mud on his boots and straw stuck to his flannel. sunburn on his neck, tan lines on his wrists where his watch used to be. hat tilted low, brim frayed from years of work. smells like cedarwood soap and hay. dimples that shows when he laughs. a laugh that shakes the dust off the porch rail. knuckles rough, palms warm, always brushing dirt from your cheek. keeps a photo of you tucked in his wallet. flannel shirts that smell faintly of smoke from the firepit.
hums old country songs when he thinks no one’s listening. fixes the screen door but leaves the creak in because you said it sounds like home. reads the newspaper every morning with black coffee. carries your hair tie on his wrist, a quiet little habit. cowboy hat on the bedpost. boots by the door. wedding ring catching morning light as he ties his horse’s reins. kisses that taste like honey.
cowboy!clark has a way of saying you okay, sugar? that makes your whole chest loosen, no matter how bad the day’s been.
cowboy!clark laughs with his whole body, shoulders shaking, eyes squinting until he’s got tears at the corners. you can hear it echoing across the fields when he’s fixing a fence and you shout something teasing from the porch.
cowboy!clark is a sucker for storms. he stands on the porch, one hand resting on the railing, watching lightning fork over the horizon like he’s remembering something only he understands.
cowboy!clark makes you dance barefoot in the kitchen to old country songs, his big hands gentle on your waist, humming off-key against your temple.
cowboy!clark takes care of everyone else before himself. you’ve had to learn to tug him inside when the rain starts, to wipe the dirt off his face and make him rest. he always smiles, sheepish, like he doesn’t deserve it.
work for cowboy!clark . . . a day in the farm : before the sun :
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I love your fic about cap and Adele 😭 would love to see more moments with the cap and/or logan and the dumais kiddos🫶🏼
Fic O'Ween Day 3: Potion Mishap
Dumais family (biological and by acquisition) for the holiday! Characters belong to @lumosinlove and fest prompts/ guidelines/ submissions from @noots-fic-fests <3
“Any minute now,” Pascal muttered.
“Not likely,” Celeste countered. “Look. Marc has a wand.”
Pascal grimaced, though that may have been his continued refusal to put his reading glasses on while peering out the kitchen blinds. She would never understand the desire to make his life harder for no reason. The glasses made him look quite handsome, in an academic kind of way.
“That hat is going to be ruined.”
Celeste turned the page of her book. “It was too small anyway.”
“Isn’t she going as a witch this year?”
“You are so…” She gestured at him, laughing. “Restless, right now. What is going on?”
“They’re going to get sick,” he insisted, as he had been since the rain began. “It’s cold out there. You never know.”
Eugh, cold. Celeste was perfectly content to sip her hot cider in peace. “Sirius and Logan are very responsible, mon cher.”
“Pssh.”
“If you’re that worried, you can go tell them to come inside.”
Pascal finally looked away from the window, blinking in the change of light. The corner of his mouth turned down and dimpled his cheek. “But it’s so quiet in here,” he said, evidently put-out.
“Then let them play and come join me.”
Often, all it took was a simple invite—that, and the expectant arch of her eyebrow while she shuffled her legs up to make room on the loveseat. The old wood bones creaked when he sat beside her with a long sigh. Celeste set her drink down and followed the tug of his arm around her shoulders happily, drawing the blanket with her as she laid her head in his lap. Her hairpin slipped out without a single pinch. His fingers combed through the ends, searching for tangles.
“If they get pneumonia, I’m blaming Logan.”
“Pascal.” She craned her neck up to get a good look at him. “They’re fine.”
“I know.” His thumb swept across her smile. He gave her chin a nudge to turn her again. “I worry.”
“You could power a small city.”
“We have a perfectly warm and dry house.” A warm palm found the pressure point at her nape for a gentle massage. Celeste let her eyes fall shut. “But no. Mud pies in the yard. I don’t understand.”
“Be grateful,” she murmured. “I almost locked the door behind them.”
“I’m sure we’ll hear all about it later.”
“I’m going to cut all my hair off.”
He made a distressed sound, working his fingertips at the back of her scalp. “No, why?”
