#also the silver streak of hair and beard was a look

[sommerregenjuniluft]

~Old Dogs <3

for @krethes, @plecotusauritus, @kaaaaaaarf

The year is 2013, it’s October and Remus is one cranky old man. (He’s 53.)

It’s icy cold in the mornings already, as it tends to be in the south-western English countryside and especially at this time of the year.

Their bed is toasty warm and loaded with feathery pillows to support Remus’ stiff and creaky body as good as possible but his husband is a restless little ball of ideas and insane genius and he’s also an insatiable little brat so that’s why-

“Moons,” whispered on a breathy little snicker, much too boyish for a man in his mid fifties and the mattress dips beneath his weight. Carefully straddling Remus where he’s laying on his stomach, face smushed into two pillows and fuzzy blanket pulled up to his chin and Sirius leaning down, eloping him with his body. There’s long curls tickling Remus’ nostril and he smells of outside air and the thick sherpa collar lumberjack he wears out in his tinkering shed. Which is really more of a good-sized barn, at this point.

He grunts, a vague grumbling noise and Sirius snickers again and then there’s warm lips on Remus’ stubbled, bony cheek which is much too lovely for the early hour and can only mean that his husband wants something.

Remus balls his fist more tightly in the soft material of the blanket.

Sirius, of course, quick as ever, notices and gives another rumbling laugh. Something that vibrates through his chest, past his ribs and seeps into Remus’ spine in an instant.

Warmth pooling in the middle of his chest that works better than any radiator or heating charm in the world. And that’s dangerous because Remus melts a bit then. Turns a little gooey and blurry around the edges. He doesn’t get butterflies anymore, in that cliché sense, after the amount of years, but he gets this.

This ball of everything warm and light in his chest that’s so strong it presses against the inside of his sternum and makes Remus feel close to bursting some days. With how bone deep happy he is.

And Sirius giggles, shakes the bed a bit, because he’s evil and he knows and also knows that he’s got Remus all wrapped around his finger like that, like he’s old chewing gum, stretched thin and no backbone and that it won’t take much more.

But his husband is also fucking lovely and the best man Remus knows and so Sirius kisses his cheek again.

Stubble catching on beard and it’s raspy and it makes Remus’ lips twitch into a smile, eyes still closed and then it’s a little sing-song of, “Mooo-nyy,” and teeth nipping at Remus ear lobe.

And Remus has learned over the last decade to indulge his dramatic side a bit, now that the present sorrows of his life consist of having forgotten milk at the store again and their radishes not taking fruit in their own garden behind the house, so he draws his eyebrows together and grumbles. Wiggles the slightest bit under Sirius’ comfortable weight as if attempting to throw him off, to make his husband leave him alone and to his slumbers.

Sirius laughs above him, sees right through him, of course, as Remus knew he would. His husband laughs and it’s boyish and childish and with the rasp of 54 year old because Sirius adores him, and Remus loves him.

And then Sirius sucks in a breath and stretches closer, humid breath puffing against the shell of Remus’ ear and it’s a soft melody of, “You, you-you are,” and Remus groans before his husband is even done.

Squints his eyes open and glares over his shoulder to come face to face with Sirius singing around a playfully tantalizing smile, expression coy and nearly ruined by how hard he’s trying not to laugh.

Rosy lips framed by dark, coarse hair and his silver eyes crinkling. Laugh lines, permanently etched into his skin and it’s the most handsome thing about Sirius in his fifties. Or maybe it’s the single white streak in his hair, and Remus doesn’t even want to start listing things because that’ll turn into a long morning.

Instead he presses his lips together and gives Sirius a look, who has now moved onto a little shoulder shimmy, jostling Remus and continuing to parrot the princess of pop, “You, you-you are,” sharp eyes flying wide open and fixing Remus, lopsided smirk and glinting canines, “Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer,” abruptly sitting back on his haunches and bursting out the air drums.

The single laugh tumbles out of Remus’ involuntarily but Sirius winks, pleased with himself and extracts himself to continue dancing around in their bedroom as Remus slowly sits up.

He wiggles his toes and cracks his back, stretches his arms to the ceiling and groans a bit. Still hears Sirius chirping the lyrics from where he’s disappeared into their en-suite bathroom, heavy shoes tipping and tapping away—he’s left his dirty boots on.

That alone is almost enough for Remus to spring up out of bed (read: stand up slowly but walk briskly) to snatch his husband up and show him what he thinks of Sirius trudging dirt into their bedroom.

But before Remus can even make the decision Sirius comes back into the room with Remus’ toothbrush in hand, a dollop of toothpaste on it.

Drapes himself against the doorframe dramatically, the back of one hand at his forehead, “You- you got me going,” throwing his hips out and pressing off the wall, stalking closer, “You- you’re oh so charming,” biting his lip for enunciation.

Remus rolls his eyes with a smile and then there’s a grip on his jaw, Sirius plopping down on the mattress next to him, seductive expression turning faux disapproving, “You- But I can’t do it.”

Shoving the toothbrush into Remus’ mouth and whirling up and away. Remus starts brushing dutifully, and Sirius turns around himself two times before taking a stance, fixing Remus with his stare again, and spitting venomously, “Womanizer.”

Sirius dances through the rest of the refrain and Remus watches unperturbed until he almost drops some of the toothpaste onto the sheets. Sucks the foam back up and tilts his neck back, going to stand up.

He pads over to the bathroom, Sirius hot on his trail.

Fingers slipped under Remus’ sleep shirt and squeezing reprimandingly, “You- you say I’m crazy.”

Remus bends down to spit some of the toothpaste into the sink, letting Sirius rove his calloused fingers up his scarred back. “You- I got your crazy,” snapping his teeth and digging his blunt nails into Remus’ shoulder blades and Remus smiles around the minty foam.

“You-” Sirius’ chin hooked over Remus’ shoulder, “You’re nothing but a,” growling into his ear, “Womanizer.”

“Daddy-O,” Remus turns, fast, and plants a big, foamy smooch on Sirius’ half open mouth.

They erupt into a bit of a tousle then, but eventually a few more minty but distinctly less foamy kisses are shared where Remus is leaning against the sink with Sirius standing between his legs, fingers playing with the little curls at Remus’ nape.

Sirius grins up at him when Remus hums the refrain again under his breath, Cheshire cat, pleased as a Kneazle, “Gets you every time.”

Remus rolls his eyes, knocks their skulls together, “It’s a classic.”

“It’s only been 5 years!”

“Mark my words though,” Remus raises and eyebrow and now it’s Sirius rolling his eyes.

He looks criminally gorgeous doing it so Remus kisses him again.

Pulls him closer around the waist and lets a hand slip down to grab at his ass. There’s no urgency behind it, just the desire to feel, to have him atomically under his palms and to hold him close.

A press of warm lips and then Sirius groans happily when Remus nudges at his seam with the tip of his tongue. It’s languid and slow and it has Remus’ chest close go bursting again when they separate with a wet little smacking noise.

Remus licks at the saliva on his lips and nudges their noses together, “So tell me why I was rudely awoken in the early hours of the day and with toothpaste instead of coffee no less.”

Sirius’ eyebrows fly up and his body goes back to rigid and energized, strung tight with creativity and Remus would mourn the way his pliant body had slotted against his own if he didn’t love the way Sirius’ face lights up to much. “Oh, I need some picture frames!”

“Mm,” Remus makes, levels him with another look, “And that wouldn’t have waited another hour or two?”

Sirius shakes his head, grinning, “No can do, Mister Moons.”

“Of course.”

And then Sirius leans close again, eyes lidded and something stirs in Remus gut the tiniest bit. And Sirius voice matches the look so Remus almost doesn’t catch what he says then.

But he does, because what comes out of his lovely husband’s mouth is equally as alluring as the promise of sex, “Y’know that antique shop that’s right next to the old lady’s stand that sells those hot chocolate rum mulled wine creations you’re so crazy about?”

Remus does know that one and he’s already halfway out the bathroom, boney fingers clasped with Sirius ones before he’s done speaking, a merry rumble of laughter spilling from his husband that’s the best kind of music to Remus’ ears as he gets tugged along.

#idk what came over me #i woke up and i thought of old wolfstar and then womanizer played in my head and now we are here #wolfstar #wolfstar drabble #wolfstar fluff #lune writes #old dogs #remus lupin #sirius black #old wolfstar

[samstree]

we'll rip up the map by the seams

(obikin, 1.3k, rated G, also on AO3)

There is a white hair at Anakin’s temple.

It’s a small, inconspicuous thing, hidden under the unruly curls caught in the morning sun. It’s one flicker of silver, easily missed in the blink of an eye.

Obi-Wan doesn’t miss it.

Anakin moves about the kitchen with a mug of steaming caf in hand, rubbing his eyes blearily. He’s just taking another sip when Obi-Wan reaches out, brushing back the locks. There it is, the single strand of white hair just above Anakin’s ear.

Obi-Wan stares at it. Distantly, he feels Anakin put down the mug in faint surprise, a question in the Force around him. He ignores it, only catching the silver hair under his fingers.

“Obi-Wan?”

Durasteel hand catches his, the metal warm from the caf. A kiss is pressed in his palm, lazy and sweet, followed by intent eyes, blue like the cloudless sky.

Obi-Wan blinks, meeting Anakin’s eyes with an exhale.

“Nothing.” He smiles, though the curious tilt of Anakin’s head suggests he does not believe the answer. “It’s only… You have a white hair, right here.”

Obi-Wan cards his fingers through the curls, letting Anakin nuzzle into his touch.

“Do I?”

“Just the one. It’s new, I think.”

Anakin hums, amusement lacing into his voice. “Are you mocking me for my age, old man? Because two can play this game, and you won’t be the one winning.”

“No, not at all. Anakin, dearest, that’s not what I meant.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, painfully aware of all the silver streaks peppering his own hair and beard. On some days, when the light catches it a certain way, he might think the auburn has all but disappeared, leaving only a reminder of his age.

On those days, Anakin kisses his greying hair, the lines at the corners of his eyes, until all he feels is the incandescent love enveloping him in the Force, until he has forgotten about all the aches and scars in his body. On those days, Anakin reminds him of the here and now, of the hard-earned happiness held within the palms of their hands.

Youth was never the best years of Anakin’s life, painted over by grief and war. That simple understanding has long since settled within Obi-Wan with deep regrets. The dark abyss of anger called for his furnace heart, beckoned him to implode, to consume, to fall.

Anakin would have been too young to be lost in that darkness. Obi-Wan still shudders to think of that possibility, but now…

Now, Anakin is getting old, right here by his side.

“Obi-Wan?” Somehow, Anakin is standing impossibly close, worry etched into the crease between his eyes. “Hey, what is it? You feel… scared. Is anything wrong? Will you talk to me?”

A gentle arm wraps around Obi-Wan. With his flesh hand, Anakin cups Obi-Wan’s cheek, eyes focused on him carefully, searching for the reason for his distress. It’s so endearing Obi-Wan can’t help letting out a self-deprecating huff.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you. My apologies,” Obi-Wan explains, “I’m only dwelling on old fears. This is setting a bad example, I know. You have nothing to worry about, dear heart.”

Despite his words, Anakin does not look convinced. Comfort and reassurance continue to emanate in waves from the Force. Obi-Wan simply closes his eyes for a second to bask in it.

“You know I’ve never been good at following your example.”

Their foreheads rest together for another moment, and another.

Anakin doesn’t press, only waits for him patiently. The years truly have softened him, or it’s just Obi-Wan who somehow inspires him to find all the patience he never used to possess. He’s not certain which one is the answer. Nonetheless, the pause is appreciated.

Obi-Wan sighs. “It’s just…”

“Yeah?”

“For a while, back then, I feared you wouldn’t get to grow old.”

A breath catches in Anakin’s throat, his eyes widening as he pulls back, only by a little.

“Oh, Obi-Wan…”

“I know, I know. I’m being foolish—”

“No.” Anakin shakes his head emphatically. “No, don’t do that. Please, don’t dismiss your feelings for my sake. I—”

They fall into a tight embrace, a little too desperate for a slow, sunny morning like this, a little too fearful.

With his chin resting in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, Anakin’s voice is a trembling whisper. “I feared the same. I thought I had no way out, that there was only a dead-end to everything. A future was…impossible, when fear was all I had.”

