#this was an experiment and a half because i had to crop out the magic border to clean up some stuff

[sealrock]

colours fading. ♫

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

😼😼😼 I really liked your headcanons for the Sdv+Sdve bachelor's! i think they're all super fun to read. Could you do the bachelor's reacting to a spouse whose like a mad scientist doing crazy shit like reviving a dead body with chemicals alone or growing hybrid crops, or even just laughing manically in their secret farm lab while they work on one of their crazy (and usually improbable but they still make it work) experiments again. HAVE A GOOD DAY THANK YOU :-)

This ask fits the spooky month vibe perfectly, hee hee 😈 Thank you for the ask and your kind words, hope you have a great day too! Enjoy 🫰💕

_________________________________________

You know that meme about "My hot witch wife and me doing whatever she wants"? That's how you could describe Farmer and their spouse Sam. The young guitarist was naturally surprised at first, but Farmer has so many amazing things and pots with unusual plants that it just takes your breath away. He'll even ask to be their assistant. By the way, Farmer can forget about the fact that the lab was "secret" because Sammy will post a ton of photos and selfies with his beloved spouse in front of all the reagents.

It is not new to Sebastian that Farmer was obsessed with science and mysteries, as they were constantly discussing some discoveries with his half-sister and stepfather. It's also not new to have a laboratory under their farmhouse. What Sebby didn't expect was that Farmer's place would be full of things that he doesn't know whether it's science or magic. So cool, and he's eerily curious to hear what Farmer will tell him about the new kinds of crops. Although necromancy makes him uneasy ("Is that... a zombie rats running around on the floor?"), he's generally intrigued.

Alex may not have understood most of what his spouse told him in their lab, but the athlete's gut tells that just about every object and plant in here could be a potential threat. He realizes that Farmer knows how to handle everything, and clearly loves being a scientist in addition to working in the fields, it's just... weird. And yet... Can they really bring the dead back to life? And can they bring his- No, that's wrong. Forget what Alex said. He won't mind Farmer's hobby, just... promise him to be careful.

Shane has had all sorts of strange things happen in his life. Mostly thanks can be said to Joja.co and their "special laboratory to improve the quality of products for life". Shane has only been dragged to such demonstrations once, but it was enough to last him a lifetime. So don't let Farmer be surprised that chicken man's face turned pale, because not only is the flashback, but Farmer's creations look even scarier. "They're useful!" Thanks Farmer, but Shane didn't feel any better.

Baffled by the plants he has never seen before, dumbfounded by the huge number of flasks with a rather dangerous liquid, and a little frightened by Farmer's maniacal laughter, which is the envy of any actor playing a super-villain... But with all this, Elliott tries to support the hobby of his dearest spouse, although the writer and little understands in what Farmer tells him boisterously. Plus, the whole mad scientist vibe is sure to inspire Elliott to write his first Gothic novel about the love between a mad scientist and a lonely vampire (we'll pretend we don't know who that vampire is, m'kay).

As soon as Farmer finished showing Harvey their secret laboratory, describing the experiments in detail and laughing triumphantly, the poor doctor forced a smile out of himself and gave a thumbs-up. Inside Harvey, though, everything was screaming. New kinds of plants raised a lot of doubts about whether it was safe to eat, the amount of dangerous liquids increased the desire to wrap the Farmer from head to toe in clothes protecting him from burns, and in the case of necromancy Harvey would be just speechless, considering it immoral. Really... mixed emotions, to put it kindly.

The whole Farmer's laboratory, their experiments with crops, going beyond the boundaries of science and even magic, intrigues Victor as much as it scares him. Although, to be honest, it frightens him much more. The spaghetti lover really wants to support Farmer in their hobby, but there are a few things that make him very wary. It seems that one of the books written by the adventurers stated that necromancy is forbidden. And also, Victor himself thinks it's not very ethical, soooo.... Should he be worried about Farmer's experiments?

When Lance first met his future spouse, in the depths he was a little hesitant to trust Farmer to find and grow monster crops. But after they showed him a laboratory with a huge number of very strange but quite interesting plants with unusual fruits, the gallant adventurer immediately realized that for Farmer to deal with such crops was not the first time. He would still warn about necromancy, though, for although there were still debates about whether to ban or allow this dark school, Farmer could bring trouble on themselves and others...

Aside from the fact that Farmer's wicked laughter over the table of reagents reminded Magnus of his ex-wife, who was also laughing almost like that in front of her bubbling cauldron, the wizard wasn't particularly bothered by such a quirk of his spouse. The only BUT will be if Rasmodius notices their attempts to revive the dead. Necromancy is forbidden by the Ministry of Magic, at least without official permission and a mentor to supervise at all times. Besides, showing such disrespect for the dead is simply immoral. Magnus doesn't mind Farmer's experiments, but no necromancy, or they'll be in big, big trouble.

[zith-ipeth]

//TW I'M GONNA TALK ABOUT WEIGHT AND FOOD// What does it take? / Three years ago, today

I hate the front pages of social media

every other post is someone running away from a body I want, I see my before in their after and my after in their before. I see a girl in the mirror eating half a meal a day because "maybe I have a figure somewhere under all this skin and muscle and fat" I see a girl in my room, by my bed, by my mirror, looking at herself and saying

"I'm lucky to have a body like this, cis girls want this, I should want this"

I want to be fat... fuck that sounds stupid. would it sound stupid if someone a bit above my size said they wanted to be skinny? No you would say "Great good job get it girl" or whatever. but why is what I want not normal not healthy not ok. is it not ok because I'm at a "healthy weight"? while what if I was at that same healthy weight and said I wanted to be, say, 130 pounds. that would be an admirable, amazing, great goal. but saying that I want to be around 190 pounds, that's...

weird

maybe it's a fetish?

but you're healthy now dear...

I use to not be healthy though

I was a girl in a mirror, half a skeleton, I'm already getting into numbers so why stop now, I was 107 and 5'10. 15.4 bmi. I was...

such a pretty girl

wow you have such a shape

kinda lean muscle...

I didn't have any of that I had a BORDERLINE EATING DISORDER.

after a lot of mental work, I decided to gain weight, I started estrogen and started eating when I was hungry until I was full. I started gaining weight and at first that was scary, stretch marks were scary, and growing out of clothes was scary, I knew I wanted a type of body in the end but the between was strange and treacherous. but somebody loved my body enough for both me, and them, and eventually, after a year or two, I learned to love it.

I gained around 60 pounds, my body's mad at me still, my stretch marks are red and sensitive to the touch. but here I am, at what is medically considered a healthy weight and...

I want to gain a little more.

I've loved my body more and more the more weight I gained, so why is it that I should just stop at an arbitrary number made up by a FUCKING ASTRONOMER AND STATISTICIAN. I love having a tummy that rolls because I never used to have that, I love my thighs touching because they used to just be skin and bone, I love the hanging fat on my arms because its something magical and new and beautiful. I love how I look nude, I love my body unbound and without its drapes and wrappings, its so pretty and fun.

Now I get it, I'm not exactly facing oppression, (NOT SAYING FATPHOBIA ISN'T OPPRESSIVE, more that, I don't experience fatphobia,) I'm straight-sized as they come, but even then, I still feel weird when I wear crop tops sometimes, I still get comments when I eat a full plate of food, I still get comments when I go for seconds and I SOMEHOW EVEN AS SMALL AS I AM SOCIETY SEEMS TO SMALL FOR ME.

So I guess that's it, I want to be fat because I view that body type positively, it's not fetishistic it's not a kink it's just a goal, like losing weight. I want to be fat because the way my body would feel, the way I would move, would dress, would live, would be better for me

I think.

And like fuck it if im wrong whatever, my body is as moldable as it will ever be, I can just go back to where I am now.

But I dont think I want to

I hate to watch people run away from what I run towards, as if its scary, as if it's gross. Equally, I find it painful to watch people run toward what I ran away from as if it's innately more beautiful, more divine

Youre beautiful, and if you want to change yourself that's beautiful too, but sometimes I feel bad for flinching over peoples individual changes and choices. its just painful to watch sometimes, I guess. Painful to look at someone and see a mirror image of how you thought, and who you were

three years ago,

today

[the-algebra-thing]

just finished the house of hades and I liked it a whole lot. idk why I didn't expect to but I was so awed by the mark of athena that I think I was worried about how it was going to measure up, especially because I struggled so much with the first two in the heroes of olympus series. I thought the balance was really nice—I had a hard time with the first two because I knew how interesting the dynamic was going to be when we were eventually got all 7, which obviously slayed as they all hammered out their differences in the mark of athena. it is a fun narrative device to be able to just invent a quest that requires a specific few of your characters and send them out to have whatever relationship development you need with each other, and then have them assimilate that back into the group when they return; it was really sick to see them form a cohesive group like this by the end of the book. and then, when you take the core of the group away, the most experienced characters—a classic in this whole franchise thus far, moving the pieces around in fun new configurations—you get to watch it happen again.

in the house of hades, the little destination quests that move the main group away from and then back to the ship are also balanced out by a new and completely different setting: tartarus, where you get to see your two favorite characters, the most developed by far, experience new horrors even further beyond comprehension than they usually run into. their experience pushes the few boundaries that have even been set around the magic in this world, and it's mirrored upstairs in the ship, where hazel, then frank, then piper reach new heights in their respective abilities. this is that balance that struck me most about the book—the way percy and annabeth's journey mirrors the one above them. so much of the mark of athena was dominated by annabeth's themes and percy's daunting presence, and now they, in turn, follow everyone else's themes that are finally being properly developed now that we know enough about the new characters and their dynamics to really get into it.

jason, nico, and leo are one of my favorite things about the whole book—they share the last theme to crop up, one about home, and finding yours by listening to yourself. jason and nico travel the most obvious opposite paths in that sense, and it's interesting to watch them clash about it, but it's even more captivating to me to see how their relationship develops and most of all seems to bring about respect for one another, despite being headed in literal complete opposite directions on the thematic continuum. while we know percy hopes to settle down in new rome with annabeth once this is all done, trading the freedom that's brought him so much suffering for safety and security, jason realizes that he feels more at home at camp half-blood, where he is free of crushing rules and responsibility, than he ever did at camp jupiter. in fact, he decisively lets go of everything the romans put on him and decides for sure over the course of the house of hades that that's where he wants to go. nico is moving the other direction—the more he goes through, the more tired he gets of all of this, and the more he wants to disappear. we don't get his narration in this book so we only see him through everyone else's eyes, but the way house of hades develops his relationship with jason and to percy sets him up really well to narrate in the blood of olympus.

leo is, as always, in a league of his own—he is one of my favorites, and he finally gets some time alone in the spotlight in book 4. percy is just about as relevant to leo's story here as he is to jason's, and while the duality he has with jason isn't present, that's really the point. basically everyone catches an inferiority complex when you put them up next to percy jackson, and since leo already had that covered previously with his whole ass life and with jason, it's hit him extra hard. when he becomes attached to someone who breaks the usual system that he operates within—and whose system he breaks in return—he gains new perspective: if he had been a regular heroey hero like percy jackson or jason grace, this would've gone the same for calypso as it always does, but he is not. he is the mistake that breaks her cycle, a cycle that he realizes percy jackson has contributed to in the past. this new purpose, untethered from the group that makes him feel so out of place, and discarded by "real" heroes throughout history, helps him move past his doubt. in turn, percy jackson is in hell grappling with his own shortcomings. being a powerful hero doesn't safeguard you from passive cruelty; in fact, it makes it very easy to stumble into. he encounters the arai, who curse annabeth with calypso's bitter wish, and remembers he hasn't checked on the status of his promise to free her at all. he is guided through the pit by bob, whose memory he erased, and whom he then left to hades' care and never looked back. this tension and the moral quandary that evolves out of it is a main point on his and annabeth's journey. while leo is inspired to succeed where percy carelessly abandoned ship, percy realizes for the first time how many ships he's abandoned. I can't remember if it's quite lined up in the timeline, but it struck me as a fun way to flip some more stuff on its head.

[idolshineitai]

⚔️ 💀✂️

SAW THIS ASK AND GOT IMMEDIATELY SO EXCITED IT FELT LIKE I COULD THROW UP. rabbiting heartbeat. IM SO RHGHGJHJNJBMGN. thank you beloved :3

from this ask game!

⚔️ Fav Gt9 quote?

THIS ONE IM ACTUALLY UNSURE OF. in the end it’s probably something from the pool scene. almost definitely the one about harrow consenting to being ritually drowned but thrashing away from a hug (not gonna go grab my book copy right now but you get the gist). im in the middle of rereading GTN and it took a while to finish the first time, so there are MANY good tidbits, hints, and clues that totally escaped me then! so many bangers too. Properly enjoying them now 👀 i will also say that “ghosts and you might die is my middle name” is currently consuming a lot of my brainspace <3 I Love Gideon Nav The Regular Amount (Which Is A LOT)

�� Fav Ht9 quote?

again. so many good good GOOD ones. thinking of the entire last dance exchange. thinking of “Around you, people would go back and forth, giving you the widest berth possible, ignoring you so entirely that at one point you were convinced you were dead. With that conviction, you had felt only intense relief.” because it makes me want to TEAR MY HAIR OUT. but i really really have to give it up for *gestures at my current bio* “There were a couple of callouses now on those soft necromancer’s palms, and I was proud of you.” THIS IS FOR A MULTITUDE OF REASONS and half of them are praise kink /j NO NO NO OK SO. god, just… the fact that gideon could be PROUD of harrow for ANYTHING. the fact that it’s this. the distinction of “soft”, to call harrow of all people in any way soft, and to be a “soft necromancer” even just in reference to the flesh… the pacing, the timing, where this line falls 😭 like ok my girl ok. i genuinely am considering getting this one tattooed but i need a good design for it. I WAS PROUD OF YOU!!! she can be SO mad at her and still PROUD of h— *dies on the spot*

✂️ What is the best hair length on Harrow?

SHORT. FUCKING OBVIOUSLY IT’S SHORT. i can admit that the slightly longer hair is cute on the HTN cover, and nona’s braids are fucking awesome for NONA, but for harrow? the length of her hair is something that she kept up with meticulously — every one of her most devout people had their hair cropped close — and the way that her hair DOES grow longer is bc she gets too damn sick to take care of it, and bc someone magically manipulates her hair for fun. WITHOUT HARROW KNOWING. to me it’s a companion to the autonomy-stealing haircut (i think there’s an actual real life term for this, or at least a trope one, but can’t recall it rn. that’s also… very gender-y to me). this new length actively distresses harrow, who doesn’t have the wherewithal to comprehend the unfamiliar sensory experience and who is already dealing with a Whole Fucking Lot. so yeah. it’s short. it’s the short hair. i love my darling girl.

thank u so much stein im actually indebted to you now /j. infodumping is my life’s greatest joy and this felt SO GOOD to talk abt !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🫶

[thechroniclesofahotgirl]

The Chronicles of a Hot Girl pt 1. Mercury is in the microwave.

It was an unseasonably hot April night. Mercury was about to be in the microwave, and I was on one.

See, I had been on and off with the same emotionally unavailable person since mid-2021. He was initially just the rebound.

The trouble is I was really going through it in 2021. To the credit of this situationship, we had really great sex, and I know that the way he hurts people isn't intentional. The problem is the way he hurts people is addictive to someone like me.

These chronicles, though, are not about him and me. These here chronicles begin with a Friday night. It was a revenge dress, hold a roster draft, not give a fuck kinda Friday night in Ybor City.

"As it should be."

A few friends of mine got together to see where the night might take us. So through the back gate of the karaoke bar, we slipped in. I signed up for Fall Out Boy's 'Sugar We're going down." We all know I killed it because I am also a very talented girl in addition to being a Hot Girl.

It was like I blinked, and then somehow, the group had made it to the patio of the karaoke bar where the owner was sitting atop the bar, and the bartender was shirtless, pouring a mystery blue liquor down our throats.

With that, I made haste to return to the sanctuary that was my Boss's condo a few blocks over. On the way back, my girlfriend and I popped into an Irish Pub for a little break and a pee.

It was there that the beginning of our roster for this illustrious Hot Girl Summer took down its first name.

We will call him Young Short Orlando Bloom for the sake of this here practice. He had his dark curly hair in a half-up half-down man bun that looked like what the guy who cheated on me in 2021 thought his hair looked like. His shirt was a little oversized, the same way the costumes in the Pirates of the Caribbean did, but it looked more like a sweater.

He and I made eye contact a few times before he approached my friend and me. We took shots, and I got his number. We texted a few times, but mostly just on the weekend. Our paths have yet to cross again.

I had been working all day the following night and just wanted to blow off some steam. I made the mistake of messaging B again, having yet to learn my lesson from 2 nights before, 4 months before, or in the year and a half before that.

For the first time, he was adamantly not interested in seeing me that night.

"Smash cut."

His call rolled around at 3 am as the witching hour does. He only had 3 % battery and would be waiting for me outside the bar I worked at.

Not quite ready to let go, I acquiesced. Got out of bed, put on a cute crop top, and drove the 11 minutes through the vacant streets. When I found him, he was right where he said he would be. I tried not to literally run to him. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but how he scooped me up in his arms felt like he missed me too.

When we returned to his house (the one I have the code to get into, but whatever, I guess), I couldn't help but snuggle on his chest, half awake. I could feel him staring a hole into my face while fighting, and losing, the urge to put popcorn in my nose and ears.

We went to sleep like nothing wrong had ever happened between us.

