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acerathia · 3 months

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pink camellias || Chapter 1: hyacinth

Chapter Summary:

purple hyacinth: sorrow

Wordcount: 3.2k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

Tags/CW:

royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol

Note:

I got too impatient, so, I'm posting the first chapter today lol, still, i hope you enjoy reading it!

You opened the windows as soon as you woke up. As the soft sunlight warmed your skin, you watched the breeze rustle the flowers of the garden. Beyond that garden was a beautifully constructed posh house, barely blocking your view to the adjacent village. The rows of different houses gave the scenery a special kind of feel. The view was breathtaking, the bustling of all these people making you feel alive under your skin.

You stood by the window, trying to discern the lives of the common people below you in the valley. There was a small stripe of forest bordering the village and the mansion, which stood atop a hill.

“I wonder how life is down there”, you mumbled before looking back to your bed.

The softest of fabric was spread over the king-sized bed and you slowly stepped closer, your hand enjoying the feel of silk between your fingers. Then with a tiny jump you threw yourself onto the mattress, sinking deeply in its comfort and warmth.

With a sigh, you tried to imagine living in such a village. Maybe you would operate a bakery, making tasty bread and confects. You would wake up early, which you usually would never even think about, but this was only imaginary. If you were lucky, you could watch the sunrise for some time, while waiting for the dough to rise. Your hands would be kneading and caressing the dough into different, but nonetheless tasty goodies for the day, the lit oven warming your back with a gentle sigh. It would hug the soft dough and prepare it for the day.

After the bread and sweets would be ready, you would open up the shop, awaiting the first jingle of the door. You would, as usual, greet the oncoming customers, the ones you saw regularly with some deep questions, and the newer ones with some welcoming small talk. Your heart would beat in happiness every time something of yours would find its home somewhere else. And if everything got sold, you would close the shop and head to the market to replenish some of your necessities. If not, you would go around and give the bread to someone who would need it at the moment, not wanting to let anyone go hungry.

You imagined such a routine to be relaxing and enjoyable, especially connecting with so many people. The wish to go out and change something for yourself lit a spark, even if the possibility of leaving this place without guard would never happen.

Some day you would wake up with the hope of appearing in another place, like the characters in your stories. Landing inside a novel with the knowledge of every scenario, being actively a part of some grand scheme or an adventure. But no matter how long you kept your eyes closed, you stayed in your little bland life.

Sometimes you would dare to write down some ideas, with your scrawly font. And while doing so you blamed yourself for not listening to your teacher when learning how to write. But you wrote. You wrote every little idea that emerged in your little head. Huffing and puffing when the intricate dreams vanished after waking up.

With a low grumble, you stared at your ceiling. You grew weary of only imagining things and felt the urge, the desire to actually live your own adventure.

“My Lady, I’ve brought water to wash up”, the voice of your maid Hana sounded before she entered the room.

You furrowed your brows, wondering how long you had been lying there, and if you would succeed in sneaking out, if your maid wouldn’t be so punctual. But you only greeted her and rolled from the bed to walk towards a stool.

While you were washing your face, Hana brushed your hair gently and got rid of all the knots taking residence on top of your head. You looked into the mirror, feeling the soft towel on your skin.

This was your face, even if you wished you were another person. No matter what you think, the baby fat on your face would not dwindle until much later. For a moment you wondered how soon your birthday was.

“You should go to the dining room to eat some breakfast, my Lady.”, Hana told you, after helping you into a simple baby blue wrapper. Something simple for your indoor endeavors, as you did not plan on leaving this mansion any time soon.

With a nod you made your way to the dining room, greeting your father, who was leaning over some papers spread over the table.

“Good morning sweetie, did you sleep well?”, he asked while stretching his arms for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Yes, thank you for asking, Father.”, you smiled with a slight crook, before turning to greet your mother the same way.

After the greetings, you took a seat and started eating your breakfast.

Despite the current silence at the table you were quite attached to your parents, as they were to you. They both were loving and warm and so doting on their only daughter. And who were you to resist getting spoiled like that? You would do anything for your parents, and even if you longed to go outside and experience new things, you were aware how your disappearance would break their hearts, and yours.

“Ah, we’re supposed to return to the palace today, did you prepare your luggage, or did you forget again?”, your mother started speaking with an amused smile after finishing the meal.

“Mother! Of course, I prepared everything! But, I’m still going to ensure that everything has its place.”, you hurriedly responded and jumped from your seat. Soft chuckle followed you out of the room.

How could you forget the return to the palace? Your father was the marquess and your mother attended to the queen herself. And despite your current young age, you wanted to make a good impression on the people living there, even if they may have already formed one around your person. But nothing speaks against working to better those impressions.

With the help of your maid, you threw everything you may need in that visit into a tiny case, fitting for your tiny stuff. And when Hana suggested you take your stuffed cat with you, you vehemently refused. Because what if someone saw it and thought of you as inferior? Especially little kids your age, they were usually the most vicious and you refused to be the victim of their bullying.

After making sure everything was in order, you let your maid help you into some outdoor gown with the same blue color as the other one. With a fitting pair of gloves and a bonnet, you were ready to leave your home for your stay at the palace.

Clutching Hana’s hand you made your way outside to the awaiting carriage. The coachman already heaving their luggage into its respective space. But you didn’t need his help to get into the carriage, not even Hana’s help. You grabbed some of the fabric of your dress and took the large step with one stride. The next step let you tumble into the insides of the carriage, where you immediately acted like everything went as planned.

Hana took the seat in front of you and the car slowly left the property. You knew that your parents were in the carriage in front of yours, so you did not fret and simply enjoyed the passing sights of the marquisate.

After a couple of minutes, someone slightly shook you and you blearily opened your eyes. You didn’t remember closing them in the first place. Did you already arrive at your destination? That was weird, you thought the way would take some hours. But beggars shouldn’t be choosers and you didn’t mind that very convenient time skip of sleep. Even if you now felt tired and grumpy.

With half-closed lids you let Hana lead you to the inside of the palace, where you already occupy a room. This wasn’t the first time your character visited the palace, but every time felt like it was. And no matter how much you wanted to look around, you felt drained and wanted nothing more than to continue your nap in peace.

The moment you stepped into the room, you threw yourself onto the bed, without care of your bonnet falling off your head. But for some reason you could not fall asleep again, making you whine into the soft pillows, before sitting up.

And before you could even plan anything for the afternoon, someone started knocking on your door.

“Hello! We were wondering if you wanted to play knights with us?”, a boy your age with bright green eyes, Izuchan, asked you with a smile, the moment you opened the door. Another was lingering with crossed arms and a slight scowl.

You turned to look at Hana, who just nodded with a sigh before you also nodded to the boys in front of you. “Yes! I’d love to participate in a game!”

With that, you followed them outside, where the sun shone upon your heads and warmed you slightly.

They immediately started clashing their wooden swords and began screaming something about ‘villains’ and ‘crime’. You wondered when it would be your turn, but you didn’t hold a wooden sword in your hands.

For some reason you felt the need to fix it, so you started wandering to the training camp of the real knights, looking for some kind of sword you might be able to use.

The only thing you discovered were of course actual knights in training. Their movements and the swing of the sword in their hands were mesmerizing and you could not help yourself but stare. Their flow seemed like a hidden dance, its steps only obtained by the truly worthy.

You felt trapped in watching the blades clash, eliciting bursts of tiny stars. A desire to wield this magic grew in you and a grin formed itself across your face. Now you fully understood the reason everyone admired knights. And you desired to be one.

You barely managed to rip your gaze from their dangerous dance only to see the object you were seeking only minutes ago. Without a second thought, you grabbed the wooden sword to return to the fighting boys. Only to see them running towards the training grounds, their gaze focused on something behind you.

And what were you supposed to do but follow them? So you ran with them towards a group of people converging around a massive person.

“Allmight!”, Izuchan gasped and started talking about the best knight in this whole kingdom and you couldn’t do anything but listen with rapt attention and interest.

Kacchan tried to get to the overrun knight, but before he had the possibility of reaching him, Allmight found the right timing to detach himself from the crowd and thus was missed when the boy finally broke through.

The blond started raging, concealing his disappointment in a fit of anger and screams. The other boy tried to calm him down, yelling ‘Kacchan’ to get his attention.

Undeterred by his outburst you gripped the wooden sword tighter in your hand and declared something to him, maybe you hoped to calm him down or to distract him from his missing hero.

“I am going to be a knight! One better than you!”, you declared war on these two young boys, who were supposed to be your friends, but your ambitions seemed to destroy any semblance of kinship.

