#just naming ones I've listed more than once :) for ease

[askinkiskarma]

𝔏𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔦𝔫' 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔧𝔬𝔟

dilf!jake x f!reader

wc: 2.5k words

warnings: 18+ minors DNI (I MEAN IT), pwp, smut (praise kink through the fucking roof, bondage, p in v, fingering, oral - f and m receiving, age gap, dacryphilia, daddy kink, choking, pet names, overstimulation, semi-public sex, spanking, anal play, toy use, slight degradation kink, multiple orgasms, cockwarming), mentions of blood/spit, strong language, this list is endless wtf

a/n: once more it is clear that i ain't seeing the pearly white gates of heaven anytime soon, but outside of that, i dedicate this fic to lys' coochie

also pls do yourself a favour and listen to russ - nasty while u read this ok enjoy xo

I know everyone wants a pretty girl like you You look so good when you put me inside you Listen, there ain't nothin' like that moan when the tip's in Good God, look at you, you're doin' such a good job

"you're gonna be a good girl for daddy, right?"

you have to admit to yourself that when you started being trained under the tutelage of the toruk makto, the mighty olo'eyktan of the omaticaya, this isn't at all how you envisioned it going - but at this exact moment, limbs spread widely and tied up to the pillars of his tent, a blindfold covering your eyes and heightening all your other senses, his raspy, soft voice filling your ears while his hands are massaging the plush skin of your inner thighs, you can't find it in you to care.

"i need words, baby girl."

"y-yes, daddy. i'll be g-good, i promise."

"that's my girl."

"you look so good like this, kid. so, so good."

his hands trail gently over your body in barely-there touches, that set every inch of your body on fire, alight with anticipation and ache, desperate for more, needy for the pleasure you knew he was going to provide. it doesn't matter how many times you've found yourself like this, sprawled naked in his tent, contorted in whatever position he deemed appropriate at any one time, it would always be as intense as the first time - he wouldn't have it any other way.

when he reaches your breasts, his hand stalls, capturing a nub in between his thumb and index, no longer just a fluttering whisper of a caress but a pressured twisted unwieldy grip that makes a moan escape your parted lips and you hear his low chuckle, the most beautiful sound you've ever heard, second only to the uninhibited groan that he he can't help but exhale whenever you milk his cock dry.

"you have the prettiest tits i've ever seen, baby. perfect, just like the rest of you."

you feel the tingling in your extremities from the way the ropes tug at your wrists and ankles, but it's nothing compared to the throbbing in your core as his hand finds your throat and squeezes, as you feel the air getting knocked out of you, as the darkness no longer just envelopes your sight but the whole of you, as his cock, hard and unclothed, teases your entrance with a uncontrolled twitch, and the feel of it makes you squirm, pulling on your restraints in order to bring your legs together, to no avail.

Jake lets go of your neck with a dissatisfied tsk. You gasp when his canines sink into your lower lips and bite until it hurts and you feel the rusty taste of blood inundating your mouth. His tongue swipes the excess fluid before he kisses you, roughly and carelessly and you love it, love the feel of his mouth on yours, of his hands on your throat, love nothing more than being just daddy's little girl.

"if you want to get fucked tonight, kid, you have to be good, remember?"

"but d-daddy... i need you... i need to s-see you, i n-need your...cock, please, daddy!"

you couldn't help the way your voice was breaking and words stuttered as his unrelenting teasing made the throbbing sensations and ache to be filled reach torturous heights, or the way tears pricked painfully at your eyes as you couldn't stand not seeing him, not being able to tell what he'll do next, not being able to move your thighs to ease some of the discomfort.

"shh, princess... you have to trust daddy, mm? you know daddy will take care of his little girl."

you're sure the mewl you let out as he slips two fingers in your dripping cunt would be heard in the whole village and you knew he loved it - he loved when you screamed, and yelled, loved when you had to walk through the forest marked and bruised for everyone to see, loved when his cum was dripping down your thighs and how your scent was forever permeated by his own, so nobody could ever question who you belonged to.

his fingers were skilled and deliberate as they moved inside of you, curling on a spongy part that made you shut your eyes tightly and allow the tears to finally fall down your contorted face, his thumb drawing shapes on your clit, that was now red and swollen, desperate for more pressure.

"more, daddy, i need more!" the sobs stir something inside Jake, balls heavy and itching to spill their load inside you, but not yet. you weren't ready yet.

"why're you crying, kid? you need to be stuffed with daddy's cock so badly?"

asking questions he already knew the answers to seemed pointless and unnecessary, but he needed to hear you say it, or moan it, or mumble it - needed to see you, crying and helpless, just a little doll who needs someone to show you what you deserve, what you can take. you'd be wasted on a scrub your own age, who would never know how to handle you, who would never know what to do with you. you needed a man, and he was more than happy to fill that role for you, and... anything else that needed it.

the reality is better than any fantasy his mind could have concocted as you nod aggressively, breasts bouncing as you pull once more on the harness that's starting to hurt your wrists just enough that to walk the line between pleasure and pain.

"soon, baby. you're not ready for it yet. need to stretch this little pussy before you can take me, you know this."

his pace increases as his long digits slip in and out of you, as his lips find your clit and suck on it, as his tongue laps at the juices that you couldn't help coat his face and fingers with, and you feel every ounce of power and self slip away from your grasp, slowly but surely becoming just a tangled mess of feeling, chaotic and overpowering, no thoughts outside of how much you wanted this, how much you needed him, how much this man had a tight hold on every facet of your being and you happily gave it up, knowing there's no better feeling then being wholly owned.

"that's it, come for daddy."

it pushes you over the edge, the purr of his voice and the vibrations they release on your folds, and you come, loudly and uninhibitedly, shaking as your orgasm washes over you in intense waves of pleasure that go on and on, as his tongue and fingers stretch you, until you're so overstimulated you find your tears once more, your screams dwindling into whines you couldn't help release.

"i know, princess. doing so well for me. doing so well for daddy."

"open your mouth."

as always, when it came to jake sully, you obeyed without question. his fingers find their way down your throat and you immediately close your lips around them, swirling your tongue around and in between them, sucking them dry the way you would his cock, that you couldn't wait choke on later tonight. you loved the taste of your own cum on him, and so you cleaned his fingers thoroughly before he pulled them out and wrapped them around the blindfold that was covering your eyes.

"such a good girl. now i want you to watch as daddy fills you with his cock."

it felt sometimes you spent more times like this than not, overwhelmingly full, shaking in earth-shattering pleasure, this time on all fours, this time with a human contraption you have never imagined would ever exist, but not only it did, it was stuffed in you to the brim, sending waves of vibrations throughout your entire body, while jake watched intently, circling you so he can see you come undone from every angle.

"you like that, huh? 'course you do, kid. my baby's just a little slut, just wants her holes filled, don't you?"

you couldn't find it in you to answer, not when the little machine shook you to the core, not when you couldn't decide what was taking precedence in your mind: the sensations that were so powerful they were making patches appear in your vision, the sight of Jake's hands tightly wrapped around his cock, pumping himself vigorously while he watched you fall apart in front of him, or the worries that someone will definitely see and hear you, be it as you were, just barely covered by shrubbery, in a place that Na'vi frequented way too often - almost in view, just how he liked it.

"answer me, princess."

you nod quietly, trying to stifle the moans as his palm makes contact with the plush of your ass, the slap loud enough to attract attention if anybody were to be close, and your orgasm comes sharply into focus, so close you can taste it, and you knew that when it came, it would be enough to bring you to your knees, something he seems to have accounted for. when he increases the intensity with the little remote he had in between his fingers, you lower yourself until your face makes contact with your extended arm. before you know it, you bite down on the skin as hard as you can, canines drawing blood at the way you were trying to be quiet - anything to minimise the chance of being caught. it all becomes too much to handle when he spreads your ass and spits on it, lubricating you enough to push two fingers in your tight hole, and you cry out a muffled cry when you come, convulsing as you ride out your high, as you squirt all over the vibrator, gushes of liquid dripping down your thighs.

he pulls out of you and circles you once more, until he's facing you, and you can barely see straight, crying from being overstimulated, unable to distinguish pain from pleasure, as the toy still moves inside of your abused cunt, unrelenting and too intense.

his hand wraps around your hair, tugging on it til the bite marks were all that was left of your mouth on your forearm, and you look at him through your eyelashes, trying not to get distracted by how his cock was slapping on your cheek.

"sweet girl, if you want something to keep you from making sounds, i have something so much better than an arm. now, be a good girl and let daddy fuck this pretty mouth, how's that sound?"

you smile a sheepish smile, cunt clenching around the vibrator once more, as jake strokes his thick cock, the sweet precum falling over your lips and chin, and you don't waste a drop, swiping your tongue over your lower lip to catch all of it, moaning at the taste.

"open y'r mouth for me, kid."

jake is gentle as he slowly enters you, letting you adjust to his thick girth that presses on the roof of your mouth, your tongue flat against the underside of his length, loving the feel of every vein and memorising every curve and indentation as he slides further in, gagging as his tip tickles the back of your throat. saliva coats his cock and spills down his balls, and you want to protest slightly, when it feels like you can't breathe anymore, when the tears push past your glossy eyes and down your cheeks, until his words remind you who's in charge, and that, while he is, obeying means pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.

"relax, baby girl." his thumb traces your under eye, gathering the salty drops before they can stain your perfect face. "relax for daddy. breathe through your nose. there you go, princess. just like that."

you mewl, able to fit even more of him in you, and the sound reverberates through his length and you watch as he pushes his head back, a thin layer of sweat barely visible on his beautiful face, scarred from years of fights and battle, some of which happened when you were just a baby, an ever-present reminder of the differences between you, that you not only didn't mind, but were what drew you to him in the first place. jake is strong, and capable. he is mighty and revered. he knows you, knows what you want, what you need. he knows your mind needs quieting, and to be devoid of thoughts and worries, and while you were in his presence, he was more than happy to empty that pretty little head of yours and fill your body with his cum instead.

"f-fuck, that's right. good girl. taking daddy's cock so well, mm? my best girl."

his hand finds the top of your head as he pets you, soft caresses enough to spur you on, and you suck on his length enthusiastically, focusing on the tip whenever he pulls out before thrusting himself back in, using your mouth like a toy to get himself off. the groans he makes are low and unrestrained and it sends bouts of electricity throughout your whole body. you did this to him. you were bringing this great man to the edge of his self-control, and that thought alone was enough to heighten all the sensations given by the machine still vibrating in your soaked cunt and his cock stuffed down your throat, and when you come again, he does, too, and you make sure to swallow everything he gives you, watching as he pulls out, still stroking himself so some of his warm, sticky cum paints your face, just the way he likes it.

"you look so pretty like this, kid. red eyes, rosy cheeks, swollen lips, face covered in my cum. perfect for me, aren't you? daddy's little slut."

nights, when jake slips into your tent after everyone's asleep, are filled with slower, gentler, quiet times, where his big body cages you in, his arms draped across your sides, his large hands caressing your breasts and abdomen, and you feel safe in him, in his comforting presence and his sensual, praising words. you go to sleep with his cock deep in you, the way you wish to spend every minute of your every day. you can't help the way you stir in your sleep, desire building up in you from the feel of his length dragging along your walls as you move, from how his breath fans across the nape of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. you let out a soft mewl as you start grinding on him, unsure whether you want him to wake up or not, unable to come to a decision before his hoarse voice startles you.

"you're gonna kill an old man like me, kid. fucked you dumb 'til you passed out and you still need more?"

his fingers dig into your hips, pushing you back on his length until he bottoms out in you, and you yelp, the sensation overwhelming.

"go ahead, then. daddy wants to see you fuck yourself on his cock."

you smile and oblige. no matter how life would ever change for you, you knew you'd be alright, because he would always be here to take care of you and you'd always be daddy's little girl.

happy daddy jake's day and i hope you enjoyed my little present, besties 🫶🏻

taglist: @headsincloud9 @teyamsbitch @lanasblood @yagirlheree @fanboyluvr @jakexneytiri (you didn't ask to be tagged dani bb but this is for torturing me yesterday)

[crucifiedramblings]

Fool Me Once — Dr. Gregory House x F!Reader (Part I)

Hello! This is my first Gregory House fic, I've been truly obsessed with this old man recently. No warnings for this chapter (edit: mention of pill abuse), but I will list full work warnings below.

Word Count: 789

Content Warnings: Angst, implied/referenced drug use & addiction, eventual smut, swearing, graphic depictions of medical gore

Next Part: N/A

            

The pills hadn’t been in House’s system for a few days— he would have to rebuild his Vicodin tolerance again. Nothing like a “V-Break” to get the same hazy punch as before— the name could use some work, though. House lazily looked at you through heavily-lidded eyes, his head dipping to the side to look at his own vitals on the small monitor to the right of his bedside.

            You had only been on House’s diagnostic team for a few days when he collapsed in the middle of a briefing. His toxicity screen showed a spike in narcotic levels, and you flushed his system while he was out. He argued that it was doing more harm than good, but you replaced the chemical with comfort medications until he had clean blood. Once it ran clear, and he was no longer dying— you practically spoon-fed his Vicodin right to him. 

            Maybe it was the sympathy— no, empathy— of being a former addict. Maybe it was the fact that you hated seeing House detoxing. Maybe it was because you knew how sick he must have felt. Whatever it was— it triumphed over any nobility you held as a doctor as you placed three white pills into House’s shaking hands with a reassuring smile. 

            House looked at you with an almost frazzled gaze, dry-swallowing the pills as if you were going to snatch them away if he took too long. You sat on a stool by House’s side, holding a small styrofoam cup’s straw to his lips. He gratefully sipped, a soft whistling coming from the lid as House greedily gulped down the frigid water. He gave you a nod, as if to say ‘thank you’ without the words ever leaving his mouth. You only nodded in response.

            House asked for your name, a raspy request given between sips and wheezes. You gave it to him, although skeptical he didn’t know the name of the newest hire on his team— House was a very thorough man in his decisions. He gave you a lazy grin, giggling to himself and eventually drifting off. At least the pills did what you hoped, giving House some much-needed rest. He looked so much more peaceful like that— no longer sporting a leaping forehead vein, teeth no longer bared— he looked at ease. Like he wasn’t in any pain.

            After several torturous hours— the ones that bled into days, which crashed down into weeks— House was cleared to return to work . . . although he technically never left, and was sure to remind everyone of such knowledge. He walked circles around his bed with a newfound vigor, having just replenished his fix for the morning. House’s limp was barely noticeable when he first dosed, and you were consistent in tracking how his decreased mobility affected his mood by the end of the day. 

            The truth was, you were used to House— but you were not accustomed to sober House— the version of himself that he hid away until he could take time off work. The persona that House barely allowed to see the light of day if unnecessary. The facade that reminded House too much of his father in a certain light. 

            You didn’t blame him— you used to be the same way— although he didn’t know that much from your file. He treated you like some brown-nosing geek, saving his life to look good in front of the new boss. House didn’t understand why someone would fight so hard to save him, and then hand him the pills that almost killed him in the same breath. You didn’t quite understand it either— maybe it was the words Wilson muttered by House’s bedside when he was still in a perpetual coma.

“I can’t lose you yet— fight it.” 

            Maybe it was the pang of hurt you felt at the sight of him when he awoke— dripping with sweat, pale, scratching at his own intravenous drip to make himself feel something other than the pounding of his head and the bile in his belly. Whatever it was— the semblance spoke to you well enough to place his own killer into his discolored palms. 

            It was worth it, the way House’s gaze lit up— he angled his head to the ceiling tiles and hastily, shakily swallowed the pills without any consideration. You almost took pity on him— that was, until he commented on your bust in your top. You smacked him with his own file, grateful to have the version of House you had come to know up and running again— regardless of how annoying that version may be. Your help remained unspoken, but in the following weeks, some distant glances and singled-out tasks would bring any tension to a head. 

