#Writing Habits Tag

[quillver]

Me opening my draft:

1% writing

99% rereading one sentence like it deserves better than me

[interstellarvacuumcleaner]

So. I was watching the RGG Direct, and then a ~Vision~ came upon me in Jima Jima chat after talking about how NishiMinami would sleep on Goromaru...

behold: that one piece screencap but Goromaru crew quarters ✨

[babynorppa]

Jere’s obsession with a waiter/bartender foreplay should be studied more

[polybiusplayer]

Anxious habit.

[inoreuct]

would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?

YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS

the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.

he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.

but he does.

and it gets worse.

zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.

and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.

still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.

…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.

sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.

his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.

his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”

he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.

he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”

sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.

his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.

zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.

“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”

sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.

"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.

this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.

"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"

"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"

zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."

sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."

"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."

"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."

"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"

sanji grits his teeth.

"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"

"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"

"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."

sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, then?"

he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."

the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."

it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."

it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.

"hey."

he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.

"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.

he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—

"look at me."

"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.

"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."

he can't.

he does.

zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"

sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—

"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."

the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."

just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.

he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."

"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"

"yes or no."

"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.

"yes or no."

sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."

he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.

"you are everything i want."

the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—

"yes or no."

zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.

"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.

sanji breaks.

"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.

a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.

he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.

the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."

you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.

"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.

"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."

the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.

the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.

he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.

but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.

[teecupangel]

I just finished watching the anime Overlord and I had conflicted feelings about Ainz the entire time like "YES DON'T EXPLOIT WORKERS AND GIVE THEM EQUALITY" and "WHY DID YOU LET DEMIURGE EAT THE CHILDREN!?!?" so to cope a little, what would be your take on Desmond reincarnating in that world? Another possible scenario I kinda want to see would be Desmond actually being one of the Supreme Beings and getting Isekai from the start of the series

Oh, nonny. You reminded me that I really need to watch the new season. I’ve been putting it off because I’m so weak for Albedo that, had it not been for my RL situation, I would have been severely tempted by these.

Anyway, let’s lay some ground rules.

The world that the anime Overlord is set in would be more or less a typical magical world. It’s ‘unique’ setup is the fact that the main character is isekai’ed in that world together with the NPCs he and his guild members created for their guild. They become pretty much the villain in this situation and the main character loses some of his humanity because he became a lich.

Sooooo… let’s fuck Desmond up and put him in a similar situation.

.

Let’s say that the game exists in his world and it’s globally published by Abstergo Entertainment, using a lite version of the Animus. It loads longer and extremely bulky compared to the Animus console in Black Flag and it’s the predecessor of the console that would be used to distribute Liberation (the version Abstergo edited).

During her free time, Rebecca messed with her Animus and made it possible to play the game (named YGGDRASIL in Overlord and we can keep it, make hints of it being connected to the actual Yggdrasil device Odin used) but, because of how her Animus works, only Desmond can go into the game. She noticed how Desmond was more relaxed playing it so she made NPCs for him because it’s a (illegal) private server. Shaun made one or two as well.

And it became Desmond’s downtime activity before leaving the Animus. It actually lowers the chance of him having a Bleeding Episode after leaving the Animus because he can go into the game and the NPCs would call him “Desmond”. It gives him time to remember who he is while still feeling the same realistic but alien sensation that the Animus gave him.

He also starts messing with the world. Well… the small kingdom that they created anyway.

They based it on the guild system with Desmond as the leader. At first, Rebecca created two NPCs based on her and Shaun to help Desmond get used to the control.

Afterwards, they started filling up their base with other NPCs that would work as bosses for each levels. Rebecca had to mess with the setting because there was no players to attack their base so she made NPCs and monsters from outside the base attack it randomly. This gives Desmond more to do.

What Desmond enjoyed though was managing the headquarters and upgrading the buildings and facilities. Shaun joked that this was because of Ezio and maybe it was.

