#of posting my art @ times when i ought to be in bed

[sartorially]

plzzzzzZZZ draw super tall kanaya

Dave is there to do the Midwestern Dad Looking At Bad Weather pose & snap selfies.

[empty-dusk]

Because I am back on my bullshit, I just wanna make a post about two of my fave plant based losers.

Arbutus from Aladdin the animated series and Molecule man from Moon girl and devil dinosaur.

These two dweeps parallel each other in surprising ways, which is kind of interesting. I don't know if Arbutus played into this portrayal of Molecule man, but taking that both come from disney animated canon, it isn't beyond the scope of things.

TL;DR: Two random cartoon characters are surprisingly similar and their stories parallel in fun ways. I wrote a novel about it.

Their story arcs follow a similar pattern. Both begin as seemingly more open people, with Arbutus allowing the Sultan to enter his garden oasis to take refuge from the cold desert night and with Molecule literally allowing people to come to his home to enjoy what he'd created. Notably, both deal with gardens and plants. Arbutus, being seemingly a nature elemental creates art through nature and Molecule made an entire planet into a natural wonder through molecular manipulation. By technicality, you could say they both had a garden they saw as a haven.

While Arbutus seems a bit more hesitant to approach, he still follows the Sultan to see what he does and probably to see how he reacts to the art he had created. It ought to be pointed out that the Sultan interacts quite respectfully with his garden to a certain point, enjoying it's wonders. We don't see much on how Molecule behaves with his guests, but the small looks we get into how his planet used to be, he seemed to be much the same, if just more involved. The Beyonder talks about crystal bloom beds, anti-gravity waterfalls and most notably a black hole coaster, which speak volumes of how nice the place must have been if it made a good impression on the Beyonder, who at best of times seems to regard humans as lesser beings and has notably caused a lot of harm to different planets out of strange kind of childish curiosity or vindictiveness. Molecule seems to have enjoyed spending time with at least some of his guests, seemingly children, based on his small recollections.

Despite the initial good will though, both end up in the same place.

In Arbutus's case, the slight seems minor. A single picked flower from his garden. But a garden to a nature elemental is a bit different of a thing than to a human. To him, his art and his plants are akin to family and they scream when harm befalls them. It's implied that he feels about flowers in a vase the same way most of us would feel about inhumane cruelty befalling our fellow humans or animals.

Meanwhile, Molecule has his haven, his home, destroyed due to what could be seen as a natural disaster. A natural disaster that came down to not being so natural, as it turns out it was merely a game played by a trickster entity he'd even hosted on his planet. The Beyonder. The Beyonder, when confronted, does not truly recall causing this, despite admitting to the game of galactic golf that set the meteors into motion. A being who is supposedly omniscient was too distracted from the destruction he'd caused.

Both parties have their homes violated in someway and vow revenge on the perpetrator.

Arbutus has the opportunity to act on his wish for it instantly, coming down like an angry god upon the hapless man in his garden. He was very much willing to kill the person destroying his masterpiece, but is actually talked down by the prospect that he might get the Sultan's most 'precious treasure' into his garden. So, he allows the Sultan to leave, but leaves the man with a promise. In 20 summers, he would come to claim this most precious treasure.

Molecule man has a less straight forward path to his revenge. Beyonder is a being who could be anywhere, at anytime. Tracking him down is nearly impossible. So, he sets a trap. If the trickster would ever dare set foot on his planet ever again, he'd be stripped of his power and fully at his mercy. It's impossible to say how long he waited, but his home is abandoned and left to ruin, wilderness claiming buildings and structures deteriorating. But in the end, his plan works. Beyonder DOES come back. No truce or revenge is achieved however, as Beyonder ends up beating Molecule man with his own power, just to save the girl he'd come to his home with. The girl he seems to care so much about. Molecule man is left to his own rage and impotence, power stripped from him instead by the destruction of his wand.

Regardless, both of them return to the lives of those they perceived had wronged them, but the stories end in very different ways.

At this point, it's important to note on the protagonists they are up against. Aladdin and Lunella.

Both at first underestimate their foe. Lunella has just beaten the biggest bad thing ever back on Earth and has protected Beyonder and his sorry behind for a few days on an alien planet. She got this, she can do this! Except... not this time.

(No I will never stop using these gifs. I made them, I get to abuse the privilege.)

Similarly, Aladdin projects confidence, telling the Sultan that he will protect his treasury from any intrusion. He has beaten plenty worse things before! Unfortunate for him, he didn't quite understand that to a nature elemental, what is more precious than living beauty? And there happens to be a flower right under his nose he hadn't considered: Jasmine.

Both protagonists lose their first round against a seemingly overwhelming foe, but while Lunella spends rest of the season dealing with these ramifications, Aladdin bounces back near instantly. After all, to him this is a single episode and to Lunella, this is a several episode long arc. (And there's like. 20 years between the two series.)

The greatest differences appear in the latter halves of Arbutus and Molecule's stories, however.

Arbutus takes Jasmine and very much seems content that he now has someone to talk to, someone to witness his art, despite showing clear disdain towards Jasmine's unwillingness to be part of his garden. The things grow heated however when she accuses him of seeing her as a thing. Something to be owned, which is a concept she'd held contempt from being nearly forcefully married off to a suitor she didn't care for. But Arbutus fires back that humans treat nature and his creations as things as well. There seems to be bitterness to him, as he talks about humans burning wood and plotting out the sun with the smoke, leaving his precious flowers to slowly die and suffer die in a vase. He seems to hold contempt towards humans, most likely due to being a being of pure nature, seeing them abuse living things that can't tell them to stop. But at the same time... he seems to wish for understanding. After all, he isn't necessarily hostile to Jasmine. He merely bars her exit, as she was promised to him, ever so indirectly.

So, Jasmine saying that she understands how he feels seems to make him do a double take.

But in the end... he wants to believe in Jasmine. That humans do appreciate his creations, all the creations of nature. He's skeptical, but wants to believe in the end. At least until Aladdin shows up, prompting him to fall back into his skepticism. It was clearly just another human ploy, after all. Something he's clearly experienced before.

Meanwhile, Molecule man invades Lunella's home. Her safety, her haven, all for getting revenge by proxy. Beyonder can be wherever and anywhere, after all. His rage, as terrible and burning as it had been before, had merely amplified during the time he'd spent off screen. It broke him, quite literally. His body is now able to shape itself in whatever way he pleases, but he is very unstable. While the rage seems to have empowered him to be more at first, it's also tearing him down. His contortions seem painful, but he seems to be dulling it all with the rage that is uncoupling his own molecules to begin with. In contrast to Arbutus, he takes pleasure in toying with Lunella's family as well, wishing to make her feel the pain he feels. He lacks a mirror, someone to understand him like Arbutus. No one clearly had come to bring aid or was concerned for him and his home. And now, if nothing else, he can pass his pain unto Lunella. Give her exactly what he got: despair, loss, grief and most of all a person to blame it all upon.

Both are in the end acting on old pains.

Arbutus lashing out due to seeing humans as cruel things that trick and abuse his creations and Molecule due to loss of acceptance and people who would care for him equally. Both have withdrawn from contact due to being hurt by outside forces and in the end, become a monster in the eye of others. Aladdin calls Arbutus a monster and treats him as one. Lunella forgoes saying it, but she holds righteous anger towards the alien who invaded her home and threatened to kill her whole family.

Their stories end in shockingly different ways.

Arbutus is slain, despite Jasmine's protest. He and Aladdin fought, fully thinking the other was in the wrong and not attempting to bridge the gap between them. His death is an accidental victory, but Aladdin no matter celebrates, thinking he'd beaten the evil that had taken his love prisoner. Arbutus and his home wither around them, unable to exist without the person who kept it alive. The episode ends with a hopeful but somber note, as Jasmine explains that Arbutus wasn't evil, merely different. They plant the rose that had been his heart and source of his power onto a hill. It perks up after being watered, giving hope that he may someday grow back.

Molecule man, despite his demonstrably worse actions, gets the happier ending. Lunella, after having been on the run for the most of the episode turns the tides and returns the favor of their first encounter, beating and breaking him onto the floor. She stops, just like he had (even if not by choice) just an inch from his face, letting him feel the terror he'd caused in her. The fear of death and pain. But instead... he reacts much differently. After a moment of fear and panicked breathing, he repeats a line he'd told her before. He has nothing left to lose. With somber acceptance, he lays down, knowing that he is defeated and perhaps even welcoming the oblivion of death. This leads to Lunella understanding just how much pain he had to be in. As much as he'd hurt her, he'd lacked the support network she had. He had no one to tell him what Mimi or Casey would tell her, about confidence and finding help when you needed it.

He literally was alone. In the end, he finds compassion from Lunella, who literally helps him back to his feet, so he can see the destruction he'd caused. It's not perfect and won't take the trauma away, but he does what he can to undo the destruction. He heals and fixes, leaving the apartment as it had been and no less. He and Lunella depart on good enough terms and her fear of him seems to have disappeared.

Despite the different ending point of their stories, in the end, both of them are very misunderstood beings. While Arbutus reflects a more skeptical side and inability to trust, Molecule man turns that around and finds trust and healing in the end. They are both also heavily tied to flowers.

The flower the sultan picks from Arbutus' garden seems to be a kind of lily. Later on, he sprouts a similar yet differently colored lily from his palm, offering it Jasmine momentarily, but never giving it to her. Meanwhile, Molecule man is seen to be fond of a type of cactus flower (it's an alien plant, I am doing my best here), which a child passes onto him in a flashback and in the end, he passes to Lunella.

Perhaps the flower could be seen as a willingness to change and trust, despite it all. To pass it on is to be vulnerable, but you can also find people who care for you. Not passing it on protects you, but... leaves you alone and misunderstood in the end. Thanks for reading this ramble of a post, you're trooper if you did.

[withhertea]

Maisie's Newsletter (April 26, 2025)

hello witches!!

long time no talk, so i’m sat in my bed with my faulty laptop wheezing on my knee, and i am ready to catch you all up on what has been happening!

in the meantime, i lived my life, what a lovely thought :’) i went to personal training sessions with ellen, went to brighton beach and watched my friends do the zipline, swam in the local lido with my mum for mothers day, checked off nearly all of the pubs within a one mile radius; i bought rugs, broke my oven, tried (and failed) to ride a lime bike, started an in flat tournament of mario on the switch, and kissed my boyfriend a ton. it was great. i jotted down song ideas and tried my best to be patient and appreciate spirit’s plan, because before long i’ll be on the planes and trains and buses and will fondly remember my stationary life. and then seemingly out of the blue, spirit came and presented me with a plan!

so: i’m heading to nashville to finish, and i mean finish, mp3. it feels sweet and full circle to end the album where i began it, in january 2024 when i went on my first writing trip of the record and tentatively got my new music sea legs in the snow (in fact, the first song i wrote on that trip is currently on the tracklist, YTMN, can you believe). i have 3 weeks booked in the studio during which i will be recording all the new songs, songs i have written in the last year and a half, songs that i am so excited for you to hear i feel physically SICK at the thought (in a nice way). i’ve always wanted to make an album in this way, where i get to have a whiteboard with all my song names on it, and i get to tick off things like ‘the perfect bass line’, and i just feel so deeply like everything has happened with mp3 exactly as it was meant to. and guys…. the songs… the SONGS. i’m going to give you guys a tiny spoiler and say there is a song that i just cannot wait for you to hear and then scream back at me, especially the last chorus. oh god i’m giddy just thinking of it.

have the first line of the song, just as a treat

‘lived on your razors edge, for about a year or so i came out seeing things, i came out barely alive’

<333333

i will be staying with a bunch of my best friends whilst i’m away – a literal dream come true. one of my favourite people in the world and beloved ex roommate cate moved there last year, and whilst i miss her in london something terrible, it’s going to be so fun to get to stay with her and live out our roommate dreams in a new city! nashville has so many of my favourite spots and you can bet i will be in that 12 south hearts quicker than you can say MP3. it’s going to be kind of crazy leaving nashville with a finished record (touchwood!!!) but it feels really right and like the time has just perfectly lined up; i also have some fun plans for after nashville but i’ll keep you posted on those in the next few weeks.

lady gaga’s coachella set!! me oh my!!! i watched it this weekend on the livestream at my friend nav’s house, and you can bet we were all thoroughly gagged. born this way truly is the song of the century i think. shallow hit heights i didn’t know possible. when she came in on that big dress structure. art.

showering at the gym. my hot water is currently not working so i have discovered showering at my local gym – you may think this is a substandard experience but i have found it to have hidden depths.

i feel bad about my neck by nora ephron <3 i am a nora stan and i adored heartburn; this felt like heartburn’s wittier, sadder, nostalgic older sister and i inhaled it in one sitting. i also read god of the woods by liz moore recently and loved it, and didion and babitz by lili anolik gets a shoutout for being unputdownable.

the restaurant okko in london fields. i really ought to gatekeep but i love you guys so much i am putting you on – it is so so good, i recommend any of the sushi and the kfc tofu it is incredible.

new lana!!!! i adored henry, come on and i can’t wait for the album; lana to me is such a north star artist whose work i am always inspired by in some shape or form, and i think this album might really be for me.

my coffee machine. this is a skill i only recently semi mastered and it feels unbelievable to make myself a coffee that is as good if not better than the one from the trendy shop across the street. i’m not calling myself a master, but honestly my latte art is not bad, and the other day i managed a very mangled looking heart in the milk froth. progress.

ed sheeran. i just think his new song rocks and his vibe is immaculate and his tiktok game is hilarious, and yes he’s my boss and my friend so i love him, but also i just feel like he’s really in a great era right now and i personally am loving seeing it.

ok witches i shall have to love you and leave you! i think by the time you read this i will be on the a plane or landed in nashville, so wish me luck and we’ll speak soon ok <3

love u to the moon and back and then back again,

mais x

[twilight-resonance]

Short-Shorn

I really ought to go to bed - it's almost 2AM and I have work tomorrow - but I have some juice left for writing after the previous post, and I want to take advantage of that while I can. Flex that muscle, and practice, in the hope of more-and-better later. So I'll try to keep it short, but I'll try to make good on it, too.

What to say? Just had a break week from work - both schools were out - which is to say, all of my days were ridiculously busy. Backlogged appointments, overdue friend meetups, and of course daylong planning meetings to prep all the content for the upcoming story arc. Wish I had a whole 'nother week to work - there's a great deal I couldn't get to, that's been needing to happen and needing to happen and needing to happen. ...Alas.

Been trying to be good about enriching myself and finding ways to encourage my sense of play. Has thusly taken the form of going to lots of performances, because I am at the end of the day a performing arts bitch - two plays by local theater groups, and a circus-esque performance as well. I would like to go see some dance shows at some point, too. It's been good for me so far, and it's been fun. Keeping an eye out for more, when we can make them happen. Also been more willing to roam and ramble on nature outings, even when Hearthsnail objects; because that, too is good for me. We went to a forest-river canyon not long after a couple storms, and the whole place was torn up; lots to ramble and climb and scamper around in.

Been sort of eaten-up lately with a couple of folks I've written for my game world. It's been quite hard to shake them, actually, and I know that if they're sticking this hard it's because there's something important there; but I can't fathom what. There's a dream I had over the summer that sort-of settles into that, too; and, like this moment, I still don't know what the dream meant. But whatever it was, it was important. Something about me, and where I'm at, and what I need; or want, or value; or miss, or grieve; and I'm not certain which. It's tapered off for now, but I can also tell it's going to come back - again, and again, and again, like a haunt - until it's known and solved.