I woke up the following day like we always did. The sunlight beamed through the windows around the room, illuminating a mess of clothes achieved only by someone experiencing burnout or depression. (I say this from personal experience.) But from the bed, I couldn't really see it. One of his kittens would join us to let us know the day was ready to begin. We cuddled some more. Had sex. Then I went home. That was the last time I talked to him. He is blocked again for now.

While I was there, though, there was one different thing. I woke up to a message from an unknown number. It was a gentleman caller who wanted to make me a passenger princess. In B's bed, though, I replied

"Those are some magical words you're putting together."

This brings us to our next name claimed by an already quickly fleeting roster. We can call him the Really Respectful Driver. When I had dubbed him as such, I didn't realize the irony of the name. He decided last minute before our pizza and sunset date on the beach (I am not kidding, 100% his idea) that he was too tired.

I forgave him but made plans with another guy friend because I'll be damned if I planned on getting dressed and was now wasting a perfectly cute outfit.

The really respectful driver had messaged me something about liking mystery, and I remember saying to my friend.

"Yes, the mystery of if I'll give you another shot after this."

Anyway, as I sat at a bar overlooking downtown and the river, I sipped Carmel Espresso Martinis with a guy friend of mine. We had worked together back in 2020 at the same bar in the combination college and million-dollar mansion area of town. He was cute but had made out with a friend of mine. Also, he is about 4 years younger than me, and it feels weird to think of him as anything other than a friend.

At that bar, though, while simultaneously wreaking havoc on a group of guys giving their friend a hard time for ordering a bud light (you know, because Bud Light had a partnership with a young up-and-coming internet personality known for her journey in the Trans community) I managed to catch the eye of a pretty blonde bartender who had accidentally cut her hand open on broken glass.

I wasn't sure then, but I figured she was probably gay and tried to shoot my shot. You, as the reader, need to understand that I am out of the closet to almost everyone but my family. I also haven't had nearly as much experience in that bracket either. All this to say that with women, It could be a 50/50 shot on how smoothly the words might come out of my mouth. Or better yet, my favorite move, run away after you ask them out without getting any of their contact information. 

I walked out of that bar with my friend that night, wondering if I had given her the same vaguely interested vibe she had given me.

A little phone notification was all it took to confirm that suspicion. The really pretty bartender found my Instagram account after I had posted the martinis my friend and I had gotten and tagged the bar. She led with something cute about liking girls to toast marshmallows. She nailed it, honestly.

So another name goes down on the roster.

That brought us to yet another weekend. A time when the city I love comes to life, and I take refuge in the karaoke scene.

This second weekend. Well, Mercury was defiantly in the fucking microwave. HOLY SHIT. Mercury retrograde is marked by a period in our lives where communication breaks down, technology takes a crap, and unresolved issues rise to the surface.

Being a Hot Girl comes with its own… special issues. I remember the first time I was pinned to a doorway in a back building during my freshman year of high school. I was 14, and a pattern was blossoming. Each year I grew more into my body and personality and seemed to attract a vile kind of human. One that would pin me down, drag around my limp and unconscious body, and quite literally have their way with me.

I am 26 now, and my most recent experience with this (depending on your feelings about coercion and how it applies to consent) was a year ago, almost to the day as I wrote these words here.

A man who works security at a bar I used to work at decided on a random April 27th, in the middle of the military bar, to grab my face from behind, forcing his gross non-consensual tongue down my throat. I looked to the friend I was out with for support, something to let me know that what had happened had actually happened. That my disgust and feelings of violation were valid.

Well, he happened to have his back turned, and with that information, I went crying to the patio of that bar. The bartenders of this particular establishment were no stagers to my ability to emote in public. They asked me if there was anything they could do, but knowing how my experiences in the past with reporting this sort of thing, I opted to drink the memory of him inside my mouth away as quickly as I could.

Looking back, I wish I had asked the manager for the security tape. They had since changed their camera systems and could no longer access that time.

If I have lost you a bit in this flashback, allow me to bring you back to real-time.

I spent the better part of the last year avoiding this person. I would cross the street to avoid walking where he could reach me from his post in front of the karaoke bar. So when I started visiting the karaoke bar again in early March, I asked one of the managers to just let me in through the back or walk in through the front with me, so I wouldn't have to interact with him.

That worked for about a month and a half. You see, the bar manager at this point also happened to be this person's girlfriend. After a hand full of visits, including the most recent one with the owner, the girlfriend was dying to ask me what the deal was. So she took her opportunity on this second Saturday of Mercury in the microwave.

I had been asked out onto the patio of this karaoke bar before. It felt like revisiting an old crime scene, a betrayal that this story need not concern itself.

I knew she was bringing me back to ask about the situation. I had decided a few nights before that I'd tell her the truth if she asked. My reputation had already been dragged through the mud once before, and I knew the truth no matter how she might take it.

After giving her my full recount of the details, she informed me that she would "do some digging of her own."

I returned to the main bar to grab my friend as I felt a panic attack swelling. I knew I had maybe 30 seconds before the air in my lungs would give, and my tear duct damns broke.

The wild thing about my specific brand of trauma is that, at the moment, I'm riding the adrenaline. As soon as that moment is over, I crumple up like a piece of paper and hyperventilate.

Between two dumpsters, my legs gave out, and I had a kind of panic attack that makes you nonverbal. I was trying to explain what happened to my friend in between sobs and gasps for air.

After some time, we walked to my car so I could clean myself up and explain my predicament to my friend. Once I had fixed my mascara and the foundation around my eyes, we made our way back to the bar where the rest of our friends had been waiting.

When we walked up, we were greeted by the same ugly Lorax-looking mother fucker telling us I was banned.

Funny.

So my friend went in and gathered up our group. We made a break for the only other bar that did karaoke on Saturday nights.

Where I had 2 more panic attacks.

The anger I felt put my whole body on pins and needles. Suddenly I was 14 again.

"We're sorry, but there were no cameras on that door in that hallway."

"No, a threatening voicemail is not enough proof."

14 years old, learning about the burden of proof because the burden is on the victim.

My only proof was the visceral reaction to being asked to recount that moment, and a screenshot of me telling my friend about the experience I had April 27th.

My whole friend group tried hard the rest of that night to get us "back on track with a great night."

I did too. I sang one of my favorite songs to sing. I tried drinking a beer. I tried talking to people about my big show on the horizon.

It was too late. The emotional hangover of 3 panic attacks in public was setting in, and I just wanted to stare at a wall in my enclosure.

The bar owner there visited me the next day at my job to get my side of things. She admitted that she had fired this particular employee once for being creepy. Too bad it hadn't stuck. It might have saved me a couple panic attacks.

Unresolved issues were coming to the surface. A staple of Mercury in retrograde.

As a Hot Girl trying to live her Hot Girl Life, I would have preferred an ex texting me at 3 am, but I guess I wouldn't have grown or learned from that.

That night I asked Mr. Respectful Driver if he was still open to going out again. He said he was. We made plans.

This brings us to now. Mr. Respectful Driver has, in fact, stood me up. Wasting yet another super cute outfit. Well, maybe not because I am going to another karaoke night. I'm new in a different part of town to sell tickets for my show.

He is not getting another chance. Another bites the dust.

Until next time, this has been week 1 in The Chronicles of a Hot Girl.

[testingforhope]

Chapter 9 - Outside maybe?

Hysteria woke up for the second time this week on the couch, but this time she was much more relaxed and rested. After she finished yawning and stretching, she stood up. Looking at her sleeping companion, she scratched behind its ears and walked into the kitchen. In the kitchen, she pulled out some bread, eggs, and a glass for water, planning for a quick and quiet breakfast. First, she took out two pieces of bread from its bag and put them on a skillet. She shifted them until they brown. Then she took them off and cut a circle in the middle. After she did that, she put them on their other side and cracked an egg in each circle. As those were finishing, she filled her cup with water and grabbed the wolf’s dish to do the same. While reaching for it, the pup walked in and started to sniff the air. When Hysteria put down the newly replenished water dish, it sauntered over to the water and started drinking slowly. Hysteria smiled at the act and took the toast off the skillet and onto a plate. She walked over to the table and started eating her breakfast. When she was done, she put her dishes in the sink and went upstairs to change. Closing the door behind her, she got out her clothes for the day. She ended up with a dirtied white button-up shirt covered in a light blue tunic with leather line work, all topped in a leather and string belt she learned to make when she was much younger. Her bottoms were black trousers. After putting all this on, she headed out and got started on her farm for the day. First she went over to the magic strawberries and started to water them while plucking the ripe ones. Next, she went over to some of the dark brown trees with autumn leaves. Pulling at some of the bark, the chocolate substance melted in her hands. She picked up some of the stray chocolate bark pieces and moved onto the next thing, which was her normal crops. The only magic about these was speed growth potions she dripped into their water. Done for the day, she headed back inside and took a nice warm shower. The water dripping down her back, she picked up her favourite shampoo, strawberry scented. She had to pick it up from the next town, but it was always worth it for her hair to smell so sweet, plus it made her hair shiny as always. Next, she drizzled some lavender body wash, which she made herself, onto her hand and rubbed it into her skin. After she washed it all out, she got out of the shower and dried herself down. She then put on her most cosy pair of pyjamas and went down to the foyer. She scanned the shelves once again and found a book called Lore Olympus: Volume One. This looks interesting, she thought to herself as she picked it up and sat down on her favourite chair. It was her favourite chair because the bottom half can be flipped up. Her mom helped make it and this chair is practically as old as she was. I still remember her. Her laugh, her voice, her hair. She didn’t have much in her life, but what she did have, she gave to me with this house and my freedom. She helped me with my studies when I was stuck and with my plants when I was sick. She appreciated everything, but how would hse look at me now? Would she just stand at the door, not saying a thing from the shock? Or would she come to me crying, hoping her daughter wasn’t kidnapped or experimented on. She soon after thinking these things, decided that she couldn’t relax enough to read at the moment. With that final withdraw, Hysteria set the book down and went up the stairs to her room. Opening the door, she walked over to her desk. On it was her spellbook and to the left of that was her skull mask that was tattered and broken from the incident. Maybe I should fix it?

[kkusuka]

Have I told you I hate weak y/n’s that get pushed around by fangirls? No? Well, I hate them 😊

Let’s have Oikawa, Atsumu, Akaashi, Semi, and Terushima react to their normally calm gf, beat the dog shit out of a fangirl that tried to intimidate her for dating said men above. Reader just has a soft smile before cocking her fist back and boxing her shit before holding up the fangirl and looking to the rest like “You wanna end up like her? No? Then know your place~ ☺️”. Then she faces her bf with a sweet smile and says something affectionate like “I brought you lunch, dear. I made it just how you like it 😄” before kissing his cheek like she didn’t go Muhammad Ali on a bitch

<3

Oikawa Tooru<3

Oikawa’s had more than a few less than pleasant experiences with women

Considering he’s always been surrounded by them, from his sister's friends in middle school and being swarmed by them in High school and college- having women around him was nothing new

And for the most part, they were all pleasant

Giving him little gifts and food- that he always gave to you- and just telling him how much they loved watching him play

All things he can deal with before talking to his favorite girl, you

Though, there have been instances of some bold woman who just never get the hint

Whether it be drunkenness or some weird dream of having Oikawa to herself or just blatant disregard of his relationship

And right now just happens to be one of those times- but now you got a firsthand view of the madness.

Whoever this was clearly didn't understand relationships or personal space for that matter

She had a hand on his chest and was just blubbering about how she would be the best wife for him and would make life so much easier- much more than you do for him- and that was just what you saw from the ten seconds you were in earshot

He would normally laugh it offend continue seeking out autographs but he seemed to be locked in an iron maiden

“I promise! Forget about your girlfriend, she’s useless anyways!” and finally a perfect chance to make yourself known

“Tooru, I have your lun-” you attempted to grab him away, him shooting a pleading look to save him before your wrist was snatched from his arm and tugged away and shoved to the side then pushing your body away from the two

“Back off bitch!”

Now,  you were normally a pretty calm person, you knew how to deal with the women and you have been for years.

But you stand by the fact that it was never ok to put your hands on someone- no matter the situation.

But at that moment, you could care less about your silly reparations and breathing methods, that lady put a hand on you and pushed you

You could hear Tooru telling her to keep her hands off you but you just looked around and made sure that everyone saw what had happened, you don't need to be arrested anytime soon

Grabber her arm you detached her from your boyfriends and in the next second your fist was connecting with her face, watching her wither on the floor you turn to your boyfriend who’s now coming towards you

“As I was saying, I have your lunch.”

Atsumu Miya<3

Another guy who’s constantly surrounded by women

Although he is far less appreciative and nice to them, and he makes it a point to be abundantly clear that you are the only woman he will spend the rest of his life with

Something that wasn't too popular with a few specific fans

Every blue moon someone will find his phone number and blow it up with loving messages or try and get his address

The worst it’s been was someone finding his apartment number and thankfully being too far away to come by themselves but they did send some inappropriate images to his PO box and that led him to create an even thinker line between fans and himself

Thankful, the whole of them understood and respected his boundaries

Buuuuut there are always people who go the extra step

Like whoever this is crowding your boyfriend after a win against the Alders with a giant poster of him and a …. Thong

If you were the slightest more stoic you would have held in the laugh that started it all but it seems crazy is crazy no matter how you provoke them

That lady heard you laugh and the flood gates opened, in a split second her hand was on your cheek then she was on the floor holding what you could hope was a broken jaw

You didn't even realize you punched her until a shooting pain went up your wrist

Though before you had a chance to return to your lovely boyfriend, who was standing in the same spot shell shocked (and slightly turned on)  hand grabbed your ankle the flung you to the ground

It was, for lack of a better term, a catfight

She was hitting you and you were hitting her and she was screaming random shit about how awful you were to her precious Atsumu- seriously this lady was insane

Nevertheless, security arrived, and let’s just say that you were in much better condition than she was, who knew you could fight so well?

Though you weren't allowed to come to the next game and had to apologize to the heads of the Volleyball association, Tsumu was proud of you and the internet was on your side- so it was kind of a win-win

Akaashi Keiji<3

He surprisingly doesn't have a swarm of fangirls around him

But it’s much much worse, you’d rather have a mob of girls around him than the four specific psychos that never leave the poor guy alone

Everywhere in school at least one of them is watching the two of you, in class, at lunch- no matter where you try and eat- you swear you even saw one at the boba show you pass on your walk home with him

The worst part?

He thinks it’s funny.

It is hilarious to him that you try so hard to keep them away full knowing he would never leave you for the likes of them. It’s just too cute how you puff up your cheeks and huff about them and honestly, it's a breath of fresh air considering how much everyone kisses up to him

Well- he likes it when they are at a distance

On the off chance they get close to him, it's a different story. They truly are intolerable, and they away try bad-mouthing you to him like it was supposed to mean something that they don't like you

And they only ever do it when you’re away- cowards they truly are. And since they’re always watching, as soon as you left to buy the two of you lunch, one of them was on him in an instant

She was annoying and all she could say was ho you were a ‘poison’ in his life and he had to leave you as soon as possible

He didn't even realize you were there until a hand grabbed the back of her uniform and flung her off him. And from the looks of it, falling on the ground really hurt

“I’m a poison? That’s all you could come up with?”

You didn't even have to say another word, she was already out of sight

Not missing a beat, you handed him his lunch and started talking about the latest episode of the volleyball anime you loved.

Semi Eita<3

First off- a total power couple

Not only are you willing to beat a bitch, but he’s also ready to hype you up while you do it

It’s not confirmed you have, but there are rumors that you fought more than a few girls who were less than pleasant. And it’s not like you do anything for rumor control, you just laugh and turn the other way

Still, even with the rumor mill running rampant, some girls still try and shoot their shot

But this girl has to be the boldest woman on planet earth

Not only was she flirting with an openly taken man, but she was flirting with him as he held his arm around your waist. She even looked at you as she spoke to him, the audacity of people these days

“You like music? That’s crazy, I do too!” you wanted her to shut the fuck up as soon as possible.

What pissed you off more was that he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was letting it happen to spite you.

What happened after this you blame solely on the alcohol the party was providing and not on the fact you wanted to clock this girl the moment you saw her

It was just that suddenly your drink was in her face

Then her drink was in her face, and she was running to the bathroom, maybe she should listen to rumors more often because you don't think strawberry daiquiri will come out of a white crop too so easily

Terushima Yuji<3

He’s an ass

But he’s your ass, somehow

He’s a manwhore and an attention-whore, mix that should have been shot before it could grow into something more

By now you're used to the girls slipping him their numbers and hitting him up on every social media site possible and you remain happy to say he doesn't respond- probably too busy dicking you down to care about any of them

Plus, less than 1%  of them actually approach them in public, and they just happen to be the most insufferable people on the planet.

Desperation doesn't even describe it

Of that 1%, at least half of them try to touch him, running a hand on his arm, tugging at his clothes, maybe even a strand of his hair, all you can deal with because he knows what’ll happen if he even entertains their advances

But for some reason, the only thing that sets you off is when they mention the tongue piercing.