“Hah? A girl can’t be a knight, are you stupid?”, Kacchan immediately replied, his anger only simmering, but directed at you nonetheless.

“You’re stupid!”

While you could have replied with a better comeback, annoyance made your brain empty, only the desire to show him filling you to the brim.

Without waiting for the next words of this brash boy, you turned and ran towards the toy dummy, which has been abandoned offside the actual training grounds. You didn’t care if your dress stained, the seams filling with mud, as you hit the dummy repeatedly, acting as if you were already a seasoned knight.

The two boys joined you soon after. And while the blond and you could not do anything but push each other into anger, you still played with your wooden swords, even if any of you would have dared to say that it has been a fight for life and death.

And if your maid clicked her tongue and reprimanded you for ruining your dress, you only responded with your dreams and hopes of becoming a knight. Out of necessity, your maid had, soon after that conversation full of sighs and aspirations, sewn you some proper clothing resembling the ones of a knight.

With your pants and shirt, you continued to fight your friends at every possibility, even if it meant getting stained in blue blood underneath your skin and ripped hair between your fingernails.

***

The seasons have passed and you still lived at the palace with your mother. You spent your daily life studying everything this place had to offer and everything your duty obliged you. But the moment you managed to free yourself some time, the people found you in a pair of pants, swinging that old wooden sword with your friends.

Finally, you had finished your reading for the day, getting some free time for your extracurricular activities. But before the teacher could properly dismiss you, your maid knocked and entered the room, a grave expression marring her face.

“Miss, I’m afraid, your mother is at death's door…”, she started speaking, but you jumped from your chair, grabbing the fabric of your dress to allow you to run as fast as you managed.

Your mother, your dear, loving mother, laid there, unmoving in her too-big bed. Her pale frame almost sunk into the soft fabric of the bedding and you were afraid. You were so afraid to step too close and to hurt her.

Still, you carefully sat at the end of the bed, taking her hand in yours, as soft as your rough hands cared to achieve. You only had eyes for her, everyone around you nothing but a blur. Nonetheless, you caught some pieces of information from the people hurrying around you in a senseless frenzy. The white plague. Your mother has been suffering under the act of consumption for longer than any of the people around her anticipated. Her paleness mistaken for lack of sun and worry. Her feverishly red cheeks and lips simply for a mistake in the chosen shade.

You wondered how long she had been plagued by this illness. How long had she been suffering without anyone taking notice? Had she already known prior to this?

Suddenly her lack of presence in your life in the last couple of months started to make sense. She knew you would have noticed her lack of energy immediately. How could you not? Your mother used to be the sun in any dark room. Her presence soothing and warm, even if bright. This woman in front of you was nothing but a pale, sick shadow of her old self. And it hurt you.

It hurt to see the most important person in your life suffer and on the brink of death. Oh, how you would do anything to soothe her aches and take her pains away.

Something cold dripped onto your hands, but you were not able to find the source of those tiny drops. Not until you took a shuddering gasp and a sob broke free, your lungs yearning to scream and cry.

Even if you grew weary and bored of your life, you cared for this woman, it drove you crazy. How were you supposed to move on after this?

People grabbed your sobbing shoulders, but you refused to let go of her frail hand. Someone was whispering empty words into you and you didn’t react with anything but a heartbreaking wail, lowering your head against her hand, pressing her cold skin against your cheeks.

Despite your vehement protest, someone managed to loosen your grip around your dead mother, leading you into your room. After getting pushed onto your own bed, everything became a blur.

You barely noticed getting moved around or getting into a carriage. The only thing you numbly remember was the regret of not telling your friends about your hasty departure. Even if you yourself had not known about it until you arrived back at the mansion you used to live at. You supposed this was your actual home, even if the palace felt more like it.

After your arrival at the mansion, you refused to eat and did not leave your room under any circumstance. At some point, your father's worry grew and he started trying to lure you with different things. Most of them got no reaction from you at all.

“Hello dear. How have you been?”, he asked with a soft voice, taking a seat at the end of the bed. You gave him a tired smile as an answer, your voice itching and scratching.

“Good, good.”, he nodded, taking your hand in his. “I know I have said it multiple times already, but you need to get out a bit… I know, I know. But she would not want you to suffer in such a dark room.” He tried to persuade you, already knowing your answer, even just with your nonverbal facial expressions.

“How about this: You still want to be a knight, don’t you? Well, then we shall get you some proper sword master to teach you. Can’t have you swing a wooden sword without instructions forever.”, and his suggestion made you perk up.

You still wanted to master swordsmanship, but your father had never supported that particular endeavor of yours. Until to this day, it appeared. Even if the circumstances should have been better, your mother should have been there to celebrate that milestone with you. Still, you knew she would have wanted you to run towards your dreams, even if she wasn’t there. You decided to dedicate this work of life to her before you agreed to your father's suggestion with a slight nod and a hesitant smile.

And your agreement seemed to spark some happiness in the eyes of your old man, as his smile gained that special depth. Without further words, because you simply didn’t need to, he pecked your forehead, before standing up. And if he pulled the curtains open and let you bask in the warmth of the estranged sun before he left your room, then so be it. Because this time, the sun didn’t symbolize another day without her, but a new opportunity dedicated to her, in remembrance of her. Starting with that day, you promised yourself to think of her every time you held a sword. Your dear beloved memories with her would lend you whatever strength you would have needed in any possible situation.

Your gaze wanders out of your window, into the beautiful garden. And you were mesmerized by the whipping flowers, almost like it was your first time seeing them. With this breathtaking, familiar view you held your promise close to your heart and planned on never letting go.

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x you

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

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daisy, chapter five

A/N: I'm sorry you've had to wait so long for an update, but I've just had really bad writers block for a while now :(

summary: “sorry, I just couldn’t really concentrate on that damn book with you sprawled out like this."

warnings: private school!reader, perv!steve, smut, kissing, size kink, dirty talk, fingering, the smallest of handjobs, loss of virginity (even though that's not how virginity works lol, but still... first time for p in v), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, the clothes stays on (except for her underwear)

word count: 3020

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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As soon as the bus home from school came to a stop in Hawkins, your legs dashed directly towards Steve’s house.

The history test that you had on Friday had you absolutely shaking in your boots. It didn’t matter that it was a subject that you usually did just fine in, you still felt the overwhelming urge to study every second of every day in order to calm your nerves.

Steve, being the kind person that he was, had instead of pouting when you said that you didn’t have time to hang out, offered for you to come over and study at his house since his parents, as per usual, were absent. He promised to bring you yummy snacks and help quiz you so that you could just concentrate your heart out and keep going till you eventually crashed.

The perhaps unnecessary mountain of notes you had shown up with today, determinedly clutching them all in your tiny arms, had brought a smile to his lips. When you spread them out all over his bed in neat little categorised piles, he restrained himself from spewing off jokes about your adorable knack for keeping things organised.

After a while, you’d managed to convince Steve to use the time wisely and study a bit as well. Laying on your stomach, facing the dark metal headboard of his bed, you heard the gentle turning of pages from behind you as he slowly made his way through the no-doubly very boring novel that he had to write an essay on.

Sitting on the mattress, one of his hands was simply resting on the soft skin of the back of your bare thigh. Occasionally he would brush his thumb over it or move the palm in small soothing patterns, dancing over the exposed skin betwixt the tops of your knee highs and the bottom of your preppy skirt.

Lifting your eyes off of the page in front of you, you closed them and recited quietly to yourself, “1748, 1753 and 17-…1755?” quickly glancing down to check if you had remembered the old dates correctly. You couldn’t stop the light wiggle your body did in celebration as you skimmed over the page, confirming the answer. Resting your cheek back down in your open palm, you turned the page and kept reading.

The affectionate contact your boyfriend didn’t dare to break sent warm tingles throughout your body, nearly succeeding in making you sleepy. It was so comforting having him right there. You almost didn’t register when his fingers suddenly began to wander, your lids just grew heavy and your head started to lull, dropping down closer to the open page.

His soothing touch crept up higher and higher, carefully dipping under the hem of your plaid skirt and eventually making its way up even higher till the tips of his fingers met your backside. Your low reciting of the facts written out on the pages before you slowly transformed into spellbound hums and whimpers.

He kept his touch feather-light as he sneakily came to play with the edge of your underwear, just barely slipping the tips under the elastic barrier. Without even thinking about it, you sluggishly spread your thighs apart, gliding one knee up to be by your side and giving him plenty of room to play.

