#present tense practice

[doubledyke]

i think ive been bit by the fanfiction bug oh no

[rizaposting]

Rating: T Words: 3,049 Relationship: Royai, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang Tags: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist 2003, Songfic, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Falling in love, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Non-explicit mentions of sex, Depictions of mental illness

Summary: "The first time she sets to changing the bandages on his face, Roy stops her with a hand on her wrist. His hair had hung over his face as he turned away from her and warned her that it was ugly. The raw flesh and the clipped bone. Riza doesn't know how to express to him that she doesn’t care about the physical damage, that she is just so happy that he is alive that it makes her hands tremble. In the end, she brushes his hair to the side and meets his gaze without flinching as the gauze falls away."

After the coup against Bradley, something blooms between them during Roy's recovery. But there is only so much that love can heal.

(Inspired by the song "Antebellum" by Vienna Teng)

[markantonys]

bayle domon wrote today's duolingo lesson

[5ellaal5]

I wrote a new chapter of Simple English (#kotaloy smut for EFL learners!) Aloy/Kotallo scenes, still inspired by @kakko-jp art!

They still like workbenches and Scorchers. This time, in the Base.

Chapters: 3 of 3 (worksheet forthcoming) Fandom: Horizon (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aloy/Kotallo (Horizon) Characters: Aloy (Horizon), Kotallo (Horizon), a Scorcher (Horizon), GAIA (Horizon), GAIA Gang (Horizon) Additional Tags: Simple English, Writing Smut for my Japanese Friends, Learn English Through Porn, Kissing, Penis In Vagina Sex, Condoms, efl, English for Foreign Language Learners, Can I still write evocative smut with limited vocab and grammar?, Worth a try!, there is only you, and some Scorcher hardplate, on a workbench, (and some) Cunnilingus

[prince-liest]

"so much practice at the mechanically challenging bits" can I ask what exactly you mean with this? :o like do you just mean you've written so much in your life that your skill comes from a lot of practice, or are there specific things you did to hone your craft? I'm super curious, your writing are such goals!

Nope, that's exactly what I meant! My AO3 account looks like I just jumped in and started spawning writing with a hugely popular 60k word fic with the advent of the pandemic in 2020 but the reality is that I spent 5-ish years before that writing countless hundreds of thousands of words in Homestuck fantroll multi-paragraph style RP, none of which was done with any specific goal other than to have fun.

Literally just doing the writing makes it easier to do more writing in the future! I don't need to fish around for vocabulary ideas as much, structuring sentences and scenes to achieve a specific effect is second nature because I've already done it before, being able to get into the heads of multiple characters in a scene is WAY easier now than it used to be, etc, etc. It literally just takes less effort because I have a large bank of "I've done this before!" to draw from.

[muzzlemouths]

Dead Mall Dare [The Golden Years]

A moment that occurs before the events of Chapter 1.

There's a showing at the Waning Lights theater, and Moon is more than happy to host the event - but things don't always go according to plan.

Wordcount: 2223

It was rare treat when the Waning Lights theater had a showing. Not just any showing, either; a special feature, Saturday Night Fever, viewed on the big screen for one night only. The event drew in crowds from surrounding counties and promised to be a truly unforgettable night.

Customarily, the theater’s very own mascot lead the scene. Moon stood just beyond the entrance, velvet rope sat aside, delighting in nothing more than gesturing the queue through the two crescented doors with a handshake and a smile that reached both corners of the mouth.

Folks piled in by the dozens and left only stragglers, concession connoisseurs and parents who did away with their children by slipping coins into their pockets and ushering them towards the mall’s plentiful list of other things to do, the candy shop and playground being notable favorites.

A particularly bratty shaver caught Moon’s attention as he was headed inside, causing him to pause at the door, ever briefly, before he returned to the outer lobby and came upon the family - mom, dad, and the wailing child, giving his parents a good deal of grief - and crouched down to his level, fitting him with a stern look. “Now what has you in such a fit?” Asked Moon, calm as a clam.

