#and then i just write whatever vibes and it's fun

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

this is an interesting method (/positive, amused)

i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blond hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i have never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

🎶🎶

some elaboration:

- I can cook/bake in theory (I know how, have successfully done so), but can’t always physically do so because disabilities

- i’m supposed to wear glasses but I need a new prescription so i’m not right now 😅

- i enjoy sparkly nail polish!

- my hair is currently green, blue, & purple. green & purple were intended, blue was not intended; for whatever reason, my hair just decided it wanted to be blue & stole the green from all but the roots 🤷‍♂️ it’s kind of a vibe tho so i haven’t fixed it

~~

- i don’t have formal training, but for the fun of it, i own and will play (1) an acoustic guitar that I bought for myself, (2) a very old electric guitar that my uncle passed down* + its equally old amp (20+ years old at a guess), (3) a 10-hole harmonica I got over a decade ago, (4) an 8-hole harmonica that came with a “learn how to play harmonica” kit my grandma gifted me, & (5) piano or keyboard.

i also want to own & play a (1) lyre, (2) violin, (3) flute (several kinds, I just enjoy playing), & (4) ukelele. i love instruments/music obviously 🤷‍♂️☺💜

(* the strings are rusty tho so I gotta be very gentle until I can replace them 😅)

~~

- fun fact, multitasking is not actually doing all at once, it’s rapid switching between tasks!

~~

- depending on how curved my spine is that day (sometimes too stiff to unbend), i measure 5’6” on a bad day or up to 5’11” on a good one.

~~

- i can speak/write français (French) & español (Spanish) relatively well, with the limited conversational knowledge of a United Statesian educational system. i’ve also been trying to teach myself Gaelic (Irish), German, Greek, Nordic (Bølsk), & Russian...but my ability to learn outside a classroom-structured environment is slow. 🤷‍♂️

~~

- last addition, i have both ears pierced & have been using those often! i debate whether to get another piercing sometimes, but honestly i’ll probably get a lot of tattoos instead ☺

🎶🎶

~Nico (he/they)

no pressure tags: @mx-treant @jackedupjack @thetetra @batcoins @yelkniz

tag game 🤭

rules: color the sentence that's true about you

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

this is a whole lot of yellow lmfao

no pressure tags: @marthawrites @schniiipsel @aemonddtargaryen @aemondsbabe @adragonprinceswhore @arcielee @black-dread @lovelykhaleesiii @aemondsbabygirl @valeskafics @connorsui

[formulafanfics13]

can you write oscar x model!reader, in which she is the complete opposite of him, life of the party and very out going, and at a club he sees lando flirting with her and gets very possessive.

Mine When It Matters - OP81 🔥

masterlist

Summary: Oscar reluctantly joins a night out at a loud club, only to watch you flirt with Lando right in front of him. Jealousy turns into possessiveness. After a sharp confrontation, he drags you into the bathroom and reminds you who you belong to — with his mouth, his hands, and every brutal thrust. The night ends with his hand in yours, grip unshakable, tension simmering. You adore him like this: quiet, controlled, just a little bit feral.

Warnings: Jealousy, possessive behavior, public flirtation, aggressive dirty talk, club bathroom sex, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, slight dom/sub vibes, praise/degradation mix, mildly feral Oscar Piastri, territorial energy, Lando being a little shit. Ends soft(ish) but still hot.

Oscar had no business being in this club. The music was too loud, the lights too harsh, the drinks watered down and overpriced. But he’d said yes because everyone was going. Because Lando had dragged him out. Because you had texted him with a “come out, be fun, I promise not to leave your side.”

You, who practically thrived in places like this. You, who walked into any room like the main character and didn’t wait for permission to be adored.

You, who were currently pressed up against the bar, laughing in Lando’s face like he’d just said the funniest thing in the world, head thrown back, fingers brushing his arm, hips swaying to the beat of whatever bass-heavy track was shaking the floor.

Oscar watched from across the room, drink untouched in his hand. And he burned. Not because you were doing anything wrong. Not because he didn’t trust you. But because Lando fucking knew.

He knew you were Oscar’s. He knew you were dating. He knew how long Oscar had quietly worshipped you before working up the nerve to ask you out. He knew. And still.

There he was. Grinning like a smug little shit. Leaning in closer. Whispering something in your ear. You giggled. Oscar saw red.

You noticed the moment he started walking over. He moved like someone at war. Calm. Controlled. But with a heat in his eyes that made your thighs clench before he’d even touched you.

Lando stepped back slightly, registering the shift. “Hey, mate-”

“She’s with me.” Oscar didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. It was low. Firm. Enough to make your pulse jump.

Lando blinked. “I know that-”

“Then maybe back the fuck off.”

Your mouth dropped open. You didn’t know whether to laugh or drag him into the nearest dark corner and wreck him.

Lando raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Jesus.”

Oscar didn’t even look at him again. He looked at you. “You think this is funny?” he murmured.

You bit your lip. “A little.”

“You like teasing me like this?”

You shrugged. “You like when I get attention.”

“No.” He stepped in closer. Voice a little rougher now. “I like when you get attention from me.”

Your breath caught. “Oscar-”

“Bathroom. Now.”

You barely made it inside before he slammed the door behind you. The music thumped faintly through the walls. The light was a flickering mess. The air smelled like vodka and sex and regret. And none of it mattered.

Because Oscar was already lifting you onto the counter, mouth crashing into yours, hands sliding under your dress like he didn’t care who heard.

“Flirting with him right in front of me,” he muttered between kisses. “You wanted to see me like this.”

You gasped. “Maybe.”

He growled, actually fucking growled, and yanked your panties down in one sharp motion.

“You’re mine,” he said, sinking to his knees like it was a promise.

You choked on a moan as his tongue met your cunt. Messy. Rough. Desperate.

He ate you out like it was personal. Like every swipe of his tongue was a claim, a brand, a fucking signature. You came fast. Clutching his curls, legs trembling, crying out his name like it was the only word left in your vocabulary. He stood up. Kissed you. Let you taste yourself on his lips.

“You’re not walking out there until you remember who you belong to.”