Feeling his touch finally move down to meet your clothed cunt, he pressed down lightly on your throbbing clit, causing your head to drop down the last remaining inches to rest upon the now completely forgotten history book. His fingers must have surely moved from just how intense your pulse was pounding under them, playing with your dancing little pearl like that.

Just as if you were falling asleep, you closed your eyes and sank into the euphoric feeling.

Teasing you till the echoes of your sticky arousal sloshed around in your ears, you could quite literally feel yourself drip, undoubtedly forming a painfully obvious wet patch underneath his touch.

“Steve…” you slurred breathlessly, cheek completely squished against the printed painting of some gleaming nobleman.

“Mhm?” he hummed, sounding half dazed himself.

“I-…” you tried and failed to force your eyes open, “I have-, the test is on Friday…”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, lightening his touch.

“No!” you rushed out, not needing any time to think about the answer.

You had been going for a while now, probably couldn’t hurt if you took just a little break…

Pinching your puffy, covered lips with his thumb and forefinger, you dug into the sheets, clenching onto the fabric with your fingers and holding back a needy moan.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t really concentrate on that damn book with you sprawled out like this,” he explained, hooking his pointer finger in the sodden cotton between your legs and dragging it down, “especially in that skirt.”

When his fingers finally returned to your dripping folds, you squeaked, “my skirt?”

“Yeah,” he coated his digits in your essence, “you look so fucking sexy in that uniform,” teasing your quivering hole just long enough to be considered mean, he finally gave you what you wanted and plugged you up with first one and then two of his long, thick fingers. Feeling him bow down closer to your body, he nuzzled his nose in your hair, “the skirt, the socks, all of it,” settling in partly beside you and in some ways also on top of you, he kissed your cheek and pressed his colossal erection against your thigh, grinding into it for some form of relief, “it’s like I’m in a wet fucking dream every time I see you like this,” he groaned into your ear.

Since your eyes were still screwed shut, his hot breath fanning across the side of your face was one of the only indications you had that he was now right there, close enough to kiss. But you couldn't open them even if you wanted to, being so far away in dreamland.

Even though the feeling of his fingers inside of you had become a familiar affair at this point, it still felt too thrilling for your heart to bear. While this time seemed to have been more of just a moment of not being able to resist himself, the rest of the times had been much more intentional. He was on such a determent mission to make you ready for his girth that he had settled into a raunchy routine where it nearly seemed like torture for him if he couldn’t feel your trembling walls cling onto his fingers every single day.

“Jesus christ you’re wet ace,” he rocked his digits hard inside of you, amplifying the lewd noises, “just listen to how fucking perfect you are.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond as you felt yourself start to slip away into that delicious abyss. So instead, you simply whimpered pathetically into the pages of the book you were supposed to be studying.

“Fuck, you’re so relaxed right now,” he noted, the subtle rustling of his belt completely flew over your dazed head, “bet I could just-“ feeling him act out his filthy thought, he swiftly withdrew his fingers and replaced them with something else. Something much larger…

Straightaway as you felt the very tip of him push just slightly into you, splitting open your entrance, you tumbled over the edge.

A large part of you hadn’t even registered what had happened with his timing being so perfect to when your mind had already decided to melt. But as your excessively loud moans and attempts to bury your body deeper into the mattress subsided, you finally blinked your eyes open and craned your neck to look back at Steve.

Veins were bulging out on his neck, perhaps it was from the strain of restricting himself the pleasure of just burying himself all the way inside of you, or perhaps it was because of the way your throbbing pussy had now clenched down around him, in some ways sucking him in deeper and in others trying to push him back out.

“Oh my god,” you floated back down to earth, as your eyes flickered down to see just how tight one of his hands was gripping your bunched-up skirt and the staggering image of what still lingered behind that. His generous length disappeared completely in between your trembling legs. “Oh my god!” your yelp made your cunt flutter and expel the tip from your quaking hole, “Steve! Did you just-, is that-,“ you struggled, completely baffled by what had just happened.

“Oh shit, sorry,” his purely carnal expression was quickly replaced by one dripping of guilt, “you were just so-, fuck!” he cursed, swiftly distancing himself from you, tugging his painfully hard dick away.

“Steve,” your tone was completely serious, yet it had no sense of anger or anything akin to that shining through it, “did that really just happen?” it was more like a hint of pride that bubbled out as a small smile crept upon your lips, “did I really just-…”

It felt like it had been forever now that he had prepared you, filling your head with warnings and perhaps blowing it up into something unnecessarily big and scary.

“Well, it was just the tip, like barely even the tip-“

“Steve,” you interrupted, turning around completely and forcing his eyes to meet yours, letting him see your bright smile.

“Yeah?” he still sounded like he was more than ready for you to just slap him.

“That really just happened.”

“S-shit,” he shuttered, realisation seeming to wash over him and slowly letting a small smile eliminate his worried frown.

Raising yourself up onto your elbows, you nodded gently for him to meet you halfway. Kissing him deeply as soon as he was in range, the fire still crackling deep within your belly persuaded you to dip your hand down below his loose belt and rub your palm against his hard cock.

His stifled moan vibrated against your tongue as he fastened his fingers in the roots of your hair.

Enclosing your fingers around his girth, the tips never quite meet on the other side. “Please Steve,” you purred against his lips, giving his dick a few gentle tugs.

Pulling back from the kiss, his jaw hung low as he visibly fought to stifle another moan. His dark eyes found yours and he asked, “you sure, ace? I don’t wanna ruin you.”

Flashing him a smile, you shook your head and raised yourself up to kiss him once more, “you won’t ruin me.”

“No,” he tilted his head, denying you the pleasure, “I will.”

His completely severe expression set your inexperienced movements to a screeching halt. “Well,” you bit your bottom lip lightly, unsure of how this would turn out, “what if I want you to ruin me?”

Your warm tone melted him at once. “Jesus fuck,” he cursed, picking up your face with his hands and lowering himself to meet you once more, “I love you.”

Being too giddy now to simply make out with him, you quickly laid back down, snatching your fingers back from his pants so they could instinctually find the buttons of your crisp white shirt.

“Wait,” his fingers came to stop yours, “could you,” his hands cupped your tits, giving them a good enough squeeze to make them swell up in the low opening you had already unbuttoned, “keep it on?”

“Sure,” you couldn’t help but giggle at the staring contest he was winning with your cleavage.

“Fuck,” he shook his head lightly, trying to think straight, “okay, okay… stay right there,” he crawled a bit and then stretched himself out to reach his bedside table, fishing out a small bottle.

Biting down on your sunny smile, you ogled up at your best friend and brought both of your knees up to your chest, feeling the cold air tickle your sobbing centre.

“Fuck, okay, are you ready? Do you want anything before? Have you changed your mind?” he settled himself between your soft thighs, one of his hands resting the top of one of your socks, lightly fiddling with it, “because if you have then that’s totally fine-“

“Steve,” you cut him off, hooking a leg around him to keep him from straying away, “just stick it in me, please.”

“You sure you don’t want another orgasm or two?” he freed himself of the restraints of his dark underwear, brows knitting together as he touched himself, eyes wandering over your waiting form, “I could eat you out?”

“Right now, I just want you, I just want your cock,” you were practically aflame in front of his very eyes, “please, that’s all I want.”

Popping open the cap on the small bottle, he squeezed out a generous globe into the palm of his hand. Working it over his length, mixing the lube in with his own little beads of precum, he smirked, “yeah?”

“Please, please, please, please-“ the chants were messy and needy under your breath as he towered over you, lowering himself down to eventually swallow your prays with a kiss.

Feeling the slickened head of his cock part your folds, he tried to tease you a bit, but your eagerness eventually won as you tightened your hooked leg at just the right moment for the tip to push inside.

Gasping for air, you ripped away from the kiss. Your big eyes met his searching ones, and you gave him a frantic nod, encouraging him to keep going.

Easing in just a tiny bit deeper, you winched “ouch,” not quite expecting the pinching stretch to be so severe.

“Do you need me to stop?” his painfully slow pushing stopped at once.

“No!” you exclaimed quickly, grasping his bicep, “don’t stop, please Steve, do not stop!”

“Okay,” he picked up his slow journey once more, planting a few tender kisses along your brow as laboured breaths flowed out your lips, “I won’t stop.”

His forearms were pinned on either side of your head, caging you in and transporting you to another dimension where all you could see, and all you could feel, was him.

You already felt so full, you didn’t even feel his pelvis anywhere near your own, yet you still felt so fucking full.

