#this is specifically about floral fury

[kirigaya-art]

I forgot how fucking hard the cuphead soundtrack goes

[elrielsgarden]

Elain Archeron’s Dresser Drawer Through the ACOTAR Series

Each time the dresser Feyre painted for each of the three Archeron sisters is mentioned in the A Court of Thorns and Roses series, the descriptors for Elain’s drawer design changes slightly. The floral motif remains constant, but the specifics change every time, even in Feyre’s own descriptions.

This is of particular interest because SJM is remarkably talented at tracking and consistency when it comes to things like this. So, what are the descriptions of Elain’s dresser drawer, and what is the possible significance of this?

In A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre introduces the dresser to the fandom with these words about Elain’s drawer design:

Roses frequently symbolize love and beauty, which is beings to mind what Nesta recalls Mama Archeron saying in A Court of Silver Flames:

This quote also heavily foreshadows both sisters’ romance storiea, but besides that the words love and beauty are used side-by-side. Additionally, Papa Archeron carved a wooden rose for Elain.

Violets can symbolize love and innocence, and these flower choices, whether we know the symbolism or not, provide readers a certain sense of who Elain Archeron is: she is beautiful, delicate, and romantically inclined. For the story right now, this is all we need to know about Elain. Her storyline is in the very beginning stages, and this is the perfect setup.

In A Court of Mist and Fury Feyre describes the dresser drawers to Rhys; this is when he learns Feyre painted the night sky before ever having met him.

Roses are mentioned again, as are begonias and irises. The significance of these flowers lies in the fact that there are more described. We get more detail, just as we are slowly learning more about Elain. Irises also symbolize faith, courage, valor, hope, and wisdom—all of which we see in Elain’s character as the series progresses.

No mention of the dresser drawers appears in A Court of Wings and Ruin, but Elain bakes Feyre a birthday cake that she asks Nuala to help decorate in the design of the sisters’ dresser. This takes place in A Court of Frost and Starlight.

Besides “flowers” we don’t know what designs were on this tier of the cake, but the crucial aspect of this scene is that Elain remembered the dresser and saw meaning and significance in it.

Elain’s deep awareness of Feyre’s character really stands out here, as well as her carefully considerate nature, traits we see over and over in Elain. It also shows us that Elain sees herself as these flowers—not just Feyre. Elain, by doing this, states that she is indeed a flower-grower, a gardener.

Lastly, in A Court of Silver Flames, Nesta shows Cassian the Archerons’ cottage, and in his POV he describes Elain’s dresser drawer:

Cassian does not specifically name flowers, but who expects a general to do that? Besides, his focus is on Nesta. However, it is important to note that there are vines on the drawer this time. This calls to mind what SJM said about an experience gardening ivy became heavy research for Elain’s book. And then in this book, vines (of which ivy is a type) are used to describe Elain’s drawer. Ivy can represent eternity and fidelity, but it is far more likely that the ivy (and the way the plant creeps quietly) alludes to Elain’s possible future journey as a Night Court spy.

In conclusion, the flowers of Elain’s dresser drawer carry an ever-changing, or ever-growing, parallel to her character development as well as possible foreshadowing for a spy plot for Elain. 🌸

[bookishnaturefaerie]

⚠️⚠️SPOILERS⚠️⚠️

A COURT OF MIST AND FURY

Currently reading “A Court of Mist and Fury” and I just made it to the house of mist section so before I get into it, I just want to say I think Feyre is overreacting when she finds out that Rhys knew that they were mates basically the ENTIRE TIME. I’m sorry, but would be fucking worried, crying about my shot down friend (mate?) who’s laying on the ground of a cave, dying of poison. I would’ve been kissing on him the moment he woke up, not telling him to transport us to the camp, and then throwing a hissy fit and storming off and have his cousin transport me to a cabin owned by his family. (somewhere far way)

Also, I now see why everyone hates Tamlin. Rhys probably went through rougher shit (SA, Torture, ect.) but manages to not be an ass like Tamlin is to Feyre. Jerk wasn’t even really helping her at all to learn to read within the 3 or so months she was in Spring court after Under the Mountain. It took Rhysand less than 2 months to learn how to read. She was reading NOVELS! He didn’t even respect her at all! Not her wishes to go outside without guards, the fact he KNOWS Feyre doesn’t like floofy awkward dresses but let another woman make her wear one on their wedding day…

feels like Ianthe was sabotaging everything ngl, especially with the white and red flower choices. She specifically said NO RED. Perfect, Ianthe, choose the bloody looking florals for the PTSD ridden couple. Smart! I also didn’t think she would’ve been trying to take Rhysand to bed, considering she’s a PRIESTESS, but I guess holy Faeries don’t give a damn. Maybe it’s just her, though and not her “sisters”

Rant over for now. I might find something to complain about later. Leave your rants about this book in the comments. Thank you, bye! 💚

[celticbotanart]

*Squid Squidward wide awake meme* ALRIGHT, hear me out - I've been saying for a while how much Witcher 3 reminds me of the Brazilian countriside (more specific Minas Gerais). And ever since I had this madlad dream of a Brazilian Witcher except we called them Bruxeiros (the X here is pronounced like "SH" not like the American "X" - its kind of a meme here, kind of a "literal" PT-BR translation, it's complicated), and they fight Brazilian folklore badass stuff like Boitatá (fucking giant fire snake), Iaras (river mermaids) and un-curse women that became Mula Sem Cabeça (literally headless mules running around with fire coming out their necks). These are all some of our most well-known folklore for real, lol (HIGHLY recommend season 1 of Brazilian Netflix show Invisible City if you wanna see more! It's REALLY good!)

ANYWAY. I was in my kitchen making toast at midnight, when it occured to me. I had A VisionTM. Brazilian Witcher battle music would be like. Floral Fury.

For those unfamiliar, this specific Cuphead theme is 200% oldschool Brazilian samba - yeah the "weird straw-against-plastic-lid" sound is an actual instrument, it's called cuíca lol "Nah, but this is too happy and cheerful", you say. Alright, you are correct, maybe it doesn't fit to be a battle theme for the Bruxeiros. HOW ABOUT SEPULTURA, THEN

SEPULTURA, THE BRAZILIAN METAL BAND, who performed this song as soundtrack for the BR movie "Lisbela e o Prisioneiro" (one of my fucking faves btw), and it the theme song for Frederico Evandro, a character who's ruthless hitman ("Matador").

BRO. IMAGINE. The peaceful and colorfully bucolic countryside of Minas Gerais and you are there fighting a Brazilian Werewolf (cause they are different from the European werewolf, we have several types btw), with THAT playing as battle theme.

Another good contender is Break of Reality's rendition of "As Bachianas n5" by Villa-Lobos (guy was a badass proeminend classical music composer who loved to mix in Brazilian folk elements with the classical music sttuff, pissing off a lot of purists in the process lol, good for him)

"As Bachianas n5" is probably Villas' most famous piece, it's originally a GORGEOUS aria, classically sung in Brazilian Portuguese.

SEVERAL people covered this song, including Sandy from sibling duo Sandy & Junior (they were EXTREMELY POPULAR with kids and teens back in the 90s/early 2000s); also people from all around the world covered it. You get it, it's pretty legit and famous AF.

THEN came Break of Reality a few years ago

with THIS badass cover:

LOOK.

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE VERSIONS OF THIS SONG. I STAN THIS COVER SO HIGH. I LOVE how it is sweet and emotional, but it brings a totally different, new, raw aspect to it that is so strangely fitting to this song (I can't explain, it just is). I can easily imagine this in the Bruxeiro!AU as battle music, even more cause a lot of the og Witcher 3 OST is full of slavic folk music that doesn't even reflect the Battling of Monsters thing - "...Steel For Humans" is like, a song sung by girls on wedding/harvest festivals, lol.

ON THAT NOTE, I think we could end this crazy ass post by including some of the folk / afro-Brazilian culture as well, which is only fair, and add this one, which I LOVE, "Caxangá / Escravos de Jó" by Milton Nascimento (my beloved <3) and folk singer Clementina de Jesus:

Milton is known to sing in high, ethereal vocalizations and extremely emotional lyrics. Guy is just A Fucking Legend fr. If there's a bard in my Bruxeiro!AU it's def Milton, I love his work so so so much! He's also known for mixing up influences from afro-brazilian culture, as you can see in here!

Stay tuned for more posts like this that can happen again at any moment or never again, lol

[shynim]

The Ultimate Guide to Luxury Car Rentals for Weddings in Kerala

When it comes to your wedding day, every detail counts. From the venue to the dress, and of course, the vehicle you arrive in, it's all about making a statement. For couples in Kerala, the idea of arriving in style has never been more accessible, thanks to the growing trend of luxury car rentals for weddings.

Whether you're looking for a vintage car, sports car, or a sleek limousine, renting a luxury car can add an elegant touch to your special day. In this blog, we’ll explore why renting a luxury car for your wedding in Kerala is a must, the top trending cars for weddings, and tips on choosing the best car rental services in the state.

Why Rent a Luxury Car for Your Wedding in Kerala?

1. Unmatched Style and Comfort

A wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and you deserve to experience it in luxury. Luxury car rentals for weddings ensure that the bride and groom make a memorable arrival, leaving everyone in awe. From plush interiors to impeccable design, luxury cars provide a sense of grandeur that standard vehicles simply can’t match.