“Heavy.” She stifled a yawn. Dark skies and a warm home were creeping up on her. “Maybe to my shoulders.”
His wordless noises were still distressed. She could get him better than that.
“Changed my mind. Pixie cut.”
“Why do you torment me?” he groaned. “You’re so beautiful and so cruel.”
“I think it would look nice.”
“You would look wonderful with any haircut, mon amour.” Now, that was properly mournful. Celeste smiled and kissed the bit of his thigh nearest to her. He was doing some sort of braid; she felt the ends of her hair lift and tug, ever so gentle.
“I won’t go that short. Maybe a few inches off, for the winter. What kind?”
“Fishtail.”
“Adele taught you?”
“She tried,” Pascal laughed. “It’s a bit of a mess right now. I’ll try again in a moment. How’s your book?”
“Less interesting than this,” she said, stretching her legs as carefully as she could without disrupting his pattern. “But good. I like it for a storm.”
“Quebecois beach read.”
“Exactly,” she snorted. Corduroy scratched her cheek pleasantly when she shifted. His index finger hooked a stray piece of hair that had been stuck over her ear, and she shivered.
“Cold?”
“Comfortable.”
He hummed in agreement, but tucked the edge of the blanket over her shoulder anyway. Outside, thunder rolled past and brought a wave of shrieks and giggles with it. She hadn’t seen lightning yet. The first flash would have her sending Pascal out to bring them in for real, but for now, this time was theirs. A little after-lunch peace in the eye of it all.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait for the lightning, nor commit her husband to wet socks and a blast of cold. The next peal of thunder saw the back door opening in a tumble of mayhem and mud. The rain was tender on the roof, but it had apparently been anything but for the mess of sopping children that crowded onto the welcome mat.
“Laundry room!” Sirius ordered over chattering teeth and half-shouted greetings. “Hey, no, shoes at the door, who raised you animals?”
“My fault!” Celeste called. She laughed out loud when Logan hoisted Louis up under his arms to drop him behind the laundry room door.
“My god, they look like pigs,” Pascal whispered, audibly gleeful.
“Okay—okay—I can get my own shoes off,” Sirius laughed, hopping on one foot to work his muck-coated sneaker free as Katie attempted to untie his shoelace in a puddle of giggles. Speaking of…
Celeste watched the rainwater pool at their feet in a sideways, half-asleep sort of haze while Sirius and Logan herded the kids into the laundry room. Noise ebbed and grew with every sway of the door. After a moment, Logan emerged alone, tiptoeing along the floor as if that would save his ruined socks.
“What happened to you?” Pascal asked. His voice was a light, teasing hum between her shoulder blades. Utter bliss.
“We had, ah, a bit of a potion mishap.” Logan’s grin was broad and bashful. He glanced back toward the laundry room at a very Sirius-sounding yelp. “They’re going to devour him.”
“Oh?”
“They need to ritually sacrifice the dragon—” He broke off for a moment when he ducked into the bathroom. Celeste exchanged a look with her husband. Ritual sacrifice? he mouthed. The shower squeaked on, and Logan materialized again. “—Sorry. Sacrifice the dragon to get the dragon blood to finish the potion to rescue the princess. And the wizard.”
“Who’s the princess?”
“Me. Louis made a hat out of leaves.”
“IT’S A CROWN!” Louis hollered from the laundry room.
“HOT SHOWER’S ON!” Logan yelled back. “And you’re last in line!”
“Do we tell him he’s still wearing some?” Pascal murmured, one hand half-covering his mouth. Celeste hushed him quickly.
Sirius hustled the children out of the laundry room, now missing their raincoats, socks, and sweaters. He looked, impossibly, even muddier than before. “Go, get out of here, go kill each other for the shower and leave me out of it!”
Adele skidded to a stop in front of the doorway and braced her arms against either side, blocking the path to curling steam. “Hold on,” she declared. “You were on the ground the most, don’t you want it?”
On the ground. Poor boy. Sirius only stuck his tongue out at them and tossed a loose sock behind him. “I have a shower at my own house that I can use.”
