. It's cute and has the softest texture. You really do guess the omegas were behind this.

The next one is the smallest of the pile. You open it to reveal seeds. There is even a detailed manual. Which is handmade. You catch the words best seeds from our own garden. The sketches are very pretty and detailed. You suppose Namjoon and Jungkook worked together on this. You had seen Jungkook's art around the house.

"Wow these are really good and thoughtful." Suyeon says impressed.

"Yeah.." You can't help but agree. "So what should I do?"

"Honestly just keep them. It looks like they spent a pretty penny on these nothing cheap. Also Like if I gave you a gift you'd keep it. Think of it this way. You are friends with them right. But ofcourse if you want to return them do it. I support you whatever you do.."

"You're right before all this we were friends and things might be complicated but I guess I should try and resolve it. I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt me and I was just vulnerable."

"Man maybe I should look for a pack that spends their money on me." Suyeon jokes.

You throw a cushion at her.

It was finally the weekend but Yoongi woke up early after going through his phone he decided to go make breakfast or brunch for the pack depending on when they decided to wake up.

He can hear the sound of running water as he nears the kitchen. Inside is Jungkook with an apron on brows furrowed in concentration scrubbing pans which seem to be covered in what is he assumes baking soda and vinegar or whatever cleaning hack Jungkook has recently come across.

"Morning." Yoongi greets making himself a cup of iced coffee.

"Good morning hyung." Jungkook replies still meticulously scrubbing away.

Yoongi decides to give Jungkook space and goes to sort the laundry. Only to find the machine already running and the loads separated and some clothes the ones that needed special care already on the drying rack outside.

"Jungkook. Did you do the laundry?" Yoongi asks.

"Yes hyung."

"You'll tire yourself out."

"It's fine."

"Jungkook. As much as we appreciate the laundry being done and sparkling pots. We don't want you being sick." Yoongi says.

"I know. Its just that I've caused the pack so much trouble."

Yoongi quietly joined Jungkook.

"Things happen. Its life." Yoongi says. Jungkook feels grateful for Yoongi.

"It's just. I'm scared Y/n won't like me. We never hung out before and now when I'm around her it's like I loose control of myself." Jungkook spills.

"Do you think all of us weren't worried about that. It's natural to be scared. But don't let fear control you." Yoongi says placing a comforting hand on Jungkook's shoulder.

"Yoongi hyungs right you know." Hoseok speaks. He had been leaning against the wall listening.

"Hobi hyung" Jungkook acknowledges.

"Hoba." Yoongi greets.

Hoseok wraps himself around Jungkook.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes?" Yoongi says.

"Oh I got sent this waffle maker. Let's try that."

Hobi goes to search in his PR pile. Jin wakes up punches Jungkook playfully and then brushes his teeth sitting in the couch where Hobi finds him rolls his eyes and sets up the waffle maker.

Namjoon wakes up too a little later as Jin cuts up strawberries from his uncles farm. They discuss a little about growing some strawberries in their home garden.

"Hyung's I have to say something." Jungkook announces.

"What is it Jungkook?" Namjoon asks curious.

"I want y/n to be part of our pack. I'm going to apologise to her.

Omg jk finally got his shit together. So did I to write this chapter. I've been feeling crappy so I haven't been able to get a word out. But I decided to put this chapter out.

Anyway let me know your thoughts as always it's appreciated and it motivates me. An anon asked me if this was on hiatus which reminded me it's been a while since I wrote.thanks for the reminder.

If you have any ideas feel free to send. I'll look forward to it. Have a good day beautiful.

Taglist: @jaiuneamesolitaiire ; @mintsugarmy ; @goooood-vibes ; @juju-227592 ; @singukieee ; @zae007live ; @rainbow-bunny-bts ; @fluffy-canada-pancakes ; @bleubirdinthesky ; @kyrah-williams ; @thedarkwinterrose ; @realswimshaddy ; @emu007 ; @jcrml ; @scuzmunkie ; @angel-121 ; @passionandsuga ;@popcatx0 ; @exfolitae ; @raineandskye ; @notsooperfect ; @toriluvsfics ; @northspiritstorm ; @cryingpages ; @parapiop7

[crackrodent]

Check out the rest of my Flufftober library!

Orange Disaster

Charlie sat in the yard with a few dozen pumpkins, waiting for everyone else to show up and help carve the pumpkins. Each ticking moment was agonizing as she slowly came to terms with the fact it was just going to be her and Vaggie carving all of them.

Even then, she was still going to have to wait since Vaggie was helping Husk with something. Charlie couldn’t remember. Charlie picked up the first pumpkin and started cutting off the top to begin the prepping process.