And then he fucked you. Hard. Deep. Possessive. Bent over the sink, hand in your hair, hips snapping into yours like the whole club could burn down and he wouldn’t stop. “You think anyone else can make you feel like this?”

You shook your head, eyes rolling.

“Say it.”

“No one,” you moaned. “No one but you.”

He kissed your neck. Slowed down. Let the filth melt into something softer.

You whined. He chuckled. “I’ve got you, party girl.”

He didn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night. Even when Lando raised an eyebrow across the dance floor. Even when you winked at Max, made Charles laugh, air-kissed some fashion exec who looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

Oscar just held you close. The quiet boy with the loudest grip. You liked him like this. Jealous. Controlled. Just a little feral. And the second you leaned in and whispered, “You know I’m only yours, right?”

He just smirked. “I know. But I don’t mind reminding you.”

[peace-hunter]

Haunted AU: the Wisdom of the Primes absolutely includes Alchemist's bomb-ass cocktail recipes, right?

Actually all thirteen of them should be sort of enjoying their various hobbies vicariously through Optimus. He's trying a lot of new things, which helps keep his mind off the break-up and ensures he's taking at least some time off work.

absolutely! he never quite managed to get enough time to write them down and he refuses to let that knowledge be lost to time 🤭

he's horrified when optimus tells him he's never had prepared high grade before. most of the former miners haven't actually. when they saved enough to afford it, they preferred to get whatever was stronger to make it last a bit more.

alchemist thinks this is a travesty and should be remedied immediately.

vector thinks it's a bad idea to show a group of young adults with lots of unaddressed trauma and about to go into a war how good getting drunk af can taste.

they compromise and optimus gets the recipes heavily modified so they're way less intoxicating than the originals. everyone, including OP, is mildly upset at the baby proofing but. they are very tasty drinks. so they're kinda just like

AND YES. THAT'S THE VIBE.

it is partially because they're bored out of their minds half the time, as there's only so much they can do for optimus throughout the day so whenever they get the chance to have some fun they will take it. but it's also to give optimus a 'valid' reason to take a break and have fun.

i think OP would have a hard time letting himself do something that isn't work, because... well, there's so much he has to do, so many duties he has to fulfill and he would hate to make someone else take responsibility for something that was his to deal with. look what happened last time he did that.

but if his siblings can frame it as something he's doing for them, then it's easier for him to justify stopping for the day. it's easier to pick silly hobbies without feeling guilty if it's something that makes his siblings happy.

this does cause him to pick up stuff that's way too old for someone his age. like. these guys have been alive almost since the creation of their world, you better believe some of them have ancient hobbies that are not in fashion anymore. he's learning the cybertronian equivalent of weaving with a 13th century loom lmao

haunted au

[samusamab]

Listen people, I know that my tumblr following is basically non-existent , but if you are a TTRPG or actual play fan and you're seeing this post, I NEED you to start listening to Campaign: Skyjacks if you aren't already. I promise if you enjoy Critical Role, Dimension 20, Dungeons and Daddies, Worlds Beyond Number, NADDPOD, etc you WILL enjoy this podcast!

"But Samus, I get my actual play content from Youtube!" I have FANTASTIC news for you, they've started posting episodes to the One Shot Podcast YT channel right now, starting from Episode 1. There has never been a better time to start listening! Just put it on in the background while you're doing something else! And if that's not enough:

15 Reasons that You Should Become a Listener of Campaign: Skyjacks

Incredible anti-colonial themes & world building.

They've got dope ass skyships and the party is a crew of infamous sky pirates!

There are Queer folks and POC both at the table and involved in the world building of Spéir (the show's original setting.)

There's an incredibly haunted (/pos) deck of divination cards that shapes the narrative in fun, resonant, and heartbreaking ways!

Speaking of world building, however many people you think were involved with writing lore and other content for Spéir, it's more than that! Collaborative & diverse world building in the best way!

If you like shipping hotties, we've almost certainly got whatever you like in here somewhere.

If you're a fan of The Decemberists or Illimat, both of those things are baked DEEP into the DNA and setting of this show.

If you like plucky teen protagonists with too much responsibility, we've got that too!

I would describe the vibe of Spéir as folkpunk, which is a vibe that I think a lot of y'all are into, but isn't very visible or broadly popular. There's also some religious trauma in there (in a fun way?)

Arnie Parrot writes incredible original in-world music for this show, and all of it slaps!

There is a truly insane cast of lovable side characters to get attached to, and they sometimes matter way more to the plot (in a good way) than you might think.

It balances goofs and incredible storytelling just as well as any of the big Actual Play Shows do. Also they play something other than D&D! (Don't worry, it's very easy to follow along!)

There are big birds! They're called Griffins but they're literally just normal birds but 8.3 times bigger!

If you like the sound of the setting, but aren't clicking with the main show itself, there are two awesome spin-offs for you! Skyjoust! is a sports anime-type show about different youth teams competing in a Skyjoust tournament (they do cool shit on the birds.) There is also Skyjacks: Couriers Call, an all-ages Actual Play in the same setting surrounding three young people serving in a fleet of fantastical mail carriers! (That's right, the kids in your life can listen to this one!)

This is a show and setting that means a great deal to me, and I genuinely want nothing but the best for all the many people involved in making it. I wholeheartedly believe that they've made something just as good as the most popular shows in the genre, and they deserve every bit of recognition and signal boosting I can give them so that they can continue to make this show.

I know this post was long as hell, but I hope if you made it this far and you'd never heard of Skyjacks (or never thought of listening) before now that you will. I promise you won't regret it!

[the-east-art]

Hey. I love your animatics so much, you’re one of the best Deltarune artists I’ve ever seen, and I just have to ask how you do it? What’s your process? What brushes do you use, what app do you use? How do you find the motivation to finish stuff?

Hello!!!! Thank you :3 I have been doing this for likeeeeee a long time now. It’s just fun for me :3

1.What’s your process?

I usually make a playlist of potential songs for a fandom and listen until one really wedges its way into my head. Then I print out the lyrics so I can write my ideas down. Pencil is a must so I can change my mind :3 my twin helped me ‘script’ this last vid so some of her handwriting is here.