Ah, well - my time I allotted myself is up, and I really ought to go to bed. The depth of my musing was cut short by the knowing of the time limit, too, so I'm sad for that, but - it is what it is. Goodnight, sweet dreams.

[aristocratic-otter]

Hello all! Work is winding down for the year, so I ought to have a more regular posting schedule for the next couple of months. Thank you to @hushed-chorus, @confused-bi-queer, @prettygoododds, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @j-nipper-95, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @fatalfangirl, @artsyunderstudy, @palimpsessed, and @ileadacharmedlife for the tags!

My own tags and snippets below the cut

From Westward Son:

He kisses me. Again and again he kisses me. He runs his hands over my body, and kisses me, but he’s not trying to get me off, and I’m not trying to get off. Orgasm isn’t what we need tonight. We need to hold and kiss each other until we’re both saturated with each other’s feel and smell and taste, until we’ve built back what was almost lost. 

When we finally sleep, I feel like Baz has imbedded himself into my soul, and my skin is feeling like it fits me again

From my COBB (it's so soon, y'all, I can taste it! I can't wait for you all to see my partner's art!):

“We all must be responsible for the consequences of the spells we cast, Mr. Snow,” she said reprovingly. The boy wilted. “Now,” the teacher continued, “I’ve arranged to have a third bed fitted into Mummer’s house for…er…Shepard here. He’s to attend classes with you or Penelope, and eat meals with one or the other of you.”

“But what if—” Simon said, before stopping abruptly and looking at me, his eyes wary. “What if the Mage needs me for…you know…” he trailed off, clearly not wanting to discuss whatever this Mage fellow needs him for in front of me.

From Saving Simon Snow

“You bastard,” he murmurs, drifting back into the circle of my arms. He sounds almost fond. “I can’t believe you managed to keep up the act for seven fucking years.”

“You never made it easy,” I mumble against his lips as he pulls me to him again. He’s startled into a laugh. Then he kisses me, hard, and pulls back a little.  “I never made it easy? You prat, you’ve never made anything easy in your whole fucking life.”

From an Age of Sail Au

 It takes a lot of groaning and heaving for two eleven year old boys to manhandle a grown man up the ladder, but finally we manage it, and we just lay there on the main deck panting for a moment. 

After a few seconds, I realise two things: first, the storm has settled into a soaking rain, which seems to have put the fire out. And second, there’s not another sound to be heard besides the rain. 

In a panic, I run for the rail, Baz right behind me. Only to watch the lifeboats, with every crew member and passenger other than us aboard, disappearing in the distance. 

We’re alone. 

From my COTTA, Snow Fox

Simon pulls me in for a fierce kiss, and then pulls away. “I’m sorry to leave you hanging, my love. But you’re right. There’s little time.” 

I nod, and fight back the tears that threaten every time we are parted. “Go on, darling. I’ll be waiting for your return.” He nods, his eagle gaze softening when he looks at me. Then he pulls himself astride Dragon, and kicks the horse into motion without another word. 

I stand in our little hollow until I can no longer hear the sound of hoofbeats

From: To Heal a Broken Mind

I’ve just managed to reach level 19 on Candy Crush when Baz storms into his office, eyes wild and hair flying around his head. “Get up, Simon!” he barks. “We’ve got to go!”

I don’t argue. I’ve never seen Baz like this, so whatever’s the matter has got to be urgent. I shove my phone in my pocket and bounce to my feet. “Where are we going?”

“Radiology,” Baz calls over his shoulder as he heads out the door and down the corridor at a rapid clip.

From Raising Dragons

I relieve him of Nat, and he glances back to give me a grateful smile, before grabbing Ebb around the middle and, holding them securely, doing a backflip into the water. They rise out of the water together, and Ebb is squealing with delight. Nat whimpers by my ear, and Violet ignores their dad and sibling and continues to doggie paddle with my hand under their belly. 

“Again, Again!” cries the irrepressible Ebb. Simon’s grin is positively wolfish. It makes a shiver run down my spine, settling in my belly and making it clench. I watch my husband cavort with my child with love in my gaze and lust in my heart. 

Now revealed, from my Star Trek Voyager AU, a gift fic for Raen, The Naked Next (Chapter 1 going up tonight!)

I can’t help but be amused, though more by the expression on Basilton Grimm-Pitch’s face than by the story he’s telling me. He looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon that someone told him was a sweet. 

Though the idea of our stoic chief engineer parading around in her underwear and asking my very gay first officer for advice on women…well, it’s objectively funny. I’d be rolling on the floor (privately) with laughter, if it weren’t also so absolutely terrifying. 

“So you’re telling me that it seems like our chief engineer is completely trolleyed,” I say, failing to keep all of the amusement out of my voice.  Baz quirks a reproving brow at me. “Trolleyed, sir?” His voice is so dry it rivals the Sahara.

Tagging for Wednesday (or just blowing y'all a kiss): Everyone above, plus @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @facewithoutheart, @giishu, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @ic3-que3n, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @larkral, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @frjsti, @nausikaaa, @nightimedreamersghost, @prettylightsbigcity, @raenestee, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @theearlgreymage, @tea-brigade, @technetiumai, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @whatevertheweather, @yellobb-old

[goron-king-darunia]

Eggtober Retrospective by @goron-king-darunia Well, there they are. Every egg-related piece I drew in October, along with the behind-the-scenes or in-progress pictures, including bonus art. Individual links will be at the end of the post. I’m gonna get sappy here, but first, a poem to tie this whole thing off before I get into the details some may want to skip. Poem for an Egg An egg is such a simple thing. Child of beasts of scale and wing. Let from this verse my praises ring, A poem for an egg. Yolk of gold in chest of white Armor crackling, feather-light. Wet albumen shining bright From a calcium-cast keg. Coated tongue with holy wine Protein and rich fat combined Sunlight nectar so divine To stain the humble bread. Toothsome sponge of firming yield, Heated skillet firmly sealed. Poached from out the plundered field, Plucked from feathered bed. Broth of life in fragile cradle, Font of youth of myth and fable, Decadent and smooth like sable, Anointed and alone. Nourishment of king and peasant Harvested from hen or pheasant. Such is nature’s oldest present To nourish flesh and bone. An egg is such a precious thing From which my inspirations spring And for the world I’ll proudly sing This poem for an egg.

Now, a little on what eggs and Eggtober mean to me as an artist. Eggs are symbolic of a lot of things. But I’ll go over the particular symbolism that felt relevant and inspiring to me. Youth - Obvious on the face of it. One way or another, baby organisms of any sort of complexity start as an egg. Baby chickens come from eggs. Fairly direct symbolism. But for me, Eggtober was connecting to a younger time in my life, where art was just something natural. Where I wasn’t pressured by my own expectations or burdened by a lot of the fetters that come with visual art. It was about connecting with that feeling of whimsy. Even my personal projects started carrying a weight of expectation to them, even though I swore to myself that the quality didn’t matter. The level of skill I achieved with art had me in that sort of Valley of Despair in the whole Dunning-Kruger graph. I knew enough to know that I had so much growing left, and my confidence fell through the floor. But Eggtober was a chance to connect with the confidence of youth, and grow the skills I’ve been nurturing that went to atrophy over nearly a decade of no (or very little) art. To just draw what felt right, learn, examine, look, tweak, practice, and grow. No external judgements. No internal judgements. Just making. And I think that’s helped me a lot.

Looking Beneath the Surface - I’ve been forced to do a bit of introspection recently. As is the human condition, I inevitably end up harming people I care about. And while a certain amount of that is unavoidable, the stuff that is avoidable stems, in part, from unaddressed self-esteem issues. Through a combination of examining my own writing, discussing with friends, and examining things that have hurt me when they ought not (i.e. I burst into tears for “no reason” because a Hershey bar had the phrase “treat for me” on the back as part of its marketing) I’ve realized that I... kind of hate myself. I have this deep-seated unease about facets of myself that I’m ashamed of. Things I think people wouldn’t accept, fears I have that I know aren’t true, anxieties about my own interests, doubts about my own capabilities. Things about myself that don’t really hurt anyone, that don’t need to be changed, upset me.

It got to the point where I was inadvertently hurting people in a desire to medicalize my own idiosyncrasies to validate them because as a psychology student, I’d internalized a pretty unhealthy “If I can name it, I can fix it” mentality. “If I can just associate this thing I hate about myself with a known disease, disorder, or mental illness, I can totally just get rid of it with the right treatment (that I don’t have access to for a variety of reasons)” And that’s not a healthy way to think about myself. Especially not about things that don’t hurt anyone. Doubly especially when those are just little things I enjoy in fiction. Things that don’t really indicate anything about me on their own. 

That festering self-hatred probably stems from a lot of external sources, but ultimately, it’s the fact that it’s sitting inside me, unaddressed, that it’s become a problem. I internalized a lot of external influence meant to hurt me and decided that because others wanted to hurt me, that I deserved to be hurt. I decided that instead of examining any of that, to just accept it wholesale and that instead of changing things (which I didn’t want to change and don’t need to be changed because, again, these things don’t hurt anyone) I decided to cope with self-deprecation. Like putting on a red shirt before going on stage, expecting tomatoes. “You can’t hurt me more that I’m already hurting me. If I tell you I already know there’s something wrong with me, you can laugh with me and not at me.” Needless to say, I know that stuff isn’t healthy, and I’m more aware now that it hurts other people, not just me. For a variety of reasons, I can’t get professional help right now. But knowing at least one root of the behavior that hurts me and hurts others means I can address it. And being able to look inward will be key to growing as I move forward. Just as an egg holds a white and a yolk, my body houses a mind and its thoughts. Being able to look within and see what’s there, like candling an egg, will help me root out things that hurt others and affect my quality of life. Food and Community - I wanted to stick with an edible theme, partly because I like food, but also because food means community. Unless you’re a hermit living alone in the mountains and living off wild berries and roots, it’s basically impossible to eat something that hasn’t involved other humans in the process. Even if you cook your own food and eat all by yourself, someone picked those veggies, gathered those eggs, butchered that meat. And usually, eating isn’t something you do alone. There are reasons that going out to eat is a common activity to do with friends and dates and family and why food is a part of special occasions. Eggtober, as a challenge, was something we did together. Whether you only participated once or twice, whether you just watched, whether you did an egg every day like @quezify. It was a uniting factor. And even though lots of people have decided the plague is over, it really isn’t. And even if it was over, those years of isolation and limiting togetherness for the good of the community was rough on a lot of people. Doing something together is just nice.

Can I offer you a nice egg in this trying time? - I’ve always been an absolute slut for pink Pokemon. And while I characterize myself as more of an Audino, I really vibe with Blissey for this. “Blissey senses sadness with its fluffy coat of fur. If it does so, this Pokémon will rush over to a sad person, no matter how far away, to share a Lucky Egg that brings a smile to any face.” “Anyone who takes even one bite of Blissey's egg becomes unfailingly caring and pleasant to everyone.” More than anything, I want to live a life of kindness and making others happy. I’m not always able to live up to that. But I strive for it. Various media characterize various things as nourishing and nurturing. And while the poster-child food for that in the USA seems to be Chicken Soup, the egg is only a degree or two removed from that. And while the best known pop-culture reference on this site which uses the egg as a short-hand for affection has been memed to hell and back, I think it has more sincere implications in my art. Even if it’s only one person, I just want to make this world a little better for someone. I want to be kind, patient, nurturing. I want to embody love. I know I’m only human. I know it can’t always be unconditional. And I know I can’t always be the best me every moment of every day. But I hope if there’s a stat sheet at the end of life that my metric for kindness, compassion, and love is my highest stat.

Final Thoughts: Eggtober’s been an artistic adventure. I learned a lot about the raw mechanics of making art, trained my eyes, my hands, refined my process. But it’s also been emotional. I’ve been crying writing some of this. Growth is a series of small steps and consistent choices, and I’d like to think I’ve come out the other side of this month a markedly better person than I was before, in more ways than one. I’m no stranger to sadness and depression. In fact, in terms of Pixar’s Inside Out, I’d pretty soundly say I’m “Captained by Sadness,” as the visual metaphor goes. But even with things outside my control, even with the crying, even with the concretely bad day, October was a good month. In no small part due to drawing for Eggtober. I’m a characteristically weepy bitch, so not all of these tears are sad tears. But there’s definitely a melancholy setting in. It’s been nice doing all this, and it’s a little sad for it to be over. But there’s also relief. I can get back to a few other projects I put on the backburner. I can free up brainspace for other creative pursuits and I can be a bit more spontaneous. There’s also an overwhelming joy that comes with being able to see I completed something. Just putting everything together into one collage to see all I’ve made was an emotional endeavor. Being able to put something out there in the world and say “I made something. Something that didn’t exist before exists now, because of me.” I’m trying not to cry because it’s over. I’m trying to smile because it happened. We all did something great together. I don’t think I’ve had a happier month, even with everything. Thank you to everyone who participated. This was a wonderful experience. My askbox is open for anyone that might want to put in an egg request, even if Eggtober is over now. If you all have any favorites, I’ll consider setting up shop and running prints if you want to support me. But until then, I hope you all are safe, fed, warm, and loved. All Eggtober Art, in order, Left to Right, Top to Bottom: Eggtober 1 - Fried Egg Eggtober 2 - Deviled Eggs Eggtober 3 - Toad in the Hole Eggtober 4 - Eggs Benedict Eggtober 5 - Hard Boiled Eggs 3 Ways Eggtober 6 - Poached Egg Eggtober 7 - Soft-Boiled Eggs Eggtober 8 - Scrambled Eggs Eggtober 9 - Mushroom and Cheese Omelet Eggtober 10 - Bibimbap Eggtober 11 - Tonkotsu Ramen with Egg Eggtober 12 - Avocado Toast Eggtober 13 - Çilbir or Turkish Poached Eggs Eggtober 14 - EGGxperiment (Naked Egg) Eggtober 15 - Scotch Egg Eggtober 16 - Tamago Nigiri Eggtober 17 - Ikura Nigiri Eggtober 18 - Egg Salad Eggtober 19 - Mooncake (Featuring Salted Egg Yolk) Eggtober 20 - Minimalist Shakshuka Eggtober 21 - Huevos Rancheros Eggtober 22 - Impressions of Broccoli Quiche Eggtober 23 - A Cube of Egg Casserole Eggtober 24 - Tamago Kake Gohan Eggtober 25 - The Imposter or “The Egg Plant” Eggtober 26 - Century Egg or “Beyond Reach” a Starbot Fanart Eggtober 27 - Soy Grilled Quail Eggs Eggtober 28 - Pickled Egg with Radish Slices Eggtober 29 - Cloud Egg Eggtober 30 - Halloween Meringues Eggtober 31 - Cadbury Screme Egg

Eggtober Bonus 1 - Intermission Collaboration Eggtober Bonus 2 - Sushi Eggs Eggtober Bonus 3 - Zucchini Egg Casserole Behind the Scenes 1 - Bibimbap, But Just the Veggies (Under Cut) Behind the Scenes 2 - Avocado Toast, Emphasis on the Tomato (Under Cut) Behind the Scenes 3 - Starbot Fan Art without Pixelation (Under Cut)

[mmoxie]

Part 1 - Overnights

The apartment smelled a little strong tonight. While Dani slept the daylight hours away, she had beef and broccoli going in the crock pot. She had a few spoonfuls right away, added some black pepper, and filled a tupperware container with enough to keep her going.

