#zigzag floor pattern

[listsoffinsldzilike]

Me when the twins are peak

https://www.redbubble.com/i/t-shirt/Twin-peaks-zigzag-floor-design-no-text-by-AdaOnio/166758642.WFLAH?asc=u

https://www.redbubble.com/i/t-shirt/Twin-peaks-zigzag-floor-design-by-AdaOnio/166758529.WFLAH?asc=u

[redheaded-eskimo]

Bedroom in Sacramento Inspiration for a mid-sized, traditional master bedroom remodel with a carpeted, beige floor, beige walls, and no fireplace

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | ii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You do your best to avoid him for as long as you can. 

You show up at the factory each day, diligent and focused on your work. You thread, dye and sew miles upon miles of fabric. It’s exhausting and repetitive but assists you well in burying the peculiar encounter. And if sometimes a particular shade of blue fabric stir memories of eyes you’d rather forget…you ignore that as well. It’s better that way. You narrowly escaped imprisonment, perhaps even death. No need to tempt fate once again. 

But it’s no matter. 

Because fate finds you anyway. 

It happens as the end of your shift at the factory comes near. Your cold-bitten digits are interweaving two different colors of thread on a gigantic wooden loom. Same as the girls and boys surrounding you. They’re all quick and efficient, threading and weaving with the ease of practice. A lifetime of it. Some of them are as young as five years old. There’s a saying floating around the districts.

If one can walk, they can work. 

You often wondered if that same logic applies to the Capitol’s children. Are they too expected to work until their fingers are numb with pain and their eyes red-rimmed with fatigue?

You somehow doubt it. 

Once again, the weight of someone’s attention blankets your shoulders. You tense, the needle nicking your fingertip when your attention falters. 

You curse and swipe away the blood beading on your finger.

Your head rises. 

Anger simmers inside you at the sight of the smug face smirking at you from across the room. 

Coriolanus. 

He showed up one hour ago, switching places with another guard, and proceeded to stare at you since.

Dread pools in your gut. His gaze hasn’t strayed from you once.

What could the peacekeeper possibly want from you?

You have nothing, and it’s obvious he’s some rich kid from the Capitol who somehow found his way here.

“Your yarn is coming loose.” 

Yara’s frenzied tone wrenches you away from your thoughts. 

You look down, your forehead scrunching as you do. She’s right. The threads have broken out of their pattern, forming disgraceful zigzags over the loom.

Besides, there’s a minuscule crimson stain on the fabric. The pristine beige cloth is now ruined. This will come out of your pay.

Your ire grows. Your gaze narrows as it finds Coriolanus’.  This is all his fault. He distracted you. Annoyance at the strange peacekeeper gleams inside you.

You bolt up from your stool.

“I have to go,” you announce, already gathering your satchel from the floor.

Yara’s eyes round.  “Our shift’s not over yet,” she whispers below her breath, tossing wary glances at the guards. Your frown deepens. Any slight sign of disobedience could be seen as a hint of rebellion these days. It’s how much the Capitol wants to avoid a return to the Dark Days.

You smile at her in reassurance.

Yara was kind enough to show you the ropes when you started working at the textile factory. She even stayed late at night with you to teach you the most complex needlepoints.

Fidgeting, you apologize, “I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. I’ve ruined it anyway.”

You don’t stick around for her response, rushing towards the nearest corridor to slip away.

A deep, teasing lilt echoes behind you in the hallway.

“Still trying to fly away from me, huh?”

Your heart leaps. Not again. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you chide as you keep hastening across the hallway. It doesn’t matter though. A stolen glimpse at your back reveals to you that Coriolanus’ long legs easily maintain pace with your frantic strides.

You unleash a weary sigh. 

“I shouldn’t but I am, pretty bird.”

You can hear the smile in his voice and it infuriates you more.

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus-”

A sharp breath ripples through your throat as warm fingers suddenly clasp around your arm.

“What are you…”

The large hand that drapes over your mouth quiets your budding protest.

Ignoring your muffled shouts, he pulls you flush against his frame and drags you into a dark room inside another hallway.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you grab at anything you can. He’s undeterred by your feistiness, only unhanding you once he’s slammed the door shut.

A chill dances on your spine  as every deadbolt is meticulously slid into place by him.

Leaning back against the locked door, Coriolanus’s eyes drag over you. He drinks you in for a while as you retreat, as far away from him as the small room allows.

Uncrossing his arms, the blonde starts inching towards you.

Your nerves flare up at his impending proximity. A heavy sigh drops from his chest.

“Why do you make that face when I’m only trying to help you?”

“I don’t want any help from you. I want nothing from you,” you shout. 

He tilts his head, closing the distance. He shoves his hand in his pocket, seeming to search for something. You freeze. 

Shock rocks through you when he conjures a familiar vial, shaking it in front of your face. 

“Hm, Are you sure?” he taunts. 

The urge to steal it from him has your fingertips tingling. But you tried that before, and it didn’t work in your favor. So you snuff out the impulse.

“How did you find out?”

“I have my ways.”

You search his stark cobalt orbs. They give nothing away.

“I just want to take care of you,” he adds.

“Why?”

You startle as his long fingers creep under your chin. You didn’t realize how close he’d gotten, now bending over you so you’re at eye-level.

“Because I can. I could make your life easier.”

His tender inflection, oddly intimate, makes discomfort pool in your stomach.

“I don’t need…”

“Take it.”

As you do nothing to take the bottle he holds up in his fist, Coriolanus exhales wearily.

You gasp when he shoves the vial between your trembling palms.

“Don’t be stupid,” he admonishes. “That cousin of yours won’t make it through winter without these. They’re antibiotics.”

You stare down at the amber bottle. Your shoulders slump. You hate to admit it but he’s probably right. Tilly’s coughing fits are progressively getting worse. She can hardly breathe properly most days. It hurts to see and you’ve been praying for a way to help her. 

And now you have that way. Is it even fair to Tilly to turn his help down because of your own personal hang ups with the peacekeeper? 

His motives elude you but you’re not sure it matters at that moment. 

Tilly’s life is on the line. 

Your fingers squeeze around the vial.

“I know what they are. It’s written on the bottle.”

Interest springs in his cobalt gaze.

“You can read? Interesting,” he hums. “Most people can’t in the districts.”

Your cheeks heat at his assumption. A respectable amount of people in the districts can in fact read. Not the majority, but a few at least. The knowledge just isn’t widespread enough and schools are a luxury most districts cannot afford.

“My grandmother taught me when I was young,” you defend.

He pauses, studying your defiant features. 

His hand wraps around your hand holding the bottle. You try not to shrink, afraid he’ll take it back.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles.

“These are very rare and hard to get. Don’t let your pride get in the way, pretty bird.”

“I won’t,” you mumble. 

Another bag materializes before you. Coriolanus nudges it in your arms before you can think to protest. “Take that too.”

You glare at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Food, water, supplies.”

Grounded in disbelief, you peer inside the bag. Your jaw hangs slack. He wasn’t lying. The bag is brimming with rations. There’s even a few slices of bread and cheese on top. This has to be worth at least a hundred coins.

You purse your lips. “I can’t accept…I have nothing to repay you.”

Corolianus sighs, keeping the bag in your hands with his steely grip as you attempt to return it.

“Then just remember you live because of me,” he says. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips. “That’s the only payment I require.”

You snort. It can’t possibly be that simple, can it?

But Coriolanus’ features harbor no mirth. Skepticism heightens your pitch.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

You nod. “Okay, I will.”

Displeasure flickers in his gaze. His fingers sneak below your chin to angle it upward, forcing you to drown in his cobalt stare.

“No, I want to hear you say it, sweet bird.” His tone is laced with a solemnity that wasn’t there before. Your stomach knots. “That you live by the will of Coriolanus Snow.”

A shaky breath flows out of you. You’re suddenly reluctant under his keen scrutiny.

Still, your voice comes out a tremulous croak.

“I live because of you, Coriolanus Snow.”

His entire face lights up with your words, a strange glow appearing in his orbs.

For some reason, you feel as if you just tied a noose around your own neck.

You take a sip of your beer, basking in the bitter, heady aftertaste. Usually, you’re not much of a drinker, but it’s the first true respite you’ve gotten from the blue-eyed peacekeeper in many weeks and you plan on enjoying it. 

A tavern wouldn’t be your first choice but Yara invited you and it occurred to you this isn’t the kind of place a boy smelling like old money and roses would visit. 

It’s rare for you to be anywhere these days without his disarming presence hovering in a corner of the room. 

You’ve even considered abandoning your job at the factory altogether. But it’s not like a girl like you can change careers on a whim. You have no connections, no skill, no talent whatsoever. Nothing but your hard-earned ability to weave threads of fabrics together. 

Maybe the mines at the northern end of the district. 

It’s far from a tempting prospect. The work is downright dangerous. But at least it would shield you from the peacekeeper’s relentless scrutiny. 

“Your shadow isn’t here today," Yara notes.

You drag your eyes away from the band playing on stage. 

“My shadow?”

“That pretty boy peacekeeper who follows you around," she elaborates, her lips curved in amusement. You grimace. If only she knew. There isn’t a shred of mirth in your current predicament. 

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t follow me around.”

You refrain from saying he does a plethora of other things that puzzle you and stir your discomfort. 

You refuse to trust him, but thanks to him your cousin has been getting noticeably better, even able to walk on her own again now. It’s a relief. Tonight she’s at friend’s and gets to laugh, play and be a regular kid again. 

Besides, though it pains you to recognize it, your belly’s fuller than it’s been in a long time. 

It shames you to admit it, but it took you no time to cave in and gobble down the food he offered. Hunger does strange things to people. 

You loathe yourself for yielding but the feeling of an empty stomach is infinitely worse than that of your wounded pride. 

"He is pretty though," your friend says, glancing away dreamily. 

Your face warms.  "I really don’t care how he looks. I just wish he’d go pester someone else."

"Hm, fair." She drinks from her jug and shrugs. "He could just be bored. I’m sure he’ll stop at some point."

The conversation reaches a halt when a brown-haired guy around your age with a scar across his face stops at your table. 

“Can I ask you to dance?” he asks. His cheeks redden as he awaits your response. A quiet glance passes between you and Yara. You kick her under the table when she nearly lets out a chuckle.

Endeared by the boy’s bashful manner, you answer with a smile, “Sure, why not.”

You let the stranger drag you into a dance, your worries fading into the buoyant, lively  notes played by the band and the boy’s nonchalant grin.

It’s the kind of normalcy you’ve been longing for.

Engrossed in the moment, as the boy slips a hand around your waist, an audible gasp spills out of you when he pulls away from you out of the blue. 

Or rather is wrenched away from you. 

Your brows rise to your hairline.

You gape in horror, the sight of Coriolanus hauling the boy up by his lapels striking you mute. His features are taut with anger as the boy’s hands rise defensively. A mix of befuddlement and fear decorates his features.

Guilt needles your chest. You never expected the blond to show up here of all places. Paranoia seizes the chaotic train of your thoughts. Was he here all along, watching you like a hawk the entire time? Is he always here, never wandering too far from wherever you are?

Fear coils your insides.

"Hey," you call out, relief trickling inside you when your legs move again. You make a beeline to Coriolanus. 

“What is wrong with you?” you shout, trying to pry him off the poor boy. 

It’s not the useless hand scratching his bicep but rather your tone that appears to jerk him out of his trance. 

His grip on the boy loosens as he whirls to you. The stranger wastes no time in running away. You can’t even blame him. You can’t imagine there’d be many repercussions if the blond harmed him, but the opposite can’t be said. 

Coriolanus’ hands slowly lower before balling into fists. 

Irate blue eyes flare as they fall on you. 

You recoil.

“With me?” he growls, crowding your space. "His grubby paws were all over you."

You blink in disbelief, shocked by his accusing tone. You did nothing wrong. It’s not like he can tell you who to dance and not dance with. "G-Grubby…what? I’m not some damsel in need of rescuing, Coriolanus."

He squints at you, displeasure evident on his angular features. 

His hand latches onto your arm, yanking you towards the exit. You can barely keep up with his furious stomps.

“I think it’s time we had a talk. Come with me.”

“I’d rather stay here."

He ignores you, his grip on you turning deathly. Tears burn the back of your eyes. 

“No…”

You toss a desperate look above your shoulder to find your friend just as shocked as you are. She won’t help you. No one will. 

Your stomach sinks. 

The tears break past the confine of your lashes. 

He takes you outside. The chilly air skates across your skin, spreading gooseflesh over it. The silver glow of the moon lights the tortuous path he takes through dim, narrow alleyways. This is nowhere near your cabin and your panic swells. 

You dig your heels into the ground, resisting. 

Coriolanus heaves out a weary exhale. He hunkers down to pick you up. You squeal, flabbergasted by his nerve. He hoists you on his shoulders as if you were a sack of grain, taking firm, irate steps into the night. 

"You can’t do this," you weep, slamming as hard as you can into his back. 

Hardly flinching, he scoffs before stating, “I don’t remember asking for your permission, birdie."