“Holy shit, you’re so tight, ace,” he nudged his nose against yours.

Not daring to glance down and check how far you had left to conquer, you simply dug your nails into his tense muscle and heaved, “m-more!”

Locking up his hips, not pushing in any further, he assured you, “you’ve got me ace, you’ve got me,” pure adoration shone through in his breathy voice.

“But I want all of you,” you pouted, practically clawing at his skin.

“And you will, I promise,” a hand came up to brush a few wild strands of hair out of your forehead, “just relax, okay?”

Locking his eyes with yours, he breathed in deeply, raising his eyebrows slightly for you to copy. They first came in short as your body was fighting hard to comprehend the new and overwhelming sensation. But in time, they became just as clear and deep as Steve’s was, hovering above you.

“There you go baby,” he kissed your lips sweetly. Quickly losing yourself to the kiss, you felt him, without warning, begin to pull back out, reversing the movement till only a whisper of him remained. Smiling against your moan, he found an intimately slow rhythm, not seeming to care when your ability to kiss him back began to falter.

“You’re so fucking amazing, ace,” his sloppy kisses started to wander away from your parted lips, “so warm, so tight, so wet…”

“S-so big,” blubbered out of you as his rhythmic thrusts shook your whole body.

“Oh yeah?” the tips of his hair tickled your forehead, “too big for you, baby?”

“Too big, too big,” you found yourself agreeing as your mind utterly melted from the stretching pleasure.

“Yeah?” he smirked, gradually losing more of his caring control, “am I too big for this sweet little virgin pussy or do you think she can take it all, huh?”

“P-please!”

And when he finally let the tip kiss your cervix, impaling you completely, one could have almost been fooled that the strangled cry that you produced was one of agony and not the aching pleasure that rippled through your tender body.

“Definitely not a virgin anymore, huh ace?” he moaned as he crushed you into the plush mattress below, downright pounding your little cunt, “now you’re just a sweet little slut completely and utterly drunk on my big dick.”

“I lo-love you, I love you, I lov-,“ was all you could chant, blubbering as you creamed all over his cock, seeing the stars themselves.

A messy string of curses and a strangled, “christ, you’re choking me, ace,” flowed out of Steve as he came undone, pumping you full of his sticky, hot load.

You shook in his arms as you both slowly regained your breath. As he carefully pulled himself free of your suction cup-like hole, he checked, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, that was-,” not quite believing that you’d actually just done that, “Steve, that was amazing,” you nearly cried.

“Are you sure you’re okay? It doesn’t hurt or anything?”

Trying your best to ignore the light stinging of your sore pussy, you admitted, “maybe a little…”

“Ace, I- ,“ but he didn’t get any further as you yanked him down to shut him up with a kiss. You didn’t wanna float back down to earth just yet, you wanted to stay here in the clouds with him, having him hold you and kiss you and feel how his warm cum leaked out of your aching cunt, dripping down and surely staining your blue plaid skirt below.

“Oh,” you let out a sigh of relief against his swollen lips, “kissing helps.”

Feeling a content chuckle fan across your face, “okay ace, I’ll kiss it better for you,” and after a few gentle pecks he purred, “I promise that in no time you will be taking me like a goddamn pro…”

next chapter

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hotdamnhunnam · 2 years

Text

Lies

A/N: Hiiiiii you guys 🤗 So I don’t intend to be *back* on tumblr actively the way I used to be, but this mofo Lin is inspiring the shit out of me, I just adoooore him, so of course I have to write a lil fic for him ✨ I’m not tagging my tag list or anything, just dropping this out in the world lol. Much love to you all! ❤️

Pairing: Lin Ford x F!Reader Warnings: smut (p in v, face-fucking), some plot (but no spoilers for book or show), brief ref to blood (not reader’s or Lin’s tho), swearing, smoking, fluffity fluffin’ fluff, and sorry I can’t shake off the old habit of my clownass poet stuff 🤡 Word Count: ~5.2k

“You’ll probably write all this into a great big book someday. Like a love letter to Bombay.”

His blue eyes lift, from where he sits half-naked smoking a half-finished cigarette, out on the balcony of your apartment. Blink once and then lower again as he takes in the words you say.

Four stories down, the city hums to the calm rhythm of late evening: car horns honking just every so often rather than the afternoon constant, the soft croon of love songs, the closing of storefronts, handcarts plodding slowly towards home. The setting sun warms his bare skin as he leans back against the rail, casting in gold the whorls of metalwork that seem to him so frail because they aren’t caging him in and everything he lives and dreams is always relative to that dark place he’s been.

Almost everything at least. The almost is how he convinces himself that he’s free.

Lin cracks a half-smile and quits his cigarette although it isn’t finished yet. Joins you inside, leaves the door open to the balcony—open as you and he both like the door to be. Crosses the tiny room then stops to stand with the back pockets of his jeans pressed up against your desk, facing you where you’re half-reclining in your bed. “What makes you say that?”

Thoughts start drifting then because you’re such a mess. Drifting to how he’s fucked you up against that desk. And in this bed obviously. Out on that balcony, once in the middle of the night for all the stars above to see. So many times he’s fucked you right out of your head and in this moment those blue eyes are fucking you out of your body.

Makes you feel so fucking free.

“It’s something in the eyes,” you answer him, realizing in this instant that it’s how you know he writes. “It’s like… you don’t just look at things, or into them, or through them.”

Lin quirks up his brows and smirks a little bit, biting his bottom lip. “What do I do then?”

“I’m not sure if there’s a word for it. But I bet you would find the word, if it exists.”

“Or fake it if it doesn’t. Because fuck it. That’s half of what writing is.”

“Lies?” you laugh.

“Yeah and not even half—all words are lies, you know? They’re just so small. Words try to capture shit that’s honestly so big and sometimes infinite. The worst thing a writer can do is believe he’s succeeded.”

You wonder for a minute just how permanently stoned he is, from one too many visits with that godfather-philosopher of his. “So I was right—you do write? Even despite thinking you’re doomed to fail?”

His shrug tells you maybe because of it. Maybe failure has found its home deep in his bones and he’s drawn to whatever results in it.

Then he picks up his unbuttoned shirt from the chair where he’d tossed it some hours ago and digs into his pockets. He shows you the notes that he’s scrawled on spare napkins and looseleaf scraps over these past several months, which you both know he’s bound to stitch into a novel. You read them and can’t help but smile, and he looks—looks in that way of his you can’t describe at all. Thinks to himself that smile would burn the goddamn pages if he ever tried to write it in a book.

It almost makes him want to try, but that’s the part of him that’s drawn to what feels wrong. The part he used to think was strong. The part that he’s constantly fighting to deny.

“It’s lovely. All of it, honestly,” you praise his work as you tuck all the papers back into his pockets, relieved to have found that he wrote not so much about people he’d met; rather, these notes are focused on places and concepts. But the finished book is sure to feature characters, so you need him to make you a promise. “Just promise me something?”

You join him where he lies in bed, his sun-gold hair bright even deep in the night, halo upon his heavy head. At the sight it’s easy to forget that the sun past the window has set. He’s becoming your sun and a lot more than that, but you’re not sure if he knows it yet.

Then whisper your request, propping your chin against his chest and searching those infinite eyes for words that won’t ever exist. “Just… promise you won’t write me into it. Please?”

He won’t ask why. Any reply would be a lie.

Just nods, although it’s soft and weak, and it’s a promise that he’ll keep. He won’t write you into a single line, the string of lies that truth-seekers and soul-searchers the world over might someday call a literary masterpiece. You know more deeply than the aching love he makes tonight that he won’t write you into it. Not in words at least.

***************

The first time you lay eyes on Lindsay Ford you know right there and then you’d like to lay a lot more than your eyes on him.

He has wanted man written all over him. Even for a gora, as they call him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Wanted in far more ways than one. A man worth wanting as a friend, or as a lover—maybe as a business partner or a customer—and then of course for some, a man who’s criminally wanted just in terms of what he’s running from.

On this fine day you catch a glimpse amidst the crowd of sandy hair swept back and gathered in a bun. Slung over one of his broad shoulders is a heavy bag that probably holds his every life possession. Through the pale cloth of his shirt his sweat is visible because no doubt the Bombay heat beats down even more brutally upon someone who’s always on the run.

You’re in no need of that distraction. So you tear your eyes away from him and go about your day. Later that afternoon fate throws his fine ass straight back at you anyway.

