#cs prompt

[kmomof4]

If that’s not a CS s2 prompt right there, I don’t know what is.

Person A: "Think of it like a dance."

Person B: "We're about to fight."

Person A: "A dance between enemies."

[kaiserouo]

(prev)

FYI:

sudo shutdown now: Shut down immediately.

for i in $(seq 1000); do yes & done: Open 1000 "yes" process at the background. Each of them alone can throttle your CPU usage at 100%.

:(){ :|:& };:: Fork bomb, eats all your resources.

sudo rm -rf /: Erase the system and all your disks.

Don't run any of this if you don't know what you're doing.

[captainodonoghue]

Polin Advent Calendar 2024 Day 1 ↝ insp

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Emotions (Fear)

Fear is another difficult emotion to write about, because there are many different degrees and types of fear a character can feel.

Scared: Other Words to Use

HIGH: terrified, overwhelmed, panicked, petrified, alarmed, fearful MODERATE: worried, tense, dread, shaken, anxious, afraid, panicky, panicked LOW: startled, surprised, uneasy, edgy, apprehensive, hesitant, uncomfortable

Fear: Some Signs

Eyebrows may be pulled up and together

Upper eyelids may be pulled up, and lower eyelids may be tense and drawn up as well

The mouth may be stretched and drawn back, possibly exposing teeth

Vertical wrinkles may appear between the eyebrows

Fear: Some Notes

Fear is not the same as nervousness or surprise.

The expression for surprise looks different, and although nervousness is often a precursor to fear, they are not the same.

The expressions for fear and anger share a lot of similarities, including the “fight-or-flight” response. However, the context of the situation is usually enough to tip the readers off to which emotion the character is feeling.

Another way to distinguish the two is with the character’s body language. If a character is angry, they are going to move deliberately and with confidence. They will take up space and command attention with the way they move. An angry person is usually on the offensive, while a fearful person is going to be defensive. A fearful person may try to make themselves small to avoid drawing attention, or they may instinctively shrink away from whatever is frightening them.

Fear: Some Quotes

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. (Frank Herbert)

Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?' 'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him. (George R.R. Martin)

There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. (Patrick Rothfuss)

We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. (Plato)

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. (C.S. Lewis)

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

[chained-spirits]

Since not all of you are on the server, I've decided to bring an art prompt for the 1 year anniversary to tumblr!

Draw your favourite(s) Link and / or secondary characters / designs (eg: Proxi) or come up with a Zonai/Lomei/Twili design! (Ref at the end)

Deadline is 22nd of June

When you are done, tag this account or use the tag #Chained Spirits Anniversary. Multiple submissions are allowed!

Have fun!!

[creamsiclemelt]

not sure what type of prompts u wanted but maybe natejo where the team realizes jo is their solution to how angry nate gets

(or if u need smtg more specific and more ur beat in terms of freaky, natejo cockwarming ◡̈)

I decided to combine both of your prompts anon! Enjoy!

///

Jo is a nice guy. He’s always quick to smile, and is a hell of a hockey player. 

But if you ask Mikko, maybe the best part of having him here, above everything else, is how he has a handle on Mack. Mikko’s never seen anyone outside of Gabe know how to talk Nate down when he’s worked up. 

Jo, though, blows even Gabe out of the water in Nate-handling-skills. Mikko’s seen Jo happily step in between Nate and the target of his ire more than once, has seen Jo go over and make Nate crack a smile when he’s got That One Look on his face. Within the first two weeks of the season, Mikko already knows just how valuable he’s going to be strictly for that alone. 

Still, when Nate accidentally bats the puck into their own net in the last minute of a one-goal game, Mikko knows that the nice dinner out the boys had planned is about to be a whole lot less relaxing than they had hoped for. Either Nate’s not coming—which seems unlikely because Jo’s coming—or he will, and be snappy and irritable when he’s not trying to talk hockey with whoever’s caught next to him. Not to mention what he’s going to be like at practice tomorrow. 

He doubts any amount of Jo talking to Nate or trying to make him laugh is going to change that. 

Mikko stays and does a post-game TV interview right after the game and hopes idly that maybe Nate will have the worst of his anger out by the time he makes it back to the room. 