[sreegs]

you awake one day and find yourself in a comfortable but unfamiliar room. it's filled floor to ceiling with rows and rows of bookshelves. after you explore the room you realize there's no exit, but there is a big, dark mirror on the wall. you call out but get no response.

you think, oh maybe this is an escape room? you briefly wonder how you got there but the thought quickly dissipates. you pull a book off the shelf and open it. inside is text that makes absolutely no sense to you. it doesn't look like any language you've ever seen before. you can't even begin to describe it, it's that strange. you try checking other books but, it's all the same. none of the books are secret levers to open a door. there's no hidden keys or decipherable clues.

after a few hours you realize you're hungry. a table materializes full of exactly the food you're craving. this isn't suspicious to you at all, and you eat. you get bored, and suddenly you're partaking in your favorite hobby. you want to socialize, and anyone who you can think of appears to chat, party, whatever you want. when it's all over, you always end up back in the comfy library.

you're confused but you can't complain. so you look at the books again. you still don't get it. so you study them for hours and hours and hours. eventually you see some repetitive patterns in the text but you have no context or any clue as to the meaning.

the mirror lights up. a few alien figures are looking in at you. they hold up a sign written in the same text as the books. you realize you're holding a small whiteboard. you write back in a language you know. the mirror shuts off. you notice all the books are back on the shelves, as if they were never disturbed since you got here.

now you're curious. there must be some clues in the books. you begin reading, again. for more hours, days even. you can't really call it reading, though. you're just sort of, looking at it like an optical illusion. you start to notice more and more patterns in the books, but you still have no idea what it means

the mirror lights up again, it's the same alien figures as before. they hold up a sign. you think for a minute, and write an approximation of... something you've seen in the books. you hear the aliens chuckle. the mirror goes dark. and again, the bookshelves reset.

are they taunting you? now you're determined. you must understand this language. you go back to "reading". this goes on for even longer than before. you've lost track of time, but, no matter how tired or hungry or bored or lonely you get, your needs are instantly met. and you go back to your studies. are you in a prison? it doesn't matter, you keep reading the books with the weird symbols. by now you think you're starting to see a structure to them, not just patterns

the mirror lights up again. the alien figures are back. they hold up a sign. you've seen this one before in the books. you scribble a symbol that you've usually seen next to the one they're holding up, and show it to the figures. they seem pleased. the books reset.

this continues for... how long have you been here? what does it matter. you're starting to feel fluent in this language. you still don't know what it means but the glyphs and trails and dots and zigzags and curls just start to make sense. and every so often the mirror lights up, you're shown a phrase in this strange script, and you write back.

you lose count of how many times this happens. your whiteboard is now a typewriter. now it's a printing press. very soon you're printing volumes in this new language and the aliens behind the glass are thrilled. and so are you! you're a published writer now. you still don't know what you're writing but you're pretty sure it's correct

anyways that's how chatgpt works

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 3 EPISODE 13 || EYE OF THE STORM ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

“This way,” I said. Within ten paces, I saw the light. It was no more than a faint glow on the rocks of the passage, but it was enough to restore the gift of sight. Suddenly, I could see my hands and feet, though dimly.

My breath came out in something like a sob, of relief and fear. I felt like a ghost taking shape as I walked toward the light and the soft bell-hum before me. The light was stronger, now, then dimmed again as Jamie slid in front of me, and his back blocked my view. Then he bent and stepped through a low archway. I followed, and stood up in light. It was a good-sized chamber, the walls farthest from the torch still cold and black with the slumber of the cave. The wall before us had wakened, though. It flickered and gleamed, particles of embedded mineral reflecting the flames of a pine torch, fixed in a crevice.

“So ye came, did you?”

Geillis was on her knees, eyes fixed on a glittering stream of white powder that fell from her folded fist, drawing a line on the dark floor. I heard a small sound from Jamie, half relief, half horror, as he saw Ian. The boy lay in the middle of the pentacle on his side, hands bound behind him, gagged with a strip of white cloth. Next to him lay an ax. It was made of a shiny dark stone, like obsidian, with a sharp, chipped edge. The handle was covered with gaudy beadwork, in an African pattern of stripes and zigzags.

“Don’t come any closer, fox.” Geilie sat back on her heels, showing her teeth to Jamie in an expression that was not a smile. She held a pistol in one hand; its fellow, charged and cocked, was thrust through the leather belt she wore about her waist. Eyes fixed on Jamie, she reached into the pouch suspended from the belt and withdrew another handful of diamond dust. I could see beads of sweat standing on her broad white brow; the bell-hum from the time-passage must be reaching her as it reached me. I felt sick, and the sweat ran down my body in trickles under my clothes. The pattern was almost finished. With the pistol carefully trained, she dribbled out the thin, shining stream until she had completed the pentagram. The stones were already laid inside it—they glinted from the floor in sparks of color, connected by a gleaming line of poured quicksilver. “There, then.” She sat back on her heels with a sigh of relief, and wiped the thick, creamy hair back with one hand. “Safe. The diamond dust keeps out the noise,” she explained to me. “Nasty, isn’t it?” She patted Ian, who lay bound and gagged on the ground in front of her, his eyes wide with fear above the white cloth of the gag. “There, there, mo chridhe. Dinna fret, it will be soon over.” “Take your hand off him, ye wicked bitch!” Jamie took an impulsive step forward, hand on his dirk, then stopped, as she lifted the barrel of the pistol an inch. “Ye mind me o’ your uncle Dougal, a sionnach,” she said, tilting her head to one side coquettishly. “He was older when I met him than you are now, but you’ve the look of him about ye, aye? Like ye’d take what ye pleased and damn anyone who stands in your way.” Jamie looked at Ian, curled on the floor, then up at Geilie. “I’ll take what’s mine,” he said softly. “But ye can’t, now, can ye?” she said, pleasantly. “One more step, and I kill ye dead. I spare ye now, only because Claire seems fond of ye.” Her eyes shifted to me, standing in the shadows behind Jamie. She nodded to me.

“A life for a life, sweet Claire. Ye tried to save me once, on Craigh na Dun; I saved you from the witch-trial at Cranesmuir. We’re quits now, aye?”

Geilie picked up a small bottle, uncorked it, and poured the contents carefully over Ian’s clothes. The smell of brandy rose up, strong and heady, and the torch flared brighter as the fumes of alcohol reached it. Ian bucked and kicked, making a strained noise of protest, and she kicked him sharply in the ribs. “Be still!” she said. “Don’t do it, Geilie,” I said, knowing that words would do no good. “I have to,” she said calmly. “I’m meant to. I’m sorry I shall have to take the girl, but I’ll leave ye the man.” “What girl?” Jamie’s fists were clenched tight at his side, knuckles white even in the dim torchlight. “Brianna? That’s the name, isn’t it?” She shook back her heavy hair, smoothing it out of her face. “The last of Lovat’s line.” She smiled at me.

“What luck ye should have come to see me, aye? I’d never ha’ kent it, otherwise. I thought they’d all died out before 1900.” A thrill of horror shot through me. I could feel the same tremor run through Jamie as his muscles tightened. It must have shown on his face. Geilie cried out sharply and leapt back. She fired as he lunged at her. His head snapped back, and his body twisted, hands still reaching for her throat. Then he fell, his body limp across the edge of the glittering pentagram. There was a strangled moan from Ian. I felt rather than heard a sound rise in my throat. I didn’t know what I had said, but Geilie turned her face in my direction, startled. When Brianna was two, a car had carelessly sideswiped mine, hitting the back door next to where she was sitting. I slowed to a stop, checked briefly to see that she was unhurt, and then bounded out, headed for the other car, which had pulled over a little way ahead. The other driver was a man in his thirties, quite large, and probably entirely self-assured in his dealings with the world. He looked over his shoulder, saw me coming, and hastily rolled up his window, shrinking back in his seat. I had no consciousness of rage or any other emotion; I simply knew, with no shadow of doubt, that I could—and would—shatter the window with my hand, and drag the man out through it. He knew it, too. I thought no further than that, and didn’t have to; the arrival of a police car had recalled me to my normal state of mind, and then I started to shake. But the memory of the look on that man’s face stayed with me. Fire is a poor illuminator, but it would have taken total darkness to conceal that look on Geilie’s face; the sudden realization of what was coming toward her. She jerked the other pistol from her belt and swung it to bear on me; I saw the round hole of the muzzle clearly—and didn’t care. The roar of the discharge caromed through the cave, the echoes sending down showers of rocks and dirt, but by then I had seized the ax from the floor. I noted quite clearly the leather binding, ornamented with a beaded pattern. It was red, with yellow zigzags and black dots. The dots echoed the shiny obsidian of the blade, and the red and yellow picked up the hues of the flaming torch behind her. I heard a noise behind me, but didn’t turn. Reflections of the fire burned red in the pupils of her eyes. The red thing, Jamie had called it. I gave myself to it, he had said. I didn’t need to give myself; it had taken me. There was no fear, no rage, no doubt. Only the stroke of the swinging ax. The shock of it echoed up my arm, and I let go, my fingers numbed. I stood quite still, not even moving when she staggered toward me. Blood in firelight is black, not red. She took one blind step forward and fell, all her muscles gone limp, making no attempt to save herself. The last I saw of her face was her eyes; set wide, beautiful as gemstones, a green water-clear and faceted with the knowledge of death.

Someone was speaking, but the words made no sense. The cleft in the rock buzzed loudly, filling my ears. The torch flickered, flaring sudden yellow in a draft; the beating of the dark angel’s wings, I thought. The sound came again, behind me.

62 ABANDAWE ~ voyager

[readyforthegarden]

When the Nightingale Sings - Part Four

Pairing: Danny Wagner x F!Reader

Synopsis: Medieval AU! In a world where noble alliances dictate futures, you have been betrothed to Prince Emers, a man you barely know and certainly don't love. As you travel towards the royal palace for your impending wedding, your journey is upended, causing you to run straight into a kind, lonesome hunter. With no choice but to trust him, you embark on a journey together towards the nearest village, navigating through the forest and it's perils. As the solace you find in his companionship builds will you choose to honor your duty, or will you abandon everything you've ever know to follow your heart?

WC: 2877

Warnings: panic attacks, the cutting of clothes with a knife, talk of hunting

A/N: A big thank you to @earthlysorrows for beta-reading and editing and helping me along the way

Hours. You had been walking for hours, and your feet were screaming at you to stop. Yet you trudged on, following Danny’s large steps as best you could in the serpentine pattern he forged. The air was crisp, the cold pricking your cheeks while the sun shone down on you. Your body couldn’t tell if you were freezing or overheating, and for the millionth time, you debated untying the cloak Danny had loaned you and leaving it there on the forest floor. 

It was the second day of travel, and yesterday had been surprisingly easy. Danny had stopped for many breaks, letting you catch your breath and rest. But today was business, due to the feeling of “snow in the air”. 

“If we keep this pace, we’ll make it to town in less time!” Danny called over his shoulder. “We’ll have you to your prince before you can even curtsy.” 

“Great, that’s great.” you responded meekly. You couldn’t tell if it was your lack of excitement or the exertion that kept your voice from traveling too far. If he noticed, Danny didn’t say anything, he simply continued his path along the forest floor. “Is this a trail you take often? There are no markers.”

“Aye, there are markers.” Danny turned and smiled. “Only ones I would know.” he continued to walk a ways and then stopped, sniffing as he glanced up and down at a tree. You stopped by him and looked at the bark, seeing nothing.

“Danny, it’s a lovely tree…but what are we doing?” Danny grinned and reached up, pointing to a small carving just out of arm's length. 

“That’s a carving I put in years and years ago,” he responded. “Gets harder to find every year as the tree grows, but I made it so if anyone was trying to follow me to steal my pelts or my money, they can’t find me.” you nodded, understanding the zigzag path now. 

“That’s very clever,” you complimented, and Danny’s smile grew. “Do you go to Ashlight very often?”

“A few times a year, depends on how my hunts go and what I need to restock.” Danny looked back at you.  “Escorting fair maidens doesn’t happen very often.” a blush tinged your already pink cheeks, and you were grateful for the cover. 

“You don’t have many women running for their lives in the forest?” you bantered back, stepping over a large, fallen tree trunk. Your heel caught the rotted bark and you slipped, knowing within a few seconds your face would meet the soil of the forest floor. However, a firm hand grasped yours, holding you up. Danny was there, his wide gait undoubtedly the reason for his quick return to you. 

“Not that I can say. You would be the first.” Danny chuckled, helping you right yourself over the log. “How am I doing at saving the damsel in distress?”

“Your rescue attempts have all been successful, no complaints there.” you tried to hold back the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “However the noble steed I’ve heard so much about appears to still be missing.” Danny shook his head, his curls bouncing.

“I tried, I really tried.” Danny let go of your hand, and as he turned, you watched your arm stretch out, trying to stay in contact for as long as possible. The two of you continued on, small chatters here and there. Danny would only pause when there was a decent enough clearing, looking up at the gray clouds that passed over the sun. By the time you were sat by a small fire with the sun already set behind the trees, you were fighting to keep your eyes open enough to eat your supper.

“Nights in the forest used to scare me,” Danny murmured, catching your attention. His eyes were on the fire, crackling and snapping. “My father used to tell me about a monster who lived out here.”

“What did he say?” Danny’s eyes flicked up to yours, a small smirk on his face.

“He said that there was a beast, a wicked, ugly thing that skulked around in the trees, always in the corner of your eye but never quite there. It would come out at night looking for it’s meal, and if anyone was found still in the forest after dark, it would eat them, its fangs ripping them up and crushing their bones.”

“What a lovely bedtime story,” you mused with a sour face, chewing slowly on the dried pork you’d just taken a bite of. “Surely it was meant to keep a young boy from venturing into the woods at night and getting lost.” Danny shrugged.

“Aye, it’s likely just that.” he agreed, eyes cast down to the fire again. “But sometimes, when I’m out late hunting, I think of it. Think of how if the beast were to find me, there would be no one to miss me.” furrowing your brow, you shook your head.

“Now that is a fallacy.” you argued. “You told me you had friends who resided in Ashlight. They would miss you.” Danny smiled softly, and nodded. “And now you have me.” his eyes shot up to yours, quicker than anything you had seen before.

“Do I?” His voice was quiet, nearly blending in with the crackling fire. Something heavy laid over the small distance between you, making your stomach flutter.

“You do,” you murmured back, keeping your eyes locked with his. Your stomach and heart were now fluttering together, and you swallowed roughly. “I would miss you.” the two of you were still locked in a shared gaze, the heaviness draping all around you. 

Snap!

In an instant you were scrambling to your feet, scurrying around the fire and to Danny’s side, kicking up a trail of leaves behind you. 