Then I storyboard. You can do this in a sketchbook but I’ve also done is as just a series of sketches in procreate

Then I go over all of them to make them look pretty, add any shading I want, and I’m done!

2. What brushes do you use?

I primarily use the bencil. I also use jingsketch and loish basic packs but the bencil is my bread and butter.

3. What app do you use?

Capcut. I used to use Splice until they started making you pay TEN BUCKS A WEEK. I’ve also used various computer ones before. What I can get my hands on that’s free.

4. How do you find the motivation to finish stuff?

I don’t always add lights and darks and shadows - sometimes my stuff is just lineart, it’s less work.

I do usually small pieces of a song instead of an entire song so it’s more manageable.

My sister @browniefox is kind enough to help me script and board my stuff or look over my scripts to help the process along.

The sketch/boarding phase can go a long way - getting your posing and stuff down in one fell swoop means that when you get to refining the board the ‘hard part’ (imo) is already done and then next part is mostly drawing and less thinking.

Work in whatever medium is most comfortable or makes you happiest - I’ve drawing with pencil and paper, pens, on notecards, with watercolor, in procreate. Whichever I was vibing most with at the time.

Recommend having a pal who supports you. Most likely you will not get a lot of views, so never make it about the views. Make it about the enjoyment it brings you.

Keep your storyboard loose and low effort! You’ll be putting in more effort later.

Lmk if you have any other questions!

[mc-tums-fog]

Under The Desert Sky

Pairing: Elliott Marston x GN! Reader

Chapter II: When Clusters of Stars Tell Stories

Chapter Summary: Every action has a reaction, that’s what you were taught at a young age. You just never figured your actions would cause Elliott Marston to have this kind of reaction.

Content Warnings For This Chapter: Period-Typical Racism (Mentions against the Aboriginal people and Native Americans)

Notes:

Wrote this chapter immediately after the first, and was proud with it initially. But now I'm not too sure. Did some minor rewrites but still, not too sure. I think that's just me second guessing myself, plus figuring out the exact order of events for the next chapters. I'm trying to trust the process gang.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

It took you about a week since the conversation between you and Elliott to notice a pattern and figure out what the catch was.

No, he didn’t lower your pay. Come payment day you found that it was the same as in the last two weeks. No, the workload hadn’t suddenly increased. It was like the other times, and you had already gotten used to it at this point. No, the men didn’t try their luck with getting back at you somehow. Comments and looks here and there, but it didn’t seem like they were going to carry out anything big. The only notable difference was how Coogan did his best to not talk to you, when he could help it. Not like you were complaining.

But maybe some of those things would have been more preferable. Because when you realize what the catch was, how minor and inconvenient it would be to others, it quickly spiraled your mind with questions that had no answers to them.

Elliott Marston would take any opportunity that he saw fit to interact with you in some way.

The first two days, you paid no mind and thought it was even reasonable. You had gotten into a fight with one of his men after all. You figured this was just his way of making sure it didn’t happen again, or to show you “who was boss”. On these first two days, he was observing you more often than he had previously. Even coming up to you to talk about the work you were doing and going to be doing. This was something he did during the first few days of working for him, where he was directing you, but then he made his men give you orders after some time. If it was just this, you probably would have brushed it off.

But the third and fourth day was when you started to question his behavior. Sure, he’d watch you from afar, come up to speak about the work, same as before. But then there would be a few times throughout the day that he’d just… started talking to you.

At first, you thought he was just mulling to himself aloud. You never really caught into it on the third day, with being focused on your work. It was the fourth when you noted he said something when you walked by him to do another one of your tasks. You paid it no mind. It wasn’t until you had walked past him again a second time that you completely registered that he was talking to you. Not to himself . To you . And only then did you register how irregular that was. In the past, if you happened to walk by him, he wouldn’t say anything. Just a quick look and go back to whatever he was doing. Unless the heat was really getting to you, you never recalled him doing this before.

“I’m sorry, did you need me to do something?” You weren’t exactly kind in your tone like you were previously whenever you asked that question, in case you didn’t hear one of the workers on the ranch talk to you the first time. So, you figured he wanted you to do something, and you didn’t realize since you were so focused.

From his front porch leaning on one of his pillars, he studied you for a moment. Once again wearing that unreadable expression, which was even harder to see under his hat.

“You don’t seem to pay much attention to your surroundings when working.”

You didn’t know what to make of that… statement? It didn’t sound like a question, but you weren’t sure what kind of observation that was, besides an obvious one.

“I pay attention when something or someone needs my attention.” Was all you could offer, wanting to end the conversation soon.

“From what I was told, it seemed like the men didn’t need your attention when talking among themselves earlier this week.”

You didn’t even try to hide your annoyance when he said that.

“I was giving the two Aboriginal women you have on your grounds attention. He only got my full attention after his comments about my family,” You wiped off some of the dirt that had been forming on your clothes. Not like it mattered; they would get dirty again. “Was that all, or may I get back to work?”

Was it a bit stupid and dangerous to give him mouth even after he was gracious with allowing you to stay? Sure. But you couldn’t really give a damn. You wanted to earn your paycheck, and the sooner you could get through the days, the sooner you’d get it.

You expected him to continue on whatever else he had on his mind just to irritate you and regain control of the situation. Instead, he gave a quick, dismissive nod. And so, you left, wanting to put that interaction aside and focus on what you had left to do.

But it didn’t stop with that. From the fourth and fifth day he continued to do this every time you walked by him. He was still doing his previous routine of watching you from afar and coming up to you directly to tell you what to do. But now he would add these small comments if you happened to be nearby while doing your work. It wasn’t even about the fight at that point. He would make comments about anything. The particular gun he carried in his holster that day. Deserters that were still on the loose. The Australian land in general.

You gave curt replies because you just wanted to stay focused on your work. But even with the small amount of replies you did give he would somehow make do and continue on with whatever he was going on about. And not totally wanting to push your luck into waving him off without the risk of your job security, you decided to listen. You figured, if he was the one to initiate the conversation in the first place, then he shouldn’t be mad if hardly any work managed to get done that day. Plus, he was always on his porch when talking, and if the sun was angled right and you were standing in the correct position, the shade would cover you up. So more for your benefit, you listened.

