#the marigolds fit her rather nicely

[ladychandraofthemoone]

Fly me to the moon Let me play among the stars Let me see what spring is like On a, Jupiter and Mars In other words, hold my hand In other words, baby, kiss me

https://youtu.be/swURL1Na79Y

Thinking about how Adeline never actually saw the sun, the moon or even the stars for over 44 years being trapped under the bridge and submerged underwater, despite her prayers of being found fading away, she could never even look up at the sky and that would’ve completely shattered her if it wasn’t for her hopeful determination and her limbo abilities she gained over time. Just, oh gosh the feels.

#ttte #adeline the phantom engine #ttte adeline #humanization #like her reaction to actually being able to see many things like the sky and sea #its like ninny from moomins she overwhelmed but also mesmerized and overjoyed #she and Godred stargaze together she knows her constellations 🌌 #my art owo #my art stuff #my art #my art style #would’ve added gold dust tears but #the marigolds fit her rather nicely #did that upside down tarot card like with her #she was trapped underwater as well #gotta do more doodles and spirit bios soon #my doodles #my doodlings

[greenskyoverbluemountains]

On the Harfoot Festival (Meta)

For me definitely one of the hightlights of episode 3! In episode 2, multiple harfoot characters already mentioned a harvest festival that was going to take place soon. The first actual impression we get from that festival is rather eerie: strange, scary creatures jumping through the forest.

Very soon we recognize them as harfoots though. There is a harfoot disguised as a bird of prey (?) with black wings, and two or three embodying wolves with big sharp teeth. The meaning of the bird fellow is not so clear as for now (he is wearing a skull-mask and might represent death). As for the wolves: we learned in episode 1 that harfoots fear them, and it’s not difficult to guess why. They are accompagnied by a whole lot of younger and older harfoots dancing, carrying fruits in their hands and wearing decorations like flowers, leaves and nuts in their hair.

They celebrate and fear nature, even more dependent on it than humans, for harfoots don’t cultivate grain (or anything?), as her step-mother Marigold told Nori. The dance through the forest reminded me a lot of processions in alpine regions, where Saint Nicholas, who rewards the well-behaved children with sweets and gifts, is very often accompagnied by (several) Krampus. The Krampus look fearsome and have a rod with them - to hit the badly behaved children (or at least some parents threaten their kids with that prospect, and, yes, there are traumatized people because of that).

This idea makes total sense in the context though: Sadoc and everyone chants “Nobody goes of trail - and nobody walks alone” repeatedly, and the wolves neatly represent what happens to those that won’t follow the order. But, psychologically, the disguises have yet another, maybe even more important purpose: Their ability to hide, blend in and disguise themselves is one of the harfoots greatest strenghts. By putting on the appearance of what they fear, the masked ones are themselves "safe” and, by claiming the most terrifying attributes of their predators, additionnally empowered.

Those dancing around have obviously made it so far, but not all, as we soon learn, when Sadoc, in his speech, mentions the ones that “fell behind”/were left behind during former migrations. (By the way: he also remembers a “Daffodile Burrows”, killed by wolves, that must have been a - presumably - very close relative of his.)

Unsurprisingly, pretty much all the deaths were caused by the powers of nature. The collective mourning serves as a consolation (”we are not alone in our grief and still have each other”), but, again, also as a warning of what might very easily happen to those wandering off trail (and doing other stupid things). A bit of survivors guilt seems to be at play as well - “fell behind” is, at least in some of the cases mentioned, probably a clear euphemism for “was left behind”. But at least everyone is still “carried in our hearts and our memories”... A harfoots life is cleary not all sunshine and berries.

When they can, they celebrate it in all it’s glory though - feasting and “having their shenanigans later on”, as Sadoc puts it (which might lead to “replacements” of the those that fell behind, one might add). This fits nicely with the harvest and fertility aspect of the celebration.

So we get to know the harfoots as a people equally nourished and threatened by nature, being or at least perceiving themselves as small and vulnerable. This results in (extreme) cautiousness, suspiciousness and close observation of one's surroundings, for example Sadoc being on constant watch-out for "signs". Blending in (by artificial means) is an essential survival skill at which the harfoots excel, and at the same time an expectation placed upon every individual.

Nori will most certainly go “further astray” and expose herself even more, and this stark contrast to the values of the society she was brought up in makes her story all the more compelling and interesting. Looking forward to seeing the harfoots on screen again :)

(Written after Episode 3)

#harfoots #nori brandyfoot #sadoc burrows #trop #the rings of power #trop meta #post of mine

[silent-dragon]

Feliz Cumpleaños Paz Quimera!

She rather you not do so but its November 1st so Feliz Cumpleaños to my sona Paz Quimera.

•

Feel free to wish this NRC security guard a nice day and wonderful next day as she will be celebrating dia de los muertos with her brother to welcome their mother.

•

Asks are welcome but not needed.

Small interview below

Twst Union Bday Interview

November 1st, 2022

Birthday Person

Paz Quimera

Interviewer

Roger H. Law

Gift - Marigold Dress & crown in a style for Dia de los Muertos

•

Response to gift

Paz: "Roger this is such a wonderful gift and thoughtful. You understand I don't really celebrate my birthday as the next day is more important. Estoy agradecido! The crown is something I've never seen so pretty I will wear this before midnight for my mother."

•

How they know each other?

Paz and Roger are yearmates from NRC. They met though Paz meeting Sam. Roger was in Pomefiore and Paz in Ignihyde. Roger quite adores Paz and often was able to break pass her shy stubbornness to have dated her for awhile so they are personally familiar with each other.

•

Interview (mention of fandorm by @/fumikomiyasaki)

Roger: “If you could bring one person with you on a deserted island, who would you choose?”

•

Paz: "How silly to ask you know I'd pick you of course. You've studied island survival from your love of pirate and nautical stuff I know. I feel I'd be fine so long as your there."

•

Roger: "Oh gosh Paz...you know just what to say to boost my ego..hahaha..uh ahem..right next question."

•

Roger: “If you had back when was student to join any dorm other than Ignihyde, which dorm would you have picked?”

•

Paz: "Hmm well I heard of Monsville which I feel I would of fit in much better and probably have even more friends. I was treated so much as something so unknown as you know. I am not normal and didn't look it back then and now so being in a dorm where everyone different but thats ok would of been nicer then the loneliness I felt in Ignihyde.

•

Roger: "I understand how you feel Paz and I'm glad I did approach you even though you pushed me away often. I'd like to think i helped you feel not so alone..."

•

Paz: "You helped greatly....Pirata papi..heh."

•

Roger: "HEY.uh..aaaaa...so questions done let me just get these to the staff people who wanted em and go back to work...."

•

Paz: "Roger wait! Hehe why are you so red come back."

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #oc birthday #union birthday #nrc staff #paz #Paz Quimera

[fezwearingjellybananas]

7, 10, and 20 for the fanfic asks?

7. Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

Oh, this one's actually really well timed because I am not a massive hoarder of cut sentences and paragraphs, I tend to have a few will eventually get to it parts as the fic and then they go and if they're a good enough line but don't fit they can just live in my head for a bit (I am very well practised at remembering ideas), but I have had two conflicting paragraphs for my will get there section of the FlashVibe Ghost AU while I figured out plot and I'm going with the other timeline because, well, you'll see why:

“Okay,” he said. “Ghost.”

“You can call me Barry,” he said, perched on Cisco’s bench. “Barry Allen, nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand but people just go straight through me.”

“People walk straight through you but you can’t walk through doors and you’re sitting on that bench,” Cisco said.

“I don’t know how it works,” Barry said. “I was doing some tests and the next thing I know I’m in my lab and there’s these people everywhere but the door’s shut and none of them will even look at me and they’re saying stuff like get to the bottom and make sure no one else loses their life and- Well, I figured it out. And then Harrison shut the door and that was it. He used to come and talk to me sometimes, but not for I don’t know how long. What year is it?”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s not really a thing people go around saying,” Barry said.

“2013.”

“Thirteen years?” Barry asked. “I’ve been dead for thirteen years?”

He slumped down, his head in his hands.

“My kids will be teenagers, and I never even got to hold them,” he said.

“Hey,” Cisco said. He reached for Barry’s shoulder, patting reflexively.

Barry stared at it.

“How are you touching me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Cisco said.

Some of this might get slightly shuffled into the version I'm going with- where Barry died six months ago and is slightly younger- but for a moment it was close to Barry having been shut in a lab alone for a really long time. Six months is still ages but there's no Dawn and Don in this version

10. If you could banish a single trope to live at the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again by any human eyes (or at least your own), which trope would that be?

Does it count as a trope yet where the actual canonical female love interest is in the fic secretly a villain/abusive/a lesbian but not in a way she gets an actual ship and romance arc/dead/just completely absent with no explanation to pushed out for shipping reasons?

Otherwise if it's only me who never has to see it again then soulmate aus

20. Is there anything about any one of your fics that you have been dying to discuss but haven’t had the chance to?

It's a really tiny thing I wasn't really expecting people to notice but in Sweet Defiance Eobard gives Barry and Iris a cutlery set for their wedding- a very normal thing to do- which is engraved with marigolds. And Iris says this is because Barry used to help his mother grow marigolds to plant with the tomatoes (they're a companion plant you grow with them to help keep some of the pests off), which implies it's because Eobard has been listening to Barry and they're friends at this point (sort of, Eobard is Barry's superior at work).

However if you go to my favourite little Flower Language website it gives the meaning of marigolds as jealousy- making it rather inappropriate for a wedding gift, especially since Hartley tells Eddie he noticed Eobard looking at Barry in a way he won't explicitly tell Eddie (Eobard's nephew). The other two meaning are cruelty- Eobard's actions lead Barry to losing almost everything and ultimately Eobard himself leads him to what they both assume will be Barry's death- and grief- the set is only mentioned because Iris brings a knife on her initial quest planning on stabbing Eobard with it, because she receives a letter delivered under the assumption Barry is already dead.

So it was a very deliberate flower choice

Thank you!

[Fanfic asks]

#replies #shrinkthisviolet #*

[daedalmirage]

curtain is still blue tonight, the || ch1 trial || tezuka || re: johann, marigold, gawain, the general assembly

Circumlocution is the active evasion of the greater manner by using additional language to suggest at the true meaning. Other synonyms include the idioms beating around the bush, mincing words, fudging the issue. Marigold is right; it’s a technique for cowards, specifically, the kind of coward who can’t find impetus to say what should for fear of backlash. Compromising the truth for sociableness. Tezuka likes circumlocution. It keeps him from saying things like: I hate every single one of you right now, stop talking, oh my god, I wish I could just jump off this shitty platform and wake up in by bed when that squabbling and squawking’s all done. It keeps him from spending the energy to be annoyed by every little thing that comes up, every odd glance, every twitch of someone’s face. It does not stop him, however, from saying to Johann:

“Ew. Keep your hands off my doll, man, that’s weird. That’s an HR violation. That’s so an HR violation.” When the knocking over starts happening, not being toppled brings some relief, only for it to register that the standings are the current murder pool, which yoinks that relief right back out. Does this guy have any hobbies that aren’t looming over people and smiling like he’s a magazine ad selling cigarettes to kids? Anyways, to Marigold-

“Hey, I’m not against making accusations. I just didn’t want anybody to start crying about how I was being mean, or unfair, or not considering everything, like any of this is nice, fair, considerate, or even remotely fucking okay in the scheme of things. Which, y’know, feels like I was kind of right on not drawing the gun myself?”

The goings on being:

“Cut the shit for a second, Gawain. If we’re going to finagle over the details, we can eventually reach a justification for why any of us could’ve been the killer. Prescribing a story and fitting the evidence to it, rather than just listening to what the evidence says, is going to get us nowhere.” “That bottle couldn’t’ve been Pluto’s anyways, we’ve established this- the one at the bottom of the stairs was the one she was holding, or near, when she got attacked. You can see the water splashed all over the front of her, meaning even if Pluto did own lipstick, it wasn’t her own bottle, and even if that lipstick got stolen or whatever, which we don’t have proof of, which is more plausible? An impromptu killer suddenly loses it while wearing lipstick, which supports the discussion we’ve been having this whole time, or someone premeditates the whole ordeal including stealing lipstick to frame someone, which should sound as ridiculous to hear as it is for me saying it? We can’t spend precious time measuring hands or feet or whatever just to come back with a ‘maybe’ for an answer.”

Ah, that was satisfying. He hasn’t been sufficiently snippy in so long, at least, fully as himself. Tezuka needs a moment to just be a dick. It balances his chakras, or, settles his feng shui, or whatever new age healing thing is going on at the time. He just ends up taking a deep breath and flipping through his notes, trying to be louder than Franz flipping through his, because that pen tapping is going to kill him.

  “Now, let’s get our heads out of our collective asses before we tear each other’s throats out as to who did it, okay? Here’s just a comprehensive summary of how it happened, as far as we can tell. Ahem, ahem.” His talking is intermittently interjected by scribbles and approximate lines being drawn over a very small map recreation of the lake area, arrows pointing and being made when he defines a ‘who went where’. Solid for Pluto and the killer, dotted for the killer only. “I think Johann mentioned it at the start- Pluto and the killer started in the cafe, apparently, which I’m sure is justified by something found there, I don’t know, I didn’t look. After the cafe, they work together to open up the rental shack and man one of the boats to the island, likely with the killer being at the helm over Pluto. After they get there, an x amount of time passes, and eventually, the two of them decide to climb the steps to get to the shrine. From the shrine’s vending machine, the two of them each get water.” He coughs a bit, into his sleeve.

“At this point, we’ve collectively agreed that the killer hadn’t had any intentions of killing Pluto up until this point. It’d make sense: why not dump her body in the river, where we wouldn’t find it, or do a better clean up job, if the plan was to kill the whole time? Maybe because of the pain, or the paranoia, we’ll never know, the killer sets down their drink and lunges for Pluto, attempting to choke her. The two scuffle at the top, kicking and scuffing up the dirt, until Pluto falls, tumbles down the stairs, and fatally, hits her head. This was about three hours ago. After the whole thing occurs, the killer follows down to see what happened, is horrified, stumbles backward, and proceeds to panic over towards their boat and hurry back to the mainland. Clean, cut, done.”

A big inhale, a sigh. Exhaustion.

“As for our suspect pool, which, this might not matter too much being all conjecture and happenstance, but. For most of the time everybody’s heads were on backwards, Sonia wasn’t wearing her makeup? At least, from what I saw. It was actually pretty hard to tell it was her. That’s not to say she couldn’t’ve remembered and put some on at some point, everybody was in an out in how much they were themselves, but. I don’t know. Something to chew on, I guess.”

#daedal mirage #ch1 #ch1 trial #tezuka #submission

[mab1905]

More Fitzjames content? Yeah... here’s a playlist for ya’ll...

These are songs which I think describe him at different points in his character developement or simply different aspects of his personality. Somewhat James/Crozier (Fitzier) but all about James.

(25 songs, 1 hour 33 min)

Song List + Most Character-Relevant Lyrics:

Fancy — Orville Peck

We didn't have money for food or rent / To say the least, we was hard pressed / Then Mama spent every last penny we had / To buy me a dancin' dress / Mama washed and combed and curled my hair / And she painted my eyes and lips / Stepped into a satin dancin' dress / That had a slit in the side clean up to my hips / It was red velvet trim, and it fit me good / Starin' back from the lookin' glass / There stood a woman where a half-gown boy had stood / ... / It sounded like somebody else that was talkin' / Askin', "Mama, what do I do?" / She said, "Just be nice to the gentlemen, Fancy / They'll be nice to you" / "Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down / Lord, forgive me for what I do / But if you want out, well, it's up to you / Now don't let me down now / Your mama's gonna move you uptown"

gold rush — Taylor Swift

What must it be like / To grow up that beautiful? / With your hair falling into place like dominos / ... / At dinner parties / I call you out on your contrarian shit / And the coastal town / We wandered 'round had never / Seen a love as pure as it / And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea / 'Cause you know it could never be

The Name Of The Game — ABBA

Your smile, and the sound of your voice / And the way you see through me / Got a feeling, you give me no choice / But it means a lot to me / So I wanna know / What's the name of the game?

Spectrum — Florence + The Machine

And when we come for you / We'll be dressed up all in blue / With the ocean in our arms / Kiss your eyes and kiss your palms / And when it's time to pray / We'll be dressed up all in grey / With metal on our tongues / And silver in our lungs / ... / And when we come back we'll be dressed in black / And you'll scream my name aloud / And we won't eat and we won't sleep / We'll drag bodies from the ground / So say my name / And every colour illuminates / And we are shining / And we'll never be afraid again

Dreamy Bruises — Sylvan Esso

How can we question / What we knows feels right / Black eyes turn to marigolds / In the morning light / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Shaken all over like some dogs at the pool / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / They’re kicken all the records over acting like they hanging water / Ohweeohweeoh kids move so slow / Down in the basement where the sun don't show / Ohweeohweeoh kids movie so slow / Naked dollars wonder piles dreamy bruises rotten lovers / And they say I want you / To bend me back in two / To make me sing your tune / To make those words so smooth / Fill me like a song do

Wolf — Sylvan Esso

But no birds nor beast does he eat / He only wants the tenderest meat / And oh the sounds he makes them speak / Under all different patterns of sheets / ... / The modern wolf, the modern wolf / Drippin' in all the lives that he took / He'll go on home, try to wash them off / But when he shaves, he hears them call

Francis Forever — Mitski

On sunny days I go out walking / I end up on a tree-lined street / I look up at the gaps of sunlight / I miss you more than anything / I don't need the world to see / That I've been the best I can be, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me / And autumn comes when you're not yet done / With the summer passing by, but / I don't think I could stand to be / Where you don't see me

James — MGMT

James / If you need a friend / Come right over / Don't even knock / And I'll be home / The door is always open / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?" / Oh, James / My little doll / You just go outside and you call / Oh, James / Oh, you're never too far off / If your fire's out / There's no need to shout / I'm always home / And walk on in / I'll make you tea and breakfast / And we both can say, "Who's laughing now?"