It invokes a rage unknown within you, the second the metal ball’s mentioned you see red. And he fucking loves it, you could be three prefectures over and the second the girl mentions it, you magically appear at his side like you’d been there the whole time

All of a sudden you’re all over him, disregarding this girls words as she tries to bring the conversation back to her, going as far as grabbing your shoulder, and since she touched you first- you had the green light

Your arm pulled back and your fist connected to her cheek

And like nothing ever happened you turned back to the blond

tags: @diamond-3 @rinsangel @heyheyitsne @angelalje @monisi @crystal-lilac @sadpotato10

[ducktracy]

What’s your favorite LT scene?

the climax to Baby Bottleneck, 0 question

i’ve posted this scene over and over and over and over and OVER again, but i’ll still jump at every chance i can to shove it in someone’s face HAHA. a link isn’t good enough!!! you deserve to have the magic right in front of you! stare at it, i say!

BUT FOR REAL, i’d say the entire egg scene in particular is my FAVORITE favorite, yet i can’t get myself to crop any of this out because it’s all so excellent. this video’s been in my camera roll since the very first time i watched it in 2019, me being the sentimental sap i am i can’t get myself to delete it 😅

there are a TON of reasons why i love this, but i think the biggest is from association—when i finished watching this short for the first time i was genuinely in a panic because i thought i was Actually Having a Heart Attack, my heart was pounding SO FAST. this was my “i wanna do this” moment, it’s just. GOSH. it leaves me speechless every single time i try to dissect it, which is infuriating because i have so many thoughts about it and can never get them to come out! it leaves me awestruck!

the biggest reason is this scene here, this piece of Rod Scribner animation is my favorite piece of animation in general. is it the best bit of animation to ever exist? probably not, but it’s easily MY favorite. that in conjunction with the orchestral build and resolution chord (which, to my chagrin, hits a LITTLE after Porky lands on his tongue… i tried to rectify it last year for my own personal satisfaction), it gives me CHILLS!

there are a lot of “flaws” so to speak in this scene. layouts are incredibly sparse, if not non-existent, there are confusing jump cuts, the scene can be inarticulate at times (it took me months to figure out that Daffy was mocking Porky’s stutter, and even then i’m STILL not entirely sure of its intent—i always interpreted it as Daffy resorting to mocking Porky since he has no other means of attacking him physically. if ya can’t smack his ass with a piece of wood, might as well hurt him with words instead), odd splices in animation, but the entire scene STILL manages to be SO STRONG in spite (or rather, BECAUSE) of that.

it hinges much more on emotion and adrenaline than “looking pretty”, so to speak—the jump cuts and quick action disorient the audience and allow the adrenaline rush to be stronger, the sparse layouts encourage the action to be front and center so you don’t miss a beat, etc. it’s a very immersive experience that prioritizes the audience and their viewing experience, which is a nice focus to have

i absolutely encourage you to watch this frame by frame, or at least watch it on .25x speed with the sound off and just study every little frame. so many fantastic facial expressions and movements and details from the work of Izzy Ellis, Rod Scribner, Manny Gould and Bill Melendez… all packed in a 1 minute clip!

SEE, i’ve rambled enough here and i’m STILL frustrated that i haven’t put even a TENTH of how i feel about this scene (and this short) into words. i guess that’s what my reviews are for, whenever that day comes, but AAAAH!

a runner up would be the entire opening to The Great Piggy Bank Robbery, from the opening pan of the farm to Daffy socking himself in the face and delving into his Dick Tracy fanboy fantasy (i have about the first half of the opening here). if you haven’t seen either short, i BEG of you to check them out! both these shorts have really changed me HAHA they made me a much more passionate cartoon fan(atic) and i feel that i wouldn’t be where i am today had they not lit that fire under my butt. at the very least OGLE AT THESE SCENES!

[hazbincalifornia]

Year in Writing

My end-of-year writing reflection! And by reflection, I mean 'thing that's the equivalent of those 'post an art piece for every month' memes'.

Essentially, this is just a collection of writing snippets, one picked from each month. (Some of the ao3 links may have a different post time, that's because they were posted on tumblr initially during that month. Some are also NSFW, so be warned, but those will have a little note next to them.)

Here's to another year!

Jan- link

“So you’re the one who wanted the private show, huh?”

“Guilty as charged. I came to see your circus a bit ago, and I must admit, you captivated me. Such a perfect little specimen… I wanted to see you up close.” There’s adoration and delight tied up with a bow of something darker, dripping repression and obsession.

All four eyes are glowing, white pupils pinpricks as they focus on Blitzo. Electricity thrums up his spine as he’s seen, seen in a way that burrows down to his core, tail idly winding in the air before snapping like a whip and making the owl blink. His strained grin twitches, half-melting into something cockier.

_

Feb- link (nsfw)

“Hmm.” He crawled closer, cupping Blitzo’s face in both hands, and Blitzo’s mind swirled further as the heat bubbled the blood around his brain, deep purrs rumbling through his chest as everything wobbled the way the air always did on too-hot days when the tar melted underneath your feet. Magic thrummed throughout his body, but all he could tell was that it was making Stolas touch him, and anything that made Stolas touch him was good. “It seems that having little Stellaluna had some physiological effects.”

_

Mar- link (nsfw)

“Okay. Get on your knees.”

That was… unexpected. Kit blinked, and Clove twirled the watch again, sending a glow from his fingers into the case. It caught the light, the magic inside reflecting a prism on the wall for a brief moment before Kit decided to drop down, black jeans hitting the carpet. Clove ran his hands through his hair, murmuring soothing words about how he was such a good boy that pulled a purr out of Kit. He could live in this moment forever, looking up at the speckled quilt of skin and the pointed teeth and the mesmerizing way that Clove’s hair bounced with every little motion of his head, not quite feathers but not quite hair either.

“You want to be a good boy, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kit replied automatically, and Clove stroked up one of his antenna before his grin widened and he spread his legs.

_

April- link

Daddy meant two things, to Stolas. When warbled or excitedly chirped out of the beak of his young chick, it was love and admiration and the knowledge of protection and security, that nothing could hurt her as long as Daddy was here. Daddy was a warm lap to rest on and a comforting presence that he was happy to provide for his stunning little starlight, his sweet blossom who peeped out the title with wide, innocent eyes and chubby, flushed cheeks.

When it was teased out from under the lips and between the teeth of his little circus imp, though, Daddy dripped with bloodied honey, slick and dangerous and powerful in an entirely different way. So often, Blitzo used it to remind him of the difference in their ages in addition to a jab at how the baby in his belly got there, even though when it came to prowess in sexual matters, the imp was the one with more practical experience. Daddy was the tip of a crop sliding along the skin before it struck, the fire burning in his stomach when cooed out like a prayer, the thrill of how wrong and yet right all of this was. Even when he was the one letting it slip from his beak, it was all a play, a dance to keep them both on their toes as they figured out together what this thing that they shared was.

_

May- link (nsfw)

Satan’s sweet pussy, he knew they’d said something about heats being worse if you don’t let one in now and then, but he’d soaked through his turtleneck and coat in mere minutes and already felt like throwing himself into a shallow grave just to fuck whatever worms happened to be crawling in and out. His hips gyrated in the air, and Loona’s nose twitched again before she pinched it shut, voice stuffy as she spoke.

_

June- link

He waits. He wants to justify himself, but what can he even say? She knows what’s been done- what’s been done by him to her lovely, brilliant spitfire of a child. She has his flame, he can see it in her eyes and how she holds her hands, but there are decades of bricks built up to keep it from being blown out. 

“I know how it works.” She’s chopping some orange fruit into pieces. The knife is razor-sharp, and she spins it in her hand expertly before turning her head to face him with steely eyes. The words are well-planned as they spill out like a spool of barbed wire, and he realizes suddenly why this is the woman who named her children the way that she did. “You think that you’ll care, but you get the choice to run. He doesn’t. He grows attached so easy and he already loves the baby you put in him. I’ve spent eighteen years trying to keep them from cracking and sinking into the worst aspects of themselves like so many around here do, and I don’t want to watch my baby boy break because of you.” She impaled the point of the knife in the cutting board, and even though Stolas knows he could turn her to stone with a glance, he finds himself gulping. “If you’re going to love him, love him, and treat him like a prince. If you aren’t…” She trailed off, and Stolas can see his own distorted reflection interrupted by rivulets of juice running down it. “Don’t waste our time.”

July- link

His hand fell flat, and a nervous laugh bubbled from his chest as delight echoed in his blood. He could feel an echo of his own movement, curled up and curious as they prodded back out with their baby hand. They were safe. They were happy. They were tired. But when he draped his tail over his stomach, pure bubbly love of the kind he hadn’t felt since he was a kid curled around his brain like marshmallow fluff, sinking in and soothing away the self-doubt for just a moment.

They were excited enough to see the world that they were still spilling all over, but the flood of joy at simply living, at being himself, was overwhelming. (Had he ever really, truly loved himself this much?)

_

Aug- link

Fear and anger and boiling ancient magic bubbled inside her until they burst, swelling inside of her belly before riding up her throat. Stella coughed up a single feather as deep red as the back of a blasted skull. A moment later, droplets of her own navy blood splashed on top of it. Then… the flood.

Feathers choked out of her, smothering as they poured out fast enough to bury her form entirely with red and black and red and red and red as she clawed at the floor. Sticky and searing, her head split in two and also into a dozen pieces while they melted to her skin, sinking through her clothes even as something erupted from her back. It burned as it tore through the bone and muscle with a scream that not even the endless feathers could muffle. Her breath twisted inside her lungs as the growths on her head and back unfurled, fresh flesh still sore enough that it hurt to twitch. She could see everything cracked and shattered and from different angles as she slowly, shakily rose, fingers twitching as her claws extended at a thought even as they bled from the base.

_

Sep- link

Wisps of that same contentment as before trailed up his nerves, along with a tiny and muffled warbling coo. It wasn’t nearly as strong this time, but it had started the exact moment he’d started rubbing his stomach, so it had to be the kid saying ‘hi’ in the only way that she could short of bruising the inside of his skin by going for the boxing championship. It was a cheaper high than coke, at least, and a soft smile spread across his face at both the sound and their shared sense of serenity.

_

Oct- link

Blitzo’s eyes were blown wide, tail curling around his legs as he watched Stolas’s expression shift from confident to flustered. This was just like Kat and the Envy imp, he knew how this should end, but his racing heart at the thought of being captive was only equaled by the flames pooling between his legs at the thought of being wanted that much. “Shit, could have fooled me, but let’s put a pin in that one, alright?” 

_

Nov- link

It had been sleeping when he left.

It was fine.

It was fine.

He was going to get out of here.

He was going to get out, and it would be fine, and Barbie would drag him to a nearby bar and scrub him clean of the sweat and dirt and cum and then she’d cake him in makeup to cover the bags under his eyes and things would go back to normal, and it would be fine, and someday they would be able to laugh about this like the time in Lust they’d had to-

It was fine.

_

Dec- link

“Incorrectomundo.” He pointed the tip of the marker at her. “I have changed my mind exactly once. I thought Stolas was taking the kid, then I felt like shit about the thought I’d have to do it, and now I don’t because I want her. Any other existential crises that happened between those points are none of your legal business, missy and mister.”

“Crises?” Moxxie raised an eyebrow, and Blitzo mimed a zipped lip.

“Like I said. None of your beezlewax. I’m keeping the kid and I will find a way to not have her fuck with business. My personal life is my problem.”

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Daring - Chapter 2

This is part two of my Abby Mordern!Au, you can read Chapter 1 here.

Masterlist

Abby and the reader have dinner at Abby's place. There is music playing and referenced, so I'd recommend you listen to this playlist with all the songs playing in order as soon as the date night begins. About 10k words.

CW for alcohol consumption, mention of death/murder, mention of dubious consent (and possibly terrible grammar. It's 10pm, I just finished this, I don't have a proofreader atm)

Thyme and Tree Bark

“Don’t mess this up, airhead. Take care!”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, idiot!”

You closed the door behind Mark as he vanished down the stairs and headed straight for your bed. Though you were less wobbly on your feet after devouring half of a perfectly cheesy pizza with just the right amount of jalapenos, it had thrown you straight into a food coma. Your angel of a brother had come over at noon with two chilled cans of coke and a large pizza from your favorite Italian place and not even ripped open the curtains as he usually did. Instead, he had thrown himself on the bed right next to you, handed you a slice, and demanded you start talking.

Of course, he already knew about Abby and your embarrassing shyness when it came to the buff blonde, so he was extremely proud of the progress you had made with your excruciating crush. You both agreed that Abby had definitely invited you over for a date this week - alone, without Manny there - and that it had to mean she was interested, too. He had laughed about the little bar stint when Abby had shut down your flirt with the hot waitress in an instant and was now 100% sure this was going to go great. As long as you kept it together and didn’t ruin everything. As you often did. This needed some tactical planning.

Mouths full of cheesy delight and laughing at each other’s stupid ideas, you and your brother had come up with a fairly foolproof plan. You would text Abby in 1-2 days, keeping it cool and asking when you should come over. Then, you would suggest making cocktails at home, already granting a fun activity and something to loosen the mood. You would keep it casual and bring over some nice liquor and maybe a bag of chips, perfect for watching a movie. You’d try to keep the conversation casual and try to speak mostly about Abby, asking lots of questions so you didn’t get tangled up in speaking about yourself. If you steered the conversation toward movies, you could watch something exciting and maybe even scary together so you could cuddle up on the couch together. And well, if you got that far, things would probably fall into place naturally. Foolproof. Y/N-proof.

You groaned as you reached over to grab your phone from your nightstand. You had a message from your mom asking if you wanted to come over for dinner next weekend and an email from your professor who wanted to submit your last essay to some kind of grant application. You’d have to answer her later, your head still felt like it was filled with cotton. Instead, you sent Leah a message.

-Hey, you still alive? There’s leftover pizza and coke over here.

Five seconds later, there was a delighted squeal at the other side of the wall and you heard the click of your roommate’s door before yours opened and Leah tiptoe-danced inside, beaming at you. She was wearing nothing but an extremely tight-fitting cropped wifebeater and a khaki thong, accentuating her long legs as she leaped right onto your bed and almost made you fly as her weight hit the mattress. You tried not to stare at her perfectly toned abs as she opened the gigantic carton and held up a slice of pizza over her head, letting the tip dangle in her mouth before biting down with a moan that made you snort awkwardly.

“Good morning, you animal.”

Leah just moaned again, making a grabbing motion with her hand and pointing toward the second can of coke on your nightstand. You laughed silently as you handed her the cold can, condensed water running down the sides and wetting your fingers. You wiped them on the blanket. The tall brunette swallowed hard and took a sip of coke.

“Good morning, womanizer.” She grinned widely. “I’m so proud of you, man. This is the first time I’ve seen you in action and I can safely say Abby was just as surprised as I was.”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Oh god, was I that obvious? Did I do anything inappropriate? I thought it went well, but now I’m not so sure.” You spread your fingers to peak at your roommate who was currently chewing on a ginormous bite, tomato juice running down her chin. No manners, that girl. She just shook her head and made a noise somewhere between protest and encouragement.

“No, you were fine,” she said with a full mouth, “very tipsy, but cute. I hope you remember Abby inviting you to her place.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

You ran your fingers through your hair, immediately getting stuck in a tangle of knots. God, you needed a shower.

“Yeah, I already went over it with Mark. We made a plan so I won’t embarrass myself.”

“Good. I hope it goes well, you two would be cute together. Hot, even. I mean, no one can deny the allure of those biceps. And her ass?! Godly.” She easily evaded the kick you aimed at her ribs, laughing and slapping your shin away.

“Come on, let’s not act like you’re not ogling her every chance you get. I am, too - the woman looks like a greek goddess!”

“That’s enough,” you giggled, aiming another playful kick in her direction but only lightly hitting her in the thigh. “I know what she looks like.”

“Right. And soon, you’ll hopefully see a lot more of her.” This time, Leah jumped off the bed before your toes could sink right into her side. You tried to suppress a grin as you two stared at each other for a moment before Leah sat back down cross-legged and began eating the last slice of pizza.

“I mean,” she said casually, “you have seen more of a woman before, right?”

You grabbed your coke and turned it in your hands before answering.

“Yeah, I have. It wasn’t… It wasn’t all that, though. Just one time and we were both so nervous it was just awkward.”

Now Leah looked at you with a mixture of shock and pity.

“Come on, Y/N. Only once? You’ve never seen stars because of a woman’s tongue? Never screamed into a pillow because of some skilled sapphic strap game? Never lost your mi-”

“Leaahhhh!” You groaned, feeling blood shoot into your cheeks. “No, okay? I… I made the other girl cum, but for me, it was just… it was too unfamiliar and I didn’t know her well enough to really let myself enjoy it.”

Suddenly a thought crossed your mind and you felt your eyes open wide.

“Wait. Has Abby…? Is she..?”

Leah paused mid-bite and thought for a second.

“Well, she does have experience with men, obviously. As far as women go… I honestly don’t know. She’s dated a few, but it never went longer than a couple of weeks. I don’t know how fast things go with her and she’s never gone into detail with me. I have to ask Nora about that.”

“Don’t you dare! She’ll know this is about me and tell Abby!”

“Oh come on, I’m interested, too.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you so you know what to prepare for, win-win!” She nudged your foot and gave you a mischievous half-smile.

“For god’s sake, do what you must.” You finished your coke and threw it perfectly into the bin beside your desk. Leah gave you an impressed nod. “And now I desperately need a shower. There is a literal nest on top of my head.”

“True,” Leah said and stood up, stretching her limbs as she walked to the door. “Thanks for the pizza. I’m gonna ask Jordan if he wants to come over, so don’t walk out naked if you don’t want a threesome.” She winked at you before closing the door, but a small part at the back of your brain knew that she wasn’t completely joking. You sighed and swung your legs off your bed. No point in lying around, it was past 3 pm anyway.

