#which is really really hard for sprig

[sidetongue]

Harold was on cloud nine today

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Decked Under the Mistletoe - Christmas Special

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: A holiday party, a little too much eggnog, and a rivalry that’s anything but friendly. Tara Carpenter swears she won’t be the first to crack, but with the whole friend group watching—and meddling—fate has other plans.

Word Count: 1.5k

The holiday season had crept into New York like a quiet snowfall, slow and inevitable. Fairy lights were strung across the streets, wreaths hung on doors, and the faint sound of Christmas music spilled from every other storefront. The chill in the air was just enough to nip at exposed skin, a crisp reminder that December was in full swing. Inside the Carpenter apartment, however, the warmth of bodies, laughter, and the lingering scent of cinnamon and hot chocolate made it feel like an entirely different world.

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Mindy announced, clapping her hands as she stood in the center of the living room, grinning like she was about to announce the greatest event of the century. “We’re making bets.”

I arched a brow from where I was sitting on the arm of the couch, nursing a cup of hot cocoa. “Bets?”

Mindy nodded. “Holiday bets. You know, harmless stuff—who’s gonna drink too much eggnog first, how long until Anika falls asleep on the couch, and of course—” she turned toward Tara with a smirk, “—which one of you is gonna break first.”

Tara, who had been in the middle of sipping her cocoa, froze mid-drink. “What?”

“Oh, don’t ‘what’ me, Carpenter.” Mindy waved a hand between us. “You and Y/N have been dancing around each other for months. It’s exhausting. Someone’s gotta fold.”

Tara scoffed, setting her mug down with a thud. “Please. If anything, Y/N would break first.”

I smirked, leaning forward. “Oh? That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is,” she shot back without hesitation.

The rest of the group laughed, fully entertained by our ongoing back-and-forth. It was no secret that Tara and I had an… interesting relationship. We got under each other’s skin, pushed buttons, and exchanged sharp remarks like they were gifts. It wasn’t toxic, not really—it was just our thing.

“So what’s the bet?” Chad asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

Mindy’s grin stretched wider. “Who caves first and admits they actually like the other.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s stupid.”

“Agreed,” I added. “Mostly because there’s nothing to admit.”

“Sure, sure,” Mindy said, clearly not buying it. “But just in case, I’m putting my money on Tara caving first.”

“Excuse me?” Tara snapped, looking personally offended.

Mindy shrugged. “You’ve got that little glare, but it’s totally just covering the fact that you’re dying inside.”

Tara muttered something under her breath and crossed her arms, looking away. Sam, from her spot in the kitchen, simply sighed and continued stirring her tea, clearly tuning out our antics.

The night continued as expected—banter, games, and far too much sugar. At some point, Chad got wrapped in tinsel (“I am the Christmas King,” he declared), Anika did, in fact, pass out on the couch, and I caught Tara glancing at me more times than I could count.

Then came the mistletoe.

It wasn’t planned—not on my part, anyway. One second, Tara and I were arguing over which Christmas movie deserved the top spot (“Die Hard is a Christmas movie!” “It absolutely is not!”), and the next, Mindy was shoving us right under the doorway where, sure enough, a tiny sprig of mistletoe hung mockingly above our heads.

“Oh, would you look at that?” Mindy feigned innocence. “House rules say you gotta kiss.”

Tara’s jaw clenched. “Mindy.”

Mindy beamed. “Tara.”

A heavy silence stretched between us, the warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling a little too hot.

Tara folded her arms and scoffed. “Yeah, not happening.”

“Aww,” I teased, tilting my head. “What’s wrong, Carpenter? Afraid you might like it?”

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might sprain something. “Please, in your dreams.”

“So you have thought about it?”

“You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here,” I pointed out.

Tara glared, jaw tightening as she flicked her gaze toward the mistletoe, then back to me. I could see her debating it, weighing her options. Then, with an almost resigned exhale, she grabbed my hoodie and yanked me down, pressing her lips to mine in a way that was far more forceful than necessary—but I wasn’t complaining.

The room collectively lost its mind.

Someone (probably Mindy) whooped, someone else clapped, and I could vaguely hear Chad shouting, “Called it!” over the noise. But none of that mattered, not when Tara was kissing me like she had something to prove, her lips warm and a little too soft, her grip firm like she wasn’t planning to let go just yet.

Then, just as suddenly, she pulled back, her eyes burning into mine, her lips slightly parted.

“There,” she muttered. “Happy?”

Mindy was practically vibrating. “Oh, ecstatic.”

Tara huffed and turned to storm off, but before she could fully escape, a solid punch landed against my arm.

I grunted. “Ow, what the hell?”

Sam, standing beside me now, shook out her hand like she was barely fazed. “That’s for every time Tara’s come home ranting about how annoying you are.”

I blinked. “She rants about me?”

Sam ignored me. “And if you mess with her? I’ll make sure you never walk again.”

I swallowed. “Noted.”

With that, she turned and walked off, leaving me standing there, rubbing my arm while Mindy cackled in the background.

“Well,” she mused, “that was worth every penny.”

Chad clapped me on the back. “Merry Christmas, dude.”

Tara, across the room, was pretending to be completely unfazed. But when our eyes met, she held my gaze for a second too long before looking away, her cheeks still tinted the faintest shade of pink.

Maybe Mindy had been onto something after all.

The party had finally started winding down, guests slipping on their coats and saying their goodbyes, laughter still lingering in the air like the scent of cinnamon and pine. One by one, the group trickled out into the chilly New York night, some still buzzing from the evening’s events—especially the mistletoe situation.

I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside, shoving my hands into my pockets to brace against the cold. Tara was right behind me, moving quietly as the others scattered toward their cars or the sidewalk, chatting amongst themselves. When I reached my car, I expected her to just say goodnight and head off, but she lingered, shifting slightly on her feet.

It wasn’t like her. Tara Carpenter wasn’t one to hesitate. But here she was, looking uncharacteristically unsure.

I leaned against the car door, smirking slightly. “Something on your mind, Carpenter?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I mused. “But you’re still standing here.”

Tara sucked in a breath. “Do you… like me?”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. Then, grinning, “What gave it away? The months of flirting? The fact that I let you win that stupid gingerbread argument? Or was it the part where I didn’t drop dead after you kissed me?”

Tara groaned, shoving me. “You’re the worst.”

I caught her wrist before she could move away. “But to answer your question—yeah, I do.”

She hesitated for a beat before closing the space between us, pressing her lips to mine.

Then—

“OH MY GOD, IT’S OFFICIAL!”

We turned to see the entire group on the stoop, Mindy fist-pumping, Chad doubled over laughing.

Tara groaned and buried her face in my neck. “Kill me.”

I laughed, pulling her closer. “Way to embarrass my girlfriend, guys.”

Tara twitched and jabbed me in the ribs, making me wince. “Ow—”

“Don’t push your luck, genius,” she muttered. Then, before I could recover, she kissed my jaw with a smirk. “Besides… looks like I won after all.”

The group cheered again as I groaned, Tara’s laughter warm against the cold night air.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door ~ Part 1

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine.

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… (I had to write something sweet for my mental health y'all 😆) Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮

You are the very archetype of The Girl Next Door. Well, literally. John Constantine lives in 202, and you in 204. You share a wall, and occasionally, he sort of smiles at you when you meet in the hall.

Like tonight, as your arms are full of groceries, returning home after work. You don’t know what he does exactly, but you assume it’s the same for him, though he is only clutching a brown bag that very poorly disguises a bottle of scotch.

“Hi, John,” you say brightly over a proud sprig of celery sticking out of your bag. It’s almost a running joke between the two of you, your sunny brightness aimed at him like a weapon.

There’s a long pause, like always, before he finally answers reluctantly in his deep monotone, “Hi, y/n. Bye, y/n.”

Before you can engage him any further he disappears into his apartment, closing the door hard behind him, the slam in the air like an exclamation point. You stare for a moment at the space where he’d just been, tall, handsome, his suit rumpled, that tie half undone around his neck. He looked like he’d had a rough day, whatever he does.

He dresses like a professional something, but imagining that man as a door to door salesman with his attitude is laughable, and so is the thought of him working amicably in an office setting.

You go inside and put away your groceries, then spread out what you need to make dinner. It’s Friday night, and you’ve had a long week too. You are making comfort food—it’s kind of a shame to eat it alone.

Half an hour later, while the sauce simmers, you find you just can’t stop thinking about that man next door. He seems lonely, every time you see him. There is something about him that just makes you want to wrap him up in a hug.

He’d probably push you off if you tried, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a hug.

The thing is…you have this thing. He pretends like you annoy him, but sometimes in the hall, or down in the lobby when you’re collecting your mail, you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not looking. And the look on his face is never exactly lecherous, like you’re used to with most men who eye-fuck you on the street. His look is more…just…lost, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

You’re sure he’ll say no, but your feet seem to carry you of their own accord, when you find yourself at his door, knocking loudly.

Some time passes and you hear him grumbling on the other side before he jerks open the portal just a crack. “Yeah?”

“I’m making my Nonna’s meatballs and marinara for dinner.”

“Good for you?”

“From scratch.”

“Sounds time consuming.”

“Want to join me?”

There is a very long pause, in which he just looks at you. You can tell he’s at least one drink in already; you smell the fumes on his breath. And maybe it’s stupid, and you’re asking for trouble you don’t need, but the thought that that will be this man’s only dinner squeezes your heart.

Finally, he answers with a question. “Why?”

“Why not?”

This, amusingly, seems to actually flummox him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. In the end he narrows his eyes at you, (those lovely brown eyes, you can’t help but notice), like you’re trying to trick him into something truly heinous.

It’s…kind of funny, truth be told, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning. “Come on. I know you can smell it.” Your door is wide open.

“Maybe I don’t like Italian food.”

“Everyone likes Italian food.”

“Maybe you’re a terrible cook.”

“Only one way to find out.”

He actually growls a little, which for some reason gives you a thrill to the base of your spine.  

You really need to get back to stir the sauce. You didn’t anticipate getting this far in the conversation (argument?) with him, honestly.

“Well, door’s open,” you tell him, turning to go. You throw one last little come-hither look over your shoulder, to find he is definitely staring at your ass. Or, glaring, more like.

Maybe you have a screw loose, but you find this adorable.

You go back to your sauce, and lose yourself in the preparation of the other ingredients, watching the pasta to make sure it doesn’t boil over, checking that the meatballs aren’t burning. (Your oven is a dinosaur from the 1970s, and sometimes the temp spikes for no reason).

You are about to drain the pasta, when you find a tall, rumpled man standing beside your rickety thrift store table, looking a bit confused as to how he’d ended up there. He looks so big in your shoebox of an apartment, and if you’re being honest, maybe there’s a little bit of lust tied up with your desire to mother this man.

You offer him a welcoming smile, and for a moment, you swear he looks like he’s drowning.

“Glad you could make it,” you say somewhat teasingly.

“Can I…help?” He says the last word like it’s a completely alien thing to him.