Seebs yowled for some, and she crouched on the kitchen floor to let him sample a spoonful. He selectively pulled a beef tip away from the other ingredients, purred his approval, and retreated to the warm spot on the bed while Dani got ready.

No dress code on overnights. Nobody to impress, nobody looking for the performance of retail-as-art. Just boxes and bottles and a whole lot of time. She grabbed a pair of thin headphones- cheap ones, with their distinctive brown-orange padding and thin silver band- and clipped an honest-to-goodness walkman to her back pocket.

Tonight, Evil Dead was on the menu. An expanded novelization, on tape. She was starting to pay a premium for these things- the internet was such bullshit- but filling her head with visions of Bruce Campbell and gallons of inky black corn syrup for ten hours sounded like a blast.

After filling a thermos with coffee- her old landlord had gifted her a French press, and she treasured it now- it was a five minute drive up Stantz Ave. to the corner of North and Gilbert. And there she was.

Wilson Titlee.

You deserve it.

She parked her '89 Taurus around back and let herself into the employee door with a two-pronged key. The kind you see on security pegs in pharmacies, but here it was on the back door, acting as if it belonged there.

She clocked in and got herself a cheese biscuit from the markdown rack, along with a sweet tea out of the case. She'd pay over lunch, when the self-checkout was turned on by a night manager.

"Put your little hand in mine," the overhead radio called to her, "there ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb..."

Sonny and Cher. And here came Bill Murray, rushing to the front of her mind to beat the shit out of the clock.

"Okay campers, rise and shine! And don't forget your booties 'cause it's COOOOLD out there!"

God damn it, she almost said it out loud. That cheese biscuit had saved her life, plugging her mouth up like that.

There weren't many people to talk to on overnights. You might see Craig, the freezer case guy, working out the ice cream or the Hungry Man dinners. Occasionally Kathy would make an overhead announcement about the self-check being open, or about the security system resetting.

Tonight, her only company was the homeside overnight manager, Pete. Peter Josta. She was patching some holes in the homeside freight schedule for some extra hours on her paycheck, and Peter had assured her, he had a "different way of doing things" and "ran a pretty tight ship."

Whatever, man. It's boxes of post-its and the occasional immersion blender.

She was happy to ignore him, put on her Evil Dead tape, and put her head down to work out a nice, heavy box full of tenpenny nails. Hardware felt just right for these shifts- everything was just a little heavier than you'd expect, and after ten hours of hoisting hammers or shelving buckets of roofing tar, her arms burned good.

Tim Curry was narrating, which always made her grin, and they had even got Bruce himself in the recording booth for a few extra-authentic pops of dialogue. She didn't notice for a full five minutes that Pete was right beside her.

"Hey. Hey!" He waved his hand in front of her face. Strike one.

She pressed Stop and slid her headphones down to the back of her neck.

"Something the matter, Pete? We got an early truck?"

"You're not supposed to wear headphones on the floor. It's a safety issue! What if you run into somebody because you're not paying attention?"

Run into somebody? Who in the fuck-

Gotta argue like he argues. Appeal to authority. An authority he can't follow up with.

"Oh, yeah, uh- my doctor says that I ought to do this. Audio therapy. Whale sounds, pan flute, chimes. I keep it low, but these late nights, working all quiet... it helps keep the mind peaceful, y'know?"

She could see Pete turning that appeal over in his head. He didn't like it. He had come over just to disturb her, and she could tell. This was a guy who usually wasn't in charge of anybody, but he was the "lead." So he should lead, right? He should be in charge. To be told no, that was galling, but... told no by the doctor, well...

"Just... be careful," he said through gritted teeth. "These kinds of things, safety rules, they're uh... you know, they're written in blood. We only get them because someone got hurt."

Dani regarded him with an easy, lopsided smile.

"Thanks for looking out, Pete. I'll keep my head on a swivel."

"You better," he concluded with a firm nod- and then he was gone, disappearing under the dim after-hours light to, Dani prayed, unpack the densest fucking box of pens imaginable.

As soon as he was out of sight, she and her old pal Bruce both said, "Groovy."

And then it was back to nails, screws, and fasteners.

Three hours, one tupperware of beef & broccoli, and six pallets of heavy homeside freight later, Dani was smiling her way to the clock. Many-a deadite had been righteously sawn in half, and all was right with the world.

She raised a hand to the timeclock, then heard her name.

"Dani, could I talk to you for a moment?"

The opening manager, Paula Green, wore a beige vest covered in company-approved pens, and was holding a clipboard. A break schedule, printed on extra-long paper, dangled from it.

Dani nodded and turned away from the clock, and waited for Paula to speak.

"I understand there was a bit of a fight last night. Is everything alright?"

What the fuck is she talking about?

"I didn't hear anything about a fight, Paula. I had my head down in Fasteners & Lumber near about the whole time. I miss something good?"

Paula's expression soured, and she tapped the cap of her red pen against the clipboard. "Pete tells me that you were insubordinate toward him."

Huh?

"I only saw Pete a couple times all night. You know something I don't?"

"He said you wouldn't take off your headphones? You know those are against policy, right, Dani? It's a safety issue. You don't want to put yourself at risk by limiting any awareness of your surroundings."

Dani felt herself deflate a bit, and she held her lips tight together for a moment.

"There wasn't any fight," she replied after a moment. "You know that's not my style. I like to get on my own and do some heavy lifting, and that's all I did for my money this past evening."

"Well, just don't let anything like this happen again, okay?"

"You writing me up, Paula?"

"No, no, just- it's just a verbal, it's not, y'know, disciplinary."

"Alright, well, I'm headed home. Don't have too much fun without me."

Dani knew she didn't sound pleased, but she tried to turn her grit teeth into a forced smile. Who could say if it worked? But she didn't follow up, she punched that clock and got moving before some other bullshit could come up and blindside her. If that was a fight, who knew what else was a fight under that roof?

She rolled down the windows and turned up the radio for the short drive home. Elbow Grease and Sparky were talking cars, after which there'd be a chock-a-block-with-rock commercial-free run of the heaviest hits of the 80's.

The heaviest hits? They got Maiden or Motörhead?

She sighed as Van Halen's "Jump" started to play. At least she was already pulling into the driveway. Heavy. Jesus.

Her phone chirped shortly after she got through the door. It was her good pal- at least at ol' Wilson Titlee- Mark LaGrange.

"hey. u wearin headphones? cmon dani now i gotta be a hardass about it. cant let paula see that shit, she sucks. skip em tonight alright, lets get the heat off"

Shitting Christ she didn't even have her shoes off yet.

She left Mark's text unanswered. She sucked at texting anyway. If anyone asked, that was reason enough why she didn't get back to him.

She needed about an hour to fall asleep, and she needed about seven hours of sleep. That left...

She squinted at the clock. 8:40 am.

She had about five hours to herself. Enough time to make some breakfast-for-dinner, take an extra-hot shower, and watch something.

She crouched and looked into the cabinet under the TV. She was running through the good stuff- Scorsese, Broderick, Moranis- and it was time to get into the really good stuff.

Hercules in New York. Schwarzenegger, '70.

Hell yeah. This is gonna suck.

<-Prev Next->

[littleoddwriter]

Can I make a request for the Sinclair brothers, Chucky/Charles, Pavi Largo, Billy Lenz and Dan Torrence with a GN!s/o who knits and their reaction to getting a hand knitted gift for an anniversary? Bonus points if you include what you think the gift could be!

Slashers x GenderNeutral!Reader, who knits | Headcanons

Thank you so much for this request! (Also, thanks for throwing Dan in the mix, I haven't written for him in forever, I missed that). <3 I really hope you enjoy these. :)

[My requests are open, so feel free to come into my Inbox with whatever you have in mind. But be sure to read my Pinned Post, BEFORE you do. Thanks!]

notes; GenderNeutral!Reader; Domestic Fluff; Anniversaries; Gifts.

Billy Lenz

Loves to watch you knit; you’re always so focused and your hands and fingers move so beautifully in quick and sure movements

It is so soothing to him to just sit there, or stand somewhere you wouldn’t see him, and observe you work (you always know when he's there and looks, even when he's not visible, you can feel his eyes on you and it makes you smile)

So when you try to make Christmas a more enjoyable day for him, you put a hand knitted forest green turtleneck sweater and a scarlet scarf under the tree for him

When he opened the present, he couldn’t help but gasp and look back and forth between the gift and you with wide eyes and a slack mouth

He loved them! They were so cosy and beautiful and smelled so wonderful – these two items were pure comfort for him

He did his best to thank you, but could barely string the words together coherently at all, but the way he stuffed his face into the thick collar and the scarf after he tried them both on, told you more than words ever could

Bo Sinclair

He thinks knitting is boring and for old people; he really doesn’t understand why you like doing it

But he has to admit that he enjoys seeing you knit something when you two are just having a lazy afternoon or night – you just look so at peace and yet very passionate, which is something he appreciates about you

Still, it was a big surprise to him when he received a knitted sweater and a pair of gloves from you for his birthday in November

It was even more surprising to him that he loved them – you’ve done an amazing job and the sweater fit perfectly and the gloves too; all items were olive green which he’d once mentioned as his favourite colour to you

It touched him that you remembered it at all and he couldn’t help but to kiss you breathless to thank you for your efforts

The sweater quickly becomes his most worn piece of clothing during the colder days

Lester Sinclair

Thinks knitting is a great hobby and you are clearly very talented and he really admires you for it

He really enjoys the times when you two just sit on the bed and cuddle, while you’re knitting; it’s so peaceful and the rhythmic clanking of your knitting needles calms him down

You know he loves his hat and he never takes it off, unless he really has to

So, it’s only natural that your gift for your one-year anniversary to him would be a hand knitted dark sky blue hat for him

Additionally you threw in a little sweater vest for his dog, which he is super ecstatic about

Lester is all over you when he receives those gifts and now your knitted hat is what he wears all the time, no matter how hot it may be, he won’t exchange it for a different one

Vincent Sinclair

He considers knitting just as much of an artful craft as his wax figures are (and it is!)

So, he really enjoys when you two spend time together, sitting downstairs, and knitting and working on wax figures respectively, – it’s the most peace and quiet he’s ever had in his life with another person

He always praises your finished pieces and shows the deep appreciation and admiration he has for them, just like you do with his own; it’s so perfect for you both

It only makes sense for you to knit him something for his birthday – a tan, oversized sweater and a black scarf that he can bury his face in (and he does)

He can’t believe that you’ve made these beautiful things for him and that you wanted nothing in return; he couldn’t possibly thank you enough for your unyielding kindness that you keep showing him

Of course the sweater and scarf are quickly his all-time favourite clothing articles to wear from that point on; he only washes them very reluctantly

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky

Teases you for having such an old-fashioned, boring hobby; but it’s in good nature and you never take it to heart

Especially not when he sits there, looking at you as you knit, when he should actually be watching the movie you two put in to have a relaxing evening – it makes you smile, though

When Valentine’s Day rolls around, you thought it to be the perfect opportunity for you to gift him something that ought to show him just how much you loved him – so, you knitted some things for him

It ends up being bright sky blue gloves, and a matching hat and scarf – a full set; because he never likes admitting it, but he actually gets cold easily

He is shocked when he opens your presents, but he is beaming at you after a moment, a genuine thank you leaving his wide-stretched lips

Anytime it gets a little colder, he is wearing the full attire; he loves it (you) so much, but you better don’t tell anyone

Dan Torrance

He loves that you’ve got such a peaceful hobby and he never ceases to shower you in compliments about your creations – he just admires your talent so much and wants to support you

It’s a little hard to make gifts for him, because he’ll involuntarily be able to hear you think about it, no thanks to his shine

So, without even thinking about it at all, you’ve knitted an azure blue sweater for him and gave it to him at random, just because

His eyes might be a little wet when he holds it up in front of himself and smiles at you so brightly

It becomes his favourite sweater quickly and he kindly asks you if you could perhaps make more for him – they just make him feel so warm on the inside, so cared for and loved, which is something he hasn’t felt since forever, but especially not since his mother has died

This blue pullover is the one he then wears at his AA meeting that officializes his eight years of sobriety

Pavi Largo

He never really gets behind knitting and why you like it so much, it seems far too tedious and boring to him

But he has to admit that all your creations look rather cosy and so full of love, which would be strange if anything could really feel obscure to him at all

Often at night he gets a little cold and you feel him shivering, but he also refuses to add another blanket to the mix

Well, you took that personally and started knitting a big throw blanket for him for his birthday that was coming up anyway (very convenient for you, of course)

No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t hide the sharp intake of breath and huge smile that grows on (under) his masked features – this was just so thoughtful and the blanket is so fucking soft, he wants to bury himself in it

It’s safe to say that he’s never cold at night ever again (and that he really likes burrito-ing himself in the hand knitted blanket you made for him)

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

there's been an uptick in people asking if they can do tuesdayposts too (yes, hi hello yes, my god, please do i want to read them, the format isn't copyrighted or anything) which made me think about how i use the tuesdayposts as an excuse to go looking for weird shit and why i'm so annoyed when something is recommended to me but the rec doesn't give me a good pitch. this grew into a digression about the function of a critic and what i use reviews for. and what like axes of things i find important or what i use various sources for. so it's a separate post now bc there's not a real...point to it, mostly getting my thoughts in order. also it is very long

while i would not wish the title of "culture critic" upon my worst enemy, let's sidestep “oooh all critics/tastemakers/influencers are bullshit”. imo you’re supposed to find one whose taste aligns with yours and THEN use their reviews to find new things. if my taste aligns with yours, cool! if you're just here to see what weird shit i made or pulled out of an estate sale this week, also cool!

i think the most successful discussion of a work is "what is it/what's the pitch, what is it TRYING to do given the context of the time and people who created it, does it accomplish its goals or tell its story in a coherent fashion" and then finally what i think most people get most hung up on is "do I PERSONALLY think this work accomplished its goals or storytelling in a manner i found reasonable/understandable/liked".

i really, really, really hate the style of review that tells me nothing about the work except there's a token gay person in it. i saw zero useful reviews of OFMD before i gave up and watched the first ep myself.

here are some people who fulfill the above useful criteria, i pay attention to, and why their recs work for me: gita jackson, a culture/games critic over at vice knows the difference between a movie being Good and a movie being Fun, and is a queer person under 30 with a film degree so our needs align on several important axes. so i waited to watch the rpatz batman until they wrote an article and they said if it was fun or not.

cyberexboyfriend on instagram and i think mainly tiktok (lots of crossposts) has opinions i agree with about mcmansion architecture, and an eye for the weird late eighties through early oughts fashion and art that fell through the cracks. like the media that fuels the Extremely Online art i generally find annoying, but the source media of edited anime or fantasy movie screencaps on tshirts is generally pretty cool. this fills an important function to me bc i like going "ah! i know where that's from" when i see a hot girl in joanns wearing a shirt from vapor95.

i follow exactly four people on letterboxd and they are the aforementioned critics plus two mutuals bc i already know their general media tastes align with mine. wendy @dying-suffering-french-stalkers is very very good at finding things that have a certain quality of emotion to them. not full horror, not full tragedy, and not full melancholia either, but a catharsis or a putting an era to bed gently and turning the lights out when you're done. honey @birdcfparadise is willing to sit through a lotta goddamn nonsense in order to report back about the good ones and we both have a finely honed taste in the dilfs of the silver screen. where the fuck else am i going to get vital intelligence like this

furthermore these two are the only people i trust about Classic Movie (tm) Opinions. like, they will tell me if a movie that is very much a Product of its Era (tm) is worth sitting through the things that make it very much a Product of its Era (tm). i haunt the letterboxd activity page to see what they've added to their watchlists

i pay more attention to @morrak's book recs and shove them to the front of my list bc we have the same not-quite-engineer-but-enough-to-be-dangerous kind of brain and literally all of his recs have hit, including the ones where i'm like "ough this is very good but i need to come back to it later". i pay more attention to whatever the fuck @believerindaydreams is up to be we both like the same sort of heavily allusive, love letter to pulp kinds of stories.

my point is not "everyone needs to make more friends and if you don't have a richly layered online friend group of nearly a decade in some cases funneling art to you through the medium of tumblr then you're toast" but like. along with critics, friends' recs and things i found while trying to find friends' recs are a huge driver of the tuesdayposts. people fundamentally want to share the cool new shit they've found. that's why we're all here, blogging

[thehalfbloodprinc3]

In Which Albus Dumbledore Ruins Severus Snape's Life.

