#so now it’s brown but i dyed half of it light pink

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - Two

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. It becomes clear to you that something is bothering him—perhaps it has something to do with you. previous masterlist ao3 next

Kyle Garrick—who instructs you to call him Gaz, explaining it as a nickname—drives you out of town in a two-horse wagon. The countryside is dyed in pastels by the softening light of a just-setting sun, every bit as beautiful as Hans had written when he told you about it.

Like a painting, he said. Everywhere you look could be framed in gold. I wake up every day in this land and thank God I have the fortune to live in it.

Here now, as the wagon rattles down the wheel-carved trail, you understand his words. You feel that if you brushed your fingers against the sky overhead, towering with lavender-bottomed clouds as thick and soft as cotton on the stem, that they might come away smeared in blue and pink and violet. The surrounding landscape is a cornucopia of vibrant greens, rich browns of trees and soil, and clusters of orange, yellow, and white wildflowers.

You keep looking all around you to take it in, jostling your driver beside you, but Gaz seems not to mind. At least, he doesn’t say anything.

You’ve been trying not to feel so aware of his presence, but the endeavor is impossible. He is a solid weight beside you on the driver’s seat, exuding warmth where your shoulders brush against each other, and the earthy, masculine scent of him is inescapable. Every time his elbow or knee or thigh nudges yours during the natural sway and jostle of the wagon ride, you have to keep yourself from leaping out of your skin. Ever since you stepped foot off the train, you’ve felt like a lightning rod set out in anticipation of a storm.

You ascribe it to displaced longing for your husband-to-be. You’d spent the whole journey west imagining how you’d meet, longing for the moment he took you into his arms for the first time. Gaz is a handsome man—it’s only natural that your unfulfilled anticipation would transfer onto him. Especially considering he said you were perfect.

But then said very little after that. He’d seemed—well, not friendly, but at least amicable on the train platform, so you wonder if your manners have offended somehow. He’s spent most of the drive now with his eyes ahead, partly obscured by the brim of his hat. Occasionally he glances at the letters in your hand, but otherwise does not acknowledge you.

After one such glance, your discomfort with the silence becomes too much to bear.

“I read my favorites every night,” you tell him.

If Gaz is surprised when you break the silence, he doesn’t show it. “That so,” he murmurs.

All you have is his profile, very handsome in the light. The line of his mouth is taut.

“I know it’s silly,” you continue nervously—you have a bad habit of rambling when you’re uncomfortable. Adjusting your carpetbag in your lap, you go on, “but you must understand, this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. I never expected to marry, you see.”

He grunts.

“Much less to be a mail order bride,” you say. “I always thought I would be an old maid, for lack of available suitors if nothing else. Mama and Daddy thought I ought to learn to read and write, to improve my prospects, but most folks where I’m from don’t care much about all that.”

“I see,” replies Gaz. He still does not look at you.

“Sometimes I think it even made them like me less, like I was putting on airs, being smarter than them.” You realize immediately how arrogant you must sound. “Oh, but I don’t mean any offense! I don’t mean to suggest I have ideas above my station. It’s only just that, I wondered for years and years why no one offered for me, and it was the only thing I could think of. Why would a farmer’s daughter need to read and write? And why would a wife need to, if her duty is to tend to her children and her home? So that must be why no man has ever been very interested in me.”

You realize with horror that words are pouring out of you faster than you can keep up with them. And your driver’s attention has not shifted; his eyes remain on the road.

You look at your lap, face burning. “I’m sorry, I’m just annoying you, Mr. Gaz. I’m sorry.”

Shame grips you, tight and awkward. If you’d wanted to endear yourself to this cowboy at all, you’ve already failed.

But Gaz finally says, “Most men are idiots.” You look at him; he does not look at you. “I’ve only just met you, and I like you fine.”

He says it matter-of-factly, as if no more need saying on the subject. Simple and to the point; an economy of feeling you imagine must be characteristic of men in this part of the country.

Hans was like that too, in his letters. Communicating feeling without dancing around it, with a bluntness that ends up soft in its honesty.

It eases the tension frothing poisonous in your belly. “Thank you,” you say.

You ride in silence for a stretch. A cool breeze catches the free-floating ends of your hair, rustles along in the tall grass by the wayside. The steady thump thump thump of the horse’s hooves, and the creak of tackle and leather, are the only sounds populating the air.

Home was quiet like this, too; the fields stretching endless and green beneath the sky, the silence there so blank and open that birdcall traveled for miles, and the lowing of the family milk cow sounded sometimes like the trumpet of God.

You peek again at Kyle Garrick. There’s a furrow to his brow, the kind a man gets when he’s in a mood and won’t admit it if asked.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, quietly, because he made you feel better about things, and you’ve done little more than whine.

He finally looks at you, the edges of his face lined and glowing in the evening light. Studies you, for a moment. The furrow eases.

“No,” he says, “I’m sorry, Miss. I don’t mean to be short with you. I’m afraid manners are secondary on a ranch, without a good woman nearby to remind about ‘em.”

You give him a small smile. “Have you worked for Hans very long?”

He turns his gaze back to the road. “Six or seven years, now.”

You toy with the clasp of your bag; you’re brimming with questions. “Is he really all that tall?”

“Oh, yes,” Gaz says. “Like a giant.”

“What’s he like?”

Gaz gives a great breath through pursed, full lips. “Fair, I guess. Asks a lot of us—but then most bosses out here will. Worked for his father for a few years before him, too.”

“You must be a good hand then,” you say.

“I work hard,” says Gaz. “That’s all that matters.”

“I’m sure Hans is grateful,” you reply. “He must trust you very much, to send you for me.”

The furrow returns. “He must.”

It becomes clear to you that something is bothering him, and it’s nothing you will resolve between now and when you make it to the ranch. Perhaps it has something to do with you—a new face, an unknown quantity that threatens to knock the balance of his livelihood askew.

You sigh a little. Of course, you should have expected to have to win Hans’ people over. Their loyalty to the late Mrs. König will inevitably be challenged by your arrival.

Neither of you speak again—you decide not to push what little grace Kyle Garrick has given you, and he does not volunteer any more conversation. The rest of the ride is unremarkable, leaving room for anticipation to grow in your stomach; soon the wagon crests the slope of a hill, and your destination comes into view.

Long Mask Ranch sits at the base of a range of mountain foothills, fed and watered emerald green by spring runoff. You’ve been on Hans’ land for a while now; opening up before you is the ranch proper. A collection of buildings form a semicircle around a large corral in the valley: stables, a barn, some cabins, and a large two-story gabled manor, painted white.

The sun sinks further toward the horizon as you approach, painting the world in liquid orange. Figures resolve themselves, people moving tables and chairs around, and on the manor’s front porch, observing the proceedings, stands a tall man in a rancher’s coat and hat.

Lightning suddenly bolts through you. You sit very, very still as Gaz pulls the wagon through a cast iron archway adorned with LMR at the apogee. Your heart thrums in your throat like a picked guitar string. When you finally come to a stop, the man’s head turns to toward you.

At the worst possible moment, shyness grips you. You look around, at anywhere but him, at the house, the corral, the cowboy beside you.

You startle to meet Gaz’s eyes. The expression he wears is a mask of seriousness.

“This is it,” he says.

Your voice leaves your chest trembling. “Thank you, Mr. Gaz.”

“Just Gaz is fine, Miss.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” you reply. Propriety feels like the only solid thing to cling to just now.

He looks away. The line of his mouth tightens. “Of course,” he says.

He dismounts the wagon in one smooth motion, boots hitting the packed earth hard. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the tall man start his way over to you. Gaz rounds the back of the wagon, and you give your bag to him once he’s at your side. He offers his hand to help you down.

You’re dazed as you take it, lightheaded as suddenly the present moment becomes very, very real. It’s warm, his hand; rough in all the places you expect a cowboy’s hand to be. Yet there’s something soft in the way your palms meet, how the dips and contours align with each other and fit together. You’re shaking very hard as you ease your way from the seat, gripping him tightly until your feet meet the ground, and his grip circles yours with a solidness to it in a way unlike any man has ever held you.

You meet his eyes again when he hands you your bag. Gaz gives your hand a squeeze, averts his gaze, and lets you go.

“There she is!” an accented voice announces.

You pull your gaze from Kyle Garrick and the mystery of his tension with you, and turn to face your intended husband.

Hans König has loomed large in your imagination for half a year. He’d described to you what he looked like, of course, as best he could, but you find as you look upon his face that no written word can convey what it means to meet for the first time the man you will marry. You’d fallen in love with someone formless, absent, but inscribed in other ways with enough distinction to nurture your tender feelings.

Looking upon him now, though…his appearance offers nothing to that distinction. He’s neither ugly nor handsome. As he comes to stand before you, you think he rather looks like every other middle-aged man you’ve met in your short life, although certainly much taller. You meet his eyes—pale blue, as he’d related—and the rush of love you’d expected to feel, once you knew who he was, simply does not come.

This man is a stranger to you.

You reprimand yourself immediately. He isn’t a stranger. You’ve known him for six months. His face is simply not one you have attached any love to yet; the measure of his character is contained in the stack of paper in your hands. In the promises he made to you to make your quietest dreams come true.

So you smile the way you’d dreamed you would—like watching the sun crest the horizon after a long night of darkness, seeing the bounty of the near future coming toward you. Summoning joy by making room for it to exist.

“Hello, Hans,” you say, “it’s me.”

Hans König steps forward. He looms over you truly, now, eclipsing your vision. “It is you, indeed.”

Without another word, right there in front of Gaz, Hans grips your shoulders, bends down, and kisses you on the mouth.

Your brows shoot upward. It’s the first time anyone has ever kissed you. His lips are…hard, and motionless against yours. Almost perfunctory. You are so shocked he’s done it that you don’t think to respond, and then as suddenly as it happened, it’s over. He pulls away, pats your shoulders with a little smile, and then looks at Gaz.

“Get that wagon put away and then go help the others,” says Hans to the cowboy, slinging one arm around your shoulder.

Your brows lift further. Is that all he has to say to him, for delivering you safe and sound?

Gaz doesn’t seem to share your feelings. “Yes, sir,” is all he says, even and toneless.

But he looks between you and his employer for more than just the span of a heartbeat. Eyes going from him, to you, to the arm around your shoulders. Then he meets your gaze, expression stony.

If Gaz is wary of your presence here—if you’re going to win him over—the best time to start is now. “Thank you very much for seeing me here safely,” you say. “I was so glad of your company, Mr. Gaz.”

To your dismay, his expression only tightens. Gaz looks at Hans again, then back at you.

“You’re welcome, Miss,” he says.

Then he climbs back into the wagon, gives the reins a snap, and drives away.

-

a/n: fun fact, the ranch and neighboring town are based off Valentine and Emerald Ranch from rdr2 :) the ranch layout is more like Pronghorn Ranch however.