…Admittedly, you found some of his topics interesting to listen to. In some ways that statement on being a student was correct. He sounded intelligent with what he had to say. Whenever he talked about America, he was correct on a number of things. But some areas you knew he wasn’t.

And maybe it was a mistake on your part for the following events that would occur, but you decided to contest the stuff he was wrong about on the fifth day.

“The tribes did uphold those treaty deals.” You said in response to how America would often negotiate treaties among the different tribal groups. “The only reason some of them were broken was because the army kept infesting their lands.”

He must’ve not expected you to say anything at all that weren’t just replies to end the conversation, as he looked at you with just a hint of being surprised.

“Where did you hear that nonsense?”

“That nonsense ,” You gave him a look. “I witnessed. When working on one of the farms in America the owner became close with one of the tribes nearby. They would make trades, giving them crops for some herbal medicine for his animals that got sick.”

You leaned one of those pillars facing more away from Elliott, who had been sitting nearby on a chair.

“The head of that tribe would come and talk about a treaty that had been going on that the military kept breaking. He wanted the farms’ owner to be a witness to one of these meetings, and I came along as I would often be the one making the deliveries to the camp.”

You shook your head as you looked down. You hadn’t noticed that Elliott stopped what he’d been doing, cleaning his gun, and gave his full attention to you.

“Didn’t matter though. The military didn’t listen to our testimonies of our firsthand accounts, where we knew they didn’t break it. They were disrespectful the whole time. The tribe was forced to move once the military took over it. Then the farm went to shit because they couldn’t get the medicine for the animals.”

You thought about the farmer and the tribe’s leader. You hoped they, and their families were doing good while you were down here. It was never easy for you to make connections with other people, with how they treated your parents. But they were one of the few that showed kindness to your troubles.

“The owner of the farm never got help from the military?”

You looked over at Elliott. For once, you could hear just the slightest indication of an emotion that wasn’t stern. He sounded like he cared about whatever happened to him.

You snapped out of that observation and shrugged. “Sometimes they tried to provide some medicine, with the exchange of us giving them some crops. But it didn’t work as well as the herbal medicine, so he stopped dealing with them all together. Didn’t make the army men happy but I don’t think he really cared all that much.”

He looked down, his brows furrowing a bit to the point where you could see a line forming between them. It was an indication he was in thought of the story you told. You noticed how he would often do this, trying to dissect and think about what it was people had said to him, and particularly with you. In a strange way, you found this… respectable, was the best your compliment for him was going to get. Most people don’t take the time to fully process what they or others say to them. Unless it was in the heat of the moment when he was having a quick and rushed discussion, he still took the time to consider what he was going to say, or what others said.

And you realized it wasn’t just in his words that he did this. You realized how he would do this for his actions. The way he moved had a certain precision about it. Even in a frazzled state that you would sometimes see him in there was still somehow an air of thought that surrounded his movements. You could see how he became a ranch owner and a skilled gunslinger; with the few times you saw him using his gun before. It made sense. In his line of work, he couldn’t afford to be careless.

You hadn’t realized how you were staring intently at him mulling this over until one of his men called you over for help getting control over a wild horse they found and wanted to tame. You blinked as you looked over, and quickly rushed from down the porch, wincing a bit as your ribs were still in pain. You must’ve spent too long in the shade because you instantly felt your face heat up as you jogged away from the porch and into the sunlight.

The sixth day followed this similar format, where he would talk to you by his porch when you were nearby. Whenever you did, something about it made you feel like you could challenge him a bit more. And for whatever reason, he allowed it, and would challenge you back. In this back and forth you would learn a few things more about his country and him with yours. He would learn about the city life you had, and he would talk about the ranch life. You didn’t know what to make of these conversations after the first few times.

And you found yourself doing something you hadn’t expected yourself to do at the start of the seventh day.

You made conversation with him first.

It was early enough in the morning, and you were already getting ahead in some areas, thanks to working a bit longer in the evening prior. You put some water on your face and noted Elliott leaving his home to check on his horse. He did this every morning, he never wanted anyone else to take care of his steed, Maverick as he called him.

But as he was walking down the steps and to the stables, you felt like his appearance was off. You couldn’t pinpoint how though. From where you were standing you were a great distance away from him, but even so, you could still tell something wasn’t right. As the sun got a bit higher, casting more light onto the ranch, and onto him, it suddenly hit you.

He wasn’t wearing all black attire. His vest was a deeper shade of a maroon.

You tried to think if he always had a vest like that. With how busy you were with your tasks, you could never really look at him all that much, other than when he was talking to you. Or when you could catch some conversations between him and his men. But at those times you could only recall him wearing something black. Sometimes it was a full black coat with a vest and white button up to contrast it. Other times it was just his black vest and white button up. Rarely did you ever see him without a vest. If he did always have this one, you never noticed until now.

So, you felt like you had to make a comment on it. It was rational to you. Besides, you already had to go and feed the animals that were close by anyway.

When you walked by carrying the scraps for the livestock while he was still tending to his horse, you said something.

“I thought you only dressed like the grim reaper.”

He stopped brushing his horse’s hair and looked over at you. His look of confusion was clear as day. You clarified as you kept feeding the animals.

“I didn’t think you even liked any other color other than black is what I mean.”

He took note of his vest now and seemed to ponder further with what you said.

“I’ve worn this vest before.” He replied.

“Well, I’ve only seen you wear black. I never noticed this vest.”

“Really.”

You didn’t catch how he didn’t frame it as a question, or how thoughtful he sounded. You were more focused on the idea that he could like other things, how implausible that seemed.

“I’m not sure how you could mostly wear black, when the sun is so damn hot.” You said it more to yourself than to him, trying to rationalize a common thought you had about his choice of clothing aloud.

“It’s proper attire that suits my character well.”

“For a funeral maybe.”

You didn’t realize how much you had gone back and forth on this singular topic on something so small. You didn’t even realize that as you were working, he would follow you to finish this conversation. Which delved into a conversation on what you liked to wear, which was whatever was practical, you were never too picky growing up. That led to him rationalizing that his clothing was practical in getting to his weaponry quickly. That led you to asking about what shooting a gun was like, and him explaining how even being an expert he still found himself closing his eyes as a reaction whenever it went off. Which made you think about the times that you did see him use his gun, and he was right.

