#queue do not yield

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

What are you batty about this autumn?

[anipgarden]

Ani Reviews: Hellstrip Gardening

Alrighty homies here's another Informal Book Review. This is the second time I've done a book review, but I hope this is helpful!

[Photo ID: a book, titled "Hellstrip Gardening: Create a paradise between the sidewalk and the curb" by Evelyn J. Hadden (Author of Beautiful No-Mow Yards) With photographs by Joshua McCullough, Foreword by Lauren Springer Ogden]

Out of the seven books I checked out from the library this round, I picked this one second because not only was I looking forward to the read, but so were some friends in my gardening server! Its one of, if not the longest book in the stack--the main contents are 279 pages total--but its definitely well worth the read! You can see where I live blogged it here.

The inspiration and energy in this book is potent! By the time I finished reading the foreword and the introduction, I was already dreaming up new gardening projects to work on next spring, and that energy stayed up all the way until the end! It definitely helps that the photos in this book are absolutely gorgeous! Seriously, even if you aren't wanting to make a front yard garden, I'd recommend this book for cool garden photos alone! This is another one of those books that's way more relevant if you're the home owner, or a landscaper (or just got permission from your parents to do some front yard gardening), but even still so much of the advice in this book is great for just about any kind of gardening as well! Between beautiful photos of front yard gardens others have already done, tons of encouragement and advice on how to handle anything from trees to poor soils to outdated laws and HOA boards, and a deluge of plant recommendations for different grow zones and purposes, it's definitely a valuable resource!

After the introduction, this book is separated into four major sections referred to as Parts. There's Inspirations, Situations, Creation, and Curbside-Worthy Plants. If you're looking for ideas on what a converted yard can look like, Inspirations and Creation is the place to go. If you're unsure how to do so with any specific circumstances you may be facing, Situations is the section for you. So on and so forth. All in all, between the gorgeous photos, and the amazing content, this was a fairly quick read for me!

I will say, this is a book aimed directly for gardeners in the US. While some of the general advice might be good for people abroad, at the end of the day its a book written in an American perspective for gardeners in America. That being said, it focuses on America as a whole--so if you're hoping for a dedicated section on how to do what you want in your state specifically, you might get lucky, you might get unlucky. I know the example garden for my state wasn't anything I'd be excited about, meanwhile there's three sample gardens for Minnesota (two in Minneapolis) and there's only twelve sample gardens in the book! Also, if you're looking for a book to tell you to only ever use native plants in your garden, this isn't the one--the book will eagerly encourage you use native plants, and will implore you to remove any invasive plants that may be on your property, but is also more than welcome to recommending well behaved non-native plants. Let it be known that I don't think this is a problem at all! But if you're picky about that, I'm just letting that be known.

Oh and also one final note. The book is called Hellstrip Gardening, and it does talk about hellstrips, but it doesn't only talk about hellstrips. A good chunk of the example gardens don't even have hellstrips. This book talks plenty about full yard transformation! Which I find fantastic and enlightening! If you're looking for a book that's only about hellstrips, though, this isn't it.

All in all, this is an amazing book with amazing photos, 10/10 could probably show to someone to get them to see the light of front yard gardens.

[sorcererofsolitude]

Yoko: Guys! I can't find Divina anywhere. You gotta help me find her, it's important!

Enid: Where'd you see her last?

Yoko, smirking: Just after dinner when I had her for dessert.

Wednesday rolls her eyes, returning to her book.

Enid: TMI, vamps. I have her scent, I can just follow it!

The scent trail leads back to their dorm, but no one seems to be there.

Enid: That's weird, I could have sworn she'd be in here.

Yoko: Only one way to be sure...

Yoko pulls out her phone and plays the Friends theme song. A distict series of claps is heard from under the bed when it gets to that part of the song.

Yoko: HA! I got you!

Divina, making no move to get out from under the bed: It took you 42 minutes to find me. That's a new record.

Yoko, pumping her fist in triumph: You know what that means??

Divina: A romantic picnic!

Yoko, at the same time: Strip poker!

...

Yoko: Oh, uh... y-yeah, your thing is good, too.

Divina, grinning: I don't see why we can't do both.

Enid, eyes widening: Oookay, I think that's our queue to leave.

Wednesday, mumbling to herself: Perhaps I'll take up their strange form of hide and seek as well, if this is the result it yields.

Enid: Wens, I think you forget how good my hearing is sometimes...

Wednesday froze. Perhaps the challenge should be to see how quickly an Addams can turn from grey to red.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 2, Unspeakable, Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) No language in this one; I am SHOOK! Brief mentions of sex, Tolkien nerds, the first appearance of the green-eyed monster, repressing of feelings.

Word Count: 603

Previously On...: Girls' Night with your friends led to some... interesting discussion about your friendship with Bucky.

A/N: Was this scene absolutely necessary? No. Could I resist including a moment to showcase the adorableness of Bucky and Pocket's friendship? Absolutely not.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)  @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp

About an hour later, you were getting ready to watch the first Hobbit movie. You'd changed into your pajamas and were getting your movie snacks in order. Bucky was sprawled atop your mattress; the two of you hardly slept apart anymore, and you alternated whose room you stayed in. Tonight was your turn to host the Nightmare Sleepover, as you'd come to call it.

"How was Girl's Night," Bucky asked as he watched you put on your lotion.

"Interesting," you replied, rubbing the lilac-scented balm into your skin. You knew how much he loved the smell of it, so you always made sure to have it on hand. "They think we're sleeping together, so they wanted all the salacious details."

"Doll," he chuckled, rolling onto his side to get a better view of you, "we are sleeping together."

You shot him an arched glance. "You know what I mean."

Bucky fiddled with his vibranium thumb and looked up at you through his lashes. "What did you tell them?"

You plopped yourself next to him on the bed, grinning. "Well, obviously, I told them you're hung like a horse and have the stamina of a steam engine, but that you always cry after you come and you insist on calling me 'mommy.' It’s fairly off-putting."

"You are an absolute menace!" He lunged for you and began tickling you without mercy. You fought him off as valiantly as you could, but you were no match for a super soldier and you both knew it.

"Yield!" you cried, breathless, a few moments later. "I yield!" He reluctantly let you go so you could catch your breath. "I told them the truth-- we're just friends," you said once you could talk again, "but they all think you're very sexy and one of them-- and I will not say which one-- said she would let you do, and I quote, ‘unspeakable things to her body.’"

Bucky's face lit up like a Christmas tree; you knew how much he relished any kind of praise. It was like physical touch-- he had been deprived of it for so long, he was starved for it. "Was it Natasha? It was Nat, wasn't it?"

The readiness at which he jumped to that conclusion left a gross feeling in the pit of your stomach. All you could do was give him a tight-lipped smile and shrug your shoulders, playing coy. You definitely did not want to examine why his comment made you feel so icky.

"We should get this movie going," you told him, instead. "Otherwise we'll be up all night." Bucky fluffed up your pillows against your headboard while you fiddled with the remote to queue up the film. Because this was Tony's place, you didn't have a regular television. Instead, your room was equipped with a projector embedded in the ceiling, and the entire wall opposite your bed was the screen. It was as good as a movie theater.

"Are you excited?" you asked as you leaned back against the pillows next to Bucky.

"Are you kidding me?" he said, scooting closer to you until your shoulders were touching and passing you an open pack of Twizzlers. "Watching an adaptation of my favorite book with my best girl? I've been looking forward to this since the moment you told me there were movies."

A warmth flooding your insides like liquid sunshine. You poked his mouth with a Twizzler until he opened up and ripped a bite off of it. Grinning, you took a bite and rested your head on his shoulder, feeling completely content in this moment with your best friend.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

He’s spent years cultivating the persona that is Steve The Hair Harrington. Has memorized social queues and comebacks and conversation topics so he doesn’t lose his footing when he finds himself enveloped in conversation. Learned how to do his hair perfectly. How to dress. How to smile. How to laugh, because everything he has, his entire reputation, depends on doing these things the right way.

And now he’s letting it all go to shit.

Since graduating, he’s fallen out of his rhythm. Slips up more when he socializes. Says things that often don’t make sense, rambles, and lets his confusion be known when he doesn’t understand what’s being said to him. Hence why Robin lovingly refers to him as dingus, as though she’s any better.

But now he’s really off his game. All it takes is a silly joke, something about the little bear things from Star Wars, and he laughs.

