#the chips are the legs and tendrils of c

[mercless]

🗡 talon eating a kog'maw critter like this

[nvrcmplt]

that guy. that one guy that said that they would fuck kinji like that. c: red sitting on their lap, straddling them. now, "now, you just have to get me to flip over for you." ;) should be easy, right? it should be easy, absolutely..

It wasn't like PChan wasn't used to forward beings, but this one was a little different! For one, they had fur! On the outside! It was a sight he was interested in heavily, but who was he to distract them from their desires of wanting to spread their legs for him? Pchan's gaze was soft for a moment but within that moment of nodding his head in agreement and allowing his lips to roll back in display of sharpened fangs - the alien couldn't stop himself from snickering. "Flip over, hm, okay… I won't stop until you're thoroughly a mess, okay?" Consent, the Earth thing - instead of going by body pheromones or body language, this planet had a rule with verbal communication. He was learning well.

Since Kinji was eager though, PChan didn't hesitate to reach out with one hand to grasp the back of their head and promptly raise it back, making his chin lift so that the fox would only feel the heat of Pchan's tongue, one at current, swiping from clavicle dip to chip end in a wet stripe. It could be disgusting but the saliva was pink, sticky and seeped with ease into the pores as he purred in a manner akin to a blend of earthen creatures. A second hand eased upon Kinji's waist, a third under his shirt and the fourth - yanking shoes and socks off to remove garments one by one.

Pants tugged down to knees, shirt shoved over head and tossed aside. Pchan's tongue yet again lapping a larger and longer stripe of his pink fluid secretion up Kinji's chest starting from his mid-stomach to stop at neck again. Shifting once, knees straighten carrying the nude fur-creature to the nearest surface. A table it seemed, and promptly deposited them onto it with a pop of his neck. "Ah - my name's Praecipua, but you can call me PChan… " Tongue overflowed, twisting and spread from one to four. The fleshy flower twitched with dripping pink strings before his hands grasped Kinji's hips, and ankles to raise that ass up for his meal.

"Sing for me, pretty?" Palms grasp upon globes of flesh, tugging apart and then the heated, sticky movement of tongues began their work of soddening the entirety of Kinji's backside. Crevice to taint, to balls and underside of dick. Consumption of their most intimate part - but most of all, the invasion of their eager opening from one tongue, then two, then all of them as he rests his teeth against flesh and allows his tongues to stretch deep, curving and bending to smear the walls of the tailed being in his drug like saliva. Nub covered tongues roll back and forth, twisting over the convulsing muscles to really open them wide.

Pressing down upon all areas until he found what he loved the most in human men. That little switch that made them see stars, make them drool, shut down their protests to pleasure and become putty in his hands. Whilst Pchan was going at Kinji's ass at that point, his body was too being stripped of clothing by a secondary set of arms, tearing aside shirt and unbuttoning jeans to kick off. Allowing his starry flesh to show through a touch more, his tail bone oozed a thick substance before it solidified like jelly and formed tendrils, lengthy and darker than his usual purple hue.

Those woke with a shift, and in turn parted from one being to eight to slither onto Kinji's frame. The tips peeling back to reveal fleshy mouths, some with tongues, others without, thick and stronger secretions began to be smeared over Kinji's frame to trigger his body more and more into the want for sex, to mate, to be fucked and bred. It took no time of course - Kinji could fight all he wanted logically, but his body was at PChan's mercy the moment he allowed the alien to eat.

Thus, with his vine like tendrils smothering Kinji in their touch - rubbing over nipples, licking over neck and nape, filling his mouth with a bulbous tip that oozed potent secretion into his throat, another tail-mouth was fastened to their cock, swallowing, twisting and eating its fill. PChan's tongues eased from the backside of the fox, swallowing the flavour and licking his chin clean from his own saliva with a hungry grin upon features. Watching their back tremble, their thighs tense and them just overall enjoying themselves.

The Alien moved forward to rest a knee besides theirs, towering as he leaned over the Fox to nose at ear and gently nibble the fur triangle as his hand fastened around their throat to squeeze. "Happy, pretty?" Kissing down the side of their face, he moved to stroke down their ribs, smearing his fluids into place, stroking over stomach and touching everything he could reach before humming in a decision made. "I'm going to breed you now, pretty… Make lots of cum for me, okay?" The weight of his erection rested over their tail bone, the heat from it was twice of that of his tongue's prior, and as PChan leaned back and up on his knees, he took pleasure in stroking his cocks head over the gaping hole, teasing with his movements until Kinji made some sign of want, to then promptly line himself up once more…

And with a hand upon their crown, thumb parting teeth and pinning tongue to his mercy. Pchan's shoved his entire length into their smaller body with delight - not stopping until his pelvis slaps against ass cheeks and their body succumbs to his saliva's gift of no pain and instead enhanced pleasure. PChan didn't do more but grin down at his precious partner, moving his free hand to hold onto Kinji's tail and use it as an anchor to fuck the male beneath him for the next five hours shamelessly devouring their entire frame in everything he was.

[abbyandhanako]

Abby’s Report: Kyurem (キュレム)

Kyurem is one of the legendary Tao dragons of the Unova region

According to stone tablets and books, It is said that Kyurem is split from Reshiram and Zekrom from the original dragon.

It also waits for a hero to fill it with truth and ideals, according to documents, Kyurem represents wuji, the absence of yin and yang.

Physiology

Kyurem is a 9’10 (3.0 cm) tall draconic Pokemon, It’s form when fused with Reshiram is 11’10 and with Zekrom is 10’10 and weighs 716.5 lbs. (325.0 kg)

Kyurem has a blue head that appears to covered in ice with yellow eyes, its body is covered in lines, It has a yellow crest on its skull and has two horns made out of ice, it has primarily grey skin.

The claws and toes appear to be transparent.

The right side of its body appears to be damaged in some way, it’s right wing is shorter and horn appears to be chipped

Kyurem’s wings are also covered in ice, they are two small transparent spikes at the end, the tendrils are hidden under the ice.

Ice also covers its tail as well as its head, in relation to that, Kyurem’s jaw appears to be frozen shut by the ice covering its mouth and face, The tail resembles a damaged turbine.

As White Kyurem, Kyurem has extra icy details on the legs, the tail now resembles Reshiram but is attached to the body with three parts of skin, the tail can move and it contains four holes that are horizontal, White Kyurem appears to have a slim, hourglass frame, the shoulders are covered in squares of ice with two pins, these can come out and ‘plug into’ the holes, This is called Overdrive Mode.

White Kyurem also has slender arms with two rings and three claws each and wings between its forearms, the right arm and wing are frozen, White Kyurem uses Reshiram’s fur.

As Black Kyurem, Kyurem’s tail resembles Zekrom, but is attached to the body with three parts of skin and the tail can move and it contains four holes that are vertical, Black Kyurem appears to have a muscular frame, the shoulders are covered in squares of ice with two pins, these can come out and ‘plug into’ the holes, This is called Overdrive Mode.

Black Kyurem has muscular arms, they are similar to Zekrom but more muscular and without wings, the left wing and arm and frozen, Black Kyurem uses Zekrom’s skin.

In both of these forms, Kyurem can fully open its mouth.

Biology

Kyurem’s body temperature is shown to be quite cold, grunts are reminded to wear gloves when physically touching Kyurem due to this, grunts must wear the required uniform when interacting with Kyurem.

Any grunt with symptoms of frostbite will be treated at the infirmary.

Kyurem’s organs are similar to that of a regular draconic Pokémon but are much colder due to Kyurem’s low body temperature, this makes Kyurem less likely to suffer food poisoning from bacteria in raw foods and meat.

Kyurem’s lungs are also fully functioning despite the cold temperature, It, with the ice glands are essential for Kyurem’s Ice abilities, Kyurem’s ice itself has been recorded as −273.15°C (or 459.67°F), which is absolute zero so please be careful when touching Kyurem’s Ice areas (tail, head and wings).

Kyurem has tendrils hidden in the wings, the ice is breakable and can easily grow back thanks to Kyurem’s abilities, the tendrils are noted to be extremely sensitive and can cause pain when touched.

This puts Kyurem at risk when fusing with Reshiram or Zekrom and leaves it wide open, so please do not try to fuse Kyurem while in a battle with it

Diet

Due to its body temperature, Kyurem’s digestive organs are colder than average, Kyurem does have to eat like most other Pokémon and is capable of being hungry and thirsty.

Despite the rumor Kyurem eats humans, It has shown to have no appetite for human flesh.

For water, cold water is essential, make sure it is ice cold

For food, Raw meat and vegetables are great, there is little risk of food poisoning, E. coli-infected meat was given to Kyurem as a test, Kyurem showed no signs of food poisoning or any illness, We concluded that bacteria like E. coli and salmonella cannot survive Kyurem’s digestive tract.

Fruits may be given to Kyurem as a treat.

WARNING: I would like to remind everyone please do not give Kyurem junk food, This causes digestive problems and to be fair, it can’t exactly be good for the legendary dragon of Ice and Wuji.

[pasteljeon]

Shadows (m)

summary | he could love you … if only you’d let him in.

genre | venom au, venom!jk, smut, angst

warnings | tentacle porn, oral (female receiving), edging, guk has a fat cock ana oop, size kink, sexual tension, mating cycles, heat sex (yeah, you read that right)

length | 1.9k

notes | i crawl out of retirement for this one (1) halloween fic that i’ve been dyin to write since forever. and, as some already know, this also just an excuse for tentacle porn. :D happy halloween everyone! wish i could’ve written sth longer, but it’s still midterm season for me & i’m beyond buried in work rn :”( regardless, please enjoy!

.

.

.

“Kook.”

Silence. The mass lying in the middle of the room remained motionless.

You sighed, forehead thumping against the one-way glass. Theoretically, you knew he wouldn’t be able to see you, but he could sense you. Feel your presence.

“Kookie. Please.” Your breath ghosted across the barrier.

The darkness shifted, a tendril reluctantly reaching to seek out your heat, pressed against where your palm was splayed on the other side.

“Miss ___.” You flinched, the monotone voice of your assistant startling you momentarily.

“The next trial begins in ten minutes. Should I bring the volunteer in?”

Her perfectly manicured nails tapped against the sleek black clipboard, sharp eyes unimpressed as they note your affection for the containment within.

Living organisms with compositions so extraordinary they were coveted as a chance to revolutionize humanity. A symbiotic relationship, they relied on molecular bonding with a host to survive. A symbiote. The term alien often whispered with every passing of fluttering white lab boats.

Simply put, they were experiments.

And you headed them all.

You glanced back briefly, only to find he’d already retreated, unmoving once more.

.

.

.

The research facility was intimidating, stripped white walls bare and plain, the building expansive and equipped with the latest technology. Endless floors filled with glass walls lining different divisions.

Within these walls, there was transparency. Outside of it, no one knew much at all.

The guilt chipped away at you slowly.

They were real. They felt. They were very much capable of the same human emotions your species processed. They hurt. Felt pain. Each compatibility failure was destroying them.

There were many that did not survive the crash. All that was left, scavenged from the space outreach initiative, were seven uniquely distinct specimens. All the equivalent of a male.

They all had binary identifications, but you gave them something else. A name.

Namjoon. He was exceedingly intelligent. The first few months had been spent attempting to establish ground communications with them. Namjoon had picked up your language easily, and it no longer shocked you to see a massive dark blob flipping through encyclopedias. He liked to read, consuming pages like oxygen. With every routine checkup, you’d deliver a few novels you’d enjoyed in the past. His upper section of his blobbed body would incline, and you’d imagine he was thanking you.

Seokjin was the eldest of the bunch, as concluded by your preliminary findings of their biological structure. Oddly enough, though it had been discovered early on that their kind could sustain themselves on anything, they still preferred human flesh. It didn’t make them dangerous, necessarily—you could teach them human ethics. For the most part, Seokjin tried not to nip at your ankles when you visited. As a substitute, you taught him how to cook. There was a mini kitchen set up in his quarantine, and some nights were spent with him stretching his mass over your shoulder and watching you work.

Yoongi was, kindly put, lazy. He slept most of the day, scarcely reacted when you tried to interact with him. You did, however, discover he liked music. He got speakers. Headphones made his head hurt, he once signed to you. Noise sensitivity.

Hoseok was so human it hurt. He was energetic, restless. He bounced around his containment. His own version of dancing, almost.

Taehyung and Jimin refused to separate. When you first examined them, you’d nearly mistaken them for one entity. Soulmates, if the concept existed in their world. They shared one cell, liked to tussle and fight one another.

Then there was Jungkook. He was shy, barely moved when you first met. If not for the pulse beneath his silk, there was no sign of life at all. You were endeared as he slowly broke from his shell. He liked you. You knew because you were the only one that could get close, that could touch him without repercussions. He’d killed his hosts, regardless of compatibility, thrice before they paused trials. He hated it more than any of them.

But here, they were safe.

And yet here, they were also being harvested. Used. To become the steppingstone in humanity’s evolution. Time was running out, and the private company that spearheaded the research was demanding results.

Here, they are to become weapons.

And you were going to break them out.

.

.

.

“Kook. Jungkook.”

Your voice was urgent, though steady.

Panic setting in heavy in your stomach when you saw him press himself closer to the wall.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I won’t let it touch you. But we need to get out of here, and fast. The building’s going to collapse,” you coaxed. The flames licked your back, warning you of the fire that blazed across the hall.  

He quivered, drawing away from your extended hand.

Fire. Bad. Hurts.

You bit back your gasp. His voice was low, a quiet rumble in your head.

You steeled your nerve. “I know. Bond with me.”

He stilled.

And then—mine. You belong to me. We are one.

And you said, “always.”

He shot to you, sinking beneath your flesh and making a home in the beating of your heart.

.

.

.

You disappeared.

As the building burned, so did all the data and files you’d accumulated over the years. The symbiote all dispersed, you having found a suitable host months prior. Some were friends, some were not. But they all cared, and you knew they would find sanctuary in a peaceful life with them.

So you let them go, and turned over a new page.

.

.

.

You monitored your vitals for the first few hours, fearing the compatibility would elude you.

Will not. Belong together. Us.

His thoughts echoed, though always soft.

“Where do you want to go?” You wondered aloud as you fingered the plane ticket in your hands.

Hungry, he said instead. You could feel him gnawing at your liver. “Don’t do that. You might accidentally split it.”

If he had lips, you imagined he’d be pouting.

Where we going? You had the feeling he was trying to read the slip.

“Somewhere cold.”

You hate cold.

“You hate the heat.” The first calls for boarding had you wheeling your luggage to the gates.

Don’t care. As long as we are together. Can go anywhere.

You smiled down at your passport, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”

.

.

.

It took time to adjust to a completely different lifestyle. Your previous line of work had compensated your risk generously, and you’d had enough foresight to invest and save wisely.

Here, you’d picked up a job as a pharmacist at one of the local drug stores. It was terribly mundane, but you found you liked this kind of routine. It was a welcomed change from the scars you’d collected. A sense of normality.

It was October when everything changed.

Jungkook had been restless lately. Distant. Withdrawn.

It’s like he’d curled up in the corner of your mind. Lethargic.

You knew the symptoms.

“Kook.” He stirred faintly at the sound of your voice.

Lover. He rumbles lowly, rousing slowly.

“Your heat. It’s coming soon.” You rolled over, the sheets pooling at your waist. A tendril wraps itself loosely around your calf.

