#๐ฝ๐ฐ๐๐๐ฐ๐๐ธ๐ ๐ด๐๐๐๐๐๐ด๐. an independent & selective fandomless multimuse featuring original characters in a predominantly urban fantasy / contemporary setting. [ ๐๐๐๐ณ๐ธ๐ด๐ ๐ธ๐ฝ ]: broken homes & cycles, what makes a monster, connection & isolation, what it takes to survive, intense feeling, becoming & unbecoming, and love in the little things.
closely affiliated with tattlesandtales.
โ ๐๐๐ธ๐๐๐ด๐ฝ ๐ฑ๐ ๐น. rules below the cut.
[ 01 ]: you can call me j โ my pronouns are she/they and i am in my late 20s. i would prefer my writing partners to be at least 18+ themselves. typical human and rp etiquette applies here: donโt godmod, donโt force ships/interactions, bigotry will be blocked, and just generally donโt be a dick.
[ 02 ]: this blog is mutuals only. you can absolutely message me if we are not mutuals and we can go from there, but please do not send in prompts or initiate roleplays. if we are mutuals but have not yet talked you can go buckwild, though i will end up sauntering into your messages at some point.
[ 03 ]: activity will be sporadic. i have a number of responsibilities, disabilities, and other such variability to my existence. so it will literally be a case of when the muse strikes.
[ 04 ]: this blog utilizes mild formatting in the form of small text and some bolding/italics, but no icons. if there are any issues with it for you let me know and i will refrain in my replies to you!
[ 05 ]: mature themes will be explored, but i will oscillate in terms of how comfortable i am with writing such content explicitly as that will primarily depend on the partner and the content at hand. all triggers will be tagged in the โtrigger /โ format.
[ 06 ]: multiverse and multiship. iโm a chemistry shipper and a rabid consumer of all types of dynamics be it platonic, familial, antagonistic, academic etc. iโm always willing to try something out or take it from the top if something isnโt working.
[ 07 ]: ask prompts have no expiry and i do not personally practice reblog karma. i do have an inspiration sideblog that you are free to peruse and reblog from at your will, especially as i intend to keep this blog mostly full of writing as opposed to any other content, so you will also find more fun tidbits about the muses here over there too.
[ 08 ]: if i follow, i want to write with you. asks and direct messages are always open for ooc plotting, and discord is available on request though i do not write proper threads there ( something about it just doesn't work for me no matter how hard i try! ).
Just a lil something I threw together a little while ago.
@narrativestutter (you don't need to write a reply if you don't want to but it is about your lil lover boy).
Under a read more because it's over 4k words.
The music, which had been a jaunty mix of Irish pub and American country with fiddles and whistling and โ of course โ Banjo on the, well, banjo, fizzled out into silence and while everyone applauded Banjo's newest composition, which had obviously been inspired by his Irish mumma and his Wisconsin upbringing, Lemen unhooked her arm from Mack's with a smile. Mona had initiated a circle dance of skipping and spinning from one hooked arm to the other during Banjo's demonstration, and Lemen had somehow ended exactly where she'd begun, her arm in her sister-in-law's.
Twelve years ago, when Lemen first found her way to the backyard she was standing in at that very moment, the idea that she'd one day be dancing and grinning as an almost thirty-year-old woman would have been laughable. Not only had she been an almost fatally ill sixteen-year-old, she'd been violently angry and unforgivingly mistrusting. It had taken years for Lemen to trust the other teenagers and the adults who had lived in Mona's home, but somewhere along the way, they had become her family. For some, like Mack and her younger brother, it was more than just in spirit but also legally, as Lincoln had married Lemen's own brother some five years prior. For others, like Honey and Banjo, it was no more legal than the weed growing in the greenhouse 20 feet away, but even more real than she could have ever expected.
Thank you, Banjo signed after bowing, before putting his oldest possession neatly to the side so he could set up the playlist that he had interrupted for his impromptu performance.
The crowd that had formed the circle dance thinned out a bit as people returned to their half-eaten paper plates left on the long banquet table, or picked up conversations on the porch under the watchful eye of Saxon's two free-flying birds where they rested in the rafters. Saxon, Lemen's twin brother, had gone inside when Banjo had warned him of the string instruments to come because the fiddle was one of the instruments that grated on Saxon's sensitivities more than most, which was why Lemen had given up the violin when they'd left home at fifteen.
She wondered now what Saxon would say, what any of those gathered there that night might say, if they knew that she had picked up the hobby in recent years, playing only for herself and the little girl inside her who had once loved it. The little girl whom Lemen had been trying to heal.
As the music picked up again, this time a song Lemen recognised as being popular when she'd lived in San Francisco and experienced the traumas of middle school, she stepped to the side, taking up post near one of the tall black frame legs so that she could gather two points of her long cream coloured skirt and shove them back under the hem of her simple brown corset. Lifting the skirt like that, making it shorter at the front, showed off the matching soft leather boots she wore, and made the otherwise pirate-y aesthetic feel a little more modern โ especially with nothing below the corset other than a sheer, cream-coloured balero. Untucking the skirt had been a conscious decision, so she could throw the ruffles around during the skipping and dancing, but she couldn't help but readjust her outfit to the way it had been intended for the night.
Attached to the four-posted black frame that ran between the raised porch and the banquet table were strings of alfresco lighting, criss-crossed intricately and waiting for the sun to set so that they could be turned on, much like the bonfire waiting to be lit a safe distance into the clearing before the woods behind Mona's began.
Lemen braced herself against the post, remembering a full moon years ago, just before Lincoln and Saxon began college, when Lincoln had run full pelt into the first attempt at an alfresco lighting set-up. The big white wolf had ended up wrapped in yards of black wiring and shattered globes that thankfully didn't worm through his thick coat to his skin, although Lemen still thought it would have served him right for being so stupid. The posts were thicker now, reinforced and sturdy, which was for the best considering it had been Lemen herself and Honey play-brawling with hands and feet that had broken the next attempt, but she stood by the defence that they weren't being stupid like Lincoln had been, they'd just been careless.
"What are you smiling at?" The question came from Saxon, and Lemen couldn't pinpoint when she'd stopped knowing exactly when and where he was in a room at any given time. It was strange, Saxon being able to get close enough to talk at her shoulder and her not realising he'd even come back outside.
"Where diโ" Lemen paused to consider the question, knowing the question would get a literal answer from Saxon and not actually wanting to know where he had been during the music. "Did someone come and get you after Banjo's performance?"
"Yeah. Mack came and found us." Us.
