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pebblysand · 1 year

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Hi can you do me a prompt? Cause I LOVE your writing! 💗

Ginny comes home from the 2014 quidditch world cup-reporting after a long long time away from harry and kids!

did it take me two and a half years to fill this prompt? yes. as evidence that no one should ever lose hope.

spring rolls, pizzas and curries

Tonight, after she gets home - after a smiling kiss hoisted up to the corner of his mouth, tippy toes and tight hugs to the kids - after a warm shower and a change of clothes, they'll order in.

It's the end of summer, that year. Leaves wilting in the trees; the wireless runs repetitive adverts for Hallowe'en decorations and this morning, when he headed into work, Harry noticed an irreversible sort of chill in the air; when Ginny comes down later, her hair wet over her shoulders, she'll be wearing a jumper. Lily and Al will soon hound her with questions, about the World Cup and about Namibia or about something else, and James will hurry into the kitchen too, just as she will pour herself a large glass of wine. He will be loud and lanky and almost-teenage. 'Where's food?' he'll ask, then.

And: 'Well, hello, Ronald,' she will laugh. Say.

Chinese, Indian or Italian - the kids will have their pick. It's a long-standing tradition in the Potter household since the dreadful winter of '09, when James had the flu and Lily was sniffling and Harry spent five days battling family germs on his own until Ginny came back from a work trip to save them all. He tiredly sunk into the couch next to her and: 'You should have stayed there,' he observed. Sighed like a headache. 'You're gonna catch it too.'

She shrugged. Smiled. Laid her head on his shoulder. He didn't have the heart to push her away. 'Let's order in, yeah?'

Harry will phone in. Everybody's favourites memorised like the faded lines at the back of his hand. There will be noise - James arguing with Al over the TV remote, Lily talking to herself, playing with her animal figurines and toy soldiers. She's built a whole ranch with Playmobils in her bedroom: fake horses and fake cowboys and fake fences - her magic makes it all move of its own accord - it's a bit of a nightmare.

The kind of nightmare Harry doesn't mind having.

They'll eat pizza on the couch or nems from clear plastic boxes scattered across the kitchen table, and the kids will fill Ginny in on everything she missed. Lily won't stop chatting and 'Mum' this and 'Mum' that, and James will say: 'Oh, will you shut up for once?' One of them - or both of them - will automatically throw back: 'James, don't talk to your sister like that.'

There will be second servings, thirds. Harry will smile and laugh, and feel like a weight lifted off his chest the moment she opened the front door just as easily as he will later clear the plates, with a simple wave of his wand. Ginny will go up to unpack, and he'll try to convince the kids to go to bed - with moderate success. James will try to convince him he needs a new broom, with no chance of success. Al will wandlessly tie his brother's shoelaces together before quietly retreating to his bedroom, a loud tumble ensuing with his victim falling flat on his face at the top of the staircase. He will deny having done any magic the next morning.

'Prove it,' he'll say.

Harry will want to smile (like a headache, too).

And, you know, he wonders - sure - but he's not jealous. Being jealous of his own kids would be fucking weird and, anyway, he's over it, now. He's even stopped being bitter. Ginny hasn't stopped being angry but there's something almost comforting about it, about her anger and her capacity for unrelenting outrage when they sent Petunia a card last Christmas and she wrote back: Please, take me off your mailing list.

'Cunt,' she said.

He winced or cringed, he's not sure. 'Yup.'

He's not jealous - not bitter - but he does wonder. He wonders and thinks of James. So, so tiny, in Ginny's belly. The first time he felt a kick against the tips of his fingers and held his breath - like, forever. And Ginny, who asked why he couldn't sleep, that night, watched him puff cigarette smoke out the window. 'I'm nervous,' he said.

'I'm the one giving birth,' she laughed.

'What kind of father do you think I'll be?'

He thinks of James and he thinks of Tom, sometimes. His palm against the skin of her stomach was sweaty - like warm, summer nights.

And, he looks at the kids and he wonders. What it would have been like. Growing up like that.

With them, you know?

He thinks of James again. Of James and of Albus and of Lily. He wonders if they know. That he's happy. That they're happy. That he's not jealous or bitter or angry. And, that love tastes like food. Like strawberries on Ginny's lips, and spring rolls, and pizzas and curries.

#hinny #hinny fic

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mickyaltierisgf · 1 year

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Could you write Mickey Altieri x reader and they are watching stab and he won’t shut up about how it’s so basic and that he’d do a much better job. But reader thinks he is joking. ♥️♥️

mickey altieri x gn reader - warning: mentions of violence and slight gore.

You tugged the tub of popcorn away as Mickey reached for it. He’d already pelted the screen with a handful of the kernels, and you were sure he would do it again. He gave you an exaggerated pout, and you compromised by hand-feeding him some of the buttery snack. He nipped your palm on purpose, causing you to let out a small yelp and wipe it on his shirt. You were glad the screening room was practically empty aside from you, Mickey, and maybe three or four other people. Most had already seen the movie, and this was a tiny, old cinema that you’d bet probably didn’t get many visitors anyway.

The movie was more than halfway through now, and Mickey hadn’t shut up since it started. You were used to it and mostly found it amusing, but you doubted other moviegoers would feel the same.

"It’s just so repetitive," he complained, thankfully not too loudly. "A stab to the chest or gut. Maybe a throat slash. There’s no innovation. Why not hang Casey or Himbry first and then cut them open? Let them see their own insides fall out. Better yet, why not hang them with their own intestines?” he suggested, making you gag. You coughed up a piece of popcorn and glared at him.

"Sorry," he snickered, patting you on the back. “Say what you want about the 80’s slashers like Nightmare on Elm Street or Friday the 13th, but there were almost never any boring kills."

"Yeah, but those are like super-powered demons and undead zombies,” You replied, eyes glued to the screen. "Ghostface is just some clumsy guy in a dumb mask," you added with a shrug. The arm around you tensed a bit, and his hand stopped twirling the ends of your hair absentmindedly. You glanced sideways at him, surprised to see the frown on his face.

"Ghostface is not just some guy," he said, his hand leaving your hair and resting sedately on your shoulder.

"Technically, he’s two guys." You agreed. He merely snorted in response, his face still serious.

You chuckled as you turned back to the screen, seeing the girl in the garage pelt the killer with beer bottles. Mickey shook his head but smirked when you reached over to feed him more popcorn. "I would have thrown the knife right between her eyes. Maybe used a power saw or somethin'." he said around his mouthful.

"That’s a kill you don’t see everyday," you remarked, wincing a bit as the girl got crushed by the garage door.

"She practically did that to herself," Mickey said boredly. "I mean, who’s dumb enough to try to escape through a cat flap?"

"She was desperate," you defended. "This is based on a real story, you know. This really happened to that poor girl. And she was Sidney’s best friend." You frowned. "I can’t imagine how horrifying it must’ve been for her and Randy to go through this. And now they’re having to relive it all cause of this shitty movie. They’ll probably hate us if they find out we came here to watch it," you added guiltily.

"They won’t find out," Mickey assured, taking the tub from your hands and scraping up the last bit of popcorn before putting the container aside. His other hand played with your hair again and caressed your neck as if to soothe you.

He fell quiet for a bit, occasionally muttering about how stupid the killers were for stabbing each other. You nudged him lightly as you watched the big box TV fall over to crush one of the killers. "Okay, that one was good," you insisted.

"Yeah, but Sid did that," he argued, his face looking a bit impressed despite himself. "It doesn’t count."

"Well, the killers were just two stupid high school jerks after all. No doubt, you would have done a much finer job," you said with a slight posh accent, betraying your sarcasm.

"Oh definitely. Stab Two would be a way better film. Higher body count, bigger kills." He said cocksure, and you looked over at him again, noting the small grin as he said so. He leaned over, pulling you closer to purr into your ear. "No kiddie jump scares, but real tension. Toe-curling suspense," You shivered the tiniest bit as his lips tickled your ear and looked down as his other hand came to rest on your thigh, stroking it. "Fear and adrenaline to really get your heart pumping. Building higher and higher until you think you’re gonna pass out. And a whole lot of blood. The warm, gushing kind. Sweeter than corn syrup."

You blinked as the dim lights turned on overhead and stared at the scrolling credits on the screen. You hadn’t even noticed when the movie ended; you were too enthralled by Mickey’s low voice and the way his touch sent heat through your body. His hand was gone now, and he was making a show of stretching and yawning at the screen, as if he’d just woken up. You smiled kind of awkwardly, still a bit shaken by the almost gleeful expression he could hardly contain and the words he'd whispered to you. But the lights chased away the shadows on his face, making his eyes look brighter, and the odd grin, which had been almost intimidating before, became sweet and boyish.

He was just teasing you, and the movie had made your nerves act up. You stood from your seat, retrieving the popcorn tub and standing on your toes to tip it over his head. He made what sounded like a gasp and pulled the tub up to glare at you in mock outrage. You giggled and snaked an arm around his waist as you walked out of the theatre.

"It could have been better," you conceded, tossing the ticket stubs away.

Mickey smirked unseen.

#ghostface #scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri #mickery altieri x reader #ghostface x reader

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enasallavellan · 1 year

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Antivan Crow Headcanons

So, I have some headcanons about how the Antivan Crows work. Since I wanted to dive more into the Crows' inner workings in my most recent fic, I decided to expand on the whole thing in my little gremlin brain. Now, I've decided, that maybe people as gremlin-like as me can see them too!

Couple of things: I refer to the Crow houses as nests - I don’t know if I made that up or read/heard it somewhere, so you’ll hear me use that term when I’m talking about the actual area/building the crows inhabit. And also, to avoid sentences like, ‘The crows didn’t like when crows blah, blah, blah, I will from here on out refer to the overall group as the Antivan Crows, and individuals as crows. I know it might sound a little weird and repetitive, but I can’t really find a good way to do it otherwise.

SO BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS, IT'S GONNA BE A WILD RIDE!

(under the cut, obviously)

Different Nests, Different rules.