Yes.

“What will you do?”

Another tendril creeps up your stomach, squeezing your breast firmly.

You.

.

.

.

Their heats were intense. Nothing like you could’ve ever imagined. While they only occurred once a full cycle, the need overwhelmed them, made them ravenous and delirious. And a human host? They served as aphrodisiacs. Enhanced the craving until it all but consumed them.

You woke in a feverish haze, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, panties shoved aside and thighs smeared with wetness.

“J-Jungkook!” You gasped, back arching as he fucked you harder.

“Love. My love,” he rasped, fingers curling, watching you come undone with dark eyes.

It was also the only time they could fully materialize.

He was ethereal, pupils blown out, a thin ring of gold visible in the ebony that threatened to swallow it all. Completely naked, tanned complexion stretching over corded muscles, he hovered over you, arms braced next to your head. His hair was soft, luscious and long, falling in waves over his forehead. Darkness mirrored his every movement, his true form rippling beneath the surface.

“Want you. Need you,” Jungkook groaned, gaze smoldering as he fisted your sleep tee. “Please.”

“Since you asked so politely,” you managed breathlessly. You took his hand and slipped it underneath, guiding it until he traced the underside of your breast.

He ripped the fabric apart, buttons flying as he shoved the offending material off your shoulders. “Need. Can’t control. Please.”

In spite of the inferno brewing within, he remained your ever sweet Jungkook. The shadows drew closer, the touch soft though frantic, mapping your body in long strokes. He buried his face in your cunt, abnormally long tongue driving you crazy with every lick.

“K-Kook, I c-can’t,” you sobbed, fingers gripping his locks as he coaxed another orgasm from you easily.

His palms, warm and large, spread your legs apart. His cock was intimidating, tip angry and throbbing, a tantalising vein running along the side. He was dripping with something akin to precum, the substance slightly lighter and thicker than the human equivalent.

The dark tendrils snaked around you just as he slammed into you.

Your moan was lost to his lips, kiss messy and wild, your mind blanking with every thrust and the stroke of his tongue. His tentacles tweaked and pulled at your nipples, twisting and teasing, others suckling at your clit while some were wrapped around his length, providing ridges that edged your sensitive core.

“Mine. Mine. Ours. Breed,” Jungkook chanted, the grip of his shadows tightening as if to brand their shape to your skin. It was too much.

“Y-yes, Koo, need you, need you just like this,” you cried out, walls spasming around him as you reached your high once more.

The bedframe rattled loudly, Jungkook’s pace increasing inhumanly as he pounded into you. “N-ngh—ah! L-love, so perfect, made for me. Thank you, thank you,” he moaned, hips stuttering as he came, filling you up hotly. So much it spilled from where he remained inside of you, dripping down your thighs.

His forehead rested against yours as he fought to quell his hunger for just a moment longer. Though his release brought brief clarity, the lust was already beginning to trickle back in. His cock twitched, the ache so profound his shadows latched onto you harder.

Your legs wrapped around his back, eyes soft as you said, “I’m all yours. Don’t hold back.”

Jungkook exhaled shakily. “Make me crazy.”

He nuzzled your neck, even as his dick pulsed, he pushed his nose into your jawline and whispered, “Lover. You and me. Until the end.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Olly Olly Oxenfree (part seven, finale)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

———————

so, how goes the good fight?

The climb down the ladder into the bomb shelter was like descending into hell. Looking down at the black abyss at the top was terrifying, but actually going down it was so much worse. The darkness embrace Joan and Cathy with cold, open arms, wrapping them up in its inky tendrils and welcoming them to the nightmarish world that lurked beneath the light.

The bunker was small and smelled stale. There were a few beds, shelves full of food and supplies, a tape player, some lamps, and a blast door at the end of the room. Joan and Cathy made a beeline straight for the door- when Joan had turned on her phone flick on the flashlight app, she had noticed that the time was six in the morning.

One hour left.

On station 95.1 the Radio Wave Lock is activated. However, before the door can be opened, Cathy steps in front of Joan.

“Look-” She said. “Whatever happens on the other side of this door- don’t be stupid. Cut and run, okay? If I turn unto dead weight or start freaking out...”

“No.” Joan said firmly. “No way. I’m not leaving you. I’m wearing you hat, buddy! While I wear the hat, you have to come back! To get it. From me. Because I will keep it and I’ll show everyone how good I look in it and then you’ll never be able to wear it again!”

Cathy laughed softly. “Alright. Alright. Fine.”

She turned to the door-

-and then the tape player nearby sparks to life and began to play a song on the ukulele.

“Okay okay- that is, like, the tenth time I’ve heard that song all night!” Cathy marched over to the tape player. “I’m sorry, but I’m gotta figure this out.”

Joan sighed and trudged over to her just as the tape player sputters to a halt.

“Can you fix it?” Cathy asked. Her eyes were pleading.

Joan sighed again and began to wind it up.

“It-” Cathy’s eyes were now very wide. “It sounds like- it’s her. My mum. In the static. Do you hear her?”

“Kinda...”

“This is- oh my god.” Cathy crouches down on her knees in front of the tape player. Her hands are over her mouth. Tears are gathering in her eyes. “Mama?” She whispered. Then, she looked up at Joan. “C-can you try to tune into it? Maybe it’ll make her clearer.”

Joan really didn’t want to waste anymore time, but she couldn’t turn down Cathy, so she takes out her radio and tunes in.

150

An axe comes down on Joan’s skull. Over and over and over again. And with each swing, each break to her skull, each spew of her blood, Cathy’s figure shifts places all over the room until she’s gone.

Cathy is gone.

And Joan is all alone.

“No! No, Cathy, come back! I need you!” Joan begged.

Nothing.

No answer.

Joan has no choice but to go through the door alone.

She steps out in the cave where it all began. Not-Catalina is sitting on the lake’s shore, cross-legged, smoke whirling around her.

“You know,” She said as Joan staggers out from between two crystals. “We could have left. Whenever she wanted. We weren’t prisoners to the cave.”

“Then why stay?” Joan asked as she approached slowly. “Why not leave? Move on?”

“Because it’s scary, that’s why!!”

The crystals overhead tremble with loud clinking noises, like the treacherous shudder of glass.

“Have you ever stared into nothing, and moved with it, and felt apart with it!” Not-Catalina growled. “It’s worse than when we were wilting away into atoms!” Her voice quieted, shakes slightly. “It’s worse than...dying...the first time.”

“No, of course not,” Joan said. “But you have to!”

“No, we don’t ‘have’ to. We don’t have to do anything. Not anymore.”

The entire cave began to shake. Large cracks split across the ceiling and shards of iridescent crystals come raining down. Joan staggers, feeling sharp streaks of pain all over her body from where the crystal daggers manage to cut into her. Five lodge themselves in her shoulders. Several more get in her back. Dozens of smaller, but still sharp flecks sprinkle her scalp and wash her hair a bright shade of red.

“Whatever you think you can do,” Not-Catalina said. “You can’t.”

The quaking of the cavern gets more intense.

“We can’t go back. We won’t.”

The image of Not-Catalina flickers and disappears.

“Child. Wait your turn.”

Once again, Joan is alone.

She’s bleeding. She’s bleeding a lot and it hurt so badly.

She manages to pull two shards out of her shoulder, but the other three are deep and she doesn’t want to risk damaging herself further.

Above her, the tear that started it all was floating ominously in the air. Within it, a smaller triangle spun slowly in a circle.

With a blood-soaked hand, Joan takes out her radio and tunes in.

120

Several lines stretch from the very top.

123

Those lines get longer and form dozens of other triangles.

128

They form one giant tear.

A flash of light.

Joan is underwater.

And in front of her is a giant submarine.

A submarine that explodes before her very eyes.

The flash renders Joan blind for a moment, but when she can see again she’s in a part of the forest she doesn’t know. It’s raining. Not-Catalina is a few yards away from her, suspended in the air, eyes alight with crimson fury. Behind her, the black figure lurks.

“You’ve come to close the hole, right, girl?”

“That’s right.” Joan growled. “I’ve come to do what Maggie Lee couldn’t do.”

“Well, it didn’t work then, so why would it work now?” Not-Catalina said. “God. You’re so spoiled.”

The entire world blurs. They’re underwater again and the tear can be seen in the distance.

“You don’t even know the cost of things. Closing the hole with your stupid toy will spare your— your friends from our bloom, sure, but it will seal you up in here with it.” Not-Catalina smirked. “You’ll die with us. Again and again.”

Joan is back in the arctic waters, back in the icy abyss, but she has some grounding. Her mind is set.

“If they’re safe, then that’s all that matters.”

“Öñê l姆 ¢håñ¢ê. ¥ðµ Ððñ’† håvê †ð Ðïê.”

A large tear appears a few feet away, glowing an ominous red. Joan walked over to it.

“You can leave, you know.” Not-Catalina said. “Through the gate you opened.”

“ÄñÐ wê kêêþ †hê gïrl. Çå. †å. Lï. ñå.”

Joan looked deep into the gateway- she swore she could see the docks and the ferry approaching and Anne and Kitty and Cathy waiting there. For her.

“So, I’m free to go?” She asked.

“Of course.” Not-Catalina.

“§hê’ll ßê håþþïêr wï†h µ§.”

Joan’s hand slowly raised and she wiped the trail of blood trickling down her face.

“No.”

She turned and walked back up to Not-Catalina and the figure of The Sunken.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Who— who do you think we are?! Do you think we wanted to be thrown away?!”

Joan falters. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Why...why would they do that? If— if you were...”

“They didn’t care, child.” Not-Catalina cut her off. “Sometimes it’s that simple.”

The silence that is left between them all is tense. Thick. Horrifying. It was only then that Joan was noticing the hunched bodies of her friends appearing in her peripheral vision.

“We can feel us...binding.” Not-Catalina said. “You have maybe just a few moments left.”

Joan can feel it, too. Her head is being crushed- actually crushed, she could almost hear the chips of her bone as cracks zigzag across her skull. The blood flowing from her scalp and shoulders and back continue to spew- she feels so dizzy.

She feels so tired.

“We feel terrible, we do, but you have to know why that everyone chose to forget about us.” Not-Catalina said. “Everyone just...shuttered us away...”

“Wait- wait wait!” Raising her voice made Joan’s ears feel like they were about to burst. In fact, she could feel hot blood drizzling down from either opening. “Think about what your relatives would think- what your family would think. Some of them are still alive!”

It seems The Sunken have already thought about that, as they make Not-Catalina said, “They would think us survivors, if they think about us at all.”

Everything was shaking again.

“It won’t hurt...we don’t think...the change.” Not-Catalina said. She laughed. “But we hope the trip was worth it! Seeing the...deprived tourist trap they’ve built upon our carcass. Did you see the gift shop?”

“This whole little community if for you,” Joan said. She can’t hide the desperation in her voice. “They’ve built it all up for you and the soldiers that died!”

“It’s not for us!” Not-Catalina snarled. “We’ve twisted our bodies, screeching two inches from your faces for you to see us!” She settles back slightly. “And you never do.” Her mouth forms into a scowl. “Enjoy the scenery.”

The shaking gets more intense. The vibrations go straight up through her body and she can feel her ribs fracturing inside of her chest. Desperation rises higher and higher as she wracks her melting brain and shoveled up a name she remembered hearing about.

“To the crewman on the UKS Kanaloa named Calvin— don’t do this. Please.” She said. “I know you’re in there, I know you’re a person, I know you’re all people, come on, just— please help me, help my friends. Stop this.”

Everything stops.

“Calvin...” Not-Catalina muttered. “Was our name ever...”

“Çålvïñ?”

In a blink of an eye, in a painless transition, Joan and Not-Catalina are in front of a shack. The loop doesn’t hurt, but the effect is enough to finally burst the blood vessels in Joan’s nose and blood comes gushing out down her face.

“I...almost remember...”

“M¥. ñåmê.”

“You were-” It’s difficult to speak with all her wounds, with her body in a half-broken down state. Her voice sounds nasally with her nose stuffed with blood, but she makes do. “You were people once. All of you. Don’t lose that.”

“It’s- It’s-”

“M¥ ñåmê.”

“Calvin Gilbert.” Not-Catalina murmurs. “It’s- hard to remember certain things. Our faces went awhile ago...and then our names.”

“ñåmê§. Öµr ñåmê§. ßµ† ðµr åñgêr.”

“Our anger is, I’m afraid...all we have left.”

Joan thought for a moment. Then, she looks up into Not-Catalina’s eyes, The Sunken’s eyes, and said, “Then take it with you.”

They stare at each other for a long time. A clot it beginning to form in one of Joan’s nostrils.

“§¢råþ ï†.”

“Keep your nature.” Not-Catalina said. “We’ll keep ours.”

Joan closed her eyes. She clenched her fingers, feeling more and more disconnected from her body as time goes on.

“Maggie had— has— will have— this friend, and you sort of remind us of her.”

“§†råñgê gïrl... ðÐÐ †êmþêrêÐ...”

“Take care,” Not-Catalina said. “With the time you have left, child. And take notice of what you choose to—”

Joan takes out her radio and began to tune in. The tear is nowhere in sight, but she knows it’s still there. She can feel its energy. Not-Catalina falters.

“What are you doing?” Not-Catalina demands.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Joan said. “But I’m not letting you hurt my friends.”

101.1

The edges of the tear flickered into view.

“Oh! You wanna play chicken with the void? Fine.” Not-Catalina growled. “Let’s see how long you can last in the throttle.”

Joan grits her teeth. Her entire body is quaking. Spiderwebs of cracks spread throughout her bones.

“I don’t care what happens to me.” She grunts. Her hands are wracked with tremors and she can barely see the station numbers, but she continues to twist the dial.

111

The tear shrinks, the edges folding in on themselves. The storm rages powerfully.

“Johanne, wake up!” Not-Catalina yelled. “This course of action will only save those morons, not you! Don’t you understand?”

“I know that.” Joan said calmly.

“You don’t even comprehend why this is happening, do you?” Not-Catalina growled. “They sent warships after us! Like we were prey! It’s—” She falters again. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. And neither is this.”

Joan looked up at Not-Catalina again and narrowed her reddening eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

106.2

The tear began to mend itself shut.

“WAIT!!”

Lights, flashing, static, roaring.

“Jðåñ. Jðåñ.”

Joan is an endless void of black.

“†ïmê. Öµ†. Älðñê. Wê årê åll ðñ †hê §åmê. §ïÐê.”

Tears spill down Joan’s cheeks. She leans back, floating weightlessly in the abyss. She smiled sadly.

“þððr. Gïrl.”

“I did it for my friends and Cathy,” She whispered. She tilts her head back, inhaling shaking and sobbing softly. “All for them. If they’re safe, that’s all that matters.”

“̆ ï§ †hê. RðåÐ. Ö£ †hê mïÐÐlêÐ.”

Joan pulls her knees to her chest, spinning in a slowly circle. Her tears splash down onto the radio she’s holding.

“Wê åll þlå¥. ߥ. †hê §åmê. Ðê§ïgñ.”

She can feel herself bugging out. She looks up in shock.

“What are you...?”

“GððÐ. Lµ¢k. Måkê ï†. L姆.”

————

“‘But soon, I shall be so that I cannot remember any...but the things that never happened.’”

“Yeah, I— I don’t know.”

Joan stirred and groaned softly. She struggles to open her eyes because of the light that immediately stabs into her retinas.