Lemen knew that, if it wasn't Saxon's birds, then the us would be him and his husband. She hadn't noticed that Lincoln had gone inside with Saxon instead of watching Banjo, but it didn't surprise her either. She'd watched everyone else in the house bond with the youngest of them over the years, and she'd watched Banjo try to turn Lincoln into a big brother, only for the efforts to slide right off him like water on a duck. At least, over the past two years, she'd heard from Saxon that Lincoln had started helping Banjo with his homework over video calls, that they were beginning to bond, but she couldn't help but wonder if it was too little too late, or if, maybe, Banjo was disappointed that Lincoln hadn't stayed out to listen.
"You didn't answer my question."
Lemen tilted her head at him, raised eyebrows in question, trying to find the question he'd asked, before registering his greeting and smiling again. "Just remembering Lincoln tangled in all the alfresco lights."
It was Saxon's turn to frown, not pleased with the memory, which was fair considering he had been quite panicked seeing Lincoln like that. Lemen wished there had been someone with thumbs conscious to get a photo.
"He could have gotten seriously injured."
"He shouldn't have been running blind," literally, "through the yard after the installation."
Saxon conceded the point without further comment, just a mild incline of his head, and turned his attention to the informal dance floor below the lights as they blinked on one by one. Someone had decided that the orange afternoon had finally sunk into a violet dusk, and even though the sun had not yet completely disappeared below water level, it had well gone down behind the mountains.
"Keegan and Chuck will be lighting the bonfire soon," Saxon mused, then turned to look at Lemen's cheekbone to speak. "I have a feeling my husband will be there, soโฆ" he left the concern to trail behind him as he walked towards the small crowd that was gathering near the fire structure. Lemen watched him go for a moment, but didn't find herself lingering cautiously to make sure he was okay, instead choosing to watch the fairy lights hanging around the porch railing blink on and begin twinkling.
Another girl, a new face in the gathering, was also watching the lights come to life in the rapidly darkening evening. Claire Davis was pretty, like a flower in a bouquet is pretty. Not very striking on its own, maybe not even the prettiest in the bunch, but still pretty enough to have been picked. Long legs, but not very tall. Fit, but not muscly. Soft, but not chubby. Slim, but not skinny. Her hair not quite blonde, but certainly not brunette, and her eyes were, as far as Lemen had been able to tell, simply hazel.
When Lemen had met Claire in Aldi a few days prior, her round face had been open and bright, welcoming and inviting as she'd introduced herself to Lemen, offering to show her around town, having mistaken Lemen for a newcomer to the town that had given Lemen life. When she'd realised who Lemen was, her sweet face had shuttered a little, her arm crossing her middle like a high schooler about to walk past her bully. Lemen had seen that expression, that body language, on girls before when they'd bowed their heads and hurried past her. It had been years since she'd made someone feel the need to protect themselves, and it had taken her aback to see again on a woman she didn't even know. Lemen had realised, before Claire had needed to explain, that she was close to Liam.
Lemen saw Claire shift her weight now, clearly aware of someone watching her, and Lemen turned her attention back to the dance floor before they could make eye contact. When Lemen had run into Liam the day previous, on the street outside Mona's coffee shop, and invited him to the Samhain bonfire that was doubling as her welcome home party (which, she assumed, was why the Lavenders hadn't been invited in the first place), she'd wondered if Claire would be the plus one she'd said he could bring after assuring him his mother wasn't a plus one, but instead had already been invited that morning. Lemen had not been surprised when Claire had shown up, hand clutching Liam's as she walked around the house into the backyard.
What Lemen had not been prepared for was seeing him on the street. It had been ten years since Liam had put his foot down and taken his heart off his sleeve to shove deep under the bulky layers he'd worn for as long as she'd known him. He'd looked so small, hollowed out, a boy grown tired of begging to be loved, and Lemen had told him too many times that she wouldn't. He'd tried before, walked away and told her he wanted more than she could give, had even had a girlfriend for a little while, before he'd crumbled under her hands like limestone turned to dust, settling back at her feet where she could walk all over him again. Every time he'd tried, Lemen would make a quiet bet with Lincoln: "Five dollars he's back in two weeks." "Ten on a month." "Deal."
She could remember the last time, when she'd asked Lincoln, "How long this time?" He'd looked almost pityingly at her before his gaze had wandered away, searching for Saxon like Lemen used to. "Everyone has a limit of what they can take before they break."
Sure, in hindsight, that was probably a lot more about what was going on inside Lincoln's brain, and Lemen wasn't sure now if he'd even overheard Liam's final bow, but the words had rung true, and Liam had never sought her out again.
In fact, the day before, when she'd exited The Crescent Nook Cafe and Bookstore and stepped right into Liam's path, she was sure he still hadn't been looking for her. It wasn't the first time she'd returned to Silver Springs since she'd left with Lincoln and Saxon to follow them to college, but it was the first time she was planning to stay for longer than a few days and hadn't stayed close to the Werehouse or kept her return need-to-know. She was there to stay, she was moving home, and the word had spread like wildfireโand running into Liam's girlfriend hadn't really helped that, she was sure. Still, he'd looked surprised to see her, just like she'd been surprised to see him. She'd heard the quick step of his heart, recognised the nervous shape of his confused little smile, the half-step backwards as if too frightened of what would happen if he got too close to her. The locks sliding home on the walls she'd forced him to build, keeping the conversation somehow even less welcoming than small talk without outright excusing himself from talking to her. She'd not been able to sit with how it felt to see him again until after they'd parted ways, the desperate wish for him to be at the bonfire in his ear, disguised as a carefree afterthought of an invitation. Watching him go, Lemen had been able to register the drum of her heart, the ache in her ribs, the guilt clawing its way up her throat, the sorrow like a seed sprouting roots in her stomach. She'd thought she was over it. Over the hurt she'd caused him. Over feeling sorry. Over wishing she still had him for a friend. At least she could acknowledge it now. Her therapist would be so proud.
Lemen's attention was snagged by Baby, Honey's wife and resident part-pixie of the Werehouse, as she broke away from the dance floor and beelined for her. Lemen raised a curious eyebrow and watched her approach, but not before glancing at Honey to see if she could glean any intention from her about why Baby was on her way with quick, precise steps. Honey was, as usual when it came to Baby, uselessly watching her walk away with no thought behind her eyes other than adoration.
"Hey, you alright? Hanging here all by your lonesome," Baby asked. "Do your feet hurt?"
Lemen, who had been about to reassure Baby she was fine, drew up short and looked down at her feet with a frown. "Huh?" They didn't but the question felt so out of left field, it warranted a question in reply.