Before long, Desmond was making his own NPCs and no one had the heart to tell him that he was making NPCs based on his ancestors and people they know (especially after Rebecca painfully elbowed Shaun before he could say anything the first time Desmond presented them with his first NPC)

After they got to the Grand Temple, Desmond used the game more like a coping mechanism, making their home impregnable with the best facilities he could think of (even going as far as research architecture and stuff)

By the time they got the key from Connor Davenport’s grave, Desmond had:

Created an underground tower with more than a hundred floors or so with their own themes and ‘gameplay mechanics’.

His first NPC has become the second in command, based on a homebrew race that Rebecca could only describe as ‘like human with divinity in them but with more omph!’. He’s based and named after Altaïr and is so OP that Rebecca actually says that he’s pretty much unbeatable. Desmond doesn’t care, it’s not like he was playing the game to play it with other people after all. Altaïr is magic-focused with maxed out magic and speed. His favorite attack is to rain down the stars in the sky and turn the lands into a cacophony of explosions.

Desmond’s second NPC isn’t any better. He’s based on Ezio and there’s actually three of them, each based on the three major points in Ezio’s life that Desmond relived. He’s in charge of the second to the last level, not that anyone has gotten that far to be honest. All three of them have different focus. One focuses on physical melee, one focuses on long range physical attacks, and the other focuses on magic. His level is actually the most populated because it’s filled with ‘cannon fodders’ that Desmond named after people Ezio recruited.

There’s a lot more NPCs that are bosses. Ratonhnhaké:ton is actually one of the ‘youngest’ NPCs created and Desmond barely managed to optimize his skill set. He’s a shapeshifter and, just to be a dick to anyone who want to go explore their base, he’s not a boss but a ‘traveler’. If the intruders have been in the same level for more than the specified (secret) time limit, Ratonhnhaké:ton would teleport to the floor and randomly take the shape of one of his forms. A wolf with a pack of ghost wolves, a large and fast bear with high self-healing stat or a large eagle that can phase through walls, all of which are picked at random. (In other words, Ratonhnhaké:ton works like the Reaper of the latter Persona games)

There’s a Malik NPC who acts more like a secretary and is in charge of Desmond’s level if he’s ‘offline’. (Does this mean Malik is Desmond’s Albedo? Uuuhhh… let’s just say he shares the same occupation as Altaïr in this case).

Shaun’s NPC is the boss of the library level where everything and anything is stored. In the Animus, this is actually Shaun just cramming every information he sees into the game because, hello, it actually has a bigger size than his laptop’s hard drive. A lot of shit in there was taken through… the ‘high seas’.

Rebecca’s NPC is the boss of the topmost (first) level. She wanted her NPC to act more like a tutorial guide and honestly? Being the first level boss means her NPC gets a lot of ‘screen time’.

Haytham is also a boss in one of the lower levels and his stage is set in a cathedral. He’s only one of the few NPCs that have a holy attribute.

Desmond doesn’t know it but the other NPCs he made are actually based on AC characters he will never meet (Edward, Arno, Shay, Jaocb, Evie, etc). He just thought he was filling up the roster and making different themes (Viking, Ancient Greece, Steampunk) because he was bored.

Oh. The last NPC Desmond created is a dragon egg he named Clay. Whether this Clay is an actual NPC dragonling or is actually Clay’s digital avatar that will get screwed up by his new draconian lineage is up to you XD

When he dies after saving the world, he wakes up in a bed that he recognized as the bed he always teleports into whenever Rebecca switches the Animus to the game for his downtime.

He knows something is wrong because his body feels weird but he would never understand how badly he’s fucked because his body composition stops him from seeing it as a fuck up.

Because Desmond’s player character?

The race of his character is a homebrew God race.

And Desmond is a god that cares for those who worship him and sees those who do not as dirt on the road.

.