South London Forever — Florence + The Machine

I drive past the place that I was born / And the places that I used to drink / Young and drunk and stumbling in the street / Outside the Joiners Arm's like foals unsteady on their feet / With the art students and the boys in bands / High on E and holding hands with someone that I just met / I thought it doesn't get / Better than this / There can be nothing better than this / Better than this / And we climbed onto the roof, the museum / And someone made love in the glass / And I'd forgot my name / And the way back to my mother's house / With your black cool eyes and your bitten lips / The world is at your fingertips / It doesn't get better than this / What else could be better than this? / Oh, don't you know I have seen / I have seen the fields aflame / And everything I ever did / Was just another way to scream your name

Oh! You Pretty things — David Bowie

I think about a world to come / Where the books were found by the Golden ones / Written in pain, written in awe / By a puzzled man who questioned / What we work here for / All the strangers came today / And it looks as though they're here to stay / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Oh You Pretty Things (Oh You Pretty Things) / Don't you know you're driving your / Mamas and Papas insane / Let me make it plain / You gotta make way for the Homo Superior

Venus As A Boy — Björk

His wicked sense of humor / Suggests exciting sex / His fingers they focus on her and touches / He's Venus as a boy / ... / All across your lips, oh, then until / Well be that it's a little now, until / He believes in a beauty / He's Venus as a boy / He believes in a beauty and gentle

Winds Change — Orville Peck

Had a lover but I lost my patience / Gonna get a song on a radio station / Got a fire but you just can't use it / I don't mean no lies, baby, please don't lose it / Lost my way on the other side / I know why, I don't know when / From the way that we said goodbye / I knew I'd never see you again / Left my mind in the Salt Lake City / Met a lot of men who would call me pretty / Pack of reds, watch the days get colder / Don't it make you cry, how we're getting older?

Fluorescent Adolescent — Arctic Monkeys

Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up... / Flicking through a little book of sex tips / Remember when the boys were all electric? / Now when she's told she's gonna get it / I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it / Clinging to not getting sentimental / Said she wasn't going but she went still / Likes her gentlemen not to be gentle / Was it a Mecca dauber or a betting pencil? / Oh the boy's a slag / The best you ever had / The best you ever had is just a memory / And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem / My love, when you dream them up / Falling about / You took a left off Last Laugh Lane / Just sounding it out / But you're not coming back again.

Cheerleader — St. Vincent

I've had good times / With some bad guys / I've told whole lies / With a half smile / Held your bare bones / With my clothes on / I've thrown rocks / Then hid both my arms / I've played dumb / When I knew better / Tried so hard / Just to be clever / I know honest thieves / I call family / I've seen America / With no clothes on / I don't know what I deserve / But for you I could work / Cause I don’t want to be a cheerleader no more

Queen Bitch — David Bowie

She's so swishy in her satin and tat / In her frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat / Oh God, I could do better than that / Oh, yeah / She's an old-time ambassador / Of sweet talking, night walking games / Oh and she's known in the darkest clubs / For pushing ahead of the dames / If she says she can do it / Then she can do it, she don't make false claims / But she's a queen and such a queen / Such a laughter is sucked in their brains / Now she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / Yes, she's leading him on / And she'll lay him right down / But it could have been me / Yes, it could have been me

Boys Keep Swinging — David Bowie

Heaven loves ya / The clouds part for ya / Nothing stands in your way / When you're a boy / Clothes always fit ya / Life is a pop of the cherry / When you're a boy / When you're a boy / You can wear a uniform / When you're a boy / Other boys check you out / You get a girl / These are your favorite things / When you're a boy / Boys / Boys / Boys keep swinging

Caterpillars (Of The Common Wealth) — Will Connolly

You know you'll always be my valentine / Now swear to god that you will never tell / They're streaming every indiscretion live / For caterpillars of the commonwealth / Gotta go / You can stay / Make yourself at home / Gotta go / This campaign / Don't run itself you know / You've got potential little parasite / I tie your hands so i can wish you well / Cuz i'm a gentleman and you are like / A caterpillar of the commonwealth / Gotta go / I said no / You need to know your role / Gotta go / I said no / It's all under control

Imposters (Little By Little) — The Fratellis

You wear your mask, I'll wear mine / They don't come cheap, but they fit just fine / You can be her and I can be him / We can both sink when the rest all swim / ... / We can pretend that our fates were entwined / A beautiful lie is the beautiful kind / Everybody knows that the sun still sets / And everybody gives and everybody gets / ... / I could be the one that you just can't shake / Till you swear that your eyes go blind / We can disappear till the sun burns a hole / In the life that we left behind

Sweet Painted Lady — Elton John

I'm back on dry land once again / Opportunity awaits me like a rat in the drain / We're all hunting honey with money to burn / Just a short time to show you the tricks that we've learned / If the boys all behave themselves here / Well, there's pretty young ladies and beer in the rear / ... / Forget us we'll have gone very soon / Just forget we ever slept in your rooms / And we'll leave the smell of the sea in your beds / Where love's just a job and nothing is said

Super Trouper — ABBA

Super trouper beams are gonna blind me / But I won't feel blue / Like I always do / 'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you / ... / So I'll be there when you arrive / The sight of you will prove to me I'm still alive / And when you take me in your arms / And hold me tight / I know it's gonna mean so much tonight

Babooshka — Kate Bush

She sent him scented letters / And he received them with a strange delight / Just like / His wife / But how she was before the tears / And how she was before the years flew by / And how she was when she was beautiful / She signed the letter / All yours...

Paris is Burning — St. Vincent

I write to give word the war is over / Send my cinders home to mother / They gave me a medal for my valor / Leaden trumpets spit the soot of power / They say, "I'm on your side / "When nobody is, 'cause nobody is / "Come sit right here and sleep / "While I slip poison in your ear" / We are waiting on a telegram / To give us news of the fall / I am sorry to report / Dear Paris is burning after all

Dream of Sheep — Kate Bush

Oh I'll wake up to any sound of engines / Every gull a seeking craft / I can't keep my eyes open / Wish I had my radio / I'd tune into some friendly voices / Talking 'bout stupid things / I can't be left to my imagination / Let me be weak, let me sleep and dream of sheep / Ooh, their breath is warm / And they smell like sleep / And they say they take me home / Like poppies, heavy with seed / They take me deeper and deeper

Hunger — Florence + The Machine

At seventeen, I started to starve myself / I thought that love was a kind of emptiness / And at least I understood then, the hunger I felt / And I didn't have to call it loneliness / ... / Tell me what you need, oh, you look so free / The way you use your body, baby, come on and work it for me / Don't let it get you down, you're the best thing I've seen / We never found the answer but we knew one thing / ... / And it's Friday night and it's kicking in / In that pink dress, they're gonna crucify me / Oh, and you in all your vibrant youth / How could anything bad ever happen to you? / You make a fool of death with your beauty, and for a moment / I forget to worry

#Spotify #fanmix #gay #fanwork #playlist #i have a crippling addiction to making playlists #james fitzjames #fitzier #francis crozier #francis rawdon moira crozier #Jim fitzjimmy #james fitzjames + gender = ? we dont know her #spotify playlist

[my-arlington-academia]

Cliffany part 2

O-kay, and that’s it! I don’t know if I’ll write a continuation tbh since it was just a silly little idea that came out of nowhere. (Although I did have some ideas for more!) I haven’t really been active on my fanblog lately so it’s not like it’ll make much of a difference though haha. By the way, I’m thinking about making my blog more "Dulcet-oriented" rather than just SE. I hope you guys don’t mind? Recently, I’ve been getting more and more into Black Tarot! So expect my blog to change a lil 🔮🕯🌌

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It had been a couple of days now since Tiffany’s last interaction with Claire, and while she was still ignoring her like before, Tiffany’s efforts in doing so had increased. The moment she spotted her in the corner of her eye, she would move at a faster pace, as if running away. Was it guilt after all? No, she just didn’t have the energy to deal with Claire’s annoying and unnecessary empathy. The empathy that she knew she didn’t deserve which made her feel even more frustrated towards Claire.

All she should be worried about right now is getting more followers on Instaglam, not avoiding a nobody like the plague. On that note, spring was coming soon, the flowers started to blossom and the days were getting longer which meant... that the "cottagecore" tag on insta would go trending soon, no doubt! And of course, living on the Arlington campus as one of its students, this gave Tiffany the access to its beautiful garden. Although honestly, she only ever went there to take pictures and this time wasn’t any different. She had prepared some tea sets and dresses for the occasion, all of which she would throw away once spring went away along with its "trends."

Carried by her confident footsteps, she walked to the garden. That confidence was only a facade though. She knew exactly what kind of people and who in particular went to take strolls quite often in this goddamn garden. But hey, it was 7pm and the sun would soon start to set. Knowing that Claire always arrives 15 minutes in advance to any meeting and most likely always wakes up at 6am, there was nothing to be worried about. Chances are, she was either doing her homework before going to bed like a goody-two-shoes or watering her weird-ass plants. Tiffany always had the horror of seeing these at Raquel’s parties. It just didn’t fit at all with the rest of what was going on in the room and ruined the whole "party" vibe.

In any case, there she was, searching for a good spot to take pictures and set up a fake picnic. That basket filled with different colored blankets, tea sets, biscuits, tea and a pie was way heavier than Tiffany had initially thought. Maybe she really should’ve asked for collab pictures with Trisha from the fine arts department. She didn’t really like her but when it came to follower count they were surprisingly close, although Tiffany was still number one of course. Still, if she had asked for a collab they could’ve carried those heavy props together.

After finding a good spot next to the pond, Tiffany set everything up in an aesthetically pleasing manner and got down to taking the pictures. She was taking different shots to post them one by one throughout the week and give out the illusion that she was taking those the same day she posted them. She was ready to upload the first one, call it a day and go back to the dorms without touching any of the tea or cakes. It’s all just useless calories anyways. As she was putting the tags on the picture, she started wondering what were the names of those flowers in the background.

"Ugh, fuck. What are those orange shits called again?"

"Marigolds."

"Ah right, thank y-"

Tiffany immediately snapped her head back. This annoyingly gentle voice could only belong to one person.

"...What the fuck, Claire. Where did you pop out from?!"

There’s no was she was there the whole time, right? It’s true that Tiffany could get lost in what she was doing once she was focused but it wasn’t to the point where she became completely unaware of her surroundings.

"I came by a few minutes ago... Y-you looked so invested in what you were doing that I didn’t want to bother you! I didn’t mean to pry."

Well, Tiffany could always upload those damn pictures from her room. Claire’s arrival just meant that it was time for her to leave. However, seeing that Tiffany started packing up her things, Claire panicked thinking that it’s her fault. Which was in fact, her fault... in a way.

"O-oh! You’re not going to finish your picnic? I’m so sorry, I’ll just leave! Throwing all of this good food away would be such a waste-"

"Are you fucking dumb?"

Did she not get that this was all only a set-up for taking pictures? It was obvious that Tiffany didn’t have any intention of eating or drinking any of that. Not to mention that after everything that happened the other day, she was still not scared of approaching her?

"I don’t give a damn about the food, it was just for my social media accounts you dumb bit- ... dimwit. I was already done anyway so you don’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m leaving."

"I see! T-then maybe I can help?!"

Help? What did Claire even know about- Actually, on second thought. This whole "cottagecore" shtick was a great fit for Claire. She probably already had all of the things Tiffany bought last week for those pictures, even better and more authentic-looking ones probably. This was maybe the one and only time Tiffany would let Claire "help" her. But from her point of view, she was mostly just using her.

"Hm. Is that so? How can you help me then... Claire."

"Wait just a second! I’ll be back right away!!!"

She ran immediately towards the dorms. Well, she'll probably bring a bunch of random stuff. In the end, Tiffany was really torn between the idea of staying and waiting for who knows how long and the idea of leaving right now. Surely, Claire would make a hilarious expression when she’d realize that she was played with and abandoned. While trying to laugh it off, Tiffany accidentally remembered what happened a few days ago, along with Claire’s crying face. Damn... Okay, fine. She’ll wait for her but only because it would be annoying if she bawled again like a damn toddler.

And so she waited until, from the corner of her eyes, she saw a girl with a pink dress running towards her. That girl, of course, being Claire. She carried a picnic basket with her too, but much bigger and more practical. For half a second, Tiffany thought that Claire actually looked maybe, just maybe, a little bit pretty. She erased the thought in a hurry, covering it with harsh words as usual.

"Wh-why did you change your clothes? You think I’m gonna take pictures of you?"

"Ah, no, well..."

Claire looked at the beautiful picnic set-up and the cyan dress Tiffany was wearing.

"I just wanted to fit in with the rest of what you put up, I guess. Also, don’t you think that we kinda match? I brought some of the cookies I baked and my favorite teas and tea set. I think mine will look better with your picnic blanket! Uh- N-not to say that yours looks bad!!!"

She was trying so hard to make herself likable that it was painful to see... and kinda cute. God, Tiffany was really hating her thoughts today. She was just going soft because of Claire’s aura or something. Again, this was definitely the first and last time she was letting Claire help her with anything. I’d be bad if she turns completely brain-dead and clueless like her.

"...Whatever. Show me what you got. I’ll decide if it’s good enough."

Claire was pulling everything out of the basket one by one. Everytime, better and better items were pulled out after the other. Her cakes and cookies gave off a "homey" feeling which was more fitting with the aesthetic rather than Tiffany’s store bought patisseries. Claire was staring at her, wide-eyed and excited.

"W-what do you think, Tiffany? It looks good, doesn’t it?!"

"Uh. Yeah, it’s fine, I guess. I’ll take a few pics."

That was a lie. This looked so much better than the try-hard bullshit Tiffany had done. She was good at riding on the "trend wave" but Claire was a natural when it came to this one specific thing. Tiffany was trying to look as poker-faced as she could so as to not show her satisfaction, but clearly, her apparent enthusiasm for each shot was  betraying her. Sometimes, she would accidentally take one with Claire in the shot and ask her to move.

"Hey. You’re ruining the picture with your ugly fac- dress. Move to the right."

Before Tiffany could even do anything about it, Claire was already pouring some tea into 2 cups.

"Woah woah woah, put the teapot down. I didn’t agree to this."

"But...This is a kettle, Tiffany. Not a teapot."

"Oh, shut it!"

Claire gave off such a dejected face that Tiffany, once again, felt like she was kicking a poor puppy to the ground. She held back on going off on a rant.

"But we’re already here and the weather is so nice! It would be such a shame not to use any of this at all..."

Claire looked around, observing this beautiful setting, not to mention, the sun was finally starting to set. Going home right now would be like an insult to the utter beauty of this scene, it almost looked like it came right out of a fairy tale picture book. Without mulling it over any further, Tiffany took a sip out of her cup.

"I’m only doing this because I feel compelled to, got it?"

Claire’s eyes lit up nonetheless.

"Alright! Please try out my cookies too!"

Tiffany contemplated them for a second... is it true that home-made stuff is more healthy? Surely, that’s just a myth, right? A cake from the store and a home-made cake will have about the same amount of sugar in them regardless of who made them and how. Well, she did see Claire share her food from time to time with her friends and while she would never admit it, it is true that she was a bit curious about trying them herself. What was the last time she had eaten anything "home-made"? Or did it ever even happen?

"...Okay, whatever. I bet they taste shitty."

Tiffany reluctantly took a bite... It was surprisingly really delicious!

"It’s bad."

"R-really?"

As much as she wanted to lie about it, she couldn’t after seeing Claire make that dejected face again.

"Uhhh. No, um. Hmm... On second thought, it’s pretty average. It’s okay-ish."

Tiffany really hated herself right now. Being mean has never been this hard before. She couldn’t wait for the moment where they would be done with this ridiculous play-pretend and go back to her room. She tried drinking and eating as fast as she could without making it look like she was in a hurry to run away from this awkward situation. And God, it was so fucking hard...

Unsurprisingly, they were both pretty silent the whole time. Well, it wasn’t like they had anything to converse about or things in common. Right as Tiffany was about to get up and pack up her belongings, for real this time, Claire spoke up. Nervously fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"Um. So you know, I have something to confess to you, Tiffany."

Oh God, not now. As much as Tiffany found this timing annoying, she couldn’t help but poke fun at that poor choice of words.

"Confess? Oh my, so you like me in that way, huh? That explains everything."

"Wha- N-no! That’s not it! I mean, realistically speaking, t-that would never even happen!"

Was she implying that she could never like someone like Tiffany? Well, Tiffany herself was the one who brought this up but she was a bit offended at that statement. Regardless though, the way she was trying to deny it so hard was kinda cute. No. Not cute at all! If this went on, Tiffany would really become crazy before the end of this day.

"Last time, you said that I was only being kind towards others to profit off of them and I didn’t say anything but... that wasn’t true at all! I always wanted to help you because I thought that you needed it, I swear. Not to satisfy myself! ... Well. Except maybe..."

"Except...?"

"T-today. I admit that I kind of had ulterior motives."

Now that piqued Tiffany’s curiousness right away. Suddenly, she didn’t want to leave as much anymore if it meant that Claire would finally admit that she did some things for her own benefit. Why was it? Did she want to post a picture of herself on Tiffany’s Instaglam to fish for compliments, knowing that she had a lot of followers? Claire hid her face behind her hands and muttered a few words.

"I... wanted you to warm up to me."

"...Huh?"

That’s it? That was it? Claire’s ulterior motive was for Tiffany to "warm up to her."?