2. A Grand Entrance

Weddings in Kerala are known for their grandeur and tradition. Arriving in a luxury wedding car adds a cinematic touch, allowing you to feel like royalty. The sight of a beautifully adorned car, accompanied by professional chauffeurs, can create stunning photo opportunities, capturing memories that will last a lifetime.

3. Customizable Packages

Many car rental services offer customizable wedding packages that cater specifically to the needs of couples. Whether you need a decorated luxury car rental, transportation for your bridal party, or a fleet of high-end cars for the guests, rental services in Kerala can create packages that fit your needs and budget.

Trending Luxury Car Models for Weddings in Kerala

Kerala's weddings are filled with opulence, and the right car can make all the difference. Here are some of the trending cars for weddings:

1. Mercedes-Benz S-Class

The epitome of luxury, the Mercedes-Benz S-Class is a favorite choice for couples seeking a luxurious wedding experience. With its stylish design, spacious interior, and smooth ride, it’s a perfect vehicle for the bride and groom to make their grand entrance.

2. BMW 7 Series

For those who prefer something sporty yet sophisticated, the BMW 7 Series is an ideal pick. With its elegant design, advanced technology, and top-tier comfort, it’s a great option for a modern wedding.

3. Audi Q7

For couples who prefer SUVs, the Audi Q7 is a popular choice. Known for its spaciousness, luxury, and powerful performance, it can comfortably accommodate the bride, groom, and family members, ensuring a smooth ride to the wedding venue.

4. Rolls-Royce Phantom

When it comes to ultimate luxury, few cars can compete with the Rolls-Royce Phantom. Its majestic presence, plush interiors, and iconic design make it a perfect fit for an extravagant Kerala wedding.

5. Vintage Cars

Vintage cars like the Chevy Impala, Plymouth Fury, or classic Rolls-Royce models bring a nostalgic and romantic feel to your wedding. These cars are perfect for couples looking for a vintage-style wedding in Kerala, combining history with style.

How to Choose the Best Luxury Car Rental for Wedding

1. Research Rental Services

There are several luxury car rental services in Kerala that specialize in weddings. Search online for "luxury car rental Kerala", "wedding car rental in Kerala", or "rent sports car for wedding Kerala" to find companies offering the best fleet options. Check their websites for reviews, fleet availability, and testimonials from previous customers.

2. Consider Your Wedding Theme

The car should complement your wedding theme. If you are opting for a traditional Kerala wedding with floral decorations, a vintage car may work better. For a modern wedding, sleek luxury sedans like the Mercedes-Benz or BMW might be more appropriate. Ensure that the car fits the aesthetics of your wedding day.

3. Check the Chauffeur Experience

The chauffeur’s role is crucial as they’ll be responsible for making sure everything runs smoothly on the big day. Opt for rental services that provide professional chauffeurs with experience in handling weddings. They should be well-dressed, courteous, and punctual.

4. Review Rental Terms and Conditions

Before making your booking, make sure to review the rental terms and conditions. Check the pricing, insurance policies, cancellation policies, and whether the car comes with any additional services such as decorations, refreshments, or photo opportunities.

Benefits of Renting a Luxury Car for Weddings in Kerala

Stress-Free Travel: Forget about navigating traffic or worrying about the route. With a professional driver, your only job is to relax and enjoy the journey.

Impress Your Guests: Your guests will remember the luxurious vehicle, adding an extra layer of elegance to your wedding.

Photography Opportunities: Luxury cars make for perfect photo backdrops, enhancing the overall aesthetics of your wedding album.

Timeliness: A reputable rental service will ensure that the car arrives on time and adheres to the wedding schedule.

Weddings in Kerala are a blend of tradition, culture, and luxury, and renting a luxury car for the occasion adds the perfect touch of elegance and sophistication. From high-end sedans to vintage classics, the luxury car rental options are abundant. By choosing the right car and rental service, you ensure that your wedding day is as memorable and unique as the love you’re celebrating.

For couples in Kerala planning to rent a luxury car for their wedding, it’s important to book early, consider your wedding theme, and choose a rental service with a proven track record of providing impeccable service. Make your grand entrance in style and set the tone for an unforgettable celebration!

[ayayabaroque]

Tears, Laughter, Sorrow.

corny, pero wla ako mapost e wla akong no choice last march pa 'to sa drafts CW: Angst? mostly none, corny writing, i hate writing esp since i cant think of anything good/this is why i dont post anymore ffs Spoilers for Lantern Rite '23, not sure if i mention anything but yk its just to be safe A/N: i love school, but i went from rank 1 to rank 3 and i absolutely hate everything and everyone im going to cry sorry for not posting anything recently(and ever), and as usual, English isn't my first language, so please don't have any high hopes for this piece. I might go back to completing the Slowly series but im not feeling well since i last went on here to write a serious fic Read utc!

*:･ﾟ✧ Zhongli *:･ﾟ✧ "Would you live to see Liyue's downfall, or always relive the one most painful moment you have felt in your lifetime?" You pause, thinking on an answer to your friend's question. "The latter. Liyue's downfall won't happen for another thousand years, I doubt that any of you would be attending my funeral any time soon." Your friend tears up at the thought. "Right... yeah probably right." "I'm kidding of course! An endless time loop would keep me stressed, I'd rather have you by my side." ... "I'm... relieved? Hey listen, it's getting late, you should be getting home. I'll see you tomorrow." It was unlikely for your friend to suggest to leave this early, but you don't mind, as long as you see them again tomorrow. Then again, it was too tiring to walk home just right now, maybe you could walk around the harbor, after all, you and your friend have been playing by the docks all day, without anything better to do. "I should be getting home back to Zhongli." you mutter. Although cold, the air in Liyue would always smell of various floral scents, specifically the Glaze Lily. You hated Glaze Lilies. There wasn't one word in the dictionary that could describe how much you loathe these cyan-petal, night-blooming lilies as much as you possibly could. Well, truth be told, you hated the person Zhongli associates with these blooms, and it drives you insane. Guizhong, Zhongli's late friend before the Archon War, used to be so close to him. He would return late from his ventures with his friend in tow that he forgets to come home to you every single time. You couldn't really argue with the reasoning he has, since he is more of your superior rather than a lover. It's been so long since he spent time with you without reminiscing about Guizhong, probably a little over your 429th birthday. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention you were old? The more Zhongli leaves you to mourn Guizhong's day of death on your day of birth, you resort to laughter every time he comes home instead. The false joy of seeing him return home after a mournful day which he marks Guizhong's passing, your laughter behind the façade you show for your lover. "How's Guizhong been? Any response yet?" you muse. "I prefer you not adding salt to my wound." "Oh yeah, you guys ended on rather good terms, it would be a shame if I were to slander her in front of her good friend." The statement always seems to make Zhongli seethe with fury, and it looks like he's had enough of your insults and remarks. "A true shame you did not get to know her, or were you busy burning away your lifetime serving false gods?" "You know well better than to bring my past stature into this conversation." It pains you to think about your past, when your parents sold you off to a minor god for wealth, leaving you to rot in the god's hands. "I'm tired, I do not wish to make this into a heated argument. Go to bed." ... "I honestly wish it was you instead of Guizhong, I miss her dearly." That was what made this memory painful, it was what made you cry in the eve, and sob in the morn. In the end, when you were asked the same question years ago, immortality seemed like a dream, now turned into a living nightmare. You only wish to awake from this horrible dream, again, and again, and again. "So... Would you live to see Liyue's downfall, or always relive the one most painful moment you have felt in your lifetime?" The question that would mark another day of the loop, spent in misery and sorrow. The days you've spent celebrating your birth over, and over again. "Happy 7,329th birthday, to me."

[adelaidedrubman]

1,2,3,4 for Jessie for the thematic oc asks :3

thank you lydia, these were really fun to do!!

1. What is the main color associated with them? What connections with that color do they share?

red, naturally. (although to get very specific i tend to use something more borderline on orange, so closer to a blood orange, but ultimately red usually dominates, along with lots of orange and gold. honestly its hard to pick just one for her, but i usually default to red to play off john’s blue motif.) color of blood and fire, equally capable of representing death or life. same for its associations with intense emotions and passions, she is simply filled with burning anger and fury. but also maybe... love?

2. Drawing from the language of flowers, what flower would symbolize them?

i will be honest i know fuck all about flower symbolism and everything cursory google searches seemed to uncover would involve a million contradictory meanings for each flower, so i decided to use the victorian language of flowers and the language of flowers: an alphabet of floral emblems (1857) specifically. anyways i couldn’t decide on one so i built her a full bouquet (from someone).

barberry, meaning sharpness. yellow iris, for flame. hyacinths, representing game and sport. rockets, meaning rivalry. white poppy: my bane, my antidote. and finally, of course, southernwood, which means bantering and jest.

3. What real life animal would they be represented by?

i’m going to have to go with red fox. for the obvious physical associations: a smaller to medium creature, but powerful and vicious, distinctive bright red features, somewhat sleek but decidedly sturdy, almost cutesy appearance but impressively strong and destructive over anything. but also for the intangible aspects, undomesticated and associated with the wilderness, tending to stick to small packs and oftening roaming alone. equally likely to be hunter and hunted, often vulnerable to larger carnivores but ultimately still a predator at core, and an extremely swift and deadly one. and, of course, for the narrative reputation for craftiness, deception, and cleverness above all else. not a force of malicious evil so much as a chaotic trickster, taking great pleasure in outwitting her foes for outwitting’s sake. top ten beasts to be adopted by trendy instagram influencers for her cuddly appearance and have a blast destroying their bougie homes.