“Charlie, why are you cutting vegetables outside?” Niffty said appearing out of nowhere.

“For the jack-o-lanterns?” She was certain she explained this in the meeting this morning but it would not be the first time she forgot to check if Niffty was there before starting.

Niffty looked at her with her big ol’ eye, “What’s that.”

“You don’t know what jack-o-lanterns are? Humans like you invented them! You never made them as a kid?”

Niffty ignored her and started cleaning off the pumpkins. “These don’t look very good. They are so messy.”

“Just wait until we pull out the guts!” Charlie joked pulling out the first clump of seeds and tossing them in a bowl.

Charlie didn’t notice, but Niffty had just fully decided Charlie was cool. Niffty was going to have to work hard to hide this fact. It won’t matter either way. Alastor could sense it miles away and groaned internally. He’s not really relevant though. Pumpkins though? RELEVANT!

Charlie did notice when more pumpkin guts got tossed in her bowl. Looking up she sees Niffty gutting a small pumpkin. She smiles and decides to take this as an opportunity to try and finally get through to Niffty about redemption.

~~2 HOURS LATER~~

All the pumpkins were gutted and cleaned. Pumpkin seeds separated from orange gunk. The prep tools are put away and the decorating tools are out. And Niffty was definitely staying in Hell.

“I love the jack-o-lanterns, Charlie,” Niffty said cradling one, “Where do we hide them?”

“We don’t hide them, we are going to place them for everyone to see them! But we need to decorate them first.” Charlie smiled, “Niffty, listen carefully because you are going to love this part.” Charlie showed Niffty the design guidebooks and how to freehand the art and explained which knives did what.

Niffty looked at all the fun little knives and looked up at Charlie, “You really are a princess.”

Charlie felt like she was going to cry, and so she did for a minute. Once she looked back she saw an orange slush puddle where the example pumpkin once sat.

“I think I stabbed it too much Charlie.” The princess of hell just smiled and said reassured Niffty it was alright and she could try again.

Charlie had barely finished her first pumpkin’s little cat whiskers when she saw that only four pumpkins remained. She sighed and grabbed her next pumpkin. She figured Niffty would burn through the last three before she would finish up her little spider but she was surprised to see all three still there.

She looked over to Niffty and saw her playing with a couple of chunks of pumpkin walls. Whittling away at them. Charlie was getting tired at this point and grabbed another pumpkin and made a regular old big scary smiling face.

Charlie heard the door open and was very happy to see Vaggie walking over to her.

“Sorry I am so late babe,” Vaggie said followed by a yawn.

“It’s okay, Niffty was helping me,” Charlie explained.

Vaggie looked much more awake now, suddenly looking around at the orange coating the yard, “I can see that sweetie,” She kissed Charlie on the cheek, “How did that go?”

“Great.” Charlie started on the second to last pumpkin and Vaggie took last place. They quietly worked on the last two, both making a happy pumpkin. Charlie was in a hurry and finished hers so quickly she forgot to carve out one of the eyes as she rushed to find a nice spot in the yard for it.

Vaggie wondered if Charlie did it on purpose. She looked at the other pumpkins for evidence but knowing Charlie it could be either way. Vaggie kept working on her intentional little goat horns she opted to carve out. She had time. Charlie needed to know someone was helping her on this project.

“Where did Charlie go?” Niffty asked Vaggie.

“She’s putting the Jack-o-lanterns where they are going to go.”

“I wanna pick where mine goes!”

Vaggie was trying to focus so brushed her off a bit, “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Niffty ran off with her Jack-o-lantern searching for the perfect place. She circled the building three times before ruling out all options and bolting inside almost knocking over Vaggie and Charlie as they placed Vaggie's next to Charlie’s happy pumpkin.

Niffty ran passed the living room through the kitchen and dining room before seeing it. the perfect place! Right on Husk’s bar.

Angel and Cherri had been sitting at the bar drinking with Husk when Niffty placed her creation right in front of the three of them. Husk and Angel started laughing immediately.

“Niff, you are gonna scare him right out of the fucking hotel if he sees this,” Husk warned, while moving it to a safer spot near the end of the bar.

“Aw, whiskers! Look! This is the most cute thing she has ever done. Like she’s don't some freaky shit for bad boys before-”

Cherri chimed in, “OH, remember when she took fur from that fuck head’s coat?”

“Val? Yeah, that was his wings.” Angel corrected.

“Yeah, well this bitch made a cute little head of an effigy.”

“what's an-” Niffty was cut off.

“What is that?” Baxter asked walking up to the bar. “Is that me?” He couldn’t look away.

