#i had this loosely in my head. so i had to ponder the details

[onthepyre]

my dear moot. so gallavich are fuckbuddies and the ian leaves and becomes an emt and then what??? how do they get back together? do they like. see each other in the couple years between because of mandy or other people or do they go no contact?? if it's no contact then why do they see each other again?? i desperately need to know. i'm invested in this au definitely more than i should be since i haven't even finished the show yet but like. it's amazing. i'm obssesed

omg hi!!!!!! thank you so so much for the question. i swear im still spinning this au around in my head ive just been so very preoccupied lately but i intend to write about that first night in the bar soon so keep an eye out for that. BUT! i will put the answer to this under a cut because it got longwinded.

so i want to start with why things fizzle out in the first place. they start up very much like canon gallavich - ian is ass over teakettle for mickey, and mickey, while definitely interested, isn't nearly as invested. things diverge from their canon characterization around the time of mick and svet's marriage. ian remains pissed, but rather than fucking off to the army, he stays - and it triggers his first major depressive episode.

and then mickey's like....... dude what the fuck is going on with you. because mickey, at this point, has bigger fucking fish to fry. instead of him being ian's main caretaker during this time it falls on the other gallaghers and mickey's just sort of around, in the periphery, and then when ian hits that manic upswing again, a LOT of the insane reckless shit he does is with or for mickey. but they never hit that deeper connection that we see gallavich develop in seasons 4/5 because they're just too fucking busy

so then ian quits work, and that's fine, but that means he and mickey dont really see much of each other anymore. they try to keep things up for a little bit, but it's just not really convenient since they aren't constantly in the same place, and so they're just kind of like, well whatever.

(they are both secretly very sad about this. but neither of them wants to come out and say that. so they just don't.)

and yeah, they do end up seeing each other a little, because ian and mandy are still friends, and she's probably so, SO tired of his bullshit, because he tells her all of these conflicting feelings he's having. she drops these stupid-obvious hints to mickey, but he's got a thick skull. so mostly she just pesters ian.

and then a little over a year goes by before the next major event - eventually they kind of put each other in the back of their minds, not really forgotten but not a main figure anymore. maybe ian gets a boyfriend, for real. but he still hasn't exactly nailed the balance of his meds, and though he doesn't experience the full spectrum anymore, there's definitely periods of time that...... aren't quite right. so he finds himself in one of those, and he gets off work and, well, that bar he used to work at is kind of close. and he kind of misses that messy thing he had going with mickey. and he drops in.

he gets more than a little tipsy at the bar, hanging around waiting for mickey to come in - and eventually he does. and ian isn't really sure how to approach this, but you know what always worked for him? starting a fight. so he does that. he calls mickey over, brings him outside, and just fucking. socks him in the face. and it does what ian wants it to! they beat the shit out of each other, take a little breather for mickey to ask what the fuck that was about, and in response, ian kisses him. they barely make it inside before their pants are off.

but ian, for the most part at least, has his life on track right now. he can't get involved in organized crime, he's a fucking emt. he has shit to be doing. his brother's a cop, even if a corrupt one. so he leaves that night, as much as it pains him, and puts it in the past. for a bit.

but FUCK! it hurts more this time. it SUCKS, suddenly, very badly. he wants nothing more than to go back again and apologize and start over, start it again the right way. and though ian loves mandy, he doesn't really trust her judgement on this specific thing. so he confides in lip. lip says, no dude, you did the right thing. don't spend more time around them than you need to. and ian takes that advice! for a little while.

another ten months goes by. it's been two years - two years! - since they had a regular thing going. and really? they're still stuck on each other. mickey very nearly reaches out a few times, but svet worries they'd be spending too much time with the gallaghers. and mickey trusts her.

thing is? yev's a clumsy kid. when he's about three, mickey turns his back for all of ten seconds and yev pulls a pot of boiling water down from the stove - and onto himself. it only really gets his arm, but it's a LOT of his arm, and naturally, mickey freaks the fuck out! and like, ive mentioned this offhand before, but he and svet are STUPID protective over their boy. like, would kill for him protective. so he calls 911. guess who shows up?

ian. of course it's ian. so they treat yev and get everything sorted out, but fuck, if watching mickey be a good dad isn't, for some fucking reason, the hottest thing ian's ever seen. and he misses him! by this point, he misses him so goddamn bad. can't get mickey out of his head. so he says, hey, you still have my number. give me a call in a couple days, let me know how yev's doing. i can come check on him, change the bandages.

and mickey calls him that night, actually. ian's like, did something happen, is yev okay? and mickey says, yeah he's fine. do you want to get dinner. and ian says yes, jesus christ, please.

and they're like, actually pretty normal from then on out. they remain ian and mickey, so of course there's ups and downs. but they're ian and mickey again.

[mokokone]

Hello!

Can you do a Kusuriuri x Kitsune! Fem! Reader. Where the reader loves to tease him and prank him.

Thank you <3 ❤️

Author's preface: Kitsunes are known for their mischievous nature and love of playing tricks on humans. These mythical creatures have the ability to shape-shift into different forms, often using their powers to deceive unsuspecting individuals. Despite their playful antics, kitsunes are also seen as wise and intelligent beings in Japanese folklore. Their cunning ways make them both feared and respected in traditional stories and legends.

Word Count: 1196

Trickster [Medicine Seller/Kusuriuri x FemKitsune!Resder]

Kusuriuri stood, pondering for a moment. His piercing cerulean gaze scanned the room, taking in every detail.

Something was amiss.

His Akumabarai (exorcism) sword was missing. He could have sworn he left it sitting on the coffee table.

Surely, the small blade couldn't have flown away. Every corner and crevice was scrutinized, but the sword was nowhere to be found. Kusuriuri's mind raced with questions—who could have taken it? And for what nefarious purpose?

"(Y/n)?" He suddenly called.

 After a moment, a young female poked her head through the shoji. Her hair was a beautiful color of (h/c), falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Her eyes, a vibrant shade of (e/c), sparkled with curiosity. However, the most unique thing about her appearance was that she had fox ears and a bushy fox tail.

Her fox ears twitched slightly as she looked at her master with a sense of curiosity.

"Yes, what is it, master?" You asked.

"Have you seen my sword?" Kusuriuri asked you as you stepped into the room, watching his eyes scan the space in search of the missing weapon.

"No... Why?" you inquired, feigning innocence as you tried to suppress a mischievous grin.

In truth, you knew exactly where it was. After all, you were the one who hid it, as well as a few other items of his.

Though you didn't really have a good reason for doing so, you were just bored and thought it'd be funny to see how long it would take him to notice.

As you watched him search, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for playing this prank on him.

"Hmm, I can’t find it.” He tossed the pillow he had been looking under back down on the sofa. "I'm also missing several of my ofuda as well as some incense from my medicine box." He adds.

“Really? How strange..." You say, hiding a smirk. "Well, I'm sure it'll turn up soon, master.” you tell him before turning on your geta to leave.

“Hopefully...” You hear him murmur, unaware that he had watched you leave.

“Where? Where is it?”

. . . . .

Later that evening, you heard your master sigh in frustration. There was no doubt he was starting to lose his patience.

You poke your head in the doorway again. “What is it now?” You wondered which item he was looking for now.

But, you knew.

Not long after you hid his sword, you also took and hidden his Shunga (Japanese erotic art) picture book.

“Now, I can't find my Shunga magazine,” he answered.

You couldn't help but grimace. “Why do you even look at such gross things?” you scoffed. "It's just a book filled with gross images of women having intercourse with gross men."

Kusuriuri snorts. “Ha, it's entertaining.”

'You ought to be glad I didn't burn it instead of hiding it, you pervert,' you inwardly thought to yourself before giving a smile.

“You've been misplacing a lot of your stuff lately, master," you teased. "I never thought you'd be so irresponsible with your things."

"I am not, my dear," he protested. "I am very responsible. I need my Akumabarai sword and ofuda to fight against malevolent mononoke. I would never be so careless as to lose such important items," He huffs.

"It’s like my stuff is just...disappearing. Almost as if someone has taken them." He adds.

You almost felt a shiver run down your spine when he catches your gaze and could only hope he didn't know. Nevertheless, you shook it off and opted to tease him some more.

"Aww, poor master," you fake-sympathize, a mischievous glint in your eye as you watch him sulk his shoulders. "Perhaps your things have had enough of you and just ran away," you snicker.

"Haha, very funny," he chides. "Look, if you're not going to help, then just go away."

You pout. "Rude!" You stuck your tongue out at him before leaving.

You failed to notice the angry red mark on Kusuriuri's head as blue eyes eyed you both skeptically and intently.

. . . . .

That night, you decided to keep the prank going. Once you made sure Kusuriuri was out of sight, you snuck into his room and opened his medicine box. This time you were going to take and hide one of his Kenshutsu (scales).

You hurried down the engawa to hide it in the garden under a rock. However, before you could, you yelped upon feeling a hand grab your tail.

“Where are you off to, (Y/n)?” Kusuriuri asked.

You sweated nervously, attempting to hide the kenshutsu inside your kimono before turning to face him.

“Um...n-nowhere, master,” You stammered.

Kusuriuri eyed you suspiciously. "Was that one of my kenshutsu?" He asked. "And were you about to hide it in the garden?"

“W-what? N-no way…” You lied, giving him an innocent look.

However, Kusuriuri saw through your lie. After all, he too knows how feels to be a sly fox.

"So, it was you all along," he said, his tone accusatory.

Welp, now you’re caught red-handed! You’re toast. It was nice while it lasted. You didn’t even try to plead your innocence; you just grinned warily at him with a nervous chuckle.

“You little minx,” He quickly pulled you forward, making you shriek as he then grabbed your sides.

“K-Kusuriuri, I mean, master, wait! No, please, I can explain!” You cry out.

Kusuriuri was merciless as he started tickling you, his fingers digging into your sides, making you squeal.

"This is what you get for hiding my stuff." He smiled menacingly.

You doubled over, trying desperately to get away from him. “Ahhhaaahaa, I'm sorry! P-please, have mercy! Hahahahaha~!”

“Tell me where you put everything and I'll let up," he demanded.

“Ack! I’m sorry!”

"Sorry doesn't tell me where you hid my things,” Kusuriuri said, now switching to tickling you under your arms.