Steve doesn’t often laugh in public, at least, not with his real laugh. Jokes tend to go over his head and when he does understand them, he doesn’t always react correctly. Laughs too hard. Doesn’t laugh hard enough. So he tries to gauge other peoples’ reactions before he chuckles politely, which always seems to yield positive reactions.

The way he laughs right now is not polite. He’s crouched on the floor near the center of an aisle, shelving tapes. Snickering crudely as he grabs a copy of Back To The Future from the box at his side.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s doing it until it’s too late. Until customers start looking at him like he’s insane and he snaps his mouth shut.

“That’s cute.”

“What?”

Steve looks up. Spies Eddie leaning against the shelves with an amused look on his face.

“Your laugh,” he supplies. “Never heard it before. It’s cute.”

Something freezes in Steve. Like every thought suddenly decides to go on break all at once, leaving his mind vacant.

He knows he’s waited too long to react when Eddie nudges his sneaker against the box of tapes.

“I didn’t think you’d be into Star Wars. You seen ‘em all?” Eddie asks.

“Uh, yeah. Bits and pieces.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

Steve reaches for the next tape. Makes a popping sound with his lips that’s too loud, and he cringes.

“Return of the Jedi. I like the bears.”

“The Ewoks?”

“Yeah.”

“Y’know, they have a couple of their own movies if you ever wanna watch ‘em. They’re spin-offs, but still pretty good.” Eddie crosses his arms nonchalantly. “If you’d be into that.”

Suddenly, Steve’s thoughts all return from having their smoke, and he spreads a goofy grin.

“I’d love that!” he blurts.

Too loud. Too enthusiastic. He immediately grimaces and ducks his head, avoiding looking at Eddie.

He’s not sure why this is suddenly so hard. Why he can’t just make himself be normal anymore like he used to. Part of him wonders if it’s because he’s not as social as he used to be. Another part wonders if it’s because his brain has been scrambled too much by all of the Upside Down shenanigans.

Or maybe it’s because he feels weird around Eddie now that they’re kinda sorta friends. Kinda sorta really friends.

“It’s a date, then,” Eddie chuckles.

His choice of words makes Steve burn brighter than the god damn sun.

“Neat.”

Neat? Oh, Steve is gonna get an earful from Robin later. He can’t help but make a face again out of habit. Inwardly chastising himself yet again.

He makes another popping sound with his mouth.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks.

“What’s what?”

Steve shuffles down the aisle. Tries unsuccessfully to return his focus to the task at hand.

“That sound you keep making.”

As if things couldn’t get any worse.

“Oh, it’s uh…” Steve begins. Pops his lips again and immediately shakes his head. “I just do it sometimes.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

Steve does it again. Sighs and rubs his hand over his face, pinching his lips together when Eddie chuckles at him.

“Sorry. Long day,” he supplies. “I only do it when I’m focused.”

“I noticed that, too.” Eddie crouches down next to him. Reaches into the box and examines the first tape that he grabs. “You don’t have to apologize for it, I was just wondering is all.”

“Mm.”

“It’s actually kinda cute.”

If Steve didn’t know any better, he would think that Eddie The Freak Munson is flirting with him right now. He doesn’t know better, but still. Even attempting to wrap his head around that is too much right now.

“It’s annoying.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment. Steve can see him staring out of the corner of his eye. Then, Eddie pops his lips.

And Steve can’t help it. He mimics the sound and blushes harder when he’s snickered at.

“Nah, Harrington, I hate to argue with you, but it’s pretty cute. Almost as cute as Ewokese.” When Steve just glances at him, he continues, “Y’know, the language of the teddy bear things?”

The ugly laugh comes out again at the thought of the little creature’s gibberish language, and Steve claps a hand over his mouth. Eddie is absolutely beaming at him.

“You really like them, huh?” Eddie muses. He chuckles as he stands up. Drops the tape back into the box with a thunk. “Better bring that cute laugh with you when we have our Ewok movie marathon or I’m gonna be disappointed.”

“Yeah,” Steve manages flatly.

He winces at his tone, but his attention is pulled to Eddie when he hums thoughtfully.

“How about your place this Friday?”

The guy’s expression is… kind. It’s a stark difference to what Steve is used to when he slips up like this. To the countless mean looks that he’s received from Tommy H. and Carol over the years. Even sometimes from Robin, though there’s never any malice behind it.

Forget about Nancy.

But Eddie is different. Like he’s laughing with Steve instead of at him, and that’s oddly comforting.

“Yeah,” Steve says, softer this time.

“Neat.” Eddie gives a salute before he turns on his heel and struts down the aisle. “Don’t work too hard, cutie.”

The little bell above the door jingles as he leaves, and Steve bites his lip to hide his smile.

He returns to shelving tapes. Makes a collection of popping sounds as he works. Considers that maybe, just maybe it isn’t such a bad thing that he isn’t as good at upholding his old persona as he used to be.

After all, Steve is the one who got a date with Eddie Munson this Friday. Not The Hair.

[the-wip-project]

Bad Brain Days

Today I’m having a bad brain day.

It’s not that my brain is misbehaving. It’s just having a rough time functioning.

You might call it something else, and it has numerous causes, a bad night’s sleep, a flare up of a chronic health condition, medication issues, a short term illness, or simply being overwhelmed with responsibilities.

Whatever the cause, we all have days when our brain doesn’t want to do what it’s supposed to, ie: think.

Which is bad for life in general, and particularly bad for the thinky work of writing.

So what does a committed writer do when faced with a bad brain day?

The first and simplest thing is yield. If your body is telling you to rest, it’s a good idea to heed it.

I don’t advocate for pushing yourself to write every single day. (unless streaks really work well for you, in that case streak on!) It’s especially important if your bad brain days are often caused by feeling overwhelmed.

No doubt you have things you must get done: work, classes, child or elder care, household responsibilities. Things you can’t skip just because you’re not feeling up to it. So do yourself a favor and skip the non-vital tasks, like writing. Just for today.

But perhaps that writing habit thing is starting to catch hold and you’re looking forward to your writing session as something you do for yourself, but sadly your brain just won’t go in the words and ideas direction. What then?

The best thing is to make a list of what you can do. If you have low brain usefulness days frequently, on a good day try coming up with a list of things you can do on slow brain days.

Here’s some ideas to get you started.

1. Read. Skip the social media doom scroll, turn off your devices, and read something on paper. It could be an old favorite that feels comforting, it could be something new and exciting, but either way, focus on what makes the book or story good. We hear a lot about reading critically, and finding fault seems to dominate that. But try reading to admire. Pay attention to what you enjoy, what makes you smile, what makes you feel immersed. Read with the intention of enjoyment.

2. Do something story adjacent. If you like posting about your WIP on socials, find a few good pull quotes and queue them up. Or create a synopsis or pitch to keep on file for whenever someone asks what you’re writing. If you like making visual stuff like mood boards, make one for a scene or character.

3. Feeling up to diving into the work itself? How about updating your outline? Read over what you have written and add whatever changes you’ve made to the outline. It doesn’t have to be complex. Just try making one sentence summaries of each scene. You can do this if you didn’t have an outline to begin with too.

4. Talk to a friend about your writing. Writers need social interaction and if your writing has been consuming a lot of your spare time, just connecting with a friend might be what you need. (and don’t make it all about your writing! Be a good friend!)

5. Make starting tomorrow easier. Do non writing stuff that smooths the way, like tidying up the formatting or layout, creating blank chapters or scenes, or even sketching out a scene without making an attempt to fill in all the blanks.

Finally, don’t make any major decisions about your WIP on a bad brain day. You might do something your regret. Instead make notes on any major cuts or changes that feel needed, and look at them again on a day when you feel good.

And don’t make your writing another burden that makes everything too hard to carry. Tomorrow, when your head is (hopefully) clearer, take the time to assess if your writing is too much. To consider if the goals you’ve set yourself are workable with your current life situation. There’s no shame in dialing things back. If writing 250 words a day is too much, consider reducing it to 200. Or adding in more days off. Or considering a lower pressure project. Writing short fiction instead of tackling The Novel.

Most of all, remember that a solid writing practice is first of all a healthy one. So take care of yourself.

—Maree

Subscribe to my substack to make sure you don't miss a post, chat with me on the WIP Project discord, and tag any posts you make about the challenge with #slomowrino if you want me to see them!