“YES! I made a Baxter-lantern!” Niffty pulled him into a hug. He stood transfixed. This was the most stalker thing he had ever seen. No movie, book, true crime, or fictional, on earth or in hell. This was nightmare fuel for monsters. The type of thing people swear they would not wish on their worst enemy.

Why was he weirdly into it?

[seirindono]

Commission for @ mrdavid93 on DA, of none other than Demon AU Red! Thank you for giving me the opportunity to draw him, and for the inspiration hehe

(Actually, there's a second one but I'll keep it for later)

And as promised to him, here come some headcanons for the skeleman (╯✧▽✧)╯

-His flames are directly tied to his soul and can intensify according to his mood. His vest allows him to "burn off" excess energy, but his bones usually stay very hot. He sometimes cooks food with it and drags the smell around for days. His brother hates it, but he prbly gets a kick out of it.

-The fiery Demon of Wrath (AU)

-While wandering around the human realm, he's developed an interest in modern clothing, which he's tried to reproduce. After many attempts to make them resist his magic, he ended up with this blazing jacket. The heat quickly becomes unbearable for others when he's on duty outside of Snowdin but he thinks it looks too cool to change (won't admit that even he get too hot smt)

-As Wrath, he serves as an executioner. However, he himself is often the object of complains and punishments, either because of his temper or magic related damages. The chains he constantly wears on his wrists are designed to restrain him immediately when he loses control. It's restrictive, but he appreciates the flair that comes with it.

-Takes great pleasure in bullying Snowdin's hellhounds, whether at work or with his wicked jokes. The origins of the skulls he wears around his waist remains unknown but it scares most canine demons

-He likes to stand out, and can hardly go unnoticed anyway, with the scorched grass, slush and vapor trails he leaves in his wake (ruined too many shoes by accident, he smt goes barefoot, or-um, firefoot)

-As flamboyant as his appearance suggests in public, he likes to fight in tournaments, strut before the demons with his brother and make an example of sinners. In private, he's much less exuberant.

-Will no doubt try to "break the ice" with the Human with his dubious humor (good start) or try to get them to "warm up a bit" to him with a nice, flaming handshake (very bad)

Ko-fi | Patreon | Comic | Commissions

[notodysseusofithaca]

jayfeather

[hostilemuppet]

All your ocs (trolls, gems, ect) have such cool designs! I especially love what you do with colors and shapes :D Do you have any specific process when you make them or is it like an elaborate vibe-check

aww, ty :) for every oc no matter what i always try to make sure something about their character is communicated in their design, whether its something like "they are a doctor so they wear a doctors coat" or more like "they are lazy so their outfit looks very low effort"

but for TROLLS specifically, i almost always try to make sure theres some sort of theme or motif going on that i keep in mind throughout the whole design process. keep in mind what you want/need (eg, for slush puppy he needed to look like his parents, while for rosé i established from the beginning "pink glitter troll" and that smth i needed to stick to) and plan around that. heres an attempt at explaining my thought process after the fact

sometimes a theme isnt as obvious, for example brad and angelina were designed to resemble raggedy ann and andy toys but that isnt really obvious when theyre any older than children. i think this is okay since their older designs still show their personalities and are still pretty cohesive while complimenting each other

often youll have a theme or look youre going for but still struggle landing on perfection, and thats fine! a couple of my favourites, cupcake and glitz, took agesssss to nail down

(not including my reference photos for obvious reasons, but there is NO shame in assembling a moodboard for a character design! i highly encourage it in fact!)

for cupcake i knew i wanted her to be sweet lolita from the beginning (since. her name is Cupcake.) but settling on something concrete was trickyyyyyyy. everything from "her outfit should seem cutesy enough to fit her vibe without being so complicated that it looks muddy on such a small chibi body (and would be really hard to draw...)" to "i need to give her a hairstyle that looks trolly enough, oh no this doesnt look trolly enough but the hime cut really fits her personality, does the massive hat help her silhouette?" to "i want her colour scheme to look like youre walking into a candy store, is this incohesive? what if i try going for a chocolate and raspberry vibe? doesnt have what im going for... how do i salvage this?" it was a lot of facing a problem, trying to fix it, and then facing a NEW problem. and thats okay! rome wasnt built in a day yknow. sometimes youll need a loooooot of drafts to get a character design youre happy with. in fact its actually way better to have several drafts, especially if its a character youll actually use a lot! believe me, ive made the mistake before of "i designed what i thought looked good but i actually hated drawing it over and over again". if you love the way it looks and you think its effective, but you hate actually using it, its still a bad design! its half the reason i redesigned penny 😭 to be fair to me though im not sure i really expected to love penny as much as i do now...