Throughout the morning it went like this, him following you around with you never phasing in doing your work. At times he would need to leave and would excuse himself. But then he’d get back right to wherever the two of you left off. By midday you didn’t realize how exhausted you were. A bit odd, since you’ve never gotten tired this quickly before. By the afternoon, when it was time to send out letters by one of the workers who were already going into town for a supply run, he let you know the payment you were sending to your family and gave you the leftover percentage to you personally. Noting it was the same, you were going to help the rest of the workers in loading up some crates for their journey. But before you could, Elliott stopped you and told you to get into some shade because the last thing he wanted was to drag another worker out of the sun.

You didn’t realize this was the first time he allowed you to have a break. Because if you did, it would’ve been a bigger deal. But you were exhausted. So, you went to the lodge and crashed out for some time.

Upon waking up, you could see that the sun had started to go down. You tried to get your bearings on why you went to bed earlier than usual when you could hear two men talking outside to each other, as one of the windows was partially open. They seemed like they were in the middle of a conversation when they came near the lodge.

“-y arm must’ve pulled something when carrying the crates,” The voice, you could recognize to be Dobkin, groaned. “Should’ve gotten the rookie to do it.”

You immediately knew he was talking about you. He’d called you that before, with how you were one of the newer workers for the ranch, despite now being here for a couple of months. You were about to ignore it when the other voice, you placed to be O’Flynn, spoke next.

“If you did, you’d be cuttin’ into Mr. Martson’s ‘buddy’ time.” He snickered.

You perked up at that. What did he mean by “buddy time”?

“If the rookie has time to be talking with Mr. Marston, then the rookie can take the time to actually do some work.”

You had been doing work. That’s all you have been doing for these past few months. In your still tired state, you wondered why he would even phrase it like that.

“You think it’s odd too, right? How they talk to each other?” O’Flynn asked. “I mean, that weasel beats the shit out of Coogan, and Mr. Marston doesn’t do anything about it.”

“It’s none of my business what Mr. Marston decides to do.” Dobkin responded back. He groaned again. “Christ this arm. Let’s go find a bottle.”

“All I’m saying is,” O’Flynn said as Dobkin’s footsteps were walking away. “Either Mr. Marston is planning a proper funeral or a wedding.”

Their voices grew distant, and you thought about what they said. You knew O’Flynn was just being a little shit saying that last part. But your conversations with Elliott did give you a pause. You really thought about it for a moment as you laid on the cot, looking up at the ceiling.

The past few days he had been observing you more and interacting with you. He sought you out to talk to you, as if he wanted to. And you realized that didn’t make any sense. Here you are working at his ranch even after beating up a man and not holding back when speaking either. How was it that you were still standing and breathing even? As best as you could with your ribs.

And more importantly, you had engaged with him back. You talked with him. Today you even talked to him first. Why?

You rubbed your eyes, your face not hurting as much when you touched it. It didn’t make sense to you. His behavior toward you and yours to him. You tried to rest further. But as the others would come in and rest as well, as much as you closed your eyes, it was hard to sleep with the lingering questions still in your mind. It had gotten well into the night, but you decided that you couldn’t sleep and put on your work outfit just so you had something warm to be in when outside.

You went back to the spot you were at the last time you gazed at the stars, only you stood up this time, as if it would get you closer to them.

They were still as beautiful as ever. And while they brought you a sense of comfort, they couldn’t answer any of the questions you had. But even if they could, it’s not like they would know what to do in your shoes anyway. They could just be there to listen, and you figured that satisfied you enough. That, and you could simply appreciate their beauty.

It amazed you on what you’d missed out on. It was the one thing you could give Australia credit for. You’ve never seen anything like this. You didn’t even think you would ever see something like this.

You stood there, for how long you weren’t sure, just basking in the starlight. You thought about making this a thing to do every night, just looking at the stars. Though you worried it would end up losing its beauty, if you had too much of one good thing. Suddenly, your ears picked up the precise footsteps coming from behind. You could easily recognize them, and it brought you back to your dilemma and questions.

Like last time, he took the place by your left, only not as towering as he was when you were sitting down like before. Upon leaning his arms on the fence’s wooden planks, he nodded to himself in satisfaction. Then he looked out to where you had been looking, right at the stars.

He didn’t rush to say anything like he had when this first happened. He took the time to let the quiet set back in before he could break it. Which of course, he did eventually.

“You know, I’m not paying you to stargaze.” He spoke.

Of course he had to act like this was above him too.

“I’m not telling you to.” You replied back, not even looking at him.

“You couldn’t tell me what you could get paid for any-” He started to go on before you cut him off. You decided that the only way you were going to get answers to your questions was from him.

“Why have you been trying to talk to me?”

He seemed to act like this was the first time you were blunt with him, as if you hadn’t been talking to him bluntly ever since last week. It annoyed you even more. So you made that clear. 

“Don’t act like you don’t get why this confuses me. You’re smarter than that. I beat up one of your men, I talked back to you when you tried to talk to me about it. And even if this was to just uphold a deal with my cousin, you still go out of your way to try to talk to me when neither of us have any reason to.” 

You finally looked over to him. “Why?”

He didn’t say anything at first. Despite being in the dark, without his hat on, and being about three feet from him, you could make out his face. Once again, he kept studying you and seemed to be contemplating what he was going to say next. He turned his head back to the stars and seemed to be contemplating them as well. Like the answer was up there.

You didn’t sense any heaviness in the silence like the last time you both talked under the stars. You’d almost call it peaceful. At least, there were no warning signs yet of anything dangerous to come. So, you waited. And eventually he spoke.

“My mother used to talk about how the stars told stories.”

You gave him a quizzical look.

He must’ve seen your reaction, because he let out a very light chuckle. You realized then that this was the first time you heard any kind of laughter coming out of him. Or even a broader smile than his cocky smirk he would have on from time to time.

“Sounds completely ridiculous right? But she wasn’t wrong. Certain stars have formations that if you really looked closely enough with the right materials, you could see them. They’re called constellations. Each one relates back to a character in a story rooted in Greek mythology.”