[cornerstoreclown]

Leashed

Summary: This is a short one-shot (3563 words approx.) where the reader (Gender Neutral) has Art on a leash and is riding him. It’s all fun and games here!  The reader is AFAB, but their specific sexual bits below the belt are not mentioned in this fic by name. In addition, the reader’s chest is not elaborated on if they have breasts or not. Just wanted to give a heads up as to what is in this so people who sit down and read it know what to expect so that they can assess if this is something they’d like to crack open or not. :) 

Warnings/Contents: Light BSDM because Art’s on a leash, some fluff, sex, some... LIGHT ROMANCE?!

Author’s notes: I realize Art’s suit has a zipper in the back and for the sake of this one-shot, he’s got a slightly different costume going on. Because you know what? We deserve clothed sex. And I fully intend on doing more of it in the future. It’s MY kink, and I’m driving this car!   This fic really let me write Art a little gentler in comparison to the more intense BDSM one I had initially published. If this one doesn’t speak to you, I’m doing a gender neutral blowjob next. And if you don’t like that, then... I got other stuff still on my queue! It’ll take a little time though, I’m taking a small break after this to recharge. 

------------------------------------------------------  

You have to admit, Art looked good with a collar and chain leash—just as good as the new costume you got him in. He couldn’t keep wearing the same clown suit over and over again. The new one looks similar to the one he already had, only it came in two pieces versus one. You managed to convince him that he’d need to eventually switch it out every so often. He didn’t have to wear this one as much if he didn’t want to, but at least preserve the original as much as he can. It still had the pom-poms, still had the colors split down the middle and on his sleeves, he still had his cap, hat, and gloves. Same shoes, too. He even has the ruffle around his neck on this one. Art was just a creature of habit, and you understood, you were too and sympathized, but still stressed the importance of having a backup costume.

At least with this outfit, he had pants, which was part of the reason why you were so excited that he finally yielded to the idea. It was so funny, he was pushy for when he wanted something from you, but wasn’t necessarily a fan of when the tables were turned on him. Hypocrite. You’ve pointed that out but he’s only shrugged it off or given you a dismissive wave. He didn’t want to hear it. Never did.

He didn’t have his pants all the way on anyway, it was pulled down just enough to expose his dick. You lack any pants or undergarments yourself, only adorning a plain sweater while you keep his cock between your thighs to keep him warm. He’s partially firm, and you’re sitting atop him. Nothing more, nothing less. It is taking a lot of self control on your part to not just slide him in yourself, but that was part of foreplay, wasn’t it?

“How are you doing? Okay so far?” 

Art’s under you, glancing up at you as you’ve got the leash wrapped around your forearm multiple times. You’re not tugging on it too tightly right now. Not yet, anyway. Art’s smile is wide, eagerly nodding his head. He looks quite pleased to be in the position he’s in, and it makes sense. He enjoyed being able to sit back while someone else did all the work. And you are his favorite. 

“Good.” You purse your lips and try to fight your lips from turning upward into a grin, but fail. Art looks… cute like this. He looks happy. Giddy, even, moving his head side to side a little while waiting. It’s a little jarring how someone so dangerous is so… innocent in behavior right now.

For as long as you’ve both been together, he’s never once shown signs of wavering interest. Existing was a chore, and no matter what changes to your body you would go through the day to day experiences, whether it be an accidental scar, the change of your hair, any bruises, tattoos, piercings, body shape change, muscle gain or loss, weight gain or loss, and just about anything else you could possibly think of—he was there for you, with you, unrelenting just as he was with his terrorizing humanity every October. To him, you were the epitome of all that he could want, all that he could ask for, and you were wonderful the way you were. You are loyal. You care for him and about him. For a man who sliced people up for fun, he adored the person who inhabited the form you hold.  He didn’t have room to judge, anyway. Not that he would. Perhaps that was just another thing you really like about him–he was fairly unbiased. 

The bed was comfortable. It was your bed, after all. You weren’t going back to his place, wherever the fuck that was this year. He moves around all the time to keep people off his tail, so it makes sense. However, you liked the comfort of your own space anyway. 

“Up.” You tell him, giving a tug on the leash, yanking it back. You’re leaning forward until he props himself up halfway with his elbows, and when the both of you meet, your faces are inches away from each other. 

He’s a good listener, you’ll give him that. 

His lips are parted, no smile nor frown present as he waits in anticipation for your next move, and you stare into those mesmerizing eyes of his. He’s got the same half lidded gaze as you right now. Up close, he smells distinctly like … a kind of burnt spice, and smoke. Especially smoke. The man often smells like he’s been standing in a firepit half the time when he wasn’t smelling like death itself. It was usually one or the other. 

What is he thinking? What goes on behind those eyes of his? You’ll never know. But it’s surreal knowing that you’re this close to a murderer, a man who has killed countless people, possessing such supernatural powers and yet viciously slaughtering them through human means. He could choke you right now. It’d be easy. He could use the leash you are holding and wrap it around your neck and squeeze so hard until your head would feel like it’d pop clean off. 

What does he see in you? You don’t know. But you’re not going to question it. Instead, you give into what drives you, and bring your lips to his and close your eyes. You tilt your head a bit because of his nose, and you feel the hot exhale of your breath hit his face and bounce off of him, back onto you. His taste is bitter, and you’re well aware how many would throw up at the thought of kissing this man, but you weren’t like other people. You’re a little fucked up in the head, kind of like Art, but not as severe. That’s why kissing him didn’t bother you, and that’s probably why, now that you think about it, it’s one of the reasons why he likes you. Being nice didn’t solely get you places with Art, you had to have an edge or something for him to bounce off of, and you were rubbery enough in the personality department for him. 

His tongue pushes past your lips and you let him, kissing him passionately as you relax and you feel your body temperature rise. He’s exhaling through his nose too, but the heat that hits your face from him is far more intense than yours was earlier, and you start to realize that the reason your body is heating up as fast as it is, is because Art is a furnace. Heat is radiating from him in such a way that you could swear that he’s almost running a light fever, yet he’s not the slightest bit sickly seeming, if you exclude his mental state. He can’t be just a man. He’s some sort of demon, or a demon that’s inhabiting the body of a man, you’re convinced of it. But whatever otherworldly force is within him, you’re getting a taste of it, and it’s potent, and it’s addictive. He’s addictive. 

You’re already feeling that familiar wetness between your thighs grow, the gentle throb impossible to ignore. You caress the side of his face mid kiss, and hold onto it still when you pull away, slowly opening your eyes. He didn’t bite your lip this time. He liked to do that a lot. You did tell him you were in charge tonight. He must be committed to being on his best behavior. He was good at roleplay and it made sense–he’s a clown, after all. A performer at heart. 

He leans into your touch and you see it in his eyes–that flicker of contentment. Had you blinked, you’d have missed it. You’re not sure if he’s capable of feeling love, but if he were, what you saw would make you believe so. 

“You’re being a good boy so far,” You tell him. 

He now holds his head high, looking pleased with the praise. You stroke his cheek one last time, then place your hand on his chest, and rest it there. You’re not sure if it’s because of his clothes that are in the way or what, but you take note that you don’t feel his heartbeat. Did he even really have one? You’re not sure, but all the times you have checked in the past, you don’t really remember sending anything. It’s hard to tell if who is beneath you is a man or some sort of entity, but the mystery is and has always been the appeal. 

You give him another kiss, savoring the bitterness one more time before using the hand on his chest to push him down flat on his back roughly. Art goes willingly, giving a corrupt grin as he watches you through half lidded eyes. You think for a second he looks a little enamored with you. 

And why wouldn’t he be? He finds you attractive and hasn’t shied away from making that explicitly clear in the past. Even during the days you didn’t personally think so, he thought so. He adores you alive as you are now, or even potentially dead in his hands by those homicidal itches that often would leave him daydreaming about breaking your limbs, tearing you to shreds with his own teeth like the animal that he was.

He’s also made certain that you do not forget that he’s a predator, and you’ve only gotten this far because he’s allowed it. Right now, he might be yours, but outside of this roleplay, you’re his. Even in this moment, this dominance is in service to him. For him. It’s what he wanted just as much as you did.

You keep one hand on him for balance as you sit upright. 