"So like, you want us to be friends or some shit?"

"Oh no! Not necessarily that far, just... good acquaintances!"

Is she stupid? There’s no way that she genuinely thinks those "motives" are bad. Tiffany sighed in exasperation.

"Listen. I’m just really tired right now, I don’t have the energy to assimilate all the shit you’re saying. I’m packing all of this up and going back to the dorms."

In complete silence, they gathered all of their belongings and walked to the dorms while keeping a fair distance between the 2 of them. As if to say, "we’ve got nothing to do with each other." Surprisingly, Claire didn’t try anything anymore. Didn’t even wish for a "good night" or a "good evening" which was weird to say the least. Tiffany tried to ignore it and when she got back and unpacked all of the props, she noticed something that didn’t belong to her. One of Claire’s lunch boxes with cookies in them and... a note?

Here’s my number just in case ;3 Please give me my lunchbox back once you’re done eating the cookies!♡

"...Your note makes me wanna barf."

So that’s why she didn’t try anything. That sneaky little... she must've slid that into the basket when they were packing. She already knew that Tiffany would eventually be forced to talk to her again... as if! Who says she’ll return it? She can just throw all the cookies away along with the box... Or so she thought. Tempted, she took a bite, then another one. And another one. Her diet was ruined for sure now. Damn you Claire and your stupidly great cooking skills, as if you needed another skill to be better and more perfect than you already are. Tiffany put the box away, trying to forget the delicious taste and smell. Back to Instaglam she goes. Uploading the picture while adding the "marigold" tag on it. Going through the pictures again, she noticed that some of them had Claire in the corner. She was thinking of deleting them but... well whatever. She can just crop her out later if needed. Her dress looks pretty so it’s fine even if she does appear in the pictures. All we see is a bit of her hair, as long as her face isn’t visible, it’s okay. Yup. It was totally not because Tiffany was slowly starting to feel something towards the girl she was trying so hard not to get involved with.

#sweet elite #claire durand #tiffany #cliffany #crackship #fanfics

[mushroommushy]

Opinions on formalwear? Happy to hop into it or die trying to avoid it?

Heather - Would die avoiding it. She hates wearing anything girly and the most fancy thing she’ll where is a single bitterroot behind her ear.

Fir - He’ll wear a suit without an issue, he doesn’t mind. Even once wore a fairy dress to make his little sisters laugh.

Nightshade - “I choose to die on this hill. The hill of petitioning to burn all dresses and skirts in existence.” (Tweak - “LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK- ALSO I AGREE”)

Marigold - She’ll wear skirts, but not dresses. She doesn’t like the feeling of dresses, thinking that they are way too tight.

Rose - She *loves* dressing up. She’ll wear a dress just for fun. But she mostly likes the ones that go just a lil under the knees, not the ones that drag. She also likes jumpsuits!

Sage - He’s very meh, on them. He doesn’t mind but prefers looser fitting clothes.

Lily - Oh hell no, she hates dresses and make-up. Just like her twin. She’s working on machines and has no time for looking formal. Most she will wear is a nice sweater.

Orchid - He’s very rough and tumble, and even if he does wear a suit it’ll be covered in dirt in minutes.

Evergreen - Bigggg nope. She does not like dresses. According to her, “It’s harder to run away faster from pranking people!”

Mesa - She would really rather not, but will wear a dress or skirt if she has too. This is mostly because she doesn’t like the limited movement they allow.

Lark - She doesn’t really care, she will just put it on because she’s nervous of getting in trouble if she doesn’t.

#octonauts #ocs #octonaut ocs

[missnight0wl]

Unpopular opinion: I wish dating was never introduced to HPHM.

I was always rather open about the fact that I don’t have much interest in dating content in HPHM, so you might say it’s very subjective rambling. But I think I also have some more objective arguments for that statement, so… hear me out (or don’t; I can’t tell you what to do).

Some spoilers for the Festival Fun TLSQ, the Celestial Ball TLSQ, the First Date TLSQ, the Valentine’s Day TLSQ, the All-Wizards Tournament TLSQ, and “Cooking Up Trouble” SQ.

First of all, I want to address the most obvious counterargument for my wish: “but people want dating!”. Yeah, I know. But here’s a thing. A long time ago, almost at the very beginning of the game’s existence, when we were only speculating about any love interests, people were referencing one article. The article where the creators claimed that romance is planned for the future (among other things). And if you ask me, it was their mistake. It was a mistake because it created expectations which they had to react to. The problem is that they were never ready to introduce such type of content. I mean, just look at the past events. Andre mentioned dating when he was first introduced back in Y3 (!), and he said then that most people don’t date until they’re in the fourth year. And yes, the Celestial Ball was eventually placed as Y4 Achievement, but the main story was well into Y5 already! What I take from this is that at best, they had only a rough idea for the ball when they wrote Andre’s comment in Y3 (if it took them so long to actually create the quest). And so, I have to wonder – why they even talked about dating in Y3 if they were not ready? Now, I’m not saying that nobody would ask for dating if Jam City didn’t mention it in that article, or Andre omitted that topic in Y3. There’d definitely be people still wishing for some romance. But there’d be no actual reasons to expect that. Because HPHM was created as a mystery story (even if people don’t remember about it anymore), and a mystery story doesn’t really need romance.

The second thing I’d like to point out for the sake of this discussion is that the dating quests require quite a lot of work from the devs team. Admittedly, the quality of those efforts is sometimes questionable, but still. I’m also no tech or game design expert, but here are some things which I believe make dating quests more time-consuming than most of the others:

Designing outfits. Each of the datable characters is given a new outfit (+ new outfits for MC). I also want to notice that most of those outfits are one-time-use. Well, except maybe for the bundles available to buy for real money…

Creating new locations/characters. To be fair, some of “regular” quests require those too, although the majority uses things already existing and being used in the main story.

Creating new animations: dancing, holding hands, pecks on the cheek, more (new) dancing.

Creating multiple routes for different date options – and even if it’s mostly copy-paste, it takes time nonetheless.

To be clear, creating new things for the game is not bad. My point is that basically every dating adventure required ALL of that invested in one single quest – and pretty much none of that can be reused outside of dating. In fact, they’re not even reusing those animations completely for each new date. The kiss from the Valentine’s Day was different from the recent one, the Festival had new dances added to make it more diverse in comparison to the Celestial Ball etc. And what those unique quests have to offer? One cute moment with your date, which is… kind of meaningless. I’m sorry, but dating stories are basically irrelevant in the bigger picture. I mean, yeah, they’re adorable, but that’s it. And it’s just NOT proportional to all the work put into them. Because look…

The dating quests add very little to nothing to flesh out the characters – and if they do, it has nothing to do with dating.

The Celestial Ball did a pretty great job at adding to Rowan and Ben. People often criticise MC for “forcing” them to come to the party, but the problem was clearly about them feeling not good enough to go (not necessarily about them not wanting to go), and so I really loved working on their self-confidence. Bill also grew a lot in that quest, overcoming his rejection from Emily Tyler. Andre discovered his styling talent, so he was no longer “just” a brilliant Quidditch player. Even Penny had some insecurities to face as she wanted to prove that she’s not only popular but she can also create fantastic decorations. So… couldn’t it just be a quest about FRIENDSHIP and our friends growing? The whole dating subplot felt kind of forced to me, or maybe rather detached. Not to mention that THAT was kind of a dick move to leave Rowan and Ben after using the argument:

The next quests were more oriented on dating itself, but at the same time, they’re focused less on the characters’ individual personalities. Sure, there are some differences between dates, but it’s more about distinction than adding anything new. For instance, in the Festival Fun TLSQ, every character yells out loud that you’re on a date (unless you chose to keep it a secret), MC just points out that it’s unlike them in the case of Talbott, Jae, and Chiara. Next example: I thought it’s pretty amusing that Jae writes dreadful poems with cheap rhymes, but it turns out that the note with Butterbeer could also be left by Barnaby. I know that in MY playthrough, Barnaby didn’t leave it, but I can’t see it as Jae’s characteristic, simply because it wasn’t written for his character – it was written to fit Jae and Barnaby, so it’s kinda meaningless in my eyes.

Another thing is that even if those dates added something individual, it’d be relevant only for a limited audience. Like, I’m really happy for people who wanted to date Badeea, but for me, she barely existed in this quest. It added NOTHING to her character. During the First Date quest, Tulip revealed that girls in her family are being named after flowers (her cousin is called Marigold), which is a pretty neat fact, but I wouldn’t know it if I didn’t put extra effort to see different options. And believe me, there’s a big part of the payers who don’t do it. I’m still seeing on social media people being surprised that Rowan’s gender and House are connected to MC’s.

And speaking of that already: this is why the dating options are being cut off. And honestly, it sucks, but I get it, I really do. The devs have to spend the same amount of time on a character dated by 6% of the players as on a character dated by 36% of the players. Let’s add real money to that, and let’s say that 10% of all players buy gems/energy on TLSQs. Jam City will make more money out of that 36% than out of 6% - it’s as simple as that. At the end of the day, they are a business. Would it be nice to make all players happy? Of course, but it’s easier to keep the majority happy.

The dating quests don’t really matter for the main story – and they won’t matter more in the future.

Why? Because it’d be too complicated at this point. All we’re getting (and what we’ll ever get) are subtle differences in dialogues. And you know what? Even that doesn’t matter much. For example, in Y6, there’s a scene where Talbott calls MC to the Owlery and offers his help in searching through the letters. He talks then about their friendship, and if you took him on a date, he mentions it as well. The thing is that Talbott is pretty heart-warming here in general, how he opens on us being friends:

Sure, that one additional line is pretty cute, but again, is it really a satisfying pay-off from the dating quest, considering how much was put into it? And I don’t think they even can do more because they always have to keep in mind the players who didn’t manage to finish TLSQs in time or just didn’t want to do it.

I don’t want to be only negative about dating because that’s not really my point, so here are some ideas on how to invest all of that time better (and no, it’s not just the lore and in-depth history of the Cursed Vaults because I know I’m in the minority who cares about it):

More outfits for NPCs which could be used for variety. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of seeing characters like Penny, Merula, Ben, or Talbott in their full school robes ALL THE FREAKING TIME. Ideally, I wish every character to have three outfits: full school robes, some variety of a uniform (so something like Tulip and Barnaby) used in the school but outside of classes, and something totally casual used outside of the castle.

More animations between characters like hugs, patting on the arm etc. Anything which could be used almost on a daily basis, and which would make our interactions looks more natural and less stiff. Seriously, I’ll take a supportive hug instead of a peck on the cheek ANY DAY.

More character-centric quests. So many of our friends need their own SQ: Tulip, Badeea, Liz, Diego. The rest could probably also use them to expand their characters – because those SQs do a great job at this. Like, I took Jae to the festival, and it was alright, but to be completely honest, his “Cooking Up Troubles” SQ was SO MUCH BETTER for his character. We learnt new things about Jae, we had some really cute friendship moments (like this and this)… And it was a super simple quest with only seven parts in total! It just needed to be written: no new locations, animations etc. Yet, the pay-off was just… better, more meaningful.

Another thing that could be done in those character-centric quests is more focus on the relationships between our friends because, in my opinion, this is needed as well. I want to talk here a little about the “All-Wizards Tournament” TLSQ, which I think is really underrated. This is probably because of people claiming that Jam City is reaching too much to reference the books events AND because of Rowan’s absence. And don’t get me wrong, those are valid objections. But when it comes to the characters… this TLSQ was pretty great. We saw a lot of our friends' insecurities (Barnaby, Jae, Liz), we saw their more competitive side (Andre, Badeea)… Badeea was especially interesting to me as she showed that she can be quite cunning when she somehow learnt about the first task. She also didn’t reveal that information to Merula and Ismelda because they were occupying the training dummies, but she did share with MC (meaning that you really want to have her on your side…).

It somehow made me think about the situation from Y5 when she admitted that she tricked Jae into thinking that she knows Apparition by using an Invisibility Cloak. It’s nice to know there’s more to her than meets the eye, which was also cohesive with the main story (even if we don’t see it much). The TLSQ also showed some dynamics between our friends, like Jae and Andre (which I mentioned here). And of course, I really enjoyed the ending conclusion: that some tasks can be dealt with only when you work together. Again, I’d love to see this theme being explored more because it creates such a compelling contrast between Jacob and MC. Jacob didn’t have many friends at school. We only know about Duncan and Olivia, and it’s still unclear if Olivia was an actual friend or a colleague they worked with. Not to mention that it was implied that for some time, Jacob was working all alone. Meanwhile, MC has basically the whole army at this point. It’d be interesting to see that this is one of the things which makes MC stronger than their brother.

Now, the reason why the “All-Wizards Tournament” TLSQ could focus on all of that is because we didn’t waste the time on all of “secret admires mystery”, “oh, who should I choose” etc. So, just as a thought experiment, let’s think about how the Festival Fun could improve if we’d eliminate the dating aspect. First of all, more characters could get more screen time, like Badeea, maybe Tulip… Liz? Diego (our dancer!)? Ismelda? Even Talbott didn’t have a big role unless you chose him as a date. The plot could also be more dynamic instead of a whole bunch of stalling. I’d leave the investigation with Andre because I think it’s a great addition to his character, but it’s also fucking sad that any development he’s getting is around dating. Like, the boy deserves so much better. So, let’s change that! Let’s say he asks MC for help because he’s styling some summer outfits for the upcoming festival, but one of his fabrics is missing. Perhaps it’s a bit more expensive material, so they suspect that Jae might’ve “borrowed” it to make some money. Jae, of course, is deeply insulted because he’s a smuggler and an occasional cheater, but not a thief! They argue with Andre, but eventually, they come to understanding. Then, MC remembers that Badeea wanted to experiment with painting methods, so perhaps she decided to incorporate some fabric into that. We find Badeea and Barnaby, they don’t have what we’re looking for, but there’s some action going on there, maybe including Talbott… Long story short, it turns out that Tulip needed it in preparation for Cruppies race or something. I don’t know, I’m coming up with it pretty much as I write. The point is that the time spent on talking about dating could’ve been used on something more specific, individual, which could be more meaningful in the light of the main story. And since there’d be no routes, all of that would be relevant for everyone after completing the quest. Want it to be even better? Make it a regular side quest, not time-limited.

All right, but couldn’t we just have both: characters development and dating? Of course, that’d be ideal. But as I said before, Jam City is a business and rarely any business is ideal. They’ll always prioritise a limited number of things, and since people whine about dating, we’re getting dating. And again, I’m not saying that dating is totally worthless, and I get that people find it cute and whatnot. I just believe that what dating ultimately adds to the game is not proportionate to the time and effort those quests require to be created. That it could’ve been invested better. Dating is basically stopping us from getting better content (at least in some areas). And we’re kind of asking for that…

#long post #hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm spoilers #hphm mc #jacob's sibling #andre egwu #jae kim #badeea ali #talbott winger #hphm dating #jam city #unpopular opinion #let's talk

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {4}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: If you don’t like smut, don’t read this.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

Feyre was pissed the fuck off.

She hurried through the manor, completely over the ball. Once she found her room, she locked herself inside and plopped herself down on her bed.

Who the hell did Rhysand, Lord of Velaris, think he was?

He was so cocky, so entitled, so ridiculously suave that Feyre wanted to break something. Anything would do.

His wife?

Did he truly think she would want to be his wife?

Then again, what choice did she have?

She was the youngest daughter of Isaac Archeron. Very few of such a status paid attention to her. And even though she would rather spend her life as an adventurous nomad, she did not have such a luxury.

Rhysand’s proposal, if it could even be called that, was the only one that she had ever received and the only one that she would probably ever receive.Yes, she was lovely, but men wanted a woman with status. Being the youngest daughter, there was only so much that Feyre had to offer.  And yet, it was not his arrogance that made her so infuriated.

He was right.

She was drawn to him, and she wasn’t sure why.

He was handsome, of course, but was she so shallow that she only thought about his appearance? I mean, it was nearly all she knew about him.

He was handsome, and a total prick. And completely convinced that Feyre would become his wife.

Feyre didn’t believe that she would become his wife, and yet, there was a tingling in the pit of her stomach every time she thought about it. Their offspring would surely be beautiful. But that was beside the point. Feyre wondered if her father knew, if Rhysand had approached him before he had approached her. She doubted it, although the thought was rather charming. With a deep sigh, she took off her boots and slipped off her gown. It had been a long night, and she could no longer deal with the suffocating apparel she was forced to wear. As she dressed herself in her nightgown and pulled the pins from her hair, all she could think about was him. And it was shit, because she knew that was exactly what he wanted.

As she closed her eyes, she infuriatingly knew that one thing was certain.