with glitz i have less notes since i had an actual person (his co-creator) to give me real time feedback rather than reasoning to myself </3 but the same sort of thing happened. he actually took me more than a month to finalise! part of that was we only had one parent for him decided at first (and it was actually through the design process we figured out the other one! if you know who glitz is you can probably see the exact moment we figured it out 😭). but from the beginning i still knew i wanted him to look flashy with glittery accents (but NOT a glitter troll!) you can see i originally wanted him to have glitter freckles but i swapped that out for a glittery star shaped... okay i never actually decided whether that was makeup or a birth mark. audience interpretation! but i ended up giving him a much more recurring star motif since he wants to be a star and sometimes you gotta beat the audience over the head with symbolism

im not sure if any of that actually helped or if it was just rambling, but the tldr is: make sure you have an end goal in mind! whether its communicating something specific about their personality (eg glitz's flashiness representing his ego and lust for fame) or you have a theme you want to stick to (eg pitaya is obviously styled after actual pitayas), having a goal makes everything so much easier since you know what youre actually working towards! if youre just throwing shit at a wall, you probably wont end up anywhere youre fully satisfied with

[chromatophorium]

Spiralbound Jabberblocky

This is my concept for a weapon (and a new weapon class) for Splatoon! It's inspired by a spiralbound notebook and ballpoint pen! The weapons works as a sword/rapier and shield combo!

Basic controls for the Jabberblocky weapon class: ZR tap = Shield bash. (It's like a horisontal roller flick in range, spread shot instead of long range) ZR hold = Shield bash + the shield is deployed (Like when you deploy a brella, it shoots ink first and then makes a shield that also inks the ground. Shield is maybe on par with undercover brella hitbox, maybe somewhat skinnier. The shield always stays with you, doesn't shoot away!) ZR hold + B + directional input = Accurate sword jab + player lunges forward (like a charged Splatana attack, but the sword isn't swung. It's thrust forward!) B + ZR = Inaccurate sword jab (Works like vertical roller flick, long range instead of spread shot. Has the same property as Shooters, Blasters, Dualies and Splatlings, with the projectile(s) being less accurate when jumping) B + ZR + directional input = Inaccurate sword jab + player lunges forward

So yeah, its like a Roller, Splatana and Brella blended into one. What it might gain in versatility is maybe balanced out by the shields and damage being more middlin. The hitboxes for the shield and ink attacks being smaller on average than their more specialized counterparts might make up for it??? Idk, I'm not great at balancing.

Ideas for future Jabberblockys: (under the cut)

Silly Slush Jabberblocky - The shield is based a slushy cup with a colorful slushy. (When you run out of ink/the shield is destroyed, the cup will look empty. Also inspired by the curved roman shields!) The sword/rapier is based on a silly/crazy straw! (The ink pattern it leaves can be wacky! Maybe even kinda random??)

Duel Screen Jabberblocky - The shield is based on the Nintendo DS, when the shield is deployed the DS opens up to a two part shield (maybe drawn in Pictochat or Flipnote Studio). The sword/rapier is the stylus! (You can take som design inspiration from the Styler from Pokemon Ranger??)

Dirk-away Jabberblocky - The shield is based on a round hand soap bottle. The sword/rapier is the soap pump but also mixed with a bubble wand! (They can re-use the Bloblobber projectiles. They've already basically re-used the Explosher projectiles for crab tank.)

Splatula Jabberblocky - The shield based on a frying pan and the sword/rapier on a spatula. (In lore this is after there have been peace talks, trade deals and cultural exchange between Inkadia and the salmonids for a while. Salmon runs is mostly just a combat sport now, which like in Bonerattle arena have audiences, but no real death. Inkfish are inspired by the combat style of salmonids and salmonids share some of their weapons with them, just as inkfish share their technology with them now. OR the situation is the same as in Splatoon 3 and the inkfish are doing cultural appropriation!)

Recephion Jabberblocky - (you know those pens that are chained to their stands that are at front desks and at banks? Those.) The shield is the stand (like a buckler shield) The sword/rapier is the pen that's chained to the stand (Its sword jab would have longer range, maybe the inkling/octoling would even throw it!)

(I also have vauge ideas for a broom and dustpan jabberblocky, but I'm not sure about the name, concept or if it's even "Splatoon-y" enough of an inspiration... Then I have a idea for a octo-boss tentacle jabberblocky, with a lightbulb shield. Idk if that's too wild tho... I would definetly include lore about how to best care for that kind of living sword!!! To let it play with braille rubix cubes and other handheld puzzles, as well as letting it taste different foods and stuff, since irl octopuses can taste with their tentacles!)