He’s not exactly optimistic as he approaches the locker room and hears the dead silence coming from it. When he opens the door, he’s expecting some kind of—well. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. But it isn’t what he finds.

Because Nate’s sitting in his stall, slumped like the picture of relaxation, with his legs spread wide. And in between his knees, there’s a dark head of hair.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is, but when Mikko cautiously approaches his stall, situated right next to Nate’s, he finds himself blinking down at Jo, eyes caught on the way his mouth is being stretched open by Nate’s cock. 

Jo’s eyes flick over to his, and although Mikko can see his face getting pink, he doesn’t try to pull away, just blinks once, twice, and then shuts his eyes. 

“Thank you, baby,” Nate says, his voice husky and maybe the calmest Mikko’s ever heard him sound after a loss like that. “You’re doing such a good job.” 

Then he looks up, glances around the room until he sees a member of the staff, standing in place, just as frozen as everyone else. “Can you guys do post-game interviews somewhere else?” he asks. 

And, well—

It’s a small price to pay in exchange for a content, calm Nate, all things considered.

[crowaroni]

the carlos sainz/james vowels movement is the absolute last thing i expected but now i highkey fw it

[torchickentacos]

Everyone talks shit on fanon, which I totally get sometimes and everyone's entitled to their opinions. That said, I think there is something special about how some details were never even HINTED AT in canon, yet everyone seems to adopt it as fanon anyways with no reason to. It's not even extrapolated, it's truly out of nothing, but everyone went 'yeah, sure' about it anyways. I mostly love it with tiny random details that hold no bearing. Just insignificant things that, for some reason, everyone agreed on. Like, a character's coffee order, or the kind of car they'd drive, or how neat or messy they are. It's so neat to see fanon develop little idiosyncrasies like that, especially when it's not traceable to any one popular work or canon moment and it seems to have just been widely adopted from nothing but collective vibes. I think it's really cool!

[aquavierra]

My dad told me when we were watching Azerbaijan GP that Carlos hit Perez to save Charles Leclerc so Charles can get the second place. What a theory from a literal shipper ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo Entry: "Coming Back on the Wind"

Summary: When a sudden storm blows up while Killian, Emma, and their family are out in Storybrooke's wood camping, they find shelter and Killian tells an almost-forgotten tale to pass the time...

Author's Notes: Thanks to @hollyethecurious for the lovely bingo board to play with! This is the first entry I have managed to create (hopefully there will be more to come before Autumn gets away from me entirely!) for the prompt "stormy seas"

Takes place in a post-s6 future where Killian and Emma have Hope and twin boys as well, Henry stayed with Violet and didn't go on adventures in other realms, and Emma's little brother is named Leo instead of Neal!

** Also available on AO3 if that's your preference**

"Coming Back on the Wind"

by: @snowbellewells

Outside the hunter’s cabin in the forest bordering Storybrooke, the rain splashed wetly against the windowpane. The torrents of water pouring down from the sky showed no sign of letting up anytime soon. Though he would have preferred they have made it all the way back home from their weekend camping excursion, Killian looked out the window without any true sense of alarm as the branches swayed wildly and the wind moaned, but they remained safe and dry in the log structure which was proving admirably sound - if rather small for their extended crew. The ground might grow soggy and some branches might fall, but it was merely an October storm, not the sort of maelstrom that had once made him cower in the corner of his bunk on Silver’s ship as the waves rolled and he feared the vessel would sink before the dawn.

Turning from his vantage point before the sink in the small kitchen area, Killian’s eyes surveyed the rest of the cabin to find his family and their guests gathered in the open living area around the crackling fireplace, which he had watched Emma light with a mere flex of her fingers. It mattered not that they had been married nearly seven years now, nor how often he had seen his wife avert tragedy and summon marvels into existence; he was still in awe of her, and he often found himself watching her with his breath stolen away, struck speechless by his Swan and all that she was.