Violet eyes would haunt her dreams. 

~~~~~~

“I think you’ve had enough,” Cassian muttered, but Nesta wasn’t listening.

She hadn’t been listening from the moment they stepped into the tavern. Except for the fact that Cassian had told her to remove the pins in her hair, which she had, and brought her hair back into a tight braid, instead, that could be better hidden beneath her hood - which she was to keep up at all times. Although they gained some suspicious glances, no one seemed to notice the eldest daughter of Lord Archeron. Cassian was certain they looked like common travelers, as long as no one studied the bottom of Nesta’s skirts poking out of the long, simple cloak. 

“One more,” she begged, words slurring as she took the full tin cup of ale to her lips. “Have you ever tasted anything so glorious?”

Cassian couldn’t help but chuckle. “Most think it tastes like piss.”

“And what do you think?” she asked, brows wiggling beneath her hood as she chugged.

“Definitely piss,” he said, nodding, agreeing with his earlier statement. 

“Well, I’ll let it slide that you keep saying piss in front of a woman of my stat-status because I feel so lovely.” 

She broke into a fit of laughter as Cassin took the cup from her and set it on the bartop in front of them.

“Should I pour her another?” the barmaid asked, leaning across the table to Cassian to the point in which her top slid down and gave him a glimpse of what laid beneath. 

Cassian’s eyes drifted from her breasts to her eyes, where he found she was glad he had noticed what he had. “No, thank you, she’s had enough.” 

The barmaid ran her fingers gently over the back of Cassian’s palm. “You know, if you would leave her be for a few moments, there is an empty room up above we could-”

“Although a very generous offer, Miss, I’m spoken for,” he said. 

“Miss?” she repeated, cheeks growing pink. “You speak very nice.”

Nesta stopped laughing, as just noticing what was taking place beside her. 

“EXCUSE me,” she said, hopping off the stool to her feet. “I would ask you to kindly take your hands off my escort.” Without waiting for the barmaid to do so, Nesta took it upon herself to take the maid’s hand off Cassian’s. “And cover your breasts! Do you have no shame?”

The barmaid leaned further over the bartop as if to say no. Nesta scoffed. “How appalling. Cassian, we are leaving.”

“Sorry,” Cassian apologized, sympathetic eyes finding the barmaid. “She gets...entitled when she’s drunk.”

“I see,” the barmaid said, eyes grazing over Nesta, who was now clapping along to the fiddles playing in the corner and the elderly man doing a step dance in the middle of the tavern. “A sloppy drunk, she is.”

Cassian snorted, agreeing as he pushed himself off his stool. He fished his hands into his pockets and cursed, realizing he had no coins. He leaned to Nesta and whispered into her ear. “Do you have the means to pay for your ale?”

Nesta snorted. “Oh, no, ladies do not carry coins.”

Cassian’s eyes landed on the slim silver bracelet that dangled from her wrist as she clapped. “Do this have any significance to you?”

Nesta looked at the bracelet, then to him, before ignoring both entirely and continuing to watch the show.

Cassian took her wrist, slipped off her bracelet, and continued to make a fool of herself as Cassian turned back to the maid. “Here, hope this covers it.”

Her blue eyes grew wide as she took the bracelet. “Thank you.”

Cassian gave her a nod, realizing the bracelet was worth enough shitty binge drinking for a month and took Nesta’s arm to drag her out of the tavern. She was still dancing as they entered into the dark night, the music growing muffled as the door closed behind them.

“How marvelous,” Nesta said, spinning around, holding her cloak out as if it was the world’s grandest skirt. “Wasn’t tonight just lovely?”

Cassian raised a brow as she stuck her arm through his. “I believe you are quite drunk, my Lady.”

“I love those words coming from your mouth,” Nesta slurred, as they walked back in the direction of Marigold. “My Lady. You have a very beautiful voice, stableboy.” 

“It is kind of you to think so.”

“You are very handsome, too. Much more handsome than all the men my father wishes to court me.”

Cassian looked down at her, her arm still looped through his. “Don’t you wish to be courted?”

“And become married?” Nesta laughed. “No. Absolutely not.”

She said the words so harshly that Cassian believed they weren’t true. 

“What of the man I saw with you the other night?”

Nesta’s eyes cut to him. “Tomas.” She spat the name. “Yes, I thought he would offer marriage. How foolish I was.”

“Why is that?” Cassian asked, seeing how much the ale would allow her to spill. 

“I have given myself to that bastard continuously for years,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And, of course, he was not all that bad at it, the love making. Great? Certainly not, but adequate. Not that I have any other man to compare him to. Anyway, after all that I had given him, I suspected he would offer marriage. Until tonight. At the ball.”

“I’m not following, my Lady,” Cassian said, attempting to show no surprise at what she had confessed in her drunken state. 

“He is now engaged,” Nesta slurred. “He is now engaged to a young, beautiful, proper woman, and I was just a toy he used. Although, I cannot say he was not a toy I used, as well.”

“Ah,” Cassian said, finally realizing what Nesta had been needing to get away from tonight. The only man she thought would offer her marriage was now engaged to another. In the eyes of her peers, if anyone were to find out she had already been with a man, she would be ruined. 

“Surely another man will offer marriage soon,” Cassian said.

Nesta cackled. “I am not actively seeking a husband, stableboy. However, my father would protest. He wishes to see his three daughters married to rich men. He is a man. We are women. Our word means shit next to his.” 

“A Lady should not curse.”

“I am not a Lady at the moment,” Nesta said, using the arm that was not looped through Cassian’s to gesture to the ghost town around them, as everyone was either in their home or at the tavern behind them. “I am but a low born woman without a care in the world.”

Cassian did not bother to correct her. Surely, the lower class had many problems, most of them financial. But, there was a certain freedom to it, especially for women. Many of the girls Cassian had grown up with were allowed to marry for love, his sister included when she became of age. He could easily see how a woman, such as Nesta, in the higher class would feel trapped. 

“Well, let us get you back home,” Cassian said as they reached Marigold. The mare huffed as Cassian pressed his forehead against the side of hers. “Yes, Mari, I missed you too. Take us home?”

The horse huffed once more as Cassian helped Nesta onto the saddle. She scooted forward, and Cassian mounted himself behind her. His broad arms wrapped around her and grabbed the reins. Nesta fell back against his chest, utterly exhausted, as Marigold began her trot back to the manor.

 ~~~~~

Elain had never been with a man before, but she had dreamt of this moment for so long, late at night, when the taste of his lips from their goodnight kiss still lingered on her tongue. Elain knew of Azriel’s past, of how he had been raised, and knew that the scars that covered his hands beneath those gloves, that covered his arms beneath his shirt sleeves, had come from the horrid man that had raised him throughout his young childhood. Elain’s delicate fingers trembled as they brushed those scars, first on his palms, then up his arms, across his chest, his back.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut at the gentle touch, as her fingertips explored the beauty of his pain and how he had overcome it. Elain’s heavy gown had long ago been dismissed, and she felt vulnerable in her thin underskirts and corset. Elain hated corsets. She only had to wear them for the grandest of occasions, but she was thankful for it now, as it was yet another piece of armor that shielded her body. She had dreamt of Azriel exploring her body, but had never dreamt it would truly happen. Now that the moment had arrived, knowing that he would see her in her truest nature had her heart nearly beating out of her chest.

She sat on the edge of her bed as Azriel knelt before her. He took her hand in his and kissed her palm, gently, before untying the silk ribbon that had been snuggly fit around her wrist. Once it fell loose, Azriel took her other hand and repeated the process. Then he took her foot and sat it upon his lap before reaching under her skirt and slowly slipping off her stocking, then the other. His eyes connected with hers with a question, and with a nervous nibble of her bottom lip, she nodded.

“If you want me to stop at any time,” Azriel whispered, “say the word, and I will.” 

Elain nodded, feeling more love for him than she ever had, which she truly hadn’t thought was possible. Azriel was a great man, a gentle man with a good heart, who had lived a life that none should have to live. He rose to his feet and held out his hand, which Elain accepted without hesitation. They stood together in front of the crackling fire, so close they could feel the heat of one another’s breath as Azriel’s scarred fingers reached for the lace bow, tied together perfectly at the top of her corset. He did not rush, but for the entirety of it, Elain could not breathe. Those fingers took their time as they pulled the laces out of the hooks, and with each one being freed, Elain’s heart beat faster. With her corset removed, Azriel stepped back to admire her in her thin, white shift. Elain took no movement to hide, and all fear faded as she gingerly reached up to pull her shift down from her shoulders. Azriel watched, perfectly still, save for his chest rising and falling, as the shift fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, that step taking her another step toward her beloved. Azriel reached out to admire her clear, ivory skin. The back of his fingers brushed down her cheek before pushing a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. Elain watched him as his eyes hovered over her, his breathing heavy as his fingers trailed down to her shoulders, her collarbone, between her breasts.

Elain shuddered as Azriel stepped closer, his thumb brushing over her nipple, his warm, rough skin making contact with a part of her body in which no one had touched before sending a jolt to her very core. Elain didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare move, didn’t dare do anything to break his concentration. She watched him, quietly, as his eyes, soft and full of adoration, followed his fingers as they trailed to her waist, and back up her side.

Hazel eyes met brown, and Azriel took a step closer to her, but Elain quickly took a step back.

Azriel froze, eyes growing worried, as if he had done something to offend her.

Elain couldn’t help but smile, the reaction so like him that Elain couldn’t help it. She had no idea how a man such as he, whom she loved so adamantly, could possibly think that he could do wrong in a moment such as this. 

“I believe we should be equal,” she said, voice quietly above the cackling flames. When Azriel raised a brow, she glanced at his trousers, still hanging loosely from his hips. A small smile appeared on his thick lips as he nodded, meekly, before undoing the rest of the buttons and allowing his trousers to fall to the wooden floorboards. Elain knew her eyes widened but tried not to gawk at the hardened length of him. She had seen many paintings, of course, and even they had made her blush throughout the years. But here, a real man, a beautiful man, stood before her, completely bare, ready for her. And Elain had never seen anything so pure, so lovely, as he.

He took a step forward, tentatively, as if he was not quite sure how she would react. But she did not move, did not falter. 

“If at any time you wish for me to stop-” Azriel began, once more, but Elain shook her head.

“I do not wish for you to stop,” Elain said, taking a step forward of her own, meeting him halfway and taking his face between her palms.

She looked up at him and held his gaze. His eyes were so soft, so full of joy and love and bewitchment, that she had no doubt that he was the other half of her soul, given to her by the gods themselves. 

“If this shall be our only time, then let it be one to remember.”

Azriel let out a long, loose breath before a rare, genuine smile escaped him and those lips that she so lovingly admired pressed against her own. And as if they had been caged, parted for too long, that gentle kiss pressed into something more, as his broad arms wrapped around her slim waist and brought her closer. Her body pressed against his, and she could barely contain her hands from shaking as her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers burying themselves into the dark, messy mop atop his head.

Azriel grinned against her mouth as he lifted her up, and Elain couldn’t help but throw her head back and giggle as her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Shhh,” Azriel reminded her, laughing quietly himself, as he laid her down atop the rug in front of the fireplace in her bedchamber. Without putting on her his full weight, Azriel hovered above her, his elbows resting on each side of her head. They watched each other for a moment, their smiles fading as the silence resumed. Azriel shook his head, only slightly, as he brushed her wild hair back from her face.

“What?” she whispered.

Azriel’s lips pressed against her forehead before he leaned back up and said, “I love you.”

“And I love you,” she replied, her voice shaking - not because she did not believe that statement in her heart and soul, but because she knew what was coming next. Azriel pressed his forehead against hers. “If at any time-”

“If you tell me one more time that you will stop, I will throttle you,” she said, and he laughed, breathlessly, as she said, “I want you, right here, right now, and only you forevermore.” 

They did not allow themselves to think such a thing was impossible, for the future did not matter. All that mattered was the here and now, was the moment they were about to share. A moment that could never be taken from them, no matter the future. Her mouth found his, urgently, because waiting any longer was something she simply could not bear. Elain’s hands shakily trailed from his shoulders, down his back, to his firm backside where she tugged beckoning him forward. His breath became heavy against her mouth, his teeth grazing along her lower lip, struggling to contain himself.

Don’t, she thought, reaching between their bodies to stroke him, softly, teasingly.

A low growl tumbled from his mouth into hers, and Elain thrived on it. The only instruction she had ever had in this area came from a book that Nesta hid deep within her most personal belongings - a romance novel which she had purchased in town and kept out of the library, in case it had ever been discovered by their father. The girls had huddled into Nesta’s room one night, a rare night that they had spent together, reading the book and giggled and blushed at the pages’ descriptive scenes.

Now, she was not giggling at all. Blushing, perhaps, but there were many reasons for that. Her fingers wrapped around his cock and that growl returned as his tongue slipped between her lips, no longer gentle but longing, wanting, needing. Elain let the sounds flooding out of him guide her as the hand that held him moved, slowly but confidently. His hand soon found hers, and he guided her, moving faster, until his mouth pressed too firmly against her own, his tongue dancing so quickly alongside her own, that Elain was not certain where her mouth ended and his began. Azriel suddenly took himself off her, beckoning her hand to stop. She opened her eyes, and his own were wild, his cheeks flushed, as she was sure were her own. Azriel guided her hand up above her head, and did the same to her other, until she was lying flat on the floor, sprawled out like a masterpiece for him to worship. He leaned down to press his lips softly to her neck, just below her jaw, and down to her collarbone, where his tongue trailed to her shoulder, and back, until his trail of kisses fell lower, between her breasts, then his mouth found her nipple, his tongue circling the tender skin until he felt the other was left out, and happily and equally obliged. Elain’s fingers twisted into his hair as he trailed lower, the throbbing between her legs growing nearly unbearable as he spread them further apart, pressing his lips softly to the inside of one thigh, then the other. There was a pause in which he pulled away, though not very far, Elain still felt cold from the absence of his lips. But then his fingers softly felt her. He would be gentle, of course, knowing full well it was her first time. Yet, a part of her didn’t want him to be gentle at all. He stroked her with those beautiful, scarred fingers, once, then once more, before slipping one inside of her.

Elain gasped, but he went slow, was gentle. He pumped his finger inside of her, then added another finger alongside the first, and Elain’s breathing quickened, deepened, her arms falling back behind her head as he pleased her. But then his fingers fell away, and she nearly protested, until his mouth replaced them. This was not in the book, but Elain had no idea why, because the feeling nearly had her floating on air. A long, deep moan tumbled from her lips that she could not control as his tongue swept between her folds in a slow, repetitive movement. Her back arched, and her knees began to shake as that tongue circled her clit. The moment he began sucking was the moment Elain Archeron became completely undone. She had not realized she could feel so free, had not realized such pleasure existed. When his mouth left her sex, she nearly whimpered, but he crawled back up her body, only stopping once his cock was perfectly in place, the tip pressed against her opening.

“Please,” she begged, hiking her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, to pull him closer. 

Azriel pushed himself into her slowly. 

Elain gasped, eyes flying open as he continued to push, until he couldn’t fall into her any farther. He stayed like that a moment before slowly pulling himself out, then pushing himself back in with just a little more force. His eyes remained on hers, but Elain couldn’t help from closing her eyes, from dwelling in the pleasure of her love inside of her, from whispering his name, over and over again.

Azriel. Azriel. Azriel. 

He thrived on it, unable to stop his own sounds from breaking the quiet. They were meant to be keeping silent, but it was impossible. Azriel bit down on his lip as Elain pressed her hand against her own mouth, muffling the moans that she could not keep within. Elain had imagined many times what sex would feel like, what it would be like. She had dreamt of sharing this moment with Azriel, but none of those dreams had her thinking it would feel so good, would be so beautiful. They had become one. There was no Elain and Azriel, but a new being in which they had shedded their old selves and created a new one together. The future did not matter when they were in that new self, the future did not exist. All that existed in all the world, in all the realms, was the two of them, bodies intertwined, hearts and souls connected. 

And when it was over, that bond did not break.

They laid together, beneath a quilt, next to the fireplace as the early hours of the morning approached and went by. He stroked her hair as she grew tired, smiling faintly, unable to do anything else. 

“I love you,” she whispered, barely audible above the flames.

“I love you,” he repeated, in equal quietness. 

She knew he would have to leave soon, and that thought lingered in the back of her mind, but she tried her best to push it away. 

And yet, when she awoke the next morning as the sun was rising on the horizon, completely unaware when she had fallen asleep in Azriel’s arms, woke up alone. Her body still bare, the fire had died down long ago, the absence of him was agonizing.

But a small glimmer of hope sparked when she noticed her name written sloppily atop a note, sitting where his body had been lying only hours before.

She gathered the quilt against her body as she opened it up and read what was inside.

I love you, now and always. If that would be our only time, I shall never forget a moment of it. 

A

Elain neatly folded the note and ran it to her bedside table, where she hid it inside of her journal. 

Now and always.

If only always were as easy as it had been the night before. 

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books​ @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth​ @queenofillea1​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @levivlio​ @hellolenas​ @burritowithfeels​ @that-other-pineapple​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @raghad-50725 @musicmaam 

#r&r #tacmc #tara writes #elriel #feysand #nessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #sjm

[katierosefun]

ever in our favor

Summary: Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn't afraid of anything.Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think he was too smart to be afraid.[or: the Hunger Games/TCW AU. Three different tributes from three different districts. A tech-whiz, a thief, and the son of a Victor who was cast into the Games on purpose. Happy Hunger Games, everyone.]

read on ao3 | read on ff 

wc: 5509

Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn’t afraid of anything.

He wasn’t afraid of Peacekeepers, for one thing, not when he could easily outrun any of them. Not that he had had to, not in a long time. He had once had to outrun them when he was little, back when it was easier for his mom to defend him against his stupid little tricks with the electricity or the radio system. He hadn’t meant to mess around with the radios, but he had, and he was pretty sure he somehow transmitted some music from District 11. He had thought it was rather nice, but then Peacekeepers had started looking for him, and his mother had insisted that Anakin was just a “silly little boy” who played with the dials because he had nothing better to do so please, punish me instead—

His mom had been punished that day, in the end. Tied to a post and whipped, and Anakin had screamed himself hoarse, and one of the other women had tugged Anakin aside, forced him to not watch, but Anakin could still hear the whip fall, and he could still hear his mom’s just barely restrained screams. No one had been allowed to touch her even long after the Peacekeeper had finished. Anakin remembered that it was summer, and it was hot, and he remembered being scared only then, even after his mom healed with the help of some of the other men and women in the district.

“Don’t be afraid, Ani,” his mom had said to him later that night, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that makes them happy.”

So he decided not to be afraid.

He wouldn’t be afraid—he won’t be afraid, not even if his name had been cast into the lottery more times this year than ever before.