You looked back up to the sky. Personally, you couldn’t see anything distinct about them, besides that they were all beautiful. You saw some clusters that were brighter than others, sure. Nothing that told you a story though.

“I always found that interesting,” He continued. “That if you observed and interacted with the stars long enough, they would tell you a story.”

He looked over at you, causing you to look over to him as well.

“I would like to know yours. And I hope you’d like to know mine.”

It was the first time he said anything like it was an offer, rather than a demand. Like he was giving you a say in the matter. And it was said in the same tone that you briefly caught when claiming that you didn’t have the right to make that judgement about how he wasn’t better than anyone. 

It sounded like sincerity, if you had to give it a name.

You had already thought he knew enough, what he needed to know before hiring you. That your family was in financial trouble, and you were the only one who could work and could do the work well. That was it, the gist of what your cousin said, though including more of the circumstances on why you were the only one working. You didn’t even think he wanted to know more. But you also found yourself more focused on the latter half of what he said. How he hoped you would get to know him.

And you really hadn’t thought you would want to get to know him more. Why would you? You felt like he made his character and who he was pretty clear.

But then again…

You realized just how much you were engaging back with him. The details you remembered about these past conversations between the two of you. You talked to him more within the past week than you had within the past months since you’ve been here.

Did you want to get to know him more?

Something about that question made your heart miss a beat. But you couldn’t explain why.

You looked back up to the stars. Like they would have an answer for you. Something. Anything. You tried to clear your head and with whatever thought popped up, whatever your gut instincts were telling you, you would go with it. You couldn’t see how your choice would screw you over if he was giving you the option.

And so, after taking a moment, that’s what you did. You went with whatever came to your mind first. With the stars being witnesses to it.

[system-architect]

sorry hi last reblog has me thinking about how i havent played in awhile. i haven't been a fan of the recent updates they're far too 'content production'-y for me. but i just want to express i think many of the best moments in gw2 story have been when the writing is utter camp slop that the writers were clearly extremely emotionally invested in, completely regardless of their production timeframes or budget. my opinion basically is guild wars 2 is better when it's worse

[altcvnningham]

waning moon

helen park x madam shell

summary: helen park sees the cracks in her lover's façade. (inspired by @mickstart and their amazing post on perhaps the most underrated ship of all time??) read on ao3

tags/cw: nsfw, wlw, angst, pre-cw, betrayal (but vaguely unspecified), light choking, younger woman/older woman, age gap, references to coercion, vague references to abuse of authority, so much bird imagery, doomed sapphics wc: 1.1k

a/n: i literally read @mickstart's park x shell (shellen???) post and got possessed, blacked out for an hour and wrote this. i have 0 memory of how i got here or what this means and though it isn't like 100% what the post was talking about it DID inspire me to spill out this ramble ab a character who has 0 canon appearances outside of dialogue. sorry for pretentious purple prose and rough editing!! it's 12am forgive me

She doesn’t know when she sees the change, but it slips in slow and sweet, like a paling knife glinting in the moonlight. How sand sifts to the bottom of an hourglass, she too feels just as suffocated under the weight of borrowed time.

Yet Shell’s eyes are paler still even in the dark, the waning moon of this interminable night, one that feels to Helen Park like the bookend of something. An answer, unspoken, but as implicit as though it had been there all along, a truth she’d known deep down but refused to acknowledge. And why would she? How could she? It had been three long years since Shell took her under her wing, her pretty little bird, three years that had changed everything. Irreparably. Even now as Park finds the pieces of it all scattered and frayed with Shell’s silent betrayal, she sees the beauty in each and every one, too besotted with the finer details to bear looking at the bigger picture.

Shell is lying.

She knows, more certain than she has ever been of anything in her life. As the older woman climbs languid atop her narrow hips, smothered in perfume bergamot and liquorice, plum coloured lips close over her own in a lazy mimicry of a kiss. Helen parts open her mouth, as she had her legs countless times, like a good little protégé, showing her madam just what she’s learned. All for her. Tongue hot as she kisses back with hooded, half-open eyes, curling around Shell’s like a proclamation. I know what you are. I know what you’re doing.

(And do you know, how powerless I am to stop you? As if I’d even try?)

And Shell knows it too. In the dark of this Parisian hotel room, blinds drawn to cast away the world’s prying eyes, she can see it on the girl’s face plain as day. Sweet Helen is a pretty thing, much too clever for her own good, but wears her heart on her sleeve, with eyes as big and shiny as a doe’s- and now hunting season had come for her sweet girl, and how wide they had looked at Shell upon her return, hands smothered in blood. Blood that she hadn’t bothered to scrub, knowing Helen had likely smelled it coppery on the air when she’d walked in. Her fingers are still tinged pink with it, even as she traipses them up the girl’s waist, cupping the plush undersides of her breasts.

That is to say, Helen isn’t the best at hiding her expressions. It’s what Shell had loved about her. The shrill gasps when Shell would come up behind her, grasping her waist in lieu of a polite excuse me; the way she’d avert her eyes shyly when she’d caught hers across a room, crowded, empty; how she’d been so young when Shell had met her, blushing like a schoolgirl at the mere whisper of praise; and how when Shell had asked her but a month later if she’d ever been touched before- properly, darling girl, like a lover might- Helen had flushed red and bright as a virgin. Perhaps she had been, too proud to admit it. For a girl who is as sharp as a knife and twice as lethal, Shell had held in her hands a mourning dove, cooing softly in her palm, willing to piece together its nest there. Right there. With her.

Now, not so much. Her songbird doesn’t sing as she used to, her eyes parsing through the fog she’d been happy to let Shell pull over them. Helen sees her for what she is now, and they both know it.

It isn’t a strange thing, what she’s doing. Not at all irregular. It’s a gesture Shell had exercised over her innumerable times before, a kind of sordid foreplay, staking her claim over her. Shell’s hands lay flat upon Helen’s sternum, her heart thrumming steady but beating violent as a war drum; the older woman smiles- how well she’s taught her. Calm, girl, slow breaths. Don’t let them see you falter. Don’t let them feel you shiver. Don’t let them hear you breathe. In the face of fear, Helen had grown around herself flesh of stone, unyielding. That doesn’t change, not even around Shell.