“Oh, don’t let us keep you,” the mother, shame behind her eyes, sighed with exasperation, “he’s only upset with having to miss the show.”

“He’ll miss dinner and a day without chores, too, if he doesn’t shape up,” chimed the father, looking thin in the lips.

“Is that so?” Now, Moon wasn’t a hit with the kids. He catered to the night crowd, business men with a schedule chalked full and youth on the crisp of adulthood who fancied a quieter time and fewer distractions during their visits - it was Sun who carried on conversations with the tots and blew balloons to keep the kids happy and the parents happier - but it was Moon who knew his way around the fussier ones. Though his methods were questionable.

“Well, we could let you in to see the film,” he mused, finger tapping against his lip in thought. Both parents shared a bug-eyed expression, obviously against such an idea, but Moon continued, “though I must say I’m surprised, I didn’t expect anyone your age to want anything to do with a pair cutting the rug,” he watched the boy’s face turn sour and carried on with the wave of a hand and a perfect poker smile, “and I suppose a growing boy like yourself won’t mind the kissing, either.”

His tantrum came to a grinding halt. “The…kissing?”

“Well of course!” Said Moon, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin into his palm, “This story doesn’t end before the star finds himself a pretty lady and warms her up with a kiss. Isn’t that romantic?” He waited. It didn’t take long. The child’s entire posture sank with disappointment and he turned to look up at his parents with a face of utter betrayal, “Or,” Moon called him back to attention with a hand that dipped behind the child’s ear, and away from it he pulled a silver coin - Sun’s face on one side, his own on the other - and slipped it into the boy’s hand with a wink, "you could get lost in a few games until your parents are done.”

The little boy answered with an eager nod and a polite thanks at his mother’s behest, menace easily turned moppet, and scurried off towards the arcade without further argument. Problem solved and with minimal fuss to boot. And just in time, too. Moon beckoned the couple inside right as the screen came to life, a coca-cola commercial beginning the next ten minutes of pre-film entertainment.

A few minutes in and the smell of warm butter and popcorn steam wafted through the room, paper bags worth a handful tucked into one another, pinned against stacks of Mars Men and liquorice twists and all crammed into a wide mouthed wooden box that Moon brought to every row with a flare of glamour, ensuring that each guest in their allocated seat was happy and fulfilled. Behind him the speakers sang with the melody of a brand, giddy voices chiming ‘mix it up, wrap it up, Buttercup is born!’ and boasting a king-sized cup.

It wasn’t until the intro came to an end that Moon left the crowd if only to climb the star coated stairs all the way to the projection booth to personally insure the film began smoothly. Sure enough, the booth’s worker was already having some trouble with the reel. This wasn’t unusual - the projectors weren’t what they used to be, and Waning Lights had been due for a new one since the year prior. The theater’s budget was all tied up elsewhere, management said, and Moon never found it in himself to complain. It was nothing he couldn’t fix in a pinch.

A few precise taps - clearly practiced - knocked the machine back into functioning order, and the reel slipped into its frame with ease. Static formed, then a light, and finally the screen came alive with the opening number. Moon found a chair of his own beside the projector and settled in to enjoy the movie.

Twenty-eight minutes in and things were just starting to heat up when a customer began causing a ruckus. This, too, wasn’t unusual. There were always interruptions in the theater - whispers amongst the crowd and walkouts, or the occasional pair of teenagers who thought they were being sneaky, but this was different. An uproar created from the belly of a drunkard whose vulgar speech competed for volume with the film itself.

This, of course, meant he had to go. The poor projection booth employee wearily found their way to their feet only for Moon to set a hand on their shoulder, standing himself, “I’ll take care of it,” he promises smoothly, “offer the guests more refreshments - on the house.” He waits for the affirming nod, then sets his sights on the man below.