Just twelve times, he thought. Things could be worse. He could have his name put in there nearly forty times, fifty times, which he knew some unlucky folks did for their families. But Anakin just had his mom and himself—no siblings, no dad. Just the two of them. Shmi and Anakin Skywalker.

Just twelve times.

And there weren’t even going to be as many tributes this year—there was only going to be one chosen per district this year for the Third Quarter Quell. Unusual, Anakin knew, but the president had promised that fewer tributes would mean an even more exciting game. Deadlier traps, higher stakes. Draw out the game longer than they had in previous years. Make people more desperate.

“You should eat something,” Shmi said now, pushing bread Anakin’s way.

Anakin looked down and found that it wasn’t the brown, hard stuff that his mom and he had to have most of the time. He found a round, soft roll instead, one without burn marks or mold or anything. Anakin looked back up, surprised.

Shmi smiled. “A gift,” she said. “Our neighbors wish us well.” She pushed the roll a little closer to Anakin. “Now go on, eat.”

He wasn’t really hungry—he wasn’t sure anyone was, not on Reaping Day, but—

Anakin tore the roll in half and pressed one half into his mom’s reluctant hand. “We’ll both need it,” he said, flashing his mom a quick smile. He stood up, forced himself to take a bite. They ate in silence.

The bread seemed to clog itself in Anakin’s throat, and for a moment, he wondered if he wouldn’t be able to swallow—but he eventually did, and then he heard the bells sound across the district.

A quiet gasp—not from himself, but from his mother, who reached over and grabbed his hand in sudden desperation.

“It’s okay,” Anakin said. He squeezed back his mom’s hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He looked at his mom, smiled again. “What happened to not being afraid?”

A silence passed, and then Shmi gave Anakin a weak smile. “You’re right,” she said after a little while. She lifted a hand, brushed her thumb under his eye like he was a nine-year old again. “I’m not afraid at all.”

“That’s the spirit,” Anakin said. He tugged at his mom’s hands. “Come on,” he said. “After this, we can listen to that music again. The singing, remember?”

Shmi’s face faltered for a moment. “You really should stop…”

“They haven’t caught me yet,” Anakin said with forced lightness. Not since he was nine years old, at least. Seven more years of getting familiar with the technology and goings-on of his district had taught him to be nimbler and smarter with what he did when he did them.

“No,” Shmi said. “I suppose they haven’t.” She squeezed Anakin’s hand again.

And they headed out to greet the rest of District 3.

--

Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.

She used that to her advantage—she always had, ever since she was a little girl. She was smaller than most of the girls and boys her age, both in height and frame. So that made her forgettable. Peacekeepers were less likely to be suspicious of a small girl, and the others were less likely to point fingers at someone as seemingly innocent as herself. But Ahsoka knew the truth about her own self: she’d known enough about herself to use that appearance to her advantage, starting from when she was old enough to work in the fields. Her baggy clothes made for useful ways to pocket more food and sneak back to her dad and her friends.

And she hadn’t been caught once—the Peacekeepers hadn’t ever noticed, and Ahsoka had always been careful to swipe only enough in haphazard places. The closest she ever got to getting caught was the time she stole a whole loaf of bread from a Peacekeeper, but by the time he had discovered the thieving, Ahsoka and the other field workers had already been long gone, and luckily, the Peacekeeper’s dog had been close enough to be the suspected thief instead.

She got away with those little things easily, and no one ever suspected her. So Ahsoka told herself that if she got chosen, then—

Ahsoka curled her hands over her lap.

But she didn’t want to be chosen—

She couldn’t be chosen. This was only her second year. She only had her name in three times. Her three older brothers—Wolffe, Boost, Sinker, and Comet—all had their names in more times than her, Wolffe with the highest: forty-two pieces of paper with his name would be in the lottery today. Eighteen years old and covering for all five members of their family. And Ahsoka knew that next year, Boost would be the one covering for all of the, and then the year after that, Sinker, and then Comet.

A part of Ahsoka wondered if her dad ever regretted having as many children as he did—they weren’t even technically related, not by blood anyways. But Plo Koon had always been a man with more heart than he probably needed, and there were many starving babies left on porches a decade or so ago, when District 11 got hit with an unexpected frost overnight.

The only real blood relations might be amongst Ahsoka’s brothers—they had been a whole set, Wolffe being the oldest and drifting along with his younger brothers when Plo Koon found them hovering near the market.

As for Ahsoka, she was told that she had just been dropped at Plo Koon’s doorstep in the middle of the night, and that had been that. Ahsoka didn’t try to figure out who her birth parents were—as far as she was considered, Plo Koon was her dad, and that was all that mattered.

Ahsoka curled her hands over her knees. She glanced around her room—really, the whole family’s room, separated only by curtains, but she liked her little space. She fingered the hem of her skirt: a pretty red thing that fell right above her knees. She had only worn it once before, on her birthday. She thought it was fitting that she should wear it on Reaping Day.

The slight brush of a hand against the curtain behind her was what brought Ahsoka’s head up.

“There you are,” Plo Koon said, sitting down next to Ahsoka on her bed. “I figured you might be here.”

Ahsoka smiled. Tried to smile. “Do we need to go?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Plo Koon replied. He turned around, and Ahsoka smelled the flowers before seeing them first. She smiled for real this time as Plo Koon tucked a red-orange flower right into her hair. “Do you know what this is?”

Ahsoka concentrated for a moment, trying to remember, and then she said, “Marigolds. Tagetes patula, to be exact.”

“Correct,” Plo Koon said, his eyes wrinkling a little bit at the corners as he smiled. He leaned back, tilted his head, and suddenly that smile turned sad, and Ahsoka knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking and dreading the same exact thing too.

There was the sound of rushing feet and curtains being batted aside, and suddenly, Wolffe and the others were crowded around Ahsoka’s little space, breathing hard but eyes bright. Ahsoka knew that they had just spent the last few minutes running through the district—they always did, to work off the nerves and, as Sinker once put it, “to piss off the Peacekeepers one last time”—even though all the Peacekeepers were busy with the Reaping Day preparations. (“Don’t,” Wolffe would always groan.)

“Look at you,” Comet was saying, flashing Ahsoka a grin. “Nice flower.”

“Don’t laugh,” Ahsoka said, flicking Comet on the shoulder. She nodded at Plo Koon. “He got some for you guys, too.”

“That’s true,” Plo Koon said. “Come here, boys.”

“Dad—”

“Come on, I think we’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

Some grumbling and laughter later, and the whole family had flowers tucked behind their ears.

Boost and Sinker looked at each other, snickered, and then bowed their heads, nearly knocking their foreheads together. (“You look lovely, Sinker.” “No, you, I insist—”)

Ahsoka smiled at her family. They would be just fine, she told herself. She looked up at Wolffe last, who was watching their brothers with some restrained amusement. Wolffe caught her staring, and he smiled—rare, coming from him, but Ahsoka figured that they all needed it.

We’ll be fine, she thought again. She adjusted the flower in her hair and looked out the window, where people were already starting to trail out of their homes. They would be just fine.

--

Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think that he was too smart to be afraid.

Being afraid made people lose focus, made them do stupid things like run or jump without looking where they were heading. That was what he had learned from his time watching countless games, ever since he was a child. He would watch them even when his father wasn’t, because even though his father was one of the many famed Victors of their district, Obi-Wan liked to be prepared.

Which was why he had taken to learning and quietly training on his own when he was little—and then his father had caught him, and instead of reprimanding him, Qui-Gon Jinn had only adjusted Obi-Wan’s grip on the makeshift spear he had made for himself (really nothing more than a large stick that Obi-Wan had sharpened to a point).

And of course, the Peacekeepers, had they seen anything, didn’t argue. Secret training in preparation for the games was commonplace enough in District 1. If anything, it would have been strange if the Victors didn’t train their own children, blood-related or not.

Obi-Wan pushed himself away from the back door of the house—mansion, really, but Obi-Wan always referred to it as a house in his own mind. He stepped across the backyard, looked at the lemon trees that made a semi-circle around the perimeter of the yard. Obi-Wan reached out for one, scratched at the peel. Rolled it between his hands. Wondered if there would be any trees in the arena. One time the games had been a frozen wasteland, which hadn’t been fun—most of the tributes had just froze to death, with lips blue and eyes still open. There had been a desert before too, all dunes of orange and yellow sand, and that had gone poorly as well. Most tributes either went mad with thirst or simply laid down and refused to get back up due to the heat.

“Here again?”

Obi-Wan turned to find Qui-Gon standing at the back door.

Obi-Wan held up the lemon in his hand. “This was about to fall off anyways,” he said, tossing the fruit over to Qui-Gon.

His father caught it one-handed. “So it was,” he said. He looked up at Obi-Wan. “What do you see?”

“Seven lemon trees,” Obi-Wan said. “One of the trees is growing sick. We’ll have to take care of it soon.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched. “What else?”

Your shirt’s looser than it was last week, Obi-Wan thought. Dark circles under his father’s eyes, skin paler than normal.

Obi-Wan said as much.

Qui-Gon smiled. “Good observations,” he said.

Obi-Wan didn’t smile back. He took another lemon from the tree, found the grey rot on its underside. He frowned, tucked the lemon in his own pocket to dispose of it properly later. He looked back to his father, found that Qui-Gon’s smile had faded.

“When you go into the arena,” he said, “you’ll have to make sure you’re always observing. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, walking back to the back door. He started to walk past Qui-Gon, but his father caught him by the shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon looked back down at Obi-Wan intently. A moment passed before he said at last, “I’m sorry that it has to come down to this.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Obi-Wan said. He took out the rotting lemon in his pocket and stepped through the back door. He threw it in the bin, where it landed with a satisfying thunk. The bin had been meters and meters away, but Obi-Wan’s aim had been perfect.

He saw Qui-Gon nod—just the slightest tilt of his head to signal his approval.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon. “When she calls my name,” he said, “am I supposed to react in any particular way?”

“Don’t look afraid,” Qui-Gon replied.

“I won’t.” Obi-Wan turned to the hall mirror, adjusted his clothes: a white shirt, dark trousers. They didn’t need any actual adjusting, not with the clothes tailored specifically to his size and shape, but still. Obi-Wan made eye-contact with Qui-Gon standing behind him.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what the other tributes will be like this year,” Obi-Wan said, moreso a statement than a question.

“They’ll be more desperate,” Qui-Gon said.

Everyone was going to be desperate.

Obi-Wan nodded anyways, straightened himself one last time. Then the bells were ringing over the district, signaling everyone to come for the Reaping. A part of Obi-Wan wished that they didn’t all have to gather in one place—really, there was no point, when he knew that he was going to get chosen anyways. Not that anyone else did.

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon.

“I’ll see you on the train,” Qui-Gon said. “And remember: play the part.”

Play the part—be the triumphant, happy Career, son of the Victor that Panem expected. Proud to get a chance to prove to the rest of Panem that he was, in fact, just as much the talented and clever soon-to-be-victor that his own father was.

Obi-Wan nodded.

--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t enough space.

Really, Anakin wished that the Peacekeepers could have chosen someplace else to hold the reaping, but the Hall of Justice had to do, even though the inside hall was too small to fit everyone inside. There were a few children in the roped-off sections outside. Anakin didn’t know why they couldn’t all be outside, with at least more room to breathe, but there was something about apparently the back mural of the Hall of Justice—a ridiculous piece commemorating the Capitol—that was perfectly perfect for the rest of the Capitol audience.

Anakin didn’t like the mural. There were too many bright colors, and the faces looked all wrong.

He turned to find his mom. She was standing at the other end of the hall, where all the other parents were. Shmi caught his eye and smiled weakly, fluttering her fingers over at him.

Anakin smiled back, but then the sound of someone clearing a throat drew everyone’s attention back to the front.

“Welcome!” a man in a ridiculously flashy, ridiculously golden suit smiled blandly at the crowd. Anakin couldn’t help himself: he laughed a little to himself. Everyone knew who Threepio was, the escort well-known for his silly little tirades about nothing in particular. “Ah, there are quite a lot of you, aren’t there—yes, more faces than last year…” An awkward little laugh to himself, which no one responded to.

“Well, yes,” Threepio said, blinking down at them all. “Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds—”

Be ever in your favor, Anakin finished for him.

“Today, we are joined by—ah, yes, Miss Amidala, hello, ma’am, so good to see you today!”

There was a sudden rustling in the crowd as everyone lifted their heads at the name.

Including Anakin’s, as he watched District 3’s sole victor walk across the makeshift stage.

She wasn’t that much older than him—Anakin remembered her own games five years ago, back when she was eighteen and he was thirteen. He couldn’t remember much then, except that he thought she was the most beautiful person in the world, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The other tribute had been his age too. Another thirteen year old boy, who Anakin watched die with a spear in his chest.

“Thank you, Threepio,” Padmé Amidala said now, tilting her head at Threepio. She looked out to the crowd, and Anakin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Now we can begin!” Threepio said in that blandly cheerful voice. He turned to the little crystal ball full of leaflets.

Anakin turned to his mother again.

But Shmi wasn’t looking at him—she was whispering something into a crying woman’s ear, probably reassuring her of whatever was to come.

And then someone jostled into Anakin, and for a moment, all he felt was himself being shoved to the ground—someone had fainted, he realized, and he looked down to shake the person next to him awake, come on, get up, don’t do this now—

The boy—because it had been a boy who had fainted right into Anakin, blinked up at him with glazed eyes. “I don’t wanna go,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” Anakin whispered back. “Just get up, before you create a scene. Okay?”

The boy only whimpered, curled in on himself. He couldn’t have been that much older than twelve. Anakin looked around, wondering if he had any siblings, anyone who could—

“Listen,” Anakin said, looking back down at the boy. “Don’t be afraid. Okay?” He tugged at the boy’s arm, forcing him upright. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that’s when you make them happy. And we can’t let that happen, can we?”

The boy’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Can we?” Anakin repeated.

The boy shook his head.

“Great,” Anakin said. “Good.” He tugged the boy up to his feet. “So come on. Don’t be scared now—” But then he realized that there were other eyes on him, not just the boy beside him. He could feel the shift in the air, the sudden turn of heads.

Anakin paused, and then he looked up.

“Anakin Skywalker?” Threepio’s voice called. He was craning his neck over the microphone, hand over his eyes. “Is that you over there, boy?”

Anakin stared.

Mom, where’s Mom—

Anakin looked to the side.

He found Shmi staring back at him, her eyes wide and fearful, hand clapped over her mouth because—

Oh, he realized. He hadn’t heard Threepio the first time, because he had been busy with the kid—

“Anakin Skywalker, if you can come up now please—”

Anakin slowly turned back around to the stage. He heard, rather than saw, the others shift around him. People slowly stepping out of his way, creating a straight path between himself and the stage.

Anakin took one step.

Two steps.

And then he was walking across the hall, to the stage.

He climbed up, hoping that his steps were steady. He wasn’t sure if they were.

“Ah, yes,” Threepio said from somewhere in front of him. “Here we are.”

Anakin lifted his eyes. He saw a blur of a face, realized then that there was a hand guiding his back so that he could turn to the crowd. “Our tribute from District 3!”

Anakin looked to the crowd. Mom, where’s Mom—

But he couldn’t see anyone’s faces. The lights were too bright, and there were suddenly so many cameras, and Anakin could only blink at them all. He felt a cold hand wrap around his wrist, hoist it into the air.

Our tribute from District 3—

--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t even a breeze to keep off the heat.

Ahsoka swiped at the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She was glad that her clothes were relatively light, but still. She looked over at her brothers, who were all lined up together near the back. Ahsoka catches their eyes, and they all make a face at her. The joke is clear: bored already.

Ahsoka stifles a smile and turns to the front, surprised to find that there is a different escort than the one that usually greeted the tributes. Gone was the previous Capitol man with his strange assortment of clothing and wigs, but instead, there was a pale—remarkably pale—woman with long legs and a completely shaved head save for a few elaborate purple tattoos.

“Look alive,” the escort said, bored. There was a little bit of a rustling amongst the crowd at that—look alive hardly seemed like the appropriate greeting, but—

“Ah, yes, and welcome to the Hunger Games, Reaping, et cetera.” The woman’s sharp eyes surveyed the crowd for a full second before adding, “We might as well get started. Our dear victor isn’t able to make an appearance today, caught up with very important matters all relating to the games, of course, and et cetera.”

You already said that, Ahsoka thought.

“So let’s just get this show started, shall we?” The woman reached into the crystal ball faster than Ahsoka anticipated, and something in her lurched because she wasn’t ready for it to be done that quickly—

Ahsoka blindly turned to her brothers again, and they were already waiting for.

Wolffe mouthed something: it’s fine, and then—

“Ahsoka Tano.”

Ahsoka was still looking at her brothers, so she saw the horror on their faces before she felt her own.

And then Wolffe started moving forward, which was how Ahsoka knew that wait, this was happening, and wait, what was Wolffe doing—

“I volunteer,” Wolffe said quickly, stepping out onto the path between the boys and the girls. “In Ahsoka Tano’s place—I volunteer as tribute.”

Ahsoka’s ears rang. Wait, Wolffe, no—

A silence, and then the escort smiled. Ahsoka wasn’t sure how she could be smiling at a time like this, but the escort only lifted up the leaflet bearing Ahsoka’s name. “Sorry, sweetheart,” the woman said, “but president’s orders. No volunteers for this Quarter Quell.”

Another ripple through the crowd at that news.

“Wait—” Wolffe started. “But we didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t hear it yet,” the woman said, folding the leaflet in her hands with a few deft strokes. “News gets around the districts slow, doesn’t it? But rules are rules.” Her sharp eyes combed through the crowd. “Now, Ahsoka Tano, do come up—we’ve got a long day ahead of us, and the day’s rather hot.”

Ahsoka didn’t feel hot at all. She was cold all over.