“Ugh...”

“Hey, she’s walking up!”

Cathy is kneeling in front of her. Behind her, the other three stand on the deck of the ferry they’re all on.

“Are...are we in ghost heaven?” Joan slurred out.

“I think that’s just regular heaven, sweetheart.” Catalina said.

Her voice is what really made Joan’s mind register. It was normal.

She blinked hard and the fuzzy black blotches spotting her vision clear up slowly. She sits up on the bench she had been laying on and looks at everyone. No one has glowing red eyes.

“Did we...did we win? Are we okay?” She asked.

“Yeah.” Cathy answered. There’s a small smile on her lips. “Whatever you did in that cave, it worked. We’re going home.”

Joan’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced all around the boat again- Anne’s smile isn’t strained, Kitty’s face isn’t the color of a corpse, Cathy was there with her, Catalina was herself.

They were alive.

“Oh my god...” Joan whispered. “Are we- are we okay? Is it really over?”

“Yeah,” Cathy nodded. “It’s okay. It’s over. We’re safe now.”

They’re safe now.

Tears filled Joan’s eyes and she launched herself into Cathy’s arms. Anne and Kitty join the group hug and Catalina gets pulled in in the process. They all embrace each other tightly, crying. Crying in relief, exhaustion, joy, bliss.

They were free.

“That was- wow.” Anne said after they all pulled away. She laughed and wiped her eyes.

“Are you crying, Reginald?” Catalina teased.

“So are you!”

“I am, and it’s completely ruining my mascara and persona.” Catalina said, wiping away the black-tinged streak rolling down her cheek. “That was insane.”

“We gotta tell people!” Kitty said. “Right? I mean, it’s not like anyone will believe us, but, like...we could go on a freakin’ book tour or something!”

“We encountered real ghosts!” Joan added. “I mean, we don’t have proof, but still!”

“It’ll definitely be quite the story.” Catalina chuckled.

Joan finally stood up and, when she did so, she felt no pounding against her temples. The agonizing migraine that had been infecting her head that entire night was gone. There was no dull static buzzing in the back of her mind.

They really were safe, now.

She was out of that void.

“What happened back there?” Joan asked. “Does anyone know?”

She was no longer bloody, she could breathe properly, and none of her bones felt like they were about to shatter into tiny pieces, so did whatever went down in that storm really happen? Or was it all a hallucination after she tuned into that giant tear in the cave.

“Cathy carried you here.” Kitty said.

“Well, of course I did.” Cathy crosses her arms. “You were unconscious on the beach, so I ran down to get you.”

“What about Catalina?” Joan asked, looking at the older girl.

“I carried her,” Anna said. “But she woke up along the way.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven in the morning.” Cathy answered.

Joan breathes a small, impressed breath.

“Did...” Catalina speaks up. Everyone else turns to her. “Did anyone else experience, like, dreams when they were ‘taken’ during the night?”

“Yeah, a few.” Anne answered.

“Me too.” Kitty nodded.

“Just the one of my mum in the bunker.” Cathy added.

“I had...I had some of Maria.” Joan said. “We were on an accidental trip to the beach.”

“I had my older sister.” Catalina said. “We were fighting over...I don’t even remember. Something Stupid. But I don’t know why that memory would visit”

“Maybe it’s something that’s close to us?” Joan guessed aloud. “I don’t know. It’s over now. That’s all that matters.”

They all nodded.

“Hey, Anne, didn’t you say you lost a book?”

The others looked over at Kitty, who is holding up a book. Anne perks up and snatches it from her excitedly.

“You found it!” She said. “I thought one of the ship guys would have thrown it overboard!”

“Oh, also,” Kitty piped up again. “What were we talking about before Joan woke up?”

“Prom?” Anne said, and the others groaned.

“I think I’m gonna defer my crown this year.” Catalina said.

“Joan, are you gonna go?” Kitty asked.

The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. I might.”

“Yeah, you should come with us!” Catalina turned around to face Joan. The old light she used to have in her eyes, the loving, caring, friendly one, is returning slowly. It bathed Joan in its tender glow. “We can go dress shopping. It’ll be fun!”

Joan blinked, genuinely shocked by the offer, but then she smiled.

“I’d- I’d love to! It sounds great!”

Catalina smiled back. A real smile.

“You can even bring your step sis.” She said, nodding at Cathy, who laughed.

“I’m glad I got your permission to go.” Cathy said.

“Alright, everyone! It’s picture time!” Kitty suddenly exclaimed. She scampered out onto the deck, into the warm morning light bleeding out from the soft grey clouds above. “Come on! Tonight has been noteworthy- we gotta take a picture to commemorate it!”

The others gave in to her pleas and all grouped together.

“Hey, Anne, what is that book, anyway?” Cathy asked as they got into position.

“I actually don’t know,” Anne admitted. “I can hardly make heads or tails of it! Like, look- I’ll open to some random ass page and...’When I was younger, I could remember anything, whether it happened or not. But soon, I shall be so that I cannot remember any...but the things that never happened.’”

“Yeah, I— I don’t know.” Cathy said.

“Wait-” Joan blinked. “Didn’t you-”

“Cheese!!”

—————

“Dear Diary.....yes I have one now......

Before we left, I told my mum I was spending the night at a friend’s house. When we got back, I didn’t see a reason to change that story. And you know what...I still don’t.

Anne began studying theatre arts in a city nearby after high school. I was worried for awhile- I thought our friendship had been ruined on that island, but she came around pretty quickly. We’re still best friends to this day.

Catalina left to study English literature...she was thinking about dropping out, but she’s sticking with it for now. We talk a lot, actually. It’s nice. She’s scared of the ocean, now. Also she got a dog. If you care.

Cathy was the first to introduce me as her ‘sister’. You know, without the ‘step’ part. It was nice. We’re still really close- she goes to school in town and we see each other all the time.

It’s funny. What happened on the island used to pop into my head every single day. And then every other day. And then a week went by and I realized I hadn’t thought about it at all. I guess...that’s a good thing, I think.

I decided to stay in town and go to college here. I’m studying music and fine arts. It’s practically up the road! And it’s something familiar.

But anyways... What time is it? Oh, yeah- sorry, I gotta run or I’ll miss the ferry! Anne’s dragging me out to Edward’s Island for the yearly beach party thing. And I have to pick up what’s-her-name, Cathy, too. Ugh. I hope she’s not weird or mean or something.

Whatever. I’m sure it’ll be fun. It’s something to do. Right?”

.-- . .-.. -.-. --- -- . / .... --- -- .

[markusstraya]

We All Fall Down

MASTERLIST 

Pairing: Eddie Brock x Reader, Venom x Reader

Summary: After starting a tickle war with your boyfriend, Eddie, strange occurrences take place, both outside and inside your shared apartment. Oh, how things take a turn for the worst.

Word Count: 1598

Warning(s): Lost of angst, fluff, tickle war, the aftermath of Infinity War. (Be warned, you may need tissues!)

Request(s): @thirstyforvenom -> “Venom x Reader where they are both watching WWE or something and end up playfully wrestling on the floor.”

AND

@0dobi0 -> “Hi I was wondering if you’d take a request I’d thought it’d be kinda funny/angsty where Eddie/Venoms s/o preferably fem was with them as they started disappearing from Thanos’ snap. Would you add in an end scene where a couple months pass, maybe a year aka after Thanos is defeated and everyone who disappeared comes back and Eddie/Venom watched the reader/ s/o walk through their front door.”

Authors Note: So this is basically two requests mashed up together because I love some good angst. Also, I whipped this up pretty quickly, because I had a break from exam study, but I’ll get back to it tomorrow. Also, just wanted to say that I changed up the requests a bit, I hope you two don’t mind, but I thought it’d fit better? Anyway, hope y’all enjoy!

“Eddie!” squealing, your kick out your legs, hands trying to push him off you. “Ed-Eddie, stop!” His large fingers kept poking your sensitive sides, making you laugh as you struggle to remove yourself from his reach. Your converse shoes hitting the floor of your shared apartment with a thud with each oncoming attack from his hands. “Eddie,” you try to catch your breath, but he launches into another attack, this time pinning you underneath him. Your stomach is getting sore from laughing so much.

“Nuh-uh. You started it!” Okay, so it was true. You did start it, but only because he was paying more attention to the football game than to you, so you did what any person in your position would do. You started to tickle him, which was much easier than you expected – he’s a very ticklish man, your Eddie is. It probably didn’t help that Venom was clueless with what was happening, he just let you continue. No, “Why do you do that, morsel” or “Why are you like this?” It was just you and Eddie. You supposed that through the many years you’ve dated Eddie, that the symbiote had just given up, and given in to your weirdness. That was why Eddie liked you so much, you supposed. You weren’t ‘normal’ like everyone else. I mean, is there even anyone who is generally ‘normal’?

It was another few minutes that you spent trying to get your bear of a boyfriend off you, before he did so himself, extending his hand out for you. Taking his much larger hand, he pulled you closer to him, bringing your lips to his. The kiss felt like it lasted a long time, only ending when you were both needing air. Leaning on your toes, you peck him on the cheek, announcing that you’re going to get some food. Searching through the masses of chocolate that Venom had hoarded in the not-so-large kitchen cupboard for something other than chocolate, a loud crash from the street below has you looking over at Eddie, who, after looking over at you, makes his way over to the large window. “Just another car accident, babe.” You’d believe him if he wasn’t staring out the window for as long as he was, a quizzical look on his face. You’d ask him what was wrong, if only you hadn’t felt a sudden wave of cold wash through your body, closely followed by a hotter one.

Clasping your stomach, with a sudden urge to be sick, you look down at yourself. You didn’t know what was wrong. Well, you didn’t until you saw your shoes begin to turn into dust. You watched as they floated around the kitchen, making their way into the living room. “Uh…Ed-Eddie?” You couldn’t move, your body was frozen, scared. What is happening?! As soon as you heard his loud footfalls enter the kitchen, you turned to face him, sheer fear on your face. “Babe?” Voice cracking you lead his eyes with your own gaze, down to your feet, which were almost completely gone. “Eddie, what…what’s going on?” Looking back up, your boyfriend doesn’t move. He only stares, watching as your body slowly floats away with the soft breeze flowing through the open windows.

Slick black tendrils climb over his shoulder, bundling together to form a head. Venom. He was just as shocked as you, like Eddie. “No, (Y/N). No.” Tears start falling down his face as he moves forward to hold you. “No. Don’t…don’t go. You can’t go.” Your foreheads touch, and you realize, Eddie can’t watch, it’ll break him. Taking his face in your hands, you press your lips to his, if just for a moment, before leaning away.

“Eddie. Close your eyes.” You smile sadly at him; your own tears being released over your flushed cheeks. He goes to speak, to protest, but you know you can’t let him see you go. You can’t let them see you go. “Shh,” placing your index finger on his lips, he reluctantly closes his eyes, “It’ll be okay. It’ll be fine.” Looking down at yourself quickly, your body is almost gone. You place your lips in his, kissing him as passionately as you could, knowing you were almost out of time. It was a tingling sensation now, and it had reached your neck. Pulling away reluctantly, you leave your forehead on his. “I love you, Eddie. I love you, Venom.” Taking one last look at the love of your life you say, “I love you both.”

--

“I love you Eddie. I love you Venom,” a slight pause, “I love you both.” Then there was nothing. No sound. He couldn’t hear her small breaths that had brushed over his lips. He couldn’t feel the softness that was her skin. He couldn’t taste the sweetness that was her lips. He couldn’t see her gorgeous (E/C) eyes, that had always looked up at him, knowing that he would be able to protect her. He had failed. They had failed. The only person that had mattered in this world was now gone. Venom was distraught, throughout the whole ordeal, he was screaming inside his head to save her, but they both knew that they could do nothing. He’d never felt so useless, so powerless.

Falling on his knees, he finally allows the pain that your loss has given him to take over. A crying mess on the floor, a painful scream leaves their lips as your name is carried in the wind.

--

It’d been over 4 years since the day you’d been gone, and not once had they stopped thinking about you. They’d always linger at the photograph that Eddie had pinned up on the wall, as he got ready for work. Ever since that day, Venom had been uncharacteristically quiet, always taking his pent-up anger and frustration on those they would stop of a night. Eddie gave up looking for solutions, especially after the once disbanded Avengers told the world who was responsible. As soon as Venom had heard the Mad Titan’s name, he shrieked, grabbing at his head. Let’s just say Eddie had a lot of things to replace after that night.

Eddie was on his way home, walking along the cement pathways, leading him to Ms. Chen’s little shop. He didn’t linger too long, only stopping in to say a quick hello, before purchasing some more chocolate and food, before he made it on the home stretch. Entering the building, he climbed up the metal staircase, the wound all the way to the top level. When you and he had chosen an apartment together, you both chose one that wasn’t too high, due to Eddie’s fear of heights, Venom laughing at him hysterically. He was halfway up the second lot of stairs when he saw his apartment door was open. I could’ve sworn I locked it this morning. “You did Eddie. There’s someone in there.”

Slowing his pace down, he peered in his apartment, through the small crack that was left, before carefully pushing the door open. Venom was ready for an ambush. Its tendrils lapping at the fabric of his hosts cloths, ready to protect him. Meanwhile, Eddie was trying not to make a sound, the only noise being his rapid breathing. That was until he heard the kitchen cupboard open, and the familiar rustling of Venom’s stash of chocolates. Stepping in, he placed the plastic bag overflowing with food on the floorboards, making his way towards the kitchen.

He stopped. Not daring to move. Am I dreaming? What he saw, or more specifically, who he saw, shocked him to the bone. “(Y/N)?”

--

Opening your eyes, you looked down at yourself. Patting yourself down, before deeming that you’re not, in fact, imagining things, and yes, you did literally disappear. Using your apartment key, you unlock your shared apartment only to find that the furniture you and Eddie had bought together had changed. The million-dollar question was ‘is this my apartment?’ The once large dining table, that had taken up most of the room, was now a smaller, 2-person table. Oh, Eddie.

The sound of your stomach rumbling has you lurching forward, disregarding the apartment door, which was not closed properly, making your way to the kitchen cupboard. Rummaging around, you knelt, cursing Venom for hoarding as much chocolate as he did in here. Finding a small packet of chips, you hastily grab it, pulling it out from under the huge chocolate pile. “(Y/N)?”

You head had never turned to your left that quickly. Ever. Dropping the chip packet, your legs race you into the arms of your boyfriend, only to find that there were two pairs of arms. “Eddie! Venom!” You could feel Eddie’s tears hitting the top of your head, as his chin rested on it. “It’s okay, I’m back. I’ll never leave you. Ever. The both of you.”

“You…you were gone.” You nod. “No, you don’t understand,” you pull away, looking your boyfriends in their brown and white eyes.

“Don’t understand what, Eddie?” You take his larger hands in yours, swinging them gently from side-to-side, as you wait for his answer.

“You’ve been gone for 4 years, (Y/N). It’s been over 4 years.” Looking up at him wide-eyed, you think about the conversation you had with the wizard before you re-appeared. Shaking your head, you kiss your boyfriend. Now was not the time to think about that. As your need for air overtakes your senses, you pull back, recalling exactly what Strange had said. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

“So that’s why he said everything will be different.”

