#amba answers

[ambafaerie]

Hello!! I want to ask you something, do you have thoughts about how Kuairumi wedding would animate? Because I'm so rooting for them and I can't even wait to see them together 😩♥️💛✨

Definitely believe it will be a cutscene featuring Kuai, Tomas, Harumi (hopefully), Liu Kang, with guests like Kung Lao, Raiden, and Kitana coming to help with the wedding preparations and offer their congratulations.

[princesapopstar]

[ matching costumes ] for your muse to ask my muse to wear matching costumes with them

exalou um suspiro, eventualmente ficando cansada daquele diálogo. fazia pelo menos meia hora desde que amelia vinha tentando convencer alyssa a usar fantasias combinando, ela já até tinha comprado os acessórios para isso! mas a amiga não parecia lá a maior fã da ideia, o que inevitavelmente acabou frustrando a charming que não gostava muito de receber um ‘não’ como resposta e mesmo que a dubois não tenha dito a palavra, sabia que ela estava tentada a fazê-lo. “ah, pare com isso, ally!” suspirou, erguendo as tiaras que tinha comprado para ajudar a defender o seu argumento. “olhe como elas são fofas!” forçou um sorriso. “e aposto que você tem um vestido vermelho por aí!” passos foram dados até o closet da mais velha sem autorização, elas eram íntimas demais para que sentisse algum constrangimento ao tomar aquela atitude. “aqui! perfeito!” disse encontrando a peça vermelha entre os vestidos da amiga, levando-a até onde ela estava e a erguendo junto a tiara com chifrinhos também em vermelho. “combina perfeitamente! e você vai ficar super sexy, aposto que aquelas gosmas verdes vão ficar babando.” as últimas palavras tiveram um tom um pouco irônico, apesar da leveza em sua voz denunciar que não passava de uma brincadeira, ainda que o tal realmente pudesse acontecer.

[horsesarecreatures]

Someone came to try Amba yesterday. Amba was excellent during the tacking, riding, and untacking, but pulled a Bartleby when the girl went to get her from the field and refused to budge for 5 minutes after being haltered. I don't know why she did that and was quite annoyed tbh. Amba's too friendly towards random vets and farriers that come into the field to seem to have acquired a sudden sense of stranger danger. The girl seemed to have a good time anyway, but hasn't given me an answer yet.

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by... - QuickedWeen -

[1]

Harry ducked under the ropes, abs crunching against the wide waistband of his shorts that were sitting high at his natural waist. When he stood up fully in the center of the ring, Louis’ brain finally connected back to the rest of his body and he whipped his mobile out to take a picture.

As soon as he had, he studied the smaller more pixelated Harry for a moment. Had he really just done that?

It was just… He needed to remember what Harry looked like right now. Because… well it seemed like an important moment. Everyone else was taking pictures...

And fucking hell would he wank to this picture for years to come.

[2]

“This was a mistake,” Louis babbled reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, messing with his fringe.

Harry’s heart sunk. “Wh—” he barely managed to get a word out before Louis cut him off.

“This was ridiculous. A ridiculous mistake,” Louis continued to babble, seemingly not able to control his mouth as a side effect of the adrenaline, most likely from how close they came to getting caught.

“Sorry,” Harry bit out as he began to shiver from the breeze, no longer warmed by the proximity of another body.

Louis turned to face him and was very deliberate in making sure Harry met his gaze. “You could never be my soulmate. You don’t want to be in love.”

[3]

Their combat was matched, Harry’s strength with a sword to Louis’ speed. Metal clashed at they traded the upper hand back and forth between them. The men surrounded them, energy restored, jeering and calling out their loyalty to their laird.

Louis studied him as best he could, searching for any kind of weakness he could find. Finally, Harry made a fatal error. He turned to follow Louis’ movements, and his grip weakened on his sword just enough that Louis could knock it out of his hand.

The sword fell to the ground with a heavy thump next to them. Louis’ chest was heaving from the exertion as he held his sword up until the tip was just under Harry’s chin.

“Do you yield, laird?”

“Harry.” The laird’s damp, heavy breaths were clouding on the gleaming metal of Louis’ sword.

“Alright. Do you yield, Harry?” he teased.

Harry looked entirely too relaxed for having been disarmed, but he had indeed been disarmed and the fight was all but over, so Louis didn’t think too much of it.

That, it turned out, was Louis’ fatal mistake.

[4]

Halfway through his notes, he felt it. All of a sudden a feeling of intense warmth and security enveloped him from head to toe. The sensation was so overwhelming that Harry had to put his pen down and lean back in his chair to give himself over to it and wait for it to subside. The sensation wasn’t sexual, it was more comforting, Harry thought. He had never experienced anything like it in his entire life.

The feeling began to ebb a little, and Harry went in search of Amba. If he felt something so strongly it was a safe assumption that she was affected by it as well. Stepping into the main shop, Harry called out her name, “Amba! Where are you, darling?”

“I’m right here, honey!” joked a disembodied voice.

Harry jumped. He had completely forgotten about the front bell. There, in his shop, scratching under Amba’s chin, was Louis Tomlinson. Wait. He was petting Amba! Louis was touching her, and she was letting him.