“Just a story, princess.” Danny looked around the darkness, finding nothing to cause alarm. “Remember what I told you, I would never let anything happen to you on this journey.” you looked up at him from your place, clung to his arm. “I’ll fight the beast if there is one.” as you followed his gaze towards the wood, a silhouette appeared. Large, sleek, and you began to grip Danny’s arm tighter as it moved closer towards the fire. Eyes glinted gold in the light, two orbs that stared unblinkingly toward the two of you. More snapping of twigs had you trying to scoot back and tug Danny with you, as he gripped the hilt of a knife in his belt loop. 

He began to pull his arm through your hands, moving to a crouching position. He was ready to attack, the sound on the blade by his side sliding against the soft leather that sheathed it. With a few more cracking steps, the creature emerged from the shadows. 

“A doe,” Danny murmured breathlessly. “A brave one at that.” Danny slid his knife back into the sheath and made a noise, clicking his tongue before picking up a small rock and tossing it away from the meager campsite, causing the doe to startle and turn back and run into the darkness. 

“I’ve never seen a deer so close before,” you whispered, staring in awe at the spot where she had been. 

“She must’ve smelled our food, and came looking.” Danny grunted as he settled back down in his spot. “It can happen around this time of year, as they’re starting to fatten up for winter.”

“Would she have not been good to hunt?” you asked, adjusting in your new seat beside him. Danny tossed his head back and forth a bit in a so-so motion.

“She looked a bit plump, but she still had a ways to go yet,” he answered. “And I don’t hunt does. Not unless I’m desperate for food or hides. You need them to make the fawns in the spring for the next season.”

“I see.” you pulled your cloak around you tighter as a breeze blew through the campsite. “Well, I’ve certainly had enough excitement for one day. I’m going to turn in.” Danny watched you move towards your camp roll, unfurling the thick blankets and laying them out. Normally you would find it indecent to sleep so closely to a man, but you found yourself staying within reach of him, the sounds of the forest still making you jump. 

“I’ll keep watch for the forest beast a little longer,” Danny joked, biting down on the bread in his hand. “Who knows, maybe I’ll tame it and we can ride it to Ashlight.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in your throat. “If you do tame it, I get give them a name.” 

“As you wish,” Danny bowed his head and you settled in, turning up the hood of your cloak to cover your eyes, embracing its warmth.

Danny’s forecast for snow hadn’t been incorrect. In fact, it had merely been delayed. Cool flakes landed in your hair and on your clothes, dampening them as they melted with the heat of exertion. Danny’s pace was slower today, keeping in step with you. 

“I’d wager we’re halfway to the village.” Danny mused. “We should be coming upon another one of my markers soon. You nodded quietly, trudging along and trying to recede as far as you could inside the cloak. “Have you given any thought to your letter?”

“Letter?” you asked, puzzled for a few moments. “Oh yes, the letter to the prince. I-I really haven’t…”

“I imagine he’ll send a whole court to fetch you.” Danny mused, squinting up at the sky. “He seems to like to waste kingdom funds like that.”

“I am sure he’ll send a few knights, perhaps a steward.” you replied, trying to ignore the twist in your stomach.

“And then you’ll be living high on the hog. You’ll never have to walk through a forest again, you’ll have someone to carry you. Carry you, dress you, bathe you, hell, someone will probably chew your food for you.”

“I don’t think-” you were cut off before you could say anything else, Danny focusing on his imagination rather than the cold. Your chest began to tighten, an ache like you couldn’t get enough air to your lungs residing there.

“He’ll have you burn those clothes, I’m sure of it. Those are not fit for royalty.” Danny snorted, waving his hand in the air. “No, he’s going to drape you in all of the gowns of silk, weigh down your little head with tiaras and jewels.” Danny continued on, talking about you as if you were a small child's doll, something to dress up and down and change. Something to force into a box when you were all used up.

You stopped, your ribs felt like they were tightening inwards, squeezing every ounce of air from your lungs. It was worse than any corset tightening you’d ever felt. A palm against a tree trunk, you heaved as much as you could, shaking. Dropping your pack from your shoulders, you clawed at the clasps of the cloak at your collarbone, suddenly too tight, your body too warm beneath it. As you whipped the heavy wool away, Danny noticed you were no longer walking, and turned as you bent over, silent sobs spilling from you as you tried to gather one good breath.

“What’s happening? Are you okay?” Danny rushed over, panicked. He crowded you, overwhelming you too fast and your free hand shot out, pushing him away. Danny was startled at your sudden strength.

“I can’t-” a wheeze cut your own voice off. “Breathe!” your hands moved to your corset, trying to pull it away from your body at the front, before frantically moving to the laces in the back. “I can’t breathe!” you sobbed, the tears spilling down your face. Your hands were swatted away from your back, and the sound of fabric ripping was loud in your ear. The corset fell from your waist, and your lungs could finally take in the air they were burning for. Turning, you looked to Danny, who stood there, still frazzled, his knife in one hand, the other up, waiting for the next thing you’d throw at him.

You were still gasping, sniffling and wiping tears from your cheeks as you put your back against the tree trunk. Danny was patient as you reclaimed oxygen to your lungs, flushed coloring evening back out. 

“Are you-”

“I am not a thing.” your voice was hard. “I am not something to talk about as if I’m not a living, breathing creature as you are.”

“I didn’t-”

“All of my life I have been told what to do and who I am.” you continued, a fiery look in your eyes. Danny couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or in general, but he took the heat just as well, lowering his hands slowly and sheathing the knife that freed you. “I will not let you speak of me like I am plaything. I will not be yours, nor the princes.” Something flickered in Danny’s eyes, his lips pressing together in a line.

“I am sorry,” your name left his lips instead of ’princess’. “I did not mean to cause this distress to you.” 

“It is over now.” you placed a hand over your chest, feeling your skin now cold. “We should get moving again, if we want to keep your schedule.”

“Your corset,” It was now that you noticed Danny keeping his eyes trained to your face, or the bark of the tree just above your head. 

“The laces are cut, there’s no reason.” Danny eyed your bag on the ground, and pulled out the hair ribbons you had packed. He made quick work of tying them together, and helped you re-lace the corset, albeit looser than it had been before. He picked up your cloak, fastening it back around your neck when you were ready and helped slip your pack onto your back again.

“Are you okay to continue? Do you need to eat?”

“I’m fine, Danny,” you reassured him. “Just…please can we not talk about the prince?” the same flash that was in his eyes before flickered again and he nodded. “At least not until the village.”

“I can agree to that.” Danny nodded. “We’ll continue slowly, I don’t want you to lose your breath again.”

“Thank you.” The two of you continued walking, mostly in silence now. Questions swirled around his mind, burning the tip of his tongue as he pressed it to the back of his teeth, reining them in. Your hysterics at the thought of your life with the prince, he didn’t think any other woman would have. There was something he wondered about, one question burning more harshly than the others. It wasn’t until you both were laying by the dwindling fire that night, neither able to fall asleep, that he let out a request.

“Tell me about your life,” Danny’s voice was soft, barely carried in the wind. You turned, facing him, and shrugged under your blankets. You both had chosen to sleep top of head to top of head, making it easy to gaze towards him.

“You’ve surmised most,” you sighed, picking at the edge of the blanket boredly.

“Tell me what I’ve left out.” he was eager to know more about you, and even further, what caused the scene earlier.

“I was born and lived in Indigwall all my life,” you started. “My mother and father had me by mistake…or at least that’s what the nursery maids whispered when they thought I couldn’t hear. They’d already secured an heir, and no one wanted our land or title, so why try for more?”

“You have a brother?” you nodded, feeling the slash his passing had left in your heart burn again. Your mind shifted to the sentiment you’d long had, that if he were still here, he would have been the one with an advantageous match, and you could have been free for just a little longer, hidden by his success in suiting.

“Had,” you answered Danny’s question softly. “He was taken by The Illness when it swept through our countryside.” Danny was quiet a few moments, before clearing his throat. 

“Aye, my own parents were taken by it as well,” the wound that had reopened in your heart split further, empathy for your friend pouring from it. Without thinking, you raised your hand, cupping his cheek. 

“I am sorry for your loss. Rest assured they would be proud of the man you have become.” Danny held back the tears in his eyes, though you caught your reflection in the glassiness that ensued. 

“And your brother would be proud of the young lady you are.” your eyes fell from Danny’s, a prayer echoing through your mind that his statement was true. “Do you ever wonder if they’re looking over us?”

“Sometimes, yes.” you nodded, eyes beginning to feel heavy. “Though certain circumstances have led me to believe otherwise.” Danny hummed, his voice seeming far off as your eyes closed fully.

“True, though they are not gods. Merely spirits keeping us in line.”

“Whatever my line ends up being,” you muttered, sleep pulling you deeper and deeper. “I’m glad to have met you.”

“Aye, me too.”

Taglist: (feel free to add yourself!)

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@mar-rein12 @laurynnnn125 @maddie-rae @eraofstardustchords @musicislove3389 @starsinmyeyes00

[intolaurel]

2024.10.20 - Making off the greek summer dress

I've recently finished the greek-inspired whimsygoth maxi dress. It's so comfortable and feels so luxurious, I've decided that I want to make some more before next summer. Below is how I've done it (this is as much a tutorial for future me as it is for anyone else interested).

The greatest thing about this dress? It is super beginner friendly to make (just sewing a bunch of long, straight, lines). Could easily be done with a “standard” sewing machine, serger, hand-held machine or even completely by hand.

The basics: two rectangles sown together. the back-panel has triangles taken out of the top sides to make sure that the front panel gets a nice waterfall-neckline. The sides of the sleeves are folded-in to give it a nice cape-like effect.

Some notes:

I would suggest investing in a nice-feeling & drapy fabric, as that is what makes or breaks this dress since the rest is so simple.

Since the dress is basically two larger rectangles, it should be relatively easy to repurpose the fabric into other garments later on if you end up not liking it.

The tutorial is for a floor-length dress, however it can of course be made shorter if that’s what is wanted / if there’s a limited quantity of fabric. Similarly, the dress can be made less voluminous by using smaller panels.

The below schematics should be taken as a rough Gide, not an exact pattern. The pink line indicates seams that need to be stitched.

The details: The height of the front & back panel should be as long as your measurement from your neck to your ankles + ~5cm. The width should be as wide as possible (preferably the whole width of the fabric. I removed the selvedge but this isn’t necessary for all fabrics). I would suggest, at this point, to zigzag / overlock all fraying edges.

Using a dress form, or your own body, measure out how wide you want the back neckline to be. Put (safety) pins in place to mark it. Next, measure out how much drape you want at the front. Put pins. Adjust the back and/or front until satisfied. The diagram gives some idea, but should be taken as a guide not as strict instructions.

Sew the front panel to the back. Start at one side of the neckline and sew towards the armhole. Likely, the front-panel will have a “shorter” side-with than the back. Repeat on the other side.

Measure, on your body, how big you want the armholes to be (I went for ~60cm in the round). On either side of the back-panel, take out a triangle that measures 1/2 the armhole width on the side, and extends to where the front-panel ends. Remove this triangle of fabric (or fold it over and stitch into place) Finish raw edges.

Sew the side-seams together (I recommend from bottom to the top). Stop where the “armhole triangle” begins.

Lastly, fold the sleeve inwards to create the cape-like effect (light-pink arrow previous diagram). Put the dress on (or on a dress form) to determine how far you want the sleeves to be folded inwards (mine went almost all the way). Secure it with a few (hand) stitches at the point where the sleeve reaches furthest inwards (stitch in the stitch-line where the front is connected to the back panel in the same colour thread to ensure an almost invisible stitch).

That’s it! We’re finished.

The dress can be worn loose and flower, or with a belt / corset for a gathered look. The corset in the picture I also made.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Different scenarios with...

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

Female reader in mind but no descriptions used

Sweet Tooth

First meeting

"Marco!", the clown called out from the entrance.

You watched in amusement as Quiet and John crawled across the floor, exchanging silent curses as they desperately searched for a hiding spot. Sneaky and quiet wasn't your style and the clown intrigued you far too much to even consider hiding.

"Polo!", you shouted, leaping onto a slot machine while flashing a wide grin at the clown.

Sweet Tooth blinked in disbelief at your reaction. Usually people were scared, desperately trying to hide, run away or, the most fun ones, trying to fight him. But there you were, sitting confidently on that blinking machine, the most beautiful smile painted across your lips and the genuine spark of joy in your eyes that drove him almost mad. There was this pressure in his chest, slowly spreading until it transformed into a swarm of butterflies, fluttering around his stomach until he felt nauseous.

"Are you...", he paused for a moment, unsure how to proceed, "are you here for the show?"

"Oh I love a good show!", you hopped off the slot machine and strode towards him, "show me what you've got big guy. I'm sure it'll be a blast."

Sweet Tooth burst into loud laughter and casually rested his machete on his shoulder before gesturing you to follow him.

"You're gonna love it!", he chuckled, guiding you towards the stage room.

First kiss

You and Sweet Tooth jumped out of the truck and darted around in zigzag patterns to avoid getting struck by lightning. You stormed first through the door of an abandoned mall, with the clown close behind, both of you gasping for breath and laughing.

"Damn Watkins storm came out of nowhere", you huffed, looking around the dusty abandoned entrance, a forgotten relic of happier times.

"Yeah", he chuckled, patting your shoulder gently, "let's explore this place. Ain't much else to do while the storm's raging."

You nodded and both of you ventured deeper into the labyrinth of corridors and shops.

The interior of the mall was a nostalgic playground, frozen in time. Broken mannequins and shattered glass scattered across the floors, adding an eerie charm to the atmosphere. You squealed in excitement as you stumbled upon a toy store and, unable to resist its allure, you ran through the door giggling. Passing through shelf upon shelf, stacked high with colourful playthings, Sweet Tooth's eyes gleamed with delight, his playful grin beneath the mask widening as he observed the array of toys before him. He grabbed a rubber duck from a nearby shelf and pretended to get attacked by it. It was a brutal battle and the clown clearly was no match for the almighty yellow menace. He collapsed to the ground with a dramatic groan, coughing a few times as his hand extended towards you before his body went limp.