The way that he watches you seems to have an air of hunger to it, and you aren’t sure if it’s literal or figurative, but you know you like the danger. Swallowing the dry lump in the back of your throat, you gently unwrap the leash off your forearm and set it to the side of you as you lift up the front of your sweatshirt, feeling the cool air hit your bare chest. The contrast between the warmth of your body and the chilly air as fall has set in gives you goosebumps. You feel your nipples go hard and the hair on your arms stand up. You haven’t even gotten the sweatshirt over your head entirely when you sense Art’s hand moving towards you, no doubt for the other end of the leash, and you can hear the chain jingle when he makes contact with it.

“Hey.” You say, and it’s in the tone of a warning. You feel Art’s hand retreat at that once he realizes he’s been caught. When you finally pull your sweater over your head, you toss it off to the side off the bed, where it hits the floor. You take hold of the lead again, wrapping it repeatedly around just your wrist this time. He thought he was being slick and now he’s showing off his impish grin from what he had just attempted. 

“Nice try.” 

Art extends his hands out now, wiggling his fingers at first in a pretty humorous way before hoping to make contact with you. You take both hands, guiding them to your waist. His nails scrape against your flesh as they drag up and down your sides. Slowly you move your hips, feeling his cock between your legs, using him as a means to stimulate yourself. You empty your lungs in one breath and fill them fully the next, glancing down at him as he’s watching you move atop him. His hands travel upwards to your chest, then back down to your waist, where he gives a squeeze and you give a gentle yelp in response. It was a little rough, but you didn’t mind it. He’s handsy, always has been. And he seems to find your reaction amusing, given his expression right now.

“Funny.” You tell him. His teeth are somewhat visible as he’s having a silent giggle to himself, the wrinkles present at the corner of his eyes from his smile. He really does think he’s hilarious.

The constant contact without penetration leaves you aching and empty, and you can feel the pulse of his cock between your thighs. He wants you just as bad as you want him. And whether by psychic connection or general understanding of being around him long enough, you can sense the slow rising impatience coming from Art. With that in mind, you’re very willing to oblige him with his needs as much as your own. Keeping him entertained was key. No matter how close the both of you were and how you think he might love you, you’re not willing to test how deep that theoretical love runs. That’s a life or death matter you’re not really wanting to explore. 

Taking a moment to adjust yourself, you lift yourself just enough so that you can line yourself up on his now erect cock. You lower yourself down on the head, and you hold your breath as you slowly sink down on his entire length, taking him fairly easily, but only because this isn’t your first rodeo with this clown. He feels great inside you, despite being a little big, but you’ve since learned how to take him proper. You were sized for him now. The girth and the way that he stretches you out is what makes you melt each time, and this time was no different. You remember seeing how big he was the first time and not being sure if you could even take it. 

“There.” You say, and you see how his eyes have since closed, smile gone, looking a little lost in the feeling of your warmth around him. His jaw is a little slack. You were tight. He loved the way you felt just as you loved the way he did. You begin to move your hips once you think he’s adjusted, keeping a slow and steady pace that’s not too fast. 

“Feels good?” You ask him, and he responds with a silent nod, opening his eyes to meet yours, teeth faintly showing in a weaker smile than before.

You lean forward over him a second time as you keep a rhythm, focused on the feeling of the fire slowly rising within you. Your stomach twists as if he’s got his own hand inside your guts when you make eye contact with him, and the feeling of infatuation you have for him is enough to make you physically sick. He’s getting harder, and you’re getting wetter. 

You’re staring down at him, and he’s staring up at you, watching your lips and how they’re parted slightly. Slowly, his hand reaches for your face, and you allow that, too. You let his thumb that’s now pressing against your lips slide in your mouth. His finger presses down on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around the digit and sigh. He presses his hand against your face as you nurse his thumb, and he seems thoroughly enthralled by how you’re taking him so sweetly. The only sound you can hear is yourself bouncing on his cock, your own stifled moans, and the jingling of his leash. 

Feeling a little devious, you give a playful nip to Art’s finger and let him have his hand back as you sit up again. Both of his hands return to his sides, meanwhile you plant one of yours down on his abdomen, the other bunching up the length of the leash around your wrist entirely so that there’s zero slack to the chain now. Your orgasm is close, and you’re determined to chase it until the very end. He’s since gotten bigger inside of you–he must be close too. 

You’ve learned to read his body language over time. The frequency of your intimacy has allowed you to see parts of the Miles County Clown that others would dare never think about, save for the inevitable fucked up few like yourself. You knew how to read his expressions beyond the standard obvious ones that he so energetically emoted—you got him down to the micro expressions, keeping count of any and all ways that the muscles on his face moved, whether it be the twitch of his eye or the slight curve at the corner of his lips. You caught it all. Nothing escaped you. You were the Art Whisperer—a self proclaimed title you gave yourself. 

Art looks pained, like he’s in physical agony, as if you’re hurting him. No way that he could ever look so hurt by a weapon in the way that he is now. His head is turned, teeth bared like a feral animal, jaw clenched, eyes shut tight. His hands are balled into fists and you can see the flare of his nostrils from how heavy he’s breathing, and the deep rise and fall of his chest. It’s all something to behold, seeing someone so powerful and evoking the fear of many, stealing the lives of many, succumbing to the most basic drives that bound all living creatures together. He’s vulnerable, and he trusts you to see him in this way as he lets pleasure consume him.

“Come for me.” You tell him—Command him, even, giving a yank of his chain, and it’s like a domino effect. Art arches his back a bit, jaw opening wider as you see his teeth, though only briefly for a second, look more like the canines of a beast, the demon beneath you at your mercy as he surrenders silently. You feel a little satisfaction in that, but it doesn’t get to live long. Seeing him in this way makes you recognize the familiar creeping sensation that ambushes you. 

His climax triggers your own, and your eyes almost roll back while your toes curl as you feel light and detached from your body. Whatever connection you have with this plane is severed in these fleeting moments, and behind closed eyes you see it, briefly in flashes. Flames. An inferno of fire and contorted demonic forms without any distinct visual appearance, cascades of bodies, blood, and jagged rocks. One of the flames hovers over you, and before you’re able to react, it falls down upon you. 

The flames crash into your chest with the force of an ocean wave, nearly knocking you over as it nestles in your core before deviating outwards to your spine to reach your toes and fingertips. For those few seconds, you feel like you’re on fire and sparks are flying everywhere. Oddly enough, it doesn’t hurt, but it does leave you feeling overheated one second, then frigid the next when it fades. Then, you’re brought back into yourself, back in your bedroom, overtop of your clown companion, feeling immediately spent.

Overwhelmed and delicate, you gently collapse overtop of Art, whose arms wrap around you protectively, keeping you from harm. The way he’s enveloped around you could be a bit concerning given how tight his grip is right now, and how he could crush you to death if he wanted, but for now, the security of his warm embrace is comforting. Gradually, your senses flitter back to you, and the images of what you saw during your climax lingers in your thoughts.

Was he the reason for those visions?  You can only assume so. 

As you shift a bit in his hold, you take notice of the warmth of his release and how he’s filled you quite generously. You can feel some of it already leaking out when you disconnect from him, which he allows by loosening up his hold on you, so you can lay over top of him properly to rest. When you’re in your preferred spot, his arms return around you. It’s a beautiful physical union you both have, and you’d have liked to keep it as long as possible, but sleep is calling your name, and she’s got the most seductive voice. You’d like to be as comfortable as possible when you greet her. You unwrap your hold of the lead while you’re at it.

“I love you,” You mumble tiredly, and you’ve told him this before, but it’s always been worth repeating. Though you don’t see his face as your head is nestled against his chest, you feel the way he’s now rubbing circles on your back, and can tell that he’s satiated just as much as you are. 

Fatigue works its way over you, and you feel the world around you begin to fade away. Your muscles relax, as does your breathing, and you eventually slip into that delightful state of unconsciousness. 

Even in your dreams, you cannot escape Art. He’s there with you amid a place full of flames and fire, and when you extend your hand out for him, you have nails like claws, perfect for tearing and shredding. When he smiles at you, you smile back at him. You watch him through red eyes. Your skin is white, pale like a corpse, and your face is painted up quite similar to his.

Both of you are donning black and white. 

And as you sleep, you are positively beaming. 

[artemispanthar]

how did you get into quality control?

Ah, well, as with most things in life I sort of just wandered into it lol. As you may or may not know, I used to work in closed captioning and transcription. This was a job I took because it was freelance remote, which I needed because at the time I took care of my little sister during while my mom was at work. I needed something I could pick up and put down when I needed to drop her off and pick her up from school and tend to any needs while she was home.