"You're just leaning on the pole. I thought your feet were hurting. I was going to remind ya to take ya shoes off," she said with a flashy grin.
"Oh, well, no, they don't hurt. I was justโฆwatching. Preparing myself to live here again, surrounded by the likes of you," Lemen teased.
Baby's grin grew and she put an arm around Lemen's waist in a tight hug. Lemen hugged her back, arm snaking around Baby's narrow shoulders and bending at the knees to rest her cheek against the much shorter woman's head. "We're happy you're back. Even if Honey hasn't said so yet, you know she missed you."
Lemen straightened to look at Honey again, to see if she'd overheard from the other side of the party, but she was sitting on the floor with the little boy who had arrived with Claire, Liam, and Liam's mom, Joe. The little boy had been introduced as Liam's little cousin Zeke, but everyone had been calling him Pip, and he was standing on Honey's thighs to better reach her mop of blonde hair, pulling the curls and letting them go, but Honey hadn't defined her curls in as long as Lemen had known her and all the kid was managing to achieve was even more frizz. Lemen knew Honey didn't care and would spend the rest of the night with Pip if she was allowed, or until Baby returned to her.
"I missed her too," Lemen promised, looking down at Baby who had stepped away from her in her distraction and Lemen took the opportunity to bend down and slide her boots from her feet. They didn't hurt, but half the party was barefoot and she wanted to feel the earth beneath her feet, dig her toes into the land that she'd returned to and called home.
Baby's smile was knowing, green eyes bright and full of mischief as always, and she opened her mouth to speak, but the next song began and the bouncy quartet with the synthetic piano on a fast beat had a memory clanging like a bell inside Lemen's brain and she felt her eyes widen as she straightened.
"Sorry," she said quickly to Baby before moving swiftly to the porch steps where Liam was leaning, watching Honey with his cousin.
Lemen's heart was racing as she bounded up the steps on light feet and slid in front of him. "Do you still remember the dance?" she asked, voice a little breathless and not from running the few yards to the steps. "The dance challenge, competition, thing, at the house party, when we were likeโฆseventeen?" she pressed.
Immediately, Lemen felt stupid for the hope that had lit up behind her ribs and quickly extinguished it. It was over eleven years ago. What had she been expecting? That he'd jump up and say that of course he remembered, how could he forget winning with their silly little dance they'd come up with in her living room after they'd pushed the coffee table aside. Instead, Liam put his hand on his thigh and puffed his cheeks up with a breath he let out slowly, squinting up at her, calculating, thinking, maybe even remembering, and it coaxed the embers of hope back to life inside her.
"I could probably figure it out," he said, straightening up, the nervous smile back on his face.
Lemen grinned, resisted the urge to grab his hand, and ran back down the steps towards the dance floor as Chris Martin's voice crooned out "I used to rule the worldโฆ"
In the middle of the crowd on the dance floor, Lemen drew to a stop and waited for Liam to slide into place beside her before she began the dance they'd once created together, tipsy on red soda and high on being teenagers awake at two in the morning, laughing so hard they'd tripped over nothing until they had it memorised.
It wasn't a complicated dance, done entirely side by side apart from a point where she slid right and he slid left behind her, then back they went with her behind and him in front. With a couple of square steps, a silly disco move, turning in a circle while pretending to swing a lasso over their heads, planting their feet and knocking their knees together while they swapped their hands in front of them, and doing a skippy grapevine left and right, the dance was ridiculous and cheesy. The silly competition they'd entered at a house party Liam had been invited to, Lemen his plus one like always, hadn't been about challenging choreography but about fun, about being in sync with your dance partner, and about impressing the rest of the party however you could. The winners were the ones who got the loudest cheer, basically. Lemen hadn't exactly expected to win, she wasn't well-liked and the dance was stupid, but they had.
The dances had been recorded on someone's phone and posted to social media, and Lemen had watched it the next day over Liam's shoulder when he'd come across it, then made him send it to her. She'd watched that video over and over again. She'd never been able to explain what about it had kept her gaze, not even to her therapist, not even to herself, but she could see the short video behind her eyelids when she closed them years later. That video was filed away on a flash drive and tucked away in a small box Lemen didn't open anymore. Still, she remembered the easy synchronicity between them, almost as if they were one mind in two bodies, and it had knocked the breath out of her to see. There'd been a small, private smile only for Liam on her face while they'd danced, even though they'd barely made eye contact, and he was clearly enjoying himself despite the concentrated pull between his eyebrows as he made sure not to mess up.
That wasn't the case this time. Lemen's grin was wide, visible for the whole world if it wanted to look at her having fun, and instead of letting herself worry about what her childhood dance teachers would say about her form, she let herself relax into the music as it fell over her. She kept her attention on Liam's denim-clad legs, making sure she was remembering the same steps as he was, and when he messed up, she reached out with a gentle hand and circled her fingers above his elbow to pull him left. When she messed up, she threw her head back and laughed, leaning into the mistake with her whole chest before finding his rhythm and falling back into step with him. At one point, the claw clip that had been holding onto her thick blonde hair for dear life finally gave up, and she had to catch it and pin it to her skirt before it fell to the ground.
In that moment, all of Lemen felt at peace, buoyed by an unashamed joy, and she laughed again, bright and clear. She was laughing at the teenage version of herself who had been too serious for her own good, too frightened to want anything, so instead she had missed everything. What did she have to show for it? A little box of memories that made her feel too much to look at?
Seventeen-year-old Lemen had danced with her best friend in front of a crowd of their tipsy peers. Danced with a boy who loved her so openly and honestly that he was breaking his own heart. Danced around under strobing disco lights to music playing on crappy Walmart speakers with a broken subwoofer, and she had been more concerned about where she put her feet than where she put her joy.
The little girl inside Lemen, the one that she was trying to heal, danced with her now, free and wondering about the beauty of the lights above them against the night sky, amazed at the genuine smiles around her, and fascinated by the string instruments in the song that was playing.
The teenager inside Lemen was screaming at her not to look at his face. Not to feel anything other than the music.
The little girl wanted to see.
The teenager wanted to run away.
The little girl wanted to dance.
The teenager wanted to shove the little girl so far down, make her disappear, tell her she's a naive and useless little thing and tell her it was all for her protection.
Lemen looked.
Beside her, Liam fell into the last few steps, and she looked at his face, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. The lighting was softer this time, no RGB strobe lights slashing against his dark skin or harsh white flashes of light making them both blink and squint through the dance. The lights above were warm, slightly yellow, and they turned Liam's beautiful face to gold.