4. What mythical creature would they be represented by?

i guess i don’t literally call her story wildfire and center it around themes of destructive but cleansing fire and apocalypse and make her primary form of character growth having to learn how to do the long hard work of healing from loss and rebuilding things instead of just spiraling into the next impulsive destructive episode to like, not kin assign her phoenix. babygirl constantly reborn from the ashes, choice is hers if she wants to use her next chance to embrace life and love the world around her or self immolate again!

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.10

Epilogue

10/11/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 1,615

Warnings: allusions to miscarriage, LOTS of fluff, past death

A/N: I know I haven’t replied to many comments or asks from the previous chapter but I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible so that the story would be truly closed. The ending was incomplete and now it is done and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I do. It really made me so happy to write and this is the ending these babies deserve after being blown up and deserted on an island. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Life doesn’t happen like we think it will.

We can plan and schedule and arrange as much as you’d like, but things will just not go your way.

As the ship docks, you sigh with frustration, rising to your feet to look through the porthole.

“We’re late.” You grumble, glaring at the darkening sky. “We were supposed to be here by noon. That way we had plenty of time to look around and make sure it’s safe.”

“Kitten, come here.” Bucky holds his arm out towards you without looking up from the small tablet in his hands.

There’s a weather radar on one half of the screen and on the bottom, an email. Probably from Fury.

You make a reluctant beeline for him, sitting on his lap when he urges you to, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With a lick to his lips, he puts the tablet down on the small bedside table—bolted down to keep from moving in rough seas—and brings his other arm around you.

“What did you just tell me last week?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, pretending you can’t remember.

“Yes, you do, Y/N. What did you so passionately talk my ear off and insist that I remind you, especially on this very trip, if you begin to slide back on your newest and most important—your words by the way—resolution in life? What was it?” Bucky pokes your leg as he speaks, then wraps his arm back around your waist and gives you a squeeze.

“Not to stress about the things in life that I cannot control.” You sigh. “Out of all the damn things I’ve told you, why is this one the one you remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop talking about it for an entire day!” Bucky chuckles. “We’re a little late? So what? We have plenty of time. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. Let’s just let go of everything and enjoy our time here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I wanted everything to be right.” You nod.

“It will be. We bought the island. They’ve been working on it for a year. I’m sure everything will be perfect.” Bucky soothes you, reaching up to rub between your shoulders. “You approved all the changes. They said it was done. What are you worried about? Specifically. Help me to understand this anxiety you’re feeling.”

You grab Bucky’s face and pull his lips to yours roughly. He mumbles against your lips, a small huff of a laugh seeping through.

When you pull away, he laughs. “Ow.”

“I just…we haven’t been back here in years, Bucky. And I want it to be safer than when we left it.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of sudden understanding.

“I see.” He gets to his feet as the large yacht finally stops, helping you stand too before taking your hand in his own. “Come on. Let’s go see it. You kept the hut, right?”

“I kept everything.” You tell him, following him along the narrow white hallway, pristine wooden floors varnished and gleaming. “I just had them upgrade most of it.”

“I like your dress.” Bucky states, giving your outfit a quick once over even though you’d been wearing it for the better part of the day.

You smile bright however, pleased by the compliment before you stop, grab hold of the intentionally designed a-symmetrical dress and swing it back and forth. It’s navy with pink pansy florals and light green leaves, the top more modest than the one you owned before. Capped sleeves and a lovely heart neckline, a very thin strip of pink lace along the hem.

Bucky stops with you, smiling at the shift in your attitude with one simple acknowledgment of your reference to your first time on the island.

“How many times did we end up cutting off pieces of that first dress?” Bucky wonders, letting you think.

“Too many.” You acknowledge. “It was more of a shirt by the time we left.”

Bucky lifts your left hand up to his lips, kissing your simple solitaire engagement ring, your matching wedding band also on your finger.

“Well, we won’t have to cut any of this one off. I promise.” He assures you then pulls you along once again.

Bucky makes you wait. He makes you stay behind as the two of you reach the deck of the yacht—the Paradise Lost as you’d named it—while he steps onto the long and reinforced pier.

It stretches out on the same beach where the cabin of the plane had once stood, now relocated, and honored on another part of the island for the lives that had been lost.

The graves Bucky had dug had been remade, a small graveyard built to give the pilot and stewardess a proper resting place.

You can see it from the deck, a little farther inland where you’d had a cobbled path built to lead to it from the pier.

Making a mental note to tell Bucky you want the Stewardess’s family invited to give them a chance to say goodbye. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to get them here with the secrets surrounding the plane, but you can try.

Bucky comes back fairly quickly and waves you over. Eagerly you make your way to him.

“What happened?” You ask him but he gestures towards an older gentleman on the beach.

“Mr. Lara wants to talk to you about the chef’s supplies. Looks like there was a delay in the shipment.” Bucky tells you, then hurries past you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get our bags.”

“Bucky, we’re paying people to do that!” You call after him, but he waves you off and you turn to meet with Mr. Lara.

The island, while still massively private, has been built up like a small resort. There’s your hut, which the basic structure is the same but to it have been added a full chef’s kitchen. Several bedrooms. A living room. A master bedroom and access to the beach and a private pier.

There’s a beach barbecue patio and lounge chairs. Hidden behind the hut right in the spot Bucky built it, is the bathing pool, now with built in filtration, temperature control and more sustainable materials so that it will endure.

Your little island, the world you and Bucky created was given a full makeover. You’d always known you wanted to come back. You’d hated being stranded but the memories and the connections you’d formed here were special.

After assuring Mr. Lara that you have enough provisions on the yacht to last you until the grocery delivery arrives, you make your way back to see what’s keeping Bucky.

You’re nearly there when Bucky’s sweet chuckle stops you in your tracks. He takes the ramp onto the pier and with his hand still extended towards the yacht, you wait, your heart swelling.

“Careful.” You tell him, but he doesn’t need you to remind him.

Into view toddles a black-haired angel, eyes just as blue as his father’s. Just as you had when you’d thought about the possibility of a child with Bucky how beautiful it would be to see a mini version of him with your temper running around, it’s just so.

You wait with patience, his legs sure though slightly unsteady. His eyes scanning the area with inquisitive gusto.

He’s only just two years old but he’s already smart as a whip and when he spots you, he gasps with excitement and as soon as his little feet hit the pier, he releases Bucky’s hand and races for you.

You stoop down to scoop him and chuckle as he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“There’s my big boy.” You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away. “Where are we, Robin? Do you know where this place is?”

As he straightens up, he points towards the shore. “Beesh!”

“That’s right. We’re at a beach. This is an island, Robin.” You explain, moving down the pier with him in your arms.

“I-wan.” He repeats, then giggles before squirming from your grip. “Woah, easy.”

Bucky moves forward and stops the little one before he can run.

“Hey bud, we can run down the pier and play in the sand, but you have to make me a deal, okay?”

Robin lifts his little hand up, bent at the elbow with his palm turned up as he shrugs. “Dew?”

“Yeah. We can run down to the beach if you hold my hand. Okay? The water is very deep, and mommy will cry if you fall in. You don’t want mommy to cry, do you?”

“No!” Robin exclaims, his little face suddenly angry, eyebrows drawn down on the inner corners in an exaggerated expression. “Mommy no cwy!”

“Then you’ll hold my hand?” Bucky asks, holding it out for him.

Without another word Robin takes hold of Bucky’s hand ad doesn’t wait before he’s pulling him along as fast as his little legs can.

“Be careful!” You call after them but they’re not listening anymore.

Life doesn’t function according to your plan.

While you were planning your wedding, Robin came as a sweet surprise. You postponed the wedding and instead celebrated the birth of your rainbow. Much sooner than expected but welcomed all the same.

Then you and Bucky took time to nurture your son and the wedding was finally held only two weeks ago. Honeymoon delayed to make certain the island was safe for you baby.

And although you’re saving the news for the right time, you hope that you can convince Bucky to stay here for a while, at least until your second little one comes. Just another seven months.

[butterysalt]

A Silent Fate | John Watson x Mute!Reader (Pt 1)

Pairing: John Watson x mute!reader (gender neutral)

Summary: On one’s 18th birthday in this world, a message appears on their forearm, reading their soulmate’s first words to them... You were never one to worry too much about the laws of the universe until after what seems to be a devastating accident at the art studio, you find that fate had much more different and rewarding plans for that day.

Contains: big crash/impact

Word Count: 1,203

A/N: I had this fic idea for a while but am now getting around to polishing it a bit! This will be a multi-part oneshot so look out for more updates! :)

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Part 2 (WIP)

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You walked around the art studio, watching all the students sculpt and shape their mounds of clay into unique busts. It was a comfortable silence among the brightly lit workspace. Nothing but the shuffling sounds of crusted aprons and the soft plops of scraped clay.

Descending the modern steps of the upstairs studio, you entered the main room again on the ground floor. In your arms, you carefully held a tall plant. Downstairs, the owner of the art studio, Mr. Fell, acknowledged your entrance and his eyes lit up.

“Y/n! Ah, thank you dear for moving the plants around up there. I’ve been meaning to redecorate the place with a more floral touch,” he explains with a light-hearted chuckle. You smiled kindly at the older man’s delight. He appointed you to the collection of plants and bouquets outside of the building. It was mainly just leafy decor and old sculptures or easels to be donated.

Even with the gloomy London weather, there was just something that made your day more magical when you were surrounded by the arts and creative environment. It was the closest thing to a dream job for you.

