#emeraldtrash

[piriie]

it's been a few days since I submitted it so I figured I'd put it on my art blog now-- secret santa gift for emeraldtrash! 

[hipopatmus-blog]

;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;);) ;) ;) ;)

wake me up (wake me up inside) i cant wake up (wake me up inside) save me

[hipopatmus-blog]

orders zander as many binders as i can afford

<3

[hipopatmus-blog]

6,14,26,31

6:What would you like to have in 2015 that you lacked in 2014?

Probably more confidence in what I do and a better work ethic

14:Where did most of your money go?

Cosplay and AWA probably...

26:What did you want and get?

I really wanted a monokuma plush and yoo I got one. I also got some more cosplay stuff. I guess the one thing I didnt get was a bike but I can try for my birthday

31:What kept you sane?

My all my friends and the new friends I made

[aphsecretsanta]

A/N: OH MY GOSH IM ALMOST LATE IM SORRY

ALSO IM SORRY FOR HOW LAME THIS IS TBH LIKE I HAVENT WRITTEN ANYTHING IN A WHILE AND THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IVE WRITTEN AMEBELA EVEN THO I LOVE IT A LOT

SORRY SORRY emeraldtrash 

——

The yearly Holiday Party is unofficial and almost always takes place at Russia’s house (not by choice exactly - it’s the only one with enough space to fit them all and several nations elect not to attend these days because of it).

It’s the perfect working model of the cultural melding pot – hundreds of nations with hundreds of different beliefs and traditions; all talking and walking about Russia’s humongous home, sharing in the freezing cold weather and the vast array of foods, spread atop a trail of tables running from the inside perimeter of the dining room and into the foyer.

Natalya finds herself at such a table on the eve of Kaliady, surrounded by temptations. Many of the nations around her also feast during this season – they gorge themselves on hot, warm meats (dear Lord, ham and turkey and roasted chicken…) and drink themselves jolly with the heavy spirits her tongue aches for. The first feast of Kaliady, however, is unfortunately melancholically tormentably a meatless feast of grain puddings and salads. She glares ardently at the plate of cabbage-stuffed pirozhki she’d set out and curses her obedience to tradition.

Despite the smell of sauces and gravy wafting about, Natalya stays by the food tables and watches, nursing a cup of virgin punch. There’s music coming from somewhere; while many nations are simply walking or sitting with friends, some have made themselves a dance floor and are twirling and fumbling and sloshing scotch and champagne on her brother’s floor. It reminds her vaguely of the caroling happening in her own country and she turns to the clock behind her to gauge whether the carolers would have knocked on her door yet or not.

She is not alone when she turns back.

Mr. America’s smile is bright and full of lightly stained teeth and nauseating optimism. An uneasiness stirs in her when she realizes that his big eyes are just as nauseating and are focused directly on her.  

“Hey!” he says – she can’t tell if he’s yelling above the music or if he just doesn’t realize how loud he is. “I was looking for you!”

This catches her off guard; few people (besides her family and her carolers, of course) attempt to intentionally seek her out. She squints. He smiles.

“Yeah, you’re actually pretty hard to find! Well…I guess there are a lot of people here and it’s a pretty huge house, so! Hehe, oh man, I’ve kinda been skulking around here for like, the better part of an hour! I must’ve looked so weird…” He trails off as he brings attention to the box she hadn’t noticed in his hands.

It’s not small, yet not overly large – its wrapping is lumpy, colored an obscenely inappropriate shade of orange with a pattern of strange, wiggly little suns, and is almost entirely covered in shiny pink bows. Looking at it for too long could probably burn her retinas, but she dubiously accepts the package without a word.

“I wrapped it myself!”  America says after a beat, “It took a little while ‘cause I don’t usually wrap my gifts? I mean, it’s kinda hard to wrap the cool syrup bottles I buy Mattie or the glass eggs I usually get Iggy, so I don’t really know how to wrap boxes or anything. I probably could’ve wrapped Francis’s cigar box though, damn it! I always think about this kind of thing too late, like it’s already Christmas Eve and it took me 12 hours to get here by jet and – “

America is spouting off nonsense about gifts and jetlag when Natalya begins to gingerly rip at the ugly gift. She sighs as she peels away the wrapping without incident and slowly opens the white box beneath it.

“ – And those geese didn’t even see us coming! Which I guess isn’t such a bad thing, as harsh as that sounds, like come on, geese are evil and – oh! Oh, you opened it, I wasn’t even paying attention. Sorry….What’d’ya think?”

It was a sweater. Blue and red with little white starts along the stripes, beautifully crafted with each stitch almost perfect (which led her to believe that he hadn’t actually made it).

“…It’s too small,”

And it was; perhaps half the size of her torso when she held it up to herself and she wondered if Mr. America was really that stupid. She stared at him as he reddened.