- Answers Below -

1. Small Doses (Loving You It's Explosive)

Louis Tomlinson finds himself at Vitality Fitness to try and turn his life around after having left his cheating boyfriend of four years. The gym's owner, Liam, quickly becomes a good friend, but his right hand man is rude and dismissive from the get-go.

Louis and Harry continue to clash all while Harry is trying to move his way up the ranks in Manchester's amateur boxing circuit, but they can't seem to stay away from each other.

2. Lend Me Your Hand

Society has long since decided that the soulmarks everyone is born with are entirely unfashionable. They're just another way for people of a lower class to scam their way into marrying above their station.

Lord Louis Tomlinson, Viscount Loring, on the other hand, has always believed that he will find his soulmate one day. Despite preparing for a match his whole life, he is entirely unprepared for the arrival of Gemma Styles' younger brother.

Harry Styles has been traveling and away from society for over a year. Coming back, he intends to spend time with his sister, and slowly reacquaint himself with life in town. He doesn't need to wait around for a soulmark to determine how his life will play out. x

3. After Dark, After Light

Harry Styles is the laird of Clan Edwards who is just trying to keep his clan afloat when they get word that the Mackenzies have been cutting a swath through the Midlands and beyond, and their sights are set on the northern Highlands next. In an attempt to garner extra protection for his clan, Harry sets out to mend his father's past wrongs and ally with their neighbors to the west, Clan Sutherland.

Louis Tomlinson is the mysterious commander of the Sutherland army sent back with Harry on orders from his laird to help shore up Clan Edwards' defenses. As the winter draws nearer by the day, the two are thrown together to prepare for the invasion that they expect as soon as the ground thaws.

4. Far Afield

Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.

[rocksibblingsau]

oooh, acabo de pensar en un detalle que nunca he visto (personalmente) representar.

Me refiero a la relación de Poppy y Viva. Si son hermanas, pero Poppy nunca creció con ella o algun recuerdo de ella (plus, ella no sabía que existía por VEINTE AÑOS), y en la tercera película solo nos mostraron que ambas se llevaban bien e inmediatamente formaron un vínculo fraternal, sin un contexto adecuado o un buen argumento más allá de "Poppy quería una hermana, así que acepto rápido a Viva" lo cual aunque fue bonito, no fue muy satisfactorio para mí.

Mi pregunta es ¿Habrá algún cambio en cuanto la reacción de Poppy conociendo a Viva en Rock Sibbiligs?

Se que no nos darás spoilers, así que está bien si no respondes.

Translation:

oooh, I just thought of a detail I've never (personally) seen depicted.

I'm referring to Poppy and Viva's relationship. Yes they are sisters, but Poppy never grew up with her or had any memories of her (plus, she didn't know she existed for TWENTY YEARS), and in the third movie we were only shown that they got along and immediately formed a sisterly bond, without proper context or a good plot beyond "Poppy wanted a sister, so she quickly accepted Viva" which while cute, wasn't very satisfying to me.

My question is, will there be any change in regards to Poppy's reaction to meeting Viva in Rock Sibbiligs?

I know you won't give us spoilers, so it's okay if you don't answer.

I wanna start off by saying I think Poppy's immediate acceptance wasn't just because she wanted a sister. Poppy's the kind of person who just immediately accepts things in general for the most part (in an "okay this is happening now" kind of way) so I think that's a big reason even if she didn't want a sister.

There will be some changes to Poppy's reaction to meeting Viva but there won't be a big focus on it since I want to main focus to be on Branch and the dynamics between him, his brothers and his new family.

[someone-named-adel]

I turn my head to look behind me, finding only the view of the vegetation of the forest where I was entering.

My gaze is directed to the front again, and I resume my walk.

Crossing a fallen trunk, I come across a note nailed to a tree.

Curious, I approach to look at that dirty and worn piece of paper.

Quickly one of those voices rings in my head again.

"Great, I was beginning to think we were wandering around in the woods" I hear one of the voices speak.

At this point I had gotten used to the voices popping into my mind quite often.

"Awww, I wish my love could keep that outfit, it looks great and it's very nice clothes" the younger voice said with a plaintive sigh at the end.

"Don~, it's my turn to play" another voice said.

"Tease, oh, and what if I don't let you play?" The first voice, named "Donatello", replied to the other voice.

"Ohoho~, do you really want to know?" He was answered by that other voice, called "Leonardo".

I started to hear sounds of scuffling, along with some biting comments from both voices, it would be strange for me to hear a "fight" without being able to see it, but I had certainly gotten used to these arguments, which were becoming more and more frequent.

I lost control of my body (if I ever had it to begin with), as out of nowhere it began to move from side to side, jumping, running, walking and rolling on the ground, stopping me abruptly on a few occasions, and then continuing with this series of random movements.

At this point it was almost normal for me that my body would have this "reaction" every time one of the voices would fight with the other.

Sometimes it was just two of them, and sometimes it was all four voices fighting.

But either way, after these situations, I felt a kind of.... Disconnection... As if after each discussion of these voices, my body felt lighter, and the feeling of being controlled and watched went away.

Only, when that happened, I felt as if I went back in time, taking me to places I feel I've been before, or, I stay still in my place, with only my feet glued to the ground.

Had enough of listening to the argument these annoying voices were having, as I did another cartwheel on the ground, I said with annoyance, while frowning.

"Stop fighting."

I felt as if the voices were frozen by my words, and the erratic movements of my body stopped.