TAGS (I apologize if tags don’t work):

Eddie/Venom Tags:

@asexual-marvel-trash @eddiesasnack @thirstyforvenom @starfishfaerie @dorkgeeknerdfangirlawesome5 @chrisevansisdaddy13  @sthorkronstrangy

Forever Tags:

@theonegirlunderyourbed @jemjem-chan @reading-in-moonlight

[clarketomylexa]

It Rained In Seattle

Clexa Week 2018, Day 2, Constantly Mistaken For A Couple | read on ao3 | part II

The sun shone and the flowers bloomed and it rained in Seattle.

Those were the truths that Clarke knew, but in peeling the water-logged raincoat back from the three-year-old’s cough-rattled frame, she wished she didn’t, if only to save the way her heart cracked under the weight of the ugly sound.

Who thought adopting a child on her own would be a good idea, anyway? In a city she hadn’t grown up in, without the support of her parents? She realised now with corroding guilt why the social working had looked at her askance when Clarke explained her situation.

Legally, the stiff-nosed woman with her clipboard and bic pen couldn’t do anything to stop the adoption going through. Clarke had good a good job with better prospects – the name Griffin, as in Abigail Griffin the chief of Neuro at Mount Sinai had its perks –  and a stable home environment that would be certainly better for the orphaned victim of the car wreck that had killed her parents than the group home social services had set up for her. But she had advised Clarke, strongly one might say, to find a sturdy support system.

Seven months later, drowning in online forums and sugar-free juice boxes, that was the one thing the blonde was still in search for.

The rained sleeted down. The handle of her front door was stagnant under her heavy-handed rattle. “Shit.” Clarke shook the pockets of her rain jacket as the face of the little girl by her knees twisted comically. “Andy,” the blonde counched on the wet stone of her stoop, grimacing at the dampness that seeped through the denim. “Do you know where Mommy put her keys?”

The three-year-old jabbed a wet finger at the glass panel beside the door and Clarke groaned at the sight of her kering sitting on the hall table. Her phone was dead too – it had been on ten percent when they left the house for a park down the street that they had found sodden and water-logged.

Andy coughed, a harsh, wet sound that rattled in her chest and Clarke winched, adjusting the neckline of her sweater over the three-year-old’s collarbone, thinking about her keys and how she had managed to walk out of the house without them.

It had been a hectic afternoon admittedly, Andy was fussy and the both of them were going stir-crazy from cabin fever – ‘Dora’ was only education the first four times around. But there had been a break in the weather, her little girl had sat herself in front of the window in the living room with Gilbert the ill-proportioned bear wedged under her chin, to watch the passage of the lone patch of blue across the sky. Tugging on the cuff of Clarke’s sweater and prying her from her laptop on the kitchen counter when it was above them. She had big eyes and Clarke’s memorized promise on her lips, the one she had made the day she was late picking Andy up from daycare because she had had to cover another doctor’s shift with unbound reluctance because it meant she couldn’t take her little girl to the park on the way home.

Which way why Clarke had caved so easily when Andy reminded her with big eyes, and had bundled her into rainboots and a coat, trying to ignore the annoying inkling that told her she wasn’t doing enough as she sat on the cool bench by the playground and watched the three-year-old splash puddle water into her boots.

She told herself Andy didn’t care – that at her age she was more preoccupied with the crepe paper hearts her daycare teacher had promised they would make for Valentines next week – but Clarke was a hot mess with a three-year-old and a month-old promotion that had her working like a pack mule. This was going to be the straw that broke her.

Pressing Andy’s frame to the side of her leg, Clarke eyed her neighbours porch across the dip of their shared driveway. Hers was a contemporary looking, semi-detached townhouse that her mother had helped her fund when she got her residency out here and the yellow-gold light spilling from the glass encased entrance next to her was like a beacon against the steadying dim of early evening.

Mouth twisting, Clarke made her choice.

“C’mon sweetheart,” she cooed, She pulled the child onto her hip, feeling her feet swing in their dripping rain boots and draped her sodden yellow rain jacket over her arm. Andy sneezed, cold nose in Clarke’s neck and she pulled her closer.

“Lexa?” Andy whined, tongue tripping through her teeth.

“Yeah,” Clarke confirmed, pressing the doorbell with a bluing finger and brushing limp strands of blonde hair out of her face, hoping she didn't look like a drowned sewer dweller as she bounced Andy further up her him, shivering involuntarily.

A dog yipped behind the door. ‘Fish!’ the familiar voice barked in retaliation. ‘Upstairs,’ it ordered, ‘now.’ When her neighbour opened the door she was sweater-clad and glasses-wearing – round, tortoiseshell frames around her eyes – jeans rolled up at the ankle showcasing ridiculous Pippy Long Stocking-esque striped socks.

“Hi.” Clarke trapped her breath in her chest and appraised Lexa’s reaction to them, rain soaked and shivering, but the brunette grinned.

“The intrepid adventurers are back from the park, I see,” she smiled and it warmed Clarke from her stomach. Intrepid was certainty a word for them, mud clung to their boots and there was wet grass in Andy’s hair from a head-first dive off the wet slide.

Clarke smiled, “I’m sorry,” she apologised in earnest. “I left my keys inside and the security company has the spare but my phone is flat, would you mind if I called them from your landline?” Andy sneezed again, violently so that the tremors shook her frame and Clarke soothed her hands up the vertebrae of her spine thinking that the timing couldn’t have been better if Clarke had coached her.

“Not at all,” Lexa opened the door for them and Clarke sagged in an all-encompassing kind of relief that echoed in her cold bones. She toed off her rain boots, juggling child and sodden rain jacket and Lexa tsked quietly.

“Here,” she offered, her voice a low hum. She pulled a shivering Andy into her arms and the child found solace in the warmth of the familiar sweatered chest, giggling a half-hearted ‘exa,’ syllables slurred into one another in exhaustion.

It was past six, Clarke guessed, they would usually be halfway through dinner and thinking about a bath now, as per the haphazard routine Clarke had established when an online parenting website had prescribed it as a must. She was still ironing out the kinks of it; understanding that Andy was fussy about eating dinner – the dietitian was third on her to-do list – but clapped happily through her bath. How the three-year-old should be put down early because the usually outgoing child clung to Clarke like a bush baby at the prospect of her bed and how she was skittish around busy highways so that Clarke had to stick to suburban streets and ease her back into it as per the suggestion of the family therapist they had appointments with monthly.

Hands now free, Clarke hung her dripping jacket on the hook by the door, hanging Andy’s by the hood over the top of her own, fingers trailing the short expanse of waterproof material before she lined up their boots beneath the rack and wiggled her toes in the sagging ends of her socks. She peeled them off too.

“How did her vaccinations go on Tuesday?” Lexa asked as they made their way upstairs. Clarke’s hair hung limp and there was water under the collar of her sweater. She wrung it out with cold hands.

“Good,” Clarke nodded, “she fussed a bit at the doctor’s office but I bribed her with mint-chip ice-cream and she brightened up.”

“Ah,” Lexa grinned, “you have good taste Dee.” Andy smiled at the soft nickname and Lexa pressed a messy kiss to where the three-year-old’s temple met the unruly line of her unbrushed hair and released the child, feet kicking in soggy socks, onto the plush carpet of Lexa’s living room. They watched her go wheeling to the sofa in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs where the golden-brown labrador puppy cocked his head, ear fur frizzing like it had had a blow out.

“Fish!,” Andy squealed, greeting her self-proclaimed best friend. Fish yipped in happy reply, his wet nose raising to her hands. “Mommy,” her little finger pointed, “is Fish!”

“I see that baby.” Clarke stopped by her daughter on the way to where Lexa’s landline sat perched on the wall in the kitchen, readjusting the part in her hair with cold fingers – apologising in profuse little whispers for the cold – and combed the wet bangs down her forehead. A haircut, she decided, would be bumped up to fifth, above find new cereal but below procuring a spare key.

“No, house ‘b’,” Clarke raked a hand through the messy tendrils of hair freeing themselves from her half-professional bun, phone to her ear. The security company was doing its best to make her unproductive as she sat in the on call room, the long sleeve under her scrubs pushed up to her elbow.

“Do you have your four digit pin?”

Fingers fisted in her in the hair by her temple, Clarke pressed her eyes, visualising the mess of papers in the metal odds and ends rack on the kitchen bench. She would have written the pin for the security company on a post-it when she had signed up originally but she couldn’t for the life of her remember. “No,” she groaned in reply. Someone knocked on the door. “Look,” she reasoned, “can I get back to you in a day or so, I’m on call.”

“Of course ma’am.”

“Thanks.”

She ended the call and tucked her phone into the pocket of her scrubs and shrugged on her coat back on, crossing the room to open the door.

“How’s the Mrs.?”

Cocky smirk and powder blue scrubs, the dark haired nurse slung herself across the doorframe, ponytail scraped tight on the crown of her head and seemingly unphased with the dark smudge of blood on her shirt.

“You’re not funny, Octavia,” Clarke informed her as they walked. “Really?” the brunette grinned, “because I’ve been told otherwise.”

“Then you’ve been told wrong.” Clarke skimmed a patient's charts that was handed to her by a waiting intern and handed them back with a nod and a short, ‘give me five.’ She couldn’t say she regretted telling the brunette about her quiet neighbour with the labrador puppy that helped with Andy when she needed it – Octavia was the first person she became friendly with in the city and it was nice to have a confidant that wasn’t her mother a thousand miles away over the phone. Still, the teasing was getting old, Clarke refused to believe she was as smitted as her friend said.

“Anyway, it wasn’t Lexa it was the security company,” Clarke corrected her, “I called them about getting a spare key and they’re being about as helpful as usual.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Octavia hummed, like the considerably less exciting answer was a buzzkill. “We’re having after-shift drinks tonight,” she reminded the doctor, “you’re invited. Indebted practically since you’ve missed the last four times.”

“I can’t, O, I have to pick my kid up.”

Octavia picked at her scrubs and sniffed, “wow,” she teased, “that’s sad.” But the look Clarke gave her – the terse ‘please, O, I’m on the end of my tether’ look that had become a staple with the blonde – silenced her effectively. Octavia knew the weight that had descended on her friend since the introduction of Andy into her life as much as she knew the light the spread to the blonde’s eyes every time someone mentioned the three-year-old. She cared about Andy because she loved her immeasurably and no matter how many times the hospital staff had told Clarke it would be fine to bring her in every once in the while – she was the resident hospital kid, spending a month in the peds wing before Clarke offered to take her in – the doctor still felt she wasn’t doing enough. That much was painfully obvious.

“It’s okay,” the brunette conceded as they came up to a curtained off bed in the end of a ward. “I’m sure you and Lexa will have a lovely evening.”

“Octavia, if I hear another word about the romance you’ve built up between myself and my neighbour, I swear to god –” she raked the curtain back, Octavia on her heels, “– hello, Mrs. Ward, how are we this morning –” The woman replied ‘good’ and nodded in reply to the doctors perfunctory questions. She signed off the patient charts on the clipboard and shut the curtain. “She helps out with Andy,” she informed the nurse shortly, “that’s it. She doesn't like me.”

“But you like her.”

“That’s besides the question.”

“Au contraire, doctor, I believe that is precisely the question.”

Saved from further interrogation by the shrill fring of her phone, Clarke felt her heart-rate skyrocket insurmountably at the caller ID: ‘Andy’s Daycare’. She unlocked it swiftly, swallowing. “This is Clarke.”

“Hello, yes, this is Emma, from the daycare center. I’m calling about Andy.”

Clarke could feel the headache descending in her temples like the vestiges of a summer storm. “Is she okay?”

“She isn’t feeling well –” well versed, the woman on the line went to assure the doctor before she could complete her intake of breath, “– it isn’t serious. She was sick about ten minutes ago and has a mild temperature so we think it might be a stomach bug but center policy says we need you to take her home in case it’s contagious.”

She could feel the concern in Octavia’s eyes on her back where she was turned from the hall, toe of her sensible shoes kicking the linoleum. A stomach bug? She didn’t recall Andy’s teacher saying one had been going around the last time she picked her up. Or had she? Did they have child friendly painkillers at home? She resolved to swing past the pharmacy on the way to the carpark. Fisting her hand in the free tendrils of her hair, Clarke nodded, “yes,” she breathed, “yes, okay. I can be there in twenty minute.”

“Thanks, Clarke.”

“Okay, Emma.”

To Octavia, she said, “Andy isn’t well. I need to pick her up, it’s center policy.” It was a question, not a statement and the nurse nodded immediately.

“I can find cover for your shift,” she nodded, “is the kid okay?”

“Yes, it isn’t serious. They think it’s a stomach bug.” She tailed Clarke along the hall to the locker room where the blonde tugged at the mechanism of her locker until her hands shook in frustration and she had to nudge the blonde out of the way.

“Hey,” she hummed, aware of the other doctors, changing in and out of clean and dirtied scrubs. “Clarke, take a breath.” She watched her sit down on the bench in the aisle before unlocking it, handing her friend street clothes, jeans and a jacket to go over the long-sleeve rolled up under her scrubs, all of which the blonde took gingerly and pulled on without a word until she was finished and tucking her hair back again with the hairband clinging to her wrist. “Thanks, O.”

“Just take care of the kid,” she grinned, as she headed back into the hall, “and I’m still waiting on an invite to that house-warming.”

“I’ve been here for a year, it doesn’t count as a house-warning anymore!” Clarke hollered after her.

She grabbed her things – keys, wallet, phone bag – and headed to the parking lot.

She had an early shift tomorrow. She had planned on leaving Andy with Lexa in the morning as the brunette had offered to drop the three-year-old at the daycare center on her way to work, should she call her and tell her it probably wouldn't be necessary? If they were sending her home today it wasn’t likely they would let her back tomorrow. Clarke stared at her phone in the passenger seat, Octavia’s teases ringing in her head like a middle school taunt and suddenly found her situation inexplicably awkward. What were they doing?

She had to admit their relationship was unconventional at best. Friend who juggle child care would be apt, but Lexa knew some of the most intimate details of Clarke’s domestic life – the mundane mutterings at the end of a work day, the way she liked her coffee – in a way that made her sure it was more than that. Not to mention her dog was an endless source of entertainment for a fussy toddler.

Pushing her key into the ignition, she listed these things in her head as she turned onto the road, finding solace in the grey-black asphalt where existentialism lay, hands dancing on the leather of her steering wheel. She worked her thumb into a seam in the hard material.

Clarke hadn’t thought much of her neighbour when the brunette had moved in eleven months ago. The truck in their shared drive, muddy dog at her side. Her first thought had been to hope the white-gold animal wouldn’t keep her up at night but the soft-spoken woman and her labrador weren’t influencers in her insular world until they intercepted her on her doorstep five months later – the brunette’s brow dipped delicately and hair around her ears as she asked if a potential hostage situation could be the cause of the streaming child trying to Houdini her way out of the doctor’s arms.

Clarke couldn’t tell if she was joking.

Her eyes were disarming, verdant green, more-so than the greying-green grass on the verge as she offered to hold something while Clarke unlocked the door.

‘No kidnapping,’ the blonde assured her but her laugh grated on her teeth, felt like a plea for help. ‘She’s, uh, she’s mine.’

‘Yours?’

Clarke nodded and chewed her bottom lip. Barely two months into guardianship and it felt grossly disrespectful to call Andy hers. The thought ate at her. ‘Now she is.’

Lexa cocked her head. She had little dents on the bridge of her nose and reading glasses protruding from her jean pocket, Clarke could see the outline under the hem of her sweater.