Now as you see him ambling absentmindedly along the road the fucker is about to get run over by a car, yet you can’t stop it from this distance—you’re too far. Someone else steps forward that instant, as you stare: a woman dressed in white with ravishing dark hair. Even from here you can just tell that she’s the type who would inspire countless writers to craft characters like her because she’s so much more remarkable than everything you are.

And sure enough this woman makes a mark on Lin; his gaze lights up as if he thinks he’s in the presence of an angel or a fallen fucking star.

Quite clearly smitten and already dreaming up the pretty lines that his poetic heart insists on being written.

So you take one last long look and then head home. You don’t belong in this man’s life because you’re not a fucking poem.

***************

It’s been weeks since that day. Out of sight, out of mind is a thing people say. It’s a lie. He’s inside your mind’s eye.

Your local chai shop is your favorite place to watch neighbors and strangers strolling by. You try to focus on their faces but you keep seeing his traces like the blue of the noon sky, not quite as blue as you might dream his gaze to be, though from the distance that had been in between you and him you couldn’t clearly see. Surely you’re better off that way because to have him anywhere in close proximity you’d probably fucking die.

You shut your eyes just for a second and envelop all your senses in the warm sweet spices wafting from your half-full cup of chai.

And when you open them he suddenly is all that you can see.

All you can hear as he asks if the fully empty seat across from you is free.

He’s standing here so fucking near and really really shouldn’t be.

You smile a silent yes, too stunned out of your wits to fucking speak. Too mesmerized at how his sweat glistens so brightly on the smooth skin of his neck down to the upper part of his half-exposed chest. Sweat has no business glistening like this and making you so weak.

It’s a small shop; of course the seat across from you had been the only open seat. And yet he didn’t have to stop. The chai in any other place would’ve been just as hot and sweet.

The thing is that he didn’t come here for the tea.

Having stared down at yours too long, biting your tongue, you glance up at him nervously.

He clearly sees your nerves but sees them in a way that makes them slowly start to fade. Something about his bay-blue gaze smoothes out the ends where they’re all frayed.

“I’m Lindsay by the way,” he takes the chance to say. “Or Lin for short. And yes I know the Hindi meaning of the word.”

The tongue-in-cheek response that slips off of your lips is far more forward than you’d ever have expected of yourself but so it goes. You wouldn’t say this to a man with a short penis but he’s far from such a man and you don’t doubt it. “Well then I suppose… you ought to know there’s nothing ‘short’ about it.”

Thus your thing with Lin begins.

And from that moment some small part of you already lives in fear of how it ends.

All afternoon the two of you talk over fresh roti and frothy cups of tea. You’re thinking more than half the time of just how good his lin would feel deep in your pussy.

Conversation flows so smoothly till it goes in the direction of a subject that you wouldn’t share so openly in any other circumstance—for several reasons your best practice is to keep this fact about yourself a secret or to lie whenever given half the chance. “My father works for the Australian embassy.”

You don’t tell him just what your father does exactly. Or what you do. But those words just hit him badly. Maybe lying would’ve been the better play for you, yet something when you’re with this man compels you to be just a little bit closer to true.

Even if it costs you the hope of knowing him and the loss burns you fucking brutally.

The ghastly pale shade that just fell across his face somehow still suits him fucking beautifully. Then again anything would; he can’t look anything but good. In any case you don’t ask questions that a wanted man could never answer truthfully. You just muse aloud ruefully. “I guess this means that you’d be better off not having anything to do with me.”

“Yeah, I would,” he says in a nervous half-laugh. Dead serious despite being amused at fate’s cruel joke so that’s what cuts the laugh in half. “I really would be.”

In that moment you can see so fucking clearly that the one thing this man needs most desperately in all the world is to be free. Like, fully free. If any man can ever be. You’re caught up in a life that threatens that for him; you’re bad for him. Look up at him and beg him silently—then just be done with me.

What you don’t know is that he sees the sweetest fucking kind of freedom in your eyes. He’s lost his appetite for chai and so he lies. “The thing is that I’m not done with this tea.”

***************

The first time you lay hands on Lindsay Ford you know right there and then that you’d lay down your life for him.

There’ve been so many cups of tea between the two of you in these past weeks, before you ever touch. A playful punch perhaps against his shirt-clad bicep in the chai shop when he cracks a joke that hits home just a little bit too much. The distant closeness of hello kisses on either cheek, and goodbye hugs and such.

But when your hands meet his bare skin, when he’s standing in front of you here in your room and tells himself he’s finally man enough to let you in… that’s when you know the way you truly feel for Lin.

Your eyes don’t linger on the color of the scars that streak his body since you’ve always been more focused on the wounds deeper within. The wounds that heal a little every day he spends with you and finds new hope of freedom from the prison of his sin.

The problem is he’s been conditioned to consider the escape itself a crime.

With whole truths and half-lies, you’re always finding new and better ways to reassure him otherwise. Tonight you place your palm softly against the skin above his heart as you gaze up into his eyes. “Has it been… a long time?”

Since he’s been with a woman? Since he’s felt anything other than alone?

Either way the answer is the same. It’s been so long. So fucking long.

“No,” he lies. Without shame. Knowing full well his body will tell you the truth even harder than it would have otherwise. Fuck you the better to spite his false tongue.

Yet his tongue sure as fuck doesn’t taste false to you. When you lean in to press your lips to his half-parted, first kiss fully open-hearted… when the kiss deepens and you can feel the wet heat of his tongue upon your own, making you moan as if for all your life till now you’d been alone… it tastes like nothing else you ever fucking knew.

There are no words for how it tastes or what it does to you. But you can tell from this first kiss he won’t let any of his self-hate claw its way through, cast its shadow on the way that he makes love to you.

He lays you down upon your bed, one hand cradling your head, the fingers of the other twined in yours. A soft smile plays about those lips that you just kissed, as if to ask whether a man like him should be allowed to feel such fucking bliss. He asks the universe. It answers, without words. Of fucking course.

Those smiling lips move down your neck and to the skin around your ear; your free hand tangles in the spun gold of his hair to hold him near. And fuck you’ve never smiled so much during sex or during anything. It’s fucking wild how much happiness you get from just the rhythm of his breathing. It’s the only sound you ever want to hear.

You hope those bright blonde bristles on his upper lip and chin will mark you up with rosy little burns across your tender skin. The scrape of them when he’s working his starved mouth on your tits feels like it has to be a sin. He leaves your nipples so damn stiff, that when he shifts, so he can kiss your gasping lips again and then your spit-slick chest rubs against his, you may have come undone already just like this, when the real fucking sex still has yet to begin.

And when it does you’re fucked in far more ways than one. Lin brings a whole other dimension to the meaning of undone.

You want this man to make sweet love to you tonight but also fuck you fucking filthy.

First thing you feel is the length of it when it finally springs free. The girth and weight and fucking strength of it just from the glossy tip pressed up against your pussy lips have seriously knocked you dizzy.

Pretty sure that shit won’t fit. But you’ll split all your insides open till you’re literally nothing but a hole for it.

Lin of course has other ideas though, for just how the night will go. Intense and passionate yet slow. He wants to ravage you for sure, and fuck you like a whore, but only in the ways that make you whole for it.

He doesn’t tell you that in words but still you know. There’s so much freedom in your eyes when he drives home between your thighs, and unlike all the other kinds of freedom built on fucking lies… this one is true and he won’t even have to sell his soul for it.

***************

Whenever you go down on Lin, it’s… it’s the closest thing that you’ve ever experienced to what infinite is.

It’s like the full scale of the universe collapses into mere inches and minutes.

Nothing mere about this though—not here when you’re gaping your throat to take his massive cock as deep as it will go. When your hands grasp onto the firm globes of his ass as if for dear life just to pull him ever closer while you suck and slurp and swallow. When your wide eyes glow with rapture as you thirst after his load until it has to fucking blow. You want this now and every day and night for all your life to follow.

These past days and nights you’ve tasted every inch of him till each became a mile. All the traces of self-hatred in the creases on that perfect fucking face of his that fade a little farther every time you make him smile.

And the sweat that you had seen—glistening on his neck that day when he first met you over chai and mesmerized you with that goddamn gorgeous sheen—you know now it tastes even better than it looks from all the nights you’ve licked him clean. The salt of sweat and tears and all of his regrets through all the years and then the bitter and the sweet of his release when you’re beneath him on your knees feed you so full it feels obscene.

Sometimes he fucks your filthy face because you begged him for it once. He goes all out and pounds your mouth like it’s a sloppy little cunt. He groans and grunts and grabs a firm hold of your skull and plows harder into your hole with every perfect push and pull until he pumps you full of everything your soul could ever want.