Grabbing your phone, a shirt, and some clean boxers, you headed for the bathroom. You took your time showering, detangling the mess on your head with lots of conditioner, humming along to Marika Hackman’s cover of I Follow Rivers as you stood under the hot stream of water and brushing your teeth for at least five minutes while waiting for a hair mask to do its magic. When you stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was filled with hot steam and you felt like a whole new person. You slipped into your fresh clothes and held the blow dryer to the mirror until your reflection was clear.

So. Here you were. Finally, you had spoken to the woman of your dreams and even flirted with her. She may have even been jealous of your short conversation with Ellie, the bartender. Tomorrow, you would text her, you would be brave and cool and not at all awkward. As you collected your clothes off the floor and took your phone, you suddenly realized something that would destroy your entire plan. You didn’t even have Abby’s phone number. Why hadn’t you asked her? Of course, you could ask Leah for it, but Abby would know because she knew she hadn’t given it to you. It would be a lot less cool and casual. Fuck.

You stepped into the hallway and ran straight into Jordan. Perfect. Good thing Leah had warned you.

“Oh, hi Y/N! You doing alright after all those tequila shots?” Jordan’s face was open and kind. You immediately relaxed. Just a guy, not a threat.

“Better than I thought I would, actually. What about you?”

“Well, I sent them back out the way they came as soon as I got home.” He grimaced and shrugged. “Just glad I’m still alive, to be honest.”

You had to laugh. “I’m glad, too. Leah would have been devastated.”

“I hope so.” He grinned back. The silence between you stretched a little bit too long.

“Anyways, I’m gonna see what she’s up to. See you later?”

“Yeah, sure!” You said, relieved that he didn’t make it awkward. You quickly slipped into your room and sank down on the bed, composing a text to Mark.

-Minor hiccup - I don’t have her number.

His reply came immediately.

-Shit. What now?

You let yourself fall back on the mattress and covered your face with your arm. Your phone vibrated again and you lifted it up, hoping for a brilliant idea.

-Hey, this is Abby. Are we still on for next week?

You almost dropped your phone on your face. For a minute, you just stared at the message. Then you rolled over onto your stomach and screamed into your pillow.

-Hi Abby. We absolutely are. Y/N.

You tried to suppress a fit of giggles as you texted your brother.

-Nvm, she just texted me.

-Omg what!! Play it cool, don’t answer yet. What did she say???

-Oops already answered. Still on for next week.

-Incredibly casual lol. Whatever, good for you!

-Shut up!

Another text by Abby came in and you actually started drumming your feet on the bed with excitement.

-Tuesday? I could cook for us

-Very impressive, I’ll bite. What time should I come over?

-Very clever. 6pm? Any allergies?

-Vegetarian, hope that’s okay. 6 is great, text me your address?

You watched the little text bubble pop up and vanish again for a good minute, getting more and more nervous for her answer.

- No problem. 2425 Constance.

There was nothing else to do but scream into your pillow again.

-

The next two days went excruciatingly slow. You spent the rest of your Sunday in bed, watching a terrible zombie movie and later ordering curry because you couldn’t be bothered with preparing any food. As it got late, you suddenly heard a knock on the wall. At first, you thought it was accidental, until the knocking started to continue in a steady rhythm. With a death glare that you hoped would reach through the concrete, you plugged your headphones into your laptop and continued watching your movie.

On Monday, you threw yourself into art history coursework and caught up on your studies, emailed your professor, and spent three hours on an essay about the depiction of blood in paintings of Judith beheading Holofernes. Lovely subject. Even though you got through a lot of your tasks for the day, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at your phone every 10 minutes to see if you had missed a message. Of course, nothing came up. Around 4 pm, your phone buzzed and you leapt for it only to find out it was Leah asking you to buy toilet paper later. At 6pm, you shut off your laptop and grabbed your backpack to go grocery shopping.

Standing in the liquor store you realized you hadn’t asked Abby about cocktails.

“Looking for something in particular?” the elderly lady behind the counter asked. It seemed to be her own shop and to have been hers for a while, judging by the elegant wooden shelves and the warm, nice feeling of the room instead of neon lights and rows of white metal.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I have a date tomorrow and I thought we could make cocktails, but I forgot to ask what she likes. So now I don’t know what to bring.” You gave her an apologetic half smile. She stood up from her seat behind the register, growing not even 2 inches standing compared to sitting and made her way over to you. Her eyes twinkled behind thick glasses that made her look a little bit like an owl.

“Well, dear. I don’t know if I would go straight into the hard liquor on a first date. On my last first date, we had a delicious red wine, a Merlot. Couldn’t that be something? Are you going to eat anything?”

“Oh yes, she said she’d cook for us, but I don’t know what exactly.”

The shop owner gently put a hand on your arm and guided you to a shelf of dark bottles.

“Well, Merlot goes well with any food, so I think it would be perfect. Cocktails come later, when you dress up and go out together or after a night of theater.” You felt a surge of warmth spread through your chest. Theater? Well, why not? For a second, you began to trail off, imagining Abby in a perfectly tailored suit, you at her arm just as dressed up, every head turning as you entered the room and ordered Gin Tonics at the bar during the break. The voice next to you pulled you back to the present.

“If you’re cooking at home, wine is the thing to bring, trust me.”

“I trust you,” you said with a smile as you took the bottle she handed you. The label was a creamy white, with beautiful golden letters. Hopefully this wouldn’t bankrupt you. “Thank you for your help.”

The shopkeeper sat back down in her chair with a sigh and typed into the cash register. 15.99$. That wasn’t so bad. You paid and gently put the bottle inside your backpack.

“You know, you should come by soon and let me know how it went. I think that Merlot will bring you good luck. My wife and I still have it every Sunday.” Your head snapped up and your eyes met that charming, smart twinkle again, flashing at you out of dark brown irises. For a moment, all of the things you wanted to say were stuck in your throat, then you just broke into a smile.

“That’s wonderful, ma’am. I hope I can have that, in the future.”

“Of course you will, dear.” She really sounded like she meant it. A small lump suddenly appeared in your throat.

“Thank you so much. I wish you all the best.”

“Go get her!”

You laughed and waved at her again as you exited the shop, taking the warmth and comfort of it with you and tucking it right beneath the bottom of your heart and the top of your stomach where you knew it would fuel you for a few days. You had already decided that you would come back and make it your mission to befriend that old lady. What a wonderful woman.

Only 23 hours to go. That night, it was almost impossible to fall asleep.

-

You got through the next day by once again banning any thought of the evening from your mind and diving head first into your assignments. You were going to lead a discussion on different planes of language or communications in women’s art and literature and reading up on the historical differences between male and female narratives, beginning with the ancient poet Sappho. It was an exciting topic, something you were extremely thankful for. Otherwise you might have been looking at your phone every 3 minutes instead of every 20. Of course, no message from Abby.

The bottle of wine was standing on your nightstand, reminding you of your plans with an exciting tingle in your stomach. At 4pm, you gave up on doing anything productive. You spent forever in the shower, stealing some of Leah’s expensive pink body scrub, shaving everywhere and regretting it immediately because you felt stupid for assuming anything, entertaining the but what if thoughts while you thoroughly lathered your entire body in Leah’s shampoo and shower gel and spending a good 10 minutes just standing under the hot water because you weren’t ready to leave that fantasy yet. When you stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was an actual steam bath and you could hardly see the door through the thick waves of wonderfully scented fog. You took your time stealing some more of Leah’s skincare products, having come to the conclusion that if she noticed anything and scolded you for it, you might as well try out the whole arsenal.

When you finally opened your closet door, feeling luxurious and clean and fresh, it was 5.10pm. What the hell were you going to wear? You and Mark had agreed on casual, but what the hell did that even mean? You decided to ask him.

-Help!!! Freaking out over my outfit, need a definition for casual

-Jeans and T-Shirt, just your standard outfit. Imagine meeting me for sushi.

-I’m bringing red wine. It seems wrong to bring wine in jeans and a t-shirt..

-What happened to cocktails?? Trust me, keep it simple. You don’t wanna turn up in a dress and she opens the door in sweatpants.

-I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in sweatpants. Ughh fuck I don’t have time for this. Jeans and t-shirt it is. Lesbian grandma recommended wine, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow x

-Go get her x

You quickly slipped into some black jeans that were just the right amount of tightly fitting around your ass and a white shirt with a tiny pomegranate embroidered on the front. Then you put on your jacket and quickly threw your wallet, phone and keys into a tote before grabbing the wine and putting it in as well. With a last look into the hallway mirror and a yelled goodbye to Leah, you rushed out of your apartment.

The evening air was not as cool as you had expected and the sun was just about to set. On your way to the train station, you typed out an on my way! message to Abby and quickly deleted it again. No sense in sending it now when you hadn’t spoken since Sunday and were about to see her. The train ride was annoying, the wagon stuffed with commuters and some guy trying to convince you the apocalypse was upon you all. Zombies, not the last judgement - something different at least.

During the walk from the station to Abby’s house, you were sure it wouldn’t take much more for you to actually start levitating. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your throat was so cramped up it was hard to breathe. When you pulled out your phone, your fingers were actually shaking. Jesus Christ, get a grip. 5.58 pm.

And there it was, 2425 Constance. Just a normal suburban white house, like any other in the street. It actually seemed a bit weird, Manny and Abby living here in the midst of what seemed to be a family neighborhood with real adults . Then again, they both weren’t in college, so you supposed they actually were real adults. When you walked up to the front door, you could hear faint music from inside - jazz? You wouldn’t have guessed she was the jazz type, but then again you knew almost nothing about her. Right. Ask questions, keep the conversation about her. Be cool.

You knocked.

Abby opened the door, a wave of warm air hitting you from inside. It smelled delightful. Her face was slightly flushed, her lips parted as she took in a deep breath. She had tied her hair back in a low bun, but a few strands had fallen out and framed her face. One was standing up in a funny angle.

“Hi, Abby,” you said, trying to keep your voice level and not stare at her body. Fuck, she had dressed up. And she looked hot.

“Hi!” A smile slowly grew wide on her face. When she realized that she was blocking the door, she quickly shook her head and stepped aside. “Come in! Can I take your jacket?”

Oh God, this was hopeless. You already knew you were hers. Thanking her, you took off your jacket and she hung it in a closet next to the entrance. When she turned around, you got a chance to admire her fully. She wore wide dress pants that perfectly accentuated all of her muscles, topped with a loose white shirt with wide sleeves, reminding you a little bit of a pirate. Her jewelry rounded off the pirate look and you had to bite back a grin. She raised her eyebrows at you.

“What?” Her cheeks were still slightly red, but you attributed it to standing in a hot kitchen for probably the last hour, judging by the variety of smells overlapping and mixing together, already making your mouth water.

“Uh, I brought wine,” you said and held out the bottle. Eloquent as always. Abby took it and whistled through her teeth as she inspected the label.

“That looks classic. The sauce I made has some wine in it as well, this is perfect. Thank you, what a great idea!”

You were overwhelmed with her generous praise and didn’t know where to look, so you settled on her hands. You had always sneaked looks at her hands, at the way she held a glass or drummed on a table or clasped them when she was intently listening to someone. They looked strong and rough from work, but there was also a delicacy in their movement and you were sure her touch could be as gentle as the brush of a hummingbird flying past. Realizing you were staring, you tore your gaze away.

“It smells delicious in here, I can’t wait to see what you cooked.” You followed her into the kitchen, where she placed the bottle on the counter and took a corkscrew from a drawer. A big red pot was standing on the gas stove over a tiny flame, the lid still hiding its contents. Your stomach suddenly growled loudly into the silence.

“Someone’s hungry.” Abby gave you a side glance and an amused smirk as she screwed the silver device into the cork. “Everything’s already set, we can get started right away.”

You covered your eyes with your hand for a second before laughing.

“Yeah, I kind of forgot to have lunch earlier and then I figured I’d just wait so I could really savour this.”

“Smart thinking. I made patates au vin , a vegetarian version of coq au vin which is chicken in wine. It’s basically potatoes and vegetables in a thick brown sauce, served with some good rustic bread.” You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back at the thought of getting to eat home cooked french cuisine made by Abby in a few minutes.

“Oh my God, say that again.” You could barely stop yourself from moaning. Abby laughed and opened the wine with a loud pop.

“Here, take this over to the dinner table. I’m right behind you.” You took the bottle and followed her nod into the dining room. The wooden table was beautifully set with big and small plates, glasses for water and wine, candles, two blue glass bottles of water and a bowl of salad topped with what looked like apples, pomegranate seeds and feta cheese. You carefully placed the bottle of wine next to the water bottles and stepped aside for Abby, who came out of the kitchen carrying the heavy pot and placed it on a cork coaster in the middle of the table.

“Wait, let me just…” she trailed off as she grabbed her phone from the sideboard and changed the music. A saxophone led a jazz band into the song before a beautiful female voice set in, soft as butter and filling the room like the smell of roses. The voice was familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. As Abby sat down, the music came to a crescendo before breaking off, the voice setting in again with a soft

is it a crime?

“Who sings this?” you asked as Abby opened the water bottle and filled your glasses.

“Oh, it’s Sade. She was my dad’s favorite.”

And I want you to want me too, the woman sang, and your eyes met over the table. You swallowed. Was? Not the right time.

“Sade? Oh, she sings Smooth Operator, right? I know that one, but I never checked out more of her music.”

Abby smiled at you and opened the lid of the pot.

“Yeah. This is the Promise album, my favorite. She is a force.”

A wave of steam erupted from the pot and you bent forward to look inside. Thick, roasted wedges of yellow potatoes lay in a bed of orange and purple carrots, mushrooms and tomatoes in a thick brown sauce, a stalk of thyme on top and a bay leaf poking out from the sauce. You weren’t sure if you were drooling, but you didn’t care.

“Abby, oh my God! This is fantastic.”

A spark had lit in her eyes when she heard you say her name. She elegantly stood up again, grabbed a serving spoon, and held out her hand for your plate. You watched her hands again as she plated an array of vegetables for you and used the spoon to draw a little sauce heart on the rim of the plate. Your ribs felt two sizes too small around your chest. This woman was actually going to be the death of you.

“Thanks,” you quietly said and waited as Abby helped herself to a plate. She sat down and gestured toward the small basket with thick slices of grey bread with a dark brown crust.

“Help yourself. Bon appétit.”

After a few moments of eating in comfortable silence before you showered the blonde in an array of compliments, this time not able to refrain from moaning when you bit into a tender, sweet purple carrot, the conversation began to flow. Abby complimented the wine, you talked about your studies, Abby told a few work stories in which both she and Nora were involved, you told her about your close relationship with your brother and she bittersweetly reminisced about her upbringing as an only child with a single dad. It had just been the two of them, moving frequently because of his changing jobs in different hospitals. He had been a neurosurgeon, and a brilliant one at that, but always humble and ready to help wherever he could. Abby sat up straighter when she talked about him, her chest actually swelling with pride when she told you about one time they had rescued an injured horse that had run away and been hit by a car in front of them.

“I think I was 16 back then. It’s one of my favorite memories of him. It actually wasn’t long before…” Her eyebrows moved into a frown and she bit her lip, pushing a small piece of onion around her plate. Fuck, maybe it would have been easier to talk about you, after all.

“We don’t have to talk about it. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

She looked up and you expected to see tears, but her eyes were full of love and her face smoothed out into a gentle smile.

“No, it’s okay. I’m still working on it, and part of my therapy is telling people who don’t know yet. You know, I don’t really have a lot of friends.” She suddenly laughed, easing the tension at the bottom of your lungs. “That sounds stupid, of course I do. I have Manny and Nora and Leah and Jordan and Owen, I guess. But the thing is, they all knew me before. I haven’t really made friends ever since my dad.. passed away. The idea of needing to open up to someone about all this so I can develop a real connection and friendship with them is just a lot to bear.”

“The mortifying ordeal of being known,” you mumbled, more to yourself, crumpling up your napkin in one hand.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, it’s this quote from a New York Times article that has been floating around the internet for a while. ‘If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known’.” You looked up at her and inhaled deeply. “It’s something I’m also terrified of. Although it seems kind of stupid sometimes, because compared to you for example, I don’t really have a good reason.”

Abby looks at you like she’s just discovered something extremely interesting. She takes a sip of her wine before answering, her silver rings blinking at you in the candlelight.

“It’s not at all stupid. I’ve always been very careful with who I open up to, even before my dad died. It’s horrifying, laying yourself bare for a person, putting yourself on a silver plate and handing it to them and saying there, now do with it what you wish. Maybe they’ll look at it and say no, thanks. Maybe they’ll call everyone and say hey, look at this mad woman with her twisted insides, isn’t that funny? Maybe they’ll see it and think, I can do this, and then after a few years they suddenly realize they actually can’t and you’re way too much and so they leave for someone with a more simple, prettier silver plate. Maybe they’ll even take a few pieces with them as they go.”

She didn’t sound bitter as she said it, and she didn’t look terribly sad either, more as if she was making an observation about something she was mildly interested in. You didn’t know what to say except for show me your silver plate, please show me your all, and I will devour it, savor it, keep it with me forever. But you stayed silent, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“I’m quite the handful, am I? Sorry, I shouldn’t have thrown all this” - she gestured toward herself - “at you during our first date.” Then her eyes widened as she realized what she had said. “Fuck, sorry, I just assumed… you probably don’t…”

Finally, movement came back into you. You jumped from your chair and were next to her in a few paces. She lifted a hand and you took it in yours.

