#sorry for the wrong grammars

[ruinix]

Quinn being all clingy after you came home from a business trip. Can I ask for...no smut...or not... idk

Hello, lovely. I don't mind writing no smut. 🫡🥹 I fear I have written this with slight angst… I don’t know why. I’m sorry if you don’t want that. [Anyway, there is a bonus content for this with your POV (it's the voices, i swear), but you don’t need to read it.] Hopefully, you’ll like this. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Blues and Ease

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), showering together (conserve water jk), a dash of separation anxiety Quinn so a bit of Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Count: 1483 words (+ 483) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re still not home. Quinn paces again and again. You still haven’t messaged him when he told you to text him if you landed. He wants to pick you up at the airport, but you refuse him. Now, he’s here stressing because you still haven’t messaged him.

He's not used to you going on a business trip. You go on vacation, sure, but he’s usually there with you. He’s not used to not seeing you next to him when he wakes up. Not used to the silence of his—and your—house anymore.

He can cope when it’s him on a road trip, because he is not here. He doesn’t see your clothes, your towels, your perfumes, your trinkets, your plants, and everything else in a hotel room. There are no hints and memories of you there. He calls you every time. He sees you doing your stuff—work or hobbies—with yourhome in the background. It eases his soul.

But not this. Not this house with your things and no you. No soft hums. No walking and pacing, just because. No you on lazing on the sofa with whatever show on one TV, reserving the other for him. No keyboard sounds of you typing. No you eating dinner with him. He hates it.

It's the worst. The worst week of his life.

Everything is not right when you’re not here.

His home is not a home without you. He needs you here.

His heart squeezes. Tears glaze his vision. You’re just gone for a week and he’s losing it. He’s usually gone for a couple for his road trips. You must be enduring this. You are so much stronger than him. You are patiently waiting for him while also cheering him on every time. Unlike him who is being all pathetic because you’re just gone for a week—

Quinn hears the front door open and close. He immediately turns and sees you with your suitcase and a huge bag of chocolates…and flowers? Whatever, because relief is flooding his body.

You’re here.

“Quinn, I’m home!” You dash towards him.

You’re home.

Quinncatches you in a tight embrace. He says, “Welcome back.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and takes a big inhale. Roses, today.

He misses you so much. He misses this. Holding you. Feeling how perfect you feel in his arms. Basking in your warmth.

It doesn’t matter if you didn’t tell him your plane landed. You’re here. That’s enough.

“Quinn,” you giggle, pressing a kiss on his neck, your hands pushing him off.

It makes him swallow a whine. He doesn’t want to part from you. Even an inch distance is making him want to cry.

“I got you chocolates and flowers.” You push them to his arms. “I need to shower,” you say, kissing him on the lips, walking towards the bedroom.

He blinks at the gifts. He thought it was yours. It’s…for him? His heart speeds up. His spirit that was down in the depths of loneliness lifts. You brought him flowers. Him. Flowers. And chocolates.

He feels nothing else but giddy as he places them on the counter and hastily puts them in a vase. He needs to trim up the stems. Put water in it. Research what these flowers are. He has no clue. Later. He’ll do that later.

Now, Quinn wants to be with you. The smallest distance from you right now is making his head spin, his heart ache. He can’t not be with you right now. He’ll die.

He stands at the bathroom door that’s ajar. He can hear the shower running, can feel its steam, can see the trail of clothes on the floor which he knows you’ll put away after your shower. Just one of your silly quirks.

“Can I join you?” He asks, knocking on the doorframe.

“Yes please,” you reply.

He’s so quick to undress. He joins you in the unexplainably hot shower. It doesn’t matter to him even if it’s scalding to the point of burns—it’s not. It doesn’t matter. No hot water can come between him and you. He hugs you from behind, humming when you say you want to shampoo your hair. It can wait.

“Just wanna hug you.” He kisses your temple. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Quinny.” You turn your head and smile so lovingly. “But I really need to shower. I came from the airport. It was a long flight.”

He's so mesmerized with the water cascading your skin. With the lightest pout on your lips when he doesn’t let go. With your lips still stained by your lipstick. With how your wet lashes group together. With the curves of your eyebrows. Every feature he has memorized, dreamed about, and kissed. You’re marvelous.

Why did the week rob him of you? Why did it feel like you were gone for much longer? Why did it hurt so much this time?

“Quinn?” you call in worry, spinning to face him, hands on his cheeks. “Why are you crying, my Love?”

“Not crying,” he shakily says. “It’s just water.”

“Don’t lie to me, Quintin.”

He shudders, leaning against the wall, taking you with him. “You weren’t home.” It sounds so pathetic, his voice breaking. “I know it’s work. I know. I understand but you weren’t home. It was so quiet. I’m not used to quiet anymore.”

You turn off the water, hugging him. One hand around waist. One hand on his nape to hold him, forehead to forehead. You let him sob. Every tear feels like the release of every chain weighing him down. Every broken breath comes easier and better. All because of your touch, your warmth, your presence. God, he misses you.

“I don’t want you to think you can’t go on another trip, because of this, because of me. You can. I just…It hurts,” he admits.

Your lips capture his. A small, chaste kiss that eases his soul. You rub your hand over his chest where his heart slowly mends itself just by being with you.

You gently say, “I’ll always come home to you, Quinn.”

“Please do.” He tightens his hug. “Please.”

“I promise.” You grab his cheeks. “Do the same for me?”

“You’re my home.” Quinn presses a kiss on your palms, murmuring his promises and affirmations, capitalizing on your touch. “You complete me.”

Quinn knows you would retort that you two are complete pieces that perfectly fit together. But you didn’t today. You only smile as you repeat his words. Oh, his love for you just grows day by day. Moment by moment.

After a few more minutes of just hugging each other, you shower. Quinn just stands there, while you do your routine. He helps when you need to scrub your back and your legs—he doesn’t mind going on his knees to do so—or wash away the suds from your hair.

Even if he gets soapy, he remains there with a hand constantly touching you. Your hip. Arm. Back. Shoulder. Your finger. The tips of your hair. He can’t not touch you. You let him, perfectly understanding how to soothe his need.

He's happy just helping you shower. Then you turn on him and wash him. He already took a shower this morning, but shamelessly, he can’t turn you away. He’ll spoil right back…later. Now, he likes your attention. He relishes your touch, your stories about your trip, your new skincare finds, and most of all, your smiles. You’re so beautiful. So gentle when you condition his hair.

“There we go. Now both of us are clean.” You brush your nose against his. “Boop.”

He misses that. Your silliness. He’s not making it up when he says you complete him. It’s real. So real because you make him happy. You make him feel loved. That’s enough for Quinn. You’re enough.

Oh, he loves you so much.

When both of you are dry including your hair, you cuddle together on your bed, wearing matching sweatpants and sweatshirts. Both of your hands casually slide underneath your shirts, drawing circles on each other’s backs.

Quinn shares what he did during the week. He tells you about the white socks he mistakenly included with the colors which made it an ugly gray. About the media he’s done for the Canucks’ social media. About the potatoes he stupidly burned this morning because he was out of it. About the dinner with his teammates.