But this isn’t a test. This isn’t one of her many lectures, her teachings. Very rarely does Madam Shell separate work from pleasure, seeing the two overlap rather conveniently; but for Helen she had all the time in the world. Perhaps not after tonight, given what they both know now. But pleasure is a special thing she keeps locked in a drawer for Helen to pry open and play in, rifle curious fingers through until they snag on something that piques her interest.

And yet it always ends the same way. Like this. The older woman atop her, faraway look in her eye, warbled smile on her lips. Hands around neck.

Her fingers slide slow, deft, thumb parted to curl her hand around the pale column of Helen’s throat. And she can do nothing but be still for her mentor, her lover, holding her breath in wide-eyed submission, a devotion that spoke beyond words, beyond meaning. A kind of reverence she knows only Shell would understand, a stillness like prey clutched within a lioness’ maw. Playing dead, prettily.

Shell’s eyes fix upon her, steel grey boring into vivid green, alight with something akin to amusement; in the daytime, Helen mistakes the glint for adoration, something like love, when she’s drunk enough on Shell’s affections to believe it.

Now, in the waning moon of their last night together- as they are, as they could have been, if only she didn’t know what she knows at the very pit of her being is true- she recognises the errant flicker for what it is. Kindling. A struck match, willing to burn it all down, even if it means taking sweet Helen with her. Her mourning dove. Cast to the fire like everything else. For a terrifying moment, Park isn’t even sure she’d much mind it at all. Ashes to ashes, as they say.

And as Shell squeezes her hand soft and gentle around her favourite girl’s neck, Helen surrenders her head against the pillow, spilling back with a moan shrill like a song. It’s the last time she knows she’ll ever sing for her again, so she makes sure it’s a good one.

[duskstarskies]

sooo happy how bbh has grown into his own person now… he grew his wings.! being a bbh fan in 2019 was like fighting a war everyday he was catching strays left and right. like it was so painful u couldnt watch his saturday munchymc streams without getting overwhelmed w how much bs was happening… or maybe that’s just yt chat. (dsmp twitch streams were meh) qsmp rlly got him to branch out and become like a better person who wasn’t attached to the sides of someone else. before, he always felt like he was either attached to skeppy or dream team and he wasn’t allowed to be his own person. and w dt, they always put him at the short end of the stick bc hes easiest to “get mad” which was :////. ik he was in on the memes and skeppy trolls but it gets to a point . idk. the fandom reaction around skephalo changed so drastically aswell i feel, it makes sense bcs 2019 they knew each other for around a year at that point (not that long + omg they did NOT establish boundaries w each other) vs now-ish where they play into it soooo much more. like so much…lowkey still can’t believe skephalo is just universally accepted as real. also very happy he finally dropped dream like bbh has been defending that freak (derogatory) since like 2016 MY MAN IS FREEEEEE

[astranauticus]

not sure if this counts as an AU but.. thinking about the Per Aspera crew as horror game bosses like.. you are wandering through a forested mountain range and you know somethings wrong because the forest shouldn't be this eerily silent, this devoid of life, and then you hear the crash of falling trees and there is a hand that is half your size glowing golden in the night and it is grabbing you and its claws are digging into your flesh and you see the spines running down the golden arm that is far too long as it lifts you over a crater in mountain, over a coiled, serpentine thing with a visage that is not of this world, and if you look closely you can see the shape of a child curled at the centre of the thing, golden hair reflecting the glow of the creature and if you listen closely you can hear her sobbing, 'Don't hurt me, I don't want to do this'. you are sailing through the astral sea when you see an ephemeral, resplendent spelljammer cutting through the starry waters and you rejoice because you have been lost on the seas for so so long, so you board the ship looking for help, supplies, anything, and you are greeted by a blue fire genasi (you wonder, do those even exist? but you can't get off the ship now because where else will you go?) and she tells you she is the captain of this ship but as far as you can tell there is no crew on board, and if she is not appearing right behind you from a trapdoor you've never noticed she is always in the engine room 'fixing the ship' even though the ship seems to be sailing perfectly fine ('Where are we going?' you ask her once and she doesn't even turn to look at you, 'Don't worry about it') and if you are ever so unlucky as to damage the ship in any way, you begin to catch flashes of red and orange out of the corner of your eye, a fire genasi wearing the woman's face who whispers at you with hollow, angry eyes 'Don't you fucking dare hurt my ship'. you are sailing through the astral sea when you see a rotting, decaying spelljammer, so badly damaged it's barely moving although you have to wonder how it's even staying afloat at all, and out of some morbid curiosity you climb on board and the deck of the ship is in no better shape than the hull, the marks of hard-fought battle - scars in the wood from sharp blades and arcane energies, stains of blood and oil splattered about - still fresh but you know time doesn't pass on the astral sea so who knows how long ago this all took place, and as you climb below decks you start to notice the writings on the walls, pieces of parchment nailed to every surface and connected with fraying, rotting threads, or words etched directly into the wood, the deep gouges barely readable, and you start to hear the creaking and clanking of rusted machinery slowly moving about and you turn a corner to see a figure standing in a room facing the wall, slowly scratching yet more of that unintelligible writing into the bones of the ship, and it turns as the rusted dented mechanite stares at you with eyes ablaze and he asks 'Who are you? Where is my crew?' as sparks of arcane lightning begins to arc through the room. you are running through a feywild forest and you know, even without the figure chasing you, that you have made a horrible mistake, you should have known better, should have been more careful, should have kept your impulses in check, and now you are being chased through an unfamiliar forest and the figure, the Hunter pursuing you knows this realm like the back of his hand, knows every tree and shrub and vine that is slithering up to grasp at your ankles, and you glance back desperately to catch any glimpse of your pursuer but there is no pursuer, he has hidden himself with some arcane trick or some innate power or just the knowledge that this realm is his home, and you hear his voice even though you cannot see him as he cries out 'You should not have hurt my family. Prepare to face the Hunter of Hundkiln'

sorry no Vhas yet maybe I'll update with one for him once we get more of his whole deal

[ceramicbeetle]

officially 10K into this fic and having a realization about where I'm at on characterization so far, so i'm wondering:

[pertinax--loculos]

A lil' excerpt, cuz why not?