Release hits different for a man who’s on the run and it tastes different too. Takes on the taste of what it’s running to. He frees himself a little more, each time he pours himself into his dirty little whore. Tastes fresh as dew and real and true. And the one thing that he is most desperately longing to be free to do… is feel something for you. So long as he remains a prisoner of his own inner war, he can’t be free to feel this deep shit that’s already shaken him down to his core.

Till then he’ll just keep running to it. Maybe this shit ran him over from the day you met before he even knew it. Still he runs because for once he has something worth running for.

***************

“I win because I said it first.”

Lin waggles his adorably disheveled head, hair straggled from the several hours he just spent wrecking the bed, as he declares his little victory and keeps insisting on it while you laugh until it hurts.

You’re set to burst. The motherfucker won’t stop tickling your sides till tears are falling from your eyes.

“But they’re just words! All words are lies…!” you playfully clap back at him and slap one of his thighs.

He finally stops tickling you, settling down snuggled up sweetly in his bed so he can tease you with a cheeky little coo. “That means those words were a lie too. So if that statement was a lie then at least some words must be true.”

“I am not going to philosophize with you.”

At that he laughs and lands a kiss upon the corner of your pout, wagging his head again and sticking his tongue out. “That’s what a sore loser would say.”

This wicked bastard is dead set on getting you to say touché, but you won’t let him win today. “Words are just words. I loved you first. I’ve told you that I fucking loved you from the day your fine ass landed in Bombay.”

“No, you just told me that you saw me and already knew someday you had to have my cock inside of you.”

“So, just a very classy way to say I love you.”

“Oh, so classy…” he lets out another laugh and it’s so free and full of all the stars strung out across the galaxy, flung out much farther than the eye can see. Holds far more fire than the sun rising above you.

I love you.

Sun shines the same regardless of who said it first. Words are just words. And it’s a good thing they were spoken on this day, because tomorrow all the hands of fate at work here in Bombay… are set to do their fucking worst.

***************

His name is Lindsay Ford.

His name is Lin because that’s how you came to know him and to love him though some part of you had known deep down the name was probably fake. Made no mistake. Yet even so it was an instinct you ignored. For after all a name is just another word.

All words are lies.

You shut your eyes. Replay the treachery that your close colleague in the embassy risked his life to record. Of all the words in all the world these were the worst you’d ever heard.

Your father sits across from you and folds his hands, as the recording carries on. That snakelike voice had been his second in command. He knows by now the throat from which it sounds was slit just before dawn.

Not the first snake you’d ever slaughtered.

“The boss doesn’t know that the bastard he’s after—” at this he can’t help but erupt into laughter: “he’s fucking the boss’s daughter.”

The boss clenches his jaw. As if for anyone to fuck you has to be against the law.

“It’s him, I know it’s him. I passed right by him once some months ago when I had business in that shithole Pentridge Prison. It’s the same damn face I saw.”

“We’ll if you’re certain, then we’ll just—”

“No, listen, listen: he’s too… valuable to simply arrest.”

This had been how the conversation went, between the traitor and your trusted friend: the friend who had recorded it, so that he could report it. While the snake spoke he just listened, and replied only enough to act as if he was on board with it. The snake thought he’d convince him in the end.

“This is an advantageous man. He’s an escaped convict with some steep fucking price on him; our boss and everybody at the embassy and the Aussie authorities, okay, and some of the local police, and all the underbelly enemies this motherfucker made here in Bombay, all of them want him—and on top of all of this apparently he’s worth something to Abdel Khader Fucking Khan.”

“So what do you propose we do?”

“If it’s so obvious to me, it should be obvious to you. We do him dirty. And the boss’s pretty little daughter too. They’re valuable to each other, and to others; most importantly he’s worth something to Khader. And the slut is worth a whole lot to her father. We’ll work undercover—boss won’t have a clue that we’re the ones who got her. You know the big fat Bombay racket of ransom and blackmail and threats. We’ll just crack it and win at whatever the fuck we can get.”

Eventually your father has heard enough. If you hadn’t already shown him proof of death he’d be paying a personal visit to this piece of shit to rip his head clean off.

After a few moments of silence, he studies your face to assess how affected you were by the kill. Your heart’s still too young to have gone numb to cold-blooded violence. The murder was righteous and leaves you no guilt, but it’ll be a while longer before you get over the blood that you’ve spilled.

Your father offers you a tissue—though your eyes are dry it’s just a natural habit that he has with you, when you’re working through issues—and pours you a glass of tea. “Did you take care of it yourself so that I’d grant the favor you’re about to ask of me?”

He asks lightheartedly, half-jokingly thanks to how well he knows you, and it is partially true. You know him well too. And you know just what his answer has to be.

Once years ago, he had entreated you to promise him you’d leave this life behind before you ran the risk of falling in too deep. You hadn’t made the promise though; you weren’t sure whether it was one that you could keep. You took the leap, and now you’ve fallen in as deep as you could go. Your father knew the choice was yours but he had never wanted you to be a part of this corrupt embassy caught up in the crime that cuts across this sweeping city where the price is always steep, especially when it feels cheap.

Yet in Bombay this is the only kind of life you’ve ever known, and this infinite living breathing poem of a city is your home. Where you were born and raised and loved and lived a life that’s full and free and all your own. There is no other place on earth you’d rather roam.

You couldn’t make the promise to your father then but now the time has come.

He’ll make a vow, right here and now—against all reason and all sense because he knows you need this desperately—to let the man called Lindsay Ford live and be free, as if the embassy had never learned of his identity.

He’ll make that promise if you make yours. And you will of course. Not in the spirit of some sort of quid pro quo, and not because you feel in any way pressured or forced; it’s just the way shit has to go. The unintelligible order of the universe. Your father loves you and he can’t live with himself if he grants clemency to such a wanted man—a dangerous man, one all the wrong kinds of people would find an advantageous man—knowing that your life is entwined with Lin’s and then… and then another snake happens. Or worse. The blood that’s spilled next time could very well be yours. Love comes with fear and that’s it’s curse.

For all your life from this day forth you’ll live in fear for Lindsay Ford: fear that his past caught up to him at last and got him killed or captured.

On this day, you’ll do your part to make that tragedy less likely, even if only just slightly, once you finally depart Bombay… but you’ll be powerless against whatever comes after.

You won’t be here. You’ll be off someplace faraway with a heart full of love and fear. Far more of each than you’d have thought you could afford.

With a heart full of Lindsay Ford.

***************

You tell him the whole truth because he deserves nothing less, and because he would fuck it right out of you anyway if you had tried. Taste it off of your lips and trace it through the cloth of your dress, through the skin that it sheathes, and through everything deeper beneath. Take the truth from the places he reaches inside. When he makes love to you this last time he knows you never lied.

He can only be free if you free yourself of him. The two of you can’t run away—the promise you had made to your father today isn’t just that you’re leaving Bombay. He had asked you to promise to steer clear of Lin because otherwise you’ll end up dead on account of how fiercely you love him.

In any other circumstances, you would have taken your chances—and your father would have blessed it—it’s your choice after all whom to love and die for. And yet it was your father’s choice whether or not to grant the illegal and potentially lethal favor you’d requested. He granted it only on the condition that your life wouldn’t be more at risk if he did; that was the peace of mind that he rightfully needed, and why wasn’t hard to decipher.

And so… this is just how it goes. Your head fights it a bit though. Your heart somehow knows.

Lin resists it at first; you had figured he would. His head looks like it’s going to burst. Tries to figure out some way to hold onto you for reasons that are honest and good, or at least that aren’t selfish and wrong. But until he met you he had been nothing other than selfish and wrong for so long. So damn long…

He realizes tonight more than ever before, that he isn’t that man anymore. That he’s no longer locked in the prison of his inner war.

For now all you can do, is just love him through one last release, into you, and then maybe he’ll finally have peace, to let you go without losing sight of the love for which his heart still beats that’s still worth running for. And still will be long after you’ve gone out the door.

Even after it closes, the doors to both his heart and yours will be open because of this love and he knows this. Open as you and he both like the door to be. Love set him free.

He lets you go knowing that every time he wakes to the sunrise it’s you he’ll see.

Someday you’ll see his great big book up on a shelf, and smile to yourself. Knowing that he’s alive and well then you’ll no longer be afraid. Before you left you had reminded him to keep the little promise he had made.

He will. Lin isn’t one to make a promise he can only half-fulfill.