His gaze was drawn to her once again as he ascertained that all were well and accounted for. Emma was bustling about to bring Hope her stuffed crocodile (a gift from Belle and young Gideon which entertained everyone else simply for how much Killian grumbled about it), bringing a throw blanket for Henry’s lovely girlfriend to drape over her legs where she was curled up against Henry on the sofa, and then she settled too, pulling their twins onto her lap as she did. Her younger brother Leo, now a bright and cheerful preteen with his father’s blonde hair and chiseled chin but his mother and sister’s brightly shining green eyes, along with Gideon Gold, almost eight now, were also seated within the fireside huddle, having been happy to go on an outdoor adventure with the Jones crew and give their respective parents a night off. When she asked who wanted hot chocolate with cinnamon, there was a lively, unanimous chorus of approval that drowned all sound of the wind and rain outdoors, and had Killian chuckling and shaking his head even from across the room.

“I would think you might have already known the answer to that question, Love,” he playfully chided.

Shooting him a scoff and a mischievous wink, Emma swirled her hand in the air once more and a perfect mug of cocoa, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon appeared in the hands of all but him, eliciting squeals of surprise and delight from the younger children. Gideon in particular wriggled with excitement at the prospect of such a sweet treat. Killian knew that Belle favored tea and healthy snacks and seriously doubted that liquid chocolate was on the boy’s usual menu. 

Thankfully, they hadn’t been far from the old, abandoned cabin when the storm had blown up unexpectedly, and they had managed to get themselves and their things inside the shelter before being truly drenched. Still, Killian reckoned it was wise of Emma to make sure their charges were warmed by the fire and set with the hot drinks as well - though he couldn’t resist needling her a bit for it.

Still, his own insides warmed at the cozy feeling of belonging he had in a cabin in the stormy Maine woods. He had never truly known such peace until these last few of his uncounted years of life, only since meeting Emma and their starting their own small family. The contentment spread throughout his being so completely that it seemed to pour from his fingers and toes; Killian could only draw nearer to his loved ones to drink in the moment. Henry glanced up from where he had been adoringly studying Violet’s profile and gave his stepdad a knowing look as he lowered himself to sit by his Savior’s side. And he could only sheepishly acknowledge the lad’s playful glance. Henry knew the man his mother had married could never stay far from her, always drawn like the strongest of magnets - True Love at its finest.

Soon all of the children, and Emma as well, were happily sipping their decadent drinks and savoring the warmth as it traveled down their throats and soothed their stomachs pleasantly. Hope lowered her mug slightly, only to reveal a dollop of whipped cream on the tip of her pert little nose.

“You’ve missed a taste, lovey,” Killian murmured, the affection glowing in his eyes as he reached out to swipe the creamy topping form her face and pop it into his own mouth. 

“Papa! That was mine!” Hope squealed, giggling even as she did so, but hopping to her feet, little fists planted on her hips and the intriguing near-turquoise of her eyes - a perfect blend of his blue and Emma’s green - flashing with playful pique.

“Ah, but I’m a pirate, little sparrow,” he replied good naturedly, using one of his favorite pet names for her. “You’d best carefully guard your prizes when a pirate’s about.”

“But I’m your pirate princess, remember?” Hope wheedled, flopping dramatically against her father’s chest where Killian willingly wrapped her in his arms. “You shouldn’t steal from me!”

Emma burst out with a guffaw at that comeback from their precocious five-year-old. Nudging him with an elbow in the side, she added, “Kid’s got you there, Babe.”

Killian winked back at his wife before turning playfully repentant eyes on his daughter. “A thousand apologies, your Highness,” he offered humbly, with an exaggerated bob of the head for a sort of seated bow. “To what punishment do you sentence me?”

Hope’s brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought, tilting her head while she studied first her father, then turned to consider both her friend Gideon and her younger twin brothers with a mischievous smirk that rivalled Killian’s own. All three boys nodded eagerly, seeming to know exactly what their pixie ringleader was thinking without exchanging a single word.

Henry snorted in amusement at the proceedings, loving that his baby sister could wrap both Storybrooke’s Savior and the fearsome pirate Captain Hook around her little finger with such ease.

“You have to tell a pirate story!” Hope declared with impish glee, clapping her hands in delight while the twins bounced on their mother’s knees and cheered excitedly. “And if we don’t think it’s good enough, then you walk the plank!” she crowed.