[bunnyteetharry]

Boyfriend

summary: pranking Harry with the “calling your husband boyfriend” trend

warnings: none? light spanking, use of brat

pairing: husband!arry x wife!reader

————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆

It was late into the afternoon

You were sprawled on the couch bundled up in your favorite sage blanket with the TV playing on low volume as background noise

You were scrolling mindlessly on TikTok when you came across a video of a women calling her husband boyfriend right in front of him and getting the funniest reaction, you were dying to do this to Harry and what better timing then to do it now that he’s been more at home since taking a mild break from touring and going to the studio here and there when he feels like it

You knew he was in the home library catching up on his tbr stack that you collecting for him whilst he was touring

It was a thing you did for one another

Grabbing books or nicknacks that you knew the other would enjoy

Earlier you asked if he was feeling hungry for anything and you both agreed on ordering in so you made your way towards the room he was in, your idea was to order food in front of him but in actually you’re just going to be on a fake call with the camera facing him

“Baby!” You called out as you entered “Yes m’love” he hummed grabbing his bookmark and placing the book on the side wooden table that was next to him

“Did you want to get Chinese food for dinner tonight?” He smiled and nodded “Yeah that sounds great, did you want me to called them?” shaking your head you pulled out your phone from your pocket “Ill do it you just continuing reading” you smiled widely and plopped down next to him on the small brown crouch with pink flowers printed all around it, you had picked it out together when you passed by a garage sale in your neighborhood

He looked at you suspiciously as he knew you didn’t like making phone calls when it comes to ordering or phone calls in general since it freaked you out but this time he just decide to brush this off and picked up his book

In the middle of your fake order that’s when the prank began

“Yes, and my boyfriend would like to get the same thing except with fried rice for the second side”

Harry paused for a minute, not quite sure he heard you correctly but as he slowly started to register what you had said his eyebrow rose, his jaw was clench and he had a smirk rising up on his face

What was going through his head, you didn’t know, but were you excited to see how this was going to play out? oh defiantly

“Okay perfect, thank you!” You ‘ended’ the call and founded Harry starring blankly at you

“Yes?” You smiled and giggled “Boyfriend huh?” He had this dark look casted over his eyes that made you laugh even more ‘Oh this is funny to you” you covered your mouth as you smiled “I did nothing wrong” he hummed and nodded before placing his book back down and wrapping his hands tightly around your ankles pulling you right to him, it was a small couch so you were dragged immediately to him

You screamed out laughing as he hovered above you, pushing down your arms to your side as he trapped your legs between his thighs to stop you from ever kicking

He flipped you around and you immediately screamed again “No Harry I’m sorry!” he ignored your pleases and continued, roughly he smacked your ass, part of you was happy you had clothes on so the impact didn’t hurt as much but at the same time this man is stronger than you

“You’re a brat” he mumbled sitting back down “It was funny admit it” you crawled onto his lap and positions his face to look at you, he smiled and rolled his eyes, giving you a soft peck

“I’m your husband, understand? Have been for four years, not some fucking boyfriend anymore” he nuzzled his head towards your neck lightly pressing kisses “Mm definitely can’t post this” his head perked up “Post what?” you immediately slid off his lap and ran out of the room

“Nothing!”

a/n: wasn’t feeling it half way but enjoy! also I’m taking request if anyone wants to suggest anything :)

[bullet-prooflove]

Sunflowers: Brendon Acres x Reader

Tagging @kmc1989

Companion piece to Lifeline

You don’t make much money working for the FBI. They pay you a modest stripe end, one that parallels how much it would cost to house you in the penal system. It’s just enough to afford a shitty apartment in an even shittier part of town. When you factor in transport, utilities and food, there’s barely enough cash left over to purchase art supplies, let alone any luxuries. It makes things harder when Brendon’s birthday comes around. He’s a man of wealth, of means and you barely have two dollars in your purse to rub together.

It shouldn’t matter but it does.

Brendon was the first person who showed you any kindness when you agreed to work for the FBI, he treated you like a human being, saw you for who you are. It was him that lobbied for you to consult with Special Investigations because you were dying out there in Art Crimes under Henderson’s control. Brendon had given you back a part of yourself you thought you’d lost, he’d shown you a different path and you will forever be grateful for that.

It’s your dress that helps you figure it out, the black one with the yellow sunflowers. You’d picked it up at a thrift store a couple of days before, it’s in surprisingly good condition. It’s insane that you used to spend thousands of dollars on clothes in your previous life and now you’re trying to work out if you can make a twenty stretch.

You’re sitting at your desk when Brendon sets a mug of coffee down in front of you. He takes up his usual perch on the corner as you tidy away the pictures of the Degas you’ve been studying. It’s a fake, you can see it even without seeing the piece of art up close.

“I’ve always loved sunflowers.” He tells you, his fingertips brushing over the fabric of your sleeve. “The problem is I’m allergic to them, I break out in hives if I’m anywhere even close to one.”

“What do you like about them?” You had asked him and he’d given you that smile and a half-hearted shrug.

“They just make me happy.” He tells you, you can see the truth of it in his eyes. It’s such a silly little thing but the fact he’s chosen to share it with you, speaks volumes. “They’re fun, colourful, they make me think of brighter days. I think that’s why I’m smiling so much this morning, your dress…”

He trails off, his gaze slipping down to his coffee mug as his cheeks flush pink.

“Maybe I’ll try to wear it more often.” You tease and he laughs at that. It’s such a rich, vibrant sound and it lights up something inside of you.

You like this man, really like him.

You haven’t felt like this in a long time.

It takes a few days for you paint the picture. You choose an A5 sized piece of paper because you feel canvas would be too intimate and you aren’t ready to give that much of yourself to someone else. Creating art, it’s a private experience, when you gift it to someone else you’re really handing them a piece of your soul, showing them your true self.

You spend your evenings hunched over the battered desk in your apartment, working to the sound of Vance Joy as you mix your paints. You have a very specific colour pallet in mind. A rich blue that matches the hue of Brendon’s eyes, a vibrant sunshine yellow that contrasts against it. You have a scene in mind from the last time you were in North Dakota, four sunflowers swaying lightly in the breeze alongside the barn your family used to own. It’s the last happy memory you have of that place and you’re giving it to Brendon.

Brendon doesn’t expect to spend his birthday shuttling between LA and Salt Lake City but then again it’s the nature of the job. He’d been looking forward to getting dinner with Simone and Cutty but it’s past midnight by the time he gets into the office. His birthday’s over before he even realises it.

It’s when he collapses into his desk chair that he notices the brown paper envelope sitting on his  desk, his name written in your pretty looped scrawl. He’s intrigued when he picks it up, his fingers breaking the seal eagerly.

He can’t help but smile when he sees the artwork. It’s an original piece, painted by your hand, he’s known you long enough to recognise your style. The bold use of colour, the delicacy of the drawing itself. He thinks he’d know you anywhere.

When he turns over the piece, he studies the words written in dark pencil and something just blossoms in his chest.

Brendon,

May all your days be as bright as sunflowers.

Mona.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mellorphic]

C!Niki Design Timeline

My thoughts about her design under the cut!

L’MaNiki

I have an art piece of everyone’s L’Manberg uniforms that Tumblr won’t let me link, but the general gist is that anyone who joined post revolution got to choose the shade of their coat, and got a light blue sash instead of a red one. They also don’t have the lines on the boots.

Elections

She dyed parts of her hair orange to match Fundy for coconut2020, and a lot of her outfit was styled to reflect to the people that she was loyal to L’Manberg - keeping the same collar shape as her uniform, wearing the same turtleneck, wearing the shoulder pads

Manberg

She dyed her hair! Niki tied the sash from her L’Manberg uniform around her leg as a sort of rebellious act against JSchlatt (which she did a lot of), showing she was loyal to Wilbur’s nation rather than his. She also tied the hairtie around her wrist. Her sweater is the mental-breakdown shade of pink that she dyed her hair later, showing that this was the start of her mental decline and that this was a massive period of loneliness.

Pogtopia

She cut her hair and put it up into pigtails so that it was out of the way while she was in the ravine. I headcanon that this was when she got Wilbur’s cloak and that he gave it to her once she joined. Also, despite not participating in a war yet she has a scar on her leg from being chased out of Manberg and murdered by Ponk on the day of Tubbo’s execution, which is what led to her joining Pogtopia. The L’Manberg hairtie is still on her wrist but the ones in her hair are the mental breakdown colour, however there is less of that pink on this design than the Manberg one as joining Pogtopia reunited her with many of her friends, so she didn’t feel as alone even if she was still scared.

Breakdown

This design is for the entirety of New L’Manberg, Doomsday, and the rocket duo arc, up until the point where she stopped trying to kill Tommy and focused more on her secret city (where she locked herself up due to sleepwalking and night terrors). This arc lasted a long time and goes acrosss multiple eras her appearance remained how it did from NLM because she had no motivation to change anything, despite usually taking pride in aspects of her appearance such as her hair (which had grown out slightly between Pogtopia and now). There is no a single reference to L’Manberg in this outfit but she does still have Wilbur’s cloak.

Healing arc

Niki’s healing began after joining the syndicate but I think the appearance change would not come until at least a few months after joining as she was still trying to find her sense of self again. When she did, she went back to her blonde hair but dyed half brown, like a reference to Ranboo and Puffy. She continues to wear Wilbur’s cloak but is now in a much classier fit, having spent too much time with Techno (who definitely gave her the gold). The L’Manberg hairtie is back, this time with a braid, because I think Syndicate braids is an even cooler concept than sbi braids

[sizey-oc-smackdown]

ROUND 1: BATTLE 5

Participants: @sizeshiftingdeath 's Derek, Chase, Ash, and Quince, @kayla-crazy-stuffs 's Kyo Miyama, and @poprockpanda 's Oliver "Ollie" & Morrigan "Shadow Bestie" (omg my nepo babies)

Descriptions: "Derek- Messy dirty blond hair, light brown skin, wears a bandana around his neck, freckles, pinkish eyes Chase- White, brown hair, usually wears sweatshirts, freckles, light purple eyes Ash- Pink hair, pale, scar under right eye, blue eyes, traumatized Quince- brown skin, Brown hair, scar under right eye, green eyes, traumatized but pretends he isn't, dad jokes all day every day"

"slightly dark brown hair, green eyes, white t-shirt with black pants and dark brown boots. He also has a scarf the color of his eyes that covers a scar/wound on his neck."

"Mouse boy got abandoned by his family, fucks around and is bad at it, and then gets a cool shadow beast friend. Shadow Bestie is a quirky cryptid made of shadows."

Propaganda: "Quince- He is Ash's dad and is a 41 years old. This bitch (affectionate) knows no fear, which, since he's a borrower, is not a good thing. He actually gave himself the scar across his eye just to "look cool" which he regretted almost immediately since he now can't see out of that eye (it does look cool tho). He went missing/got captured when Ash was 10. Who knows what happened to him? (I do >:)c )

Ash- They are a non-binary borrower. They're 16, blind in one eye bc of the scar. Definitely is terrified of humans, takes forever for them to warm up to any. Dyed their hair using some random pink hair dye they found and thought it was cool. Got it pretty much all over their hands and neck on accident.

Chase- He's 19 years old. Chase tries to look big and scary but he's a real softie and wouldn't hurt a fly. Also, he is bisexual chaos lmao. He is an absolute disaster half the time and I love him for it.

Derek- He's 19 years old as well. Eventually him and Chase start dating. He's seen some shit but you can't really tell unless he tells you. And by tells you I mean he drops it in a normal conversation so casually it gives you whiplash, also the reason he always wears a bandanna around his neck. He is a very kind man."

"Really mean towards the humans but really nice when it comes to his little sister"

"Ollie is a little cringe baby who hasn't had a peaceful day or a good night's rest since he was 11. SB is just a curious cryptid who is super interested in Ollie's shenanigans."