Now, it’s Obi-Wan’s turn to comfort, to untangle the storm in his Force and provide gentle support to the love of his life.

“That was never true, you must know that.”

“Of course.” Anakin sways, clinging to where their bodies meet, rubbing soothing patterns into Obi-Wan’s back. “We are on the other side of it now. It’s been a long time.”

Not long enough, if the taste of the fallout is still fresh, the ashes cloying in Obi-Wan’s throat. But for now, he contents himself with being held by Anakin.

“Yes, it’s been many years.” He hums. “I didn’t lose you.”

“I’m right here, I promise.” Anakin’s eyes flutter open, the softness in his features hardening into something resolute. “I’ll never stop fighting if it means being here with you.”

The weight of the past lifts from his frown, leaving only the beginning of a smile. Faint lines crease at the corners of his eyes.

Oh, Anakin is growing laughing lines too. Obi-Wan traces them with the tips of his fingers, feeling light and hopeful. Anakin now laughs so easily that the shape of it has etched into his skin, a solid proof of his happiness. The journey to healing was long and winding, but it was all worth it, if it led them both here.

He has never been prouder of Anakin than this moment, and he says so out loud. The praise comes as easily as breathing when there’s every reason for it.

“I know, and I’m proud of you, Anakin, for all that you overcame. I’ve never known a stronger person than you, not just in power, but also in compassion and resilience. Never doubt my faith in you. Never doubt my place, and that I’ll be here for you in return.”

The truth sings beautifully in the Force, followed by a bright, blinding joy.

Obi-Wan kisses the faint lines by Anakin’s eyes, and he kisses the strand of white hair, the stretch of his own smile nearly making it impossible. Anakin squirms under the attention.

“Yes, yes, I’m growing old, as we’ve established. No need to be smug about it.” Anakin wrinkles his nose with the onslaught of kisses. “We are getting there together, you know? Perhaps I should also grow a beard, just to get the message across.”

“Hmm, no.” Obi-Wan pulls away to throw him an unimpressed look.

“Don’t want me to steal your signature look?” Anakin cocks an eyebrow in a challenge. “Or scared it’ll look better on me?”

“I’ll get terrible burns.”

Anakin huffs in indignation. “So you do know what it’s like—”

Without letting him finish, Obi-Wan pulls Anakin into another kiss, just the way he knows will tickle Anakin’s skin. The grins and breathy laughs slow down in time, growing into something more languid. They melt into each other’s arms, catching every one of the soft sighs and moans, until the world fades away and all that’s left is them, the Force and its golden light.

The caf gets cold, and the morning sun rises high above the ground, but they are in no hurry. They have a lifetime awaiting.

After all, Anakin will grow old, safe and bright, and Obi-Wan will guard every grey hair and every wrinkle with his heart for the precious things that they are.

They will grow old together.

#obikin #fluff #post canon #so i do this now...

[silverior968]

Tfp gijinkas (3/4) The Wreckers :] I ljike them

Post 1 Post 2

[Image ID: A character sheet with two characters on it. On the left is a human version of Bulkhead from Transformers Prime, who is drawn as a fat black man in his early 40s. His hair is dark brown with a single gray streak in it, and tied in a low ponytail. He also has a beard and thick eyebrows. His eyes are dark brown and he is grinning. There are multiple small scars on his face. His outfit consists of a green camo jacket with reinforced black patches on the elbows and shoulders, a black t-shirt with the autobots logo on it, black and gray work gloves, green cargo pants and brown hiking boots. The design notes placed around him read as follows: "For him and Wheeljack I tried to aim for the early 40s ballpark", "he gets a few gray hairs as a treat", "I incorporated the logo into his design as a print on his t-shirt. It ended up looking like a band shirt, which would be a fun AU idea, if slightly worrying (no band should be injury-prone enough to need a surgically trained doctor on constant standby)" "proper sturdy work boots- also suitable for hiking". To his right is a human version of Wheeljack from the same franchise, drawn as a lean white man in his early 40s. His hair is ash-colored and very shaggy. On his head he has a dark brown cowboy hat. His eyes are grey and he has a slightly crooked nose, like it had broken before and never set the same way as it was before. He also has many small scars on his face and is grinning. In addition to his hat, his outfit consists of a white, green and red plaid shirt that's half tucked, a light gray aviator jacket, a dark brown belt with a silver buckle, dark red trousers and dark brown boots. He is holding his hat with one hand. The character design notes placed around him read as follows: "I want to put him in a salad spinner", "this jacket used to be white but it hasn't been washed like ever", "I accidentally made him look too cool so I had to give him the most dripless outfit ever", "I just had to give him a cowboy hat - he probably never takes it off because he's developed hat hair like this". The last note has a small doodle of him without his hat on, showing that the hair at the top of his head is perfectly smooth thanks to the hat. / End ID]

#fanart #transformers prime #tfp #tfp bulkhead #tfp wheeljack #2 more left! #usually I would go on to ramble in the tags but I don't think I have much else to say right now #other than I think these characters are very cool thumbs up #I think it's funny how Wheeljack just showed up on a new planet and everyone was immediately like “stop the cowboy shenanigans” #like he couldn't have known what a cowboy is #right? #so it's like imagine you show up to a new planet and they're like “oh you're such a glorb” #and you're just like “what the hell is a glorb???” #even funnier is that later he starts saying yeehaw so he did his research and decided that that was just his brand #that's funny I think

[ash-is-dying]

Mr. Perfectly Fine: Chap 1

A/N: Literally wrote this the same night as the preview but wanted to at least spread out the release a little. Also i’m sorry it’s kinda short I just wanted to get stuck into something.

Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Chapter 1: Mr. Pretty Face

---

Ever since you had moved into your apartment across the street your morning ritual has become visiting the coffee shop ‘Grateful Bread’. A pun which you’ve always had a soft spot for. It was an empty little place, rustic and old but it felt like home. Not many people came and went so it was relatively easy to pick out the regular customers. They were also the one place you had ever been to that didn’t make fun of your peculiar daily order of a caramel hot chocolate with a shot of espresso and almond milk. Most days you felt like the order made you seem like a bit of a snob but the workers would put on a smile and make it just as you liked it.

From the size of the place it was clear there was a small staff. There was Becky, a younger woman in her early twenties, Darron, an older man with silver streaks in his neatly groomed hair and beard, Lizzie, a middle aged woman who knew the menu and people’s orders off by heart and then the owner Wayne, he was by far the oldest and he could get grumpy at times but he was never mean to anyone. The day crew knew exactly who you were and you knew them just as well.

Which is why it was so surprising when a new face turned up behind the familiar counter. Especially one that stood out so much from the others. He was pretty. Really pretty. If anyone had asked you to guess what his name was your first one would be Mr. Pretty Face. He was young but had obviously been working hard most of his life, forehead creases and smile lines etched into his face from overuse. Other than that his skin was smooth and pale, tattoos beginning to extend down his arms, bats and band references and more detailed works hard to interpret from afar. His frizzed up hair sat in a messy bun behind his head, hardly keeping his face clear as every few seconds he had to blow his fringe and loose strands out of his way.

Your eyes had not moved in around 5 minutes due to the shock of it all. He was gorgeous and you had an overwhelming urge to find a way to slip him your number. With an unusual burst of confidence you snatched a napkin from a nearby booth and used a pen from today’s lecture to scribble it down. With the napkin wedged into your pocket you started to move towards the register to order.

Your confidence drops as you stand waiting at the register as he pays you no notice. He cleans and sorts machinery while you wait for him to even glance your way.

“Excuse me?” You managed to get out, not wanting to seem rude. His head shot up a confused look on his face. Oh God those eyes. They were a rich shade of brown, you could spend hours staring into them and watching them swirl like melting chocolate. Shaken, you don’t see his face change to one of slight annoyance.

“You got somethin’ to say or are you just gonna stand there?” He says his stance stiffening more as he stretches to his full height.

“Oh sorry.” You introduce yourself and muster up a smile. “I’m here most mornings so I just wanted to say hi.” You glance down at his nametag on which is what you think says Eddie. “Eddie is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Please don’t use my name don’t pretend to know me.” He goes back to cleaning before realizing you hadn’t left yet. “Anything else or wanna talk about yourself some more.” He says with evident malice.

“I just- wanted to order something.”

He sighs as he places down his cleaning supplies and he leans over the register his eyes holding yours in a relatively bored expression. He stands expectantly waiting for you to say absolutely anything. “Well?”

“Well um. Can I get a caramel hot chocolate with-”

“Sorry a what?” His face looks dumbfounded.

“A caramel hot chocolate? It’s just a hot chocolate with a few pumps of caramel.” You say sheepishly as your face starts to heat up.

“You know I’m gonna have to charge extra for the caramel right? Can’t do any freebies.” He says as if you’re asking for a free drink.

“Yeah- yeah I know.” You reply softly.

“Great.” He leaves the register to start making the drink leaving you alone midway through your order. You watch as he starts to pull out the caramel and ingredients needed for the hot chocolate. You watch him as he turns on the steamer and starts piling chocolate and caramel sauce into a cup.

“Sorry just-” He glares as you interrupt. “I also wanted a shot of espresso and almond milk in that too please…” The words died off the longer the sentence dragged on. He bites his lip hard as he closes his eyes and groans.

“Does it make a difference?”

“What?”

“Milk is milk, does it change anything if its from a cow or a nut? Can’t you just drink what I make you instead of complaining about me trying to do my job.” You’re left speechless as he talks your hand fidgeting with the number in your pocket.

“Can I just… have almond milk please?” He takes the steamed whole milk and dumps it in a nearby bin. He then passive aggressively drops the used pot into the sink next to the coffee machine.

“Did you wanna maybe mention these things while you were ordering? Just because you’re a regular doesn’t make me a mind reader.” He says with a sharp edge in his voice. “Almond milk?”

You nod slowly.

He lets out a deep sigh as his hand runs over his face, and he storms out the back. Some muffled yelling ensues and he returns with a bottle of unlabeled milk with the letters A.M. scrawled lazily in sharpie on the side.

Almond Milk. The world’s biggest inconvenience apparently.

He furrows his brows and the ends of his bun fall into his eyes as he steams the milk prepared for the ‘ridiculous’ caramel hot chocolate. His grumbling can be heard from the counter which you’re almost positive is intentional. No one has upset you like this in a long time.

Once the drink is made he scribbled something on the cup before placing it harshly on the bench. His deep brown eyes that just a few minutes ago were mesmerizing are now darkly staring into yours. You pick up the cup as he turns back to the register to take a new order, on the side he’s written 

‘Almond Milk Bitch’

You can’t stop yourself from tearing up in anger and disappointment. The phone number you’d written on the napkin now torn up and discarded on the service bench. 

You made a decision then and there. You’d avoid that asshole for the rest of your life if you had to. ‘Mr. Perfect Face’ was dead and buried.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #slow burn #enemies to lovers #barista!eddie #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader

[nova--spark]

Maybe this is a bad time to bring this up but we’ve seen the Jasper Trio turn into Cybertronians but what if Team Prime turned human?

Ok I have been thinking on this and Going off my messing with the idea of Quintessa, set in about a year into the Timeskip AU for further funnies. Mortal Machines

A vengeful Cybertronian sorceress had returned with a grudge. And a very high superiority complex to rival most other cons to boot, she used a relic so obscure, that it could be argued even Alpha Trion had not recorded it in the Iacon Relics.

And the unexpected results of this relic, were the entirety of team Prime ( Arcee, Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Wheeljack, Ultra Magnus, Smokescreen , Elita and Optimus Prime ) having a rather...unique and new kind of transformation. Into a human form. Human forms that resembled their holoforms at the very least, which made recognizing them far easier than if they had been regular humans, but... Oh lord was this going to get hectic. It was..an experience for sure. I mean sure, holoforms could be quite realistic in their sensations, to the point of picking up, carrying things, feeling , but this was wholly new to the team. They were just very glad that when it did happen? They were close enough to contact base at all. Safe to say? The kids were very perplexed to see the now human Autobots before them.

The first they encountered was Bumblebee, with sun kissed skin, eyes of icy blues you'd think they were almost silver, and short golden blond so perfect you'd think his hair was golden straw, if not for the faint black streaking through it in spots. He looked so young, in his early 20s surely, and a sturdy 6ft tall. Scars littered his skin, but he was quick to scoop up Raf into his arms, laughing as the stunned kids saw him in a true blue human form. He was dressed in what looked like just casual wear, save for the bright yellow and black leather jacket, with a fittingly bee themed emblem on his back and shoulders.