“Yes, please, a story!” Gideon chorused from his spot between Hope and her youthful uncle, his intelligent eyes alight and enthralled at the mere suggestion, loving a good tale every bit as much as his mother did. Belle never could resist listening to a well-spun yarn, and seeing that her only child took after his dear, goodhearted friend in this way especially - her most leading trait - never failed to touch Killian’s heart. Though Belle and Gold might still share a home, and though they remained married, her trust had been broken one too many times for even her generous faith to be fully restored. They were meant to be True Loves, and the emotion remained, but it was bruised and trampled like the rose of their famous tale, far too long past its wilting to salvage. She would never deprive the old Crocodile of another son, not after how long he had sought Neal, how bitterly he had regretted failing him, and then lost him to death anyway, but they kept a brittle distance in their home. Belle found her happiness in her son, her friends, and her books, and Gideon blossomed mostly under her care - for which Killian knew the lad was all the better.

Hanging his head, Killian feigned reluctance at having to provide entertainment, though in truth, he had known that tales of his pirating days would be the decree as soon as he had seen that particular gleam in his daughter’s eye. As Emma often lamented wryly, ‘Our daughter is entirely too entranced by the idea of pillaging and plundering.’ Reaching out to gently tap her chin with the curve of his hook, he pulled Hope into his lap again, tickling her stomach once he had her in his clutches until she cried for mercy.

Once she was sprawled across his legs heaving for breath, Killian nodded his agreement. “You wish is my command, Princess Hope,” he replied. “A story you shall have.”

A whole chorus of cheers rang out from all their younger charges, and in truth, even Henry and Violet’s faces shone with interest. To his delight, even Emma moved slightly closer and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, as if she were settling in for the show. He felt a sort of pride that he could grant such pleasure with his storytelling.

Pausing dramatically, he watched as Leo leaned easily back against the couch, cradling his mug in his hands, ready to savor the last of his cocoa and listen contentedly. Gideon scooted right up before Killian until his knobby eight-year-old knees touched the pirate’s own, eyes wide and breath practically held so as not to miss a word. Hope, for her part, settled on his lap as if it were her throne, somehow managing to look both supremely self-satisified and guilelessly eager, gazing up into her papa’s face as her little fingers clutched at the charms of his necklace the way they often did when she truly settled in to rest. Little Liam David and Westley Graham, just barely walking now, were equally cuddled up against Emma, and a pang went through him, taking in the whole scene as he drew a deep breath to begin. It did his heart good to see their children so comfortable, at ease and certain of their safety and in the knowledge that they were loved. That was as it should be. But he had been only a year or two older than Gideon was now when all he had known of his safe and familiar home had been lost to him. He hadn’t found such security again for so long it had nearly vanished, forgotten, in the recesses of his mind. Something long cracked and aching was mended in seeing that his own children would never face such doubt and fear.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Killian gathered his thoughts. The room went still as his listeners ceased talking and moving about, focused on him intently. He could again hear the wind whistling outside the little cabin, the rain slapping in sheets against the window glass and the almost soothing patter of it upon the roof over their heads. If he tried, he could just conjure up the sensation of rocking back and forth, carried on turbulent waves - could take himself back to the time when he was a boy at sea. Then he began to speak.

“Once upon a time, long before I was the famed pirate captain you see before you,” Killian intoned, letting his voice drop a bit lower and employing a lyrical rhythm. “I was a young lad who could barely be called a cabin boy, on the ship of another pirate - the dastardly Long John Silver.”

The little boys reacted with shivers and gasps, just as he had expected. Emma, who had of course heard this story with much less dramatic flair, in the tone of an agonized confession when they hid themselves away after his return from the Underworld. They had bared the last of their secrets and all of their souls once and for all and bound themselves back together again. Killian felt her hand flutter lightly to rest upon his own, and he squeezed it briefly in reassurance, letting her known that he was alright. This was a much less raw and bleeding version of events, peeled back to reveal the little good that there had been, even in those awful times.

“Aye, you’re right to be alarmed, me mateys,” Killian warned, waggling his dark brows at them with playful aplomb. “Silver was indeed a ruthless villain - and he ran his ship with little care for youngsters aboard who might be hungry, injured… or frightened of storms.”

He swept his hand out before him, illustrating the expanse of rolling waves under a dark night sky lit at alarmingly frequent intervals by bright, wicked forks of lightning. His audience was every bit as rapt as he had intended, allowing Killian only a moment for a sidelong glance at Emma with a twinkle in his eye.