I relaxed my expression, letting out a nasal sigh as I folded my arms, an action I did every time I waited for them to handle my body again to move me from the spot.

"Is it my idea or..." A last voice said.

"MC just directly told Leonardo and Donatello... To stop fighting?"

Oh, that's a new voice.

♪•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••♪

Giro la cabeza para mirar detrás de mi, encontrandome solo con la vista de la vegetación del bosque en donde me estaba adentrando.

Mi mirada se dirige al frente nuevamente, y retomo mi andar.

Atravezando un tronco caído, me encuentro con una nota clavada en un árbol.

Curiosa, me acerco para mirar ese pedazo de papel sucio y desgastado.

Rápidamente una de esas voces vuelve a sonar en mi cabeza.

“Genial, estaba empezando a creer que estábamos dando vueltas en el bosque" Escucho una de las voces hablar.

En este punto ya me había acostumbrado a las voces que aparecían en mi mente muy seguido.

"Awww, ojalá mi amor pudiera quedarse con ese atuendo, se ve muy bien y es muy bonita la ropa" la voz más joven dijo con un suspiro lastimero al final.

"Don, me toca jugar" dijo otra voz.

"Burla, oh, y que pasa si no te dejo jugar?" La primera voz, quien se hacía llamar "Donatello", le respondió a la otra voz.

"Ohoho~, ¿Realmente quieres saberlo?" Le respondió esa otra voz, llamada "Leonardo".

Empecé a escuchar sonidos de forcejeo, junto con algunos comentarios mordaces de ambas voces, seria extraño para mí el escuchar una "pelea" sin poder verla, pero ciertamente ya me había acostumbrado a estás discusiones, las cuales se hacían cada vez más frecuentes.

Perdí el control de mi cuerpo (si es que alguna vez lo tuve para empezar), ya que de la nada empezó a moverse de un lado a otro, saltando, corriendo, caminando y rodando por el suelo, deteniéndome abruptamente en algunas ocasiones, para después continuar con esta seríe de movimientos aleatorios.

En este punto ya era casi normal para mí que mi cuerpo tuviera está "reacción" cada vez que alguna de las voces peleará con la otra.

Algunas veces eran solo dos de ellas, y otras veces eran las cuatro voces quienes se peleaban.

Pero sea como sea, después de estas situaciones, sentía una especie de... Desconexión... Cómo si después de cada discusión de estás voces, mi cuerpo se sintiera más ligero, y la sensación de ser controlado y observado se fuera.

Solo que, cuando eso sucedia, sentía como si retrocediera el tiempo, llevándome a lugares que siento que ya estuve anteriormente, o, me quedo quieta en mi lugar, con solo mis pies pegados al suelo.

Ya hartó de escuchar la discusión que tenían estas molestas voces, mientras daba otra voltereta en el suelo, dije con molestia, mientras fruncía el ceño.

"Paren de pelear"

Sentí como si las voces se quedarán congeladas por mis palabras, y los movimientos erraticos de mi cuerpo se detuvieron.

Relaje mi expresión, soltando un suspiro nasal mientras me cruzaba de brazos, acción que hacía cada vez que esperaba que volvieran a manejar mi cuerpo para moverme del sitio.

"Es mi idea o..." Una última voz dijo.

"MC acaba de directamente decirle a Leonardo y Donatello... Que paren de pelear?"

Oh, esa es una nueva voz.

[tae-ffxiv]

Prompt #21 - Shade

"I remember sometimes… back when I - ugh. I don't know. I didn't have a body. Whatever I was. A ghost? Or… Fuck." Dayir shakes his head in frustration, eyes squeezes shut and head resting between his hands as he tries to recall a memory like grasping at a curl of incense smoke. "And every time I remember it, that's when shit gets fuzzy and I just…"

Dayir hesitates a while, and eventually slumps in defeat, finally saying the words he's been reluctant to say for years, "I… black out."

They'd called them 'episodes', 'moments', 'bouts of confusion' - anything to avoid the most direct term.

Amba crouches in front of him, one hand on his knee to help keep balance.

"I've read everything I can find, you know. Even when it takes hours. There's nothing that explains…" The word 'you' remains unspoken. Amba shakes his head, "There's no answers."

"I doubt they exist," Dayir comments.

"Maybe."

There's a stretch of silence before Amba rises back to his feet, taking a few steps away and crouching again to collect the shards of broken pottery that had once been a teapot. Dayir watches as the tea it had held evaporates into smoke, leaving behind dingy stain that should be easy enough to wipe away.

"Sorry," Dayir says.

Amba shakes his head as he picks up another piece, "It is easy enough to replace."

"It wasn't special?"

"Not particularly."

The room falls back to silence, aside from the soft 'clink, clink, clink' of ceramic pieces.

Amba stands to get the broom and start sweeping up the pieces that remain.

"It's stopped bleeding?"

Dayir looks down to his foot, then tucks it up onto his lap to unwind the bandage and peek at the large gash running down it.

"Yeah," he says. Had it even been bleeding? - Yes. Of course. There's blood there. Why is that even a question you're asking yourself? - "It's fine."

Amba sweeps the small pieces into a dustpan, then deposits its contents into the small bin with the larger bits.

"There might be answers back home. We could go try -"

A flutter of panic springs in Dayir's chest. "No." He cuts Amba off, urgent. He can feel Amba's gaze on him without even looking.