‘She’s adopted.’

‘Ah.’

Andy squawked unhappily and Clarke was forced to let her down before she hurt herself. The daycare center had told her the toddler had been disruptive all day, she didn’t sleep when the other children were sleeping, she found out how to rattle the sides of her crib to wake the others and she had been temper tantruming when Clarke picked her up. She watched the three-year-old flee down the hallway, face like thunder and ruddy cheeks, with anxiety clawing at her chest and the ever growing reminder to baby proof. ‘And I’m in over my head.’

‘We all have those days. Tell – uh –’ watching Lexa stutter was like a strange contradiction to the times she had spoken to her over swapped out mail and the offending neighbour on the left hand side of them’s late night habits. The brunette was eloquent, she spoke in a timbre that Clarke likened to a lullaby but the blush that cowered under the high neck of her sweater now proved otherwise. Clarke only wished she could tuck her hair back and tease her about her ears turning pink. ‘Tell me if you ever need help, yeah? It’s just me and Fish over here,’ the brunette jerked a thumb to her house, ‘I don’t mind, honestly.’

Clarke nodded, chin dipping, ‘yeah,’ she decided, with a smile, ‘okay.’

She was certain if she analysed when ‘tell me if you ever need help’ had turned to Saturday playdates and Lexa as the second emergency contact at the daycare, the carefully constructed cavern of half-truths and assurances she built their foundation on would collapse and wind them both.

The sunlight was a weak sputtering thing by the time Clarke pulled into the daycare center, misty rain split the light like a prism but it would not be ignored, rooting its way through the greying cloud layer with the determination of Andy begging for dessert. She sat herself in her car for a minute collecting herself, going through her conversation with the teacher, ‘a mild temperature’ the woman had assured her. The blonde was a doctor and though peds wasn’t here specialty, a temperature could mean any number of things from teething – which Andy was a little too late for – to measles.

Abby said much the same.

“It’s probably a twenty-four hour bug, honey,” her mother assured her over the phone in the middle of a hospital shift. Clarke felt bad for interrupting as she sat in the front seat of her car, watching the rain gather on the windshield. “You won’t know until you see her, did they say anything was going around?”

“Not that I know of, but Octavia’s had kids in with norovirus.” The nurse had sauntered into the breakroom one day with her nose turned up exclaiming she had a kid puke on her shoes.

“Well there you go,” Abby hummed with the bedside manner of a doctor, “take her home, get her some fluids and paracetamol, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Nodding, Clarke said her goodbye and tucked her phone into her back pocket, ducking inside to be met with pressed-nosed faces against the glass of the door in the entrance way, fingers splayed in sticky handprints.

“She’s sleeping now,” the teacher told her, ‘tsking’ quietly in the doorway of the nap room and Clarke’s bottom lep went out in sympathy for the pink-cheeked three-year-old, laying sideways on her assigned mat in the otherwise empty room.

“Thanks, Jillian,” she said to the teacher who held the door as she signed Andy out, drowsy, feverish three-year-old in arms, Dora backpack slung off her right arm. She hummed pretty words and gave sweeping kisses to the heated forehead as she buckled the three-year-old into her car seat and gave her a packet of kiddy cookies as much peace offering as distraction.

But Andy whimpered and nodded off, mousy curls in her eyes before Clarke had pulled out of the parking lot.

Clarke found out quickly when they got home that Andy was trained in the mastery of avoiding thermometers and medication – she didn’t blame her, the children’s Tylenol from the drugstore was garish pink and bubblegum flavoured, but the blonde was at her wits end and tears threatened to crawl up her throat, toxic and bubbling.

A ‘crash-clatter’ sent the pink-topped sippy cup flying. The lid snapped off the plastic rim and watering soaked the carpet of the three-year-olds room.

“Andy!” She scolded in the loud, cruel tone she promised herself she wouldn’t use. “That was naughty!” But the toddler was already stiffening, unbidden, her eyes saucered, lips bird-mouthed and unimpressed as she released a harrowing wail that made Clarke’s heart thunder. She rubbed the headache brewing where it had earlier in the day.

The house was steeped in darkness now, save the nightlight and the lamplight from Clarke’s room across the hall seeping in through the open door and Clarke dragged her hands through her loose hair, skin cool under the flimsy fabric of her sleepwear. There was a panel heater on the opposite wall but she had turned it off when she tried to put Andy down to keep the temperature low – a failed effort – and the hairs on her arm were raising against the cold.

She groped for the time on her phone, “two-oh-eight,” she sighed, and leant back over the one open side of the modified crib to rake the girl’s sweaty bangs from her forehead. Her knees ached on the floor, she had a shift in five hours and dark bruises under her eyes. Andy’s temperature was wreaking a cruel kind of havoc and and Clarke had stripped the child down to her pull-up and tied her hair loosely with the hairband clinging to her wrist but her forehead refused to cool.

Theory, Clarke was discovering, went down the plughole quickly when it came to reality.

“Andy,” she breathed through her nose and carded her hair between her fingers to refasten it, “baby,” please. Can you try to sleep.”

“No.”

It was decisive.

“For Mommy,” she whispered, “please?”

The three-year-old screeched an awful sound, clogged with mucus and gunk that made the doctor think it wasn’t a simple stomach bug. She kicked her feet against the wall in retaliation to Clarke trying to move her back to the center of the mattress where she swum in sheet and kicked-back comforters. The blonde went to catch the offending feet at which Andy scrunched her face in distress. “Stop,” she whined. “Andy!”

“Stop!”

Clarke snapped.

“Fine!”

Her body was vibrating. Everything within her shaking with the unadulterated exhaustion of building her dam, brick and mortar, against tears. She wanted to cry. She wanted to Andy to sleep. But patience waned thin at two o’clock in the morning so she snatched her phone from the floor and slammed the door on her way out into the hallway, feeling the rattle of the hinges and the way it shook her foundations to dust, listening to the retaliatory wailings on the other side of the door, feet pounding dull thuds into her skull where she felt like it would crack.

She couldn’t do this.

How fucking foolish had she been to take on the responsibility of a three-year-old on her own, in a city she didn’t know, in a job she was new to? She wasn’t good at this, she could barely get dinner on the table and guilt corroded the cavity of her chest like hot acid, she gagged on a sob as Andy wailed.

“Mommy.”

Clarke swallowed.

“Mommy!”

She pressed fists into her eyes until her head spun and she could see stars, then clasped her phone to her chest, pressing with shaking fingers and tear-blurry vision, hoping. Her breath trapped itself inside her chest like a lead balloon.

“‘ello?”

“Lexa?”

“Clarke?” the brunette’s voice was low, raspy like it was covered in the thin film of sleep and she pictured her neighbour sitting up in bed, pianist fingers sifting through bedside table clutter for the round shape of her clock. The thought alone was like a strange kind of cooling balm but then Andy screeched again and it sent her spiralling, desperation seizing her chest like her heart wanted to escape.

“I – I can get her to sleep. She’s – she’s hot – she’s got a temperature I think, but I can’t give her any more meds and she won’t sleep, she won’t drink anything, I’ve tried – oh god, I don’t know what to do.”

“Clarke –”

“– I can’t do this. I have a shift in four hours and she isn’t sleeping, I can’t –”

“Clarke, who? Andy?”

“Yes, I –”

“Do you know what her temperature is?”

“She won’t let me take it, I can’t take it –”

“That’s okay, Clarke,” the blonde leant her head against the hard panel of the bedroom door and wiped her dripping nose on her wrist. “I can be over in two minutes if that suits?” Clarke nodded, then swallowed, “okay,” she whispered, hoarse, choking on the effects of her own exhaustion and guilty desperation, “thank you.”

Lexa was there a in a minute in a half in rolled ankle jeans and yesterdays creased university tee – UC Berkeley Clarke noticed with a sloping smile – and her hair in a haphazard ponytail that had frizz curling at her hairline.

They were in the emergency room a half-hour later.

Clarke leant on her knees with the clipboard they had given her, filling out the admittance form with a blue pen and slow fingers so that her writing didn’t shake as she printed ‘guardian’ on the thin line of ‘Relationship to Individual’. Andy, left thumb tucked into her mouth, hair in sweaty pigtails, was curled into the sticky vinyl of the waiting room chairs, her head pillowed on Lexa’s jean-clad thigh, asleep – funnily enough it had been the thrum of rain on the windshield that had lulled her into a reluctant sleep and Clarke felt like an overreacting idiot even though her temperature raged and there were dark bruises forming under her eyes.

The brunette lifted the three-year-old's forehead when a receptionist returned with thin pillow and switched chairs to the one next to Clarke’s, smiling in soft sympathy when the blonde signed her name and walked over to hand the forms back, sitting down to dig the heels of her palms into her eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispered watching colours kaleidoscope on her eyelids, “I’m a doctor, I should be able to handle this –”

“Clarke, no –”

“She just wouldn’t sleep and I – I’ve never been good with kids, I don’t know why I took her in, I’m ridiculous.” She took a hard, ragged breath and relished guiltily into the way it hurt when it caught in her throat, “god, this was a mistake, I’m doing everything wrong –”  

“Clarke,” soft hands slid into hers, unbidden, and pulled with little resistance until Clarke was blinking up at the harsh fluorescent light and there was hair curling at her forehead. “You’re doing nothing wrong.” Lexa was on her knees now, kneeling in front of her so that she was a little less than eye level with the blonde, tangling their fingers so that their palms were pressed together and Clarke would pull away if her head wasn’t so fuzzy, if she wasn’t sleep deprived, if guilt didn’t cling to her bones like spider webs to the tree roots Andy would root around in at the park. She in turn, clung to Lexa like a child might its blanket, simultaneously her constant and her wildcard.

“You’re doing a good thing. Andy loves you.”

Clarke shook her head, mouth tilting into a smile, this close she could see the freckle on Lexa’s top lip and the proud line of her cheekbones. “She loves you,”

“She loves Fish,” Lexa corrected and Clarke giggled wetly. Lexa’s breath danced over her cheeks and the tears that dried there.

“Griffin?” The nurse on call asked form behind the desk, eyes flicking briefly through the forms on the clipboard. Lexa squeezed Clarke’s hand, “go clean up, I’ll take her in.” She rose as Clarke nodded and scooped Andy into her arms gently as to not jostle her and Clarke wiped her hands on her jeans, watching the nurse escort them down the hall before asking the receptionist for directions to the restrooms where she washed her hands and used a square of toilet paper to blow her nose. Her eyes were dark and her hair was loose and there was dinner on the collar of her shirt. She splashed warm water on her face and returned to the waiting room, sneaking down the hall to the room she knew the nurse ushered Lexa and Andy into, slipping through the half-open door with her hand in her hair, making sure it fell right.

“Hi,” she sat down, “sorry.”

“That’s fine,” the doctor was young, only a little older than her, clothes crisp, and alert. “Clarke your wife was telling me you picked Andy up from preschool early today, did they tell you if they took her temperature then? Do you know what it was?”

Clarke stiffened with a violent kind of embarrassment, redness burning on her cheeks as she rushed to correct the woman, “oh,” she swallowed, flapping an inarticulate hand, meeting Lexa’s eyes – wide with the same kind of quiet horror – “no, we’re –” she shook her head, “we’re not together.”

“Oh.” The doctor looked between them, too close in awkwardly placed chairs, Andy, flushed and red, waving a plastic wrapped sucker from the desk, cradled between Lexa’s knees. She giggled conspiratorially. “I just assumed,” the woman re-considered the forms, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Clarke waved the awkwardness – unsuccessfully – away she tucked her hands between her cross legs and recalled the original question. “They didn’t tell me her temperature, I’m sorry, and she wouldn’t let me take it later.”

“Okay,” the doctor nodded, “well it’s 102.2° now.” She re-checked her notes, chewing her lip as she considered then looked back up at them. “It looks like influenza, which means, if managed correctly, she’ll be fine in a week, give or take.” The pen clicked. Clarke fiddled with the join on her jeans, she could see Lexa shifting out of the corner of her eyes. “Just make sure she stays hydrated, keep her comfortable and paracetamol every four to five hours if the fever persists. I’d recommend keeping her home for the rest of the week, mostly for her own fatigue, if nothing else, but she seems strong, she’ll get past it with no problem, I’m sure.”

The appointment over, they said their thank yous.

Clarke leant over to take Andy from Lexa and their fingers brushed, the touch prickling like fire on her wrist. She studiously avoided the brunette’s eyes as she shifted Andy further on her hip, feeling the three-year-old yanking on the collar of her shirt. “Andy,” she whispered, taking the girls hand in her own before any skin was shown.

Reddening, Lexa cleared her throat.

It was raining when they got home.

Lexa stood in the doorway, hip against the frame, watching the way it poured off the roof via the gutter and how soft Clarke looked in the yellow-white light of Andy’s night light. The blonde combed Andy’s hair back from her forehead and brown eyes blinked up at her, sleepy and docile. “Gimme a kiss,” she requested softly, Andy puckered her lips and kissed Clarke, full of saliva and uncoordinated ability but Clarke grinned. “Goodnight, Andy.”

“Nigh-nigh.”

“I love you.”

“I lo’ you.”

Standing with an effort-filled huff, Clarke crossed the room, padding softly in miss-matching socks – laundry day got putt of this week – to flick the switch on the monitor and stand by Lexa, watching the head of unruly curls shift among cotton sheets.

“Momma?”

She frowned at the unfamiliar title, Andy didn’t call her that. “Yes?”

“No,” Andy sat up, brow pressed, “Momma.” Her hands rose, little fingers stretching and flexing, an expectant grabby motion in Lexa’s direction and the brunette stiffened in shock. “Kisses Momma,” Andy demanded like she would ask for juice, like it was the silliest thing in the world.

Verdant eyes turned to her, wavering in want for permission. It was endearing but their foundations were already collapsing and the pretence of whatever charade they had been playing with themselves, with Andy, wasn’t there anymore. Clarke felt like she was floundering without a ground for her feet but then Lexa crossed the room and Andy flung her little arms around her neck, fingers curling together in a bruising hold, kisses were mandatory, and an unimaginable kind of fondness seized her chest, an unabashed need to take Lexa by the sleeves and cling to her.

“Nigh-nigh, Momma,” Andy sung, snuggling herself into her mattress.

Clarke waited until the baby was still, and the door was pulled to, and the air was stagnant in the corridor around them, the panel heater humming away on the wall, before she pressed herself into the brunette, unbidden. “I love you,” she implored, fingers wound in her the brunette’s collar, chests flush, lips cold and tongues hot, the rush in her ears beating the common sense out of her head.

[novantinuum]

When We’re Human Again

AO3 

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,900~

Summary: Based on @artsycrapfromsai‘s Beauty and the Beast AU. In which Ford becomes human again after years spent cursed as an enchanted journal, and Stanley and the kids realize happy endings are often a lot more complicated and messy than one might initially perceive.

The fading laughter was what let him know the onslaught had finally ended. Ford sensed the distant pelt of vibrations against the stone, moving towards the balcony, towards-

Stanley.

An insidious tendril of dread began to suffocate him as he realized his cursed form was wholly unable to come to his brother’s aid. And worst of all, the young man— Gideon, his name was?— abused him enough that his binding was starting to unravel at a dangerous rate.