Next was Bulkhead, who looked so...normal in comparison to some of the more brightly colored team mates, but upon closer look, his near black hair was indeed a dark green in the sunlight, eyes of steel blue, and dark skin, marred in scars. His hair was cut short, but he wore a baseball cap [which somehow held the Wreckers emblem, which was amusing to Miko] that covered it anyway. His face was framed by a large bushy beard and mustache, and he had a few wrinkles, but from smile lines. He was dressed in what many construction workers would be found in, a vest, grey t-shirt, and jeans with sturdy work boots. He looked to be at least in his early 30s, which they found quite fitting. He towered over quite a few, at 6ft 5.

Wheeljack by comparison, looked to be in his late 30s, and was dressed like a biker, a leather vest covered in various patches, his hair a dark grey and streaked with silver that complimented his ever so lightly tanned skintone , and the same steely blue eyes as Bulk. He looked beyond elated, picking up Miko and runnin aorund with her on his back as they tested out how energetic he was as a human, now that he could pick her up with less caution at all. He was only an inch shorter than Bulk at 6ft 4, which he ribbed on his friend for.

Arcee by contrast, looked so simple. Dressed in a sleeveless high neck shirt, black jeans and combat boots, what stood out most was her midnight hair with a pink underdye and her bangs framing the sides of her face fading into the iconic pink of her head pieces. Her eyes were unique, almost a pale blue-violet, with the faintest tints of pink. Her lips were painted a dark blue which stood out against her lightly tanned skin, and Arcee looked to be in her late 20s by comparison to the older men around her. She stood at 5ft 10 next to the guys, small sure but not dainty as they could tell by her physique.

Smokescreen, who to no one's surprise was also in his early 20s like Bee, was in contrast a mix of both his previous and current paint job. His hair was an almost silvery white, but streaked with faint red like Bee's black streaks, and eyes of bright aquamarine. He was dressed in a racer's jacket, white red and blue with his old number on the back, though his t-shirt by contrast was blue and yellow with his current new number on the chest. He looked to be the most excited to be human, and was 6ft 2 , towering next to Jack [who was just 5ft 10 in comparison].

Ultra Magnus was...the fitting image of a soldier in his prime years [roughly early 30s], dressed in what looked like combat ready gear, which was a stark contrast to his blue hair streaked with faint red. His eyes a silvery blue, they were still firm in their gaze as he tried to understand what had happened to them. Pale peachy skin was marked with scars of a fitting second in command however, and he stood tall, at 6ft 6 next to most of the others.

He didn’t say much, he may as well have been a statue if you asked the others, but his eyes passed over each teammate, ensuring they were alright.

Ratchet…was another story. He was outraged by this transformation-transfiguration? Whatever it was, he would like to very much be back in his own body! Standing at 6ft 3, Ratchet had white hair slicked back into a decent braid, with just the simplest streaks of red-orange in it and a well cared for red goatee. His skin was a rich warm tan tone, and his eyes were an almost green tinted aquamarine, as his eyes had never really been the same after his incident with Synth-En.

Dressed in a white lab coat and scrubs, he certainly at least looked like a doctor, which amused the kids quite a bit. At the very least he too looked his age, in his late 40s.

He however, was not at all amused.

Lastly was Optimus and Elita, who had been likewise, caught in the transformation.

Elita was beautiful, standing at 5ft 10 and in her early 40s, her pink hair had a black underdye, and complimented her rosy complexion and sapphireine eyes. She was well dressed in a dusty pink suit jacket, with a white blouse, but casual jeans and most surprising or fitting, black combat boots.

No one could say Elita did not look like a formal yet terrifying soldier.

By comparison, Optimus looked quite…different

Dressed in refined clothes almost reminiscent of a professor, Optimus looked to be almost in his 50s, wrinkles along his eyes which were a gentle cyan blue, and gently tanned skin with a few scars across his features and a well maintained beard as well. His hair in contrast, was a deep blue streaked with white and red. Standing the tallest of all, at a towering 6ft 7 above everyone else. Surprising many, he had glasses, which seemed almost fittingly still on his gentle face and features. He wore a black turtleneck, with a deep red suit jacket and dark grey slacks, as well as black dress shoes.

He looked so…so normal.

Once everything settled, they called June and Fowler, and June was quick to give a check up to everyone.

Now they just…had to figure out how they would turn back to Cybertronians.

Primus help them.

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams #transformers prime #tfp #tf prime #nova writings #TFP: TIMESKIP | RID15 AU #Mortal Machines

[agentrouka-blog]

I will admit, I’ve never read the books (for SHAME, I know) and have only seen the show and read many analyses by all you lovely folks (I like my happy little pro Sansa & Jon/Jonsa corner), so the question I’m about to ask might be silly.

I get Varys’ endgame - he wants Aegon (aka a king he has influence over/he thinks will be good) in charge. And that’s been his plan since AGOT, IIRC. But… what do you think was Littlefinger’s plan at the start? Did he even have one? Or was it just “chaos is a ladder” and he was winging it? We know he convinced Lysa to Poison Jon Arryn and place the blame on the Lannisters… was he hoping Ned would make it to the Capitol, let his honor get him killed, and then that would open up Cat for marriage? He tells Lysa he’s only ever loved Cat, but even so I don’t know what a marriage to Cat would get him… He’s always wanted her so there’s satisfaction in that, but would that be enough for a power hungry man like LF? I doubt it. And killing off sickly sweetrobin is one thing, but Cat had three healthy boys so it’s not like he could reasonably get that warden position. Obviously, at some point his plan became “get Sansa the North, Riverlands, and the Vale and become her consort,” but I find it hard to believe that was his plan from the very start… I’m rambling now so I’ll shut up, but would love to know your thoughts on it??

Hi there!

First of all:

(We shame because we love. <3 )

That out of the way, I think Littlefinger’s main motivation with Ned is not gaining power through a marriage to Catelyn. As you describe, that’s an impossibility. 

I’d say it’s simple revenge, alongside the intention to destabilize the kingdoms to create some of that much-desired chaos for ladder purposes. 

Petyr Baelish was a charity ward in a High Lord’s castle, and the effect of growing up in such an environment, the wealth and opportunity and power he witnessed without being able to fully partake - and the ease with which he was expelled - left a deep wound and an insatiable ambition. 

He challenged Brandon Stark (!) for Catelyn’s hand, perhaps because he believed she slept with him that one time, perhaps because he genuninely believed (like Quentyn) the power of a good story would be enough to overcome reality, and their classist society and give him his dream. Instead he was beaten to a pulp and then thrown out on his still-recovering butt two weeks later when Lysa spilled the beans about the pregnancy to Hoster. 

Everyone thought it was because of that stupid duel with Brandon Stark, but that wasn't so. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

He was completely humiliated and reminded of “his place”, and had only Lysa’s infatuation left to capitalize on. Which he did thoroughly. A slow climb based on flexibly taking advantage of every opportunity he could identify. Once the pieces lined up, he could get to work on doing to them what was done to him. 

Littlefinger gets Ned killed - killed and humiliated and publicly stripped of his honor: the guy who got Catelyn, brother to the guy who physically humiliated him. But he also destroys Catelyn’s happiness, her family, her peace. He may have loved her, and he certainly uses that sentiment as a weapon to hurt Lysa in her final moments, but it’s not his motivation to be with Catelyn now. 

He transferred that past obsession onto someone new, and incorporated that into his plan to destroy his past “enemies” Tully and Stark, while at the same time making her a potential puzzle piece to gaining power through her (as of yet potential) inheritance. 

Reason 1: her look and her family connection (easily controlled replacement Catelyn)

When Sansa finally looked up, a man was standing over her, staring. He was short, with a pointed beard and a silver streak in his hair, almost as old as her father. "You must be one of her daughters," he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. "You have the Tully look."

"I'm Sansa Stark," she said, ill at ease. The man wore a heavy cloak with a fur collar, fastened with a silver mockingbird, and he had the effortless manner of a high lord, but she did not know him. "I have not had the honor, my lord." 

Septa Mordane quickly took a hand. "Sweet child, this is Lord Petyr Baelish, of the king's small council."

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once," the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. "You have her hair." His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away. (AGOT, Sansa II)

Reason 2: her romanticism, which is thoroughly unlike Catelyn and feeds into the fantasies he harbored as a boy.

Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, "Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras?"

Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king's councillor smiled. "Well, those are not the reasons I'd have given, but …" He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

Sansa did not feel like telling all that to Jeyne, however; it made her uneasy just to think back on it. (AGOT, Sansa III)

Reason 3: the Bael the Bard move. 

One day in his bitterness he called Bael a craven who preyed only on the weak. When word o' that got back, Bael vowed to teach the lord a lesson. (ACOK, Jon VI) 

He was humiliated so he’ll humiliate them back, by stealing the daughter of his enemies (Tully and Stark) and making her his, claiming their legacy and turning it into his own. 

He has pragmatic, political reasons to use Sansa as a pawn, but his inability to control himself around her, his uninvited touching gives away that he is personally invested.  

That’s what will break his neck eventually. He’ll trip into vastly overestimating himself like he did with Brandon, and this time no one will beg to spare him. Not because that boy back then deserved to be crushed by feudal hierarchy, but because he allowed himself to become a monster because of his bitterness and caused vast death and destruction. 

#littlefinger #vengeance #sansa stark #asoiaf villains #classism

[tastefulstars]

The Colder the Night, The Warmer your Hands - Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere - they are copyrighted and belong to me.

                                     ----------------------------------

Summary: Everything changed with a buzz of your intercom, a lawyer and a dead relative.

Paring: Male werewolf x human

Word count: 1,109

prev/next

masterlist

Aylesbury is a small town, nestled in at the base of mountains and forests. Your cottage was slightly further up the mountain than the rest of the homes but you didn’t mind, after living in townhouses and apartments, the space and privacy was nice.

A few months had passed since you left your job, sold your car, most of your furniture and belongings, and moved into the cottage at Aylesbury. It had been hard work getting yourself settled, the cottage was covered in dust and the garden was a tangled mess of weeds and roots but you rolled up your sleeves and got to work. Now the cottage was clean and airy, you spent the first few weeks cleaning and rearranging the furniture and placing your belongings you had brought with you until everything felt just right. The garden, however, was a different matter entirely, it surrounded your house and it didn’t seem to make much difference how much you pruned and trimmed and pulled weeds. You didn’t mind all that much, spending months and months working in the garden was the most relaxing thing you could think of doing right now.

You had made acquaintances with a few of the local residents on your weekly trip into town for groceries but you felt very much like an outsider, like you were intruding on this peaceful little town. Donna, the owner of the small grocer, had a warmth about her that could make anyone feel welcome but there was still a slight undercurrent of tension, apprehension maybe, in your interactions with her.

Every time you went into town, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched even when you couldn’t see another living soul. Pushing the door open, the bell chimes, and you enter the grocer, Donna looks up from her spot behind the counter and smiles at you.

“Good morning, hun!”

Her eyes are kind and her smile warm, she’s the type of person who inspires those around her to be the best version of themselves, she was short but her presence in the room made her feel larger than life. Today, Donna wore a chunky, long cream cardigan layered over a burgundy flannel button down, which was also layered over a plain white t-shirt. She looked warm, soft.

“Hey Donna. Good morning, how are you?”

You both make idle small talk as you gather fruits and vegetables, and as always when you speak to Donna you’re overcome with the irrational need to make her like you. Soft streaks of silver and while stretched out from her hairline, contrasting against the rest of her dark hair, she’s so beautiful.

As you begin to unload your little basket full of items, the doorbell chimes and you glance over your shoulder. The newcomer is someone you haven’t seen or met yet, a man roughly the same age as you, perhaps a bit older. He looks exhausted, his skin dull and eyes unfocused. Everything about him seemed disheveled, his hair, his beard, his clothes. He comes to a stop a few steps behind you, and you quickly go back to unloading you basket. Donna smiles wide to him, wider than she’s ever smiled at you.

“Good morning, Alexander!”

Donna greets the man, Alexander you suppose, as she begins to ring up your purchases. He grunts, his voice is as rough as he looks.  