After about a year or 2 doing that, where I worked if you have consistently high quality scores and high project yield you can apply to be a QC. This opens up a new queue so between captioning work you review other captioner's work for quality. So I did this and eventually also qualified for QA (which in that company was just like QC except it was for new hires whose work usually needed a lot of correcting). This is where I got my initial QC experience.

After like 5 or so years of that I started looking for a new job because I no longer needed freelance work because my little sister no longer needed as much watching over and as much as I love captioning the pay was atrocious. I applied for a QC position for a remote project and was told that they unfortunately already hired the max QCs but they did have data entry positions available (the work being QCed), so I took that. It was a new project so they were hiring a lot of people at once so I think that helped a lot on getting me hired.

After a few months of that they ended up needing more QCs temporarily and because I had QC experience, good quality scores, and exceeded quota I was moved over as a temp QC. Once they no longer needed the extra QCs and downgraded folks, they kept the highest QC performers of which I was one.

After a few more months there was a lull in production I was moved to a call center which sucked so I started applying to other QC positions and since I had QC experience I was able to get a thankfully more stable QC job. So far so good on this one!

But yeah, it all started with doing well enough in captioning that they wanted me to review other people's work. If that hadn't happened, I don't think I'd be in QC now (but who knows)

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Winter Market

Pairing: Modern!Robb Stark x F!Reader

Warnings: none, just fluff!

Word Count: 1067

Summary: While running your own stall at a Winter Market, you run into an old schoolmate of yours -- none other than Robb Stark.

A/N: A day late, but I had to edit this one and I was distracted yesterday. My bad. But expect either one more tonight or two tomorrow to wrap up my Fluffcember event! Hope you enjoy this one!

Fluffcember Masterlist

The Winterfell Yuletide Market was famous throughout the realm, boasting some of the most unique and talented craftspeople from all over the world. They also had a section reserved for local artisans only, which is where you found your stall. After your rocky divorce you’d taken up soap and candle making as a hobby to keep your mind and hands busy. You’d even looked into getting a hive of bees for beekeeping, but it had been too late in the season to have them shipped from Honeyholt. 

You were lucky to get the stall, which you had to keep reminding yourself as the temperatures dipped into the negatives. The sad little space heater under your table could barely keep your feet warm. Being a born and raised Northerner, though, you weren’t going to let the cold close you down like some other stalls had. 

“Hot cider, courtesy of Stark Tech?” a voice asked, pulling you from your trance. A steaming mug of cider appeared in front of you and you followed the gloved hand holding it up to the auburn curls and striking blue eyes of none other than Robb Stark.

It had been a long time since you’d seen him, having gone to school together many moons ago. Since then it had been easy to follow his meteoric rise in the Tech industry, taking over his father’s company when he passed too soon and managing to nearly double profits within the first year of his reign. Stark Tech was one of the biggest employers in the North, and the major sponsor of the Market. However, you had not at all expected to see the CEO of the company walking around, handing out free cider to the stall owners.

If he recognized you he didn’t let on, but you accepted the cider anyway. Anything to help keep your hands warm was welcome at this point. Only an hour left to stay open, but the temperature was dropping quickly. 

“Thank you, Mister Stark,” you said, not letting your voice wave from shivering.

He smiled his blinding smile, then tilted his head a bit. “Have we met before?” 

You smirked, sipping your cider that was impeccably spiced. “We went to school together.” You gave him your name and his blue eyes lit up with recognition.

“Yes! How’ve you been?” 

You gestured to the stall around you, “Alright, I guess. I got accepted to the biggest Winter Market in the North, so I’d say pretty good.” 

“Ahh, yes,” he said, picking up a teacup candle and inhaling deeply, “Oh, I’m sure Sansa would love this. Rose, right?”

“And sandalwood,” you added. “My gran collected fancy teacups all her life. When she passed last year she had left them all to me. I had no idea what to do with them until after…well, you don’t want to hear about all that.”

He smiled wide, picking up another candle to sniff. “On the contrary, I would love to catch up. You’re here for another hour, right?” 

You had to stop your jaw from dropping. You’d been out of the dating loop, but you could’ve sworn he had just asked you out. The few attempts you’d made at online dating had yielded absolutely nothing — in fact, the matches you’d gotten had made you want to throw your phone into the White River and erase all trace of yourself from the internet forever after scrubbing your eyeballs and brain with a toilet brush.

“Are you asking me out, Stark?” you asked for the sake of clarity. More than once you’d been accused of coming off as cold rather than cool. 

He smiled again, “I am indeed. Unless you’ve got plans after this, then we can pick another night.”

“Oh yeah, after this I’ve got big plans with my cat and my streaming queue,” you joked, heart fluttering as he let out a warm chuckle, “I’d love to go out with you.” 

He sniffed another candle and added it to the growing pile of teacups in the crook of his arm. “Excellent, I’ll meet you here after closing if that works. We can go to the Direwolf and Dragon?”

“I love that place! They have the best whiskey selection.” You nodded eagerly, perhaps a little too enthusiastically but you were beyond caring. This was Robb Fucking Stark, every girl’s crush in school and even though you were a fully grown adult woman with her own bank account and apartment and business, the giddy teenager within you was ecstatic.

“And she likes whiskey,” he muttered to himself with satisfaction, “Excellent. While I’d love to stay and keep chatting, I’ve got more cider to hand out. How much do I owe you?” 

He gestured to the four teacup candles in his arms and you told him the total, then wrapped each one in tissue paper and put them gently into a paper gift bag. Your stomach turned at the thought that these were for a girlfriend, but you hadn’t seen anything about his dating life recently. He’d been dating the heiress of some big agricultural company down south for a few years, but you knew they’d broken up a while back. Around the same time your divorce was happening, come to think of it.

As you wrapped, you asked, “Who are all these for? Teacups aren’t usually decor for bachelor flats.”

He chuckled again, “My mother and sisters. And my PA, Steffon, he loves anything pine scented. The fact that the cup has pine boughs on it I think bodes well, too.” 

You passed the bag over your display and your gloved hands brushed as he accepted it. Even through thick layers of material, you felt something electric pass between the two of you.

“Well, I’ll see you in an hour then?” You asked after clearing your throat and shoving down some rather naughty thoughts.

Robb’s curls fell in front of his face as he looked down and checked his smart watch. “Forty-three minutes, to be exact.”

“Then I’ll see you in forty-three minutes.” You smiled at him. He continued on his mission of handing out hot cider. Try as you might, you couldn’t help but count down the minutes as you sipped your cider.

Fluffcember Masterlist

[hotsingledragon]

hi! here’s that smutty smut i was talking about! 18+

can also read here.

not really proofread, no grammar whatsoever more of a drabble! enjoy :p

———

one thing about jake sully is he loves to worship you and your body, loves to make you feel good and loves to test your boundaries. you’re absolutely irresistible this evening, and jake can’t help but to grab your hands and lead you away from the communal fire.

when you reach your quarters, jake gently pulls you towards the cot in the middle of the space . he encourages you to kneel with him, thick thighs bracketing yours and holding your hands in his own. you’re intrigued by his enthusiasm, unsure what he’s getting at but you feel safe and excited with jake. he’s quiet for a moment, then in a rush of breath he says ‘need you baby’ lightly squeezing your hand. you look at jake and he meets your gaze, looking through his lashes with a blush high on his cheeks and nose. he almost looks uncertain, and you wrap your limbs around him in reassurance. his breath hitches the slightest bit, and you pull back to kiss his cheeks. ‘what is it my love?’ you ask, he’s sheepish, but quickly regains his resolve and swoops to kiss you sweetly. “wanna do something new, wanna make you feel good, baby,” he says hotly against your ear.

jake’s tail whips and grazes your midsection, making you blush and you look into his eyes, “i trust you”.

then he’s wrapping himself around you and tucking his head against your neck, “gonna make it so good, promise,” he scoops under your knees to lay you more comfortably on top of your linens.

jake connected your queues gently, the familiar rush of adrenaline and what can only be described as love filling his chest. every movement and action heightened by the bond between you.

and now jake is laving his tongue in swirls and sucks and rapid swipes across your heat. he’s so aroused by the sight and feel of you, he can’t help but moan the whole time he’s between your legs. he feels every bit of pleasure in his groin as he works on making a sloppy mess at your center.