[marblemoovt]

Fever - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, Dad!Price

Summary:

John pounds on your door at an ungodly hour in the morning. You've never seen him so distraught.

------

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself.

Note:

Hello! It's been a while since my last Price fic. If I'm honest I'm sorely tempted to keep writing this universe as a series of oneshots (because I'm terrible at commitment). So expect to see more Rose and Price at some point. I've already come up with a series title lmao..

I have a few dividers I want to try out and see which one I like best. So far I like this one better than the previous one.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Bam. Bam. Bam

You bolt upright in bed, squinting around your room until you locate the alarm clock on your bedside table. You glance out the window and notice the sky is still dark, and the sun is nowhere to be seen. Not even a sliver of pink or orange to creep over the horizon. Hm. Definitely not your alarm.

BamBamBam.

The noise grows louder, and the pause between hits becomes nonexistent. Your brain refuses to process the source as you sweep your eyes across your room. The early haze that fogs over your mind when you wake up clouds your ability to think.

Until you hear John shout your name. 

Snatching a coat hanging off a chair, you fly out of the room. The floorboards squeak beneath your weight as you weave between your furniture. Sliding to a stop in front of the door, your fingers fumble with the lock before you wretch it open.

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself. 

A small groan comes from the blankets. “Daddy, you’re squishing me.” 

Your shoulders sag as the tension leaves your body. The weight resting on your lungs eases. You glance up at the ceiling and say a silent prayer of thanks before beckoning the pair inside.

Heading to the kitchen, you prepare some tea to keep yourself busy. No caffeine, though. You were anxious enough as is; you didn’t need to worry faster. Fishing out the chamomile from your cupboards with three cups and saucers, you turn the kettle on to boil. While the tea steeps, you take out the honey and add a drizzle to each cup. 

“Daddy, I’m cold.” Rose’s voice breaks the still silence. You run through a mental list of all the possible things that could be wrong. It can’t be life-threatening if John knocked on your door instead of taking her to the hospital. But you can’t help but think of the worst possible scenarios. The kettle whistles, pulling you out of your thoughts. You’ll ask after you bring the tea. 

A quick glance reveals that John is still cradling her in his arms. The lighting unveils the redness of his eyes and the thin, tight line of his lips. “I know, my little flower. We’ll fix you up, and you’ll be as right as rain,” he says, stroking her head.

You walk over and set the drinks on the table. “Tea? It’s chamomile,” you say, sipping from your cup. The warm liquid soothes your nerves, pooling comforting heat in your stomach. John’s lips quirk up, but they fall just as quickly. He makes no move for the tea. Your cup rattles on the saucer as you place it down. “John, you look like shit,” you state. No response other than a slight flinch. You sit down beside him and hold out your arms. “Drink, you’ll feel better. I can hold Rose for you.”

John studies your face. His eyes are staring past you. It makes you wonder what he’s seeing to make that solemn expression. The movement of you tilting your head brings him back to the present. His gaze flickers between you and Rose. “Ok,” he whispers, carefully placing her in your waiting arms. 

“Hi, Rosy,” you greet her, checking to see if John is drinking his tea. His shoulders aren’t as tense as he sips the drink, but his knee begins to bounce. 

Rose cracks an eye open and smiles widely at you. “Hullo,” she rasps.

You observe her flushed complexion and the hair clinging to her face. “How are you doing, little one?” you ask.

She licks her chapped lips and says, “M’ sick.”

“That sounds like no fun,” you say, exaggerating the frown on your face.

Rose smiles wide and shakes her head slowly. “But Daddy says I don’t have to go to school.” Her eyes glitter at the prospect of staying home, a fantasy most children have at least once during their school years. You can imagine the chaos she could cause if she wasn’t so sick.

You mirror her grin and brush her damp hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “That’s true. You get to stay home and sleep in,” you say, and her smile nearly blinds you.

“And watch cartoons!” she adds. Ah, the quintessential stay-at-home activity for the sick. She starts squirming in your arms. “I get to watch all the shows I miss because of school.” Her lips curl into a feline-like smile, reminiscent of a cat that stole a big, juicy fish. 

You laugh and nod. “That sounds amazing!”

Rose giggles, “That’s because it is!!” If she wasn’t sick, you would be squeezing her in a bear hug. 

You press the back of your hand against her forehead. It’s warm. “Did your dad take your temperature?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and says, “He put a stick in my mouth and told me to hold it there.” She mimics the motion of placing a thermometer in between her lips and closing them. Your cheeks start to hurt; how can such a tiny being be so precious? She must get it from her father. 

You eye the cabinet in the kitchen where you keep all your medical supplies. “Can I check again?” You trust John, but you just want to make sure. 

“Why?” she asks.

“To see how warm you are,” you answer, booping her nose, which scrunches up in response. 

Rose looks at you with her big blue eyes. “Why?” she asks again. You’re glad to see the fever hasn’t affected her curiosity. 

You smooth down her hair, doing your best to flatten the stray cowlicks. “Because it’s dangerous if you’re too hot. You would need to go to the hospital,” you say. 

Rose furrows her brows and utters an “Oh.”

You rise from your seat and head for the kitchen. “Are you comfortable?” you ask. To free up your hands, you shifted her upright, and she’s now clinging to you like a koala.

“Mm,” she mumbles a confirmation into the crook of your neck. You grab the thermometer and turn it on to see if the batteries are still working. On your way back, you fill up a mug of water to keep Rose hydrated. Once seated back on the couch, you bring the thermometer to her mouth, and she lets you take her temperature without a fuss. 

You wait a few minutes until the device beeps to signal it’s finished. “38.8. Not a low fever, but you should be fine with some rest,” you say. Next, you take the mug and hand it to Rose. “Can you drink this water for me?” She drinks every last drop, smacking her dry lips together. “Wonderful! For being such a good patient, the doctor has decided to give you a little treat.” Fishing around your pocket, you pull out her reward. 

Rose stares in awe at the shiny wrapper in your hand. She gently plucks it up and marvels at the strawberries dotting the colourful material. She glances at her dad, but you bring a finger to your lips when she looks back at you. Rose smiles and nods her head, clutching the candy in her fist.

“I’m sleepy,” Rose announces. You look at John and notice that he’s sunk back into the couch, staring into his empty cup.

“There’s a bed in the guest room. I can put on some cartoons for you to fall asleep to,” you suggest.

She nods her head. “Ok.”  

On your way to the guest room, you fill another glass of water to leave on the bedside table. You lay down Rose on the bed, rummaging in the closet for a thin blanket. As you tuck her in, you feel her forehead with your hand. “Do you feel uncomfortable? Do you want to take any medication?” you ask, making a note to grab a damp cloth before you leave.

“You’re like Daddy. Especially when he looks like this.” Rose brings a finger up to each eyebrow and pushes them down, grimacing in a familiar fashion. She bursts into a fit of giggles, and you join in, unable to resist her charming antics. “Daddy already gave me some medicine. It tasted like bubblegum,” she remarks, sticking her tongue out as the rest of her face scrunches up. 

Amusement twists your lips into a smile. “You don’t like bubblegum?” you ask.

Rose shakes her head. “Bubblegum should not be medicine,” she says with a grave tone; it’s the most serious you’ve seen her since she arrived. You head to the adjoining bathroom and run a clean cloth under room temperature water. Wringing the excess moisture, you return to her side and wipe her sweaty skin.

Rose’s eyelids droop; you take this as your cue to leave. “Alright. Your dad and I will be in the living room or in the room across if you need us.” She nods, and you go to turn on the TV, switching to a channel she likes and lowering the volume and brightness.

You tiptoe out of the room, closing the door slowly but leaving a small gap in case she calls out for anyone. When you return to the living room, John is still in the same position. Except now he’s wringing his hands as his cup sits abandoned on the table.

“John?” you call out his name softly, not wanting to startle him. He doesn’t look up at you, and you wonder if he even heard anything. You remain at a distance, observing every flex of his muscles as he fidgets.

“Is she asleep?” he asks in a whisper. His eyes dart to your figure before landing on his lap again. You walk up and gingerly take a seat beside him. John shifts some of his weight onto you, head resting against yours. You can feel the exhaustion emanating from him in waves. He looks like he could fall asleep any minute himself. 

“Nearly. Rose could barely keep her eyes open when I laid her on the bed,” you say. Warmth envelopes your waist as John snakes an arm around you, pressing you closer to his side.

He kisses the side of your temple, murmuring into your hair, “I’m sorry for troubling you like this. I just… didn’t know what to do.” It’s not often you hear his words catch in his throat. You frown at the wobble in his tone and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp in the way you know always has him purring. He hums appreciatively and leans into your touch, eyes closed in momentary bliss. 

“You’re not troubling me at all. Is this the first time she’s gotten this sick?” you ask.

John mulls over your question, his brows furrowed with thought. “First time while I wasn’t deployed,” he answers. John sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “I’m a terrible father,” and his chuckle leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You pick up the untouched third tea and use it to warm your hands. “What makes you think that?” you ask, fingertips tapping against the ceramic sides of the cup. 

His answer is almost immediate, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “Because I panicked.” As if that single sentence encompassed everything he did wrong tonight. 

You frown and set the cup back down, not wanting to break it in a fit of emotions. There’s a strange disconnect between John’s confidence at work and at home. “So? Does being a good father mean knowing everything about parenting? Because in that case, there’s not a single good father in the world,” you say. But your attempts at comfort only cause him to sigh. “Panicking doesn’t always equal death.”

“You know what I mean,” he says. 

You shake your head. “No. No, I don’t, John. I can’t read minds. What I can tell, though, is that you did your best to handle the situation.” If only you could extract your memories and play them for him to watch. Then maybe he would finally see what a good father he really is. 

“It wasn’t enough,” he deflects.

You place a hand on his shoulder and say, “Yes, it was. Rose is sleeping peacefully down the hall. She’s fine.” You emphasize ‘fine,’ but John shakes his head. Doubt swims in his eyes, churning the blue depths into sheets of glistening glass. 

“What about the next time something like this happens?” he counters. You can feel the damped vibrations through the sofa cushions, and you place a hand on John’s knee. 

“Then you use what you learned from the previous times and do better,” you reply in an even tone. The two of you stare in silence. You refuse to look away. John wavers underneath your gaze. His lips remain in a thin line, stretched taut like a rubber band. And what eventually happens when you put too much strain on a rubber band?

It snaps.  

“Can you hold me?” he whispers, and your heart clenches. You want nothing more than to pick up and carry him to your bed for some well-needed cuddles. But John’s a big man. You’re not sure you could do any of that without struggling.

You shuffle onto his lap and open your arms wide. “Come here.”

John buries himself in your embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he mumbles. His beard grazes your skin, and a giggle bubbles from your throat. The sound causes John to tighten his arms around you. Is this what stress balls feel like when they’re about to explode?

“No problem. I’ll hold you for as long as you want me to,” you say, patting his back. It’s faint, but the scent of his cologne wafts in the air. Notes of bourbon and the smoke from his favourite cigar brand. You breathe it in, wishing you could bottle it up to use when he’s away.

He chuckles, and the resulting vibrations raise the goosebumps on your arms. “I’m afraid you’ll have to surgically remove me from yourself,” he says, burrowing into you.

“Well, that doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world,” you wheeze, rubbing the burning tips of his ears between your forefinger and thumb. 

His voice is small, but it reaches your ears in the serene evening. “You still want to stay?” he asks. 

Your lips twist into an amused smile. “Did I ever say I wouldn’t?” You brush your fingers through his hair, fiddling with the grey streaks you find.

“I’m a mess,” he says. 

You nod. “Yeah, a hot one.”

“Darling….” he drawls. 

“Yes, John?” you say, batting your eyelashes, looking like the epitome of innocence. A sudden attack is launched on your vulnerable sides. “Hey!” you screech as John digs his fingers mercilessly into your waist. You attempt to squirm out of his grasp. If you don’t get away in time, your fight instincts might take over from your flight, and John will learn the hard way not to tickle you.

Although you doubt his reflexes will allow anything to happen. The cheeky bastard’s nearly impossible to catch by surprise since he reacts instantly to any objects hurtling towards him.

“I like hearing you laugh,” John admits, the lines on his face relaxing. The warmth in his eyes stirs that familiar fluttering in your chest. A shudder wracks your body when he absentmindedly rubs circles into your hips.

You peck his nose and lean your forehead on his. “Gets the happy chemicals flowing?” you ask.

John hums, “Mmm.” He teases you again with a quick skim of his fingertips, and you bite your lips to keep quiet. Rose is still sleeping, but a small laugh punches through your teeth. John relents his assault, satisfied for now. 

He continues to cling to you like a koala. You think back to what you’ve learned about John since that fateful encounter at the grocery store. “John? Why do you get so insecure when the topic of parenting surfaces?” you ask.

“...Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. You mentally scold yourself for bringing up a sore subject.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to,” you say.

“What?” John looks at you with wide eyes.

You grin and gently close his jaw before it can reach the ground. “I won’t force you to talk about something you don’t want to,” you say with a shrug. 

“Thanks.” The room falls silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock and the unintelligible murmurs of the TV.

“John, you’re really not that bad.” You trace the bags underneath his eyes, frowning at how puffy they are. 

“Well, I can’t be a bad father if I’m never around,” he chuckles dryly.

You hesitate before asking, “...Is that what this is about?”

“....”

“I know your job takes you away from home often.” You pause and wrack your brain for the right words to convey what you want to say. “But I wish you could see how Rose smiles when I tell her you’ll return in a few days. Or how she hugs her teddy bear—that you gave her—close every night.” Rose’s enthusiasm for her father’s return never wavers, never changes. You’ve babysitted Rose on and off for months now, and every evening, without fail, you hear the recording in the bear play from her room. “Would we like to see more of you? Of course. But I understand, and I think Rose does to a certain degree, that you have responsibilities and duties to fulfill.”

The right side of John’s lips slant up. “Don’t you ever get tired of cheering me up?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ You stand up and hold a hand out to him. “Now let’s get you to bed, my sad little man.”

“Little?” John chuckles, placing his hand in yours.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re just a sad little guy,” you say.

John blinks slowly and raises his brows. But his expression is soon replaced with amusement. “Is this some kind of internet lingo I’m unaware of?”

“....”

John clicks his tongue. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

You huff and feel like a cat with its hackles raised. “Don’t judge me for how I spend my free time,” you say.

John nods. “Ah yes, reading literature. What were they called again? Fan books?”

“Fanfics,” you correct, tugging him from his seat. “To bed. Now.”

John's eyes crinkle at the corners, and his quiet laughter fills the room. “You don’t need to be ashamed, darling. It could be worse. You could be reading those raunchy romance novels they sell at the grocery store.” You don’t humour him with a response, too busy trying to mask your face with a neutral expression. God forbid John learns about the kinds of things you read in your sacred corner of the internet. “You read the equivalent online, don’t you?” The apples of your cheeks tingle, and your mouth dries.

You clear your throat and begin stacking the cups and saucers. “It’s still late. We need to get some more rest,” you say, setting off at a brisk pace to the kitchen sink. The thud of footsteps follows right behind you. You don’t have to turn around to see how his lips curl into a grin.

“You read those books when you have me?” he asks, mock hurt lacing his tone.

You roll your eyes and set the dishes in the sink; a problem for future you. Turning around, you cross your arms and steel your gaze. “In my defence, some of them actually have a good plot,” you say. John raises a brow, and he does a poor job covering his laugh up with a cough. “Don’t give me that look! Some of them do!” you insist. Literal masterpieces exist on the internet. And they’re free??? Clearly, John’s never binged a fanfic until three in the morning and had an epiphany, only to be left desolate and distraught now that there are no more chapters to be read.

During your internal debate to justify your reading habits, John hoists you over his shoulder and heads to your bedroom. 