“I’ve pretty much got it under control…” you say, which is mostly true. You peruse the sparse offerings of your 3 slot wine rack, picking a $6 bottle of Chilean red blend. “Want to open this?” The face he makes looking down at the decidedly weaker-than-whiskey beverage is almost comical, but he takes the corkscrew from you as you transfer the meal to serving bowls and put glasses of water on the table.

He removes his suit jacket at the table, rolling his sleeves up over muscular forearms that are, if you’re being honest, totally distracting. After you sit down you fill your plates, and the first few minutes of the meal goes by in semi-awkward silence.

Surprisingly, it’s John who speaks first. “This is really good,” he admits begrudgingly, and you utterly fail to damper your I-told-you-so smile.

“Thanks.”

You make halting small talk. You get the feeling he doesn’t chat much with anyone, of his own free will. When you ask him how his week was, his simple answer is, “Hell.”

You have no idea he’s being literal.

You ask him what he does, and he tells you he’s a sort of private detective, and he can’t really talk about it. He asks what you do, more to get the conversation off of him than anything. You let it go, for now, telling him that you’re a receptionist at an office building for a mega corporation downtown.

“Fitting,” he grumbles, you think because of your innate cheerfulness.

You feel the urge to tell him that half the time it’s just a thing you wear like armor—but you don’t know each other that well yet.

As you loosen up a little with food and more wine, he slowly asks more questions about you, where you’re from, what do you do in your free time, and maybe it’s stupid, but you feel like he’s actually kind of interested in your answers.

You enlist him to help you with the dishes, and as you stand together at the sink you bump him playfully with your hip. He peers down at you, his dark hair in his eyes. He is so tall, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips now. For him, it’s like a full-on toothy grin, and it doesn’t fail to quicken your heart in your chest.

Constantine can’t help but feel…puzzled, by you. Yes, you’re his cute neighbor, who teasingly likes to hail him in the hallway. And maybe he does look forward to the way your eyes sparkle, when he begrudgingly acknowledges you before retreating to the safety of the quiet solitude of his apartment. But you are so…nice. He can just tell, and he has no idea what a girl like you might want with a degenerate demon hunter like him. There are enough assholes in L.A. who would be happy to take you out. Why would you waste your time chasing him down?

And there is that smaller nagging voice in the back of his head. You are damned, and you don’t deserve her.

Fuck if it doesn’t make him want to touch you even more.

Later, he will look back on this as a moment of weakness. You, looking up at him with your big eyes, like you're old friends. You made him feel, for a fleeting moment, like he wasn't some doomed asshole with nothing to live for. Like he was an actual person. A man who could matter, to someone. Maybe even to you.

When you splash him with a flick of dishwater after he insults your favorite TV show he narrows his eyes down at you, and you get the fluttery feeling that he might like to eat you a moment before he cups your cheek in his big hand and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s everything you’d hoped for, even if you never actually expected it to really happen. Maybe the wine helped? Or maybe…he likes you? Luckily you get over your surprise, standing on tiptoe to meet him, looping your arms around his neck.

You yip with surprise when suddenly he lifts you to sit on the sink, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. “Was getting a crick in my neck…”

Your answering laugh is shaky at best. “Sorry.”

“Is this why you invited me over?”

“Sort of?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, waiting for further explanation. You reach up to toy with his collar, tracing the line of his loosened tie, totally distracted by the shape of his collarbone and what’s bared of his neck. This man has a jawline that looks like it was sculpted from stone. There’s no shortage of beautiful people in L.A., of course, but you’ve never met anyone quite like him. He doesn’t seem vain, an oddity in this town, but underneath his rumpled suit this man definitely has the physique of a movie star. You try not to dwell on how odd it is, that he would choose to spend his Friday night with you.

“I mean, I’m definitely not complaining,” you offer with a sly little smile.

However, his answering expression is nothing less than stern.

“I’m warning you now, sweetheart. I’m not boyfriend material, and I’m not going to be your project.”

Even if both of those things may have crossed your mind, your thoughts are too hazy with lust from his lips on yours. Maybe he’s a grouch…but he’s a great kisser.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

He kisses you again, and you melt even more under his exacting touch. Those mitts for hands make you feel small, and you arch against him as they travel the ladder of your ribcage to your spine.

The wine was good, but you know you are mostly drunk on him.

Then he is lifting you again, like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the couch. You settle down into the worn vintage cushions and make-out like teenagers, all lips and teeth and pawing hands.

You’re the one who actually initiates something further, pulling off your shirt, and John blinks as he takes in the swathes of your bare skin. He glares at your lacy bra like it owes him money, and you can’t help but laugh breathily. You haven’t felt thishappy in a long time, truth be told.

“Something funny?” he asks, nipping at your neck. With a flick of his fingers your bra falls away, and your breasts are in his hands, and you forget how to speak intelligibly. With his lips on your nipples you manage to loosen his tie without strangling him, unbuttoning his shirt with an increasing desperation. You sigh when at last the bare skin of your torsos is pressed together, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

It occurs to you, how small your couch is, and this man is definitely over six feet tall. “Would you prefer…the bed?” you ask between kisses.

“Up to you.”

You nod, but find you can’t really stop kissing him long enough to move. You can feel the impressive length of him through his pants and yours, aligned with your center and you dry grind, thinking even that is wonderful. He, however, lets out a frustrated growl, and pulls you to your feet again.

Dizzy with desire, you lead him by the hand to your bedroom, and you make it there eventually between kisses and shedding the rest of your clothing. His thick fingers between your legs are a marvel. “So fucking wet for me,” he groans, and it’s too embarrassing to admit, but sometimes after seeing him in the hallway you’ve fantasized about something like this going down, and it always leaves you soaked.

“I…like you,” you admit, moaning as a second finger finds its way inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

“I still don’t get that,” he admits, but kisses you hard before you really have a chance to answer. It would be a little too crazy, to tell him right now that you’ve always just felt pulled towards him, like the Universe was giving you a nudge any time you saw him. He’d laugh at you, or he’d leave, and either of those at this point would be unbearable.

You are close already under his masterful touch, and you whine even as you flex your hips, all your muscles tightening in anticipation.

“Don’t make me cum yet,” you beg. “I want you.”

He groans in response to that, desperately pawing through the pockets of his pants on the floor for a condom. You watch with stars in your eyes, propped on your elbows as he rips open the packet and rolls it on that impressive length, your lip between your teeth. You feel empty while looking at him like this, longing to be filled to the brim.

There is a moment of raw eye contact between you that sears your soul, as he pulls you to the edge of the bed with those large hands on your thighs. For a fleeting second he looks almost vulnerable. It’s there and gone like a ripple in a pool, then his thick tip is at your entrance, and he is slowly pushing himself inside you.

It’s better than you ever dreamed, and you arch against him, moaning as he works inside.

“Fuck you are tight,” he pants in your ear, your walls clenching around him, seeming to fight him even as they crave the relief of his big cock stretching you out. You breathe deeply, easing him in. When at last he bottoms out inside you, your head rocks back behind your shoulders, blissed out.

“God, you feel good.”

This man actually snorts at the comment, though his voice is pure gravel, rough with need. “He wouldn't appreciate you saying it about me.”

Your laugh is half moan. 

“What, are you on a first name basis?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

You're not sure what to make of that, and you're too cock drunk to even begin to reason it out.

He can tell you're a nice girl. Or at least, that's his perception of you. So he doesn’t bend you at impossible angles or whisper filthy things in your ear. Really, there's no time for it. Just pure vanilla missionary in your sweet little snatch is more than enough to slake his need tonight. He fucks you on your back, his thumb on your clit as he glides in and out of your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his narrow hips.

Your pleasure builds in the cradle of your hips, wound so tight you feel like you'll either die, or fly. Usually...alright, it's never like this for you the first time with someone. There's always fumbling, and awkwardness, and half the time, if you're honest, a faked orgasm because you're too shy or too embarrassed to ask for what you really need from a new partner, afraid he’ll think you’re too much trouble. 

Well, that is not what is happening tonight. Tonight, John is taking care of you, and you can hardly believe your luck. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yeah.” Your reply is breathy, and you almost laugh just for the pure, unexpected joy you feel in that moment. “Oh, John...” Your ability to say real words escapes you as your body erupts with scintillating pleasure spreading through your loins. You actually scream, and the fierce clench of your cunt around him brings him too. He loses himself with a groan, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder as he shudders against you.

Afterwards, you are laying against his broad chest, his heartbeat a steady drum in your ear. You don't know it, but this is not something John Constantine usually does. Snuggling. But you are sweet and soft in his arms, and he can't quite bring himself to vacate the premises just yet. In fact, he's so comfortable that he dozes, and you follow close behind him.

In the middle of the night you wake to kisses on your neck and caresses down your curvy side. You sigh, arching into him. You feel his manhood at the seam of your buttocks, his thick head kissing your hole.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he whispers with a shuddering sigh, rolling over to reach for his pants again. How many condoms did he bring? The fact that he's not careless with you, even in the sleepy haze of the early morning second round, is incredibly endearing to you. How many times have you had to insist, and been made to feel like an uncool bitch for not wanting to risk pregnancy or disease in the heat of the moment?

Maybe it's utterly insane, but you're half in love already as he hauls you on top of him, his cock freshly capped with a new Trojan Magnum.

You are still drenched from earlier, and it's no problem to impale yourself upon him.

In the blue dark of early morning your eyes meet his, and again you sense that fleeting vulnerability before he distracts you with that clever fucking thumb finding your sensitive bud. He works you just right as you ride his beautiful dick with your back arched taut as a bow, his other hand toying with your nipple. It makes you cum in record time, so quickly it's almost embarrassing, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Within a minute he's followed along with you, his big hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he reaches his own release. Your name on his lips raises gooseflesh all over your body, as though your lovemaking has invoked something powerful, something binding.

You collapse against his chest, and the both of you nearly fall asleep again, with him still inside you. 

“Let me get this thing off,” he requests gently, and with a plaintive little groan you roll off of him, curling in at his side. He knots the condom before throwing it in the general direction of the bin. You are both too tired to care if it actually hit home. 

Again, you snuggle close and the two of you doze tangled together until morning light streams through the window. 

You wake to kisses on your forehead this time. It's a miracle you rouse. You're a heavy sleeper—and he worked you out. 

“I have to go, honey.” 

“Want breakfast?” you murmur, half asleep.

“Yeah, but I can’t. Rain check?”

“Okay.”

Through half lidded eyes you watch as he gets dressed, half way, at least. A good portion of his clothes are still strewn around the living room.

My god, what a beautiful specimen of manhood you bagged last night. Nonna would be proud. She was an appreciator of male beauty, and if you told her that her special recipe had gotten you the best sex of your life with the handsome boy next door she would have cackled with delight.

“See you soon?” you dare ask as he buttons his pants. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, after a pause, bending down to kiss you one more time, with tongue this round. 

“Careful mister, or you'll start round three.”