"I don't… I don't want to go back there," he says quietly.

"Why not?"

A thousand reasons. Just one reason. Dayir tries to sort his head for an answer that can be articulated.

"Because -"

Because how would they react to him? With mistrust? Anger? Sorrow? Violence? Love or rejection or disgust or fear or -

"'Cause who of them would take me back?" he asks forcefully, arms curled around himself for fear of the answer.

The clack of the broom being leaned up against the wall, and then Amba's kneeling before him again, hand back on his knee.

"We took you back," he states.

Dayir can't help a quick ironic laugh. He locks eyes with Amba, who stares back at him with a gentle expression, earnest enough that it almost disarms Dayir's skepticism - but only almost.

"Amba… Khai would accept it if someone told him they were actually a swarm of thousands of mosquitos that grouped together and became a person. And you…"

How does he finish the sentence without the words being belittling, seeming like an insult, or a criticism?

You were desperate? You needed me? You didn't know what else to do?

None of those things seemed entirely true.

He uncurls an arm from around himself to reach out and rest a hand against the side of Amba's face.

"You're you." Maybe that's all he needs to say.

Amba leans his head slightly into Dayir's hand, wrapping his own hand lightly around Dayir's wrist.

"And you're you."

Dayir withdraws his hand, slipping his wrist from Amba's grasp easily. He curls slightly in on himself.

"How do you know that?"

The answer doesn't come quickly, taking long enough that Dayir knows Amba has given it thought, rather than answering automatically.

"I just do."

A sense of relief - both warm and painful - floods through him upon hearing that.

He sighs. "I'm… not ready to face what might happen if we go back."

"Then what do we do?"

"I've been dealing with this for years, Amba. I'll be alright."

Amba moves from his position crouched in front of him, taking a seat on the low table beside him.

"It's getting worse. You blacked out during a fight, Dayir."

Dayir looks at Amba, only to see Amba staring at the place his ribs had been cracked, his clavicle shattered - healed now, as though there had never been an injury at all - and finally to the glint of silver barely visible in his horn to fill the spot that had been cracked.

"I know." Dayir shrugs, shakes his head. He doesn't know what else to say, and as he looks at Amba, he can see the concern on his face, the tension of restraint in his jaw as he holds back whatever he might want to say. They'd both grown tired of arguing over this a long time ago.

"Look, I'll just… keep Ongsall nearby when you're not around, okay? She usually knows when it's about to happen."

Amba's gaze flicks over to where Ongsall lays on the stairs, keeping a patient eye on them as she has been the entire time. She holds Amba's gaze knowingly.

Eventually, Amba just nods, then gets up and finds a rag to clean up the dingy mark the tea had left of the floor.

Words of a conversation they had never had - that they didn't need to have, because they knew each other well enough to read the words in the other's gaze - float through his head.

I'll deal with it when I'm ready.

The answering thought, he hears in Amba's voice.

What if when you're ready is too late?

[proceduralpassion]

Dos Opciones

Day 6 of Narcoctober- Write non-English language fic.

Characters: Maria Elvira x Miguel Gallardo, Maria Elvira x Female!OC

WC: 424

A/N: Took four courses of Spanish in college but I'm def not gonna tell you how much time it took to write less than 500 words lmaoo. I tried to not use Google Translate as much as I could, but still ended up needing it and I'm not even positive this is 100% correct, but I did my darndest. I also so much wanted to expand upon this way more, but I think I need to become more comfortable writing in another language for that. I put the English translation below as well, so enjoy both!

Sin quererlo, había concertado dos citas para la misma noche. La primera fue con una mujer que había conocido en el supermercado la otra mañana. Sus carritos chocaron entre sí con un fuerte ruido y la mujer, en respuesta, dijo: “¿Quién necesita café con un despertar así?”.

Era una broma tonta pero había hecho reír a María por primera vez en semanas. Probablemente su rostro había envejecido mucho más de lo necesario con todo lo que había sucedido en los acontecimientos recientes. La sonrisa que estalló en ella era muy merecida después de todo lo que había pasado últimamente, todo por ser esposa de Miguel Gallardo.

Pero claro, estaba el propio Miguel que había rogado tener una conversación durante la cena. Deseaba tener la oportunidad de hacer las paces, de que las cosas volvieran a ser como solían ser. Su reacción inicial fue decirle que se fuera a la mierda, pero había dejado que los pensamientos de su mente siguieran su curso antes de darle una respuesta. Pensó mucho en la historia que compartían juntos. Cómo se enamoraron. Los niños que crearon. El imperio que estaban construyendo. Deseaba que fuera tan fácil como un abrir y cerrar de ojos decir simplemente no. Pero ella dice que sí porque siente que se debe a sí misma y a sus hijos al menos escucharlo. Después de todo, el amor nunca fue algo que se desvaneció en el aire.

Se vuelve aún más difícil cuando María piensa en la noche que compartió con la mujer del supermercado. Se encontraron en una cafetería de la ciudad y pasaron horas conversando. Las dos mujeres ni siquiera se habían dado cuenta de cuánto tiempo había pasado hasta que el barista comenzó a limpiar el café. Era fresco y nuevo, y María no recuerda la última vez que sintió mariposas. Tampoco recuerda la última vez que habló de sí misma con tanta libertad. Estar en presencia de alguien que estaba tan profundamente comprometido en aprender todo lo que había que saber sobre ella.