“Why don’t you recount your favourite one, and we can reenact it, hm?” he suggests, landing a playful smack on your bottom. You flail your limbs to no avail. The heat on your face could burn through the clothes on his back. John glances over at you with a smirk. “You can be quiet, can’t you, love? You did so well last time.” He caresses the back of your thighs, closing the door behind him with his foot.

At least you get a glorious view of his ass from this angle.

End Note:

Listen, don't ask me why I always end up writing some angst when it comes to Dad!Price. I can't help it, it's just ingrained in his DNA. I do have some ideas as to what happened with Rose's mom, and I do want to eventually write Price coming to terms with his grief. But as always, who knows when I'll get to that.

I did think about dragging this out longer. Originally, Price was also supposed to fall sick the next few days and Reader would be nursing him with the help of Rose. But that would have doubled the length and I just wanted this done so I could move on to the next fic 😅

Now it's on to the next fandom on my list! Alas, I am cursed with too many ideas and not enough willpower to write all of them at once.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Taglist: @mipitt141, @lovecats123451

[vilevampirez]

long list of funny things abt my experience doing emote commissions for mike

first of all I wasn't expecting to get commissioned at all (my commissions weren't even open, I just made an exception for mike) let alone by MIKETHELINK of all fucking people, so I had nothing prepared. I had no portfolio, commission sheet, nothing. I had never made any twitch emotes, so I had no examples to show either. meaning that when barbmine showed up in my dms asking if I took emote commissions, first I lost my fucking shit, then I panicked and rushed to find the most recent emote-like illustrations I had, including animation, and the most recent animation I had on hand happened to be a viewtiful joe one lmao. the animation in question 👇

(the usernames on the watermark aren't even accurate anymore..)

I have some experience taking commissions but they'd always been for friends of mine, this was my first time getting commissioned by a real "client" and the client was fucking mikethelink tazercraft of all fucking people . I know he "found" me through Mine, she sent me a dm first asking for commission info, saying she would show it to mike later. the thing is that when she said that she also implied that she was in touch with other artists too, so I was like "oh ok I'll send my stuff but I probably won't get chosen lol" and then a few hours later I got two twitter notifs, one saying that mr. thelink tazercraft was now following me and another was his DM. to say I almost had a heart attack would be an understatement

later I found out Mine had made a tweet asking for artists to reach out/people to rec artists for mike's twitch emotes. that post had around 40 comments. many people had been recommended more than once. I wasn't mentioned by anyone once, and in fact, I had no fucking idea that post even EXISTED until way after the fact. I have no idea how I ended up getting this job

mike happened to contact me on a day where I was severely sleep deprived. our entire business conversation took place while I was half-panicking, half-almost-passing-out. I don't know how I survived

at many points during our conversation I gave a lot of leeway for mike to give up on commissioning me, implying multiple times that he would be better off commissioning a different artist. and it's not because I lacked confidence (though a bit of that too, of course), but because of my lack of experience. I was very open about that to him, so many times I expected him to second guess his decision to commission me. unexpectedly, he was really insistent. I think partially he didn't want to go through the trouble of finding and contacting a different artist, but also I guess he just liked my art that much (??!?)

I definitely undercharged him lol. it's not that I don't value my work, it's just that I was absolutely not prepared for any of this shit to happen and didn't have enough time to think

I use adobe after effects for animating mike's emotes. I already knew how to animate (though I had never animated anything big), but I had never used after effects before. I even told mike this before accepting the commission, but he just said it was easy and I could totally do it, and I was just like "fucking hell. fine". and look, I know my limits, I knew I'd be able to learn after effects with relative ease. if I thought it'be too much for me to handle, I wouldn't have accepted the commission. it just that to this day I'm still shocked that mike commissioned an artist who HAD NEVER USED THE TOOL NECESSARY FOR THE COMMISSION HE WANTED.

due to the point above I was pretty apprehensive about animating the emotes, but now I'm glad I got this opportunity bc it reignited my passion for animation that had been dwindling for a long time and I've been learning a lot while working. also with every new emote I figure out how to use a different feature of after effects and it makes the job a little bit easier

before giving my payment information I came out to him to avoid confusion with my legal name being different from the name on my socials. he was very chill about it and always used the right name and pronouns for me whenever he mentions me on stream

fun fact: I was reached out to by another big (brazilian, not in qsmp) youtuber for a commission but I had to refuse because I had too much on my plate already (still do..)

my favorite emotes are the devil one and the nerd one

I made his twitch avatar and banner too! I'm really proud of the avatar. the banner was absolute hell

I'm a lurker (and nowadays a vod watcher since I've been busy w/ uni work) but I do watch every single one of mike's streams, so just know that I'm always seeing you guys use the emotes :3

[marzipanandminutiae]

she's never going to read this, but it's still interesting

so the person with the extremely cold corset takes last night has now decided that dress history folks are straight-up lying about the purpose of corsets. because we just love them so much, I guess?

she found this ad:

and therefore knows corsets were Totally About Waist Reduction First And Foremost, Always And Forever, Amen

I have. some thoughts.

the main one being that nobody claimed corsets were never used to waist-train back then

the secondary one being that many ads for "form-reducing corsets," at least the ones that I found, make a distinction between "normal" corsets and their product:

It's a specialty product, not what the average woman is wearing on a daily basis. Is its existence messed up? Yes! But nobody has been disputing that pressure on women to look a certain way, and fatphobia, are awful. The issue in question is: was the primary function of an average (in this case Victorian/Edwardian) corset waist reduction? It seems to me that the ad supplied- again, for a specialty garment that was not seen as an ordinary corset -does not prove OP's point.

so let's look at some ordinary corset ads, shall we?

(don't freak out too much about the "baby/child corsets"- I've worked with extant examples many times, and they're just lightly stiffened vests. you couldn't lace a kid down in them if you tried- not that you should, obviously)

(Pliability, elasticity, comfort- but no mention of waist reduction as a selling point)

(this one is an unusual design, but I'm including it because it mentions support- and specifically breast support -not once, but twice. It also instructs ladies to measure their waists OUTSIDE their clothing- which will result in a larger measure even than we commonly use for custom corsets nowadays. note that a 2" lacing gap was common, per a corsetiere quoted in Valerie Steele's The Corset: A Cultural History)

(Flexibility and comfort, yet again.)

(Rather a ridiculous one, including the implication that you need an elegant corset to snare a husband and therefore economic security and love, but the bottom left text says "What an improvement the Madam Warren corset. And how comfortable.")

so we've clearly got comfort, support, and ease of movement at the forefront of the average consumer's mind, for so many ads to mention such thing. a number also don't have much text at all:

(The Celebrated EEE is my hypothetical burlesque name, but I digress.)

of the first twenty random ads that come up when I do an image search for "corset advertisement," eleven mention health and/or comfort, and only one directly mentions waist reduction- while advertising, again, a separate specialty "reducing" corset.

am I saying it never happened? absolutely not. I have NEVER been saying that. tightlacing did happen. obviously reducing corsets existed. I would not deny any of this

am I saying that, clearly, support and comfort were thought so high on the average corset-wearer's priority list that manufacturers played to those attributes more than waist reduction when constructing/advertising corsets, implying that they are NOT, in fact, the same thing as a Kim K waist cincher? yes

(file under: things I cannot believe I have to fucking say, and yet here we are)

[skele-bunny]

I've escaped containment again

Murder ghoul rainy pretty please? /Silly

By The Water. (CW) Rain/Swiss

CW - Death, Light Gore, Gore in Genitals, Vagina Dentata (Teeth Vagina)

Tags: Murder Ghouls, Sexual Content, Seduction for Death, Mute!Rain, Trans!Rain, Tentacle Dick, Rain has weird anatomy

Characters: Rain, Random Named Sibling of Sin, Swiss

(Divider by @ wrathofrats !)

When you have nothing better to do, the first thing the body tends to do is wander. Sibling Ali wasn't spared from that boredom. Looking down as they kicked a rock along the gravel path leading to the gardens, anger still festered from their previous punishment from earlier. Ignoring a summons led to detention, the sixth time this week for them. Ali's feet led them to their own accord, hands stuffed into their pockets and trying to ease themselves.

The path led three ways once exiting the garden. The graveyard, the forest, or the lake; Ali going to the lake as the kicking of rocks had suddenly become more interesting when water was involved. Leaning down, Ali had begun to skip rocks near the shoreline, no thoughts playing in their mind as they opted for their distraction. About the sixth rock in, Ali's attention had diverted as something on the other side surfaced, but only for a brief moment before dipping down again.

Curiosity had gotten the best of them, slowly walking around. It wasn't uncommon for water ghouls to be found lurking underneath, if anything, it was recommended to leave the moment one was spotted. Advised to never enter alone unless other ghouls or siblings were present as they were listed as silent killers. As Ali finally got to the other dock, that same flashed resurfaced fully to the wood above, a hand combing through dark hair. Ali was breathless as they admired fins down the ghouls back that practically reflected the light into their eyes. Their foot scraped the gravel again, making the ghoul to turn around instantly before covering their unmasked face.

"A-Ah! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... Ya know... Walk over to you while you were— Uhm..." Ali trailed off, starting to slowly walk backwards only to stop as the ghoul slowly turned around again.

Hands still covered their face but an eye, full of confusion. This sibling wasn't... Scared? Ali got the question quickly, now rubbing their wrist with nervousness.

"No, I don't mind... If anything, I think it's stupid they make you all be masked twenty-four-seven." They shrugged. "Besides you're swimming so it wouldn't make sense to wear one."

They watched with a soft blush as the ghoul slowly lowered their hands, giving a small smile before turning fully. Their blush had quickly deepened and spread, staring at the ghoul presented before them. Their face was rounded yet still sharp, black and wavy hair reaching their shoulders, white scales littered underneath soft blue eyes that seemed to speak despite their lips never parting. Curious, just as much as Ali was.

The ghoul turned their shoulders, Ali clutching their pants leg tightly as the water ghoul's perked breasts came into view. They had sat in a way to purposely extenuate their chest, tail still in the water that swayed back and forth. Angelic was the only thing Ali could think to describe it.

A tap to the dock got Ali to look, seeing the ghoul patting the spot next to them. An invitation.

Once more, Ali's feet moved on their own accord, slowly taking off their shoes and socks once they got near—sitting on the edge and letting their feet graze the water below. The ghoul purred, smile still soft as they looked over the human with just as much admiration Ali had. They let out a small roll of their tongue, commonly known as a 'trill' Ali had been taught it was called.

"Sorry, I just..." They swallowed hard. "You're really pretty... I'm normally more put-together than this. I've never seen one of you beneath the masks before."

Shoulders bouncing, the ghoul began to silently laugh, and in return their chest bounced which caused Ali's eyes to flicker down before returning back up. The ghoul leaned over some, hand lifting to slowly caress down Ali's face, claw delicate as it tapped at a mole.

With their hand fully cupping Ali's cheek, they held eye contact with shaking breaths. They stared at one another before a gentle pull began, Ali leaning over until their breaths mixed and a gap was closed. Now, Ali knew ghouls were sexual creatures and it was perfectly fine to consummate with them, but it was still their first time even being alone with one. They pulled back, covering their lips and giggling nervously.

Once again there was that smile, Ali hesitantly giving one back before feeling a different type of pull—internal—to lean forwards again but not kiss. Just barely grazing. The ghoul was pressed against their arm, eyes going down to their chest again.

Ali admired what sat next to them, breasts moving in time with breathing, a belly button piercing just before skin turned to scales. There was even a small slit that opened some, a single drop of slick making it's way out and over the ghoul's side. Ali watched as their hand was grabbed and placed delicately on the slit, the ghoul making a rubbing motion before letting go—the sibling still making the motion and looking with awe as the slit opened more and their fingers sank inside.

Their other hand was grabbed and moved to the closest perked breast, groping as if it was second nature. The ghoul leaned into view again and their lips became intertwined, Ali working both their hands in almost a sync with their mouth. They could feel the ghoul's hands touch their waist, body shivering and slick protruding more from their slit.

Was this how water ghouls mated? A slit in their tails? Ali curled their fingers up and watched the ghoul tremble more, hands gripping tighter as their hips twitched upwards.

Tongue pushing in, Ali opened their mouth for the water they still didn't have the name of, feeling them laying down and Ali following—legs going over the ghoul's waist as a hand went down their pants as well. Wet fingers went over equally wet folds, Ali trembling beneath their touch and starting to rock their own hips downwards. The hand on their waist tightening as their tail hit against the water, showing their ever increasing excitement.

Circling Ali's twitching nub, the ghoul let out another trill as their tongue retracted, breathing heavier before lifting their head to kiss again. Ali quickened their fingers in the ghoul's slit, watching and feeling them become more slick and twitch further up. This was serenity and everything Ali could ever think of as the ghoul moved from their mouth to kiss down their neck. For a moment, Ali had wanted to laugh at the advisories.

Wanted to.

As the ghoul got to their jugular and trilled louder as they orgasmed, teeth had sank in immediately, and before Ali could even make a noise their bodies had rolled into the water right next to them. From above, clothes could be seen drifting to the surface along with red liquid staining against soft blue of the water.

It was only two hours since Rain had left out, Swiss waving over the couch as they heard the den door close and wet footsteps follow. The multi hummed, turning from his video game as Rain leaned over the side for a kiss. Instantly, Swiss' eyes contracted to slits, pulling back after a second to whistle.

"Well hello to you, too. Giving poor, little, helpless me some leftovers like a baby bird?" He teased, quickly glancing to pause his game before watching Rain come around the couch to sit on his lap.

His white button up was soaked, showing his chest and even a bruise forming on his stomach. He brought his hands up, "Maybe. Beelzebub knows you can't fish to save your life."

"Ohh, you're so mean to me!" Swiss laughed, leaning forwards for another kiss.

Rain purred, bringing his claws up to gently comb through Swiss' afro, sighing as his mouth went to his neck to lick in his gills. He held Swiss there as his body welcomed the true pleasure rather than the fake he had been giving all day.

"Bet they didn't touch you right, did they baby?" The multi mumbled between his sucks, hands reaching under to grope Rain's ass.

A groan came from the water, letting Swiss pull back so they could sign again—frustration showing.

"Out of all three of them, not one got my clit out. That's how terrible they are."

Swiss flopped the wet ghoul onto the couch, not caring as Mountain would whine at the soaked cushions since Rain hadn't dried off. "My poor princess... Gotta fix that, yeah?"

Rain nodded eagerly, letting Swiss unbutton his shorts and pull down, whistling again and starting to laugh. Besides being commando, Rain's teeth had made itself known while still closed tightly but a finger poked out, making him hum as he touched over the exposed bone. Swiss gently scratched at Rain's taint and watched the teeth slowly open, grabbing the finger out—admiring the pink nail polish he'd recommend to Sunshine later—and putting it in his own mouth. Rain rolled his eyes but face still flushed in embarrassment as he hadn't even noticed the part still inside him.

Once the teeth had completely covered back in, Swiss spread Rain's fold with his thumb, dragging up and rubbing at another tiny hole.

"See," Swiss adjusted the finger in his mouth before biting down to break the bone, talking with his mouth full. "They can't even get your clit out... But I can get our lovely lady out."

As if simply being mentioned was a summon, Rain's tentacle lifted out of the hole, wrapping around Swiss' hand and sucking on his palm. The multi looked up to see Rain's head tilted back, trying to catch his breath as the relief he desperately needed filled had finally started. Swiss stroked his tentacle, leaning down to suck at a nipple poking out from the shirt, feeling Rain's legs go around his hips and pull him close.

Popping up once more before he delved back down, Swiss groaned. "Don't you worry. I've got you, princess. Gonna put em' all to shame for you."

A loud trill came from the couch as Swiss squeezed his hand and closed his teeth around Rain's nipple.

[the-fell-family]

hello:)

I've got several questions, but I figured I'd put it in one ask for ease, sorry if that accidentally makes it harder.