You placed the old plant beside the outdated sculptures and moved around some decorations. While you were separating and sorting the materials, you sensed a commotion coming up behind you.

Leaving you with no time to react properly, there was a shout and a huge black blur tumbling right past you. The force of the giant mass sent you falling back onto the materials and into the wall. You let out a soundless scream as you curled up protectively, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing from the impact.

Thick smoke billowed up into the air, hiding the building from everything else. The sound of a blaring engine and tire screeches grew smaller and smaller as the blurry vehicle seemed to drive away.

“....Y/n! Y/N!” The owner of the art studio shouted for you. He coughed in the midst of the dust clouds, waving away and looking for you. The old man huffed a sound of relief when he found you in your defensive state. Certainly shaken up, but safe.

“Oh, good heavens!” He kicked away scraps of baked clay shards and stray leaves as he pulled you out of the rubble. You didn’t even realize you were still deathly clutching onto that plant with your dear life. Standing up on your feet again felt like a foreign action. Is this air safe to breathe? It’s making me dizzy...

What once was the gorgeous glass studio with the clean display of student creations and painted masterpieces was now a hot heap of shattered glass wreckage and broken materials that drilled holes into the buildings strong walls. It felt like a part of your heart had been nicked at.

The longer your eyes roamed around the broken infrastructure and busted clay pots you felt your stomach sink lower and lower. Blast that bloody devil hound’s vehicle from hell for bustling its way over to your studio. Grief was quickly dissolved into fury bubbling underneath your skin.

You quickly snapped your eyes shut and grimaced. It barely felt like you were even alive after such a close hit. Take a deep breath… it’s more important to process everything first and figure out the next rational thing to do. Then worry about grievances.

A pair of padding footsteps grew louder but you couldn’t see much through the smoke that still lingered. The dirty cloud eventually split apart to reveal two men racing through the scene of the accident, seemingly chasing after something.

One of the men, a dark mop of curls atop his head and a flitting black coat trailing behind him as he zipped past the entrance of the art studio in a rush. The second, a dirty blonde and shorter of the two, took the time to glance within the building, locking with your eyes. His run came to an abrupt stop as he panted heavily, catching his breath.

He hobbled over to you, flipping out a pocket-sized notebook from his jacket. He paused in front of you, bowing over to take a deep breath.

“So sorry about all this! How much for the damages?” The man huffed out in sections with an apologetically British voice. You felt your entire body stiffen.

Maybe it was because of the soreness and stinging from being blasted in the accident or because you felt a specific force of intimidation from his peculiar charisma. But your best bet was probably the way that those familiar words sent a sharp pain through your chest.

No, it wasn’t exactly the painful sharpness that made you want to scream in pain. This sharpness was the kind that caused the cogs in your brain to halt and go blank. It was the kind that made the skin on your forearm tingle and burn in an unfamiliar way that felt borderline intrusive. This sharpness tickled your heart daringly, making it dance and leap within you.

Your jaw dropped at this quick realization and you tried to utter something to this man, but of course, to no avail. The adrenaline that was now rushing through your veins made you forget that you were holding the plant as you attempted to sign in BSL.

The blonde man swiftly lunged forward to catch the plant as well as Mr. Fell who helped stop the plant from shattering onto the ground. “Y/n! Careful, now!” A part of your brain stopped, shocked that you did something so ridiculous. Thank goodness the new guy had sharp reflexes.

You cursed yourself mentally and pressed the pot closer to yourself, desperately locking eyes with these very special blue ones in front of you in hopes of communicating something to him that way. The man opened his mouth to say something back to you except he was quickly interrupted by his previous running partner with the dark curly hair.

“Come on, John!! God’s sake- we have a runaway car to catch!” The tall man yelled briefly before disappearing into the smoke again. “John” hissed impatiently, muttering angrily under his breath as he scribbled something messily on his notebook then ripped the page out.

“Ah- this is our contact information. You can send us the fines and we’ll cover everything, alright? Uhh m-make sure to go to a hospital too in case there are any serious injuries! Sorry- I really must go,” the shorter man promptly explained then ran off after his friend again.

He had stuffed the paper between your fingers, sending an electrical jolt through your body. You shivered and wondered if he had felt the same sensation when your hands brushed against one another.

John. So that was his name if you had heard it correctly. You needed to find him again. God knows how many men named “John” there were in this city. Mr. Fell took the plant from you and suggested that you sit down somewhere safe. Your eyes followed the shrinking figures of John and his partner. Somehow, you needed to figure out how to find the man that fate intended for you to meet again. You had finally found your soulmate.

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

Prompt: The first time Jaskier sees Geralt hunting a selkimore, and the ensuing panic because Geralt Did Not advise that the best method was to “get it from the inside”

hey so thank you for this, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write.

you can also read it on ao3

“So, what is it we’re hunting again?” Jaskier chirped as he struggled to keep up with the Witcher.

Geralt grunted as he waded through waist high reeds and rushes. The scent of silt off the lake ahead of them hung heavy in the air and the thick heat of the sun was stifling.

“The alderman didn’t seem very sure about it,” Jaskier stumbled slightly, readjusted his lute strap and tried to pick up the pace, “He was very vague. ‘A big monster in the lake is eating people.’ That was all about he said wasn’t it? Did you get anymore from the villagers? You know? The witnesses? I mean, you’ve taken on contracts with less to go on before but – Geralt? Are you even listening to me?” Jaskier stopped, hands on his hips, frown on his face.

Geralt paused, scanning the surface of the lake with keen amber eyes, then continued to push his way towards the shoreline. He didn’t miss Jaskier’s indignant huff and he rolled his eyes.

“A selkimore,” he gruffed.

“A what?” Jaskier hurried to catch up to him again.

“A selk – A big monster in the lake that eats people, though not usually on purpose,” the Witcher growled with a sigh.

“Wait what?”

“They’re plankton feeders but can suck up a boat if it gets in the way of its feeding path. Usually I try to leave them alone, but this one has settled too close to people,” Geralt grunted, “And we are not hunting anything. I am hunting it. You are going to stay out of the way.”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier waved him off nonchalantly.

“I mean it Jaskier,” Geralt glared at him over his shoulder and Jaskier wilted.

“Fine,” a slight pout graced his lips.

“Hm.”

Jaskier inhaled sharply then fell into step behind the Witcher as they continued their trek through the tall grasses.

“So, how does one kill a selkimore?” the Bard asked.

“In a very specific way,” Geralt rumbled.

“Care to elaborate?”

Jaskier crashed into Geralt’s back as the Witcher halted abruptly.

“What? Did you see something?” he peeked out from behind Geralt.

The reeds bled into thick mud littered with rocks which met with the murky water of the lake, stretching out for miles beyond. Thick, dense forest lined the far shore and the mid-morning sun glinted off the water like glass.

“It knows we’re here,” Geralt mumbled, pulling his silver sword from its sheath.

“Ominous as statements go,” Jaskier lilted, keeping that light air about him even though Geralt could tell he was on edge, could sense the coil of tension creeping into his posture, could smell the spike of uncertainty mingling with his usual floral scent.

“Stay here,” he ordered then marched, or rather, squelched his way to the water’s edge.

Jaskier crouched down among the rushes, keeping his blue eyes trained on Geralt as the Witcher stalked slowly along the shoreline. Getting to witness his muse carry out great and heroic deeds in person always made for better ballads than second-hand information, and Geralt was terrible at recounting what happened. Watching from a safe distance suited Jaskier fine. He had no intention of putting himself in danger if he could help it, and he would get to watch his friend in action. A win-win situation.

He narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun as Geralt picked up a stone and threw it into the lake. The water shimmered with the ripples and anticipation clawed at Jaskier’s gut.

The lake became still again, and he heard Geralt’s grunt of annoyance. The Witcher scooped up another stone and launched it even further. It broke the waters surface with a ‘plop’ and the ripples chased each other with the impact but still nothing.

Jaskier shuffled slightly in his hiding place. Any other person would assume that either the monster wasn’t there, or try a different spot to bring it forth, but Geralt has sensed it and Jaskier trusted the Witcher to know what he was doing.

Geralt tossed a third stone in the air but before he had the chance to throw it, the lake erupted in front of him and he stumbled back as streams of water and a foul stench washed over him.

Jaskier let out an audible gasp.

The creature that rose from the lake towered a good thirty feet above Geralt. It resembled a large, thick, white skinned worm with rows upon rows of jagged teeth in its gaping maw. It fixed Geralt with small fierce eyes and, sensing malicious intent, it lunged at him, crab-like legs scrabbling at the mud as it hauled itself out of the water. Its piercing screech rang across the lake.

Jaskier’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as he watched Geralt leap out of the way, brandishing his sliver sword and steadying himself. The Bard felt that familiar pang in his gut as he wondered how on earth the Witcher was going to take down something that seemed so impossible and then walk away, or limp away as was often the case.

He’ll be fine, Jaskier assured himself, he always is. He’ll do some cool thing with his sword or his magic signs and – SWEET MOTHER OF MELITELE!

Jaskier’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Bile rose in his throat. Shock blurred his vision.

It-the selkimore-the-the fucking-it had eaten him! Swallowed him whole! And Geralt just…just let it! Didn’t even try to defend himself. What the fuck had just happened?

Panic muddled Jaskier’s brain as he crouched among the reeds trying to process what he had just seen. He was struggling to breathe as the grief crashed into him and tears pricked at his eyes and he didn’t know what to do.