“M’nin Donna”

You place your items into a cotton bag after paying, thanking and saying a goodbye to Donna. Turning to leave your eyes fall back on Alexander and you notice he’s staring at you. Your heart beats faster as your gaze reaches his, something about him makes you feel on edge, the word dangerous slips through your mind before you can stop yourself, oh come off it - he’s just had a rough night, you don’t even know him so stop judging! You chastise yourself as you give him a small, polite smile and quietly leave the shop.

It doesn’t take you long to find yourself back in the garden, slowly and surely it’s beginning to take some form of shape. You survey your yard, there was no real “boundary” separating your land from the forest beyond besides the trees, your home was set in the middle of a clearing with a dirt driveway leading down to the road beyond your sight. Grass covered most of the clearing that wasn’t a dedicated garden bed, and there were a few flat stepping stones leading from the driveway to your front door. A small hedge lined the right side of your home, coming to a rest under the living room’s window and stopping at the corner of the cottage, in front of it was a rock lined garden bed with a mix of flowers - a bush of daisy’s, foxglove, hollyhock, and lavender being the few you could identify.

Of the left side of the house was another small garden bed lined with rocks, here rested a wisteria plant that had been left to climb the side of the house. It’s vines reached the roof and had twisted around the corner of the building - you would need to trim some off as it had gone wild and now covered most of the windows on that side. Surrounding the base of the wisteria was a small collection of flowering bushes, you weren’t sure what kind but they were pretty.

The back and sides of the house hadn’t fared too well, most of the flower plants had grown out of their designated garden beds and some had taken over completely. You stand in the small walkway you had cut, allowing you to move from the back door to the edge of the forest, and place your hands on your hips, frowning. You weren’t too sure what to do with the back garden and part of you was tempted to rip it all out and start again.

“Maybe that’s not a bad idea” You murmur to yourself, ideas starting to form in your mind.

You could almost picture it - a small knee high fence marking the boundary of your backyard, a few raised garden beds lined up in front of the back most part of the yard for growing herbs and vegetables, a lemon tree in the corner beside them, a little bench under the largest tree to your left, flowers in their garden beds along the back of the house, maybe a little green house off to the right, and some stepping stones from the back door leading you throughout the garden. You smile, yes not a bad idea at all. First though, you really needed to trim that wisteria.

#werewolf #male werewolf #werewolf x reader #werewolf x human #werewolf lover #monster #monster boyfriend #monster fudger #monster fic #supernatural #supernatural creatures #creature #creature:werewolf #i:my writing #story:the colder the night

[kenobster]

Day 4 of QuinObi Week: Post Order 66

And here is an excerpt from a oneshot of mine from a WIP series I'm working on called.... Vader's Uterus 😅I really wanted to get this oneshot done in time for today but unfortunately I have been too busy and lazy. I shall finish it one day though! ^_^

(Edit: forgot to tag @quinobiweek)

Quinlan takes one look at Obi-Wan Kenobi and notes all of the signs: the rings under his dim eyes, the brittle smile beneath his beard, the droop of his shoulders, and the way his hands are pale and shaking. It's the way he always used to look after a campaign during the war—a campaign that stole his nights, even after ending. Quinlan tucks one of his silver-streaked strands behind his ear. "You," he says, "need rest."  Obi-Wan's eyes flutter shut and he leans forward, trusting Quinlan to balance his weight. And Quinlan does.  "I know," Obi-Wan whispers, "but he needs me. I'm the only one who can reach him." Quinlan slots Obi-Wan into his arms, and they fit like two matching puzzle pieces abandoned in an attic, dusty and worn, but forever shaped to each other's shapes. Obi-Wan's hair is even thinner and duller in the dark, absent of its copper-red, but no less soft beneath Quinlan's chin. They rock into the embrace. It's a lulling tide they learned the rhythm to when they were Padawans.  As a Knight, Quinlan had wanted to tan the hide of Obi-Wan's little brat more times than he can count. Numerous times he'd reminded Obi-Wan that he needn't always be gentle—or rather that he needn't always be perfect. Perfect Padawan, perfect Knight, and perfect Master of a young and struggling boy. Obi-Wan lamented every scraped knee, every prideful bruise, and every sniffled I-hate-you from his unexpected charge. Perhaps the stakes are higher now, but the reminder will always be the same. "At some point, you're gonna have to let him stand on his own," Quinlan says, just as he used to back then. "How can I?” Obi-Wan huffs. “He's not a harmless little boy anymore. The last time I left him alone for a day, he…" The sentence doesn't need finishing. The maw of the dark side has feasted on the galaxy, and its shadows are present even here. But even shadows rely on the light to survive, so Quinlan runs his hand up Obi-Wan's spine and cradles his head, and the touch makes Obi-Wan shiver against his chest.  "If he's going to leave, he'll leave," Quinlan says. "If he's going to stay, he'll stay. You can't force this. And you can't blame yourself either. He's a threat, yeah, but he's also a man. And if he's going to stand, he'll need to do it without you holding his hand." Obi-Wan's arms tighten around Quinlan's torso as if he's afraid to let go, afraid to let the boy-turned-monster-turned-wound choose whether to fester or settle. But Obi-Wan is a Jedi—the best Quinlan's ever known—so he does.

#QuinObi week #QuinObi #Obi-Wan & Quinlan #Obi-Wan #Quinlan #Obi-Wan & Anakin #vader mpreg au #vaders uterus #excerpt

[tarrenterror25]

Alright, I have to go with the blorbo, so:

Alfred Pennyworth & Medieval/Fantasy & "Close your eyes for me."

Ok love you bye!

Ahhh!! Thank you for this request!! I was super inspired by the song The Willow Maid by Erutan, but this has a much nicer tone to it than the song 💕

I'm guilty, this one is a bit more than 500 words but writing in a medieval style, I find I get real wordy! Also I got carried away hehehe

I hope you like it, lovely!!

100 follower celebration

Alfred Pennyworth x Reader

Alfred Pennyworth + Medieval/Fantasy + "Close your eyes for me."

TW: Blood

In the grove, all is quiet save for the sound of the babbling brook and the creatures of the forest chirping, croaking, and singing. Pollen flecks, dance in the air as pixies with iridescent wings flutter by. Here is untouched by man, a land between borders where moss can grow undisturbed and the fae can roam freely in all their majesty.

Here is where you make your home, in the branches of a willow tree.

You lounge in the branches, a myriad of flora and fauna keeping you modest, weaving together flowers in a circle.

Suddenly, a rustling in the brush below.

You retreat further into the branches of your tree.

A knight stumbles into the grove, his hand clutched to his side where blood seeps from the crevices of his armor.

You have seen many a knight, many a hunter, and many a poacher attempt to wander these lands, but none have come this far. Or so close. And none have looked so...handsome.

The man slumps against a boulder and slides down to sit. He removes his helmet and his face is distinguished. He's much older than the other knights you have seen come through here; silver streaks color his once dark hair and beard and his eyes, a piercing blue even from afar.

You dare to poke your head up more as he steadies his breathing. His eyes lock onto yours peeking out from your tree.

"Hey!" he shouts as he brandishes a dagger with a wince. "Show yourself!"

After moments of silence, you emerge from your tree, climbing down carefully to reveal yourself. His eyes widen as they take all of you in, he is entranced. It's not hard to tell that you are not of his world or people he knows. Quickly, he puts away the dagger. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..." he says trying not to startle you.

"You're hurt," you say softly.

"Y-Yes, I am," he replies with a groan.

You're not supposed to talk to anyone who is not fae, but something about him, this man, feels different.

"I can help you," you say chancing a few steps closer.

"I would greatly appreciate it, fair creature," he says.

Slowly you approach him and kneel by his side. You help him remove his armor, taking note of the bat sigil emblazoned on his breast plate. He tries to stifle his groans of pain. Finally, the breastplate and chain mail are off leaving him in a bloodied tunic. He watches your hands lift his tunic and touch his wound, a soft green magical aura surrounds your hands as your fingers brush across the tear in his flesh until it is as it once was.

"Thank you," he breathes as he looks up at you. "I'm Ser Pennyworth. Might I have your name, fair creature? I'd like to tell the one I serve the name of my healer."

You give a soft coy smile. "It is nothing you can pronounce in your tongue," you say.

The two of you now stand in front of each other, his armor back on, his helmet under his arm. His other gauntlet clad hand holds your chin softly. "I want to see you again, fair creature," he says. "Please, grant me that."

You smile. "Close your eyes for me," you say.

He does and you place the loop of flowers around his neck. He opens his eyes, a hand coming up to touch the flowers with a smile.

"I have a feeling that our paths will cross again, Ser Pennyworth."

#100 follower celebration #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth x reader #the batman!alfred pennyworth x reader #the batman!alfredpennyworth

[imaginedreamwrite]

The idea for cc day 9 with teaching someone how to skate is co cute 🥰 I thought it could be any Ransom x reader pairing, but also it could be TOH. Like they have a lake somewhere near, the ice is pretty solid and Reader once mentions that it would be cool to skate there. She is not a professional, but is confident skater, while her bear is struggling with balance.

I have three people this could work with, and I hope you like them

Christmas countdown day 9 — Go ice skating

Model!Ransom x hair/makeup!Reader (a/b/o):

It was another public outing, another excuse to be seen and capture by the paparazzi. It was meant to be a public appearance for the sake of a public appeared but Ransom found himself genuinely enjoying the outdoor skating experience.

“Ransom Drysdale seen skating in public with his girlfriend. Watch the tender moment when he helps her as she falls-!” You we’re making fun of the situation all night, creating faux headlines under your breath while he skated with you.

“Don’t push it.” Ransom caught you as you fell, lifting you back to your feet before you touched ice. “Have you ever skated before?”

“I should’ve mentioned it before-“ Ransom had cut you off when he turned and blocked you from view of one of the more intrusive photographers, growling a warning when he came too close.

“I’ll break the camera on the ice if you come within another foot of my omega.” He threatened, holding you to his chest. “Take your pictures from afar like everyone else.”

“Ransom Drysdale,” you mumbled against his Burberry coat, “alpha threatening a photographer when he gets too close.”

“Let’s just finish this so I can have whiskey and go home.” He snarked, pulling away with a huff. “Keep making your fake bullshit titles.”

Regardless of the snark, Ransom kept a tight hold on your hand to keep you behind him while his eyes never quite left the crowds as if he was trying to analyze them for threats against you.

TOH:

The frozen pond not far from the house was swept off and ready for you. Ari had met you outside with a pair of skates and a helmet, for you of course, prepared for skating in the clear winter afternoon.

He had surprised you by admitting he was getting the pond ready for you, just as he had surprised you by building a mini sledding hill if you wanted it. Ari was determined to make your winter at home as much as possible.

“I haven’t been skating in a while,” Ari had slipped his skates on and tied them securely before he stood and stepped onto the ice, “give me some leniency.”

“Those Werebear genes don’t translate well to balance?” You teased as you skated by him and gave him a gentle push, laughing when he stumbled slightly.

“I could if I was my bear, but-“ Ari had regained his Blanche and began skating slowly, stumbling twice more before you came to rescue him.

“Call it an excuse to hold my hands.”

Silverfox!Johnny Storm:

His hands were warm enough but still he slipped a pink crocheted toque onto your head with a pair of matching mitts, arranging them in a way that left you cozy. When he was satisfied he had kissed your forehead and tightened the scarf around the neckpiece of your jacket, softly muttering.

“So this-“

“-just you and me, little ember.” He pulled away and searched your face, his silver streaked hair and light beard showed his increase in age yet his crystalline blue eyes were still vibrant with youth.

“Our first date?” You hummed, looking behind you to the empty and famous NYC ice rink. “And you rented the entire thing?”

“I wanted privacy.” Johnny had looked you over once before he grasped your hand in his and led you away from the sidewalk toward the entrance of the rink. “And you said you wanted to go ice skating.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to make you rent out the entire Rockefeller rink.” You waited for him to step onto the ice and then you followed, first skating along the edge before you followed him further onto the ice.

“Trust me,” Johnny skated around to stand behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders, “this is the perfect moment. You and me, no one else…”

“It is beautiful,” you we’re amazed, really you were, at the state of his fantastic idea, “but do I really deserve it?”

“Baby!” Johnny scolded you, swatting your ass with a grin. “Don’t make me spoil you without limits, because I will over and over until you learn your place as my cute little princess.”