With that, you completely lost it! It was painful as you squealed and tried to push him away. You're the one who got yourself into this mess, so you had no choice but to come clean.

“Fine! Your sword is in the kitchen cabinet, and your Shunga magazine is inside the hallow of the cherry blossom tree outside." You confessed, desperate for your torture to cease.

“And?” He prompted, tickling your tummy.

Your laughter was so loud and desperate now that tears were beginning to leak from your eyes. "A-and I promise not to take your stuff without permission. I-I..AHaha..was just bored.”

Kusuriuri's expression soften. He was pleased that you finally came clean as he finally stopped tickling you, much to your absolute relief. But he still opted to tease you.

“Good girl."

Jerk.

Your face was flushed from laughing in pain as you glared daggers at him.

"I'll forgive you this time, but no more pranks, ok?"

You stuck out your tongue at him. “You suck, master Kusuriuri.”

He merely shrugged his shoulders as he walked off to retrieve his stuff. “Not my fault. You deserved it,” he said, but then stopped and glanced back at you.

"Y'know, if you ever get bored again, feel free to come to me. I'm always up for some fun.♡" He smirks devilishly while winking at you.

It took you awhile, but you quickly caught on of what it is he's implying as your face flushed red.

[beheadeddemon]

I saw the comments you left under some of my posts and I love them. Do you have any more Talia and Brutalia headcanons?

I always do!! And I will be posting tons of hcs as I post my writings and art here down the line. I come up with them on a whim usually so I’ll just say the ones I’ve been pondering lately!

Also, I’m so sorry if I was spamming you 😭 I was scrolling Brutalia tag in the middle of the night and didn’t realize that like half the most recent posts were you!!

To start, I’ve been thinking about the Lazarus pits a lot lately. Especially everything between Talia and Nyssa, and the effects and details of her brainwashing. It is a confusing timeline that I’m trying my hardest to piece together, but it seems like DC has sort of just pushed that to the back of their minds? Which is unfortunate, honestly, because if they wanted a true villain Nyssa would have been the clear answer. Instead, we ended up with evil Talia for seemingly no reason… until that black Pearl stuff showed up, and then also disappeared.

The timeline I’ve pieced together, loosely, is made with an effort to stay as true to canon as possible while also keeping away from the extremely ooc writing. I want to find a way to keep in that brief moment of freedom she had when she was running LexCorp, as well as her journey toward becoming a mother. Which I will detail a bit now, because I love to think of Talia’s relationship with motherhood!

Talia has always loved children dearly. However, the idea of being a mother herself was always sort of scary. She’d lost her own mother when she was young, and never really had a clear example of how to mother a child aside from distant memories. (I can detail my hcs about her relationship with her mother soon as well, bc those are some that I hold close to my heart.)

It wasn’t until she’d been with Bruce for a while and spent enough time around Jason that she began to feel that ‘maternal pang’ so to speak. Jason is such a bright eyed child with so much potential, and each moment she’s spent around him she only seems to like him more and more. Bruce tells her not to spoil him so much but she can’t help it! Her relationship with Bruce and Jason give her a small amount of hope for a more normal life away from the league, though she is not yet at the stage where she would be able to fully leave her father.

When Jason died, it hit her like a truck. She’d distanced herself from Bruce at that time, thinking that her presence would only cause more trouble for them if the rest of the league suspected her of defecting. So she hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye, or try to make things right. She brings him back for Bruce’s sake, but for her sake as well. She would have ordered the Jokers head if she could have, but she couldn’t directly cross Bruce in such a way. If Jason’s death would ever be avenged, she knew he’d have to do it himself.

Talia doesn’t just raise him from the dead and train him right away. She spends a long time nursing him back to health, taking baby steps with him. She has some of the best doctors in the world taking care of him, and when he shows the signs of being ready, then she starts his training. She doesn’t train him with hopes that he will be a killing machine. She tries to teach him responsibility, and good judgement. She tries to right the wrongs that have been committed against him as much as she can. And then he’s gone.

This is where the timeline is a bit iffy. I’m wondering if Damian would have been born at that time or not? Would he have been incredibly young? In my head, it does make sense for him to be born by then. Talia distances herself from Bruce and Jason not only for their safety, but because of the series of miscarriages she’d had in her effort to have a child with Bruce. All were kept a secret from him, except the first. She was ashamed and depressed for so long because of it. After a few tries, she’d gotten desperate enough to run back to her father for help. The Lazarus helped her birth Damian, a perfectly healthy baby, finally. But with everything that happened, it felt unfair to return to Bruce with a baby out of nowhere.

I could sit here and ramble about this for hours and hours but I’m unfortunately very busy today. Please stay tuned and I’ll continue with more of these ramblings when I can. Thank you for asking! Please give your opinions on what I’ve written, because none of my hcs are set in stone and I would love to hear if I’ve gotten something completely wrong. Although it should absolutely be noted that the version of Talia I’m writing isn’t directly related to canon. :)

[equinox-86]

Where Yui makes an appearance.

OH BOY, I DROPPED MORE L O R E

Yui and Noctis co-exist in my story.

This chapter takes place in More Blood in the Maniac phase at the Mukami Mansion, and it is the first time Noctis ever showed weakness towards a vampire.

This post explains Noctis' motive in more detail, how Yui affects the story and why she isn't staying with any of the vampires.

Noctis was sent to the Sakamaki Mansion instead of Yui as part of the plan that would stop women to be sacrificed to the vampires, plus to gain the Sakamaki brother's as allies in order to assassinate Karlheinz, but this plan had another motive.

Seiji Komori could not bear the thought of sacrificing Yui, his beloved adoptive daughter whom he took care of ever since she was a child, to the vampires and he decides to sacrifice someone he has no attachment to, in order to protect her. That someone was Noctis, who was lectured by the vampire hunters in preparation for her mission. Unlike Yui, she experienced the worst of the world and was ideal to handle the job.

Before her absence, Yui told Noctis that she would miss her and asked her about where she was moving out to. Noctis didn't know much, but vaguely recalled the direction and city name she's been told. Yui promised to visit her one day and that's where the vampire hunter's plan almost failed.

After Subaru destroyed Noctis' phone, she was unable to stay in contact with Yui to warn her not to come to the Sakamaki Mansion should she find its location. That was the least of her current worries, as she was busy trying to survive in HDB, and she eventually forgot about it. Fortunately, she managed to get a new phone at some point.

In More Blood, Noctis was kidnapped by the Mukami brothers. During her stay, she didn't expect Yui to text her saying that she would come visit her. Apparently she was so worried about Noctis that she was begging the church staff to give hints about her location. Hearing about the news, Noctis bolted out of the Mukami mansion, not letting anything or anyone stop her from reaching Yui before she sets a foot to the Sakamaki Mansion.

As she arrived, she spotted Ayato in the front gate pinning Yui against a wall, but he quickly notices an out-of-breath Noctis with a panicked expression on her face. She went between them and tried to pry Ayato away from her, however he didn't let loose and says that he will drink Yui's blood for avoiding him. Suddenly, Noctis started to beg Ayato to let go and suck her blood instead. This caught him off guard, but he didn't go along with her request until Noctis was desperately begging him to, even going so far to adress him as "Ayato-Sama".

Noctis is aware about Cordelia's heart in Yui' body. If Ayato was to get a single drop of blood from Yui, the vampire hunter's plan would fail, as Ayato will become obsessed with Yui's blood to the point he wouldn't let go and eventually turn her into a vampire. This in turn would cause Yui to get disowned and killed by her father, which is something Noctis doesn't want to happen to her friend, hence why she decides to do EVERYTHING to prevent that from happening.

Yui now watched in horror as Noctis gets tormented by pain as her blood was getting sucked from her neck. Witnessing this, Yui learns the truth about what her friend has been up to that past month.

Eventually Noctis safely escorts Yui back to the church and warns her to never set foot to that place again. Their little reunion gets interrupted by Seiji Komori pointing a gun at Noctis and pulling Yui to his side. He describes her as being corrupted by the vampires from head to toe and ponders if he made the right choice choosing Noctis for this mission as he gets the impression that she has submitted to them based on the bite marks all over her body and the lack of report from her progress (due to the broken phone).

Yui panicks and tries to convince him not to shoot, but he was set on killing her. Noctis was able to convince Seiji not to shoot her in front of her friend - his daughter and questions if he can bear the thought of being responsible for causing Yui to witness her friend's death.

Realizing this, he lowers the gun and lets Noctis off, but he promises to find and kill her later. The scene ends with Yui getting dragged off to safety by her father as Noctis leaves the church without looking back. It has become clear that this may be the last time they'll ever see each other.

That night, Yui prays for her safety.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Loving Her Was Red

Summary: Lois Drake an SOE from England didn't expect to fall in love, she didn't want to but there was something about the blushing, red-headed officer that melted her cold exterior. But war is no place for love and can they endure. Warnings: implied sexual images, swearing, Lois and Nix being sassy.

Love From R

Dick groaned as he rolled over, his back sore and his legs aching as his blurry eyes adjusted to the ceiling above him. It wasn’t the ceiling he normally woke up to. The familiar plain white ceiling of the house he was billeted in was gone. Its wake was a lavishly painted ceiling with Greek figures strewn across it. As Dick’s eyes adjusted to his surroundings he noticed the ruffled bed covers across his naked frame and the remnants of his dress uniform was discarded across the floor. There was a note on the bedside table with his name inscribed and he reached over to grab it.

“I had a lot of fun last night.

I hope to see much more of you Dick Winters.

R”

“R,” Dick spoke softly, pondering over the name R. “I thought her name was Lois,” Dick scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe I did have too much to drink after all.”

Dick dressed quickly and hurried out of the unknown hotel room, oblivious to his disheveled hair and loose tie, as he desperately tried to keep his now buttonless shirt closed as he hurried for a bus.

==================================

He never done the walk of shame before. He’d seen Lewis do it enough times but had never himself experienced the humiliation. Clearly Easy Company had never seen him this embarrassed either and they seemed to line the path of the camp to watch as he hurried towards the officers billet. Calls and whoops from his men followed him as he slammed the wooden door behind him and sighed.

“Well, well, well Dickie. You look like you had a good night,” Lewis called from his spot lead across Dick’s bed. Harry Welsh was sat on the other side sniggering to himself as Winters glared at them.

“Don’t say anything,” he snapped, moving towards his wardrobe and changing quickly into his PT hear to join the other men.