He’d been travelling with Geralt for a few years now and even though the life of a Witcher held many dangers, he had assumed that there would be plenty more years to come. He was building a life for himself, a reputation, he mattered to people. He was building something with Geralt. Trying to be the man’s friend was like pulling teeth, but he was slowly getting there, and he knew that even though the Witcher would never admit it, Geralt enjoyed having him around. But for it all to just suddenly come to and end, and for it to end like…like this?

Jaskier stared at the selkimore as it swayed slightly. A burning hatred towards it scorched through him. The thought to rush out and stab it with the knife tucked into his boot did cross his mind, but he knew that would only accomplish his own death. And then who would remember Geralt? Who would immortalize him in song so that he wouldn’t be forgotten? That was his job now. To sing about the White Wolf until the end of his days. To honour him and his good heart and… Jaskier brushed the tears threatening to spill down his face with the back of his hand.

Oh gods, another thought struck him, how am I going to tell Roach?

The selkimore lifted its blunt-nosed head and seemed to shiver. It blinked up at the sun and made a soft hissing noise. Slowly, it started to slither back into the water but then it stopped. Its whole body seemed to coil and convulse and then, to Jaskier’s horror, it reared up with a bellow of pain as its guts spilled from a gash along its stomach. Organs and blood slopped onto the wet mud and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. Geralt tumbled to the ground as he hacked his way out of the monster. The selkimore writhed and flailed then crashed back into the water, its last cry gurgling in its throat as it died.

The Witcher stood, gulping in air and trying to wipe the worst of the gore from his face. Jaskier burst from his cover and pelted over to him.

“You’re alive!” he whooped, grinning from ear to ear, giddy relief plastered all over his face, “I thought you were gone! I thought I’d lost you!”

“I told you there was a specific way to kill it,” Geralt gruffed, pulling at face at the rancid smelling muck coating his skin and clothing.

Jaskier’s beaming smile faltered and indignant fury clouded over him.

“You dick. You should have told me. I was worried sick. I thought-“

“Jaskier. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Geralt glanced at him, that annoying confusion tainting his expression, like it always did whenever Jaskier expressed concern for him.

“Well-well-fuck! Bloody hell Geralt! How was I supposed to know you planned on getting yourself eaten! I thought you were dead! I thought –“ his voice broke on the last word and he turned away from Geralt, shaking with the effort to control himself.

Geralt frowned at him, trying to puzzle through the torrent of emotion coming off Jaskier in waves.

“I’m sorry,” he said carefully, “You’re right. I should have told you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Just…” Jaskier turned to him again and Geralt was taken aback by how very small and hurt he looked, “Just don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I won’t,” Geralt tried for reassuring and sincere but he wasn’t sure the Bard believed him.

“Right. Good,” Jaskier mumbled.

He cast an eye over Geralt then sighed.

“Come on. Back to the tavern. We’ve a hefty coin purse to pick up and you need a bath.”

“Hm.”

“No protesting. If we are sharing a room tonight, I refuse to sleep in the same space as you, stinking like that,” Jaskier sounded a bit more like himself, blue eyes sparking with mirth.

“Fine.”

Jaskier spun on the spot and marched off back in the direction of the village. Geralt followed after him and even though the Bard was babbling on about trying to find words that rhymed with selkimore, the Witcher could tell that this had affected Jaskier more deeply than he was letting on and he promised himself to remember to talk Jaskier though each step of the hunt in the future as to not cause him any more hurt if he could help it.

[royalreef]

@sacred-songbird​ || Continued from here

      No hiding the smell of coffee and a little more on him. Not from Miranda anyhow, when she could already smell that the tea he had prepared was exactly to her specification. A nose like hers was hard to fool.

      Harder still though was distracting from this kind of happiness, this bloom in her chest that settled and spread and she wanted to hold forever, to keep forever. On the other end, how she could feel the return of it, know that it was shared, and to really feel it. There. Just as present as the slight change in her destiny and the heartbeat in her own chest, fluttering with such a fury that she still felt like it might burst. To be in love. To be loved. For the two currents to finally intertwine, to make something greater than the sum of their parts.

      Reminding her all the same of how much she loved Eden too, and what it was like, the day he agreed to be her ul’kiha. To be so loved, to have so much to love.

      Head tilted up and eyes squinted into the kiss, a pearl of laughter parting from her lips before she could even help it. Giggling, beside herself, a secret that wasn’t really. They both knew. They both knew and that was the most beautiful thing in the world right now, to have that, to feel that love and be able to share. 

      She hardly thought as her hands curled around her favorite mug at the loft, ceramic kept warm by the tea inside, wafting up with floral and fruity scents mixed with saltwater spray. Just did. Tail thumping against the floor even as she followed Eden back to the living room, swishing and flicking and only tagging a few of the furniture and walls as she walked by.

      “I do not think you’ll have to do much to warm me up again, I’m already very cozy - can you guess where I was at?~” He knew. Miranda knew he knew, but it wasn’t about actually guessing. It was the back-and-forth. The teasing, the toying, the opening up just enough to be drawn out even further. To play these little games, when they both knew the prize was wholly shared.

[werejusttouchingeachother]

PARIS 2017 [September 27th, 2:00PM]

Chapter 2 T/W: none Words:1366

You smiled every time that you recalled it now, the moments of boiling rage back then were now cherished fond memories. The two of you had been first introduced by his manager, an exchange of formal greetings and polite smiles. Although you had initially been confused about the reason as to why an idol was being introduced to you, the manager had discreetly told you about how the gorgeous man with the wide puppy eyes filled with wonder was planning to be the co-creator of his own fashion line.

Baekhyun had sat silently next to you throughout the runway show, eyes keenly scanning all the models from head to toe as they strutted past him. He’d asked a few questions here and there to which you’d courteously replied and cleared his doubts. The conversations hadn’t been unbearably awkward but nevertheless, they were brief and polite.

All had been well until you’d walked up to him at the after-party and caught him talking to his close friend, Chanyeol who had accompanied him to the show.

“They’re tasteless,” he had muttered, sipping on his bubbly champagne. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“Why didn’t you ask then?” You’d demanded sharply, watching as Baekhyun’s shoulders immediately tensed at your voice, glass raised halfway to his mouth. Chanyeol choked on his own drink as his eyes finally noticed you standing right behind the shorter member.

Baekhyun turned slowly towards you and Chanyeol watched the two of you face each other, quickly finishing his drink and stuttering an excuse as he practically ran away. If you didn’t know better, you’d have thought that he just rapped.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Baekhyun said in place of an apology, eyes meeting yours with a resignation that said he’d accepted that he’d been caught and wasn’t going to lie about it.

However, you weren’t ready to let it go so easily.

“Too late,” you’d replied, eyes narrowed as you shrugged, masking your fury with an overly-polite tone and an air of nonchalance. “You offended me anyway. If they looked that ridiculous to you, why did you pretend to love them at the show? Or was that just for the cameras?”

He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I never pretended to love them.”

“So you do hate them then.”

Baekhyun’s eyes were wide with incredulity now as he shook his head in disbelief. “You’re twisting my words, Ms. Y/N. I do not hate them, I just think we have different tastes in fashion. I like streetwear and comfort more and your work is more… out there.”

“It’s Paris Fashion Week,” you gritted out in annoyance, a mental clock ticking in your head to remind you to stay calm. “I can’t bring streetwear and sweatpants to the biggest fashion week of the year. All these clothes have been designed for months, some even years. Specifically for this week, for this walkway.”

“Y/N!” You heard a voice call your name and didn’t turn as you shook your head at Baekhyun, continuing, “I’m not angry that you hated it. I’m angry that you sat beside me for hours at my show and asked me about my designs as if you were genuinely interested in them. I replied to you because I thought you were genuinely interested in them. You shouldn’t have tried so hard and put on such an act if you felt the complete opposite, Mr. Byun.”

You don’t wait for a response as you turn and leave his presence, aware that you shouldn’t cause any kind of scene whatsoever at the after-party but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be bothered, the frustration at the idol eating at you.

You assure that there are no more circumstances at the party where you have to run into each other for the rest of the night, including his manager who gazes at the two of you in confusion when he notices that both of you are at extreme corners from each other all the time. You know that there are chances of the story being twisted into oh-the-hotshot-arrogant-designer-threw-a-childish-tantrum-because-the-adored-idol-called-that-scarf-last-season but you choose to ignore it.

You were furious. And that fury was enough to discourage you from offering any kind of help to Byun Baekhyun.

[September 28th, 9:00AM]

“May I sit here?”

You rolled your eyes as soon as you heard his voice and respond without looking up from your coffee. “I don’t know what you’re thinking but are you sure? Word on the street is that I’m pretty tasteless.”

You hear Baekhyun lowly chuckle as he sits down across from you. “Wow, you really know how to hold a grudge."

Your tone is bitter as you mutter, “As long as you can hold a note.”

He raises his eyebrow in surprise at your words. “You’ve listened to my music?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I listen to the band. Why should the rest suffer because one is two-faced?”

Baekhyun looks like he is about to retort but stops himself. “All right. I’ll sincerely apologise. Let me buy you breakfast.” He glances at the coffee in front of you, frowning when he doesn’t notice a plate.

You wryly state, “It’s complementary.”

“… Right. I can’t do lunch, so dinner?”

“I can’t do either.” You roll your eyes at his attempts in exasperation. “You can’t buy my forgiveness with a meal, Baekhyun.”

“What can I do then?” He gives you a cheeky grin. “Concert tickets? Backstage passes? Signed albums?”