He tells you different things.

Simple things.

But you stare at him with sparks in your eyes. Your gentle voice resonates in his chest as you ask and share too.

It spurs him on to ramble.

On and on.

Until both of you are yawning and blinking slowly. Quinn swears he can hear your heartbeats seemingly in sync. Strong for one another. A little lullaby that pushes you two to slumber.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You stare at Quinn. His hands are all wrapped up around your middle. His legs are tangled with yours. His soft exhales tickle your face, but you let it. You want to tug on his long eyelashes. No, you are going to tug on them when he suddenly murmurs your name. It stops you from pestering him, but it doesn’t stop you from slipping your arms beneath his so you can hug him. He does the same, pulling you further into him. All while still sleeping.

He’s so pretty when he sleeps. So adorable. Pressing a ghost of a kiss on his nose, you continue to silently gaze at him. 

You two slept from yesterday’s afternoon through today’s morning. Quinn is still sleeping, but you’ve been awake for an hour. It’s a long sleep but not surprising. It happened many times before. Just the two of you sleeping through everything. Too comfortable in your private bubble.

Your heart tugs. You’re so comfortable with him. So deeply in love with Quinn.

His cuddles are something you always miss whenever he’s on the road. Even more when you were on your trip. When he cried yesterday… your heart squeezes. It hurts to see him cry—hurts to think about it.

Although, Quinn being so clingy makes you warm all over. It’s his need for you. Not his pain. Never his pain. It’s the way he kept touching you even when you were showering. The way he melts into your touch. You like that. You love that, because you also cling to him. So. Much.

You bought him chocolates and flowers because he deserves them too. Deserves to know your love. He’s always been working so hard.

The shower with him is great, but you can top that. Stealthily, you slip from his hold, replacing yourself with a nearby pillow and a stuffed toy—a bear with a small Canucks jersey and a number 43—for good measure.

Quinn likes baths. He always joins you, so to spoil your beloved, you start a bath. Vanilla sounds great today—

“You were gone,” his panicked voice made you jump more than his sudden touch.

It hadn’t been five minutes. “Just preparing us a bath, Quinn.”

“I wanna do that with you. I’ll do it with you.”

Quinn doesn’t really need to panic or be desperate. You’ll do whatever he wants. You guess your Quinn is still needy and hurt. Good thing, you’re here to make him feel better. You hold his hands tightly, nodding before kissing him. The small shudders that wreck his body thrum your soul.

Well then, you need to call for a day-off tomorrow.

For your Love who needs reassurance that you will be with him forever.

For your Quinn who desperately yearns for your touch.

Well, you also feel the same way, so it’s no big deal. Not at all. Never at all.

[laiamadej]

Rambling of my 2 current fav au(of my own)

Um. An au? Where stan actually outta that shack and somehow(I haven't think of the reason yet) back to being a showgirl again. Yes, again bc i don't fear i hc him being one during his stray days. Yea.

Another one is one where Ford got a call about a huge, scary looking siren(i know siren have wings, too, but what do you actually called an evil version of mermaid tho?) Just to discover it's his fuck ass twin brother who got cursed. Bc who is he if not a rambling mouth that always got him into situations. Um. Anyway. It's a messy sketch bc im lazy💔

Extra, extra🎀 The another au also about water stan where he helped a magical mermaid n then got a blessing. Now he can breathe under the water bc why not? I LOVE Ocean, and i love stan. Here

I ALSO did a silly Children of th sea au comi a while back that im pretty sure i've never posted it here. Maybe later lmaooooo

[cowboygenes]

Could you do some Halsin taking care of Gale lovingly?

He is indeed sick

[lisztoaf]

I just know Briseis played a role in Patroclus and Achilles' relationship. The soldiers would be gossiping "I saw the girl coming out of the Patroclus' tent" "whaat? He's sleeping with Achilles' slave? That's craazy", and she just spent the night there to give room to Achilles and Patroclus who were sleeping in Achilles' tent.

[colecantcope]

I love the angst of V losing their sense of self/forgetting what made them them in the first place. V mentioning not smoking but then in the next few hours pulling a cigarette out after a gig and taking a drag like it’s routine. Maybe smaller things like their personal style changing- going from baggy cargos to getting replaced by tight fitting leather. With V never noticing because their mind has becoming so intimately intertwined with Johnny’s that their personal taste just disappears, forgotten never to be remembered.

(On a lighter note, V wondering if that attraction to Rogue and Kerry is from him or Johnny- could sexuality even start to transfer??)

[krirspooty]

Daffy being a bitc meanie... for a good purpose!

[atalienart]

What are your tips on improving writing?

I don't think I'm at the level to give such tips. I myself try to read a lot of different books and learn from the authors that way. I watch youtube writing channels that talk about story structure, character development, or give advice how to improve prose and what to avoid. It's good to have someone who can look at your writing and give some feedback too. Also, I write. After some time, when I go back to my writing, I can see the mistakes better.

I can share some things that I've learnt from others and I think are good advice, for example:

use strong verbs (the person may walk but may also stroll, march or tiptoe);

there are more interesting verbs than to be;

weave description into action (The building was big. She walked towards it. ➜ She lifted her head as the stone walls grew before her. or He took the book in his hand nervously. He was tall, had brown hair and was wearing glasses. ➜ He reached for the high shelf without an effort. Book in hand, he pushed glasses up his nose to read the title - "Magic spells to improve writing." "This is it," he murmured, nervously running fingers through his brown hair.) (or some shit like that);

write sentences of different length so they don't sound monotonous;

If you want to write quick scenes. Short sentences. Actually. Make them slower. Why? Because periods. Are. Long. Pauses. xD

leave the most important words for the end of the sentence (He was thinking about the woman, while drinking his tea. ➜ He was drinking his tea, thinking about the woman.)

avoid filter words like hear, feel, see, etc. (She heard the noise that startled her. ➜ The noise startled her. or She was startled by the noise. or She jumped at the noise.)

be careful with time shifts (She noticed him behind the trees and smiled. Her beautiful monster. She runs to him and takes his hand and all of a sudden everything is all right. "Where is your hat?" she asks, but he just stares at her. He's always been a monster of few words, soft and quiet, but the lack of answer still surprised her. - is this present or past tense? confusion)

every scene should have a purpose - advance the plot, develop the character, add some conflict; ideally it will do all these things;

white room syndrom is bad - avoid;

use as many characters as you need; if one character can do the work of two, you need only one, scrap the other;

every character should want something!

give a character a desire, fear and misbelief;

Here are some of them. I hope they're useful. (They were useful for me even if I write in Polish :)) Of course some of these are optional but I think they make my writing better. I read somewhere that you should write only necessary words, so I'm trying to go by this rule. This is rather hard btw xD

[aristotlencheese]

tldr: stop being fucking assholes to Joann’s employees. If you’re sale shopping refrain from making that super funny (it’s not funny) joke about how loosing my job is convenient for you. And know that I hate rich people. Someday when we’re hungry I have the last name of the first people I will want on my plate.