“Of course this is a date,” you said gently and smiled at her. “Otherwise why would I have been this nervous for the past three days, thinking of nothing but you, constantly checking my phone to see if you texted me? And I brought red wine, come on.” That brought a smile to her face. She chuckled lightly.

“So I haven’t just ruined everything?” The hope in her eyes was mixed with real, honest fear.

“No, of course not. I’m glad you’re being open with me. You know, I planned not to reveal too much about myself tonight, fearing I would scare you away or say something stupid and make you suddenly lose interest.”

The current song ended and a soft, funky beat came on. There it was again, that twinkle in Abby’s eyes. Your hands were still clasped around hers and she made no move to pull back.

“Well, now I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me. Lay it on me. Over dessert, maybe?”

You raised your eyebrows.

“There’s dessert? You’re going to have to roll me out of here later.”

She laughed, warm and genuine, and the pride you had felt back in The Closet filled your chest again. You would do anything just to be the one to make her laugh every day for the rest of your life. She got up and you both started clearing the table together.

Never going to know

What fate is going to blow

Your way, just hope that it feels right

Could that Sade lady be any more on the nose? You risked a glance at Abby, who was smiling to herself. You followed her into the kitchen and she opened the fridge to produce a large glass dish, showing the several layers of biscuit and white cream, topped with dark cacao.

“Tiramisu? Seriously Abby, how much time did you spend in the kitchen today?”

She gave you a crooked grin before exiting the kitchen.

“Took the day off.”

You just sighed and went back into the dining room.

Such a fine time as this

“Here.” Abby handed you a small plate with a piece of her gourmet tiramisu. Your fingers brushed against each other and you both paused for just the blink of an eye.

What could equal the bliss

The thrill of the first kiss

You sat down and grabbed the small fork left next to your wine glass. On second thought, you took another sip of Merlot. It really was exquisite.

“Buon’ appetito,” you said and sliced off a perfect edge of tiramisu. The soft, coffee-drenched biscuit fell apart on your tongue, mixing with the heavy vanilla-flavored mascarpone. “Did you know where the name tiramisu comes from?”

Abby lifted her fork to her mouth and softly closed her lips around the piece of creamy dessert. You were entranced, watching her hand sink down to the table again, then her jaw moving and flexing as she chewed. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and you cleared your throat, taking another piece on your fork.

“ Tira mi su is Italian for ‘pull me down’. It’s the last thing you eat after dinner and the thing that makes you tired, pulls you right into the food coma. In restaurants, it rounds off the meal and guests will probably leave in the following hour because they feel they’re ready to go home.”

Never as good as the first time

Natural as the way we came to be

“Oh,” Abby said, her voice quiet. She looked up at you through dark lashes. “And are you going home after this?”

“No.” You said it without thinking, only knowing what was true in your heart. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m glad.” Taking a deep breath, Abby straightened up, then reached a hand across the table, her palm facing up. You stared at it for a fraction of a second before placing your hand in hers, feeling something fall into place inside you. The glances you exchanged said so much more than you could possibly dare to say out loud right now.

You used your free hand to stab the last piece of tiramisu. This time it was Abby who was watching you with hungry eyes as the fork vanished between your lips and emerged clean.

“This tiramisu could be the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” you said after swallowing and Abby’s fingers twitched ever so slightly around your hand.

“Thank you. I’m really into French and Italian cuisine, as you may have noticed.”

You leaned back in your chair, careful not to pull back your hand.

“I couldn’t do it, honestly. Spending so much time in the kitchen. Especially not with a job like yours, on your feet all day. I’d probably survive off of pasta and takeout.”

Abby smiled and began slowly drawing circles on the back of your hand with her thumb. You were already hyper-aware of how your blood rushed through every vein of your body, a side-effect of the red wine, but now it came to a roar in your ears.

“I guess I need some kind of hobby besides lifting weights. It calms me down. And it’s not just about the end result, about getting to eat something, but also about picking the right ingredients, taking my time cutting them up, trying new recipes with new flavors, and learning more about food and culture, and honestly about myself. It’s like meditating.”

“That sounds…” you were at a loss for words, “unbelievable? I’ve never heard someone talk about cooking like that. And I’ve never felt that way about it, too. I guess I’d like to, though. It sounds nice.”

Abby brushed her thumb over your knuckles.

“Well, I could show you.” You tilted your head slightly. “I mean, we could cook together. Next time. If you want to?”

Sade’s voice, smooth as polished wood and dripping with honey cut into the moment.

How could I have doubted

Honey, it's with me that you belong

“Yeah, I’d love to. What do you have in mind?”

“Do you like lasagna? We could make a vegetable lasagna and substitute the meat for soy. I could show you how to make a béchamel.”

You laughed and squeezed her hand.

“I love lasagna, although I have no idea what a beshmel is.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Abby’s face was glowing with happiness.

As the last two songs of the album played, you helped Abby clean up the table. You got into an argument about doing the dishes - Abby said she’d do it later but you insisted you would do them now or at least help because so far you had not lifted a finger.

“Come on, Abby, please let me help?” You tried your best doe eyes at her. She grinned and playfully slapped your upper arm.

“Okay. But I’ll put on different music.”

She vanished to the dining room while you began filling the sink with water. A high note filled the room before a man spoke.

You broke my heart / 'Cause I couldn't dance

You didn't even want me around

And now I'm back / To let you know

I can really shake 'em down

Abby stepped into your field of vision. The music set in, a delightful 60’s rock and roll melody, and Abby began dancing toward you with tiny steps and shaking shoulders. She was lip synching to the coarse voice of the singer and reaching out her hands for you. Snapping out of your frozen position, you shook your head, grabbed her hands, and were immediately twirled through the kitchen. A squeak escaped you as Abby pulled you back toward her and with another pirouette, you almost slammed into her chest. You both laughed out loud, continuing to dance through the kitchen with big, overexaggerated moves, flailing your arms and shuffling your feet across the tile.

I can do the twist

Now, tell me baby

Do you like it like this?

You quickly began singing along to the simple lyrics and both of you were giggling at each other’s dance moves. The next song was Stand By Me and you both settled down, beginning to clean the pots and dishes. You did the washing while Abby dried off the pieces you gave her and put them back into the right cupboards. Both of you were swaying and humming along to the music.

During the second chorus, both of you began belting along, filling the kitchen with the wonderfully familiar sound of slightly drunk women singing together. As the song ended, you both comically froze and waited for the next song to set in. When it was La Bamba by Ritchie Valens, you both continued singing along and showing off some probably terrible salsa moves. You were done in no time and Abby took your hand, pulling you into the dining room and sliding across the wooden floors with you. Your stomach hurt from laughing and you couldn’t stop smiling.

Next came the bittersweet Be My Baby by the Ronettes, a song you remembered from your childhood, vague memories of your parents slow dancing together after another terrible fight. You swallowed down the hint of bitterness creeping up from your stomach. Instead, you looked up at Abby, almost a full head taller than you, and dared yourself to step forward. You placed your right hand in Abby’s and your left on her tricep, coming unbearably and exhilaratingly close. Abby put her hand on your back, right below your shoulder blade, warming you through the fabric of your shirt. Your faces were incredibly close, her breath warm on your nose, and you could have counted every single freckle on her beautiful face. There was a slim ring of gold around her pupil, complimenting the green of her iris. She was breathtaking.

You couldn’t take this any longer. Should you kiss her? Everything inside you wanted to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to close the last inch of distance. It felt like wanting to do a handstand but pulling back at the last second every time because of a deep fear of failing and hurting yourself. It was terribly frustrating.

Instead, you leaned your head against the round muscle of Abby’s shoulder, turning your face toward her chest and pressing your temple to her collarbone. You could smell the herbs she had used to cook earlier in the fabric of her shirt, but her skin smelled like pine and something else, earthy and dark, like tree bark or wool. Abby rested her chin against your forehead and her low hum of contentment vibrated against your cheek.

A light waltz melody began, Unchained Melody, a song you knew from some commercial and had listened to for a few weeks straight after.

I need your love

God speed your love to me

You smiled to yourself and could sense Abby was doing the same. You kept slowly turning, dancing through the candle-lit room and swaying side to side. The band set in louder and you lifted your head again. Abby’s eyes were fixed to yours, but you couldn’t stop yours from wandering lower, finding those perfectly pink lips, hanging open ever so slightly. Your hand wandered upward, along her shoulder, and to the back of her neck. As the last verse of the song began, you stood on your tiptoes and brushed your lips against her. Abby inhaled sharply, her fingers spreading on your back and pressing against your skin. You gently pressed your lips to hers again and this time, she kissed you back. You dug your fingertips into the back of her neck, desperately wanting to come closer, to pull her down to you, hell, you would climb her like a tree if you had to.

Feeling courageous, you stuck your tongue out and ran the tip upward over her lips. Abby instantly reacted, opening her mouth for you and greeting your tongue with hers. She tasted like wine and cacao, and faintly like thyme. Releasing your hand, she wrapped her arms around your waist. You reached up and buried your hand in her hair. She gasped into your mouth. You tucked that sound away for later, swearing to yourself you would make her do it again as often as you could.

A few seconds of silence between songs were disrupted by your wonderfully frivolous wet kissing sounds and a small whine that escaped you when Abby’s hand wandered lower to cup your ass. The first guitar chords of Nights In White Satin vibrated through the air and Abby grabbed you tightly before lifting you off the ground and wrapping your legs around her hips. She carried you over to the dining table and set you down.

The dramatic crescendo in the song you loved so much began.

And I love you

Yes I love you

Oh, how I love you

The singer’s voice filled every corner of the room, his declaration hovering above you, the high voices of the background singers ringing in your ears and Abby’s hands everywhere, her body leaning over you, her hips pressed between your legs. You flexed your legs to pull her in closer, almost falling apart when Abby let out a low moan and rocked her hips forward against you. Then she suddenly slowed down and broke the kiss.

“Wait, let’s talk for a second.”

You kept your legs clamped around her, but relaxed back a little, brushing back a strand of hair from her forehead and giving her an encouraging nod to go ahead.

“I haven’t… I’m not that experienced with - with women. And generally. And I don’t want to rush things and do something wrong and lose you. I don’t really know how this works and I want to do it right.”

Her hands on your waist tightened slightly. You gave her a shy smile.

“Me neither. I’m scared, too.” You surprised yourself with your openness. “How about we take this slow, then? Talk about everything openly? And just go one step at a time?”

Abby nodded and pulled you closer again.

Holding Back The Years began playing.

“One kiss at a time.” She gave you a gentle peck on the lips.

“Oh, really? I would have never picked you as the sappy type,” you laughed against her lips.

“You wouldn’t?” She acted shocked. “Let me remind you of how I took the day off to cook a gourmet french dish for you.”

“True.” You shrugged and pulled her in for another kiss. “It’s probably the muscles. With those guns, you can do anything and still be taken seriously.”

Abby snorted and you realized that had been the wine talking. For a second, you were mortified, then she scooped you up again, holding your body with one arm as she ran her free hand through your hair.

“Oh, those? You know, they’re specifically for carrying you around all day. Anything for my - princess.” You had very well noticed the little pause there, but you decided not to say anything yet. Instead, you lifted your chin and eyebrows, imitating what you thought a royal would look like.

“Well, what does that make you? You’re obviously not a prince. My lady knight?”

Abby nodded solemnly.

“Sworn to protect and defend you. And to carry you wherever.”

“Well, do you have a sofa you could carry me to?” You tightened your hold on her shoulders and leaned in closer again.

“Of course, my lady.”

Abby carried you through a doorway at the back of the dining room into a cozy living room, equipped with a large sofa and a gigantic flatscreen tv, two vintage armchairs, a wooden bookshelf with at least 100 books, and a desk facing the window, medical books spread across the surface. The blonde sat down on the sofa and you knelt left and right of her hips, straddling her as you gave her another soft kiss.

“You know,” you began, “I’ve been crushing on you for months now. I thought you had absolutely no interest in me. I didn’t even know you liked women.”

Abby’s eyes widened at your confession.

“Shit, I had no idea. You weren’t exactly forward, you know. The first time we met, you already had this pull on me. But you were so shy and I didn’t want to jump you or annoy you, so I tried to keep my distance and wait if you would come around.”

“You have Leah to thank for that. Me coming around. I kind of forgot to come out to her until karaoke night and she told me you were dating women as well. She knows I’ve been a hopeless case when it comes to you, but she wanted me to figure this out on my own.”

Abby thought about this for a second.

“Yeah, Leah probably only told you because she knew I liked you, too. I haven’t been that open about dating women in the past, just because talking about dating in general was weird with Owen and Mel around and I also just don’t like everyone knowing my personal business.”

“I get that.” You nodded. “As I said, I hadn’t even been out to Leah. Mostly because I haven’t dated anyone in forever and the last time was a disaster not worth talking about.” You winced at the memory.

“You wanna tell me anyway?”

You thought about it for a second, then you climbed off Abby’s lap and laid down on the sofa, resting your head on her thigh. Her fingers immediately began brushing through your hair and massaging your scalp.

“Well, I met this girl during a freshman party at a sorority house the weekend before my first semester in college,” you began. You had felt weirdly out of place, but were determined to speak to at least one person. A few hours and an almost-lethal amount of tequila later, the girl you had talked to all night had dragged you into one of the bedrooms. You both had no previous experience, were extremely drunk and it was already 5am. You had fun making out and were both eager to try more, but it had been more out of curiosity than desire for each other and so the experience had not ended in the expected bliss of lesbian sex. Rather, she had come pretty quickly and afterward she'd begun crying and told you she had a boyfriend, and you had gotten dressed and fled the house. After that, dating in college was not really something you thought about much.

Abby listened to your story with interest and sympathy, laughing at a few parts and stroking your hair as you told her about the end of that fateful night. She felt deeply sorry for your experience of strangeness and betrayal, immediately promising to you that she would always tell you what was going on inside her head and what she wanted.

“Like you just did,” you smiled at her. “That was brave. It’s what I should have done that night.”

“I mean, I had a few weird moments, too, before I learned to speak my mind.” Abby’s gaze unfocused and she frowned as she clearly recalled some not very pleasant memories.

“Wanna tell me, too?” you asked, keeping your voice light. She nodded, looking down at you again.

“I mean, there's Owen, obviously. That didn’t work out well and now he is with Mel, leaving me wondering if he was interested in her while we were still together. After we broke up, Nora and I went on a little bender.” Your heart jumped into your throat. Did Abby and Nora...? A wave of jealousy rose from the bottom of your stomach, but you forced yourself to keep your calm, smiling at Abby as she continued.

“We spent every weekend at a different bar, and one of them was actually at The Closet. Nora was making out with a woman in actual overalls” - she snorted - “and I just hung out at the bar, drinking Long Islands and not brave enough to make eye contact with anyone. And then the bartender started talking to me.”

Suddenly realization dawned on you. You sat up and stared at Abby.

“Wait, Ellie? The short-haired one?”

Abby grimaced.

“Yeah. We talked for a while and I came back the next week with Leah and Jordan. They didn’t even notice I was spending a lot of time at the bar. Ellie and I met for coffee a few days later and I mentioned my dad and she got really quiet and strange. Turns out, she’s related to the guy that murdered my dad, so...”

You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a moment, all the air in your chest building up pressure as you tried to figure out how to breathe out. Abby noticed and gently guided you to lay back down, continuing to weave her fingers into your hair.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’ll tell you the whole story another time. So yeah, Ellie and I. It was horrible, but we still stayed and talked for a while. She couldn’t tell me a lot about what happened, but she had no idea that I even existed and she was about to have a panic attack over it all. I helped her calm down and then she felt terrible for reacting so badly when it should be me panicking and I just told her that there’s nothing any of us can do now and we should probably leave it at that.” She sighed. “I hadn’t been to The Closet until a few days ago. I only came because I knew you’d be there.”

“Fuck, that’s terrible,” you mumbled. “I don’t think I could have gone back there. I’m still glad you did, though.”

“Me too,” Abby said, her voice gentle and honest. She leaned down to kiss you, deeply and passionately.

You stayed on the sofa for the next few hours, talking about school crushes and gay awakenings, about women constantly hitting on Abby and her being confused for a long time. She told you more about her relationship with Mel and you started to actually resent that woman. Who did she think she was? You told Abby about living with Leah and about your current research projects and she listened intently, asking a lot of questions about the art you were analyzing. You began diving into queer art and Sappho and your theory on the different languages of different social groups. Abby actually gave you some great new ideas and some good questions you couldn’t yet answer and you were actually beginning to look forward to writing tomorrow.

As the clock moved past midnight, it became clear you would have to leave at some point soon. Abby had to get up at 7 in the morning for a 10-hour shift, and you had stifled one too many yawns. You were cuddled up on the couch, kisses interchanging with long, deep conversations and more kisses.

“I can accompany you to the station,” Abby suggested as you looked up the departure times on your phone.

“You don’t have to. That’s sweet of you, but I’ll find the way.” You kissed her for her generosity, but she pulled back.

“Honestly. I don’t want you walking alone. I’ll go with you.” A sheepish smile appeared on her face and she did a tiny bow. “My lady.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, making your way to the entrance hall. Abby gently helped you into your coat and put on a black bomber jacket, a strange but hot combination with her fancy pants. She opened the door for you and you stepped out into the cold night together.