[ababanerb]

soldier on [3]

masterlist

AO3

Safiya manages to hide away in her farmhouse for another three days, dodging Magnus’ attempts to force her into socializing against her will with the most powerful warding spells she knows. Her house and the majority of the property covered in layer upon layer of invisible shields, designed to steer people away without even a thought about where they’d been going in the first place.

Three days of paranoia ridden solitude.

Three days of nearly burning the house down when the foundation settles, every shadowy corner has her jumping with magic crackling in her palms. She can’t make toast, not after she’d accidentally shot a hole through it when her toast had popped up the other day. Three days of falling asleep sitting up, her back pressed to the door drifting asleep and startling awake at every noise. Three days of begrudgingly eating the leftovers in her fridge, belly bloating with fullness for the first time since she was fourteen. Three days of searching through the attic, an actual flashlight in her hand, because she can’t trust herself to not set the dusty space on fire when something shifts in the corner of the dark room. Three days of avoiding her reflection in the bathroom mirror because she sees someone else in the glass.

It’s miserable, and she feels worse than she did when she was a frontline soldier. 

The only upside is having an actual bathroom. With a shower that she doesn’t have to share with twenty other women at a time. Not to mention taking an actual bath. 

The bath that she’d fallen asleep in. And then woken up with her teeth chattering when she’d turned the water to slush in her sleep, when she’d dreamed of a Gotorran mage who’d tried to melt the flesh clean from her bones. There’s still a bright red scar down her left forearm from where he’d managed to get his fire to pierce through her ice, pulsing and glowing erratically. 

Three days of holing herself away, Magnus tapping incessantly on her shields, before the old wizard in his not as old tower gets his way and Safiya has to make the short trek into town so she doesn’t starve to death.

“Can’t fucking stand you,” She curses in the direction of the tower, middle finger raised spitefully as she zips her mom’s old coat all the way up to beneath her chin. The stiff collar brushing awkwardly against her jaw as she pulls her long dark hair out from the jacket, the loose waves falling limply in the cold.

The farm is still covered in a thick blanket of snow, and whether Magnus actually followed through on maintaining the farm since her grandfather’s passing has yet to be seen. Not that it really matters, she knows she’ll have work to do either way. The coop and barn are still standing off in the distance, also covered in snow, and there’s a pang of sadness as she envisions the animals her grandpa used to keep when she was a girl. 

Can still remember the two black and white Holstein cows he’d gone through the painstaking process of teaching her how to milk, can still remember processing jug upon jug of milk with her mom. Can remember the two meat cows he’d had - and then never again when she’d cried into a bowl of beef stew - beautiful Herefords. Named Bread and Butter, because her grandpa thought it was funny. 

It had been so lively here, when she was a girl. Atwood Farm was never short of life, always chock full of it. Even in Winter, it had never been quiet. She’d had snowball fights with her mom on days like this, the two of them slinging snow back and forth without any magic until he grandpa came barreling towards them, magic brimming in his hands to make the game all that more fun.

It’s silent now, though. Only Safiya’s quiet sigh and the crunching of her boots through the snow and the creaking of the metal gate at the end of her driveway as she leaves, dropping the shields around her property as she does. Swearing that she can hear the ghost of laughter behind her.

Pelican Town remains relatively unchanged in the nearly ten years it’s been since she’d last seen it. There’s a new doctor in the same old clinic, Pierre’s is right where it had always been, and the Saloon still wafts the smell of something mouthwateringly good through the square, even when Gus hasn’t opened for the day.

It’s different all the same, though. Safiya trying not to flinch when Pierre’s door rattles loudly shut behind her as she waves the snow off her boots with a flick of her hand. The clumps of white dissipating into thin air as she grabs a wire shopping basket and swallows hard.

When’s the last time I was in a grocery store?

The thought fills her head, a little too abruptly for her comfort, as she picks an aisle - packed full things in colorful packaging. Nine years of MREs in beige and white packaging, and food so bland she’d forgotten all about this . 

Forgotten all about fresh fruit, laid out in neatly done displays in the produce aisle. And chips, in flavors that didn’t even exist before she’d been drafted.

And-

“Naomi?” A voice chimes politely from behind her, a hand tapping against her shoulder. 

Safiya startles, body suddenly cold and heart somewhere in her throat as she leaps halfway across the aisle, hands blooming with color and basket forgotten on the floor. She suddenly regrets wearing her moms old coat, even though she hates the military issued coat she’d arrived here in. Because at least in her coat, she has full range of motion. Unhindered ability to kill.

Enemy. Enemy. Enemy. Her mind screams at her in the voice of the drill instructor who’d hated her and she’d hated right back. Kill or be killed. Kill them first. 

And in her own voice, I don’t wanna die. 