"Oh no", you cried out overdramatically, "I simply cannot allow my favourite clown to perish. I must save him!"

You could hear him chuckle and your gaze wandered to his mask, an idea crossed your mind. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as your hands reached out to gently push up his mask just above his mouth. The gasp that escaped him was instantly silenced by your lips meeting his in a sweet unexpected kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you on top of him into a tight hug. You broke apart and pulled his mask back down, chuckling as you gazed into his brown eyes filled with loving tenderness. There, surrounded by remnants of a forgotten world and bested by tiny rubbery perfection in the shape of a duck, Sweet Tooth and you had shared your first kiss. And it was, naturally, evident that the rubber duck, whose actual name turned out to be Bob, would come along and have its very own designated place on the truck. After all, Harold would require a steadfast companion in the event that neither of you could be around.

First gift

It was a deserted funhouse in the middle of nowhere, you had to stop and explore. You deemed it an unspoken law and the clown certainly didn't disagree. As you dashed around the first corner, vanishing into the mirror room, Sweet Tooth stopped in the entry hallway, his gaze fixated on a claw machine. The glass enclosure, which held the toys inside, was partially shattered, and perched just above the opening was a stuffed plushie of Kuzco in his llama form. A few weeks ago, you had mentioned that it was your all-time favourite movie and it being right here within reach had to be a sign. He needed to get it for you.

Sweet Tooth placed Harold on a small chair next to the machine, giving the old paper bag an annoyed look.

"Don't worry, it'll be a piece of cake", he waved Harold's worries off and kneeled in front of the machine.

His right hand disappeared into the narrow opening, pushing upward and cautiously peering through the cracked glass as he attempted to inch closer.

His fingers wriggled, almost grazing the soft black fur of the llama's mane. A groan escaped his lips as he pressed his shoulder against the cold metal, attempting to extend his arm further up. Just as his fingers finally grasped the plush toy, he felt a cold metallic object brush against his skin and when he tried to pull away, he realised that the item had become entangled in his leather harness.

"Ah shit", he muttered, squirming but unable to free himself from the machine's grip.

His eyes shot up towards Harold and he huffed at the old paper bag.

"Don't give me that look. I'm not stuck... well, okay, maybe I am stuck."

Sweet Tooth let out a long sigh, stretching his legs to sit somewhat comfortably on the dusty ground while he waited for your return. He chuckled at the thought of how you would react when you saw him in this predicament. A big guy like him, dressed up as a clown, sitting on the dirty floor, arm shoved up the claw machine next to him, clutching a llama plushie. He didn't even get the time to wonder how you'd react when your loud laughter reached to his ears. Your gaze immediately fell upon the metallic hook securely attached to the leather harness, and it dawned on you that he must have been trapped. As you walked around to face him, still giggling, you noticed his arm disappearing into the machine's opening.

"Oh, are you stuck?", you asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Sweet Tooth rolled his eyes before giving you a long pleading look.

"Could you lend a hand to a clown in need?"

You bent down and unhooked the harness, offering your hand to help him back on his feet. He pulled his arm out off the machine, strong fingers wrapping around yours as he got back up. He then held the little lama plushie up, offering it to you.

"This is what got me into this...trouble", he chuckled, "I remembered that it's from your favourite movie so I had to get it for you."

Your heart fluttered as you caught sight of a blush creeping up to his ears and you accepted the plushie, clutching it tightly in your hands.

"Thanks, Sweets", you whispered, leaning your forehead against his chest.

His arms snuck around your waist, drawing you into a tight hug.

Tags: @larabiatasstuff

[kylobith]

Swords and Hoops

Word count: 3,634

Steve Harrington x Reader

Steve meets you at the Palace arcade after you come back from your holidays in California. Eager to see you, he's ready to let you show him one of your passions, showing you his in return.

“I almost had to wait for you!”

Steve rolls his eyes as he slams the car door and locks it. Burying his hands in his pockets, he walks up to you, his eyes dissimulated behind his thick sunglasses. He zigzags between the kids hanging out outside and the high schoolers passing by. Once he reaches you, he shrugs.

“Traffic.”

“As if. Since Starcourt opened, nobody’s coming here anymore.”

“Except nerds.”

“Except nerds,” you repeat, cocking an eyebrow.

Tugging on his sleeve, you bring him inside the Palace, taking off your denim jacket and tying it around your waist. You crane your neck in search of a free arcade cabinet, your footsteps muffled by the patterned carpeted floor, full of dust and dandruff. The air is stuffy, marked by the summer sweat of the kids spending their days inside despite the sunny weather and the temporary break in the heat wave announced by the weather reporters. The dropped and forgotten Skittles and Pop Rocks crunch under the soles of your shoes, making it harder to lift your foot from the floor.

And yet, you love it. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Steve yanks his foot off the floor, having stepped in gum. Grumbling, he lifts the collar of his shirt, hiding his mouth behind it.

“Can’t believe I’m being seen here.”

“Oh grow up, Harrington,” you snap. “You’re not in school anymore, who cares where you go? That’s the beauty of graduating. You don’t bother with popularity anymore.”

Before he can protest, you pivot on your ankle and poke his chest with your fingertip.

“Plus, you promised you’d be nice. And tolerant.”

Steve sighs and nods, dropping his collar and taking off his sunglasses. As he hangs them at his neckline, the fabric sags, revealing a patch of dark hair on his chest. You pretend not to have peeked and purse your lips, hiding your smile. You spot an unoccupied game and trot up to it.

“Dragon’s Lair?” Steve reads the name. “What’s that?”

“You’re a knight who has to rescue a princess in a castle.”

“That’s what you want to play?”

You turn around and lean against the machine with your arms crossed, tilting your hip.

“It’s one of the hardest games ever made, Harrington. Under what rock have you been living?”

“Uh, under ‘normal people’s rock’, I guess?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn back towards the cabinet and slip a coin inside. You close your fingers around the red joystick, your other hand hovering above the button on its left. After you choose the single-player option, the game begins.

Behind you, Steve rests an elbow against the top of the machine to watch you, his musky perfume filling your nostrils and distracting you from the game. You shake your head, drawing your focus back to the screen after you nearly miss the first in-game action. You take a deep breath and brace yourself to press the commands at the right time.

Steve furrows his brow as he watches, seeing you lose a first time because you didn’t press the right command. On the screen, Dirk the knight crosses his arms and turns into a skeleton, collapsing onto the ground. You grunt and throw your head back.

“So, um, what just happened?” he asks. “I don’t understand a thing I’m seeing.”

“I went too soon,” you sigh. “I’ve trained for this, I should know better.”

“You’re too competitive, you know that?”

You pull your tongue out at him and retract it as his fingers try to catch it. The way his lips curl up warms your heart. His hand lingers there between the two of you. Your eyes slip towards it and you hear your heart slamming against your ribcage, finding yourself tempted to entwine your fingers with his. As your cheeks flush red, you lock eyes with him, bewitched by his brown irises and the kindness emanating from them despite the tough demeanor he tries to maintain.

Before you start standing on the tip of your toes, Steve drops his hand and pats your shoulder.

“Well, while you’re trying again, I’m gonna get us some drinks. Fancy anything?”

“Coke, please,” you say as you pull out your wallet from your pocket.

His hand stops yours, the softness of his skin feeling like a cloud.

“It’s on me,” he whispers, avoiding your gaze as you notice that he’s been blushing, too.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. You, uh… You can start playing again. I’ll be right back.”

Without as much as another word, he walks past you and approaches the counter, behind which Keith stands, glaring at him while rummaging through the bag of chips he’s holding.

You slip your wallet back into your pocket and press your hand against your heart, trying to calm it down.

“What am I doing?!” you curse at yourself under your breath as you restart a game. You hope that you haven’t made it awkward between the two of you. Steve was reticent to even come with you to the arcade but accepted nonetheless when you offered to go together, for the sake of hanging out.

Since you’ve been back from your short holiday in Sonoma County, Steve seemed eager to see you again, calling you multiple times a day to suggest things you could do together. See a movie at Starcourt Cinemas, share ice cream at Scoops Ahoy, drop by the records store to browse the latest releases and listen to music at his place… Yet, there always seemed to be something coming in the way, whether it was your mom ordering you to babysit the neighbour’s son who never seemed to fall asleep, or your dad promising your grandma that you would help her clear her attic after years of putting it off.

When at last you had a day for yourself, you called him back and offered to go to the Palace first to beat some of your personal records and hopefully others too. This was your only condition and you were scared that Steve wouldn’t accept. He did, much to your surprise, obviously wanting to spend time with you above all, now that his fling with Brooke Carly was over.

And you hate Brooke Carly with every fiber of your being.

Somehow, being away for Steve, even for only two weeks, triggered something in you. As soon as you saw him pull up in the parking lot of the arcade, your heart started to race and your stomach turned into a knot. Now you noticed little things like his hairy chest and his perfume, and they were enough to distract you from everything.

Your finger twitches to direct the joystick of the machine as you squint your eyes, but press the wrong command. Again, the knight is reduced to a pile of bones. As the jingle plays, you feel someone poking you in the side. Steve is back, holding two large cups of soda.

“This is for you,” he says, handing you the cup of Coke, “and I got this for you too. I know you like ‘em.”

His fingers disappear inside his pocket before taking out a bag of peanut M&M’s, your favorite. You smile and shyly accept it.

“Thanks, Steve.”

“You’re welcome! Thought you’d need some fuel for the game. How’s it going so far?”

“Not great. Guess I’m a bit rusty.”

You bring the straw to your lips and take your first sip, pretending not to notice him staring at your mouth.

“That’s okay, I mean, I bet they don’t have that game in Sonoma, how could you have played it, right?”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“Dragon’s Lair isn’t an Indiana-only game, c’mon. I could’ve skipped a family gathering to hang out with my cousins at the arcade there, but I didn’t. Felt too guilty.”

“Not surprised. Besides being over-competitive, you’re an absolute people pleaser.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Yes, you are!” he teases with a chuckle, poking the tip of your nose. “When was the last time you truly did something for yourself? Without caring about how other people would react or what they’d think? Mmh?”

Sighing, you rip the M&M’s bag open and bring one of the little snacks to your lips. You hate it when he’s right.

“Well, I did offer to hang out here when I know it’s not your kind of gig.”

“Oh, so you mean you didn’t care about what I’d think about coming here?”

“Not really,” you reply with a shake of the head, letting your earrings clink in your movement. “I knew you missed me too much already and that you’d accept anything I’d suggest.”

Pretending to be shocked, Steve drops his jaw and begins to tickle you. You hold on to your drink and laugh, throwing your head back as you try to push his hand away.

“You’re going to make me spill!”

Your fingers slide between his and he stops in a heartbeat, closing them around your hand and stroking the base of your thumb.

“You’re right, though,” he intones. “I did miss you.”

“So did I,” you reply, intoxicated by your proximity and the softness of his voice.

Behind you, someone coughs to catch your attention. An annoyed middle schooler stands there, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor as he glares at you through his jam jars.

“You’re done here?” he grumbles. “Some of us are here to play, not to flirt.”

“Go away, little shit,” you snap, pulling your hand out of Steve’s. “Go find another game, you see this one’s taken.”

The kid grunts and leaves, dragging his feet across the sticky floor. Steve raises his eyebrows at you, surprised by your reaction. You sip some more soda and shrug.

“People pleaser much?”

Steve laughs and sips his own drink, before resting the cup on top of the cabinet.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Really?” you ask in disbelief, stars sparkling in your eyes.

“Yeah! I mean, I’ll need directions, but we can make it work.”

You slip another coin into the machine and pick the co-op mode. After explaining the basic functions of the joystick and the buttons, you launch the game, easing him into your world. After trials and errors, he begins to immerse himself in it, testing his reflexes while chewing on his bottom lip.

Minutes pass as you two make your way through the level, dodging and turning, jumping and crouching. Without you noticing, a small crowd gathers around you, watching in awe as you progress through the game without a word, standing shoulder to shoulder. The world around you ceased to exist altogether, replaced by this delighting moment of complicity with Steve.

When you accidentally press the wrong command, the game comes to an end, greeted by sighs of disappointment from the audience. Only then do you see them, turning to face them. Within a heartbeat, the crowd dissipates, spreading across the arcade.

Steve throws his hands up and grabs his cup.

“Too bad, we did good.”

“Gnarly! Look, Steve!” you exclaim, pointing at the score flickering on the screen. “We’re number one!”

His eyes round as marbles, he leans in and blinks in disbelief.

“We made it.”

His jaw drops and he begins to jump up and down, giving you a high five.

“We made it!”

You tilt your head back and shake the M&M’s bag above it, letting them roll and drop into your mouth. As you chew, your hand begins to type in a name for the record screen, only to be stopped by Steve’s hiss.

“We can’t do that. We can’t register it.”

“What?” you frown. “What do you mean? We’ve scored the highest!”

“Look at number two.”

Your eyes follow his finger as you read the name below yours.

“Dustin.”

“Yeah, we can’t do that to him. I can’t do that to him,” he says, shaking his head. “He’d kill me if he knew.”

“It’s just a game, Steve, c’mon!”

“Oh now it’s just a game?”

You grunt and erase the name you’ve already entered.

“You know that even if I remove it, the score will still appear, right?”

“I know, it’s just… he’s worked so hard, man. Gotta give it to him.”

“Okay, I’ve got an idea.”

The joystick clicks as your finger toys with it. Steve’s eyes follow the letters forming on the board, until you finish typing in Dustin’s name.

“There. Better?”

“I don’t know, it’s bogus. He didn’t score that.”

“That he knows of,” you chuckle with a wink.

“You know I’ll have to tell him the truth one day, right?”

“I get it.”