It took all of two minutes for him to be escorted down the theater’s hall and out towards the lobby - all the while Moon soothed his angry prattles with a patient voice and a polite, but firm hand - unfortunately, they don’t entirely make it there. Not ten feet from the exit and the man whipped around, fist raised high, intent on making a scene. Moon wasn’t having any of it. “Sir, you need to leave,” he gave the man a second chance, hoping he might see reason, “you’re causing a disturbance. If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll have to–”

He caught the first throw, easily avoiding the attack. But not the second. A harsh shove against Moon’s shoulders drove him into the wall, the force of it enough to jostle a poster from its place, the wooden frame splintering open on impact.

Moon’s posture changed immediately, manners somewhat forgotten as his system recalculated an appropriate response. The situation was growing dangerous. He pulled himself away from the wall, dented where his joints met plaster, and dusted the fibers from his silicone, retaining utmost composure even now, “Sir,” his head felt funny, static snow dancing in his field of vision, but he’s nothing if not forgiving, “I’ll ask one more time before escorting you from the mall’s premises entirely. Please leave the theater and–”

Again, the man aimed his fist, rage in his eyes and steam erupting from his nostrils, not looking to play nice - but Moon was faster. He caught it by the wrist, long fingers wound in a vice hold. His world swayed and swam. A new protocol slithered into his coding when he wasn’t looking. Then there was a crunch, followed by a scream.

He doesn’t know how it happened. One minute he’s holding his own against this rowdy patron and the next, he was holding him up by a broken wrist, his fingers still bruising around the joint. Then came the security. Alerted by the pained shriek, no doubt, they marched through the theater in a pair and took the customer away by his folded arms. The man’s incessant howling turned every head in the theater, then all eyes fell to Moon, still trying to make sense of it all.

The employee, who appeared at his side a moment later, outstretched a hand to his shoulder much in the same way Moon had a few minutes prior. “Are you alright?” They asked him, thinly veiled distress in their voice, “I heard the commotion from upstairs. Did he hurt you?”

The question caught him off guard. Did the man hurt him? No, certainly not.

“I need to clear my head,” said Moon, avoiding the topic entirely, and he didn’t wait for an answer, either.

Moon recoiled from the touch without another word and strode a far ways from the exits, finding himself inside a photo booth.

With the curtain being pulled taut, he let his head fall to his hands, and a deep exhale escaped. A worrying feeling washed over him like spiders dancing on his skin, creeping along with legs like pins and needles. He found himself nauseated and dizzy, steam sweltered inside his chest and rose to form beads of sweat - that is, condensation - and a hand arrived at his mouth a second later to prevent himself from losing stomach oil.

He heaved, dry and ugly, for a full minute without interruption.

Then the curtains came away with a quickness so jarring it snapped him clear out of his daze.

Moon squinted into the sudden burst of light, and Sun stared back, a look of concern crossing his features. “Are you alright?” He asked, frantic.

His mind flashed to the employee asking that exact question and immediately he remembered his sickness. He shuddered, forcing it down as well as he could manage, for Sun’s sake, “What are you doing here?” He forced the words past gritted teeth, “Your shift doesn’t start for another five hours.”

Sun straightened his back, the action enveloping Moon in his shadow, much to his counterpart’s relief. “They said something happened,” he answered, “that there was a fight, and you got knocked around pretty bad. I was worried, so–”

“I’m fine.” He interjected, the bite making Sun stiffen. There was a broiling heat running rampant in his system, a burning under his skin. He couldn’t place it - the fire, or the source of the sickness. His gears felt like they were clogged with molasses. “I’m–I’m fine,” he tried again, with a much smoother, softer tone this time. His eyes raised, his smile plastered on with it, “Thank you for worrying. I’ve got a headache, but that’s all. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“If you’re sure…” Sun wasn’t convinced. Still, it wasn’t kind to challenge the other when he was evidently already going through it, so he let it go. For now. He paused then, thinking, then climbed fully into the booth and closed the curtain behind him. “Mind if I stay with you until then?”

“You don’t seem to be waiting for an answer either way.” Moon replied. He can’t help the way his smile relaxed into something genuine, or the way his shoulders slumped with relief as Sun crammed his way into the seat beside him. The company was nice. It eased the sickly flare somewhat.

“You know what might cheer you up?” Sun reached for the photo booth triggers, “We should take a picture! We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Sun, I don’t want to–”

“Say cheese!”