Where: Madam Malkins

Who: Open//

Severus tipped his head back against the nicotine stained wall and zapped a couple flies that were buzzing round the ceiling. It was 3AM and his insomnia was hitting him hard. A migraine was throbbing right between his eyes. They crossed as a fly buzzed particularly close to his hooked nose and he raised his wand- zap!

The more things change, Severus thought, the more they stay the same. He'd been sat on his poor excuse for a bed with it's poky springs and thin, stained, mattress since he was a boy zapping at flies in the summer. He watched a couple of them land along the edge of a brown water stain on the ceiling. They started to fuck. Severus sneered at them- little perverts. He thought about zapping them too but then he decided to have a shred of mercy and at least let them finish first. He thought also about fixing the water stain but then- why? The house was a piece of shite with all of it's piece-of-shite memories. It might as well stay that way. It's wasn't worth his effort or his magic to improve it.

Severus laid his wand aside on his leaning bedside table. The ashtray there was a chipped avocado green relic from the late '60's and was positively overflowing with cigarette butts and ash. Severus reached for his pack and his lighter. He hung a cigarette between his frowning lips and lighted it with the cracked plastic Bic. He could have well lit it with his wand but there was something more satisfying about clicking the Muggle lighter. He continued to click it idly as he smoked and grew bigger, more purpley, eye bags just for the hell of it. He blew the smoke in rings up towards the fucking flies.

Just then a tapping noise came against his window.

Severus rolled off the creaking bed and walked lazily to the window. It was the distinct tapping of an owl but who would be owling him at this time of night? Or rather, morning. Severus rubbed his eyes once and then opened the window. It wasn't an owl- it was a phoenix.

Severus was immediately on high alert. He intercepted the letter from the phoenix's ankle and motioned for it to perch on the edge of his desk while he read its offering.

My Dear Boy,

It's been quite a long night and I was just having tea before bed when I remembered I ought to owl you. I was curious if you'd seen that job opening in the Daily Prophet today. I have attached a copy of the posting and I suggest you consider it very strongly. The war may be over but the battle between Light and Dark is an ever continuing theme in the wizarding world, and in many of our lives- yours especially, I think. I really would hate for you, Severus, to get into any trouble after I've gone to such lengths to spare you from Azkaban for your original affiliations during the war. If there is any way that you might repay such kindness, dear boy, it is by keeping your nose clean. I think it would do you well to have Minerva looking after you- keeping you on your toes as it were. I believe you must grow, and you must learn, Severus, from the foolish mistakes of your not-so-distant past. And what better place to grow, and to learn, than at Hogwarts?

-Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Minister for Magic

Severus sneered at the letter. What was the old man on about? Hogwarts? And how dare he suggest that Severus needed someone- Minerva McGonagal- to mind him as though he were a child?

Severus' black gaze darted to the Dark Arts tomes that were currently stacked, one of them opened, on the edge of his desk. Fawkes was, in fact, perched upon them as if to further highlight his perceived misdeed of studying something that most people simply misunderstood. Severus rolled his eyes and sighed.

He unrolled the copy of the Prophet which had been sent with the letter and pawed through the pages until he reached the jobs postings.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is currently accepting applications for the following positions: Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions. Experienced and interested persons may owl Headmistress McGonagal if interested.

Severus' migraine pounded harder.

Severus knew this 'suggestion' of Dumbledore's for what it was: an instruction. A demand. Severus wasn't meant to think it over, to ponder it and reject it because he would never, ever wish to teach a classroom full of eleven year old dunderheads. Severus, who had recently completed his Mastery in potions- and was now the youngest qualified potions Master in England- was expected to apply for the potions position, to be awarded the position, and to take it with a smile on his dour face all so Headmaster McGonagal could keep a bloody fucking eye on him.

Severus paced his little room in a seething rage.

The old man was deciding his path in life for him and he hated it. He stubbed his cigarette too hard in the ashtray, grabbed his wand, zapped the fucking flies with far too much force and blew a small hole in his ceiling.

Then, dutifully, because obviously he had no real choice in the matter, Severus sat down at his desk and using a ball point pen and a scrap of paper from a composition book, Severus wrote a quick letter.

Headmistress McGonagal,

It is I, Severus Snape. I am, against my will, applying for the Potion's position. I'll have you know that I am mean, nasty, and completely unfit for teaching. I will gladly eat quaking first years for breakfast. Do not hire me. I'm one knut short of becoming a mad man. If forced into this position I will assuredly snap.

-Severus Snape

P.S. If the old man insists that you hire me then at least consider me for the DADA position so that I might be cursed and die within the year. It will be a great relief for me and half the wizarding world can throw a real rager that that slimy, awful, Ex Death Eating scum Severus Snape has met his demise. The prat had no business teaching children anyway.

Severus practically threw Fawkes, letter attached to his ankle, out his bedroom window and into the night.

-x-

Severus got the fucking job- for Potions. His life was officially over.

Talk as he might about eating children for breakfast he was really quite full of dread at this idea of his new life as a bloody teacher. He knew from experience how horrible school children were and he was barely older than the seventh years. As it were there were students who would still remember him from school- would remember how horribly he'd been bullied and humiliated, and Severus had no desire to try and teach the little urchins especially when they'd have absolutely no respect for him. Imagine teaching a room full of Gryffindors as a known ex-Death Eater.

Severus Snape hated his life.

He came into Madam Malkin's glaring and half expecting her to throw him out- to refuse to work with 'his lot'. His black eyes practically bored holes through the kind Madam Malkin who did not throw him out on his bony arse after all.

“Teaching robes?” she said, while taking his measurements, “Merlin, but you're thin. Eat a sandwich, dear.”

Severus ignored the comment on his scrawniness.

“Teaching robes, as impossible as that is to believe,” Severus snapped, “me- they've hired me.”

“I'm sure you'll do fine,” Madam Malkin said.

“I'd like to be dressed as though I'm attending a funeral,” Severus said, rather dramatically, “my own, specifically. I want to make sure the little snots are intimidated by me. Merlin knows there won't be any other way to cow them into obedience. Brats, all of them.”

Except his snakes, of course.

“I want to look like death itself,” Severus said, still on a roll with the dramatics.

“That won't be difficult with your complexion,” Madam Malkin said, “are you sure you're well?”

“Not at all,” Severus quipped. He thought about how short he was- and how the older students would find him someone easy to run over if he doesn't nip that right away. He would need to purchase boots with heels, possibly spelled to make him appear a bit taller, and then he would learn to loom. Height be damned.

He was in a very foul mood and stewing over all of these things as Madam Malkin continued to measure him. It was then that the bell over the shop door tinkled and someone else walked in.

[kangofu-cb]

I posted 1,519 times in 2022

43 posts created (3%)

1,476 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@drgrlfriend

@kangofu-cb

@izumicrazyworld

@winterhawk-olympic-bang

@midnightwinterhawk

I tagged 882 of my posts in 2022

Only 42% of my posts had no tags

#queued up - 736 posts

#other people's art - 654 posts

#clint barton - 373 posts

#bucky barnes - 338 posts

#hawkeye - 267 posts

#winterhawk - 155 posts

#kate bishop - 63 posts

#winter soldier - 61 posts

#the winter soldier - 55 posts

#natasha romanoff - 44 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#also i’ve seen the psychic damage people shipping stuff that looks like it will be/ought to be canon and then they get f*me and like

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

For anyone following the Saga of My Life for the last couple of years

Today my Master of Science in Nursing, Adult Gero Acute Care NP degree was conferred!!!

51 notes - Posted April 29, 2022

#4

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Jason Todd, also featuring established Winterhawk Characters: Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes, Jason Todd Additional Tags: Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Virginity Roleplay, picking up a stranger in a bar, Established Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, Threesome - M/M/M, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd Feels, jason todd is a bossy bitch actually, Switching, Multiple Partners, First Dates, kind of but not really, roleplaying a first date, but somehow it takes a turn for the weird, Crymaxing, slightly subby Clint Barton, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, Hopeful Ending

Summary:

“Listen,” the guy says, and his voice is low and kinda rough, and he’s got an accent Bucky can’t quite place. “I’m not tryin’ to overstep, but I overheard kind of a lot and like. I know you’re, uh… trying to work through some shit, man, and I get it. I, uh, had kinda a fanatical upbringing myself. But I’m not sure this guy is the one to work it out with, you know?”

Bucky… is going to kill Clint. Suddenly all of Clint’s odd comments and strangely demure behavior and even his clothes start to make a kind of insane sense. He’s play-acting at more than just a first date. Clint’s pretending to be someone else entirely, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s a joke or a bad attempt at seduction, but either way a heads-up before the evening started would have prevented a hell of a lot of confusion and maybe prevented Bucky from nearly murdering his husband in a bar in Hell’s Kitchen on a Wednesday night.

55 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#3

for the ficlet prompts: tv baking competition au

This is kind of what you asked for, and yet, it is not at all what you asked for.

Bucky doesn't know how or why he got drawn into TV cooking shows. He doesn't cook, for fuck's sake. He didn't cook before his accident, and he sure as fuck isn't chopping onions with only one arm these days. Bucky spends half his time wrapped in his comforter eating ham sandwiches.

It started, he thinks, with Great British Bake Off. There's just something comforting about that show. It's just nice. It was something to do when Bucky couldn't even drag himself out of bed, deep in a dark hole of depression an self-loathing and pain. He could turn on GBBO and just... let his brain rest.

And then it sort of... expanded. From baking competitions to cooking competitions to plain old cooking shows.

And now he's watching YouTube episodes of Oh Crepé!, featuring a tall, handsome blond man who seems to enjoy fucking up famous recipes and telling bad jokes.

Bucky's not even sure how he found the guy. But he's funny (if you like puns, and god help him, Bucky does), and kind, and laughs at himself more than he laughs at other people, and he's fuckin' deadly with a knife, and there's something soothing about listening to him describe his sexual attraction to a pork pancake.

Okay, that part's a little weird, but Bucky likes weird, and he likes that the guy - he's called Clint, Bucky knows that, because the girl behind the camera who heckles him incessantly says his name with with varying degrees of exasperation at least twice an episode - is so at ease with himself, so comfortable in his own skin, despite bandages, and bruises, and his inability to pronounce 'self-aggrandizing'.

He's also Deaf, and that's nothing at all like being an amputee, but something about knowing that makes Bucky feel like one day he'll be okay too.

66 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

#2

For the @winterhawkaubang​ I created this art piece and I was fortunate enough to be chosen by @buckybarnesdeservestobehappy​​ who wrote a lovely work called In The Pool House - please check it out and give it some love!

68 notes - Posted September 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Chapters: 1/16 Fandom: The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers Characters: Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Darcy Lewis, Original Child Character(s), May Parker (Spider-Man), an ensemble cast tbh Additional Tags: modern suburban fantasy au, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Kid Fic, Werewolves, disconcertingly friendly locals, puppy invasions, bizarre subtle interrogations, roving packs of scheming children, awkward seduction attempts via edible arrangements, a ruinously hot single dad, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Mates, Oblivious Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Alpha Steve Rogers, Peggy was and remains a spy and it shows, Sam Wilson is a Gift, First Dates, Slow Burn, the things werewolves find attractive are more surprising than you think, Sex, Anal Sex, First Time, fluff and joy and jokes mostly Summary:

After winding up in hot water with the Ukrainian mob, Clint finds himself relocating to a small town in northern Indiana to work as an elementary school gym teacher, and finds his new home invaded by a series of suspiciously wolfish puppies determined to be Lucky's BFFs, and his life invaded by over zealously friendly neighbors determined to feed him. In a startling twist of events, three of his favorite students happen to be his next door neighbors, along with their ruinously hot single dad Bucky, who proves to be just as enamored of Clint as he is of Bucky.

What follows is a classic rendition of thirsting over the hot neighbor, bizarre small-town behavior, and so many puppies.

Chapter 1 of my 2022 WHOB fic is up and includes art from the lovely @claraxbarton!!!

138 notes - Posted November 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[miss-m-winks]

Love is an Art

part 2

master post, part 1, part 3

Note: the school year schedule is not the same as irl. Their calendar year begins in early spring, the school year goes from the start of the year to the beginning of winter, so they’ll all be here on campus over the spring and summer, into the fall. The figure sculpting class Kouto is currently modeling for just got started around the end of spring/beginning of summer.

i have yet to make any names for months, days of the week, or even any locations, so pardon the vagueness anytime i have to avoid mentioning those specific details lol. For all intents and purposes, this is simply a very rough draft for a side story i'm working on.

After the school day was done, Talib walked back to his dorm and into his room. His roommate, a gnorc named Lian, waved a brief hello from his desk, working on some essay.

"Long day for you too?" Talib asked, hanging his jacket up by the door and dropping his bag by his own desk. Lian shrugged.

"Days all start to blend together, this time of year," he said. Talib nodded in response and sat down, leaning over to his little round mirror and gently pulling his left eyelid away from the glass in his socket. With his thumb and forefinger, he popped the glass out and placed it in the jar of salt water nearby. Lian made an uncomfortable noise from the other side of the room.

"You'd think, after all these weeks, I would be used to seeing you do that," he remarked. "Or at least I ought to have learned not to look at you when you do it."

"Give it another few decades, that'll really get you used to it," Talib replied flatly, tying a soft eye patch over his head. "I'm starting to regret bringing only my artistic eyes. Having people stare at it didn't feel so awkward back home." He sighed, turning his mirror aside and pulling out the notebook where he was writing a research essay for his art history class. A study on the way glass art techniques had developed in different countries. He and Lian sat in silence for the rest of the evening, busy with essays and reading assignments until they were too tired to keep working.