A.)How did you guys decide who got pregnant?

B.)If you two can still use miracles then why didn't you just miracle up a baby or would that have attracted unwanted attention?

C.)Do you guys have any baby names picked out yet?

D.) can you adopt me please please please, I don't deal with my family anymore, I'm not magic but I'm clumsy so we can call that magic? (/hj)

(once again, I'm sorry if submitting questions like this is harder to answer)

Of course! And don't mind about asking more than one question at one time, it's quite alright.

A) The little one wasn't exactly planned... We didn't realise that we could even make a baby! - Aziraphale

B) Baby summoning is a pretty hefty miracle. Human summoning takes a lot of energy and power. It would get us a lot of attention that we don't want right now.

C) 'Zira's just gone one month, so no baby names yet.

D) We'll add you to the list. - Crowley

[thebestestofbees]

TELEVISION AU: PART 8

The ride to the store was surprisingly tame. Sure you had a few questions here and there, but other than that, it was calm. Once you pulled into a parking space, you turned to all the puppets.

"Since this isn't your world, here is our alibi: You're siblings of mine and like to cosplay, got it?" You say. The puppets nodded slightly aware of where your coming from. "Alright now, come on." You say, turning off your car and getting out, the puppets following you.

You walk up to the Walmart and pull a cart from numerous ones. Once the puppets came up to you, you grabbed Wally by his armpits, making him mutter, "I'm up here now." And putting him in the shopping cart where a child is supposed to go.

Sally and Julie immediately went up to the cart and grabbed onto the railing, Julie hopping in place. "Can we get in?!" Julie asked with a bright smile looking up at you excitedly.

"Sure." The moment you say that, Julie hops in the cart, sitting down criss crossed, while Sally just raises her arms up in your direction, in a similar fashion to how a toddler would get an adult to pick them up. You raised an eyebrow at Sally.

Sally just made grabbed hands at you. "Up. Up neighbor!" She said, going on her tippy toes for a short moment. You gave a small chuckle and took Sally up by her arm pits, lifting her up with ease, and placed her next to Julie. You took the bar and strolled into the store with the rest of the puppets.

You looked at the list on your phone and moved over to the fruits section to get the first thing on your list. Fruits and vegetables. You stopped the cart and left for a moment to get Bell peppers. Poppy peered over your shoulder, tilting her head as you weighted and bagged the bell peppers.

"What are those?" Poppy asked, watching as you tied the bag closed. "I'm getting bell peppers, for cooking." You said, placing the bell peppers next to Julie, who immediately grabbed the bag and started to balance the bell peppers inside the bag. "But they don't look or sound like the bells I've seen. Why are they called that?" Wally asked, turning his head from the bag of bell peppers in Julie's hands, turning to you.

"Well I don't know." You fished out your phone. "Hey Google." Your phone lit up, and so did the puppets surrounding your cart. "why are bell peppers called bell peppers?"

"According to the Encyclopedia, Bell pepper is the common name for a Cultivar group of the species Capsicum annuum, widely cultivated for their edible, bell shaped fruits." Your device said.

You stopped speaking as you let your phone do the talking for you. "I guess that's why." You say, Wally hums and nods slowly, putting his hands on the bars of the cart. Howdy started to chuckle. "That's a neat little do-hickey you got there, what's it called again, Google?" Howdy asked, resting on of his arms on the cart.

"It's called a phone, Google is just the AI that helps answer questions and scower the internet, you know?" The puppets seemed lost at your explanation. "Right, I forgot you guys are like really old." You face palmed. "But we all have phones." Wally piped up. "Yeah, I'd though about that. A touch tone telephone right?" You asked, Wally tilted his head. "A what?"

You searched it up and showed Wally. His eyes lit up in recognition and he pointed to the pictures of a touch tone telephone. "That looks like my phone!" Wally smiled. You pulled your phone away, "yeah, that's called a touch tone telephone." You say, putting your phone and wallet next to Wally and started to move away from the spot, getting more fruits and vegetables.

After about an hour of shopping for groceries, you decided to let the puppets get one thing each, while you waited at self checkout.

Once you had said that the puppets scattered even Julie and Sally had jumped out of the cart and ran to the other isles. All the puppets except for Howdy and Wally, who was still in the cart. "So, show me this self checkout thing, I'm real interested about how it works." Howdy spoke up, you shrugged and pushed the basket full of groceries to the Self checkout.

Once you got there, you started to scan your items, to which Howdy was quite shocked over, he kept asking questions, such as how does it work, what's that number that was increasing, how is the scanner scanning the black and white lines on every product and so on.

You answered most of his questions with some patience. You bagged all your items and pulled out your wallet, taking out your card and paying for your groceries. "I'd say, what kind of business are they runnin here? Definitely not any funny business." Howdy remarked, not seeing a single joke in any of the payment process. It was a little astounding, but really what could Howdy expect from a Self Checkout?

Just then the puppets show up again all with different items from all kinds of sections. Sally had come back with a bedazzled diary looking book, complete with it's own lock, Julie had a pack of chalk with all the colors, Frank had a book on Butterflies and bugs, Eddie had a pack of stamps, Poppy had a knitting kit, and Barnaby had a bugle Bike horn.

"This really shows how all of your personalities differ." You say as you scan the items and bag them, the puppets looking at the machine it a confused fascination. You buy the extra things and finally leave the store without any more mishaps.

You load the bags into your trunk as the puppets get situated inside the car. Once your done you put the bread and eggs in Frank's lap. "It's fragile." You say as you clo see the passenger door and get into the driver's seat. "Alright, Home time." You say starting the car.

[End]

"LoOk." The author says, shakily raising the new update on a silver platter. "I dId It."

[purgeturbia]

i've been working on something for... quite a while. i'm not ready to share the whole thing yet (read: it's not even close to being finished), but this part of it, while mostly unedited, can stand pretty well on its own, so have a little bit of smitten obi-wan. as a treat.

*eta bc i forgot the first time: ~2k, canon-typical mentions of death but nothing graphic, mostly fluff

the rest of the work is not like this.

-

XXXVII. START WARS AND BURN CITIES

When he and Cody and the 212th had liberated planets from the Separatists — although he muses, now, that they had not done much liberating at all, if the end result was the desolate fear-space the galaxy has become — there had often been more time spent cleaning up the aftermath of their battles than there had been actually fighting. The machine of war was not a tidy one, and Obi-Wan hated to leave innocent people in a worse state than he had found them. 

Often, during these pseudo-recovery times, he was excluded from the physical labor. Cody tended to push Obi-Wan off into the command tent to fill out the hundreds of forms that came with successful completion of a campaign, saying, “There are thousands of vod’e, sir, and only one of you,” but Obi-Wan saw it for what it really was — a chance (an order) to rest “for once in your kriffing life, General.”

Obi-Wan, after the first few campaigns, never argued. Crash would be on his ass for trying to help with cleanup anyway, and he did so despise being hauled to the medbay. 

Though his stack of requisition forms and reports to write and casualty lists was always far larger than he cared to admit, Obi-Wan was, despite his field ban, never one to sit idle in command after a battle. He would, instead, crank out as much flimsiwork as he could before his body began to ache with the stillness of it all, and then he would mingle with the troops. The shinies, especially, were emboldened by his presence among them. They were so young, even the veteran troopers, and anything he could do to ease the pain of a life defined by war was an obligation, even if it was just a kind word here or there. 

He was never content with the mental state of his men. Even after a decisive victory, or a battle with minimal casualties, or a skirmish with none at all, there was a sharp edge to their presences in the Force. Their hands shook ever so slightly and their smiles were never quite genuine and their eyes were constantly moving, observing, calculating. 

The war lived inside all of them, himself included. The thing was, though, that Obi-Wan had had those few glorious years, before Qui-Gon and Bandomeer and Melida/Daan and the rest of his life that had come crashing down around him and never stopped, where there was no war in his bones. 

His troops had been born with the war in them, and that was a pain he could not take away.

Even so, he would move through the camp like a fish through water, dropping hands to pauldrons and calling greetings across the expanse of tents. He would bring rations and fill canteens, and linger around medical looking for tasks until Crash told him to stop lurking and go bother somebody who would appreciate it. He’d always wiggled his eyebrows afterward, though, and told Obi-Wan very dramatically where Cody had gotten off to, so it was easy to see that he was never truly upset. Obi-Wan, in return, would blush about sixteen shades of red and very pointedly stalk off in the opposite direction of wherever Cody happened to be.

It was on one such occasion, on a forested planet Obi-Wan can no longer remember the name of, that he had turned away from Crash (and, he’d thought, Cody), only to stumble upon his commander preparing to direct half of Phantom Company through the process of removing a fallen tree that had crushed a house and blocked most of the packed-dirt road stretching through one of the little settlements they’d come planetside to defend. Obi-Wan could have moved the tree himself in a matter of seconds, but. Cody had told him to stay out of the cleanup, and one of his least favorite things in a time with many unpleasantries was upsetting Cody.

So he’d lingered on the outskirts, observing. Phantom acted, of course, as a well-oiled machine, and though fierce pride for his men bubbled up in his chest, Obi-Wan allowed himself a moment of indulgence. He leaned against a still-standing tree just behind the houses across the way from the crushed one, and watched Cody work. He was a study in professionalism, in genius, even when faced with a task so simple as moving debris. Cody burned with a focused intensity that matched the sunburst on his armor as he paced around the tree, and they had spent long enough nights hunched together over sims and holotables that Obi-Wan could easily guess the questions being mentally asked and answered in quick succession: how heavy is the trunk? How many troops do I need to lift it? If we apply more leverage here, will the house be more damaged or less? 

It struck Obi-Wan then that he had not had time for fanciful things like poetry since the war’s beginning — but then again, maybe he didn’t need it. Maybe it had been right in front of him all along.

It was in the midst of this realization that he was pulled out of his thoughts by a presence at his elbow. When he turned, it wasn’t a clone, as he’d been expecting, but one of the locals; a wizened old woman leaning on a painstakingly carved wooden cane. She was not looking at Obi-Wan, but at the troopers as they worked. She was looking at Cody.

She had spoken before Obi-Wan could. “Strange, isn’t it.”

He waited a beat, and then another. She was silent beside him. “That would depend on what it is, I suppose,” he said eventually.

She laughed, though it was more of a huff than anything. The indulgent sort of laugh that comes from a person who knows a joke has been made but who doesn’t really feel like laughing. “All of this. The war, the clones. The Jedi, leading them. You’re not meant for this, are you.”

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it. “You know,” he murmured, “you’re the first person … outside of all this, to notice that.”

She laughed again. It was no more sincere than the first time. “Am I really on the outside, Master Jedi?” she asked. “Are any of us?”

Obi-Wan knew she was right, so he merely inclined his head. Cody was positioning Phantom around the tree. It looked like his plan was to heave it up and over the houses and the road using applied leverage from the base, and dismantle it for lumber once its position was no longer an immediate problem. It was a good plan, very practical, very Cody, and Obi-Wan couldn’t quite keep a small smile from creeping across his face. 

He startled when the woman spoke again. “Is it worth it, then?”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed and he hummed, confused. To protect the innocent, of course the war was worth it. He wasn’t meant for it, none of the Jedi were, but he would fight it a thousand times over to save those who could not save themselves. Why would she ask him that? Why else would he be here?

He felt eyes on him, then, and turned to see the woman finally looking at him and not at his troops. Something in her face reminded him of Yoda, like she had lived a dozen of his lifetimes and known more than he could ever hope to learn. “Is it worth it,” she repeated, and continued, “for him.”

All of the breath left Obi-Wan’s body in a rush. He suddenly felt exposed, uncovered, though he was sure of his safety in the saber hung at his belt and his trusted men not forty meters away. Little gods. Two words was all it took to undo the great Negotiator. But he supposed nobody had ever come so close to his soul with two words before. He was, for the first time in a very, very long time, unsure of what to say.

“I —” he started, and stopped just as quickly, because he’d been about to defend himself, but there was no need to defend in a battle that was already over. He settled on, finally, “He is … very dear to me.”

“You would not have met him without this war.” Something in her voice was sharp, and he knew the words he spoke next would determine whether he passed a test she didn’t even know she was setting. “He would not even exist.”

He chose his response carefully. “No. But sometimes I think — perhaps it would have been a gift, for them, to never have lived at all.” He took a deep breath, steadying. “They have never known anything but war. They were bred for it, raised on it, and now they breathe it and eat it and it haunts their dreams. As much as the idea of it pains me, a galaxy without him in it, he would not exist without his brothers, and they would not exist without the war in their bones.” He turned back, toward Cody, who was helping lift the base of the tree, readying to swing it out away from the road. “How can that be worth it? The misery of millions for the happiness of one?”

The tree was suddenly standing again, propelled into the sky by Cody’s careful placement of force and the sheer brute strength of battle-hardened troopers. It wheeled above them for a moment, rotating, before crashing into the ground and sending up a cheer from the men. Obi-Wan was caught momentarily in the sunbeams of Cody’s victory smile, radiant, glorious, beautiful even from a distance. 

“You love him,” said the woman.

To hear the words out loud tore at something in him. He would never be able to say them himself, but he’d stopped denying the truth of them long ago. “Yes,” he said simply. “He deserves more than this, better than this. I would never wish this existence upon him, and in another life I would never claim this war to be worth it just so I might have the honor of —” the word loving stuck viscerally in his throat and he swallowed around it, “of knowing him again.”

Obi-Wan folded his arms tightly, wishing he had thought to bring his robes with him then, if only for something to do with his hands. Cody, having finished delegating the deconstruction of the tree, had spotted the odd pair and was heading over, bright with his success. 

The woman, looking at Cody and then back at Obi-Wan, huffed that strange not-laugh again. “If you win this war, Master Jedi, will it have been worth it?”

With Cody striding toward him, Obi-Wan was stuck between the sensations of a heart full to bursting with the pain of a love he could never truly have and the gut-punch realization that maybe, someday, he could. He barely managed to gasp out an “Oh, I —” before Cody was upon them, saying, “General, sir, I thought I told you to stay at camp,” but his smile betrayed him, and Obi-Wan found himself grinning back, breathless, and for a brief moment there was no war and no winning and no losing; there was only them, together, and the galaxy was theirs for the taking.

Now, the surface of Tatooine is dark and chilled. Wind whistles around the hut on the edge of the Dune Sea — a sandstorm will hit in the next few days, and in the morning they’ll need to start preparing. The memory of that woman comes back to him, unbidden, and he clings tighter to Cody, wrapped in his arms on Obi-Wan’s lumpy old bed. He thinks of Anakin, as much as it hurts to, and of the thousands of fallen Jedi, and of every clone forced to take the life of innocents, their bodies their own but not their minds. The war lost him everything, everyone, and everywhere he’s ever loved. But little gods. Cody is alive. He’s here, and safe, and they’re together again, his sunshine returned to him. Obi-Wan hates himself for it (hate leads to the dark — please, stop, please), but the worst parts of his soul are screaming it: maybe for this, this small salvation in the ruins, everything had been worth it after all.

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Fifty Two

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends,

As always, thank you so much for your love on this fic! It genuinely means the world to me. I've been writing this version of them for almost a year now, and they mean so much to me!

I hope you enjoy this one...we're on the edge of some more drama!

-x-

Words: 3.1k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron smiles as he paces back and forth in the living room, patting Lily’s back having just fed her. She grumbles and rubs her face into the muslin he’d thrown over his shoulder to protect his suit jacket. 

“I know, Lily-Pad,” he says, kissing the side of her head, empathy infused into his voice, “Daddy and the bottle aren’t as good as Mommy but she has to get ready for work, so you’re stuck with me this morning.” 