This one is very self-explanatory. Each house has a slightly different culture, rules, and standards. Some nests don’t get involved in certain jobs and hold their Crows to some sort of code. Most have at least a few hard nos of what sorts of jobs they take and what behaviors individual crows might engage in. For instance, one nest might forbid their Crows from making deaths needlessly painful or prolonged if the mark hasn’t actually done anything wrong, just pissed off a noble. I’m sure there’s at least one nest that is kind of a ‘do whatever, we don’t give a fuck’ house. But most have some sort of hard nos.

The Way Things Stay the Same

So, Zevran mentions that the Antivan Crows put their younger recruits in a building near a tannery, which leads me to believe that they have different paces for different people. So, maybe up until they’re a certain age they stay in the same area as the prostitutes. I’m just gonna guess maybe 8-10ish when you can kind of take care of yourself. They get shipped into a building with as many kids as they can put in one room and with only the occasional crow to stick his head, see if anyone is dead, then leave. As the recruits get older and continue to show promise, their living situation will change. Older recruits that have survived the first slew of training that tends to kill a lot of recruits, might get a tiny little crackerbox room. Like five feet by five room with a bed, but not just a bed - a very small trunk for personal belonging and a hook to hang shit with! Too tall for the provided bed? Find a way to get comfortable, because you’re stuck there for a bit.

Because what better incentive would a kid in this life than to let them go from a shitty place with no privacy (especially as they get older) to a slightly last shitty place where you have a mild amount of privacy in your tiny room and paper-thin walls. (I like to imagine that every so often a few of the recruits are roughhousing and get knocked/fall into an interior wall they just end up on the other side of it covered in debris).

Eventually, you move into the nest proper with similarly small rooms but now it's near the food and you don’t have to walk twenty or thirty minutes to food.

It would be within the Antivan Crows’ best interest to keep their recruits and crows in a somewhat central location so they can have as much control over their crows as humanly possible. Having basically ‘dorms’ for the crows would be a good way to do that. And you can get some nice places if you get good enough, so there’s still a reason for the recruits not to run away. Just as Zevran says - a crow is well supplied with sex and alcohol, but as far as having a lot of personal freedoms? Well, he did say it was a gilded cage. Granted, there are crows who make enough money and are regarded well enough that they can live some very lucrative lives - some might work much less than others, but because they’re extremely skilled at their job, they only need to take a few big jobs here and there and have no issues. But the average crow lives a relatively short life and with no way to extricate themselves from the Antivan Crows.

But there are other reasons for all the crows to control as much as they can. They have control over food, which I’ll talk about a little more when I talk about the kitchen girls.

No Idle Children

Younger recruits do simple tasks; bringing written correspondences around the nest, making deliveries, and acting as gofers to whatever a crow happens to need something (just snatch a kid running past for immediate service). As they get older, they do more and more complex jobs. Occasionally, kids might actually assist or participate in jobs. Acting as bait or a distraction is a great job for the younger ones. A little girl rushing up to a stranger, begging and pleading for assistance, would be a very good way to get the target right where a trap is waiting for them.

This also gives the recruits time to watch things in action. A well-regarded recruit might go to complete a job with a fully trained crow if they’re deemed skilled enough - and may even get a few coins for it.

Second Generation Crows

They have to exist. The Crows have access to the brothel, there are going to be kids. But this can be a very weird and tricky thing to handle depending on the parent.

Your average crow is probably not going to give much thought to a kid - and with no pressure to have anything to do with a kid, it’s rare a crow would be remotely involved in the life of their child. Despite this, any concerns about birth control go out the window, since each child born in the brothel is one more potential crow or prostitute. On top of that, most of the Antivan Crow-run brothels have enough prostitutes that having a few here and there not quite able to work isn’t a big deal to the Antivan Crows’ profits. Granted, the women can’t stay out of work too long because if they run out of money to pay their rent, they’re on the streets or dead. So, working as long as you’re able to get jons and getting back as soon as humanly possible would be integral for a prostitute to keep their home and job.

Now, some women might keep their children a little longer, but the ability to do this is directly impacted by how ‘important’ a prostitute is. And by ‘keep their child’ I mean they keep them in their room to sleep and involve themselves in their lives while they can.

The child of a very high-ranking crow or prostitute might be afforded some smaller comforts the others would be denied. Oh, they’d still be either Crows or prostitutes, but they might have lighter duties or private lessons to give them a boost in their chances of being able to make a life for themselves. There most likely are families (and I use that term loosely) that have been in the Antivan Crows for generations - but at the end of the day, what matters is that the nest is running smoothly and everyone is making money for the organization.

But honestly, I would say that there might be a handful of kids who have ever actually gotten out of the Antivan Crows without being a crow. But for most? There are two choice - three if you count dying, which I will talk about…

The Pipeline: The Crow Path

I mentioned before that I feel like the Antivan Crows would keep all their people in a few general areas, both as a way to keep control as well as monitor certain things. So some sort of staff will be needed.

So, there are two roles that a kid might go - go into crow training or work as staff.

Boys will all go into crow raining. No ifs, ands, or buts. Girl crows are less common but do exist. So if a girl has a temperament and resilience that might have a chance? She gets tossed in with all the others.

Recruits live a life of difficult training, torture (you know, so they can learn to resist it), cutthroat competition, and being subjected to the wills of the older crows - which opens the doors for all sorts of additional abuses. Generally, a recruit can expect a beating if they break a rule, cause problems, or irritate someone enough. Depending on what the issue is and the mood of whoever is doing the beating, it might be getting whacked with a stick once or twice, or all the way up to having a few people wail on you for a while. Denying food and sleep might also be used, as well as isolation in a very damp and chilly room.

And absolutely, positively, don’t you dare fucking cry. Even the kitchen girls are held to this - crying is weak, and crying gets you beat.

The Pipeline: The Staff Path

Girls begin their work in the kitchens. Now, the life of a kitchen girl seems like a pretty sweet deal at first. Yes, they work hard in the kitchens, but outside of those duties, they have free time. They also have a degree of respect from the crows - after all, they do have control over the food, and if you want a certain food you need to be on the good side of the kitchen girls.

And you get on their bad side? They might purposively make things you hate, or it’s bad enough, you just might get a plate of overly poisoned food.

Now, all the food has mild amounts of different types of poisons and toxins so the crows can build up immunities. It’s not enough to kill anyone, but you can imagine the new recruits having a really bad time for the first few weeks. So all it takes is a mild slip and suddenly - oops! You’re either dead or going to spend a while wishing you were dead.

And many of the girls form tight friendships in the kitchens - something denied to crows and the recruits (never know who might stab you in the back). The kitchen girls are also in charge of what goes into the kitchens. They’re sent out to markets to sample what is being sold and decide which vendors to buy from. There’s a crow somewhere nearby keeping tabs on them, both to keep them out of trouble and keep trouble away from them. And one of the kitchen girls is easy to spot - there's a very specific shade of blue that is only made for the Antivan Crows (or else). Girls have two aprons - one that is used in the kitchen and one that is used for going out into the world. And when people see those signature blue aprons - it’s obvious who they are.

So, you’re thinking to yourself - why Lacy, why would they treat these girls so well? Why would the profits-over-everything Antivan Crows spend money on resources on a group that isn’t making them money?

Well, I’ll start off by saying that these little outings of the kitchen girls are not just to let them have a fun day in the market - it’s advertising. Because once that girl reaches a certain age - I’m sure it varies depending on the nest - they go to work upstairs. AKA, the brothel.

So all those outings? Picking the prettiest of the kitchen girls to go out where they will be seen? You show off the goods - one day, you’ll be able to purchase one of those girls by the hour.

While some intermingling between the recruits and the staff is inevitable, it’s discouraged. And the girls are definitely discouraged from being sexually involved with anyone. There isn’t a punishment if they do, but they will miss out on a massive boost in money. We all know that there's plenty of people out there who have a weird obsession with deflowering girls. So if a girl has abstained, their first job is auctioned off to the highest bidder. A girl can make good money from that. And unlike kitchen girls, prostitutes have to pay rent to the Antivan Crows - which is taken out of anything they make. As they get older, they get less and less support. If they don’t make enough money, they go back to staff, specifically cleaning. Cleaners don’t have anything near the life they once had as kitchen girls, since they’ve already been used up. So for the most part, they’re ignored by the rest of the nest (if they’re even seen) and live in bare-bones housing.

But there is one particually chilling danger a kitchen girl faces.

Every so often.

Maybe once or twice on a bad year.

A particularly pretty kitchen girl might simply disappear.

Their friends might be sad, but there would be no time for all that - there’s kitchen work to do. Everyone knows, nobody talks about it, and it’s accepted as just Something That Just Happens Sometimes.

Sex, fine - love, no.

So it seems a common trend that love is forbidden in the Antivan Crows. It’s a distraction and a weakness that can be exploited. So it’s a major, no-go. Sex? They don’t care; have as much sex as you want. Now, this no-love clause goes for crows and prostitutes, but also for recruits and kitchen girls. After all, a bunch of them are probably teenagers and there’s not much use in trying to stop something that’s just going to happen.

So a decision must be made. If one is a crow and the other not, the crow is made to kill the person they love, or they both die. If it’s two crows, then they either pick the more promising crow to do the killing, or if they’re pretty equal they just leave them in a room with a knife and see who comes out. This, in turn, makes something very clear to the remaining member. This especially hits older recruits and younger crows who might not have the foresight to think about the long-term effects of a romantic affair.

Templars, Watch Yourselves.

Mages are great for the Antivan Crows - people who are their own weapons or can patch up their assassins are invaluable. So, the nest will offer those mages protection in exchange for using their magic in some way to make money for the nest.

For the most part, the templars and the Antivan Crows don’t bother each other, so long as the nests aren’t flagrant about it.

Now, this is where headcanon ends and my own fic begins, but I’ll tell you about a little thing that I decided went down.

Templars got sick of perfectly good mages escaping and getting to be safe with a criminal network, so they decided to make an example of a smaller house in Salla. They hired the Antivan Crows through a particularly devout and rich noble, tasking them with quashing a nonexistent rebellion. Once most of the crows in the nest were halfway across Antiva, the templars made their move. They overtook the nest, and snatched as many mage kids and adults as they could, killing the ones they couldn’t take alive.