As a Joann’s employee I am pleading with the public. STOP TRASHING MY GODDAMN STORE AND THEN GETTING MAD THAT ITS MESSY. WE KNOW. We have 3 people working at any given time, MAYBE 4 on a special occasion. STOP grabbing overstock bins and using them as your carts. 9/10 times you empty them into random parts of our store and then when we go to find them for a customer or to put them out if we have any time WE CANT FIND IT. It’s not cute, quirky or funny. I fucking hate you so much will call my poor assistant manager to back me up when I tell you to not do it ever again, and I’m not going to be nice about it.

My queue is a mess, you think you’re cute for putting your tag on my shelf but in reality it’s just something I will be written up for. My aisles are a mess, it’s not funny when you take the appliqués and hang them up to make an inappropriate word because I will be yelled at by some grown woman for letting it happen. My cut counter is a mess because you invade my coworkers space to take a look in our carts of go backs and just throw things wherever you want. My bathroom is a mess because you throw toilet paper everywhere and plug our sinks with it and leave the faucet running.

Even working at 100 percent running through the store I can’t get everything done. And to top it all off I have to stay even later because people don’t understand that closing time means people need to be out of the store, not it’s the last minute to shove yourself in the door and promise you’ll only be a minute (it’s never a minute).

So please I’m on my hands and knees groveling and begging for everyone to just shut up for 10 fucking seconds while I’m helping you so that I can tell you you are swiping your gift card wrong and that my computer is slow instead of running your mouth complaining about how “this is why you’re losing your job” (actual quote)

It’s not. I’m loosing my job because Rich people got together and decided playing poker with thousands of Americans jobs was fun enough the first time to do it again. It’s because there’s an entire company (looking at you Gordon brothers) who just buys and liquidates stores to turn a profit. It’s because Rich people who don’t have REAL jobs can’t be bothered or trusted with what the public want for the life of them. It was never about your money, only their money. It was never about people not wanting to work only cutting corners to give the people at the top bonuses.

So if you do any of these things or get upset when I let a couple of the thousands of homeless people in our city sleep under the old now unused cart return under the awning I will get upset I will tell you to mind your business I will put you in time out and make you wait for my manager to ring you out.

You’re Adults and you need to start acting like it.

Cosplayers, Furries and other crafters and artists of Tumblr, I love you so much. I will miss you and so will most at our store (except for our judgey old lady clique but tbh they only work mornings so it’s okay)

[nexusmonstrum]

When your friend have strange hobbies

[ A wild new OC with full illustration and a bit of lore!? Where did they come from lmao]

[blabberoo]

"Are you..drunk..?"

He couldn't even talk right, his hands forming in half phrases to half words (is he even talking?), then finally resolving to a 'no'.

Drifter sighed, pinching his nose bridge between his fingers. "Goddamn it. How is that even possible."

He grabbed the corpse by the arm and dragging it over his shoulder, supporting the rest of him by the waist. The beheaded was thrashing at first, attempting to get off of Drifter's grip, yet was quick to give up when sudden motions was too much for his... flame? Letting most of his weight fall over the smaller person, to which he couldn't do anything but to grumble under his breath.

Thankfully, the base wasn't too far. It took a few walks to the door and onto the bed where Drifter plopped Bobby like a carcass (well he is.)

As he stood up and was about to walk away, the beheaded grabbed him by the cloak in a state of panic. This, of course, caught Drifter's attention, simply at stasis and looking at him as if to wait for a reason. Why did he stopped him? Why did it hurt to see him go? Why the hell does his head hurt..

His eye blinked weakly, tried to muster up the energy to speak.

"Vomit." he signed.

"Oh, shit. Wait! Hold on—" It took three second for Drifter to find a basin a bring it to Bobby, just in time for him to let it all out. Seriously, how is this possible?

Though he was able to have a slight sigh of relief he wasnt able to get the mess on the bed, that's one less thing to worry about.

"Sit up. I'm gonna have clean you."

It took him a bit slow but he followed without retaliation, possibly too sick to do so. Drifter walked away to the bathroom and returned with a new basin and towel. He begin cleaning whereever the mess got him, along his hands and to his arms. Although there's not much he could do with his clothes but to wipe off what he could, it's not like he'd be comfortable enough to change his clothes. He'll have to take care of thet himself when he's more sober.

"Lord Jackal, why do I put up with you." He muttered under his breath, moreso to himself.

However, that might have caught up Bobby's attention,as he raised his hands to sign.

"Why do you?"

Drifter's gaze caught his at the sudden movement, although his eye were still unfocused, perhaps by the lingering influence of alcohol.

"People— They always look out for me because I could somehow save them from their problems. No matter how many times I've shown them I couldn't— Don't want to! Because even if I did, I will still screw it up— time and time again— ALWAYS! But everything ends the same. Everything ends. And I'm still—"

He pauses, and his hands flopped over his lap. His head lowers and shoulder slacked. He had never been like this before. Quiet. Tired.

Of course, Drifter was the same. He approached him for the same reason, and yet it hasn't crossed his mind the fact that he had gone through this a lot. And he was adding up to that.

"Do you want to cut the deal?" He intended to make it sound neutral, though his remourse came out of his soft tone.

Bobby took a moment to register it, flame still swaying through the influence.

"I don't know. I just—"

God. It hurts to think. He felt like everything around him is swallowing him whole.

"I'm tired of people leaving. I just don't want—"

He hasn't blurted out like this in a long while, maybe never. And the guts of this dead body seemed to sprung alive only to churn in pain. Its all too much. He closed his eye and let his heavy toll rest upon Drifter's shoulder. Soft flames prickling the crook of his neck.

I don't want to be alone.

He felt arms wrap around him, a palm brushing along his back in a comforting rhythm. His mind focused on these sensation, and for a moment he could feel himself grounded under Drifter's touch. It felt like he could breath again, and for the first time, felt like he mattered to someone.

This simple moment alone could stay with him for eternity. And if that were the case, perhaps he can indulge himself in it.

Tomorrow— he can pretend to forget.

[luna-loveboop]

I've never done a poll before, so good luck

Who do y'all think Time'll handcuff to him be with for his group in the dungeon? I've seen a lot of people say he will try to control who goes with who since he's scared for their lives rn (valid)

The options are the individual boys, just go with who you think is most likely to be in his group I guess?

Anyways like I said I've never done a poll so it might be messed up or make no sense, should be fun :D

Let me know if this doesn't work. And yes I know it's not well organised.. it's ok. right?

I think that unlike when they split in the Divine Dark Reflections arc, they might try to stay in bigger groups, and I think Time would probably want to have as many close to him as possible (his group have three or four), but I uhh didn't know how to incorporate that.

It's silly, but right now I can't stop imagining a scene where they reach the central room and everyone sprints off into the groups they want before time can argue.

Anyone who goes with legend will survive physically and anyone who goes with four will survive mentally.