In the few weeks since Emily had returned to work, they’d formed a routine. Usually, she’d feed Lily when she woke up, both a need physically to ease any discomfort and something she liked to do anyway. Enjoying the moments of silence and peace she’d get with her little girl first thing in the morning, something she found all the more precious since she’d returned to work. It helped ease some of the guilt that had seemingly taken permanent residence in her chest, hunkered down in the very centre of it, ever since the moment she dropped Lily off to daycare for the first time. She’d spoken to JJ about it, called her friend who she hadn’t seen since she left the BAU and asked if it was normal. If the guilt of trying to be someone’s mother whilst also retaining the ability to be yourself would ever fade. 

She’s not sure if it made her feel better or not that JJ had said she felt the same way, an edge to her voice that let Emily know there was more to it these days than her friend could share. 

This morning had been a break from their routine. Lily hadn’t slept much, restless for a reason neither of them had been able to figure out unless she was in Emily’s arms. She’d finally gone to sleep in the small hours of the morning, and Aaron had suggested he took the baby this morning to give his wife some much needed time to herself and some precious extra minutes in bed. 

Lily looks up at him, her cheek resting on his shoulder, and she smiles, wide and gummy and always enough to make his heart swell. She was Emily through and through, beautiful and stubborn in a way that he knew would drive him crazy when she was a teenager. 

His phone rings from his pocket and he adjusts his hold on Lily, making sure she’s secure against his chest. He pulls his phone from his pocket and sees Penelope’s name on the screen and he looks down at his daughter. 

“Looks like Daddy has a case,” he says before he answers, “Morning Garcia” 

“Morning Sir,” she replies, “DC Police have just been in touch, they want our help with a case.”

“How many victims are we talking?” He asks, grateful that it seemed he’d be working locally for once. 

“Only the one, but-”

He cuts her off as Lily grabs his tie, pulling it with more force than he’d think a baby just shy of four months old would be capable of.

“Angel, don’t do that,” he says, pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear to release her grip from his tie.

“Sir…did you just call me Angel? Because I like the nickname but you usually blush when you call me Penelope.” 

He sighs and rolls his eyes even though Penelope can’t see him, “Sorry to burst your bubble  Garcia, but I was talking to Lily.” 

He winces as she screeches down the phone. Any mention of his little girl always made Penelope giddy, a wide grin on her face as she would always inevitably ask him if they were planning on having any other children. He hoped that one day, especially because he knew his wife definitely wanted at least one more, that the question wouldn’t strike fear in his gut. A spark of something that hadn’t completely faded, still prone to catching fire again at the memory of Lily’s birth. How he’d spent close to an hour thinking he’d lose one or both of them, how he could still see the fear on Emily’s face when they were told what was happening. A memory seared into his brain, burnt into the back of his eyelids so he’d see it whenever he closed his eyes. 

“Oh, how is she? Emily sent the funniest picture-”

“Garcia,” he says, well aware if he let her carry on they’d lose track of why she’d called in the first place, “Why do DCPD want us involved if there’s only one victim? That’s not really enough for us to build them a profile.”

“It’s more to do with what the unsub did,” she says, clearing her throat before she continues, “The victim's lips were removed.” 

He pauses, frozen in place as Penelope’s words wash over him, and he swallows thickly, shaking off how he’d briefly been affected. 

“Tell the team to get to the office as soon as they can,” he says before they exchange goodbyes and he hangs up. He blows out a breath as he slips his phone back into his pocket and looks down at Lily, “Looks like it’s time for me to go to work.” 

He hears his wife’s familiar footsteps in the hallway and smiles at her as she walks in. He always thought she looked beautiful no matter what she was wearing. If she was dressed up for an event, or simply wearing one of his t-shirts with her hair pulled back she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. But there was something about her dressed like this, in one of the suits she wore to work, that took his breath away.

He wonders if it’s because it’s what she was wearing when he fell in love with her. Her obvious beauty and clean-cut suits mixed in with her intelligence and her empathy enough to bowl him over, especially now he knew how it felt to be loved by her. 

“Was that Pen with a case?” She asks, walking over and pressing a kiss to his lips, her hand over his on Lily’s back. 

“Yeah,” he replies, shifting Lily so Emily can take her, the baby already reaching for her mother, “It’s only in DC though so I’ll be home tonight.” 

She smiles, grateful that he won’t be going very far, “Did you hear that, Lils?” She asks, kissing Lily’s cheek before she holds her against her chest, “Daddy’s not going very far for work this time,” she smiles back up at her husband, “Do you need to go now?”

He nods and leans in to kiss her, “It’s urgent.”

She kisses him again before she pulls back, one of her hands on his cheek, “Okay, I’ll get here to daycare. Be safe, okay?” 

“You too,” he replies and she rolls her eyes at him. 

“Yes, I’ll try not to get a papercut whilst I’m translating documents today,” she says, winking at him, “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” he replies, and he kisses Lily’s head, “Love you, Lily-Pad.” 

Emily smiles as she watches him go, the sound of him gathering his things and leaving, taking care to close the door behind him as quietly as possible. 

“Okay, sweet girl,” she says, looking down at her daughter, “We should get you to daycare” The only response she gets is Lily throwing up on her shoulder, staining the jacket she’d only just put on. Emily sighs and pats her baby’s back, “Okay, change of plan. Mommy needs to change, then it’s time for daycare.” 

___

Emily smiles as she walks into the BAU’s bullpen, more than ready to go home. She spots the team, all gathered by Derek’s desk and walks over, her smile only widening when Aaron looks up and spots her. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he says as she makes it to his side, and he leans in to stamp a kiss against her cheek. He’d been more relaxed about showing her affection at work since she’d stopped working for him directly, something she secretly relished in no matter how much she sometimes chastised him for it, but she knows it was also because the bullpen was largely empty apart from the BAU. 

“Hi,” she replies, looking around the team. It was hard to get her head around the fact she wasn’t part of the team anymore. She missed it sometimes but she knew she’d left for the right reasons, she’d never wanted to turn into her mother and this was her way of making sure of it. She smiles as she looks at a woman she’d never met before, the newest member of the team that she knew to be Alex Blake. She’d met the other new member, Ashley Seaver, a couple of weeks ago.  “We haven’t met, I’m Agent Prentiss, I’m in the counterterrorism unit.” 

“She’s also Hotch’s wife,” Derek says, winking at Emily when she glares at him, “In case you’re worried he’s going to start kissing all of us.” 

“Lovely to meet you,” Alex says as she purposely ignores Derek, already making her go up in Emily’s estimations. She puts her hand out for Emily to shake and she returns the favour, “I’ve got to say, taking the boss's wife’s old job is a lot of pressure,” she half-jokes, a wry smile on her face, “Big shoes to fill.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Blake,” Dave chimes in, “You’re not even half as much trouble as she was.” 

“Shut up, Dave,” Emily says before she turns back to Alex, “It’s lovely to meet you too. Don’t believe anything Dave says about me,” she smirks as Dave rolls his eyes at her and then looks at the group as a whole, “What are everyone’s plans for the evening?” 

“We’re all going to see Garcia’s play,” Spencer says, “Even though she didn’t want us to know about it at first.” 

Emily smiles and leans into her husband’s side a little, well aware that he felt guilty for accidentally revealing that their friend was going to be in a play to everyone. He’d told her about it when he got home from work last night, his head in his hands as if he’d created some cardinal sin, not simply slipped up whilst they were trying to solve a case with a deadline, a girl’s life at stake. 

“Are you coming, peaches?” Penelope asks, the look in her eyes so hopeful it makes Emily sigh, familiar guilt churning in her gut. 

“Oh, we have to go pick up Lily-”

“I thought you’d hired a babysitter?” Derek asks curiously, and Emily turns to look at her husband. He smiles at her and places his hand on her hip, squeezing it for a moment, a silent promise that he’d go with whatever she wanted, “Hotch told us, some student from one of the universities.” 

“And she’s studying for her masters in Child Development, and she graduated from her undergrad with honours,” Penelope says, her eyes going wide as she realises what she’s said, and Emily sighs, closing her eyes as her husband squeezes her hip again.

“You asked Garcia to look into Amy’s background?” He asks, raising his eyebrow at her as she looks up at him, and she sighs, but is cut off as she opens her mouth to respond. 

“So did you bossman,” Penelope says in defiance and Emily laughs at him, raising her eyebrows at him. 

“You were saying?” She asks, chuckling as he narrows his eyes slightly. 

“That was meant to be a secret, Garcia,” he says, no malice in his voice as he struggles to keep a straight face himself.

“Well, so was my play,” she replies, smiling at him before she looks at Emily, “So are you going to come?”

Emily thinks about it for a moment, her lips pressed together as she looks back and forth between her friend's hopeful faces, and she eventually sighs and nods. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out with them all, and it would give her a chance to get to know Ashley and Alex better. 

“Okay, sure,” she says, chuckling as Penelope pulls her into a hug, “I’ll call the babysitter.” 

___

“I don’t know why Pen didn’t want us to know about that,” Emily says as they walk into their house, “She was excellent.” 

“She was nervous, sweetheart,” he says, closing the door behind them, “I don’t think I could get on stage in front of everyone.” 

“That’s because you can’t sing, honey,” she replies as she shrugs off her coat, her eyes sparkling with mischief as he scoffs at her.

“I’m not that bad,” he grumbles, taking her coat and hanging it up for her before he takes off his own. 

“Baby,” she says, cupping his cheek, a sympathetic smile on her face, “You suck. Lily actually stops crying when you stop singing to her.” 

He narrows his eyes, but any reply is cut off before it can begin as the babysitter walks down the stairs, the baby monitor in her hand. 

“Mr and Mrs Hotchner,” Amy says quietly, keeping her voice low for the sake of the sleeping baby upstairs, “How was the play?” 

“It was good thank you, Amy,” Aaron says, “How was Lily tonight?” 

“Oh she was an angel, she barely cried all night,” she says, smiling at them, “She woke up about 20 minutes ago but I changed her and she’s settled back down.” 

Emily chuckles, “Nice to know it’s just us she screams the place down for,” she says, glancing up the stairs, almost itching to go and see her baby even though she knows she should let her sleep, “Thank you so much for tonight, especially on such short notice.” 

“It really wasn’t a problem,” Amy says, handing over the monitor and gathering her things, “It gave me a chance to study.”

Aaron and Emily both exchange a small smile over her mention of her studies, their mutual, but separate, requests for Penelope to look into the young girl's background one of the main topics of conversation of the night. Aaron clears his throat and pulls out his wallet, taking out the agreed amount in cash, plus an extra $20 and handing it over to her. 

“Here you go,” he says, “There’s some extra there too for coming over last minute.” 

Amy smiles and nods, folding the money and placing it in her pocket, “Thank you so much.” 

They exchange goodbyes with Amy, and Aaron even goes as far as to make sure she gets into her car safely, even though they live in a good neighbourhood, standing on the porch and keeping watch until she’s in her vehicle. He closes the door and turns back to his wife, smiling as he tugs her into his embrace. 

“It’s still relatively early,” he says, his hands skating up and down her lower back as he pulls her closer, “What do you want to do?” 

“Well,” she says, smiling as she leans in closer, “We could always-” She’s cut off by a loud meow, and turns to see Sergio standing on the side table next to him, his head tilted as he looks at Aaron. The cat stands on his back two paws and places the front two on Aaron’s leg, a not-so-subtle signal that he wants to be picked up. Emily lovingly rolls her eyes and steps back, giving Aaron space to pick up the cat, “I still can’t believe I’m the one who rescued him and you’re the favourite.”

She starts to walk towards the kitchen, Aaron following only a few paces behind her, “He loves you too, Em.”

She looks back at her husband and shakes her head at the sight she’s met with. Sergio is lying back in his arms like a baby, leaning into the head scratches that Aaron is giving him.

“The only time he showed me any kind of attention was when I was pregnant with the tiniest Hotchner,” she grumbles, both of them aware that she wasn’t really annoyed. There was something about watching Aaron with Jack and Lily or with Sergio that made her almost giddy. The difference in size between them and the tender way Aaron would hold them, with hands that she knew carried so much strength, made her fall even more in love with him, “Want some wine?” 

Aaron nods, barely looking up from the content cat in his arms, “Yes please.” 

She walks into the kitchen and heads for the fridge, but is distracted by the blinking light on the phone, “Did we have a message when we left this morning? She asks, wondering who would call them on the house phone and not their cell phones. 

“I don’t think so,” Aaron replies as he walks into the kitchen, now empty-handed since he had a rule about the kitchen and the cat. A rule that was broken more often than it wasn’t. 

Emily hums as she pulls a bottle of white wine out of the fridge, “Can you play it?”

He nods and presses the button, the robotic voice of the answering machine filling the room, providing the time of the call from just before they would have arrived home from the daycare earlier. They’d been home so briefly between then and Amy showing up they hadn’t even stepped into the kitchen. 

“Who the hell even calls the house phone…” Emily drifts off, her rebuke of the mystery caller lost as she freezes in place, a familiar voice filling the room. 

“Emily, it’s your mother. Of course, you know it’s me, it’s probably why you haven’t answered. I know you don’t want to see me, and I know why, but I wanted to speak to you. The incident a few months ago opened my eyes and…well I’ve been going to AA for two months now. I get my two-month chip in a week. My sponsor asked if I was going to invite you and I thought I’d call. It’s at the same place as last time. I hope to see you there. But I understand if I don’t. I lov-”

The message cuts off before it goes any further, and the loud beep that follows echoes around the otherwise silent house. 

-x-

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Okay, this is more so just me looking for some advice. It could be from you, could be from the AI, could be from a friend of yours or a mutual or whatever, but regardless, I'm desperate, so I'll take anything I can get.

I'm intent on creating a list of names for things that exist, but that would very obviously be called something else in a setting where those names don't make sense.

Like, I'll use Hyrule's earth primarily in case (but I'd probably be amiable to Arcane suggestions, too; which, my gosh, SUCH an amazing show & I get the feeling you'd be obsessed with Silco & possibly even Victor, I certainly am; but that's for another time).

Anyway, anything named for a specific culture, religion, historical event/figure, or whatever, would very obviously not have that same name on Hyrule's earth because they would make no sense there.

Some examples: Adam's apple, Saint Elmo's Fire, Mangalitza pig, Newton's Law, Murphy's Law, ect.

There are definitely more, but I can't think of them off the top of my head.

Regardless. If such things were to appear in Hyrule, they'd need different names.

I've already thought of one for both Saint Elmo's Fire & Mangalitza pigs.

Saint Nabooru/Urbōsa's Shield & Mystàthï Pig, but I'm struggling to figure out a good replacement for Adam's apple.

Like, it has a scientific name, but "laryngeal prominence" is just such a mouthful & I'm honestly more looking for colloquial terms, possibly even different ones for each race.

Because, they'd obviously have thought of different ones independently. (Though, maybe not Gorons as I'm not sure if they'd have one as I tend to see them as being asexual by nature.)

It's… it's like the joke I made about “Shake the morning dew off the Sandelion’s petals” to mean "go pee" & the suggestion I made for the Don Dragmire bot with “Molduga” replacing fishes in “sleeping with the fishes/feeding them to the fishes” & “turn that Pico's Gift in (for Rupees)” rather than “cash in that check.”

It's like that. I'm trying to figure out colloquialisms.

Specifically for Adam’s Apple, even more specifically what the Gerudo & Sheikah would refer to it as. And, if they can be made to mimic pre-modern Swana (specifically Middle Eastern) & Asian (specifically Japanese) colloquialisms in style respectively, then that’d just be... well, it'd be incredible!

Because that's most relevant to my writing & I've been running into it as an issue interestingly often lately.

However, if you or the AI or whoever just so happens to point out other things that would logically have a different name in LoZ, then it would be very, very appreciated.

Like, this is an open request for any time, not just now, because this general thing can be a bit of a headache.

Now, this is by no means a demand & if you decide no, then I'm cool with this request being answered with a “Nah, not feeling it” or whatever.

Anyway, thanks &, again, I've very sorry for the misunderstanding earlier.