“Jesus, woman,” he teases with that heartbreaking almost-smile. “You've drained me dry.” 

You look him over appraisingly.

“Doubt it.” 

He huffs with laughter, shaking his head. 

“Bye, y/n.”

You sigh. 

“Bye, John.”

With a surprisingly heavy heart, you watch the best lay of your life slip out the door. You really hope you'll get to do this again, and not just go back to awkward acknowledgements in the hallway.

***

Maybe John Constantine had told you he’s not boyfriend material.

But earlier that day, while he was having a smoke out on the sidewalk, he found himself looking over at the wares of a flower vendor and wondering if you would like them. He didn’t buy any, of course.

He wasn’t a total sap.

But it’s possible as he scales the stairs to his apartment, there’s a lightness in his heart as he thinks of you, and the possibility of seeing you in the hallway.

That's when he finds your door ajar, and your apartment ransacked, and a note in red ink on the table addressed to him.

If you want to see your girlfriend alive again, come to this address.

It’s a place in L.A. that’s deep in vampire territory, and something black and heavy weighs like a stone in the pit of John’s stomach. He’d deported a few big players of the local coven not too long ago, and he’d figured the Master would want revenge, but this?

Fucking diabolical—and just their style.

Goddamn vampires.

Without a moment to lose, he goes to his apartment to get his kit, praying he’s not too late to save you.  

[sars-wulf]

Okay so I’ve seen some people going around saying Sasha Waybright is a jock…

No?

No she is not 😭

Despite being the avatar of the quality of strength, Anne is the jock compared to Sasha.

They literally go to a mini preparatory school (well it’s a catholic school, but close enough! I think one can assume it IS a preparatory school actually since normally public schools aren’t necessarily named after a saint. Orrrr it used to be a parochial (religious) school, and kept the name after transitioning to a public school… we don’t know the history but for my purposes I’m assuming SJMS is a parochial school.)

Prep is defined as someone who is wealthy, upper-middle class, and can be found anywhere. But this is an American subculture and this is an America centric post…(Rahhh!!! /silly)

They can be shallow, ignorant or rude to people not from their socioeconomic background, and display this behavior to anyone not in their in-group. They are also usually white as well.

Guess which human does this in the show?

They often exhibit traits of insecurity, which Sasha does show, as she is insecure in her friendship with Anne and Marcy, and is jealous of Sprig when he presents himself as Anne’s best friend. She also gets angry and possessive upon learning Marcy and Anne are working together.

Preps are often on the cheerleading team or football team depending on gender, and guess what! Sasha is a cheerleader.

Sasha is prep also because she presents herself as not really connecting much with her friends beyond controlling them (preps don’t really interact with other groups beyond their in group). So you could also say Sasha is prep because she didn’t try to interact with anyone outside of her trusted group until amphibia too.

Also Sasha would totally wear those fucking prep outfits. You know the ones.

It’s not just a style of dress, imo, it’s your actions too. When we see Sasha assert her superiority over Maggie, we notice that she has a habit of doing so. To Anne, to Marcy, and to others she doesn’t know. “End. Of. Discussion.”

Preps assert their financial superiority over others, and chances are, Sasha’s parents DO have fuck you money. How else does she get away with stuff so often that she’s built up a rebellious habit?

Now about Anne… she’s the jock. Plays sports, has one brain cell most of the time (in an endearing way, not a demeaning way. She’s actually pretty intelligent, so give her some credit! (Girl chose a HARD SCIENCE WTF)), she didn’t really have much interest in intellectual pursuits in the show and zoned out when Marcy said anything more complex.

However, despite people assuming athletics and academics to be mutually exclusive, they don’t have to be… Anne is just an air head! A herbo, if you will.

Anne is the type to go “want smoothies after, dude?”

Sasha goes “Ew, you want me to do that?!” (Which happened in mother olm so….)

Marcy, the nerd (I’m not explaining this, it’s self explanatory), will info dump about her newest creatures and caverns campaign.

Anyways, that’s my two cents!

Sasha Waybright is NOT the jock, she is the prep of the trio, and I will die on this hill /silly.

[hubbvrd]

#38 with Joe Burrow

Under the mistletoe ❄️ Joe Burrow

summary — joe and your first kiss under the mistletoe

pairing — joe x y/n

words — 777

note — thanks for your request. I hope you like it!!🧡

CHRISTMAS MUSIC WAS playing softly from the radio. Joe's right hand was on your thigh while he held the steering wheel with his left hand and drove you through the crowded traffic to your parents' house.

This year was the first Christmas Joe and you had spent together, so you were quite excited and your excitement was quite obvious, so Joe's thumb gently stroked your thigh and made you relax a little.

"Did I drive past the house?" Joe asked into the silence as he drove through the street where your parents' house was located.

All the houses on this street were decorated with countless lights and Christmas figures, so even though you had grown up on the street, it was hard for you to see your house among all the colorful lights.

"No, it's over there." You pointed your finger at your parents' house.

Shortly afterwards, Joe pulls up to the side of the road in front of your house, as the driveway is already fully parked with countless cars belonging to your siblings.

"Here we are" Joe announces as you both get out of the car and he casually throws the large bag with the presents over his shoulder.

You start to knead your hands nervously.

Joe had already seen your family a few times before, but since you were already pretty nervous at Christmas in general, your nervousness literally doubled.

"Everything okay?" Joe asked as he put his hand on your back and stroked it gently.

"hold my hand, babe, i'm nervous."

Smiling, Joe grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers, which made you relax a little as Joe's closeness and the warmth he radiated next to you.

For a few seconds, Joe just stood next to you, giving you some time to catch your breath, until he gently squeezed your hand to indicate that you were going to the house.

From a distance you could hear the voices of your family and the shrieks of your nieces and nephews, which made you relax a little more.

You couldn't wait to go inside, smell the delicious food, hug your family and then throw yourself into all the hustle and bustle.

Before Joe could even begin to press the doorbell, the door was ripped open and you both found yourselves in the arms of your mother, who was wearing a chef's apron and was no doubt totally stressed about the food.

"Merry Christmas to you both. Come on in!" she babbles and shortly afterwards starts to engage Joe in conversation as she pushes you inside and closes the door.

"Wow, that smells great Mrs. y/l/n," Joe begins to enthuse and gives your mother his best smile.

"Thank you, Joe. But you're supposed to call me y/m/n" she reprimands him with a grin as she rakes him and leads him into the kitchen.

You trot after them, where your father and two brothers are already waiting, whom you also pull into a hug and wish them a Merry Christmas.

But there's not much time for a conversation, because your mother and father are already literally pushing you and Joe into the living room, where a small sprig of mistletoe hangs over the door, which has been part of the family tradition for years.

"Come on, y/n. You're finally one of those who have to kiss their partner under the mistletoe," your eldest brother urges you, standing there with your little niece in his arms and holding his cell phone out to capture the moment.

"I'm sorry," you whisper wordlessly to Joe, who just shrugs his shoulders with a grin and pulls you by the hips towards him under the mistletoe.

He doesn't really seem to mind this tradition and all the attention from your family, who are watching you very closely. But why should he?

After all, he was quarterback of the Bengals and played in front of thousands of spectators.

"Well, let's make your family happy, shall we?" he whispers softly in your ear as your hands find their place on the back of his neck and interlock.

"We should, because otherwise we won't get Christmas dinner," you whisper back with a grin as Joe pulls you a little closer to him and his lips land on yours.

Whistling and clapping can be heard around you, causing your cheeks to turn a shade of red.

But even though you don't usually like kissing Joe in public in front of others, you enjoy this moment with Joe under the mistletoe to the full and hope that this is not the last kiss with Joe under the mistletoe, but one of many.

[decafbat]

i really like how much depth your art has, do you think you could show how you break down bodies when sketching if that makes sense? it’s something i struggle with a lot in my art! ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

ok apologies in advance, this is probably going to be a really long and tangential rant about art that may or may not actually help you in learning how to construct bodies. im just gonna put it under a cut to save everyone from seeing this huge text wall.

i dont think its gonna be possible for you to replicate my methods here, because theyre mostly just really specific shortcuts for finding certain proportions and reference points for anatomy, which i'm fairly versed in, but not as much as i'd like to be. the shortcuts you'll need will be different from mine. im glad you think my art has depth, that is something i am trying to seek very intentionally right now, and i dont think im even close to the depth of form i am actually aiming for. so like. this makes making a tutorial kind of inherently hard. nevertheless, i threw this quick sketch together after like 3 failed attempts. (i was doing those attempts digitally, ended up giving up on that and going back to traditional because its what im most comfortable with rn)

i didnt get all the steps i took to get here because scanning that much would be cumbersome but ill try to explain how i got here. i start with the head almost every time.

i use a lot of symbolic/graphic shapes when drawing heads and dont stick to using forms very often besides the circle at the center of the head, which i use as the base to form these graphic shapes around. think of it like "wrapping" the ball in various textures and masses. the eyes are usually "textured" onto the head, notice how the her left eye looks narrower then her right. of course i try to make sure her bangs sit along the curve of the sphere and her ears look like they sit on opposite sides of the head. its easy to forget that part, making the head look unsymmetrical. the particular masses of leica's head would be her snout, which is just a curve extended slightly outside the diameter of the ball, and her hair, which are two strange organic shapes that are quite hard to draw, two hair sprig anime antennae things (forgive me, i forgot the word for them,) and the back of the head, which i usually need to extend slightly. its a little too extended here, needs more on the top, i fix this in the final pass. this was a quick sketch, so i didnt focus too hard on the forms of the head beyond the most essential ones for her design, but i sometimes highlight the form of cheeks with curved hatching, or try to make the eyes appear more sunken-in as they are on human faces. i dont know how to proportion the neck and torso correctly until i draw the head, so i always do it first. next, i did the torso.

so heres why i said that you probably wont be able to replicate this approach. you do kind of just have to practice anatomy, i cant just make it make sense because im not very good at explaining this stuff, but ill try to go through what i did here. so, i generally use simplified bone shapes to find proportions and reference points, as well as more complicated shapes like those of elbows and knees. i try to study fairly often because im not satisfied with here im at with this stuff yet. of course, i dont think i'll ever be. so i'll usually start with the ribcage, add a shoulderblade out the back to find the shoulder, the armbones come out of that, the bone in the upper arm connects to the ulna with a sort of three-pronged attachment, one big knurl in the middle, which forms the thrust of the elbow, two little ones on the side. i think those are part of the ulna but i dont remember. see, you dont really have to know what exactly they do as long as you know what they look like. the ulna does some goofy rotation shit i dont understand, connects to the wrist, and then we have a hand, which, i mean, im not good enough at hands to even be telling you how to do it, but i just have a big squarish mass and some little hotdog fingers coming out of that. you can see on her left hand that ill have a big circle forming the the area on the hand where the thumb attaches... theres more depth to the hands, i think you can easily find better tutorials then i could offer. anyway, under the ribcage theres the pelvis, represented with a box. ill get into that when i talk about the legs. i wanna briefly talk about the way i add the flesh and fat to the bones.