You held hands on the way to the station, stopping at every corner to make out, laughing together, and making plans for your lasagna night. You would come over on Thursday, promising to yourself you would finish all your coursework until then. Manny would come back on Friday, so you’d have the house to yourself again.

You arrived at the station way too soon, but your train was announced to arrive in two minutes. Heavy-hearted, you flung your arms around the tall blonde and she wrapped hers around your waist, lifting you up for another deep kiss.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” she whispered against your lips.

“I’ll even dress up next time,” you mumbled and she grinned at you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt. I’m excited.” Well, now you had to go shopping. Leah would be delighted to go with you.

You pressed a last kiss to Abby’s lips before unwrapping yourself from her arms as the train rolled into the station. As you stepped away, she caught your hand and pulled you back for another one, cheekily running her tongue over your bottom lip. You sighed and kissed her hand, wrapped firmly around yours, before stepping back and boarding the train. You waved at her through the window as you departed and watched her stand on the platform until she was out of sight.

Letting yourself fall into one of the seats, you pulled out your phone and texted your brother.

-We kissed!!!! Call me when you can

Then you texted Leah about shopping tomorrow, just able to send the text before your phone vibrated with a new message.

-You looked beautiful tonight. I’m the luckiest person in the world.

You tried to keep your squeal as quiet as possible. A woman a few seats ahead of you briefly looked up from her phone.

-Can’t believe I have a personal knight who will carry me wherever I want to go

The reply came in seconds.

-Anywhere and anything you want. Text me when you’re home!

-Can I text you before I’m home? I miss you already :(

You had to wait a few minutes before your phone vibrated again. This time, Abby was calling.

“Sorry, I was cleaning up and getting ready for bed.” She sounded a bit breathless.

“No worries,” you said. “What are you wearing for bed?”

Abby let out a surprised laugh.

“Really, now?”

“I’m serious. I want to imagine being with you.”

“Well, I’m wearing a gigantic black t-shirt with a ton of holes and boxers.”

You closed your eyes, envisioning Abby’s thighs straining against the hem of her shorts and the soft cotton of her shirt that you could bury your face in. She would smell like nature and like home somewhere far away.

“I wish I was there.” You noticed you were sounding desperate. Fucking hell, were you about to turn into a 13-year-old? You could hear the smile in Abby’s voice when she spoke.

“I wish you were here with me, too.” She paused for a moment. Then, “Do you want to sleep over on Thursday?”

“Uhm -” you had to think for a second, remembering you only had dinner plans for Friday with your mom. Before you could answer, Abby cut in again

“Fuck, am I rushing you? I didn’t mean - I just thought it would be nice, falling asleep together. But I totally get if that’s -”

“Abby! Of course I want to stay over!” You clenched your free hand into a fist, punching your thigh a few times in order to divert the explosion of energy inside your chest.

“Oh, thank god,” Abby’s shaky laugh was heart-wrenching. “I thought I messed up already.”

You stood up to exit at your station.

“No, not at all. I’d love to fall asleep with you.”

The way to your apartment was over faster than you wanted it to be.

“I’m home now. I think I should hang up, Leah is probably sleeping.”

“Yeah, don’t wake the monster.” Abby chuckled.

“Good night, Abby. Tonight was incredible.”

“Good night, Y/N. You’re incredible. Sleep tight.”

--

Author's note: Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! If you'd like to support me, you can buy me a coffee here

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT 3) Scarabia and Pomefiore

Scarabia:

Jamil:

-Mama Viper: She’s on the quieter side, similar to Jamil. She’s a very hardworking woman and incredibly loyal to whoever she gets close to, which extends to Kalim as well. Seeing the two boys grow up together, and considering how I think Kalim didn’t get the most attention growing up (with thirty siblings and counting, plus having his father working all the time) she felt sorry for him and took him in as her own as well. She sometimes feels Jamil’s pain at being stuck in the life of servitude, but is incredibly proud of him for sticking up for himself and doing what she never got to do, even if she scolded him after word got to the household. She can’t put much focus on either of her children, which deeply saddens her, but she looks forward to watching them grow up to be strong, intelligent, and independent. I think she’s a little shorter than Jamil, with the same long black hair that she braids down her back. She has dark brown eyes that almost look black.

-Papa Viper: He’s on the more reserved side as well, but not by choice. He’s very talkative when talking about his experiences, often going into rants where he has to remind himself to not overstep his boundaries. I think Papa Viper and Papa Al-Asim have a similar relationship to Kalim and Jamil pre-overblot, where it’s very one sided and there’s a lot of bitterness. Despite this, Papa Viper remains loyal to the Al-Asim family. Deep down he wishes he could spend more tike with his children and deeply regrets telling them to lessen themselves to make the Al-Asims higher than them yet again. And, like Mama Viper, he is incredibly proud of his son for being so intelligent and independent, sticking up for himself and trying to break the chains that kept their family held down foe generations. I think he stands at the same height as Jamil, with shorter cropped hair with grey streaks going across the sides.

-Little sister Viper: A spitfire who’s not afraid to speak her mind, often getting scolded by other servants and the rest of her family. Very close with Kalim’s younger sister who she has to watch over- they have movie nights and makeover nights as often as possible. She often scolds her older brother, telling him little things he needs to change (“haven’t you been wearing your hair like that since forever?”), which often gets them in little passive-aggressive arguments. She and Kalim’s younger sister aspire to be as magicam-popular as the Vil Schoenheit- they even have their friend from the land of Pyroxene to help them boost their account and make their pictures look better (Yes, they call and chat with Cater’s second oldest sister all the time)! I think she has long hair tied in a way similar to their mother’s, with Jamil’s dark grey eyes. I think she stands shorter than the rest of the family, at around 5’2.

Kalim:

-Papa Al-Asim: A cheery, joyful man much like his oldest son! He’s a little dense sometimes, but is actually a very smart man (it’s not easy to own a company after all!). He tries his best to bond with all of his children and wives, but often struggles to juggle everything at once (which leads to him being very teary eyed at every little interaction with any one of his children). Will also spoil his children and wives as often as he can! He likes to see all their different interests, and is overjoyed when he can watch some of them perform during dinners or hang up their paintings or drawings or, if he’s lucky and has the time, he can attend one of their sport games! I think he’d be a little taller than Kalim, with white hair similar to his, with dark brown eyes.

-Mama Al-Asim: A princess at heart. A very quiet and patient woman, who adores her children with every ounce of her being. I think Papa Al-Asim might have four-five wives? Bc these poor woman cannot be having six plus children in the span of seventeen years. I think she gets along well with the others, but would rather it be her and her children getting closer. I think she’s enamored with everything each one of them does, whether it be something as small as a craft they made or a little magic trick they learned, and will keep pictures of every little thing they do. She tries to include every one of them when she does something, whether it be reading aloud to them and the other children, or teaching them how to knit and sew, or helping them learn new dances and wearing new things. She teaches them to be kind to others, often retelling the story about the Thief and the Princess to point out how kind each of the protagonists were. She teaches them as much as possible, from how to help their Papa to how to fix your mistakes and catch them before they happen. She will listen to whatever problems they have, and will offer her shoulder to cry on for each and every one of them. She is also very affectionate to them, still offering cuddles and forehead kisses whenever they look upset (no matter how old they may get). I think she’d have very long brown hair that she tries to add as many intricate little designs to as possible, with Kalim’s bright red eyes. I think she’d be around 5’1-5’2?

-I AM NOT DOING ALL THIRTY YOUNGER SIBLINGS SO HERES A FEW HONORABLE MENTIONS: Twins who get into as much trouble as they possibly can, driving the servants insane. One of them often sneaks out of the palace and comes back after everyone spent hours searching for them with souvenirs. Nobody knows where they went or how they got there, and they won’t tell anyone. His little sisters often dressing up as princesses and performing whole musical numbers during dinner, with the dances down and everything. Hide and seek. With all thirty plus of his little siblings. It’s insanity for anyone wandering the palace. Their drawings are all over the palace. Animals. So. Many. Animals. They have anything from birds, to reptiles, to insects, heck, one of Kalim’s little sisters even has a domesticated tiger! All of them plan as many movie nights and pillow fort building days as often as they can- seeing each other not only as siblings but as close friends! Of course, when their oldest brother comes home from school, they all sit around his room as he tells them stories about things he’d seen and learned, as animated as possible. Of course, he tells them classic fairytales as well, acting them out and jumping around his room, trying to get as many reactions to them as possible. Of course, many of the quieter ones prefer to stick away from the action and near Jamil, who will quietly talk with them in the corner of the room.

Pomefiore:

Vil:

-Papa Schoapjfaojfpak: As already stated, a popular actor and stage director. With this comes the same publicity that Vil has to deal with, making him look nearly flawless and act as such when out in public. He keeps his son’s attitude when it comes to fans, keeping most interactions short and simple, putting on a show offstage nearly as much as he does onstage. Behind closed doors, however, he’s a very kind yet strict father, making sure that Vil takes proper care of himself and is happy at the same time. He struggled with the aspect of having to leave Vil alone for much of the time when he was a child since he had to work often. When these times were especially bad, he’d often bring Vil into the sets to help him get ready for filming or to watch his Papa from a little seat next to the directors. He would always chuckle and pat Vil’s hair whenever he told him something he could’ve done better after the filming process, glad that his son has an eye for these sorts of things. He’d even let him experiment with the expensive costumes and makeup, helping him fix his own small mistakes. He tries to make it to every show and movie that Vil does, often going undercover to ensure that fans don’t take his attention off his son. He has a box full of their own home movies that the two of them made, including action, comedy, even a few thrillers thrown in (of course, Vil was the strong hero who defeated the bad guy)(The bad guy being his poor father with fake blood smeared on his face). He watches them sometimes when he misses his son (and he cries about how far he’s come, not that he’d ever tell Vil). I think he’d be the same height as Vil, and a little muscular due to having to keep up appearances. He has Vil’s hair and eye color.

Rook:

-Mama Hunt: Okay back to my headcannon page about species, I saw something that said that Rook was half beastman. So, I like to think that Rook’s mother is the beastwoman in the relationship. She’s a strong, loving caracal beastwoman. She’s kind and often spoils her son as much as possible, coddling him whenever he’s around, no matter the age. He get’s his poetic nature from her, an artist, poet, author, whatever she could get her hands on! Despite this, she’s still a woman from the Savanah, so she gets very protective over her husband and son, and is a lot stronger than she looks! She would be the kind of woman who’d tell you the most vague, unsettling threats with a smile on her face, and she’s had some pretty close scrapes with people who thought that they could try to hurt her son because he was half human (and also, due to Rook’s nature, likely trespassing on their property). She tries to show her son the beauty in the world, complimenting him on every little thing he did and poetically pointing out everything beautiful around her during their walks (even if it wasn’t)(Mrs.Hunt please don’t show your son that roadkill)(please don’t compliment the roadkill)(let it rest in peace im begging you). She and her husband are incredibly proud of everything Rook does. I think she has short blonde hair that goes black at the ends, yellow eyes, and is only an inch shorter than Rook.

-Papa Hunt: Where do you think Rook got his hunting instinct from? Not from his beastwoman mother, surprisingly. The infamous Mr.Hunt was but a hunter who had wandered too far away from where his friends had decided to go camping in the Savana. He, like his son, was enamored with any non-human species, his curiosity leading him to a beastwoman quietly painting not too far from her home. With her enhanced hearing, she quickly whipped around and glared at him, shocking the man to the point of falling down. And from that point forward, he was in love. He’s incredibly supportive of his wife’s artistry, complimenting her at every moment about how perfect she did and how amazing she is as what she does. He’s a romantic, like his son, so you can expect many, many mushy moments between the two of them (que baby Rook making a face at the display). He wanted to teach his son as much as possible about the world, to make him as curious as possible. Of course, he wanted to bond with his son for as long as possible. How would they do that? Father-son camping trips, in which Papa Hunt would teach the boy how to shoot a bow (it took him a minute to realize that his son’s laser-point accuracy could be because his beastman instincts tell him how to get the kill as fast as possible, and he was the proudest Papa in the Savana when he went to tell his wife). He also often took him to larger towns, letting his boy get acquainted with his beastman culture so he didn’t feel too left out around others. He is the same height as Rook, but with shoulder-length black hair and bright green eyes.

Epel:

-Great-Meemaw Felmier: A very old and wise woman, shockingly stubborn and independent for her old age. She adores her great grandson and was the one who taught him how to carve apples in the first places. She’d tell him stories about when her father first bought the farm they lived on, and what things were like then, how they changed. Of course, she gets tired very quickly so these stories are often left with open endings, much to Epel’s dismay. She always knows what advice to give for any situation, and won’t be afraid to tell you the truth. She’s likely around her late nineties, and often carries around a walker that she smacks people’s ankles with. I think she’d have very, very long hair (“To preserve my youth”, she says) that she lets hang as much as possible.

-Meemaw & Peepaw Felmier: Two very sweet people. Both hailing from families of farmers who had lived in and around the village of harvest their whole lives, they grew up around each other and are practically inseparable. They care very much for their children and grandchildren, and often act as their grandchildren’s partners in crime whenever they get into trouble, patching them up when they get hurt and helping to clean the mess they might have made in the kitchen. would have shoulder-length light purple hair (almost white) that she ties back. They look like Mr. and Mrs. Claus that you see on those old Christmas animations that you can never remember the name of but see every year.

-Uncle & Aunt Felmier: A stern, but kind couple. Uncle Felmier is a gruff man, often being too blunt and too focused on work to take a break every now and again, and Aunt Felmier is strict with her child’s rules and schedule. Luckily, they have Epel’s parents to balance them out when they get too far. Uncle Felmier enjoys working out in the farm with his younger brother, and Aunt Felmier is Mrs.Felmier’s best friend, which made both the men very happy when Papa Felmier was getting ready to marry Mama Felmier. Whether it be cooking, baking, attending festivals in town, or even sitting near the fire and drinking tea/coffee, the four of them greatly enjoys each other’s company. Uncle Felmier is a taller man with light purple hair, with grey streaks going up the front, he’s more built due to working on the farm. Auntie Felmier is a stout woman, with light brown hair that’s often tied up in a low ponytail.

-Papa Felmier: A very kind and hardworking man, who lives for his family. He gets up at the earliest hours in the morning and goes to bed at the latest at night to keep the farm going and to help out their elderly neighbors. He’s a little strict with Epel, but that changed as Epel grew up and became less rowdy (not by a lot). He tries his best to understand his son and let him grow as his own person, hearing him out when he gets upset about others calling him feminine. He even tries to put a stop to his brother making comments about the boy, at least around him. He is a little scrawnier than his brother, but still fairly muscular due to constantly lifting things and operating machinery to keep things running. He has Epel’s purple hair and light green eyes.

-Mama Felmier: Another one where, if you hadn’t known she was a farmer, you’d think she was a lost princess. She’s a kind, generous, quiet woman who does her best to keep her chaotic household from falling apart. Similar to the Tweel’s father, she tries to protect Epel as much as possible, and him going so far away for school made her panic internally, as proud as she was of him. She does her best to calm her son down when he gets rowdy or frustrated at something, and often approaches him with hot cocoa or an apple tart to make him feel a little better. She solves everything with food, which mostly incorporates apples, and believes that by baking for him and by extension, his friends at school, she makes their days a little better, no matter how horrible they may be. She is welcoming to any of the boys from school who may have a hard time at home or who need a place to stay, and was happy to the point of tears when he told her that he made friends at school. Is another one who will proudly display pictures of their child, often having long conversations with their neighbors about how he is, what he’s doing in school, etc etc. She is incredibly beautiful (where else would he get that face?) and has long ginger hair with Epel’s blue eyes.

-Little cousin Felmier: Epel’s baby cousin is only around six or seven, and follows his older cousin as much as he can. He defends Epel as much as possible whenever people call him delicate and girly, and will go on long rants about all the cool things he’d seen him do over the years (“He jumped out o’ th’ tree! Without thinkin’!” “We were sleepin’ outside n’ he heard an animal outside o’ our tent n’ he scared it off!”). Is quick to help around the house, despite being stubborn and upset about not being strong enough to help his father and uncle work outside yet. He’s always quick to ask Epel about school, and has begged him on multiple occasions to let him go with him (“We already sleep in the same room! What’s the difference if it’s here or at your dorm?”). I think he’d have Epel’s hair color but with light green eyes.

Im just imagining Epel’s giant family living in the same farmhouse and it being this small, warm, friendly place out in the country with plaid red curtains and little apple accessories everywhere and quilts and a big fireplace they all talk by 🥺🥺

[smells-like-mettaton]

Perhaps #5 (Hold my Hand) with Papyton for the fic ask game if you are still doing it?

(I hope you're okay with me writing this as a sequel to one of my other papyton fics! This could still be read on its own, but it will make more sense if you read the first chapter. If you don't want to, just know that the part in italics at the beginning is from a fanfic that Alphys wrote.)

The Greatest Fanfiction of All: The Sequel

Rating: T Word Count: 1687 Read on AO3: here

---

Papyrus’s hands are warm. Of course they are. Theyre always covered in gloves. Not even Mettaton, his boyfriend of one month and thirteen days, knows what his bony phalanges look like beneath the plush red fabric.

But tonight, that's going to change.

xxx

Exactly one month and thirteen days had passed since Mettaton had read the beginning of Alphys’s “papyton” fanfiction. It also happened to be one month and thirteen days since Papyrus had agreed to be his boyfriend, sending him on a magical journey of love and romance.

That journey had given him plenty of new perspectives and discoveries. Yet the mystery of what lie under Papryus’s gloves was not one of them.