In the dark as Lian rolled over to sleep, Talib silently removed his finger prosthetics and ear piece, setting them on his side table. Reaching down to his feet, he finally removed his socks, revealing the metallic shine of his prosthetic left foot. He shoved it under his bed as he took it off, hiding it behind his shoes. Laying back and pulling his blankets up, he rolled to his side, keeping his good ear exposed while his deaf and blind side rested in the protection of his pillow.

—

Kouto rolled out of bed before their roommate, a dwarf named Halie, woke up. They hummed softly as they stretched and swept their hair out of their face. The dull ache of the old scars on their chest was hardly noticeable, for once. sitting down at their desk, they took a jar of ointment from one of the drawers to rub it into their scarred skin, massaging their chest, smearing any residual ointment over other scars that felt achy. The lightning patterns all over their skin never looked the same. Some were fading, others were new. Only the cluster over their heart remained the same from day to day.

“That stuff smells so weird,” Halie mumbled, yawning as she sat up.

“Better than the ointment I used to use,” Kouto replied with a smirk. “That one smelled terrible. Made it real hard to get a date.” Halie laughed.

“You, having a hard time getting a date? So, what, you only had a hookup once a month instead of once a week?” She got up and went to her dresser, digging through the drawers.

“Most of my hookups are just the same handful of people you know.” Kouto brushed their hair and pulled it up into a tight bun. “They just can’t resist coming back for more.” They grinned into their mirror, then walked away to shuffle through their closet. A high necked red tunic stood out to them today, gold trim on the hem and sleeves with a subtle damask pattern in the deep red fabric. They paired it with deep blue leggings and a gold floral hairpiece, then packed their bag for the day.

“See you later,” Halie said, leaning over her mirror to braid her beard. Kouto waved a hand as they left the room.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 25//

(Masterlist)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia, @fantasyshadowhunters) *bold tags don't work!

Thank you all so much for your patience during ACONAS's hiatus! I hope you all enjoy this update! Chapter 26 will be coming on Monday, May 24th to keep in line with my regular posting schedule!

Sending all you beautiful readers love and healing! ❤️

-Rhysand-

I noticed the change in my mate almost immediately after her period of nesting had lasted a full week. The change was subtle at first; beginning after a long afternoon of Feyre rearranging clothes and ordering my brothers and I to move around the furniture in the nursery no less than ten times that day alone, then choosing to spend the rest of the evening walking the gardens with Elain. It was there, watching from the library window, that I felt the call in my blood—the call that urged me to find a sanctuary for my mate. Months ago, after the birth of his daughter, Kallias had warned me that this instinct would come. As mated fae males, the compulsions we felt in regard to our mates always traced back to the beasts our ancestors were and became especially prominent when they were with child. I had noted as much the minute I scented my offspring present in Feyre's womb, and though I had not been fully aware of her pregnancy until she was, I had instinctually known and formed a new attachment to her—to our son. Like the mating bond, the ties I formed with my unborn child were just as strong and prominent; however silent. I could sense those occasional glimmers that Feyre felt; had even felt that warning tug when they had been in trouble during the attack on Velaris. However, this tug, this preternatural warning, was different—stronger than before.

He was ready. Sebastian was ready to enter the world.

XXX

-Feyre-

"It's time, my love," Rhys purred in my ear as I stared out into the gardens, sitting on the cushioned loveseat on our balcony.

Once I had returned from my earlier walk with Elain, warm and content despite the late autumn chill—thanks to my mates magic warming the grounds, I chose to skip dinner. Somehow finding it more appealing to retreat to the privacy of my bedroom when I realized I had no appetite at all. While that should've alarmed me, my feelings of content remained as I changed into the comfiest clothes I could find; the softest pair of leggings I owned and a long-sleeved oversized tunic that was large enough to fit over my large belly comfortably. It wasn't long after I had found my seat on the balcony that Rhys was at my ear with a warm mug of tea in hand. I took it from him gratefully and relished in the warmth enveloping my face as I smiled at him in return.

"Time for what?" I asked softly, resting a hand on the apex of my belly.

He kneeled in front of me, hands holding either side of my belly as those star-flecked violet eyes looked into mine meaningfully. "For us to retreat to the Cabin," came his equally soft response.

My heart stuttered for a second as I realized what this meant, but instead of feeling the panic I thought I ought to have, I nodded slowly—an all too familiar glimmer pulsing between my mate and I, between that bond that existed between the three of us and loosed a calm exhale.

"Should we tell the others?" I quietly asked.

Rhys shook his head as he again stood, summoning those dark and beautiful Illyrian wings from the shadows. "I already told them, while you were up here getting comfortable," he said with a warm smile. "They expected as much, and they know how...sensitive this is, so they aren't expecting any heartfelt goodbyes."

I nodded, again surprised from the lack of emotion I felt at that sentiment; that I had no real urge to even say goodbye and be showered with well wishes from our family. Suddenly, I registered what was happening; my diffident state had finally arrived. It was such a strange and foreign feeling as the full weight of what was occurring naturally in my body overcame me. While part of me wanted to feel nervous and be comforted by our loved ones, all I could do was look at my mate and felt all the reassurance I needed.

Finishing my tea, I set the mug aside and allowed Rhys to help me to my feet; a small laugh escaping my lips at the effort it took to ease me upright and returned my stare into those violet eyes.

"Let's go," I whispered.

It was all he needed to hear before he lifted me into his arms with heartbreaking ease and took to the skies. I closed my eyes as the wind whipped through my hair, relishing in the cool breeze as I rested my head against Rhys's shoulder; one hand looped around his shoulders and the other caressing my belly. In spite of the awareness of what was to come looming in the back of my mind—the pain I would soon endure, my trepidation was nearly nonexistent.

The healer and our midwife had warned that my withdrawn state could last anywhere from a few hours to a few days before I officially went into labor, but some innate part of me felt that this notion wouldn't drag on for long at all. Sebastian had dropped into his head down position weeks ago and had calmed considerably since my period of nesting began. While his lack of movement had alarmed Rhys and I at first, Madja and the midwife assured that this was also normal. Our youngling, our son, was preparing himself for arrival. His loving glimmer still remained and pulsed through our bond, letting his father and I know that he was there, and that he was just as ready as we were to meet him.

As soon as we touched down to the front steps leading up to the Cabin, I let down my mental shields to Rhys, letting him read my thoughts as he carried me inside. His gentle kiss to my forehead was his only response until we were within the safe walls of the Cabin, the fireplace immediately springing to life as we entered the small living area and he set me on the couch. He came to kneel in front of me as he had earlier, the starlight in his eyes shimmering as they met mine again.

"However long this does last, at least we know we won't be leaving this Cabin until our son is born," Rhys said, a hand coming to stroke my belly gently.

I loosed a long breath as I nodded, my hand joining his. "The next time we go back to the estate...we'll have a baby," I mused as I watched our hands continue to caress the expanse of my stomach.

Our son, our baby Sebastian was just underneath layers of skin and muscle, lying in wait and ready to be born in what could be hours or days. The process would be grueling and long...but that intuitive and serene sense told me that I was prepared, that I could do this.

"You can," Rhysand interjected quietly; my mental shields still left down for him, "and I will be at your side through every second of it."

I gave him a slow smile in return, bringing my hand to touch his face gently. "I have no doubt about that, Rhysand," I said softly.

He kissed my palm before moving from his kneeled position to a seated one beside me, his hand lingering on my belly.

Will you tell me what happens in the Night Court when an heir is born now? I asked through the bond.

Rhys's chuckle sent a warm shudder down the bond as he pressed another kiss to my brow. "You'll find out soon enough, my love," he answered aloud.

Prick.

XXX

-Rhysand-

The labor pains began the next morning.

Only an hour after our arrival at the Cabin the night before, my mate had fallen into a deep slumber while we lingered together in the sitting area. I carried her to bed not long after, keeping a watchful eye on her during the night and sending as many updates as possible to our awaiting family in Velaris. After Mor's persistent "check-in's" every hour, at Cassian's insistence she claimed, I decided to communicate mind-to-mind with Az; who's ever-present composed demeanor was always a comfort no matter the situation, even as I could sense his underlying worry for his High Lady. However, in between the few hours of sleep I allowed myself through the night, I updated and reassured him of Feyre's condition. But, when my mate awoke with a furrowed brow and a pained expression, I sent a direct order for him to send for the midwife and healer.

XXX

-Feyre-

The labor pains came in waves.

When I first awoke from the most tranquil state of sleep I had ever found for the duration of my pregnancy, the muscle contractions in my lower abdomen had felt like the twinges of pain I experienced during my previous cycles—uncomfortable and excruciating, but in the last decade I had learned different techniques in order to cope, such as curling up in a certain position on my side or alternating between heating and cooling blankets laid across my abdomen and back. Like the cramps associated with my cycles, these contractions pulsed and throbbed through my lower body, ripping across my back, stomach, and thighs, but were thankfully manageable with Rhysand's help. The minute a groan escaped my lips, Rhys sprang into action, sitting on his knees beside me and helping me sit upright. He let me squeeze his hand and led me through the controlled breathing exercises the midwife had shown us in preparation for this moment, and for the first few hours they were completely doable.

The tightening would build and build, washing over my body in a flood; my deep and cleansing breaths pushing them back down into nothing...until it all happened again minutes later. From the time the first wave consumed me and dissipated, a minute had barely gone by, and Rhys was still at my ear whispering terms of endearment and encouragement until Madja and our midwife arrived. The duo immediately began setting up our space with the supplies needed for the duration of my labor, and I watched them in a trance. Thanks to the healer and midwife's many lectures leading up to this event, I knew that part of me would be so focused on making it through this arduous process that the rest of the world would melt away. However, there was still a small part of me—perhaps the part tethered to the bond I shared with my mate, that was acutely aware of everything that was happening.

It was all so...primal. As the hours passed, my body continued to endure the waves of contractions and pain that continued to surge, mount, and flood my entire being. I knew what was happening, and despite the pain affecting my innermost being, that innate female shouldered on. Meanwhile, a tiny part of my consciousness watched from a distance at the bridge that connected me to my mate. It was that part of my psyche, the only part unaffected by the unadulterated anguish brought on contraction after contraction, that could hear Rhysand's words; that could register them and find the encouragement I needed in order to push past pain after insurmountable pain.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre's cries and shouts of agony were truly the worst form of torment I had ever withstood in the centuries I had been alive. For every pulse of pain that washed over her body, I wished with every fiber of my being that I could take it away. Despite knowing that I could was easily the hardest part in watching her suffer, but my mate had made me vow months in advance not to.

"Promise me you won't use your daemati abilities to ease my pain," Feyre had said softly.

It had still been fairly early in her pregnancy when she uttered those words; when we had taken a few days to ourselves in this very Cabin and whispered words of comfort and reassured each other that we would be different from our own parents. I had just promised my mate of the outstanding mother she would become for our son, and she assured me the same—dissuading any insecurities either of us had for our ability to be good parents. My forehead was still pressed against hers, eyes imploring as she stared at me meaningfully.

I raised my head, my gaze leveling with those stunning blue-grey eyes as I asked, "Are you sure, Feyre? The pain will be...considerable."

Kallias warned me as much in his letters following Eira's birth. While the experience had passed in a blur, those hours leading up to his daughter's birth had tortured a once vivacious and bright female. If the pains of labor could bring down even Viviane, I knew the same would be true for my mate.

Feyre simply nodded. "If Viviane could do it, if your mother could do it, then so can I," she insisted.

My gaze had softened as I cupped her face gently. "I have no doubt that you can do it Feyre, darling, but if I could make it easier for you-"

"No," she repeated. "Females have been doing it for centuries without any kind of pain relief, and as High Lady of the Night Court, I've more than proven I can handle this as well."

I brushed my thumb along her cheek gently as I nodded in agreement. While every feral instinct in me protested the allowance of my mates suffering, I shoved those intolerant compulsions away. This was Feyre's choice, she was the one carrying my child and would ultimately bring him into the world, so it was her decision on how she wanted to accomplish that task. My job now, as Kallias had outlined to me from his own account, was to support my mate through the ordeal.

"As my High Lady wishes," I purred before pressing another reassuring kiss to her brow.

Her returning smile was bright, those blue-grey eyes shimmering with adoration before either of us noticed the new tattoo forming in the shape of three small stars on both of our right pinky fingers. A small laugh rumbled in my chest as we both watched the stars take shape and solidify on our skin—evidence of our new promise.

"I must say, Feyre darling, if the centuries we have together are filled with more and more oaths between us, I may run out of skin," I teased.

My beautiful, perfect, mate only laughed, the sound resounding through our bond; its melody causing Sebastian's glimmer of delight to thrum between us a moment later.

XXX

-Feyre-

Rhys's was the only voice I could hear over my misery, and during those couple precious moments of respite in between surges of hurt. I was vaguely aware of my own howls of agony as my mate continued to coach me through each breathing exercise; guiding me back to calmer and more controlled breaths whenever they turned into angry or pain-filled sobs. I could hardly keep track of how much time had passed, or anything at all for that matter; my mind too focused on getting me to the end of each earth-shattering contraction. That innate part of me left on the bridge of my bond couldn't tell if the ground beneath me was actually trembling or not, and I was too exhausted to actually ask whenever the conscious part of my being was alert to my present surroundings.

There were slivers of minutes when I was able to hear Madja and the midwife, mostly talking to Rhys and offering advice; one suggestion being to actually get me out of bed and walking around the space of the Cabin. From what I could actually discern of the conversation the older females were having with my mate, they explained that any movement might help things along—staying idle and writhing in pain while lying in bed would apparently only prolong my suffering. So, while I was still aware, Rhys helped me out of bed; one arm wrapped around my back to keep me supported, and his free hand gripping mine. I kept my other on my hip, eyes closed as I shuffled out of the small bedroom with his help.

I could hear Rhys's voice again in my ear, full of nothing but love and support, as I felt the beginnings of the stabbing pain return. "You're doing so well, my love," he said softly.

I yearned for the peace the timbre of his voice once offered me, clung to the shreds of it as the next contraction sent me from my feet onto all fours on the ground beneath me. I could only feel Rhysand's hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles as I howled in pain, my groans staying loud as I followed the patterned breathing as best as I could. Somehow, this position—being on my hands and knees, made the contractions easier to cope with. Remembering the midwife's explanation that labor was such an exacting primal act in itself, that instinctual female in me realized that in order to carry on for the duration of this process I would need to follow whatever natural tendency wanted to take control.

Once the pain finally began to ebb away and my breathing regulated, I felt Rhys's hands try to lift me up. I shook my head immediately.

"No," I rasped. "This feels good," I said as I turned my head to meet his starlit gaze.

He nodded in return, hands resuming the comforting circles he made on my back whilst the magic of the Cabin supplied a plush blanket underneath me—to keep my bare hands and knees from being pressed to the hardwood floors. I realized then that my loose nighttime shift was the only piece of clothing I donned. Sometime between waking and now, Rhys must've used his magic to change me into simpler clothing.

"You won't be needing much else for this process," came the midwife's voice from behind my place on the floor in the middle of the sitting room; probably guessing my thoughts as I looked over my attire.

I raised my weary gaze to her, both her and Madja offering a kind smile in return as they sat on the settee across from me. "We've been performing hourly pelvic exams in order to check your progression in between contractions," the healer explained.