Podría ir a alguna parte. Definitivamente hubo chispas en el simple beso que sus labios compartieron cuando terminó la noche. Estaba familiarizada con la sensación de mariposas en el estómago, pero con esta mujer sentía halcones.

María se encuentra con dos citas para esta noche. Ella no puede hacer ambas cosas. Se viste para cenar y su mente salta entre sus dos opciones. ¿Debería limitarse a con quién se siente cómoda o permitirse ser aventurera?

------------

Without meaning to, she had arranged two dates for the same evening. The first was with a woman she had met in the grocery store the other morning. Their carts collided with each other with a loud bang and the woman, in response, said “Who needs coffee with a wake up like that?” 

It was a silly joke but it had made Maria laugh for the first time in weeks. Her face had probably aged so much more than necessary with everything that had happened in recent events. The smile that broke out on her was much deserved after everything she’d endured lately, all for being the wife of Miguel Gallardo.

But then, there was Miguel himself who had begged for a conversation over dinner. He desired a chance to make amends, to get things back to how they used to be. Her initial reaction was to tell to go fuck himself, but she had let her mind’s thoughts run its course before actually giving him an answer. She thought long and hard about the history they shared together. How they fell in love. The children they created. The empire they were building. She wished it was as easy as a drop of a hat to just say no. But she says yes because she feels like she owes to herself and to her children to at least hear him out. Love was never something that got zapped into thin air, after all.

It makes it even harder when Maria thinks about the night she shared with the woman from the grocery store. They met up at a coffee shop in town and had spent hours engaged in conversation. The two women hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until the barista started cleaning up around the cafe. It was fresh and new, and Maria can’t remember the last time she’s felt butterflies. She also can’t remember the last time she spoke of herself so freely. To be in the presence of someone who was so deeply engaged in learning everything there was to know about her. 

It could go somewhere. There were definitely sparks in the mere peck that their lips shared when the night ended. She was familiar with the feeling of butterflies in her stomach, but with this woman, she felt hawks.

Maria finds herself with two dates for tonight. She can’t make both. She gets dressed for dinner, her mind bouncing between her two choices. Should she stick to who she's comfortable with or allow herself to be adventurous? 

Click here if you wanna be added to the taglist. Taglist: @asirensrage @drabbles-mc @narcosfandomdiscord

[veteran-fanperson]

Burn

Hello, here is my late entry for the Celebrrration event organized by the lovely @celebrrration. Day 3 - Jealousy.

Not beta-read.

Read on AO3 here.

Rama was furious. The moonlight coming in through Bheema’s window, the soft breeze wafting in from the forest, the hypnotic chirping of the crickets outside, all conspired to make his rage greater than ever. The village had long since gone to bed, and Bheem was nowhere to be seen. Not since he had been surrounded by a gaggle of admirers from surrounding villages, all passing through the Gond village for the district cattle fair. The village had been accommodating passing strangers and cattle for the past days, sending the local children into a tizzy. 

Ever since Bheema had returned with Malli a year ago, the Gond influence had spread. Tales of Bheema’s incredible deeds had spread, and almost weekly they were visited by eager people all intent on training, on resisting the tyranny of the officers. Rama had come bearing more arms two months ago, arms that Bheema and his men would discreetly train potential recruits with, distributing them slowly through the countryside. They were selective with the weapons, because British spies were plenty. Two weeks ago Bheema had insisted on packing all of them up and hiding them deep in some caves near the waterfall, telling Rama that they could retrieve them after the fair. It would not do for so many strangers to witness what they had hoarded. 

Today’s visitors had clearly heard of Bheema though. The children clung to him, asking him for stories about how he had defeated the English Rakshasas. Rama had been amused, listening to Bheema’s tales of Delhi and its wonders until he spotted some of the glances the young women cast at Bheema. Rama’s own deeds never came up because his status as an ex-police officer still made people nervous and hostile, so he had plenty of time to brood and seethe as a couple of Bheema’s bolder admirers sat right by him, with bright eyes and braided hair, flowers in their napes and kajal in their eyes. Bheema had looked surprised but pleased when one of them made so bold as to stroke his arm, Rama choking on the paan that Malli’s mother had handed him. 

They had insisted that Bheema help with accommodating the animals for the night safely and Bheema had agreed. An hour ago. How long did it take to tie up twelve cows? He continued to pace, watching the door like a hawk. How uncaring were these parents that they just let their unmarried girls frolic in the middle of the night unchaperoned? He wished he had never come. What Bheema and he had was special, at least Rama thought so. It was something that they could not reveal to anyone outside of their closest compatriots for fear of the English and their ridiculous laws. His steps slowed as he sat on their bed, staring at his feet. He felt ill and tired. Perhaps Bheema had begun to regret tying himself to someone like Rama? Perhaps he wanted an ordinary man’s life, one filled with home and wife and children?

A jaunty whistle broke the silence as familiar steps approached and Rama felt anger flare back to life as Bheema came bouncing along, his spear in his hand. His upper cloth was missing, water dripping from his thick hair onto his chest. This was not the time to take a bath. He gritted his teeth as Bheema picked up the marichembu to wash his feet, taking a drink at the same time. 