“Limits,” you spun to face him, “you agreed to limits, Johnny.”

“Did I?” He pulled you into a hug, dancing slowly with you on the ice. “Should’ve gotten it in writing.”

#imaginedreamwrite’s christmas countdown #imaginedreamwrite’s countdown to christmas #Christmas countdown day 9 #countdown to Christmas Day 9

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Welcome back to another installment of Rating Beatle Eras By What They Looked Like! (Still kinda working on the title 😅)

Part 2: Ringo 🥰 Now our sweet bby Bongo has had many eras so let's get right into it 😁

Stormy Hurricane (Pre-Beatles Era)

Now I will say out of all the Beatles, Ringo definitely looked the best in the Teddy Era

The bit of facial hair he has paired with that sleek silver streak is totally working for him

Plus I see that he knew rings were going to be his theme from the very beginning

7/10 we're starting off pretty strong here and I hope it stays that way lol

Tough Guy Attitude (1962)

Honestly still giving Teddy Era vibes even though he looks completely different

Ringo had baby bangs before they were cool

I know the outfit is kinda basic but he looks fabulous anyway

8/10 nothing too extravagant but he's still handsome regardless

Aspiring CEO of a Hairdressing Franchise (1963-64)

The Mop Top has officially emerged

I feel like if he wasn't a musician the hairdresser thing would've totally worked out

The look is softer than the previous two eras and I feel like that suits him better

8/10 again because even though it's a simple look he still rocks it

Human Sacrifice (1965-66)

I know y'all thought this hairstyle was atrocious but I gotta be honest it's not THAT bad

Like in the Help! movie I thought he looked really cute, and in '66 his hair is the same just longer

I will agree though that the whole longer sideburns thing did very little to help this look lmao

8.5/10 and I know that's a high score but he looks adorable and I will stand by that

Master's Degree From Fashion School (1967)

No because I love this. I used to not like it but now I love it

This era didn't feel like Ringo to me at first which is why I didn't like it, but now I see how he embodies it and I'm so into it

This photo doesn't even need to be in color for me to know there are probably 17 different colors in that outfit and I fucking love that

10/10 and I also love that little pin he's wearing it's so sweet

Textbook Definition of Tareme (1968) (pls google tareme if you don't know what it means I don't know how to explain it)

RICHIEEEEE MY SWEET BABYYYYY 🥺💕

He officially entered Poor Little Meow Meow status when he looked like this and I will not accept criticism

I know I didn't choose a picture from it but the Mad Day Out photoshoot I'm- he looked so precious

1000/10 I want to hug and kiss him NOW 😤

Tumble Starker (1969)

AWOOGA (sorry)

Ringo's best era change my mind (you can't)

I know it looks super similar to the previous one but there is something different here. The last one was cute this is just sexy I mean we can't lie

37561239/10 this man could do anything he wants to me 🥴🥴🥴

500 BC Genetics (1970)

I'm- no. I'm sorry I can't.

Richie bby what were you thinking

He looks like he's wearing his hair and beard like a bicycle helmet

1/10 only because I like his outfit. The rest is unredeemable.

Jesus Impersonator (1971)

The hair is cool but I'm not liking the beard so much

His sense of style is still going strong but between the last era and this I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster

How does his hair grow so fast

5/10 I'm going right in the middle because I neither love nor hate this

Full Coverage (1972)

Well would you look at that the hair got better and the beard got worse

I swear he must secretly be one of those hair salon dolls where you press a button and their hair grows like ten inches in two seconds because HOW

I mean I'm sure it keeps his face warm so I guess that's a plus

6/10 I like it slightly more than Jesus Impersonator but not by much

That'll Be The Slay (1973)

This look had me twirling my hair and giggling like bro he's so fine omg 🥵

I usually don't like this hairstyle but it so works on him

Plus the star earrings are yoU KIDDING ME

100/10 also his character deserved SO MUCH BETTER IN THIS MOVIE I'M STILL MAD ABOUT IT 😤😤😤

Beard Redemption Arc (1974)

What a surprise the beard is back

But would you believe me if I said I liked it this time

It's like a combination of the last two eras and I think I've finally found a hair and beard combo I appreciate

7.5/10 a pretty damn good hair to beard ratio

The Rise of the Silver Streak (1975)

WE HAVE OUR FIRST DILF ERA Y'ALL

I know he had already been a Dad for several years at this point, but this is the first era to actually exude that dilf energy we all know and love

Also I know that the little silver streak in his hair can be seen in many previous eras as well but I feel like he really embraced it here idk

9/10 I'm really vibing with this one

Character Development (1976)

Why does every person who has such luscious hair have that one era where they decide to chop it all off

I mean if I remember correctly he was going through a lot during this time so maybe he just needed a drastic change or something

I do appreciate the silver streak being on FULL DISPLAY

4.5/10 not for me but I respect it

Ognir Rrats (1977-80)

I must say his fashion was on point during this time

A lot of these eras start to blend together after a while since they all look pretty similar lmao

But that doesn't mean that the quality factor goes away. He still manages to pull off most of them

8/10 and the Ognir Rrats movie lives in my brain rent free

YMCA (1981-82)

SEXY COP RINGO NATION RISE UP

Why does he look so good like this omg

I'm not even attracted to the cop uniform usually but I guess that's just the power of Ringo

9/10 this is my guilty pleasure Ringo era

*asdfmovie voice* I Like Trains (1983-86)

Even though I wasn't born yet when Ringo was the Thomas the Tank Engine narrator I somehow still remember hearing his voice when I watched it as a kid

Which is even wilder because he was the narrator for the UK version and I live in America

The conductor look does suit him though

8/10 because watching the show now and hearing him make little voices for all the different trains is top tier comedy

Commercial King (1987-88)

Ringo did more ad cameos in this era than I can count

I'm also confused about the commercials where he couldn't even actually try the product because of his food sensitivities (looking at you, Pizza Hut)

This era is similar to Rise of the Silver Streak, except a little less dilf and a little more "rockstar who wants to branch out and try new things"

8/10 and if you haven't seen the commercial he did for a Japanese sparkling apple juice company, I highly suggest you watch it it's hilarious 🤭

Volleyball Player Braids (1989)

You either get the title or you don't there's no in between

These little braids both suited him and looked very out of place

At least his hair was long enough again to the point where he could braid it

7/10 not my favorite, but he looked good and he knew it too

Experimentation (1990-92)

This is pretty much his default look at this point but the title does have a purpose

He had a mullet briefly in '91 and then promptly got rid of it lmao

Something tells me he made the right choice because despite not choosing a photo of it, it honestly didn't look that great

7/10 I respect him for not only experimenting but acknowledging when something is not working for him

Classic Rock Chic (1993-96)

When I tell you this look goes SO HARD 🥵

He IS a rockstar and is making sure everyone is gonna know it

I know he looked like this for about four years but I wish it lasted longer. This look peaked in '95 and there was nothing else like it 😌

25/10 I feel like I have to file this under the dilf category because I'm too attracted to it for it to be anything else 🤭💕

Fountain of Youth (1997-2020)

I am not joking when I say that he looked EXACTLY the same for TWENTY-THREE YEARS STRAIGHT

He cut his hair short again in '97 and then said fuck it we're staying like this

I do think it's funny how he had so many different eras when he was younger and once he entered his sixties he just found one he liked and stuck with it

5.5/10 I guess the short hair suits him but I'm just admiring the fact that he wanted something more low maintenance as he got older lol

All-Starr (2021-Present Day)

His hair is longer again and honestly I think he looks great

I love that the earrings and ombre sunglasses have not left since the 70s/80s because I absolutely love them

The peace sign necklace is also a serve and I'm not ashamed to say that he is the reason I bought one that looks exactly like it 🤭

8.5/10 he's really just adopted that rich guy aesthetic where he either dresses so cool it makes him look thirty years younger or he just wears tracksuits 90% of the time and honestly I love that for him 😌💕

#I thought the first one took long this took me almost two days lmao #Oddly enough for some eras it's really difficult to find HD photos of Ringo #ringo starr #richard starkey #the beatles #beatles #george harrison #john lennon #paul mccartney

[jellsmells]

compilation of every character description i caught in the great library series while listening to the audiobooks (might be unreadable for anyone but me—esp bc these r from every single book w no clarification of which parts r from which books and r just dumped haphazardly into my notes—but if u can decipher it, it might b useful!):

Jess: 16/17, tattoo of a closed book on his chest over his heart, scars/cuts on his hands

Brendan: shaggy hair, can raise one eyebrow, tiny scar on his chin, scar on his upper face (“as if he hadn’t a care in the world except for the bloody wound in his head”)

Liam: sharp nose, shaggy blonde-ish hair, died at 17

Thomas: blonde hair, pale eyebrows, blue eyes, is large (looked big enough to bend iron, mugs look like teacups in his hands), neat square writing not a spare loop or line

Khalila: hijabi, dark skin, intense big brown eyes, can also raise one eyebrow, short, dimples, wide eyes

Glain: “raw-boned”, long legs, not light, curling brown hair, dark eyes, tall, chopped her dark hair closer for convenience/short-cropped, solid curves of endurance and strength, warm woody brown skin under sun, sharp impatient print, three tattoos

Zara: dark green eyes, dark round face

Anit: copper skin, straight black dark hair worn in a shoulder length cut, petite and pretty, ring necklace, 14 in paf

Dario: bronze skin, wavy black hair, a goatee, black/dark brown eyes, very white teeth, light muscle, shadow of a beard, longer hair

Wolfe: black eyes, dark skin, shoulder length black and grey hair

Santi: hazel eyes, tattoo inked high on his bicep is a lion, unscarred face, not overly tall, sharp chin, long straight nose, heavy dark brows, close cropped dark hair, deep brown Italian, lines on his face

Morgan: light brown honey eyes, pale skinned with lustrous brown hair, thin and smoothly curved, pointed chin

Brightwell: a smaller man, runted in his youth

Mrs brightwell: ash blonde hair streaks of silver

Danton: pale with flaxen blonde hair, eyes more silver than blue, light grey eyes

Artifex magnus: white hair shorn close to the scalp, square face that’s lean and strong, frosted blue eyes like winter, purple robes, gnarled fingers, old man/old face, shocking white beard, intimidating

Keria Morning: tall bronze woman, sharp features, backswept dark hair that falls to her waist, streaked with silver, LOOKS nearly 50 according to jess

Neksa: hair swept back in a braided queue, pretty, shark cheekbones, blushed copper skin, Egyptian

Eskander: silver hair cascading over his shoulders dark eyes dark amber skin

#the great library #the great library series #the great library fanart #ink and bone #paper and fire #ash and quill #smoke and iron #sword and pen #jess brightwell #brendan brightwell #glain wathen #thomas schreiber #morgan hault #christopher wolfe #dario santiago #khalila seif #niccolo santi #neksa #anit

[birchwoodbark]

@shmorp-mcdurgen

HI! THIS IS PROBABLY REALLY OUT OF CHARACTER AND CRINGE BUT. I TRIED

ermnh.

TW: body horror, character death, blood. ask to tag if you need to.

(also idk how to do the 'read more' thing 💔)

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A man stood in the night sky, nearby street lights glowing a gentle amber color into the alleyways. Three people were cornered between two paths by the man in the sky.

The man's chestnut colored hair was messy, caked in blood, and cut unevenly in the back. His gray hoodie wasn't much cleaner, bloody and coated in grime; his pink sweatpants and gray socks had obviously followed suit. A shiny, golden cross floated in front of his chest, tied into a thread-like material around his neck. His blackened hands rested at his sides and his face was nothing more than an eye, an eyebrow, and a lower jaw with a set of teeth. His eye lacked an iris, just the sclera and a large, void-like pupil were present. Everything else seemed to have been lost within the void his shattered face exposed. He seemed to be enraged and excited at the same time.

Between the alternate and his targets stood a tall man. His dark, thin hair was pulled into a small bun, he had a small beard and a mustache, a vertical scar on his upper left lip. He wore silver, circular earrings, a black jacket, dusty blue jeans, black knee braces, and black military combat boots. His jacket had a silver zipper, the slider pulled to the top, and had three bold, yellow letters on the upper left side, "BPS". His shoelaces were double knotted, the laces were pulled into a way that the boots clung to him tightly. The belt he wore had a brown gun holster clipped on his right side, the pistol still inside. He held a shotgun, aimed up at the alternate.