Then, to let the Antivan Crows know just how naughty they were by defying the templars for so long - they barred the exits and burned it to the ground. You could count the number of survivors who weren’t taken by the templars on one hand.

The Antivan Crows respond with coordinated attacks on the Antivan templar order. Templars might have some diet-magic and armor and specific training, but the Antivan Crows massively outnumber them - and they’re trained to kill. Not to defend or control or subdue, but to kill.

In other words, the Antian Crows brought the templars to their kness.

From that point on, the templars leave the crows the hell alone.

Happiness in a Nest

But, it’s not all doom and gloom. As with every situation, people make the best of what they’re given. Whether they admit it or not, most crows have some fair-weather friends and a few might even have friends they trust. Children in the nest find ways to have fun and even play. Older kids find ways to sneak out for a night of fun and bad decisions. When the workday is over, prostitutes socialize and play cards over glasses of wine.

Good memories are made, even in a nest.

In conclusion.

Life with the Antivan Crows is just like living under the crushing weight of modern capitalism - it only benefits the upper echelon and anyone that can’t make money is deemed useless and cast aside.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Leave a comment/reblog or message me with any questions or share your own headcanons! I look forward to hearing from y'all!

#headcanons #Antivan Crows #Antiva #Filling up the gaps #If I'm not given information I WILL MAKE SOMETHING UP #Dragon Age #share headcanons #lacy explains it all #zevran arainai #serafina tabris #The Sea the Stars and the Albatross

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trollprincess · 9 months

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Okay, so some of you might not know this because I did this before I returned to Tumblr from the bird site, BUT. Last year I dictated almost two entire books to my phone.

Let me explain. One of my jobs is a twelve-hour weekend night shift. Six PM to six AM Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, so thirty-six hours with the other four hours paid just as long as we do the entire weekend. I first took it so I could have the rest of the week off, and then proceeded to go back to work at dog camp those days. For the most part, over the last five years, I have only have Mondays completely off solely because that’s when my therapy sessions are.

Anyway, my weekend job is full-time, dog camp is part-time. The weekend job is factory work, making helmets, a lot of which are for the military. (Which, as a pacifist, I manage to stomach because hey, it’s just protective gear.) The thing is, like a lot of manufacturing work, it’s boring and repetitive. Think about how bored you are after five or so hours of an eight-hour shift. Now imagine it’s one o’clock in the morning, you still have five hours to work, and you would literally rather shove nails in your eyes than work. It sucks.

Meanwhile, my free time is spent trying to work at my third job (making @disasterarea-podcast) and attempting to work on getting published. I had all these grand ideas about getting traditionally published back in my twenties, and now I’m 46 and I’m struggling just to come up with any ideas at all a lot of the time. Three jobs doesn’t help. Depression and anxiety don’t help. So for a while there, I had terrible writer’s block when it came to my novels.

So last year, I decided to try something. I have these massive baby-pink noise-canceling Bluetooth gaming headphones with a mic which I wear to work. Why not try dictating a first draft to my phone? Obviously it wouldn’t be exact, since voice-to-text dictation isn’t perfect under the best of situations, and certainly not with loud factory noises around you. But I tried it on dictating notes for my podcast a few times and it worked pretty well, all things considered. And a bad first draft is still a first draft.

So I figured, fuck it, and one night I just started dictating a story off the top of my head. No preparation, no outlining, no worldbuilding - just pantsing HARD with nothing but an annoyance following a Teen Wolf rewatch and a resolution not to edit until after I churned out a first draft.

It took fifty-one days.

Eighty thousand words or so later, I had a dreadful first draft which needed an absolute fuckton of editing and continuity correction and character work. BUT I had a finished first draft of a novel. Which is something I hadn’t had in a good long while.

So I tried it again for NaNoWriMo. I got up to 65k words. So I won NaNoWriMo, but I put the story aside because I hit a bit of a wall. Still! That’s almost two full fiction manuscripts in one year, AND the nonfiction memoir I wrote about my road trip to disaster sites during the pandemic. 2022 was a good writing year.

So I did what I do with first drafts and put them aside for a while. I knew they were awful. I knew they needed a ton of work. And maybe that was a tad intimidating, which is why I only JUST picked up the NaNoWriMo first draft to work on it and finish it off. It’s queer, it’s got time travel, it’s got disasters. It is right up my fucking alley. I may be just a tiny bit obsessed with that story.

Unsurprisingly, going through it now is taking more than a little while. I sit down, I spend an hour working on it, I maaaaaaybe get two paragraphs polished. If that.

But the fact that I’m working on ANY fiction is kind of remarkable. And fingers crossed, maybe I can get this damn thing, and the other manuscript, AND my road trip book, finished and polished over the next year so I can submit the fuck out of them.

NOW. Someone send me a twenty-pound bag of rooibos vanilla chai and ten pounds of red licorice laces. Mama’s gonna need it. *cracks knuckles*

#writing

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leekimdramas · 3 months

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Reset Review

"I know you may be wondering how I know this, but right now, you are the chosen one."

Li Shi Qing finds herself stuck in a time loop, where she wakes up on a bus and after a few minutes, everything explodes.

She tries different scenarios to save everyone and find the culprit behind the explosion with a little help from another passenger - Xiao He Yun.

It's been a long time since I wanted to binge-watch anything. I usually just watch one or two episodes per day but this...

I was barely able to stop myself from pressing the next episode every time it ended.

The stories with a time loop can easily become boring because of their repetitive nature but this one didn't make me feel that way.

It definitely makes a difference when characters are trying to think of what to do and trying a variety of scenarios rather than just getting all emotional.

The characters were portrayed quite realistically, of course, having a breakdown from time to time but who wouldn't??

Maybe the last time loop annoyed me a bit but it's understandable. I was tense, the director had to take his damn time.

What was also interesting to watch was the stories of the side characters who were on the bus. They weren't very long but it made me want to save them too, and root for the main leads.

There is a tiny bit of romance in this drama but it was enjoyable. I do not think the leads had much chemistry together but I was happy with what they showed. Plus trauma bonding is always understandable.

Going back to the quote, I think, it just explains why we need fantasy fans. Lu Di (one of the passengers) was so much fun to watch. Very relatable too, because I too would believe if someone would tell me they're in the time loop.

Overall, I did not watch this drama, I consumed it like it was my last day on Earth. And let me tell you, that time was great.

Gave my brain to wonder about theories and also care for the characters. Plus, finally a short cdrama!

10/10

#reset #cdrama #review #spoiler free

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volterran-wine · 11 months

Note

To stay on a lighthearted tone as it seems it's what we both need right now, do you want to know about a personal headcannon I have for Felix and that I can't seem to let go of?

I feel like at some point he felt the need to find an activity that was constructive to balance all the destruction that his main duties have entailed basically since before he was a vampire. And my brain is somehow convinced it had to be something that not only takes time but also asked him to focus intensely enough to not mess it up. Wanna know what I think it is? Embroidery. Especially the very old ones that took forever to be made by hand before machines were invented to do it. There is something adorable to imagining our gentle giant delicately embroiding something with a tiny needle and I feel like the meditative aspect to the repetitive motions of getting the needle in and out could have helped him find a mental space to process all the bullshit he had to deal with.

But hey, that's just a personal headcannon, I get that not everyone would agree. I just felt like sharing it in case you found it entertaining for a few seconds!

-🐈‍⬛

Oh BlackCat!Anon, that is quite the sweet and wholesome headcanon you have there about our dear Felix. I do believe you are quite correct about him needing to find a hobby that helps him enter a meditative state to some extent, then man has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders

Something that is a bit humorous is the fact I actually made this moodboard for Felix last year, which would tie perfectly in with your headcanons

― 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝑁𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑒

#other people's amazing ideas #Felix is Husband Material #Felix Volturi

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ravenmold · 2 months

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your gentle winding mind for the wip ask game

Hi Mia 🦋

Thank you for your ask! I'll split my answer into three parts to ramble a bit, since I'm afforded the opportunity. ☺️

Part 1: Background info

your gentle winding mind is a lil idea that takes inspiration from and is named for the Purity Ring song Begin Again. To me their album Another Eternity is kinda.....dreamlike fantasy sci fi, and I tried to use the imagery that the song evokes to guide me with this idea. This song's lyrics just dance so nicely around themes of codependency, destiny, inevitability, repetition......and space. It's in the pairing Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski and it was last edited in Feb of 2020. So it's basically from a previous world 😂 it only has 543 words and is just one scene. But reading it now, I definitely can see that I was being experimental with my writing here and having fun letting go of ... Trying to tell a clearly structured story. How? Well, let me introduce you to the idea.

Part 2: So, what's the idea?

So my idea with this fic was that there's a powerful oracle who resides on a very small planet and who is visited by thousands upon thousands to foresee their future. Basically the whole planet is a grassy field and has two suns. It's all transcendental in a way because does this oracle need food? Shelter? Unclear. It just sits in this field all day. I was thinking of The Little Prince a bit, and imagining it as kinda having Studio Ghibli vibes 😂 if that helps at all.

Our protagonist Derek, a werewolf, visits this oracle in the hopes of having light shed on his uncertain future and the disastrous prophetic dream he has about it. But he's very surprised to find out that the oracle is a human named Stiles. Who's been cursed to live this life. Unbeknownst to Derek and Stiles, their lives are intermingled and he's the one Stiles has been waiting for in a sort of life-stasis. The moment Derek turns to leave, Stiles' stomach growls and he feels like his curse is broken, that he's free to leave this tiny planet. He asks to go with Derek. And thus these two idiots fall right into my plan: they are destined for each other, very powerful and will impact the universe etc etc and the prophetic dream has something to do with it. The details are fuzzy here because that's as far as I ever got in imagining it 😂

Part 3: Judge my writing on it

So I honestly like a few of these lines. I'll share the majority of the fic and you can judge for yourself:

Derek did not expect the renowned oracle that effortlessly foresees the wax and wane of empires and planets to be a simple human.