Steve shrugs and you confirm the name, letting the menu screen resume. You sip your soda until the cup is empty. As the two of you march towards a trash can to throw it away before trying another game, Keith comes up to you.

“We’re closing.”

“What? It’s not even five yet!”

“Maintenance today.”

“You could’ve put a sign somewhere, man,” Steve says, pointing at the door.

“Don’t make the rules. Out.”

Before he can snap at him, you wrap your arm around his and lead him to the exit, waving at Keith. Once outside, Steve grabs his sunglasses and puts them on.

“What’s the plan, now?”

“I don’t know. My only condition was to go to the arcade first, but now that’s done. You’re free to choose.”

“I’ve got an idea. Seems only fair to me,” he smirks. “Get in the car, I’ll take you there.”

Without asking questions, you wait for him to unlock the door. You jump into the passenger seat and buckle in, eager to find out what he’s planned for the two of you. The car pulls out of the parking lot and drives away, progressing towards the Harringtons’ house. Framed by a thin forest, the road stretches ahead, deserted.

Steve’s finger pushes the buttons on the built-in cassette tape player, switching it on and letting the music play. Queen’s Hammer to Fall resounds through the speakers, bringing a smile to your lips. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, mouthing the lyrics as they come, winking at you.

“Oh ev’ry night and ev’ry day, a little piece of you is falling away,” he sings, not caring whether he’s off-key.

“Focus on the road, dingus,” you chuckle. “Don’t want to die in a crash.”

“There’s much worse out there that could kill you.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

He lets out an awkward sneer and stares at the road, listening to your advice.

“So,” you break the silence, “where are you taking me?”

“To my place.”

“Wow, take me on a date first, at least!”

Steve flicks your leg.

“Not like that.”

“I know,” you say, exhaling out of your nose as you gaze outside the window, a hint of disappointment slithering into your voice. Not that you want to take it this far with Steve, you don’t want to be yet another one of his meaningless flings. No. A part of you, deep inside, wants more. And you know you’ll never have that. Steve’s still head over heels for Nancy Wheeler. How could you forget?

In spite of his sunglasses, you can tell that Steve is observing you from the corner of his eye. You decide to ignore it, pressing your forehead against the fresh glass of the window instead.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, visibly concerned.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Right. I thought I could introduce you to shooting hoops, since you introduced me to Castle Lair.”

“Dragon’s Lair,” you correct him with a grin. “Sounds fine to me. I promise I’ll suck at it.”

“Not if I’m here to teach you.”

You laugh at his self-induced ego boost and admire the landscape of good old Hawkins. When at last Steve pulls up in the driveway of his house, you see that his parents’ cars are gone.

“Just the two of us today,” you say.

“They’re never here anyway.”

He turns off the engine and slips out of the car, followed by you. You bypass the BMW and find yourself pulled against Steve as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, planting a kiss in your curled hair. You rest your head on his shoulder as he leads you inside, before pulling away to hang your jacket onto the coat rack.

“Wanna drink something?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay. Wanna start playing already?”

“Sure!”

You follow him through the corridor and the kitchen and into the garden. As you walk around the house, you see a basketball net screwed into the wall above the garage door. With the tip of his shoe, Steve kicks the ball tucked underneath into his hands.

“Okay, have you ever shot hoops?”

“Yeah.”

“So you know where to aim?”

“I have to aim?”

Lifting the corner of his lips into a smirk, Steve chuckles and grabs your hand, positioning you near the net and putting the ball between your hands. He adjusts your stance, his perfume reaching your nostrils once more, filling your lungs with pure bliss. Once he’s done, he stands behind you and presses his cheek against yours, pointing at the rectangle painted above the hoop.

“See that rectangle? See the screws too?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Aim at the top right screw. Or the back of the rim.”

Drawing a shaky breath, you close one eye and focus on the rim. You bend your arms so that the back of your fingers graze your chest, then push, watching the ball fly towards the hoop, but bounce out.

“Aw, too bad! Try again.”

“Told you I sucked.”

“Tsk-tsk, I want none of that. C’mon.”

He trots up to the ball and grabs it, dribbling back to you. You take it from his grip and aim at the screw he had pointed out earlier. Again, you shove the ball away from you, but the ball rolls around the rim and falls out.

Feeling like an idiot and ashamed to be failing this way before him, you wrap your arms around yourself. Steve retrieves the ball and sees the disappointment on your face.

“Hey, that’s okay! You haven’t done it in so long, it’s normal to be off at first. Want me to show you?”

“Sure. But if I fail, I’d rather watch you shoot.”

“Deal. But you won’t.”

He runs up to you and wraps himself around you. You feel his breath swirling down your collarbone as his cheek grazes past yours again. You sense the shy beads of sweat forming on the surface of his freshly-shaved skin, adding on to his musky scent. You close your eyes, taking it in while trying to calm your heartbeat. You let him adjust your stance again, hardly listening to the comments he mutters. You try to think of something — anything — else that could drain your cheeks from the pinkness settling in.

“Okay, you’re good to go,” he whispers, wrapping his hands around your arms. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Your limbs follow his movement, launching the ball towards the back of the rim. The ball bounces once before falling into the net. Steve pumps his fist in the air and turns to you, his arms still wrapped around you.

“See? Not bad at all.”

“I’m not the one who scored, King Steve.”

He rolls his eyes and leans in to peck your cheek. At the same time, you turn your head and jolt as his lips narrowly escape yours. You stare at each other for what seems to be an eternity, your gazes bouncing from the other’s lips to their eyes. He squeezes you against his torso, his fingers finding their way to yours.

His breath blows against your mouth, exhilarating. He gulps and whispers, breaking the silence.

“Can I… Can I try something?”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Seized by panic yet melting into his touch, you nod. He shuts his eyes, the tip of his nose brushes against your skin and his lips meet yours in a tender embrace. The knot in the pit of your stomach undoes itself and releases millions of butterflies as you throw your arms around his neck, cupping a hand around his square jawline. He lets out a moan and keeps kissing you, bringing you closer to him and holding on to you as though you were a lifeline.

Colors pop under your eyelids as realisation dawns upon you.

You’re kissing Steve Harrington.

After all the tales he’d told of his failing flings, you never thought he would ever be interested in you. Before this day, he never truly displayed any sign pointing at anything farther than simple friendship. While you’ve been burning for him for a while, although repressing it, the kiss triggers fireworks in your heart.

Steve parts from your lips and smiles.

“Wow.”

“I thought you loved Nancy,” you whisper bluntly, even if you know it might jeopardise the moment.

“Uh, with all due respect and even if she's a friend, screw Nance,” he says, burying his hand in your hair and kissing you again, increasing the intensity with each stroke of his bottom lip. “It’s you I want.”

A moan muffled by your mouth upon his resounds, making your heart leap inside your chest. Your hand searches for his chin, resting the tip of your fingers under it.

“Steve?” you breathe out between two kisses.

“Yeah?”

“I think I love you.”

Steve pulls away and observes your face, expressionless, panting from the rush of adrenaline. He shakes his head and brings your face to his again.

“Thought you’d never say it.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I just hoped I’d hear it one day.”

“Why?”

The corners of his lips rise as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Because I love you. More than anything else in the world.”

[only-by-the-stars]

It's that day again!

So here, have a teaser of Song of a Champion chapter 40:

Earlier, the foul shade of Calamity Ganon would have stood strong against the blow, but now it stumbled back, Malice-soaked mane swinging heavily. Mipha lunged forward, aiming a fierce thrust at its exposed body, but it brought up its sword arm and slashed out. She leapt backwards, evading the deadly slice— —only to have to duck and weave around a trio of electric orbs. They seemed to snarl, to hiss at her as they passed by, their aura of heat carrying a feeling of distinct menace decidedly absent from Riju’s own power. Or perhaps that was her imagination? Her bias, due to which side of the battlefield she stood upon? It was entirely possible that Riju’s power felt to Thunderblight, as Thunderblight’s power felt to Mipha. Good, she wanted to say. I hope it does. Her lips parted, and she gave Thunderblight a viciously sharp grin that she hoped was all the more intimidating for how her piscine rubber helm kept half her face hidden from its gaze. At the same time, her feet moved almost on their own as she darted in a zig-zag pattern across the floor, straight at Thunderblight. Let us see how you like being imitated and mocked! It zigzagged backwards, but in its weakened state could not move fast enough to dodge a Zora whose short legs were feeling the strain even in her adrenaline-high state. She struck out, over and over, meeting blade and shield, shield and blade, each time coming a little closer to creating the opening she needed. Off to the side somewhere Riju’s lightning crackled, her scimitars meeting a mirror of the sword and shield Mipha drove herself against, both of them trying to force their way in and do more damage. It was so close—it felt so close to being over—she could practically taste it— There! Mipha shield-bashed Thunderblight’s sword arm, eliciting another howl. She moved in for the kill, aiming a thrust at Thunderblight’s midsection, but instead of taking the blow or even defending against it, it flew upwards in an erratic trajectory until it seemed to be mere inches from the ceiling. The one fighting Riju followed suit, soaring up— —only to be caught mid-flight by the merciless chains of Stasis, Mipha’s hands moving with the speed of a flash flood to grab the slate and select the correct rune. It trapped Thunderblight and turned it into a golden statue in an almost absurd pose; she immediately went for her Lynel bow with one hand, the other snapping the slate back into place on her belt. A heartbeat later she had an arrow nocked and ready to fly—it soared towards Thunderblight— —and then the other Thunderblight flew in front of it. It raised its sword, evidently intending to call up another electric shield— —and screamed. Instead of protecting itself with lightning, it instead found itself engulfed in it, in the roaring boom as Riju’s magic went off. Hitting it dead-on. “I…” Riju’s breath came in rough gasps, just barely audible above Thunderblight’s shrieks as it plummeted. “I did it!”

[theboywithburninghands]

SURPRISE! Two chapters in one day, whaaaaat. Okay so the truth is I had the last part finished in full, but man this is the part I have been WAITING for, man, you have no idea. Uh all credit to @rottentricks of course for this AU, but yeah! Here’s the second part of this behemoth of a chapter. Oh, but warning. It’s violent. Like, quite violent. But sweet.

T/W: Violence, gore, mucus, medical gore, fantasy racism

Animals Ch. 3: Sheep Part 2

Now things are really what they seem

No, this is no bad dream!

—

Zooble and Pomni arrived outside Kaufmo’s house. It was, thankfully, unguarded. The cops really must have been stretched to the limit quelling the protests downtown. Zooble hopped off of ZigZag and tied her off on the nearby fence, taking an apple out of her bag as a reward for her hard work today. She even got an extra apple, hopefully to curb her appetite enough so she wouldn’t eat any of the neighbor’s lawns.

“You be good now, okay, princess?” Zooble said, touching faces with ZigZag. The horse gave a content snort. Pomni hopped off the horse, a little less clumsily this time.

“Alright. So we go looking for clues. We don’t take anything, just make some notes. We should keep our gloves on just in case-”

“‘We?’” Zooble tilted their cowboy hat up. “Nah, I think ya meant you. This was your idea, so you’re taking the initiative. I thought about it on the way over, I’m not risking a B&E charge.”

Pomni frowned. “I thought you said Jax was your best friend. You’re not willing to risk it all for him?”

“Watch it, city girl,” Zooble warned, pointing their hook at Pomni. “The guilt trip card won’t work with me. Don’t forget, you’re a pretty young lady with rich parents who can bail you outta trouble. Me? I’m the weirdo that’s friends with The Autumnvale Cannibal. Cops’ll take one look at me and clap me in cuffs.”

Pomni glared at Zooble for a moment, but her expression softened. They did have a point, given how prejudiced the cops were around here. Still, it wasn’t quite that easy…

“I’m not here for fun, I’m trying to help your friend. My scholarship is at stake if I get caught, so I’ll have to go back home to my family and explain how I lost the one chance to get my MFA.”

Pomni looked down at the snow. “And my parents aren’t that rich… I took out huge loans to get through college, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the assistantship money.”

Zooble looked at Pomni for a long while. Their breath steamed in a consistent pattern, like a machine.

“Can you… can you stop looking at me like that?” Pomni murmured, shrinking her neck down until her chin sat between her shoulders.

“Alright. Here’s my offer. You go in and do what you gotta do. I’ll keep watch out here.”

“Okay. Is there a way you can signal me discreetly if someone is coming?” Pomni asked.

“I’ll have ZigZag whinny.” Zooble replied, petting their horse’s nose gently.

“You…trained her to do that?”

Zooble looked at Pomni, a star of pride in their eyes. “She knows a lot of tricks. Now get going, we’re wasting time.”

Pomni nodded, approaching Kaufmo’s front door. He lived in a condo, one of those situations where a big house was divided into two separate living spaces. Zooble told her Kaufmo lived on the bottom floor, #7. She tried the handle and it didn’t budge. Nah, she couldn’t be that lucky. She glanced around on the front stoop. If she was a little lucky, she might be able to find a hide-a-key. She checked below the welcome mat that read “Definitely Not a Crack House”, then noticed a collection of smooth rocks stacked in a little cairn in the corner. Pomni picked up a few of them, until one on the bottom rattled.

Bingo.

She popped the top of the fake rock open and a key dropped into her gloved palm. She gave a thumbs up to Zooble, who discreetly tipped their hat in response. Pomni slid the key into the door and opened it. She then carefully replaced the key and the fake rock, going inside the anteroom and locking the door behind her.

A set of wooden stairs led up to #8. To her right was the door to #7, which she gingerly attempted to open. It clicked open with no problem.

Kaufmo’s condo wasn’t much. A big hardwood room made up most of the living space, divided into a living room, granite top kitchen and hallway leading into the back of the condo, presumably the bathroom and bedroom.