Extra Bits of Propaganda: Ollie and SB Fic

because i am the poll runner and i want my little guys to win i am going to bribe a bit. if they make it past this round i promise to finish and publish the second chapter i planned for their fic of them hanging out and i will draw them both in pretty dresses. hope this convinces y'all to not murder my buffoons in round one lol

[blue-eyed-author]

“POSSIBILITIES” (excerpt)

By @GenuineRoseW (on Wattpad)

(@blue-eyed-author on Tumblr)

Part One

Renna checked her makeup in her rear-view mirror before stepping out of the car. She wore a light pink dress that rested above her knees. The top of it fitted to her chest, flaring out at her waist. Her favourite pink heels matched perfectly which she had been excited about while strapping them up. She loves the short, thick heel that reduced the risk of an ankle roll, and the comfort of them.

Her light brown hair was styled in a simple half-up half-down style, the ends curled and the bottom half resting on her shoulders. She kept her make-up simple. A light, shimmery eyeshadow. Thin eyeliner. A bit of blush. And enough foundation and concealer to cover the freckles over her nose.

(🔻Read more🔻)

She grabbed her white handbag from the car and made her way up to Levi's apartment, locking the car as she walked.

While in the elevator, she checked her reflection one more time in the silver walls, and smiled to herself. She had been looking forward to this date since Levi planned it a week ago.

She had to restrain herself from skipping down the hallway to his door, and gave herself a few seconds to calm her excitement before knocking.

"It's open!" she heard from the other side.

Pushing the door open, she stepped into the darkened room. The blackout curtains blocked out the golden light from the setting sun. Two lamps set up in two opposite corners illuminated the small living area with a dull, warm light, while the TV projected a white light across the room. Renna had to squint to look at it; the brightness hurting her eyes.

Sat on the three-seater couch in front of the wall-mounted TV, Renna recognised Levi's fluffy black hair. Jensen's head beside him looked almost the same in the dark, but the TV light gave away the bright ocean blue colour of his hair.

From the back and in the dark, it's hard to tell but she's sure Levi still had yet to get ready. She sighed to herself, losing the excitement she possessed moments ago.

"Bro, quick," Jensen said. "Come back and heal me."

"Alright. On my way," Levi replied, oblivious to the disappointed girl behind him.

Renna stepped closer to stand behind him. "Levi."

He looked over his shoulder at her for just a second before turning his attention back to the game being played.

It showed two characters, the screen split in the middle. The character on the right laid on the ground, curled up, with the words 'waiting to be revived' beneath him.

"Hey baby," Levi said without another glance back. "What are you—" He cut himself off, looking back with wide eyes. "Shit! I'm so sorry. I'll get ready right now." Jumping up, he dropped the controller onto the couch and dashed towards his bedroom. "I'll be quick. Wait there."

A tiny smile played on her lips. At least I didn't have to tell him, she thought.

"Bro," said Jensen, throwing his arms up as he watched his roommate leave. "I'm dying." He looked back at the screen. "And now you're dying." As he reached for Levi's controller, the character collapsed to the floor and the game-over screen popped up. He dropped his arms in defeat. "And... we're dead." Turning to look at Renna, he said, "Thanks for that."

She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't my fault."

"Whatever," he mumbled, finding his way to the main menu. She watched him flick through options, selecting and changing things.

She hadn't liked him too much since the first time she met him two weeks prior. Levi introduced them both when he tagged along to their bowling date.

Renna thought she had been as nice as she could have been the entire time, but when Jensen ran to the bathroom, Levi let her know that Jensen hadn't liked her much. She didn't know what she could have done different. To her, it seemed as though they were getting along.

But Levi told her, "During your turn, he leaned over and whispered that I could do better than you and that you're kind of annoying."

It hurt her. Levi comforted her, saying, "I don't think that. You're so hot and amazing. Don't bother about him. He doesn't know what he's talking about." Her heart warmed with his words.

Since then, he treated her like dirt on his shoe. Or more like a fly that keeps circling his head. Bothersome. Refusing to go away. Always there. Pestering. Unwanted.

But Levi was her boyfriend, and it had nothing to do with Jensen, so she did her best to ignore him and his snide remarks.

"Jensen!" Levi called from the room. "What did you do with my leather jacket?!"

"I didn't touch it. Use your eyes and look for it." He selected single player mode and started a new game.

"That's helpful. Where is it?" Renna caught sight of Levi switching between rooms.

"I seriously don't know, man."

Levi returned seconds later, pulling the jacket on. He had calmed his wild hair as much as he could in the short amount of time. Under the blacker leather jacket, he wore a plain white t-shirt with black jeans and nice brown dress shoes. He kept on his black jewellery but it all matched perfectly. Two necklaces. One with a cross and the other with triangle, arrow head thing. His ear piercings. Two in one ear. Three in the other. His lip ring. And his silver and black rings.

He's very handsome, Renna thought to herself. If the annoying roommate hadn't been there, she might have said it out loud, but for now, she decided to keep it to herself.

"You've been dating her a month," Jensen said while fighting some zombie or something, "and you're already ditching your friend for her."

"Maybe if you had a beautiful girl to go on a date with, you would pick her too."

Renna turned away, grinning and blushing like an idiot. Warmth surrounded her heart.

"Shall we?" Levi asked, holding out his arm to her.

She took his arm. "Of course."

As they left the apartment, before they shut the door, they heard Jensen make a fake throw-up sound.

End of Part One.

Thank-you for reading! Let me know what you think. 💚 You can continue reading the rest of the story on Wattpad. Have a lovely day, you beautiful person.

[collectingsparechangemadeeasy1]

Painting the Town Red

So I’ll be adding it in the tags, but there’s a trigger warning of a child being beaten, and a very brief mention alluding to kidnapping, if there’s anything else I should add to that, let me know!

Oscar bounded after his dad after leaving Fairytale at the stables with Long Memory. They were visiting the town today to run some errands, and Oscar was ecstatic! He so rarely got to go into town, partly because they had what they needed to live at the farm, but partly because dad was a little over protective, and said it was dangerous. But he was going today! He was so excited, he could just explode! In fact, he kinda was! Little green magic fireworks shot off randomly from his head, sometimes his magic would do funny stuff when he was feeling something really strongly.

He bounced along his dads side, half listening to the itinerary of the day. Hot cocoa ingredients, new horse brushes, blah blah blah, potions from aunt Glynda! But she wasn’t in today… so they would get them from her assistant Gray, boo. Seeds, blah blah blah.

Oscar looked around in wonderment at all the stalls and built shops around them. People selling clothes of bright hues to the left, someone cooking delicious smelling meat to the right, and ahead some someone yelling about how amazing their jewelry was, another was arguing about prices.

Oscar pressed a bit closer to his dad. It was… so much. He’d been to town a few times, but they didn’t go through this part… Was there an event? Was something special happening? It was hot outside too… His head was starting to  spin, people were yelling, some calling out to him, everything was so bright, it hurt his eyes. He tried to cover his ears and close his eyes, but people shoved into him and made him stumble, they glared or even shouted at him. He didn’t immediately register he wasn’t with his dad anymore.

His breathing was heavy and erratic, he felt hot and uncomfortable, his clothes were clinging in all the wrong ways and places and he felt tears brimming in his eyes. He wanted his dad! He wanted to go home! This was a bad idea! He should have stayed on the farm today! He wanted to go home!

Finally he stumbled into an alleyway between two shops and was able to scurry away from all the noise and heat and light. He curled up, putting his head between his knees as he sobbed softly. This was turning into a horrible day… He felt gross but in a bad way, not in the “just worked the fields and now I’m gross” way. He’d lost his dad, he had no idea where he was, and he was too scared to leave the alley…

He didn’t know how long he cried for, when someone roughly grabbed his hair and yanked him into the air, making him cry out in pain. He wriggled and kicked, fearful tears coming faster now. He sobbed, looking into the eyes of the man that held him. He was clean shaven, and smelled like something sweet and cigar smoke. The smell was oddly comforting, since his dad smelled like cigars sometimes.

 He had bright red hair that covered one of his eyes, the visible one was a bright flashing green. He wore a white trench coat, his hands bore black gloves with orange jack-o-lanterns faces on the backs. His shirt was a black blouse, a gray ribbon tied around the neckline, with gray pants and black shiny shoes. He also wore a bowler hat, with a dyed pink, brown, and white feather in the band.

His companion was a small girl, with half pink and half brown hair, little streaks of white running through the dual colors, her eyes matched. She wore a white three quarters sleeved sheath dress with a slit up to her thigh up the side, and a half pink half brown demi-loop corset that had black lace around the edges.

“Well… look what we have here? A little brat all alone. Where’s your mommy?” The man holding him up asked mockingly, shaking Oscar and making him cry out in pain.

“I-I don’t have one, let me go!” He pleaded, but it only made the man laugh at him, the girl smiled cruelly.

“Awwww! He doesn’t have a mommy!” he cooed patronizingly. “How sad! Say Neo, you want a kid?” The girl, Neo, gained a look of utter disgust and spat on Oscar.  “Woof, tough break kid. My partner here doesn’t seem to like you.”

He shook horribly, his head hurt so much from where the man was holding him, and he wanted his dad more than ever right now. “W-what do you want from me?”

The man scoffed and jostled him roughly with another cry of pain.“There’s nothing a pipsqueak like you could really give me. But I’ll take whatever you have, and since I’ve had a rough day, I think I’ll take it out on you. Sounds fair?”

Oscar grunted in pain as he was suddenly thrown to the ground, his head banging against the curb, making stars dance in his eyes. And then… pain exploded through his abdomen as a hard kick connected, making him gasp, gag, and wretch horribly. Tears dripped down his cheeks as darkness blurred across his vision. 

Another blow rang out, but this time it wasn’t aimed at Oscar. A rock clattered to the ground, one that had been thrown at the man, hitting him square in the forehead. “Ah! What the- who would dare- Ow!” He cried out as another rock hit him, and another and another! It was a malstrom of projectiles.

Oscar looked to the end of the alley where the rocks were coming from. Three teenagers stood there, throwing the rocks at his assailants.

“Get lost creep!” the shortest girl cried, hurling a large rock at the pair. Her hair was short and a bit choppy, like she’d cut it herself, and a bright pale orange. Her eyes were a bright baby blue. She wore a white long sleeved shirt, a pink heart painted on the front. A dark grey sweater where she seemed to have endless rocks stored, was around her shoulders. And her skirt was a pink and blue plaid design, a white petticoat under it.

“Yeah! Leave him alone!” The blonde boy agreed, though his voice was shakier. He had blue eyes and a little brown cap on his head, and brown fingerless gloves. A black hooded cloak with a gray bunny on the front was around his shoulders. As well as a white blouse and blue pants, with brown mud caked boots.

“Go away! Get out of here!” The boy with the pink streak in his hair huffed, using vines to throw more pebbles at the pair. He had bright pink eyes, like the geraniums his dad planted last year. He wore green overalls with a pink lotus on the front chest pocket, a pink long sleeved shirt with black sleeves, and black boots with gold laces. His hair was tied back with a white and pink ribbon.

“And don’t come back!” The tall girl nodded, levitating some of the stones to hurl at the two. She had bright green eyes, but not like the mans, hers were kinder, even in her furied state. Her hair was long and red, held back by a black cord and kept neat with a gold circlet that had a green emerald in the center. She had a brown blouse with a braided design on the sides of the chest and a collar. Her knit sweater was a dark red color and seemed a bit big on her. She wore a golden yellow skirt with matching suspenders, black tights, and brown boots with gold heels.