He says as much upon reaching the human – the boy – on the grassy hill where he abides, legs crossed and face open. The sky is shattered into cerulean shards above him.

The boy simply laughs at this. “Yes, I’m human. The only one for a million miles, for a thousand light years. And you’re not.”

“I … no.” Derek chances a seat in the soft grass in front of the oracle. “I just, didn’t know humans could be oracles.”

The boy’s amber eyes shift fluid as liquid over the landscape that surrounds them. There is nothing but green hills for miles, a veritable maze all on its own for a lonely oracle to hide in. “I was gifted precognition as a child. Or rather, it was meant as a curse, but I figured it could be used for good, in the meantime. A little word of advice, don’t go looking for the bodies of witches in their woods.”

The twin suns beat down on his shoulders, and yet Derek shivers. “Noted,” he answers. “You said, in the meantime?”

“I’m simply passing the time, waiting for someone. I try to be patient.” The oracle’s eyes draw to his, and Derek shifts his pose. He feels uneasy, but does not sense danger. He supposes it must be the immeasurable power that surrounds the boy in a haze; that radiates off him like surface heat.

Derek wonders who he could possibly be waiting for. He hopes it’s family, at least.

“You have a misgiving.”

Straight to business it is, then. He did travel all this way.

“I’m to join the Fleet in a month’s time. This was decided for me long before I had the presence of mind to worry about futures, and I’ve had time to make peace with it, but …”

A small smile tucks at the corners of the boy’s mouth. “A life among the stars. How apt.”

“Technically we are all living among the stars,” Derek quips, not able to help himself. The reaction is unexpected: the boy leans forward, eyes focused so intensely on his.

“Like planets. We are floating in the great unknown,” he whispers.

Derek doesn’t immediately know how to react to this. He’s frozen, permitted to move again only when the boy’s eyes leave his. Derek feels like he’s stepped into a dream, and has a moment of panic as he realises there’s no way to test it. How do you know a dream is a dream?

Lmao raven tryna be whimsical and ethereal, that's the name of the game. Another fun fact: it was written in Comic Sans. Heh.

#wip game #mold wips #thank you for the ask dear friend!#honestly mia your vibes fit this fic in my head i was not surprised that you chose it 😂#asks?? in my inbox?? more likely than you think

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villain-sympathizer · 2 years

Text

》》 – Breaking Point – 《《

[Skeptic x GN!Reader] [NSFW]

[A gift for @thotsforvillainrights ! Sorry this took so damn long lmao]

────── ･｡ﾟ: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

[Summary: After an absolute hellish day juggling two corporate jobs and dealing with incompetent morons, Skeptic ends up snapping during a tiny spat with his partner. But he snaps in an unpredictable and rather… pleasant way, that turns out to be helpful for both parties.]

[Word Count: 3,673]

[AO3 Mirror]

────── ･｡ﾟ: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ･ ──────

[Notes: I write xReaders a bit differently, since I don’t like reading them with “me” in mind, but rather an OC, so I prefer to write in third person (or semi-third person? I’ve been told I flip flop a lot between third and second person) and FULLY gender neutral. Meaning I don’t use any feminine/masculine pronouns, descriptions, or genital terms if applicable. That way anyone can read it and feel included, especially if you’re like me and you feel weird inserting yourself into a characters life cause you know they just wouldn’t like you, but you have OCs who fit the bill.]

[Content warnings: Explicit NSFW content, like seriously Skeptic gets FERAL; gender neutral pronouns and genital terms, so sorry if they seem repetitive; dom reader; consensual sex; Skeptic’s so horny he becomes insanely submissive lmao; Skeptic’s incredibly stressed and pent up so he’ll be a lil mean and snippy in the beginning, but I promise he turns into a total simp who worships his partner.]

Tack-a, tack-a, tack-a, tack-a.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

“Hanabata, your speech yesterday was amazing as always!”

“Thank you, sir!”

Tack-a, tack-a, tack-a, tack-a.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The clicks of multiple keyboards. The clock’s incessant, never-ending ticking. His coworkers chatter shouted across the room as each of them cross his office’s path. All of it was typical of Tomoyasu’s work day, but after the horrendous morning he was subjected to hours earlier, it was becoming the final straw – threatening to break his metaphorical camel’s back. He loathed the few days every other month where he had to personally take time out of his busy, swamped schedule to make sure the new hires and trainees were doing things correctly and efficiently. Everyone was highly skilled and efficient in their work, Detnerat wouldn’t have it any other way, yet nothing was ever good enough for Tomoyasu. Re-Destro constantly rejected his pleas to just have him create puppets to work for the company, saying that it didn’t feel right, especially when they had so many talented citizens in Deika willing to work with them.

“Puppets don’t need payroll,” Tomoyasu mumbled bitterly to himself, hunched over his desk, typing quickly on his laptop, code that has since become mere muscle memory to him. “Puppets don’t need breaks. They don’t need socialization. They don’t need constant instruction. They don’t need vacations, unions, training, paid time off, medical leave, nothing!” He hisses, another vein growing on his forehead as his typing speeds up. Blinded by his sheer anger, Tomoyasu felt his ring finger slip against one of his keys, accidentally pressing the ‘3’ key when he meant to press the ‘E’ key.

That was his last straw, his metaphorical camel’s back was nothing but dust in that instant. He slams his laptop closed, a disgruntled shout leaving him as he does so, and proceeds to shove the device and other files he was looking over earlier under his arm. With frantic movements, desperate to get the hell out of this building, Tomoyasu shoves his chair back and marches out of his plainly-decorated office. Other workers in their cubicles glanced up at him, as well as the occasional MLA members who happened to be walking by, their eyes trained on him as he storms off to the double glass doors at the front of the room.

“Oh, uh… have a good day, then, Skeptic,” Re-Destro says to him as the other passes by his spot next to Hanabata, the two of them chatting next to a coffee machine. “Shut up,” Tomoyasu responded sharply, his irritation obvious with the way he acted so bluntly to his Grand Commander. Luckily, Re-Destro simply chuckled, letting the taller man continue to the doors. For the first time that day, a hush falls over the office space, yet it only served to piss him off more. With one arm pushing one of the glass doors to the hallway open, Tomoyasu turns his upper body back towards the cubicles.

“GET BACK TO WORK!”

---

The train ride home was almost equally as agonizing, despite not actually having to talk to anyone. It was packed, noisy, and in his already hypersensitive state, he swore he could still hear the shrill screech of the trains bearings in his ears as he enters the apartment he shared with his partner. It was moderately sized, and originally decorated in minimalist, luxury furniture – and it still is, but the space had collected more ‘homey’ items and such ever since his partner moved in. Tomoyasu didn’t mind, as he spent most of his time in the home office anyway, so his partner was free to decorate the apartment as they see fit. Besides, he loved them, and thus trusted their interior design choices.

Speaking of his partner, the dark-haired man found [Name] waiting in the living room, typing away at something on their laptop, the news playing quietly on the T.V for background noise. On any normal day Tomoyasu would have joined them and begun work on his own device, but today all he wanted was for everything to just stop. His partner doesn’t know that, he knows they don’t know that, but he still can’t stop himself from snapping at them. Not even their warm, welcoming smile stopped him from making the first mistake of the night.

“Oh, Tomo, you’re home early! How was-“ They began, before other cut them off.

“Will you cease that racket?” Tomoyasu used what little self-restraint he had left in him to keep his voice from raising like it had back at the offices, instead it came out in a restrained snarl.

Immediately, [Name]’s composure changed from that of excited to something like apprehension, the look on their face something Tomoyasu knew well – they we’re assessing him, taking in his posture and tone to determine the correct way of responding to him to avoid conflict as much as they could. In the workspace, Tomoyasu would have been proud to have conditioned that into his subordinates, but in this case… it only made him realize how much he really did need anger management. He didn’t want his significant other to walk on eggshells with him constantly, and he’s been getting better at controlling his temper at home, saving his frustrations for when he can yell and berate employees at work instead. But not at home. Not with [Name]. Unfortunately, today seemed to be one of the bad days.

“Tough day?” They offer after a moment of thought, a sympathetic look crossing their face as they turn the T.V off and save the work on their laptop before closing it. “Do you wanna talk about it? Rant a bit?”

Teeth grinding and veins popping against his forehead, Tomoyasu tosses his messenger bag to the side and slams his laptop on a nearby table. “No,” he snaps. “What I want is a hot shower, dinner, and to go to bed for once. I just want peace and quiet.” It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth. He omitted the parts that included ‘with you’ at the end of each item on that list, too caught up in his focus to not completely blow up at them to voice his true wants.

[Name]’s brows furrow in concern for a moment, but a teasing smile creeps up on their face. ‘Don’t say anything, don’t do it,’ Tomoyasu thinks to himself, already knowing he won’t be able to stop himself from barking insults at them if the other chooses to taunt him. ‘Just leave it at that, please, dear.’ But of course, the universe wasn’t on his side. It never was.

“What? Tomoyasu Chikazoku, willingly going to bed? Early no less?” They teasingly grin at him, hoping their attempt to humor him would help the taller man feel at least a little better. And on any other day, it just might have. But not today.

Tomoyasu was screaming at himself in his head not to respond, not to make it worse, not to hurt their feelings. [Name] didn’t deserve it, they never deserved his wrath, not after everything they’ve done for him. Yet, no matter how hard he clenched his fists and bit his tongue, nothing was able to stop the next few words that would seal both their fates that night:

“That goes for you, too, brat.”

Their reaction was immediate, and just at painful to watch as Tomoyasu knew it would be. The look of shock, followed quickly buy hurt and dejection made his stomach twist with regret. Now he had another thing to add to the list of shit that was feeding into his bad day. He didn’t need to add on the insult, didn’t need to drag them into this, didn’t even need to speak at that point. He could have just stormed off to take his shower and likely would have emerged feeling far less stressed, less irritable, and more likely to actually confine in his partner about his day. He’s so used to having to fix everything, that for once, he never knew he could mess something up so badly – and so quickly, too.