Pomni took a careful look around. A few gossip magazines on the coffee table, dirty dishes from a days old meal sitting in the sink, the food now caked on and probably in need of a scrub with steel wool. Pretty normal stuff. Altogether pretty clean for a guy that had serious depression. He had a monstera deliciosa in a terracotta pot by the couch that was turning somewhat brown, in desperate need of water. Pomni thought about giving it a quick drink from the kitchen faucet, but remembered she was trespassing and thought not. She moved into the back of the condo.

The bathroom was a little cluttered and the sink had a lot of toothpaste stains on the marble, but it was also relatively clean. She opened the mirror cabinet and found a ton of pills. Zoloft, Escitalopram, Prozac, Xanax, Lithium… yeesh, this guy tried everything. There were some she had never even heard of before. What in the hell was “hydroxizine?” Hm.

She looked down at the toilet and saw it was clogged. The water nearly reached the top of the bowl. Someone might have flushed something they shouldn’t have down there… that, or she was about to make a very bad and very gross mistake. She picked up the plunger sitting beside the toilet, your classic wooden handle and pink rubber affair, and stuck it into the water. After only two or three pushes, she lifted up the plunger, bracing herself for the worst.

Pills. Dozens of waterlogged and half dissolved pills of different shapes and colors floated out onto the surface of the water. Some were plain green circular tablets, some were capsules divided into blue and orange halves, some were bright pink like Benadryl.

Kaufmo appeared to have a full stock of pills in his medicine cabinet, and another full stock of them dumped into his toilet.

Her eye caught something else in the toilet water. Something black and charred. Burnt paper? Something was burned and flushed down the toilet along with a whole pharmacy’s worth of pills. It was impossible to tell what the document was since it was scorched black and mostly dissolved by the water. The toilet, its throat now clear, slurped the refuse down the drain with a sloppy gurgle. The tank began to refill with a long sigh of relief.

Pomni set the plunger back down and closed the lid of the toilet. A clue? Perhaps. But who could-

From outside, ZigZag whinnied.

Pomni’s heart leapt into her throat as she heard cars pull up outside. A large black pick-up and a black van, both with an official looking red, yellow and blue seal on the side. Oh God. Nononono.

She looked around for an exit. The front door was out of the question, but was there a back door? No, she hadn't seen one! Didn’t that violate some kind of fire code?!

A few people in matching blue uniforms exited the vehicles. One of them, a burly blonde woman with a strong jaw, approached Zooble while the others, two men and a bull, came up to the door. She had to find an escape route, or a hiding spot, or-

Window. There was a window! At the end of the hallway, there was a sliding window!

She pulled apart the sunbleached maroon curtains and hurriedly turned the window lock. It had rarely been used and stuck fast, so Pomni had to give it a vicious, adrenaline-charged crank to open it. It finally squealed open with a weak sprinkle of taupe paint chips all over the sill. She grinded the window along its track, feeling a puff of wintry air as she heard boots in the anteroom.

“Alright, you know the drill, guys. Heavy stuff in the van first, bed, couch, tables, tv-”

Pomni climbed and leapt out the window without looking, her purse snagging on the sill and popping open. She fell about six feet and landed on her ass with a thud in the shared backyard, her stuff strewn about everywhere around her.

“Oh, snap. Hey, Cliff. Window’s open. Someone mighta broke in.” a voice said from above her.

“Aw, shit. Someone better tell Charlene. You see anyone down there?”

Pomni scrabbled about, grabbing everything she could that had fallen out of her purse, pencils, bottles of Advil and pads, a notebook for quick sketches, her wallet… she cradled them all and hurried over to the side of the house. Luck threw her another bone, as a strong pine tree had been growing in the backyard for who knows how long. Its branches kept too much snow from falling onto the grass, so there wasn’t quite enough on the ground for her to leave bootprints. She made it around the side of the house, pressing herself against the bricks and panting hard, sending up steam in long jets. She covered her mouth.

“Nah, I don’t see anybody.” someone just out of sight said from the window.

“You think the dude just left his window open?” another voice asked.

“Nah, if he did there’d be snow on the ground in here. Someone prolly climbed in from back here.”

Pomni hurriedly stuffed her belongings back into her purse and crept around the edge of the house. She peered around the corner.

Zooble and the blonde woman were still talking. She couldn’t run out there now, they would immediately figure out what was going on. Pomni took a look at the logo on their vehicles.

TRUSTED REPOSSESSION SOLUTIONS

(TRS)

Repo men. They were just repo men… not the cops. Still, not good. The cops were just one call away, and didn’t repo men work for the government..? One of the men exited the house and said something to the blonde woman, who looked at Zooble with narrowed eyes.

“Case the whole place, make sure nothing’s missing. Thanks, Tyler.” the woman put her hands on her wide hips. “You mind opening your saddlebags?” she said to Zooble.

“Not at all,” Zooble replied.

Zooble opened their bags and took out everything. In one bag, apples and carrots in a Tupperware container and a few road flares. In the other, a bouquet of flowers still wrapped up in shiny plastic and a pretty pink satin ribbon, a few tools for leatherwork, and a bottle of huge pills, presumably for ZigZag.

“What are these for?” the repo woman said.

“I told you, I’m here to pay my respects.” Zooble said. They took the bouquet and laid it in front of Kaufmo’s mailbox.

The Bull repo man lumbered out onto the porch. Pomni only knew it was him since she saw a single long white horn from her hiding place.

“Hey, Charlene, we checked the whole place. Nothing’s missing.” he grunted.

“Nothing’s missing? Really? You checked everything?” the repo lady asked.

“Yup. Tv, desktop, loose change, drugs, it’s all still there. The only thing is… it looks like someone might have used the bathroom.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“It looks like someone might have used the bathroom.” she echoed.

“Yup.” the Bull said.

The repo woman looked off to the side for a minute. She then turned back to Zooble. “Okay. Uh, I guess you’re free to go.”

“Toldja I wasn’t up to anything.” Zooble drawled.

“Nope, I was wrong. Looks like you were just the victim of some bad timing and a crackhead that needed to pee.” the woman said. She looked as though she had never expected to say those words in that order.

“Should we check for anything that got stolen out back, boss?” the bull asked.

Noooo nonono please no…

“Uh….. nah. He didn’t have a grill or anything listed in the inventory.”

Pomni sighed deeply.

Zooble climbed up onto ZigZag. “Good luck with everything, Miss.” They gently flicked ZigZags reins and headed off down the road. The repo woman went into her truck with a clipboard and paper and went inside.

Once they got far enough down the street to see Pomni hidden beside the house, they locked eyes with her. Pomni motioned them to move along. It would still look incredibly suspicious if she suddenly ran around the side of the house and jumped onto Zooble’s horse. Zooble gave the faintest of nods and continued on.

Pomni remained pinned to the side of the house for a good 45 minutes. She couldn’t just run away, it needed to look like she was just a pedestrian… just another passerby on her way, tra la la. It needed to be perfect. She waited until the entire repo team was inside, apparently working on getting the bed frame out of the house, and then she dashed up the hill. She made it to the sidewalk unnoticed, and, just to cover her tracks some more, she walked in the opposite direction of Zooble.

The adrenaline had worn off, and she felt cold to her bones. Standing still for that long in snowy weather was NOT a good time. She sneezed into her sleeve.

“Bless you,” one of the repo men said, carrying out the mattress down the porch steps with his team.

“Thanks,” Pomni replied, sniffling and continuing on in that direction. She didn’t stop moving until she was well out of sight, turning the corner and leaning against a street sign, letting out a long, relieved sigh. She enjoyed the cold sunlight for a few moments before continuing on.

—

Pomni’s watch read 6:07 by the time she had reached the café. Where had the time gone..? She’d gotten up around 12:45, it took her around twenty minutes to get ready, the ride to town with Zooble was another twenty minutes, she ate half her brunch and left with Zooble around 2:30, another twenty minute ride to get to Kaufmo’s house, about an hour spent looking around the house and pinned down by the repo men, and her walk back to town was almost another two hours since she had to find her way through the town streets on foot. It wasn’t a big town, true, but the freezing single digit gusts and heavy snow on the ground slowed her down considerably… 7 would be soon, which was when you absolutely needed to be inside, although it was really recommended you be behind a drop barred door around 6:30, as cloudy or moonless nights make it so some extra hungry Nightwalkers were emboldened to start their hunt a little early. The sky was covered in snow clouds the entire day, so it would be a darker night faster.

Pomni coughed raggedly. Her throat felt raw, her face hurt from chilblains, her lungs felt clotted, and she was exhausted. She had found something resembling two clues, but nothing that incriminated anyone else. All she had really gotten was a nasty oncoming cold.

She arrived at the cafe doors to find them closed and the lights off. Ragatha went home to beat the sunset. It was expected, she had the good sense to not risk his own life. But man… she’d been hoping to warm up at least a bit before the long walk home.

She trudged home. The sky was turning a pleasant shade of pink. Would have been more pleasant had she not been freezing her ass off. She just wanted to lay in bed by the radiator. It had been an awful day.

Zooble was right. She was just a stupid city girl. The college was paying her to draw fucking pictures, for God’s sake. What the hell could she accomplish out here?! She was wasting everyone’s time… her parents and the townsfolk’s. And her own.

She climbed the stairs to her apartment, slowly. As she arrived at her door, she leaned against it let out a protracted sigh, followed by a nasty cough. She leaned over the railing and spat the gunk she coughed up out onto the snow.

She heard something. Was her phone ringing? She pressed an ear to the cold door. Yeah, her phone was ringing. Probably her parents. Great. She opened her purse to get her keys, content taking her time and letting it go straight to voicemail. She didn’t want to talk right now, or do much of anything right now.

Her keys weren’t in her purse.

“Huh..?”

She patted her puffer jacket’s pockets and her fleece. Empty. What the hell, what had happened to-?!

Oh god.

When she jumped out the window. Her purse opened. Her keys must have fallen out. They were miles away, buried under snow, and the sun was setting.

“Oh no… no… no God, no, NO!”

Pomni hurried to the stairs. Okay, calm down. Calm down! if she sprinted across town, she might be able to make it back to Kaufmo’s house in time to grab her keys. They were probably right under the window where she fell, blending in with the grass or an errant drift of snow. She would just run, run like her life depended on it, which it did! All she had to-

When her boot hit the second step, she slipped.

Her stomach squeezed itself into a ball and she let out a shriek, falling sideways. Her right arm slammed into the stairs, blocking any blunt force trauma to her ribs but in turn ripping open the skin under her coat. Her forehead scraped the freezing concrete and her beanie fell off as she rolled over twice, the sharp edges of the stairs narrowly missing her spine but in turn slicing her back as she rolled out onto the snow.

Pomni laid there for a moment. Slowly, she let out a long, pained, howl. Pain bloomed fiery red on her right arm, her forehead, and her back. She felt sticky hot blood weeping out of her forehead, sticking to her bangs and nearly getting in her eyes.

She tried moving her hurt arm. It wasn’t broken but it flared with pain the moment she moved it. Even with her body going numb from the snow, it hurt in the same burning hot way rope burn or road rash felt, like it would never go away and that all your nerves had been grated off and screamed together in agony. She feebly rolled onto her hands and knees, blood dripping from her head in dark beads onto the snow. She felt tears spill out of her eyes and snot run out of her nose.

There was a sound beside her. She looked. She stopped crying.

A beast laid not 20 feet away from her. It was almost completely camouflaged by the darkness save for a pair of white, foglike eyes, teardrop shaped and running the entire length of its bulky, Bull terrier-like skull. Its body was slim, almost disproportionately so to its head, with long, curved legs and hooved feet. It looked at Pomni with tranquil hunger. Upon Pomni making eye contact with it, the Nightwalker rose to its feet, padded silently over to the girl, and sank its teeth into her side.

Pomni let out a scream, shock having melted away into primal terror as the Nightwalker bit into her torso. Her multiple layers only halted the blunter of its teeth, its two front canines cutting through the fabric like garden shears and plunging into her belly. Pomni drove her fists into the Nightwalker’s head, the creature hanging on, nonplussed. It attempted a deeper bite only for Pomni kick it hard in one of its legs, causing it to stumble onto the snow and let go for a moment. Threads of white polyester clung to its bloody fangs. Pomni scrabbled backwards, her body being practically unable to process the level of pain it was currently in. If she could stand up, she would have just fallen right back down as her legs felt boneless. She was dead. She was going to die.

The creature licked its chops free of blood and fluff before padding its way towards Pomni, in no particular rush. It made no sound as it attacked, not even a growl of effort or surprise at being knocked down. It was as unfeeling as the blackest, coldest winter night. And it wasn’t done with her yet, no sir.

Something glinted in the air. The Nightwalker froze as a wet shluck sound cut through the snowy wind. It stumbled over, twitching and confused, unaware of why it suddenly had such an awful pain in its side.

A butcher’s knife was buried up to the handle in its hairless black abdomen. Pomni screamed again as an enormous beast on two legs thundered through the snow at them, eyes glowing with yellow moon malice. The Nightwalker opened its maw in feeble resistance as the beast skidded over to it, grabbing the knife and pulling it all the way down across its belly, steaming black entrails shlorping onto the snow as its skin and muscle were peeled away by hairy paws. The Nightwalker dropped its head onto the snow, its eyes dimming like a dying lightbulb. Dead.

Pomni felt her consciousness fading as well. Soon, the beast would fall onto her too, digging into the wound in her side with its paws and ripping her open like a gory birthday present. The last thing she saw before everything went black was that horrible pair of yellow eyes, looking down at her, furious, hungry…

…concerned?

—

Autumnvale had it out for Jax since he was a baby. Nothing in life was ever just given to him, he had to take it. He had to chew off the hands that abused him, and if that meant losing any chance at going to school with “normal kids,” fine by him. He only liked his parents and Zooble anyway. Everyone else thought he was a freak and a monster.