The pair looked ready to attack the group of teens, but realizing they were outnumbered, and that the four were magic users. They shared a look, glared at Oscar, and ran, leaving the scent of cigar smoke and something sweet. Oscar didn’t get up when they left, the kick was strong and Oscar was sure the man had been wearing some kind of metal shoe. His stomach ached, his head was throbbing where the man had grabbed him, and he was sure he was bleeding… “Hey, are you ok?” the short girl with orange spiky hair asked, kneeling next to him.

Oscar shook his head, whimpering softly. “N-no…”

“Here, this might help.” the boy with pink eyes knelt next to him and hovered his hands over Oscar. They glowed a bright pink color and Oscar felt his pain easing and he breathed a sigh of relief. Healing magic… Not an easy thing to learn.

“Thank you…” he said softly, slowly sitting up with the aid of the tall girl and the blonde boy. “You saved me.”

“Awww, it was nothing. We just saw a creep and knew we had to put the beat down!” the orange haired girl declared, sticking out her hand. “My names Nora! These are my friends!”

“Jaune.” the blonde one smiled sheepishly.

“Lie-Ren.” The one with pink eyes bowed slightly.

“Pyrrha!” The red haired girl chirped. “And what’s your name?”

“It’s-”

“OSCAR!” there came a cry from the end of the alley, and Oscar’s heart leapt to his throat.

“DAD!” he cried, trying to stand to rush to him, but could barely take a step before falling over. Luckily, his dad was there now, and he caught him.

“Oscar! Oh Oscar! I lost you in the crowd! I was so scared! Oh never scare me like that again!” his dad all but sobbed, holding onto him like his life depended on it. “What happened? Who hurt you?”

“I-I don’t know… One was named Neo I think…” he sniffled, holding tightly to his dad.

“Neapolitan and Roman Torchwick.” Ren informed, “Known criminal kingpins of Vale. Guess they were having an off day.”

“We scared ‘em off though! They ran like a couple’a babies!” Nora smirked triumphantly.

Oscars dad breathed slowly and stood, holding Oscar still. “Thank you. All, I don’t know how to repay you for this.”

“No payment needed!” Pyrrha laughed a bit nervously, pausing as Jaune whispered something in her ear. She went a bit red and quickly snatched the circlet off her head. “Just uh- doing the right thing!”

He smiled and kissed Oscar’s head. “Well… why don’t I at least buy you all some treats, hm? Candy floss or ice cream perhaps? You did a great deed, let me thank you.”

Before Pyrrha could protest Nora was already tugging the older man by his coat, “Both! Can we do both! I want both!”

“Nora, remember your manners.” Ren chided as he followed along, Jaune trailing behind, holding Pyrrha’s hand as they followed his dad like ducklings.

Oscar smiled softly, sighing contently as his dad slowly wound his own healing magic through him. Maybe this trip to town wasn’t as awful as he thought…  

[slasherbvnnie]

I love dying my hair- I’ve done every color, so lets just say my hair was severely damaged a few years ago. I gotta say my favorite hair look I’ve done has been when I had the front section of my hair (the stuff the covers my eyes and well- just the frontal lobe area ig ? Im so bad at explaining 😭) dyed a vibrant blue and then my side burns were bright red, with the rest of my hair being black. That is so poorly explained but- it was pretty cool in my opinion !! I do also like my natural hair color a lot, its a dirty blonde/light brown with natural red/orange splotches in it. There’s a whole section at the front of my head thats just orange, it’s great. But I feel that black hair fits my style a lot better.

also could we possibly get a closer up photo of the Billy necklace ?? :0

-📫

that hairstyle sounds really cool!!! i think my favorite hairstyle ive had is just bright red hair because it didnt require too much upkeep! but i also really loved my pink hair! naturally i have dark brown hair but i have red in my hair naturally and i hated it because it makes an auburn color and i just didnt like it, so i dye it black now.

if i could tho…i’d either go for a draculaura type of style or half black and half neon green. but im super lazy so its staying black for a while😭

also yesss! i love the length, i was a bit nervous it might not fit because there was no length option, but it fits nicely!! (please excuse the cat hair on my shirt😭)

[yuniemaki]

Just business

series: genshin impact pairing: beidou x ningguang rating: T genre: fluff and crack, lantern rite summary: the Captain got some business information from the Tianquan on how to improve management strategy for the Crux, Huixing says… cross-posted on ao3

The chessboard sits between the two women like a sacred artifact; a catalyst for the ritual that the Tianquan and Captain inevitably fall into whenever the Crux Fleet returns to Liyue Harbour. Atop its gleaming marble surface are exquisite chess pieces hewn from noctilucous jade, one half dyed black and the other left pristine white with a tinge of blue. The match is well underway; pawns lie scattered across the guest table, the surviving pieces sprawled across the board in half-formed strategies and quick-witted counters.

On the white side lounges the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, clad in white and gold; her eyes a deep wine-red against fair skin and snow-white hair that cascades over her back. She tilts her head just a little, and the tiny ginkgo pendant on her brown hair stick dangles with the motion. Her gaze flicks from the chessboard to the Captain of the Crux Fleet seated across from her, whose brown tresses fall free like her wild spirit over a powerful frame housed in red and gold. Half of her hair has been pulled back into a bun that has long been ruffled by wind, though it's held securely in place by several gold hair sticks. Her fringe falls over an eyepatch covering her left eye. She follows Ningguang's movement, tilting her head as well; her turquoise tassel and earring dangle with the motion.

“I must confess," Ningguang breathes as she surveys the battlefield, "your management of the Crux Fleet’s finances leaves much to be desired."

Beidou immediately chokes on her spit. “My— what?”

Ningguang raises a brow. “I said—”

She holds up a hand, still coughing. “I heard you the first time,” the Captain snaps, “But what in Morax’s name are you doing nosing into my affairs?”

“You could use some advice.” Ningguang ignores her comment.

“Did I ask?”

The Tianquan leans forward, tilting her pipe and tapping out the remnants of tobacco leaves into a dish. “Would you refuse?”

Beidou crosses her arms, scowling at the chessboard. “No.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of her rouge lips. Ningguang has always liked seeing this side of Beidou, a side reserved only for her. It’s only within the walls of the Jade Chamber that she can lay her eyes upon the captain’s disgruntled glower, topped off with a faint shade of pink dusting her cheeks. It’s a shame the Crux Fleet rarely returns to Liyue Harbour; as the weeks drag into months, Ningguang finds the cold beauty of the Jade Chamber particularly lonesome. All the antiques and treasures of the world can’t quite compare to the simple warmth that Beidou brings.

But, Ningguang tells herself, now is not the time. Lantern Rite is the only season where the Crux Fleet is guaranteed to return home, where the Alcor stays docked for weeks on end as her crew rests and restocks for a full voyage once again. Ningguang tries not to think about their time apart; she tries to live in the present, where things truly matter.

“So,” Ningguang prods, “Perhaps a proper lecture is due?”

“No,” Beidou repeats, “Tell me over chess.” She moves a rook. 

“Are you sure? Merchants would pay millions for what I’m about to say, Beidou.” Ningguang pokes her bishop forward.

A grave mistake; there’s a mischievous glint in the captain’s crimson eye. It is the Tianquan’s turn to scowl when Beidou rises to her full height, towering over both the board and Ningguang. The Captain leans forward, muscles rippling as she presses a hand onto the table for support. Ningguang says nothing, primly keeping her legs crossed; she doesn’t move even when a calloused finger slides under her chin, tilting her head up to expose her burning cheeks for the world to see.

Only Captain Beidou would ever dare.

“I’m no merchant, am I, my light?” she asks, smugness dripping from her tone.

Ningguang swallows thickly. “No.”

“Good,” the Captain breathes, giving her cheeks a firm yet loving squeeze.

Ningguang’s face flames red. 

“So” — Beidou drops back into the chair, nudges a knight forward and folds her arms — “you were saying?”

The Tianquan opens and closes her mouth for a few heartbeats, lowering her gaze to the chessboard. They are evenly matched as always, white against black. To make things worse, her face is so hot she swears she can feel steam escaping from her ears. Beidou’s smirk is growing wider by the second — damn this captain — and Ningguang presses her lips into a thin line, electing to knock off one of her little pawns. The Tianquan drops the black pawn onto the table. “Financial. Management,” she grinds out through gritted teeth. “You toss Mora about willy-nilly without a budget.”

Beidou shrugs, skillfully using a foot to poke her rook into Ningguang’s turf. 

Show-off. 

“It’s not like I’m lacking,” the Captain remarks, “Plus the parties and gifts keep morale high. My crew are like family to me; I’ll spare no expense in keeping their families safe.”

Of course. She’s always admired Beidou’s selfless heart; her boundless love for the people, her family and friends. In truth, Ningguang does not hesitate to do the same, albeit behind a veil of anonymity. A mysterious benefactor to some businesses like Wanmin Restaurant, a private donation to Yun-Han Opera Troupe, unnamed investments into various promising shops within Liyue Harbour — the reason is simple: the title of ‘Tianquan’ is oftentimes more hindrance than help.

“You don’t have to stop doing that,” Ningguang replies, shifting her queen to defend against an oncoming check. “You should simply consider setting aside a portion of your earnings to reinvest into Liyue Harbour.”

The captain frowns, propping one foot up on the guest table. Ningguang raises a brow in warning. Beidou sighs, dropping her foot back onto the ground. “And why should I do that?” 

“Consider it another way of giving back to the people,” the Tianquan explains, leaning forward. “Of helping merchants beyond your crew. Investments help businesses greatly to survive their initial loss-making years.”

“How will I know it’s going to the business, and not some greedy merchant’s pocket?” Beidou follows suit, pressing her hands on the table as she closes the distance. “Or somehow going into your pocket, Miss Tianquan?”

Ningguang laughs. “That is—”

The rest of her words are drowned in an “mmph” when Beidou tips forward, playfully catching her lips in a quick kiss. “Gotcha,” the Captain chuckles.

The Tianquan huffs, blushing all the way from her cheeks to the tip of her ears. “You are awfully needy today, Captain.”

“I just docked after half a year,” Beidou responds nonchalantly, flopping back into her seat almost reluctantly. "You're my first thought when I wake and the last before I sleep, my star.”

“Are you changing the topic now?” She’s not going to let the captain know just how much her heart flutters whenever Beidou gives her that doe-eyed look. Not so easily, at least.

“Not at all. Look, why don’t you just invest half of my fines for me?” Beidou grumbles.

“Your fines go directly to the Ministry of Civil Affairs,” Ningguang points out, “I can’t just take a portion as and when I please.”

“You’re the Tianquan.”

“I uphold the laws of Liyue, not break them. The latter, I believe, is your domain.”

It is Beidou’s turn to open and close her mouth like a fish. Ningguang flips open her fan, hiding a victorious smirk. They’re even again — for now. No sooner has the thought passed through Ningguang’s mind does Beidou immediately tip the scales once more with a pointed reply: “I seem to recall you’re often too busy to enforce the rules, though.”

Archons. Ningguang entertains the thought of dramatically dragging her claws down her face. “The Crux Fleet, as I’ve told the Yuheng, is indispensable to Liyue Harbour. Despite our disagreements.”

Beidou beams, taking Ningguang’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Exactly, my light.” The Captain shifts, flattening Ningguang’s palm against her cheek. 

The Tianquan’s heart flutters like a trapped butterfly in her chest. Perhaps it’s because they meet so infrequently — the Captain’s heart belongs first to the sea, after all — but despite the passage of time, Ningguang still finds herself tripping head over heels whenever Beidou so much as smiles, ever so tender and soft.