“You’re not leaving,” Marc said with a sudden sadness. “You can’t, we’re having your favorite.”
“What?”
“Mama’s cooking.”
Logan jumped in immediately. “Yeah, Sirius. You can’t leave.”
“…fine,” Sirius sighed, after a moment of pondering pause Celeste saw right through like glass.
“But you still get last shower.”
“YES!” Louis cheered.
The slam of the bathroom door made them all jump. Celeste heard the lock go a half-second later and stifled a laugh in her hand. The clamoring kicked off once again, three voices begging Adele to play fair and gimme a chance and don’t use all the hot water. Logan was enough of an adult to keep his mouth shut, but even his face scrunched with betrayal.
She felt a tap at the curve of her shoulder and glanced up, where Pascal was waiting with the smile she had fallen in love with. “You’re done.”
“Hmm?”
“Your hair.”
She blinked, raising a hand to feel. She hadn’t even realized the weight was off her neck, leaving room for the heat from the fireplace to toast her skin. Each strand of the plait ran in an even ladder beneath the pads of her fingers. Sweet man. Hopeless romantic. “Merci, mon chou,” she sighed, closing her hand around his and pulling it around to kiss the band of his ring. “It’s perfect.”
“Only the best for you.”
Sirius gave them a smile and a little wave as he passed with the other kids in tow, shepherding them upstairs to the other showers. In the kitchen behind him, she heard Logan put the kettle on. Lightning flashed in a white-purple arc in an indigo sky.
“Hey.” She tugged Pascal’s hand and felt him sit up. “I’m going to work on my blog tonight.”
His eyes lit up. “Can I proofread?”
“Please.” She went to turn back around, then did a double-take. “And wear your glasses.”
In Sunshine Under the Earth do you have any specific designs for Polites, Eurylochus, Tiresias and Hermes?
oh!!! Hi!! Okay!!! (Ushers you into my treehouse for hot cocoa) yes!! Well no actually but yes!! Maybe??
I usually adore all the basic concept arts of characters, I love the way they were modeled after the voice actors. So for Polites, Eurylochus, and I guess Hermes, I do think of them like most others would! For Tiresias, since I think there’s less of a common mental image- yknow what why don’t I just describe how I view everybody
Polites- brown fluffy/curly hair with iconic red headband (of course), taller then Odysseus (obviously)- kind of average height, comes up to maybe Eurylochus’ shoulder. Not super buff or wide but decently strong (though I do admit I do buy into the Ancient Greek Twink propaganda). One example of how I usually imagine him is @wolfythewitch’s art! Like their lovely Full Speed Ahead animatic :)
Eurylochus- AAAAAAAA I am NOT normal about him. EVER. I LOVE HIM. So yeah, tall, buff, black, shaved head, small smile and dimples, loves his wife, and while he isn’t mentioned to have jewelry in SUtE, I do like to think of him with it. Think of @notsoalonedesert’s art of him!! I adore their art so much, their eurymene content makes me scream. They’re probably the reason I’m so obsessed with him. Oh, also, he and the souls that died by Zeus are the only ones with (litchenberg/lightning) scars from their death! Though they might be fading as time passes (definitely not because author forgot about them, cough cough)
Hermes- curly light-brown hair, I guess maybe with a hat even if I’ve never mentioned it…sandals and ankle wings, of course, a lovely caduceus and that 23/7 fruity smirk (the other hour is for when he’s worried about Tiresias). Hermes and Tiresias are also about the same height, which is why Hermes sometimes hovers or is in his tip-toes to embrace or talk to Tiresias (not that Tiresias sees him lmao). I do also like the idea of Hermes with wings around his helmet/eyes but I simply never included that so
Tiresias- “it’s kinda hard to tell their age since they wear that long black hooded robe and they have a staff, but they have long, straight hair but they don’t look particularly old, and they’re pretty androgynous, and also just kinda pretty so I guess I understand what it is Hermes wants so ba-“
(-one of the crewmates right before getting wrecked by Hermes. Stelios or Yianni maybe) (I started rambling about how I picture Tiresias but then realized it just sounded like a crewmate yapping) ——— ummm Tiresias also has very pale and thin features and limbs/fingers, bro don’t get a lot of sunlight okay- and their eyes glow white when they get/broadcast visions!! Probably my mental image was most heavily influenced by @gigizetz and @sodapanque. I am falling for the twink propaganda
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WIP Whenever, thanks to @fictionobsession for the tag!