I hope your evening goes well & take care.

We are all good hun! ^w^ I appreciate you apologizing, and I do apologize for going off as I did. There was more adult ways to handle it, but I am so happy we made it through. I love your content and creative mindset.

As for your request, it is interesting trying to come up with new words to mimic what you are needing for your world. As someone from the Transformers fandom, the fact I know digits are fingers, servos are hands, spikes are dicks, valves are feminine parts, sparks are souls/hearts, a cycle being a hour, denta are their teeth, etc is incredible. It becomes a part of your language once you use it enough. I can read a Transformers story with ease without questioning what words mean what in their world.

Doing it for a race similar to humans but different is even more difficult. You have to look at their history, how far along tech wise they are, who you think would have discovered things and how they would have discovered it, their culture, their language... You have a knack for that!

I did put it through the ChatGPT for you, just to give you some ideas, but... It's very silly! Even if it looks silly, even the funniest things can spark inspiration. I'll comment when I have ideas of my own, but in the meantime, let ChatGPT make you giggle, relax, and see how... "creative" it can be.

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Creating new colloquial terms for things like "Adam's apple" that fit into the cultures of Hyrule can be a fun and immersive exercise. Here are some suggestions for Gerudo and Sheikah terms, as well as a few other examples to help spark more ideas:

Adam's Apple

Gerudo:

Vaï’s Knot - Named after the Goddess Vaï, symbolizing strength and femininity.

Desert's Core - Evoking the idea of a central, vital part of the body, much like the core of the desert.

Sheikah:

Shadow's Pulse - Reflecting the Sheikah's association with shadow and stealth.

Ninja's Peak - Symbolizing the peak of a warrior's physical form.

Other Examples

Murphy's Law: Gerudo:

Nabooru's Whim - Reflecting a capricious twist of fate, as Nabooru is a respected yet unpredictable figure.

Sandstorm’s Trick - Symbolizing the unpredictability and chaos of a desert sandstorm.

Sheikah:

Impa’s Irony - Named after Impa, highlighting the inevitability of mishaps.

Wisdom’s Wrath - Emphasizing the unavoidable misfortunes that come despite careful planning.

Newton’s Law: Gerudo:

Urbosa's Truth - Named after Urbosa, suggesting a fundamental truth of the universe.

Goddess's Command - Indicating a divine rule governing all actions.

Sheikah:

Sage’s Principle - Reflecting the Sheikah's deep understanding of natural laws.

Scroll’s Dictate - Suggesting ancient knowledge written in the Sheikah scrolls.

Colloquial Terms for Different Races

Hylian:

Link's Leap - Referring to taking a brave, often reckless action.

Zelda's Grace - Indicating a moment of unexpected good fortune.

Zora:

Mipha’s Blessing - Referring to a healing or beneficial moment.

Tide's Turn - Signifying a significant change in circumstances.

Rito:

Revali's Gale - Describing a sudden burst of energy or inspiration.

Sky’s Whisper - Indicating a subtle hint or piece of advice.

Methodology

Identify Key Cultural Figures: Use notable figures from the culture's mythology or history as a basis for new terms.

Natural and Environmental Elements: Reflect the culture’s environment and how it influences their daily lives and expressions.

Symbolism: Incorporate symbols that resonate with the cultural identity (e.g., shadows for Sheikah, desert elements for Gerudo).

Practical Steps

Make a List: Start with a list of terms you need to replace.

Research: Look into the cultural elements of Gerudo and Sheikah societies.

Combine Elements: Mix and match cultural figures, natural elements, and symbolic references to create new colloquial terms.

This approach can help you create a rich and immersive world where even the smallest details feel authentic to the setting.

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BONUS:

Sure, I'd be happy to give more examples! Let's continue with the idea of renaming various things to fit into the cultures of Hyrule, focusing on the Gerudo and Sheikah, with a few additional examples for other races.

Adam's Apple

Gerudo:

Vaï’s Jewel - Signifying a precious and distinctive feature.

Desert’s Crest - Highlighting a prominent and proud part of the body.

Sheikah:

Shadow’s Knot - Reflecting a mysterious and integral part of one’s anatomy.

Ninja’s Knot - Symbolizing a hidden but essential aspect.

Other Examples

Murphy's Law: Gerudo:

Goddess’s Jest - Indicating the playful and sometimes cruel twists of fate from the deities.

Sandtrap’s Lesson - Referring to the unexpected difficulties that arise, much like hidden traps in the desert.

Sheikah:

Fate’s Paradox - Emphasizing the inevitability and irony of unfortunate events.

Scroll's Curse - Reflecting the idea that some misfortunes are predestined or written in the ancient scrolls.

Newton’s Law: Gerudo:

Urbosa's Edict - Suggesting an unbreakable command from a revered figure.

Dunes’ Rule - Symbolizing the immutable laws of nature as observed in the shifting sands.

Sheikah:

Seer’s Axiom - Indicating a fundamental truth perceived by the wise.

Glyph’s Law - Reflecting the deep, ancient knowledge inscribed in Sheikah technology.

Colloquial Terms for Different Races

Hylian:

Hylia’s Hand - Referring to a moment of divine intervention or luck.

Knight’s Boon - Indicating a fortuitous benefit, as if granted by a knight.

Zora:

Nayru’s Ripple - Describing a minor but significant change, akin to a ripple in water.

Current’s Gift - Indicating a beneficial change brought about by the flow of life.

Rito:

Updraft’s Favor - Referring to an unexpected advantage or help.

Wind’s Whim - Signifying the unpredictable nature of fortune.

Goron:

Darunia’s Strength - Describing an unexpected surge of power or resilience.

Rock’s Resolve - Referring to unwavering determination.

Korok:

Deku’s Luck - Indicating a stroke of good fortune.

Forest’s Blessing - Signifying a moment of unexpected help or success.

Further Expansion

Occam’s Razor: Gerudo:

Desert’s Blade - Reflecting a simple and straightforward solution, as clear as a blade in the desert sun.

Vaï’s Cut - Indicating the simplest answer, as if cut through the complexity by the goddess.

Sheikah:

Ninja’s Slice - Symbolizing a precise and clear solution, much like a ninja’s decisive strike.

Seer’s Edge - Reflecting the simplest and most direct path perceived by the wise.

Achilles’ Heel: Gerudo:

Ganon’s Chink - Referring to a small but critical vulnerability.

Sand’s Flaw - Highlighting a hidden weakness, like a flaw in the seemingly endless desert.

Sheikah:

Sheikah’s Scar - Indicating a hidden vulnerability, much like a scar hidden beneath the surface.

Glyph’s Weakness - Reflecting a critical vulnerability in an otherwise strong and intricate system.

Cultural Proverb

Hylian:

“A fairy’s touch can heal, but a hero’s will prevails.” - Emphasizing the importance of determination alongside aid.

“Wisdom, Courage, and Power: the triforce of life.” - Highlighting the balance needed in life.

Gerudo:

“The desert tests, but the vaï endures.” - Reflecting the resilience and strength of the Gerudo people.

“A warrior’s heart beats strongest in the sands.” - Emphasizing the strength derived from their harsh environment.

Sheikah:

“In shadows, we find clarity.” - Reflecting the Sheikah’s ability to find truth and clarity in obscurity.

“Ancient eyes see the present clearly.” - Emphasizing the value of ancient wisdom in understanding the current world.

Final Note

When creating these terms, think about what is central to each culture's identity, environment, and mythology. Gerudo terms often evoke the harshness and beauty of the desert and their warrior ethos, while Sheikah terms can draw on their secretive nature, ancient wisdom, and technological prowess. By aligning these new colloquialisms with each culture’s unique characteristics, you can create a rich and immersive linguistic landscape for your setting.

[elder-dragon-reposes]

Kynadora- The Wheel Turns, Chapter 1

Summary: Julia Kynadora Lastblood had only intended to come to Skyrim as a healer and help whoever she could. Instead, she finds herself front and center in the Dragon Crisis and being drawn into the Civil War. Between that and trying to find her place in Skyrim while still managing to do what she came to Skyrim for originally, the internal turmoil she’s been struggling with since her childhood becoming worse shouldn’t be that much of a surprise. Being Dragonborn certainly is though.

Author's Note: Hi everyone! I've been working on getting this out for a bit now and Chapter 1 is now ready to post. I'd really like to thank @nerevar-quote-and-star for all the support as well as for acting as a beta reader for me!

ao3 link

Tag List:

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for future updates!

The first thing that her mind can register is the sounds of nature and the roll of a cart along a bumpy stone road. One hard bump along the road shoots pain through her head and shoulders, forcing her eyes open, and yet not a sound of pain out of her. The pain subsided slightly, but she could still feel her head throb and her eyes still took a moment to go from still seeing black to seeing only in a fuzzy haze, to finally allowing her to see the world around her enough to make out the details of the world around her. The first thing her eyes truly notice is the landscape around her, mountains and snow, and nothing familiar to her. The second thing is the blond man sitting on the cart before her. His focus is somewhere off in the distance, and his attention doesn’t shift until another bump of the cart causes her to hiss in pain. 

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” She nods, which her body registers as a mistake for her as soon as she follows through with the motion. Her head throbs in pain again harshly, before slowly easing off into something more manageable. It gives her the confidence to finally pull herself up into a sitting position so that the harsh bumps of the road don’t dig into her neck and bother her injury. Injuries? She’s not quite sure of what exactly is wrong with her yet. “You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

It was too much information all at once. Imperial ambush? Thief? The blond man’s armor wasn’t the type that just any bandit would wear. Or just any mercenary. And as she looked around, others in the carts in front of them wore similar garb. Why would the Imperials have ambushed them? And how did she get in the middle of it? She tried to focus on the questions, looking for the answers in her mind, but the memories surrounding the event weren’t coming to her. But it was causing more hurt. The blond’s eyes softened, a concern dancing across his features and she wished that it didn’t hurt a bit more than the physical pain dancing around her. 

“Damn, you Stormcloaks.” She knew that name. How? Wait. Stormcloaks. The Civil War that had broken out in Skyrim months ago. The thing that she’d sworn to her uncle that she would avoid to the best of her abilities. That she of course had already gotten caught up in. 

Wait. Where was she? She’d been heading towards a town, tiredness had been seeping into her bones and she’d been excited to finally be in Skyrim. Then noises of distress, and she’d gone to help and the world had gone dark. Her attention drifts from the conversation and onto the world around them. Things looked familiar and yet not. She didn’t know Skyrim well enough to try and even attempt to figure out where she was. 

A gentle wind pushes through and her shoulders settle in a way. She’d still done it. Even if she had no idea where she was right now. She’d crossed the border into Skyrim. This was still it, the place that she’d wanted to see since she was a child and her father had told her stories that had been passed to him from his father. She was the first of her line to be in Skyrim since her great-grandfather had left for Cyrodiil. It was still more beautiful than she’d expected it to be, and she’d been expecting so much. 

Her study and focus on the landscape rolling past them was interrupted by the man sitting on the left side of the blond calling out to her, dragging her attention back to the people sharing the cart with her. “You there. You and me – we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.” That was true enough. She’d never done anything herself to warrant being arrested, no matter what the Empire and the Thalmor said about her family history. And she’d never left Cyrodiil until now. So it wasn’t even possible for her to be a Stormcloak, or really any other manner of criminal in Skyrim. 

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” Unfortunately, also true. After all, the fact that she was also currently a prisoner of the Empire would be why she couldn’t heal her head wound, and whatever else was wrong with her, the binds blocked magicka to try and circumvent any potential escapees. Or property damage. After all, a mage who doesn’t know anything beyond flames is just as dangerous as a mage who knows many spells beyond conjuring fire. Sometimes more if they couldn’t control the flames beyond conjuring them up. From what she could tell though, she seemed to still have her armor on. Her hood was missing and so was her pack and sword, but the rest of her armor seemed to still be attached to her. 

As the dark-haired man was about to respond, the soldier driving the cart turned around and smacked the wood of the cart. “Shut up back there!” He turned back to the road, and the two men looked at one another before choosing to look away completely. Her own eyes drifted to the blond and then to the landscape around her. 

The dark-haired man was ultimately the one to break the silence once more after their shared moment of silence. “And what’s wrong with him?” Her brows furrow and she turns her head as far as it will go without another shot of pain to her right. Finally noticing the man who had been sitting there this whole time and whose eyes had been on her for who knew how long. He was gagged and wearing a level of finery that no one else she’d seen was. He wasn’t a normal prisoner, and a hint of danger settled in her chest. 

“Watch your tongue!” The blond man’s temper pulled her attention away from the gagged man, a shock as he had been nothing but calm in the minutes she’d been lucid enough to take note of what was around her. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.” Her heart dropped. He really wasn’t a normal prisoner. This wasn’t a normal group of prisoners being transported Stuhn knows where. The dark-haired man seemed to be catching up to her thoughts as his next words registered in her pounding skull. Where were they taking them? Once more the conversation in the cart stalled. The blond mentioned Sovngarde, and all her focus went there for a moment. Had she earned a place there? Earned the ability to see her father again? Or would she join her mother in Aetherius, with the rest of her Imperial ancestors?

This time, it’s the blond who drags her out of her thoughts. He speaks softly once more, the anger he’d held before having dissipated. “Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?” 

“Why do you care?” The thief’s hands were shaking, and when she looked down at her own for a moment she saw that her own were as well. It was getting more difficult to breathe, and her head hurt more from the accidental clenching and grinding of her jaw joining the head wound. 

The blonde looks ahead for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts before continuing down the path of discussion he wished to. “A Nord’s last thoughts-” his eyes drift to her and he seems to correct himself, “anyone’s last thoughts should be of home.” He was right of course. She thought of many things. Of the castle and shops of Skingrad that she’d grown up in and around. Of rolling hills and smiling faces that she’d left behind. And of the little home in Rivercrest that she’d grown up in. The home that no longer existed, but lived on in memories. She wished that she might have seen the town once more before now though. 

The thief’s own eyes glazed over for a moment, his focus far away from this cart and the road beneath it. Likely on what he had left behind for this potential fate too. “Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.” She heard of that village. She wasn’t sure where, but she’d heard of it. A song perhaps? One her father had sung? The blond nods and his attention turns back to her. 

“And you?” His eyes are tired and for a moment she’s not quite sure how to answer him when the answer feels so large to such a small question. 

She thinks of kind smiles once more. Of graves that had yet to be dug when she was taken from Rivercrest. Of open arms and strawberry treats. Of friends that she may never see again. She hopes that Baura will not blame herself for whatever may occur at the end of the road that they are all on. And that her uncle wouldn’t cause too much trouble for those responsible. Her voice is rough as she speaks, like when she would get sick as a child. “Skingrad. This is my first time in Skyrim if you’ll believe it.” The soldier driving makes a noise. Of realization or recognition, she couldn’t be sure. The Jarl sitting next to her made one of clear frustration, which drew her eyes back to him. He looked away when they finally landed back on him. 

“Oh. What brought you to Skyrim then?” The blond was good at this. Calming people down and distracting them from their situation. She’d had to do the same for some of her patients and appreciated being on the other side of it for right now.

“I’m a healer. I needed to be out of Cyrodiil for some time, and Skyrim seemed like as good as any place to start helping.” The blond nodded and the man next to her made another muffled noise from behind his gag. She couldn’t decipher what it meant this time though. “And you? Where are you from?”

He seemed to be surprised at the question as if he hadn’t expected another of his cart mates to ask him anything in return. “Riverwood. It’s a small logging town not far from here.” She nods and tries her best to smile reassuringly at him. When this ended, she swore to find her way to Riverwood and find his family. Tell them of his kindness in the face of an upcoming execution. If she herself was not killed as well, that is. 