“Oh come on Dick. I need all the details. What is the infamous Lois Drake like in bed?” Dick opened his mouth to silence the pair when a familiar feminine voice spoke, “well Nixon, wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dick spun around so quickly he nearly toppled into Lewis, his face an imagine of horror.

“Lois,” he croaked, his voice cracked and dry as he all but wheezed her name.

She just smiled, “glad to see I still have that effect on you, Lieutenant.”

Dick straightens his tie, standing a little taller, “what brings you hear? I thought you were heading straight back to London.”

“Plans change,” she grinned at him, “and I have a meeting with Lieutenant Nixon. All the SOE’s working with the 101st have been sent to the base today to meet with the intelligence officers and to start formulating plans. My fellow SOE, Kate, has been assigned to Fox Company. We each have a company to work alongside so I’m sure, as I am with Easy, that I’ll be seeing a lot of you Dick.”

Dick nodded, his cheeks flushing a bright shade of red, “well then… I-i cannot wait to work with you in the future,” Dick stumbled over his words before excusing himself and leaving Lois alone with Lewis, who only smirked.

“Does Dick often act like this around women?”

“Oh all the time but you’re the first one he actually went to bed with. Normally he just blush profusely and makes awkward chit chat until he can leave.”

“How do you know we slept together?” Lois protested, knowing that Winters was not the kind of man to make such ideal gossip.

“Dick is never late to anything and this morning he was late, without proper attire and sporting a love bite that he did not have last night. It doesn’t take a genius to piece that together,” Lewis smiled smugly as if he’d just cracked the Enigma Code.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Lieutenant. Cockiness is not becoming and you are far from a genius so I wouldn’t expect you to figure it out,” Lois clicked her heels together as she turned. “Shall we head to the meeting?”

Lewis grumbled under his breath before following after Lois in defeat.

==================================

Lois' fingers drummed impatiently against the hard wooden desk, her eyes scanning over the officers as they waited to start the meeting. Dick gave her a sympathetic smile from his seat next to Nixon that she didn't reciprocate, her mind too focused on the embarrassment of her friend's lateness.

Colonel Sink, noticing the anxiety in the room spoke up, "Captain Drake, could we start the meeting without Sergeant Blythe?"

Lois sighed, "I apologise for my friend's tardiness but she will be here, I assure you."

Right on time the door flew open with a loud bang, ricocheting on its hinges. Kate burst into the room, her hair loose from its normally neat curls and her lipstick a little smudged at the corner of her mouth.

"Kate Blythe," Lois stood up, hastily making her way over to her friend, "It's nice of you to join us."

"Sorry, I'm late," Kate mumbled, her eyes glancing over the officers, sending Dick a quick grin.

"I'm so sorry for this gentlemen but could we reconvene in ten minutes?" She pushed Kate outside.

Dick watched as Lois spoke fervently to her fellow SOE officer, her arms waving frantically as she berated her but soon softening. He couldn’t help but admire her, the way she seemed to embrace power and excel in her position but also show her softer side.

Lewis cleared his throat beside him, digging his elbow in Dick’s ribs, causing him to flinch. Harry and Buck who sat opposite them shared a cheeky smile and Dick found himself blushing again. He didn’t think he could stand any further embarrassment today.

“You’re staring again, Dick. You’ve got it bad,” Lewis jested, sniggering as he whispered in his ear. Dick just batted him away, sighing when Harry leant across the table and asked when the wedding was.

“Will you call just shut it, please. We’re in a meeting for Pete's sake.”

“Whatever you say, Dick,” the men replied but continued their silent conversation with the occasional glances and sniggers.

The door swung back on its hinges again, screaming in protest as the two women entered.

“Sorry about the delay gentlemen. Are we ready to begin?” Lois strode across the room, taking the spare seat beside Dick with a smile. It was then that Dick Winters knew he was in trouble.

==================================

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @bucky32557038ww2 @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt @samwinchesterslostshoe

[nczaversnick]

Writerly Questionnaire

Thanks to @willtheweaver for the tag!

How long have you had you’re writing tumblr/writblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I’ve been here only, like, two months I think? Which is kinda crazy honestly.

What led you to create it?

I find it’s so much easier to get excited about my writing when other people are excited too. Besides I’m the face of this operation for Project Gemini and after years of failure on Instagram I gave up for several years until my roommate pointed out that I might actually like being on tumblr and I figured it deserved a fair try.

What’s your favorite thing about the community?

I love how excited everyone is about everyone else’s projects. It kinda blows my mind

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

I will answer literally any question to the best of my ability.

Also, to those of you who are big fans of specific characters (I’m talking about you @honeybewrites and @the-letterbox-archives ), I fucking love that you have a favorite. Mine and Rachelle’s favorite is Adrian, her second favorite is Iris and my second favorite is the guards talking about chili cheese fries in the middle of the big climax of Book 1. They don’t have names but they’re in every draft

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Nothing comes to mind

WIP

Which WIP are you noodling about lately?

Well, I’ve only got the one, Project Gemini. We’re working on detailing the outline to break down what happens in each chapter. But while that’s been happening, while I’m at work I’ve been pondering what Adrian would be like in the Arc of a Scythe universe

How long have you been working on them?

I had the initial idea roughly.. 15 years ago I think? The first draft was written 10 years ago. I’m currently on draft 5 or, really, draft 1 of version 3

Do you remember what inspired them/ what got you started?

When I was 8 years old a friend of mine on the playground offhandedly made a comment some kind of magical being that was half ice and half fire. And it just stuck.

When someone asks “what do you write about?” What do you say?

Queer people overthrowing the government what else would I write about?

What do you want to say (if it’s different from what you do say)?

I think I was pretty clear the first time lol

Let’s rotate Blorbos

Name any character you’ve created, and I mean any:

Listen I’ve been writing for over a decade. There’s no way I’ll get everyone. So here’s several:

Caspian, Adrian, Aurelia, Iris, Mason, Quinn, Athena, Lucia, Resin, Filick, Nic, Weston, Atlas, Flynn, Jacob, Lily, Audrey, Micah, Ikaris, Faldris, Helvar, Mara, Flynn, Atlas’s, Dimitri, Cyrus, Jaron, Abraxis

Who’s the most unhinged:

Good lord who even knows?

Who comes most naturally to write:

Definitely Nic or Adrian, as they’re both the oldest

Do you ever cringe at them:

Sometimes, especially those early versions of Adrian

How much control do you feel you have over them? Aka do they ever “write themselves” or refuse to cooperate or do thing you don’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

Oh I don’t have any. Rachelle doesn’t understand when I say things like “I won’t know the answer to that until the little Iris in my brain bother to tell me”

Some are more cooperative than others, I feel like Aurelia is always around sometimes. Mason is impossible. He’s uncooperative both in my head and in the story, which unfortunately is very on brand for him. But it also means I know basically nothing about him right now.

To get around this I tend to write snippets that sort of circle around the actual question I want answered until I manage to get it

Do you enjoy people asking about your characters? And do you have a preferred method of receiving said questions?

Do I enjoy what is probably my favorite kind of interaction of all time?

And no I don’t have a preference.

On Writblr Engagement

What makes you want to follow another writeblr account?

Good vibes. I usually check out anyone who follows me anyway

What makes you decide against following?

Besides the obvious answer of discrimination and bigotry, the answer is also vibes. If you fail the vibe check, I won’t follow.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Oh yeah all the time. I keep forgetting that some people are mutuals and some aren’t lol

Tagsss:

@honeybewrites @wyked-ao3 @kittrrrr @zackprincebooks @fractured-shield @theverumproject @the-letterbox-archives @the-golden-comet @poppycat-writes @davycoquette @moltenwrites @finickyfelix @kuebiko-writing @illarian-rambling @yourpenpaldee

[tarnishedinquirer]

Summonwater Village

Headed back towards the Third Church, I passed a cemetery. I found myself wondering why it would be placed right alongside a road, or why would a road pass right through a cemetery?

I pondered this question while I stood there waiting for the skeletons to finish dragging themselves out of the earth so I could send them right back there. This was getting predictable.

After taking care of that, I walked over to the ocean cliff and just stared out to the inland sea. I wasn't looking for anything. But I found an anomaly nonetheless when it occurred to me that the horizon was too close. It then occurred to me that the horizon did not take up the entire horizon. Ergo, that could not be the horizon. Even with my spyglass, the inland sea was too foggy to see any details, but it appeared the ocean just... dropped off. Like a cliff.

I would call it impossible, but my opinion of what is and isn't possible has become a lot more fluid since arriving here.

On my return, I found a strange man standing over the corpse of a butchered traveler in an olive cloak. His armor was stylized to look like he had a conjoined twin and he constantly cradled it in his arms like he did. He introduced himself as D, hunter of the dead, (note: profile) and warned me away from the village up ahead because it was "touched by death" and a "mariner" lurked there. I thanked him for the warning and immediately resolved to ignore it.

D let me examine the body. The victim had a collar made of thorns wrapped around his neck. It reminded me of the Shield of the Guilty, and it too was made in silver and gold, like D's armor and blade. I realized it was also worn by many of the crucifixion victims scattered around this region. I asked D straight-up if he killed this man. He said no, but then felt the need to elaborate. "It was his sins that killed him."

Well, seems I had found my holy warrior. Holy does not necessarily mean sane.

As I approached the village, the first thing I saw was a giant bulb of that same grey root I saw in the Tombsward Catacombs. D said something about "pruning Deathroot," and I guess this must be what he was talking about.

The town was filled with graves and sinking into water. There seems to be a loose association between water and death, which may explain D's warning about a "mariner." There's also an association between swamps and St. Trina's Lilies, and I found several around the borders of the water.

I caught a brief glimpse of the Mariner before he vanished. Just as my spell would have struck him. He didn't go far though, and with a relentless barrage of Glintstone Pebbles I managed to keep him off-balance enough he didn't teleport again. The mariner played his horn and summoned skeletons to his defense and tried to drive me off by splashing me with waves of water, but it was useless. I defeated him pretty easily. D's warnings seemed overblown.

The first thing it dropped were spirit ashes of Skeletal Militiamen. The voice informed me that this is the fate of all who come in contact with Deathroot.

The first thing it dropped was a living bulb of Deathroot. Or as much as such a thing can be living. The voice had a lot of very interesting things to say.