But you’ll be there through all the dark and all the light—between and behind and inside every line that he’ll write. The sun itself shines just as bright in day or night. Survives the shifting of the skies. Half the world watches as it dies, the other half watches it rise. The whole of it is fire that no man could ever kill. That was the kind of wholeness he would find when he sought freedom in your eyes. And holds it still. Freedom to love until his heart has had its fill.

He won’t write you into his book, but you’ll be there to see for anyone who dares to really look.

Whether or not all words are lies, no matter what they can still mean things that are true… or fucking try to.

So he tries. And all the while, with a full heart and a whole smile, he writes for you.

***************

Much love and I hope you enjoyed this! 💖

Masterlist

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hauntedjpeg · 2 months

Note

hi! i was wondering if you have any favorite novels or pieces of writing of all time?

yeah!!! i fucking love reading!! im sorry this got really long!!

the wheel of time series - this gets a mention for being THE fantasy series that made me go "oh my god, i want to write fantasy. i wanna write fantasy books so bad" the thing I will say about this series is that its not good. right? like its 14 books and it could have been maybe 10, 6 if we're being honest with ourselves. robert jordan cannot write women and it's cringe to read them, but i loved.....rand al'thor (the main character) so much it made me cry LMAOOOO i loved him with my whole tiny childish heart, i was convinced he was THE best main character of all time. its why my own oc, xavier is a tall red head with anger issues LOL

that being said, for some better fantasy

highly recommend 'the broken earth trilogy' by nk jemisin. one of THE best modern day writers i think i've ever come across. the first book in that series was so devastatingly good it ruined first books in series for me. like nothing lives up to that. but i will say look up trigger warnings for her work, that series is VERY dark and emotional but my god...some of the best writing i've ever read.

'the greenbone saga' by fonda lee is another urban fantasy series that i recommend to nearly everyone who comes near me. it has the LITERAL definition of morally grey characters and you genuinely do not know who you're rooting for sometimes in that series. the writing is fucking fantastic and the characters are like ingrained into my brain matter.

a horror novel i highly recommend is "the only good indians" by stephen graham jones. this had a scene in it that is so terrifying, so deeply horrific and brutal and unnerving and scary that i literally closed the book, put my hands over my mouth and stood up IRL LMAOOOOOOO i was so fucking stunned and terrified by what the author had written it was....impactful. fantastic read. cannot recommend highly enough.

'bunny' by mona awad is another favorite book of mine and a NECESSITY for everyone who has entrenched themselves into 'pretentious writing circles' LMAO i unfortunately relate to the main character a little too much. absolutely insane novel, though and a lot of people have mixed feelings on it

i have only read the first book in the locked tomb series by tamsyn muir, but gideon the ninth is one of my favorite books of all time. like the main character, gideon, lives inside me. i have read and annotated that book to the fucking death of its spine.

and since you said "writing" and not JUST novels, this lighthouse fic by my bff unknownangels is fucking amazing and i cannot recommend it enough

and THIS fic by them is also OVERWHELMINGLY fucking good

AHHH thank you for asking anon. i love talking about books so much.

#ask #anon #on writing

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warmerthanhotcoco · 1 year

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Hi if ur able to, can you PLEASE PLEASE do an Imagine or headcannon of if Newt Scamander suddenly got powers like Spider-Man? From an accident with an acromantula that he was dealing with or something lol! I’ve had this idea forever but don’t have enough creativity <3

I can protect you now

Tags: Newt Scamander/You, Fluff, Spiderman AU, Outdoor-café dates, Astronomy Tower dates, Slytherin reader, Established Relationship, Boyfriend material-Newt Scamander

Summary: Newt, your adorable animal-obsessed Hufflepuff boyfriend, faced a mishap with a young acromantula in the Forbidden Forest. For some godforsaken reason all he got instead of venom... were the magical spider's abilities. Thank Merlin you're around to help him through it all.

A/N: Ron Weasley's nightmare. ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH- This is perhaps the craziest, coolest idea and I'm all here for it! Sorry it took bloody long (writing block hits hard in college)! I was in dire need of Newt fluff and one daydream later your Ask blossomed in my Notepad.

You asked for an imagine/headcanon but hey- I'm famous IRL for turning a tiny idea into a frigging novel so haha, hope ya like it, here we go! This will have two parts, the first one here being more fluff, and the second tomorrow being more action laced with fluff. Can't write Spidey-Newt without a single decent fight! See ya 'morrow xx

Part 1/2

The moon was partly hidden by the clouds, its silver light hazy, trickling along the marble floor of the Astronomy Tower. The stars weren't around today: it had been a very boring day, and was now a very boring night. The perfect night to invite your boyfriend for a midnight chat over Firewhiskey and Chocolate Frogs: he always rambled about his favourite creatures for hours on end.

Boredom was Newt Scamander's sole enemy.

The little wooden door to the Tower opened and shut with a creak.

"What took you so long?" you held out a Chocolate Frog. "It's almost 1 in the morning, love."

"I was... working." He evaded your gaze as he settled on the floor beside you, snuggling close for warmth.

"You did mention homework but your hair is as messy as your shirt and is that dirt on your trous— Goodness you're cold!"

"A-Am I?"

"...Newton Artemis Fido Scamander. I know that face. What did you do? Which animal did you kidnap to help heal it this time?"

"I-" he blinked in surprise before bursting into a string of soft chuckles. "I didn't kidnap anyone! It was more him kidnapping me this time..."

"Oh for Salazar's sake, what happened?" You gripped and shook him by the arm. He looked down at the spot where your legs were tangled together, anxiously biting the inside of his cheek. "Please talk to me," you pleaded, gentler.

Silently, he slid his hand up to his neck and tapped his nape. You frowned, leaning over his shoulder to check.

There were two round red marks on his skin, at least a millimetre deep. The skin around the wound was a brilliant sore pink.

You smacked his head with a hiss. "You dunce! I've been warning you for years against chatting up wild animals. You kept asking why, huh? This is why!" You raked your fingers through his hair, rubbing the spot you hit: not that you regretted but maybe it hurt a little bit. He subtly leant into the touch. “Get up, now."

"Why?"

"To take you to the matron. You’re lucky that’s my aunt.”

"I really don't think that's necessary..."

"But I do, so get up. Exactly what bit you?"

"..."

"Newt..."

"Acromantula."

"...A what?!"

"It was only a young one..."

"You could have been killed!"

"He was wounded..."

“Or eaten alive!" Your hand covered his neck protectively. "What were you thinking?"

"They usually don't attack me when I help..."

"It's a bloody acromantula, Newt— Tsk, forget it." You didn't want to make him feel worse, so you pulled him to his feet, pecked his cheek with a whisper of "Sorry I yelled" and dragged him down the stairs to the hospital wing.

It had been three weeks since, and the summer holidays had begun. Newt was growing unusually quieter in his letters, and had skipped a coffee date last week. You were wondering what he was up to now, when an owl pecked angrily at the window. "Oh, so sorry, love," you opened the glass to let her in. "Did he reply?"

The barn owl opened her beak and dropped the tiniest box onto your palms. You tossed her a treat and picked up the box. Realising it was indeed heavy for something so small, you swished your wand at the box to enlarge it.

No wonder your owl looked so pissed: the box was huge and Newt had probably only managed one lightening charm.

You blinked at the glittery green wrapping. The little scroll at the top held only two sentences within.

I'm afraid I can't explain everything on paper. Tomorrow, 5, same place?

So he did like it after all, you smirked, recalling your date the last holiday. With a flick of your wand, the gift-wrap (he sure knew how to make a Slytherin happy) came undone and the box popped open.

Just a small apology. The words on the paper in the box had been cut through multiple times: attempted and re-written a dozen times.

But the gift was no small deal. Inside the box was... the prettiest autumn dress. All apple green chiffon, with cotton lace that boasted the finest little floral designs. No matter what anybody said, Newt Scamander was a man of taste.

You were early.

Okay, let’s be honest, you were at the café almost an hour early. Not your fault you were worried sick over your suspiciously secretive dearest.

About twenty minutes to three, the chair before you tumbled backwards. “Well hello.”

“You’re early.”

“So are you,” you smirked at the extremely clumsy but elegant Hufflepuff towering over you at the table. He may not be on the team but he was taller and (despite trying to hide it with a dozen layers of clothing) fitter than you — and you were a Slytherin Chaser. Newt was dressed in a dark teal shirt and khaki slacks: perfectly complementing your gown and reflecting his hair and ocean eyes. “You know, what you lack in asking-out skills, you make up for in your style,” you grinned. “Sit down already.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, making himself comfortable. “I asked for two Butterbeers and cakes for now, is that…” he asked slowly, pausing between words.