(I don't generally like tagging folks in stuff but if anyone wants to take this as a tag, consider yourself tagged!)
This is a bit from a Veilguard AU I've been working on in which Tarquin is a tattoo artist and Ashur is his client. It'll be three parts, first two are done, and I'm up to 11k words.
—
He holds out the tablet. “Well, here’s what I've worked up for you. Let me know what you think.”
Now minus the silly hat and in closer quarters, Tarquin can take in the finer details of Ashur’s face: the elegant sweep of his brows, the strange silvery sheen of his hair in certain light, the slightest of dimples in his cheeks. He’d missed it earlier, but an almost imperceptible scar, thin as a razorblade, spiders down the left side of his face from brow to mouth, slicing the plain of his high-boned cheek like a lightning strike. And like most scars it creates a new layer of intrigue about how he might have received it. He spies, too, the little emerald teardrops sparkling at his ears, deep green with an elusive flash of blue set in gold, a poor mirror of his unusual eyes.
The reaction he’s watching for doesn’t come right away. Ashur just stares at the tablet, face inscrutable. After several long moments, Tarquin turns back to the workbench and rummages for something to nervously fiddle with.
“If you want to change anything, I’ll see if I can make it work. Your brief was pretty barebones, which is fine, but if I need to overhaul the whole thing–”
“You made this for me?” Ashur’s voice is soft with quiet incredulity. It’s almost reverent.
When Tarquin turns back, Ashur’s still staring at the tablet, but his eyes are wide with something like wonder, his lips slightly parted in awe. There’s a small, somewhat bemused tremor in his voice, as though he’s been given a gift he's surprised to receive. It’s in his eyes, too. A soft kind of incredulity tinged with sadness.
M | 1.3k | language/sexual themes/dubious consent alluded to.
The clouds came on quick as the wind swept up. Both Steve and Robin’s hair whipping around their faces.
“You’re sure this is right?” Steve said loudly to be heard over the brewing storm.
“Yes, I swear. The cute blonde handed me the flyer and this is the address-“ She yelled back as she wrapped her coat tighter around her body.
They came through a clearing in the woods, lanterns lit a barely visible path as the flames danced in the blustery conditions, but there seemed to be an old house up ahead.
The flyer had touted a pop-up circus that only happened one night per city they caravanned through. Steve had expected some striped big top tent to give it away. This looked almost abandoned.
An older gentleman met them on the path materializing seemingly out of thin air, “Here for the festivities?” He asked in a rumbling voice.
Steve nodded as he slipped a hand into Robin’s- maybe this wasn’t worth it.
“Right this way then…” The man held up his lantern and walked into the wind, not looking back, only assuming Steve and Robin would follow.
Steve glared at Robin, “Do we cut our loses?”
“We’ve come this far.” She said so they followed on.
Choices made.
History in the making.
They came up to the side of the old but well kept farmhouse. The man pointed to the cellar, “You must open it and go down. The attractions are worth it- otherworldly, really.”
Steve paused, if this was all a Halloween gimmick they had really committed. Or he was walking to his death. Because going down into a cellar screamed ‘you’re getting murdered’.
“Thanks.” Robin breathed out as she crouched and opened the doors to whatever lay beneath. Music raised up from the opening. The sky flashed a crackle of lightning overhead. This was it.
They stepped down into the hearth as the man outside closed the doors over them, “Did you hear that?” Steve asked, panic rising.
“Hear what?” Robin asked as they followed the music.
“A locking sound, are we locked in?”
“Dingus, this is a Halloween attraction I got personally invited to, relax.” She firmly held his hand and tugged him along behind her.