Ahsoka looked at her brothers again. They were all staring at her, pained and wide-eyed, and she saw a sudden burst of movement—but then Wolffe was holding them back because the Peacekeepers were suddenly closer now.

It’s fine, Ahsoka thought. She looked at her brothers, gave them a tight nod. I’ll be fine.

She wondered where her dad was. She didn’t know where he went or where he was located here—probably with the other parents, but what was he doing now? She dully hoped that there was someone around to comfort him, because no one could move until she left with her escort.

Ahsoka made her way to the front, hearing only the whispers of some of the other girls as she weaved through them. For a moment, she thought they wouldn’t let her get past. It was almost as though all the other girls were desperately trying to keep her in, keep her from entering the games, and the thought almost made Ahsoka stop walking altogether.

Someone squeezed Ahsoka’s arm. She wasn’t sure who, but then someone else was touching her shoulder, another was brushing the hair from her face, another was readjusting the flower near her ear. And Ahsoka emerged from the crowd with the ghost of touches from the others in her district, and then she was at the front of the stage, looking up at the pale, long-legged woman.

“Well, come on up,” the woman said, jerking her head.

Ahsoka straightened her shoulders. Headed for the stairs. She looked to the back of the stage—thought she saw something moving in the background, but then she was being turned to look at the cameras gathered around her.

A pat on her shoulder from the woman. Her hand was cold.

“Our tribute from District 11,” the woman said flatly to the cameras. She looked down at Ahsoka, nodded her head to the cameras again. “Anything in particular you want to say while the cameras are still rolling, sweetheart? Give a good first impression for all of us?”

Ahsoka stared up at the woman. This wasn’t usually how most reapings went—she wasn’t sure if this new escort was making fun of her or not.

Ahsoka looked to the cameras.

People aren’t afraid of you, a voice whispered at the back of her head. Make them keep thinking that.

So Ahsoka only smiled—her sweetest, most naïve smile, the kind that she only ever gave when she was trying to wheedle her brothers into doing something for her. She twirled a strand of her dark hair around a finger and waved at the camera until her wrist hurt.

--

Obi-Wan didn’t care if there were too many people clustered around the area. He’d be separated from the rest soon enough.

He saw some boys and girls toss curious glances his way. Some sneers, but most just watched him with a wary eye. Obi-Wan already knew most of them were running statistics in their heads: trying to guess whether or not he would be able to get drawn. He was eighteen—his name would have technically only been cast seven times, and he didn’t have any need to cast his name any more than that.

Obi-Wan didn’t bother meeting the stares of those who looked at him. Let them stare, he decided. He would be under the attention of the entire country in just a few minutes anyways, and in just a few days, he would be under the attention of the entire country for hours on end. He might as well get some more practice now.

Not that he hadn’t had practice before. Being the Victor’s son always got him an extra glance or two in school, in the streets. He remembered a boy had once asked him if his father ever told him stories of the games, so Obi-Wan had made one up on the spot, just so the boy could leave him alone.

The truth was Qui-Gon didn’t tell Obi-Wan too much of his own experience in the games. There had been some clips played, of course, during each reaping—clips of his father emerging victorious out of a dense jungle with mud and blood splattered across his face, but he had been standing defiant until the very end.

Obi-Wan figured he wouldn’t get a jungle, not for his games. The game-makers didn’t like repeating themselves, and from what Obi-Wan had watched from the recordings of his own father’s time at the games, he was a little glad he wouldn’t be stuck in a jungle. There had been great bugs that sucked their victims dry of blood, suffocating mists that left their victims choking on their own vomit and spit, vines that came to life and tried strangling their victims to death whenever things got a little too slow. Obi-Wan had watched a clip of his own father use one of those vines to his own advantage, somehow manipulating them into choking one of his pursuers instead.

Qui-Gon had shut off the television after finding Obi-Wan watching that recording.

They hadn’t spoken about it afterwards, and when Obi-Wan went to search for the recording of those games again, he found that they were deleted from the television. He was fairly sure the Capitol didn’t allow such behavior, but he didn’t ask questions, and his father didn’t give him any answers.

Obi-Wan watched some of the clips from the previous games play before him now: shots of his father, and then shots of the other victors from the past in their final moments. Most of the victors were from District 1, District 2, District 4. All of the more favored districts. But there was the occasional victor from the other districts—Mace Windu from District 7, Quinlan Vos from District 5, Luminara Unduli from District 8, and most recently, a young girl named Katooni from District 12. That had been a surprise to all—the girl was no more than twelve years old, and yet everyone had watched her confuse her opponent into falling off the edge of a cliff. There weren’t any other living victors from District 12—Obi-Wan tried to imagine this child now attempting to mentor and get sponsorships for someone who might potentially be older than herself.

And now, finally, the escort—a young, blonde woman who Obi-Wan knew as Satine Kryze, although he couldn’t be sure that was her real name—all the Capitol people made up their own names by the day, it seemed. He had only ever met her a few times, once in his own home. She couldn’t have been that much older than himself, and he remembered being confused why there was a random girl in the hallway, but then she had just given him a quick, appraising look before walking out.

Obi-Wan only found out that he was to be the new escort a few weeks ago, and now, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Qui-Gon had told him that the girl in their home was to be the escort, he wouldn’t have guessed looking at Satine now: she was dressed in a particularly voluminous blue dress, her hair piled atop her head in an elaborate headset.

“Welcome,” Satine said now, nodding at the crowd as though they were all good friends. “And welcome to the 75th Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor.” Her lips curled into a slight smile, as though she knew something that the rest of the district didn’t. For all Obi-Wan knew, she might already know what the game makers were planning. He didn’t put it past the escorts for his district to somehow already have some inside knowledge with the rest of the games.

And beside Satine, Obi-Wan saw his father. Still wearing the same loose shirt, loose pants that was only halfheartedly held up by a belt, but someone had applied enough makeup to reduce the dark circles under his eyes.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Satine repeated, and then she dipped her hand into the bowl.

And when she said his name—it didn’t matter if his name wasn’t actually on the leaflet she had pulled, she would say his name anyways, that was the deal, Obi-Wan knew, Obi-Wan pressed through the crowd without a second thought. It wasn’t difficult for him to keep his shoulders back, chin up.

Don’t look afraid, Qui-Gon had told him.

Only idiots get afraid, Obi-Wan thought. He kept his hands at his sides, mounted the stairs to the stage. Satine and Qui-Gon both looked at him, gave him a slight nod as he made his way to the front of the stage.

He looked at the cameras and smiled.

Let the games begin.

#tcw #tcw fic #star wars #the clone wars #swtcw #sw #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #thg #the hunger games #my fic #well HERE WE GOOO

[if-the-crown-fits-translate-it]

Discord pt 89

[Date: 17/03, 12.53 PM GMT - 17/03, 02.33 PM GMT]

[This conversation was going on in #arg, partly simultaneously to another in #general2.]

Maxwell: “Give me one sec I’m gonna go check on the buds....

Maxwell: “....you guys

We might have a slight problem

Or well it’s a big

Bad

Problem

Jack the Observer: “Right.

Hit us”

Maxwell: “The buds

There’s more

And the ones from yesterday....they’re opening up and blooming”

Jack the Observer: “Unfortunate. But not surprising.

...”

Maxwell: “what do I do”

Maxwell: “I’m....gonna have a nap...”

Jack the Observer: “Rest well, max

We’ll... work on it”

Maxwell: “Thank you”

[People discuss possible ways of getting rid of the buds that had been brought up the previous day.]

donti (e): “FLOWERS USE PHOTORECEPTORS TO KNOW WHEN TO BLOOM

wear hat 24/7 so no light?”

Maxwell: “I almost always wear my hood but I don’t know if that’ll help

It grew from last night”

donti (e): “if light is hitting the bud its not enough,,,”

Maxwell: “There’s more buds and some are starting to open”

donti (e): “oh no...”

looks like we have til the 20th to figure things out, if that speeds anything to go by”

Maxwell: “I think little leaves may be forming too although they’re very tiny...”

donti (e): “max.. we got this.. you can trust that we'll help you”

Jack the Observer: “Does it hurt to touch?”

Maxwell: “Not really it just feels sore, I can’t feel my hair touching it but I can feel my hands on it

It’s....weird...”

donti (e): “... are you feeling the BUDS or like, the feeling of bUDS being touched

like,,, do the buds have.. nerves

or is it more like you can feel it bc its physically attached to you”

Maxwell: “I think i can feel it cause it’s attached to me like I can feel my hood on em...

It’s not super noticeable but I can still feel it”

donti (e): “alright thats good so theres,, not any nerves that are based on sense of touch,,, thats good thats good”

Maxwell: “Isn’t it technically though?

Since I can feel through em a bit”

LLyr: “is it like how you feel nails?”

Maxwell: “Like if something touched them I could tell cause I would feel it...”

donti (e): “or like hey someone is punching my backpack type of feeling”

Maxwell: “More like a skin thing....”

Jack the Observer: “Like if someone touched your fingernails you can feel it”

donti (e): “uh oh...”

Jack the Observer: “Even tho ur nails have no nerves”

donti (e): “nerves,,,”

Jack the Observer: “And you can cut fingernails safely”

LLyr: “hm. thats not good.”

Jack the Observer: “If there are actually nerves in there. That’s more complicated.”

Maxwell: “Yeah....”

[This means that cutting the buds out is not an option anymore]

Maxwell: “.....”

[But perhaps cutting the buds out could be done as a last resort?]

Maxwell: “Please no”

donti (e): “max, its up to you, would you rather have to keep the laurel or have it be cut off as a last ditch effort”

Maxwell: “I don’t know neither is a good option—”

[Methods of potentially slowing the buds’ growth are discussed instead]

donti (e): “we can also try like,,, straight up trying to freeze the buds off”

Maxwell: “I’ve been outside in the freezing cold a lot cause I’ve been to go to school in person some days and it hasn’t done a thing”

donti (e): “.... im talking colder than that. artificial cold.”

[Were the flowers like spring flowers then? Could they be destroyed by intense heat?]

Jack the Observer: “I feel like anything hot enough to melt metal should not be getting near Max’s head.

Might just be me /s”

LLyr: “no i’m with you there 3:”

Maxwell: “Also if this wreath does have nerve endings that will not feel nice”

[donti (e): “max try the light thing for now... and take a hot bath later”]

Maxwell: “I actually had one yesterday....

donti (e): “did it help at all?”

Maxwell: “It didn’t do anything”

Maxwell: “Maybe it would help if we know what’s gonna bloom from them....?”

fetch: “mona's got hella farmers almanacs and gardening books

somewhere on the bookshelf in the living room, so you can nose around over there”

Maxwell: “But there’s so many different flowers...”

Jack the Observer: “They’re unlikely to be very delicate.”

Jack the Observer: “I would say check early spring flowers. Snowdrops and the like.”

fetch: “also before yall ask yes I've accepted the fact that it is in fact a circlet and not matted hair and no I don't want to talk about it”

Mothbo: “Totally understandable Fetch”

Jack the Observer: “Uh huh.

Very cool, fetch.”

fetch: “what were you expecting?”

Maxwell: “If they’re flowers...did page ever say what his flower was? If this is meant to be like a new circlet maybe it’ll be that”

Jack the Observer: “Oh! That’s a good idea actually

Let me check”

fetch: “page liked freesia flowers”

Maxwell: “Hm...I looked at the meanings and white ones mean innocence and yellow mean friendship...sounds fitting”

https://www.gardenia.net/plant/freesia-single-white

Found more stuff on em

Maxwell: “They require minimum maintenance....”

Maxwell: “They don’t all look like freesias though....I can barely see but the inside seems to be a different a flower? Hold on ima try to find which one it is”

Maxwell: “I think I know which one it may be...”

Maxwell: “I think they may be marigolds”

donti (e): “... i see”

Maxwell: “I don’t think it’s the average one though”

donti (e): “huh. whats up”

Jack the Observer: “Marigolds are usually quite large. If they do end up growing in, it would be quite the sight.”

Maxwell: “Calendula

Or pot marigolds...”

donti (e): “it says overhead watering is bad, but once again, bath. so these are probably way more sturdy”

Maxwell: “I’ve always liked them....”

donti (e): “ah.”

Maxwell: “They can be used to treat different things so they can be helpful for survival

https://www.gardeningknowhow.com/ornamental/flowers/calendula/common-calendula-uses.htm”

Jack the Observer: “So a mixture of what you like and what Page likes.”

Maxwell: “Funny....”

donti (e): “... yea”

Jack the Observer: “It is, a little bit. But it makes sense.

Maybe you should make a memory list for yourself, by the way.”

donti (e): “so guessing from what we've already notices, the flowers that are budding do not have the same characteristics as their natural counterparts”

Maxwell: “Says the plant can tolerate a lot of conditions...

A memory list?”

Jack the Observer: “Marigolds are quite sturdy.”

donti (e): “but the other flower isnt”

Jack the Observer: “A memory list is a list of things you’d want to remember if you were wiped, given to someone you trust. For example, Marcus couldn’t remember his name or his sister right away when he took the circlet off. And there’s some speculation that it could help you “snap out of it””

Maxwell: “Hm...”

Jack the Observer: “Some people have made them already.”

Maxwell: “Do you have a list of things I should add to it perhaps? Knowing me I’d forget important things to add heh....”

Void: “not to distract from the current convo, but have yall checked the doc recently? (please Internet connection let me send at least this message)”

donti (e): “! whats wrong with the doc?”

fetch: “the doc is fine?

trust me I'd know if something was wrong”

jaynoblade: “i can't see anything that's really changed? just a bit of an update to include baroness in the court”

donti (e): “yea,”

fetch: “Yeah, thats all I been doin

Adding baroness, and all we know about her”

Void: “just. about sunflower seeds? well maybe not”

fetch: “:?”

Maxwell: “Seeds?”

fetch: “no clue what you're talking about bud”

Maxwell: “.....lemme check”

fetch: “I mean sunflower seeds are a good snack”

Maxwell: “Where do you see that?”

[This is the referenced doc change, written by fetch:]

#on:discord #by:maxwell #by:fetch #if the crown fits

[everly-kindred]

Eve’s Diary - Entry #91

Date: 14th of February, 2028

Dear Diary, 

Well! It has been a very eventful couple of weeks leading to Valentines, and most of it is good! Honestly, I’m so excited for spring. I’m ready for the snow and ice to go away, and I’ve come to realise that aside from Halloween, Valentines might be my favourite holiday. I mean, I love all of them but, yeah. 

So I tried this potion called essence of euphoria for the first time, with Ruby. I bought some last Hogsmeade Weekend. Ruby and I played some question games, and it was really silly. It made me feel very… light and soft. Like I had sunshine in my belly, which, the potion is all sunshine yellow, so that makes sense. And Ruby kept saying all these things, calling me pretty and stuff. It was a good memory, I think. I want to buy more from Hogsmeade, but I have to save my allowance a little. 

I got to talk to Aures a little, and I met some other Gryffindors - one named Andie, the other named Candice. Candice seems nice, and I offered to help her with herbology homework because she was struggling with aconite. Andie is… lively. And energetic, but… I’ve heard her say some mean things to Jamie, so I’m not sure how to feel about her. Ressy likes her though, so… I dunno. 

In Potions Theory, we got to talk about Love Potions which I guess is something we do every year around this time of year. Not that I’m complaining, I have that subject matter practically memorised. I love the idea of love potions! Or maybe I just love love. Anyways, we got to smell amortentia again. I smelled chocolate chip cookies, and firewood like the smoke from campfires and fireplaces, and honeysuckle, which made me really wish it was spring again. I wish I could wear amortentia as a perfume. I wonder if you could actually do that? And then you’d smell like whatever attracts other people. I wouldn’t want that kind of attention, though, I’d want to just smell it for myself, you know? 

Jamie found me in the art room when I was painting some stuff I had seen from the vision. We talked about it for a long time. I learned some things about the vision I hadn’t known, and so did they, because we both focused on different things when we were seeing it. It’s so strange to share that exact memory with someone else, but, it’s also kind of cool, and comforting. Jamie told me that they’re dating Ressy now, and I thought I’d be jealous, but… I think it’s sort of good? I know Ressy has always wanted other friends, and I do too, so it sort of feels like even though we’re kind of growing in different directions right now, it means it’ll be better to grow together later. Like, become our own people rather than being isolated together, I guess. 

Cupid’s Corner and the rose grams came back again. I got one rose from Jamie, and it was a new friend rose. I’m going to hang it from the poster frame of my bed so that it dries in a good shape, and then I’ll keep it forever. And then I put in Cupid’s Corner messages for a few people, but not as much as I did last year or that I would’ve liked to, and I didn’t send any roses at all. I guess I felt really tired and lazy. Maybe a bit sad and homesick? Like, I’m all pent up, and I keep dreaming of just getting on my broom and flying away for a little bit, having an adventure. 

In Divinations, we did divination with cats! I was very glad to not have brought Puck to this lesson, because he doesn’t really get along with other cats. Like, he doesn’t mind them, but if he gets frustrated or wants to go outside, he’ll bother them. Anyways, I got to divine with this orange cat, the tag said Sir Pounce de Leon, but if he were my cat, I’d have named him Goose or Cashmere. I love his name, anyways. And I ended up staying in the room way after everyone else had left, because he fell asleep in my lap and it seemed like it was against the law to move. 

We did the flutterby bush class again, which I always love, and then it was time to prepare for the Hearty Party. Mum sent me this dress I had from a few years ago, but she’d used magic to colour it, and my granny tailored it to fit me better since I’ve grown a little. And then she gave me this sparkly undershirt thingy to wear with it, and a big pink ribbon. Oh, and this piece of costume jewelry that’s like a big opal to wear as a necklace. Honestly, this was probably my favourite outfit I’ve ever worn, and I didn’t really wanna take it off. I just love love! And love themes! And for the party, I coloured the ends of my hair red and then braided it and tied it up.