so, i really can't give a comprehensive crash course on anatomy, but i can point you towards the morpho series, which is where i get most of this stuff from. you can get very far with the volumes Simplified Forms, Fat and Skin, and Skeleton and Bone Reference Points. moving on, i just kind of have a feel for where the masses attach by now. the important thing to remember when drawing fat characters like this is that the fat should "hang" from the bones and flesh, drooping down slightly. leicas fat hangs substantially, so she's not very wide despite her weight. this is important to her character design i feel. i almost always draw characters naked first when doing serious drawings because it will come in handy knowing where the forms of the body are when i add the clothing. by focusing on the way her body looks naked, i can modify the impression of those forms when adding clothes, and when i add them later on in this drawing, leica will take on the distinctive boxy look i try to draw her with.

if you look at the arm, youll see that the place the line of bone sits is very high compared to the whole mass of the arm, the flesh and fat of the arm "hang" from the bone, and then the upper arm squishes against the bent forearm too. even if the anatomy in the arm is indistinct, it can still look convincing when the forms act realistically against one another. the elbow has much less fat connected to it, so its more bony then the rest. this isnt actually consistent on all people so like, think about that kind of thing when designing characters, like i was talking about before, fat can sit in infinite different ways. maybe if i was doing a more objective anatomy lesson i'd draw cath, because i do have a sort of vague understanding of muscle placement that doesnt come through here, but probably would if i was drawing a scrawnier character. let me know if you want that.

a word on the breasts too: they hang a bit lower then you'd expect, keep that in mind. the attachment point is also angled, as the line shows. the line starts roughly in the middle of the torso and ends around the armpit, but the form of the breast can go underneath the armpit or even connect around the fold of fat in the back. many things to think about. i love boob shapes. ok lets finally get on with it and talk about the legs.

so, the really specific shape of the pelvis doesnt matter that much unless youre drawing a really thin character, so its just a box here. out from the sides of the pelvis, extending out more then you'd expect, is the femur, which ends in a similar joint to the arm. this shape helps me figure out the form of the knee. two masses on each side with a bunch of complex and weirdly shaped bones forming the kneecap, which i have omitted because i dont yet know shit enough to include them. i am learning though. so, obviously the feet are just scribbles here because im just gonna put her feet in socks anyway. you really dont have to do more then you have to. a few tips i can offer here, the butt should hang a bit too when drawing fat characters, i think the butt is supposed to start just below the pelvis if i remember, but take that with a grain of salt. i also didnt really do that here but its hard to tell because she's facing mostly forward. again, i dont think i can really communicate what's going on here. morpho has a lot of great drawings explaining the shapes and muscles of the legs, all things i might focus on more when drawing a scrawnier character. for this case, i regrettably don't go too hard on the legs. also i should note that legs would usually be much longer, leica is really short so ive exaggerated the proportions to communicate that. i may change my mind on that front in the future and give her more grounded proportions. the important thing to remember with legs is just getting a nice hierarchy of forms going. bigger thigh going into smaller calf going into smaller foot. it mostly comes automatically now.

i added the clothing, shaped up her head a bit, added a bit of fur. i put her in her classic outfit, just a sweater and jeans. i enjoy the big thick folds that come out of these clothes, and big areas of white space too. its nice. i try my best to form all the folds around the forms of the body i drew earlier. thats one case where i really really have no idea what im doing and could never explain it in words. its just some fun intuitive play with loops and lines. this is at around the stage for a sketch where i'd do inks, or if it was going to be a finished pencil drawing i'd erase out parts piece by piece and replace them with nicer and more defined lines and tones.

i guess that's all i can offer , i hope that halped.

[axolotlonamelon]

Hiya! I haven't had much time to draw lately but I wanted to share an Anne design for you guys!

Story Ideas/ Notes for Anne:

When Anne was 15, she was found hiding in a pond by Rosemarie "Marie" Plantar (aka Mama Plantar), who took her in and nursed her back to health.

After a month or so, they decided that she needed real clothes and made them for her as an anniversary.

Anne was really good with 8 year old Sprig but wasn't really sure what to do with 2 year old Polly. Tadpoles aren't all that for physical affection or conversation, so she mostly left her alone in the beginning.

The oldest Plantar child was there when the herons attack. She was responsible for protecting the children inside Stumpy's, stepping up to protect them and keep them from panicking. When she saw one of the Flour triplets swimming outside trying to get to their parents, Anne dove in to save her, using just a hint of her calamity powers for the first time.

Unfortunately, many of the kids' parents died in that attack, including the Plantar parents. Hop Pop and, to a lesser extent Anne, would need to fill the hole to the best of their ability.

Design Notes:

The patches and the cloth she's using to tie her hair up are from the clothes she came to Amphibia in.

This is a rough draft o__O I'm tweaking colors and I think I need to make her hat bigger, but her design has always remained the most consistent

It's a bit hard to tell since I shaded the heck out of it, but Anne's eyes are #96a4fd, which is a light blueish purple color, like a pastel indigo

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Raised in Amphibia AU Sasha is the one who remembers the most from their past before arriving to Amphibia. For one, she remembers the name of their world - Earth - and their species - human. She remembers she once had a mom and dad and that they fought a lot. She remembers how she got there. She found a box while playing in the park. She even remembers her last name, Waybright, and she's the only one of the trio who still goes by it. She does not, however, remember there were two other little girls with her the day she traveled to another world.

Anne has a vague understanding that she comes from a different land populated by people of her species, though she doesn't know what she is, where this land is or that it's in a whole different world altogether. She assumes she comes from some mysterious continent far beyond the sea. She doesn't remember how she got there, doesn't remember her last name (nor her second name, Savisa), and doesn't remember her parents, but she knows she had parents, once. One of the only things that makes her feel less like a Plantar is being unable to share her siblings' grief over their parents. She might be Sprig and Polly's sister and Hop Pop's granddaughter, but those two frogs that died a few years before she showed up weren't her parents. She feels bad for her family, but she doesn't miss them the same way they do. Whenever a birthday comes around, or the anniversary of their deaths, she hides in her room in the basement and tries really really hard to remember her biological parents. She looks in the mirror and tries to imagine what their feautures might have been like based on her own. She digs up her old kid clothes with which she first arrived in Wartwood to try to find some kind of clue - a handsewn patch, a tag, anything that could tell her something about the family that still waited for her to come back from another world.

Marcy doesn't remember anything. She doesn't even remember she's human, or that Andrias isn't her biological father. Sasha is quite shocked to learn that when they eventually meet.

[cakerybakery]

Merry Christmas, Adamsapple friends.

-

Wandering down for some of the cookies Charlie can’t help but leave out for Santa, a man she didn’t really believe in anymore but couldn’t help by want to be real, Lucifer spotted Adam half asleep on the couch. An empty cup on the coffee table. A warm blanket pulled around him as he watched the flames in the fireplace dance.

The fallen angel was as serene as heaven while the radio played and the fire crackled.

The lights on the tree shined, the glass ornaments shimmered in the glow. Presents were piled high around the tree. Every stocking was stuffed full. Lucifer had let Charlie go mad with his credit card to spoil her friends. Then done the same for Vaggie so she could spoil Charlie back.

Charlie preferred to celebrate Christmas to Sinsmas. Even if all she really knew about the day came from stories from the realm of man.

Sinners were hit and miss with holidays. What they celebrated, and how, was up to the individual. At some point the two different celebrations converged. And eventually, Charlie wanted presents over being prideful.

Their one stipulation as she grew up was she had to be proud of her gift choices.

The two holidays overlapped in their home and it was an enjoyable time. One Lucifer was happy to share in with her friends, even Adam.

Who was significantly less annoying these days. Getting rejected after pleading to go back to heaven had broken Adam a little. He didn’t fight so hard against the rules and activities. Settling into a routine.

A routine that Adam was currently breaking. He wasn’t one to stay up for no reason. Adam was an early riser, which meant he was an early to beder when he didn’t have a reason to stay up. Such as a concert, or being invited out.

Lucifer went to settled himself down on the couch, tripping a bit on a curl at the edge of the rug under the coffee table, and helped himself to a cookie.

Pulled from the flames, Adam frowned. “Those aren’t for you.”

“Yeah, but the person they’re for isn’t real.”

Adam shooed Lucifer’s hand from the plate when he reach for a second. “Don’t. They’re for Christmas Eve.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “And it’s Christmas Eve now.”

Shaking his head, Adam scooted the cookies away from Lucifer. “She’s not here yet.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Christmas Eve.”

Lucifer almost asked when he realized that Adam was talking about Eve. He must have gotten it in his head that Eve was coming.

She wasn’t. No one had seen Eve since she died.

He was about to say something when there was a rattle from the fireplace. It shook and a joyful echo bounced from it. Lucifer nearly got to his feet when a large gust of wind blew out the flames.

Tumbling out in plume of soot, a figure came to a stop with a laugh at their feet.

“EVE!” Adam sweep the ashen woman up in his arms. He peppers her giggling face with kisses.

“Sorry I’m late. It was a hell of a journey to get down here!” She laughed at her own joke and Adam chuckled along with her.

Jealousy bloomed like a poison flower in Lucifer’s heart as he watched them. He envied them. The sourness must have been evident on his face because Eve gave him a wink and hopped down from Adam’s arms.

She reached into a sack that had landed by the fireplace, which had roared back to life after she came down, and pulled out gifts.

“Now, normally, I don’t drop off presents for sinners. However, a little angel told me how good everyone has been this year. So for Anthony, a teddy bear with messages from his sister. Husk has some heavenly wine. Niffty, a new needle made from angelic steel. Alastor, a storybook narrated by his mother. For Charlie I have messages from Sir Pentious. Vaggie got a new spear. And I have a joint gift for you two.”

Adam pulled the ribbon off the box and Lucifer watched curiously as Adam lifted the lid.

Inside was a sprig of a plant and Adam turned golden seeing it.

“What is that?” Lucifer asked.

“Nothing!” Adam slammed the box closed and turned to Eve but she, and the cookies, were gone. “Eve.” He sighed.

Adam went to put the box down on the coffee table, his foot caught on the curled up bit of rug and he stumbled.

Reached out automatically, Lucifer grabbed for Adam, but Adam wasn’t easy to grasp due to Lucifer short arms and he only changed the direction of Adam’s fall onto himself.

Sitting up Adam straddled Lucifer’s waist and Lucifer had to laugh. The sprig had ended up in Adam’s hair.

Eve’s voice whispered into his ear that traditionally, you kissed under the mistletoe.

Lucifer looked around, but Adam’s ex-wife was no where to be seen.

It was a strange gift to give them. Adam seemed so embarrassed by it that Lucifer couldn’t help but decide to embarrass him further. He grabbed Adam’s golden sweater and pulled him down into a kiss.