In other words, Desmond and his ‘guild’ gets transported at the opposite side of where Ainz was transported. Also, Desmond’s base is underground so it took a bit of time before people realized they were there.

Enough time for Desmond to realize how the world he was in right now needed the guidance of a god who will be merciful to those who worship him.

[habitual-truant]

as a persona fan. i HATE atlus. like, theyre always SOOOO close to having really good social commentary on like, pretty much anything in general i guess. but. they pussy out and it has the opposite effect!! like, biggest example that i actually have well formulated thoughts over is persona 4.. i wrote a long ass essay type thing that id honestly like to rewrite now that my thoughts are more solidified on this but, tl;dr… :

kanji isnt gay and naoto isnt trans. kanji’s story is about accepting that hes got feminine traits and learning to stop internalizing what everyone says about him to be true. naoto’s is about accepting that she is a girl, and she IS everything that people look down on her for, and learning to stop rejecting herself just so she isnt disrespected and dismissed by others.

kanji isnt gay and naoto isnt trans, but they should have been. being queer is very obviously a theme in their stories, and without looking deeper into the characters and their arcs, on the surface level, the story is saying that they’re learning to accept that they ARENT queer. which is pretty clearly homophobic and transphobic.

the entire game is about accepting yourself for who you truly are. for the character that is EXPLICITLY stated to be gay and for the character who EXPLICITLY lives socially as a male despite being born a girl to both have their true selves actually be “normal” is… counterintuitive. while it does fit within the theme of accepting yourself, it’s saying to accept yourself as “normal” and “correct”, not as someone who doesnt fit into societal norms. it undermines the idea of being true to yourself. it’s SO close to being a great message that anyone, no matter who they are, can relate to, but it singles out the unusuals, the people who really need to hear that it’s ok to be whoever you are. i could go on and on about how it’s honestly impressive that the writers managed to miss the mark by such a small amount that it ends up completely undermining the entire thing, but it would be redundant (just like my use of the word ‘undermine’ within two run-on sentences..), and i want to take this back to my original point

the writers at atlus are very, very skilled. its amazing, i really really respect them. but at the same time, i think that their ability to write amazing characters and themes and weave them together into a universe with such inconsistent rules is exactly what makes this so infuriating. i KNOW they’re 100% capable of not being misogynistic in their portrayal of women, i KNOW they’re capable of not being homophobic, i KNOW they can take topics like misogyny and homophobia and transphobia and explore the reasoning behind why people are close minded and hateful, and how it affects people who are at the receiving end of the hatred.

but they dont, because either the writers themselves are prejudiced, or what i think is faaaarrr more likely, the executives think it’s too “risky” to talk about and criticize bigotry, and that they want it to be as palatable to everyone as possible. unfortunately that means no gay people, no trans people, no “controversial” minorities in general.. sure, we can have a few complex and well written women as a treat, but they either have to be fanservice or largely irrelevant to the rest of the plot.

no conclusion paragraph this isnt english class

thanks if u read my 11:00 pm hyperfocus fueled rant i am sending you joy and happiness and good things

[fidgetspringer-art]

Equestrian AU part 2 Tansy makes her (Loud) appearance.

At the tail end of the following week. Martin gets his first taste of one Noah Powell.

Him and Casey are sitting on the front steps, waiting for their new guests to arrive, when a gleaming black pickup truck comes crawling up the gravel driveway, leaving a plume of dust behind it. It’s hauling a huge trailer that looks more like one of those mobile homes than it does a horse trailer.

The truck comes to a halt in front of them, and out climbs who Martin first mistakes as the owner, until the actual man of the hour comes around the side of the truck, and some vague memory is triggered somewhere in Martin’s head. He’s seen that face before, somewhere, but he couldn’t say where exactly.

The taller of the two comes up to shake Martin’s hand. “Gabriel Warren, pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hart.”

“You as well.”