“Oh!” The voice says again, and Safiya’s eyes clear, mind calming as she focuses on the woman who stands on the other end of the aisle. She’s got the most vibrant green hair Safiya’s ever seen, and a face stretched tight with fear as Safiya remains on guard.

“Caroline?” Another voice calls, male, footsteps rushing towards the commotion. 

It takes Safiya another few seconds to extinguish her glowing hands, the absolute terror on the face of the woman across from her is the same as the Gottoran girl she’d killed one muggy summer. A girl who’d been even younger than her, but trying to kill Safiya with all she’d had. Safiya was seventeen, then, and her hands had tingled with lightning still sparking over her fingertips, the girl seizing on the muddy battlefield below her. 

She’d also had green hair, though not as vibrant. Probably due to the same reason most people dulled in active combat. Safiya could still hear her choking on her own blood, wide, pale eyes staring desperately up at Safiya, mouthing words in a language she didn’t understand. 

“Naomi?” The male voice cuts through, and Safiya blinks, and she’s back in the aisle of a grocery store, shopping basket on the ground with her things scattered around it. And the green haired woman from before peering at her from behind a brown haired man in glasses.

“Naomi?” The man asks again, like he can’t believe his eyes, head tilting as she stares back at them. Shame curling like a hot iron in her gut.

“That was my mom,” Safiya says, quietly, afraid that if she speaks any louder her magic will make even her voice a deadly weapon, “I’m Safiya.”

Safiya creeps forward, hands kept splayed low as she approaches her abandoned basket, like she’s approaching a wild animal. Her hands shake as she puts her few things back into the wire basket, and her hands still feel tingly as she fumbles a jar of dill pickles back into the basket.

“I’m sorry,” Safiya says, addressing the green haired woman from where she remains crouched in the middle of the aisle, “You startled me. I hadn’t meant to scare you.”

Safiya pulls her face into what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” The green haired woman says, stepping out from behind her husband - or, Safiya thinks he’s her husband - waving a gentle hand through the air as she approaches Safiya, “You just got here a week or so ago, right? I’d be jumpy in a new place, too.”

Safiya gives the woman a tight-lipped smile, standing up with her basket gripped tightly in her hands, “Yes. I’m taking over Atwood Farm.”

“That’s perfect!” The man interjects, striding forward and jutting his hand towards her, “I’m Pierre. If you're looking for seeds, my shop is the place to go. I'll also buy produce from you for a good price! A little agriculture could really inject new life into the local economy! ”

And resell them for double the price. Safiya thinks, watching as Pierre’s eyes gleam with desire that is uncannily similar to bloodlust. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Safiya says, nudging his hand back towards him the back of her hand, “It’d be smarter if we don’t shake hands,” She tells him, a little apologetically, but he ignores her, grabbing her hand in both of his and shaking vigorously.

“Don’t be silly,” He chuckles, and Safiya can feel her magic roaring beneath her skin. Can taste in the back of her throat and smell it in the air around her. Her instincts screaming at her.

Safiya’s lip curls as she snatches her hand back from him, the man yelping when she discharges a short burst of fire from her fingertips. “Do not touch me,” She snarls in the same voice she’d used as a colonel, her voice a blade of its own. “Understand?”

Pierre nods, cursing beneath his breath as he cradles his singed hand to his chest. He turns sharply on his heel, pushing past the green haired woman who’s staring with wide eyes at Safiya.

“I’m Caroline,” The woman says after a long moment, Safiya turning towards one of the shelves with her eyes screwed shut as she mentally berates herself. “Our town doctor, Harvey, next door, he served seven or so years ago.”

“Thanks.” Safiya responds, breathless, as she rests her forehead against one of the cool metal shelves, “How did you know my mom?” She asks, grasping for anything to fill the awkward silence and pull her mind away from the barely-there smell of burnt skin.

“You don’t remember?” Caroline asks, and Safiya’s dares to glance at her, “Your mom and I were good friends before the two of you moved away to Zuzu.”

“Well, it’s been a long nine years for me,” Safiya supplies, only a little bitter as she skirts her way around Caroline and towards the singular check-out counter, “There’s a lot I don’t remember anymore.”

Caroline says nothing else, just purses her lips and gets Safiya checked out. And Safiya stares at the counter, refusing to look Caroline in the eye, afraid of what either of them might see in the other’s face. 

Caroline slides her two bags of groceries over the counter, and Safiya swipes her card through the card reader that’s probably been there since she was a girl.