“Are you implying that I can’t afford any of these cause that’s what it sounds like to me and for someone who is trying to apologise, you’re really barking up the wrong tree here. Have you never apologised—?”

“All right, fine.” Baekhyun lowers his fork to the table and looks right at you. “I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t understand anything from the show yesterday. For a fall/winter line, all the outfits were bizarrely coloured and styled. I didn’t like the patterns, I thought they were too floral for a season that’s comparatively dull. My focus for my designs lie in casual clothes and streetwear, and yes, I realise they are extremely different from your kind of stuff and maybe they can’t even be compared but honestly, I’m just confused as to why Hyungnim asked me to learn from you when both our tastes are so... contradictory.”

You leaned back against your chair, arms crossed as you watch him silently. When he raises an eyebrow at your lack of response, you stick the tip of your tongue in the inside of your cheek and take a deep breath in an effort to calm your nerves.

“You haven’t got the slightest clue who I am, do you?” You finally ask, watching as the confusion falls on his face.

You lean forward then and grab his phone from where he’d placed it beside his plate.

“Paris Fashion Week,” you start, holding the screen to his face to unlock it as he blinked in confusion at your antics.

“Like I said yesterday,” you continued, retrieving the phone and pulling up the browser. “It’s not one of the greatest fashion events of all year but it is THE event. Regardless of our own styles and branding, all designers like myself are challenged to take the theme of the year and elevate it to a higher level. What you saw yesterday were my designs for Fashion Week specifically, the most of which you’ll later see on a model or celebrity for some magazine shoot or another fashion event. No one purchases Fashion Week designs to wear on a casual basis, Baekhyun. Now this,” you slide the phone across the table, screen lit up with the familiar colours of the homepage of your store’s website. “This is me.”

You stand up then as he scrolls through the page, scanning the various styles and categories—men, women, formal, leather, outerwear, minimalist and his finger freezes as it finds his favourite: casual.

“I have a show tonight and I’m already behind on my schedule because of this conversation,” you say, although you aren’t sure if he’s even listening to you anymore. Nevertheless, you mutter, “Good luck with your line, Baekhyun. Hope you find someone who’s tasteful.”

[hobbledhobbit]

Paint and Patience

Another part of the tales of the Institute Green. This one following the Illustrator, Ms. Steam. .

A puff of smoke dissipated after swirling and distorting the stars it hovered in front of.

"Fear is strange. Was there any reason not to have it that you can be certain of?"

"For myself?"

"No, of course not." The pale man made a vague gesture into the building from their spot on the balcony. "Their fear."

He took another deep drag, awaiting her answer.

"All mortals have fear, Mr. Pale. The end always looms like the back cover."

He contemplated, letting his gaze take in the curvy and soft form of his coworker. She liked her candy striper outfit most of all and it let the inviting roundness of her form offer refuge in the form of a vast change in scenery from the black iron and gold speckled dark wood of their world.

"That's what I had figured too. But the fear is on all aspects. They love, there's fear; they succeed, there's fear; they give up...you get the idea."

Ms. Steam gave an amused hum before turning to him fully. "They are yellow. Maybe it's not the fear that gives you pause when dealing with them?"

Ms. Steam took the spent cigarette out of his hand and flicked it over the railing. He had a nasty habit of burning the filter when he was lost in thought. The smell was never pleasant. 

Mr. Pale was slender and ordinary, his overall countenance being somewhat "beige", though his eyes held a sharp intelligence and his tongue a wicked wit. 

Ms. Steam liked talking to the scrivener, he was always agitated over their charges and the conditions in which they were formed. The illustrator had an idea that it may be his only way to show his caring side for anything.

"I believe you're right," he finally said, "I am more enraged by those who live without that...I guess it would be more a concern for the welfare of others than fear…"

"Compassion?"

"Compassion! Yes, thank you. Those that lack compassion for others and make grand swathes of suffering. They hold my ire."

"Had one recently that's got you in this tizzy?"

"No. It'll be later this evening. I would feel bile rising in my throat if I had the capability. I taste the lies and excuses on my tongue and moving through my fingertips to take the last vestiges of their existence to print." 

His voice grew ever darker, as he mimicked typing on his typewriter, his hands looking suddenly more large and sharp, his plain face gaining sharp edges and wider eyes, his teeth sharpening and slowly multiplying.

"Sickening, wretched filth!" He gurgled out.

Ms. Steam shrugged, unbothered. "We are only the record keepers. No need to grow attached."

He cleared his throat and fixed his appearance, brushing his blond hair back and suddenly looking more to his normal human-like form. 

"We aren't machines, Ms. Steam. Every monster we document can feed our own monstrous nature, teach us our own excuses for screwing over other lives."

"What do you suppose we do for it then? Become judges for life forms that are under our care?"

"Teachers. I think the Evil need to be taught a lesson. We should make an example."

Ms. Steam waited for Mr. Pale to continue, but it was obvious from the way his eyes darted around in his head that the idea was still cooking. 

She pat his head and made him look her in the eye.

"When you figure it out, set it up. I'm in thorough need of distraction. But for now, we must tend to our duties."

He gave a small nod and a tight lipped smile. It was no secret that he disliked his job, but he was the best at it.

She took her leave, walking in from the cold of outside to the warm hallway. Her shoes were almost silent upon the hard wood. The reflection of the candy striper outfit was blurred for a moment in the polished floor before it showed Ms. Steam in a plain, floral, flowy dress. She used the key around her neck to unlock her office door and step in. 

The yellow glow of the human soul took a moment to take shape. Young and small.

"Sorry for being late," she smiled, "Are you ready for your portrait?"

The 'studio' was large. The ceiling was high and vaulted, the floor had many different colors and textures that one couldn't tell if it was made of dirt, marble, wood, or any of the other things floors are usually made of. There looked to be all sorts of settings along the long wall. Beaches to mansions, forests to kitchenettes, mountains to dumpsters.

The girl looked to be a little younger than a teenager. Short dark hair and brown eyes, sun-kissed skin and a strong jaw.  She was in night clothes and looked overwhelmed, looking around from her seat on a fainting chair.

Ms. Steam went to her large desk and picked up some materials. She loaded a small tray with chalk pastels and paint. 

"Take your time," she said to the girl, then paused giving her an understanding and patient look. "Tell me what you think is happening. This fear will go away soon, I promise."

"He killed Mom. I went to go hide my little sisters, but I guess he killed me too." She started to cry in earnest. "They're probably so scared. I don't know what to do! There's nothing I can do! I'm dead!" 

She sobbed and screamed her dismay while Ms. Steam set up the easel near a beach setting.

"Angels are supposed to help the innocent!" The girl accused from her seat. She smacked her bare feet against the ground and stomped over to Ms. Steam. "You're supposed to protect us and God's supposed to deliver us from evil!"

"Deliver you where?" Ms. Steam turned to the girl, eyebrow slightly raised. She felt it wouldn't be the best option to tell the girl she wasn't an angel.

The girl's righteous fury was snuffed out by the calm of the question. She looked lost and on the verge of more tears. 

"I-I don't know. If you're good, evil isn't supposed to happen to you." She sniffled, "And you're supposed to get rewarded for being good."

Ms. Steam sat on a stool to look the girl in the eye and wipe her tears with her skirt. 

"I'm sorry, little one. The universe doesn't do good or evil. That's a human thing. Kind or cruel are choices people make."

Ms. Steam offered a hug to the child, who was falling apart again in tears. She accepted the hug, was wrapped in strong arms, and felt light as a cloud.

"The nightmare is over. I know it's scary to not know what comes next. But even your choices mattered so much at the end."

The girl was hiccupping through her sobs, clinging tightly to Ms. Steam. "They're so-s-so little and he's gonna hurt them!"

Ms. Steam rocked her lightly and pet her hair. "I know...what if I brought them here? Would you feel better knowing where they are? They would probably like to know where you are too."

Fear stabbed through the girl and she looked at Ms. Steam. "He killed them too?!"

"Long ago already. They're in my queue."

"What's going to happen?"

"I'm going to paint your picture of what you want to be remembered forever as. You're a good older sister. Brave, just, and with so much love in your heart that your last moments were thinking of nothing but protecting others. Rewards aren't in my job description, but I think that I could work one up for you."

"Holly!" Called two little voices from the fainting couch.

The girl turned and let go of Ms. Steam, running to the two blonde children running towards her in their pajamas. 

"Katie! Kathy!" She called to the twins, hugging them tight to her and hurrying her face in their disheveled blonde curls. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry for what?" asked Kathy.

"Why are you sad?" asked Katie.

Before Holly could answer, they both noticed the beach and dragged Holly towards it. 

Holly noticed that they were all in their bathing suits, and the studio had faded away entirely-there was only the beach then. She saw Ms. Steam still standing there, starting to work on the canvas in front of her. She gave Holly a wink before going back to her work.

Holly looked at her sisters who were already splashing in the water and got to playing with them. They built sand castles and played in the water together. The sun didn't bother any of them much, and they felt full and content. 

Ms. Steam stepped back from her work, looking at the picture of Holly pulling her sisters through the water as the little ones kicked up a spray behind them.

The twins looked caught in a moment of trust and fun as Holly tried to teach them to swim.

The studio had phased back to its normal state, the girls now residing as the artwork. Ms.Steam added a single small cloud in the distance as her signature and bowed low at the piece. 

"Thank you for the opportunity," she said.

When she stood back up, the canvas had a frame of glittering gold. She took it and wrapped it in plain brown paper before placing it in an adjacent room for delivery.