A source that gives rise to Those Who Live in Death. The beast clergyman, found at Bestial Sanctum in the distant east, collects and devours these roots. On the night of the dire plot the stolen Rune of Death enabled the first Death of a demigod. Later, the Rune of Death spread across the Lands Between through the underground roots of the Greattree, sprouting in the form of Deathroot.

First off: A source. Not the source. So there might be other sources.

Second part I'll skip for now.

The third point I had to compare to my notes. Some of this was already in my death-dream, my first encounter with the Voice. Filling in some details here:

On the Night of Black Knives, Godwyn (note: profile) was the first Demigod to perish. This was made possible by the stolen Rune of Death. This event led to the Deathroot (a manifested form of the Rune of Death) spreading across the Lands Between, using the same network of Greattree roots that once absorbed the bodies of the dead.

Still just a small piece of the puzzle.

The second thing it dropped was some spirit ashes

This is the grotesque fate of those who come into contact with Deathroot.

I almost dropped the bulb when the voice said that, but I was somewhat reassured by the fact that I just don't die like a normal person anymore. I doubt any affliction could survive the complete reconstruction of my body via Grace. Still, I sealed it in a specimen jar for safekeeping.

D appeared shortly thereafter to both scold and congratulate me. He then pointed me towards Gurranq to dispose of the Deathroot, and it was not surprising that it was a portal just behind the Third Church. I'll head out there once I'm done here.

One interesting tidbit he dropped is that he found the "Mark of the Centipede" here, and that it's a symbol that "should not be." If the symbol of the centipede is so anathema to the Golden Order, especially the bone-botherers of the Hunters, why do they also keep centipedes as a fetish? Why would they be associated with Godfrey in the Church of Pilgrimage?

I did not find the mark of the centipede, but I did find the mark of the turtle. It was locked behind a stonesword barrier, surrounded by turtles, with even more turtles underground. Interestingly, this turtle shrine was the only part of the village that was not sinking into the mire. Could turtles be some sort of ward? The turtle talisman itself has the roots of the Greattree on its back.

The Voice had this to say:

Turtles are known as a nutritious ingredient, symbolic of inexhaustible power. However, those who hold turtles to be wise creatures consider the practice of eating their meat to be barbarous.

Is the Turtle a ward against death?

Why do the Hunters hold centipedes as a fetish yet also see it as anathema?

What is the relationship between death and water?

Why did Godwyn's death cause the Rune of Death to spread?

[fieldofdaisiies]

gwyn x balthazar | 2,9k words | warnings: none | masterlist

"They weren't too happy, but they also did not seem too appalled." Balthazar leans his head against the stone fence encircling the roof top training pitch. 

"Which is good," Gwyn answers, her hand in his. 

Gods, has she anticipated this moment for so long. The High Lord and Cassian wouldn't shut up and kept Balthazar downstairs for what felt like ages. But finally their meeting had come to an end, and he walked up to the rooftop to meet her. They chose to meet here because leaving the House of Wind is still difficult for Gwyn. Going up to the rooftop and sitting in the warm sunlight seemed like a great idea. And it truly is. Everything feels perfect in this moment. 

"I only hope they'll follow my orders and do as told, and not act up the first day they have to do chores." He turns his head, looking at Gwyn who has her face turned skywards, her eyes closed. The sun's strays fall upon her face, making her skin glow. 

"I'll come and punch them all if they cause you trouble." Her lips form a delicate grin and for a second her mouth is everything Balthazar can think about. He chuckles lowly, but his attention is elsewhere, not on what Gwyn said. 

Gods, what would he give to kiss her right then and there. But they do this at her pace, and her pace only. And sitting here, holding hands with her is also close to absolute perfection. 

The young Illyrian keeps his eyes on her, watching her, how the sun makes her skin sparkle. How adorable and delicate the dusting of freckles all over her face looks.

His eyes brush her lips again, and nervousness bubbles up inside of him. He has never kissed a female — what if he will do anything wrong? He technically does not know how kissing works.

What does he have to do? What will his hands do? What will his lips do? When will he breathe? What if he makes a fool out of himself?

"How…how was your evening with your friends?" Balthazar asks, his voice a little shaky. He remembers that before he left on Sunday, they had arranged this sleepover, so why not ask about it, right?

"It was lovely!" Gwyn lowers her head and turns to look at Balthazar who is already looking at her. "We had so much fun and talked about anything and everything." Including you, Gwyn thinks but leaves out that detail. "Do you also have sleepovers with your friends?"

Balthazar chuckles a little, then laughs louder, and shakes his head. "I technically only have one friend, but we've never done a sleepover. Maybe I should suggest it to him."

"You should!" Gwyn grins, her eyes sparkling like the sea when the sun's strays touch it. For a second, Balthazar forgets how to breathe, every rational thought leaving his brain, his mind going blank. He swallows thickly, and brings the hand that is not holding Gwyn's up so he can brush his hair back. 

Gwyn's eyes follow the movement. 

Then he looses a long breath. "You have been so honest with me the other day, I also want to tell you more about myself."

Balthazar looks at Gwyn, relishing in seeing her so at ease, so comfortable, so happy and excited for what he has to say. Her hair is down, her teal eyes aglow – she is stunning and Balthazar has to swallow around the lump in his throat before he can continue.

“Anything special you want to know?” Balthazar asks, smiling cheekily.

“Well, what is your greatest secret, Lord Balthazar.” A teasing glint appears in the priestess’ teal eyes when she poses her question.

“My greatest secret, Lady Gwyneth?”

Rosy splotches appear on her cheeks and she gives her head a tiny nod. Balthazar pretends to ponder, but he actually knows what his greatest secret is. Something that suddenly seems so embarrassing, yet has not bothered him that much in the past years. Now it does, because what will this secret make him look like? 

Will she believe him to be a loser? A late bloomer? 

No, Gwyn is different, she would not judge him.

His eyes downcast and fiddling with his fingernails, colour blooms high on Balthazar’s cheeks. 

"I have not,” —momentarily Balthazar’s eyes move to Gwyn before he looks past her— "yet been intimate with a female. Nor even kissed anyone yet.”

Gwyn’s eyes widen at his statement, more about his honesty. But then also in utter surprise. This is male, this glorious, charming, stunning and polite male has not been kissed yet?

Gwyn is more than flabbergasted, lips parting a little.

“You are allowed to laugh, Gwyneth,” Balthazar says, smiling and staring at the priestess’ speechless expression.

“Who would not want to kiss you?!” The words leave her mouth before she can comprehend what she has just said. Her already big eyes going even wider, Gwyn shakes her head, and blushes bright red from her cleavage up to the top of her head.

“I did not mean it like that. I meant who would want to kiss you? Right?” And then…Gwyn’s mouth has once again been faster than her brain. 

Balthazar roars a laugh, throwing his head back. “Thank you, Gwyneth.” “That was not what I meant,” Gwyn stutters, a grimace grazing her beautiful face. She furrows her brows when a kernel of shame blooms in her chest. “I meant…I don’t understand how you haven’t been kissed yet. You are so kind. And charming, and sweet. And good-looking.” "Gwyn…" Balthazar says, but she stops him.

"Is there a reason for it?" Gwyn's brows furrow. 

Balthazar wants to shake his head but stops himself. "I don't know." His is calm after that and Gwyn's knows there is more to it than he shares. 

"You don't have to tell me." He knows this. And smiles at her, nothing but understanding and sympathy in her eyes. 

"I guess," he starts and swallows. "I guess, I was always afraid I will become like my father, and I never wanted any female to endure this. I've never had real crushes, maybe I found someone attractive, but…" He draws in a deep breath.  

"I always kept the thought about how my father was in the foreground of my mind. I've never allowed myself to imagine myself in a relationship, because whenever I did, I only saw my father and how he treated my mother. There has never been a female I felt it was worthy for to face those fears." He wipes his hand over his nose. "But, then you stepped foot into my life, and suddenly I saw a future where I would not become like my father, suddenly I felt hope for myself somehow. Suddenly, there was someone for whom I would face those fears. And…I don't know how to say it."

"You don't have to say more." Gwyn changes her position, now kneeling next to him, both hands holding his. "But I do. I did not know your father, but I know what you told me about him and I know that you are nothing like him. And you will never be like him."

"Gwyn—" "No!" she loudly argues. "You will not be like him. Someone with such a kind and big heart will not become cruel and bad. You won't be like him."

"And you know this?" Balthazar raises his brow. 

"I know this." Determination is etched upon her features, and so is affection. "And I also know that this is right."

He gets no chance to ask about what is right. Gwyn leans in, and before he knows what is about to happen her lips brush his. It is just a small peck, short and barely there, but it leaves him speechless. 

When Gwyn leans back, lips tingling, her heart racing but he does nothing. He only stares at her. And that for a long moment. It almost looks like every flicker of life has whooshed out of his body, leaving him fully breath- and speechless. 

But then his hands capture her face, and he brings her in for another kiss. His palms are slightly clammy, his stomach a ball of nervous flutters. His touch is gentle, reverent, as his thumb strokes over her cheek. 

The world around them seems to hold its breath, time slowing, as everything fades into insignificance. Their eyes close as their lips touch, uncertain at first. Curiosity guides them, their lips meeting a little clumsily at first, noses pressing against the other's cheek, but soon they fall into a steady rhythm.

Gwyn's hands slide up Balthazar's chest, resting on his hard pecs. He lets his own hand slide into her hair, threading his fingers into her silken strands. A low groan sounds from a deep part of Balthazar's throat when Gwyn softly bites down on his lower lip. The noise makes something low part in her abdomen come alive. So overwhelmed by all the emotions and the sudden bliss, a giggle bubbles from Gwyn. They break apart, foreheads still touching.

"This was—" "Absolutely fucking perfect." A fully delighted and contented smile graces Balthazar's lips, pupils dilated as his eyes track Gwyn's face. She grins at him, heart fluttering, her hands still on his pectorals. She feels his heart beating vividly, his skin radiating warmth. His solid muscles ripple beneath her palms when he straightens up. 

"More?" she beams. 

"More," he breathlessly whispers, leaning in already. "But only if that's what you want."

Gwyn nods, capturing his lips without a moment of hesitation. The pull towards him, how he tastes and feels, is just too good to stay away from him for much longer. 