“Okay, that tone is definitely not needed, and neither was the name calling,” [Name] responds as they stand up, voice having lost its warm, teasing tone, now replaced with something more firm. More offended. They made their way over to him, effectively blocking his path toward the bedroom that he was making as he snapped at them. Tomoyasu apparently loved digging his own grave, because in an act of petty defiance, he shoved his shoulder against them so he could push past.

He ate the poison, so he might as well lick the plate.

[Name] let out a grunt, both from surprise and the impact of his shoulder against them as he made his way past. This wasn’t the playful nudge to the shoulder that the two would usually give each other when they felt like pushing the others buttons a bit; little acts of flirting that would typically end with a few kisses to the forehead or cheek as they continued on with their task at hand. This was antagonizing, the kind of shove a bully would give someone when they wanted to start a fight. In this situation, it seemed like the taller man wanted just that.

“Tomo, what the hell is your problem today?” They called out, hurrying past the man to once again block his path to the bedroom. “I understand you get irritated at work often, but that’s no reason to take your aggression out on me when I’m just trying to help, asshole.”

Tomoyasu’s mind was surely screaming at him to just swallow his pride and apologize, that they’ll both work this out after he’s showered and eaten – but the ringing in his ears was drowning that voice out, which is probably why he decided to continue this unnecessary argument. “Maybe, I didn’t need your fucking help,” he bites back with, glaring down at them through his long bangs. “Maybe, I just needed some god damned peace and quiet like I fucking asked. Because maybe, you shutting the hell up was all the help I needed!” His voice was raising in volume, but he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how much he tried to halt the stream of insults pouring from his big mouth. The anger he stored away all day was finally bubbling back up at the worst time, making his skin flushed from the blood pumping to his head, and he hurriedly yanked off his jacket to try and cool himself down.

[Name]’s face scrunched up in distain, clearly used to the foul attitude of their lover, yet still hurt by the words thrown at them. “Why are you so scared of just talking things out? Why does it always have to be a fight with you?”

“Just let me take my damn shower already,” Tomoyasu grumbled, once again shoving past them to finally enter their shared bedroom. Discarding the jacket on the bed, he reaches down to remove his well-known turtleneck, strands of long hair falling around his shoulders before settling against his back again. If he had to argue with them while he showered, then so be it.

“Don’t avoid the question, Chikazoku,” [Name] spat out toward him, and Tomoyasu knew they meant business when they not only skipped past his nickname and his first name, and simply called him by his surname.

While aggressively searching for a towel within their dresser drawers, Tomoyasu finally spins around to face the other, towel clutched in a white-knuckle grip. “Oh, so we’re on formal terms now? Fine, two can play that game, [Last name]. Now get out of my way,” he snarls, marching past his partner towards the adjacent bathroom. But before he could reach it, they once again slipped past him, slamming the door shut before standing in front it, arms crossed.

“No, nuh-uh, you don’t get to just walk out of this, you dick,” they counter, glaring up at the taller man. “Just talk to me, will you? Tell me what’s got your panties wedged up your ass, then I’ll leave you alone. Deal?” [Name] offers, their voice noticeably softening toward the end of their sentence, obviously unwilling to keep up the fury of their spat.

A long, drawn-out growl is released from Tomoyasu’s chest, quickly growing in volume till it became a frustrated shout. “Okay! Fine, you wanna know why I’m so pissed?” He barks back at them, slamming the towel he was holding down on the ground. “Maybe it’s because I have to deal with idiots all damn day! Maybe it’s because I’m the only one in both Detnerat and Feel Good that actually knows how to run things! Maybe it’s because of those reasons that I’ve been strung so high that I can still hear their damn typing in my ears!” His tone would grow louder and quieter depending on the emphasis on the words, all the while his presence grew closer until [Name] found their back pressed against the bathroom door.

“And maybe…” Two hands slam against the door on either side of [Name]’s head, Tomoyasu’s face dipping down till it was right against his partner’s ear, voice now low and hushed. “Just maybe… I need some stress relief with my lover,” His breath was tickling the shell of their ear, making his partner shiver. “Whom I haven’t seen much at all these past few weeks.”

[Name] lets out a small, nearly inaudible breath, their hand reaching up to gently caress Tomoyasu’s bare side, invoking what sounded like a purr from the taller man. “I’ve missed you,” he continues, leaning down further to trail his lips across their neck, body moving forward to press against the others. “Missed all of you. Your voice, your touch, your mouth… your wet, tight heat…” Tomoyasu lets out a vague moan at his own words, getting lost in his thoughts. “Fuck, I need you so badly.”

A hand snakes around Tomoyasu’s back, grabbing a fistful of black hair and tugging his head up to face [Name]’s own. The action was received with a choked sound of pleasure from Tomoyasu, his hips bucking forward from the simple action. “Then you can have me, baby,” They mumble against his lips, before they were engulfed by a much larger pair. The kiss was sloppy, feverish, and incredibly needy. Tomoyasu had never been one for foreplay, given his impatient nature, and because of that it was always to tease him and see how far [Name] could push the man before he went absolutely mad with want – and today, it seemed like they could drive him totally delirious.

With the hand that was still buried in Tomoyasu’s hair, [Name] forced the other’s head to jerk backward with a swift tug, grinning at the vague whimper the man responded with. “Down, boy,” they chuckle lowly, the hand that was once tangled in his hair now returning to brush the cover of his bangs away, revealing dark circles beneath near blood-shot eyes. “Why don’t we move this to the bed first, hm?” Without waiting for a response, [Name]’s hand trails down his face gently, reaching his clavicle before lightly pushing him backward toward the bed. Tomoyasu easily folded to their touch, walking backward on wobbly legs, never taking his eyes off of them even as he tumbles backward onto the bed.

[Name] took a moment to admire their boyfriend: Deep, black hair fanned outward on each side of him; a blush spread across his neck and upper chest, growing deeper by the minute; his already labored breathing, a futile method of trying to cool himself down; and of course, the prominent tent in his pants. It was rare they ever got to see Tomoyasu so disheveled, and this may be the first they’ve ever seen him desperate. “Look at you…” [Name] coos, running their hands town the others chest as they seat themselves on his thighs, just millimeters away from coming in contact with his erection. As their fingers trail down his stomach, his breath hitches and the muscles flutter beneath their touch. The best part, though, was how the taller man’s cock throbbed hard enough for [Name] to feel the fabric around it shift. “I’ve barely touched you,” they snickered, their fingers trailing back upward to his neck, hands cupping his jaw as they lean down to his lips. “And yet you feel like you’re already about to cum in your pants. Maybe if I play my cards right,” they plant a sweet kiss to his lips. “You just might.” The words sent a shiver down Tomoyasu’s spine, his hips shifting upward in an attempt to gain friction against his partner.

“Ah, ah, ah,” [Name] chastises him, lifting their hips away from his to keep the other from grinding against them, earning an irritated groan from the man beneath them. “Use your words, Tomo. What is it that you want, baby?”

“You,” Tomoyasu croaked out, his voice strained with how much effort it was taking him to speak a fluent sentence. “I want you. N-Need you…” He’s able to push the words out, turning his head so he could nuzzle against one of the palms that was holding his jaw.

[Name] raises an eyebrow, their thumb gently running along his lips. “Need me for what?”

An embarrassed whine escapes Tomoyasu, teeth clenched as his mouth tries to form the words his brain had been screaming since he trapped them against the bathroom door: ‘Make me cum, make me cum, make me cum-‘

“Pl-please, just- make me cum, fuck, please-!” He pleads, hips rutting upward against nothing, trying desperately to feel his lover’s touch against him.

Hearing Tomoyasu, the elusive, strong-willed, and callous Skeptic of the Paranormal Liberation Front, whine and beg? Completely unprompted? Well, of course [Name] had to treasure this moment for as long as possible, because there’s no telling if he’d ever do this again, judging by the intense blush covering his face and ears from his embarrassment. Deeming that as enough torture for their ailing boyfriend, [Name] lowers their hips again, taking a seat directly on top of Tomoyasu’s straining erection. His response was immediate, hips rocking upward to grind against [Name] in quick, stuttered thrusts that held no pattern. Clearly desperate for release, Tomoyasu wasted no time in grabbing at his partner’s waist, holding them down as his cock throbbed against their core with each frantic rut.

[Name] lets out a surprised inhale, the sound quickly dissolving into one of pleasure, an amused chuckle layered in with it. “Look at you, so desperate and horny,” they coo teasingly, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to their lover’s lips, the other immediately accepting their tongue down his throat. When [Name] pulled back after a few moments, they wasted no time in moving their spit-coated lips to Tomyasu’s jaw, hastily peppering open-mouthed kisses downward until they were near the base of his throat. “I can feel your cock throbbing, even through your clothes. If I knew you’d be this pent up, I’d have you strap a bullet vibe to your dick to wear all day,” they mumble against his skin, giving small bites and nips to his reddened skin. “Forced to cum again, and again, and again. Maybe then you’ll think twice before snapping at me,” their words are enforced with a harsh bite to his neck, causing Tomoyasu to lurch his hips harder, a choked gasp leaving him. His grip on his partners waist loosened as his arms reached upward, one wrapping around to grip onto their back, while the other tangled itself in their hair, keeping their head firmly in place as he released stuttered moans and keens.

“’M close, ‘m…close…!” Tomoyasu breathes out with a struggle, already feeling the immense amount of precum leaking from his cock soaking through the fabric of his pants. [Name] grins, placing a soothing kiss to his bite mark.

“Then cum, baby,” they muttered in a low, coo-like tone, their lips latching onto another part of his neck to suck a dark hickey onto the skin there.

In an instant, Tomoyasu threw his head back with a guttural cry, hips stilling from their frantic motions as he finally cums for the first time in seemingly weeks. [Name] could already feel the thick liquid seep through to their own clothes, making them shiver and moan from the sheer amount of it. Once the peak of his climax subsided, Tomoyasu curled back inward against his partner as he rode out the aftershocks of such an intense orgasm, face tucked securely in the crook of their shoulder and neck as his body trembles every now and then.