I nodded, vaguely remembering their voices explaining what they were doing and when during the few moments of alertness I had been granted thus far. Another part of me recalling the crucial details the midwife had previously explained to my mate and me. In order to reach the final stage of labor, the pushing stage, the opening of my womb had to reach a certain level of thinning out and my bag of waters hosting the baby would have to burst in order for him to pass through and officially enter the world.

"You're about halfway there," Rhys said, answering my unasked question.

"Of course, when the time comes, you'll feel that preternatural urge to begin pushing, which is a tall-tale sign for the final stage of delivery to occur," the midwife explained.

"How long has it been?" I asked, my voice hoarse from my earlier groans.

"Hours," Madja answered, waving a nonchalant hand. "The timing doesn't matter, so long as you and your youngling continue to tolerate the process well, there isn't anything to worry about."

"Which you are," the midwife added. "Doing well, I mean."

"You're doing brilliantly, Feyre darling," Rhys repeated, pressing a kiss to the side of my temple as he continued working those reposeful circles on my back.

I could only offer a brief smile in return before another gut-wrenching wave overwhelmed me once again.

XXX

-Rhysand-

There seemed to be no end to Feyre's suffering as pain continued to seize her body, the intervals of contractions growing shorter and shorter as the hours continued to pass. Still, in spite of my heart shattering every time the Cabin was filled with her agonizing wails, part of me watched my mate in admiration as she fought her way through the excruciating convulsions and followed whatever insights her body called her to do in order to manage each one. We switched from her position on the floor, to walking around the small space of the Cabin, leaning against walls and different pieces of furniture for support as the contractions persisted; the midwife and healer checking her progression with pelvic exams at every mark of the hour. The day was now transitioning into early evening, and the contractions were starting to last longer—to the point where Feyre could hardly speak, or barely register anything at all as she endured them. During those pain-free intervals, she was able to nod in acknowledgement at whatever few words were spoken to her, engage in brief conversation, or give a simple shake of her head when she wanted to continue moving around the room or into a new relieving position.

The stronger the contractions grew, so did Feyre's reaction to them. She still whimpered in pain, her groans nearly coming out as growls as she battled to keep pace with the breathing exercises I coached her through. But with my focus kept solely on my mate, I hadn't realized I was no longer updating Azriel until I felt a gentle plea from Mor. Feyre had just undergone another contraction when I heard Mor's timid entreatment. Apparently, my mate's roars of pain had been so profound, that they had shook the expanse of mountains across our court. I had been too engrossed with guiding Feyre's breathing to notice, but our family back in Velaris had. They knew it was a sign of things advancing; that the next heir of the Night Court would soon make his entrance. So, I updated them as quickly as possible, promising that my next update would come when Sebastian did, and turned my attention back onto Feyre.

XXX

-Feyre-

Somehow my journey around the Cabin had come full circle, and I ended up on all fours on the cushioned bed in the bedroom. In the time my last contraction ebbed away, and I found Rhysand's violet eyes to offer a bleary-eyed appreciative smile, I felt my body shift. Still panting and recovering the breath I had used during the last contraction, I gripped Rhys's hand, silently asking him to help me upright. He obeyed, and I leaned back against his chest for support as I rested on my knees with a sigh of relief...my eyes widening a second later when I felt a gush of water burst between my legs.

My head snapped in the direction of the mess now spreading on the once clean sheets of the bed before Rhys helped me off and back onto my feet, the magic of the house changing the sheets without a second thought. I stared wide-eyed at my mate, but he only smiled warmly in return before pressing a kiss to my brow.

"M-My...bag of waters broke," I said, still astonished.

He nodded. "Just like the midwife told us it would," he added, rubbing my back in reassuring strokes.

My hands held my stomach, suddenly feeling lighter at the loss of fluid that had built up over the last several months. "T-This is really happening, Rhys," I whispered, knowing this moment of clarity would soon pass as the next contraction started to edge back in.

"You're doing it, Feyre," he said with another kiss to my brow. "It's almost over."

I didn't have enough time to respond before the full weight of the contraction hit in an entirely different way than I had previously felt. Rhys helped me back onto the edge of the bed, and I gripped his hand hard as the pain began to mount and surge through me—a newfound pressure building at the base of my pelvis alongside with it, and my breaths came in fuller and deeper rasps. Madja and the healer, who had remained in another room of the Cabin to allow Rhys and me some privacy, must've heard the change in my breathing because they entered the room seconds later.

The words exchanged between the older females and my mate seemed far away, barely discernible to me as I closed my eyes in concentration. The painful pressure I felt continued to build, and I realized that preternatural urge to push was here. The groan that slipped through my lips must've been indication enough, because I soon found myself in the center of the bed with Rhys holding me upright and the midwife at my feet as she performed her final pelvic exam.

"It's time, my Lady," the midwife said, as I forced my attention on her. "It's time to start pushing."

My heart shuttered at the words, and I turned wide eyes to my mate, who kept an arm wrapped around my back, allowing me to partially rest against him while I squeezed his free hand.

You can do this, Feyre, darling

His warm voice echoed through the bond, reaching my innermost self left on the bridge between us, and I nodded as I felt the surge of pain return. I groaned as the intense pressure grew stronger, the urge to push becoming forceful by the second, and heard the combined voices of Madja and the midwife quickly instructing me on how to position myself on the bed. With my upper body being supported by Rhys, and my legs drawn up and open, I quickly sucked in a deep breath as the females instructed and bore down in my first push.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre pushed and pushed for what felt like hours, but in reality, I knew it had only been one—judging by the path of vanishing sunlight outside the window that finally gave way to night as it always did; dark orange blending into a mix of magenta and indigo before the all-consuming dark sea of stars swallowed them up and lit up the sky. I was all too familiar with that pattern, had watched it countless times in my lifetime, but had never felt it drag on as long as it had tonight. Perhaps Feyre's continued screams of anguish as she pushed were the reason why it felt so prolonged now, but I forced myself not to linger on watching it as I honed in on my mate.

She slumped against my chest, exhausted and spent after offering another hard push, and I dabbed at her brow and neck with a cool, damp cloth. I lost track of how many she had done but kept a brave face as I encouraged her further. She was indeed the strongest female I had ever seen in my centuries of life, and I held onto that reverence in order to battle the guilt that raged within me. It was my offspring she had grown in her belly; mine she now choked back tears for as she drew in another deep breath and pushed again, brows sweaty and furrowed in pure concentration, face red with splotches as she growled in pain with her effort.

It was both the most beautiful I had ever seen her, and the most harrowing.

While my chest ached with remorse for seeing my mate in such a state, it was also filled with so much more love and devotion I had ever felt towards her. I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she pushed, silently letting her know how much I loved her in this moment.

XXX

-Feyre-

"I can see the head my lady," Madja cheered as I pushed.

A snarl of agony ripped from my throat; my eyes still clenched in concentration. "Get it out!" I growled without breaking my effort.

"You're nearly there," came the midwife's response.

I groaned, panting heavily as I slumped against Rhys again. He whispered loving words of support as he dabbed at my face and neck to cool me down, and I knew the all-consuming heat I felt had nothing to do with my powers and everything to do with this struggle. Not even the messy bun I had thrown my hair into seemed to cool me down in between my endeavors, so I was grateful when Rhys had begun using a damp washcloth to provide relief—the only kind afforded to me during this ordeal. It was all starting to become too overwhelming to endure for much longer, and I felt my resolve slipping. My eyes met with Rhys's for a brief moment, and instead of offering him a tired half-smile I had done so far, I broke into sobs.

"I can't do this anymore, Rhys," I cried.

His hand squeezed mine, the starlight in his eyes flickering as the hand on my back tightened gently. "You can," he promised. "Sebastian is almost here, Feyre, just imagine our little Bash here at last,"

I sobbed at the thought, the images of my baby I had been dreaming of for months flashing through my mind before I felt the devastating pain returned. I cried again, loudly claiming I couldn't do it, and was met with a chorus of voices encouraging me—claiming I could, and would. Deciding not to keep fighting it, I rallied my strength together with another gulp of air and bore down with the hardest push I could offer.

My attempt heralded in another round of voices animatedly telling me to continue, and though I couldn't differentiate the female's voices, I heard one of them tell Rhys to watch as our son's head began to emerge. My eyes were squeezed shut with my effort, so I couldn't see the look on his face, but a yelp of pain emerged from my throat a second later as I felt the strain of my baby's head coming through with the force of my pushing. The midwife quickly told me to take several deep breaths instead, and I did as I was told, gasping aloud when I felt a painful burst.

"The head is out, my lady," the midwife said with a meaningful look as I finally opened my eyes.

I gasped for even breaths, nodding before I looked to Rhys; whose violet eyes were silver lined as they met mine. He had shifted to my side for a better view of our son coming forth, his and Madja's hands holding either side of me, balancing me upright.

"He's so beautiful, Feyre," Rhys said tearfully as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against mine, a tear trailing down the side of his cheek.

I sobbed again, bringing a hand to brush that tear away briefly before grasping his free one as my body yielded to another throbbing contraction. "Just one more big push, my lady, and your babe will be in your arms." Madja promised.

"One more, and you're done," Rhys vowed, repeating the healer's words.

Instead of voicing my agreement, I continued my hold on to Rhys's hand while I gripped my knee with the other and sucked in a quick gasp of air before offering what now had to be the strongest and hardest push my body could muster. My eyes squeezed shut as I fixed all of my attention into this push, near-feral growls emerging from my throat at the unbearable pain that tore through me, my cries drowning out the myriad of voices cheering me on.

Soon, however, all the pain vanished the second I heard the tiniest, most magnificent wail I would ever hear in my entire life.

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 11

Aaaaand we’re back at it again folks with top!Kuvira ft. some fun ~bedroom accessories~ and other naughty acts 🤭 So of course, this is a very NSFW / Explicit chapter (a lovely combination of smut and fluff)! I’m glad I was able to post it before the week officially ended for me, as I will be going back to work tomorrow and that will affect my writing schedule. So be on the lookout for a post I’ll make later tonight with some updates! As always, feel free to check out the chapter on AO3 <3 Thank you for the continued love and support — y’all are the best! 

Republic City is coated in a fresh layer of evening mist. With your arm looped around Kuvira’s, you gleefully watch as the shop lights reflect off the pools of rain and cast a magical glow across the roaming paths of concrete and stone.

Though it has stopped raining since you finished dinner, you feel the occasional drop land on your cheek or nose and every so often Kuvira will flick them away with her thumb. She smiles in a way that’s almost not a smile at all but to you it’s the most radiant expression in the entire city. The air is crisp, making your hands shiver, but it’s easily overlooked when a simple glance from Kuvira rouses a delightful warmth that starts in your toes and rises to your cheeks.

Today Kuvira insisted on giving you the best possible day she could in celebration of six months together. Between the lovely laziness of a morning spent in bed, an afternoon reading with pauses for naps, and a fantastic dinner at Republic City’s most popular spot for southern Earth Kingdom cuisine, you couldn’t conceive of a more perfect itinerary.

As you walk back to your apartment, you can’t stifle the intermittent giggles that bubble out of your mouth. Each time Kuvira will glimpse in your direction and pull you tighter against her body, eventually lifting her arm so it wraps around your shoulders instead. You lean your head against her and breath in her fresh, earthy scent. The pedestrians that come your way become nothing more than ephemeral flashes of movement because all you see and feel are Kuvira’s fond expression and her fingers folded over your shoulder.

When you finally make it to the door, Kuvira graciously opens it for you as you slip your shoes off. After securing each of the locks, she stands behind you so she can slide your coat down your arms and hang it on the rack. Before you can take another step, she brings her mouth to the back of your neck and presses a tender kiss at the tip of your spine.

The sensation of her lips made cool by the wintry air outside is a startling contrast against your skin and you twitch before melting into her touch. “Why don’t I make us some tea and you get ready for bed?” she murmurs. You turn around to cradle her face in your hands, pushing away some stray hands of hair that hang over her eyes, and bring your face close so you can press your lips together.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply, kissing her briefly and relishing the residual flavor of puff pastry that glazes her mouth. She struggles to pull away from you completely, wrapping her arms around your waist to draw out the kiss for a few extra moments, before reluctantly breaking it and making her way to the kitchen.

You step into your slippers and pad over to your room, stretching your arms high above your head and sighing when your joints pop in response. Down the hall, you can hear the clutter of a pot hitting a stovetop and mugs clinking together as Kuvira sets about brewing your drinks.

By the time you are cloaked in your evening robe, tucked beneath Kuvira’s favorite olive comforter, she walks in and carefully places the mug between your palms. You notice she changed in the bathroom, now donning a loose black shirt with matching pants. An inviting aroma of ginseng wafts from the steaming cup and you are quick to take a tentative sip. “You would’ve made a great tea shop owner,” you tease over the rim. Kuvira shoots you an unimpressed glance before sliding into the bed beside you, pressing her toes against your shins.

“I don’t have that natural predisposition for customer service,” she sniffs. “Six months later and you still don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Rolling your eyes, you place your mug on your bedside stand so you can turn around and bring your face close to Kuvira’s. “And you still can’t warm up to my dazzling sense of humor,” you huff. Her mouth cracks into a doting half-smile. “I wouldn’t say that,” she insists. “You have your moments. Maybe you just need to brush up on your comedic skills.”

You gasp theatrically and bring your hand to your forehead, falling backwards in a flourish. “My heart! I ought to punish you for such a flagrant stab to my ego,” you bemoan teasingly. Kuvira's arm lurches forward until it wraps over your waist and she’s pulling you against her side.

“That sounds awfully severe for something so inoffensive, don’t you think?” she hums, angling her face down so she can caress her mouth along your jaw. You sigh and twist a hand into her hair, undoing the already loose braid that hangs against her shoulder. “Maybe I can let it slide just this once,” you respond. You flick the metal clip to the ground where it lands with a gentle clang. Kuvira responds with a promising drag of her mouth up to your earlobe where she nips at it, making you jump against her body.

“Now what shall I do to express my gratitude for such benevolence?” she murmurs into your ear. You hum thoughtfully, rubbing your fingers against her scalp until her eyelids start to grow heavy, before responding, “I might have a few ideas…”

Not willing to tease anymore than you can stand, you bring your hand to her chin, pulling her forward until your lips meet in a fierce and intoxicating kiss. Without any conscious motive, your mind has stored away each infinitesimal detail of Kuvira’s mouth. Even with your eyes closed, before your lips even touch, when her kiss is a shadow hovering in the air where your breaths mingle, you know the artful swell of her plump lower lip that fits perfectly between your teeth. You know its delicate flavor as your tongue roams over the skin and the way it feels when you dare to bite.

Kuvira wiggles against you, her body arching ever so slightly, as you explore her mouth and hook a leg over her hip until you can feel the growing heat between her legs. She leverages the movement to slide her hand beneath the loose fabric of your robe until she cups your ass, squeezing hard enough for her blunt nails to dig into the muscle and make you gasp in pained pleasure.

She’s the one to disrupt the kiss and you look at her with a grimace. “I’m sure you have plenty of ideas,” she purrs, shifting her hand until it brushes between your thighs, sweeping her finger over the skin until it is coated and sticky. “But I’ve got a few of my own.”