The Hearty Party this year was pretty cool. The theme was Medusa and Athena, which I thought was interesting. I heard they’ve done greek themes for years now. They apparently did Poseidon at one point, and there was sushi and stuff and it was all underwater themed, and I wish I could have seen it! I ate berry flavoured cheesecake and fruit lemonade, and then I ended up leaving early because there was so many people in there and so much going on, that I got a little overwhelmed. 

I ran into Casey, also. He’d gotten into some sort of fight with Peach and she stormed off, and Andie and this Slytherin girl Alexandra teased him. He seemed really upset, so I stopped him and told him if he needed to talk to a friend, or anything like that, I’m here. He went to the common rooms and I haven’t seen him since, but it’s only been a day so… I just hope he’s okay and has friends to talk to if he needs it. 

And then this is where it gets… interesting? Weird? Bobby found me in the clocktower. I was playing exploding snap by myself, so we started talking and were gonna play some games, but then a bunch of older students showed up, so he picked me up and carried me to this secret room behind a painting! I don’t think I’ve been carried since I was little, and even then it was by my parents! 

Anyways, we started to play the game. We talked about favourite holidays, worst things we’ve ever done. We talked about what we thought about marriage and family, like, when we’re older. He says he wants to have a yacht which is like a big fancy rich people boat, and I told him I want to travel in a van or even a caravan and sometimes by broom, like, see the world? 

But then we started talking about crushes, and he told me that Talula had talked to him about me and that she thought I might like him, which, she’s not wrong. And I told Bobby that I did like him, and Ruby, too, and he told me he liked me back! And he kissed me on the cheek! But then, he asked if we were supposed to kiss or something, and… And I got so nervous that I just kissed him on the cheek and ran away! 

I had told him I didn’t want to make things weird with out friendship, but, I also kind of don’t want to let this go. I don’t really know what to do. Bobby is one of my closest friends, it’d wreck me if I lost him for some reason or another, but, maybe I’m overthinking it? I need to ask Marigold or Talula or someone for their thoughts. Someone older, with some experience. Though, Talula did talk about Chadwick apparently being a knob, so… I dunno. 

My brain is all kinds of confused, now. But, we’ll figure it out. I’m sure it’ll all be okay. So! Until then.

Much love, Everly

[ Eve’s Wiki Page ] 

[ Flickr ] 

#harry potter #hufflepuff #magic #diary #witch #hogwarts #journal

[pokemon-legends-and-legacies]

Galar Fankids

As of right now, my Galar fankids are fairly set in stone. I think I’ve got a good number of them and a good idea of who they are. They’re not on the family page yet since I need to come up with surnames for all of them, but as soon as I do that they’ll be posted. That said, I figured I should share what I have so far!

Gloria/Hop: They’ve got two kids, an older boy named Neil and a younger girl named Caelia. Amusingly, despite being the protagonists, their children have the least development. I know more about their relationships with other fankids than I do about their personalities. I’m sure I’ll know more about them eventually though, since these things take time.

Victor/Bede: Two boys, named Ambrose and Robin. Both were accidents and born before the two really properly started dating, Ambrose being born sooner after the game timeline ends (since dumb teens, but Victor was really committed to helping his friend out once Bede found out he was expecting even if the two weren’t dating at the time) and Robin about 5 years after. They grow closer as a result of having a kid though and probably end up marrying when Robin is a toddler or something, though I’m not sure yet. Ambrose was a sickly child but he grows up to be kind of really annoying and pretentious and dresses like a 18th century period romance hero. He’s rivals with Chelsea and Merrill (mentioned down below). Robin is a sensitive boy and a bit of a crybaby, but he’s also able to take care of himself and anyone who makes him cry is going to regret it. He’s only a year or so older than Neil and Bede and Hop wanted them to be rivals but the cousins are best friends instead. They travel together.

Marnie/Allister: My one rarepair/crackship so far. I just thought they’d get along and paired them moreso since I wanted to explore Allister rather than Marnie, who I would have been happy keeping single. They have a son named Damian who’s Very Goth (but like, refined Victorian goth). He starts out as a trainer but eventually realizes he’d rather be a coordinator. He’s rivals with Caelia and around the same age as her (so his parents take longer than other couples to get together.)

Milo: He’s a single dad. His daughter, Marigold, was originally actually a grandkid and I made a post about her a while back, but I’ve decided to scrap that angle. So she’s his bio daughter rather than adopted. Milo just has such dad energy I couldn’t not give him a kid, but him staying single was planned from very early on.

Nessa/Sonia: They’ve got a daughter named Susanna. She’s a scientist like her mother and great-grandmother, though she’s more interested in ecology rather than legends like Sonia is. She’s beautiful (of course) and has many admirers, but she’s got no time for any of that. Science is the only thing on her mind. So she’s got a bit of a reputation for being aloof as a result.

Raihan/Piers: Friends-with-benefits turned boyfriends. Their twins, Chelsea & Merrill (or Chell & Rill as they often go by), were accidents and are initially raised mostly by Piers, since he and Raihan weren’t living together at the time, but they visited Raihan and Leon a lot as well, coming to stay more permanently when they’re around 10 and Piers gets a big break as a musician, leading to him traveling more. They’re hellions, basically, and love to cause trouble and just shake things up. They’re also the oldest fankids for the region and were in the year after the game events.

Raihan/Leon: Raihan and Piers got together first, but Leon ended up fitting in nicely with their relationship (there was a bit of drama sorting things out at first but it all works out fine in the end and they’re all happy together.) He and Raihan live in Hammerlocke together and they’ve got a daughter named Nasrin who’s maybe a couple years younger than her half-siblings. She’s very much a celebrity trainer and probably like an Instagram model or something. Very concerned with her appearance and skills as a trainer. She wants to beat Champion Victor one day to “win back Leon’s honor”... or something. Chell & Rill tease her relentlessly and she’s very fed up with them and pretends they don’t exist which just spurs them on.

#Pkmn Fankids #PostwickShipping #BrattyShipping #AquaHeartShipping #PunkDragonShipping #eBoyShipping #TrueRivalShipping #Gloria #Hop #Victor #Bede #Marnie #Allister #Milo #Nessa #Sonia #Raihan #Piers #Leon #Neil #Caelia #Ambrose #Robin #Damian #Marigold #Susanna #Chelsea #Merrill #Nasrin #mpreg

[essaysbyciara]

Thy Neighbor II: Lovin’ The Crew [Chapters 19 + 20]

[Prologue] [Chapters 1 + 2] [Chapters 3 + 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapters 7 + 8] [Chapters 9 + 10] [Chapters 11 + 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapters 14 + 15][Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] 

Warnings: Language, smut thoughts

The madness continues... 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Y'lan's favorite spot inside of this lavish AirBnB just blocks away from Center City is the outdoor patio. Full of lush bushes peppered with flowers of multiple hues and a large table long enough to fit more than twelve disciples, it's job as the bar is doing the trick. The table is way more than a wet bar, stacked with every type of whisky, gin and tequila known to man. It's also the grandest medicine cabinet Y'lan could have in hopes to soothe his raging emotions toward Trevante.

Y'lan always knew Trevante to be a loose cannon when it came to women. He heard some of the stories straight from the horse's mouth, the worst of them coming from both Michael and Yahya, his best friends. But what he's been hearing from -- and about -- Trevante during the early hours of this pre-bachelor party has him on edge.

Trevante just spoke of "sexing down some chick" just weeks ago, describing her as "super thick, nerdy bitch, tight pussy, all that." Y'lan would only know of Ciara's shape, need to wear glasses and disposition toward learning new things. He never got the chance to see if he'd get stuck inside of her love. However, hearing Trevante talked about Ciara -- or who he imagines to be, at least -- this type of way disturbs him beyond belief. The same girl that Trevante spoke of "ending his playboy ways" with is being talked about in a room full of immature frat boys as just another "fuck", as Stephan just called her. A label that Trevante didn't correct but rather laughed at.

Maybe Trevante just wants to impress his friends or he is trying to keep up appearances. Either way, Y'lan wasn't having it. A shot of top shelf whisky is to keep his mind on other things.

"Yo, bro ... we got all night, man." Trevante catches Y'lan just as he pours his next shot. He saw him pour his first two drinks, watching him out on the porch as the rest of his friends cracked jokes and delved in laughter around him. Trevante didn't want to talk about Ciara in this way. She wasn't a "fuck"; she was his girlfriend. While he loves her body, makes her keep her glasses on during sex as a fetish thing and puts her at the top of his "best sex ever" list, he didn't mean to make their love life his boys' business. Trevante reverts to number-eight-on-his-SPR07 line when he's around the fellas. He's grown since then, he thought. But once he saw Y'lan leave the room, he knew he messed up.

Quiet as it's kept, Y'lan is who Trevante wants to be. He admires Y'lan's drive to live life for something greater than himself, volunteering and giving his life to the church. Trevante wasn't a religious person but he would pay attention to how Y'lan would talk about how God helped him get his act together from a life of doing dirt, Ciara catching most of those stains. He felt Y'lan's "stand up" energy and wanted a part. Him checking in on Y'lan is in his way of trying to be better -- and hoping that he didn't turn off the person he hopes can turn into his best friend.

He pours himself a shot as well. "Y'lan, you cool?"

"Yeah. Just a lot going on in there, man. That's all."

"If you're not feeling this, we can always dip out. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. This really ain't for us anyway. "

Y'lan is taken aback by Trevante's invitation to leave. In one way, he's glad that his friend is aware of what may or may not be a place that he would want to be. On the flipside, he's hurt that his friend is responsible for making him feel uncomfortable in the first place. "Nah, man. I'm good. It's just for today. The wilderness lasted forty days. I'll be solid." Y'lan knocks down another shot. "Let's head out to the day party spot. I'll be cool. I just need to breathe a bit."

---

"I feel like I can breathe up here..." Ciara marvels at the orange, auburn and marigold-hued leaves that fall around her and Winston as they wind around a somewhat busy trailway on a Saturday morning. They make sure to make room for the bicyclists and runners with their strollers as they walk the twisted pathway through trees and rotting cabins. "This reminds me of back home."

"Where's back home for you?"

"Suburban Maryland, toward the mountains. We were like the only Black family there but it was a beautiful place to grow up. What about you, Winston? You've been in New York all of your life?"

"Ehh, it's a long story."

"I got time..."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Raised by a preacher father and a stay-at-home mother who were both full-on fire-and-brimstone, barring secular music and television inside of their house, Winston and his sister, in church six times a week and twice on Sundays, were forbidden to go on class trips or to sleepovers. Feeling trapped, Winston started hanging out with all of the "'Rican and Dominican" kids from the neighborhood. There he met his best friend, Ronald.

Built like a NFL player by tenth grade, Ronald scared everyone except Winston, big and bad just like he was. As much as Winston's parents didn't like his new crew, they knew Ronald's mother from church so they lessened their grip. The two became inseparable, Winston spending weekends at Ronald's house during the summer. He got to watch BET and play XBox for all hours of the day, this little ounce of freedom in a world full of restrictions.

But then one day, he couldn't go over Ronald's house anymore and Winston's dad wouldn't tell him why. Winston would hang outside with Ronald but then his mother would drag him into the house. "I better not catch you hanging out with that boy..." is all his mother could say. Nothing made sense until it did. Ronald's mother found a note written for Winston. Inside were Ronald's feelings for him, feelings that his mother felt "were for girls..."

"So that's why you're writing about the persecution of sexuality in the early Church, then? Makes sense." Ciara exhales from hearing Winston's story. It was a lot to take in but Winston felt comfortable enough to tell her about it.

"Yeah. I'm passionate about why we do what we do, you know? There's a root to everything. But I didn't mean to make this all sad and stuff, I'm sorry..." Winston laughs to break up his somber tone. Ciara finds it nice to break up her life with some God talk. Outside of school, she doesn't get much of it. She definitely doesn't get it with Trevante.

"No, you're good! I appreciate it. It kinda reinvigorated me to get back to working on my paper, actually. I don't get to have these conversations with other students often because of work and like, all my close people aren't in the church like that, so..."

"I'm always down for meeting over coffee whenever you're free, if you need to keep fleshing things out."

"Man, Winston. I would love that so much..." Ciara pauses to take a look at Winston before he gives a response. His smile says enough.

"We should be getting you back though, I know your girls are probably looking for you..."

"They ain't even thinking about me. They in that house knocking down mimosas like it's a job." Winston and Ciara both laugh as they turn around on the trailway. The closer they get to the house, the louder the sounds of Jodeci are coming from their AirBnB.

I've been watchin' you for so very long tryin' to get my nerve built up to be so strong/ I really want to meet you but I'm kinda scared/ 'cuz you're the kind of lady with so much class...

The crowd at this day party is way too young to know anything about Jodeci. Most of them weren't born when K-Ci, JoJo, Dalvin and DeVante were killin' the streets. But Trevante, Y'lan, Stephan, Michael and the boys make the most of it. And the worst...

"Yo, Stephan is a damn savage," Michael says as he watches his friend's married frat brother flirt with another girl that looks just a shade over 21. Y'lan's been waiting and watching Stephan all night, calling him a "fuck nigga" under his tequila-laced breath. The girl's look of discomfort is clear to everybody else but Stephan.

It's even more clear to Trevante. Stephan wasn't just drunkenly flirting with some random. He grabs the girl's hand and takes her to their VIP section.

"Yo, yo... this is Meganne. She's a Lambda. Ain't think they were still out here looking this fine, shit." Meganne gently smiles to hide her embarrassment. She spotted Trevante and his crew some time ago as she and her girls grooved to another Ma$e song that they were too young to know. After Trevante told her to cool it for the sake of his relationship, she didn't walk by his office like she would always do, hoping to catch his attention.

After talking to her prophytes, she realized that Trevante was in the wrong for how he treated her. She felt strung along, feeling as if Trevante had this "girlfriend" for as long as he was taking her home from work and to lunch everyday. He would be her first "fuck nigga". Too bad he had to be so damn fine.

So as she sits down, she tries not to catch eyes with Trevante. Trevante is staring holes into her and Y'lan notices. He then remembers running into a girl that looked just like Meganne trying to hold back tears as she ran out of his office. Y'lan puts what he thinks is two and two together. He had enough. His fingers -- and the liquor -- went to work.

I ain't trying to win you back, Ciara. So that's not my move. You just need to know how trash this dude is. You deserve better, straight up.

Taglist: @doublesidedscoobysnacks @diva-princess-on-fleek @voyagetoadinas9 @walkrightuptothesun @wvsspoppin  @dreamlovealways @rockwit609 @thegayaxeman @joyfulwombatdreamermaker @blackpinup22 @hookedtoherfire @kris-did-it @l-auteuse @styleismyaddiction

#trevante rhodes x fanfiction #trevante rhodes #y'lan noel #winston duke #thy neighbor

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Colors ch.22: Onyx

(A Spicyhoney ‘The Village’ AU)

The story so far:

Crimson | Yellow | Blue | Blush | Sallow | Russet | Spice | Whiteout

Sable | Blue on Black | Midnight | Ebony Falling | Golden

Magenta | Marigold | Coquelicot | Daffodil | Verdigris | Honey | Scarlet

Alstroemeria

~~*~~

Read ‘Onyx’ on AO3

or

Read More Here!

~~*~~

The next morning, Rus woke to find Banquo sitting in the entryway to their room, peering in hopefully. His tail began wagging slowly as Rus blinked at him blearily, trying to sort out his early morning thoughts enough to explain the sight before him.

Visitors, yes, they had guests staying with them and Rus was more glad than ever he hadn’t allowed Edge to persuade him into any shenanigans, as he often ended up sleeping naked after and that was not a view he wished to offer any of their guests, much less one who in the village would still be in stripes.

“hello,” Rus whispered loudly, still muzzy with sleep. Then realizing the boy couldn’t understand him, “good morning.”

“Morning, yes, yes!” Banquo whispered happily, then with pitiful hope, “breakfast?”

“hm? oh!” Rus sat up quickly, even as Edge mumbled a discontented noise next to him. His husband’s sleeping dismay would have to wait, they had guests and boys were often hungry. He could still remember his days of devouring whatever his brother put on a plate and begging for seconds. “breakfast. yes.”

Banquo didn’t seem inclined to leave while Rus dressed and Rus didn’t quite know how to ask him, so instead he pulled Edge’s oldest cloak back on over his nightshirt in a sort of robe and headed out.

Fry cakes sounded tasty this morning and they were easy to mix up as well. Rus wasn’t accustomed to having an audience while he cooked other than Edge, but Banquo was an attentive observer, watching with curious, rounded eyes as Rus stirred up a thin batter and poured it out on the heated stone.

They still weren’t as good as his brother’s, but trial and error taught Rus to make a light, tasty cake. He stacked them on the edge of the stone to keep warm until he had a half dozen cakes, then set them into one of their carved wooden bowls. He spooned some stewed dried fruit over the cakes, drizzling the thickened syrup and handed the first serving to Banquo. He sniffed at the bowl curiously, tongue cautiously poking out to explore.

The taste seemed to be to his liking. He buried his face into the bowl, eating messily, and Rus could only smile, frying up more cakes. The smell of it would likely wake Edge, and their guests proved just as attentive, for soon after Britta joined them. From her narrow look at her son, followed by his shamefaced grin, Rus suspected that he wasn’t supposed to be off begging for his morning meal. Between the two of them, breakfast was quickly made and carried back to the parlor where Edge and Mathon were already sitting, each accepting a dish with flattering gratitude.

That morning seemed to set the tone for the day, all of them gathered into the parlor for visiting and meals.