The little girl giggled.
The teenager flinched.
Lemen realised she loved him.
She'd fallen in love with him all at once, the night they'd put the dance together and ended up in a giggling pile on her lounge room floor. She'd kissed him many times before that night, and kissed him many times after, but she'd loved him in that moment without any kisses shared. She'd loved him every moment since. She remembered every time she'd told him she didn't love him and that she probably never would, and the roots growing from her sorrow threatened to squeeze the life out of her heart.
Lemen hoped the grief didn't reach her eyes as the song ended, and she kept a smile on her face as they jumped to face each other for a final, cheeky shimmy between them.
She was breathless again, but not from exertion because it took more than a four-minute dance to tire a werewolf, her chest rising and falling a little too rapidly, and she took a step forward to give Liam a hug that she didn't linger in, holding her breath to not breathe in the smell of him she was sure would crush her lungs.
"Oh, Daisy, thank you," she said softly as she stepped away, doing everything in her power not to search his gaze. Not to look for something she'd once seen in his eyes. She didn't want to see the absence of it now. I love you. "Did you wantโฆI shouldโฆthank you," she finished clumsily, unsure what she could even offer him now. I love you.
Lemen took another step away, letting him choose to be dismissed or follow her across the dance floor and away from the porch to the food or the drinks or the fire or even the woods if that's what he wanted.
happy halloween! despite life's best efforts i am not dead, and this announcement when the veil is thin is a coincidence. regardless, i shall return โ i promise ๐ป
because i'm ridiculous i have decided to divide my kids into certain vibes and give them a space that allows me to immerse properly into their prominent genre. as a result i have two sideblogs to here under construction @martyrlaughter for my high fantasy based adventuring fools, and @rotlocket for my awful terrible no good horror based babies (both are under construction rn but the latter is especially empty).
Stevie, as goofy and endearing as they were, had always been able to make Cecily grin until her cheeks hurt, and even after years spent apart, it sometimes seemed like nothing had changed. Sure, Stevie walked a little taller now, fitting in their body more than Cecily could ever remember, and they weren't hiding behind the bangs of a terrible haircut anymore, but it was still her Stevie under the loud clothes and disarming cheeky smile. And it was disarming.
Cecily felt a momentary breathlessness as Stevie stepped in front of her to walk backwards and poke fun, staying close considering they hadn't let go of her hand yet. It took her a moment to catch her breath to answer, but she managed to roll her eyes and pull Stevie by their hand back to their side first.
"Well, I guess I can let it slide this time. As long as neither of you are going to break down on me," Cecily said, only just managing to stop herself saying 'again'. They were having too much fun, and Cecily didn't want to risk ruining it by bringing up Stevie's high school breakdown. Stevie might be 'better', but Cecily had a feeling they were still fragile in there and she never again wanted to be the reason Stevie hurt.
Cecily didn't let go of Stevie's hand, but despite walking side by side, she still lead the way out of Myer onto the landing of the food court just outside on the first floor of the shopping centre. Cecily wouldn't normally eat before trying on clothes because she struggled to gauge how something would fit if she was bloated, but she trusted her alteration skills well enough that she supposed she could let it slide this time, and inclined her head at the small waffle shop. The air was thick with the smell of waffle batter and syrup, and it reminded Cecily of when they were little and allowed to get big scoops of ice cream in fresh made waffle cones after swimming lessons at a different store from the same chain.
"You have been so brave," Cecily cooed sweetly, mockingly, but she hoped the squeeze she gave Stevie's hand showed she appreciated Stevie's company regardless of the teasing. "Coming to a shopping centre on your day off, agreeing to help me choose an outfit for your party, and breaking a jewellery box that costs more than entire day's work for you so...let me get you some waffles before we go into the last two couple of stores."
โ No no, see, that's what I can't promise. You gotta let it slide if it happens. Not before. โ
More than happy to be lead around by their hand like a distractable toddler, their free hand brushed against more stock on the way out than it should have after the events of the last five minutes, Stevie followed Cecily in much the same way they always had โ equally paced but somehow managing to lag. Doing an amused but sprung jog when they could hear her eyes rolling at the clatter of display hangers under their fingers, Stevie could feel their teen selves following them as they shopped for their first high school party like shadows.
The onslaught of noise and smell as they entered the food court was a welcome one, Stevie looking around like a dog sniffing out a treat. They were sure there was more shopping to come, so something portable would be best. Maybe some chips? But the sudden and sweet tone to Cecily's voice pulled Stevie's attention back in, sticking it to her mouth like a drizzle of syrup as a bemused and questioning smile turned their own mouth up. When it clicked that they were being made fun of ( rude, considering they hadn't even made one single joke about being too masc for this ) Stevie succumbed to the banter with relish.
They pushed their bottom lip out well past where it belonged and closed their eyes, nodding along faster and faster to every point Cecily made before losing their composure and almost barking out at a laugh at the final bribe. They managed to reign their smile in just enough to put a lesser pout back into position as they brought their voice into a pathetic, babyish register. โ Screm and stawbies too? โ
It had been a long month of over-stimulation after being pulled out of the grave, and the changes to his senses had only just started to settle into something he could understand. He could, for example, now sift through the creaks in the house and the movement of the air, which had immediately overpowered his ears and rendered him useless for weeks, and find the gentle thuds of Murphy's swift feet as he ran into position and then came to a halt.
The most interesting change for him, personally, was that having under control now he'd never been able to focus quite like this. Rune had never been described as easily distractable, and even before they'd stopped his heart he'd been known to creep people out with the way he would stare; but if he could get into a dark corner with those same people now he had a feeling they'd trade this new unsettling experience for the one before in a heartbeat that he could now gauge by sight.
Rune continued his path all but able to see that Murphy was waiting for him behind the wall to his left. And Murphy knew he knew. So it came as a surprise to neither of them when Rune simply leaned against the doorway and rolled his head towards the self-satisfied blonde brandishing a sleeve of garlic right in his face.
โ I banish you, I banish you with garlic. โ
Murphy, for his part, had always been able to grab his attention, and at some early point without his permission Rune even let him hold onto it, but now he truly understood what it meant to zero in. There wasn't a movement Murphy could make now that Rune couldn't track. The rise and fall of his chest. The slight but intentional movement of his otherwise steady hand so the garlic continued to sway like a hypnotists watch. The pulse in his neck. Rune's tongue pushed against his teeth, exploring the point of the now exposed fangs, curling his lip just enough that Murphy could see them behind his lips, eyes unblinking.