Ms. Steam dealt more with children and those that didn't have a command over their language. She found that younger children were more accepting of their fates than older ones. Responsibility and shame hadn't really had a chance to stick in yet and make them second guess everything.

She went about putting away her supplies and let out a sigh. She placed the last brush behind her ear and exited her studio. So long as her things weren’t all in place, the next soul wouldn’t show up. 

The door she approached was labeled “Mr. Slow: Security” on a gold plaque. She knocked and entered, finding the large form of her colleague sitting at his desk, shining his shoes. He looked up boredly, eyes crinkling at the side once he recognized his visitor. 

“Ms. Steam. What an unexpected and fun surprise. What brings you to my office?” His voice was deep and had an edge of threat to it. Unfortunately for Mr. Slow, she had taken the centuries to become immune to his specific charm. 

“Mischief brings me here, Bacchus.  Do you intend on participating or trying to subdue?” She leaned on the doorway, pushing her hair behind an ear. “I do so hate to lose out on the fun because someone had to distract you.”

Mr. Slow sat up and put his hands on his desk. “So long as the mischief isn’t brought to these halls, there’s no reason for us to tussle. I do have a feeling that I will be having to teach Mr. Pale a lesson later today, but that won’t likely interfere.”

This was met with an amused hum. She covered her mouth to feign hiding a smile, “I am starting to think Bartleby likes your teaching method. You boys and your roughhousing.”

Mr. Slow went back to shining his shoes, “I’ve been informed, Ms. Steam. Go back to your room. The day isn’t out yet, no matter how many clients you put in a single frame. Only the frame counts.”

“Pushy,” she teased, straightening herself out. “I’ll see you at the diner afterwards, Mr. Slow.”

The door closed, leaving Mr. Slow alone. He leaned back in his chair and thought about the conversation he had overheard on the balcony during his rounds. Redirecting fear could be a fun way to spend an afternoon.

[floralived]

Thinking about white mage spells and how they’d look in a more realistic setting, and just the thought that the Afflatus abilities do literally conjure lilies made of aether within the person.  

I’m thinking Solace is a soothing and gentle wave that mends without disturbing the person’s physical being, visualizing as floral patterns across their skin near the wounds, and excess Aether ( the feedback that feeds the blood lily ) expelling in form of lilies akin to blooming on a tree, but only ever sneaking through one’s being alongside their natural flow of Aether; a passenger and friend.  so while it can be jarring to see these aetherial lilies blooming on your body, there is only comfort.

But then Misery acts much more violent and physical, bursting open flesh and bone, tearing them apart much like a flower parts the earth.  this thought of quietly placing a seed of Aether and letting it creep through their being in friendly pretense, easily mistaken for Solace, and further feeding on their very life only to suddenly bloom and demand space upon the White Mage’s command.  bonus points if it leaves behind crimson lilies on their corpse.

I genuinely believe Afflatus Misery to be incredibly versatile in regards as to whether it is a quick or slow death, depending on the White’s whims, but it is either way incredibly excruciating and I wager very difficult to avoid unless you either have powerful Aether / enchantments to resist it or armor to keep your own body in one piece, though the latter will likely still have you in terrible agony and a lot for the healers to fix.  ( thinking about suits of armor overgrown with flowers amidst battlefields covered in fire and ash.  a curiosity to most, but a warning sign to any who have seen a White Mage's fury. ) 

Not to mention the damage it can do to their aetherial being / soul, rather than just using it as a proxy to influence the physical body.  as such, I do think it is an incredibly advanced concept / spellwork, and something that isn’t taught so much as it is discovered by yourself in ancient tomes or study.  I cannot remember if there was a specific jobquest for these with lore, but it simply does not strike me as something meant to be common knowledge, especially with the history of white magic. 

It’s just really terrifying once you think about it.  Healers as a whole, seeing as they are masters at manipulating other people’s aether, but the Whites have such an innate connection to the world and its elements.  The lilies alone are an absolutely monstrous design that has the potential of keeping someone in a perpetual state of agony due to its endless cycle of healing and hurting.

[samyazaz]

This is a little more specific than, y'know, a general AU setting, but if you're feeling it, PQT, Gravity AU, and, honestly any trope, but it's them, so perhaps Only One Bed?

Ewhoza glances back at the huddled group of them, one brow lifted like he’s expecting something, before he presses his palm flat to the scanner set into the wall. Its light glows a moment, just long enough for Quil to tip her head and wonder if maybe it wasn’t expectation at all, maybe he’s just wanting to show off, when they all know that Quil could have released the pneumatics with a thought. He doesn’t even bother to remind her to wipe the access records so Security won’t know they’ve been here, but she thinks it’s more out of arrogance than any sort of confidence in her, and so she’s frowning, exasperated, when the locks release with a hiss, and the doors slide open.

It’s the light that strikes her first, the warm, verdant brightness of it, and the frown falls off of her face as she gives a swift gasp, and then loses her breath all at once as her lungs flood with air so heavy with scents that her mind reels at the onslaught, even as the part of her that’s the ship sorts and filters and categorizes, tells her Loam, and Herbs, and Wet earth, and Greenery.

She stumbles forward, heedless for once of the unceasing analytic stream of thoughts flowing through her mind, only distantly aware of the others doing the same around her, looking just as stunned as she feels.

She knew there were hydroponic gardens on upsilon level, of course. She knows everything about the ship. Almost everything. Everything they didn’t deem it to dangerous for her to know, like her psych evals, her past, her name. Who she was, before they made her Tranquility.

She knew there were hydroponic gardens on upsilon level, knew they produce enough food to provide for the caloric needs of every person on board with enough to spare for seed and for compost, she knew how much of their water stores they required and the precise wattage that the lights drew, and somehow it had never occurred to her to put these pieces together and imagine this, a vast, endless expanse of hydroponics, stacked up to the ceiling and stretching out as far as the eye can see, farther, so everywhere she looks, all she sees is light and green.

“How...” she breathes, stumbling forward, down one of the rows left between the structures. “How...” She flinches, then laughs breathlessly, when the reaching leaves of a tomato plant brush her cheek.

Behind her, Ewhoza’s voice is dry, a little mocking. “How did you think we’ve been feeding all these people, all these years?”

She shakes her head, because that’s not what she meant. “I know, but... how did I not realize?” Somewhere on the edge of her awareness there’s a humming noise, like the machines she spent her life wired into, like the thrum of the ship around them. Like the rushing in her ears after they released her and brought her back, in the ill, disoriented moment before the world went black around her. She reaches for her sensor data, but she — the ship — is fine. She fights the urge to sit and stick her head between her knees. Her stomach isn’t twisted like it had been before. Her skin isn’t hot. Her vision seems normal, if half-dazzled by the brilliance of the green all around her.

A hand touches her shoulder, pulling her back to herself, to the herself that is contained within her skin. Phi is at her side, looking at her with a concerned, unvoiced question written plain on her face. Terry’s just beside her, looking no less alarmed. Beyond them, Ewhoza is saying, “—no one ever stops to consider how we do all that we do for everyone, do they?” and his tone is at odds with his words, is a little sad and a little lost, instead of the righteous belligerence she might have expected of him. It startles her to realize that he was answering her, in a fashion, though her question hadn’t been meant for him, hadn’t been meant for anyone, really, except perhaps herself.

“I’m all right,” she says to Phi and to Terry, quietly.

Phi nods once, taking her at her word but keeping a light touch on her shoulder all the same. Terry looks only half-reassured, but he moves a step away, his hand on Phi’s elbow drawing her with him, and hers on Quil drawing Quil along after as well. “Let’s go see what we can find that’s ripe. Do you think you can eat, Quil?”

“I can try,” she says, unhelpfully, because she can know in a fraction of a fraction of a second if a single lightbulb ten levels down and halfway across the ship has burnt out, but she still doesn’t understand how her own body works half the time.

It’s enough for them all the same, though, because they guide her off, deeper into the field of greenery, and each row that they walk down smells different than the last, this one sharp and fresh and pungent, the next floral and sweet. They pluck a berry here, a leaf there, and they pass the best of each to her and watch her sidelong when she eats them dutifully, smiling with happiness and enjoyment, at the bursts of flavor upon her tongue and at the company and at the feeling like they’ve gotten themselves lost in the dense jungle of the hydroponic towers, even though it’s not possible for her to really ever be.

The humming starts again and she stops still. Phi and Terry turn back to her, looking concerned once more, but she shakes her head, says, “I’m all right, I just— Do you hear that?”

Phi tips her head like she’s puzzled, or like she’s listening for it too, and Terry looks around, uncertain but searching, but it fades and then comes again, louder, and Quil does feel like her legs are going to collapse underneath her but she doesn’t feel like she did when she lost consciousness and she doesn’t understand why.

“Oh,” Terry says, his expression clearing, and the humming stops just as it’s reached its loudest. “Is that what you heard? Here, hold still.” He reaches towards her. His fingers brush, almost tickling, against the side of her neck, and the sound begins again, and fades sharply. “It’s all right. It was a bee, I think. It must be a bee. They’re pollinators, aren’t they?”

“A bee?” She whirls in the direction the sound vanished, searching the green all around them. “Where?”

“It’s all right,” Terry says again. “It’s flown off now.”

“Oh,” Quil gasps, and her legs are going to give out on her, they are, but they can’t, not now, not when she needs them. “Where?”

She takes off in the direction the sound had disappeared, pushing through the narrow spaces between structures that had never ben meant to be pathways, until another humming noise darts past her and this time she’s able to spot it, to track it, a small golden shape flitting amongst all that green.