So that’s exactly what they got once he reached adulthood. Jax played into the monster persona, snapping his daggerlike teeth at anyone that came too close, enjoying his meat bloody and raw and sometimes live in front of horrified socialites, hiding in dark corners so his piercing, lupine eyes glinted at passerby and terrified them about walking the town’s streets at night. He didn’t try to act pleasant, because that got him nothing. Just frightened looks at best, slurs and insults at worst. At least being a monster made people leave him the fuck alone.

So it was no surprise, really, that someone in town decided it was time to put him away for good. Even if he hadn’t done anything wrong, the faintest whiff of trouble on his part would cause the cops to jump on him like a pouncing tiger. Cut out the benign tumor before it ruptured and becomes malignant. It was a clever little trick, using one of his knives to cut Kaufmo’s arms. Probably didn’t even need to actually kill Kaufmo, someone probably just found him in the tree and slit his arms open. Any excuse to get Big, Bad Jax off the street.

What was a surprise, however, was when the Sheriff came to his cell late that evening. Posturing little twerp that he was, the Sheriff liked to make himself look like a tough guy by wearing shades and a cowboy hat. It made Jax snort derisively every time he saw him. “Lookee me, mommy! I’m a big boy in a big hat!”

The Sheriff looked the color of sour milk, and his hands shook as he fumbled with his keyring to open the door to Jax’s cell.

“What’s the occasion? You wanna play with the bunny, copper?~” Jax purred, showing off his fangs.

The Sheriff opened the door, stepping back and quaking with either rage or fear or a concoction of both.

“Your bail’s been posted, Kingston. You’re free to go.”

Jax’s smile fell. “Someone paid half a million? On me?”

“That’s what I just said, now get outta here. We’ll return your belongings up front.” The Sheriff barked.

Jax didn’t move. The sheriff smacked his nightstick against the bars.

“Get going! I’m tired of looking at your ugly face!”

Jax thought it was a joke, a pretty predictable one too, but, against all common sense… it wasn’t. Someone anonymous had posted his bail, and he was soon up front of the police station, getting all of his belongings back and signing release papers. He didn’t have much on him when those dick-swinging big city detectives rolled up to arrest him, just a knife he was using to make beef pork chops and his keys. The cops undid his handcuffs and he was led outside.

It was around 6:15, so that crowd that had been yelling about letting him go all day had been sent away to avoid the Nightwalkers. Thank god. All those people cheering for him would have made him berserk. Even his dad wasn’t waiting for him, but he didn’t hold it against him. He was getting up there in age, and Nightwalkers could probably make quick work of him now. Maybe the cops just… didn't tell anyone he was getting out tonight. That wouldn’t surprise him. Jax took a long, deep breath, savoring the fresh, cold night air, before tucking his hands in his pockets and heading down the road out of town.

He had only one stop to make before he went home. That girl he met just before the gumshoes showed up. What was her name? She either didn’t tell him or only told him once. He remembered where she said she was staying. That teeny little apartment on the edge of town. He wanted to pay her a visit.

She intrigued him. She was one of the few people that wasn’t terrified of him right off the bat. He wanted to at least say thank you in person for sticking up for him like that. Zooble would’ve done the same, but they had been friends for two decades. The Girl only met him for a few minutes and wanted to help him. He wondered what it could have been?

Perhaps she was intrigued by him too.

It wasn’t until he got about halfway up the road by the farms, the sunlight gradually fading out from pink, that he heard a high pitched scream. He normally wouldn’t care about some idiot staying out past curfew ‘cause they thought they were invincible. But he only knew of one person who lived out in the boonies like this who might get caught by a Nightwalker.

He ran, pulling his knife out of his pocket, towards the noise.

—

Jax carried The Girl on his shoulder, moving as quickly as his legs could carry him. He knew there would be more Nightwalkers. There were always more Nightwalkers. But, he knew this town like he knew meat; exactly where to cut through.

At the end of the road, he slid down into the gully where Snapfinger Creek ran. There was nowhere for any of those things to hide down here, and if you were fast enough, which he was, it shaved off about ten minutes of time you might waste taking the main road. The water was soaking his boots, yet he kept on moving. His fur would delay the onset of chilblains long enough for him to get home and warm up. More importantly, so she could warm up.

The Girl was conscious, but barely. Her body trembled, presumably both from shock and from cold. She didn’t have any broken bones, but there were some nasty scrapes on her arm, her head and her back, and the Nightwalker took one hell of a bite out of her side. He could smell the blood. They normally went right for the head with those big-ass mouths of theirs… she got lucky for getting so unbelievably unlucky.

Soon enough, he reached the end of the creek at Snapfinger Creek Bridge, clambering up the hillside and onto the bridge. He sniffed, testing the air for the smell of blood and dark.

Nothing. Just The Girl’s wounds. She was sticky against his shirt. Normally the scent of blood made him hungry, since it meant fresh meat, ready for the cooking. Right now, it just made him scared.

He went back to running, keeping his eyes peeled at all times. Full dark had only just fallen, so The Nightwalkers probably hadn’t had the chance to group up in their little herds. Good. If The Girl had been out around ten or eleven, they all would have pulled her apart like a chicken wing.

He eventually saw the worn-out old roof of his barn, his animals would need food… But they could wait. They had some leftover food in their troughs, The Girl needed to be patched up or she would die. He hurried across his pasture, plunging his hand into his pocket and pulling out his ring of keys. Propping The Girl against his shoulder and holding her fast with his chin, he found his house key whilst moving. He felt hard-packed dirt under his boots, and knew he had found the path to his house. It had snowed a good deal, but not enough to completely hide the earth beneath it. He came up to his door, unlocking it swiftly, slipping inside and slamming the door shut, pulling down the drop bar.

He flicked on the lights. His house was only a touch warmer than the outside due to him not running the furnace for nearly two days. Warmth could wait, wounds needed sealing now.

The hospital was the better choice if he wanted The Girl to live, but it was a much longer trip, which meant more time for the Nightwalkers to come out. He was tough, yes, but he wasn’t tough enough for a herd of them. And it would just delay The Girl getting help long enough for her to bleed to death. He held The Girl under his chin again and pulled a blanket out from the trunk at the foot of his bed, one that had become weathered and a little smelly over the years. It was white with blue and black stripes, he couldn’t even remember why he had it. No love lost if The Girl bled all over it.

He flipped it open and laid it out on the floor, gently laying The Girl down on the blanket, supporting her head as he did so. Her mouth hung open and she trembled. Her chest rose and fell. Her puffer coat had a massive hole in the side with polyester wisping out of it, her hat was missing, and the white fleece she wore was soaked and scarlet.

“Okay… I’m doing this so you live.” he said to her. He undid her jacket and fleece, leaving her in just a torn open black shirt and snow pants. He gulped and gingerly lifted the shirt off of her belly, it clinging to her body before peeling itself free. She had a large set of bite marks in a sideways “U” shape along her side. Nightwalkers only really punctured with their top teeth, the bottom more used to hold prey in place so they could drink their blood. Most of the top teeth only scraped The Girl’s skin, but the canines got her good. They left deep punctures on her belly. It hadn’t gotten through her stomach lining, thank god, the sepsis that would cause would have been hellish agony for The Girl. Lines of blood and pinkish pus oozed from the punctures, and these were clearly her biggest predicament at the moment.

“Clean them and patch them. Then she’ll be okay.” Jax said to himself. He went to his bathroom and grabbed his first aid kit and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. It was half empty and hadn’t been used in maybe a year. But it was still alcohol. He found a washcloth, a clean one, and doused it in the alcohol.

“Okay. Sorry in advance.”

He gently swabbed the cloth in the deepest punctures, scooping out blood and pus. The Girl let out a burbly cry and convulsed, Jax touching her gently on the side of the face.

“Shhhhhshshsh, I gotcha I gotcha I gotcha, I’m makin’ it better…” Jax crooned. The toothmark he cleaned out was a clean pink for a moment before it bloomed red with fresh blood. That was good, all the infection was out and now the body was working to patch itself up. He found some gauze and gently packed it into the wound, The Girl mewling in the back of her throat.

“Shhhhhh, I know, I know… I know it hurts, but I’m makin’ it better…”

He covered the packed wound with one of those big fat square bandages. Now onto the next one. He rinsed the washcloth free of blood and discharge in his bathroom sink, wrung it out, rinsed it again, wrung it and reapplied more alcohol.

“Okay, here we go… last big one.” Jax said as he came back to The Girl. He gently scooped the wound clean. This time her eyes opened and she gasped sharply.

“Hhhurting me…!” she slurred.

“I know, but I have to, I’m cleaning your bite… you’re lucky to be alive…”

Jax startled himself at how soft and delicate he made his growl of a voice sound. Did he really care all that much about this girl..?

“Where’m I…” the girl slurred, her voice frail.

“My house. Do you remember me? I’m Jax.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to mention that he was the town butcher, as in her delirium, The Girl might think he meant that he was going to butcher her.

“Jax…?” she mumbled.

“Yeah. Jax Kingston. What about you?” he asked. Hopefully she wouldn’t remember that if she had already told him.

“Pom… Pomni… aren’t you s’posed t’be arrested.. ooooowwwww…”

She let out a moan of pain as Jax packed the other wound with gauze.

“Pomni. Sorry, that’s the last one, I promise.” he soothed, putting another big bandage over it.

Pomni coughed hideously, clutching at her stomach in pain.

“Hurts so much… cold…”

“Okay. I can fix the cold part at least. Just let me-”

“C-C-Cold… please no more…”

Alright. The biggest wounds were patched up, she was freezing. He scooped her up, leaving his medical supplies behind, and went over to his bed. He wrapped her up in his quilt, only her head being visible. He let her lay swaddled for a bit as he got a fire going in his hearth. He hadn’t gotten too much new firewood, but it burned okay. He picked her up again, unwrapping her from the blanket and putting it around both of them, making sure she was close to him. She really was freezing, any longer out there and she might have gotten hypothermia…

He sat in front of the fire, her in his lap. She laid against him, shivering. Eventually, the shivering became less severe. The warmth of the fire and his fur was finally starting to work.

She coughed again and whimpered with pain. Jax ever so slightly tightened his grip.

“I gotcha.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I gotcha…” He felt a peculiar warmth in his chest, not just from her gradually returning body heat. He kept wanting to tell her that he had her, that she was safe. Even if she didn’t answer back.

Tomorrow he would take her to the hospital where she could get real help. But right now.

He had her. She was safe.

[danika-redgrave124]

Umbra Witch Yuu Infernal Demons

Octavinelle Infernal Demons

Abyssora, The Oceanic Tyrant

Normal Weapon: Tidebreaker's Grasp

Appearance-

Abyssora appears as a towering, serpentine sea creature, with the body of an enormous octopus draped in flowing dark tentacles that shimmer with deep blues and purples. Her upper body takes the form of a majestic yet menacing aquatic figure, crowned with seashells and adorned with oceanic jewels. Her eyes glow with a predatory intelligence, and her presence emanates the crushing pressure of the ocean’s depths. Abyssora wields the Tidebreaker's Grasp, with her tentacles coiling around the trident as she commands the forces of the sea.

Abilities-

Tidal Surge: When summoned, Abyssora unleashes powerful surges of water that knock back enemies and create waves that wash across the battlefield, dealing damage and sweeping foes off their feet. The water moves with the force of a rising tide, disorienting enemies caught in its path.

Tide's Grasp: Abyssora can summon water currents that form protective barriers around Yuu. These swirling currents deflect incoming projectiles and create a buffer that slows down melee attacks, giving Yuu time to counter. The barrier lasts for a short duration or until it absorbs a certain amount of damage.

Crushing Depths: Abyssora channels the immense pressure of the ocean floor, conjuring a powerful vortex of water that pulls enemies toward the center. Once they are gathered, the vortex collapses, crushing them with the weight of the sea and dealing massive damage.

Riptide Command: With a swift motion of the Tidebreaker's Grasp, Yuu can manipulate the tides to their advantage, using the trident to redirect and control water-based projectiles or enemies. This ability allows for precise control over the battlefield, positioning enemies for follow-up attacks.

Myrkala, The Abyssal Ambusher

Normal Weapon: Dual Eels

Appearance-

Myrkala manifests as a sleek, serpentine demon with the traits of an eel, her body twisting and undulating through the air like a predator swimming through dark waters. Her scales shimmer in shades of green and black, and her eyes glow faintly like bioluminescent orbs, giving her an eerie, hypnotic gaze. She moves with fluid grace, her body long and sinuous, constantly shifting in and out of sight as if blending with the shadows around her. Each of her two hands wields the Dual Eels daggers, their glowing blades reflecting her predatory nature.

Abilities-

Underwater Ambush: When summoned, Myrkala enhances Yuu’s ability to move with stealth and precision. Attacking enemies from behind deals increased damage, mimicking an ambush from the shadows. Each strike leaves an eerie trail of bioluminescent mist, confusing enemies and leaving them vulnerable to further attacks.

Eel's Cloak: Myrkala can shroud Yuu in an underwater illusion, creating a dense mist that obscures their presence. Enemies have difficulty hitting Yuu while this ability is active, and Yuu’s agility is greatly enhanced, allowing them to slip through enemy defenses with ease. This mist can also disrupt enemy vision, creating an advantage for strategic positioning in battle.

Shock Strike: Channeling the electric energy of an eel, Myrkala imbues the Dual Eels with shocking power, allowing Yuu to deliver electric-infused strikes. Each hit discharges a burst of electricity, stunning enemies and dealing extra damage over time, reminiscent of the electric ambushes of real eels.

Serpentine Surge: Myrkala can dart forward with incredible speed, slashing through enemies in a zigzag pattern. This rapid movement not only deals damage but also creates afterimages that confuse enemies, making it difficult for them to predict Yuu’s next move. The illusionary afterimages continue to attack enemies, dealing minor damage and distracting them.