Beidou speaks, her gruff voice a low rumble against Ningguang’s hand. “Isn’t it in your best interests to ensure we stay profitable, bǎobèi?”

With her free hand, the Tianquan pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Fine,” she concedes, “I can tell you who to invest in for favourable returns. As for the investments themselves — get Mora-Grubber to do it.”

The pirate lets out a hearty chuckle, releasing her hand. Her booming laughter is a welcome break from the tranquility of the Jade Chamber; it’s a sound that Ningguang misses far too much and far too often. “That’s my star.”

Ningguang exhales noisily, shaking her head. The chessboard lies forgotten between them. “I’m too lenient with you, Beidou.”

“I love you too, bǎobèi.”

She can’t help but challenge: “You do, do you?” 

“Hah!” Beidou lifts her head almost defiantly, holding Ningguang’s gaze with equal fervour. “What does my oh-so-demanding Tianquan desire this time?”

“Excuse me?” Ningguang huffs. “Is dinner too much to ask for?”

“That’s all?” Beidou flashes her a warm smile as she rises once again. Ningguang stays seated, but her gaze stays fixed on the captain’s gentle ruby eye. “I can do more.” She raises a finger. “On one condition.”

“I don’t believe you’re in any position to request something of me,” Ningguang responds, raising an eyebrow and snapping her fan shut. “But let’s hear it.”

“Wear that dress from last year,” Beidou says without missing a beat, “The blue one.”

Ningguang swears her cheeks are hot enough to cook Teyvat fried eggs.

“Liuli Pavilion,” the captain casually remarks as she spins on her heel, leaving with a wave. “Tonight. My treat.” She stops at the door, throwing one last glance at the Tianquan. “And don’t forget the dress!”

Ningguang rolls her eyes, refusing to entertain the captain with an answer. She picks up the chess pieces and tosses them into a velvet pouch, humming one of Beidou’s sea shanties under her breath. 

And when Baiwen later enters to report on Lantern Rite affairs, Ningguang holds up a hand to grab the secretary’s attention. “Lady Ningguang?” Baiwen asks.

“Clear my schedule for dinner, please,” the Tianquan says calmly, “Oh, and get Baishi to prepare the blue dress. My favourite.”

“Of course.” Baiwen bows and leaves.

Ningguang settles at her desk, a small smile on her lips. This Lantern Rite, perhaps, may be the best one yet. 

[aceghosts]

OC Appearence

Hey Everybody! I was tagged a while ago by @natesofrellis, @clicheantagonist, @direwombat, @thomrainer, @harmonyowl, @marivenah, and @arklay to do this OC appearance survey. Thank you for tagging me! Sorry it took so long!

I think most people have been tagged by now, but if you haven't and you wanna do this, consider this your tag. (And tag me!)

Hunter Delaney

BODY

Long legs. Average legs. Short legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Slender arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Ample stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Muscular frame. Beefy frame. Curvy frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Acrylic nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Straight waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Average fingers. Short fingers. Narrow shoulders. Average shoulders. Broad shoulders.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Light. Tanned. Brown. Dark. Rosy. Neutral. Olive. Golden. Pallid. Blotchy. Albinism. Vitiligo. Birthmarks. Freckles. Moles. Wrinkles. Stretch marks. Scars. Burns. Acne. Smooth. Dry. Oily. Combination.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Dark brown. Light brown. Hazel. Green. Blue. Grey. Violet. Gold. Other. Heterochromia. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Protruding. Narrow. Monolid. Almond. Round. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Average. Oily. Dry. Neutral. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Smooth. Straight. Wavy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Bob. Mullet. Mohawk. Half-shaved. Under cut. Buzz cut. Shaved. Bald. Hair extensions. Weave. Afro. Waves. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Braids. Twists. Faux locs. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Armpit length. Mid-back length. Waist length. Hip length. Past hip-length. Middle part. Side part. Blunt bangs. Curtain bangs. Wispy bangs. Short bangs. Side bangs. Dyed bangs. Ombre. Dyed. Grey. White. Platinum. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry blonde. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Caramel brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Black. Jet black. Clean shaven. Stubble. Sideburns. Moustache. Goatee. Beard. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Half sleeve. Forearm tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Hand tattoo(s). Ankle tattoo. Calf tattoo. Thigh tattoo. Hip tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Rib tattoo(s). Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. Face tattoo(s). One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Prince Albert piercing. Industrial piercing. Helix piercing. Tragus piercing. Conch piercing. Earlobe piercings. Stretched out ears. Eyebrow piercing(s). Bridge piercing. Tongue piercing(s). Monroe piercing. Angel bites. Snake bites. Labret. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Light eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colourful eyeshadow. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip liner. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Neutral lips. Dark lips. Colourful lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Blush. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Dewy foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturiser. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Cigarette pants. Cargo pants. Khaki pants. Harem pants. Sweatpants. Yoga pants. Leggings. Tights. Stockings. Overknee socks. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Ballerina skirt. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. T-shirt/Sweater dress. Tight/Form-fitting dress. High slit dress/skirt. Cocktail dress. Gowns. Tuxedo. Suit. Tie. Waistcoat. Sweater vest. Sweater. Hoodie. Leather jacket. Denim jacket. Bomber jacket. Parka. Peacoat. Trench coat. Cardigans. Tunic. Turtleneck. Blouse. Button up shirt. Cuban shirt. Flannel shirt. Polo shirt. Camisole. Bustier. Tube top. Crop top. Tank top. Muscle T-shirt. T-shirt. Band T-shirt. Sports T-shirt. Basketball shorts. Pleated shorts. Jean shorts. Hotpants. Bodysuit. Jumpsuit. Overalls. Corset. Nightgowns. Robes. Lingerie. Bra. Sports bra. G-string. Thong. Panties. Briefs. Boxer briefs. Boxers. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Revealing clothing. Designer. High street. Thrift. Patterns. Florals. Polka dots. Stripes. Sequins. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Fur/Faux fur. Light colours. Pastels. Neon colours. Bright colours. Dark colours. White. Black. Heavy armour. Medium armour. Light armour.

SHOES

Bare feet. Slippers. Sandals. Gladiator shoes. Flats. Slip-ons. Loafers. Oxfords. Sneakers. High tops. Ankle boots. Hiking boots. Combat boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Wedges. Stilettos. Chunky. Kitten heels. Slingbacks. Pumps. High Heels. Stripper heels.

Commander Rooney Shepard

BODY

Long legs. Average legs. Short legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Slender arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Ample stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Muscular frame. Beefy frame. Curvy frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Acrylic nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Straight waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Average fingers. Short fingers. Narrow shoulders. Average shoulders. Broad shoulders.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Light. Tanned. Brown. Dark. Rosy. Neutral. Olive. Golden. Pallid. Blotchy. Albinism. Vitiligo. Birthmarks. Freckles. Moles. Wrinkles. Stretch marks. Scars. Burns. Acne. Smooth. Dry. Oily. Combination.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Dark brown. Light brown. Hazel. Green. Blue. Grey. Violet. Gold. Other. Heterochromia. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Protruding. Narrow. Monolid. Almond. Round. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Average. Oily. Dry. Neutral. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Smooth. Straight. Wavy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Bob. Mullet. Mohawk. Half-shaved. Under cut. Buzz cut. Shaved. Bald. Hair extensions. Weave. Afro. Waves. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Braids. Twists. Faux locs. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Armpit length. Mid-back length. Waist length. Hip length. Past hip-length. Middle part. Side part. Blunt bangs. Curtain bangs. Wispy bangs. Short bangs. Side bangs. Dyed bangs. Ombre. Dyed. Grey. White. Platinum. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry blonde. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Caramel brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Black. Jet black. Clean shaven. Stubble. Sideburns. Moustache. Goatee. Beard. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Half sleeve. Forearm tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Hand tattoo(s). Ankle tattoo. Calf tattoo. Thigh tattoo. Hip tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Rib tattoo(s). Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. Face tattoo(s). One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Prince Albert piercing. Industrial piercing. Helix piercing. Tragus piercing. Conch piercing. Earlobe piercings. Stretched out ears. Eyebrow piercing(s). Bridge piercing. Tongue piercing(s). Monroe piercing. Angel bites. Snake bites. Labret. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Light eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colourful eyeshadow. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip liner. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Neutral lips. Dark lips. Colourful lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Blush. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Dewy foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturiser. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Cigarette pants. Cargo pants. Khaki pants. Harem pants. Sweatpants. Yoga pants. Leggings. Tights. Stockings. Overknee socks. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Ballerina skirt. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. T-shirt/Sweater dress. Tight/Form-fitting dress. High slit dress/skirt. Cocktail dress. Gowns. Tuxedo. Suit. Tie. Waistcoat. Sweater vest. Sweater. Hoodie. Leather jacket. Denim jacket. Bomber jacket. Parka. Peacoat. Trench coat. Cardigans. Tunic. Turtleneck. Blouse. Button up shirt. Cuban shirt. Flannel shirt. Polo shirt. Camisole. Bustier. Tube top. Crop top. Tank top. Muscle T-shirt. T-shirt. Band T-shirt. Sports T-shirt. Basketball shorts. Pleated shorts. Jean shorts. Hotpants. Bodysuit. Jumpsuit. Overalls. Corset. Nightgowns. Robes. Lingerie. Bra. Sports bra. G-string. Thong. Panties. Briefs. Boxer briefs. Boxers. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Revealing clothing. Designer. High street. Thrift. Patterns. Florals. Polka dots. Stripes. Sequins. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Fur/Faux fur. Light colours. Pastels. Neon colours. Bright colours. Dark colours. White. Black. Heavy armour. Medium armour. Light armour.

SHOES

Bare feet. Slippers. Sandals. Gladiator shoes. Flats. Slip-ons. Loafers. Oxfords. Sneakers. High tops. Ankle boots. Hiking boots. Combat boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Wedges. Stilettos. Chunky. Kitten heels. Slingbacks. Pumps. High Heels. Stripper heels.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Find the Word Game IV

tagged by: @oh-no-another-idea!! my words: sunshine, low, dusk, yellow, chair tagging: @sleepy-night-child and @drippingmoon and @oh-no-another-idea right back again :P your words: could, should, would, have, had, will

sunshine (Meridian)—

Thrive stepped away from a family being assisted by Lohra and Seryst to join them. "Scot, would you be able to detect the point of detriment to signal me?"

Scot turned to him. "I would. How much of an advance warning?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Warren looked at the common time on his arm guard. "Fifteen minutes? Is that enough time for you?"

Thrive gazed at the horizon as the light left them, swallowed by the steadily shrinking sun. He was tense, hands flexing at his sides. "It's how long we'd have from the point of detonation to the annihilation of Veneve."

low (Warpath)—

"And what about me?"

"What about you, Ataneq?" Warren got to his feet, using his cane for support, and shuffled to the wall panel, waving Ataneq away when he moved in to help. "I don't know if I ever told you about this…if I didn't, that's on me and I'm sorry."

He swiped on a few different controls, selected from a few different menus until the lights dropped low and the whole opposite wall alighted with a video. Ataneq turned and watched, awestruck, as floor-to-ceiling footage set the room aglow.

"You were about nine days old here," Warren said, also turning to look at it.