Balthazar brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering on the side of her head for a moment when their lips start moving in sync. Gwyn delicately traces her tongue over his lower lip, asking him for allowance to sweep her tongue into his mouth. He opens for her, letting her tongue slide in, brushing against his gums and then meeting his with each stroke. 

The kiss deepens, a new found hunger suddenly erupting inside both of them. 

Gwyn's gasp is drowned out by Balthazar's groan, his chest rumbling, his wings flexing behind his back. It is almost like they want to spread, and he needs to keep them tucked in — not wanting to look like a youngling, with wiggle wings behind his back that he can't control.  

Balthazar's hand slides to her neck, bringing her closer. Their kiss deepens. One of Gwyn's hand lowers, now braced on his thigh. Every touch sends electricity through them, setting their glowing souls ablaze. The bond comes more and more alive between them, the golden ribbon stretching out, trying to find its counterpart. Breathlessly, they part, faces mere inches from each other. Balthazar sweeps his thumb over her lower lip and then he lets his hand fall. 

"Gwyneth," Balthazar rasps. He closes his eyes, grins and then brings his hand up to brush back his hair. "What was that?"

"A kiss?" she chuckles, taking his hand into hers so she can lift it up to her mouth and kiss his knuckles. "Your first kiss."

"This was close to divinity." When he opens his eyes, he looks at her with nothing but admiration and affection. "Your kisses…I don't know."

"Speechless?" Gwyn grins mischievously, her heart beating so fast at his obvious astonishment. She has never seen him like this, but Cauldron it's adorable!

He can't answer. Balthazar is truly speechless. So his arms fly out, embracing Gwyn, fast, and he brings her to his chest, cuddling her tightly. Gwyn, half-sitting on one of his strong thighs, allows herself to relax against him, finding solace in the hard press of his broad chest. Cauldron, this male, and his body.

Balthazar kisses the top of her head and hums. His arms stay wrapped around Gwyn, even though the bright sun is shining down on them, hot and strong. But he couldn't care less in this moment. If they get to feel a little hot and toasty and start sweating…he doesn't care. Right now, there is only one thing on his mind. Right in this moment, with Gwyn in his arms, there is no doubt that she is the female who he wants to spend his whole life with. 

Gwyn turns in his hold, so she can glimpse up at him. And when he looks at her, gazes into her teal eyes, he sees his future. He sees the female he will love until the end of his immortal life.

"You are so beautiful," Gwyn whispers, and wiggles one arm free so she can trace her index finger over his jaw. She shifts again, so she can sit down better on his thigh. Balthazar loosens his hold a little, his hand now resting on the small of her back, his other hand clasping hers, the one that is not brushing his face. There are rose splotches on her in freckles-covered face, which makes her look so very adorable. 

"What?" he whispers, his brows tipping up the slightest bit.

Gwyn tilts her head to the side, eyes meeting his. "You are so beautiful," she says again, this time with a little more determination in her voice. "Your eyes, your smile, your wings…everything. You."

No one has ever called him beautiful, and he finds it a little hard to accept. But he leans into her touch, revelling in the feel of her fingers on his face, her soft touch and the way she looks at him.

"Gwyn," he says, but the priestess shakes her head.

"Juts let me compliment you," she hums. "And accept the compliment." Her grin is radiant, her eyes aglow. Balthazar once again finds himself captured by her.

"Then you have to accept that you are the most beautiful female I have ever seen."

He shifts on his thigh. Gwyn tilts her head to the side, and watches him through narrowed eyes. 

"I mean it. I have never seen beauty like yours before."

Her blush intensifies even more with the way he looks at her. Balthazar leans in a little, his lips brushing hers, but he does not kiss her. "It's 34 freckles. I knew it!"

Gwyn bursts into laughter, her head tipping back. Another reminder of her sheer beauty. 

The young Illyrian joins in to her laughter, his heart full of love. "When will we—" "I made something—"

Their gazes meet, lock, and soft giggles leave them.

"You first," Gwyn says.

But Balthazar shakes his head. "No, you first. Always you first."

Her cheeks once again turn a little more rosy — somehow he always causes this reaction in her. 

"I made something for you. You gifted me the fish, I also wanted to gift you something." Gwyn lowers her gaze a little, with a sheepish smile on her lips. She looks at her robes where she pulls out…something. 

Balthazar shakes his head. "You didn't have to make me anything. The fish was a thank you for saving my life and—Is this a bracelet?"

"Is it silly? I doubt you will even wear a bracelet. I mean you are a camp lord, a strong and powerful Illyrian, and—" "Put it on. I want to wear it!" Balthazar grins from on ear to the other and lifts his arm. 

Gwyn flashes him a look asking if he is really sure, and he nods. He uses his second hand to roll back the sleeves of his white linen shirt, and Gwyn can practically feel how her mouth dries out.

The muscles in his forearm are well-defined, with prominent veins coursing beneath the surface, and it is the first time that Gwyn really registers that his tattoos also adorn his lower arms. Maybe in the past she had been too occupied with staring at his chest…

"On here," Balthazar hums and wiggles his hand. 

He is oblivious to her staring, only focused on the fact that she is gifting him a bracelet. It is a small testament that the two of them belong together and he will wear this bracelet with nothing but pride. 

Gwyn's fingers tremble a little when she fastens the bracelet around his wrist — it sits perfectly, and perfectly fits with his half-gloves and then siphons on the back of his hands. She made the bracelet in the same colour, green but with a touch of turquoise and white.

"It is for luck and protection up in Windhaven…and basically everywhere."

"I love it. Thank you for making this for me." The young Illyrian kisses her cheek. She is so happy that he likes it. Gwyn grins, then leans in for a short kiss. Then the kiss turns into a not so short kiss. But soon their foreheads rest against each other, their eyes closed, breaths mingling in front of their faces. 

"What did you want to say," Gwyn asks after a moment of silence. 

Balthazar has to think, not remembering immediately. He inhales a deep breath. 

"I was…I think I was going to ask when I will see you again. L—Cassian earlier mentioned he will come up to Windhaven again. I was wondering if you are joining then as well." "Next week, yes!" Gwyn smiles. "Yes, we are joining him then."