“It’s okay,” Caroline utters softly. Safiya’s fingers curl gingerly around the plastic handles of her bags, unsure if she can trust herself. “Pierre’s ego is probably more hurt than his hand, Nao- Safiya,” Safiya cringes at the stumble, and her regret for wearing her mom’s old jacket only grows, “Pelican Town’s glad to have you. And… I just want to say, thank you for your service.”

Safiya wants to set herself on fire as she nods politely at Caroline, shoves her card into the back pocket of her ill-fitting jeans - also her moms - as she thanks Caroline as quickly as she can and ducks back out into the cold. Grocery bags clutched tight in her fingers.

She vows to not go back into Pierre’s until it's Spring, and she doesn’t have to wade through the snow if she needs to make a terribly executed escape again.

—

It’s Tuesday, Sebastian notes absently as he types through yet another line of code, dying for a cigarette - or a blunt, either’s fine at this point. Or, he thinks it’s Tuesday. He can’t be sure, time and sleep lost on him as he pounds out his larger fourth project in two weeks.

But, it must be Tuesday. Because he can hear Abigail upstairs, blabbering some benign thing to his mom about something her mom told her to pass along before she’d left her house. So, it’s Tuesday, he reasons, because Abigail always comes over on Tuesday at one o’clock, like clockwork, to pester him. 

But- No, it is, He assures himself, tapping his phone awake just to check the date. A little annoyed that his life is so routine that he knows the date and time solely on when one of his friends comes over to cure her own boredom. 

“I fucking hate that I’m right, sometimes,” He curses under his breath, flicking his tongue against his teeth just to hear the piercing there clack. Forcing his attention back to his code for the few precious moments he has before Abi comes clomping down the stairs in her platform boots that are shit for any weather other than pleasantly warm and sunny. He downs another gulp of cold coffee, shuddering as it goes down and fingers flying across his keyboard, desperately trying to get a few more lines done when he hears the telltale noise of Abi’s boots hitting the top of the basement steps. 

He gets two more lines of code before Abi comes crashing through his door, reminding him of why he’d become such a stickler for locking his door when he wanted some alone time. She doesn’t knock, never has, probably never will, and if she cares that he’s working, it doesn’t show. 

He just barely manages to save his work by the time Abigail’s got both hands on the back of his gaming chair, pulling him away from his desk and spinning him towards her. “Seb!” She exclaims, her face inches away from his, “You’ll never believe this,” She laughs, squealing with glee as she lets him go to dance around his room. Her boots thumping loudly on the wooden floor of his basement room.

Sebastian sighs, pushing himself back towards his desk to fish a cigarette from his desk drawer, “What won’t I believe?” He asks begrudgingly, spinning the spark wheel of his lighter with practiced ease, holding his cigarette between his lips as he shuts his computer down.

“The new farmer burned the shit outta my dad this morning!” Abigail squeals, jumping wildly with glee until her foot wobbles on the landing, “Oh my Yoba, Seb! It’s incredible. Dad was bein’ a real dick this morning, too.” Abigail continues, surging forward as his eyebrows raise, “Oh,” She laughs, nearly cackling, “Karma is real, Seb. This is the greatest day of my life!”

There was a time, back when the two of them were in high school, and Sebastian was shamelessly horny, and Abigail wanted nothing more than to piss off her parents, that he would actually give a shit about whatever Abi has to say. Partly because he had enjoyed her company more, then, but mostly for sex.

He also hadn’t had a job, then. 

But Sebastian indulges her anyway, one of his closest friends, because she is Abigail and he is Sebastian, and he will indulge her the same way she indulges him and Sam, “What d’you mean, the farmer burned your dad? Must’ve been spitting fucking fire if it got to good ol’ Pierre.” He drawls, sounding just interested enough to keep her from complaining as he takes another deep drag of his cigarette. Relishing in the way it burns on the way down.

“No, Seb,” She says, on her feet again, hands pressed to the arms of his chair as she leans over him. Grinning so hard it’s a wonder her face hasn’t split in two, “The farmer literally burned my dad! Like-” She squeals, reeling back and gesturing wildly at her right hand, “ Burned , burned. Flames- Came from the farmer’s hands!”

“Get out,” Sebastian says pointedly, actually pointing at his bedroom door as his lips pull into an annoyed frown, “Don’t waste my fucking time on this kinda shit, Abi. You know I have shit I need to get done.”

“No, you fucking do not ,” She snorts, pulling away from him in a huff as he blows a puff of smoke in her face, and falling back onto his bed, “And I’m serious , Sebby!”

He glares sharply at the nickname, something reserved only for his mom to call him.

“ Sebastian ,” She quickly corrects, holding her hands up in faux surrender, “And I’m serious.”

He raises a skeptical brow at her, ashing his cigarette in the broken bottom half of what was his favorite coffee cup turned ashtray, “The other week you said you saw a shadow person.” He reminds.