He sat next to Mettaton on their usual bench at the center of the hedge maze. The sky was dark with stormclouds, which kept any stray spectators away from the park. Papyrus was prepared, as usual; a tall MTT-Brand Umbrella leaned against his femur. Nothing and no one would ruin this moment.

Now Mettaton just needed to have the moment. Preferably without resorting to calling Alphys and Frisk again.

“METTATON? IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?” Papyrus asked, his browbone furrowing in concern.

Mettaton’s fingers were already laced through his; Mettaton rubbed his thumb against the back of Papyrus’s glove.

“Well. It is a very special day, darling.” Special enough that Mettaton had worn the outfit Papyrus loved most—a cropped shirt that said COOL ROBOT and galaxy-print leggings that hugged his metallic thighs. Papyrus himself had worn a bright Tetris shirt and shorts that exposed his gleaming femurs.

“IT IS?” Papyrus blinked. “IS THERE A SALE ON RIGATONI? BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT STARTED NEXT WEEK.”

“Hm? Oh—not that I know of, but I will keep that in mind.” He imagined creating a pasta bouquet for Papyrus, and a smile graced his lips. “Today is the one month and thirteen day anniversary of our glamorous romance.”

“WOWIE! TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE DATING A HOT ROBOT!” Papyrus grinned, pressing his teeth to Mettaton’s cheek in a close approximation of a kiss. “HAPPY ONE MONTH AND THIRTEEN DAYS, METTATON! IS THERE A SPECIAL WAY YOU WANT TO CELEBRATE?”

It was perfect. Mettaton couldn’t have set it up better if he tried.

“Actually…” He turned Papyrus’s hand over, examining every seam and stitch in his crimson glove. “I was hoping to see your hands. I know they’re just as handsome as the rest of you.”

He winked, and a light blush spread across Papyrus’s cheekbones.

“MY HANDS? I’D GLOVE TO! BUT, ERM…” His fingers disentangled from Mettatons, instead fidgeting nervously with the hem of his right glove. “I DON’T KNOW THAT YOU WOULD FIND THEM AS UNBEARABLY ATTRACTIVE AS THE REST OF ME.”

Coming from Papyrus, that was practically a statement of self-loathing. Guilt bubbled in Mettaton’s soul-tank.

“Beautiful.” He grasped the top of his boyfriend’s arms and squeezed them gently. “There is not a bone in your body that I would not find attractive. Of course, I will not ask you to perform if you are suffering stage fright, but I do think you shine so much brighter in the light.”

Papyrus smiled a little, though his browbone was still turned upward with worry.

"IF YOU'RE SURE…"

"Positive as my ratings, darling."

Papyrus nodded slowly. "I TRUST YOU, METTATON."

Those words were like ambrosia to Mettaton's soul. He would do anything to remain worthy of his boyfriend's trust.

"PLEASE, JUST… DON'T BE FRIGHTENED, ALRIGHT?"

Mettaton couldn't imagine anything about Papyrus being frightening.

Then, with agonizing care, Papyrus peeled off his gloves. And Mettaton understood.

The bones of his hands were scorched an ashen gray, nearly black. Hairline cracks laced through them like spiderwebs. Mettaton was half afraid that if he touched them, they would crumble to dust.

"I'M FINE, REALLY!" Papyrus must have noticed the look on his face, no matter how quickly Mettaton had schooled his expression. "THESE BURNS ARE SO OLD, I BARELY NOTICE THEY'RE THERE!"

His grin was strained. Mettaton wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze his hand, but he didn't dare.

"They don't hurt?" Mettaton asked, then winced. He could've phrased that more tactfully. It was probably better than asking how on earth the injury had happened, at least.

"WELL… THEY ARE A BIT SENSITIVE WITHOUT MY GLOVES. THEY HAVE HEALING MAGIC, YOU SEE." Papyrus held out one of his red gloves, his expression turning to one of pride. "SANS DID THE SEWING, AND I DID THE ENCHANTMENT."

"No wonder you love them so much." Mettaton smiled. It was adorable how much Papyrus loved his brother. Their love had inspired Mettaton to finally patch up his relationship with Blooky and Mew Mew.

Papyrus smiled back, running a charred fingertip fondly over the fabric. "WOULD YOU… LIKE TO TRY ONE ON?"

"Me?" Mettaton blinked.

"OF COURSE! WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO EXPERIENCE THE GREAT PAPYRUS'S LEGENDARY HEALING MAGIC FIRSTHAND?"

Mettaton chuckled at the pun. "How could I possibly refuse?"

He slipped off his white gloves, revealing the unsightly bolts in his own fingers. He hardly felt self-conscious about that after seeing Papyrus's hands, though.

Papyrus's glove fit like a dream. Like holding his hand, only from the inside. Warmth seeped from the fabric into his metal joints, slipping through his cracks like sweet oil.

"This is… quite the enchantment," he breathed.

Papyrus couldn’t be in pain with that much healing magic caressing his bones. But on the other hand, even the constant healing magic had failed to permanently erase the scars. Mettaton still wasn’t too familiar with physical injuries, but surely that wasn’t normal, right?

Papyrus’s wink sounded like magical glitter."WHAT CAN I SAY? I'M VERY ENCHANTING."

He looked just as bright as ever. Just as energetic, as full of life.

Just as beautiful, inside and out.

"That you are, darling." Mettaton kissed his cheek.

Papyrus pulled his left glove back onto his hand, then twined his fingers with Mettaton's. Red on red, warmth on warmth Their hands matched perfectly.

"YOU PROBABLY HAVE SOME QUESTIONS," Papyrus said quietly.

Mettaton's eye flickered to Papyrus's bare right hand before returning to his eyesockets.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable with, darling."

Mettaton was curious of course. If this injury had been caused by another monster, they would face the wrath of a true killer robot. Knowing Papyrus, though, he had probably forgiven whoever was responsible.

"I ALWAYS FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH YOU." He smiled. "AND IT IS… NICE. TO HAVE SOMEONE BESIDES SANS KNOW THIS."

"No one else knows?" Mettaton’s eyes widened. He'd thought Undyne would have found out, whether Papyrus told her on purpose or she burned off his gloves during one of their cooking lessons.

"I AM A SKELETON OF MANY SECRETS." Papyrus winked again. This time it sounded like tinkling bells. "IT HELPS THAT NO ONE ELSE REMEMBERS THE ACCIDENT, THOUGH."

An accident. No one had hurt Papyrus on purpose.

Mettaton sighed in relief, powering down his killer robot protocols.

"I WAS HELPING MY DAD WITH HIS WORK ON THE CORE. I ALWAYS CALIBRATED THE PUZZLES WHILE HE CALIBRATED THE GEOTHERMAL POWER LEVELS."

Papyrus looked down at their tangled hands, his expression distant.

"I STILL DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. ON THE DAYS SANS REMEMBERS, HE PROMISES THAT IT WASN'T MY FAULT. THAT DAD WAS TOO CARELESS. BUT THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION, AND DAD, HE… HE FELL…"

Something in Mettaton crushed as Papyrus's voice cracked.

"I WAS LUCKIER. THE BLAST ONLY GOT MY HANDS." The smile returned.

"Papyrus…"

Mettaton didn't know what to say. What could he say? Ghosts didn't have parents. His cousins were his family, but he couldn't imagine them dying, either. Blooky physically couldn't.

But this wasn't about him! It was about Papyrus, who had lost his father and scarred his hands and still counted himself lucky.

"DON'T BE SAD, METTATON. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. LONGER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE."

Papyrus looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Mettaton saw something old. Mettaton had been alive—albeit as a ghost—for nearly two centuries. Right now, though, Mettaton wondered if Papyrus was even older than that.

"I suppose so,” he reluctantly admitted. “I don't even remember an explosion at the CORE."

"OH, THAT'S NORMAL. APPARENTLY DAD WAS RATHER FORGETTABLE." His smile was sad. "EVEN SANS DOESN'T ALWAYS REMEMBER HIM. BUT I… WELL."

He closed his blackened fist.

"IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT TO FORGET."

Mettaton opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Papyrus was looking for a response.

“WHEW! ALL THIS HONESTY IS EXHAUSTING!!” Sweat beaded on his skull. “DO YOU WANT TO GO GET NICE CREAMS?”

“Of course, darling, but—are you sure that you’re okay?” Mettaton couldn’t help the concern in his voice. It wasn’t every day that he unlocked his boyfriend’s tragic backstory.

And here he’d been so concerned about something as trivial as holding hands. He truly was as selfish as everyone believed.

“PLEASE, DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME,” Papyrus said firmly. His hand gave Mettaton’s a tight squeeze. “I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID IT WAS LONG AGO. PRACTICALLY A DIFFERENT LIFETIME. I ONLY TOLD YOU SO THAT YOU WOULD KNOW HOW MUCH I TRUST YOU.”

Trust. Mettaton trusted Papyrus, too. Trusted that he didn’t need Mettaton to coddle him. Trusted that if he wanted Mettaton’s help, he would ask for it.

“I… thank you, darling.” Ghostly tears welled in his eyes. “Your trust means everything to me.”

“WELL THEN!” Papyrus’s grin turned mischievous. “I TRUST YOU TO KISS ME UNTIL I CAN’T BREATHE!”

Mettaton’s fans whirred and whirred. The sound was quickly drowned out by the raindrops that began to fall and fizzle on his shoulder pads.

“Darling, you’re a skeleton. You don’t have lungs.”

“NEITHER DO YOU.” Papyrus twirled the umbrella before popping it open, protecting Mettaton from the threat of short-circuiting.

(From the rain, at least.)

“You truly know how to give me a challenge, darling.” Mettaton cuddled closer, reaching up to brush his red-gloved hand against Papyrus’s cheekbone.

“ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’LL RISE TO IT!”

Mettaton grinned back, and that was exactly what he did.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall Epilogue

Masterlist

----

Ten years after the Wall

 The crops have been coming along well this year, just the right balance of sun and rain and wind promising a rich harvest. It leads to a good mood throughout the human parts of the Continent. In the aftermath of the war, they have all made their experiences with food shortages, and so everyone is relieved that they seem to have moved past these times. All the bigger is the shock when, only a week before the grain was meant to be brough in, heavy thunderstorms with rain and hail ruin most of the harvest in one of Angolere’s northern provinces.

Andromache spends two mildly exhausting days visiting the region, travelling from city to city and offering reassurances that everything is under control, there are no risks of food shortages. Her presence has no practical purpose, the local authorities are more than capable of handling the situation, but everyone is nervous enough that they need someone to reassure them that all will be well.

By the time she reaches the last village, she is drained, although she is too well-trained to show it. As patiently as in the first village she visited yesterday, she listens to the town spokeswoman describe their situation, allows her to show her the village and the mostly-ruined regions.

“We will send grain from other regions,” she promises, as she did in every place she visited so far. The south of Angolere had rich harvests these years, and the other queens have already promised to send food as well should we not get by after all.”

She accepts an invitation for dinner and spends a few hours sitting in the townhall together with most of the village, making pleasant conversation, before she excuses herself. When she steps outside, she expected to be greeted by one of her guards. Instead, Yanis is waiting for her, leaning against a fence.

When he sees Andromache, he offers an exaggerated bow, grinning broadly as he straightens. “Good evening Your Majesty. May I be your escort for the evening?”

Andromache grins back. “I don’t know. You see, I have a husband who is waiting for me at home with our children.”

“I hear those children are sleeping already, and your husband missed you terribly these last few days and thought he’d pick you up.”

Andromache laughs and leans over to kiss him.

“How did it go?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her middle.

“All good,” Andromache says. “I barely needed to do anything, just reassure people a bit.”

These days, all problems she has to deal with seem easy. There is still a lot of work – drafting laws, dealing with arising problems, day-to-day governing work – but it only ever seems pleasant. What is a disagreement over a new law compared to the horror of war? Or to the initial years afterwards, when there were millions of displaced, traumatized people to deal with and they came close to starvation almost every year. Six years ago, a loss of harvest like this would have meant famine and deaths. Now, all she has to do is organize for food to be sent over from different provinces.

Things are good.

“I’m sure you were brilliant,” Yanis says with a broad smile. “Meanwhile, I have won a significant victory in the never-ending battle of convincing Leli that when her teachers tell her something, it is not a suggestion but an order, and I managed to keep Tano from breaking any priceless artifacts while running through the palace.”

Andromache laughs. “You’re my hero,” she says, half-teasing and half-sincere.

Yanis quit his work in the palace guard when Andromache got pregnant with Leli six years ago and has been staying at home to raise her and – three years later – Tano ever since. He could have kept his job had they hired someone to look after their children, but for Yanis, there was never even a question in that regard: He wanted to be there for their children as they grew up. It makes it easier for Andromache to know that even when she is busy at work, sometimes for days at a time, he is home with their children.

“My first meeting tomorrow is at eleven,” she says. “That ought to leave plenty of time for a nice family breakfast.”

----

Mor spends her days travelling the Continent, dealing with anyone her uncle currently wishes to improve relationships with. She has yet to decide whether she loves or hates her new position. Both, perhaps. She loves that it allows her to travel far and wide, to leave the Night Court and its restrictions behind, if only for a few weeks at a time. She loves the protection it gives her.

She hates the memories it brings up, though. For her, the Continent is full of memories of happier times. (No, that is not right. She shouldn’t think back to the years of war and wish herself back into that time. But then, to go back would mean getting Andromache back, and for that, she would accept a hundred years of war. But Andromache is on the other side of the Wall, married now and forever lost to her.)

Sometimes, Mor also hates the people she has to deal with. Today, it is Shey, who has been loosely allied with the Night Court ever since the war ended. Mor doesn’t know exactly how that came about, but her uncle exports iron for weapons and armour to Shey and he sends Mor to visit the emperor at least once a year.

Today is the first day of that annual visit and Shey is holding a welcome-celebration for her. It is a huge honour – Shey is easily the most important person on the Continent now, and him holding a celebration in honour of the emissary from a tiny Prythianian court is very unusual.

If Mor had been stupid enough to think it is for her sake, she might have actually felt honoured. But this celebration isn’t because of her, none of this is because of her at all. It’s all about Miryam and the fact that everyone knows that Mor was friends with her. That is why there are no doors locked to her on the Continent, why everyone so readily meets with her. Because Miryam and Drakon were her friends, and so to host her is to flaunt some sort of connection to them.

No, Mor does not enjoy the party at all, even if the music is brilliant, as is the food. She just makes conversation because it is what is expected of her and downs glass after glass of the clear, sparkling wine favoured here in the north to make it bearable.

She wonders what they would all say if they knew how things ended between Miryam and her, that she abandoned her before the end and left her to die. If they knew that she was so terrible that Andromache could no longer bear to so much as be around her anymore. If they knew about the charmed necklace that still lies unused at the bottom of some drawer in her rooms in Velaris.

No one knows about any of that, though. And no one ever will. Maybe one day, Mor will even be able to fool herself into believing that the sole reason her and Andromache split up was the Wall, that she never argued with Miryam and the only reason she isn’t visiting her is out of worry for her safety. It is not today, though, and so she downs another glass of wine and smiles at the nearest dignitary and allows him to pull her to the dance floor.

----

No one is coming for him.

Jurian fought against that truth for years, but he has given up on denying it for a while now. What use is it to lie to himself? No one is coming to save him. His allies, his friends, seem to have forgotten entirely about him. They moved on with their lives and likely never thought of him again, didn’t care enough to bother freeing him from that terrible nightmare his life turned into.

Jurian hates all of them. Andromache and Nakia and all the others for leaving him behind. Drakon for pretending to be his friend and then betraying him and making Miryam turn away from him. Miryam for turning against him. For not saving him. For dying. Her, he hates most of all.

----

Drakon puts down his quill and scans the contents of the text he just finished once more before putting the paper on the stack with the other usable results. That stack is the only tidy part of the table he was working on, the rest is a mess of books, most of them lying open on the relevant pages, and crumbled papers filled with ideas he dismissed as useless already. A few of those even ended up on the floor.

Well, that ought to be enough for now. He’s done with his edits on the draft for the new tax law they will be discussing later today. He still wants to show his edits to Miryam before then, but he still has plenty of time left for that.

Rising to his feet, he sets about cleaning up his mess. The papers he doesn’t need anymore go into the fire, he closes the books he used for reference and puts them on a second stack next to the one with the finished edits. He will be taking them with him, just to be sure.

Carrying the eight books as well as the stack of papers is a difficult task, given that he still doesn’t have proper use of his right arm. He has to carry the books with his left hand, the papers stuck between his useless right arm and his body. That movement alone hurts, but he is used to it by now. (There are magical prosthetics that function almost as well as an actual limb. But… well, Drakon hasn’t decided yet.)

A look at the clock reveals that it is almost seven. Drakon was in the library for the last four hours, and by now, Miryam should probably be awake. (Their sleeping schedules do not align very well lately. They usually go to bed together, but Miryam rarely manages to sleep more than half an hour before waking up again and then spends most of the night working, going to bed only in the early hour of the morning, while Drakon generally manages to sleep for a few hours but then cannot go back to sleeping when he wakes up. Miryam sometimes jokes that at least their inability to ever sleep through the night makes them both very productive rulers.)

Books balancing on his left hand, he walks through the halls of the library and out into the city. They founded their new capital nine years ago, and everything about the city still screams new. Many houses are only half-finished, as are all government buildings. Right now, their government meets in an improvised city hall and most of the high-ranking government members (including Miryam and Drakon) live in nearby houses. The council insisted that they start building a palace sometime, but that hasn’t been a priority yet.