He kisses her again. 

~~~~~~~

tag list: @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel @callmeblaire @headcanonheadcase @waternymphia @autumndreaming7 @devilsfoodcake22 @readercacau @sv0430 @bubybubsters @cyntia-ktn

[gncgang]

wrote a short drabble based on this comic by @alien-bottle! go check their art out it’s so fantastic all the time :)

“Well, Wamuu, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Jonathan Joestar’s voice was as warm as his handshake. Perhaps it was him only imagining things, but Wamuu thought he could feel the power of the man’s Hamon humming through his veins just from the contact of their skin. Even if it was nothing, he still felt his spirit rising as he anticipated what an opponent he would be. 

“Same to you, Mr. Joestar.” Wamuu nodded to him in a show of respect. “I hope to spar with you soon.” 

Jonathan’s smile was wide and eager. He almost seemed reluctant to leave, but as the patriarch of the Joestar family, Wamuu had no doubt that he had important duties to attend to, so he did not begrudge him as he turned away and said, “I’ll be off now. Enjoy the party!” 

As Jonathan departed, Wamuu felt another presence creep up behind him. “Joseph,” he greeted without looking back. 

“Agh- Aw, what? How’d you know it was me? You didn’t even turn around!”

Wamuu raised an eyebrow towards the man at his side. “No other person tries to stealthily approach me while walking on their toes. …Except for my brother. He is usually on all fours, however.” 

Joseph blinked at him, mentally filing away that detail to ponder over later. “…Okay.” He shook his head, then said as he raised his wine glass to his lips, “So, you met Gramps, huh?”

“I have.” Wamuu cast his gaze over to Jonathan, who was now conversing with Joseph’s ‘Uncle Speedwagon’ — though Wamuu strongly doubted Jonathan saw the man as a son based on the similar grays of their hair and the hand Jonathan had on Speedwagon’s shoulder. Their wide smiles made Wamuu smile as well. His eyes ran over Jonathan’s form, taking note of his broad shoulders and the tightness of both his sleeves and the legs of his dress pants. Speaking strictly as a warrior, it was obvious to Wamuu that the man had powerful legs — why confine them with such stuffy clothing? Every culture had their own preferences, of course, but he would surely be more comfortable in loose-fitting garments such as the ones Wamuu himself had on. He touched his lip with a finger and thumb as he idly thought about what Jonathan might wear to spar against him, and then he realized he had been silent for a minute and that Joseph was looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he sipped from his glass. Wamuu decided he should elaborate on his answer. “Your Grandfather is incredibly handsome.” 

Joseph choked on his wine. “WHAT,” he wheezed out after a solid thirty seconds of gasping and hacking, during which Wamuu had stared at him with concern but done nothing to help. After scrubbing a few stray droplets of wine from his lips and thereby staining his white gloves bright red, Joseph whipped his head up and gawked at Wamuu. 

“I said your Grandfather is incredibly handsome.”

“WHAT?”

Wamuu’s brow furrowed. “…I said your Grandfather is incredibly handsome.”

“WHAT?!” 

Wamuu frowned deeply. Perhaps something in Joseph’s brain had broken and he needed to hear Wamuu’s sentiment in a language he would understand. “Your grandpa’s hot.” 

This had the opposite intended effect. Joseph looked like Wamuu had told him his clackers were stupid. “WHAT!?”

“…Somehow I think you have heard me,” Wamuu said. 

Joseph was already facedown on the floor. He seemed to be sobbing. No one at the party was paying attention to him, so maybe this was normal. Wamuu sat down criss-cross applesauce next to him and pat his back.

[robthegoodfellow]

Billy Hargrove’s Extensive Knife Collection

Rated G - 1.5k (or read on AO3)

commissioned by @ihni​ for harringroveforturkey! based on a discussion of our Swedish Billy headcanons 💛

(tw for brief reference to Steve being mistaken for a sexual predator because of his shady-seeming presence at the Byers)

...🔪🔪🔪 ...

The thing was—Billy Hargrove just seemed like the type to have one or more knives on him at any given moment. Like, he gave off this general sense of imminent violence, this erratic rage simmering away under the skin. Even before Hargrove beat his head into the Byers’ floor, Steve had known the guy was pretty much always a breath from destruction. It wafted off of him like the woodsy cologne that Steve had smelled and distantly pondered moments before he stopped smelling anything for a while, on account of the bastard punching him in the nose a hundred times.

So yeah, when Steve saw him during their lunch period, a couple weeks after the thrashing, the dregs of autumn warmth barely clinging to the air—a couple weeks after Hargrove had snagged him in the hallway, thrown him against a locker and seethed I find you near my sister again and I’ll gut ya quicker n’ you can blink—a couple weeks after Steve realized he was maybe into volatile dudes and that said volatile dude thought Steve was into little girls, what the fuck—like he was saying, a couple weeks after all that, when he saw Hargrove emerging from behind the gym building, from the direction of the running track, folding a knife and slipping it into the pocket of his leather jacket, he felt compelled to investigate.

Given that Steve hadn’t yet figured out how to assure someone you weren’t a creepy predator without sounding like a total creepy predator, he waited until Hargrove was out of sight, then crossed the parking lot and peered around the corner, ventured as far as the bleachers, even—but saw no signs of a recent stabbing. No student or teacher or animal bleeding out on the ground.

So he shrugged and went back inside.

But then, over the next few days, he realized he’d never once seen Hargrove in the cafeteria since that blond curly mullet had first darkened Steve’s door. Not once. And because Steve apparently hadn’t had enough combustible encounters of late, he went looking.

The bell was about to go when he got to the bleachers—and no Hargrove. Steve had half a mind to skip next period; it was history and he hated history—so fucking boring, and he hadn’t done the homework—so when he circled to the back of the metal stands and saw something pale on the ground underneath, he happily let it draw his feet nearer.

It was… a horse. A small, roughly carved wooden horse, about the height and length of his palm. Not like, a detailed horse, just the vague shape of a narrow face, a curving neck, a stout torso, and four straight simple legs. No hooves, no tail. But still, undeniably a horse.

He thought it was kinda neat, so he took it home with him, put it on his bedside table next to the alarm clock.

The following week, when he scouted the bleachers again—driven from the lunchroom because Nancy and Jonathan had been making goo-goo eyes at each other and it was still a bit fresh, that particular wound—around the same place he’d spotted the last carving, he found a wooden… bear? Or maybe a fat dog, but the rounded ears and butt were reading more “bear.”

He took that one home with him, too. Had the silly passing thought that it was nice for the horse to have company. A friend.

It was the third time patrolling that he confirmed what some small incredulous part of him had been theorizing all along. Steve skipped lunch entirely, went the long way around to approach the bleachers from behind, stopped at a distance nonetheless.

Because there, leaning against the announcer’s booth, high up in the stands, hunched over his lap, one leg hanging loose between the slats of the seats, was Billy Hargrove.

Steve would know that mullet anywhere.

Smoke drifted above him, dissipating lazy. Occasionally the hanging leg swung a bit, sort of childlike, which was—a fucking trip. Steve stayed where he was, just watching awhile, then, not knowing what he’d do or say if Hargrove spied him spying, and not wanting to disturb his peace at any rate, he turned and walked back the long way again.

So he could just—think.

When he snuck over to the bleachers before driving home the next afternoon, curiosity getting the better of him, he learned what Hargrove had been whittling that time.

It was unfinished. Maybe he’d grown frustrated, because it was more ambitious than his previous figures: the beginnings of a bearded face, its features only just manifesting from the fine-grained block.

Nearby, half-hidden on the dirt ground, was another surprise. He would’ve missed it if it hadn’t gleamed, catching the sun precisely at the right moment, because its handle was the exact shade of the surrounding moldering maple leaves—this deep reddish brown.

A knife.

But not really the kind of knife he’d imagine in Hargrove’s possession—and not the folding pocketknife he’d glimpsed before. No, this was—an antique? Sharp blade about three inches long, and the handle this weird oblong shape, the letters WGF burned into the wood toward the base.

And maybe he should’ve left it there—because Hargrove would notice it was gone, was bound to come looking where he last had it—but Steve was selfish. A bit of a jerk.

So he pocketed both. Didn’t add them to his bedside collection, though.

No, they were still in his pocket the following day, a Friday, as he strode, heart hammering, to the bleachers, ears ringing like the lunch bell forgot to shut up.

Hargrove was already there, pacing under the stands, cursing under his breath, the dirt bare from frantic swipes.

Steve cleared his throat—and holy fuck that was a switchblade, that was a switchblade Hargrove had whipped out in one fluid movement as he whirled, the steel flashing free.

“Please don’t gut me for real!” It was choked, high and hysterical, hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry—I just—” Fumbling, he reached into his coat, drew out the knife.

The moment Hargrove saw it, he darted, quick as a cat, and snatched it from limp fingers.

“I—uh, found it,” Steve finished, lamely.

Hargrove didn’t look at him, busy sliding the knife into a worn leather sheath he’d produced from somewhere in his jacket. He tucked both it and the folded switchblade back out of sight, and Steve faintly wondered just how many knives Hargrove carried on his person.

“You waiting for thanks or something?” Hargrove asked, his tone very much indicating that thanks would not be forthcoming.

“What—what is it? The knife?” Steve asked, because he did, after all, have a death wish. “It’s… important?”

Maybe he should just let Hargrove stab him, Steve thought, mentally face-palming. Put him out of his misery.

Hargrove glared at him a long moment, then—to Steve’s everlasting shock—he answered. “A sloyd knife. My morfar’s—grandpa’s.”

“Oh,” Steve said, heartened, trying to work up the nerve to—just do it. Haltingly, he drew the bearded figure from his pocket. “For—um, carving stuff?”

Hargrove stared at the misshapen block of wood, unreadable, but Steve firmly reminded himself he’d faced down monsters from a hell dimension, and soldiered on.

“Is it him? Your… morfar?” Did his best to repeat the sounds, awkward.

Hargrove blinked, still didn’t respond.

Steve waved his extended arm a bit, encouraging. “You should finish it.”

Finally, fucking finally, Hargrove reached out, took it.

Sensing he was fast overstaying his welcome, Steve backstepped, nodding sharply, and turned toward the parking lot—then jerked around again.

“I’m not a perv,” he blurted. Because there wasn’t any graceful way to say it, he’d realized, flushing hot in the cool air.

Hargrove cracked a smile, a small little thing, and Steve stupidly traced it with his eyes, riveted. “I know.” He scuffed the dirt with a dusty boot. “She said you were—babysitting.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, silently thanking Max with his entire being. “I was. Doing that.”

And to ensure he didn’t humiliate himself further, Steve spun, marched to the school entrance without looking back.

He spent the next week avoiding Hargrove, not wanting to seem like the stalker he was in case the guy had put two and two together on the lack of discarded carvings among the leaves.

After last bell, students pouring across the parking lot en route to weekend plans, Steve trudged alone to his car, which would convey him to an empty house. His key was in the door before he saw it, perched on the windshield wiper.

A rugged face above slouching shoulders, slender waves gouged in his moustache and beard that suited the curly hair peeking beneath one of those old-fashioned caps with the short brim.

He looked up, unconsciously seeking the spot Hargrove always parked, and saw him leaning against the Camaro, staring back.

Steve smiled.

…🔪🔪🔪 …

Edited to add, in case anyone’s curious:

All about Dala horses

Carved bear looked like this

All about Sloyd/Slöjd knives

[kloofspeaks]

The Flower Shop of Lemoore | A Bob Floyd Fictional Work

Words: 1514

Sneakpeek:

“It’s an Asiatic lily,” He breathed out slow, pulling out the flower from underneath the counter, “They mean marriage and purity.” Y/N’s face twisted into curiosity when he pulled out the lily, it was bright beating red, she looked at Floyd opening her mouth to say her opinion. 

“Is there a reason why you’re showing a single woman a flower about Marriage?” She asked the exact question that Floyd was expecting. The song that rang on in the background spilled the lyrics that Floyd felt deep in his heart. 

‘All My life, I spent the nights with dreams of you’

Flower eight out of twenty

Today's Flower: Asiatic Lily - Marriage and Purity

Chapter List can be found : here

Dedicated to: @notyoursbutlewis