jake murmurs into your cunt with praises, whining how you “m’m taste so good, honey”, you have “such a sweet pussy”, and “wanna do this forever baby”, and “love you so much honey” while rutting into the cot under his hips, groaning heavily when kissing your cunt. he’s growing obscene with his movements, literally slurping at your clit and labia, patting his tongue sporadically against your wetness while a playful moan spills past his lips. jake feels so fucking hot and tight in his skin, and knows you’re close with your melodic moans and rigid muscles.

he really looks at you then, how your feet were planted firmly on the ground while your hips had raised into the air to bump against his mouth, your whole body quivering. he yields and switches his movements, covering your pussy with his mouth. jake begins to nod his head to match your thrusts as his open mouth worked from your clit to your entrance. in this light, jake can see the sheen of sweat covering your taut stomach and heaving chest. he looks further, eyes trailing your features, with your brows knitted and your lips plump around the soft ‘o’ of your mouth.

he meets your eyes, hums and mouths “aww, you gonna come again, pretty girl?” against your cunt. something switches in you, and with a squeak and a twitch of your hips, you’re squirting over his chin and jaw. you’re holding his gaze and making these cute noises and jerking your hips and that’s when jake comes totally undone, his cock trapped under his weight between the soft fabric of your linens and the sensitive skin of his belly. jake rides his orgasm with a last few deep, shaking thrusts and high stringed moans. he’s absolutely wrecked like this, ears tipped against his head and a deep flush dusting his cheeks, adorned by the delicate feather of his eyelashes.

you’re both shaking from the force of your release, and he pants between parted lips. his jaw is smothered in your slick, and almost unknowingly he swipes his tongue across his shining bottom lip. it’s like he’s reminded of what he’s done to you, holding your gaze as he ducks his head to lick up the mess you’ve made on your thighs. your knees still shake as he works, that sharp and knowing corner of his mouth pitching upwards at your vivid reaction.

jake slows to kiss wherever he can reach, kissing the bend of your knee, working up your thighs and stomach, over your chest and shoulders, finally landing a tender kiss to your lips. he holds you, one arm wrapped under your back and the other guiding a knee to your chest as he kisses you gently. that’s when you feel the tip of his cock bump against your clit, and with a gasp you break from jake’s kiss. there is a wicked smile on his face when he grumbles in your shared space, “i’m not done with you yet, sweetheart”. you have to bite back a smile at his words, the pet name and the heat of his words sending a swoop to your lower abdomen. the action draws jake’s attention to your fangs tipping into the plush of your lip, sending fire straight to his belly. he hums with approval, rushing forward and bumping your noses to crash his lips against yours.

thx for reading!

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

What are you batty about this autumn?

[xavieryaa]

Making My Own Tumblr Year In Review

So tumblr is not doing the individual years in review for 2023 like they did the last couple of years :(

This is the first year I’ve really been active on Tumblr and used it as my primary social media, so I was really sad to hear that. But then I decided…why not do it myself?

I posted 1837 times in 2023. That’s 5 times per day.

1748 (95%) of my posts were reblogs, and 89 (5%) of my posts were original.

Blogs I think I reblogged the most? Not in order.

@yipeewahoo

@hoodie-sys

@94erz

@namchyoon

@heybaetae

These are just based on me cmd-f'ing my blog using the names of blogs I remember reblogging a lot. It's probably wrong.

My top 15 most used tags (not 5 because i love tagging and want to show more):

#bts - 1045 posts (yeah obviously)

#bts pics - 803 posts (yeah obviously x2)

#queue attack my heart - 691 posts

#memery - 312 posts

#namjoon - 308 posts (i am so mentally ill)

#hoseok - 167 posts

#jungkook - 166 posts

#seokjin - 138 posts

#jimin - 138 posts (i wrote down seokjin's tag first so i put it higher)

#yoongi - 119 posts

#fic & writing - 108 posts

#taehyung - 103 posts

#bts birthdays - 99 posts

#serious posts - 92 posts

#namjoonposting - 59 posts (my favorite tag)

By the way this was so fucking annoying to do. The archive does not show how many posts you have in a certain tag. For every month I counted the amount of rows in a tag, multiplied it by 8, and added in any rows that didn't quite get up to 8. Then I added all those months together. I had to do that for every tag. Tumblr why is there no easy way to see the number of posts in a tag.

My top 5 posts of 2023:

5. Luffy Tab - 20 notes

Still can't believe we just. got a luffy tab. i just woke up and had a luffy tab

4. BTS Post Search - 27 notes

As it turned out. the poster changed their name to something else so that's why i couldn't find the post from tumblr user soupmoths -- they were an entirely different person. oopsie

Also I ended up being able to reblog it! Someone tagged me!

3. 3D Rant - 32 notes

This post got me my first hate reblog <3

In case anyone is wondering. I still agree with everything I said here.

2. Porn - 99 notes

Not doing the big link preview for this one since that on its own is kinda nsfw. Minors don’t click that link.

But yeah. That makes sense.

Even though there’s only 5 reblogs people find it semi-frequently (especially the past few days, no idea why), so I guess it’s spreading somehow? Which makes me happy :)

The Reddit Post - 2.1k notes

Obviously that was going to be it lol, over 20 times the amount of notes than anything else. My notifications were Dying.

Also, this stuff wasn’t in the actual Year in Review(s), but I’m adding them in for fun.

I liked 21k posts in 2023.

I followed 426 blogs in 2023 (not including the accounts I unfollowed).

I gained 69 followers in 2023 (excluding porn bots and regular bots). Nice.

I started 4 blogs on this account, 1 main blog and 3 side blogs.

I gained 15 mutuals in 2023 <3

All this data was as of December 18th, 2023.

[anchovies-4-dinner]

Let it Simmer | Yan! Thoma

What if: Every morning there would be a man watching you depart without fail.

Warnings: death, cannibalism, explicit gore (short)

Words: 2k

A/N: If there are any mistakes know that I will probably never fix them 🥴

---

The first time Thoma saw the man it was a random morning waving you off to work; initially he'd mistaken him as another vendor but the frequent glances gave it away. Thoma was no stranger to such attention considering his reputation, but he felt a sort of unease when the the man disappeared as soon as you were out of sight.

From then on it became a sort of habit for Thoma to look for the stranger.

Be it knitting or cooking dinner your fiance would often find himself drawn to the window, observing every change and detail for the familiar hunched figure. Though the 'vendor' came in a range of disguises Thoma was always able to recognise him.

The reasonable assumption was that he was just paparazzi trying to catch any fraying ends in hopes of reviving his own career. Despite this he would hear a nagging voice from the back of his mind; what if it wasn't just paparazzi? Lord knows how many people want Ayato dead and the last thing he wanted was for his innocent fiancé to be cuaght in the crossfire.

As Thoma pondered this he looked outside, numb to the scathing water prickling his skin through the rubber.

The vendor met his eyes for a moment before averting his gaze.

...

The stranger had taken a most opportunistic time; Ayato was undergoing a mission and Ayaka, as diligent as she was, lacked experience in such a situation. Thoma wouldn't want to paint a target on her anyway.

Asking for help from anyone else ran the risk of being backstabbed (who knows how the deep opposition's pockets ran), which left the ever responsible Thoma to deal with it himself.

Right. He'd helped his Lord with many businesses, how hard could this be?

"Good morning Sir, I don't think I've seen you before. Are you perhaps not from around here?"

Disarming the 'vendor' with a smile Thoma descended on the man as soon as the queue ceased. The 'vendor' stumbled over his words, snapping his gaze from Thoma's house in mortification.

"Ah- that'd be correct!" The 'vendor' nervously scratched his neck, trying to adopt a more innocent facade, "I do hope I'm not intruding too much seeing as here was the only spot near the market."

Thoma made sure to soften his smile even though he felt the opposite of endearment, "Not at all! Everyone is welcome in Inazuma, even people who sell knock offs."

The 'vendor' flushed scarlet as Thoma dragged his fingers across a cheap necklace; he took this moment to hum, "What's your name, by the way? I'm Thoma, a sort of fixer around here. Maybe I could even try securing an investment for you-"

"But I couldn't bother you with such things. We hardly know each other, and i doubt any of them would be interested." Now the man was shaking both his head and hands, maybe even in his boots. "I-It's good to start with something small, right? Perhaps you'd be interested in a necklace for your spouse!"

Thoma hummed, "Nice to know you've done your own research, though they are only my fiance currently."

As if realising his blunder, the 'vendor' nodded, hands clenched, "Apologise for the assumption, I would often see you both hanging off each other in town. Now, the necklace?"