โ It's a bit early in my adjustment period to be tempting me with a well-seasoned husband, don't you think? โ
The way Orla stretched on the back of the barstool, her slender neck elongated and the scoop of her long-sleeved tee falling forward to give Darcy a view straight down over the pale swell of her breasts. Darcy was grateful for the clock to divert his attention away otherwise he'd have been caught staring.
Darcy was glad that he hadn't woken her up, but he had a feeling she hadn't been sleeping because of what she'd been thinking about, which was a feeling he was all too familiar with. The mention of his surprisingly light feet had him smile again, just a small, amused smirk, again reminded of the comment about straight guys not tiptoeing.
The tapping of Orla's slim fingers on the back of the barstool caught his attention, and in the dimly lit kitchen he couldn't tell what colour they'd been painted, but he knew it had been done earlier that day because her finger's had been clear of polish when she'd shown up that morning. He wanted to get a closer look, see the colour properly and comment of it suited her or not, but he had a feeling that it would regardless of what it was.
The question had him grinning before he could hold it back and he looked up to her face to see her sweet, teasing smile and the loose tendrils of red curls falling around her face. Darcy considered the question, tilting his own head from side to side while he did so.
"I guess, because I am literally sneaking for Ari's sake, it would be sneaking outโฆ" he confirmed, then shrugged with one shoulder. "But I am allowed to come and go as I please without getting Ari's permission now, soโฆ Schrodinger's sneaking?" He wasn't even close to 50% sure if that was the correct analogy, but he couldn't take it back after he said it so he had to roll with it.
It was clear, in every enthusiastic line of her body, and the brightness in her eyes, that she wanted what he had. Freedom. A ride to anywhere. An excuse to leave whatever was going on behind for a little while. Darcy raised an eyebrow at her and looked down at her fluffy socks, trailing his gaze all the way up her thin legs in the cotton shorts pulled around her narrow waist, to the cold peak of her nipples under her t-shirt and exposed collarbones. He couldn't lie, the view had his mouth going a little dry, but he managed to level his gaze to hers before holding his hand out in a gesture at the water bottle and crooking his fingers for it.
"If you have closed in shoes and long pants, you can borrow a jacket and a helmet and ride along if you want," he invited her. "I'll fill up your drink bottle while you change, but be quick about it."
Six months ago, he would have never dreamed of offering to have his little sister's best friend tag-along on anything he wanted to do, let alone on a ride he planned to take to his favourite place in the world to watch the sun come up. Now, the urge to have Orla come along and sit behind him with her arms around his waist made his stomach feel warm and fluttery, and a little guilty that he was stealing Aria's best friend away from her for a while. Darcy also wouldn't consider himself an idiot, he knew at least a part of his body if not his brain, wanted her as close as he could get her, but that part of his body had gotten him into trouble before with people close to his inner circle before and he knew better than to listen. Except right then, apparently, waiting with almost bated breath for Orla to decide if she wanted to come with him.
It was stupid, but she couldn't help the smile that curled up in response to 'Schrรถdinger's sneaking'. She was about 60% sure that was not how that paradox worked, watered down by casual cultural usage, and even if it did the idea of applying quantum mechanics to teenage nonsense was ridiculous on it's own. God help her, she might have actually been paying attention in classes. โ Schrรถdinger's sneaking... โ Orla repeated slowly, voice tinted with amusement as she shook her head.
Darcy raised an eyebrow at her and she raised both of hers in a challenge โ not that he saw it; his eyes down at her feet as soon as she'd spotted it. By the time he was done scanning her in what seemed to be her entirety and he met her gaze again, it was her turn to raise one questioning brow. Did he just...? Surely he hadn't...
His words and level gaze settled it. Judging her outfit โ not checking her out. Orla hooked the handle of her bottle over his fingers without much thought; the action hasty and a little flustered from both the aftershock of stupidly thinking he might have been ( did she want him to? ) and the new timer set to an invite that was just as confusing. Not something she was going to question, though. In a Looney Tunes style disappearance from the kitchen, the dust shape of Orla was left behind as she ran back to Aria's room to change, sliding a little in her eagerness as she tried to stop in fluffy socks.
Once inside, Orla was considerably more thoughtful of her actions โ her brain having caught up with her just outside the door meant she could hunt for her stuff with speed but also relative silence. Phone torch illuminating the floor of Aria's room, Orla had managed to slip out of her shorts and into her jeans impressively one handed as she continued to look for her sneakers. One by her backpack, and the other...apparently overshot in the afternoon kick off and had gone just under the bed frame. With a grin on her face Orla shoved them on her feet and trotted back to the kitchen, spinning with her arms up to display the getup for approval as soon as she arrived. Her hair finally gave up on holding it's loose shape mid spin and she had to catch her hair tie with the same little loss of dignity that chasing a ping pong ball elicited, but the excited energy didn't falter once.
With the tie placed between her teeth as she gathered her hair into a tight ponytail, Orla watched Darcy expectantly for his lead. Despite the fact that she was definitely sneaking out, no questions to be pondered there, this was his ride and she intended to behave.
Lincoln's unfocused and heavy eyes tracked his hand as it moved, limply suspended by a set of handcuffs, between the poles on the hospital bed's side guard. He felt rotten. His stomach turned on itself, unable to keep anything else in it besides the activated charcoal layering his insides, and any time he thought about a part of himself it felt...softened โ all indicators that the decomposition process had begun without him.
Most of this he knew was a side effect of the wolfsbane; it's toxins having excited his neural and cardio pathways into overdrive and leaving everything in it's wake numb and useless. Part of it, though, was just as likely to be the thoughts prompting him to consume the tincture he'd made in the first place.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
Lincoln had been more than prepared to deal with the poisoning process of aconitum before it even reached his tongue. He knew it wouldn't be pretty โ convulsions, gastrointestinal distress, arrhythmia, burning of the abdomen โ but he didn't need it to be pretty if at the end of it he was dead.
Instead, no thanks to the combined efforts of those around him, it was as ugly as he was alive.
Clink.
Clink.
โ You lied to me. โ
...Clink.
What little strength had been in Lincoln's arms to help him toss his hand back and forth on the rail immediately dissipated as Saxon's voice cut through the monotony. The reaction his mind and body had to that all too familiar sound was...unparalleled. His jaw clenched as he bit back the memory of Honey's fingers down his throat; he'd tried so hard to stop it all from coming back up. His eyes welled with tears for the second time that day; the first having been when he begged and screamed through his own vomit for them to stop as they took his failing body to Keegan. His hand clenched as it had when the handcuffs locked around his wrist, tethering him all over again to a recovery he didn't ask for.