[ruinix]

Thinking about dad!quinn who’s perfect not only with the newborn baby, but also with mama and he looks smoking hot walking out the hospital-💕

Hey there, lovely. Little confession, sometimes I just stare at my ceiling and think of Quinn and his future kiddos. He'll be such a great dad. I know it. I am a 100% believer of him being the best dad in the future. Do note that I have no idea how delivery rooms are...I've never been pregnant (thank goodness, i am not ready). This one ended up having a little bonus in your POV. As usual, you can skip it if you don't wanna read it... :> I hope you'll like this. 🥺🧎🏻‍♀️

His Little Princess

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Fluff, a bit suggestive tones. Pregnancy and birthing (Pregnant!reader; mentions of cravings, pain during labor, epidural), Quinn being a fussy partner and dad

Count: 3889 words (+ 942) | Masterlist | Taglist

You press a kiss on Quinn’s cheek, making him instantly turn towards you, his hands wrapping around you, so he can kiss you fully on the lips. Not so subtly, he runs his hands over the swell of your belly. His heart flutters in his chest.

“40 weeks, my Love,” he giddily reminds you, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Any time now,” you replied with a giggle. “Just going to sit on my ball.”

Without a word, Quinn escorts you to your yoga ball, his head filling up with worry at the sight of your waddle. He’s always concerned with how your center of gravity has shifted, with how your legs are probably aching, but he won’t dare try to touch you if you’re going to sit on it. You made it perfectly clear that you need your space when you’re doing that, especially when you caught him basically drooling over how your ass looked.

“You want something?” Quinn asks while you settle. “Apples?”

“Yes, please.” You nod happily. “No skin?”

“Anything for you, my Love.” He kisses your head before he turns to prepare apples.

Taking one from the fridge, from the fruit drawer that was brimming with Honey crisp apples, the one you have craved constantly throughout the pregnancy, which are perfectly red with splotches of yellow and green, he easily skins it. He never really knew how to do that before. He would always get huge chunks of apple flesh with the skin, but now, he can remove the skin in a continuous spiral.

“Can you give me a few slices with a bit of skin, Quinny?” you ask loudly as you turn on the TV to watch your show.

“How many?” He asks, finishing the first apple, slicing it into six.

“Just a few.”

Your vague answers don’t faze Quinn anymore. They never do. Before and during this pregnancy. But the way your ass moves right now though, it makes him gulp, secretly praying that you might ask him to help you get the baby out faster. That help meaning you and him gently fucking you, but you’re not. He can only sigh and swallow his horny thoughts.

It only leads to him getting worried and jittery. The baby might come any moment now. The problem is Quinn has always been so jittery all throughout your pregnancy. He tried—still trying—to appear so put together and calm. He must or else he will lose it in a frenzy of nerves. You don’t deserve him crashing out ever. Not when you’ve done so much carrying your—and his—child.

Catching you smoothen your hands over your tummy, he finishes up with your apples. He quickly places it on the table near you, then he softly runs a hand over your stomach, his cheeks burning when you press your hand over his, his soul lurching when the baby kicked right against his palm, his alarm ringing when he sees your wince after another kick.

“She says, hi,” you say in a tight voice.

“Are you okay?” He asks, kneeling on the floor, holding himself back from taking his hand away because you are clenching his fingers tightly. He watches you take deep breaths.

“It was a strong kick,” you sigh. “I’m fine.”

He cannot be contained. He is panicking. The baby kicking so hard had made you sore so many times, yet he cannot get used to it. He hates seeing you in pain.

 Slowly he leans down, pressing a kiss right where he felt the kick. He says, “Take it easy on mommy, Princess.” He kisses again, feeling a softer push just below. “That’s it. Gentle, sweetie.”

“She always listens to you,” you softly say, your eyes shining with tears. “Oh, Quinn, I wanna see her already.”

He reaches up, swiping the tears that fell with his thumbs, then he kisses your cheeks, over the tear tracks, on your lips. He already knows that you’re worrying about your little one “getting stuck” or past due, about pushing her out, about little fingers or toes missing because it’s possible. Anything’s possible and that worries you. It also worries Quinn. So much.

“Me too, my Love. She’s going to be fine,” he eases you. “She’ll be pretty and perfect.”

“What if—”

Quinn cuts you off with a small peck on the lips. “It will be okay. No matter what. She’ll be perfect.”

“Promise?” You stare at him with wide eyes.

“Yes. I promise.” He nods, offering you a slice of apple. The worry in your eyes dissipates as you accept it. “Scoot over so I can watch too.”

You grin, expertly maneuvering yourself, while he settles on the couch. He tries to watch the show, but nerves are bubbling up his throat. Something just feels off. Still, as usual, he settles, reminding himself that it would be okay. He keeps looking at you to ground himself. You look so peaceful while you watch the show and munch on your apple, taking little sips of your well-decorated water bottle.

Right now, you can easily get spooked, so Quinn keeps his worries to himself. Although, all he wants to do is hover over you, make sure you’re all safe and comfortable like he always did throughout the pregnancy. 

He does his best, because it’s what you deserve. Every craving you ask for—no matter how late you suddenly craved it, no matter how tired he was—is provided. The only thing he asked for was to press his ears and hands against your belly, to feel the little baby inside, even when she was still so small. When he was on the road, he would use Uber to get them for you or bribe your friends and his to deliver exactly what you wanted.

He wonders now if you need a massage. He loved doing that. Your feet. Your ankles. Your legs. Your back. Even your breasts. They’re always so tender. He makes sure to press kisses on your skin, right where you’re aching, muttering his apologies, and praises and compliments about how strong and amazing you are. Because you are.

His eyes follow your feet that are planted on the floor. You’re wearing the grippy socks that you bought online with cute bears on them. The sight of them makes him feel giddy. You have quite the selection of socks now. He always inspects them when he kneels and helps you into your shoes, doing your laces or straps. Sometimes he will mentally curse at the shoehorn that you purchased—technically it’s for both of you but he rarely uses it—while he also thanks its existence because it helps you whenever he’s not home.

The number of times you two went out shopping. He can still feel his excitement from those sprees. He took it upon himself to listen and be attentive to the quality of everything. Durability. Longevity. Comfort. He had taken out his phone as soon as the shop clerk finished explaining the features to look up reviews on YouTube or TikTok. Thank fuck for those apps. Nothing had hopefully escaped him. He would be so critical until you told him what you wanted with the reason being “just because”. Quinn gladly agreed—still will today—and bought whatever it is.

When it comes to clothes, he still feels mushy at the memory of the little pajamas, dresses, onesies, mittens, socks, bibs, and beanies. They’re all so fucking cute. Plus, the way you smiled while you were looking at them got him falling for you again and again. You just looked so at ease, so excited, so happy. He is happy too.

When you two shopped for maternity clothes, all the help he could do was to hold everything you chose and wait while you fit them all. Everything is so amazing on you. For every outfit, he felt his knees grew so fucking weak that he had to sit down, gazing at you with hearts for eyes, his chest squeezing at the mere sight of your beauty and at the sight of your tummy being showcased by the clothes. Every time you two came home, he would be severely attached to you. He cried his eyes out while he hugged you so tightly. He can’t help himself. He just loves you so much and you are carrying his child. Even now, you are wearing leggings and a flowery shirt that cinches under your breasts and flares like a dress. You are so effortlessly beautiful and hot.