It was nice to have guests, in a way Rus never knew it in the village. People often came to their house, but it was usually only briefly and their greetings to Rus perfunctory; after all, those with ill or hurt family members hardly wished to stand around and gossip.

Even when they did have real visitors, they were always there to see Blue. The ladies coming by on baking days or those who owed Blue favors stopping in to offer help around their homestead.

The closest Rus had to a true visit was the time Emma came by and that was a thought he’d best not linger on. It was enough that Mathon’s family reminded him so much of Dogamy’s, merely thinking of Emma and her friendship, her kindness, made his sockets sting.

Rus pushed the thought aside firmly, determined to enjoy the visitors that he had.

Never in his life had he been able to sit with others like this. Britta had brought along a cunning lap loom and worked on a panel to one of those lovely blankets that were scattered around their home as she chatted about recipes, the season, the weather as they traveled yesterday. Rus’s knowledge of their language was far from complete, and he ruefully understood now what Edge meant about listening being easier than speaking. At least he could mostly fill in around the words he couldn’t place in his head, but everything he said needed carefully chosen to be sure it made sense.

Not that Britta minded. When he accidentally asked if she slept outside instead of if she’d slept well, she let out a peal of laughter and corrected him. It was hardly the first time anyone laughed at Rus, but it was the first time he felt as though a person was laughing with him, not at him, and her humor was not mean-spirited.

Edge spent a long time talking to Mathon and their words Rus understood even less. They were going over maps similar to the one Edge gave him before, only much larger and painted with astonishing intricacy. He’d seen enough of Edge’s painting skills by now to know that it was his work, done in a much finer hand than he used for their wall paintings. They were discussing something about travels and other members of their...clan? Rus wasn’t certain of the word and it hardly mattered if he was. The only ones he’d met thus far were the Wolf who'd come to them for healing and Mathon’s family. He could hardly ask after the health of any others.

Even if Rus didn’t always understand what they were saying, having them here was a wonder, helping his vocabulary grow in leaps and bounds. Edge was an excellent teacher, but he wasn’t precisely chatty, or at least not in the way that Britta was.

She’d brought along a few skeins of that colorful yarn for Rus, gifting them to him and laughing softly while he fumbled for gratitude. It was unlike anything he’d ever used before. It wasn’t wool, the gauge was softer and much finer, and when he drew out his knitting needles to try it, Britta watched curiously, leaning in closely to see how it was done.

Rus swiftly knitted a couple of simple rows to show her. She fingered the weave, intrigued, then asked, “Teach me?”

“yes,” Rus agreed, more than pleased to have at least one skill worth trading. He handed the needles over and Britta slowly followed his direction, coming up with a somewhat uneven row of her own. Her confidence grew quickly and soon Rus left her to it.

Banquo’s tail thumped hopefully when Rus called him over to the checkerboard. The boy had been very well behaved, wandering back and forth from father to mother as he listened to all their talk without interrupting. In between, he sat by one of the warming walls, whittling on what looked to be a shaping into a ferocious creature of some sort. But Rus well remembered what it felt like to be left to the side and hoped to keep his youngest guest from feeling lonely.

Choosing his words carefully, Rus explained the game as he set out the pieces. Despite his imperfect words, the lad was clever and caught on to the rules quickly and though Rus was not one to throw a game to spare feelings, Banquo only laughed when he lost, resetting the board for another round. Rather unlike Rus’s agemates back at the village who often sulked whenever Rus beat them at any games.

It was, Rus thought, a lovely day, filled with laughter and company and the only snare to catch at it was just after luncheon, when Mathon brought out a sack and set it before Rus.

From it he withdrew a deer skull, small antlers rising from it.

“For your --” Mathon explained and though Rus didn’t understand the word, realization came with stunning clarity. They wished to make for him a mask of the like Edge wore, that they all wore when roaming out in the woods.

The beat of his soul rose up, pounding in his hearing and Rus glanced wildly at Edge. Who only met his gaze calmly, offering no indication of his thoughts on the matter. He suspected if he declined, Edge would say nothing, perhaps even stand by him if Mathon insisted and yet...

He was a part of this strange, wonderful world now. This was to be his life going forward. He was truly never going back to the village, never returning to his small room at the top of the stairs, never spending evenings with Blue, knitting while his brother read him the village newsletters.

But also, he would never again be trapped by the Elder’s rules or words, their lies, never fearful of being hurt or banished for showing his magic. Never be without Edge’s love, his care, his gentle touch and his warm smile.

The emotion in his soul was a briar patch, tangled grief and elation, but Rus only lifted his chin and nodded. In truth, he’d made his choice some time ago; perhaps his fate had been sealed the very first time he’d set foot in these woods.

Mathon grinned in doggish fashion and lifted the skull, moving to settle it atop Rus’s own. He’d expected it to be uncomfortable, the bones scraping against each other, but to his surprise the inside of the deer skull was already carefully lined with soft leather, well-cushioned. A series of rawhide ties were attached and Mathon fussed over them, moving and tightening them until the fit was a good one. Finally, he stepped back with a satisfied sound and Rus lifted his hands, cautiously feeling the face covering his own.

It was heavier than he expected, though surprisingly comfortable and the crisscrossed straps holding it in place would be covered by the hood of a cloak. There were no mirrors here, but Rus stood and went to the bathing cave, peering down at himself in the reflection of the water.

His own pale eye lights peered back out from an unknown face, the small antlers rising up above his skull. Once, Rus might have been terrified to see such a thing, as he’d seen Edge so long ago, a blank face coming towards him in the woods.

He couldn’t say what he felt now, his emotions were too wrought, but he thought it might be something like gratitude. Mathon thought he belonged here and was offering Rus a place in this world. A place where he could belong.

He went back to the parlor to find them all waiting expectantly, and Rus couldn’t help but see Edge seemed particularly anxious. Rus pushed up the mask, let it settle on top of his skull the same as Edge often did, and gave a smile to them all, “thank you. it is well.”

Laughter and sounds of cheer rounded the room and Edge visibly relaxed, a faint smile of his own touching his mouth. Rus drew the mask off entirely to get a better look at it. The bone was sun-bleached, and Rus realized there were carvings around the sockets. The craftsmanship was amazing, each symbol neatly done. Some were a match to the ones on his gloves, Edge’s name, he knew, and he traced them lightly. Others were unknown to him; he’d ask Edge later what they meant.

“why a deer?” Rus mused softly, to himself. “why not, say, bear or a bobcat?” For Edge's mask held fierce teeth, as did the ones for Mathon’s family, more ferocious than the ones in their very own heads.

A smothered sound of amusement came from his husband and he gave Edge a startled, questioning look. Edge took his hand and drew it up, pressing a light kiss to the slender bones and his words fell lightly as he said, “Rus, my soul, you are no bear.”

Ah, well, that was a fair point. He supposed a deer did suit him better. Before he could set the mask aside, Britta had him by the arm, pulling him towards the cave entrance.

“And now we can go outside!” she said happily.

Edge sat up very straight at that, unease falling over his face, but Britta shushed his concerns before they could even be spoken.

“He needs fresh air! We won’t go far!” She laughed, shooing him back with one careless hand. “You can smother him with love when we get back.”

Rus looked at Edge entreatingly, a blush heating his face at the thought of being smothered in love, and he sighed, gesturing Rus away. Excitedly, Rus followed her out, eager to venture outside. He bundled into his cloak and boots while Britta and Banquo did the same, and settled the mask over his face as he truly ventured out for the first time since he’d arrived.

True to her word, they didn’t go far, only waded through the snow to the tree line while Banquo loped along beside them. The fresh, clean air was briskly cold, invigorating, and Rus tipped up his mask to gulp it in. The sun was high overhead, pouring light down to glitter across the snow, the smooth drifts broken by Banquo as he laughingly tore through them. Britta tipped up her mask as well, her mouth opened in a doggish smile as she watched her son play.

To his shock, Britta took out a small pipe, very similar to the ones some of the men at the village used. None of the ladies would ever have carried one and Blue scoffed at them as well, saying more than once that no sort of smoke ever did much for anyone’s health.

Unlike the men of the village, she lit the pipe with a flick of her fingers, proving her skills akin to Edge’s and his own when it came to magic. She puffed complacently, watching as her son tore through the snow, filling the still air with his happy barking. Though Rus did try not to stare, Britta caught him watching and perhaps she mistook his astonishment for interest.

“Here,” she offered him the pipe, urging him to take it. Uncertainly, Rus did, holding it by the mouthpiece awkwardly. It was a rather lovely piece of work, carefully carved with symbols similar to the ones that graced his gloves. “Very good! You try?”

Memories of his brother scolding the sins of smoking were close to the surface of his mind, but they wisped away as he stood there contemplating it. Surely a single try couldn't hurt too terribly, and it seemed so very rude to refuse.

Before he could persuade himself out of it, Rus lifted the pipe and inhaled deeply. And then promptly coughed the smoke back out, nearly gagging with the force of it.

Britta laughed and pounded him good-naturedly on the back until he caught his breath. The taste wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but the burn of the smoke certainly was. How was it that those who actually had lungs could stand it?

He hastily declined when Britta held out the pipe again, content to take in the fresh air untainted. Except as they stood there, Rus began to feel a bit peculiar. His mind felt fluffy and pleasantly dizzied, and when Britta caught his arm to lead him back inside, Rus nearly toppled into the snow, a giggle bubbling up from nowhere as he caught his wobbly balance.

Somehow, he managed to follow her back into the cave, haphazardly shedding his outdoor clothes into a pile before making his way to the parlor. Edge was sitting, talking with Mathon and his crimson eye lights widened as Rus went to him. Suddenly, all he wished for was to be close to his husband and his clouded mind couldn’t offer a single reason why he shouldn’t, instead urging him to boldly settle into his lap while a startled Edge caught hold of him.

“hmmm, you’re warm,” Rus sighed happily. He buried his face against Edge’s neck, seeking more of that lovely warmth and then it occurred to him that those strong bones were deliciously attractive. He pressed his teeth to Edge’s cervical vertebrae, felt him jerk as Rus mouthed them, curling his tongue around those powerful, delectable bones.

To his dismay, Edge took him by the shoulders and forcibly pushed him back, looking at him with a narrow gaze. That same look was cast suspiciously to Britta, who looked amusedly abashed, and just as an inkling that he might have done something wrong began to trickle unhappily through the fog of Rus’s thoughts, Edge leaned in and gave him a gentle, chaste kiss before murmuring sternly, “No, no, no.”

Rus let out an unsteady laugh. “no from you? that’s a first.”

To his bleary delight, Edge’s cheek bones actually pinked with a lovely, rosy color. But he shook his head firmly, tucking Rus against his side and did not allow for any wandering hands to explore beneath his tunic, more’s the pity.

By the time the dinner hour came around, Rus’s thoughts were somewhat cleared, enough that he could only recall his scandalous actions with blushing horror. But he stayed at Edge’s side, guilty enjoying being curled against him while Britta served up stewed venison for supper. His first mouthful brought up a memory of his mask and he wondered if there was some inference here or if it was merely coincidence that deer was on the menu. Asking seemed past his meager language skills and so Rus only ate his portion, thanking Britta shamefully and profusely for cooking

It was delicious, spiced and rich, and yet. Halfway through his bowl, he was abruptly struck with how different this was from his brother’s cooking and with that thought came a peculiar melancholy. Sorrow settled over him in a thick, inescapable blanket and suddenly all Rus could think of was his brother. His entire life, Blue had been there for him, caring for him and now he couldn’t even see him and--

But Mathon’s family had traveled through the snow. Traveled all the way from their cozy home to here without a single troublesome problem.

Nausea rose and with shaky hands, Rus set his bowl aside, drawing unsteadily away from Edge who cast him a look of concern. “Excuse me,” Rus said aloud, forgetting that the words wouldn’t be understood as he fled the room for their own.

The wide bed and open space still seemed too much, and Rus crept into the smaller cave where Edge kept his clothing, curling up on the floor as the whirl of his thoughts overwhelmed him. Edge’s reasoning for not visiting Blue was that traveling was dangerous, and yet he’d gone himself to Mathon’s home, brought them back to visit. Why was that safer, was it that the route was better traveled? Was the path a shorter one? Or was it something else entirely, was Edge keeping something from him, how could that be and yet—

“Rus?”

Rus jerked hard to see Edge crouching next to him, reaching towards him but not touching. That nausea rose again and Rus shuddered, cringing away. But Edge did not touch, did not force, as he never had. He only urged Rus, gently, “Breathe deeply, it will pass.”

But it wasn’t illness that had him glaring at his husband. Rus met those concerned crimson eye lights with a furious gaze and demanded, “why is it they could travel here to see us, but we can’t travel to the village to see my brother?”

A complicated expression briefly crossed Edge’s face, settling on bland calm, and Rus did not quite resist as Edge gently cupped his cheek bone in a warm hand, “Your thoughts are not your own tonight. We talk tomorrow on this.”

That was not a truth that Rus could deny, and it deflated his temper, leaving him unsettled. The effect of the pipe smoke did still linger, it was true, and he allowed Edge to draw him back out, taking in slow, deep breaths at his urging until his nausea settled.

The two of them returned to the parlor where Britta waited worriedly, “You are well?”

“I think pipe weed is not for him,” Edge said dryly.

Britta’s abashed grin was nonetheless wide, “No, only beginner’s folly.”

If that was so, Rus was content to stay an amateur. He did feel well enough to help Britta with cleaning up, listening to her easy chatter and she seemed not to blame him for his embarrassing brashness earlier. By the time they finished, Banquo was yawning, blinking sleepily as his mother ruffled his ears gently. She and her son bid Rus good night and went to gather Mathon, and Rus slowly went to his own rooms, his thoughts still awhirl.

Yet it wasn’t irksome thoughts troubling him, it was something else entirely. Perhaps it was the pipe smoke rousing him, perhaps it was simply that he’d grown accustomed to nightly relations with his husband. In any case, tonight Rus found he was far less concerned with their guests overhearing them.

He slipped off the threadbare crimson cloak he was still wearing and with some effort, he managed to tack it up over the entrance to their bedroom in a sort of curtain that may at least keep curious pups from simply wandering in. He was just finishing as Edge came in, taking in their new door covering with curious wariness.

Rus didn’t allow him time to question nor protest, only pulled him down into a heated kiss, one that was eagerly returned after a startled pause. At this moment, Rus wanted to not think about anything but the feel of Edge in his arms and hopefully other places that craved his touch.

They undressed between kisses, clothes tossed carelessly aside, and Rus was helpless to stifle his eager groans, muffling them instead against Edge’s equally enthusiastic mouth. In no time, Edge was pulling him to the piles of blankets and furs that made up their bed, but when Edge drew him down, Rus was confused to be settled atop him, between Edge’s spread femurs.

A hesitant squirm revealed not the familiar hard length of his shaft but instead soft, inviting folds, slickened with the evidence of his desire.

“you...you want me to…” Rus stammered, promptly forgetting everything he knew of Edge’s language. Certainly he would have been the penetrating partner if it were a lady that took his fancy, but as one who could bear and seed, he was expected to be the one receiving if he were with a gentleman...except...except Edge was like him, it seemed. Able to give and take, and, and, oh, this was all muddled, it would never have happened in the village!

But it certainly didn’t mean he didn’t want it.

Rus gulped as he braced himself over Edge on his elbows, looking down into his beloved face that gazed back up at him with soft, desirous eye lights, “i...i’ve never…”

He couldn’t find the words in either language. They didn’t seem necessary, Edge understood without such things and his warm hands slipped between them to Rus’s bare pelvis, touching and coaxing. To his embarrassed shame, Rus couldn’t focus enough to form a shaft; he’d only done it once before, after his conversation about relations with Blue and that more for curiosity's sake. He’d never expected there would be a need. Instead, the same construct as always settled into place, the delicate bud of an entrance which Edge currently had no use for.

Yet, his husband did not seem disappointed. His fingers teased, drawing out Rus’s arousal until he only moaned shakily, all thoughts of shame abandoning him.

“Rus,” Edge leaned up to nuzzle a soft kiss to his mouth and pulled him closer. The feel of those damp folds pressed to his own, grinding softly, made Rus gasp aloud, he’d never even considered such a thing, how could it possibly feel so good!

Clumsily, he shifted closer, shuffling one leg between Edge’s and rocking his hips, matching the rhythm that Edge set in a wicked dance whose only music was the sound of their passion. Slippery friction built between them and it hardly seemed to take any time at all for Rus to find his peak, shuddering with the sweetness of unexpected pleasure.

Edge only pulled him closer, grinding against him more urgently and Rus groaned in disbelief as his pleasure rose again. This time, Edge moaned along with him, the pinch of his sharp fingertips digging into Rus’s shoulder blades was nearly a pleasure of its own as the two of them collapsed together in a tangle of sweat-dewed bones and shivering completion.

Rus lay panting, his thoughts awhirl as Edge murmured love words to him.

Suddenly Edge’s lack of concern over Rus’s ability to carry children became blatantly clear. If they chose to have a child, Edge could be the one to carry them. His inability wouldn’t deny Edge a family, if that was his desire.

The blossoming warmth in his soul from that knowledge made tears sting as Rus cut off the endless litany of loving nonsense from his husband with a kiss, pouring his love and passion into that hard press of teeth. Edge met his passion with muffled surprise, matching it with his own until Rus drew away to look into the bright crimson of his eye lights. It was hard to recall now that he’d ever thought such a lovely color to be frightening.

“i love you,” Rus told him hoarsely. “k’uhah. my soul.”

“My soul,” Edge repeated, pulling Rus in close, and as they held each other, sweat still cooling on their bones, Rus didn’t let any of his creeping doubts to slide back into his thoughts. Not this night.

~~*~~

tbc

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