“O-Oh, um-!” America’s bright smile turned sheepish and he forced his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s, uh, actually not for you…,”

The uneasiness she’d felt before was gone with those words, but efficiently replaced with a strange thread of disappointment. A shame, really, she thinks as she looks longer at the sweater. She wonders if it’s perhaps for her to pass on to her sister…

“It’s for your cat,”

Natalya looks up at him incredulously. He’s smiling again, though still quite red in the face (it’s almost like looking in a mirror in that respect)

“…I’m sorry?”

“Your cat,” He says again, shining with a subtle pride, “I wasn’t really sure what to get you, since we don’t really, um…talk much. And I overheard Ms. Ukraine talking about your cat one day so I thought, “Bingo! I’ll get her cat something cool,” ‘cause I know I’d be pretty psyched if someone got my cat something like this. I was actually thinking like, a toy at first, like a little mouse with a bell or something, y’know? But then I saw this lady who made little cat sweaters and I’m like, “Holy shit! Holy shit, yes!” so I put in a custom order (who doesn’t love stars and stripes, am I right?) and boom bang, Christmas present for Ms. Belarus!…Do you like it?”

He seemed somehow smaller now. Mr. America was in general a rather tall man, having a decent 6-7 inch advantage over her 5”3 frame, but he’s hunched now, like a child waiting for a scolding. But he still smiles, brightly and nauseatingly at her like no one else has in a very long time. She feels even warmer and even more uneasy.

Natalya places the little sweater back in the box carefully, rubbing at the stitching with her thumb. Then she stares down at him, training herself to keep solid and give nothing away. She scowls as she whispers softly.

“Why did you want to give me something, Mr. America?”

America stares at her in a spooked sort of awe for a long, long while, so red in the face she can see his blood boiling in his ears. He fiddles in his hoodie pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels and looks every which way except for at her. Then finally, he throws his blond head back and sighs rather dramatically at the high ceilings of Vanya’s home before thrusting his open hand at her.

“I just-! …I-I’ve kinda wanted to get to know you better for a while now and…I couldn’t think of a good way to start a conversation. So here we go, uh: My name’s Alfred F. Jones (not Mr. America) and I think we should, um…hangout sometime,”

Natalya stares at the hand. Then she stares at him. America…Alfred F. Jones is red in the face, gnawing at the skin inside his mouth nervously, and while his eyes are a strange blue mish-mash of anxiety and embarrassment and fear, there is still a small shining speck of optimistic hope.

She very carefully slips her hand into his and shakes up and down.

“I am Natalya Arlovskaya,” She says quietly (she is hyper aware of how Alfred F. Jones perks up like a dog smelling a treat), “…I am very busy until January the 8th. Give me your pen,”

He nods slowly and hands her the pen like she’s a rabbit he can’t bear to scare away. She grabs his wrist before he can pull away and writes her phone number on the top of his hand.

“You will come on January the 8th,” She says simply, recapping the pen, “And we will…’hang out’, I suppose,”

Natalya cradles the white box in her hand and very quickly downs the glass of punch she’d set behind her on the table. She gives Alfred F. Jones one last nod before curtly walking away from the overpowering smell of food, very aware that he is watching her go with an awed expression. She reminds herself not to trip on her shoes.

—

Natalya decides that Natka looks rather sweet in the sweater Alfred F. Jones gave her. The colors suit the charcoal gray of her fur and the soft white of her underbelly; though Natka herself will only wear it for short bouts of time before fussing like the princess Natalya treats her as.

This time though, is a time when Natka cooperates and bunkers down in her kitty condo, still wearing the sweater. Natalya nods at her, allowing a smile to come to pass as she returns to her book.

Then there is a knock at the door.

Natka starts and jumps from the condo. Natalya is confused only for a second – she glances at the standing calendar on the table beside her couch and nods again at the large printed “8” underneath the smaller “January”.

The first thing she sees when she opens the door are small pink flowers bundled in blue plastic. Then the bouquet is lowered and all Natalya can see is a bright smile and a long, heavy sweater with bright red and blue stripes and various white stars. The man’s smile brightens as she arches her eyebrow.

“I, um. Got one too,” Alfred F. Jones says and hands her the bouquet, his face flushing to match its soft pink. “I got you something too this time. Pretty cool, huh? I know, I know, I’m awesome,”

Natalya allows herself a chuckle.

[bigboobshaunt]

Darkness Unwound.

Libra/Tharja fluff at the beach, basically. Also baby!Noire.

This is my Fesecretsanta gift to emeraldtrash, who has a Kakyoin problem. May you have the merriest and rero rero-iest of Christmas-es!

Tharja was fairly well acquainted with the summer sky, and with its sun, most of all; Being a native of Plegia made her used to all the associated heat, but the sand that her feet now touched was quite different from that which filled the desolate deserts of her homeland.

“Ugh…” was her first comment upon finally arriving at the beach, after days of travel - Truth be told, that was her first comment to a lot of things, though this trait was just one aspect of her person.