Disney Girls by The Beach Boys sang over his old record player, he let out a soft sigh. It had been a week since he went and ran for Y/N through the thick and thin of the lightly dusting snow to hand her a wilting flower only for her to be kind and return and give him such a reward for his hard work a simple tulip he kept in a glass vase by his counter. He couldn’t take his eyes off how each petal was so perfect and the color just as bright as the day he received it. 

His eyes lifted from the flower when the ding from the door opening brought a warm smile to his charming lips, “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” 

“I didn’t expect you to put my flower on display either, but hey surprises are everywhere.” 

Y/N looked bundled up in her warm fuzzy clothes, jackets and wool. She slowly looked around the shop, seeming to take in the same details she saw every time she came to the little shop on the block. “Did you change anything?” She asked, her fingers brushing over the flowers that were placed out. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary other than switching out a few old flowers and candles.” She nodded just taking it all in again before she walked up to his counter, like the dozens of times she had done before, the feeling of  deja vu was prominent. 

She figured it was Floyd’s smile, it was always warm, she was welcomed with the same smile when she walked into the place. Welcomed with his little floral pins and neat apron he put over top his work jeans and pink sweater. She pondered what he would wear in the summer. Would the place even still be around in the summer? She shook her head, of course the place would be around, wouldn’t it?

“I didn’t know you liked The Beach Boys.” She hummed, her eyes looking past Floyd and at the record spinning on the table, she took a moment to take in the fresh lyrics, she hadn’t heard this song in such a long time. 

“I don’t, actually, those are my dad’s records figured I would give this a go. It’s fitting.” He raised his shoulders in protest as he explained. He did fiddle a little while he spoke, either it was with his hands or pushing up his glasses, speaking of which; his glasses were slowly sliding down as he spoke. 

Y/N reached forward giving them one steady push with her pointer finger, along with brushing his loose hairs out of the way. “You really need to get glasses that fit,” She shook her head, “These are always slipping.”

“Noted,” Floyd sighed softly, taking a moment to breathe before he changed the subject, “Are you ready for the flower today?” 

“After my short break, how could I possibly say no?” She had a small sarcastic laugh as she said it, nodding towards him as if telling him to get on with it. 

Floyd had something up his sleeve though, it was a risky shot but after last week, the simple tulip that rested on his counter sparked the feelings between them. He knew it had to be true right? He still remembered her fateful words:

“Love and Passion,” She pointed out, “Usually it’s used between couples to express love or the fiery passion they have for eachother. It’s funny because every couple I saw with these flowers during valentine's day, broke up.” She snorted.

“Love and passion.” Those words echoed in his head often, he always thought he would ask someone out with a beautiful flower, a flower just as beautiful as them. He looked up from the flower he had resting underneath the counter, just in a place where she couldn’t see it. Where he could look at it and ponder if it was really the right move to ask Y/N out on a small date in the middle of winter, he didn’t run for nothing, that was for sure. 

He would never run for someone he didn’t know either. Someone he thought was worth it. 

“It’s an Asiatic lily,” He breathed out slow, pulling out the flower from underneath the counter, “They mean marriage and purity.” Y/N’s face twisted into curiosity when he pulled out the lily, it was bright beating red, she looked at Floyd opening her mouth to say her opinion. 

“Is there a reason why you’re showing a single woman a flower about Marriage?” She asked the exact question that Floyd was expecting. The song that rang on in the background spilled the lyrics that Floyd felt deep in his heart. 

‘All My life, I spent the nights with dreams of you’

“I wanted to ask you something,” for once in his life, Floyd had to get some sort of big boy pants on and ask her, tell her how he felt, how he wanted to go to a beach and sit on the roof of his car while he played a smooth song and they danced and swayed. 

He wanted her to save the very last dance for him.

No one else. 

“Spill it, Floyd.” Y/N had an unreadable expression, as if she was trying to hide how she felt at that moment. Floyd was praying it wasn’t some sort of ploy to get him to spill everything and give her time to reject him, but it wasn’t as bad as her walking out and him having a 

“I like you,” His voice cracked with the suddenness, “I don’t know how to explain it with a perfect use of words, but I did want to take you away.. Maybe for a day.” 

Y/N was quiet when he came to his conclusion, he was asking for a date in one of the weirdest ways she’s ever heard but she knew he was awkward. He didn’t know how to express himself much like she couldn’t either. 

She reached out making Floyd freeze up, she pushed up his golden rim glasses once more, the words spilled out her mouth while she did so. “You could’ve asked me on a date like any normal person, a letter, a sign, but instead you did it with a flower.” She reached down to his hand and took the flower from his loose grip, “A very beautiful one at that,” She looked up from the flower.

“I don’t think we could fit any more Floyd than a simple flower.” She chuckled, spinning the stem making the flower bloom even more in her hands. 

Floyd was lost, she hadn’t said the simple yes or no, instead she was dragging it. 

“Well, it is thoughtful.” Here it goes, she was going to reject him. He tried his best, he knew he would walk out of his shift today embarrassed and broken spirited-

“Where did you exactly have in mind? I won’t mind as long as we’re not outside in that winter wonderland.” She pointed out towards the window where the fogged up windows and growing ice laid bright and bland. 

“Wait, so you..” Before he could finish she finished for him.

“Yes, Floyd. I want to go on a date with you.” She smiled, it was the brightest one he had seen ever in his lifetime of being a flower shop owner. He knew how to make people's day brighter, but he had never seen a smile as bright as Y/N’s in that moment. He almost teared up, he didn’t know if it was because the song was slow and filled with such joy or the fact someone actually said yes to going out with him. 

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Who wouldn’t want to go out with you?” She raised a brow, which led Floyd to lead with his next sentence.

“A lot of people,” 

“Well, they clearly missed out.” She was still smiling, her voice fragile as she spoke, her hands still grasping the beautiful red lily in her hands. Floyd seemed slightly taken aback, he didn’t expect her to share the same feelings, his heart hurt in fear when he asked, but now his heart was bursting with joy. 

“How about we go out for dinner, I can pick you up- 6 o-clock? Wednesday?” Y/N’s face distorted into a small thinking look, her lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. 

“That should work, I expect to see you then won’t I?” She turned a heel still looking back at Floyd. 

“Of course you will.” 

After it was said she left with a small wave and a tint of blush on her face, Bob was saddened after he heard the ding of the door. She had left to make her bus, Floyd knew he would see her before the date they had planned for such a moment to spend together. 

He knew he would have to line up every flower that matched with love perfectly, She had the purest heart of them all. 

[wheelercurse]

hi sandy! i saw your post yesterday and wanted to ask - do you think that if season 4 had come out all at once, more people would have seen where the byler storyline is heading?

i feel like what you said is correct, that most people who shipped byler between vol 1 and 2 lost hope specifically bc they were expecting something different from vol 2 instead of what we got (with mike piggybacking off of will's feelings), but people who didn't ship byler until volume 2 could see where the story was heading more easily since they weren't burdened by any sort of disappointment from volume 2 not giving byler the resolution they expected. i'm one of those people that didn't watch s4 until after volume 2 aired, so when i watched it i was surprised that so many people lost hope bc of volume 2 since for me (as a complete GA member at the time), it was the thing that finally pushed byler into the territory of something that could actually be canon.

imo that if the season had dropped all 9 eps on the same day, fewer people would have seen the monologue as a sign that mlvn is fixed and more people would treat the will/mike/el triangle on the same level of seriousness as the jonathan/nancy/steve triangle instead of automatically assuming that mlvn is endgame and will is going to be rejected.

i also think that they would have realized more easily that the painting plot was unfinished, since the month-long wait between volume 1 and 2 made it seem like will giving up the painting/his feelings was the conclusion of that storyline rather than just another step (iirc even the duffers described vol 2 as baby steps). if we'd gotten all 9 eps at the same time, it would have been so much more obvious that this story wasn't over. what do you think?

(btw, i love your analysis so much!! hope you have a great day ❤️)

Hello, Rae!!!

I agree with you; I think more people would have seen it coming or at least taken the love triangle with an unambiguous ending like the j*ncy/st*ncy's one.

Actually, I understand why casual viewers don't see byler coming because they probably forget some things about the story and the characters, especially when they take years to release a new season. But if you're a fan and rewatch the show or think more about it, you are more familiar with the characters and their arcs, so it's easier to see where the story is leading. And it was just a month between volumes, but some people probably forgot details, especially about the Cali plot, because some complained that nothing happened. When the point is that the most essential part of the plot was to develop Mike and Will's inner conflicts.

And definitely, I wouldn't have lost hope that easily if I had watched it entirely, too, because, like you said, I thought the painting's plotline ended with the van scene and the monologue. The waiting made me believe that I would get a resolution. But when I pondered more about it, I realized that it was pretty intentional all the loose ends, and they were gonna close everything up in the last season (including the painting's subplot)

p.s: I'm glad you enjoyed my analysis!!! Have a great day too <3

[llashby]

Chapter 13 - Excerpt 1

Hey everyone! Recently I've been putting together a more detailed outline for the first book so I am not just mindlessly writing. Please find below an excerpt for your beautiful eyes and minds. Feedback, tips and critical analysis is welcome. Enjoy :) L. L. Ashby

Jedda stood firmly in front of Mulgi to block Arthurs path towards his friend. The beast’s incisors were bared and he let out a low rumbling hiss. Arthur stopped, his eyes now shifting from his unconscious meal to the little lion before him. The blue-eyed boy smiled wryly.

“You couldn't stop me then and you won't stop me now. Run back to your den.” Arthur spoke, his words soft and maniacal.

“You don’t want this, Arthur. This isn’t you! You need to wake up!” Jedda yelled. His voice growing desperate.

“Oh, Arthur is awake. He’s here right now.” Arthur laughed. “Don’t you see, little one? Arthur wants this. He craves this. All he desires is to let loose upon this world. I am the beast he calls upon when he needs something done that he doesn’t have the stomach to do himself.” Arthur slowly turned his head to the side, staring blankly off into the darkness. “In some ways, I am more Arthur than he is.” Arthur said softly with longing.

Arthur continued his press forward, prompting Jedda to haunch and let loose a more guttural growl to little effect. Jedda rummaged his brain for an idea, anything that could at least give him time or stall the oncoming threat. Then, something came to him.

“I know better than that!” Jedda blurted abruptly, taking a slight step forward.  “You aren’t Arthur, no matter how much you intend to convince me. You smell different, you talk different, you act different. I simply don’t believe you! I ask, no, demand, that you at least give me your real name before you kill me or Mulgi!”

Arthur smiled.

“What does it matter?” Arthur asked coldly, though behind his harsh tone there was a hint of inquisitiveness.

“You and I, we are much alike, you see.” Jedda spoke, his voice growing more confident as he began to take reign of the conversation.

“We are both beasts of the world. Primal in nature and, if you would indulge my desire, I would like to learn of how you so confidently know what you are.” Jedda said. “And your name.”

Arthur paused his advance. He had taken the bait and began to ponder the question. His eyes shifted off into the darkness as he searched for answer. Jedda could almost sense that the beast had thirsts other than blood.

When Arthur had found the words, his deep blue pits returned to face Jedda.

“A beast knows what he is. He knows what he is capable of. He knows what he can do.”

“A knowing you say! A wise answer, though I expected no less” Jedda said, hoping flattery and charm would prolong the stall.

“But, this knowing? Where does it come from?" Jedda asked and as he did, his posture softened and he sat down.