“Rama?” The other man called as he entered, “Why are you still awake?” 

“Where were you?” he hissed at Bheema, pushing past him and slamming the door shut. “Why are you wet?” 

“I needed to go past the river.” Bheema answered him easily. 

“At this hour?” 

“One of Sarojini’s cows, Amba, was feeling uneasy. I went to the Peddayya’s grove to retrieve a herb.”

“And did Sarojini come with you? Did you have a lovely moonlight stroll and bathe?” Rama hissed, pouncing forward and gripping Bheema’s arm very hard. 

“What? No - why would she -”

“You belong to me.” Rama spat, pulling Bheema into a hard, bruising kiss, pushing Bheema into the wall. “Not to silly little giggling girls for whom you ignored me all evening.” 

“My Rama, why on earth would you think that I -”

“Hush.” He attacked Bheema’s mouth again, pushing his tongue roughly inside, relishing the spicy taste of betel nut. Bheema mumbled into the kiss, attempting to push at Rama’s bare chest, but Rama ignored him, tearing at Bheema’s dhoti, feeling grimly satisfied when it ripped.  

“Rama,” Bheema groaned, “Rama.” Rama kissed him harder, his fingers finding Bheema’s nipples, twisting them. He felt Bheema grow and thicken rapidly between his legs, his musky scent filling the small hut. Rama bit hard at the other’s lower lip, one of his hands now in Bheema’s curly hair. The other ripped his own dhoti off, freeing him to press up against Bheema, making the other man moan. This man, this infuriating, beautiful man belonged to Rama. His very soul was part of Rama’s, there was no existence possible for Rama without Bheema. 

Bheema’s skin was cool from the river, but it did nothing to quench the fire burning under Rama’s skin. His skin tasted of camphor and khus, its scent overpowering Rama as he bit at Bheema’s neck. The younger man made a high keening sound at this, his arms engulfing Rama and squeezing even tighter, groaning as their lengths slipped against each other. He sucked at Bheema’s neck, making the other man stagger. A resounding crash made them break away slightly as the clothes horse clanged to the ground. Rama made an impatient noise as he dragged Bheema back against the wall, sucking anew at the mark he had already made on the other man’s neck.   

Bheema moved uncomplainingly, panting as Rama raked his fingers over the other man’s back, leaving deep scratches. He continued kissing and sucking down Bheema’s shoulder, lavishing special care over the latter’s tattoos. 

“Ramaaaaa,” Bheema whined, shoving his knee between the older man’s legs, pushing hard against him. Rama shoved his hand between them, a difficult task because there was barely enough space to slide a coin through. He grabbed both their lengths together, stroking them roughly. Bheema pulled hard at Rama’s hair, forcing his head up to thrust his tongue into Rama’s mouth, his other arm wound tight around the older man’s waist. Rama hissed in pain as Bheema sucked on his tongue, thrusting wildly against Bheema. He felt Bheema shudder and pulled away, wanting to watch, wanting to witness Bheema reach orgasm. He felt a wild thrill of pride as Bheema spurted into his hands, at the wide pupilled, out of control look in the other man’s eyes. He did this. He was the only one who had the right to touch the younger man, the right to watch him get undone. Rama felt his own eyes water as he followed him moments later, Bheema capturing his lips in a passionate kiss as he went over the edge. 

The cot creaked noisily as they stumbled back together, unwilling to let go of each other for even a moment. Rama hummed contentedly as he lay in the other man’s arms, the breeze cooling their skin. He sighed in pleasure as Bheema’s fingers raked through his hair, the touch gentle. 

“Mine.” He whispered again, as their heart rates returned to normal. 

Bheema laughed sweetly, lifting Rama’s fingers to his mouth for a kiss. “Yours, Rama. All yours.”

*****

The next day Rama had the pleasure of watching the disappointed look in Sarojini’s eyes as she spotted the large bite on Bheema’s neck that the upper cloth did little to conceal. Bheema looked red, embarassed as he met his fellow villagers’ amused gaze as Rama sat innocently by with a book. He felt no real anxiety, knowing that the Gonds would never betray Bheema. There was a little further pleasure when he saw Bheema’s dark eyes smoulder with posessive heat when one of Sarojini’s friends sat by him, talking about the book in his hands. 

It was going to be another busy night.  

[tastaturean]

—¿Olson, puedes hablar?

Olson continuó adelante. Su rostro se volvió hacia la oscuridad. Estaba reaccionando. Sí, estaba reaccionando. Dentro de su cuerpo exhausto había algo vivo, algo que todavía respondía a los impulsos, pero… ¿qué?

Acometieron una nueva subida. La respiración se hizo más y más corta en los pulmones de Garraty, hasta que se encontró jadeando como un perro. [...]

Oldtown. Habían conseguido llegar a Oldtown.

—Olson —musitó—. Eso es Oldtown. Esas luces son Oldtown. Estamos llegando, colega.

Olson no respondió. Y, por fin, Garraty recordó lo que durante los últimos kilómetros había tenido en la punta de la lengua sin conseguir concretar y que, después de todo, no era nada importante. Simplemente, que Olson le recordaba al Holandés Errante, que seguía navegando eternamente después de desaparecida toda la tripulación.

[...] Al otro lado del puente, un nuevo rótulo indicaba PENDIENTE PRONUNCIADA, MARCHAS CORTAS. Algunos Marchadores gruñeron y protestaron.