Melodara, The Ocean's Voice

Normal Appearance: Siren's Song

Appearance-

Melodara takes the form of a radiant, ethereal sea spirit with flowing hair that shimmers like the ocean under moonlight. Her body is adorned with aquatic motifs, such as seashells and seaweed-like robes that flow gracefully around her. Her presence exudes calm and serenity, but beneath the surface lies the power of the ocean’s melody. She wields the Siren's Song harps, each glowing softly as she strums them to unleash their magical power. Her voice is mesmerizing, carrying the haunting beauty of the sea's songs.

Abilities-

Oceanic Sonata: Upon summoning, Melodara performs a powerful melody that creates a wave of musical energy. This energy stuns enemies in its path, leaving them disoriented and vulnerable to attacks. The melody also enhances Yuu's agility, allowing them to move effortlessly through the battlefield, especially when underwater, increasing speed and evasiveness.

Tidal Harmony: Each strike with the Siren's Song harps releases harmonious notes that summon various aquatic creatures—such as dolphins, jellyfish, or sea serpents—that briefly aid Yuu in battle. These creatures attack enemies or provide buffs to Yuu, such as healing or a temporary shield.

Echo of the Deep: Melodara can unleash a deep, resonating melody that echoes across the battlefield, creating sound waves that push enemies back and deal continuous damage over time. The echoes can disorient foes, causing them to stagger and making them easier to target.

Song of the Seas: With a strum of her harps, Melodara calls forth a surge of water that dances in rhythm with her music. The water moves to the beat of her melody, forming waves that crash into enemies, dealing heavy damage and knocking them down.

Marinas, The Tidal Guardian

Normal Weapon: Ocean's Edge

Appearance-

Marinas appears as a powerful humanoid sea guardian, clad in armor that resembles shimmering silver scales, with flowing blue and green accents that mimic the movement of ocean waves. His face is strong and noble, with eyes that glow like the deep sea. In one hand, he wields a hybrid weapon that mirrors Ocean’s Edge, a sleek sword with trident prongs, representing both his command over the seas and his warrior’s discipline. Around his body, currents of water swirl continuously, giving him a majestic and unstoppable presence, as if he were an embodiment of the sea itself.

Abilities-

Tidal Call: Marinas channels the power of the Ocean's Edge, unleashing a series of powerful slashes that summon water currents with each strike. These currents form tidal waves that crash into enemies, dealing massive damage and knocking them off balance. The waves can sweep across the battlefield, controlling enemy movement and providing tactical advantages.

Aqua Surge: Marinas can surround Yuu with a torrent of water, enhancing their agility and speed, especially in water-based environments. This ability allows for rapid, fluid movements, enabling quick dodges and powerful counters. When underwater, Yuu moves with near-invincibility, gliding effortlessly through any attack.

Trident’s Wrath: With a thrust of the Ocean’s Edge, Marinas can summon massive, spiraling water pillars that erupt from the ground, launching enemies into the air and dealing heavy damage. The pillars can also deflect projectiles, adding a layer of defense while simultaneously serving as a powerful offensive tool.

Ocean’s Blessing: Marinas calls upon the spirits of the sea to grant Yuu temporary control over water, creating barriers of swirling currents around them. These barriers absorb incoming damage and reflect it back as water blasts, hitting nearby enemies and granting Yuu brief moments of invulnerability.

[little-bloodied-angel]

TLM WIP

The cave was dark, illuminated solely by the hole open at the top like a natural skylight, ripples of sun carried down through it by the waves, the multicolored liquid swirling and shimmering in the huge stone cauldron that rose from the ocean floor and bloomed like a strange, petrified, wide open flower, and whatever unidentifiable trinkets with their own glow set on the strangely stacked, curved shelves carved in the rock wall he could see from here. He knew it was an enclosed space, if a huge one, but somehow it seemed to stretch infinitely on all sides and even further at the back, and he didn't like the sensation prickling along his spine when he thought of turning around -turning his back- to find the exit in the entrance where he'd come from.

"We mustn't lurk in passageways, little prince. It's awfully rude, don't you know?"

The lilting, musical voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, slither over the walls and on the current and his skin and his very bones. It carried power, that much he'd learned to recognize; soft and yet as strong and clear as the bells he'd heard on the ships, from that one church loud enough to be heard on the kingdom's shore.

"I am not a little anything" he snapped indignantly. "I am-"

"I know who you are" the voice said like a thunderclap, and suddenly there was a pair of eyes right in front of his face, swirling gold and deep red and violet and something like blue fire, pearls and shards of coral clinging to long fanning eyelashes. He reared back and could see more of the witch's face, but not quite his features, distorted by zigzagging bioluminescence pulsing in his veins, a mouth like a slash of blood curving predatorily around sharp white fangs. "Worse, I know what you are, little prince. Edward Teach of the Black Throne, First Prince of the Seven, commander of the Kraken. You'll find that doesn't serve you here. None of it. You came to me. You entered the seat of my power. You're the one who wants something from me. So I will call you whatever I want, and you'll take it with a shut mouth or leave".

That blood and pearl grin got somehow more unnerving, like the jagged sharp edge of broken coral. Now he could see the witch's tail as he swirled slow, powerful, lazy circles around him, appraising him with those glowing eyes like he was a sole caught on a hook; could see the brilliance of gold set into creamy skin with no rhyme or reason for the pattern, gems and pearls following the arches of bone and the edges of scales. He didn't have fins that he could see, not in the way he did, something delicate like membrane or tulle running the dorsal space; and a rainbow of colors blended into one another for the whole length his eyes could catch, black and silver and green and red and purple and angel-white. It didn't move like his own tail either; the sideways curling of the muscle reminded him of a moray eel, instead.

Or a serpent.

"I apologize for my aggressive garden" the witch said mockingly, running an ice-cold, white-glazed finger along the bruising forming on his arms. He shuddered, both from the touch and from the realization that it wasn't flesh touching him. "But you do understand that out here, one takes certain... precautions". He stopped in front of him again, raising himself vertical, trailing a length of translucent white silk with him, cuffed to his wrists with heavy gold manacle-like bracelets with intricate decorations and dangling ornaments. Jiaoren silk, he realized. He'd heard of it, but never seen it this far from Donghai. A necklace, almost a collar really, to match them, bound the silk to his neck, above the line of pearls, mismatched in size and color, that trailed his collarbone. "Here there be monsters, little prince" he whispered, his voice wicked and blending with the unnerving susurrus of the current along the walls, those eyes boring into his, blinking slowly, twinkling with a secret joke. The dozen or so earrings he was wearing clinked against the gold around his neck with the soft movement of the water.

"I've come to buy your magic" he declared, as strongly as he could. He was not prey, and he was not weak, he reminded himself, clenching his fist to feel his rings, the pulsing of his tattoo wrapped around his arm as his bicep flexed with the motion. He was not just the wielder of the Kraken, the Kraken was part of him, and he was sure he could bring him forth anywhere he went, so long as he remembered.

That set the witch off laughing, swimming in a backwards wheel a few times, fast and violent enough to ripple the water in multiple directions and raise bubbles around his body; the sound of it somehow smooth like liquid silver and cracked like shattered glass, putting his teeth on edge. That infinitely long body of his then kept circling him again and again, torso upright and tail lashing like a whip and curling in a wide spiral.

"No, no, little prince. You've come to ask my favor, and I will toss you out on your pretty little black pearl tail if I so wish, or gut you and collect you for ingredients. You came to me. You have no power here. I will do as I please, and so will you".

"Stop circling me!" Edward snapped, turning around several times helplessly to try and face the witch. "What, were you a shark in another life?!"

In a sudden movement, the witch spun around him and spun him, and pressed his cold fleshless finger to Edward's lips, multicolored eyes glowing in amusement, stars clinging to his lashes, his tail wrapped and pressing around Edward's just above his fin.

"You will never know from me who I was in another life" he said softly, the threat of it making the very walls vibrate. "And if you keep talking like that, we will see whether your pretty little tattoo or a witch's knife have more power out here in my domain" he added, and suddenly Edward spied a gleam of ornate metal in his other hand.

"We've been given gifts by the gods, Edward", Sam's gratingly gentle voice echoed in his mind. "But a witch carries them in themselves, part of their very soul, born in their essence. They are the gifts, drops of Calypso's blood and Triton's power dropped in the currents. If you seek a witch out, even a banished one can only be contained so much. Do not forget that".

[copperbadge]

Description later, but greetings from the Wharenui at the Field Museum. Hello from a little slice of Aotearoa! (Yes I took my shoes off!)

[ID: The inside of a Maori meeting house; the walls are slatted with delicately carved panels interspersed with woven zigzag patterns, and the angled roof has more carved slats with a long single beam at the top. Two supports, with figures carved into their bases, hold up the beam; there are heavy-looking tables and benches inside, and a carpeted floor. It is lit with electric pendulum lights.]

[4rainynite]

EAH Dorm Rooms Headcanon pt 3

Maddie & Kitty

One is mad about hats and tea, while the other is a kitten bent on chaos.

Now it's time to view our favorite rebellious Wonderlanders: Madeline and Kitty *CROWD ROAR SOUND EFFECTS*!

In the books the Wonderlanders' rooms have been described as messy, chaotic, and mad. Which fits them perfectly, since Wonderland lives and breathes chaos and madness. And Kitty and Maddie are the definition of chaotic madness!

Sadly, during the show's run we never got to see a good view of Maddie & Kitty's dorm room which was a huge bummer! There were some hints in books of what the rooms looked like so I'll work with what I got. Here we go!

Maddie's side: As the next Mad Hatter, Maddie fits it to a tea (sorry, I couldn't resist the pun)! From mix-matched patterns to enough tea to fill an olympic-sized swimming pool, it's the perfect room design for our favorite mad girl.

Maddie's room screams Wonderland/ future Mad Hatter! We all know Maddie loves tea and there's tea: on her little table, her bed, the floor, even on the chandelier! The room is chaotic, messy, and mad.

During my internet digging I found a black and white photo of Maddie's room that is designed exactly like the image in the book. I believe it was a sketch done by the artist who designed the book. It would've been nice to see the room in color, but I think the room would be Maddie's color scheme.

In the Getting Fairest line Maddie has a nightstand where she places her hats while getting ready for an event or sleeping. It was seen in the book (look at the image of Maddie's room on the right side), and there was a glimpse of it in 'Thronecoming'. In the picture it seems like it has added storage where Maddie may store all of her hats in, it probaby can fit hundreds of hats in it.

Maddie's little tea table is most likely the same one we see in her room. Being, Maddie, she can pull it out of her hat and enjoy teatime with her friends anywhere.

Maddie has a vanity set which is at the other end of the room. I'm guessing Maddie has a closet in her room since we didn't see it in the pics, and if the room didn't have a closet or wardrobe Maddie would've put one in anyway Mad Hatter style.

From what we see Maddie's wallpaper is white at the top with light greyish swirls, the middle part is divided by a gold band, and the bottom part is purple and maybe lilac (or white) stripes.

Look! Earl Grey has his own little house, it's so cute. $20 bet that it's bigger on the inside and looks exactly like Maddie's dorm room!

In this pic we see Maddie's bed, desk/tea table, and a glimpse of her nightstand.

I love the aesthetic of Maddie's room! I was really upset that we never got to see more of Maddie's side of the dorm since she's my favorite character in the show. Every time I saw her on screen or read her sections in the books, I just lit up with excitement.

Kitty's side: Kitty is a mischievous kitten who thrives on chaos and her room reflects it.

We actually got to see more of Kitty's side of the dorm than Maddie's. From what is seen Kitty's side of the dorm seems to be surrounded by zigzag stripes and cat shaped furniture.

After, rewatching the show I realized Kitty's room is one big cat tree post! I mean look at the top image, Kitty's bed is on a platform/loft, than her laptop is on another platform, and who knows what else is up there.

Behind, Raven and Apple we get a (somewhat) better view of the bed, laptop, and I'm guessing cat toys. Since, Kitty can transform into a cat I can see her playing with them and chasing Earl Grey around the dorm.

I think Kitty has endless baskets of yarns, since she loves to knit. And has a closet full of sweaters and scarfs.

Like most cats, Kitty sleeps wherever she pleases, as she sleeps on her striped sleeping bag that kinda looks like a caterpiller sleeping bag.

Kitty does have a vanity, which we the viewers don't see, while Kitty's applying lipstick. If you look closely at the background, you see Kitty's bed, but instead of on the platform it seems to be on floor level. In the pic on the right the bed is back on the platform and on the right corner, I'm guessing that's the vanity set.

While researching Kitty's room I got confused at a few points (Kitty would be proud of herself). I wanna say it's due to different writers, but it's Kitty. She most likely switched her room up weekly.

@foreverfairest @showingmytruefeathers, EVERAFTERROYAL, @monster-lili, EAHWIKI, ROYALREBELWIKI, TRUEFEATHERS

[monotone-artist]

attack on @stormystarlight, revenges on @tmuse-ac and eclipsecipher!

[id: a few different drawings. the first is a halfbody of a zelda original character, bandu. they are a light brown owl-like rito with a white face, which has an orange heart-shaped marking in the middle. he is wearing blademaster earrings, leather armor, and an orange bandana on his shoulders with a yellow zigzag pattern. she is gently smiling with her eyes closed, her wings held up to her chest.

the second is bogwog, an anthro tadpole with fairy wings. they are dark brown with a lighter underside, and they are covered in freckles. they have poofy green-and-yellow-gradient hair, and big brown eyes. it is wearing an orange leaf cloak, a tattered purple tunic, and a cloth around its waist. they appear to be sitting, their hands on their legs, smiling slightly as they glance off to the side.

the last is of two hollow knight original characters, drell and rem. drell is an adult vessel with long, barbed horns. she is wearing a gray cloak with the long nail charm. rem is a young vessel with crooked, uneven horns, and a third stumpy one. they are wearing a dark blue cloak that reaches the floor. rem is holding a piece of geo, their head surrounded by flowers and sparkles to indicate their happiness, and more pieces of geo surrounds them on the floor. drell is standing next to rem, looking at them. the drawing is in purple hues. end id]