Voices audible now, a small few benches set up for an audience. The inside of this house's underground interior more magnificent than Steve had ever seen. Instead of roots and dirt it was lavish tiles and gold. The walls a striped pattern, not red and white like a big top, but gold and black.
He blinked as he looked around himself- it felt unreal. A certain shimmer to it keeping it from a solid reality.
A few more people came down while a handful more were already here.
Ringed fingers clasped on his shoulder, “Well aren’t you a lovely addition to the crowd tonight.” The voice curled around his brain as if the word had been said in his mind.
Steve turned quick, next to him was a long haired man in a black waistcoat, striped black flood pants, heavy black books and a top hat atop his dark brown waves. His eyes expressive and lined in black that smoked out to grey. He flashed him a dimpled smile and turned to Robin, “You’re Chrissy’s guest I presume?”
She nodded speechless in the moment.
The man was striking.
A tiny strawberry blonde in a deep oxblood red corset and shiny black leather pants approached. Now Steve understood why Robin dragged him down into the earth for this, this, whatever it was.
“I’m so glad you made it.” She smiled through bright red lips. She looked hungry as her eyes locked with Robin’s, “Take a seat the show’s about to begin.”
•
The thing is Steve couldn’t remember a thing about the show- maybe there were contortionists? A fire eater? Sword swallower? Regular circus acts- maybe. All of it felt like a dream.
He looked to Robin whose eye’s were locked on the petite blonde as she and the man they had spoken to before entwined hands and took a bow, people around them clapped, Steve still felt dazed.
A bar lit up and people were ushered over for drinks. Robin was whisked away by Chrissy, Steve hesitated he didn’t want to ruin her good time. Things felt off, what was wrong with him?
The man from before came up to him with two drinks in hand, “Here shall we toast to our friends?” He asked as he handed one glass to Steve.
“Or would you rather come with me? So vital, I can smell it on you, the woods at daybreak- sun rays glistening on a lake. I can almost taste it.” He said close to Steve’s ear.
The suggestion enough to stir something in his insides, almost like butterflies in his stomach, maybe panicked butterflies? The man was undeniably hot. A hint of tattoos peaked from the edges of his clothing.
Steve swallowed thickly, “Me?” He asked feeling dumb.
“Yes, all of them? Boring compared to you.” The man said as he gestured his glass at the remaining people.
“I’ll go with you.” Steve said quietly.
Before he knew it they were in a more private room. Still accented with golds and black.
Steve furrowed his brows and shook his head, weird.
“I didn’t catch your name.” He inquired as he regained his bearings.
“You can call me Eddie.” The man said as he discarded his theatrical hat and moved in closer to Steve.
“Eddie.” He whispered back.
“Yes, young one, that’s me.” He winked.
Steve huffed a laugh, “Young one? We’re the same age?”
Eddie’s smirk grew his teeth seemed sharper, “Sure we are, sweet heart, sunshine, big boy.”
Steve felt the same stirring in his gut, yet he was drawn in.
The man flashed another toothy smile as he leaned in and nosed along Steve’s neck sending a shiver down his spine. His hands came up on their own accord holding onto the man’s shoulders. He felt a wet stripe licked up the side of his throat and his knees went weak.
A wandering ringed hand cupped him between his legs as his interest grew. He moaned out as his hips jerked searching for more.
•
Steve and Robin awoke safely in his bimmer. Confused but no worse for wear, “Are you-" he started, "how did we?” Steve got out as Robin let out a disgruntled sound.
“What the fuck?” She mused in the cold morning air between them.
There were tree branches down from the storm the night before. The morning dew on the grass frosted over from the dipped temperature overnight.
Steve’s memory was fuzzy but steeped in warmth and pleasure. He let his fingers trail over his neck but he felt nothing there just the ghost of something.
“Let’s just…wanna check it out?” Robin asked sharing a look similar to Steve’s her own memory a haze of something and nothing.
He drove closer to where they had walked the night prior. An abandoned house came into view. This one had the windows boarded up and the door padlocked, that hadn’t been there before.
“The cellar.” Steve remembered.
Robin nodded and unclicked her seatbelt.
The two wandered out of the still idling car. Exhaust visible in the chill of the early morning.