Wild gales assaulted delicate parchment, threatening to cleave these pages from his trampled spine and leave him barren. He feared this wind was bitter enough to seep through even his brother’s thick fur, but as he didn’t possess the nerve endings required to differentiate temperature, there really was no way to tell.

Stanley mentioned playing in snow on the castle grounds with the children the other day, though, hadn’t he?

He lay sprawled on his back, trapped within his roving thoughts and functionally helpless without his brother or one of the young siblings to pick him up. The long years had chipped away at him, cruelly stripping bundles of parchment from his binding with each passing month— each page representing a portion of his memory. He’d already lost so much of his childhood and early life to this unstoppable decay. In fact, in his present state he found he barely recalled how he’d been cursed into this form to begin with.

What was it like, Ford wondered, to be human? To have strong limbs extending in every direction? The ability to contort and move his form by deliberate choice? What did it feel like to hold an ink quill and write manually for once? To consciously express emotion in more than simple text on page? Faintly, he thought he recalled a time when all of these actions and properties were overlooked mundanities— but he’d been imprisoned within this leather bound journal for so long that sometimes the thought of anything else but this existence faded into obscurity within seconds. And this frightened him.

I can’t even remember… what I once looked like, he realized in a pang of panic.

How much humanity did he have left to spend?

The few pages still bound fluttered endlessly in the wind, and he desperately struggled to keep ahold of them. He imagined his own thoughts appearing on pages in written word, frantic pleads for help, in the futile hope that continuing to mark his own parchment would somehow retain his connection with it. He felt another page tear away. Heard it as it cut through the air like a thin blade.

N-no… please…

Ford’s thick leather binding quivered as he realized what was happening to him, and what he (and everyone in this entire castle) would lose. When the last page falls out, the curse will be absolute. No hope for the dozens of servants and kitchen staff and castle children, and most of all, no hope for his brother Sta-

Another page stolen away.

The enchanted journal suddenly became aware of rivulets of dark ink dripping down its parchment. It felt… empty. For some reason, a sense of loss it couldn’t quite place fell upon it.

In the distance a mighty roar filled the air. The journal did not know nor wish to know what kind of awful creature would produce that kind of caterwauling noise. The only knowledge it wished to procure was that of its identity. Who did it belong to? What kind of simpleton allowed its binding to descend to such a state of disrepair, where pages merely detach of their own volition in the wind?

However, this journal had far too little time to consider these mysteries before the breeze stole the very last page— coated in trails of thick black ink— and carried it into the wintry sky. All that was left behind was an empty husk, the severely bent and abused spine attached to the two covers by what was now merely thin strings of leather.

In the distance two young children cried, faces buried into the neck of an enormous beast. Blood matted his thick, greying fur. The children’s sobs were punctuated with a whispered, repeating mantra of “I love you.”

Slowly but surely, the whispers of the wind swallowed the breadth of their despair, until not a sound escaped the circumference of the balcony.

Then…

A soothing presence surrounded the tattered remains of the journal. Slowly, this journal— no, Ford… Stanford— levitated into the air on the gentle arms of renewal. He could feel this presence dig deep within, reaching into his very core and… extending in multiple directions?

Ford’s emotions tangled between giddiness and an uneasy fear of the unknown as the form he’d lived within for decades finally melted away, leaving his soul without a capsule. The presence pushed against him gently, and stretched and sighed until he could distinctly acknowledge four separate bands of it. Now, Ford was incredibly used to the sensation of pressure. He could always recognize the presence of his brother or one of the children when their hands brushed against his cover as they picked him up. Over time, he’d even learned how to differentiate between the two children based on how they positioned their small fingers to hold him, or the vigor by which they turned his pages. But the strange pressure he experienced now in the extremities of his form seemed startlingly different from anything he could recall. It… tingled. Put into terms he could rationalize, he imagined it felt the way a raucous storm of pouring rain sounded.

Experimentally, he imagined possessing control over these bands of heaviness, just as he imagined ink appearing on parchment. He imagined the top left one shifting downwards towards his core. And in a moment that surpassed every imagined daydream and wistful yearning he’d conceived over this very situation, these limbs— these wonderful, malleable, very human limbs— obeyed his every thought. Ford felt something wet cross down and drip off his pages— no, his face. And it wasn’t ink for once, but tears. They were real tears.

Then that strange presence dissipated, and without so much as a warning, the cold, overwhelming reality of human sensations and pains and awareness slammed into Ford with a ferocious vengeance. While darkness still wholly enveloped him, the wind that blowed stray strands of hair into his face and frosted his cheeks and nose alerted him that he lay face-up.

The man wheezed, having not breathed the air around him at all for well over thirty years. The chill of the breeze and the snowy stone slabs he laid on radiated through his cloth and skin and into every single quadrant of his form, causing him to shiver violently. The longer he lay, the quicker the snow melted around him, threatening to christen him the frozen centerpiece of a large puddle. His head ached insufferably, which he assumed was the source of the awful ringing that plagued his mind. His spine still suffered from the curious tingling sensation he’d endured earlier. His limbs suddenly felt like dead weights.

“-anford!” he just barely heard a low, raspy voice call out through the ringing. Luckily, as this awful auditory disruption lessened with time the words became far more comprehensible. “Stanford! Can you hear me?”

Other, lighter voices entered the picture, overlapping one another all at once. The children.

“-really do look just like each other when you’re not all magicky!”

“Mabel, they’re twins like us. Of course they’re-”

“Well duh, I know that, but it’s kinda hard to tell when-”

“-everyone, we’re- we’re all finally human, Ford! Ford? You awake? ‘Ya with me?”

Yes!! Yes, Stanley… I-I’m here, Ford thought fervently, trying to push this sentiment towards his brother, just like he always used to conjure up writing on his pages. But nothing occurred, and the words dissipated in his mind like the impermanence of a sunbeam’s dust.

“Why isn’t he moving or talking with us? He is gonna be okay, right? Right Grunkle Stan?”

“I… I don’t know, pumpkin.”

An achingly familiar and warm pressure pressed gently against his cheek. A hand, and a small one.

“Great Uncle Ford?” the young boy— Dipper— said hesitantly. “C-can you open your eyes?”

“Please be awake, Grunkle Ford,” another voice whispered— Mabel— sounding on the verge of tears. “We love you so much, too!”

He wanted to. He desperately wanted to, but they felt like they were locked shut from years and years of neglect.

Stanley sighed, the timbre of it considerably lighter than Ford recalled. “Kids, I- I’ll be honest with ya’, I don’t even know how much he’ll remember.”

His brother’s voice sounded so broken, so vulnerable, that it tore right through him like shears through string. They’d reversed the curse, hadn’t they? Ford was human again. If— after decades of misplaced hope and broken relationships and the insidious reminder of what lay dormant in their future — he’d finally regained everything he ever wanted, why did he still feel so lost? Why couldn’t he manage to accomplish a task as simple as communication? A sudden and intense bout of shivering ran from his core to the edge of every extremity, numbing his thoughts and leaving him breathless.

“He’s freezing, Grunkle Stan,” the young boy said, a worried lilt dancing at the edges of his voice.

“Then we-” His twin brother paused briefly. “We should take him inside. Quickly. Mabel, go see if you can find somethin’ warm to wrap him in. And Dipper, track down Wendy and Soos for me, will ‘ya? Explain what’s going on.”

“On it.”

Something slipped under his legs and back— Stanley’s arms?— and with a labored grunt, hoisted his shivering body up and away from the wet, blisteringly cold stone. His cheek rubbed against rough hewn fabric as his brother adjusted his hold. Now that he finally had limbs again, Ford desperately wanted to sling one of his arms around Stanley’s shoulder to alleviate the insidious fear that he’d be dropped, but his extremities had since become numbed and useless. He’d simply have to trust that his brother’s path would be sure.

Of course, he thought mirthfully, feeling the man in question briefly stumble, this trust would be far more easily given to someone who hadn’t just regained human form after thirty years of walking on all fours in the guise of a beast.

Presently, he heard the heavy clamor of the balcony door shutting the wind out, the whispers of the children becoming distant as the atmosphere gradually grew warmer. Felt his brother’s heartbeat running tandem to his.

One no longer a beast. The other no longer a journal.

Human, but still woefully unadjusted and unsure.

The arms lowered his unmoving, frail form, depositing him into what he assumed was a bed. It certainly felt far silkier and pleasing to the senses than the freezing stone. Stanley quietly stripped him from the majority of the wet clothes, and wrapped him in something soft, with long sleeves. A robe? Perhaps. He continued to shiver as the silk sheets were pulled to his chin, and his twin gently laid the back of his hand against his forehead.

“I found Soos and Wendy!” Dipper said suddenly. Ford could hear his footsteps pounding against the wood floor vigorously as he ran into the bedroom. “They’re gathering everyone in the castle in the ballroom. Trying to sort out all the confusion and surprise, y’know? They said they’ll be up here as soon as possible. How… how’s he doing?”

“Still not responding,” Stanley muttered.

“But- you adjusted just fine after you turned back. What’s different? What’s changed? What could have gone wrong?”

“It’s not your fault, Dipper. He lost a lot of pages. A lot of his memory. It’s-” he drew in a large, heavy breath- “difficult, but very possible that there wasn’t anything left to save.”

“Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel’s cheery voice cut through the gloom, growing louder as she neared. “I grabbed every blanket I could find! Here!”

“Good job, pumpkin! Kids, help me lay these over him, won’t ya’?”

Layer by layer, Ford grew warmer, the soft blankets providing him with a welcome buffer from the cool air. He heard the crackling of a newly born fire, and slowly but surely his shivering receded. Mabel’s hand slipped into his right, their fingers loosely threading. Ford’s six fingers surrounded hers perfectly.

“I love you, Grunkle Ford. I love you a whole, whole lot!”

Seconds passed and the young girl gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Distantly, he imagined reciprocating that gesture, imagined his muscles shifting. And as he did so, to his great surprise he felt his own large fingers tighten around hers.

“Stan!! Grunkle Stan! He heard me, I know he did! Look, our hands are even hugging now!”

“She’s right, he’s definitely conscious!” Dipper said.

He almost chuckled at their hope-filled enthusiasm, but to his ears it sounded more like a deep, pained rumble. Mabel “hugged” his hand again.

“Ooh! I know how to communicate,” she exclaimed suddenly. “We can play a game! Uh- hug my hand twice if you can hear us! Hug three times if you love me and Dipper and your brother a whole, whole, bunch! Hug four ti-”

“All right, ya’ little gremlin,” Stanley said, gently pulling her away, “let’s not overload my poor brother’s brain, y'hear? It’s been a long thirty years, and he might not remember how to speak anymore. He needs time to adjust. We… all do.”

Ford’s mind nearly vibrated with frustration. Every neuron was aflame with sheer awareness, and yet his tongue felt like a swath of thick cotton lining the bottom surface of his mouth, and his eyelids were sealed. Lame from lack of use. However, he refused to concede from this challenge without trying.

When he felt Stan’s hand firmly cusp one of his shoulders, he imagined inclining his neck so he’d be facing his brother. He actively pushed this thought out of his mind and into his body. A stifled gasp arose from the other man, a sure sign that he was doing something right. Ford then focused on the small rings of muscle surrounding the eyes with such an intense fervor that it almost caused his head to ache once again. But then…

A small crescent of brightness suddenly made its way to the man’s optic nerve, almost blocked out entirely by the web of his tangled eyelashes. Not surprisingly, that tiny amount of light proved nearly enough to overload his senses. His head pounded and he fought against the temptation to let his eyes fall shut again, instead allowing the crescent to slowly grow larger, muscles minutely twitching at the sudden strain.

His brother and the children were suddenly all talking at once, their encouragements and surprise and sheer joy overlapping each others’ so much that he could barely derive meaning out of their words.

As he adjusted to the light flooding his system with color and texture and a myriad of brand new stimuli, someone flung themselves onto the bed with nothing less than complete enthusiasm. Mabel- brunette, wavy haired, button nosed Mabel- beamed at him with slightly crooked teeth, hollering to anyone in the vicinity that he was awake and conscious. Dipper— the splitting image of his sister— laughed as he laid a hand on his shoulder, his face lighting up with sheer joy. Ford found himself almost overwhelmed in the moment because he’d never seen the children for real, with his own eyes and yet here they were in front of him, laughing and hugging him and surrounding him with so much… love.

Love. So that was it. Initially, the conditions of the curse seemed quite clear— they were all to remain in those enchanted forms until the day came that Stan and he stopped fighting and learned to love one another, and another came to love them. Bitterly, he questioned for years how anyone could possibly develop feelings for either of them, but perhaps he didn’t understand these conditions as well as he assumed at all. All along he interpreted ‘love’ as something purely romantic, but he was wrong.

Dipper and Mabel were his answer. Together, their love— childlike, familial, and pure— released him from his prison. It saved an entire castle. Most importantly, it saved his brother.

“Sixer…”

Slowly but with growing confidence, Ford turned his head towards Stanley. His eyes grew wet as he met his twin’s face, unmistakably weathered, wrinkled, and grey from the choppy tides of the past thirty years, but still everything he remembered. In an instant, his brother wrapped his sturdy arms entirely around his body, nestling his chin into the crook of his neck. And after a short moment… he felt something warm and wet against his shoulder. Stanley’s sobs were stifled— quiet— but they were there.

The tears that threatened to spill from his own eyes gave up on their resolve. They streamed down his cheeks freely, unbridled by emotional restraint or the cruel limits of his old enchanted form. He felt his breath hitch, his lungs expand and contract rapidly, as he too began to weep.

No words were needed between them to know they were forgiven and loved.

Through his tears Ford saw the two children wrap their small arms around them both. He saw Soos and Wendy, their butler and caretaker- no, their long-time friends- rush into the room with nothing short of elation.

I’m human, he thought breathlessly. I’m human! Finally human. I’m safe, I’m alive, I’m-

I’m loved.