He didn’t have much time to argue. The timer clicked away and Moon, never knowing how to let him down, obliged with a roll of his eyes and a smile. Something a little silly, despite the tension boiling under his fingertips. The printer spit their photograph into his hand a minute later.

“That’s a good one,” said Sun, “we should hang it up in our room.”

Moon nodded, thumb pressed against the smooth film. He didn’t recognize the Moon in that picture.

They sat in perfect silence for some time after this. Moon with his head on Sun’s shoulder, and Sun’s head on top of his, the rays retracted where his faceplate brushed against the hat.

Eventually, Moon was able to return to his theater, but something had shifted. Something was unmistakably different. He caught the tail end of the movie and assured the other employees that he was alright as the final scene played out.

He remained in the booth until the credits rolled, shook the hand of each departing customer, and personally locked up once the last staff member made their way out. Then, finding his way to the middle seat in the center row, Moon sat and stared at a blank screen. He sat there until the mall closed and then opened, and dawn crawled over the horizon.

Sun had already made his way out for his morning shift after being reassured, once again, that he was alright. Moon found his way to their shared bedroom alone and got himself plugged in for the night. He would often dream in this state, but tonight he hoped they would stay away. He wanted nothing but stillness. An empty, boring sleep.

Maybe that would put this nervous feeling to rest.

[riewritten]

cooking something for sweet subtleties, my go-to series when i'm undergoing heavy plot block <3

tags: healing from implied sexual harassment, explicit content, masturbation

[consvlting]

𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫.

"Shibari can be problematic if not well-researched." he says while inspecting the hanging contraption for safety. A crash test dummy was horizontally suspended from it, expertly wrapped in specialized bondage ropes. "The most common injuries normally occur on the humeral radial nerves. To decrease any chance of acute damage, you want to principally memorize where the deltoid tuberosity is and avoid it."

[fridayyy-13th]

hooooo boy. i've got my Spanish class today, which i feel deeply, woefully underprepared for (first two years of Spanish classes were hindered by the other teacher at my junior high quitting on the first day, leaving my teacher juggling two sets of students alongside a long-term sub, so we only got through half the material that first year, and spent the entire second year playing catch-up. Spanish III, which i took voluntarily, went okay, but Spanish IV, also taken voluntarily, was an AP class i really struggled in. and, bc i took it, i got dropped straight into Intermediate Spanish without a placement test, and i'm two years out of actively learning the language, though i've tried to keep up with what i know. which is definitely less than i should know for an intermediate college class.)

[pherryt]

Angsty One Piece Zoro/Sanji Snippet

Law bursting in on Zoro and Sanji who haven't moved, showered or eaten in days. "This is unhealthy behavior, and you have to cut it out."

They stare at him blankly until one of them whispers – he thinks it was Sanji - "Why should we care?"

Law grits his teeth and instructs himself towards patience. They've been through a lot, after all. "Because you're hurting yourselves worse like this. You could even die."

It was Zoro who spoke this time, his voice so dead it makes Law shiver. "So?"

Law, desperate, blurts, "Maybe even someone else."

Their breaths catch and both of them still. Law smiles triumphantly. It was a dirty trick, but if it brings them to their senses…

Law's victory burst when Zoro says finally, "So? You can fix us."

Law splutters. "What?!!

Sanji nods, limp hair hiding his face. "Yeah, you healed our bodies. Can't you just do the same with our minds?" There is a note of pleading in that voice and it hurts to hear.

Law closes his eyes and feels himself twitch. "I'm not that kind of doctor! I'm not even remotely qualified to be fucking with your brains!"

Brain surgery was something completely different, he thinks.

Sanji shrugs, moving Zoro with him. "Well. It's not like you can possibly make things worse."

Law's horrified screech rings through the Polar Tang, echoing off walls and hitting the ears of the crew.

Penguin looks up as Shachi winces. "Sounds like the Straw Hat therapy session is going well."

Bepo cocks his head thoughtfully. "Is captain even qualified for that?"