He doesn’t get to say anything else before Gabriel is stepping to the side. “This is Noah, he’s the owner.”

Noah steps up, curtly offering Martin his hand. “Noah Powell. Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

Gabriel’s eye twitches. He manages to look apologetic when he smiles at them. “Noah isn’t super keen on this idea. He’s never handed his horses off to someone else before.”

“Never needed to.” He cuts in. He’s looking around the farm with disinterest. Like he would rather be anywhere else.

Martin wonders how much of that is a reluctance to leave his horse behind, and how much is genuinely thinking he’s got better places to be right now. Martin hates this guy already. He’s got the sort of attitude that grates on his nerves. It hasn’t been five minutes and he’s starting to regret taking him on.

“Not to worry, Noah.” Casey pipes up. Cheery despite the fact that she’s gone completely ignored so far. “We’ve got an open gate policy here at Hilltop. You’re free to come visit whenever you’d like.”

Martin tips his head in Casey’s direction. “This here is Casey. I suppose you’ve already spoken over the phone. She runs this place, pretty much.”

Gabriel is polite enough to offer her his hand. “Good to finally meet you.” He looks between them, “So the farm is a bit of a marital business then, I take it?”

Casey is quicker on the draw than Martin is. “Oh no! Not quite. People do often joke that we’re practically a married couple, but we’re just old friends is all.”

It’s not the first time this assumption has been made. Casey has been at his side since they were teenagers. She’s his oldest friend, and maybe in a different world they might have ended up married. But in this one, they don’t exactly line up with each other’s preferences.

“Ah, sorry for assuming I-” Gabriel is cut off by a loud bang echoing out between the buildings. Followed by another. Then the trailer starts to rattle with the sound of stomping hooves.

“Better get her off the trailer before she throws a fit.” He’s already moving to get the door open. Martin follows. Curious to get his first look at this horse. From the racket she’s making now he can already tell he’s got his work cut out for him.

He watches Gabriel lower the door carefully to the ground, revealing a pitch black mare with tall, white socks. She’s glistening with sweat and her eyes are wild and searching, taking in her surroundings eagerly. As soon as she realizes she’s in a new place, the whinnying starts up.

And she is loud.

Martin watches the way she’s not standing still even for a second. She doesn’t wait to listen for the other horses to call back to her. She just starts tossing her head, rattling the beam in front of her and kicking out against the dividing wall against her side. She’s a flurry of stress and motion and Martin has seen the exact same thing a hundred times before.

Gabriel clips two lead ropes onto her halter, one on each side, before he hands one over to Noah, who’s come over to presumably help him. “You got her?”

Noah waves him off. “Just get on with it before she breaks a fucking leg.”

Gabriel unlatches the dividing wall, and the moment it swings outward, the mare is making a break for it.

She doesn’t get far, not with one man on either side of her, laying on the lead ropes. But she manages to drag them both a few feet out and away from the trailer before she stops, head held so high she’s almost on her tip-toes, blowing out a snort that sounds more like a dragon than a horse.

Gabriel is patting her neck, murmuring to her in an attempt to get her to settle down. But she responds by calling out with the full capacity of her athlete’s lungs. Martin is almost tempted to cover his ears.

Noah yanks on the lead rope, hard. “Hey! Cut it out.” The mare doesn’t so much as flinch. He looks to Martin next. “Where do you want her?”

He points down to the gate that leads into the main pasture. “Just take her down there, if you can.”

Noah wrinkles his nose. “You won’t be able to catch her. Don’t you have a corral or something?”

“She’s getting a few days in the pasture to settle in. I’ll catch her when I need her. Don’t worry.” He tries to sound reassuring, without letting his disdain show through.

It’s not often that Martin is this put off by his clients. He’s dealt with plenty of people at the end of their rope. People who are angry, and tired and who take that out on their horses. But the disrespect this man radiates has red flags all over it.

Noah scoffs. “I’d rather she be in a smaller paddock.”