The city Drakon is walking through now is nothing like Sajeo or any of the other cities in Erithia, all of whom were old, each building full of history. Drakon does miss Erithia, but he doesn’t think that difference is necessarily a bad thing, at least for their purposes. Not all history is good, after all, and in their situation, it certainly isn’t helpful. As it is, they all get a fresh start. There are human houses being build next to faerie ones, and all of them are equally new. They are all starting over together, and in a few centuries when this city has matured a bit, that will be the history the people living here will be able to look back upon. It will be one of unity, Drakon hopes.

----

Miryam frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Hair mussed from sleep and still wearing her long nightdress, she doesn’t look particularly dignified, but that is not what she has a problem with right now. No, the problem is that she looks young. It’s like she hasn’t aged at all in the last ten years. If she is being honest, the years of peace actually make her look far younger than she did at the end of the War. Then, at twenty-five, she looked more like thirty-five than she does now.

“Would you say,” she asks, turning to look over at Daín who is floating over her bed, “that I look my age?”

Daín is silent for a moment, cocking his head to the side to study her. “Now?” He asks. “You want to talk about that now?”

Miryam shrugs.

“Mortal ages are terribly hard to tell just by looks, really. There is no telling how old anyone truly is, as evidenced by you now looking younger than you did when we first met,” Daín says. When Miryam gives him a flat look, he quickly adds, “But in your case, I would say that you look twenty-five, for the simply reason that you haven’t aged a day since you were resurrected. Which is what you were getting at, isn’t it?”

Miryam glares at him, trying to ignore the sting of the words. “You knew the entire time,” she says, more statement than question. “And you never thought to tell us? Even when we spent the last five years trying to figure out if I was aging or not?”

“And yet, through all that time, you never thought to ask me,” Daín says with a sharp smile. He has been getting better at mimicking precise expressions lately. “You ask about everything – history, human culture, magic, the other worlds. Yet this one thing, you never brought up, not once in the four years since you decided to talk to me again. Neither did Drakon.” He shrugs. “I figured you didn’t want to know.”

Like it or not, he might have a point. Miryam didn’t want to know. If she is entirely honest, she still doesn’t. She never wanted to be immortal, not even in the not-actually-immortal way the Fae are. She always thought that having a limited number of years made those years more precious.

“Resurrections are a tricky matter,” Daín offers. He actually manages to sound comforting. “There is no telling what side-effects there might be. Even I still cannot tell exactly how it works.”

“Well.” Miryam wraps her arms around herself. “I suppose the alternative was to be dead.”

She doesn’t like the idea of being immortal. Not at all. But if there is one thing she knows for sure, it’s that she prefers it to having died and stayed dead at the end of the war. These last ten years certainly weren’t easy, but they were good. The best ones of Miryam’s life, probably. She wouldn’t have wanted to trade them for the world.

“So you’re alright with it?” Daín asks.

“I guess I’ll have to be,” Miryam says with a shrug. At least it doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it might. It isn’t ideal, but she would rather have a too-long life than a too-short one. She smiles at Daín in a way that is hopefully reassuring. “And now, I need to get dressed. So, you know.”

“I’m already gone,” Daín says, winks at her and vanishes.

Miryam glances at her reflection once more before turning to her wardrobe. She sincerely hopes that she is at least only “immortal” in the way the Fae are, which isn’t so immortal at all. But well, that is a question for later. For now, she has other things to worry about, and for those, she needs to dress.

Drakon barges into the room just as she buttons up her jacket. He doesn’t look at Miryam – cannot, because he is balancing a stack of books on his left hand, it swaying dangerously with each step.

Miryam picks up the four books at the top and stands up on her toes to kiss him over the now-smaller stack of books he is still holding. “Busy morning?” She asks, smiling softly.

Drakon smiles back and manages to place the rest of his books as well as the stack of papers he was holding under his right arm on the nightstand without any incidents.

“Yes,” he says, turning back to Miryam and wrapping an arm around her. “Very productive, though. I reviewed the new tax law we were drafting, and I think it should probably work out. Maybe you could read over it once more before the meeting later, though. And I brough along the books I used for reference, just to be sure.”

Miryam’s smile deepens. Of course be brought the books, as if there will be anyone but him at the meeting who read all of them.

“Sure,” she says, although she doesn’t think her reading over it will accomplish anything but making Drakon feel more secure about it. “I’ll read them right after breakfast.”

That way, they will still have time for small changes before the meeting, even if Miryam doubts she will find anything of note. She learned a lot about law-making in the last years and she would say that she is decent, but especially when it comes to the small details (which is what they are dealing with at this stage), she’s nowhere near as good as Drakon.

They go have breakfast on the small balcony belonging to the set of rooms they share. It is Miryam’s favourite place in the entire city, high enough that she can overlook the square below as well as some of the nearby streets. As her and Drakon eat and discuss the things they both worked on during the night (the tax laws for Drakon and a logistic issue with distributing food for Miryam), Miryam looks out over the city.

By now, the city has awoken and the square is full with people rushing about, going about their daily activities. Humans and faeries, all living together in peace. A woman is hurrying along, trailing two small children behind her. A young Seraphim girl and a human boy are playing together by the fountain. Next to them, a group of adults sits and eats a quick lunch, likely before going to work.

Miryam could spend hours watching them. On bad days, when her nightmares are worse than usual and the shadows of what happened chase her, she sometimes does. Watching the people down there go about their lives, happy and free and at peace, always makes the guilt and pain easier to bear. These people will have good lives, they and their children will be free, and that alone makes all that it took to get them here worth it. It makes everything worth it.

----

A/N: So, this is the final chapter. After over a year and 370k words written, I can't quite belive that this story is actually over. Writing this story has been lots of fun (and I might revisit it for a few oneshots sometime), and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

At this point, I'd also like to thank everyone who read this story and left comments or likes - all of you have really made my day every time. A special thanks goes (once again) to @croissantcitysucks for all the wonderful conversations we had about this story, for all the great feedback and help when I had problems, and, of course, for all of the backstory surrounding Daín and the Mother (also, I'm looking forward to you acotar rewrite so much and I can only recomment everyone read it when it comes out!) It's really been so much fun!

Tags: @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[llendrinall]

As we all know, Charlie Weasley could have played for Britain had he not gone off chasing dragons. There’s a lot of gold that comes with being a good international player. What do you think it would have been like if the Weasleys were doing better financially?

Frankly, I don’t think things would change all that much. Not everybody is a Ronaldo or a Messi (to draw parallels with football/soccer) making really stupid amounts of money. At least during the first few years, until Charlie became a Big Name, he would make money, maybe even tons of money, but I doubt it would be enough to change things significantly.

Mostly I think Charlie would be very unhappy and Percy’s break with the family would be much more intense (what! After the way he behaved in canon? Yes, more than that. Percy would be the next Charlie, getting a job far away and visiting home rarely).

The question here is: why are the Weasleys poor? There is a quick and dirty answer, which is that JKR wanted a rich=bad, poor= good - noble, structure. But she didn’t build a reason as to whyit is so. (There is also no reason why the Malfoys are rich, but money has inertia so we can half buy it). Thus, she accidentally made the Weasleys come across as reeeeally financially irresponsible and the creators of their own poverty.

Let’s look at the money. Supposedly, Hogwarts is free for all students, which makes sense because a significant portion of those students will me muggleborns and I can’t imagine how that conversation would go with their parents (“Your child is gifted! Magical! Now let us take them for 10 months of the year and give us money”). Hogwarts budget must come from the Ministry and the expenses are supervised by the Board of Governors. This, together with how big the Ministry infrastructure seems to be, makes me think that taxes in the wizarding world must be pretty high.

(US readers, double whatever number you are thinking).

Let’s say… 40% of income at the very least. That’s a big chunk for the Weasleys, considering they only have one salary. Since Arthur is overlooked for promotions, we can guess his salary isn’t high. He is head of a department, but it’s a joke department.

The books hint that the Weasleys own the land they live in. If they were renting the Burrow, and it would be hilariousif their landlord were Malfoy, then the house should be in a better state and they wouldn’t be responsible for the gnomes or the ghoul. Since there was no dramatic subplot about Malfoy trying to kick them out, I will assume they own the house and the land. Maybe they have a mortgage on it? One with ridiculous high rates, for argument’s sake.

So that’s most of the money accounted for. What other expenses do they have? According to the ONS the average UK household, after taxes, has a budget as follows (simplified):

Housing (rent, interest and upkeep) – 33%

Food and utilities – 20%

Transport – 14%

Recreation – 12%

Holidays – 11%

Restaurants – 7%

Other – 3%

Let’s say that the mortgage has an insane rate, so 40% of the budget, after taxes, is going there. But we can scratch transportation right away since they have apparition and side apparition and, more importantly, they have nowhere to go. The kids are homeschooled and the one person in the household who has to go to work everyday, can simply apparate right before the office. So that 14% of transportation can go to the housing budget.

Next, food. The Weasleys have many more children than average so the food expense should be higher. On the other hand, they have a lot of land. Supposedly a plot of land of 24x30m (80x100 feet or, for the Americans, about the size of a small Starbucks, the kind that is integrated inside a business) is enough to feed one person for a year in an exclusively plant-based diet. My experience is that a plot of 10x10 meters (32x32 feet or a small Subway shop) can feed a family of 4 if they supplement with eggs and milk and they are smart with the crop distribution.

If the Weasleys kept hens and an orchard, they could keep the food costs low enough that the large family size wouldn’t matter. Plus, during the teenage years, when the calorie demand is higher, the kids are in Hogwarts 10 out of 12 months of the year.

This still leaves them with a very small budget. But considering the only thing magic can’t produce is a) food b) a property deed, almost everything else can be procured with a spell. Furniture wear and tear? A reparo will take care of that. Kids are growing and we need bigger beds? Transfiguration. Clothes? Buy the fabric and use a spell. Maybe it won’t be pretty, but it will be cheap. There will be many luxuries they can’t afford. No eating out, no holidays, no fancy broomsticks. And there are some unavoidable expenses, like school supplies (although books could be reused). Although with the exception of Ginny, there are 2-3 years between children so they have time to save. The moment a kid reaches Hogwarts age they have to make a big investment of wand, cauldron, etc. and then they can write them off. The high taxes also mean they have services like free healthcare and free education with board and room.

It’s a difficult situation. But notice that it’s one that I have created myself. We don’t know if they have a mortgage and we don’t know the tax duties. I’m just coming up with reasons for the expenses while not giving them supplemental income, like Molly selling preserves and whatnot.

I still think that things shouldn’t be so tight that they can’t afford a new wand for each kid. Yet Ron went to Hogwarts with Charlie’s old wand and spent a whole academic year with his wand broken. The Weasleys should had been able to afford a wand. Sure, they just bought Ginny’s school package, but Harry gave her some of the books. It might set them back, it might mean no new robes for the family, but they ought to have that money. Books you can reuse and hope the content is pretty much the same. Wands, you cannot. With broken wands, you are putting your child’s education and even life in danger.

Ron didn’t get the new wand because it was useful for the story that his wand was broken, but the internal logic of the story speaks of extreme economic irresponsibility. Despite all the excuses I tried to come up with (high taxes, high mortgage, Molly is working all day at the garden) not giving Ron a new wand points at a situation of extreme financial ignorance.

So, if Charlie went the Quidditch route the Weasleys would do a bit better, they might pay off their debt, but I don’t think they would be able to grow savings because they simply don’t know how. Charlie would have the added stress of not only performing well in his job but also being the main bread-winner for the whole family. Percy, who is quite observant, would have constant fights about what he considers unnecessary luxuries. He would resent his father even more and he would accept the first job that took him out of the country. The twins would probably resent Ron and Ginny a bit, since they would be the ones to experience having new things.

Charlie would have to make truly astounding amounts of money so that his earnings overcome the family’s blundering of the budget.

[chatonyant]

Some hella messy doodles for the shippuden designs! Excuse the every changing details because I am never truly happy with final designs dear lord-

I’ve got design notes! Long wall of words belooowww

Starting with Naruto once again!

his clothes are based off of several unfinished ideas I had of Uzushio and how their proficiency with seals would allow them to be more flamboyant or lighter in their gear. The magic of storage and protective seals!

there are seals embroidered into the inner lining and occasionally the exterior, acting as both armor and pack. Uzushio always seemed like a rather bright place, connected to the sea, so I made the robes generally blue themed but also darker as they are still shinobi in the end and bright colors are harder to hide. 

I added a hood because Naruto just,,,, he has modern streetwear vibes. He’d love hoodies

The whole Uzushio inspired ensemble is cause I was thinking that in this au he finds the opportunity to find and visit the island itself. Probably during the time skip, considering it’s hard to really place the discovery of a long lost village within the six-month period between graduation and the chunnin exams

At first I wanted to give him like a mesh crop top to show his seal but then it kinda didn’t have that traditional vibe that I wanted, so I added the kimono top and a red obi with symbols that kinda symbolize the seal (because Naruto connects with Kurama much earlier in this AU)

The headband was honestly ridiculously tricky to place because i was trying to draw this longer hair without making it poof weirdly at the top. Plus I wanted to keep the headband where it was cause,,, cause i was thinking when he goes into tailed beast mode the ribbons flare up to look like Kurama’s ears :”DDD peek design amiright-

his hair. is longer. because i love long hair Naruto to bits and it makes him look like his parents ;;; both of them

the gloves. I have no excuse. They just Look Cool

Sakura:

I gave her an undercut

she deserves it

I didn’t mention this in the other redesign post but she has dimples (though i’m really bad at drawing them

that one scene where she tied up her hair in the Kazekage Rescue Arc was so fucking beautiful I couldn’t resist throwing it in here lmaoooo

i can’t draw it right but imagine the ponytail kinda flowering out like a sakura blossom 

I took a lot of different things I liked about the older!Sakura designs and smooshed them in one with my own twist

like sleeveless qipao

Belt from pre-timeskip period stays, except now with an extra medical supply bag

longer pants cause they look nice

Sasuke:

honestly I like his normal shippuden design a lot so i kept most of it

I added a cape though, cause he does travel around a bit

and as i was drawing him the collar reverted to a similar shape to his kid clothes

fun fact

the reason that his outfit remains largely the same is because

Sasuke does leave

the action itself doesn’t change, but the circumstances and the ensuing effects do. quite a bit, actually.

and no it does not take the entirety of shippuden to get him back

because he is not a revenge obsessed angry kid here

the biggest reason for all this change is cause I want to change Orochimaru cause i wanna make him live purely because I love mitsuki so fucking much

also i gave him a little half ponytail cause i wanted to give him longer hair but then realized that idk how to draw that and make it look good sO new style boyos

Kakashi? what are you doing here?:

I wanted to change up Kakashi’s look as well because it’s actually really fun to design these outfits no matter difficult it may be bUT it was difficult because I just... can’t see him without a vest. 

Not that i can’t see him without wearing a vest, because i have and it’s good and I like it, but i can’t see him going into battle or on missions without one. 

I’ve got this headcannon that the vest is lowkey like a security blanket and it’s this grounding weight whenever he’s in this adrenaline filled situation where he may suffer many varieties of consequences if he’s not careful. It has his tools and it’s his armor. Replacing it with a robe feels like robbing him of something he’s always had and is always used to

SO

he keeps a vest

i modified it a bit to make it more right hand sided (i may headcannon Kakashi to be ambidextrous but there’s no denying he uses his right hand more) and the collar to be a bit thinner

Kakashi is like, made for biker fashion. like leather or denim jackets on motorbikes. So I gave him a haori that emulates that look 

Naruto came back, saw that Kakashi didn’t change at ALL and took it as a personal offense and dragged him around to get new threads because “Kakashi-sensei, we all upgraded our closet, you should too!”

kind of a sad headcannon that Kakashi didn’t quite let himself enjoy things that wouldn’t benefit him as a ninja and therefore just stuck to his normal outfit of ninja clothes and jonin vest. Icha Icha was the one exception and he picked it up because he had no idea what to do once he was out of ANBU (i would like to back this hc up by pointing to Boruto where Kakashi no longer really holds himself to this rigid ideal of a ninja and lets loose and has fun with Gai and Mirai)

ANYWAYS

he actually likes the stuff Naruto finds for him, though he has no idea where the boy is actually finding all this shit

some misc info about the outfits:

Naruto began learning sealing after the Wave Arc, and he took to it like a fish to water. (i have uzushio spirit hc that I will tell at a later time)

a rare nugget of information he found about uzushio seals was that they were often stitched into the clothing itself

so Naruto went wild with this

he learned sealing while practicing normal embroidery on the side and as he went on his 2-3 year trip with Jiraiya he learned more and just got better and better

He added the seal to his own haori himself and actually made one for Kakashi too. Kakashi just didn’t see him whip the gift haori from one of the stitched sealing scrolls

embroidering takes a really long time and matching it with sealing? oof, hard work. So he actually only got two done and is in process of Sakura’s next. Now that he’s back in the village, he can talk to her about certain things she would want/need considering Naruto isn’t sure what a medic-nin requires.

he made additional gifts for everyone in team seven (even sasuke, even if he doesn’t know what will happen) and hopefully as time passes little trinkets will start to appear

i just really like the idea of naruto being a really craftsy person. He just keeps making small trinkets except these trinkets have sEALING POWER cause he’s very chaotic with his experiments like that