A waist-up video of Thrive, top half bared, holding an infant Ataneq to his chest as he swayed to and fro on his feet in front of the picture window in his office. Still so small in Thrive's arms, fast asleep with his face squished against Thrive's sternum, Ataneq looked safe and content, and so, so loved.

dusk (Aurora)—

The shuttle ride down was largely made in silence. Upon landing, Warren opened the door to find they'd landed a couple hundred yards away from a decrepit building, a cluster of wide round towers colored in dusky rose pinks and caramel browns. The path leading up to it was framed with long-dead and dried bushes and thick layers of dust.

"It's beautiful," Warren said.

"It was," Thrive agreed. "At least on the outside."

He and Warren made a head start in the direction of the buildings when Thrive turned and stopped in his tracks. He aimed a frown of concern over Warren's shoulder.

Sussa had barely made it out of the shuttle before she froze in place, a hand at her mouth, fighting back a strong wave of tears. Guetry had looked away as she'd grabbed his arm and clutched it in a white-knuckle grip.

"Sussa," Thrive said. "Are you going to be alright? Do you need to go back to our vessel?"

Swallowing, she blinked and brushed the tears away. "No. I'm fine. I just didn't expect…" She turned a strained smile to him after a moment. "I'm fine now."

yellow (Aurora)—

Tuxth stomped onto the bridge. "How long must we watch this?!"

Guetry sighed. "Probably until we're desensitized to the sight of dead—whoa!"

Varussa swerved again to avoid flying them all right into the middle of an intense firefight between two massive ships, yellow and red beams of energy flying every which way and barely missing them.

Warren recognized them almost instantly. "Those are eliyi ships."

"And ancient nuaclan vessels," Tuxth said. "This...is the beginning of the Milky Way War, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Warren folded his arms tight over his chest. "Somewhere in the middle of all this, I'm actively dying."

chair (Eternal)—

The next time Thrive stood at the window in his form suit and bathrobe, Warren got up from the couch, removed the terry cloth garment and peeled the skin-tight black suit from his shoulders. Draped the articles over the desk chair and watched him stand, naked as all, still unmoving from his spot.

A few times Warren had to bathe Thrive himself. Then Thrive would get embarrassed, snap out of whatever made him borderline comatose and refuse to let him care for him further. Thrive stomped out of the bathroom and pretended to brainstorm ways to outsmart the Emmuli, to get them out of that cabin once and for all. But they both knew he gave up a while ago.

Warren wished he was back in Alaska. The real Alaska, the genuine cabin, with bitterly cold air he longed to breathe again. He had glimpses of it in his dreams, walking through the tranquil forest, Thrive close behind, guarding, ever vigilant. Unintelligible whispers passing their ears. He wondered at times if those weren’t dreams. He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

This was supposed to be a dream, too. A nightmare. Anything but reality. But what did reality even mean?

[artemysiax]

Aya, Chapter 1: Hope

Aya awoke with a start, her heart pounding. How had she fallen asleep? The clock read 5:05 AM in glowing red numbers. Everyone else was probably passed out by now. She hoped so. She needed them to be, so she could escape unnoticed.

Barely daring to breathe, she slid out of the bed without making a sound. She looked around the darkened room to see if anyone else was still conscious. Silence.

A few bodies and piles of clothes lay in heaps around the darkened room. Beer cans and empty bottles of booze littered the floor and most surfaces.

The room reeked of cigarettes and stale, spilled alcohol. Every glass surface had white residue, long since sniffed through the little white straws strewn around the room. The moon still shone on the horizon, but the faintest promise of dawn kissed the sky. A bird began his song–small tentative chirps–getting warmed up. A few stars still sparkled, and she could see the glint of a light frost coating the world outside. It’s time, she thought.

She’d slept in her clothes, expecting to wake up early to sneak out. They’d beat her if they caught her, or worse. Devo had cut his name into a girl’s thighs once for trying to escape. Then he’d started giving her to his worst clients, and one day she didn’t come back.

Aya took out the note crumpled in her pocket and looked at it again. Hope. It read:

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. MEET ME AT THE FOUNTAIN AT WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK TOMORROW AT DAWN. IT’S URGENT.

She glanced in the dresser mirror as she gathered her backpack and jacket. Her curly, purple hair still held its braid from the day before. People assumed she dyed it, and she let them think so. It was less complicated that way. The thick, dark makeup on her kaleidoscope-colored eyes had smeared underneath, and she tried to wipe it off.

With a pang, she remembered her grandmother. If only you had lived, Nana, she thought, biting back fresh tears. If Nana had lived, then Aya wouldn’t have been alone in the world, and none of this would have ever happened.

But here she was, and she had a chance, maybe her only chance. And she was going to take it.

She pulled on her stained and worn army jacket. She’d slept in the ripped, fishnet tights and neon pink miniskirt she’d worn the night before, and she’d thrown on a heavy, bright blue sweater over her tank top to stay warm.

Aya had been given the note last night by a strange man at a restaurant. He’d slipped it quietly into her jacket pocket without anyone noticing.

Devo had taken his girls to a cafe in Williamsburg on the generosity of one of his clients. The man had wanted to dine with all of Devo’s girls so he could take his pick. Devo sat at the head of the table, accompanied by his usual shadowy pall that seemed to almost writhe around him. A fat, sweaty man sat beside him, smoking a cigar and eyeing the girls. He was notoriously rough, and now and then, a girl didn’t come home, her broken body winding up behind a dumpster in the Bronx. He was rich, though, and the girls were disposable. No one made a fuss.

Sitting at a table nearby, an elegant man with round, gold-rimmed glasses and dark, wavy, chin-length hair sat reading quietly, alone. He ate a simple salad and drank only sparkling water. He seemed to glow, and Aya could hardly keep from staring at him. There was something about him, but she couldn’t understand what. She longed to talk to him, to ask him about the book he was reading, to ask him about the world he came from, what it was like and who lived there.

He must have felt her gaze, and he looked up from his book. His soft brown eyes met hers, and he looked startled, almost dropping his book in his half-eaten salad. His eyes scanned the table where she sat. Fear seemed to wash over his sculptural, gold-colored features. His body tensed, as if ready to spring. He looked away, but he couldn’t seem to focus on the book anymore. He forgot completely about his salad.

Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a pen and a slender, brown notebook, wrote something in it and then ripped out the page. He called the server to bring his check and folded the piece of paper. He paid, and as he passed her table to leave the restaurant, he dropped his book by her chair. Without looking at her, he reached down to pick it up and slipped the folded piece of paper into her coat pocket. Then he left without a word.

She had spent the rest of the meal trying desperately not to reach into her pocket and pull out the mysterious note.

With a final glance in the mirror of her bedroom, she slipped it back into her jacket pocket and tip-toed through the living room full of sleeping bodies. Like her room, the living room lay strewn with bottles and bodies and other things she didn’t care to think about. Only five people live in the three /-bedroom apartment they share in Bed-Stuy — Devo, one of his goons, and three of his working girls.

Tonight he’d passed out on the living room couch with one of his newer girls he wasn’t bored with yet. He was busy getting her hooked. He kept Aya a little closer, not because he liked her better, but because he never knew what she would do next to rebel against him in small ways, undermining his authority with the others.

She passed the bodies sleeping on the couches and the gauche pretensions to wealth in his small, dingy flat.

The room was silent. No one stirred at all as she tip-toed out.

Reaching the door, she unbolted it slowly. Easing it open, she slid out into the low-lit hallway and shut it just as gingerly behind her.

She took one step, and another. No sounds from inside the door. She switched into a dead run.

She ran down the hall, down the flights of yellow linoleum stairs, out the front door, and down the stairs to the street.

She bolted down the street, running faster than she’d ever run in her life, faster than she ever imagined she could run.

The neighborhood street was silent except for her breathing and the staccato of her pounding footsteps echoing on the frosty corridor of walls. Streetlights still glowed, but the light of the sun had begun to creep up the buildings. The subway entrance was only two more blocks away.

She had to catch the G line to Williamsburg and then the L to Union Square. From there, she would run to Washington Square Park to meet the mysterious, elegant man with the gentle eyes.

Still at a dead run, she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone pursued her. No one. The street was deserted, almost ghostly. The silvery light of the moon and the warm glow of the rising sun glinted on the lightly frosted grass and bushes and trees scattered around the once prosperous neighborhood of townhouses now converted to flats.

She jumped over a trash can knocked over by a scrawny, matted tomcat. The tom hissed at a pair of oily rats trying to steal his prize.

Aya’s lungs began to feel raw. She could barely breathe from the exertion. She slowed down as she reached the subway entrance, and then paused, leaning on her knees, breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath. She looked over her shoulder again. No one. No one on the street. No one chasing her from Devo’s apartment. She heard the train arriving below and felt the rush of stale, warm air rush out of the subway station. She skipped down the grimy, gum-stained steps and jumped the turnstile as the train came to a screeching halt. Almost flying through the station, she slid between the train car’s doors just as they were closing.

She sat down across from a grizzled old Latino man in a wide-brimmed white hat and muddy work clothes. He wore only a white t-shirt, which seemed too clean to be paired with his muddy pants and boots, but she didn’t think about it beyond that.

Then something else caught her attention. A teardrop-shaped crystal pendant dangled from his neck. She sat momentarily transfixed by the little rainbows of light it sent dancing around the train car. It looked like it was catching all of the light in the car then releasing it back out in silent explosions. The old man stared at her with sharp black eyes under bushy black eyebrows. She looked away.

His intense, inscrutable gaze made her uncomfortable, and she moved to a seat as far away from him as possible. Sitting down, she reached into her jacket pocket to reread the note. Her hand searched the inside of the pocket, but it found nothing. She turned the pocket out. Still nothing. Then she tried the other pocket. Nothing. No note. Frantic, she tried her other pockets.

Empty. Empty. They were all empty. She must have dropped it in the living room of Devo’s apartment when she had tried to put it back in her pocket. If Devo woke up and found it, he would know where to find her, and he had a jeep, so he could be at the park waiting for her.

She fidgeted in her seat, bouncing her leg, squirming in anxiety. If they found her, they might kill her, to make her an example to the other girls. She’d seen it happen before.

The train screamed to a halt at her stop in Williamsburg.

She jumped from her seat and dashed out the double doors of the train car just as they slid open. She ran across the platform toward the stairs to her connecting train. This stop was busier. It was Sunday, but the city was already a muted buzz of activity. Some were probably on their way home from a long night, while others were just getting their day started. She wove between the bodies bundled against the crisp early spring air. It all became a blur.

The other train was just arriving, and she stopped to wait for the doors to open, the air of the train buffeting her and blowing her hair off her face. She followed the crowd inside and found a seat next to an old lady in a purple jacket wearing a sparkly head scarf. The old lady didn’t seem to notice her at all.

Aya continued fidgeting nervously, constantly adjusting her clothes, tapping her foot, or crossing and recrossing her legs.

What if Devo finds the note? What if he’s there when I get there? She looked out the dark window, her face tight with fear.

The train stopped at Union Square, and she ran out the doors, not slowing down for anyone. She pushed a few people out of her way as she raced up the stairs. They grumbled loudly, and she might have heard a curse or two, but she didn’t care. She kept running when she reached the wide, paved area of the park outside the subway station.

She ran and ran. Down a smaller street and then cutting across a busier avenue toward the New York University campus, where Washington Square Park is located. Aya ran into the park, passing the dog run toward the dry fountain at the center. The city hadn’t yet turned it on after the bitter winter.

The park was nearly empty, except for a few dog walkers and a lone figure near the fountain. Pigeons flocked at his feet. He saw her and stood up, sending a few of the pigeons fluttering out of his way. He began walking toward her and she recognized him from the night before. He wore the same long gray wool coat but this morning he wore a light blue turban. She noticed his trim, black beard. He hadn’t looked so exotic last night. She wondered where he came from.