This is the first scene from one of our main character's POVs, essentially the start of the story. At least, at the moment I'm thinking it will be the start of the story. With this WIP anything is kinda subject to change. 😅

Approximately 500 words. Enjoy! ^_^

It's cold, the kind of miserable cold you can only get in the city, and the drizzling rain looks like ash in my torchlight.

There’s not much ambient light around here. I know the area, at least vaguely, but the ballast slips beneath my boots and I’m hyperaware of the risk of turning an ankle. The last thing I need is an injury.

The weight of the pack on my shoulders doesn’t help. I direct the torch further down, stepping over the rusted rail and onto one of the sleepers, hoping for surer footing.

It’s a mistake; the wood is more even, but it’s slippery as ice, and I curse as my leg goes out from under me. I end up sprawled awkwardly on all fours,  rocks hard beneath my hands.

I take a breath and force myself to slow down. As much as I want to get this over with, rushing isn’t going to help.

By the time I get to my destination the drizzling rain has started to soak into my hoodie. So much for the waterproof claim. By the time I get back I’m going to be soaked.

It’s fine. Not the end of the world. I spotlight my steps as I make my way over a few more rails, to the edge of the corridor and the concrete wall that borders it.

To the right a mess of tags. A couple jump out at me; WORLD, WRL, SLINK. Familiar, but not what I’m looking for. Not like the tag dominating the bottom of the wall in front of me, bold and possessive, a statement as much as a signature.

MEZH

Above his tag is a mural. It’s hard to see in the darkness, difficult to grasp the entirety of the piece, but I’ve seen it in daylight. I know the green-grey arch, the brownish streak beside it, the orange and yellows and reds that make up the majority of the building.

It’s a picture of the outside of Flechers Street Station. A stylised representation of the artist’s home base.

Of the Artists’ home base.

I shrug the pack off my shoulders and redirect my torchlight. Paw through the cans inside, red, yellow, blue, searching for a colour with more contrast.

In the end I pull out the black can. A little basic, maybe, but it’ll suit my purposes.

I pop off the lid and give the can a shake. Then I stop, torch in one hand, spraycan in the other, looking up at Mezh’s mural.

This is it. The last chance to back out. The moment on the precipice before I step out into nothingness and take my chances with the freefall.

I close my eyes for a moment and picture the signature I’ve been working on. The lines of each letter, the slant of them, the fancy twist at the end that binds them all together. I remind myself that the letters are me now. That this is who I’m going to become.

Kat, Kat, Kat.

I step up to the mural, and begin my work.

[worldhell]

I want to write threads and I want to plot. Or I'm getting distant from my blogs again ... which I don't want to do I love writing oop

[greyedian]

.

[antennatoheaven]

just finished good omens season 2 and so far my thoughts are mostly that it felt a bit like i was watching someone’s fanfic (in the most neutral way possible)

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Okay I don't do this normally but out of curiosity, I looked at that guys' posts and yeah they're going around sealioning anyone who likes Dimitri being all like "how can you say Dimitri/AM is your favorite when you didn't play all the routes". Buddy it's called having preferences, subjectivity and opinion. I'm sure if we twist their behavior around back at them, they'll be like stop bothering us for liking Edel cause double standards is their bread and butter.

Yeah, I had taken a brief scroll through their blog the first time I saw them argue with Random about Claude because I had a pretty strong feeling that they were just another stan running around around against Rhea and Dimitri fans because I knew that person didn't follow Random when they started pulling the bad faith Claude takes.

I scrolled through a few posts before I was like yeah I'm not even gonna bother looking further because I could see all they were doing was arguing with people whose names I recognized, and the only people who ever do that are the stans. They also have absolutely nothing else but discourse on their blog.

It's crazy to me too, because I've seen those same Dimitri fans try to talk about anything else FE related and yet they still get pulled back into discourse. Like, I'm at the point where I believe everyone in that immediate group is just actively being stalked by the stans (and I recall one of them mentioning they are being stalked by them, but my guess is if one of them is, all of them are).

Also, the stans tend to pull the "you didn't play xyz route" when I'm quite certain most if not all of the Dimitri fans on Tumblr have at the very bare minimum watched the full route on YouTube of anything they didn't play. All these people have the information they need to know where they stand opinion-wise, and like you said, it's just... having an opinion. The stans have their opinions, we don't agree with them, and we don't engage with them unless they engage with us first.

Something I've noticed about the group of Dimitri fans that gets stans going after them is that it's always the stans who start it. They always respond to asks sent to those people. In other words they go onto those people's blogs, look at their posts/their replies to their anons, and start arguing at them over literally anything they say in thsoe ask responses.

Every single time I see a post reach my dashboard from any of those people (you might know the Faerghus/Dimitri group I'm talking about), it's always a stan going after them when they were just answering one of their own anons and posting something on their own blog. I'm sure there are people who think they engage in discourse too much, but they don't even start it. They get harassed and can't just blog in peace.

Unfortunately those same stans have been targeting Random as of late (and I've noticed it's more and more different ones so they're probably going after someone as soon as they notice their buddies are doing so) so it's not that surprising that they've taken notice of me since she and I interact regularly. They basically go through the chain of who interacts with who and try to start shit.

Oh nonnie honey, you better believe if even a single Dimitri fan did to them what they do to us, they'd be all over that and whining about it and posting callouts and shit.

I just want to be able to post whatever my feelings are about Dimitri without worrying that people will try to tear it down because "it's not about Edel-chan and it portrays Dimitri in a good light".

I've blocked every Edelstan I've come across but more of them keep popping up, so... I guess the blocking never ends. My block list is basically just Edelstans and bots at this point with few exceptions.

Funny how the stans don't block Dimitri fans who hate Edelgard to avoid seeing them (it's because they don't actually want to, because they want to argue), even though we're all over here trying to block them, but some of them block evade to keep going. Literally like Dimitri fans have tried to block them and move on, but they persistently find ways to keep harassing. And like I said, they go down the line, so eventually they'll just find every active Dimitri lover who posts about him and whine at them.