That takes him by surprise. “Why? She hurt?” he hasn’t heard anything about her being injured, he wouldn’t usually take on a horse that’s recently failed a vet check.

“No. It’s just what she’s used to. I’d rather she not get hurt.” He says it like Martin is stupid for not understanding.

He suddenly knows exactly what type of owner he’s dealing with here. “You read the contract, correct?”

Noah’s frown deepens. It doesn’t help that the mare is tossing her head, jostling him sharply every few seconds. “I did.”

“Then you’ve agreed to my terms. I can’t guarantee she won’t hurt herself while in my care. But I won’t lock her up just to ease your mind. You leave her here, she’s living the same way the rest of my horses are.”

Noah looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon. Martin can tell this is it. They’re at a fork in the road, and either Noah will load his mare back on the trailer and go home, or he’ll agree to Martin’s terms. He’s almost a hundred percent sure it’ll be the former, based on how Noah is now staring back at the trailer, cheeks red with how angry he is. The mare tosses her head again, front feet lifting off the ground for a handful of seconds.

“Fine.”

Martin blinks. Oh. He gathers himself quickly. “The pasture, then. I’ll get the gate for you.”

Noah is the one to reach up and unbuckle the halter at the gate.

It slips down her white-streaked nose and the moment she feels it drop, she’s off, not so much as a thought spared in her owner’s direction. She’s running full tilt down the pasture, a spray of dirt and grass whipped up behind her.

She looks around frantically as she runs, until she spots the herd already grazing further down. She comes to a screeching halt, tail still up like a flag and calls out to them.

All the horses in here are Martin’s own, except for the two that belong to Casey. He wouldn’t dare mix client horses together, not without knowing what to expect from them. So he always starts them off with his own herd to see how they do. There are seven of them in total. All of them calm and uncomplicated in their dynamics. Harmonious. This mare seems to be everything but.

Noah has only just now spotted the rest of the herd. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “You didn’t tell me she’d be turned out with a bunch of others.”

Martin shrugs. “Didn’t think to state the obvious.”

Noah scoffs, but he doesn’t shoot let slip whatever snarky remark Martin can tell he’s holding back on. And thank god for that. Martin is already getting close to fed up with this guy. The sooner he’s turning his trailer around and leaving, the better.

He can’t help but notice however, the way that some of that tense anger drains out of Noah as he watches his horse be greeted by the rest of the herd. Achilles is the first to reach her. They touch noses. The big lad is calm and gentle about it, ears up and curious to have a look at the newcomer. The mare is a little more dramatic. She’s jerking her head back every time Achilles touches her, all while making an unnecessary amount of noise and kicking up dirt. Achilles weathers the storm with the patience of a saint, and soon his calm seems to help settle the mare a little was well.

Martin can’t help sneaking glances over at her owner while everything is going down. He’s leaning on the top beam of the fence, arms tucked up under his chin. There’s a softness to him now that wasn’t there before. He’s watching the horses interact with a spark of wonder in his eye that makes Martin want to lean in closer, just to get a better look.

“What’s her name?” He says instead, when he realizes he doesn’t know.

Noah’s eyes shift over to him briefly, that tense line between his brows returns the moment Martin speaks. “Tansy.” He says it like he’s challenging Martin to make a comment.

“Like the flower?”

Noah snorts. “More like a weed.”

“Depends who you ask, I suppose.”

That makes Noah look over at him again, something unreadable on his face. “I suppose.”

Martin realizes then that there is something odd about his eyes. Aside from how he seems to wield them like a knife. One pupil is much wider than the other. His left is barely a pinprick against the blue, the other so blown it’s almost all black. It’s a striking look, and in a strange way it suits him. There isn’t really anything else remarkable about him. He’s decent to look at, but aside from the constant scowl on his face the only thing that really stands out about him, now that Martin has noticed, are is eyes. Yet for some reason, Martin has never wanted to keep looking at someone more.