Electricity tingled down Lucifer’s spine, it bounced around his head, and when he pulled away Adam’s eyes were half-closed and a moan escaped from his lips.

He pulled Adam into another kiss. Then another. Then he moved them so he was on top and pulling Adam’s sweater off.

There wasn’t a lot of room between the couch and the coffee table so Lucifer teleported them in front of the fire. Sitting up between Adam’s legs, Lucifer pulled his Christmas sweater off and tossed it aside.

Adam’s cheeks were a deep gold as he watched Lucifer undo the buttons of his shirt. Next he tugged Adam’s shirt off, leaving both men topless.

Lucifer ran his fingers through Adam’s thick chest hair, and down the trail that lead down into Adam’s pants. He was soft. Adam’s skin begged Lucifer to mark it, so he did.

He sucked on the skin, leaving a trail of love bites and gasps from Adam’s throat. Lucifer climbed up and decided he wanted to feel Adam’s gasps under his lips as he marked the Christmas angel under him as his.

Unholy hands held onto Lucifer’s hair, keeping where his hellish honey wanted him.

Adam ground his cock against Lucifer’s leg and Lucifer returned the favour against Adam’s side.

Pulling away, Lucifer moved back down and groped Adam through his pants.

Neither of them seemed to want to dare to speak, lest they break the fragile moment happening.

The most Lucifer was willing, was to look into Adam’s eyes as he ran his fingers along rim of Adam’s pants as he ghosted across the skin.

Giving a small nod, Adam helped Lucifer pull off the slacks Adam had worn for the Christmas Eve dinner party Charlie had thrown.

Adam looked away, completely revealed, he was vulnerable.

Lucifer kissed Adam’s thick thigh. He ran his hands over Adam’s body, appreciating how attractive the man was.

He licked from root to tip of Adam’s cock before taking as much as he could into his mouth. Adam groaned and panted as Lucifer bobbed his head, swirling his tongue around the tip of Adam’s cock whenever he could.

Conjuring some lube, Lucifer ran his fingers around the soft skin of Adam’s ass before sinking a finger into the plush man.

Adam gasped and moaned, he grabbed at whatever he could grasp and bit his lip as he tried to get more inside of him.

Lucifer took his time, despite how the moan of Adam’s voice was begging him to hurry.

Preparing Adam properly and taking it slow paid of when Lucifer was able to bury himself deep into Adam and the man arched his back, Lucifer’s named choked out from those soft lips, and he smiled from ear to ear.

He fucked Adam slowly, driving Adam nuts, until Adam begged him to go faster. Lucifer picked up the speed and changed the angle, making Adam sing out.

Lucifer abused that spot in Adam, watching with glee as Adam clawed at the flooring and Lucifer’s named tumbled out over and over, increasingly desperate for release. Gripping Adam, it only took a few strokes for Adam to spill between them at last.

He filled Adam before pulling out and curling up against Adam. Lucifer conjured a blanket to keep them warm as they lay there trying to catch their breath.

“Wow.” Lucifer finally said.

“Yeah.” Adam agreed. “Eve really knows how to give the best presents.”

[lucygxybaird]

12 days of Christmas - Day Two

When you were a little girl, you loved Christmas. Everyone seemed happier, rosy-cheeked from the brisk winter air, bundled up in coats and furs so that your childish imagination turned them into cheerful, frolicking bears, dashing busily to and fro. You adored how the world around you seemed to shine, from the tree glittering with candles and baubles, to the fresh blanket of snow breaking up the rays of a weak winter sun into countless points of light.

And you loved the excitement of waking up on Christmas morning, discovering packages set under the tree that hadn’t been there when you went to sleep. You remember your parents nestled together in the same chair, watching you dive into your gifts, smiling indulgently each time you squealed or clapped in delight. 

Now, you find the magic of the season has shifted outward, toward others. Your delight in gifts manifests itself in giving them to others, though you have to admit you aren’t as good at wrapping as your mother was (no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get the thick, colorful paper to fold right on the ends). You adore finding the perfect gift for someone on your list, feeling that little bubble of excitement in the pit of your stomach as you imaging their face when they open it. You even love finding little hiding places for them until you can put them out on Christmas morning, feeling like you’re caught between a squirrel hiding nuts and one of Santa’s elves. 

More than anything, you love the sparkle and the lights just as much as ever, perhaps even more so — their beauty means more to you now because you find a simplicity in it, a purity, that’s so at odds with how the world truly is. 

Perhaps that’s really what you adore so much about the season now, as a woman grown. It’s almost as if everything is floating, a snowflake swirling gently in an eddy of the breeze, sparkling and delicate. Perfect. Just for a month or two, things seem peaceful. You feel comforted, safe, as if the innocence and joy of your childhood never really disappeared, but just pulled ahead of you, flickering around the corner like the swish of a hem. 

Oh — and the music! As a child, you would make hot chocolate for the carolers who showed up at your door, insisting they stay long enough to have a cup. You didn’t know until you were much older that they came to your house last every year, to make sure they would have enough time to stay. The songs still fill you with a feeling of giddiness, like something is wonderful is waiting for you the moment the last word fades away. 

We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year…

You hum softly to yourself as Susan McSween sits at the piano, the silvery notes dancing cheerfully through the air. As you watch a group approach the piano, you have to bury your face in the mug of hot chocolate in your hand in order to suppress your smile. Among them are John Tunstall and Alexander McSween, both of whom are exemplary men who could not carry a tune in a wheelbarrow — or a wagon, for that matter. On Alexander’s other side, his arm thrown companionably around his shoulders, is Billy. 

The two of you grin at each other. 

“Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin — good tidings for Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

As it comes back to the chorus, John gestures to include the whole room, prompting everyone to sing along. 

“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

Billy can barely keep it together through the verse about figgy pudding, and you set your mug down, rather than risk choking to death on a sip of cocoa. He keeps catching your eye, which makes even more difficult to keep from laughing. Someone — probably Billy himself — tucked a sprig of holly into his hair, and there’s traces of a eggnog mustache still lingering on his upper lip. His cheeks are flush and his eyes are sparkling with barely suppressed mirth and easily open happiness.

He is, in your ironclad estimation, the most gorgeous man on earth, and you are so in love with him that sometimes it feels like your heart is simply going to turn itself inside out from the sheer intensity of it. 

The song ends with a flourish from Susan on the piano, and a shout of, “And a Happy New Year!” from the group of singers around the piano. You’ve never seen Alexander in any other state besides perfectly prim and proper, but you’re fairly certain he’s currently tipsy, if not drunk. He plops down on the piano bench beside Susan and gives her a resounding smacking kiss on the cheek. 

Billy rounds the piano and makes his way to you. You watch him walk across the room, the Christmas lights and candle glow sliding softly over his suntanned skin, catching in his curls, reflecting in his eyes. You hold out your arms as he gets closer, and he chuckles, crossing the remaining space in a bound and snatching you up in an embrace that lifts your feet off the floor. You laugh, winding your arms around his neck, feeling entirely safe with your chest against his and his arms snug around your waist. 

“Ready to go home, darlin’?” he says, brushing his lips against your ear. “I don’t think it’s gonna be too much longer before McSween is snorin’ to beat the band, anyway.” 

You peek over his shoulder to see Alexander leaning against Susan, his head nestling against hers. You bite your lip to keep from giggling. “Maybe we should go,” you agree, and glance at the window. White clouds streaked with charcoal gray are starting to lower over the horizon, obscuring the stars. As you watch, a few flakes start to drift lazily downward. “We should get home before that gets any heavier, anyway.” 

Billy sets you down, though he puts an arm around your shoulders.  He steers you toward John Tunstall, who is refilling a his glass of eggnog. “Mr. Tunstall, I think we’re gonna head home,” he says. “It’s startin’ to snow out there, and we don’t wanna get caught in it.” 

Tunstall smiles. “Of course, Billy, thank you both for coming,” he says. “Here — ”

He goes to a cabinet and opens it up to pull out a thick flannel blanket, which he presses into Billy’s arms. Now that you look at him, Tunstall might be a little tipsy himself, the apples of his cheeks a ruddy color and his eyes sparkling more than usual. “Please, take this,” he says. “It’ll keep you warm on your ride home.” 

“Well—” Billy starts, but Tunstall waves him off.

“No, no, please, I insist. You can just bring it back the next time you visit.”

You take Billy’s hand and give a little tug, trying to signal that you should make your getaway before Tunstall pushes any other gifts into his arms. The corners of Billy’s lips twitch despite his best efforts, and he gives your hand a brief squeeze in return.

“Thank you, Mr. Tunstall,” he says. “I appreciate it.” 

Billy propels you toward the door as you bravely fight the urge to giggle, which isn’t aided in any way by Alexander McSween launching into a spirited rendition of  “Come Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen”.  

After handing you up into the seat of your wagon, Billy climbs up after you, taking up the reins and giving them a little flick. The horses start forward with a lurch, and you tuck the flannel around the both of you, making Billy chuckle softly.

Strains of music drift after you in the night, and Billy takes up the familiar refrain. “God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”

His rich, sweet voice is low and soft, for you only. You smile as you snuggle up against his shoulder.

The road in front of you is starting to take on a fine dusting of sparkling white. On either side, the fields are buried in an ivory blanket, glittering in the starlight. Bare-limbed trees stand stark as sentinels, their skeletal fingers outlined against the clouds like lines of ink, a map to the heavens. You watch as the branches collect snow, like a woman pulling on delicate lace gloves, finger by finger. Between the flannel wrapped around you and Billy’s warmth pressed against your side, the cold air is sweet and bracing, making you feel invigorated.

“Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy…”

You smile as Billy continues to sing for you. Turning your head, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, and watch as a smile unfurls over his lips.

The ride is idyllic, like driving through a Courier and Ives print, but you’re glad to see the little cabin you share with Billy appear in the distance. It looks like a gingerbread house, the snow like a thick layer of icing on the roof, stacking up on the windowsills, the weathered boards of the house looking like a freshly baked cookie. Billy drives the wagon into your little lean-to and offers you a hand to help you down.

As soon as your feet are on the ground, Billy has you up against his chest, his hands framing your face as he kisses you so fiercely that it dispels the wintry evening chill entirely. You melt into his embrace, your arms winding around his neck.

“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” he says, and you smile.

“I think it’s come up once or twice,” you quip.

Truth be told, hardly a day goes by where Billy doesn’t tell you he loves you more than once. And even on the rare instances where he doesn’t say so out-loud, he finds other ways to let you know — you’ll come home to find your winter coat mended, because you mentioned that morning you could feel the weather turning; he’ll make you hot chocolate, with a blanket and a fresh candle set up by your chair near the fire, so you can sip while you read. Or you’ll just catch him watching you from across the room, the softest expression on his face.

“I love you, too,” you say, leaning up to kiss him again. “Now let’s get inside before Jack Frost starts nipping at our noses.”

Billy smiles and leads you inside, taking Tunstall’s blanket from around your shoulders and helping you out of your coat. “Here, I have an idea,” he says, and spreads the blanket before the hearth.