Thoma noted the subtle pushiness; perhaps this may be an ordinary tradesman hoping to make it big in a foreign country but Thoma wanted to play it safe. There was a sort of restlessness in the man's eyes, as if he wanted to say something but was weighing the price.

Thoma coaxed it out of him by taking extra time in assessing the jewelries. He could've declined and let it be the end of it seeing as the products were of low quality, but that would hardly yield any results would it?

As the silence dragged on the 'vendor' eventually clapped his hands and decided, "My friend, seeing as you are struggling may I recommend something?"

He no sooner presented a necklace of noticeable quality as if to make the trap ever more enticing. A multitude of possibilities immediately overtook Thoma's mind: a bomb, listening device, vision suppressant, tracker...

"A little charm for the to-be-wedded couple; this jewel is actually a symbol of fortune and luck. Be sure to always wear it for the maximum effect!"

In the end Thoma bought it, but not without haggling the price down of course.

Thoma was by no means a direct threat seeing as his role was minor, and ridding of him may lead to bigger consequences (for one, angering the Kamisato family), meaning it was unlikely to be life threatening seeing as he was better alive and speaking.

That must be it. A listening device was much more useful than a bomb, so Thoma made sure not to say anything incriminating in its presence. You weren't privy to any of the Kamisato's business so he wasn't majorly concerned about you.

All he needed to do was get the proof.

...

The festive atmosphere was hushed in a remote cliff as a figure stood above the meandering crowd, a deep frown etched onto his features.

"You know, you never gave me your name."

The man flinched and turned to face Thoma who casually walked up to him. Despite his open appearance the 'vendor' felt as if he was being backed into the cliff's edge.

Before the 'vendor' could explain himself Thoma beat him to it, "Tell me, did you find anything interesting?"

"Why I have no idea-"

"Really?" Thoma began swinging the necklace on his finger, taking delight in how the 'vendor' recoiled at it's chipped appearance, "Say, why don't you just make this easy for the both of us and spill it already?"

The 'vendor' huffed out a laugh and pointed an accusing finger, "So you did it on purpose to draw me out, spilling water on the necklace to disrupt the listening device and watching me flounder to try and convince you to buy another."

"That's more like it! Though you didn't try at all to hide your intentions." Thoma beamed and grabbed the necklace.

It was a standstill.

Thoma admitted that it was risky confronting the man alone, but with how independently he worked the past month it was safe to say that whoever employed him was willing to throw him under the bus. Though he adopted a relaxed posture, his muscles were tense and thrumming, anticipating the 'vendor's' escape attempt.

A streak of light shot up in the distance. The wind tousled the man's clothes as fireworks exploded behind.

Thoma caught the shine of metal.

...

It was a quiet night home, what with his fiancé exhausted from the festival. Thoma, however, was far from tired.

Unfortunately he remained this way until you had to go to work. In your rush to work you hadn't noticed his sleep deprived state, leaving Thoma to ponder last night's event on the table alone.

It was when he was absentmindedly cleaning the floor that he heard a knock on the door.

"Good morning, Thoma."

"Detective Heizou..."

Thoma stood there for a good minute, thoughts racing until the man invited himself in. His eyes scanned the entirety of the house.

The former housekeeper could only force down his nerves and plaster a smile, "Tea?"

"Well It'd be rude for me to refuse."

With the kettle on the stove, the interrogation commenced:

"Apologies for my abrupt appearance but an interesting case has come to my attention. I have nothing but a few questions to ask of you."

Thoma stared at Heizou's light hearted disposition and tried to mirror it, "Of course, but may I ask about the case?"

"I'm afraid not yet"

Brilliant. Thoma resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his thighs, planting them on the table instead. Each question the detective shot Thoma answered with incredible care and thought, tiptoeing around traps and frequently praying for the end.

And the end did come, just not in the way he would've liked.

"You see, the victim in question was an innocent paparazzi with a single stab through the chest-" A whistle of the kettle pulled Thoma to the kitchen. Heizou continued, "Now, that could obviously be anyone, but what really helped narrow the list down was the handy journal he kept! Seriously, if everyone kept one my job would be ten times easier, but what fun would that be huh?"

"Fun wouldn't be the word I would use to describe your line of work, detective." Thoma's chuckle was regrettably strained. Thankfully his back hid his trembling hand as he poured the water.

"Well, perhaps it was a poor choice of words. I never liked beating around the bush after all." Heizou sniffed as Thoma approached with his tea, "Thoma you are under arrest for suspicion of murder."

It was futile yet Thoma tried arguing back, "On what basis? Do you have any incriminating evidence apart from a few entries?"

"Well, I could start with your unusual body language before I even said anything, or would you rather I talk about the red crusting your cuticles?"

Thoma bit his lip and glanced at his fingers. Of all things to slip from his mind...

The taller man reluctantly bent to place down the tea - only to crunch it into Heizou's face. As soon as Thoma felt the shards dig in pyro erupted from his hand and scorched the skin underneath.

A sharp pain bloomed in Thoma's gut as he was kicked away, winding him for a moment. When he gained his bearings Thoma looked up to see the detective stumble around, grunting when he hit the edge of the table. His mind blanked as he hurriedly snatched the kettle and slammed it into the back of Heizou's head; the already disorientated man crumpled and Thoma took this chance to throw his anemo vision across the room.

Heizou's arm shot up and gripped Thoma's wrist with a bone crushing pressure, but Thoma managed to jerk his own hand into an awkward angle, pouring the piping hot water onto the detective's abdomen. Heizou's mouth tore open from when it was melded together only for the other to strike his chin and send him to the ground.

With blood thumping in his ears, Thoma went to town with the kettle. Dull red speckled his face as the world blurred.

It was only when his arms grew numb that he regained his senses.

"I... Oh God-" Thoma dry heaved as bile bubbled up his throat.

Try as he may, his eyes refused to leave the battered remains of Heizou - shards of the tea cup were so far embedded you could only see the faint white underneath his dark flesh. His nose was disfigured and bent horribly out of shape, along with his mouth sticky from leaking blood. Thoma's mind lagged as he staggered to the bathroom and hunched over the toilet.

Disposing of the body was simple in theory, but Thoma was sure he could execute it perfectly.

...

"Smells nice, pass my compliments to the chef."

Thoma smiled as he felt your arms wrap around him; his knife thudded with each cut of the meat as the soup simmered on the stove. "Why, you doubt my culinary skills?"

"I just can't believe I have my own world class chef at home-" A knock at the door had you patting his stomach like a drum before separating.

The conversation was muffled but Thoma was able to spy the familiar uniforms of the police from the kitchen window. One of the pair caught his eye and offered a lukewarm nod, to which Thoma responded with a brilliant smile of his own.

"Can you believe it? Such crazy people on this island, and during a festival too!"

Thoma mocked concern and hesitantly ate. You on the other hand almost choked from how fast you were devouring.

"But what do you think happened to Heizou? I mean he does disappear often so I honestly don't believe it's of any concern. Did they find his body or something?"

You were obviously joking, even so Thoma swallowed hard on his lump of food. "He's a martial artist so that's highly unlikely."

"I guess you're right... Did I put you off? You don't normally eat this slow."

"I just had too much to eat before." Thoma gave a closed eye smile.

Images came as quick as they went.

"I'm just glad I saved a few mora is all."

[stigmvtas]

TALES OF DYAL — ROHAN.

welcome to marina, ROHAN DYAL ( cis man, he/him ) ! they are a THIRTY SIX year old HUMAN / EXORCIST who resides in PROSPECT HILL. They work as the OWNER OF GREEN FARMER'S MARKET and are said to look a lot like RAYMOND ABLACK. People around the island find them to be PRAGMATIC and AFFABLE, but also FLUCTUANT and ENERVATED. what do you think?