When you stand up to get something from the kitchen, his eyes follow you. He wants to come up behind you and take all your weight with his big hands securely lifting your belly. He’s done it so many times after he saw it in TikTok and he will do it again. However, he just ends up staring at you from the couch, truly mesmerized. He always is.

Back to that app, it really helped him a lot. There are lots of mothers there that shared their experiences—in addition to the help he received from his Mom—which helped him prepare the hospital bags for you and the baby. Those bags are already in the car, waiting for the big day. On top of all that, he also finished stocking the nursery just a week ago.

Quinn is proud that he did his diligent research. Maybe, a tad too diligent, because when he offered you his servitude for your perineal massage—which he had heard about after he went into deep, deep scrolling through natural birth—he confused you so much. It was understandable because what the fuck is a perineal, right?

You thought Quinn was being fucking horny—which he is always. But then, after a lengthy doctor’s appointment, it was explained and suggested since you were in your 34th week. He wasn’t blind that you got embarrassed for not believing him and clearly you were expecting him to gloat. He didn’t. Why would he? It would’ve hurt you and him. So he said the same words he had said before when he was still suggesting it, “I will help you.”

The waterworks that day were long. He didn’t let go of you until your tears were dried, until you two fell asleep instead of starting the massage. You spent the whole next day trying to do the massage without you laughing at Quinn’s look of focus.

“I need to pee,” your voice breaks him out of his daydreaming.

“Do you need help?” He’s already standing when you shake your head. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you repeat, mimicking his voice. You laugh, making your cheeks flush. “You are so silly, Quinn.”

He watches you disappear in the hallway. His hands start to shake from the nerves. He needs a clear view of you. The need to stand outside the bathroom and wait for you is making him jumpy. He tries to settle himself, rubbing a hand over his chest, sitting down then standing back up again. He starts to pace. It really, really, really feels like something is off.

Minutes pass.

The feeling just expands and expands, festering the longer he doesn’t see you.

He needs—

Then he hears you call his name.

Quinn never ran so fast.

“What? What is it?” Quinn asks, opening the door so quickly. He finds you sitting on the toilet. Your eyes are so wide. Your calmness is the only thing that’s keeping him from losing it because for some reason, he knows. “What is it?”

“I thought I peed myself…but my water broke.” You carefully stand. “I want to change first.”

“Okay,” he nods.

He quickly supports you. He’s trying his best not to panic, but his hands are shaking as he helps you out of your clothes, into a new dress, into sandals. He’s dissociating. Everything is blurring and the only thing keeping him afloat is the feel of your hands gripping his. He can barely function as he does your seatbelt. He tries to calm down, but he is fraying, panting as he falls to his knees with his eyesight blurring.

“The stuff.” He grips your hand. “I need to get our—”

“Quinn,” you firmly say. Your other hand finding his cheek, urging him to look at you. He does. “You’ve prepared this car weeks ago. The bags are in the trunk. Get it together, Q.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. He finally gets the strength to stand. “We need to hurry.”

He rounds the car, only to realize he doesn’t have his fucking key. He nearly bolts until your hand rests on his shoulder.

Softly and unhurriedly, you give him the car keys. “We have precious cargo, Q. Please drive safely,” you say, giving him a nod.

“I will.”

The car ride to the hospital is quick. Quinn takes that time to calm down, to ground himself. He manages that, not losing his head when your contractions started halfway through the ride. He didn’t spiral then. He has collected and tucked his frayed edges. He manages to get you safe in the hospital and now both of you are in a labor room with the bags stored on the couch.

He’s on you, gripping your hands when you let out a pained groan. He listens to the labor nurses, gulping down the panic that still tries to come up, because he will not stress you over him again. You are going through so much. You need him whole. And he is.

He attentively watches the doctor check the baby through an ultrasound, sighing in relief that the little princess is still in prime position and your cervix is slowly dilating. No C-section is needed. Just like what you wanted, but the contractions are truly getting to you. Every groan and moan of pain, every squeeze of his hand, every sob is getting to him. His heart squeezes in a painful way. Even more so, when your labor progresses, which means the interval of contractions is more frequent.

"It hurts, Quinn. Hurts,” you cry out, breaking his heart. "I need something. I can't. Make it stop."

You don’t need to tell him twice. He shouts for a nurse to get the forms. He understands that you’re asking for an epidural and you’ll get it. Whatever you need he’ll give it to you. As the nurse explains the consent forms, you grip his arms tightly, sitting up. He helps you change your position, on your knees and the headboard. The nurse sets up a bar for you to grip. 

“You’ll be okay, mama,” the nurse eases, tucking the forms into her arms, stepping out.

Quinn almost yells for them to hurry the fuck up, but the anesthesiologist appears to administer it. The yelp coming from you makes him twitch. He almost punches the specialist who explains it will work in ten-to-twenty minutes. Why the fuck not immediately? He wants to demand that. He just needs you not be in pain.

“I’m here, my Love,” he whispers, kissing your temples as you sag against him. He wipes your sweat with a soft towel. “You are doing amazing.”

“How are you so calm? You were panicking an hour ago,” you hiss, groaning as another contraction run through you.

Quinn isn’t calm now. He’s losing his shit. He worries about you. He worries about the little one. An hour. It has been an hour. He doesn’t know if that’s normal. He wants to search it up, but he doesn’t want you to see him fucking fumble with his phone when you’re doubling in pain. He wants to ask the nurse, but he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to call his parents who are on their way to Vancouver and his brothers who are still in New Jersey.

He may have tucked away his frayed edges, but they are still unravelling. He is unravelling. Inwardly. He can’t tell you about it. So, he presses soft kisses on your shoulders when you shift to lay down.

“No words, Q?” You sigh in relief, your grip on him loosening. “It’s working. I think.”

“Yeah?” he asks. You nod, blinking at him. He knows you’re still waiting for his answer while he wipes away your sweat. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“What if I don’t want more kids in the future?” You blurt out just as a nurse walks in. The nurse clears her throat, doing her business of checking your status. Your attention burns into his soul. “Q?”

“I’ll get a vasectomy,” he says in a low tone, clearly aware of another person’s attention. The nurse is a bit…nosy. Why is she not going away? What the fuck.

“What?” you ask, looking so confused.

“I mean it. You hated your birth control so you will not be going back to that.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “If you don’t want more kids, then I don’t too.”

Ever since he met you, whatever makes you happy makes him happy. Genuinely. He is so attuned to you. Everything he does is for you. He needs you to be happy and be you. That’s all he wants. All he needs. Because you breathe life into him now. His heart beats inside yours. You’ve taken it from him since before you married, since before you accepted him as your boyfriend, since before you met each other.

Quinn doesn’t want to take his heart back.

It will be yours.

Forever.

Until you two grow old.

Until you two find each other in the next life.

“I mean it. Just tell me what you want. I’ll make it happen.” Quinn grips your hand. He leans for a kiss but stops when the nurse stands up.

“You two are so sweet, but you’re crowning now, mama,” the nurse announces.