The full sun broke the horizon as they met in the center of the park, the silent fountain behind them. No one else was around. The dog walkers had all disappeared into their lives.

“Greetings of Peace, little sister,” the man said. His face glowed in the early morning light. He smiled, flashing the whitest teeth she’d ever seen, but they shone like pearls, rather than the dead, bleached look. He didn’t look like a vain man. Immaculately groomed, but not vain. Everything about him said simple and clean.

“Hi,” she replied. She stopped a few feet away from him and leaned heavily on her knees, exhaling thick clouds of steam into the chill morning air. She didn’t notice the large, purple cat with neon rainbow stripes sitting under a bench near them, watching.

“You’ve not been followed?” the man asked, concern written on his golden, sculptural features.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anyone, but I dropped the note you gave me. I think it’s at the apartment. They could have found it.”

“Oh dear,” the man said, his arms crossed over his chest and he brought a hand to his chin, thinking quickly. “Then let me make this quick. You have to choose to come with me. You have to trust me.”

“What do you mean?” she said, slowly. “What is your name?”

“My name is Qamar,” he replied. “Now listen, Aya — “

“How do you know my name?” Aya asked, eyes widening in fear. She took a step back.

“There is no time for that now. Listen, what I’m going to tell you is going to sound absurd, impossible. I am from a different world. I’ve been looking for you, and others like you, all over the Cosmos, in every time, place, and possibility. Many have been looking for you. We all thought you were lost to us forever.”

“What?” Aya’s breath caught in her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes. He was a madman. She was lost. “Am I supposed to believe that?” she cried, sinking to her knees, head in her hands. “They’re going to kill me.”

“They will not kill you. They can’t kill you. At least, I don’t think so.”

Aya didn’t reply. She stared silently at the cold stone at her knees.

“I know your grandmother,” he said at last, then hesitated again. “She’s alive, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Aya wailed. “No she’s not! I found her! She was cold! Why are you saying these things to me?”

“You don’t know who you are, do you?” he said, half to himself, stroking his chin again in thought. “She never told you, did she? Listen, Aya, I can’t tell you more than I have right now. I can take you somewhere safe, where we can show you who you are and how to play your role in the Great Saga. Will you come with me? I can tell you more when we’re safe. Then you can decide.”

Aya didn’t reply. She put her head in her hands, shoulders hunched. The man could see her back heave with silent sobs.

What else can I do? Aya though, her head in her hands, tears streaming down between her fingers. This man can’t possibly be as bad as Devo. Wherever he wants to take me, it must be better than this. She made a decision. This was it. This was her chance at freedom. She didn’t know where it would lead or what would happen, but she had decided. Determination brought her up from her knees.

“Ok,” she said simply, defeated but determined not to go back. “I’m in.”

He looked down at his worn, leather satchel, drawing out a small, green leather volume. He offered it to her.

“What is it?” she replied, suspicious.

“Look,” he said.

“The Way of Love,” she read aloud, half to herself. The book was heavy, heavier than it looked. The deep brown leather appeared hand-worked and ancient. She opened the cover, expecting the old leather to creak in protest, but it opened smoothly and soundlessly, like a well oiled door. An inscription on the title page read:

To All Who Serve the Balance, to All Who Protect the Truth, to All Friends of the Brokenhearted, Hungry, and Oppressed, may this book serve you in the battles within and the battles to come. To All Whom These Pages Speak, may you find yourself within, and may it be your Guide on the Journey Home, the Path known since the beginning of life as the Way of Love.

“Indeed,” said the man, as he looked up from the inscription. “Just as I thought. The pages speak to you.”

Tires screeched in the street near them and a dark green Jeep, Devo’s Jeep, came to a halt just outside the park. Qamar and Aya spun to face them. Devo and another guy Aya recognized from the night before jumped out, leaving the motor on and the doors wide open. Someone else waited inside.

“Hey, Aya. Hey, girl,” Devo called out to her in his silkiest voice, slinking toward her slowly, like a stalking cat. “It’s alright. Come back to me. I ain’t even mad. Everything’s gonna be fine.” Qamar turned back to Aya. He pulled a teardrop shaped crystal out of his shirt where it had been hidden, hanging from a leather thong around his neck

“Aya, quickly! Put your hand on my hand here,” Qamar said, pointing to the hand holding the twinkling crystal.

Aya put her hand on his, not understanding. Qamar closed his eyes and said a word that Aya didn’t catch.

Nothing happened.

Devo began running toward them. His feet pounded the cold stone ground. Qamar opened his eyes wide. Fear washed over his face.

He closed his eyes again. He said the word again.

Nothing.

“Oh no, Aya!” he cried. “It’s not going to work! The seal has not been broken. Run! I’ll find you! I’ll come back for you!”

“What?” She asked, not believing, not understanding.

“RUN!” Qamar screamed.

Qamar hurled himself toward Devo who was halfway around the fountain coming toward them.

Aya turned and bolted at a dead run across the park, away from Devo. She still didn’t notice the cat that’d been watching them the whole time as it followed closely at her heels. Qamar tackled Devo and threw him to the ground. Aya heard shouts and then a scream of pain.

She turned around and saw Qamar holding his leg and Devo getting off the ground and running toward her.

She ran toward the fortress-like university library the color of dried blood, almost running inside. Her first thought was to get lost in the endless rows of tall stacks of books, but she saw the turnstiles and guards. Only students can get in. She ran past it, toward the street where the younger students go to drink. Nowhere to go, she kept running, praying with all her heart to find a place to hide. All she knew is that she had to keep running. She couldn’t give up, not now. The book Qamar gave her was clutched tightly under her arm.

Devo gained on her. He’s taller and stronger. She knew he was going to catch her. There was no way to get away from him.

She had an idea. She remembered a big, white stone church nearby. She ran toward where she remembered it being. There it was! Maybe it was open! Maybe she could lose him in there. She ran up the wide cement steps and pulled on one of the doors. It didn’t move. She tried the one next to it. It opened! She thanked whatever was out there that it was unlocked. She looked over her shoulder. Devo and his lackey were just crossing the street and would be on her in seconds.

She darted behind the ancient, wooden door. Inside, she searched frantically for a place to run or hide. She saw stairs and bolted toward them, taking two at a time until she reached the second floor. Across from the stairs, a door opened to a small room overlooking the main hall, only a few instruments and chairs inside. She spotted a big upright piano on the other side of a wide column. She crouched behind it, trying not to breathe too heavily. She wanted to gasp for breath, but she didn’t want to make a sound and expose her hiding spot. She clutched her aching side.

She didn’t hear anything for a few minutes. She breathed a sigh of relief, sagging into the cool marble wall behind the piano.

She breathed in and out slowly, trying to catch her breath. Trying to be as silent as possible. Each breath seemed to echo through the entire church. She could only hear silence, and her breath.

After several minutes, or what felt like several minutes, of silence, Aya thought she might have lost him. She might be free.

Then, something cold and sharp pricked her neck.

“You think you’re safe here? You can never escape me,” Devo whispered slowly into her ear in a low, deadly voice. “Bitch, you’re mine.”

— —

The end of Chapter 1: Hope

Thank you for reading. Stay tuned for Chapter 2.

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Ily

[theemeraldforesthideout]

Get to know me

Tagged by  @ahalal-uralma thanks for the tag :)

Relationship Status: In a relationship  

Favorite Color(s):  Earth colours, autumnal colours. Green (and all its variations) are high on the list, as well as rusty oranges into browns. I quite like a dark maroon/dark red colour too. And you can never go wrong with black. Oh! In 2020 I fell hard for the colour yellow and starting buying yellow items of clothing. I think I just wanted to find joy in anything. I find all the default “menswear” colours really dull too, when it comes to clothing (except for black) so white, grey and navy blue are just...not for me.

Favorite Food: I honestly don’t think I have one. There’s stuff I like less than others, but many dishes are on the same level. No one dish stands out really.  

Song Stuck in My Head: Aldious – Raise Your Fist, specifically the opening guitar line. It reminded me of mid-last week, when I was listening to it while crossing the fields at dusk. Nature, the pink-purple light, the [not yet full] moon, a little light breeze...and the music. I was in a state of pure elation. It doesn’t take much, really, ...if only I could have that feeling less fleetingly...

Last thing you Googled: My better half was playing Assassin’s Creed Valhalla and I asked her if she’d encountered Black Shuck yet. I then played her ‘Black Shuck’ by The Darkness, as it was how I first found out about it (Black Shuck is an East Anglian legend pertaining to an overly large and aggressive black dog). I then asked her if she’d been to Whitby (famous for its Goth gatherings and its abbey) in the game. Another band I know of [My Dying Bride] have a song (27 minutes long I might add!) about another big black folkloric dog called the ‘Barghest o’ Whitby’. And so I googled whether that one was also in Valhalla. It’s not.  

Time: 10.30pm

Dream Trip: Okinawa, Japan.

Last Thing You Read: Mainly factual books about all the places I visited on my trip to Pembrokeshire last month.  

Last Book You Enjoyed Reading: Those. The history and geography inspire so many unwritten tales. Why was she locked up in the castle and why did one guy decide to gather a band of locals to break her out? Purely because he was in love with her? Or was she the village healer? Maybe she was of fae-folk and had innocently skipped her way over the village boundary into the realm of man...

Favorite Thing to Cook/Bake: Hmmm maybe the traditional UK roast dinner or pasta maybe – that always feels like a small effort/maximum reward dish, and lots of room for trying new ingredients too.  

Favorite Craft to do in Your Freetime: Photography right now, I think.

Most Niche Dislike: Not sure if this means the dislike is niche or something niche that I dislike. If the former then I’ve never cared for theme parks, even as a kid, just didn’t ever get the appeal at all.  

Opinion on Circuses: Not a fan really. Someone somewhere in history must have enjoyed them in a completely non ironic, non novelty way. Not just going along with it for tradition’s sake. Maybe that’s just an overly cynical point of view. I didn’t enjoy them as a kid. This makes me sound like I had zero fun, especially with the answer above this one, but I was just atypical when it came to stuff like that, I guess. 

Do You Have Any Sense of Direction: I’ve been told I have an excellent sense of direction, when I thought it was just, you know, default “okay”. But then, going through life, I’ve met people who don’t possess that level of default and it always gives me a surprised sense of being weirdly talented at knowing where we are or at map reading.  

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

Alright, 👏story time! This is something I've not told or talked to anyone about except the one person in it with me. It's a short one of when I was 4 years old, it was a pretty pivotal point in my development. Just a warning, it's not a happy story.

So my mother and I were homeless, my little 1 year old brother was in his baby car seat on the right side of the back car car seat already asleep, this ain't about him, and we're planning on sleeping out of our car parked right on the side of a street tonight, right? Lights off, engine off, radio off, heat off, the sun was just starting to set, and I was sitting in the back. It was fall, early in the month of October, and in Alaska fashion, real cold, so I was gonna have to sleep wearing a coat. So, we've had multiple people walk past us and I liked watching people and cars go by, so I stared out the window passing the time. At this point, I was comfortable sleeping in a car, (and I'd only have to get more comfortable with it) so I wasn't very disturbed, not thinking that much about it really.