“And I did ,” She protests.

“Abi,” Sebastian sighs, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together over his stomach, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and flicking his tongue piercing over the backs of his teeth. “Not that I don’t believe you. But everyone knows that anyone who can channel magic is off fighting against Gotoro. It’s just not even fucking possible, Abs. And even if there were some random new mage , of all fucking things, in town. You’d think more people would know by now. Because that would mean soldiers are coming home. 

“And you and I both know they’re not, because Sam hasn’t said jack shit about it. And don’t go mentioning this to him, either.” He says harshly, jabbing in her direction with the index and pointer fingers of his right hand, “Don’t go getting his hopes up when nothing’s been made official.”

“Fucking-” Abi sighs, exasperated as she meets his hard gaze, “Fine. Whatever.”

He nods once, turning his chair around and booting his computer back up, a silent demand for her to leave.

“... Wanna have sex?” She offers after a moment, trying to peer over his shoulder as he opens up his coding program.

He points to the door without looking away from his screen, “No. Now get out so I can work.”

[indigovigilance]

Aziraphale, Kermit the Frog, and Fraggle Rock

Inspo from @crowleys-hips, images shamelessly ripped from original post:

The costumes and set design in the Book of Job episode were supposedly inspired mostly by The Ten Commandments but I’m ignoring that for right now because this is more fun. Now that I’ve written it, this is actually one of my dark ones.

Ready? Let’s go.

read on Ao3

The Frog Prince

[Source]

Kermit, created in 1955, was originally an abstract character without a defined species. He did not [officially] become a frog until The Frog Prince episode in 1971. At the same time, he gained his pointed collar. Kermit is not the prince in this retelling, but is one of the many frogs, who don’t believe that the Frog Prince is actually human and try to convince the Frog Prince that even if there is a curse, they don’t need to try to break it, being a frog is great!

Sing out for the swamp and sing out for the ooze The life of a frog is the life you should choose Sing out for the mud and sing out for the bog It’s ever so jolly just being a frog We love the old mud hole, we say that we soak The feeling’s so good that we just gotta croak The muck and the mire, the slush and the slime Are the reasons a frog has a wonderful time

It’s a very weird musical number. I have exactly one semester of music theory under my belt but it sounds awfully minor key to me.

It’s very much about bullying someone who doesn’t feel like they belong into conforming. Exchange “frog” for “angel” and we’ve got a pretty on-the-nose parallel story here.

Two Interpretations

First: Aziraphale is a prince among frogs whose unique identity is being ignored. The ones he has turned to for help are ignoring his pleas and insisting that their way is the best way, even though it is clearly not.

Second: Aziraphale is the frog! Kermit gained his collar when he finally began to solidify as a character with a set identity. Both of these themes apply to Aziraphale’s arc in Book of Job.

*topic change*

Jim Henson & Richard Hunt

Coming back to the extreme queer theming of Season 2 (God bless you GO production team) we have a nod to Jim Henson and Richard Hunt. Much like Pterry and the Notorious NRG, both men began their artistic journeys very young. Henson began in high school, where he began developing what would later become the Muppets; he continued his work on puppets on Sesame Street. He is the creator of Kermit the Frog. He’s also well-known for The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth, other queer culture mainstays. Some years later, at 18 years old, Richard Hunt shot his shot and asked for a job puppeteering on Sesame Street in 1972; he got it. He would continue to work as a puppeteer with Jim Henson on the Muppets and related works until he died in 1992 at the age of 40 due to complications of AIDS.

Gone But Not Forgotten || Terry Pratchett

If you have not read my meta on Terry Pratchett’s representation in the Final Fifteen, I will link it at the bottom as well and highly suggest you read it. It’s not necessary reading for what comes next, but it is relevant.

Richard Hunt was openly gay and heavily involved in the New York gay community during the AIDS epidemic. He was in a relationship with a painter named Nelson Bird, who died of AIDS related complications in 1985. There is some speculation that Fraggle Rock Season 5 Episode 7 is an artistic representation of Richard Hunt losing his partner. In that episode, Wembley makes a new friend, Mudwell, played by Richard Hunt, that he abruptly loses at the end of the episode following a confession of mutual affection. You can follow the link below to watch the full episode. The final-fifteen parallel content begins at 12:30:

Gone But Not Forgotten (Fraggle Rock S05E07)

The loss is followed by a conversation between two characters that centers around remembering those who have been lost by keeping the things and memories they left behind, and the partner who [survived] goes through rituals of grieving.

If you scrolled past it but would like to read it now, here’s a link to my meta Terry Pratchett’s representation in the Final Fifteen.