As you watch, he lights a fire, and bids you to sit with a little gesture of his hand. He brings a bottle of wine and a tray from the kitchen, laden with bread, cheese, and fruit. “I know we ate at Mr. Tunstall’s,” he said. “But I figure a little snack before bed wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

You smile up at him. “Wine and food?” you tease. “If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Bonney, I’d say you were trying to woo me.”

He settles down beside you, pretending offense as he puts a hand over his heart. “Darlin’, are you saying I haven’t already?” he says, but then he smiles. “Maybe I am. You deserve it. I don’t want you to ever think I’m takin’ you for granted.”

Reaching out to smooth your fingers through his hair, which still holds that sprig of holly in its curls, you say, “I know you don’t. No one has ever made me feel as loved as you do.”

He turns his head, kissing your palm. “Well, good,” he murmurs, his eyes soft.

The two of you share some wine, and feed each other fruit and cheese from the platter. When you’re both sated, you expect Billy to offer to bring out his fiddle, or maybe even retire to bed. To your surprise, though, you realize he looks…well, nervous. Before you can ask what the matter is, he clears his throat.

“I know it’s a few days early,” he says, “but I was wonderin’ if I could give you one of your Christmas presents early.”

“If you w—!”

You haven’t even fully finished your sentence before he’s on his feet. “Close your eyes?” he says, looking so anxious and earnest that you obey without question.

His footsteps, a rustling noise, footsteps again, and then: “Okay, open.”

Your breath catches in your chest as you take in Billy, down on one knee in front of you, a little velvet box nestled in the palm of his hand. Your fingers flutter to your mouth, and you feel your throat tighten. As much as you’ve wanted this, you can’t quite believe it’s finally happening.

“Honey, I’ve thought about what I’d wanna say to you right now just about a thousand times,” he says, his trembling voice suggesting his own throat is rather full. “But I realized I love you too much to even begin to express it. What you’ve done for me, what you continue to do for me every day, just by lovin’ me — it’s more than I deserve, and more than I ever expected to have. You believe that I’m a good man, and you’re the reason I am one.”

He clears his throat, opening the box with unsteady fingers. You gasp at the ring inside, a diamond sparkling to match the snow outside. “Will you marry me?” Billy says.

You manage to croak out a, “Yes, yes, of course I will!” and then the ring is on your finger and you’re in Billy’s arms. He showers your face with kisses until you’ve dissolved into a mixture of giggles and tears. 

“Merry Christmas, honey,” he says against your hair, and it doesn’t even matter that you really do have a few days to go. No Christmas miracle could compare to this.

“Merry Christmas, Billy.” 

[adobe-outdesign]

since the altador cup is going on this month, can you review the yooyu petpet?

I've mentioned this before on here, but one of the few good things about the Altador Cup is the worldbuilding behind the idea of Yooyuball—it's a game where you carry a ball in a sling and try to throw it into a goal, except the ball is an armadillo and your feelings don't matter. I think it's particularly neat how the Yooyu's colour affects the way it behaves during the game as well, like how the fire Yooyu moves faster or the Darigan Yooyu hates you specifically. The ball design also lends itself to some other games as well, like Crisis Courier.

Visually, the design is pretty good. It's basically a six-pointed star with a long tail and floppy ears, with a light yellow inside color and a hard brown shell of sorts on the outside. You can easily look at it and figure out how it rolls into a ball, which is an important mechanical feature, and it's fairly cute as well.

Favorite Colours:

Christmas: A Yooyu not actually used in the AC itself, the Christmas Yooyu takes their natural segments and turns them into some nice peppermint striping, with a complimentary green outside and a sprig of holly for good measure. It's pretty straightforward, but it works.

Darigan: Yes we all hate this thing in-game, but you gotta admit, the design's kind of a banger. I like the black and purple contrast with red eyes that work really well with the Yooyu's default solid-colored ones. Things like the spikes on the tail and the wings feel like fairly natural extensions of the original design as well.

Faerie: The faerie Yooyu has a bunch of nice subtle touches to it, like how the wings looks similar to its limbs, or how the ears curl in a more than usual. The pink and blue palette works well and the stripes on the outside add just the right amount of flair.

BONUS: The Tyrannian Yooyu is similar to the default colour, but uses a slightly lighter cream color for the underside and adds features like fur, spikes, and fangs. It looks good all around and really feels like it works well with the Yooyu's design.

Least Favorite Colour:

Maraquan: Listen, Yooyus are effectively just six-pointed stars with a face, but there's something truly disturbing about taking a regular six-limbed starfish and slapping a Yooyu face directly in the middle that just plunges it straight into the depths of the uncanny valley. Maybe if they had stuck closer to the regular anatomy and just added starfish touches it wouldn't feel quite so weird.

[quillpokebiology]

Sprigatito Facts

(Art by Mpupa on Deviantart)

-The scientific name for Sprigatito is "Catus Magus" which translates to "Kitten magician"

-Baby Sprigatito are called sprigs

-Weed made from Sprigatito is surprisingly common in Paldea (uhh, weed isn't as dangerous as people make it out but most people on Rotomblr are minors and it really isn't safe to smoke until 25, so be safe)

-Originally, Sprigatito was bred only for the royal family of Paldea (which is why their fur pattern has the fleur de lis on it). But the Sprigatio there had so many kittens that they decided to release them into the wild. The overabundance caused mass poaching to happen, making them very rare to find in the wild today

-Because of their over abundance, and them evolving to survive the harsher climates, members of the Sprigatito line were seen as bad luck during this time period

-In the wild, Sprigatito live in meadows, fields, forests, and plains

-Despite common stereotype, Sprigatito actually enjoy the rain

-Female Sprigatito are called Sprigatita

-Sprigatito fur becomes drier in autumn

(Art by Megumi Mizutani)

-If Sprigatito can't find any berries, they'll instead bask in sunlight to get their energy

-Unlike a lot of catmon, Sprigatio can handle foods like grapes and almonds

-Members of the Sprigatito line can't taste sweets very well

-Despite being great climbers, they can't climb face-down trees because their paws face forwards instead of backward

-Unlike Meowscarada, Sprigatio (and Floragato) prefer to stay low to the ground instead of hiding in trees

-While Sprigatio and the rest of its line are considered diurnal, it's hard to accurately say since they kinda sleep whenever they need (we should all be like Sprigatito)

-The hatch time for most Sprigatito is in the spring

Floragato Facts and Meowscarada Facts

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Just fine

Barbie dolls: Peeta Mellark x gender neutral reader

Word 2.1k

Summary: the day started lovely for Peeta until he found you laying on the floor unresponsive

Warning: YOU HAVE CHILDREN WITH PEETA (it doesn't say if you were pregnant or what have you if it's adoption or abo Idc how you work it into your life I'm just warning you you have children now), you're from district four now, mentions of the games and Peeta's leg/trauma, peeta snores, I gave the kids different names than he had in the book bc I felt bad taking katniss' children from her and I named them Maris (which means of the sea) and Barley (it's apparently a grain used in baked goods sometimes I didn't think that hard), Peeta calls Maris Mary as a nickname fyi, you faint and your head hurts, it doesn't specify why you fainted but you're out for a few minutes, Maris sucks her thumb, your kids play with Annie's kid mentioned, finnick's death is mentioned and it's implied you two were close, the last part is just cutie

What a lovely morning. Peeta and you actually got to sleep in a few minutes before your children came barrelling into the room. Not that he didn’t enjoy the experience, he just appreciated laying in bed with you a little more than having a six-year-old boy and one-year-old girl jumping on top of him. Then he came downstairs and made breakfast as you dressed the children and pulled them up onto their usual seats at the table. Peeta brought all four plates to the table, kissing you good morning as he set down Maris’ plate in front of her. Then after hours of playtime, the kids settled for a nap. A nap under the table but still a nap. After five years of parenting, you two realized, a win is a win. You and Peeta settled on the couch, just enjoying each other’s company in silence as your two children snored away. Well really it was Barely who snored, he took after Peeta in that aspect. 

Now you and the kids were inside playing board games and reading storybooks as Peeta got to mend to the garden in the backyard. He planted some herbs he liked to add to your meals and the baked goods he made in his free time. He smiled at the Thyme as he cut off sprigs, adding them to his small basket of already collected herbs. Peeta smiled brighter when he heard the fast pitter of Maris and Barley running out into the backyard towards him. Peeta set down his clippers, looking back at his amazing children. He greeted them in a joyful voice but his smile fell slightly at the panicked looks on their faces. Barley quickly reached out for Peeta, holding onto his hand. 

“Hey, what’s going on? What’s up with you two?” Peeta asked, looking down at Maris gripped onto Peeta’s shirt. She was worried, tears brimming in her eyes and her thumb had her saliva on it. That alerted Peeta that she had been self-soothing and he started to worry more. It wasn’t often that you didn’t redirect her soothing to something else. You always mumbled about her palette when she sucked her thumb but Peeta had no idea what sucking her thumb had to do with her painting. Maris started falling behind from the speed Barley was pulling Peeta at. Peeta dipped down and pulled Maris onto his hip, following after Barley. Barley was muttering your name, talking about board games, going to sleep, and falling. Peeta felt his heart beat rapidly as he thought of all the things Barley could've meant by that. 

Barley pulled Peeta into the living room, pointing over at the couch. Peeta quickly set down Maris onto her feet, at the sight of you. You were lying on your back on the floor in front of the couch. Peeta was positive you had fallen because your limbs were all twisted in strange positions. Peeta was sure if he combined all the fear he felt in the games it couldn’t possibly shine a light on the fear he felt now. He didn’t know why you were on the floor. He didn’t know why you had fallen or fainted or collapsed or whatever. He was upset now he wasn’t there to catch you. He worried this was a sign of something more serious. Peeta just didn’t know anything except for the fear that made his heart burn in his stomach. 

Peeta rushed across the living room, settling on the floor next to you. He leaned down, putting his face in front of your nose and mouth. He felt your hot breath brush against his face and he knew you were alive just asleep. Peeta tried to wake you up by shaking you slightly but your head just lolled to the side. Peeta turned to his two terrified children staring down at their parents on the floor not understanding a lick of what was happening. Maris was sucking her thumb again, swapping them out every two seconds. Barley was gripping his hands to his chest, looking in between Peeta and you. Peeta gave them a brief smile to try to calm their nerves but it was hard when his own nerves were skyrocketing. 

“Barley, could you go get me a glass of water please?” Barley nodded and ran off towards the kitchen. Maris stepped towards Peeta and set her hand on his shoulder. 

“Okay?” She whispered. Peeta nodded. 

“They’re just fine, Mary. They just need to wake up and they’ll be okay.” Maris settled slightly at his words. Peeta leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Maris groaned and pushed his face away. Peeta snorted and looked up at the sound of Barley’s feet. He walked as fast as he could. He kept his eyes downcast at the glass of water in his hands. Barley was making sure he didn’t spill a drop while making his way to Peeta as fast as he could manage. Peeta thanked Barley and took the glass from his hands. Peeta dipped his fingers into the glass, wetting them. He pulled up your arm closest to him and dragged the water up your inner arm.