The two people hiding behind the tall man were both younger and shorter than him. One was a woman, the other was a man.

The woman had a similar appearance to the alternate, almost like they were related… and, funnily enough, they were.

Her chestnut hair was rather long, styled similarly to the alternate's, but was evidently cared for. It was free of tangles and dirt, split ends being far and few between. Her green eyes were staring at the alternate, almost making eye contact. She wore a jacket identical to the man standing in front of her, dark gray jeans, and brown sneakers. Her shoelaces were tied in a similar fashion to the tall man's.

The other man had wavy black hair, a streak of gray took the edge of his hair that rested over the right side of his forehead. His face was pale compared to the rest of his body, a look of absolute horror had taken his expression; his brown eyes were wide as dinner plates, maybe even a bit wider. He saw that alternate before, and seeing it again dug up all the trauma he was faced with that night. 

The loss of his best friend, the cacophony from the phone, his mother crucified, "Mark" chasing him, his car flipping several times after skidding off the road, the agony from the shattered glass and the tumbling, having no choice but to abandon the home he knew, practically dragging himself to Bythorne…

His black, BPS jacket was unzipped, a white button-up shirt underneath. He wore blue jeans and red high-tops, his dirty, white shoelaces were tied looser than the others'. He had his arms wrapped around himself, struggling to breathe. The woman was half hugging him, trying to provide comfort without letting her guard down.

"I'm a lucky man today, aren't I? The two people I've spent years searching for, right here… I'll have to do something to praise Jonah for being truthful about this." The alternate spoke, twisted glee in all the voices he spoke with. His tone then suddenly shifted to one of annoyance. "Don't you dare ruin this for me, Adam."

A vaguely familiar figure walked over disturbingly. He was at least 7 feet tall, his neck was freakishly long, a disturbing grin on his face. His dusty blond hair was short, his fluffy bangs covering his forehead. Like the alternate in the sky, he had no irises, though his pupils were far more dilated.

His arms were long and full of horrific bends, almost as if the bones had broken apart over and over and over again. His hands touched the ground as he walked over, his legs having unnatural joints as well. Not only was his right leg longer than his left, it also had an extra joint. He was wearing a BPS jacket, black fingerless gloves, blue ripped jeans, and black hightops. His shoelaces were tucked inside his shoes. As he moved, his joints popped and cracked, the sound making Seth reflexively wince a few times.

"Maaark, can't I say hi to my frieennds? I haven't seen themmm in foreveerrrr!" Adam whined like a little kid, almost mockingly. "Plleeeaaaaaseeee?"

"Actually... Go ahead. Would you like to tell them about what happened in the winter of 1998? I'm sure that they're dying to know what happened." Mark spoke, making sure all the voices that came with his own were at a speaking volume, he wanted his words to be clear.

Seth and Sarah were immediately distraught upon hearing the proposal, their faces slightly pale. They wondered what actually had happened to Adam and Jonah for so long, but they realized right then and there that they didn't want to know. 

"Don't mind if I do!" Adam giggled. "You guys know what happened to the last Adam, right?"

Terrified silence was the only reply. Seth was starting to tremble slightly and tears began collecting in his eyes. Sarah began fully hugging Cesar. 

The topic of their missing friends tore the majority of their attention away from Mark. Mark took the opportunity to rip Seth's guns away from him.

"H–HEY! YOU BASTARD!" Seth yelled before witnessing his pistol get disassembled and his shotgun get crumpled up into a ball like a sheet of paper.

"The fall broke his neck, Seth." Mark stated coldly in Seth's head. "You need to at least pay attention to him. He's talking to you, quit being rude."

Seth didn't want to look away from Mark, but the same force that took his guns turned him towards Adam. The tears in his eyes completely blurred his vision.

"His head hit the ground and his neck snapped in two! It was kinda like this." Adam snapped his neck to the side, laughing. Sarah saw that and quickly buried her face into Cesar's shoulder. Mark decided to let her be since she was somewhat facing Adam. Really, the only thing they all needed to do was to listen.

"Jonah witnessed it, and you know what he did? He got in the car and sped off!" Adam cackled as he snapped his neck back in place. "Mark chased him into a field and, here's the best part…"

Adam went into excruciating detail of how a once boisterous teen became a depressed and immortal puppet. Seth began sobbing and Cesar, who had only recently broke free from the flashbacks, was crying a little, too. He never met Adam or Jonah, but that type of fate was horrific, victims known or not.

Sarah was no longer holding onto Cesar, she was furious. The blazing rage in her eyes almost made it seem they were about to burst into flames, glaring at Mark as Adam left. She walked out from behind Seth, ignoring his protests. He had tried to grab her a few times but she avoided his grasp.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! You KILLED Adam and STRIPPED Jonah of his HUMANITY and JOY. WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?!" Sarah shouted, agitating Mark into yelling, too.

"I'M HERE TO TAKE MY REVENGE, SARAH. CESAR LED ME TO MY DEATH, AND NOBODY CAME TO HELP ME. MY CRIES AND PRAYERS WERE UNHEARD BY ALL." He spoke, hundreds of voices screeching with him. "NOT EVEN YOU CAME TO HELP. YOU LEFT YOUR OWN BROTHER TO DIE."

"LOOK, I'M SORRY MARK, BUT HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE HOW SELFISH YOU'RE BEING?! YEAH, SURE, YOU CAN BE MAD AT US ALL YOU WANT, BUT YOU NEED TO THINK ABOUT ALL YOU'VE DONE. JONAH AND ADAM DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOUR DEATH!"

"HE LEFT ADAM TO DIE. HE FLED. HE DID WHAT YOU AND CESAR DID TO ME."

"NO, NO, NO. MARK, YOU SELFISH BAST—"

Sarah suddenly collapsed, a brick and a few loose chunks of concrete had smashed into the side of her head. She was completely silent, her head bleeding heavily; a blood puddle was already forming and soaking into her hair and clothes. Her eyes were already staring distantly, though her hair had fallen over the majority of her face, making it difficult to notice.

Seth was sobbing even harder, now trying to protect Cesar. Mark raised one of his darkened hands, and upon hearing Cesar panicking, he realized his attempt failed.

[…]

Seth was all alone. There wasn't the BPS anymore. The only friend he still had was Cesar, the poor guy was constantly scared and suffering. 

He no longer had a face, ears, and hands. His skin had consumed all of it. His nose was gone and his eye sockets were all that was left of his eyeballs. His ulnas and radiuses were exposed, the bones blackened.

Seth wanted to help him so badly, but deep down he knew there was nothing he could do.

He realized that there was something but he instantly slapped himself mentally for coming up with the idea.

But... it wasn't like he had any other ideas.

#tmc alternate au #the mandela catalogue #tw: body horror #tw: character death #tw: blood #ask to tag #alt mark #alt adam #adam murray #< mentioned #jonah marshall #< also mentioned. human and alt #cesar torres #sarah heathcliff #seth greer (tmc) #alt cesar

[binarywaltz]

i realize i have not posted here much, so here's one to try and compensate for that! these characters are all from ANOMIE, a personal project of mine i've been working on for the past half year or so.

third image is heavily based off a photograph by gie knaeps (for getty images) of brian molko

image description(s) under cut

image 1: digital illustration of a group photo of anomie, a fictional band, consiting of marco, rice, eulalie, and Q. they are all wearing colors of their respective pride flags. marco, a half human half frog man, has eyeshadow in the colors of the aromantic and bi flag, with a boa with the colors of the trans flag. he wears interlocked male symbol necklace and double crescent earring. rice, a werewolf, has streaks of trans flag colors in hir hair and a non-binary bracelet, with generally subtle allusions to their identity. eulalie, a mantis, is in full rivethead fashion, with an aegosexual flag stiched into her top, parts of her beanie, and a lesbian flag coat tied around her waist. she also has an asexual symbol on a choker and a belt with interlocked female symbols. Q is a rusted one eyed robot with a curled antennae on their head with a light bulb at the end, like that of a female angler fish. it wears a shirt with the aroace flag colors on one side, ties around the cords on their arm in the colors of the gay flag, and a skirt with colors of the non-binary flag. they all strike poses and smile. [end id]

image 2: digital illustration of Q from anomie. they stand on a pier at the beach, wearing a sun hat with flowers, a bathing suit with a pattern of lemons, and a multicolored shoulder bag. on one hand, they wear a falcon glove, with a barn owl perched upon their gloved hand. [end id]

image 3: digital illustration of marco from anomie. he is younger than he appears in the first image, with a differently shaved beard and hair partially dyed blue and in braids that gradiate to red. a microphone obscures a small part of his face as he smiles, looking out at presumably a crowd. he hugs his guitar, a fender player stratocaster. [end id]

image 4: digital illustration of marco and rice from anomie. they both look significantly younger than the first image: marco has long, teal hair that fades downwards into red, and no beard or tail. rice has shorter , silver ombre hair, and fur around their muzzle that looks like a beard. their backs are turned to the viewer, faces visible as they face eachother, standing in front of a huge, theatrical curtain. marco looks at rice with a surprised and curious expression, raising his eyebrows far above his glasses. rice glares angrily at him, putting their ears back and frowning. marco grips his pants with his frog hands, seemingly about to take them off, with his boxers low enough to see his lower back. a slightly smeared lipstick kiss is partially visible above his boxers. [end id]

image 5: digital illustration of marco and eulalie from ANOMIE. marco is talking, raising a frog hand and tilting his head to look at eulalie. he wears a jacket and pink t-shirt, and eulalie wears a black bandana and her usual rivethead fashion. behind them is a very blurry city. [end id]

#art #digital art #my art #roly art #ANOMIE #2023 #july 2023 #original characters

[ashes-writing-corner]

In the Heart of Winter

Chapter 3

The Seiya family weren't far from behind the Lorcains and Nevrakis. Unlike the other families, who had four children, House Seiya had five. It would've been only four however if Mika had her way. The way she saw it, one of them didn't belong here amongst her children.

The oldest of them, following behind his father, was Akio. He was his father's spitting image and many thought, at least when Daimon was younger, that the two were eerily similar. Akio was tall like his mother but that was end all be all of his similarities to the queen of spring. His jet black hair was a tad unruly, but kept neat and clean. His clothing was very much the same as his father's, though his were more decorative with embroidered gold dragons on either side of his chest. He had been told to shave his growing beard before the ceremony but the oldest spring prine had refused, as he was very proud of his facial hair and wanted to grow it to be even grander than his father's. A competition for sure, but for once a rather light hearted one.

Behind him was his sister, Rika, who looked every bit like her mother. Like Akio, Rika wore her family's colors proudly. Her hair was kept down and was slightly windswept, but it only served to add to her beauty. Around her head she wore a silver circlet that was decorated with amethysts and silk purple flowers on the sides. Her hair was elegantly decorated with glass beads of purple and red, made to look as if she wore purple blossoms in her hair. Rika had thought of wearing a poppy somewhere on her person, but felt as though it would clash with the rest of her outfit. Much like her mother, Rika was very vain and took a lot of pride in her appearance.

Behind Rika, side by side, were her twin younger brothers, Makio and Motoaki. Their birth had been controversial as twins were rare for elves. Rarer still were identical twins. The poison queen had high hopes for both a son and a daughter, for political as well as social reasons. It was said the queen's disappointment in two sons was immeasurable. The boys were both long haired, thought Makio kept his a bit wilder. Makio had a slightly rounder face than his brother, and his purple eyes were framed with thin round glasses. Motoaki was rather boyish in appearance, with a strong build. He was young, but had already made a shocking reputation for himself. If rumors were to be believed, the youngest spring prince was already a womanizer and a drunk. He snuck out of the palace at night and started fights all for his own entertainment.

If that wasn't bad enough, he had been the one to give Leonidas Nevrrakis the scars on his cheek...

Behind the twins was the last of House Seiya, although she was the second eldest. Kyriake Seiya was a controversial figure in and of herself. She was known to most of Iorera as the Bastard of Spring, or the Poppy's Daughter. The Bastard of Ixose. She had many titles, most of which she strived to ignore. Kyriake was the daughter of Daimon Seiya and the very concubine it was said to have taken his eye. She was half summer elf on her mother's side, as her green eyes indicated. Furthermore, she also had chestnut streaks through her otherwise ebony hair. She wasn't as tight and in control as the others in her family and held herself with a quiet air of confidence and humility. She had refused to wear a poppy anywhere on her person, opting instead to wear an amethyst around her neck.