He makes himself stop staring, before he gets caught. He has a feeling Noah wouldn’t take too kindly to it, and he likely wouldn’t be shy about calling him out on it either. He looks back out towards the horses instead, where Tansy is being approached by the rest of her new pasture mates.

She greets the rest of the herd more politely, but not entirely without drama, and after goading them all into running a few laps up and down the pasture, they all decide that the theatrics are over for now and get on with grazing.

Martin knows they’ll have another few rounds of screaming and bickering before they all figure each other out, but for now, the initial introduction is over and done with. “She did good.”

Noah doesn’t look convinced, but he nods. “At least no one ended up broken.”

“She’ll be alright. Spending some time with the others’ll be good for her.”

They wordlessly turn away from the fence to make their way back towards the house. Gabriel vanishes into the trailer to fetch Tansy’s tack and feed, while Noah stands back with Martin and Casey, seemingly not in a rush to help him.

“So. How long do you think this is going to take?”

Martin has been asked the same thing countless times before, but it never stops being his least favorite question. “Hard to estimate. I’ll give her a good few days to settle in, then I’ll have the vet out to look her over, before I start working with her.”

“She’s already been vet checked.” Noah protests. “Extensively. Nothing wrong with her.”

“Not by my vet, she hasn’t. It’s not up for negotiation.”

Noah looks like he’s about to argue, but then Gabriel steps out of the trailer, arms loaded up with tack. “Where’s your tack room, Martin?”

Martin jumps at the chance to take Gabriel down to the barn to show him. He can feel the displeasure in Noah’s glare on the back of his head as he walks away.

It’s going to be a long few months.

[Part 1 here]

[yellowhollyhock]

It's not actually a big deal at all how people interpret different iterations, and in fact I think most people who have seen 1987 and rise are on the same page as what I'm about to say

But it still feels like a constant uphill battle to be saying, the 1987 turtles are different and that's okay! Raph doesn't need to tap into his aggressive side to be in character! Michelangelo doesn't need to pull pranks or be the little brother! They're their own iteration, they're fun to watch, and they're different and that's cool

But Rise is not that different, it's exactly what you would expect from a show that draws on the ones people would've been familiar with! Raph has a temper! Leo is a great strategist! Donnie's a huge softie! Mikey thinks he's invincible! They're just as similar at their core to 12 and 03 as those are to each other they're just in different circumstances. They are the same that's what makes the shake-up so brilliant

[onethousxndvoices]

took a break from my main projects to do some visdev practice. have a line up for a layton fic that'll probably never see the light of day

[obae-me]

He looks at you like artistry. A contemporary piece he's never seen before. Taking in every detail with calculating eyes. Wondering what intentions the skillful hands of the cosmos had in mind when making you.

He wishes to know your story, the happiness that makes the music of your voice, the experiences settled in the sculpt of your frame, the tragedies brushed into the strokes of your irises.

The complexities of your being astound him, mesmerize him. Every new fact he learns about you adds another stanza to your sonnet.

To him, you are art in its purest form. Not one part can exist without the other. The greatest of symphonies would not be complete without their rests. He adores all of you.

How foolish he was at first, to think you were just a simple creature. Oh, the things he has taken for granted. When did he become so blind? Was it his Pride? Or had he simply been breathing for so long, that the sweet orchestra of life became dull to his ears? How long had it been since he stopped to watch people commune in the streets? Or sat a while to watch the trees sway from his window? Or pondered on the meaning of a wonderful word?

Excitement. How many centuries since he's felt like that? Filled with a rather humiliating child-like giddiness. But it's...invigorating. Everything stands out to him fresh, avant-garde. You remind him that there's still so much for him to discover.

A change in the wind, the turning of a page to a whole new chapter, a swelling crescendo, you are enticing. Every second spent with you leaves him craving more.