“That stormy night, all but the night’s watch were in their bunks, and the lad knew he would find no sympathy from any quarter at any rate. His older brother was on the ship with him, but that young man was the only one who showed the boy any consideration, and he was fast asleep, having already put in what would be a hard day’s work for a full grown man, much less a stripling of fourteen. And so, the boy huddled in the corner of his small bunk, crowding against the wall and trying to block out the booming claps of thunder with hands pressed over his ears, willing his stomach not to turn as they were rolled up, down, and sideways by the vicious swells.”

Hope snuggled deeper into his embrace, seeking comfort for herself, empathetic little siren that she was, and unknowingly grounding him in the present, soothing the long scabbed-over wounds this story pricked. As though somehow sensing the boy from the story was closer than its teller let on, Killian also felt the feather-light brush of young Gideon’s fingers come to rest on his knee, offering silent support in his own timid way. He was hardly privy to what his dear friend Belle told her son about his past history or the harsh beginnings he’d weathered early in life, but he sensed in that moment that Hope’s unlikely playmate knew the frightened youth of long ago was now the man seated before him. And he wanted to bolster him in a difficult moment.

It was enough to have Killian swallowing back a lump in his throat. Meeting the child’s searching gaze, Killian offered a smile and nod of the head in unspoken gratitude, to which Gideon beamed and patted his knee with more confidence.

“Though the boy tried to remain still,” Killian continued solemnly, “the storm did not let up. Instead it raged harder until he was sure he would be thrown from his berth to the floor and that the ship itself would be turned on its side and sink into the deep. His thin shoulders shook as he wept, and though he fought to hold back his tears, occasionally a hiccup or gasp for air escaped.”

“It was at that moment,” and here the pirate’s voice, though still rough with deeply felt emotion, grew more musical and light, “when all hope seemed lost, that he felt a soft, familiar touch on his shoulder sliding down to gently rub his back until his strangled sobs eased. It was his older brother, roused from slumber, either by the boy’s distress or the ferocity of the storm, and quick to come to his younger sibling’s aid. The elder scooted into the bunk and gingerly wrapped an arm around the trembling smaller form, shushing and soothing as best he could.”

“Even as the wind continued to wail and howl all around, and as the waves slapped against the hold where they huddled together, the boy already felt much stronger - less afraid - just knowing that he was not alone. And then the elder brother began to hum. It was a familiar tune, a soothing lullaby coaxed from the far reaches of the younger’s memory along with an echo of his mother’s warm voice singing that same melody. Soon his brother was offering lilting words as well, in barely more than a whisper. Both knew the ire which would rain down on their heads if they roused any others, and yet his sibling dared those consequences to end his little brother’s torment. As the near-forgotten song continued, the effects of the wild storm seemed to die away. By the time the end of the song neared, that frightened cabin boy had finally found sleep.”

“What was the song?” Hope piped up curiously. “Can you sing it for us?”

Killian shook his head with a humored huff, having expected no less. Not letting himself hesitate long enough to change his mind, he wet his lips, drew in a steadying breath, and launched into the old tune he remembered hearing in Liam’s murmured, youthful tones. His brother had always told him it was their mother’s favorite - one she had used often to soothe fevers or lull her boys back to peaceful dreams after nightmares. Killian had barely remembered her - or anything about the cozy, cliffside cottage that had been their home - even then, but Liam had held it dear in his own heart and had brought the same feeling to life for Killian.

As Killian continued to sing, voice gathering strength while rising and falling with the notes, the rain outside their small shelter in the woods seemed to wrap around and join the chorus. His audience in the cabin listened closely, drawn into the song that had once been his mother’s, which had comforted him for years as something of his older brother’s, passing on once again to the new family they had made.