[Name] peppers sweet kisses against Tomoyasu’s temple as their partner comes down from his high, soothing his hair while he calms his breathing. Once he finally got a hold of his nerves again, his body relaxes backward as his frame falls against the bed, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead and hiding the dazed look in his eyes.

“That…that was… I- fuck…” Tomoyasu attempts to form some kind of sentence, but ultimately gave up when [Name] began snickering at his struggle with vocabulary, earning them a poor attempt at a menacing glare that seemed more like a pout instead. “Not a word of this to anyone, understand?”

[Name] gives him a teasing grin, moving off of his legs to flop next to him on the bed. “You’re typically the one to boast about getting laid, not me,” they counter, brushing his damp bangs away from his still flushed face so they could kiss his forehead and nose. “But don’t worry, I tooootally won’t tell anyone you jizzed in your pants just from grinding against me,” a sarcastic tone overlayed their response, leading Tomoyasu to become skeptical.

“I’m warning you, [Name]. Keep your mouth shut.”

His lover’s grin turns almost sinister, their form looming over him as their lidded eyes gazed down at him in challenge.

“Make me.”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #skeptic x reader #tomoyasu chikazoku #tomoyasu chikazoku x reader #dame writes #nsft #smut #smut writing

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ohgodmyeyes · 1 year

Note

Hello love, I got someone else hooked to disassembly and we both can’t wait for updates to resume when possible ❤️

hey! i'd been meaning to do this for a couple of days, because you've been so unimaginably kind and patient.

i didn't anticipate ever needing such a long break from a creative project; but then, i've also never poured quite this much of myself into that kind of endeavour before. (*not sure whether i'm talking about disassembly by itself, or my anakin stuff in all its entirety, not that it especially matters in-context.)

anyway, because you trusted me enough to recommend it to someone new after watching it go so long without an update, i feel like i owe it to you to show you what i've written for it over the past couple of days. it's unedited, so there might be typos or notes or continuity problems or (most likely) egregious word repetition; despite that, i hope it measures up conceptually to the rest of the story.

i also hope it reassures anyone who's been in doubt that this fic means more to me than ever, and isn't far from being updated. i've loved working on it again, and i hope a few of the people who engaged with it before will enjoy coming back to it too.

i'm not going to shoot myself in the foot by deigning to offer a timeline, but i will say that there are approximately 700 words worth of SPOILERS for Disassembly behind the cut — including the baby's name!

if you would rather wait until the chapter is completed to read it, DO NOT LOOK BEHIND THE CUT.

for any/everyone else... well, i hope i'm off to a good start. (and for god's sake, pls be gentle if i'm not lol.)

...

"Liam. Do you like it?"

"Sure. I mean, I don't not like it. But I thought you said you wanted to pick something to make my dad happy, since Leia already used 'Ben'."

"...I thought I did. Didn't he ever tell you about his mom's old fiancé? They were going to get married; he treated your dad like he was his own kid, but he died before the wedding ever happened."

"...Oh. Right. I— I'm sure he must have mentioned him, at least once or twice."

...

Even now, you had no idea whether Luke had been feigning his familiarity with the name you'd chosen for your son. Maybe Anakin had told him; maybe he hadn't: Both possibilities seemed equally likely to you. All you really knew was that Anakin had disclosed the information to you while you'd been sitting on his couch with him, late one evening back at his old house. You'd been drinking that night, just passing a bottle back-and-forth while you watched the news scroll by together— not that you ever planned on revealing to Luke that particular bit of the story.

All Luke needed to know was the name itself, and the barest explanation as to why you'd picked it.

"I barely remember telling you about that," Anakin murmured from his seat next to your hospital bed, glancing up from the tiny bundle in your arms through a few stray strands of his own hair. His eyes were tired, but he looked happy anyway— happier, even, than you'd seen him since that last time he'd smiled at you in the car, after seeing his cardiologist. That hadn't been so long ago; now, though, it felt like another lifetime.

In more than one way, you supposed it sort of was.

Liam squirmed, prompting you to look down at him, too, but he didn't wake up. It had only been (maybe) an hour since he'd been pulled out of you; you'd placed him on your breast as soon as the nurse managing the ward had locked your bed into position and handed him off to you, but he hadn't suckled for very long before falling into what appeared to be a fairly restful sleep.

You hoped you'd fed him correctly: The next time he did wake up, you thought, you would have to ask someone for help.

"We'd both had a lot to drink that night," you said to Anakin, with as quiet a laugh as you could muster. "I'm actually almost surprised I remember— but something about it must have stuck with me."

Anakin chuckled back, but didn't appear to have anything else to say just then— evidently too wrapped up in the baby to give anything else very much of his attention. You recalled what you'd learned from Luke about how he and Leia had come into the world; by the time their dad had seen them with his own eyes, they were already more than a week old: Having been greeted, fed, changed, held, and dressed for days and days by people who weren't him.

Liam, in contrast, had almost certainly seen more of Anakin's face in his first sixty minutes of life than he had of yours— and it was Anakin who'd held him first, and taken photos of him first, too— not to mention given you the most helpful advice you'd received so far concerning diaper changes.

Fortunately for you, not knowing quite how to feel about any of that made it a lot easier to remember to try not to feel too much of anything about it at all.

"Have you heard anything from Luke yet?" you asked Anakin, not necessarily wanting to hear the answer.

"No, but I wouldn't expect him to call me. You should probably check your phone."

It had probably taken you the better part of an hour to shower and dress following your 'encounter' with Luke in the hallway, you thought; after that, you'd spent perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes in transit in the back of the taxi, and then another hour or so being evaluated before your c-section. Then there had been the operation itself, followed by your time in the recovery room, not to mention the time you and Anakin had already spent fawning over Liam—

"...You're right," you admitted, thinking about the way Luke tended to wake up early when he'd been drinking. "I probably should."

Your phone had been wrapped up in the clothes you'd come in wearing, and placed on the table next to the bed: Maybe by Anakin, or maybe by a nurse; you couldn't know. After gently depositing Liam into the bassinet on the opposite side of the bed (lifting your arms to do so precipitated a distinct stabbing sensation in the muscles close to where you'd been cut open, which you expertly ignored), you untangled it from your leggings and lit up the screen.

"Shit," you said— out loud, without meaning to.

"What?" asked Anakin, seeming almost to come out of a trance.

"...Luke thinks something happened to you. I— well, I think he might be on his way here soon." The prospect of Luke showing up at the hospital (maybe even still half-drunk) shouldn't have filled you with dread, but it did. By some miracle, your brain didn't even chastise you for your lack of enthusiasm; maybe, you thought, even it couldn't blame you.

Anakin paused, as if to think. He'd been doing a lot more of that recently, and so it wasn't difficult (for you, anyway) to remember to wait. It wasn't that his brain 'didn't work', as he seemed to have taken to characterizing it; rather, it was that it didn't work as quickly as he or anyone around him was accustomed to it working.

He was still himself, and he could even still act like it, too— just so long as you gave him enough time.

"...How does he know where we are?" he finally asked, all of a sudden making you regret your own patience, at least that time.

"What?" you asked back, this time intending to buy a few seconds for yourself instead.

"How does Luke know we're here, at the hospital? If he'd called, they would have told us."

Great job. Are you going to tell him about the dog tracker you put in his leg, now?

...No. No, fuck you.

"He must have told the computer at home that I lost my phone," you lied.

"Oh," said Anakin, followed by another long and thoughtful pause. "...Are you sure you're okay with that?"

You laughed, and laughed bitterly; you didn't mean to, exactly, but you also supposed that if anyone was liable to understand, it was almost certainly Anakin. "It doesn't matter whether or not I'm okay with it," you told him, stealing a guilty glance in Liam's direction as it occurred to you that you should probably start trying to be a bit more quiet for his sake.

"I think it matters," said Anakin. "If you don't feel like seeing him right now, then—"

"Then I'll see him anyway," you finished decidedly, looking down to offer a poke to your own still-tingling legs because you didn't want to look up at Anakin just then. Something like a cramp seemed to run through one of them; right up into where you'd been cut open, but it didn't hurt so much as it felt foreign: Enough to bother you, but not in a way that was liable to make you say 'ow'. "If I start treating him differently now, it's only going to make things worse for all of us."

"Before tonight I probably would have said the same thing, but—"

"But nothing. Did you forget what we talked about before— when I was still in the shower?"

Anakin shot you a look. "No. No, I didn't 'forget'— actually, I'm starting to think I remember it better than you do; I'm not the one who's been making excuses for him this whole time."

"I'm not 'making excuses'," you said, all of a sudden too tired to bother to mask the hurt in your voice. "I'm trying to hold all of this together long enough to give Liam the kind of life he deserves. He's only a baby; he can't grow up with Luke and I hating each other."

"He doesn't have to." Anakin looked past you, and over at the little hospital bassinet instead. "...I really wasn't joking when I said I thought you should call someone. If you leave now, Luke will—"

"Luke will dump you in the veteran's home, and none of us will ever see each other again," you hissed, cutting him off as sharply and deliberately as you could without shouting at him. "You say you haven't forgotten, but we've been over this more than once, and—"

"And every single time we do 'go over it', it gets worse! I didn't agree to move in because I thought it was a good idea; I did it to make you happy— because you thought we could keep flying under the radar, and I wanted to trust you. We're not anymore, though, whether we like it or not, and Luke—"

"Luke is going to be a great dad! You might not have been able to give him the tools to be a husband, but I know he's going to be a good father; all you have to do is let him try. Anyway, I need him as much as I need you... especially now," you added, with yet another glance in the direction of Liam's tiny, sleeping form.

"You don't need either of us," said Anakin, shaking his head. "You could do it alone, and I think you probably should."

You winced at his bluntness, not that you hadn't expected it. He'd said the same thing about Leia and her boyfriend, after all: Projecting his own fears around intimacy onto the people he cared about; pretending it was hard-earned wisdom instead. You supposed he could very well have been both 'correct' and 'projecting' at the same time, but...

...