All he desires is to be in your presence. To see your colors. To hear your melody. To bask in the opus of your existence. It was only a matter of time before you would manage to become his everything, his obsession, his passion. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

For Lucifer is a connoisseur, and to him, you are nothing less than the crown of luxury.

[m340700]

found an old thing

[sandwichsapphic]

“an exceedingly pleasant and amiable young gentleman but… mentally he is negligible - quite negligible” is the Jeeves and Wooster equivalent of “she is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me”

[stellewriites]

As Sure As Night Follows Day

read on ao3 here

pairing: bob reynolds x yelena belova

summary: who trusts a shady street doctor they've just met offering out cheap ‘fix all’ drugs? bob did evidently.

it had just seemed like a good idea at the time - or not even a good idea, but at least it was something different from the monotony and dull persisting hurt he dealt with day in and day out. it sounded like it might’ve been just what he needed to finally get better and their promise that it'd make life simpler couldn't have been a bigger draw for him.

aka bob takes a shady substance and turns into a cat. at his most vulnerable, his neighbour yelena reaches out a hand to help.

[wonder-worker]

Wild how we know that Elizabeth Woodville was officially appointed to royal councils in her own right during her husband’s reign and fortified the Tower of London in preparation of a siege while 8-months pregnant and had forces gathering at Westminster “in the queen’s name” in 1483 – only for NONE of these things to be even included, let alone explored, in the vast majority of scholarship and historical novels involving her.

[inquisimer]

latest fanfics opening lines

Rules: Post the first line of your ten most recently published fanfics, and then tag ten other users to do the same!

tagged by @greypetrel @shivunin and @bodysnatch3r - ty friends! I did not intend to wait so long on this, but last week got away from me, and it's a happy accident bc now I can include my Arlathan eXchange fics (:

tags forward to @wishforhome | @crabs-with-sticks | @basedonconjecture | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @fadedsweater | @thebookworm0001 | @rosella-writes | @dancing--lights | @inatrice | and @the-rebel-archivist 💜

inis vitae sed non amoris | Rook de Riva/Heir/Fade Spirits | rated T | 6531 words (oneshot)

There’s a moment when Giovanna steps through the Eluvian where everything is okay.

if we knew each other's secrets (what comforts we should find) | Rook de Riva & Teia | rated G | 1657 words (oneshot)

Arlow slips through Treviso’s eluvian alone, which is the first sign that something is off.

life is good (and that's the way it should be) | Alistair/Avexis | rated G | 934 words (oneshot)

She doesn’t want to be here.

the voice that meets you in the storm | Lucanis/Rook Thorne | rated T | 4745 words (oneshot)

It was dark when the Vi’Revas whispered to life and a weary, stiff Hissera spilled out into the Lighthouse.

though I burn (how could I fall) | Rook/Teia/Viago | rated M | 2/? chapters (ongoing)

It ends like this: she storms into Teia’s office, sparks flying off her teeth as she snarls.

for a moment (the sun knew of you too) | Loghain Mac Tir (solo) | rated G | 457 words (oneshot)

Loghain wore the leather armor his father made for good luck, and good luck it brought.

this truth has teeth | Lady of the Forest & Werewolves | rated G | 170 words (oneshot)

She takes the branches of the trees as her hands and wears the rushing of the river as her skin.

but they cradled me | Viago & Rook de Riva | rated T | 975 words (oneshot)

She is ragged, rubbed raw when they dump her on the stoop of Viago's estate.

Codex Entry: Arlow de Riva | Viago & Rook de Riva, Lucanis/Rook de Riva | rated T | 5/? chapters (ongoing)

A letter written in Antivan, crumpled and smoothed out many times over.

before you can kill the monster (you have to say its name) | Valya & Issyea, Caronel/Valya | rated T | 3/10 chapters (ongoing)

“WAIT!” Arlow flinched back on instinct, but she had already released her spell when the shout came.