[call-me-velvet-thunder]

Bellarke One Shot - Post 4x02

{This is written in second person from Clarke's perspective, the night after she gave her speech in 4x02. I basically wanted to write a xreader with Bellamy but without having to introduce the reader as a new character... Also Bellarke is too real... + I'm on the mobile app, so instead of italics, I have used '/.../'} Dedicated to @sun-breath I love fangirling with you 😁 - You stare up at the ceiling restlessly, head swimming with images of the people you just lied to. In your room which contains nothing more than a bed and a bench, you feel pressed in; suffocated. You squeeze your eyes shut to block the people out of your mind and stay that way until your controlling conciousness loses it's battle and gives way to sleep. "Clarke..." ALIE's emotionless voice reverberates inside your head, it has an an amost painful, ghostlike ring to it that causes you to jerk upwards so that you're sitting. You're outside, though you don't remember walking there, slumped on the hard packed dust in Arkadia.  "Clarke, don't." ALIE's voice comes from inside your head, and you know this, but you still spin around, looking for the cause of the risen hairs on the nape of your neck. In the distance you spot a figure, sprawled on the ground, unmoving. You rub your eyes, still feeling the weight of sleep, before pushing your legs forward in a half-run.  The closer you get to the figure, the more your heart begins to push against your chest. The lines that draw together on the face of the fallen victim are familiar. Too familiar, too much like home to be written on a corpse. "Mom?" Fire roars in your chest, spreading to your throat as you kneel over her. Her body is cold and stiff as you turn her over. A long and deep gash is scored accross her throat. "Mom," Your voice only comes out in a hoarse whisper, then softens, "no." "Clarke..." Bellamy's voice comes from behind you. You're confused by its tone, it's as though he can't even see Abby's corpse.  You turn, vision obscured by tears.  Bellamy stands paralysed, a long, sharp blade pressed against his throat. Your eyes follow the length of the blade, to Echo, who looks you directly in the eye with a cold, emotionless menace.  "Take the chip Clarke," Echo says in ALIE's voice.  "Please don't hurt him," you say, reeling back at the sound of your own voice. Cold, emotionless, ALIE. You squeeze your eyes shut in panic, and when you open them Echo is gone, but Bellamy still stands with a knife to his throat. ALIE, who now weilds the knife, rips it sideways, driving it deep into Bellamy's throat. He makes a panicked grunt before the life vanishes from his eyes.  Agony colder than ice rages through your body, you collapse to your knees, screaming, overwhelmed with shock and panic and grief.  You jerk upwards again, only this time in your room, tangled in sweaty blankets. Your throat is raw and stinging and your cheeks are clammy with tears.  Heart racing, you rip the blankets off your body and stumble to your feet, the image of Bellamy's dead eyes burning your memory. The image of your mothers corpse sitting, cold in your stomach.  You have to make sure it wasn't real. You have to see Bellamy, you have to look into his eyes and see their usual warmth, their usual soft glow.  You push the door open and almost blindly run down the hall to his room. The moment you reach his door, you push it open, careless of the fact that it's the middle of the night.  His room has a window that casts soft moonlight into the darkness. The door slips shut behind you with a soft thud, but its enough to make Bellamy sit up. You can barely see him, but his silhouette shows signs of a confused, sleepy stupor.  "Clarke?"he asks, his voice rough but his tone concerned. Suddenly the room is filled with light as Bellamy flicks his lamp on. Your heart, which has continued to race beneath your ribcage since you woke up, is soothed by sudden relief. Even in his confused and tired state, you can see the glint in Bellamy's eyes, proving there is life behind them.  The exhausion from the nightmare hits you in a wave of uncontrollable sobs and you drop to your knees. The metal floor is freezing against your bare legs, though thats not why you're shaking. Hot tears drip hastily onto your cheeks and the floor. Your Mom and Bellamy are the two people who you need, whose loss would send you into a state void of life. Bellamy's panicked gasp replays itself in your mind as the memory of the dream begins to properly form. You're no longer mindlessly searching for proof that it was a dream, but the torment  of tonight takes many forms. Now, you have to live with the shadow of your worst fears sitting behind your eyes. You jump when calloused, but gentle hands brush over your shoulders. Bellamy has gotten out of bed and is wrapping his strong, warm arms around you. The stark contrast of his body heat and the freezing air makes you remember that you had stripped down to a singlet and your underwear before getting into bed. The cold, however, has no effect on your face which begins to burn. Bellamy doesn't seem to care that you're almost naked, he pulls you against his body and brushes your hair back from your eyes.  The tears slow and you take a deep, careful breath, focusing on the sound of Bellamy's heart, which beats a little too quickly beneath your head. He slowly runs his fingers through your hair before resting his chin atop your head. He is warm and safe, and despite coming down from your nightmare, soft tendrils of happiness weave slowly around your heart. After a few minutes of peace, of feeling your heart beat gradually shift from painful thudding to gentle fluttering, Bellamy speaks again. "Can you stand?" His voice is still rough from sleep, but its so warm and nice, "it's isn't a good idea to stay here on the floor." You nod against his chest and he stands, before leaning down to help you up.  You wonder, as he looks at you, what tonight must have looked like for him; being woken suddenly as you burst into his room and collapse in a heap on the floor without saying a word.  He looks away suddenly, blushing upon realising his gaze had lingered a little too long. Eyes still averted, he pulls off his t-shirt. Your heart jolts and you catch your breath on the edge of a gasp before he reaches his arm out, handing you the shirt. You look down, remembering your lack of clothing and blush again.  Taking the shirt, you try not to look too much at Bellamy, aware that weeks of fighting has not left him unfit.  /its just Bellamy/ You slip the shirt on and offer him a small smile, which he returns, eyes sparkling. You never want to see his eyes without life in them. /was it ever JUST Bellamy?/ He walks over to his bed and sits on the edge, silently gesturing for you to sit with him.  "You want to tell my why you burst into my room in the middle of the night?" He says with a smirk. You're glad he isn't angry about being woken.  You look up into his eyes. He is so gentle looking in this light, so caring and empathetic and you just /know/ like you always have, that you can trust him. "I had a nightmare" your throat closes as you force its memory to stay out of your mind. "Must have been pretty bad" "Yeah" "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I know what it's like," he says softly, sliding his arm accros your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. You rest your head against his chest, which is now bare, and he scrunches his shirt in his hand on your shoulder. His skin is hot, despite the temperature of the room, and his heart rate still seems quite fast.  "Are you feeling alright Bellamy?" You ask, getting concerned, "you seem like you might have a fever." "What do you mean?" "Your skin is hot and..." you stop yourself, realising that maybe for once, Mr Confidence could simply be flustered. You look up into his eyes, his reddened cheeks. Your eyes catch on his lips for a moment before returning your head to his chest. "If you don't feel sick then you're peobably fine," you say. Your stomach tightens as you remember the way he was looking at you before. If you hadn't been in such a panic, maybe you would have gotten flustered too, at the way he looks without a shirt. You're acutely aware of the way Bellamy Blake makes you feel,has always made you feel. But it's Bellamy, you need him alive, not dead like the others that made your heart race.  Like his is now. He stays quiet. Maybe he's uncomfortable or maybe he's just thinking.  You look over at the clock on his nightstand, which reads 2:20AM.  "I should let you sleep," you say, returning your gaze to his eyes. The corners of his mouth tilt upward, "I'm okay Clarke, really." "I know you haven't been sleeping that well lately..." you pause, hoping you don't sound like a stalker, "nobody has." He holds your gaze and for a moment you feel as though you could look into his eyes forever. The person you see in those eyes means the world to you. He's the only one who understands what its like to make the decisions you've had to make.  "You could stay here, if you like." You immediately feel your heart rate quicken. "Its okay, I'll sleep on the floor," he adds. "The floor's freezing Bellamy." "Well I don't want you to be alone, not after a nightmare like that." You look down at his bed, just big enough for two people, but only if they're pressed together. Part of you longs to fall asleep with his arms around you. He makes you feel safe and warm, he makes you feel happy. /But what if he gets the wrong idea?/ As much as you want to get close to him, you know the risk of losing another person you love would drive you over the edge you're already teetering on.  As you return your eyes to his, however, you realise it may be already too late to reserve your feelings. You need him. You /love/ him.  He is your home, your family, your best friend. You move back on his bed and lift your legs onto the mattress, sliding around so you lie on the far side, against the wall. Bellamy goes to stand up but you catch his arm. "You can fit on here." The emotion in his eyes is so intense that you can't look away, but he does. He looks at his feet, almost like he is embarrassed, but without another word, he lies down next to you. His head turns so he faces you, brown curls almost reaching his eyes. "Feeling any better?" "Yeah. Thanks." He nods a little, flicking the lamp off. You can't help but notice the way the moonlight catches on his skin, highlighting the muscles of his still-shirtless body. A long scar reaches from his shoulder, running alongside his collarbone before curving downward. It looks like the wound was from a sword. Without thinking, you reach over to lightly trace it with your fingers, only realising what you're doing when his body freezes at your touch. You can feel his pulse beneath your fingers, and his breathing is so short it's like he is panicked.  "Sorry, I..." you shrink back a little, pulling your hand away, but he catches it in his. Turning on his side, he entwines his fingers with yours, draping his arm over you so he can pull you close to him. You turn so that his body fits closely around yours and you can feel the heat from his breath on your neck. His heart still races, only slowing gradually, but you notice that your heartrate matches his. In the moment, so much of you wants to turn around and kiss him, to hold his face in your hands, feel his lips against yours, but your afraid of where that might lead and what that would mean. He's just so warm and close and you can barely process his response to being close to you. He's nervous, maybe even afraid like you, but there's more to it. Its as though you both know that in another life you'd have been together for a long time by now. That nagging tightness in your stomach when you're around him, the way you can't pull your eyes from his lips, those signs would have convinced the old you in seconds. And then there's who he is as a person. You've never known someone so protective and strong, yet capable of tenderness and gentleness. Someone so smart and so powerful. His body has relaxed against yours and his breathing has become steady and rhythmic. You can't actually believe that you ended up here, with your closest friend pressed up against you, fast asleep.  You match his breathing until you relax too, until the world blurrs and fades. You wake to the sound of voices outside Bellamy's window. The thin curtain does nothing to obscure the sharp sunlight streaming through. Bellamy still sleeps soundly, still pressed against you, however one of his legs somehow ended up on top of yours. He's so warm and peaceful, it's good to see him getting this rest. Its hard to tell how often he sleeps, but you assume, from the way his head usually droops and his eyes are shadowed that it's not often. You tuck your head back into your shoulder and stare at the wall.  /I won't regret this will I? It doesn't really change anything... does it?/ The voices outside the window return, work for the day seems to have started. Since your speech, Raven has had no trouble getting people motivated. Bellamy starts to shift behind you. He moves his hand, which had remained on your side, to rub the sleep from his eyes. Suddenly, he moves his leg off yours. "Sorry..." he mutters. "Don't worry," you turn to look at him, "sleep well?" "Yeah, actually," he half smiles, sitting up. You sit up aswell pulling your hair into a ponytail, "do you think people will ask questions when they see me leaving your room this morning?" "Hopefully they won't see you,"he says casually, though the morning light doesn't do him any favours in hiding the blush on his cheeks. He looks so cute, with his hair somehow more ruffled than normal and the slightly awkward look he has on his face. You smile at him reassuringly, which causes him to smile back, eyes doing their trademark sparkle.  "Thank you," you say softly, "for being there for me."  His smile softens to something more personal, and he reaches out to brush the stray hair from your face. His hand lingers for a second as he looks into your eyes. You reach up and plant a kiss on his forehead, and when you meet his eyes again you feel like you might start crying or just explode because there is so much emotion there, so much humanity. "I should go." He nods, getting up so you don't have to climb over him. His shirt hangs down a few inches above your knees, the sleeves pretty much at your elbows. You notice him smirking at you when you look up. "Suits you." Part of you wants to make a joke about his bare chest suiting him, but you hold it back, giving him an entertained smile instead.  "Do you have a shirt for yourself?"  "In the laundry" You almost laugh at the fact the he really doesn't own many items of clothing. It's not likely for people to these days, but two shirts? /two?/ You consider giving him back the shirt you're wearing, but making your way back to your room in your underwear, when people are around, just doesn't seem like a good idea.  Before turning to leave, you thank Bellamy again, trying not to get lost in his eyes. He moves closer to you, and as usual, simply being close to him causes your heartrate to rise. You feel tension around him, like the air is hotter and its hard to breathe, but at the same time you feel more alive than anywhere else.  "I... uh..." he pauses, you have no idea where he's going with this. "What?" "I felt something. Last night," he looks as though he doesn't want to admit what he's saying, but maybe keeping it to himself is too hard. "It wasn't unfamiliar but... it felt more real than usual." Part of you wishes you could say you have no idea what he's talking about, part of you wishes you were back in bed, snuggled up to him. You nod a little, speechless in the moment. He has somehow moved closer to you, like always, like its more natural for you to be almost touching.  In a swift, confident move, he leans down and kisses you. His lips are soft and his hands graze your back as he wraps his arms around you. Your run your hand accross his chest, moving from where you can feel his heart (which is racing again), up to where your fingers slide into his curls.  You don't even know what's happening, your brain has no hope of processing the fact that yesterday you were so afraid of your feelings for  Bellamy, yet today... So much has changed. And it all feels natural, the shift from seeing him as a friend to seeing him as something more.  Maybe there was less of a shift than you had anticipated. He pulls his lips from yours, resting against your forehead, breathing slowly.  More and more people are stirring, you know you'll have to move quick or someone will see you in Bellamy's shirt in the hallway. You're not sure why, but what has changed between you two, feels like it should stay between you two. Atleast for now.  "I really have to go," you almost whisper, "I'll get dressed then bring you back your shirt." He straightens up and steps back, nodding. You listen for the hallway to be empty before slipping out the door. Its cold outside of Bellamy's room, the metal floor bites into your feet. Your room is only a couple of meters from his. You quickly check over your shoulder once you reach the door, jumping when you notice someone has seen you.  Harper is standing a few meters away, frozen in confusion, but with a smirk growing on her face. You give a small, embarrassed smile before opening your door and stepping into the safety of your room. You feel heat in your cheeks and hope that maybe you can catch Harper later and ask her politely to keep her mouth shut.  You strip off Bellamy's shirt and get dressed in your own clothes, wishing silently that they smelled of him like his shirt. Maybe one day they will.

[reynardiine]

I wanted to share some book samples, from all the stories I’ve officially started:

TRANSFIGURE ( published & available via amazon )

          The walls of the kitchen pushed outward, wooden benches spreading out on either side of us. Archways and chandeliers and a great glass window formed in the rusted metal and rotting wood. The church to which Kane and I fled proceeding the suiting ceremony took the place of the Brotherhood’s kitchen. It was different from what I remembered, the shadows now filled with a blinding light. The boards placed over the windows were gone, the coat of dust on every open space was cleaned off, and the air filled with a neutral aroma that brought me a drowsy kind of calm.

         In the spit, a man stood, his hands waving vehemently about him. He told a story using words I could hardly make out. He held up a book, a bible. The pews were filled with people shouting praises, agreeing with a single word and the nod of their heads. Hands raised to the ceiling as they grasped for something which was not there.

         “All that began believes in an end.”

         Between the two columns of seats, Talbot walked one foot lined perfectly in front of the other. He stood no closer to either side, but both hands stayed outstretched to the people. Every other step, one of those grasping hands would find his, squeeze tightly, and drop to their hearts or their laps, heads bowed in acceptance.

         “You may find it familiar. Apollyon, the destroyer, perhaps Azrael, hm? Samael, Hel, San La Muerte, Osiris. The Grim Reaper himself — The names are endless, yet it is the only thing on which the human race seems to agree.” When he reached the end of the aisle, he took his first step toward the man ahead. “Life is a privilege granted to few. Death is the only promise given to all.” With each slow stride up the stairs, the man standing behind the podium grew weaker, giving in to an ailment that outwardly resembled age. A slow descent began for the priest as Talbot rose higher.

         When he reached the same level as the man, he took his hand. Even when the man fell at his feet, Talbot stood tall.

         “Save me,” the priest pleaded, eyes wide with something that was neither fear nor sadness. They beheld something I might never understand. He greeted Talbot as an old friend, a chance at well-deserved rest, his path home.

         Talbot’s head bowed.

         He knelt before the man.

         Whispered something in his strange language.

         Astounded and horrified at once, I watched as the man sank to the floor. A smile was on his lips. Before it could reach them, the light in his eyes dimmed.

         “What have you done?” I demanded, a shout that came out muffled in the open air.

         Heads tilted around me, but not one turned my way. Even Talbot seemed preoccupied. He leaned down and lifted the man from the ground effortlessly. A wooden box rose from the ground behind them. The attention to detail was incredible. Tiny swirls of leaves and flowers lined the upper brim, and the inside was covered in what looked like velvet. Gently, Talbot lay the man inside and closed the lower half of the lid.