AND THAT'S IT FOR NOW. i was tired last night and whatever else i wrote after that is still gibberish. back to it tonight, though, i hope. i would be lying if i said i didn't feel anxious and rusty, but it's okay to feel that way once in a while.

anyway... 'Liam' is a deliberate reference to Liam Neeson, because of course 'Qui-Gon' doesn't exactly fit into the AU. I wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to shoehorn a brand-new character into anakin's past for the sole purpose of justifying the name, but at the end of the day, it's not the clumsiest thing i've ever done as a writer (even within this story).

there's a chance i might go back and add a scene to an earlier chapter so that it isn't too jarring to new readers, but part of me also thinks it's fine the way it is. they've had lots of time to talk, frankly, and we were never going to hear all of the conversations, were we...?

anyway, i'm obviously not going to tag the ships or let people reblog this... but if you happen to know of someone who might appreciate it, you're more than welcome to link them. hopefully i'll see you again soon.

thank you, @lilahelynora — and everyone/anyone else who's been in any way patient with me recently (i'd tag a few other special people too, but frankly i don't want to bother them). it all means more than you know.

#thank you #disassembly #spoilers #this answers a couple of asks i hope #unedited writing #i kind of hope no one notices this buuuttt

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historia-vitae-magistras · 2 years

Note

The WW1 fic with India and Canada was one of my favorites! And in no are fics set in WW1 repetitive :( its a really interesting time period for the world and it makes a lot of sense to focus in on it

Here it is! Ancient fic, set in February of 1916. Aditya saved Matt's ass at the Second Battle of Ypres the previous April, and I think they have a good rapport. Please note this fic dates to early 2019 or earlier, and I might have missed some cultural points. It is mostly unedited but cross-posted to Ao3.

February 1916

"When did you learn Hindi?" Aditya asks in the morning during rotation. Matthew's soldiers are coming off the line, and the Indian divisions are moving in. It's the same routine as usual. Men slowly trickle out under the cover of darkness, and others creep in. Soldiers rouse each other with hands on shoulders and single fingers pressed to mouths. Quiet is key. There's no oil left in the lamps, and the braziers are banned here since the last dugout fire, and it is cold. Bitterly, bitterly cold. Matt squats across from Aditya in front of the tiny camp stove, shaded from the enemy by a windbreak of scrap iron and pours tea into mugs, handing one over when it looks an appropriate shade of brown. Aditya looks down at it apprehensively but doesn't turn his nose up at Matt's shit attempt. He even holds it close. Matt feels grubby next to him and doesn't know how Aditya keeps himself a fair sight cleaner than any Canadian, officer or otherwise, considering the weather. Even Matt's fingers are blue when he pulls back his gun mitts to hold the tea and breathe in the steam.

"I didn't," Matt shrugged. "Only know little pieces,"

"I saw you this morning." Aditya looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Bypassed the officers and went right to the sergeant. And the sergeant doesn't speak English,"

"So you saw me gesturing like a windmill then," Matt gave a snort.

"You've got enough to get the point across,"

"Barely. And they needed to know about the funk holes. Three collapsed on us in the last week. Killed a man in his sleep. Officers usually forget their men don't sleep in beds in the dugout."

Aditya hummed, satisfied with the answer and gave a smile. They're rare on the front, but more common on the first day of a rotation than the last.

"Tell me," Aditya passed the mug between his hands, as if he was debating taking a drink of not. Matt didn't blame him. The water had smelled brackish even before he'd added tea. "Was the first word you learned vegetable? Or was it curry?"

"Neither," Matt shrugs. "Sorry,"

"What for?" Aditya frowned. "You're young still. You haven't finished growing. We'll make a fluent speaker out of you yet."

"No," Matt rolled his shoulders, a little embarrassed and resisting the urge to duck a bit. "The first word I learned. It was 'sorry,'"

Aditya snorts in amusement. "Of course it was." He takes a sip and grimaces.

"I make godawful cup of tea, sorry,"

"That you do." Aditya set the cup back down on the stove. "Though the fault is not entirely yours. Army tea is... regrettable,"

"What about the fucking army isn't regrettable?" Matt snorted, dug around his coat for the flask of grog he'd saved from the dinner rations the night before. He offered it up like a toast, at a jaunty angle, shaking it a little. Aditya shook his head, shrugged and made a small "Mm, why not," sort of sound. He held out the cup and Matt gave each of them a glug or two.

Face twisted up in a grimace Aditya shakes his head. "That never gets better. How do you drink that ever day?"

"Only England's finest paint thinner for Arthur Kirkland's third favorite son," Matt said bitterly, knocking back half the mug in two gulps. He wished he still had some of the bourbon Alfred had sent in his last care package. Aditya's brow furrowed. Matt drank more to escape his gaze. Even as sharp and foul as army grog was, it sent ribbons of warmth across his body, gave him courage when he didn't have any left, steadied his nerves. They're sitting in peaceable silence now, just the whistle of the wind through the grates. No gunshots, no gurgling wounded, no screaming dead. In moments like that, Matt thinks he might make it his next birdsongs with his sanity intact. But not in silence. He's used to Jack filling up the quiet with movement, with his inane chattering to anyone and anything. He's loud, lively, distracting.

Aditya's company is quiet, dignified. He's the sort of man Matthew gets on best with. Calm, logical, patient. He's older than them all put together. Father and Papa and the elder Beilschmidt brother are ancient to Matt. But Aditya is ancient to even them. He wonder's vaguely, if there's anything under the sun that satisfies anymore when someone got that old. Much of his own father seems deadened by the centuries. But Father doesn't grimace at the taste of army rum and army tea.

"What do you drink?" Matt asks, thinking of the spiced tea he'd had behind the lines once when the Indian divisions had swapped camp with the French on his flank.

"Anything warm," Aditya laughs, sits back onto a pile of sand bags and lifts his cup. "Tin of piss or not. At least its warm,"

"I mean at home."

"There are as many kinds of tea as there are languages in my country," Aditya shrugged placidly. "I have loved every one,"

"You can't drink every single one every day thought!" Matt returned. Aditya was hard to read but Matt did his best, searching him for… something. "What do you actually like to drink?"

Aditya frowns at him and turns Matt's scan back on him. Old countries scanning for suspicious intent drag a sort of weight along with their observation, a heaviness of centuries. Matt doesn't hide anything on his face around Aditya. He has no reason too. And Aditya could probably read anything he did try to hide anyway. Aditya has always been a distant presence, but he had dragged Matt out of Ypres the year before and had never been unkind, before or since. Eventually, Aditya smiled, as if satisfied with what he had found on Matt's face.

"Palm wine," He finally says and his eyes are thousands of miles away, at home. "It's rather sweet but you take the sap from certain kinds of palm tree, and it ferments quickly. Sometimes within a couple of hours its enough. Or you can let it sit and it will get stronger and more sour, but it’s a delight!"

His voice sounded nostalgic, homesick. Matt pours them more tea, and shoves a few more pieces of coal on the anemic fire. Aditya shuffles closer.

"Sounds nice," Matt sighed, leaning into his hand. "We make maple wine. Its about the same process." He could see the maples, thin and scarlet and just out of reach. He can almost smell them, earthy and nutty on the breeze. The soil of the Canadian shield was dense, compacted by glaciers that even centuries melted Matt could feel in his veins. Mountains had once laced up and down, but eroded by the centuries. He could taste the zinc and the salt of his black soil.

"How old are you?" Aditya asked all of a sudden, startling him out of his own poisonous thoughts. Home was strength and sorrow and everything good in him but it was only weakness now. He was staring at Matt again and Matt compulsively dragged his collar up.

"Three hundred and seventeen," Matt said, sitting up straight.

"You're an infant," Aditya shook his head. "A babe in arms exposed to this."

"And I have near 200 years on Jack and Zee," Matt said. "It's not fair to them. They're too young for this."

"You're all far young for this!" Aditya shook his head. "I never thought I would see mankind progress to this level of savagery. But to drag children into it!" He made a disgusted noise that Matt associated with Arthur, but he couldn't say he disagreed.

"It's not fair on them," Matt said.

"Nor you," Aditya looked pensively into his mug. "Or I,"

Matt didn't know what to say to that. The man he'd once called Papa had been invaded. He might have found himself here, even if Dad hadn't taken up the cause and dragged the empire with him. But Aditya? He was from what Matt dimly knew as a place thousands of miles away. He'd spent half of the crown's tours of India too feverish to roll over, much less take in the sights with any coherence.

"It doesn't get easier then?" He asked very gently because he might not know the depth of Aditya's sorrow, but he knew its breadth. Every square mile of his country and the lack of it beneath his feet ached like an old scar in his chest. "Missing home as you get older?"

"A little," Aditya said. "Human pains are so very intense when we're young. But you will never outgrow it. No matter how old we are, home is home. The lack of it will always ache." He looked devastatingly sad for a moment, a centuries long grief older than Matt and maybe even Arthur had been alive. "But it is cruel, to tear you from home when you've hardly planted your roots. It is much harder to kill a plant with deep roots."

"Its not the longest I've been away," Matt said. He thought of the years he'd spent in Australia after he had indulged the screaming need for just an inkling of control in his life. He thought of the prison ship and the burning sun on his neck, unnatural and agonising on his back. But he'd had Jack, who in his way, was a sort of home too. He swallowed down something painful born of love. "I'll survive. But it never goes away? The pain?"

"Never," Aditya said. "I think your father has numbed himself to the reality of our existence. Thinks that centuries have to make one cruel or they have not been long enough. But we never lose it. Every day people are born and people die, every year we reap and we plant. We build and tear down. There is always something new as the old fades. It brings life and feeling with it. After a few centuries it… stabalises. I think. Like adulthood in a way I think. The fits of passion that come with youth settle a bit. But you won't go numb, if that's what you fear."

Matt dipped his head, nodding and hiding. Endless misery then. Endless pain in his lungs, endless wars to be dragged into. The wind seemed to blow colder then, as if to remind Matt that home or abroad, his fate still rested under the north wind to be scoured with ice as it willed. He shivered.

"You didn't fear it at all!" Aditya looked startled. "You hoped for it!" He phrased it like a question but it wasn't one. He set his mug aside and looked very intense.