- Notes: This snippet inspired by @gaypiratehell‘s All Dead Au / Everyone Dies but Zosan Au from Twitter

[milo-my-beloved]

dream of better nights

A happy ending for Helnik after ep8, as requested by @rebelside!

Nina hasn't fought so hard and so long to let Matthias stay in Hellgate.

Read it under the cut // Read on AO3.

The guards grab Nina just as she’s raising her arms to stop Pekka Rollins’ heart.

Their fingers dig into her skin so hard that she can already feel the bruises forming, but she doesn’t register any pain. All she can focus on is the piece of paper she’s fought so hard to get. All she can see is it floating to the dirty ground, disappearing into the crowd.

Writing in their arms, she tests out the strength of their grip. The guards are used to dragging around muscled men with years of combat training, and she bets they’ve had their fair share of experience dealing with Grisha, too. They know enough to keep her arms behind her back, and that means this isn’t a fight she can win.

Desperate, she lurches forwards once more and screams out the name she’s been holding onto for the past month. “Matthias!”

He looks up, and their eyes lock. Confusion flickers over his bloodied face, and then a much darker emotion.

“Matthias!” she repeats, her voice hoarse from shouting. It’s the first time they’ve managed to see each other in weeks, and they’re both being dragged away to an even worse situation.

He lunges towards her, attempting to shake off the four guards holding him back. He shouts something, but the noise of the crowd drowns it out before it can reach Nina’s ears.

Everything she fought for, everything they survived for… gone, because of Pekka Rollins.

She glances up at him to find him smiling down at her, all teeth, like the wolves Matthias refused to fight. Nina should have killed him where he stood in the Emerald Palace. She should have ripped his heart right out of his chest in front of all his deranged followers. She was a fool for thinking Hellgate would be enough to stop him, and if he were standing in front of her now, she would tell Kaz exactly how much of an idiot he is.

The guards yank her backwards and the crowd steps in to surround the cage, vying for the best view. Her heart nearly stops when she sees the heel of someone’s boot grind into the pristine paper of Matthias’ pardon, and a new wave of fury washes over her.

The crowd boos as Matthias is dragged out of their sight, and Nina feels her only chance at rescuing slipping away from her quickly. Who does Rollins think he is, stopping a powerful Grisha and a trained Druskelle from being with each other? He is nothing more than a lonely man that fell victim to the same scam that killed Kaz’s brother and so many other fools, but they are two people who have survived more than he could dream of, who have fought for a love so strong it transcended the laws of two countries.

Nina Zenik is a fighter, and she does not intend to lose the love of her life to a man she has seen on his knees.

Inej would have already stabbed the bruisers holding her back by now, and Kaz would have smashed their skulls in with his cane. Nina may not be armed, but that doesn’t mean she’s useless.

She faints.

The sudden dead weight in the men’s arms is enough of a shock for them to drop her, and she has to withhold a grunt as she slams into the ground rather ungracefully. The split second of uncertainty gives her the opportunity to slice her elbow up in a sharp arc, slamming into the closest guard’s solar plexus.

Jumping to her feet as gracefully as she can, Nina whirls around with a wild grin on her face and claps her hands together in the familiar formations she was taught in the Little Palace. The other guard clutches a hand to his chest, heaving for breath as she squeezes his heart. He drops to the ground next to his colleague and the crowd around her cheers, excited that the fight is far from over.

There’s no time to hesitate. Nina shoves her way to the bars of the cafe, cursing that she can’t rip through the metal like a Durast. Quickly retrieving the pardon from the floor and shoving it under one armpit, she brings her arms back up and stares straight into Rollins’ eyes as she knocks the four guards holding Matthias unconscious.

Panting for breath, she holds up the crumpled piece of paper. “I have a pardon for Matthias Helvar signed by King Nikolai Lantsov, so unless someone fancies opening this Saintsforsaken cage in the next thirty seconds, I’ll assume you’re stupid enough to offend the new ruler of Ravka.”

Rollins shakes his head at the guards Nina left standing. “Do you really think leaving Hellgate is so easy, witch?”