In the background of these moments both past and present, and witness to the warning signs that Lincoln had told him were nothing, was Saxon.
โ You saved me. โ
The accusations of betrayal in their voices were equal.
Bonnie's smile, as it grew on her face, was small and beautiful. Jordan looked down at his knees where they pressed into the carpet, unable to look at her for too long without feeling the blush creep up his neck to his cheeks, which he really didn't want her to see.
When she relayed her invitation to him, a request he join her for drinks, Jordan lifted his gaze to peer up at her with his left eye closed against the light above her head and his nose scrunched up a little in disbelief. When it became clear that she meant it, he opened his eye and nodded his head slowly.
"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd said," he told his knees before looking up at her again. "Okay...why?"
Of course he wanted to say 'yes', he liked her calming presence, and smooth, seductive voice as much as the other local people in their Iowa town. He liked the way she focused at her job, but clearly enjoyed it, and he'd spent months getting to know her without really needing to utter a word. He was well aware, however, that it was kind of extremely creepy and he hoped she hadn't noticed that despite his lack of conversational skills, he paid as much attention to her as he did everything that interested him.
Still, Jordan couldn't just outright agree to go get a drink with her. Not until he knew why she wanted to spend more time with him, and without clarifying if this was intended to be a date. Besides, Jordan had never been on a real date before, just the pre-date to be vibe-checked by his soon-to-be one-night-stands, and he wasn't sure he even knew how to hold a real conversation with people that weren't looking to get in his pants (or his siblings, but they didn't really count). So, Jordan blinked up at her, suspicion warring with curiosity in his eyes, and a nervous blush working its way up his neck against his will.
The simple line of inquiry surprised her and that definitely showed on her face. She'd been prepared for a more likely no, or optimistically a yes, but a rationale for the invite hadn't been on her radar. Bonnie sat up a little straighter, eyes drifting away from him as she considered it with earnest. Intention obviously mattered to him, and if she thought about it as he clearly intended her to, she supposed a drink could be a little too open to interpretation. He was undeniably good looking โ she had even let herself look from time to time โ but she was not in a rush to blow up this new life she was trying to cobble together.
โ Because I've gotten comfortable in your orbit, there's a chance you're actually available when we finish, and... โ Bonnie trailed off. What exactly was she supposed to say here? That it had been three months since she'd moved and she still hadn't figured out how to remove the mic from between her and the people around her? She tilted her head and smiled at him, eyes glinting with the amusement that was about to accompany her teasing. โ I'm kind of desperate to see if liquor will loosen your lips some. โ
That wasn't a lie. This conversation alone finally booted them well over his usual word count and she hadn't realised how badly she wanted to hear him talk. Past experience working in as close proximity to someone as she and Jordan had these last few months had usually left her knowing a lot more about them. Muttered comments, general opinions, and a vague tale about their day at minimum. She had adjusted easily to the bubble of silence he'd put around himself, and he was definitely capable of making himself understood without words, but sitting now with the stranger that was his voice Bonnie wasn't even sure she'd had the pleasure of hearing him laugh, though she had seen it through the glass of her booth.
โ Look โ โshe winced as she prepared for her own admissionโ โ I'm...kind of lonely at the moment and I think as far as efforts to change that go, I could definitely do โ in fact I have done โ a lot worse than trying to turn my coworker into a work friend. โ
The house that had taken Banjo in was always busy and chaotic, with an open revolving door of guests and occupants coming and going. Trying to get attention when you're as small as he was, with everyone moving a lot faster than he could, and with no voice to use, Banjo had learned within the first year that the best way to get something he needed was to find the person still amongst the storm. That, or stand on a chair and clap his hands and stamp his feet until Mona, Murphy or Honey came to him to help. Unfortunately, neither Honey or Mona were in the house and he wasn't sure where they were, and Murphy was asleep. With Saxon running up and down the staircase while he muttered to himself, and Lemen in a gloomy mood, that meant the eye of the storm at that moment was Lincoln.
Lincoln, zeroed in on his laptop in a funny sitting position and clearly completely unaware of what was going on around him, and who couldn't hear him even if Banjo did stand on the chair and clap for attention. Still, that was his best shot, and he reached out to touch Lincoln on the shoulder with no response. Next thing he tried was touching Lincoln's hand, but he was absently shaken away and Banjo wasn't even sure Lincoln realised he was doing it. Banjo wasn't sure he could even reach out to put his hand in Lincoln's view of the laptop to get his attention the way Mona taught him was appropriate. He could, however, stack up a couple couch cushions behind Lincoln's chair and yank on his hair. This managed to break Lincoln's attention away from his screen, and when the lanky seventeen year old turned to face him, Banjo let go of his hair. Unfortunately, in doing so, he wobbled and the cushions slid out from under him, and with his panicked eyes, Banjo scrabbled at Lincoln's arms over the back of the chair for help.
Honestly, it shouldn't be this hard to get someone in this house to make him some lunch and get him a glass of juice.
When Banjo wobbled and clawed for purchase at his limbs, Lincoln did a startlingly good impression of his older sister as his eyes widened to their fullest diameter.
โ Shit. โ
Lincoln reached in return for the panicked boy, managing to grip him just below the socket of his shoulder and doing his best not to pull the arm out of it. He pushed his luck with a lot of things, he knew, but he wasn't eager to find out what Mona would do if instead of, say, her straightening iron, Lincoln broke her son.
โ Woah, hey, you're good. You're good. โ Was he assuring Banjo or himself? It didn't matter. Lincoln adjusted himself in the chair to lend more of his body length to setting the boy down slowly. Growing as tall as he had was proving useful, if only for moments like this where he could play the role of a crane. Once feet were firmly on the ground Lincoln released him, and took stock of his surroundings for the first time in a few hours โ the house was surprisingly empty in comparison to when he'd sat down. Only the Lockridge twins were in sight, and after Lincoln's eyes followed Saxon for a lap of the stairs, he turned his gaze square on Banjo once more.
realising that all the bios you have written before no longer apply because new information and/or characters have surfaced and it changes the whole fucking backstory :)))))))
It was always safe to assume that Lincoln wasn't paying attention, but with his cochlear connected to the Bluetooth and his eyes glued to the screen, you would be hard pressed to get his attention right now. He was sat at the dining room table โ one leg tucked up on the chair with him and the other stretched out โ the house bustling about around him, and he couldn't pick out a single thing going on if he was asked. Lincoln's focus was entirely on the TEDTalk playing on the laptop in front of him. Sure, it was about five adjacent TEDTalk links from where he started, but he was looking for a little informational overload today.