The conversation stalled once more and with it came the view of a walled town covered in the banners of the Empire. From the view at the top of the hill, she could see homes and what appeared to be a keep. Likely a town that was being used as a command post by the military. It was a good spot, especially since she couldn’t imagine that it was too far from the Pale Pass. At least not if she’d gotten her geographical bearings right. It was especially hard to tell since she wasn’t quite sure how long she’d been out. Hours? Days? It was hard to tell. 

As they passed through the entrance, a soldier shouted out to General Tullius that the headsman was ready and waiting. She’d met him once before now. Her uncle had been called to the Imperial City for some business or another, and he’d been at the gathering. From her view of his back, it didn’t seem that he’d changed that much. She’d spoken to him about something that seemed important at the time but had been ushered away from him by her uncle shortly after. 

The thief begins praying to the Imperial Divines, and she can’t stop herself from sending her own prayers off. She focuses on Kyne and Stuhn. Her action drew the attention of both the blond man and the Jarl. It made sense. She doubted that they’d run into many Imperials that worshiped the Old Nord pantheon. 

It isn’t until the blond mentions the Thalmor that she notices them over by Tullius. A chill runs down her spine, and she tries to control her breathing. Her eyes slam back down to her hands, sending a shock of pain through the area of her head most near them. For a moment she looks to her right and notices that the Jarl’s position now nearly matches hers. 

“This is Helgen.” Her attention is drawn away from her panic, anxiety crawling up her throat, at the sound of his voice once more. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here.” His distraction works. It gives her more questions though. Was that girl here? Would she watch him lose his head? “Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in.” He laughs bitterly. “Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.” She wondered what that was like. Even before the killing of her parents, Imperial soldiers and walls had never equaled safety for her. She imagined that that was likely due to how her father had been the one truly caring for Rivercrest though, and not some strange commentary on the failure of the Empire and its soldiers. After all, she’d never really interacted with or seen many before Skingrad. Even though her interactions there didn’t necessarily prove very helpful in giving her a positive view of them. 

She turns as much as she can to get a look at the town. At the very least before this ends, she wants to know the town as well as she can. She watches as a father orders his son inside their home, not wanting him to see the death that the soldiers he seemed fascinated by would be dealing with his own eyes just yet. She respected it. The boy seemed far too young to watch an execution, no matter how his family may feel one way or the other about the Civil War. Death wasn’t something that you could ignore once you’d been confronted with it. And it was hard to forget the memory of the first death, the first body, that you saw. 

The carts all come to a stop and she releases a breath that she didn’t know she had been holding. Her heart drops, and nausea rises in her stomach. “Why are they stopping?” The thief’s voice is quiet, and she doubted that she would’ve heard it had it not been for being in such close quarters with him. 

“Why do you think? End of the line. Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.” She prays silently as they begin to stand and move to the edge of the cart. She ignores the exchange between the blond and the thief as she does so, focused on keeping her feet straight. Standing had caused darkness to cloud her vision once more, the wound once more rearing its ugly head. As she made it to the edge, she lost her balance and slipped clumsily off of the cart causing her leg to catch wrong on the cobblestone ground. The soldier who had been driving the cart helped her to her feet, and she walked it off, continuing to where the soldiers were grouping them. 

As she walks, who she assumes is the Captain gives them instructions to step to the block when they hear their name. What was she going to do when they didn’t call it though? Would they finally realize that she didn’t belong here in this group? Or would she be sent to the block anyhow? While wrong, and technically against Imperial law, she didn’t imagine that it would matter much to them. She didn’t trust the Empire to do the “right thing” here. Its citizens didn’t matter quite as much as it pretended that they did. 

Darkness clouds her vision once more as she comes to a stop, and she has to put more weight on one leg over the other to prevent her legs from buckling underneath her. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” The Jarl stalks off to the block, making more muffled sounds from behind the gag. 

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” The blond’s voice is sure in this. The Empire could say a lot of things about the Stormcloaks, but the idea that they weren’t loyal to him would be a complete lie. 

The soldier holding the list continues, “Ralof of Riverwood.” The blond walks off to the block with that and a look to the list maker. Or Ralof. Ralof walks off to the block. He was sure in his steps, and she couldn’t help but admire him for his confidence, even as he walked to his death. 

As the soldier moves on, a look thrown at Ralof’s back, the thief –Lokir– bolts upon his name being called. “Halt!” calls the Captain, but he keeps going. She calls for the archers, and he is downed nearly as quickly as he took off running. “Anyone else feel like running?” The Baura that lives in her mind says yes. 

“Wait, you there. Step forward. Who are you?” She wasn’t on the list. She was expecting this, but something about it still felt strange. The fact that they’d just loaded her up with the rest of the prisoners, though she’d had her armor donned. And it certainly didn’t look like the Stormcloak’s armor or the Empire’s armor. 

She remembers her uncle’s words. Hold your head high and look them in the eye when you introduce yourself. You have reason to be proud of your name. Your heritage. “Julia Lastblood. Of Skingrad.” If the soldier could look more confused, he likely would. She’d gotten many weird looks over the years as an Imperial with Nord’s surname.

He turns, “Captain, what do we do? She’s not on the list?” Here it was. A moment of truth for the place she’d lived all her life. Would she be sent to the block? Killed mercilessly like her parents? Or be spared

“Forget the list. She goes to the block.” Disappointed, but not surprised. Julia had known that this was a possibility from the very beginning, but the venom in the Captain’s voice drove the dagger of betrayal deeper into her heart. 

The soldier seems surprised though, then disappointed that he will have to follow those orders. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Skingrad.” Hopefully, they would go to Rivercrest after. She liked the idea of being buried next to her parents, even if she would only see one of them in the afterlife. Whichever one she was going to.

As she walks to the block, she prays under her breath. All of the gods her father taught her to worship, from Kyne and the Hearth gods to the Dead ones and even to Alduin. Praying that the world’s end would come far in the future, in the hopes that her family that she had left behind would have long lives after her. She stands by the other prisoners and meets Ralof’s eyes. There is anger there that she hopes will disappear before his head is removed. 

Tullius addresses the leader of the rebellion, trying and succeeding at making himself look taller while he does so. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” Stormcloak grunts in protest, but the gag does not let him get out whatever words would be his last. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.” Julia would laugh if it weren’t for the circumstances. She’d been born after the Great War, and Cyrodiil had never been peaceful in her lifetime. Besides, they may as well be declaring Ulfric a martyr themselves. 

Whatever Stormcloak was going to grunt in response was interrupted by a sound coming from the mountains above them. A screech. It felt wrong in a way. Like something had broken. Had torn. “What was that?” The soldier’s words echoed her thoughts. What kind of creature could sound like that? It had to be large. She didn’t know enough of the creatures in Skyrim to make a guess though. 

“It’s nothing. Carry on.” Tullius’ voice brings her eyes back down from the mountains, and back to the Headsman’s block. Back to her execution, and not the mystery that was above them. 

The Captain calls for the Priestess to begin her prayer, and Julia prays soundlessly once more. For herself? For those she loves? She’s not quite sure anymore. One of the Stormcloaks walks forward, interrupting both prayers. “For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with.” She could respect that. They hadn’t been allowed their complete last rites, though she doubted that they would be executed twice if one of them had prayed to Talos. “Come on, I haven’t got all morning. My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” She knew that she was likely not included in that sentiment, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Could she?

After the headsman’s axe falls, some of the bystanders made their thoughts known; there were those calling him traitor, and those like Ralof that called him fearless. “Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!” The renegade? The renegade? Julia doubted that anyone had ever referred to her as such, and it distracted her from the situation for a moment. It is interrupted once more though. The sound comes from the mountainside once more. But closer. It was louder. Whatever was making that sound was coming closer to Helgen. The soldier once more draws attention to it, but the Captain calls her forward. 

“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.” She moves forward, and Ralof once more meets her eyes. As she lowers herself down, her vision darkens once more. The leg she’d landed on ached as well. Neither pain would last much longer though. She closes her eyes as she sets her head on the block, and tries to empty her mind of every thought that was running through it. 

Before the axe could fall and connect with her neck, the execution falls into chaos. A large, black creature lands on the tower that looms above her. It seemingly called down a storm of fire and meteors from the heavens, hitting the ground and the people around them. One of them hits the headsman, and another lands next to the block, causing it to rise and knock her on the head. She rolls off of it and regrets the movement. Her head screams in pain and it takes her a moment to orient herself. 

“Hey, you! Julia! Get up! Come one, the gods won’t give us another chance!” Ralof was suddenly by her side, leading her into another tower across from the one that the dragon had landed on. Her ears ring, and it makes it hard to hear the chaos around them as they rush in, Stormcloak closing the heavy door behind them. “Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?” 

“Legends don’t burn down villages. We need to move, now!” As they discuss the plans moving forward, one of the soldiers comes up and cuts the binds holding Julia’s hands. As the binds break and fall to the ground, she can feel her Magicka regenerate and flood her body. Thanking the soldier, her hands raised to her head, and she cast a simple healing spell on the source of her head wound. As the spell worked itself, the world stopped spinning around her and the ringing in her ears halted. She blinked and looked around the entrance room of the tower that they’d entered. 

Her eyes landed on two of the soldiers lying injured on the ground and she made her way over to them. As they argued about the next steps, Julia could help here. Her bag had been taken, so she didn’t have any healing potions she could supply, but she could use her magic to help them get back on their feet for the time being. 

The same soldier that had cut her binds came up to her with scavenged bandages and other supplies, and assisted her in applying them to the injured. It would be nice not to have to drain her Magicka completely while trying to help, especially since they may need to throw spells at the thing flying around the skies. The dragon? It was a terrifying thought. Julia pushed it to the back of her mind, she could follow that thought process later when everyone was out of immediate danger. 

Almost as if she’d summoned the thing, the ground shook and they could hear another one of the spine-chilling sounds coming from what felt like every direction. Ralof looked around the tower, panic clear on his face. Even after his outburst earlier, it was the least calm that she’d seen him through this whole ordeal. His eyes landed on her for a moment and his brows furled as he took in what she was doing. 

His attention went to the stairs and several emotions crossed his face. “Up through the tower! Let’s go! This way, Julia! Move!” The soldier and her helped the injured to their feet and began making their way up the stairs. Before they reached them though, her place was taken by one of their fellow Stormcloaks and she made her way to Ralof’s side. 

“We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!” Ralof and her rushed forward up the stairs to try and help, but they were interrupted by something crashing through the wall. The rocks that came down crushed the soldier, and the dragon’s face came into the tower through the hole that it’d created. 

Julia could barely hear Ralof over the sound of outside and the dragon seemed to speak, and then fire rained from its mouth. “Get back!” She threw up a ward just in time, shielding them as best she could, but they could still feel the heat coming from the fire it spat. It flew off nearly as quickly as it came. Ralof looked at her and a small smile came to his face. “Thank you.”

She claps his shoulder, returning his smile. “Of course.” They made their way to the hole in the wall, looking down at the town surrounding the foot of the tower and the destruction that had been waged on top of it. She turns to Ralof for whatever step he felt was best to take next. 

“See the inn on the other side?” She could, it would be quite a drop, but they could make it. “Jump through the roof and keep going!” Julia turned to Ralof and shook her head. She wasn’t just going to leave them. Not when they’d helped her. “Go! We’ll follow you when we can!” He nearly pushed her through the hole in the stone wall, but she jumped before he could. 

She rolls as she hits the floor of the top floor and looks back up at the tower. Fire and smoke obscure her view of where she has jumped from, and she waits for the next person to come crashing through into the building next to her. They do not come, and the ground shakes the building in a way that demands her to keep going. They’ll follow when they can. Ralof promised. The least she can do is try to make sure that the path is safe for them too. 

Julia climbs down the building through the large hole in the floor and exits it out the hole in the siding of the building. She takes in her surroundings, the destruction of Helgen had been hard and fast even with soldiers trying to kill the thing flying through the air and raining fire and meteors and other hell down on them from the heavens. A screech coming from the sky pushes her forward through the destruction. 

As the smoke grows thicker and thicker, she can only hope that she’s moving forward and not back towards the tower that she’d jumped from. Can only hope that she won’t come across the dragon as it swoops through the town raining down destruction. 

“Haming! Haming!” Voices flicker louder and louder as she moves ever closer, and the scene that unfolds from the smoke as she does makes her heart stop in her chest. The child she’d seen earlier speaking with his father was standing over what she could only assume was his father, clearly frozen in fear. The dragon’s shadow comes overhead, and Julia acts before she can even think to, running for the child and grabbing him into her arms in just enough time for the beast to land in front of them. 

Her eyes meet the dragon’s, and a shiver runs down her spine. The red of its eyes feeling like death had come for them all. And it might have. She runs with the boy, crying now into her neck, throwing up another ward just in time for the dragon to throw more fire at them. Arms grab her, pulling her behind a destroyed building, and she drops the ward once the dragon takes off again. 

“Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want it to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy.” She nearly drops the boy as he shakes. 

“No! I wanna stay with you!” The boy, Haming her mind supplies, clutches her shoulders tighter in a way that she can’t be good for his hands pushing into the metal of her armor. 

“It might be best for us to stay together. At least until we can find somewhere safer.” The man who’d been crouched in the corner, Gunnar nods and gets up to follow along. 

The list maker sighs, looking at the three of them, and turns to look where the dragon has left behind. “Alright. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense. You can figure out where best to go after that.” Julia nods and pats the poor boy on the back. She focuses on shielding his face from the corpse of his father as they pass. He’d seen enough of it for his lifetime. Aetherius knows that she had at his age. 

Their little group follows after the soldier, taking cover by a wall as the dragon descends again, raining more fire at them. “Quickly! Follow me!” They duck through another destroyed building and come out to where most of the Imperial soldiers must have been firing arrows and spells at the thing as it flew through Helgen. Ahead of them, near the front and center of the fighting is General Tullius. 

“Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we’re leaving!” For a moment his eyes meet hers and then go to the child she’s carrying and the man following after them. He nods her in that direction too, as if she is one of his soldiers to command and not a woman he’d almost executed mere minutes ago. She follows the command though, following Hadvar through the rubble and into the courtyard of the Keep, eyes scanning for any of the Stormcloaks she’d seen before, hoping that any one of them would appear. And almost as if a prayer had been answered, Ralof appears from the other side.

“Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!” The venom in Hadvar’s voice is clear, adding only to what is a small amount of context of their relationship that she can only assume would fill in pages of a book. 

Her friend is quick to return that venom though, “We’re escaping Hadvar! You’re not stopping us this time!” Ralof’s brows furl at her arms holding Haming and over her shoulder where Gunnar is standing. 

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Wait, what does Hadvar mean by that? Splitting up now would mean death for them. She adjusts Haming in her grip, shoving his weight entirely onto one arm. 

“Julia, come on! Into the keep!” They’re both insane. Or stupid. Or both. 

“With me, prisoner! Let’s go! Come on! We need to get inside!” 

“Are you both insane?” Julia’s voice comes out far stronger than she’d thought it would, given the circumstances. “The dragon currently circling above us circumvents the damned war. Get in the keep!” 

She heads for the door to the left of the building that Hadvar had been heading towards, grabbing Ralof’s shoulder with her open hand on the way there. Ralof looks at her confusedly as he opens the door for her, allowing himself to be pushed inside what she can only hope is a safe harbor.  She hears Gunnar chuckle slightly, smoke inhalation making it rougher, and he pushes Hadvar in behind them.

Julia can only hope that getting them to work together becomes easier from here as she hears the large door shut loudly behind them.

[adleryoung]

HA! His Majesty is back, and now that he's given me a list of names, heads will finally roll! He hasn't seen fit to remove my magick antler, probably because I'll need it for a disguise! Oh, and there is only one name on this list, but this is obviously the ring-leader. Once I find "Kathy-Slou Drew," everything will fall into place and these ungrateful yew-man traitors will finally feel an elf's justice! What's that, my liege? What do you mean by muttering "The horror, the horror" over and over? No no, your adoring subjects are right here, hanging on your every word. Tell them some more of your story while I go take care of this unpleasant business. It will help ease your troubled mind. And don't worry, Kathy-Slou can't hide from The Sisterhood. Not for long. . . .