She huffs. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not stupid enough to beg a Barrel rat to let me sign a confession saying I murdered a stadwatch officer and one of the richest women in Ketterdam.”

He wrinkles his nose, glancing away from her. The crowd are quiet, hanging onto her every word, waiting to see who will cave first. She wouldn’t be surprised if they started placing bets.

“Perhaps you need some more motivation,” Nina suggests. She shoves the pardon into the bust of her dress and raises her hands once more, smiling as Rollins looks down in horror at a wet patch spreading down the legs of his neatly ironed trousers.

There’s silence, for a moment. Nina swears she can hear her own heartbeat. And then someone in the audience giggles, and the entire room erupts into laughter.

“Stop this!” Rollins bellows, but none of his guards move. Kaz humiliated him in front of his gang, and she has humiliated him in front of all his customers and the few people who were dumb enough to remain loyal to him. Shame is a much more powerful tool than any pain she could have caused him.

The guard she hit in the privates snatches the paper out of her dress. “No—” she starts, but she stops when she realises he doesn’t intend to confiscate it. “Buy me dinner first.”

“Looks legitimate to me,” he mutters to his colleague.

The other man nods his head towards the door and pounds his fist against the bars twice. “Let ‘im out! And someone get Rollins out of here.”

A clang bounces off the mouldy stone walls. The iron door underneath the wine-red Pekka Rollins swings open, giving Matthias a clear path to the exit. Nina rushes around to greet him, stopping only a few feet away and glancing up as Rollins is carted off by some angry guards.

“I dreamed about you,” is the first thing Matthias says.

“I’m so sorry.” The words flood out of her like the waves that sunk their ship. “I can explain everything, and I understand if you don’t want to hear it. But please leave with me now before someone changes their mind.”

She holds out her hand, embarrassed at how it trembles.

Matthias looks down at it, weighing his options. When he intertwines his calloused fingers with hers, Nina thinks she might faint for real, but she only tugs him towards the boat waiting for them.

“Where are we headed?” he asks.

“Somewhere beyond Fjerda or Ravka,” she replies, a giddy rush of relief flowing through her. “Somewhere where we can be just Nina and Matthias, and not Grisha and Druskelle.”

“You warned me away from living in Kerch,” he says, the corners of his lips tugging his frown into a smile.

She glances back at him as they near the doors, the salty sea wind blowing her hair into her face. “It might take some getting used to. But I’ve already made some brilliant friends who will help us go wherever we wish if we change our mind.” She squeezes his hand. “But first, I believe I still owe you a waffle.”

[starlitangels]

@frenchiefitzhere for you, my friend! 875 words

—

The Imperium can say what it will about President Lasko Moore of the Imperial Academy of Dahlia, but no one can ever deny he is observant.

A long day came and went, and in the blink of an eye, you’re knocking on the door to his house. It’s late. He’s probably in the process of getting ready to go to sleep for the night—

“Well. I’ll admit I didn’t expect to see you on my porch tonight,” he says with a slight smile curling on the corners of his lips. It quickly vanishes as his eyes flick up and down, taking you in. “What’s wrong?”

“Long day,” you mutter.

Blinking to try and stop the stinging of dry eyes, you take a moment to really look at him.

He’s still in his work clothes—but his tie is loose, the knot below even his sternum, and there are three buttons of his shirt undone. You can just catch a glimpse of ink on his chest. The edge of that tattoo. He takes a step back and opens the door wider. “Come in,” he says.

You duck into the house. Wrapping an arm around you, he closes his front door and leads you into the living room, sitting on the couch and guiding you into his lap.

“Tell me everything,” he insists.

Almost like he’d magically compelled you to, like a vampire’s trance, you do. Every irritation, every frustration, every piece of the day that had rubbed you the wrong way. You go and go and go until you have no more words left. Until your complaint of the alarm going off in the morning has left your lips and there’s nothing left from your day that he doesn’t know.