Realmente, la subida de la colina resultaba terrible. La carretera parecía alzarse ante ellos como un tobogán.

No era muy larga, pues incluso en la oscuridad podían ver la cima, pero sí empinada. Muy empinada.

Iniciaron la ascensión.

Garraty se inclinó y notó que su respiración empezaba a debilitarse. Al llegar a la cima estaría jadeando sin resuello, pensó. Si es que llego… De ambas piernas se alzaba ahora un clamor de protesta, que se iniciaba en los muslos y bajaba hasta los pies. Sus piernas le gritaban que no pensaban seguir adelante con aquella mierda de competición.

Sí que lo haréis, les dijo Garraty. Lo haréis, o moriréis. [EN] "Olson, can you talk?" Olson swept onward. His face was turned into the darkness, and he was moving, yes he was moving. Something was going on here, something was still ticking over, but- Something, yes, there was something, but what? They breasted another rise. The breath came shorter and shorter in Garraty's lungs until he was panting like a dog. [...]

Oldtown. They had made it to Oldtown. "Olson," he said. "That's Oldtown. Those lights are Oldtown. We're getting there, fellow." Olson made no answer. And now he could remember what had been eluding him and it was nothing so vital after all. Just that Olson reminded him of the Flying Dutchman, sailing on and on after the whole crew had disappeared. [...] On the far side of this bridge was another STEEP HILL TRUCKS USE LOW GEAR sign. There were groans from some of the Walkers. It was indeed a steep hill. It seemed to rise above them like a toboggan slide. It was not long; even in the dark they could see the summit. But it was steep, all right. Plenty steep. They started up. Garraty leaned into the slope, feeling his grip on his respiration start to trickle away almost at once. Be panting like a dog at the top, he thought . . . and then thought, if I get to the top. There was a protesting clamor rising in both legs. It started in his thighs and worked its way down. His legs were screaming at him that they simply weren't going to do this shit any longer.

But you will, Garraty told them. You will or you'll die.

La larga marcha / The Long Walk (1979) by Stephen King writing as Richard Bachman. Traducción al español por Hernán Sabaté. Penguin Random House.

*** Un año después, retomo mis momentos favoritos.

[stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland]

Oi, stuck. Tudo bem?! Eu passei somente para conferir se você tinha respondido a minha mensagem. Novamente, obrigado pela resposta. Eu espero que a emisonme tenha alguma informação sobre ambas as músicas, gostaria muito de saber.

Eu vi que um outro anon pediu meu user de Twitter….então….eu não uso Twitter mais.

Eu não tô a fim de ficar dando atenção pro PR delas. Eu não vou ficar comentando e dando palco, então vou acompanhar de longe a carreira. Essa é uma das razões que me fazem ficar no tumblr e a outra é: tem mais conteúdo camren aqui do que no Twitter. Lá ninguém pode shippar camren em paz. Um inferno.

Mas a gente pode se ver em comentários de fanfic. Meu user no Wattpad é faelcasd, se te interessar.

Fazendo um merchandising das minhas fanfics preferidas:

- Camila (AnnyCrazy)

- Fire and Blood (awnchickens)

- Drapetomania (Ayla_LTYE)

- Triologia Completa de With All My Love (autisticjaguar).

Hello buddy! Well, you're welcome, I made the explanation a long time ago so it's been forgotten. I also hope that Emi can appear to answer our questions. I'm glad you've moved away from fandom on Twitter because it's true that it's very toxic. I was there for a while and I have Camren mutuals, but we don't talk about the fandom as much anymore

[ambafaerie]

Hello!!!

Hi!

[princesapopstar]

“I think she lied to you. This isn’t a costume party. No one here is wearing a costume.”

uma risada sonora escapou dos lábios de amelia quando as palavras de maviella soaram em sua audição. olhar ao redor e ver que ninguém mais estava fantasia não a deixava constrangida, de forma alguma, na verdade, sentia-se tendo o seu momento elle woods naquele instante. não contendo o riso ao pensar que realmente haviam cogitado que ela ficaria afetada com tal futilidade. amelia não se importava com pegadinhas, achava-as uma grande perda de tempo e o fato de terem se proposto a fazer uma com ela demonstrava mediocridade ao invés de indicar perspicácia como imaginava ser a intenção daquela idiotice. “algumas pessoas não conseguem lidar de forma com a própria inveja.” deu de ombros. “isso foi ideia sua, maviella?” perguntou-lhe, não esperando uma resposta antes de prosseguir com o seu discurso. afinal, não lhe interessava se a grimhilde tinha feito aquilo ou não. “está magoada porque eu continuo tendo papéis importantes na briar enquanto você segue implorando por migalhas?”

[horsesarecreatures]

I emailed the vet on Monday asking if I should continue the Marquise for 30 days, 60 days, or 90, and also if Amba is ok to do some light work under saddle again. No answer. I called today to follow up on the email; hopefully I will get a response before next week. The weather has warmed up and I would love to go on the trails with her a bit.

[the-story-forge]

⚠️Warning this story has extreme graphic adult content, viewer discretion is advised! ⚠

Chapter 7 - The Cure

Rose gasped waking up to the cold concrete beneath her feet.

"Where am I?" A light beat down across Rose's face and she squinted, trying to move but finding that her wrists were bound up above her.