Before you can respond, she removes herself from your body and leans back on her legs. You let your back sink into the mound of pillows, briefly wondering about your tea, as Kuvira’s eyes study your body with ravenous concentration. She moves forward an inch so she’s positioned just below you and she carefully spreads your legs apart with her hands. Her fingers linger over your thighs, barely covered by your robe, which she eyes with scarcely concealed impatience. She looks up at you and asks, “Can I take this off?”

“Yes,” you sigh, jutting your arm out so you can wrap your hand over Kuvira’s and bring it to the loose knot that holds everything together. She does not display an inkling of hesitancy as she tugs on the silk band and yanks it free. Her hand releases the fabric quickly so she can part the robe open, exposing your naked body that lies beneath it.

Her eyes continue to skate over you cravingly before she speaks. “Someone had some expectations tonight,” she chuckles. You lift your body up, tearing the robe out from under you and tossing it to the floor, and grab Kuvira by her shirt collar. “I don’t think I was the only one,” you whisper. “Come on then — you too.” You emphasize the statement by tugging on her shirt once more, floating your fingers down until you reach the hem. “Is this okay?” you ask.

“Of course,” she responds breathily, cocking her chin as indication for you to continue. Despite the plainness of her nightwear, you have always fancied the enticing contrast of dark cloth against her skin. It seems to accentuate her already striking features. Nevertheless you grip the shirt firmly and slide it upwards, revealing each glorious inch of Kuvira’s body. Your hands skim over her sides, feeling the occasional twitch of sinewy muscle beneath her feverish skin.

Kuvira is quick to remove the rest of her clothes thereafter, tossing her trousers and panties to the ground where they join the mounting heap of clothes. When she reclines back down, every point of contact where Kuvira’s naked skin touches yours grows ablaze with lust. The deliciously supple flesh of her breasts push against your chest, her hair cascading downwards and tickling your forehead and cheeks, her naked legs caged around yours. You position your hands along her waist, admiring that subtle dip where her upper body fades into her hips.

She brings her mouth to the base of your neck, pressing a single kiss before moving towards your ear. She breathes heavily and the resultant heat makes your body clench with anticipation and you tug her head closer. She pinches your earlobe again with her teeth and starts carrying the sensation down the rest of your throat. She pauses, laving her tongue over the side before carefully biting hard enough to produce an agitated gasp from your lips.

Your sounds appear to embolden her further and she starts to draw your skin between the sharp edges of her teeth. Your hands thrust up into her hair, pulling at the strands just hard enough for it to hurt exactly the way she likes it. As she worries the flesh in her mouth, you are certain you will have a vivid mark painted on your skin by dawn.

The thought doesn’t put you off and you know exactly why. The pain itself is certainly a gratifying payoff but there is something exhilarating about that erotic claim Kuvira likes to brandish to the world, that shows them who gets to see you in this most vulnerable and voluptuous state. Even after she’s fucked you into what feels like another plane of existence, you know she likes to flaunt the marks of her desire to the world. She would never ask you to (of course) but you make it a point to wear clothes that display each stain and scratch she’s imprinted onto your skin.

Kuvira removes her mouth with a wet popping sound, dragging her tongue along the tender patch. Her left hand moves to your chest where she gingerly takes your nipple in between her fingers, rolling it with just enough pressure to make you keen in pleasure. With this hand now preoccupied with other matters, she uses the right to steady herself as she continues her downward journey.

She peppers the skin all along your neck and collarbones with fevered kisses and the sporadic touch of her tongue over the hypersensitive skin. When she finally reaches your chest, she removes her fingers in lieu of closing her mouth over your nipple instead. She carefully grazes her teeth over the hardened bump and bites down, waiting for a reaction. You exhale sharply and lift your legs until they’re wrapped around her back, digging your heels into the muscles flexing around her spine.

She spends her precious time on this part of your body, affording painstaking attention to every sound and movement you create to ensure she continues drawing them out. You manage to poke through the libidinous fog encasing your mind, looking down and making eye contact with her. Her gaze is bold and tenacious, in characteristic Kuvira fashion. She cocks an eyebrow as if to provoke you but you don't have the temper to fight back tonight.

So instead, you use your grip in her hair to apply downward pressure and hope she’ll take the hint. Her expression smooths over and she moves away from your chest, pressing one final kiss to your sternum before licking a long, wet line towards your hips.

At this point, your legs are stretched wantonly across the bed and Kuvira’s hands now hold your hips in place. She lifts one of those exquisitely sculpted hands, extending a finger to draw swirling patterns over your pelvis which she then follows with her tongue. She stops at the juncture between your hip and your thigh, brushing her nose along the line of muscle and whispering something against it that makes your skin flare up in goosebumps.

Your entire body is frenzied with want and it’s especially present in the insufferable quivering of your legs. Kuvira notices this and tucks her hands under your knees, lifting them up until they rest over her shoulders and her face is positioned neatly between your thighs. “Maybe that’ll help,” she croons, turning her face to the right so she can kiss the bare skin.

Your head falls deeper into the cushions, unable to carry the weight of your back any longer when Kuvira’s face looks like that and she’s clearly intent on pushing your self-control to its breaking point.

She turns her face away from your leg and looks to your soaking folds of flesh. “Tell me...what do you want?” she breaths. Your eyes clench shut and you grip the bedsheets with desperate force. “I-I want you to touch me,” you gasp out.

Kuvira purses her lips and tightens her arms around your legs. “I’m sorry, I think you’ll need to be more specific,” she responds. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” A flick of her tongue against your hip bone. “Or perhaps right here?” A gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Maybe you were referring to this?” A suggestive brush of her lips right above the swollen bud that displays the scale of your lust.

You inhale sharply and attempt to push up but Kuvira’s hands rigidly hold you in place. “Tell me: where do you want me to touch you?” she murmurs. “Right there,” you say shakingly. You are unable to elaborate further, partially because your mind seems outright incapable of coherent thought but you are suddenly overcome by an uncharacteristic wave of bashfulness.

“Mmm, I see,” Kuvira whispers. “Do you want me to touch you right here?” The question ends with her finger brushing over your vulva, where she coats her finger in the stream of come that has started spreading against your leg. When you nod, she pauses and you muster up every remaining ounce of control you have to hold back your shout of desperation. “You don’t want me to just touch here though. Oh no, you want me to fuck you with my fingers don’t you?”

“You sure talk a lot of shit without backing it up,” you hiss. To this, Kuvira grins and says, “Don’t underestimate me,” before she finally starts sinking a finger deep inside.

You feel every single knuckle and joint as it drives into your body. As always, Kuvira starts off deliberately slow to ensure you grow accustomed to the feeling. The moment you begin twisting on the bed and snapping your hips against her touch, she adds one more finger, and another, before pumping them in and out with a steady but relentless speed.

Your bedroom is soon filled with a cacophony of salacious outbursts: a series of groans and choked gasps, the occasional wet sound of Kuvira’s mouth on your cunt when it joins her fingers, and finally Kuvira’s moan when you press up against her face.

Eventually she pulls her fingers out, a strand of come hanging in the air between her hand and your body. She looks directly into your eyes as she brings it to her mouth and licks the remnants away, coiling her tongue around the digits. “I told you I had other plans,” she says huskily, pushing herself towards your face so she can briefly touch your mouths together. “Give me a sec.”

You can’t help but feel hopelessly awkward lying on the bed like this, totally naked and gasping for air while Kuvira leans over to her bedside stand. She spends a few seconds shuffling through her belongings before she apparently finds what she’s looking for.

When she faces you again, your eyes land on a splendidly familiar sight. Your thoughts immediately begin conjuring obscene images of what Kuvira has planned for you until they are interrupted by her voice. “Is it okay to use this?” she asks. You nod eagerly and the “yes” is uttered without a second thought.

She then flicks open the small pink bottle, pouring a sizable clump of the thick liquid into her palm. She rolls the fluid against her fingers before coating it along the toy, warming it with her hand, and bringing it close to your body.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop,” she reminds you. You cup her face in your palm, offering her a loving grin, before urging her to go on. She uses one arm to hold herself up above you while the other starts pushing it inside your body. The tip starts pressing in and you close your eyes as you refamiliarize yourself with the sensation. Kuvira’s touch warmed it up enough that it does not catch you off guard per se but it still takes a few moments to grow accustomed to it. You nod when you’re ready for more and Kuvira pushes it in deeper, causing your breath to snag in your throat.

By the time most of it is inside, she starts pumping it back and forth in an excruciatingly slow manner. You know it will be worth it once she starts fucking you with it herself but in the moment it only seems to tease you further. Very little time passes until you start huffing loudly and pushing against the toy, at which point Kuvira easily detects your impatience and drags it back out.

“Get on your knees,” she demands. Though your limbs seem unable to move in any way whatsoever, you summon what little strength you have left to follow through immediately, pushing your hands against the pillows and lifting your ass towards Kuvira. There’s a brief moment of pause where you hear the soft sounds of buckles clicking into place before her hands gently hook onto your hips.

“I’m going to go slow, alright? Let me know if you need me to stop,” she says softly. You nod and impatiently push back which naturally makes her chuckle.

Just as she did moments ago, Kuvira presses forward tentatively. Her hands are a grounding force in the midst of your hazy arousal and you focus on them as the toy slowly slips back into your body. There’s little resistance this time — your body recognizes the sensation immediately and invites it in, pulling the ribbed object deeper and deeper.

Kuvira pauses when it’s almost completely inside, waiting to see how you might react. “Oh just fuck me already, would you?” you sigh, not bothering to suppress the tremor in your voice. It’s all the encouragement she needs to start plunging into your body with long and heavy strokes. When Kuvira starts hitting that small bundle of nerves that further rouses your lust, your jaw slackens and heady moans accompany each thrust of Kuvira’s hips against your ass. Within moments, Kuvira joins with a similar pattern of unsteady breathing and soft groans that mix with your own.

Every stimuli in and around can only be described as sublime: the unrelenting strokes that push in and out of your body, the grip of Kuvira’s hands wrapped tightly around your hips, the growing pool of moisture that cascades down your thighs and quite possibly ruining the bedsheets rubbing against your knees.

“Harder,” you gasp and Kuvira doesn’t hesitate. She maintains her pace but pauses when she’s fully inside, grinding forward until the tip pokes at that spot again and nearly has you collapsing onto the pillows. When your arms start shaking, Kuvira mutters, “I got you.”

She starts pulling on your hips in a back-and-forth motion, fucking you on the dildo herself. Your cheek finally drops onto the bed and your entire body shifts as Kuvira roughly starts pounding into you. You smirk at the crude sound of your ass slapping against her body, rarely able to discern the difference between pain and pleasure because the latter has overpowered everything else. The feeling intensifies when Kuvira’s hand lands sharply against your backside mid-thrust. The sudden gesture makes you gasp, followed by a pleasured moan that has her smacking you yet again.

You can already see the smug look on Kuvira’s face two days from now when you’re limping around the apartment.

As Kuvira fucks you ruthlessly, you feel yourself starting to reach that precipice that will throw you over the edge. Your thighs shake even harder, your toes start to curl, and your breathing loses any semblance of a pattern whatsoever.

But just as you near that threshold, Kuvira stops yet again and starts to pull out. Your hands scramble helplessly on the bed and you’re about to whine in protest when Kuvira starts placing the harness atop your clothes on the floor. She leans down so she can bring her mouth to your spine, sprinkling kisses along each ridge and cupping your ass where she then drags her tongue along one cheek.

“You’re not getting off like that tonight,” she murmurs, maneuvering until she’s on her back beside you and pulling you on top of her. “Sit up,” she commands and you shakily lean back on your legs until you're sitting just above her pubic bone. Though you aren’t quite sure what she’s leading up to, you find yourself mesmerized by her disheveled appearance.

There has always been something particularly satisfying about seeing this raunchier side of Kuvira. Everyone she meets knows her to be nothing but smooth, clean lines, pristine clothes, and a closed-off personality. But you? You get to see her at her most defiled: eyes glazed over with longing, her soft brown nipples hardened, lips reddened with heated kisses and scraping teeth, her hair tangled into knots and falling over her face.

She lifts her hands from her sides so they can grab your hips again, pulling you upwards until you have no choice but to lift your body up and rest on your knees. “Kuvira? I…” You start when she cuts you off.

“I’m gonna fuck you with my mouth,” she purrs, shifting downwards until her face is right below your cunt. You look down at her incredulously, nearly huffing out laughter but you’re so overwhelmed with shock nothing comes out. “Is that okay?” she asks.

She looks up at you with a sickeningly playful expression, waiting for you to nod before taking that final dive that connects her mouth to your clit. You moan heavily and instantly grab the headboard in front of you, afraid your control might give out and you’ll topple over her.

Kuvira, on the other hand, seems completely unconcerned by the prospect and merely wraps her arms around your thighs to press you tighter against her mouth. Her tongue, which has so scrupulously memorized every movement that drives you closer to the point of orgasm, moves across the wet folds of your flesh with unequaled dexterity. She starts in circular motions, slowly moving upwards until she reaches your clit where she adds the perfect amount of pressure that nearly has you climaxing right then and there.

When you start thrusting forward and downward, she simply changes her approach and synchronizes her movements with yours. Her tongue slides up and down, occasionally dipping inside past your vulva where the toy had previously been, fucking you with her mouth instead.

She must sense the tension in your legs from holding yourself up since she pulls away in panting breaths. “Don’t hold back,” she reassures you. “You can’t break me.”

It’s all you need to finally release yourself to the overwhelming passion consuming every rational thought you have. You harden your grip on the headboard and start riding your mounting orgasm on Kuvira’s face, sighing when her hands start clawing into your ass.

She moans against the pressure and the vibrations quake through your muscles, spurring you move faster until you’re all but writhing over her mouth. Her tongue never wavers and it’s precisely that masterful consistency that has you tipping over the edge. It starts in your toes — a prickling sensation that starts spreading across every other limb. A searing heat radiates from your core into your chest, filling you with a feeling that very nearly stops your breath altogether.

Oftentimes, your orgasm catches you off guard, hitting you like the unexpected shock of a torrential downpour. But this time, it’s a sensuous culmination of stimuli building up over many minutes. When you finally reach your climax, it washes over you in heavy waves until you reach a pinnacle that is pure and absolute euphoria.

You cry out in bliss, riding it out against Kuvira’s mouth until you eventually feel yourself coming back into your mind and body and Kuvira’s tongue has stopped moving. She’s opted to brush her mouth along your inner thigh, dropping a kiss onto every piece of skin she can reach. You carefully raise yourself up from your sitting position and collapse beside her, watching Kuvira’s expression gleam with silent enjoyment as you catch your breath.

When you’re finally able to speak again, you ask her, “Are you alright?” She chuckles briefly and brings her fingers to your face, lovingly stroking them across your cheekbone. “I’m fine. I think you should be asking yourself that,” she says, bringing your bodies flush against each other. You fling a leg over hers and burrow your face into her chest, feeling her pounding heartbeat as you rest your cheek against the silky flesh of her breast.

“Aside from having to walk with a limp for about a week, I’d say I’m holding up okay,” you laugh. You can already feel the pleasurable ache in your lower back but the thought of this twinge following you in the days to come is thrilling to say the least.

“I’ll get us some towels. Do you need anything else?” she asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You hum contentedly and wrap your arms tight across her back. “Just don’t take too long,” you mumble into her neck. She kisses you once more before untangling herself from your body and strolling over to the bathroom.