The sun was halfway down, the sky was dark at the edges and it was only getting darker, and the clouds closer to the sun had looked pink for a bit now, and this dark skinned native man walks past, and I point this out now because, for a while I didn't point it out to myself until thinking it over and, anyway so yeah, dark skinned native alaskan man, he didn't look like he had proper clothes on, wearing a couple of layers, his jacket didn't have a zipper, he had fingerless gloves and a beanie with a dangling thread, and his jeans had torn at the bottom, I couldn't see his shoes though, not like it matters that much anyway right? So he's walking past, it was so cold I saw his breath, and combined with his movements, I could tell he was taking slow, long, deep breaths. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and he wasn't blinking, he didn't look like he felt cold either, and I think I might know why now.

Almost halfway past the back left window where I was looking at him from, he was just like 4 feet away from the car at this point, and blood starts pouring out of his mouth, down his bottom lip and dripping onto his jacket and the shirts below it. It poured out in a small burst at first but kept draining, coming out in smaller little floods after that within the span of the 2 seconds I saw it happening. It was, it was blood, it wasn't vomit or, vomit mixed with blood, he didn't hurl all over himself, no it, it just poured, gathered inside of his mouth and spilled out, thicker than water, and with a light red hue, somewhere between ketchup water and strawberry milk, the color kinda changed as he walked because of the light from the sun, not perfectly illuminating everything, but still present to provide a shine. His breathing than also became quick and shallow, but his walking pace stayed the same.

Oh yeah, he kept walking. He didn't stop. He blinked 5, maybe 6 times, briefly upon the first spout, and that was the most reaction he gave it, like his body felt it happening, but his mind wasn't attending to it, his mind was somewhere else, and his body was left to the most simple and fundamental parts of the brain. He briefly, less than half a second, turned his whole head to look at me, didn't move his eyes, and then within that same time frame, about now just shy of half a second, he turned his head forward again and kept walking. His eyes were a deep brown, but the sunlight gave the bottom half of his iris' a slightly orangey glow, and the center of them was like tiny black dots, a brief tap with an ink pen on paper. His eyeballs were shaking, unlike the rest of his body, which was uncomfortably still, his legs may have been moving on their own, and his arms looked almost detached from him, like they couldn't move.

He looked scared, like he didn't know, he didn't know what to do, what was going on, if he had at one point he didn't anymore. His eyes looked like that of a dying animal, but animals lay down when they're dying, when they have those eyes. He just kept walking, it must've hurt so bad, but I don't think he had much of a choice anymore.

Once a couple of seconds had passed and he was some distance past our car, I asked my mom if she saw, and she told me she did, and kept her face from my gaze. She was oddly quiet, she always has at least a sentence or three or four to say, a blabbermouth my grandma, her mom, called her, she never really responds so simply. I bet she was stressed, because we were homeless, we didn't know yet what to do, it had been like that for 2 days now and we must've been running low on gas because the next day she didn't drive anywhere, and she must've been shocked seeing that, maybe holding back tears of her own.

I asked her "Can we help him? Is he gonna be okay?" And she said "No, I don't think there's anything we can do for him. I don't think he's gonna be okay." and I responded "Well doesn't he have a home? Or somewhere to go? Is anyone gonna take care of him or take him to a hospital?" And she told me "It doesn't look like it." I looked around and saw cars driving past us, and driving past him, as he kept walking to god knows where. So I said "Why is no one helping him?!" And she said "Because... no one cares about him." And I told her "Well I care! We have to help him!" and, after a brief moment of silence, I said again "Mom we have to help him!" and after a couple more seconds of silence, my mom just said "We can't." Still hiding her face from me, holding her head down, and taking deep, long breaths, but they were shakey breaths. I sat there, and, an hour later I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I very quietly teared up and cried myself to sleep.

Yeah, obviously I never forgot. You know, it, it had an impact on me. For the better, you know, I guess I was already a kind person but, that kind of helped motivate me, to really want to keep people from dying, from being killed by this awful world we built. I think it also made me do a lot stupid, very unselfconscious things to try and help people. It's a little funny too, like we're homeless, almost out of gas, no money, and I'm saying "We have to help this man!" like, did I seriously think there was anything we could do for him? Invite him to die and bleed out on our car seat? Really, there was nothing we could've done, and everyone else ignored him, because they had the money to ignore him, and we didn't. We also didn't have the money to help him.

I haven't told that to anyone, only asking my mom if she remembers every couple years. But I don't go a day without even just briefly thinking about it.

[spirestar]

for @sunhalf , piper & cam

Cam likes to say she doesn't like kids. It keeps them away from her, even the biggest ones, and her glares don't hurt either. She doubts they ever find her scary, that'd be preferable, sure, but Cam also knows she probably looks more like a pissed off dog who bites than a scary woman who might hurt a kid. That's not really her fault, though, is it? Kids are stupid. If they knew better, they'd all be scared of her. She'll get them killed.

Which is why, after -- How many years has it been? Since she held a baby? Since she had to think about what happens when a baby gets older, since she had to read books about how toddlers and teenagers become adults somehow? -- fifteen years, at least, she's utterly confused by this kid, practically a kid, she's currently, certainly saddling herself with. All because she still hasn't learned how to quit being so nosy. How much blood are kids this age supposed to have again? She used to know back when she was a teenager, exactly how many liters she could lose before it was dangerous. It's probably not a lot right? Is it different for boys? Cam's practical knowledge on the subject is somewhat skewed by half-devils.

Like pure liquid obsidian, Memento clings to Cam's arm like a promise as she shifts it into a barrier like a shield, broad enough to defend two people -- something she hasn't done since she was nineteen and not alone -- and it shimmers. That's the devil at the other end of the street's blows against it as it spits flame and brimstone, but it looks beautiful from beneath the shield. And she turns halfway to look the kid over again, her eyes as pitch as the demon clinging to her, protecting them both. They look alright enough, not dying yet. Which is probably the best she can hope for. Because she's a professional, Cam makes quick work of the creature on the other side of her shield -- Slides over the dark aegis like it's made of water and blasts the devil through its every not-quite-organ, her wrists and two handguns stacked atop each other. The monster's pinned to the alley stonework and its skin hisses as it disappears into smoke with a bloodcurdling shriek. Here's where she'd usually leave. Memento, the strange shield left defending the kid, slowly dissipates like sand in an hour glass and shimmies across the alley in the form of a black snake, tongue flicking when it glances back to the person it'd been defending. It darts to creep up the hem of her coat to find her hand again as she shoves her guns away ( kids find that shit scary right?? do teenagers??? young adults?? jesus christ. ) and approaches the back end of the alley again, her round eyes searching for any evidence of further combatants -- all before landing back on the kid. She's going to think of them as a kid because she can't imagine anyone thought anything differently of her back then. And she'd been worse than stupid.

"Hey, uh--" She holds her hands up once to nonverbally say I won't hurt you and then drops one hand to her pocket, drops the other to her side until she's face to face with them. "You alright? I didn't get you with any shrapnel right?" Cam offers out that loose hand carefully, fingers scarred over nearly every knuckle more than once. In the light from the next street, she looks almost greyed out along with everything else, providing little contrast on her person aside from the comparatively lighter brown of her hair and the pink of the scars covering half her face, trailing down her neck. She doesn't even look mean now, really -- Concerned, maybe, or frustrated a little, but not angry. Not what she really is. It would be odd for her to consider she might not look cruel. Then again, it's not like her face ever comforted her baby sister because she smiled a lot. "Are you hurt?"

[badgerwrites]

Chapter 6

Previous Chapter

Rowan's eyes glimmered brown and amber as she surveyed the landscape around her. The sky was pink and orange, the ocean streaked with white and gold.  The town was a collection of little dollhouses perched along the shore, with their little balconies and colorful paints and quaint little stone walls snaking around the gardens. Inland, she could see the forest spread beneath them like the hill's own mantle, and a soft wind carried the sharp smell of overturned earth.

For the first time in a long, long time the young artist took in the sights and felt her chest swell with warmth and wonder.

"Woah." She exhaled, combing her fingers through her windswept hair. "This- this is beautiful, Charlie."

"Indeed." From the corner of her eye Rowan saw that her new companion was laying back against a tree, head reclined on her own shoulder as she basked in the warm glow of the dying sun. Her usual playful demeanor had relaxed into something more quiet and contemplative; almost, she thought, bittersweet. 

"I'm glad it's to your liking."

"I don't think there's a world where it wouldn't be, really," Rowan replied unthinkingly, only half-listening as she looked around for a conveniently-shaped rock to sit on. She plopped down, trimmed down her pencil with her trusty boxcutter and swung open her sketchbook, drumming the butt of her instrument at the edge of the page as she studied the scenery.

This prompted an satisfied smirk, which had a way of twisting Charlie's exquisite doll-like features into something sharper; almost feline.

"So I see."

She pushed herself off the bark and glided to Rowan's side, feigning nonchalance by  looking ahead at the landscape. The young artist glanced up at her and cleared her throat.

"Uh. You can... watch. If you want. I don't mind." Mentally cursing herself for her awkwardness, she stooped her shoulders forwards and bent her head down to hide her expression from scrutiny, beginning the first outline of the painting-to-be.

Charlie didn't hover over her shoulder as Ava had done, but her eerily intense eyes followed attentively every move of the pencil on the page. She hummed, raising one of her eyebrows just a fraction above the other.

"How long have you been drawing for?"  Rowan started a bit at the question, biting the inside of her cheek as she thought.

"I'm not sure actually. I think I've always had a bit of a... compulsion(?), to capture what I see." The sentence trailed off, and the young girl started to fidget a bit.

"Does that make sense?"

The corners of Charlie's mouth twitched up, her blue eyes crinkling a little. She nodded.

"I do believe it does." She sat down beside her, resting her cheek in her hand as she alternated between watching the sunset and Rowan's work. The latter couldn't help but feel like it was rude not to ask a single question, so after a bit of thought she blurted out:

"Ehm, so how did you find this place?" She gestured vaguely at the little hilltop over the cliffs they were sitting on.

"There's no path leading here at all."

A moment of followed where not a muscle on Charlie's face seemed to move. The other girl kept her gaze forward, the warm light highlighting the veins of gold and emerald tangled in the blue of her eyes.

"When I still lived here," she said, "I liked to play in the forest with my younger siblings. I know every inch of these woods."

"You must've lived here a while, then!"

The girl's pale lips thinned.

"Not as much as I would've liked to."

Her head angled itself towards Rowan, and in a blink her self-assured, brilliant grin was back like someone had flicked on a switch.

"What about you? What brings you here? You don't seem to be a local."

It was now Rowan's turn to be evasive, although she went about it in a much more obvious and rather awkward fashion. After coughing a few times to clear her throat and a few silent moments, she settled on telling her she had been staying at her uncles' for a week or so.

Sensing her discomfort, Charlie quickly dropped the subject (which Rowan was immediately, eternally grateful to her for).

"Oh really? How are they? Are you enjoying your stay?"

"They're both very nice people. Uncle Omar is sweet and funny, and Yasmin really tries to look out for me, you know?" She smiled.

"You really wouldn't think this is the first time I met them!"

Oh no.  Rowan's eyes went wide with the realization of having said too much. Her eyes timidly glimpsed at her companion. Charlie stared at her a mixture of curiosity and nonchalance before swinging a leg over the other and looking ahead.

It seemed as if she were saying:  I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. But if you want to tell me, I'll listen.

Rowan's shoulders, who had climbed up to her ears, slumped back in relief.

They quietly watched the sea swallow the red crown of the sun, silently enjoying each other's company while the salty wind whispered through the trees.

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