"Rose Amba, age 20, occupation waitress." A womans voice stung her ears. Rose felt a cold hand grasp her face and pull her head down.

"Significant other of Eric Dror also known as the vigilante The Sparrow, correct?" She asked coldly.

"How do you know who he is?" She then tasted pain in her cheek. The woman's hand struck her and Rose yelped.

"You will either answer yes, or no, or you will shut the fuck up."

The woman's face appeared in front of Rose. She was Chinese, late 20's and had a scar across her right eye. The woman fumbled something in her pocket and set her hand on Rose's shoulder.

"Your boyfriend won't be able to save you from what is coming," The woman let go of Rose moving away.

"What is coming?" Rose asked.

"The cure," she smiled and a massive hole behind her exploded blinding the room with purple light. Rose shut her eyes, and the room began to shake with a force so powerful it seemed otherworldly.

The purple light grew smaller and formed into a humanoid figure, it dropped and started rapidly convulsing on the ground. Rose screamed as the thing boiled and growled. It turned into the naked form of a man, paler than anyone Rose had ever seen. In an inhuman way it cracked several times standing upright. The eyes were the first thing Rose noticed, completely black and somehow, she could tell it was all darkness behind them as well. His head was bald and absent of hair and his teeth protruded like knives from his jaw. He was looking straight at her and a long tongue left his mouth and slithered its way toward her. The tongue's slimy rough muscle coated her cheek with a disgusting stench as well as saliva. He retracted it back into his mouth and turned to the group of twenty masked guards carrying katanas on their backs saluted.

"Souls of the damned," the voice emanated between the teeth like a hot wax to Rose's ears. He raised his hands and all of the guards convulsed, rising into the air they all thrashed and black fluid rose out their skin flowing towards him where the thing resembling a man consumed the fluids. The bodies of the guards fell to the ground like sacks of flour. The woman was dumbstruck, stumbling back wide eyed, fear encased her.

He turned and Rose once more found the eyes of darkness staring at her. He smiled showing his teeth and limped his way over towards her. His nails extended into claws that found their way under her shirt and dug deep into her stomach.

Rose screamed as the white searing pain enveloped her causing her vision to go blurry with tears.

Written by Phoenix Rose

Characters and Story Created by Phoenix Rose

A Story Forge Production

[brilhalindaflorm]

i want to reach the top I felt my ANSWER • Surging through my veins the new wave my OVERWHELMING passion • don’t care about those past troubles you all know huh • i'm FEARLESS a new b**ch new crazy climbing up, next

BACKGROUND .

nome : breeze siona zinceran

idade : 27 anos

skeleton : rapunzel

faceclaim : adelaide kane

traços positivos : leal, inteligente

traços negativos : manipuladora, sarcástica

inspirações : aelin galathynius ( trono de vidro ), poppy ( de sangue e cinzas )

função : serviçal do castelo

sexualidade : bissexual

BACKGROUND .

Ninguém sabe ao certo quem Breeze é, principalmente por não ser uma pessoa muito aberta ao passado. O que poderia falar de qualquer forma? O pai sabia demais, isso estava certo para quem conhecia o Senhor Zinceran. Deixava clara a insatisfação com o rei, dizendo que sabia os segredos que o homem escondia. É claro que isso não acabou bem para a família, com a mãe sendo assassinada na frente de Siora enquanto permanecia escondida embaixo da mesa. Ainda recorda-se do sangue escorrendo pela madeira enquanto permanecia com ambas as mãos na boca, com medo do que poderia acontecer consigo mesma. 

Assim que o pai foi levado, foi obrigada a vagar sem rumo com um destino incerto, até alguém, com um coração não tão bondoso assim, ter achado a menininha de cabelos escuros, sob o pretexto de criá-la como se fosse sua. Oh, ninguém sabia o que estava prestes a acontecer. A menina, que antes era ingênua e bondosa, começava a conhecer os horrores do mundo. O novo nome, Breeze, era para lembrá-la de que tudo que tinha e acreditava não existia mais. Sua criação também não foi nada fácil. Quanto mais tempo passava roubando, melhor se tornava. Não era uma surpresa que começou a se tornar boa demais com a espada, ainda mais para uma mulher (como tanto insistiam em falar). De vez em quando, durante o risco de ser pega, precisava limpar o caminho e não deixar testemunhas, certo? Riscos da profissão. 

Nunca mais se permitiu ser ingênua em relação às intenções alheias. As bochechas coradas e os olhares tímidos sempre eram calculados para conseguir um objetivo, assim como tudo o que fazia. Eram tolos aqueles que ainda caíram nos truques de Breeze, ainda mais que acabavam com os bolsos vazios antes mesmo de perceber o que havia ocorrido. Durante a adolescência, o ímpeto da jovem se tornou ainda mais intenso, assim como a articulação do seu maior plano: a vingança contra Arthur. Queria vê-lo morrer com a mesma crueldade que demonstrou ao assassinar a genitora da mulher. 

Assim que contou o que desejava para a mulher que lhe criava (se é que poderia chamar dessa forma), conseguiu uma vaga como serviçal no castelo, o que com certeza foi muito oportuno para Breeze. Ninguém jamais desconfiaria de uma jovem minúscula que vivia tropeçando e pedindo desculpa pelos corredores, certo?