And as the fireplace crackled invitingly, his wife’s golden head rested on his shoulder, and he sang the last lines, the sudden storm they’d hunkered down to escape seemed to have enclosed them in a haven instead. The wind blowing the branches against the windows still showed its power, but with those he loved around him, the storm which had accompanied his long held memories finally ceased.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @justanother-unluckysoul @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda

@xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @goforlaunchcee @stahlop @caught-in-the-filter

@donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @undercaffinatednightmare @drowned-dreamer

@gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @scientificapricot @motherkatereloyshipper @myfearless-love

@belovedcreation @exhaustedpirate @grimmswan @zaharadessert

[capricioussun]

For absolutely no reason in particular

[midnight-art-mischief]

Shop keep stalja

[unfinishedmural]

Summer OC Development Prompts

Since it's summertime (in the Northern Hemisphere), I wanted to fill out some fun summer-themed prompts for Chloe and Ginger! Prompts taken from this post. I didn't answer all of them, so the numbers are out-of-order, sorry.

(05) Does your OC ever go to fireworks displays in the summer?

Chloe: She almost always watches the Independence Day fireworks with her family, like any red-blooded American 🦅❤️🤍💙🎆🎇💥🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸. Sometimes, they'll even set off a few of their own at home. Her brother and some older cousins set off the big ones, but the kids get smaller fireworks, sparklers, and pop-its. She got to set off one of the bigger fireworks, once, but she held the match too long and burned her fingers, so now she just watches.

Ginger: She used to watch fireworks with her parents, but she stopped when she moved out. The rest of the gang convinced her to join them to watch the fireworks show the July after Celestial Shift. She enjoyed it very much. She had forgotten how beautiful they were.

(06) What is your OC’s favorite way to cool down on a hot day?

Chloe: She loves to swim. It always brings back memories of playing with her siblings in the family pool. She's a faster swimmer than Carrie (and maybe Caleb, but he often throws races to eat poolside snacks before she can get to them), and she can hold her breath longer than anyone in her family.

Ginger: When alone, she loves lying down on the floor in front of or on top of a vent. When there are other people or free-roaming pets around, she'll settle for sitting on the couch with an ice-cold water, or maybe a soda.

(07) What is your OC’s favorite frozen treat?

Chloe: Ice cream! She likes almost any form or flavor, but her favorites are chocolate and pistachio (sometimes she mixes them together).

Ginger: She also likes ice cream. Her favorite flavor is Cookies and Cream.

(08) Has your OC ever gone to a summer camp?

Chloe: She went to a family summer camp for a few years. Her swimming skills helped her team win any water-related games.

Ginger: She went to a camp once during middle school. She liked the activities, but it was her first time being away from home for so long, so she got pretty homesick by the end of the week.

(09) Does your OC ever go camping in the summer?

Chloe: No. She doesn't like sleeping outside.

Ginger: She vaguely remembers going on a few camping trips when she was a child, but not anymore.

(10) Does your OC take vacations in the summer?

Chloe: Her family almost always takes a big vacation in the summer, although her siblings are sometimes too busy to come along, now.

Ginger: No.

(12) Has your OC ever run a lemonade stand?

Chloe: She really wanted to, but it was illegal in her area.

Ginger: Twice. The first time was to save up for a new toy she wanted when she was 7, and the second time was to help with a school fundraiser when she was 15.

(14) What does your OC’s typical summer outfit include?

Chloe: A light blouse and capris, or maybe a flowey sundress if she's feeling fancy.

Ginger: A t-shirt, usually with a fun graphic, and jeans or denim shorts.

(15) Is there any summer clothing that your OC refuses to wear?

Chloe: Shorts and miniskirts that are shorter than her fingertips, mostly for modesty reasons.

Ginger: Flip flops. She hates having things stuck in-between her toes.

(16) What does your OC’s swimsuit look like?

Chloe: She has multiple swimsuits, but her favorite one is a red-and-white polka dot swimdress, which she may or may not have bought because it reminded her of Minnie Mouse's most famous dress (and Sun may or may not have bought a pair of red swim trunks to match her).

Ginger: She has a plain black one-piece which she usually wears black shorts with, although she's thinking about getting some blue ones.

(24) Does your OC ever get sunburnt?

Chloe: Occasionally, but she's pretty good about wearing sunscreen. Even when she doesn't, she tends to tan more than she burns.

Ginger: Yes, she burns very easily. This girl needs max SPF and/or shade at all times, and even then she'll usually end up with a pink nose.

(26) What would your OC’s novelty pool float look like?

Chloe: Watermelon raft

Ginger: Ridiculous Inflatable Swan Thing

(35) How does your OC feel when summer ends?