An amethyst that wsas once believed to be her father's eye.

The children of each house stood along the dark walls of the temple, keeping a safe distance from the already smoking cauldron that stood at the center of the chamber. All of the elves were soon in that very chamber, cramped in the small dank space. Siobhan looked around in wonder, as from the ancient stone carvings on the walls to the high ceiling, she thought the temple a marvel despite its age. The Autumn princess gently touched one of the carvings, shaped into a long serpentine beast.

Neassa stepped foward, the signature dagger of her family in her hands. Siobhan peered over at Seoc, who smiled and winked in response. The Dagger of Ualan had been passed down from one generation of Lorcain to the next. Upon the death of Alasdair, Neassa had passed it to Seoc, as Aislinn had no interest in it. Every one thousand years, the dagger spilled royal blood in a ceremony known as the Passing and the Merging. This was the purpose of the families gathering in this most sacred and ancient of spots today.

Neassa looked over at Demetrius and Daimon, beckoning them to the Cauldron's edge. The queen then addressed everyone in attendance.

"Although House Eronen has yet to make an appearance, it is important that we proceed with the Passing and the Merging now. Upon this day, the twenty first day of the ninth month in the four thousandth year, the future of Iorera will be determined. Upon the crowning of the new king or queen, Winter shall reign over all of Iorera" Neassa looked at all the younger elves in the chamber, "As per tradition, blood shall decide which family you wed into, and who shall inherit the thrones of the four seasons".

Neassa unsheathed the Dagger of Ualan. "As current ruler, albeit by marriage, I shall go first, to determine if my blood is worthy".

She moved to make the first cut and the room fell into silence. The world seemed to hold its breath as she put the blade to her hand. But before Neassa could make the cut, the doors of the temple flew open, a blast of icy wind blowing through all in atteendance. A resounding roar pierced the air, and then another, coming from the entrance. The elves all turned to see two enormous white wyverns standing at the entrance of the temple. They appeared to be restless and the elves were immediately on the defensive. Any who had weapons on them armed themselves, ready for a fight. Another figure slowly made their way through the doors.

It wasn't an elf, at least from the shape of them. It was a man, taller than everyone there. His breath showed in small puffs of smoke as he exhaled. His skin was deep gray, likie old sea ice. His eyes were reptilian and sky blue in color. His midnight hair was wild and spiky. A pair of gray curled ram like horns crowned his head on either side. In the place of his nose were two snake like slits. He wore a long and torn black coat with a tattered dark gray scarf around his neck. He grinned, flashing eerily white fangs.

"Forgive my lateness, your grace" his voice was deep but his tone was just like the rest of him: Icy.

Neassa glared. "Who are you? State your purpose!"

The man let out a beast like growl. "Well, so much for being cordial".

"The queen has asked you a question and given you a command!" Demetrius stepped in, "Show respect to the Queen of Iorera!"

"With all due respect, she's only the current queen. The time of her power is coming to its end" he looked at Neassa, "it must be a relief your grace, no longer having to worry for an entire contient. A burden that will soon become mine".

"You aren't an elf. You have nothing to do with this. I will not say it again: Who are you and what is your purpose here?!" Neassa demanded.

"This actually now has everything to do with me. House Eronen is no more. I saw to that".

"I beg your pardon?!"

"House Eronen is dead, your grace. I killed them all. There's nothing more to it. By right, by laaw, my blood should be added to the Merging and the Passing. This was a part of the Four House Accords, as I'm sure you all know. It's an honor to meet you all and you may call me Frost".

"House Ketainen were the designated successors of House Eronen. Unless you destroyed them as well, your claim is moot" Daimon looked suspicious.

"House Ketainen has refused the role. Besides, who says elves should be the only ones to rule Iorera? Isn't it time new blood was added?".

"You knave!" Daimon drew his family's signature sickles from his belt, "You insolent-"

A blast of blue flame hit the king of spring as Frost seemed to combust. In his place stood an enormous beast, a dragon with silvery gray plate like scales that seemed to reflect blue in the faint light. His claws and teeth were ivory in color, and his eyes were the same as in his previous shape. As were his curled horns. Down the length of his neck were a trio of vertical spinal frills. Frost let out a roar that shook the sanctum.

"It is my RIGHT!" Frost growled and whipped his long tail, "I destroyed House Eronen, their place and power is now mine. I am to be your king! Deny me my right and I will steep all of Iorera into eternal winter, and with the ring of Alrik you all know damn well that I can!" the dragon threatened, though most of them knew it was a promise with House Eronen's ring involved.

With the Ring of Alrik, the wearer could control all things winter. It would enhance and amplify this dragon's powers, and that was something Iorera would never survive. With everything at stake, the stand off couldn't last.

"Why did you destroy House Eronen?" Neassa asked, her tone quiet and solemn.

The dragon peered down at her. "My reasons are complicated. But to put it simply: They were awful. They weren't fit to rule Iorera. They were a disgrace. You elves think so highly of yourselves. You think that you're the dominant ones because you overthrew the fae? Because you cast out all of the humans in Iorera? You're no better than either of them. You're nothing more than the new oppressors".

"We don't seek to oppress anyone" Demetrius argued.

"Of course not. No one ever seeks to oppress anyone. But time and arrogance has an effect on people and it seems you all have reached that point" Frost growled, "It's time that you all remember your place. And you will...with me as your king".

"My father wasn't arrogant" Siobhan spoke out, "Papa didn't do what he did out of arrogance" she balled her hands into fists, "My father was a good man. He was a good king. The humans gave him no choice, they were going to take everything".

Frost turned his attention to the red haired princess who dared to defy him. "From what I understand yes, Alasdair Lorcain was a good man and king. Honorable some would say. And yet he seemed blind to the inborn arrogance of elves...as are you, little one".

The dragon stepped over the elf rulers and toward the cauldron. "In the absence of House Eronen, I declare myself king of Zaigary, Lord of Winter, and future King of Iorera".

Before anyone could object, the dragon clawed his own palm and let the blood flow into the cauldron. His blood was a glistening, almost sparkling red, steam seemed to roll off of it as it spilled. The elves watched with a mix of awe, wonder, and shock as the smoke from the cauldron turned blue. The dragon had been accepted into the ritual.

"That...that's not possible" Mika quivered and paled visibly.

"It appears so" Frost growled and in a flash of blue flames returned to his more human like form, "Come then...shall we proceed? he turned to Neassa, Daimon, and Demetrius.

The veiled queen took a deep breath and stepped up to the cauldron, the dagger still in her hand. She couldn't believe this had happened. A dragon ruling Iorera was unheard of, and never before had she thought it would happen. Regardless, whatever higher powers that were, they had deemed the beast worhty. Neassa cut her hand.

"I am Neassa of the House Lorcain. I am Queen of Elisal and Lady of Autumn. I am the current ruler of Iorera" she proclaimed as the blood poured into the cauldron.

The smoke turned from blue to red in approval. Despite being only royal by marriage, Neassa and her blood were deemed worthy.

"Demetrius Nevrakis, step forward please" she said.

The summer lord stepped up to her side. "I am Demetrius of the House Nevrakis. I am King of Thilux and Lord of Summer" he offered his hand to cut.

The queen nodded and swiped his hand. The blood flowed and the smoke turned from red to purple. He and his blood were worthy.

The veiled queen looked at Daimon. "Seiya Daimon, come forward please".

The king of spring glared at the dragon and made his way forward. He extended his hand to the queen's blade.

"I am Daimon of the House Seiya. I am King of Xisha and Lord of Spring".

He didn't even flinch or cease tro glare as the Dagger of Ualan spilled his blood into the cauldron. He only took a breath. There seemed to be a second's hesitation as the smoke turned from purple to green. Mika let out a breath that she had been holding, as it was confirmed as Daimon and his blood were worthy.

"All four rulers have been approved" Neassa declared as she sheathed the dagger, "Now is the time for the passing. As the current ruler, the fate of my house shall be decided first. Aislinn, Seoc, Siobhan, and Seoras...come".

The four Lorcain siblings stepped forward in the order of their birth. Aislinn came to her mother first, who put her hands on her eldest's shoulders.

"Are you ready?" Neassa asked.

Aislinn nodded. "I am".

Neassa nodded and took up a small stone cup, dipping it in the cauldron. The liquid inside appeared to be simple water, but the elves knew it was infused with the leftover power of the fae, the power of Destiny. Aislinn kneeled before her mother, her head down in submission. Neassa held the cup over her head and poured the contents on to her daughter. As soon as the liquid touched her head, it turned from clear to gold.

Destiny had chosen Aislinn to rule Elisal.

"Fate has granted you, Aislinn Leitis Lorcain, your birthright. May you rule long and well" Neassa bowed her head as her daughter rose

Aislinn let out a trembling she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She was honestly not expecting this. She shivered as a chill went through her. Aislinn could only say a soft thank you as she and her siblings moved back, as there was no need for further pourings.

Siobhan felt her heart hammer in her chest. Aislinn would be staying in Elisal, so there was a good chance that she would be leaving. She would either be married off to another house or to the dragon. She had a hard time thinking of which was worse: House Seiya or Frost.

Frost peered over at the younger Autumn princess who he had caught briefly staring at him. He hissed lightly and flicked his tongue out at her. It was partly to get her to stop staring, and other partly to get her to pay attention to the situation at hand. It was time for the next summer ruler to be determined.

The process for this was the same, with oddly the same result. Iris was chosen to inherit Thilux. Demetrius and Maia were proud and happy beyond words. It seemed fate was favoring the eldest this time around.

That was until the Seiya children stepped forward. The five stopped before Neassa, Akio kneeling first. The veiled queen poured the cup, but seemingly nothing came out of it. Akio was not meant to rule Xisha. Daimon balled his fist and Mika looked concerned. Neassa raised a brow behind her veil as she moved to princess Rika.

Neassa poured.

Nothing.

It wasn't Rika's destiny to rule either.

Mika held on to her husband's arm, looking nervous as Neassa moved to Makio. The boy had a humble look as he too kneeled, his forehead actually touching his knee.

Everyone held their breath as the queen poured.

Nothing, once again.

At this point, Daimon's knuckles were white. The Nevrakis siblings were grinning amusedly at each other. The Lorcains were a mix of concerned and amused.

Motoaki hesitantly kneeled, a prideful smirk on his face. Today was finally the day. A day he had been waiting for his whole life. The day he would finally be declared-

Nothing.

The spring prince opened his eyes widely as he realized. "No!" the boy stood angrily, "It lies! There's no way THAT" he pointed at Kyriake, "Is meant to rule Xisha! That's a bastard! A whore's spawn!"

Kyriake glared but said nothing. The queen of spring stood. "Agreed! A bastard is unfit to sit the throne of spring!"

Frost growled. What did it matter if the girl was a bastard? She had the king's blood and destiny clearly cared more for blood than legitimacy.

"Sit!" Neassa yelled at Mika and looked at the last Seiya child, "Come...let's see if you truly are chosen".

The bastard of Xisha kneeled on both knees before the queen of Autumn. Amidst protests from Mika, Neassa poured over Kyriake's head.

Gold.

Kyriake was the heir to House Seiya. The Bastard of Spring...was to be queen. It was a historical moment, as it was a first in Iorera's history that an illegitimate child was to succeed a royal parent. The young woman stood, shaking as she sobbed a little.

"Thank you" she looked up at Neassa, "Thank you".

"It's not me you should thank, dear girl. It is whatever higher power you choose to believe in".

Kyriake nodded and turned to walk away. Mika watched, absolutely furious. How could this be? How could that wretched whore spawn possibly be more worthy than her own trueborn children?

"The Passing is complete. Due to the lack of a full winter house, I fear the Merging will not be so simple" Neassa took another stone cup, "Regardless, the ceremony must be completed. My family will go first"

Aislinn, Seoc, Siobhan, and Seoras once again came forward. Neassa dipped this new cup into the cauldron and looked at her eldest. Aislinn nodded and took the cup as she took a breath. The future queen of fall closed her eyes, putting the cup to her lips. Carefully she took a drink. She felt dizzy as the cold liquid went down her throat.