Maybe Quinn spoke too soon. He is spiraling. The obstetrician and labor nurses come in. He’s helped into a hospital gown and a hair cap over his head. His ears are ringing as he holds your hand. He can’t focus on what’s happening. He’s just there. His lips are moving and whispering encouragement into your ear, but he’s gone.

Gone until loud cries break him out of the haze.

The little princess—his and yours—is so small as they bring her to your chest. Quinn’s heart tumbles at the sight of you cooing and welcoming her. Such a little one who is still wet yet so incredibly red, crying her eyes out, showing off her strong lungs. His eyes fill up with tears because she is so beautiful like you.

“You’re amazing,” Quinn sobs, kissing your head, kissing a soft peck on your lips. “I love you so much, my Love. You did it. You are so strong.”

“Oh, Quinn,” you sniffle. “She got all her fingers and toes.”

She does. Now you don’t need to worry. He doesn’t need to worry.

“Look at her ears. They’re so hairy.”

“Hairy? Just a bit fuzzy,” he thinks, gazing at his daughter’s ears. He can’t help but look between you and the baby. He can’t even hear the doctor announcing that you will be delivering your placenta next. He’s cataloging your shared features. “Nose. Definitely your nose. Your lips.”

While she also has your smile? Quinn hopes she does. You have the prettiest smile.

“She got a little birthmark behind her ear,” he says out loud. You and one of the nurses look. It’s the slightest birthmark. Just two shades darker than the baby’s complexion. It’s almost like…

“It’s like a little heart,” the nurse remarks.

Quinn nods. His heart almost melts when his little one finally stops crying, getting more at ease with the world. He quickly starts snapping some photos, smiling when you grin so proudly. You should be proud.

He almost jumps when it’s his turn for a skin-to-skin contact. He nearly vibrates as he made to sit down after you deliver your placenta and the baby is brought against this chest.

It finally clicks in his head how small his baby is. He can cover her whole back with his hand. When he reaches for the curled-up fist, he chokes at how little her fingers are.

Then those fingers just open and clasp around his pinky.

Immediately, he looks towards you. His tears fall in heaps. He can barely see you as he feels the soft steady breaths of the baby, her heart beating quite fast. Is it supposed to be this fast? He doesn’t fucking know. Maybe it’s just his heart? No. It’s not. His little baby’s heart. Oh, so precious.

He blinks hard, keeping the tears away, looking around to see if someone is panicking, but no one is. He hears snippets of words.

“She’s healthy baby.”

“Needs to get cleaned up.”

“You did well, mama. No tears.”

“Thank goodness. Quinn, did you heart that? The massages worked,” you say in a soft yet exhausted voice. That has him in full alert, watching you so intently. You still look pretty, but you are blinking so slowly. A smile is on your face as you reach for him. He stands, holding his daughter securely, giving her to you when your hand runs over her back. “Just want to sleep a bit.”

“Is that normal?” He asks the doctor and nurses who clearly see his distress as you fucking pass out. “My wife—”

“Is fine, Mr. Hughes,” a nurse says, giving him a reassuring nod. “It’s normal to be exhausted after you gave birth. She’s fine. No excessive bleeding. We will clean up and we’ll take your little one in a few.”

He nods, not knowing what else to do, so he leans closer to you, brushing your hair away, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. Oh, so soft. His heart melts when she tries to open her eyes. He gasps when she somehow manages. Just a quick flutter that exposes her eyes are the color of his. His. His baby girl has his eyes.

He starts crying again, sobbing into your hair.

He can’t help it.

He’s feeling so much love, and it comes out as tears.

At some point, he doesn’t know how much time has passed, but someone is helping him to calm down as his unnamed baby is taken away for necessary checkups. He knows she’s in good hands, so he stays with you, not even stepping out of the room so the forms are being brought to him. He feels guilty for being such a fucking diva for that, but he can’t leave you. He doesn’t think he can even step out of the room without crashing out.

Then he makes his calls, going through the list of his contacts, telling everyone about his perfect baby girl in whispered yet prideful tone. His hand is wrapped around yours.

“She got her nose and her lips, Mom. Got the fuzziest ears,” he sniffles. “So perfect.”

He finishes his last call. Gazing at you, he feels his emotions overflowing once more. For the last time before you wake up, he cries.

A promise forms in his heart, carving itself deeper that he will carry it every day of his life.

He promises to protect his little one and live for her.

He’ll love her as he loves you.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

When it’s time to be discharged, you stare at Quinn who carefully helps you into a wheelchair. He has been fussing over you for the whole stay. His cheeks are still flushed when he notes your dress—as if he didn’t buy it with you—after his arrival from a quick trip to the car and the reception area for your discharge papers. He’s so cute. Always so gentle. Even more so now when he greets your daughter, calling her his princess, before he lifts her up from the hospital bassinet.

You heard and saw him cry so much. Your Quinn has been on an emotional roller-coaster as you have. He looks at you with so much warmth and affection, so much pride for you and your baby, so much love and adoration, so much want that you can’t even think about how different your body is now. You told him that you might not want another child, and he replied something about a vasectomy. He’s always putting you first. And it’s clear he will be putting your daughter first too.

You can already see her getting so spoiled but also keeping her well-behaved. Quinn has that air of being the perfect dad.

You just know it and you’ll be right next to him in caring for the little one.

Honestly, you don’t even know if you want another child or not. That’s okay. Never once in your life did Quinn rush you to a decision. Always so patient and kind. But the way he’s staring at you, you might be leaning on the former. He looks so hot in his white linen shirt and khaki shorts. If he doesn’t stop dressing like that, it will be a quick decision.

But you won’t say that just yet.

You just gave birth.

Again, there’s no use to rush.

“Here she is, my Love. All bundled up.” Quinn grins as he presents his baby girl.

“You swaddled her up so well, Quinny,” you chuckle, holding her securely, softly and lightly caressing the little mark behind her fuzzy ear.

It’s still so amusing to you how hard Quinn insisted that her ears are just fuzzy and not hairy. You don’t think that he knows that it will be gone in a few weeks. It’s always so refreshing knot that he doesn’t know everything, because this man had researched quite a lot. Sometimes it amazes you. Sometimes it annoys you. Because, seriously, how can someone—a first time dad—know so much more than you? Still, it’s what makes Quinn the best.

“All settled?” he asks, kissing your cheek, his three-day-old scruff feels so rough and nice.

“Yes. I wanna go home now. Our parents are waiting,” you remind him. You see the way he pursed his lip in a tight line, his eyebrows frowning, so you scold him, “You can’t monopolize our princess, Quinn.”

Luckily, all of your parents are understanding that you two prefer them not to visit in the hospital, that you two just needed the calm to settle your little one, but the three-day stay has you already wanting to show off your daughter. Quinn looks like he just wants to keep you and his baby to himself. Like a mighty dragon hoarding his golden treasures. Gosh, he’s so silly, hoarding you to himself after he gloated so much over the phone calls and video calls.

“Quinny,” you whine, pouting that has him immediately melting.

“Fine,” he sighs, booping your daughter’s nose which got her cooing. You two go still at the how delicate she moves which is barely since she is still sleeping. “They need to be quiet.”