Chloe: A little disappointed, but still excited for fall.

Ginger: Relieved. Now that she's out of school, summer is mostly a blur full of heatwaves and huge crowds.

[inkwelloftheeldar]

The forest did not speak as she once had. There was a time, long ago - before shadow crept through the woodland - that the trees whispered in joy, and the wind danced untroubled through green leaves. Thranduil remembered it. He remembered laughter in the glades and the voice of his father, strong and unyielding as oak. But time, ever cruel to those who do not die, had taken much from him. Now, the silence of Mirkwood pressed in like a wound that would not close. And yet, amid that darkness, there remained one light. Legolas. Thranduil did not speak often of his affection for his son, if at all. Not out of coldness - though many had mistaken it for such - but because that love ran deeply and brought with it a terrible fear. How could one lay bare his affection, when love had so often been the lever by which kings were broken? He had seen it before, in the ruin of proud houses and noble hearts. Affection, too openly worn, became a blade in the hands of an enemy.

No. Thranduil wore his love as one might rest beneath armour. Hidden beneath layers of ice and gold, guarded and revealed to none. He feared not Death, nor the Dark, nor even the slow corruption of his realm. Only this -- that his son, and his son’s light, might be stolen, for dearly he held him to his breast. He had raised Legolas under a canopy thick in sorrow, and taught him to move swift and silent through a forest that had grown hostile and hungered beneath their feet. He had shown him to love the green even when it darkened to black. And still, Legolas breached the walls his father had long built, of stone and silence and pride. Not by disobedience or defiance, but simply by his breath. And so full of light, Legolas walked the paths of wonder Thranduil had long forsaken for his duties, and in him Thranduil saw not only the child he had loved, but the joy he had lost. Legolas was all Thranduil had once been, and all that he still longed to be. There was in Legolas a light unclouded by bitterness, and tempered by wisdom. He did not deny the grief of their people, nor the shadow that lengthened over the lands, and he met it not with sorrow. In him lived the grace of the Eldar undimmed, and the fierce clarity of one who still believed the world could be made whole. He could weep for the fading trees and still smile at the rising sun. That was what Thranduil longed to be again -- not unbroken, but unafraid to love what might be lost. In his son, he saw not naivety, but the rarest kind of courage -- to hope and to remain. And from within his father’s heart of hearts, Legolas took this. Though the years had wearied Thranduil, and the health of Mirkwood weighed heavily on his spirit, he had not forsaken Middle-Earth. There was bitterness in him, yes. But not despair. For though he rarely spoke it, he too believed in the future of the Free Peoples, that there was still beauty to fight for, still a song buried beneath the rot, waiting to be heard. In this, father and son were alike. Legolas looked to the wider world with the same clear eyes Thranduil had once turned toward the starlit skies, and the same fierce longing to mend what had been broken. It was not ignorance that made his son hopeful, but strength. And Thranduil, though worn, still carried that same strength in silence. Here in the Great Wood - where the forest no longer rejoiced and rot curled like smoke through the roots of her trees, and shadows clung to boughs like memories too bitter to forget - and so long as their people walked beneath the sky - Thranduil would remain. For what he had guarded in silence, he would guard still, with crown and blade, with silence and fire, until the Dark was spent and the green arose fearless. And, until the forest sang again, and Legolas walked unburdened beneath the sky. 

[astrodances]

Olympics prompt

So I may end up regretting this, taking a long time, or maybe not even following through (fair warning XD), but I like learning about different Olympic sports, so, in an effort to do so, I thought of a prompt idea:

give me a character (or two) [for a fandom I know] + an Olympic sport, and I'll try to draw or write something for it! 😄⚽️🏊🏃🥇

[natalie-goodman]

influencer satine for the wip game!

“Been thinking about me?” She asks him, kneeling on the bed to straddle his lap. She can feel him pressed hard against the inside of her thigh, giving her the answer.

“Nonstop,” he admits, his hands featherlight running up her legs and back. “Wasn’t sure if you were real.”

“I’m not,” she promises him, she tugs at his hair slightly, tilting his head back. She presses a kiss against the pulse of his throat. “What were you thinking about?”

“Your-“ Christian stops to clear his throat. “Do you have a tattoo?”