Lasko sits beneath you, running a hand idly over your back, and listens. Honestly, sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s tuned you out, but it never seems like he does. He asks questions and follows up on them days later. It never feels like he’s tuned you out.

When you’re finished, he takes a deep breath. “Are we looking for solutions or were you just wanting to get it off your chest?” he asks finally.

“Uh...” You’re honestly not entirely sure.

“Because I have several solutions I’m ready to give you. But I know that’s not always what you’re looking for, dear,” he continues. “Granted, you always shoot down my solutions as being too harsh so...” He almost giggles. “Maybe you don’t want them.”

“I’m fine with just getting it off my chest.”

He sucks the back of his teeth in a tsk noise and twists a pink curl around his finger. Yours. You blink at it. He’s being so gentle you can barely feel the slight tug at the roots. “Shame,” he says. “Some of my ideas are particularly delicious.” He pauses, regarding you. “But, if you want to just sit here with your head on my chest, we can do that.”

You rest your head to his chest. Your position had pulled his button-down aside enough to expose the entire feather on his pectoral. You rest your cheek against it, listening to the gentle, steady beat of his heart.

“How was the academy for you today? You heard how it was for me,” you say.

He tsk, tsk, tsks and shakes his head. “None of that, my dear,” he croons. “It doesn’t matter how my day was. If yours was bad, then that’s what I’ll focus on.” He runs a hand through that blond hair of his, mussing it in a way that he’s only ever let you see. You’re fairly certain no one has seen the professional, put-together academy president in such a casual state since before he was a student at the academy. 

You’re more than well aware that he saves this particular look of his just for you.

“But—”

“Ah-ah,” he interrupts. “Not tonight. I know that you want to reciprocate, and I appreciate it. But that’s not what you need right now.” He kisses the crown of your head. He rubs your back again. “Right now, you just need me. Holding you. Keeping you safe. The academy works us both hard, Frenchie. And there are days when one of us handles it better than the other. That’s fine. That’s what give-and-take is about, understand?”

“I... guess you’re right.”

“D’aw. Of course I am.” Another kiss pops onto the back of your head. “Now. Be a good girl and let me hold you here, okay?”

“Okay.”

His arms wrap around you. The fake, decorative fireplace turns on, pretend flames swaying back and forth lazily in a way that true fire is too fast for. He rocks slightly. More on instinct than a conscious choice.

“Lasko?” you ask quietly.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Thanks.”

He gives you a small smile. “It’s what we do for each other, Frenchie.”

You wrap his tie around your hand where it’s still loose around his neck and tug on it. He chuckles and lets you pull him closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Just sit with me,” he whispers. “It’s going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”

“That’s a dangerous promise, President Moore.”

“Aw. And one I’d only ever make for you.”

[crescentmp3]

my god. help my soul

[psiobug]

I love learning languages (currently learning Portuguese :>) but then I'm also just way too nervous to actually practice it and so I just end up only really attempting to type out what I know and having no idea if it's correct or not 💀

Gotta love being mildly perfectionistic over something that you will most definitely make mistakes while doing :D

[5ellaal5]

Summary:

a Simple English (English for Foreign Language Learners) Aloy/Kotallo scene.

Kotallo invites Aloy: help me test my new metal arm! Aloy invites Kotallo: help me use a workbench at a shelter! They both want to do more with each other. For example, keep each other warm in the snow!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Horizon (Video Games) Rating: Explicit (for some reason I can’t find the button that makes this “Mature” on Tumblr. I’m trying!)

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aloy/Kotallo (Horizon) Characters: Aloy (Horizon), Kotallo (Horizon), a Scorcher (Horizon), GAIA (Horizon) Additional Tags: Getting Together, Simple English, Writing Smut for my Japanese Friends, Learn English Through Porn, the Scorcher Date (Horizon), Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Hand Jobs, Penis In Vagina Sex, Condoms Series: Part 8 of Alts and Scenes and Prompt Responses

[watery-melon-baller]

not sure why but I'm still feeling like. an underlying wave of anxiety. why. there is nothing to be anxious about I got all the big things Done. I already had the massive anxiety. What more do you want from me