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR ILLNESS, ADDICTION, CAR ACCIDENT, AND DEATH.

profile.

full name — rohan dyal.

nickname(s) —n/a! but he'd think a nickname would be cute.

date of birth & age — december 18th, 1988. thirty6.

gender / pronouns — cis man. he/him.

sexuality — bisexual.

typing — human / exorcist.

occupation — owner of the green farmer's market. exorcist. farmer. lover.

astrology — sagittarius sun, taurus moon, leo ascending.

interests — opening his doors to those who need it. hot drinks. long cigarette breaks and rolling his own. sitting in the fields in the springtime. homecooked meals. things he oughtn't know. magic. resurrection. the afterlife.

aversions — the dishes in his sink that just keep piling up. the cold that wraps so firm against his shoulders and refuses to lift. killing the chickens, so they just keep multiplying. door - to - door salesmen. vandals in the market. firearms.

next in queue — sweet disposition by the temper trap; she's so high by tal bachman; man in the box by alice in chains.

notable features — the warmest eyes with deep - set bags beneath them, and a well - kept beard.

general disposition — straight but easygoing - firm in his stance, but shoulders unburdened.

last known location — leaving the farmer's market way after all the stalls had packed up and gone - a cardboard box of clanking metal and glass beneath his arm.

scrying mirror & kindred — clark kent ( smallville ), captain america ( marvel ), glenn rhee ( the walking dead ), ted mullens ( schitt's creek ), sam winchester ( supernatural ).

brief history.

the dyals have always lived in marina, as far as they could date back. rohan's father, his father before him - and their fathers before them. they are as part of marina as marina is part of them - and with a family history so prominent, they've always been aware of their supernatural counterparts.

that being said - growing up hadn't been easy. there were the good parts - a family home that stood for years, atop a hill and overlooking acres of field and crop, meadow and wood. a mother and a father who loved him and his siblings dearly, fiercely. but there were the spirits - always drawn to his father, shaking the foundations of their home. the late - night visitors who'd talk to his parents in hushed voices besides the fireplace, a smaller rohan peeking out through the stair bannisters to overhear worry - laced words - uprisings and disappearances, strange symbols and entities that left black tar in their wake.

he watched as his father's work - as both farmer and exorcist, medium and market owner - consumed him, exhausted him. as his mother fret over land that wouldn't grow - of crops that all rot before ripening.

demons have always haunted their family - manageable at best, disastrous at worst. shadows in the hallways - eyes in mirrors; an unease at the back of their necks. a bloodline cursed to become weaker and weaker - to walk earth time after time again and live the same fate. to never reach nirvana - to only have a soul left weak and restless.

illness; rohan was particularly afflicted; an illness that wouldn't let - origins unknown but abnormal. his body in a constant yielding pain. as hard as he worked - weakness would come twicefold. dizzying spells and deep - set fatigue - sleepless nights and an ache deep inside him; coughs that spit up the same black ichor.

addiction; he still struggles with it intensely - waves of nausea and unsteadiness, striking without a moment's notice. no amount of potions or medicine seem to help it - and he's turned to... other methods to at least alleviate some of the pain. it never lasts - but rohan repeats the cycle, knowing that it'll still never be enough.

rohan married fairly young - fresh out of high school to his high school sweetheart; he'd known he loved her from the day they met and he would've crossed the ends of the earth for her. they had a child together only a few years later - a daughter who soon became the apple of his eye - who he would cross universes for.

car accident, death; but as life would've had it - when their daughter was only a few years old, rohan's wife was in a fatal car accident. some parts of him felt it - wrong. like there'd been supernatural forces at play - because none of it added up. the details all wrong - and it was chalked up as a simple accident. a mistake.

nights and days he waited - waited for her to return to him in any form that she could - the one ghost he knew he could never exorcise - but she never appeared, for one reason or another. the fact crushed him - and for a long time he wasn't okay; but rohan had a daughter to raise, and a family to take care of - and he forced himself to move along.

ummm but besides that! he's inherited the family land as the oldest son, alongside the green farmer's market - that his father once owned, and his father before him, and so on and so on. his parents still live in their family home - and rohan takes care of them. in the small free time he has - he's followed in his father's footsteps in becoming an exorcist. holds his spirituality close to his heart.

facts & temperament.

a fun fact about rohan is that he has hundreds of past lives. centuries of the same soul living different lives, though rohan has no memory of them. the occasional dream - and odd sense of familiarity when it comes to certain people - but the memories of his past lives are inaccessible to him.

unfortunately a perpetrator of dad humor. genuinely thinks he's so funny but he's not please don't enable him.

has a teenage daughter! considers her his greatest accomplishment and while he considers himself a stark pacifist he would kill for her.

works a lot, almost nonstop. is either always found on the farm or at the farmer's market, tending to stalls and handling the finances, vendor rent, etc. etc. sometimes at the church, if only to convene with other local exorcists.

works alongside witches often to try and find a cause and cure for his affliction; has a hunch that it's demonic in nature, but has yet to actually reveal that to others. is constantly scared that his daughter will be afflicted with the same illness - and that something will happen to her.

a calm, reasonable person. doesn't freak out often - takes life as it comes, and generally is hard to anger. sometimes he's just too tired to really feel it - but he's genuine in his nature. is loyal, reliable - and just really wants to take a nap.

the kind of person to actually talk to his neighbors, even if they're all stretched out. cares deeply for the community, both human and supernatural, and will go out of his way to make sure the people he knows are safe and well. volunteers in his free time - and like his father, he never turns down his home for someone in need.

loves to cook, though he misses the way his wife would cook. misses her a lot - and while he hasn't been single the entire time since her passing, he struggles with long term, deep relationships. in part it's because of his grief - and in part because he never wanted to introduce someone into his daughter's life if they weren't going to stay.

has good days energy - wise, and then has terrible days. it's always a gamble - and he finds himself trying to overcompensate for the days he's out of commission. someone who can't stay still - he always has to be doing something.

[lilithpleasant]

slowed queue down from 6x a day to 4x a day, because i haven't been doing as much gameplay lately and i get nervous when my queue starts running too low, which is ridiculous but here we are! it still has 75 posts in it, tho, lol, but i like to give myself some breathing room 😂

i HAVE been focusing a fair amount on decorating, tho, which obv doesn't yield as many screenshots, and also i feel like it's taking me AGES to accomplish anything lol but yeah! state of the simmer, i guess

anyway happy new year! my simming resolution is to have more fun and remember that this is a GAME and my enjoyment should be my top priority 😂

[strawburrymeadows]

i am driving a car. she is sitting next to me. we are on the interstate, i’m going 74, a little too fast, and i am driving her home.

these are the facts. the statements that are true from every angle, from every trial in this experiment. 

control group: i am driving the car. 

experimental group: she is sitting next to me.

this is where it changes, i wonder. what will she do? what will she say? will it change how i feel? how she feels?

a car in the next lane veers a little too close into mine.

confounding variable: the world outside.

i honk, the car swerves back in. 

“nick blinker, asshole!” she yells, over the music blaring from the speakers. i laugh. does she notice? does she look back at me? does she watch me the way i watch her? she laughs back, but i don’t watch because i’m focused on the road.

we stay singing the lyrics to the songs she picked out in the car, me always driving a little too fast, and her always sitting there. we pass under a street light. it’s blinking. at first, i think it’s my astigmatism acting up. i realize it’s actually blinking. i think it’s funny, only this street light is blinking. i take it as a reminder, as a way to remember this moment. the blinking street light equals her laughing and singing next to me. 

first trial, unsuccessful.

i keep driving. she keeps sitting next to me. she’s queued up more songs, and we keep singing. we’re belting out in my car, not mine, though, my dad’s. i couldn’t take my car today. we’re belting and her voice cracks. i pretend i don’t notice, and i keep singing.

she tells me, “i’m glad there’s an unspoken rule, that when you’re singing in the car, no one can say anything about how you sound.”

i agree. she begins singing again, and i realize that she does pay attention to me, to the things i do for her. she’s grateful for it all, too. it surprises me, that she thinks this highly of me. perhaps it’ll surprise her, too, that i think even higher of her.

i pull up to her house. she waits until her parents open the door, and then she grabs her things in my car. my body pulls toward her as she pulls away. i want her to stay, i want to kiss her before she leaves again, before we don’t see each other for a month. 

she gets out of my car. she says goodbye, waves me off, and ends it with, “love you!”

i stare after her. to make sure she gets inside okay, is what i tell myself. i don’t let myself think about the real reason.

second trial, unsuccessful.

i pick on a song on my own playlist, one that’s sappy and longing and sad. i queue it up to play a second time. i pull away from her house, and start driving back to the interstate.

i pass under a different street light, on a different road. it’s blinking. at first, i think it’s my astigmatism acting up. i realize it’s actually blinking. the second time, it’s hard not to take it as a sign. a yield or a stop, i can’t figure out. certainly not a go.

the third trial has disproved my hypothesis. i am still driving a car, but she is not sitting next to me. nothing has changed.