         With his head still bowed, he answered me. “I have kept my promise.”

CRUCIFY ( wip )

          Howls sounded to the North. Dogs, logic guessed. 

         No, my heart pounded in return.

         The curtain of a hut pulled open, spilling weak light into an eager darkness. A boy of no more than nine stepped out. The candle in his hand only served to blind himself out here. My focus snapped to the glowing halo at his bare feet. He took another tender step forward, and my hand fell to the pistol at my side.

         I liked to think that part of me called out and asked if everything was okay. Whatever did make it into the space between us did nothing to catch his attention. He stepped forward, slowly at first. Another howl broke from woods. Couldn’t have been a dog; it was too sentient, both unsettlingly human and otherworldly.

          His next few steps came a bit more hurried. Panic flushed his cheeks. “Mom?” he called out, his tiny voice bouncing back from the wood. “Mom, is that you?”

          For a moment, everything stood still. The boy, his candle held high above his head, waited anxiously for a response. Then, his shoulders lowered, his chest fell back into its natural breathing patterns, and he smiled.

          “I thought you were gone for good,” he told the night.

          Shadows pressed in all around; even his candle seemed to struggle against its cover. The flame was suffocating, dwindling more as the boy moved farther from his home. He dropped it, and the wax snapped in half against the carpets. The flame should have caught. Instead, it dwindled there, giving a final sigh as it blinked out. With all these guards pacing the camp’s border, someone else should have seen this.

          In the pitch of dusk, from this distance, the trees weren’t much more than a dream. There was no definition between them. No beginning, no end. In every direction, they gave the illusion that we were hopelessly barracaded inside. 

          Amid that apprehension, it showed itself. The celestial glow made it difficult to miss against the sylvan wall. With a slender torso made of bare, pulsing organs, its deer-like skull scarcely supported itself on the fragile bones of its neck. There were no legs to speak of, nor bones to support its floating insides. Its ribs were built with hundreds of tendrils that sprouted from its head, woven round and round the creature’s body as a crude fix. Between its broken jaws lay what looked to be the teeth of a piranha. Where a set of antlers should have been, two open pipes protruded to match the third in the center of its brow, and a black haze poured out. 

          One hand, its fingers a tangle of veins and vine and bone and steel, extended toward the boy in a gentle wave to follow, then hovered. Likely an invitation to hold on. 

          Another desperate, “Mother,” wafted toward it. 

REYNARDINE ( working title / wip )

          The news still ran the pictures a year after his disappearance.

          Dad didn’t like that. He said it was something like Zeddex poking the body of that deer he had dragged out of the bayou last week.

          “They keep at this, the whole thing’s gonna bust wide open, and we’ll be stuck with the stink,” he would announce for anyone passing through the den. He never did turn it off. If anything, the television stayed on just to get another look at the kid — brown hair and grey eyes, just like the child playing with a bucket of chipped up two-by-fours by the coffee table. The only thing setting the two apart was a twelve-month age gap.

          Stories ran nationwide for the past week, deeming this very night with monumental importance. “Today marks the tragic anniversary of the Shaddix murders,” the anchor whose name the boy could only comprehend as Carrie-Bo passed on to her audience. She wasn’t that interesting, aside from the globed shape of her hair. “One year ago, parents, Stephen and Catherine; their eight-year-old son, James; and their four-year-old daughter, Michelle were found unresponsive in their home in Ashford, Alabama. Michelle’s twin brother, Thomas, was never found.”

          With the end of the statement, the boy’s picture took up the screen again. In it, Thomas smiled proudly as he showed off the Barbie he’d stolen from his sister not minutes before. That was when another abrupt grunt came from Dad, followed by the heavy thump as his boots shifted against the edge of the table.

          His son’s head lifted only slightly with the smallest laugh, his eyes never moving from his tower of blocks. “That’s my name,” he told it. No one else would listen to him anyway.

          “Yep.” The word was drawn out around an exhale of complacency. “You and your brothers ain’t allowed in town for a while.”

BILGEWATER ( working title / wip )

          They pull this shit all the time, for one reason or another. Last week, it was a faulty tail light. Weird, since the thing was working both before and after the encounter. Last month, it was for the El Camino’s lift kit. Texas law might not have a problem with it, but these guys sure as shit do. 

          Now it’s because his pipes are too loud. Alright, he’ll give them that one. But everyone knows the only reason Finn’s been stopped is so the fuzz can get a better look at that uglyass car.

         “So’s ‘is gonna take much longer, man? ‘Cause I got ‘mportant places to do and people to be, if ‘at’s cool with you.” He thinks it’s hilarious, but highway patrol’s a bitch no matter how big a comedian you think you are. Doesn’t get so much as half a grin out of that one, just the delayed turn and an agonizingly slow saunter back to the paddywagon. It’s been the same guy five times now. Surely, Finn and Officer Wright are on better terms than this.

         There’s not much time to question it. Finn doesn’t even have to answer his phone to know what Walker’s about to say.

          Why the fuck are you always late, boy?

          Maybe if he’d put in a good word with Amarillo PD, they wouldn’t have this problem, but good luck convincing him that’s even a problem. Well, if Walker won’t take Finn’s word for it, he’ll just have to show him. With the pedal floored, those BFGoodrich tires throw out enough gravel to crack the car’s windshield in three places. And only when he’s got a half mile head start does he take Walker’s call.

         “Goddamn, Gramps. I’m right around the fuckin’ corner, alright. I’ll be there before — What? Nah, that ain’t a siren. I’m just bringin’ over a few friends."

FISHER ( working title / wip )

          “Two — two packs,” he stammered over the dull hum of the A/C. His voice sounded wrong, but he hadn’t spoken in nearly a week, save for the infrequent mutterings to himself over how wrong the estimated heating time was on the average frozen meal. 

          The woman on the other side of the counter didn’t seem to notice.

          Doris noticed everything.

          It had to be in his head.

          Yeah — In his head, you know, like the fourth hack on his server in three weeks had to be. Like that Escalade he caught parked nearby every time he opened his shutters. Like the odd tone on the other end of every phone call he had tried to make. He was just paranoid; it ran in the family. Yeah, that’s all it was. Had to be.

          He was more jittery than usual. That was saying a lot, considering the way his hands used to shake in high school. Teachers reprimanded him for the chicken scratch, said they couldn’t read it, but hey — neither could he. That was why he liked his keyboard. Kept his hands busy and came out right no matter what.

          But how long would it be, now, before that was taken away? The feds were getting wise, took down a couple of affiliates already, and what would happen when they caught the elusive Fisher?

          A man rounded the corner and said something that didn’t quite catch at first. He glazed over it, ignored it, tried to buy the cigarettes and move on; but the man repeated himself: “William Fisher?” 

          Will gave a wordless nod.

          A second man rounded the corner just to yank him away from the register, spilling all those rights the land of the free, home of the brave had to offer. Weird. He always thought he would fight the day they slapped cuffs on him.

[gazihsah]

A E S T H E T I C - G’azih Sah

[ COLOR ]  red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. royal purple. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. magenta. pastels. bubblegum pink. blood red. ivory. sky blue.

[ ELEMENTAL ] fire. ice. water. air.  earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. day. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. clouds. light. smoke. umbra. penumbra. char. darkness. ash.

[ BODY ]  claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. ears. wounds. burns. spikes. sweat. tears. feline. permanent wounds. chubby. curvy. short. tall. medium height. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak. birdlike. shapeshifting. junoesque. svelte. medium length hair. short hair. dark circles. big. voluptuous. small. prosthetic. experimented. cyborg. halos. horns. wolfish. effeminate. frightening. ethereal. angelic. demonic. metallic. angular. scales. barbs. vertebrae. tendrils. tentacles. sharp. soft. unusual. shapely. unnatural. disproportionate. spindly. monstrous.  

[ WEAPONRY ]  fists. swords. daggers. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. power loader. flamethrower. metal rods. shotguns. needles. prowess. ability. instinct. bloodthirst. supernatural. inhuman. talons. speed. agility. cunning. reflexes. talons. biomech tendrils.

[ MATERIALS ]  gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. copper. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. yarn. slime. ivory. aether. crystal. dark matter. lapis lazuli. adamantite. wootz. brass. lamé. guipé. bone. moonstone. metalloids. alloys. ceramic. alabaster. marble. aluminum. bismuth. bronze. polonium. chrome. osmium. sand.

[ NATURE/ENVIRONMENT ]  grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses.  daisies. tulips. holly. lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. sunflowers. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. snow. ice. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. swamp. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. stars. clouds. mountains. fungi. cliffs. sunlight. moonlight. darkness. wasteland. void.

[ ANIMALS/CREATURES ] lions. wolves. black panther. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. roaches. tarantulas. scarabs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantis. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dinosaurs. dragons. felines. foxes. centaurs. antelope. chimeras. demons. angels. parakeets. harpy eagles. seagulls. warblers. birds of paradise. parrots. toucans. crows. ravens. orioles. cobras. black mambas.

[ FOOD/DRINK ] sugar. salt. water. candy. bubblegum. wine. milk. champagne. hard liquor (whiskey in particular). beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. cake. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. steak. burgers. burritos. pizza. vanilla. cookies. chocolate. tiramisu. cheesecake. sushi. tempura. rice. pasta. garlic. bread. muffins. noodles.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. piercing. watercolors. gardening. knitting. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. murder. fighting. fencing. riding. flying. writing. composing. wood-working. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. tinkering. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. poetry. philosophy. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. organ. violin. cello. guitar. electronic guitar.  bass guitar. harmonica. synthesizers. harp. woodwinds. brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. tree climbing. running. vivisection. reading. learning. lecturing. teaching. torment. tracking.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. robes. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. shorts. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. pantyhose. stockings. thigh highs. eyepatch. collar. bangle. torque. gorget. bracers. cuffs. body jewelry. crop tops. leather sandals. bare foot.

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. diligence. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photosmirrors. pets. journal. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. realism. misanthropy. loneliness. anger. family. synthetic. friends. assistants. co-workers. plushies. enemies. lovers. loyalty. smoking. alcohol. drugs. kindness. love. embracing. magitek. futuristic. ancient. science. voidsent. cruelty. trust. mistrust. strength. doubt. reverence. ferocity. danger. automatons. metallic. allure. value. intelligent. revolutionary. defiant. advanced. engines. naïve. temporary. changing. split personality. paradigm shift. freedom. belief. regret.

Tagged by: @etro-ascalon

[detectivekoko]

Word Association: Kokoto Koto

BOLD what applies to your muse.

Remember to REPOST. Feel free to add to the list!

[ COLOR ]  red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte.  royal blue. royal purple. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. magenta. pastels. bubblegum pink. blood red. ivory. sky blue.

[ ELEMENTAL ] fire. ice. water. air.  earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. day. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. clouds. light. smoke. umbra. penumbra. char. darkness. ash.

[ BODY ]  claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings (usually not visible). tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. (pointed) ears. wounds. burns. spikes. sweat.  tears. feline. permanent wounds. chubby. curvy. (fairly) short. tall. height. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak. birdlike. shapeshifting. junoesque. svelte. long hair. short hair. dark circles. big. voluptuous. small. prosthetic. experimented. cyborg. halos. horns. wolfish. effeminate. frightening. ethereal. angelic. demonic. metallic. angular. scales. barbs. vertebrae. tendrils. tentacles. sharp. soft. unusual. shapely. unnatural. disproportionate. spindly. monstrous. mutated.

[ WEAPONRY ]  fists. swords. daggers. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. power loader. flamethrower. metal rods. shotguns. needles. prowess. ability. instinct. bloodthirst. supernatural. inhuman. talons. speed. agility. cunning. reflexes. talons. biomech tendrils. greatsword. staves.

[ MATERIALS ]  gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds.  pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. copper. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. yarn. slime. ivory. aether. crystal. dark matter. lapis lazuli. adamantite. wootz. brass. lamé. guipé. bone. moonstone. metalloids. alloys. ceramic. alabaster. marble. aluminum. bismuth. bronze. polonium. chrome. osmium. sand.

[ NATURE/EVINRONMENT ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses.  daisies. tulips. holly. lavender. chrysanthemum. spider lilies. lilies. petals. thorns. sunflowers. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. snow. ice. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest.  swamp. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. stars. clouds. mountains. fungi. cliffs. sunlight. moonlight. darkness. wasteland. void.

[ ANIMALS/CREATURES ] lions. wolves. black panther. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. roaches. tarantulas. scarabs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantis. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dinosaurs. dragons. felines. foxes. centaurs. antelope. chimeras. demons. angels. parakeets. harpy eagles. seagulls. warblers. birds of paradise. parrots. toucans. orioles. cobras. black mambas.

[ FOOD/DRINK ] sugar. salt. water. candy. bubblegum. wine. milk. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. potato. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. steak. burgers. burritos. pizza. vanilla. cookies. cake. chocolate. tiramisu. cheesecake. sushi. tempura. pasta. cookies. garlic. bread. noodles.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. piercing. watercolors. gardening. knitting. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching.  murder. fighting. fencing. riding. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. tinkering. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. poetry. philosophy. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. organ. violin. cello. guitar. electronic guitar.  bass guitar. harmonica. synthesizers. harp. woodwinds.  brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. tree climbing. running. vivisection. reading. learning. lecturing. teaching. torment. tracking.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. robes. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. shorts. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet.  helmet. scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. belt. trench coats. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. pantyhose. stockings. thigh highs. eyepatch. collar. bangle. torque. gorget. bracers. cuffs. body jewelry. crop tops.

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. diligence. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photosmirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. realism. misanthropy. loneliness. anger. family. synthetic. friends. assistants. co-workers. plushies. enemies. lovers. loyalty. smoking. alcohol. drugs. kindness. love. embracing. magitek. futuristic. ancient. science.  voidsent. cruelty. trust. mistrust. strength. doubt. reverence. ferocity. danger. automatons. metallic. allure. value. intelligent. revolutionary. defiant. advanced. engines. naïve. temporary. changing. split personality. paradigm shift. freedom. belief.

Saw this on @kreepykeeper​. Had some fun with it. c: Feel free to do it (and tag me because I honestly like reading these).

[storiesofwildfire]

What are your muse’s aesthetics?

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to REPOST! Feel free to add to the list!

Tagged by: @knightbeyondvoidandveil

Tagging: @raidstombs @weightofmyshield @wasacoyote @bornofbloodandwater @lxvingdeadgxrl @exit-stage-crowley @ofcharredbones and whoever else would like to do this

[ COLORS ]

red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green.

[ ELEMENTS ]

fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

[ BODY ]

claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short (for a frost giant). tall. normal height. muscular. beards. piercings. tattoos. tendrils.

[ WEAPONS ]

fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips.knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staves.wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls.kitchenware.

[ MATERIALS ]

gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.

[ NATURE ]

grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. pansies. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains.

[ ANIMALS ]

lions. wolves. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. foxes. bunnies. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasi. dragons. rats. doves.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ]

sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. vodka. hard liquor. beer. ale. cider. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. ambrosia. soup. cheese. meat pie.

[ HOBBIES ]

music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. cello. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. running. parkour. spinning. walking. magic.

[ STYLE ]

lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring(s). pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. cane. suit. leather pants.

[ MISC ]

balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. dreaming. nightmares. daydreaming.