As she walks back, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of this sight. Kuvira is absolutely resplendent in every form but she will always leave you speechless when she appears before you like this: her black hair hanging heavy and tousled over her shoulders and across her back, her green eyes glimmering with excitement yet hooded over with exhaustion, the curves and bends of her breasts, her waist, her hips. You marvel at the lovely expanse of tanned skin stretched over gracefully chiseled muscle.

She is a total vision.

Kuvira, being the thoughtful lover she is, wipes you down first before using the second towel to clean herself up. She does so delicately, keeping her movements tender and prudent so as not to overstimulate your already sensitive nerves.

Once she has folded and tossed the towels into your hamper, she flicks off the lights and curls herself around your body so her face is a mere finger’s width away from yours. “How was today?” she asks earnestly. You smile and rub the tip of your nose against hers. “It was absolutely perfect,” you respond.

“Dinner was okay?” she insists. You grin and cup her face in your hands. “I loved it. There wasn’t a single thing out of place. The best part though? Seeing you for a whole day and knowing I have you for the rest of my life.”

For a moment you swear you see the sparkle of galaxies swirling within those emerald irises.

[airagorncharda]

You either live long enough to wet the bed, or you die.

I've recovered from surgery, helped two other people through recovery from surgery, taken an EMT course, helped with multiple types of emergency medical situations, and for the last year I've been working as a personal care assistant for an older woman with a series of disabilities. 

Perhaps chief among the things I've learned from all of that, and the thing I want more than anything to pass along to others, is that there are a lot of things we're all taught to fear about growing older that we really need to start getting comfortable with while we're still young.

The fact of the matter is that, at some point, you're either going to need to be physically taken care of by somebody else, or you're going to die before it happens. Being taken care of is the BETTER OUTCOME! So please, PLEASE, start getting used to the idea of not being an island. If you succeed at living long enough, your reward is to be cared for. This looks different for everybody-- happens at different ages, requires different help to compensate for different problems-- but there are some basics you really ought to get used to the idea of before they're thrust upon you by necessity. 

Somebody else is going to have to help you bathe. Somebody else is going to have to help you eat, and dress, and get around. Somebody else is going to have to clean you up and tend to you when you get dirty or hurt. Somebody else is going to have to do the laundry when you wet the bed. These are not ifs, they are whens. You either live long enough to wet the bed, or you die. Wetting the bed is the better outcome here.

Shame and pride motivate people to hide pain and injury, push through suffering at the expense of their wellbeing, and end up with less than they could have had. Less energy, less health, less time. 

I've heard young people say: 

"I can't even imagine letting somebody else bathe me." 

"I could never let somebody wipe my ass." 

"If I couldn't take care of myself, I'd rather die." 

"Once I get to that point, just shoot me." 

The implication is always something like "I would be mortified by needing someone to help me in such an intimate way. If I were ever that disabled, my life wouldn't be worth living." 

This mentality is incredibly easy to fall into, and also deeply, DEEPLY damaging, not only to the disabled people currently around you but also to your future self.

When I was recovering from surgery, I couldn’t do just about anything. I needed help with every single aspect of functioning. If I had forced myself to care for myself, rather than accepting help, I would almost certainly have caused myself further injury, prolonged my recovery, and suffered significantly more than necessary. Most people are willing to accept temporary disability without catastrophizing, but I know multiple people who’ve undergone surgeries who have hurt themselves by being too proud or embarrassed to ask for or accept the help they needed during recovery.

PLEASE start getting used to the idea of needing help with “embarrassing” things. 

My boss is a wonderful woman. She has many, many physical limitations. Most of her life consists of watching movies and listening to books on tape, and even that sometimes causes her suffering. Every single day that I've ever spoken to her, she has been suffering. She absolutely cannot care for herself without assistance, and needs PCAs with her every day.

And yet, her life is ABSOLUTELY worth living. She's a vibrant woman, full of love and kindness and art and humor. She has improved my life with wisdom, joyful company, and a job I sorely needed. She enjoys watching her movies! She has absolutely no interest in dying! Life is worth living even when it's hard, and even when it is dependent. 

Her life is not some tragedy to me, nor is it “inspirational” in some voyeuristic and ableist way; it's aspirational. I hope that when I need the level of help she does, that I’m still able to be kind and funny and enjoy movies and make art, all with the determination and kindness that she does.

It kills me to see her feel embarrassed about needing help with tasks that would cause her harm to do herself. It shouldn’t BE embarrassing! 

We’ve all been taught to be embarrassed by needing help, especially with basic or intimate tasks, but that mentality doesn’t help you. (Who it helps-- namely, companies trying to sell you shit so you can be self sufficient for longer-- is a whole other post.) 

Anyone who chooses to think less of you for needing help is going to eat those words eventually, assuming they live long enough to.

I know this is a long rambly post, but I cannot stress enough how important it is. Please, PLEASE do yourself the favor of respecting your older self now. 

[twisted-imagines]

Heyo! May I request headcanons for how Leona and Azul would react to their respective SO being unassumingly strong? Like they look like they possess average strength but they are able to carry a lot of heavy things (easily the dorm leaders) or hold their own in a physical fight. I hope this makes sense 😅😅😅

Unbelievable, I'm back! With a request, nonetheless💖 I wonder if you missed me, hehe? Man, did I miss you all and my precious boys~ It's shorter than usually and I got hit with a writer's block, but it'll try to pick up my pace from now on >:3

But for now, please, enjoy💗

Unassumingly strong S/O

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Rays of sunset gently caressing his face woke Leona up from his post-lunch nap. Still groggy from his sleep he rose up just to look at the clock. Almost evening, the last classes in college ended at least two hours ago. But that wasn't important to Leona. What really bothered him, was the absence of one customary part of his sleeping routine: your warm form beside his. To have you curled up into his side or just sitting near him telling about your day always made his dreams more pleasant and now that he got used to it, not having you beside him rubbed him the wrong way. You should have already been there, so where were you? The lion didn't want to think about the worst, but only the most alarming conclusions came to his mind. The bed shifted beneath him when he got up, but before he could even take a step a loud stomping resonating in the hallway drew his attention. Ruggie was at his doorstep, disheveled, and clearly agitated.

"Leona-san! You need to see this, come. Quick!"

Leona could finally let out the breath he took when Ruggie rushed him out of his room and to the common room. Several students were running to-and-fro around the other three beat-up Savanaclaw residents. The dorm leader stopped at the door, relieved to not had seen you there. And why would you be there, though? Nonsense. But it was really the only thing he was worried about since the sight before him was all too common for Leona at that point. He was about to turn to Ruggie and ask what all that fuss was about until a conversation between couch occupant and the students treating him reached his ears.

"Ouch! That hurts, man! Ugh, if not that piece of-!"

"Don't even think about ending that sentence. You're lucky that it wasn't the dorm leader who got his hands on you."

"Yes, dumbass, can you even imagine what would have happened to you three if he found out you fought his mate- Wha? Huh?! Leona-san? Since when did you-"

Leona crossed the room in a few powerful strides only to pick the unfortunate student by his collar. An unbridled fury grimaced his face.

"What's about [Y/n]? Tell me, your puny life depends on it!“

"Nishishishi, what can he even tell? That he and his thick-headed friends got completely obliterated by a single, small human?"

"Listen, I'm very sorry about it, but it was just self-defense!"

Leona dropped the scared, shaking from fear student to the floor in favor of rushing to your self, who too entered the room. He swiftly checked you for any injury and let out a relieved sigh. From what he could see you were completely fine, while those who harassed you were very much not, trembling and holding each other, bruised and humiliated. Kingscholar could only look bewildered at them, and then at you, at them, at you.

"Leona, I'm really sorry, I didn't want to hurt them so bad."

Your ramble became faster the more your boyfriend looked at you with a blank look, not even saying a word to you.

"...so if there's some disciplinary punishment or otherwise or will take it, I-"

A snicker interrupted your speech. You looked at the man before you stunned. Before you could utter even another word he erupted in a fit of roaring laughter, it resonating in a completely silent dorm.

• Ah, Leona can't genuinely remember when was the last time he laughed that hard. The whole situation is so amusing to him, there isn't't a boring day with you, is there?

• Of course, you'll face no punishment, vice versa, you'll be celebrated. His darling, his kitten, was actually a mighty carnivore all along. He's going to mark the day, when he finally found out about that.

• Never would he think, not a snowballs chance in hell, that you had any physical strength in you, but you managed to prove him wrong. Yes, he was very close to destroying poor souls who tried to harass you, but if not for them taunting you and being beat up in the process, he wouldn't have such a discovery to laugh at. They're getting away with it, a living example of why exactly one ought to not touch dorm leader's lover. They're not dining with everybody that evening though, no matter how much tasty food there is.

• He doesn't think a lot about this discovery at first, that's just another gimmick of yours and he loves it, he loves you, but does it turn his world upside down, both figuratively and literally, when you, fed up with him lazing around the greenhouse and trying to make you lie down with him, swing him over your shoulder and carry him out. His pupils are just two saucers. He hangs speechless from your shoulder and until he feels ground under his legs he doesn't register what happened.

• Congratulations, now you have Leona Kingscholar living in your arms. He'll just use you as a personal carriage and how can you deny him, when he's so cutely snuggling up to you. Oh, he knows what he does to you and isn't ashamed to take advantage of it.

• He's quite pleased to know that you can hold your own in a physical fight, even in a magical world they're still too common. He even starts to watch himself, especially when he thinks he went too far with his teasing since you do have a strength to turn it on him. Well, he doesn't really protest. A bit of roughhousing and a tickle fight never harmed anybody, it amuses Leona when you start them.

• He admires you more than anybody else at this point. You're badass and you know it, and he couldn't be more proud. He sleeps soundly, knowing that you can stand up for yourself if the situation calls for it. He still much prefers to have you safe in his arms, or vice versa, so don't leave him for longer, than you should.

• One time he just casually asked you, if you could wield any weapon with a very unsettling glint in his eyes. He told you that a lot of people in Afterglow Savannah were proficient in some war art, it was a very respected tradition, and some of the masters could teach you, if you visited his homeland with him. He left the question open, but sometimes you still wonder what did he actually mean?

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙

Night Raven College was in a state of emergency. All students were to follow their seniors to a safe location, while teachers and student council were dealing with the threat. The reason for such a panic was a single creature. Highly dangerous at its full potential and untamable, college's Chimera was much less imposing than it's wild nature sisters, but still a difficult opponent for students at their Magic Defense classes. Apparently this time it decided to give a special lesson to everybody.

"The beast ran in that direction, don't let it get away once again, surround and subdue it!"

Azul's order rang in the hallway, spurring every present student to action. At the state of total disarray, the youth was the only one who reacted fast enough to rally his fellow students and direct them properly. But to say the hunt was going awfully is to say nothing. The students, so much for them being skilled at magic, had no idea of command work. Ashengrotto had already regretted sending Leech twins away with Octavinelle juniors, it would have ended so much faster if they were present. But alas, after running around the campus for more than half an hour, Azul could finally hope they would catch the damned beast at last.

"It's running away, catch it! Why are you standing still?"

"Can you not complain for five seconds, pretty boy? Want me to fix your make up with my fists for you?"

"The Chimera is resisting magical attacks, somebody please sacrifice yourself for the greater good. We need to neutralize it!"

No, they were hopeless. Azul could only observe the people he saw daily at college lose all respect he had for them in less than an hour. Azul was genuinely contemplating to just give up and let the teachers, who got lost halfway too somehow, handle it. At that point he wasn't even chasing it, disappointedly watching how it was running away into the sunset.

Until it suddenly didn't. Chimera crashed with a loud thud, falling to the floor completely motionless. And the one who was standing above it with a bright red crowbar was none other than you. Shocked, he slowly approached you and the unconscious animal.

"Um... [Name]?"

"Sup' Azul! You were late for our date so I returned to check up on you. This Chimera is so big! It's the first time I've seen it. Where should we carry it?"

"Yes, yes...You'll still meet it at your Magic Defense classes later the semester. To the classroom on the third floor, let me-"

Before Azul could lift it with magic you had already hoisted it on your shoulder and awaited for his lead.

Well, it was certainly a dream so he didn't have to freak out, right? His dear significant other couldn't possibly knock out a huge beast in one punch?

• Wrong. You did. You also had enough strength to carry it to its cage. You could do even more than that. The more Azul was coming to the understanding of it, the more he was freaking out. Until he completely stopped responding to you. The date had to be canceled, unfortunately. You led him to his dorm, while he was having an identity crisis.

• When he finally snaps out of his state you're so going to be bombarded with questions. They won't stop, and you're not even sure he addresses them to you. How did you hide it and why? Or was he just oblivious? But you look so demure, look at Jack for example and look at you! How?

"Well, I'm pretty soft, but here touch - there muscles underneath!"

He's now more lost than before, after making contact with your bare skin.

• It's going to take him time to come to terms with your actual strength. Lack of magic not equating to being powerless didn't register in his brain, and he thought it was actually very ignorant of him. He respected you before, but now he's in awe. His significant other is very strong and Azul thinks it's beautiful.

• When he has too much work and is stubborn about cramming it all into one day, even though he's already drooling on his notes and slips down his chair, you just lift him from his seat and parade through Monstro Lounge to his room with Azul blushing madly in your arms. Leech twins think it's the most hilarious thing they've ever seen. Azul is very embarrassed, but it also feels so good to be carried around by you, he feels the most special man in the world. He politely asks you to not handle him like that ever again, while he clings to you like a baby koala. It's obvious where he wants to be.

• He has a love-hate attitude to manhandling. It certainly feels exciting when you tug him on your lap if he's passing by, or envelop him in a hug if you're happy, but he's also quite shy about it, especially if there're people around you. Sometimes he wants just to find a pot big enough to hide.

• He likes your way of solving problems. You don't have to choose the best spells that would give you an advantage against a certain opponent, neither do you have to worry about things like mana and blot. You can only rely on yourself in a fight. He wheezed when you suggested, that Floyd wouldn't be a dangerous opponent to you since his unique magic wouldn't deflect a punch to the face. Floyd wasn't impressed with that logic, but he kept quiet.

• Azul is quite pacifistic, if he can mitigate the conflict and reach a consensus that would benefit every party, mostly him, he will try to avoid a fight. But when even he can't do this, you enter the picture. You know that those jerks are too arrogant and they should be prescribed a nice, educating blow to a face. Azul is mortified, when you escalate things, for he usually doesn't see such scenes, Floyd or even sometimes Jade leave them offstage. He quickly comes to his senses though and helps you out. Best believe you're going to get away with it, and even will be treated as a victim. Who in their right mind will think that you, of all people, can deal any serious damage to anybody?

• He feels a bit weird when you're the one carrying his shopping bags, or screwing the jars open, but he learns to roll with it, even starts to enjoy it. And his face when he sees you carrying a huge table all on your own, because he just so mentioned, that he didn't like how it stood in the Lounge? Priceless.

• No matter how much time passes he'll still react surprised when he sees you displaying your power, but it's also one of the qualities he loves about you. Azul treats your unusual strength as your special appeal and couldn't be more proud to be your lover.

• He's ecstatic that he can just casually mention to anybody picking on him, that "his significant other can and will snap you in half". Maybe you can, maybe you can not, but you just let him have his fun. The truth is that you will do your best at any given time to protect your boyfriend.