Surprisingly pliable, his head was suddenly facing the ceiling as it followed the course set by the tiny hand gripping his hair behind him. A couple of tugs for good measure and Lincoln got the message. Don't ignore me. Now in tactile form. His fingers slapped at the space bar as he tried to untangle his curls from Banjo's grip with a head shake โ if he was that desperate for Lincoln's attention, the self driven learning course could be paused.
He did learn one thing at least: he was due for a haircut.
Twisting at his hips, arms coming over the back of the chair, Lincoln signed at the young boy.
โ Be still, don't move. โ for robin from mona
4 word prompts / @narrativestutter
His eyes close and he leans slightly into her touch, an extreme contradiction to the way he pouts and the slightly annoyed tone of his voice โitโs just a cut, itโs not even that badโ He opens one eye, trying to asses the damage his words have done and trying to figure out if they were believable enough. And he knows they will probably do little to calm her down, so he goes for the next best thing, deflect. โPlusโโ a sigh, thatโs meant to help him ignore a bit of the pain. โIโve had way worse, and you know thatโโย
Of course, โway worseโ means having to be taken to the hospital where Eli had to patch him down, and give him a blood transfusion, but heโs willing to ignore that detail. So he keeps his eyes closed, and he does his best to even his breath as he tries to ignore the pain.โMonaโโ This time the voice is softer, almost a whisper โitโs fine, Iโm gonna take a nap though.โ
โ I know. โ Her tone is incredibly short as the image of the first night they met, shrouded in the dark of an alleyway but the scent of his blood thick, comes to mind. The worst part of that coming to mind is the fact that it isn't even the worst one. It's just one she kind of misses. It was simple, back then. A fight. A shift he didn't think through. Something drunk and stupid and so typically young that no matter how bad the injury was, he was actually kind of fine. Now he was older, and the ways in which he was determined to hurt himself had multiplied. The ways in which the world at large wanted to hurt him had also multiplied. โ โYou should also know that that doesn't work with me. How many times have you tried it, now? โ
Despite the brave face, the strong stance of no shit she's taken, her hands hesitate at the edge of his face when he says her name that softly. Robin might have pressed into her touch, welcoming her against all his vocal protests, but even after all this time she doesn't want to push her luck. He's disappeared on her for less. โ Robin... โ Mona strokes her thumb against his cheek as she pulls it away โ an impulse she can't deny herself. Playing with her hands she sighs, searching him from a safe distance with wide, worried eyes. She can hear each shudder of pain on his breath and feel it vibrate through her, and she can hear her own mother's voice telling her you can't help someone that doesn't want help. She just wished Robin would let her pretend a little longer.
โ I'll stay. โ She's not negotiating. โ Can't have you slipping away into the arms of some reaper while you're having your once in a blue moon nap. โ
Sitting in her best friend's room, scrolling through a thematically inconsistent but always joyous story of four friends that made her heart ache and her stomach roil, Orla thought to herself that she really ought to delete social media. Then again, did it matter if the account making her feel like shit was her own? It would just be her photo app or message history doing the stirring to her emotional waters. Regardless, she sat with her phone propped on the knees she had almost to her chest, and felt sick.
One friend smiling at her from the image had stopped talking to her when it had become apparent she didn't return their feelings and all she was doing was hurting them. Another she had to take a break from because he didn't return hers, and all she was doing when she spent time alone with his sweet face was hurting her own. That left the third friend, unmarred by inter-friendship attractions and untouched by Orla's stupid, messy hands, lying asleep beside her, smile nowhere in sight as she dreamed. Logically the lack of a smile in her sleep had nothing to do with their now disjointed friend group, but she'd made her displeasure known when she'd found out. Orla โ the fourth smiling face in all the photos and the crux of the group's disbanding โ was stuck awake trying to figure out how to hold the uneven weights of how everyone either felt or didn't feel, including herself.
After reaching for her water bottle and finding it empty, Orla's feet hit the floor and she was thankful for the fluffy bed socks Aria had insisted she put on before they tucked in for the night โ she could feel the cold trying to sneak in through knit. The fact she was in pajama shorts and a scoop necked long sleeve shirt lead to an interesting thermal experience as she adjusted to being in the cool night air, but everything important was covered so after a quick shiver she began her journey to the kitchen.
Another thing about the socks she was thankful for โ they muffled her steps nicely, helping her pass the other bedroom's in the house with ease. It was kind of eerie, the dead silence in the house, and the small fright she got seeing a figure tip toe around the corner at the end of the hallway did not help that fact. Following carefully โbecause as her inner monologue had already established for the evening: she was stupid โ she was relieved to find that backlit by the kitchen window was just Aria's brother. Folding her arms beneath her chest, water bottle dangling in one hand, Orla watched him somewhat curiously. Did he know? It had taken Orla years to consider Darcy as The Older Brother, stubbornly refusing to believe that he was somehow more mature than her and Aria for the one year that separated them. It was just circumstance that he was older, nothing more. Each year in their teens, however, had felt more and more like a lifetime separated them โ he'd always looked at them like they were annoying, but now he often looked at them like he pitied them for whatever they were going through too. He did...seem older. Sometimes he even had advice for them. Most of it unwanted, delivered flatly, and seeing him exiled from the room with the nearest object thrown. But all this in mind...did he know he was a fucking cliche? Watching him splash the water on his face while clad in moody monotones was like watching a Disney exec's idea of brooding older brother โ now complete with a motorbike license! โ come to life.
He finally turned, and she waved at him from her side, quietly glad to have given him a similarly small fright.
โ Morning sunshine, โ she returned a little too deadpan to be properly playful but matching his lowered voice. Orla was a naturally loud individual, but she knew when to pick her battles against silences. Unfolding her arms, she made her way into the kitchen; gently placing her bottle on the table before leaning her hands on the back of a chair and stretching herself on it, shaking her head at his question.