You were from Four. You were a tribute in the 73rd games. You won and unfortunately, that meant your name was added to the 75th drawing. You volunteered for Mags despite her disagreement. You joined the rebels and after a long long long time, you both were able to settle down in Twelve. After a while, Peeta started to realize how much water meant to you. In the games you frequently splashed your face with water to remind yourself of home. It felt rejuvenating to you. You told Peeta all about how you were a thousand percent sure it would be able to bring you back from the grave. He didn’t want to test that theory but he knew it made you feel better in lots of situations. Once when you got the worst case of flu, Peeta would leave two glasses of water next to your bed. One was for drinking and one so you could sprinkle droplets on your skin. Peeta was a million times positive that it healed you 3 times faster than it would've taken you without it. 

Peeta dipped his fingers back into the water, spreading it out over your other arm. He sprinkled a few drops on your face. They slipped past the sides of your cheeks back towards the floor. It reminded Peeta too much of tears so he reached out and smoothed the drops into your skin. Even though you four frequently made trips up to Four to visit Annie so the three kids could play, you still needed the feeling of water on your skin sometimes. You once told Peeta that if Finnick lived to see your children he’d been their godfather. Peeta compared you to a fish that decided to walk sometimes. He even said you might be half-siren. You’d reply by saying he was half bread, he’d snort and kiss your cheek. 

As he rubbed a little more on your forehead, your eyes fluttered open. You inhaled deeply looking around the room in confusion. Peeta gently set down the glass of water on the floor. 

“Careful, easy. Easy. Not too fast, Okay?” Peeta said, holding a hand behind your head as you slowly sat up onto your elbows. You groaned, glancing over at Maris and Barely. 

“I think I fainted.” You whispered, looking around at the floor you were currently using as your bed. Peeta hummed, rubbing a little extra water into your cheek. 

“Yeah, thought so. What with you on the floor and whatnot.” Peeta said. It made you snort and then groan at your head. Peeta grimaced. 

“Think you knocked your head pretty good, baby,” Peeta whispered. You squinted one eye at him. 

“No one was here to catch me. I’m holding this above your head until Barley graduates.” You said, glaring at Peeta. Peeta’s joking smile fell. 

“Wait really?” You shook your head then groaned again. 

“Okay, I need to get off this floor, help me please.” Peeta nodded at your request, slipping his arm under yours. He helped you up onto your feet, letting you lean your weight on him. You two slowly made your way upstairs. Two miniature shadows followed after you. 

“I don’t know why you asked me so nicely, I’d carry you to the ends of the earth if you looked at me like you wanted me to,” Peeta whispered to you. You leaned your head on his shoulder as you two continued to walk down the hallway upstairs toward the bedrooms. 

“Next time I’ll insult you and demand you to bend to my every whim.” You whispered. Peeta rolled his eyes. He helped you lay down in your shared bed. Peeta shook his head and very lightly flicked your nose. You reeled back and felt a bit like a dog. 

“No next time. You're not fainting again.” You rolled your eyes and snuggled further into the blankets. Barley smacked his hands on the side of the bed. You glanced back at him. You gave him a small smile and rubbed his chubby cheek. Barley groaned as he pulled himself up onto the bed. He crawled over your legs and curled up against your chest. Maris whined next to the edge of the bed. She was just under the height she needed to be able to get into the bed on her own. It was quite a stressful factor in her life. She whined again, pulling on the sheets. As you looked back to ask Peeta to pull Maris up onto the bed, his hands slipped under her armpits. Peeta pulled Maris into the air. He pretended to eat her face, making loud chomping noises. Maris squealed with laughter, making you smile softly. 

Peeta plopped her down on the mattress next to Barley. You were glad he was able to avoid her temper tantrum. Maris snuggled up to you and Barley, pressing her face into your thigh. Peeta gently brushed his knuckle over your cheek. 

“I'll be right back. I just have to bring in my gardening tools. I'll just be a few minutes, I promise.” Peeta whispered. You nodded. You lay back into the bed, pressing a kiss to Barley’s forehead. Your hand caressed Maris’ cheek. She hummed and opened an eye at you. 

“Okay?” Maris asked. You nodded. You rubbed her cheek again. 

“I'm just fine, Maris.” You mumbled. Maris nodded and pressed her nose into your pant leg again. A few minutes later, Peeta returned to the room. He kicked off his shoes at the door and quickly made his way across the room. Peeta plopped onto the other side of the bed. He scooted closer to you three and reached out for you. Barley was already snoring. You and Peeta shared an amused glance, holding back your snorts. Maris pulled away from you and snuggled into Peeta’s chest. Peeta left one hand on her back and the other brushed your cheek. 

“Tomorrow morning if your head still hurts, we'll go to the doctor,” Peeta whispered, trying not to disturb your children. You gave him a light nod. 

“Sorry for scaring you, I know that must've been terrifying. Probably brought up some bad memories.” You said, glancing away from Peeta's face. He sucked in a harsh breath. Peeta gave you a small shrug. 

“Yeah. It did, a little. That wasn't you're fault though. I just wanted you to be safe. I'll be okay.” Peeta’s voice was balanced. A little too balanced and it made you worried that he was suppressing his feelings for your benefit. You nodded. You pulled his hand away from your cheek and pressed a kiss to his palm. 

“What about your leg? You didn't get any pains from old memories being sprung up did you?” You asked, glancing down at his prosthetic poking out his pants leg. He sometimes woke up in the night from the phantom pains, sometimes dropped dishware from the sudden pains, and sometimes he just curled up in your arms and cried from the hurt. Peeta shook his head. His hand pulled away from your mouth and dipped under your chin. He cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb in front of your ear. 

“Stop worrying about me. I'm not the one who fainted.” Peeta said. It annoyed you slightly but you rolled your eyes and dropped it. You let out a brief sigh and glanced down at your two children curled up between you two. Maris was snoozing along with Barley. You smiled at them. They were so beautiful and luckily they both had Peeta's overflowing heart. You weren't sure if that was genetic or just from them spending so much time with his love. You looked up at Peeta to find a similar smile on his face. 

“We're doing pretty good with these gremlins, huh?” Peeta whispered. You nodded. You reached over Barley and tucked a tuff of hair behind Maris’ ear. 

“Yeah, we're doing just fine.” 

[kharmii]

I've got to write an appreciation post of my new favorite thing. I recently watched Black Clover E.138 'In Zara's Footsteps' which was a Zora Ideale themed episode that made me love him more.

-So it starts out a flashback into Zora's childhood. His now deceased father gets a sprig of white gladiolus from a meek flower seller who gives them away for free because Zara is his hero. He tells his equally meek son that he was partial to the fragrance of those particular flowers.

Fast forward to the present. Zora is lounging seductively in a tree dressed like a dirty whore. He looks somewhat like Zagred and eerily like a zoroark gijinka from pokemon. (HAHAHAHA...don't go there in that fandom, yeesh...)

He says sarcastically, "Yeah.....like I have time for crap like that... I don't need to train with them. I didn't join the Black Bulls to make new friends and play around."

(The teeth look real, and his jaw looks unhinged. There's some not spoken of f-up somewhere in this design)

He goes off on a solo trip to really put his nose to the grindstone. They have to fight wars with demons and sheeit, so he has to really focus on his training. He dons a full-body-covering nondescript robe to cover his tiddies so random creepos with freaky tastes don't flash cash at him again. Zora is actually a sensitive introvert, so he doesn't appreciate that sort of attention. For some odd reason, he decided to put some unnecessary accessory on his robe that looks vaguely like a collar and leash. Whatever dude.....

This comes on the heels of the Gordon themed episode. Gordon is a freaky soft-spoken guy who can't handle being alone. He needs the constant company and emotional support of his friends. Zora, otoh, claims he doesn't need friends. He probably doesn't mean that 100%, but he's the type of person who thrives on solitude and needs a lot of alone time to recharge his social batteries.

Zora stops at his village to visit his dad's grave and leave his favorite flowers. Viewer sees a lot of good shots of his sad tired looking eyes and can tell his flippant and douchey manner of speech is hiding a deep sadness and weariness.

He's surprised to find out someone else already left those same flowers recently, and he talks about how his dad was the pride of their village because he was the first commoner to become a magic knight. Now there are more of them, thanks to Yami, but back then, it was unheard of.

Walking through a forest, he happens on some kid training fairly decent water magic without a grimoire. He says, "This kid's got potential. Well, good luck with that..." and prepares to walk away unseen, but the kid gets accosted by some visiting nobility.

Zora ends up chasing them off with a stink bug, but the kid gets a parting shot at them. Zora admonishes him for going against three guys. The kid's dad shows up and asks him why he looks upset. At no point does he assume the freaky looking guy with sharp teeth and tattered robe might be the cause. Good thing, because he would have been wrong. Zora doesn't scare the children.

The kid rants about how he wishes he had a different family that wasn't poor, and how he wished his dad was more like Zara so he could train to be a magic knight. Zora is perturbed, but the dad says he's right and starts denigrating their family for the hard times they were going through.

Zora wordlessly picks the child up and hauls him off in a fireman's carry while the dad is in no way panicked. Zora must have that sort of presence. He dumps the kid in front of his dad's grave and tells him to call him, "Awesome Mask Guy" and he will call him "Snot-nosed Shrimp". He talks about how his dad never complained about anything and never had a harsh word to say about anybody. The kid expresses resentment that he is aiming too high.

The sentiment brings back a memory of when more normal looking Child Zora told his dad he was aiming too high because commoners couldn't become Magic Knights. His dad kept trying over and over and failing. The dad replied that he may have failed the Magic Knights exam more times than he can remember, but he didn't think he set his sights on something unachievable. He only tells him he will join the magic knights someday because he honestly believes it will happen one day. -And it eventually did happen.

-So he tells the kid that if he told the other kids who accosted him that he would be a magic knight someday with a straight face, then he must believe he can do it. If that was the case, then he wasn't aiming too high. He said his dad used to talk like that too.

Zora shows the kid the doll his dad gave him, and the kid starts ripping on him asking if the doll is supposed to be him? Zora replies that the doll is Zora the Supermage the Mysterious Herald of Justice. He may talk a lot of smack but he's a good man. He fights evil from the shadows. The kid keeps ripping on him and saying he's not a toddler. He says it's a lame back story and asks him if he's srsly into dolls? He asks him how old he is?

Zora gets all dreamy and tells the kid that (doll) Zora was the son of a peasant, just like him, but he wasn't impressed by nobles or royalty because deep down he knew there was something he could do that they couldn't. Kid was intrigued wondering what Zora would have that rich people didn't have. Zora replied he wondered what that could be? If the kid wanted to be a magic knight someday, he'd better figure it out.