"It plagues me so that I know, yet I know not from where the knowing did grow.” Jedda said.

Arthur stayed deathly still for a few moments, his eyes remaining completely fixed on Jedda’s black pupils. Then, slowly, a large smile crept across his face.

“A knowing is a clay. A garden is not needed. It is given to be moulded when things are first seeded.” Arthur said softly and as he did it was as if the wind around him beckoned to his will, elegantly twirling through his lustrous black locks.

“I am the Wolf.”

Jedda’s heart began to pound against his chest. This was no mere beast before him. An immense pressure poured forth from the boy, and, if just for a split second, Jedda could have sworn he saw the very stars that shone in the sky bend to Arthur’s young frame.

Thanks for reading and follow if you want to see any more updates :)

[galaxofmuses]

This is going absolutely horrendously. Darck could feel her filter slipping, trying to keep it in place while her pupils shrank behind those sunglasses. Shit, fuck, shit, damn. She had to think of SOMETHING, ANYTHING! Just... Damn it.

The woman knew damn well that this man had been through hell and back. While, yes, he did deserve his break and rest, there was still a need to give some sort of details. It wasn't even deadly yet, just leaked knowledge, something to nip in the bud! Before anything got out of hand!

"Wait-"

Too late, Leon had downed his coffee and was leaving. What little social capability that the young woman had was fraying rapidly. The woes of this being the early 2000's, the years of which the brunette haired woman really was just two marbles short of loosing them. So this whole encounter was going poorly, and no doubt would only be worse.

She waited then... Just waited for Leon to walk out of the cafe of course. Let the man leave the location with prying ears, less people around. The weather changing making it easier out in the world. And so, the woman followed after him, jogging to catch up after letting him walk a short time. "Wait, just- hear me out! My name is Darck Eve, and your name is Leon Scott Kennedy! You had various places and empty rooms of safety, usually with type writers, right?"

Now it was not just earnestness.

It was desperation.

As he walks out of the café as the sounds of the bustling city passes him by. He is heading towards to his bike and the first thing he wants to do is to probably relax on the couch and watch tv. Then again there is a particular movie he wants to rent out. Leon froze from the call of his full name as the women rambles on from the mentions of the safe places. Sure it was a moment to breathe, yet there we're moments of his emotions to let out.

Leon never really caught himself a break until now. His patience is clearly slipping as he sharply turns around at her. "You're finally going reveal yourself now? Or is this another trick of yours? I don't know how much you've been stalking me for so damn long and right now I don't give a shit. Show your damn files to someone else." He hates the feeling of snapping at someone and especially in public. Letting out a soft sigh as his expression soften for a moment. Maybe a mix of emotions about this conversation. He didn't say anything else, but to hop on his motorcycle and drives off home. 'Darck Eve.....Doesn't ring a bell...Have I....There's no way I met her in Raccoon City.'

As he ponders for awhile but eventually shakes off the thoughts and focus to drive back home.

[moonieshinesims]

Generation One - Chapter Thirty Two

River's sorority sisters hold a goodbye party for her and she's able to see Ako before going to Mt. Komorebi. Then the time comes for the girls to separate and head home for the holiday.

On the morning of River's going away party, she was sitting in her room, pondering what all she needed to pack up before she went back home in a couple of days.

She'd been asked by her sisters to free up her afternoon, and while she was pretty sure she knew what they were planning, she didn't know the details.

Hana entered into River's room with wine glasses in her hands.

She seemed kind of drunk, as she was being overly friendly and attentive to River, which was strange since Hana and River weren't really all that close.

Rive took the other glass of wine and looked down at it, "It's not drugged is it?"

Hana laughed, then finally seemed to sober up. She sniffed the air and looked over her shoulder, "Is your laptop smoking?"

"Yeah, I'm not too worried about it. I got a new one from school."

"I'm so happy for you! I bet it's going to be so exciting!"

"Yeah..." River was excited, but also terrified. She'd be spending time with her family for Winter Fest, but would very shortly be getting on an airplane to Mt. Komorebi. She had never been to another country before, and she had no idea what to expect.

Hana kept up the awkward small talk for a bit, then left her in peace. She finished packing up some of her loose stuff, waiting on her friends to whisk her away to whatever they had planned for her.

Sometime later in the afternoon, Havarti dragged River away into a car. They soon arrived at a bowling alley and bubble tea shop! Not only were all her sorority sisters there, but also Ako!

"Havarti did! I don't know how she got my address, but she sent me an invitation in the mail."

"Even though a mail invitation is a little old school..."

Ako laughed, "Well, I'm pretty old, so it works for me! I did want to be here for you though, to tell you bye."

The sentiment was sweet. The two of them had a strange business relationship, but over time River had begun to see Ako like a brother.

Then it hit her, "How are you even out right now? It's sunny outside!"

"I'm under a roof, it's okay."

"Alright..." River thought that was pretty convenient.

"Hey, let's go bowling!"

Ako motioned for River to join him over at the lanes.

River could hear Fig and Ako snickering from behind her.

After a couple of rounds, Ako won, of course. Then Havarti caught River's attention and pulled her towards the microphone.

"What's up?"

River looked down at the thing she wanted to read and found a beautiful poem that seemed it as if it was about their friendship.

"Is this... about us?"

"Of course it is. You mean so much to me River. I'm scared to see you go, but I'm happy that you're following your dreams."

River pulled Havarti into a hug.

"Well that's all good and well, but how was the poem?"

River scoffed and playfully punched her shoulder, "It's perfect. It doesn't need to be changed at all!"

Shortly after, Havarti got everyone's attention.

"Today, we're here to honor River and tell her goodbye as she journeys far away from us. I pray, as I'm sure we all do, that she will stay safe and healthy, and keep in touch with us while she's gone... Most of you who know us know that we have been best friends since grade school, so I know her very well. I know her sisters Fig, Sigrid, and Elena will miss her too, but we share a different kind of bond... So, while I have your attention, I want to read a poem I wrote about our friendship..."

Havarti continued her poem and ended with -

"As you step into the unknown, I'll be cheering from afar, Wishing you adventures, beneath the moon and every star. In the melody of parting, let our friendship be the song, A timeless tune that carries us, no matter how far you've gone."

*I didn't write this by the way! I am NOT a poet, I used ChatGPT*

Everyone clapped and cheered, then the party continued with everyone getting food and bubble tea. The afternoon ended well, leaving River feeling very happy to have such good friends.

That weekend the girls all packed up their things to go home for the holidays. Before everyone was able to leave, however, Bella called them into the living room and passed out framed pictures...

It was the new flyer for the sorority!

Daphne and Bella had designed the flyers to features photos of all the girls (sans Cassandra). River wondered what Sim Alpha Sigma would be like without her there to witness it evolve in the next year or so...

But she was sure she would find out when she came home!

[gracelaramusings]

Day 8: Cooking and Kayaking in San Pedro

As anyone who knows me knows, cooking is up there as one of my favorite activities to do while traveling. I believe it's the best way to get, quite literally, a true taste of a place and deeper insight into the people and the culture, through the cuisine, the cook, the cooking, the preparations to make it all happen and the shared meal. San Pedro is mostly of Mayan heritage, so the opportunity to experience unfamiliar Mayan dishes was a must-do.

Keshet and I showed up promptly at 9am, ready to head out to market. Lisbeth was our teacher- she opened a small restaurant on the lakefront, and her son and daughter were helping hands in all the preparations.

An Israeli couple joined us, so with just four participants, it was a perfect size to get an intimate experience. I walked beside Lisbeth as we set out, joined by her trusty dog.

Market was up the steep hill from Main Street, and we were treated to a (so far my first and only) tuktuk to reach the center of town.

Lisbeth showed us the church, complete with San Pedro's statue outside holding a key, as it is he who holds the key to heaven. A church like many others, I was reminded of the pine needles and slaughtered chickens in the Mexican church near the Indian villages... but this one was much more subdued. Afterwards, we walked through the same outdoor auditorium in which Yuval and I had seen the children's celebrations from the days prior, but this time with an extensive explanation of the paintings on the surrounding steps. From Mayan numbers (similar to the concept of Roman numerals) to horoscope heiroglyphics, each area of the stairs had a deeper meaning, while also serving as colorful decorations.

Lisbeth shared some detail about the local traditional costumes worn by most women. Lisbeth herself was university-educated and from a distant village, so she was not dressed in traditional clothing. From what I understood, each of the different villages and regions have their own design. From birds to geographic shapes, each is a work of art. A beautiful long, heavy skirt, a loose shirt, tied in place with an intricately-designed belt. Many men don cowboy hats, some also with colorful designs on the rim (or are those just for tourists?) I pondered whether I could somehow get away with wearing a set, but realized the fabric would likely be too heavy for Israel's warm climate. Darn.

Our next step was a typical breakfast booth, where for just 3 quetzals you could have a crispy tortilla laden with vegetables. A hot drink of boiled rice with chocolate or hot milk washed it down.

After the snack we ventured deeper into the market to buy our ingredients. Lisbeth had each of us do something, whether it be measuring the precise quantity of rice with a hand-held scale, or picking out perfectly-ripe tomatoes or the best head of broccoli. She helped us identify unfamiliar fruits and vegetables, and greeted by name many of the stall-owners, most of whom were happy to pose with us for a picture.

A highlight was reaching the corner tortilla station, with the hot iron table and the freshly-mixed masa dough. Water was poured over our market-dirtied hands so we could clean them in advance of patty-caking the dough on our damp open-palmed hands. The goal: form a perfect circle that is thin-but-not-too-thin enough to seamlessly slam down on the hot surface. As experienced as I am with the art of tortilla-making, my expertise is with a press, so I was like a fish out of water when trying to find the right balance between perfectly-damp palms and even pressure on the dough. The true art? Not burning your fingers when you flip them, by sticking two fingers by the tortilla's edge such that it sticks to your fingers, then flipping and releasing it with your thumb. Ah, those Guatemalan soft tortillas, beauty and art combined.

Once our time at the market came to an end, we stopped in a coffee wholesale store before walking back towards the restaurant. There we got the ins and outs of coffee growing, picking, roasting, grinding and tasting. I'm just a little wiser now when it comes to coffee, an unexpected pleasant bonus.

When we returned, the cutting, dicing and cooking began. The food we made, a dish called Pepian, is a Mayan stew. We made one pot vegetarian so I could partake. Most of the vegetables were roasted over a cast iron skillet on a high flame. We roasted pepitas (pumpkin seeds), sesame, garlic, onion, tomatoes and more. Vegetable rice, and (yay! On my list of wanna-learn) tamales, with two different types of locally-grown leaves wrapped around masa paste. Apparently banana leaves are possible, but must first be roasted. For dessert, we fried plantains (don't eat them raw!) and made mole (80% locally-grown dark chocolate!). Roasted tomatoes with chocolate? Apparently!

The dishes were special, though, unlike the outcome of some lessons, not something I would likely replicate at home, both due to inavailability of the less-familiar ingredients (plantains and that sorta-like-zucchini-but-not-that-secretes-sticky-stuff-and-blackens- your-fingers vegetable) and, well, tomatoes with chocolate?

Towards the end of our meal, Paz and Yuval joined us, and had the opportunity to eat our creations. They were tired after a full day kayaking, having reached the opposite side of the lake, paddling to a nature reserve with a 12 meter-high jumping platform. As Paz described it, they were greeted by friendly park rangers with machetes (thank goodness for that first descriptor), paid the entry fee, then legally enjoyed the groomed paths leading to the diving platform.

That evening we returned home, full from our lesson, and pleased that we had another amazing day.