She follows it until it’s joined by another, by a third, and her heart is pounding and she can scarcely breathe. She pushes through row after row of hydroponics, until all at once the space opens up before her and there’s a gap, just big enough to make space for a series of narrow, sleek towers, featureless but for the narrow, slitted openings at regular intervals through which more bees are coming and going, dozens of them, hundreds. Thousands.

She stops still, abruptly enough that Phi and Terry behind her nearly crash into her. They catch themselves and then they stand there, all three of them breathing hard. Phi and Terry eye the hives, a little, but mostly they’re watching Quil, but Quil can’t look away.

“I forgot,” she breathes, and her voice cracks, and then breaks. “How could I forget? How—“ Her eyes burn. She doesn’t remember what it means until the tears drip hot down her cheeks. “How could they take this from me?”

Phi looks back and forth between her and the hives, and understanding downs in her eyes, but it’s Terry who says it, his voice so tight with upset that it quivers like a plucked string: “In your psych eval vids. You said you worked in the horticulture division, before.”

“I thought it just meant plants. I thought it meant working the gardens. I didn’t think—” Her voice breaks, goes sharp all around the edges like glass, and she shakes with fury. “They made sure I didn’t. That I couldn’t. Didn’t they?”

Neither of them answer her right away, but the glance they exchange, the bleak looks on their faces, is answer enough.

Quil takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the scent of herbs and plants and earth, with the new, heady smell of the honey in the hives. It should feel familiar, shouldn’t it? It should feel like coming home. and it does, but somehow it doesn’t stir any memories at all. Her mind reaches for them, expecting them to be there, as though it’s done so a hundred thousand times before. But all she comes up with is black emptiness.

She folds her legs underneath her without being aware of deciding to move, sits on the floor without looking away from the hives and watches the bees come and go. Terry and Phi sit beside her, quiet, letting her watch but staying with her all the same.

After a while, a bee flies over to her, lands on her knee and climbs across it, little antennae waving like it’s expecting to find nectar. It flies away after a moment, and she thinks it must have been disappointed to find only the fabric of her clothing instead. But a moment after that, two bees fly back to her, and before they’ve left, a third joins them.

Her eyes burn again, and tears fall down her cheeks, and she knows she must be broken, knows Security must have broken her, because how can she mourn for something she doesn’t even remember? How can she feel such grief and such joy, when she has no memory of ever seeing a bee before this day?

Occasionally, distantly, she’s aware of the others making their way through the rows of plants as well, the rustle of leaves and a far-off shout of excitement, quickly muffled. At some point, the plants shift and sigh closer by, and footsteps sound quietly on the floor, and there’s a low murmur of conversation exchanged with Terry and Phi, but nobody addresses her directly or indicates they need her attention, and so she doesn’t look away from her enraptured study of the bee crawling its way across her knuckles.

Later, there are louder steps, heavier, and the sharp huff of a breath, and then Ewhoza’s voice, too near, and edged with impatience as he says, “There you are. What— Oh. What’s she doing?”

“Leave her be,” Phi says placidly.

“We can’t stay. People will be along, and if they see you— if they see her—”

“No.” Quil wrenches her attention away because this, now, demands it. She turns to fix Ewhoza with an unyielding look. “I’m not leaving.”

He returns her look with an arch one of his own, asks, “Ever?” in sarcastic tones. “That’s a fine plan. Stars, why did I even risk my neck for you if you’re just going to throw it all away—“

She unbends, just a little, says, “Not yet.”

This time, the look he sends her is hard, calcified with frustration. “How long?”

She gestures uselessly. The bee keeps its place, and doesn’t fly away, despite her disturbance. “I don’t know.”

“You need to sleep. If you push yourself and end up back in the infirmary again—“

“I’ll sleep,” she promises.

He looks little assuaged. “You need to sleep soon.”

Phi shifts beside her and clears her throat, gets her feet beneath her and says to Ewhoza as she stands, “I’ll come back with the rest of you, get some blankets. We’ll keep her safe, until she’s ready to come back.”

Ewhoza’s mouth thins with disapproval. “If someone comes—”

“I’ll know,” Quil says. “Before they even set foot on upsilon level, I’ll know. We’ll leave.” Ewhoza looks skeptical at that, so she says, sharper, angrier, “I don’t wish to be caged again. I’m not a fool. If someone comes, we’ll go.”

He still seems unconvinced, but finally huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. “It’s your head,” he says at last. “But all of ours as well if something happens to you. Try not to forget about the rest of us, who’d very much like to keep on breathing.” He fixes her with a look, just before he turns away. “If you do get caught, don’t lead them back to the rest of us.”

The implication is so horrifying, so infuriating, that it steals her breath, and by the time she’s recovered it, Ewhoza is gone, and Phi along with him, and she’s shaking with rage.

“As though I would!” she gasps, but there’s only Terry there to hear her, and he just gives her a sidelong glance and a crooked smile.

“We all know you,” he says, reassuring, like that’s all that needs saying. And it settles her, so perhaps he’s not wrong, either.

The lights dim before Phi returns, an artificially diurnal cycle programmed somewhere deep in her memory stores, for the crops that need it in order to thrive, and the air cools around them so that by the time Phi does return, with a few blankets folded up and tucked beneath her arm, Quil’s glad for them as well as for her.

“Are you all right?” Phi asks her straightaway, and drapes a blanket around her shoulders without Quil having to ask for one.

Quil gives her a puzzled glance and grips the blanket’s edges close before her. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be, just from sitting here awhile?”

“Not from this.” Phi tips her head back towards the direction she arrived from. “From him.”

She means Ewhoza, Quil realizes. “Oh,” she says, and blows out a sharp breath and turns abruptly back to face the hives, though the activity there has died down, with the simulated evening. “Yes. Of course.”

Phi doesn’t react for a moment, like she’s waiting for something more. Then she laughs a little, softly, and shakes the other blanket out. “He wasn’t wrong about needing to sleep, at least. There’s not a lot of room, but we’ll make do. Just say, when you’re ready.”

She’s being overly generous. there’s hardly enough space between the hives and the hydroponics for the three of them to sit, much less for lying down and sleeping. But even with the bees bedding down for the night, she doesn’t want to leave them, can’t bring herself to, not yet.

“Make do how?” she asks, because they promised to keep her safe and she knows that even though they must be tired themselves, they won’t sleep until she does. Maybe not even then, but certainly not before.

Phi answers the question with a smile and nudges at Terry’s hip with the toe of her shoe. He gets to his feet and offers a hand to Quil, and so there’s nothing for her to do but take it, and let herself be pulled up as well.

Phi lays the other blanket out, and even folded in half to make it narrow, it barely fits. Terry sits first, and offers Quil his hand again, and she gives him a bemused frown but takes it once more, lets him draw her back down.

As he does so, he stretches out along the blanket, keeps drawing her down even once she’s sitting until she does the same, her pulse spiking too fast. Phi shakes the last blanket out over them both, then lies down as well, behind Terry with her arm stretched over him to lace with his where it’s curved around Quil’s arm.

Oh, Quil thinks, and her throat goes tight, but she doesn’t say a word.

Phi loosens her hand enough to brush the backs of her fingers over Quil’s shoulder. “All right?”

She nods wordlessly, trusts them to see it, or to feel it.

“Comfortable enough?”

She could laugh, but she just nods again. Every part of her is overly aware of them behind her, around her, and she thinks that this was pointless because she’s never going to be able to sleep, not like this, not with her heart in her throat and her pulse a drumbeat in her ears.

She’s wrong, though. She feels like it’s only moments, at most, before the gentle hum of the bees in their bed and the close warmth of Terry and Phi around her in their own lull her off, and the dimness of the space around them fades to the true black of sleep.

[materialsworld]

Resin weapons to show female strength

All images: Helena Hauss 

By Idha Valeur  Artist Helena Hauss utilises the delft blue hand-painted style know from ceramics painted on weapons to show the inner strength of females. 

Some of the objects Hauss wanted to sculpt was not readily available, resulting in Hauss reaching for a polymeric material to sculpt her desired shapes. The artist is known for her striking style of drawing only using ballpoint pens. For this project, she used a mix of acrylic inks to hand-paint the delicate floral pattern before it all got sealed with epoxy. 

Hauss created a morning star, a baseball bat, an axe and a grenade from polyurethane resin ‘which I chose specifically because of its sturdiness, the point of the sculptures is that they may look fragile, but they won't break easily,’ she told Materials World. 

The road to finished sculptures was a trial-and-error process for the artist as she did everything herself. ‘I had to first use some kind of polymer to sculpt, some of the objects I wanted to make which weren't readily available. Then I had to make some moulds out of the objects I wanted to cast, using silicone. Once those moulds were made, I had to pour polyurethane resin into the moulds, which I would then unmold when cured.

‘I then sculpted the exact shape I wanted out of the object, painted it and sealed it with epoxy. For the baseball bat I glued on about 200 metal studs,’ she explained. 

The sculptures are part of Hauss’ ongoing series called, Hell Hath No Fury. In her artist statement, Hauss writes that ‘[The sculptures are] An approach to represent the inner strength and fury that comes with being a woman, in contrast to an appearance of delicacy we're too often branded with. Women have repeatedly been construed as the "weaker sex" and are regularly being preyed on, or diminished in some way or another. Too often portrayed as fragile and delicate, this project is an expression of the contrasting subtleties that come with femininity, as well as an attempt at vindication from a feeling of constant vulnerability that's been forced upon us.’