Whispers crowded Aislinn's mind as if multiple voices were disputing and debating. It grew louder for several minutes, voices of various people, both those she knew and those who didn't, deliberated who her future king should be. Finally they settled and went quiet, a name burned in her mind.

"Seiya Akio" Aislinn said as she opened her eyes, "I am yours and you are mine".

The oldest spring prince stepped toward her, curious. He would need to confirm if this was true, and if it was, it meant that he would be leaving Xisha to take his place as king of Elisal. Neassa handed him the cup and he took a drink as well.

The process was much the same, but only the voices granted words of confirmation. He looked at his parents.

"The ancestors have granted me a wife, and a title. I am to be Lord of Autumn".

Daimon sighed but nodded. He had no choice but to accept it. Mika frowned and bowed her head. At least her eldest would not be married to a Nevrakis. Aislinn and Akio stepped aside, letting Seoc take his turn. The Autumn prince took the cup and drank.

He went through the same process as his sister, except he was told he would stay in Elisal, and a name was left in his mind.

"Seiya Rika" he looked at the spring princess, "I am yours, and you are mine" he offered his hand for her to take.

Rika was hesitant but took it. She was nervous as she too took her drink from the cup. She was to leave Xisha, be with Seoc Lorcain in Elisal.

"The ancestors have given me a husband and a new title. I shall wed Seoc Lorcain and become princess of Elisal".

Seoc and Rika moved away and Siobhan stepped in. Neassa dipped the cup again and put it gently in her daughter's hands. Siobhan once again felt her heart in her chest, slamming like a caged bird. Forst watched, curious as to where this elf would land. She took a drink.

At first, everything was quiet in her mind. Deathly so. Siobhan was worried, until she felt herself grow colder and colder. Voices disputed loudly before being cut off by a roar. Frightened, Siobhan nearly fell backwards before a cold hand caught her. She opened her eyes, her breath visible for a moment. Siobhan looked up to see Frost staring down at her.

"It's you...they chose you for me" Siobhan trembled from both the cold and fear.

Frost raised a brow and looked at Neassa, who had already picked up the cup and refilled it. The dragon helped steady the autumn princess before he carefully took it. He hesitated only a moment and everyone watched as the dragon took a drink. It was quiet only a moment before Frost opened his eyes, looking around the room.

"Siobhan Lorcain, I am yours and you are mine. The king has his queen" Frost confirmed as he handed the cup back to Neassa.

She was to be queen of Iorera, like her mother. Queen of Zaigary, and Lady of Winter. She could feel the color drain from her face and her blood turned to ice in her veins. Frost gently led Siobhan away, keeping a protective arm around her. Siobhan got glares from the heads of House Seiya, and looks of sympathy from the Nevrakis. She didn't say anything, still shocked over the whole thing.

Seoras was the last of House Lorcain to be decided. Even Ronan was quiet for this, understanding this moment's great importance. Neassa preseented her youngest with the cup and he graciously took it. Silent as a shadow, he took a drink, closing his eyes. A heartbeat...then another...and another...

"Reah Nevrakis" he turned to the summer princess, "I am yours, and you are mine".

Reah bowed her head. "I am yours" she stepped forward and took a drink, receiving confirmation a moment later. She looked at her parents, who were beyond proud.

"He is to come to us, to take his place as prince of summer".

Maia looked at Seoras. "You are more than welcome, dear".

The fall prince bowed his head and the couple stepped away. Neassa looked at the Seiya twins, a solemn look on her face. "I believe due to the loss of House Eronen, only one of you will get to marry into the summer court".

Makio was calm, but Motoaki looked as though he was planning a murder. Neassa handed the older twin the cup to drink from. With a soft look, Makio took the cup and drank. Everyone watched with baited breath. His amethyst eyes opened and he looked at his parents nervously.

Mika felt the blood drain from her face. Daimon also looked ready to kill. Makio stifled the urge to tremble.

"The...the ancestors have picked for me a wife. Iris Nevrakis, I am yours, and you are mine".

Iris stood with a soft smile. Makio was young, too young right now for marriage, but she would let him grow. The summer princess took a drink and confrimed what the ancestors, fate, or destiny had decided.

"Seiya Makio...I am yours and you are mine. You're to come to Thilux and take your place as future king of summer".

There could be no objections as the couple walked away. Kyriake stepped forward, a humble look on her face.

"I will accept whatever outcome the ancestors have decided for me".

Neassa nodded as she dipped the cupand gave it to the future spring queen. Everyone watched, curious as to which Nevrakis boy would rule by her side. Her eyes opened and Kyriake glanced at Leonidas.

"Leonidas Nevrakis, I am yours and you are mine" she said in a soft tone.

Leo blinked, somewhat surprised. The summer prince slowly approached as he felt Daimon's eye on him. He took the cup and drank. It was confirmed and Leo turned to his parents.

"Seiya Kyriake is mine and I am hers. I am to take my leave and become king of Xisha and lord of Spring".

Daimon clenched his fist. A foolish Nevrakis and a bastard were the heirs to his kingdom...and he could not object to it.

"And what of my son, Motoaki?" Mika asked, "Is he to gain neither title or throne?"

Forst looked at her. "Let him and the last summer boy marry as they choose. They could start two new noble-"

"My son is royalty not nobility, beast! Do not speak of things you do not know!"

Frost snarled, baring his fangs. "I am to be your king. I suggest you hold your tongue, your grace".

"I feel what the dragon proposes is a fair deal" Neassa looked at Mika and Daimon, "Allow Motoaki to marry as he so chooses, and Zoilos will be free to do the same".

"Or...there could be an alternative" Iris stepped in, "If I may be so bold to suggest, but allow me to marry both twins".

There wre mixed sounds of surprise from the crowd. The queen of spring looked mortified and then angry.

"You already have one of my sons, I will not allow you to take another!"

Daimon stood at that. "My dear wife, please sit. Enough with the dramatics. What the Nevrakis girl proposes is fair. He deserves to live as a king, and he will" the one eyed king looked at Iris, "House Seiya accepts your proposal, princess".

Iris nodded. "If it so pleases you, I also intend to let them grow. I believe a long engagement for them is in order".

Daimon looked thoughtful a moment before looking at Demetrius. He took a breath.

"Perhaps not all Nevrakis are fools. You seem to have raised this one well" Daimon turned his gaze back to Iris, "Though I do find your attire rather ridiculous".

Iris shrugged. "I'll take that as a compliment"

Neassa looked at the rulers of summer. "And what of Zoilos?"

Demetrius put a hand on his son's shoulder. "We like the idea of letting him marry as he so chooses".

The Veiled Queen gave a soft nod. "Prince Zoilos you are free to wed as you choose. And with that...the ceremony is adjourned".

If you enjoyed this chapter please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! Also please consider becoming a patron! I post lore for this story every other Monday! Thank you so much ^.^

#dragons #elves #in the heart of winter #fantasy #romance #fantasy political drama #original work

[belethlegwen]

THE STRANDING Character Descriptions Masterlist

HELLO WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW HOW SEXY EVERYONE IN THE STRANDING IS?

I have been searching face- and body- (and one butt-) claims all afternoon and OOPS, everyone in The Stranding is hot now. Sorry not sorry.

This list is technically In Progress but will I update it regularly or ever again? The future is a mystery, my friend.

NOTE: THESE PICTURES ARE BASELINE SUGGESTIONS FOR THE CHARACTERS. basically a good place to start from when coupling with the written descriptions. Please enjoy!

Here we gooooooo:

Commander Peter Martellis: Same height as Henry, slightly less built but still muscular. Fantastic legs and butt from riding horses all the time. Short dark hair with some notable gray streaks. Thick eyebrows and dark brown eyes. Well-trimmed black/dark haired beard with silver throughout. Crow's feet in the corners of his eyes, laugh-lines. Has smiled a good bit in the past. 35-36 years old

These photos were originally just going to be for hair and beard but it's just too good not to go with this face-claim in general. Case in point:

"Decorum." ->

Captain Daniel Grant: Clean shaven blonde, luxurious blonde hair that goes to his shoulders, pulled back often in a loose ponytail. Pointed face, very much a resting bitch face situation. Icy, blue-grey eyes that are VERY sharp. Slightly taller than Peter and Henry, thin and agile frame, also a competent rider, so also has nice legs and butt. 34-35 years old

This sour bastard has beautiful hair.

Corporal Lionus Ethridge: Extremely kind, bright hazel eyes. Bushy eyebrows. Slightly shorter than Peter and Henry but not by much. Soft, light-brown hair that comes to about his ears in soft waves. Light scruff usually but shaves every couple of days-- at least one or twice a week-- to avoid growing a beard of any kind. Thinner than most of the other officers, doesn't have majorly large muscles, seems mostly agility-built similar to Grant. BEST GUESS FOR AGE: Early-Mid Forties but could be as old as fifty.

He's pretty.

Second Lieutenant Edmund Miller: Broad chested, big strong shoulders. Man looks like a happy lumberjack basically all the time. Not bad with riding horses but obviously uses his arms a lot. Warm brown eyes. Taller than most in the Watch. Brown hair, always has some amount of scruff on him but never manages to have a beard, and somehow only ever is clean shaved for special occassions. 27-28 years old

If you throw these three pictures into a paint mixer and shake them all together, that's the closest I can seem to find to our beloved adorable Himbo man

Second Lieutenant Gregory Jones: Fairly plain face, blue eyes, sandy-blonde hair. Shorter than Miller but not by a lot. Very straight, proper posture. Athletic build, strong arms but not nearly as thicc a boi as Edmund. Short hair, as with most of the watch. Little longer on top, almost shaved/short face on the sides. 27-28 years old

Horse pic is his body, firefighter for face.

First Lieutenant Terrance Wells Yes his name is Terrance. "He had a serious face, his neutral expression looking like a man deep in his thoughts. Dark blonde hair, a long nose and sharp features were almost betrayed by stunning dark eyes, large and round, with a browline that seemed soft, pleasant. He was one of the taller men, with a thin, lithe frame, and as he removed his jacket to inspect the back for dirt or debris from traveling through the dusty construction zone she was reminded of male figure skaters." 27-28 years old

Adam Rippon for body (white figure skating costume), that NICE BUTT for his butt, and face for face. Wells is very pretty and has a FANTASTIC butt.

Second Lieutenant Rupert Chase Yes his name is Rupert. Brown eyes, nice eyebrows, brown hair though partially sunbleached to be a bit lighter in the summer. Looks similar to photo. 23-24 years old.

I have been looking at firefighters and cowboys and figure skaters all afternoon, it's been a good day.

First Lieutenant [Noble Guard] Francine Wright Auburn hair, tall, muscular with a stunning face. Often smiling, bright happy eyes. 26-27 years old

More muscular but this girl is her vibe.

Lance Corporal Devon Harris Moody face, dark hair (slightly longer than photo), only ever makes it to five-o-clock-shadow levels of scruff, loves to be clean shaven but his hair grows fast and thick. Dark, dark brown eyes and sharp brows. 24-25 years old

Again, darker eyes. The arsehole is pretty lookin' though.

Privates Peters, Hicks and Bartlett Original Idiot Brigade Crew with Miller and Jones. Peters has crew-clut blonde hair, Hicks has dirty-blonde/light brown hair in short, wavy locks, Bartlett is tallest of the trio with black hair, thick eyebrows. Shown in same order in the picture below. All between 23 and 26 years old

Peters, Hicks, Bartlett

Second Lieutenant Cassandra Greibes Dark skin with dark brown eyes, glossy black hair tied back in a ponytail usually. Slightly shorter than Henry and Peter, very well-built with almost a swimmer's physique. 26-27 years old

This is absolutely her face.

Lieutenant General and Duchess Ais'lyn Vogunti Brilliant red hair now with some faded areas where she's going grey, BRILLIANTLY green eyes, high cheekbones and sharp brow/chin. A LOT of laugh-lines, crows feet, etc. Still toned but not nearly as muscular as when she was active in the ranks. 47 years old. Photos similar to when she was younger, like to imagine that yellow dress photo is very close to a portrait from her youth that hangs over the fireplace in hers and the Duke's home.

Fierce fierce lady.

#g/t writing #g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t author #gtauthor #author thoughts #big little thoughts #character thoughts #faceclaims #face claims #descriptions #The Stranding