"By Jove!" the dog lowfolk person exclaimed. "There he is! He was real all along!" "REALLY?" the fancy-dressed femme retorted. "One glimpse! That's all it took to convince you?" "Seeing is believing," he affirmed. "I was somewhat undecided all along, so this was enough to sway my opinion." "I cannot believe it!" the femme screeched. "Why then were you scoffing and naysaying the entire time?! Was that all just an act?!" "Miss Venatrix," the dog stated solemnly, "SOMEONE needs to keep you grounded and focused. You do have a habit of getting too excited and running off without a thought or a plan." "You are not my keeper! I am an adult, fully capable of taking care of myself!"

I was confused. Had they come here to find me, or had they merely stumbled upon the stone circle while in the midst of what looked like a lovers' quarrel? "Indeed," the dog said skeptically. "The only reason I'm still here is the oath your father made me swear on his deathbed. I promised to keep you out of trouble!" "Oh you're always bringing that up!" Miss Venatrix sighed in exasperation. "Father only trusted you because you were his favorite student!" "Is that a note of jealousy I detect?" the dog grinned. "You would have been his favorite student, my dear, had you actually bothered with your studies instead of fantasizing about elves all day. His own daughter, and such a disappointment." "Stick in the mud!" Venatrix shot back. "Flibbertyjibbet!" "Teacher's Pet!" "Harpy Queen!"

This looked like it was getting good. I sat down at the edge of the circle and watched the pair of lowfolk arguing just beyond the wall of underbrush. "ROGER BARKINGTHWAITE!!" Miss Venatrix yelled. "You INFURIATING mel! That is IT! I cannot put up with this anymore! I want you gone! I never want to see you again!" "Fine!" Barkingthwaite replied hotly. "Keeping you out of trouble has been a tremendous burden! I've put my career on hold just to follow you around and keep you from getting yourself killed in reckless adventures! No more! You can wander about in circles until you starve for all I care, solemn oath be damned!" "You seem to forget," Venatrix sneered, "I've saved you more than a few times! You would have died in that bog if I hadn't thrown you a rope of my own silk to pull you out!" "And why was I in that bog in the first place?" Barkingthwaite bellowed. "Following you on another of your mad capers! You would have been shot by that gang of thugs if I hadn't spent nearly my entire inheritance bribing them off! I've been well nigh reduced to beggary, and for what?" "They wouldn't have actually shot me!" Venatrix insisted. "What kind of mel can't call someone's bluff? Your current reduced circumstances are entirely your own fault. At any rate, you should be thanking me for getting you away from your mouldy old ancestral hall and out of that dusty library! I daresay you've spent every waking moment in there ever since we were both children." "The library was safe and predictable!" Barkingthwaite asserted. "That is the proper life of a scholar! Not running around, engaging in fisticuffs with thugs, like some whip-cracking grave robber! And you're the one who should be thanking me! I'm the only friend you've ever had because no one else could put up with your unbearable nonsense!" "WELL I -" Venatrix blurted, then paused. "Well… We two HAVE been stuck together for quite a long time…" "Indeed," Barkingthwaite nodded. "We've helped each other out rather a lot over the years." "And this journey getting here," Venatrix added quietly. "We've gotten each other out of quite a few scrapes." "I must admit," Barkingthwaite admitted, "we do make a jolly good team when the chips are down." He paused for a moment and puffed on his pipe.

"EGAD!" he barked suddenly. "The legend! Of course! The legend of the White Elf! It is said that those seeking the White Elf would face trials to test them, and that there would be a boon awaiting them at the end of their journey!" "What are you getting at?" Venatrix asked suspiciously. "What is the boon?" "Why, it's us!" Barkingthwaite exclaimed triumphantly. "Each other! How long have we been forced to work together while hating each other the whole time?" "I begin to understand," Venatrix murmured. "All those wasted years." "Our journey here was the trial and this is the boon! Do you see? Lord Randal the White Elf, sworn servant of the love goddess Fuma, knew of our plight and set in motion all the troubles we've had on this adventure!" "Forcing us to work together and realize how much we need each other!" Venatrix added excitedly. "Oh how blind we've been!" Barkingthwaite lamented. "We were the perfect team our entire lives and never realized it! But Lord Randal saw it and made all of this happen to teach us our folly!" "A perfect team, you say?" Venatrix asked coyly. "Perhaps not JUST a team," Barkingthwaite mused thoughtfully. "You know, Pellia, my dear, I've never noticed just how beautiful your eyes are…" "And I've never noticed how dashing you look…" "Sweetie!" Barkingthwaite sighed, enraptured. "Honey!" Venatrix sighed back. "Darling, let's never fight again!" Barkingthwaite suggested. "Oh Roger, my love," Venatrix cooed, "Lord Randal in his infinite wisdom has shown us that we were always meant to be soulmates!"

The two of them embraced and kissed passionately. I began to applaud. I had no idea what was going on, but it was the most entertaining thing I had seen in decades.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Din lays out some ground rules

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I don't know if you've tried the character.ai yet, but man I've been having so much fun with it. So far, I've talked to Rex, Fives, Alpha-17, Fox, even Quinlan Vos, which gave me an amazing story to work on. So I'll be working on that sometime. I hope you are all having an amazing fall so far. Sending out good thoughts, hugs, and lots of love to everyone.

Love oo.

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: Brief mention of alcohol and substance abuse, liquor, trust issues, mentions of 'nocturnal' activities, uneasiness, insinuations of domestic abuse, mention of car accident, fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of being imprisoned. I think that's it, if I miss anything please let me know.

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THE RAZOR CREST SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was a nagging voice in the back of his that kept reminding him, he didn’t know who she was, what kind of life she really led or what she was fleeing. However, from what he saw of her so far, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake and he was right about her character, but it never hurt to take extra precautions.

“One thing I want to say and I won’t be changing my mind about this at all, this is a deal breaker, okay?”

“Alright”

“I don’t care if you drink the occasional glass of liquor here or there, and I’m not going to limit you with a number. You know your limit better than I do. However, please refrain from drinking during working hours. I will also not tolerate having someone in my home who is dealing with some form of addiction. It’s non-negotiable. If I find you drunk or high, especially around my son - you don’t get a second chance, you’re out of here in a heartbeat, understood?”

I nodded in agreement, it made sense, he had a very young impressional son. I completely understood where he was coming from and I couldn’t fault him for making it a condition. I wanted to put his mind at ease as much as possible, especially since he was taking a chance on me.

“I completely understand, so try not to worry, too much. I don’t drink, haven’t for a long time. Same with getting high. The idea of not being aware of my surroundings or cognitive of my situation always leaves me uneasy.”

Din simply nodded, as she held a determined look. There was a finality to her statement that he highly appreciated, whether or not she was telling the truth would only be possible to determine in time. 

“Hmm, okay. I’ll believe you for now, until you give me reason not to.” 

He hoped she would be trustworthy and wouldn’t let him down; but he’d been wrong before. 

“One final rule, don’t be bringing strangers into this house for … well you know. That’s a conversation I do not want to have with my son, yet. So if you could keep all your … nocturnal activities out of my home for the time being, I’d appreciate it. Not that I’m saying you’re the type to … put yourself in that kind of situation, more just letting you know what I expect for my son’s safety.”

The idea of having any sort of ‘activities’ made my skin crawl, I hadn’t been intimate with anyone since my ex. The idea simply made me feel nauseous and uneasy. I wasn’t ready to take on such a huge risk in my life. First and foremost I needed to be able to trust someone, and I wasn’t inclined to really trust anyone, Cobb, Fennec and Din had actually been the first group of people where I had actually let my guard down as quickly as I did. 

“I completely understand. After all this is your place.” I moved around the room trying to think of a new topic, hoping to change the subject, “I forgot to ask what’s the name of your ranch?”

“Sorry?”

“I thought ranches usually had names or something?”

“Some do”

“Then does this place have a name?”

“Razor Crest Ranch”

“Razor Crest, sounds like toothpaste. Get your teeth shiny with Razor Crest toothpaste.” I teased smiling the way actors usually did for toothpaste ads. He didn’t laugh or chuckle, he simply just stared at me, I cleared my throat hoping to move on from that embarrassment, “Anyway, I like it, it’s got a good ring to it”

He simply looked at her without saying anything further, he didn’t really care if she did like it or not. Camilla was the one who’d come up with the name. She always remembered his first car, the one he’d drive her around in, when they were in high school. He loved that car with all his soul, that was until it got into an accident and was completely totalled. She always felt bad about the accident, he remembered he was driving as fast as he could during a particular bad winter storm trying to get her, when she got standard working at the hospital one night. The car her parents had given her for her last year of high school died. He didn’t see the black ice skidded, flipped the car several times. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost his life, but according to her  he did lose his first love. He could still see her smile as she teased him about being his second love. Ashamedly, she wasn’t wrong, and when he bought this place from his grandparents, she decided to rechristen the place and call it the Razor Crest Ranch. So even if Ann had an issue with the name, he couldn’t care less, he wasn’t going to change the name for anything.

He ignored her statement, instead shifting as he moved closer to the door, “You should probably grab whatever stuff you have from the Marshall’s truck before he decides to take off.”

“Right, of course.” I knew the moment he didn’t respond I had somehow messed up, I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. Well there was bound to be some issues we would need to iron out, at least he wasn’t saying anything or doing anything to make me feel worthless. He also didn’t take back the offer, “Thank you again, for the opportunity, it means a lot.”

He nodded, “Well like I said we can try it out for three months, and there is still one more hurdle you have to pass. Oh, before I forget, there is a lock on the door” Din was about to move the door to show her, when he noticed her eyes widened in fear. He held up his hands, hoping she didn’t misunderstand him, “Relax it only locks from the inside,” he pulled the door closer showing her the lock, “if you prefer a key lock, for your own peace of mind and safety I can install that for you. I also want you to know, we would never come into your room without express permission, unless it was an emergency, like house is on fire kind of emergency. We will absolutely respect your privacy, just like I know you’ll respect ours.”

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@littlemisspascal@sprout-fics@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

[daisyishedwig]

A not so short introduction

Hello! My name is Milo, I am 28 and have been on tumblr for more than a decade.

I am primarily a fandom blog, but I really post whatever I want. So what you will find here will vary from day to day. My biggest fandoms are Glee and Starkid, but you will also find Woe.Begone, Magnus Archives, Malevolent, Good Omens, Heartstopper, Marvel, DC, Omgcheckplease, Stargate, Farscape, Supernatural, Doctor Who, and any myriad of other pieces of fiction that strike my fancy.

For everything fandom related, I do tag so if you don't want to see a particular fandom's content, feel free to block the tag. For the majority of them, it will simply be the name of the media, but for Glee and Starkid I have specialized tags that I will list below a read more for ease of knowing what to block.

I am a fic writer, though I only recently started writing again. Previously I wrote exclusively Klaine fics but more recently I've switched to primarily writing Seblaine with a sprinkling of Hevans and Klaine. You can find my AO3 here and my old FF.net here. I no longer post to FF.net so if you want to keep up with what I'm currently writing, you'll want to follow my AO3.

Lastly, for the Glee fans. I am a multishipper and I have been for years. I welcome fans of any and all ships and I love to hear theories and ideas about pretty much any ship involving Kurt, Blaine, Sebastian, or Sam. So feel free to tag me in anything, message me about anything, or send me anything that you think I might like to see. I am always open to making new Glee friends since there's simply not enough of us out here anymore.

That being said, Klaine is obviously the most popular ship that I will be posting about and as such you will see a lot more content for them than for my other ships, simply because there is more out there. So if you don't like Klaine, it is probably imperative that you block my Klaine tag. I also understand if for that reason you don't want to follow me, but you can still come chat with me about the ships you do enjoy, even if we're not mutuals.

And as stated before, Glee and Starkid tags listed below the cut

(any character or ships not listed will be tagged simply with their name)

Glee

General tag - F: land of misfit toys

Klaine - OTP: bowties and neckerchiefs

Seblaine - OTP: you're kind of my favorite person (this one is new, so also block Seblaine in general as I get in the habit of using this one)

Kurt - C: Im still here

Blaine - C: little ball of sunshine

Glee Cast (and partners)

Miarren - OTP: partners in crime

Darren Criss - P: sexy mcderpy pants

Mia Swier/Criss - P: sexy is a state of mind

Chill - OTP: xo

Chris Colfer - P: porcelain prince

Will Sherrod - P: Disneyland boy

Starkid/Tin Can Bros

General tag - F: actual five year olds

Jeff Blim - P: rumbleroar

Curtwen (Spies are Forever) - OTP: the warmest hello

Show titles will usually be abbreviated - tgwdlm, npmd, nmt, nmt2, avpm, avps, avpsy, mamd, tto, hmb.

Unabbreviated show tags - Starship, Twisted, Ani, Little White Lie, Black Friday, Firebringer, Spies are Forever, Solve it Squad, Wayward Guide.

And my overall tag for the Hatchetfield shows is Hatchetfield Verse

I did once upon a time have unique tags for more of the starkids, but at this point Jeff's and Darren's are the only ones I still use. Now everyone else just get tagged with their names.

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

Tagged by my beloved @raemoriendi, thanks 💜💜

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not that I know of, my parents chose my name for its meaning in Hebrew, it's a variation of "Eloim", which literally means God. I used to not like my name very much, but I've learned to get along with it.

2. When was the last time you cried?

A couple of weeks ago I guess, it was mid an anxiety attack.

3. Do you have kids?

No, but at the moment I plan to have one child in the future, but I don't know, I might change my mind at some point.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

YES, much more than I should actually…

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

I did basketball for a while in middle school, haven't done anything since.

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

My psychologist told me I'm an "empath" because I have an ease in understanding how people feel. So I guess is their vibe and their moods.

7. What's your eye colour?

I have a pair of myopic dark browns, depending on the light they're a bit cinnamon-like

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I'm not the biggest fan of happy endings, I'm a fan of tragic endings lol so I think that puts me in the pan of horror movies, I particularly love them.

9. Any special talents?

I really don't know lol, I think maybe whistling, being able to identify a bass/baritone/tenor/countertenor voice just listening to it once and I think an eidetic memory…? I don't know if these things really count lol

10. Where were you born?

I was born in northeastern Brazil in a state called Pernambuco, and I am an advocate that it is the best state in the country ;)

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing fictional works (endless wips :,D), organizing lists of various types, making playlists with a very specific vibe, reading, being dragged into binge watching a whole show that i've just started, obsessing over something and only resting after having consumed EVERYTHING I could about.

12. Do you have any pets?

Four dogs that are the light of my life, Luna, Lucy, Branca and Cindy

13. How tall are you?

I'm a 5′5″ unhinged gremlin

14. Favorite subject in school?

I've always been very good at Portuguese (Grammar) and Writing, but Literature, English and Sociology have always been my favorites, it's not surprising I'm going to college to become an English teacher, and to have a Phd in Gothic literature (or Symbolist I'm still deciding)

15. Dream job?

I think I'm already chasing my dream one way or another, I've always liked teaching, but I've always wanted to teach at a college.

If it weren't for the money, I think I would have worked in a bookstore as a full-time librarian, I really loved that job, but the salary was barely enough to pay the rent. I think being a writer, like REALLY a writer, is a dream too… Maybe if I had some talent and didn't have stage fright being an actress might be cool as well lmao

15 mutuals:

non-pressure tags 💜

@chronic-ghost @aflockofbees @everythingbutresolved @girlwiththenegantattoo @apbajs @mysoftboybensolo @littleredwritingcat @womanhoodchronicles @charismat1c-megafauna @scuttle-buttle @purplelupins @spookyconsultingcriminal @ashton-slashton and if you saw this consider yourself tagged 💙