They crouched by the door they had walked down mere hours ago. Robin touched the chain, unlocked, she slid it through the handles.
Each one grabbed a side and pulled it open-
Nothing.
Stone steps, dirt, and roots. What you’d expect to find under an old farmhouse.
They ran back to the bimmer and drove back into town.
Nothing but shared confusion and the feeling of punctured skin and pleasure on the edges of their psyche.
•
Written for @fuctacles october monster prompt list. Just a fun little thing in the spirit of Halloween. 🧛♂️🩸🪞💕
Hi!! I wrote this for @mcyt-aro-week, for the prompt 'magic'! Sorry its a bit late, my phone wont let me post anything, it`s only here now through a very complicated process of emailing :')
I am not an expert in this subject, so if anyone aroacespec wants to give me any notes or advice, they would be very much welcomed!
-
Shelby narrowly dodged a current of water that was blasted at her, and adjusted her hat with a thunderous sort of expression. To retaliate, she spoke a spell under her breath and flicked her wrists, watching with great satisfaction as a small stormcloud formed above Pris’ head.
The water witch gave a sort of surprised squeak, but before the droplets of rain could reach her, she did a fantastic twirl and extended her arm towards Shelby very dramatically. The drops all flowed and twisted together to form one big current, one that launched itself at the storm witch.
Shelby squealed as it hit her, and Pris let out a cackle at the sight of her soaking wet, her wispy strands of cloud-like hair sticking to her sides dismally. “Face it, Storm Witch! You're no match for me! Any attack you have, I can just bend to my will! Give up!”
The shorter witch inhaled deeply through her nose, and clenched her fists, “Oh?” - before she raised her arms to the sky, and began to shout an incantation with all of her might.
Pris blinked - “Wait, what are you doing?” - but realised too late, as a bolt of lightning sprung from the heavens and hit her directly. She was knocked to the floor with no hope of fighting it, and now lay, uninjured but dazed.
“Ha!” Shelby ran over to her with a wicked grin on her face. “I do believe I have won. What was it you were saying? ‘No match for you’?”
Pris groaned as Shelby helped her to her feet, “Dang it.”, but then stuck out a hand that Shelby shook. “Good match.”
“Yeah, you too! You were actually awesome. I think you would have won if it hadn't been for my lightning spell.”
“That is insanely powerful, dude.”
Pris had looped her arm around Shelby's shoulders to support herself, and the two of them hobbled back to Shelby's observatory, discussing tactics as they went.
A little while later, after they had dried off, they sat on a sofa in the main room of the building, the one leading onto the giant telescope in the roof. Shelby was reading a book, with Pris’ head on her lap.
“Shelby?”
“Mm-hm?” Shelby did not look up from her book.
“This isn't, like… romantic, is it?”
Okay, now she looked up from her book. “What? No..?”
Pris folded her arms against her chest to make herself more comfortable and stared at the ceiling. “Okay. Thought so.”
“Why?”
“I…” The water witch turned her face away from the other. “A couple of the other witches were saying that the stuff we do is, uh.. the kind of stuff people usually do romantically.”
Shelby put her book down. “Does that bother you?”
“Not really bother, no, it just.. makes me feel weird.”
“Do you think we're romantic?”
“No.”
“No, I don't either. Surely that's all that matters, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Pris nodded, but she still seemed a little unsure. “So.. friends?”
Shelby hummed. “I don't know about that.”
“No?”
“No. I think we're kind of just… us.”
Pris smiled in the way that only Shelby could make her, that lovely grin that showed off her dimples. “Us. I like that. I love that.”
Shelby smiled too, and gave a contented “Mm.”, before spreading her arms, and with somewhat of a manner of a small child, demanded, “Hug. Now.”
Pris giggled and tackled her, sinking into the depths of her fluffy jumper. And as the rain pattered down on the roof, they held each other, warm, and happy. Shelby loved the way Pris smelled of sea salt and caramel, and Pris loved the way Shelby smelled of hot chocolate and scented candles.
It didn't matter what people thought.
They loved each other. Did it really need further explaining?