“Rest easy, my dear. I will look after Noire while you recover from the trip,” Libra noted, watching his wife lay motionless on the towel they’d set up above the sand.

The dark mage mumbled a few words that her husband took to be synonyms to a thank you, but her tone was far too slurred by tiredness for him to completely make out.

“Hey, you’re finally waking up!” Libra smiled as he held their two year old daughter in his arms. His voice was calm but cheery, the tone he always seemed to use, but it was specially effective with Noire, even more so when she was waking up.

Blinking repeatedly as her eyes adjusted to the strong sun of the coast, Noire buried her little face - still puffy from sleep - in her father’s chest, causing him to giggle while stroking her fine blond hair, that looked so much like his already, though much shorter.

Tharja let a smile greet her lips as she watched the scene from her place of comfort, before nuzzling the rich and smooth fabric of their towel, which Libra had made himself. A very skillful man, her husband was.

“Aww, Noire, dear… I am very sorry, but we do need to apply some lotion to your skin…” the war monk explained, or tried to, as he ran around trying to catch his little daughter, who fiercely evaded his efforts thus far. “You won’t like it when you have sunburns. I assure you, child,” he noted, placing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“Let me,” his wife whispered as she turned around to lie on her back, before murmuring some incantations, causing the very ambient around them to darken, if only slightly.

“What was that, pray tell?” Libra inquired, his brow furrowing as he watched their little treasure sit and play with the thin sand between her fingers.

 “A sun-blocking hex,” Tharja curtly explained, letting out a yawn and adjusting her raven-black locks out of her face.

“That seems mighty handy… but is it safe for children?” the priestly man asked, sitting in the shade of a tall tree, just a few feet away from his wife.

“It is perfectly fine,” she exclaimed, neither fully confirming it nor branding it as bad. “It’s the same one I’ve used all my life.”

“Huh,” Libra muttered, carefully watching Noire at play. “Would this hex be the reason why your skin is so fair, Tharja?”

 “Why do you ask?” the woman wondered, turning to face her husband, after making sure the placement of her bikini covered the right places again.

“Er, you have told me you lived in Plegia all your life, so I’ve always wondered how come your skin was so pale. Not that it is a problem to be pale of skin, mind you,” Libra detailed, carefully measuring his words.

“I don’t know what your holy scriptures of Naga have been telling you, but us Plegians come in all shapes, sizes and skin tones,” she explained, a sly smile upon her lips.

“I suppose so,” Libra nodded, leaning his back on the tree and letting out a yawn, contagiously received from his wife, no doubt.

“I am pulling your leg… I’ve been using hexes to preserve this very light tone, else the sun of Plegia would have given me a tan for life,” the dark mage said, after a tiny giggle at her gullible husband’s expense.

“Oh you…” Libra gave her a smile, which she reciprocated before becoming unreasonably flustered and needed to look away from him for a second.

It was his darkness that pulled her to him, yet it was his light that kept her with him.

“Is something wrong?” the religious man asked, while fixing his long hair in a ponytail, to stifle the heat.

“Oh, don’t concern yourself with it,” the dark mage lied through her teeth, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. “Ah, well… if you could do me a favor and slather my back with lotion, that would be nice.”

Libra almost questioned why she didn’t just use the same spell she’d used for their daughters, but he figured it’d be unwise to so casually cross the fearsome woman, no matter how much he loved her.

The need for her husband to actually perform the deed rather than just using magic herself, was, of course, completely deliberate on Tharja’s part.

She untied the back of her beachwear and let out a sigh, while waiting for Libra to pick up the product - which they had gotten from Anna (or one of her sisters, they were not sure) once the trickster girl learned they would be visiting the coast.

Libra wasted no time in helping with his love’s predicament, though she would have preferred if he had, but the feeling and the attention were still enjoyable, making her practically purr as her husband massaged her sore back while simultaneously spreading the lotion.

Tharja watched her baby girl play with a stick near the water’s edge, absentmindedly doodling on the sand and having the sea erase her efforts, only for Noire to draw again and again, intent on somehow beating nature’s whim.

Tharja never had a childhood that could be considered normal, but in that moment she hoped Noire would. She had no awareness of the events that would unfold, and of the war that was about to engulf the land, but in that moment, she was truly happy, basking in a sun much different than the harsh one of her youth, with the two people she loved the most.

[softpeaks]

8,17,27

8:Want any tattoos?

Yes! I want the roman numeral 1 on my left wrist, stars on my right arm and a cat silhouette on my shoulder possibly 17:Someone you miss

I miss one of my really close friends Ren so much!! I think about him like everyday and I hope we can hang out again soon ;;

27:A description of the person I like

They are super cute, they're super nice and know how to make me feel better! They have really great eyebrows and just a great face in general

[roha-n-blog]

I just wanted to stop by and say I really love your blog and I hope you're having a good day!!

ahhh!! thank you sweetie!!