Zora is asleep in a tree late afternoon, presumably after a day of really getting some hard core training in. Since his magic deals with complex traps, he probably has to sit around doing deep thinking 90% of the time, and only 10% of the time is execution.

The kid is out practicing magic nearby when the visiting nobles attack him, this time armed with a powerful magic item. Luckily, Zora was able to step in to assist with his Uno Reverse Card Trap before the kid is incinerated. He sends the fire back, but only in a harmless way that gives the kids a scare. They drop the magic item, and the kid picks it up.

Kid comes back with his dad who accuses them of stealing the magic item. They attack with fire power, but the other dad surprises them with strong water magic. The accuser threatens to call the magic knights. That's when Zora shows up in his usual costume of tiddies out and pants cut so low one can practically see the top of his junk.

Zora talks about how he witnessed the whole thing earlier, and the son was the one who stole the magic item looking for a fight. He tells the guy he's a shitty father and doesn't deserve the magic item. The two guys run off humiliated, probably because they thought they were showed up not only by a commoner, but a commoner who is also a male prostitute who services clients with a magic knight fetish.

The kid and dad relate how they took the magic knights exam several times and failed, but they knew that their hero Zara also tried and failed several times. That inspired them to not give up. The kid seems to come to the realization who Zora really is, even though he doesn't say it out loud. He says he believes he knows what Zora the Supermage has that the nobility doesn't, and he also doesn't say out loud what it is. Then he apologizes to his dad for saying bad things about their family.

As Zora leaves, the kid thanks him and says he must really be Zora the Supermage. Zora replies that he's just trying to be a good mage, and then he encourages him to keep trying and leaves with a stink bug prank with the worst hrrderking look on his face.

On the way out, Zora says something interesting. He thinks about Yuno and Asta and how they always make the assertion they are going to become the next Wizard King. He says out loud, "The only reason those two can say that all the time is because they truly believe they can do it. You just wait and see, Dad. I'll make it to that zero stage everybody's been talking about lately, and I'll start by whipping my sorry squad mates into shape."

I was like, "AHAHAHAHA!!!! You'd better deliver, Mr. Background Character!"

Level zero is like Wizard King level ability in that world, -like Julius Novachrono who can control time is probably that level- although I don't think Zora is the type who'd want to be the actual Wizard King. He has the attitude like being a magic knight is more than the costume and recognition. Maybe he'd want to be the first commoner who'd reach that level of ability? Add to that, but Zora is probably the weakest in the squad, like Julian said when he encountered Zara, his magic wasn't that strong, but he was able to execute it in complicated and well-thought-out ways. Zora probably takes after his dad in that way. He's not a 'push past your limits' type of guy like Asta. He's careful. He has to think things through and only act if he feels like he's 100% going to succeed.

[serpentface]

@mouseymagus

(response to tags where I mention Brakul making a crab soup)

IRL I USED:

3x snow crab clusters

1.5 onions

1 large habanero

Uncounted, substantial amount of garlic cloves

Thyme

Fennel Seeds

Cumin Seeds

About 1/4th of a lemongrass sprig

A lot of turmeric powder

Bit of fish sauce

like 2 sazon packets (mostly for MSG)

A substantial amount of sweet soy sauce later added to taste (used it as a balance because I went too hard on the turmeric+cumin, though some would have been used either way)

A lot of plain yogurt

Spinach

[No measurements used for basically anything I do things entirely to taste when making soup and adjust as needed]

In-universe version would have an overall similar tasting mix of herbs and spices. He also has access to meatier crab, and would be making larger batches. Two types of fish sauce would have been used, one that's intense and provides most of the salt content, and one that is very sweet and mixed with date wine (the sweet soy sauce was a substitute for this, some kind of sweet port wine mixed with fish sauce would probably be more accurate).

Vegetables are all finely chopped (outside of the lemongrass) as they will be eaten in the final product. Everything except the yogurt and spinach is combined with water and allowed to cook for several hours to make the broth.

The broth should be very strong, somewhat excessive on the spices because it's going to be balanced out with yogurt. Once it reaches a good point, the heat should be turned low and the soup allowed to cool before the yogurt is stirred in, which should prevent curdling. This should be A LOT of yogurt, it's the key ingredient. Cream could also be used for a sweeter result. The color should end up very light golden-yellow.

Continue cooking on low heat for a while after adding the yogurt (I let it go like 1.5 hours). You don't want it to boil again but want the yogurt-broth to thoroughly penetrate the crabmeat. Once that's done, you can either strain it to remove fennel/cumin seeds and the cooked down vegetables (and replace them with freshly chopped ones), or let it be and to eat as is. Either way this is the point where you add the spinach and let it cook for a while longer, until the vegetables are soft.

Resulting soup should be a thick broth that’s notably spicy, mildly sweet, and the bitterness of the spices should be subtle. Should have a distinct turmeric flavor with the cumin, thyme, and fennel being subtler. You can open up the crab legs and add the meat into the soup, or eat out of them on the side (ideally with bread to scoop up any remaining liquid, or over grain)

In context, Brakul really likes to cook and is like, Okay at it. He's got a good sense for flavoring and a very, very bad sense for timing. His soups are notably quite good because they are the one thing that is virtually impossible to burn. This crab soup is his favorite thing to make, it's kind of a fusion between familiar recipes he would have had back home (crayfish broth boils with herbs and chili-spiced yogurt) and flavoring more favorable to the Wardi palate (especially cumin and imported turmeric). He's bad at integrating the yogurt at the proper heat though so it usually ends up curdled.

Here’s photos of the process for the lore friendly curdled version

[forgedroyalseal]

Life a bit to the left

Chapter Two

TW: child abuse and mentions of neglect

The stench of vomit had intensified tenfold by the time Will had returned home. His jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected his father to clean up after himself. He hadn’t. But, perhaps he had hoped. Hoped that maybe today would be good. Would be better. It wasn’t.

“Dad, I’m back.” He called out into the dim house. There was, unsurprisingly, no answer. He poked his head into his father’s room and found him spread out on the floor staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey Dad.”

Daniel blinked.

“Don’t you think the bed would be a bit more comfortable?” Will crouched down beside him.

Another blink.

“Alright, you can stay here. It’s fine.”

Blink.

Will sighed and sat down, resting his back against the wooden frame of the bed. “I’ve had a bad day. And I really want to talk to someone about it.”

Blink.

“I wish we could talk. I wish I could come to you for advice. I wish you could just be like any other dad.” Will’s voice broke as tears began to form. He wiped them away quickly.

Blink.

“I know it’s not fair to be upset with you. I know it’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

Blink.

“I’m going to clean up the hall and try to wrangle up some stew or something. Ok?”

Blink.

“Ok.” Will stood and left his father with the ceiling. On nights like these, Will almost missed the days where his dad would scream and throw things at him. At least then he was capable of acknowledging Will’s existence. But when Daniel went totally nonverbal and unresponsive, Will was left feeling like a ghost in his own home.

The vomit had in fact stained the wooden floor planks. Regardless of how hard he scrubbed, Will was unable to remove the acidic smell that permeated into the tight space of the cabin.

“Well,” He muttered to himself, “I suppose that’s just what my house smells like now. He stood and moved into the main living space to light the fire. He never dared to leave it lit if he wasn’t home. He often had nightmares of coming home to his house burnt to the ground, his only family still inside. His father was unreliable, and it was too much of a risk to trust him with the fire. Which meant Will always came home to a cold, dark, damp house.

But at least he still had a house to come home to. He nearly didn’t today. The reality of how the meeting with the Baron could have, should have, gone was beginning to sink in, and it was terrifying. His father could have been arrested and their home and all of its contents could have been seized to pay off his father’s debt. Will would have been left without a job, home, or family. But Baron Arald had shown them compassion, the break they had needed for years. Will had never met someone willing to show such pity for strangers. Everyone Will interacted with on a semi-regular basis was only concerned with taking care of themselves. And Will didn’t blame them. As much as he’d like to be able to toss a coin or piece of bread to the old blind beggar that roamed the town square, he barely had enough to feed himself and his father. Now when Will sees the beggar, he knows he’ll see his own face in the man's scarred and milky eyes. He’ll see what almost was.

The heat from the steadily building fire pulled him back to the task at hand. Leaving the fire to grow, Will took stock of the kitchen. He hadn’t had an opportunity to try to trap or hunt game, so they were left with some old, hardened bread and a couple wilting cabbages. He made due the best he could and began chopping the cabbage, tossing it in a pot with water, salt, and a few sprigs of herbs he had found on the walk back from work the other day. After examining the bread he cut out the fuzzy green bits that had grown on it. Nausea rolled in as he remembered the times as a child he had been forced to eat moldy and rancid food. Before he was capable of hunting and foraging for his own food, he had been reliant on his father’s rare moments of lucidity. When the time between those moments began to stretch to weeks, Will had no other choice than to search through the neighbors' scraps, fighting their pigs for salvageable pieces.

The stew, if you could even call it that, took its time to boil. The sun was long past set when it was finally ready and Will carefully portioned it out into two even servings. He didn’t bother calling for his father, instead just bringing the bowl and the bread to Daniel’s room.

His father was sitting against the wall now, his knees drawing up to his chest. If it wasn’t for the wooly beard, he’d look closer to Will’s age than nearly 40. Will knelt in front of him and gently spoon fed him the broth and cabbage. Experience had taught him that if he gave his father the spoon and bowl to feed himself, it would more than likely end up on the floor, walls, or Will. And they simply could not waste food. So they adopted this spoon feeding habit. Will occasionally wondered if it was awkward or demeaning for his father, but knew that he probably was well past the ability to feel things such as that.

Once his father was fed, Will returned to the kitchen to now eat his own dinner. It had gone cold, as always, but he didn’t have the energy to put it back in the pot and wait for it to heat back up. A cold meal was miles better than no meal, so Will was grateful for what was in front of him.

////

Tonight when Will heard the floorboards creek towards the front door, he tossed his ragged blanket to the side and slipped out into the hall. His father’s hand was already on the knob when Will called out to him.

“You can’t go. Not tonight, not anymore. We can’t afford it.”

Daniel’s hand stilled for a moment, then he pulled the door open.

Will stepped closer to him, “No dad, you can’t go. I doubt Barrow will serve you anyway.”

His father moved to step out of the house and Will rushed forward, grabbing up at his shoulder and yanking him back. “Stop! Why can’t you just listen to me? You can’t keep getting drunk every night. We have no money to pay for it.”

Without warning his father’s arm reeled back then slammed into the side of Will’s face. Will staggered back, hand coming up to his temple. Before he could react, he was struck with two more blows, one to Will’s right eye, the other to his nose. Will stumbled backwards trying to get away, but he tripped on an uneven floorboard and crashed hard into the floor. He looked up with blurry vision at his father, towering above him, chest heaving and fists clenched, spots of blood dripping off his knuckles.

“Please just stay home dad. Please.” Will choked out.

His father’s dead eyes just blinked at him, then he turned and walked out into the cold night, leaving Will bruised and bleeding on the floor.