โ Can't sleep. And you've got a surprisingly light step in those stompy boots of yours, so don't worry about waking anyone else. Aria was also gone when I got up. So... โ Orla trailed off with a shrug as her eyes eyes darted down to the hand on his jacket, then moved the small distance across to his helmet. Her brain did the small jump to the fact he was making an early morning getaway and she barely restrained herself from letting out a whine. God, to be able to just leave. Closest she got to that feeling was coming here, and even then that came with her dad knowing where she was. That was without mentioning that these days it still wasn't quite right. Being in trouble with Aria didn't make it feel like the same kind of getaway that it used to, even if she did her best to not make Orla feel worse than necessary and generally tried to keep her in good spirits. Orla's freshly painted fingers โ a dark green Aria had found in her polish collection that felt kind of like a pampering colour โ rhythmically tapped against the chair back they gripped, betraying her thought pattern. Her head tilted, already loose bun getting dangerously close to undone with the motion, and she smiled at him.
โ Do they still call it sneaking out when you're eighteen or...? โ
Bonnie winced from her chair even before Jordan's head cracked against the desk โ she could see it coming the way a movie viewer might get foreshadowing in slow motion, but even her little warning โ Ah! โ couldn't curb the inevitable at that point. Checking in on her timer and the light that let her know everything was normal ( and hadn't been re-jostled in the apparent jumpscare ), she leaned forward onto her knees, tip toes gently swaying her to and fro in her chair as she watched him recover himself.
A small smile was brewing on her lips as he hit three whole words in one ad break. The most she'd ever gotten out of him was four on the day they had been introduced and he'd given her the ever professional nice to meet you combo. He was quiet โ maybe in general, maybe just at work โ but she didn't mind that at all. In fact, his general presence had grown familiar quite fast as a result. It was the only thing around here that was familiar at all, besides her operating systems, and she supposed that was her fault โ uprooting your life to move to the middle of nowhere on a night shift routine will, without hesitation, be incredibly isolating.
โ Have a drink with me, โ Bonnie repeated plainly.
โ I tried but failed. โ for alork from chuck
4 word prompts / @narrativestutter
Thereโs a series of emotions rapidly showing up on his features, first it was horror, then came the concern, and finally a painfully awkward smile. The image of both Sark and Dayta screaming at the sight of this food (if in can be called that) is all he can think about for the first two minutes, sure he isnโt exactly the best at cooking, but heโs hanged around enough people that are. His two siblings being the best examples, so this is shocking to say the least.ย
But then his eyes land back on Chuck and they soften along with his smile. โI meanโโ A soft laugh, as he makes the mistake of looking at the food once more, eyes growing wide for a second time. โIโ You know how sometimes food looks bad but it actually tastes good? Iโm sure this is the same caseโโ His eyes focus once more on Chuck, silently pleading. โRight?โ Right?โย
โ Uh โ โ Chuck looks away from Alork down to what was supposed to be a sauce but he could only think to describe as a glue, and looked back. โ Yeah. Sure. Uh, if you intend on eating this so as to spare my feelings, all I will say is I know a great dentist. Also, I don't have those specific feelings, so maybe just don't...do that... โ
He stares at it at little longer, wiggling the spoon wedged in it, and then laughs at himself โ what else is there to do? Useless. How he had survived this long really was a testament to the power of money. Also Mona, he shouldn't shortchange her on her due credit given the number of ready made meals she would sneak into his fridge. One hand on his face, hoping to mask some of the heat in his cheeks, he turned back to Alork. โ I appreciate the uh...sensitivity but I think we both know this is... โ Chuck laughs again and throws the pot directly in the garbage can. He can get another pot, though maybe he shouldn't so as to remove the temptation of using his kitchen. โ Yeah, I've got nothing. โ
i had a super SUPER productive morning and i was treating myself to the fancy shampoo (u know the shampoo u got as a gift thatโs kinda expensive and v v Nice so u only use it when ur going out or have a social event going on?) and i came back to find a bunch of my mutuals reblogging the same post about hair, and iโll be damned if i didnโt see that combination of events as some sort of sign! so here u go my dudes! another addition to the group! feel free to add โ+ REVERSEโ to switch the roles of this meme!
as always, DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST! iโll add to it as time passes! and i really hope you all enjoy this one bc i had a lot of fun making it!ย
[ WASH ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender begins to wash the receiverโs hair.
[ TUG ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender grabs the receiverโs hair and pulls at it. ( SPECIFY A REASON! CONTEXT IS KEY! )
[ BRAID ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender, sitting behind the receiverโs back, begins to braid their hair.
[ SNIP ]:ย ย ย ย ย having discussed the matter, the sender gives the receiver a haircut.
[ BACK ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender, noticing a strand of hair fall from the receiverโs hairdo, carefully tucks the strand back behind the receiverโs ear.
[ BURY ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender buries their hand deep in the receiverโs hair.
[ BRUSH ]:ย ย ย ย ย with a hairbrush, comb, or their hand, the sender begins to gently brush the receiverโs hair.
[ GLIDE ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender runs their fingers through the length of the receiverโs hair.
[ BLOOM ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender weaves a number of flowers through the receiverโs hair.
[ STYLE ]:ย ย ย ย ย sender begins to arrange the receiverโs hair into an elaborate hairstyle to an unspecified degree of success (or failure).
[ CROWN ]:ย ย ย ย ย having created a flower crown, the sender carefully places it atop the receiverโs head.
[ INHALE ]:ย ย ย ย ย while embracing or in close proximity to the receiver, the sender inhales slowly, smelling their hair in the process.
[ TICKLE ]:ย ย ย ย ย the sender uses the ends of the receiverโs hair to playfully tickle them.
[ PLAY ]:ย ย ย ย ย the sender begins to play with the receiverโs hair while the receiver lies in their lap.
[ LAY ]:ย ย ย ย ย ย the sender lays down in the receiverโs lap to let them play with the senderโs hair.
[ TOUCH ]:ย ย ย ย ย ย just for the sake of the contact, the sender reaches out and gently touches the strands of the receiverโs hair.
[ MASSAGE ]:ย ย ย ย ย with their hands buried in the receiverโs hair, the sender begins to gently massage their scalp.
[ ROYAL ]:ย ย ย ย ย as part of a coronation ceremony, the sender places a crown atop the receiverโs hair, maintaining eye contact as they do so.
[ KISS ]:ย ย ย ย ย the sender places a tender kiss on the receiverโs hair.
[ AWAY ]:ย ย ย ย ย the sender, using their fingertips, tenderly sweeps a few strands of hair out of the receiverโs face so as to see them more clearly.
[ TOWEL ]:ย ย ย ย ย the sender uses a towel to carefully dry the receiverโs hair.
[ DRY ]:ย ย ย ย ย the sender uses a hairdryer to dry the receiverโs hair.
[ SOFTEN ]:ย ย ย ย ย the sender rubs oils/conditioner into their hands, and begins to slowly massage it into the receiverโs hair.