"Your humanity, our ties to humanity? It's what will keep you sane when you have nothing else. Every heart that beats in your chest is a chance to do better. To be better. Wish for anything but that fading, do you understand me?" He leaned forward, hands clenching between his legs.

Matt was silent, ashamed of himself for some reason. He felt like a coward. Next to Jack, next to Zee, even next to Alfred, he was quiet and steady and mature. But under Aditya's gaze in that moment, he had never felt more like a child. Aditya looked a bit kinder when Matt got up the courage to make eye contact again.

"They," He nodded off in the direction where Matt's soldiers were packing up their kits in their preparations to march behind the lines. "Are why we're here. And they cannot numb your agony. But they can be your joy. Don't align yourself with kings and politicians. It’s the ordinary people that will keep you. Live the cycles of years with them. Celebrate spring, peace and the festivals, mourn winter and war. It's how we stay sane."

"That's why Father--"

"Has been half mad for centuries?" Aditya laughed. "Yes. I believe it is. He likes to think himself rather posh, above it all. But he isn't. None of us are. And stay that way, Matthew. Don't make yourself an exception."

#my writing || cacoethes scribendi #the ask box || probis pateo #Matthew || my country is winter #Aditya || brimful of the wine of truth

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9thbutterfly · 6 months

Text

Tiny book reviews

(turns out it has been two months since I last did this. Though my reading speed has slowed down dramatically since I started working again...)

The Priory of the Orange Tree, by Samantha Shannon (reread)

Now, see, I already don't know how to review this one except by flailing and shrieking because I love it, I want to be reading it all the time, and I'm too tired to articulate why I love it

(and I have given up hope that I will ever again hit that elusive combination of "well rested enough for intelligent words", "alone, without a toddler climbing all over me" and "remembering that this is a thing I want to do")

Essbare Landschaft [Edible Landscape] by Sabine Eilmsteiner

One of our dance group buddies wrote a book on foraging, and while it was interesting, I'm still feeling too burned out to even do anything with the nettles in my garden, let alone actually going foraging.

Which I realise is not a review of the book so much as of my relationship to the book...

The Lies of Locke Lamora, by Scott Lynch (reread)

Meh. I kept thinking of hearing him say something about the numinosity of fantasy books at a convention, and having to look up the word, and thinking, yes, that is one of the reasons why I prefer fantasy.

And it is precisely the thing that I feel is missing from this book. It just feels grubby and grimy and yet bland. And I didn't care for the characters and I wish I hadn't bought the other two books way back when my friends were raving about it.

Die heilende Kraft des Waldes [The Healing Power of the Forest] by Sabine Eilmsteiner

Same thing as with her other book. Interesting but unlikely to be used.

The Dragon Republic, by R.F. Kuang

Interesting but depressing. I will read the third book for closure, but I'm unlikely to enjoy it.

Gewürze aus eigenem Garten [Spices From Your Own Garden] by Manfred Neuhold

There were a few small interesting bits, but mostly it repeats a lot of things I already know, and it also feels very old. Not old old, but "climate change and invasive slugs weren't much of a thing" old (iirc it's from the nineties)

Also, they're herbs, not spices.

The Wilful Princess and the Piebald Prince, by Robin Hobb

A Local Habitation, by Seanan McGuire

Didn't exactly captivate me, and elements of it felt a bit repetitive of things in the other Six Duchies books, but ah, it is a comfortable world, and I was sad to have to leave it so soon.

A Day of Fallen Night, by Samantha Shannon

Again, please picture flailing and shrieking.

Maybe one day I will have whittled down the tbr pile enough to reread this (and Priory) and give them a proper review. But not today.

A Local Habitation, by Seanan McGuire

Took me a while to get into, and a long time to read because of work and toddler and garden and stuff and things, and it has been long enough that I can't remember much of the first part, but I enjoyed it and want to read more.

#9thbutterfly life #books are magic

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apompkwrites · 2 years

Note

Okay okay okay I got this idea for the lil hobbies that the siblings would have and I for some reason wanted one of them to have a hobby of, like, knitting or crocheting??? Because those things take time and skill and patience, and I wanted it to be one of the siblings whose family has money so it would, like, mean something more to be gifted something handmade instead of just bought and I at first thought of lil Asim, but that didn’t feel right, then I thought of lil Octo, and it was a lil closer but still not right, but then, THEN, I thought of our lil lion. Okay, okay, hear me out, hear me out please. They’re a Royal. Or former Royal. It’s kind of, like, standard to just… but something already made of you wanted to give a gift when you’re of status. Then they run away.

I forget the names rn cause I’m super bad at names, but the lady shows our lil lion cub how to knit or crochet or sew because they wanted to help out in someway and it’s a whole new experience for them cause they never even saw the tools used for that stuff back in the palace, but they find they actually really enjoy it? Just mindless repetitive motions that make sense and bringing something into being with their own two hands.

It’s so… different than the presents their family would give to visitors or even each other, it’s something that they’ve put time and energy and effort into and they made.

Imagine lil lion(what is our nickname for them?) trying to nonchalantly give another one of the black sheep something they made, trying to act like it’s no big deal, but are actually really a little nervous inside, hoping that the other(s) will like it.

I also think it’s kind of an amusing, albeit slightly stereotypical in contrasts, to see that one lion beastfolk who doesn’t take nothin from nobody and protects their own pride and isn’t afraid to jump on someone just… knitting or crocheting something for one of their friends…

Our lil lion can also be quite particular in yarns, knowing quality and how to properly wash whatever they make and they’ll also rave/rant on the differences between knitting and crocheting cause there IS A DIFFERENCE not me projecting a tiny bit at that last part

hoo i've been thinking about this ever since i got this ask,,,

thinking about atiena teaching the lil cub (as she calls them) how to knit/crochet/sew because nuru just couldn't get into it.

and then, they're in the outlands, right? so its bound to get cold at night, right? so just imagine atiena making a bunch of like sweaters and blankets for the townspeople!!! and then she teaches (name) how to do it :OO

"when i'm gone, you'll be able to do this."

"you won't be gone..."

"...of course."

#a pompk answers #black sheep

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snowblossomreads · 1 year

Text

WIP Wed

Thanks @smilingformoney for the tag I do love sharing what's ruminating in the docs lol.

The Art of Entangled Hearts Exhibit 3 (Sinclar x Amiee - OC)

"What, tell me why are you laughing I want to laugh with you," Sinclair prodded as they crossed the road saying a brief excuse me to a touristy looking man who brushed shoulders with him.

"It's nothing I was just thinking about how great of a runner you would be if the prize was some world famous food tour. I can see it now you just blasting past all those other sprinters."

A grin spread across his face and even in the dim streets his expression lit everything around him up.

"Oh yes I think I would especially if France was one of the countries that they let me tour oh I would love that very much. Did you know that the Michelin guide considered Lyon to be the world capital of gastronomy? I've been there a few times and I have to say I agree with them there is so much to try and all of it delicious and the wine is just-."

'Click' 'Click' 'Click'

While Sinclair continued to ramble on about the food of France Amiee stopped in her tracks and turned around at the noise of a camera's shutter going off. It caused him to pause with her but he continued to happily educate all around about the world class food of France.

The Sound of Music (Turpin x Ward!Reader)

Thud.

“Ah~”

Thud. Thud.

“Yes~ Yes right there my lord~!”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Ahhhh~”

At it again he was. Almost every night, since she had come of age, did the repetitive cries of women, different women at that, fill the air at night when she laid her head down to rest. The sound of the Judge’s headboard striking the wall behind it where her own head lay echoed in her room just like the noisy moans and groans that flooded the air.

Sleep was impossible to find with all that racket they were making. And when it stopped giving her time to almost doze off, they would start at it again. His groans would startle her awake before the sounds of the woman he decided to bed covered his own noise. Good lord, could they be quieter? Did he not remember that she, his ward, was still here and trying to sleep?

Not that she got much of it anymore.

“God Turpin,” [Y/n] groaned out through gritted teeth as she tossed and turned, grasping a pillow from her side and burying her head in it. As if he had heard her, another loud groan from the man could be heard on the other side making her whine quietly to herself.

If the noise had been her only problem it would have been great. She would have sucked it up and just tried to sleep but unfortunately, the whine that left her lips was a mixture of exhaustion and well…arousal.

Who could blame her truly? It wasn’t her fault that, yes she had found the older man, easy on the eyes even if he sometimes forgot to shave. Or quickly rushed out of the house in the morning a bit more disheveled than one would think for a man of his status.

Prince (Severus x Celestine -OC)

“Aurelian Prince Snape.”

It was the name of the tiny baby that had finally decided to grace the world with his presence after an arduous labor that had lasted longer than either of the newly minted parents would have preferred.

They were both aware that there was a chance of this as Celestine’s mother had mentioned how the women on her side of the family seemed to have been cursed with challenging births.

With that knowledge in mind, both Celestine and Severus did their best to prepare for whatever would take place. But, when the time finally arrived, no amount of preparation in the world could have prepared them.

From the start when she began to have her contractions signaling that labor was starting, they both could tell that it was going to be difficult with how quickly the pain escalated. And then when she began to actively give birth, all hell broke loose.

Each time she wailed in pain as she tried to push the child out, he could feel the calm mask he had been wearing for both of their sake begin to fracture. And soon enough he himself almost felt like he was on the verge of tears as he couldn’t stand watching the one person who was so precious to him be in this much pain.

“I can’t do this Sev! I-I just can’t!”

His heart felt like it was being dragged out of him in an agonizingly slow manner as he went to pepper her damp face with kisses and spoke gentle words of encouragement hoping to give her any comfort he could.

“Oh love, don’t say that you’ve been doing so well I promise just a little longer. You can do this.”

It was a lot longer, unfortunately. Four hours longer at that. And with each torturous minute that passed of him watching her cry as she held his hand tightly in hers for comfort, his tolerance for the staff seemed to wane as well.

Embarrassingly enough he may have said a few choice words to the mortified healer who had accidentally caused Celestine to scream in more pain from accidentally knocking into her.

He would have to apologize for that later…

Tagging: @renee561 @ringaroundthetown

#tag game

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