“Quinn, you already told them that.” You chuckle as he grumbles while pushing the wheelchair.

He told everyone that they need to be quiet. He’s already getting too protective over the little one. He’s firm with the no-kisses rule, hand washing, and facemasks. You try to tell him that the masks can go, but he won’t have it. You saw how his hackles were rising and the panic in his eyes were doubling, so you agreed. You ended up consoling him for ten minutes, telling him that your and his parents agreed.

“Maybe they should stay at a hotel.” Quinn hovers over you as you stand up and place the little princess in her baby seat.

“We got lots of room, Quinny.” You let him secure the seatbelt, seeing the way he blinks his tears away. “She’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be okay?” He steps into your space, his arm going around you. “I don’t want them to overwhelm you. You need to rest.”

Oh, he’s worrying about you.

You reach up, your heart beating harder in your chest when he leans his head into your touch. “I’ll be fine. They’re also excited to meet our baby. I want them to see how she looks like you and did you hear? They’re preparing dinner for us. Our moms told me they got some tricks to show me.”

You can see his brain going into a full overload. He’s overthinking again, so you rest your forehead against his. You feel his shuddering sigh as you give him a small kiss.

“Just tell me if you get uncomfortable with anything.”

“Okay,” you say. It’s clearly not enough so you add, “I promise.”

A beautiful smile spreads on his face. He’s so handsome. Your stomach is filling up with butterflies. You swoon as he opens your door for you and do your seatbelt. You silently watch him round the car and enter. You can’t help but think that he’s so perfect and that you are so lucky.

[nmoroder]

Meursault askblog post #3: what do you feel when you think about your Mother?

Askblog tag: #nmoroder meursault ask Please see pinned blog post before asking questions!

Ooh boy here we go. i've had several thoughts abt Meur's mother just off the top of my head when i was new to the characters and overall lore, but time passed and my knowledge grew and now those theories suck and im excited to know what its really all about. Nevertheless i feel like its something not so pleasant to think about for him, and since we've got like endless time before his canto comes up, i am free to do whatever i please. sorry man!

[paraonyx]

So, I'm not sure how many people have actually been thinking this. But this post is more of me getting my thoughts out about the season one reboot rather than trying to argue against anyone or something

I don't think that the remastered is meant to be a replacement for the original season one because throughout the series it's been made clear that the poor art style and writing is canon to the story. So to replace that with a remaster purely to make it more pretty wouldn't make sense.

I personally believe this to be something done to give more ii content sooner while they work on the continuation of the actual story since it wouldn't take as long to make a pre-made season higher quality compared to creating an entirely new season

[graysbullshit]

a list of brazillian fun facts you might want to know for your qsmp fanfics! (or in general lol)

DATING IN BRAZIL (because I know at least 50% of yall are gonna be writting slash):

Phase 1 can be or texting/talking or ficando (infinitive: ficar), it depends on how shy you are;

Ficando means to be actively seeking a person out consistently with the intent of talking for a bit and then making out (it does not entail any level of loyalty);

Brazillians only consider it "making out" if you french kiss;

Kissing without tongue is considered weird and viewed negativelly;

A little peck on the lips is cute, but not really what we consider kissing;

There are two types of brazillians: the ones that will start dating after a week and the ones that take months to make up their minds;

If a brazillian is interested in you (even if you don't know each other) and you're in a party there is a very good chance they will walk up to you and ask if you want to make out/ask for your instagram handle (it depends on what kind of party it is tbh);

Also, most brazillians kiss and tell lmao;

It is not uncommon for outgoing brazillians to make out with random strangers, especially during carnival;

We are a sex positive country mostly;

We are very sensual, even if we have no romantic interest;

Mock-flirting or Joke-flirting is very common in friend groups;

People who make out/date with the person their friend likes are called Talarica or Talarico;

When you get cheated on you're called Corno;

People usually go on dates after ficar for a whille;

Usually, if you're going on dates with someone it is expected of you to be faithful or to end things (you can't go on dates with a guy while also going on dates with another guy, that's fucked up);

We call dating namorando, from the infinitive namorar which refers back to namorado (boyfriend) and namorada (girlfriend);

brazillians are typically very direct when they are interested in someone, which doesn't mean they will say "oh, i like you" right away, but they will flirt for sure;

in Brazil saying "I love you" isn't a big deal, most brazillians will say it pretty fast and not saying it back (if you're in a relationship) is considered VERY WEIRD;

brazillians have the tendency of being very jealous lmao;

GEOGRAPHY:

Brazil is a continental sized country, being the fifth biggest country in the entire world. It is bigger than the USA, if counting only directly conected land (ignoring Brazil's islands and Hawaii and Alaska);

Because of it's size, brazillian states have a great number of differences in language, culture, food, climate, and politics;

There is as much animosity between states as in the USA (the difference being: brazillians will always defend each other rather than gringos);

The brazillian streamers are all from the Center-West, South-East and South of Brazil (unfortunatly there is nobody to represent the North and North-east);

The south-east is the are of biggest economical impact, while the center-west is known for the capital of the country (Brasília) and the agriculture, while the south has a terrible reputation (they have livestock too, but mostly a bad reputation);

Brazil has two of the biggest cities in the world: the 5º biggest, São Paulo, and the 19º biggest, Rio de Janeiro;

Nobody fucking likes São Paulo (the city) except from the people that were born there or lived there their entire lives;

Brazil has a mostly warm climate, and most brazillians consider anything below 20ºc to be cold (vai sulista, fala que no sul é mais frio, fala);

Brazil's seasons are more often defined by the level of humity, rather than how hot/cold it is;

Brazil is a giant when it comes to agriculture and livestock. We have a lot of grains, and red meat. If you drink coffee and eat meat you have definetly tasted brazillian products without knowning, since we do a lot of exportation (especially to europe);

Brazil has natural diamonds, pre-sal (which can be used in the making of combustives), gold and other precious stones.

HISTORY:

Brazil was mostly colonized by the portuguese, but there was also a presence of the Spanish, French, Dutch and British. You can tell by the architecture;

Rio de Janeiro was the capital of the Portuguese Kingdom for a little while;

Brazil (much like Mexico) was once an Empire;

Brazil (as it's own coutry) has had only two Emperors;

the Brazillian Empire was a big deal despite ending fairly soon;

Brazil's Empire once eliminated about 90% of the male population of Paraguay during a war, which is def a war crime. We have repayed them for what happened, though;

Cities like Rio de Janeiro have a lot of Imperial architecture, but most of the colonial architecture can be found in states like Minas Gerais;

Brazil sent troups in WWII to Italy, the famous Smoking Snakes;

Brazil was forced into a dictatorship by the USA (surprising no one);

Brazil had a president that decided to develop highways instead of trains (i fucking hate him). It's the same guy that moved the capital from Rio de Janeiro to Brasília;

Brasília was build with the blood of poor people and it fucking sucks, but it has the shape of an airplane so everything is fine ig /s;

Brazil's first woman president and it's current president were both tortured during the dictatorship;

Brazil is a concervative country, despite everything;

Do not ask me about Brazil's politics, because it's so fucking insane lmao;

GENERAL CULTURE:

Brazillian culture exists on top of three axes: Portuguese, African, and Indigineous;

We take A LOT from Japonese culture (since we are the country with the biggest Japonese population outside of Japan). I've never met a brazillian who hasn't watched anime, even my grandma knows what Pokemon is /srs;

Some other important diasporas in Brazil: Lebanon (we have more lebanese than Lebanon itself lol), China, Germany, Italy, and many different African countries;

Most brazillians listen to funk and sertanejo, but other brazillian music you might be interested in: samba, BRrock, mpb, BRpop, Axé, and Pagode;

Some other famous brazillians you might not know, but you should: Silvio Santos, Celso Portiolli, Rodrigo Faro, Angélica, Eliana, Xuxa, Luciano Huck, Pyong Lee, Mauricio de Sousa, Ariano Suassuna, Clarice Lispector, Machado de Assis, Guilmarães Rosa, Fernando Pessoa, Vinicius de Moraes, Toquinho, Mateus Hwang, Tiago Leifert, Tadeu Schmidt, Boninho, Guilherme Briggs, Fernanda Montenegro, Rodrigo Santoro, Wagner Moura, Seu Jorge, etc;

Most brazillians only drink tea for medicinal reasons (like cammomile tea);

Most brazillians love coffee and hate iced coffee;

Most brazillians start drinking coffee at a very young age;

Drinking (alchool) age in Brazil is 18yo, but most brazillians start drinking around 15yo;

Most brazillians love meat and barbecue. Here is a picture of a brazillian brabecue:

Brazil, differently from other American coutries, didn't have potatoes/corn as it's basic food, we had a root called Mandioca. Although it is still very beloved in brazillian cusine, the base for brazillian meals is currently Rice;

In Brazil we usually don't eat a lot during breakfast, but have a big meal (with rice, veetables, meat, and beans) for lunch and dinner. And our dinner is usually around 20h-22h;

We don't use AM or PM;

We use the metric system and Celcius, and we very much deslike the imperial system and what's-his -face is an abhorrent scientific disgrace;

brazillians who suck up to gringos are called "Vira-latas", which can be translated to "mutts" or more directly "eat-trash";

brazillians have mutiple coffee breaks during the day, mostly in the afternoon;

brazillians brush their teeth at least 3 times a day (mostly after every big meal);

brazillians shower at least once a day, some going as far as to shower three times a day during summer;

brazillians do not use snapchat and they think it's obsolete (because it is);

brazillians will pirate anything that isn't made by other brazillians, and I mean ANYTHING. There is no shame in pirating in Brazil and we are very proud of being the country that pirates the most in the world! We will also buy counterfeit products knowing they are counterfeit;

brazillians rivalry with argentinians is REAL. And, although is mostly a football thing, it really translates to everything else (especially if it's online);

brazillians have a hierarchy when it comes down to rooting for stuff, and it goes like this: brazillians, sibling countries, latin americans, other african countries, other third world countries, japan, other asian countries, european countries, anglo-saxon americans, argentina (if it's football), germany, portugal;

[serpentface]

Do you conlang? I was wondering if you had naming languages (or possibly even more developed ones) for pulling the words you use. I tried to search your blog but didn't find anything, wouldn't be surprised if the feature is just busted tho. Your worldbuilding is wonderful and I particularly enjoy the anthropological and linguistic elements.

Ok the thing is I had kind of decided I was not going to do any conlanging because I don't feel like I'm equipped to do a good job of it, like was fully like "I'm just going to do JUST enough that it doesn't fail an immediate sniff test and is more thoughtful than just keysmashing and putting in vowels". And then have kinda been conlanging anyway (though not to a very deep and serious extent. I maybe have like....an above average comprehension of how language construction works via willingness to research, but that's not saying much, also I can never remember the meanings of most linguistic terms like 'frictives' or etc off the top of my head. I'm just kinda raw dogging it with a vague conceptualization of what these things mean)

I do at least have a naming language for Wardi (and more basic rules for other established languages) but the rudimentary forms of it were devised with methods much shakier and less linguistically viable than even the most basic naming language schemes, and I only went back over it LONG after I had already made a bunch of words so there's some inconsistencies with consonant presence and usage. (This can at least be justified because it IS a language that would have a lot of loanwords and would be heavily influenced by other language groups- Burri being by far the most significant, Highland-Finnic and Yuroma-Lowlands also being large contributors)

The 'method' I used was:

-Skip basic construction elements and fully move into devising necessary name words, with at least a Vibe of what consonants are going to be common and how pronunciation works -Identify some roots out of the established words and their meanings. Establish an ongoing glossary of known roots/words. -Construct new words based in root words, or as obvious extensions/variants of established words. -Get really involved in how the literal meanings of some words might not translate properly to english, mostly use this to produce a glossary of in-universe slang. -Realize that I probably should have at least some very basic internal consistency at this point. -Google search tutorials on writing a naming language. -Reverse engineer a naming language out of established words, and ascribe all remaining inconsistencies to being loanwords or just the mysteries of life or whatever.

I do at least have some strongly established pronunciation rules and a sense of broad regional dialect/accents.

-'ai' words are almost always pronounced with a long 'aye' sound.

-There is no 'Z' or 'X' sound, a Wardi speaker pronouncing 'zebra' would go for 'tsee-brah', and would attempt 'xylophone' as 'ssye-lohp-hon'

-'V' sounds are nearly absent and occur only in loanwords, and tend to be pronounced with a 'W' sound. 'Virsum' is a Highland word (pronounced 'veer-soom') denoting ancestry, a Wardi speaker would go 'weer-sum'.

-'Ch' spellings almost always imply a soft 'chuh' sound when appearing after an E, I, or O (pelatoche= pel-ah-toh-chey), but a hard 'kh' sound after an A or U (odomache= oh-doh-mah-khe). When at the start of a word, it's usually a soft 'ch' unless followed by an 'i' sound (chin (dog) is pronounced with a hard K 'khiin', cholem (salt) is pronounced with a soft Ch 'cho-lehm')

-Western Wardin has strong Burri cultural and linguistic influence, and a distinct accent- one of the most pronounced differences is use of the ñ sound in 'nn' words. The western city of Ephennos is pronounced 'ey-fey-nyos' by most residents, the southeastern city of Erubinnos is pronounced 'eh-roo-been-nos' by most residents. Palo's surname 'Apolynnon' is pronounced 'A-puh-lee-nyon' in the Burri and western Wardi dialects (which is the 'proper' pronunciation, given that it's a Kos name), but will generally be spoken as 'Ah-poh-leen-non' in the south and east.

-R's are rolled in Highland-Finnic words. Rolling R's is common in far northern rural Wardi dialects but no others. Most urban Wardi speakers consider rolling R's sort of a hick thing, and often think it sounds stupid or at least uneducated. (Brakul's name should be pronounced with a brief rolled 'r', short 'ah' and long 'uul', but is generally being pronounced by his south-southeastern compatriots with a long unrolled 'Brah' sound).

Anyway not really a sturdy construction that will hold up to the scrutiny of someone well equipped for linguistics but not pure bullshit either.