He was controlling his stutter. But his stutter hadn’t appeared for months now, with your help… Something was definitely wrong.

“Yep, perfect for now,” you looked around the outdoor-café. It was an inn full of open space: like if the Leaky Cauldron was in Lancashire and had a Hogwarts grounds-sized garden. The grass was fresh enough for Newt’s little friend to walk around in, and the Hippogriff and Thunderbird statues around the fountain were fine granite. It was no wonder it had grown into your date venue and study spot. “Less crowded today.”

Newt nodded, clearly relieved about it. Only after the order arrived did he speak. “Y/n… S-Sorry.”

“Newt, I told you over a dozen letters, it’s alright. Now that I know you’re healthy and well, it really is alright.”

He nodded, grateful.

“But an apology won’t save you from explanations.”

He swallowed hard, fingers drawing distracted patterns on the table. “I…”

“One sip and a deep breath, love,” you slid your hand close to his, fingers intertwining.

He obeyed immediately, eyes still avoiding yours. “Prom… Promise you won’t be mad.”

“I’ll try,” you sighed.

Finally he met your gaze: his bright blue eyes were pleading. “Promise.”

“Alright, fine, IswearonyourBowtruckleIshallnotbemad, now spill!”

“Do you… remember the acromantula?” You nodded impatiently. “Well.” He turned away from the table and fixed his eyes on one of the table legs. He raised his right hand and flicked his fingers at the table — Zap! A bright cobweb wrapped around the leg so fast you nearly missed the string that shot out of his wrist. Newt cleared his throat to break the silence that ensued. “I… still don’t know how to undo it. Too sticky.”

You forced your open jaw shut and frowned, perplexed. “Newt, what in Merlin’s name was that?”

“Acromantulas have two prominent defence skills. Venom. And they can trap victims in a cobweb at lightning speed. The web wraps around the target… it’s sticky, lasts long enough for the acromantula to consume its prey.” Not once did he stutter: he was doing what he loved and was best at. “At least I don’t have the venom.”

“So you’re a human spider now.” You gulped down Butterbeer to ease your blood pressure.

“…S-Something like that.”

“Hey,” you took both hands, thumbs rubbing his wrists. “Relax. I’m not mad, nor disgusted. Just a little… confused. This isn’t supposed to be possible.” You shook your head, lifting one hand to kiss the knuckles. “But we’ll figure it out, hm? Hogwarts Library, bribing the CoMC professor, breaking into the Ministry's records…" His eyes grew wider and wider at every suggestion. "We’ll figure it out. And for now, we could take a trip to my aunt’s place.” He gripped your hand, alarmed. “Not to tell her everything but to have you checked for poison. This looks fun but I need to know you’re safe.”

A small half-smile played at his lips, a soft sigh washing over your face as he leant forth to kiss your forehead. “I am safe. I was… scared. Thank you,” he whispered.

“If you thought you’d get rid of me just from this, keep dreaming, spider-boy,” you laughed.

He grinned, leaning back into his seat and diving into the cake.

“Aren’t acromantulas also known for their intelligence?”

“Mhm.”

“Let’s hope your Potions grades go up then.”

He burst into laughter, grabbing the serviette to wipe the icing all over his mouth. “Perhaps.” As the laughter faded, he stared at you, eyes soft and crinkled at the tips. “The part that I-I like the most about this is…”

“Hmm?”

“…I can protect you now.”

You sucked in a gasp, images of the group of Gryffindor bullies flashing through your mind. All the times Newt had caught you running late to dates with a black eye… “I guess so.” You wordlessly thanked him with a chaste kiss.

He tasted of vanilla frosting.

#fantastic beasts #harry potter fluff #hogwarts fluff #newt scamander fluff #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander x slytherin reader #hufflepuff x slytherin #acromantula #spiderman au #newt scamander is a man of taste #he stutters but it's cute #he's an idiot but he's beautiful #harry potter x you #fantastic beasts x reader

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krismatic · 1 month

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SORRY I SAW YOURTAG ON THE EMU YOURE WRITING WHAT. HI. HI

HIIIIIII UM. I’m just gonna use this to info dump about my revstar x proseka AU

So this is like. In order for WxS to be better at performing or whatever they decide to visit Seisho Music Academy! And learn from the revstar girlies!

The day goes by normally and they all bond, but then as they’re about to leave. wuh woh.

They fall into the elevator or something. Idk I haven’t decided that yet but somehow they get sent down to the fucking pit of gay fighting and singing

um. And it’s not the giraffe running the auditions this time. It’s a Miku!!! A Miku born from the feelings of all the girls who have failed in the revues over the years. haha.

She’s very mean and wants to see bloodshed!!! good for her but not good for the girlies.

Four of the Revstar girls are in the pit as well and Miku tells WxS that if they don’t fight and win in the revues against Seisho, their SEKAI will be locked off forever. That’s when WxS realize “oh shit we actually can��t access SEKAI anymore.”

And it’s not just WxS, all of the groups have lost access to their SEKAI. So as the story goes on they’re all dragged into the fighting to get their SEKAI back.

The Revstar girls are fighting to save Starlight or something again idk

So that’s the basic premise! I think there’d be a lot of fun interactions between the characters, I’m kinda obsessed with the idea of Rui and Nana interacting. Also Emu and Nana. I think I’m just obsessed with Nana.

You can also make a lot of VA and name jokes lol, Junna and Mizuki have the same VA, Tamao and Kanade have the same VA, there’s two Ruis and two Tsukasas, and I’m just going ahead and headcanoning Michiru Otori and Emu Otori as cousins lol. They’re both tiny with big weapons and are pretty rich

I really only have little snippets actually written rn, but I’d like to continue more of it! I’ve also been playing around with the idea of a visual novel for this? Anyways

That’s all :3

#kris speaks #revue starlight #project sekai

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 2 months

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ok. i took a long, long time (song ref) but hi!!!!!!!!!

1. titanic fic (*cue shit-eating grin*). umum. im curious if there's anything about the morse code yet. or codes in gen actually. so. sentences with the word "code" :3

2. titanic vid!!!! Idk if you like the engineering aspects, but there still were a ton of other facts sprinkled in (spiral staircases, people that monitored coal balance, separate staff room for firemen, how they got air down there etc) https://youtube.com/watch?v=4begc_U8ygI#searching

3. surprise!! this is an interview. i have some Official Author questions for you (feel free to pick and choose, come back to this later, or just striaght up ignore lol):

3a. Do you have any authors (professional or not) that you aspire to be like one day?

3b. Following that up, are there any specific works (again, published, professional, etc or just amazing amateur works!!) that really inspire you?

3c. What made you start writing? I'm curious on anything that led to the conscious decision, of course, but additionally do you think there was anything you grew up with that "planted the seeds"? Was it any of the people from question 3a?

3d. What's the silliest (/pos) idea you've ever had for a fic? If you didn't write/publish it, why not? Was it a recent thing? If not, do you think your experience would have influenced that idea today?

if those dont make sense u can send me a messgae or something 👍👍👍 goodnight

ITS BEEN THREE DAYS but im here okay……. lets do this. hi pep :>

1) alas, i’ve been focusing on a lot of other things so i havent reached a written point of the Code Usage, which begins in like chapter 3-4. sorry man 💔 (progress has been made ! just not as much as i’d hope 😭)

2) FUN FACTS?!??!??!??!!?!!? IM WATCHING A DOCUMENTARY RN BUT IM YOINKING THIS RIGHT AFTER YIPPIE!!!!!!!!

3a) uhmmmmmmmm i dont exactly pay attention to authors as much as i pay attention to books but you know what. rick riordan. not because of anything he’s done or written but because of his audacity to write 20+ books in the same universe and still get 100000000000000 people 1000000% invested in it. i wanna write sequels forever. can i be him

3b) OHHHHHHHH UHM UHM UHM UHM the thing that got me into fanfic specifically was the fic “versability” (it was a gf fic about ‘what if ford never made the portal’, written like 2015-16, and yeah i did know of and even read a bit of fic beforehand but i was never into it) but just READING ? the land of stories by chris colfer, easy. mmmmmmmmm that was my fucking Thing. if i wasnt a baby at that time i would have WROTE. SO. MUCH. GOOD GOD. IT WAS MY THING. THE THING THAT GOT ME INTO NOVELS. URGH. alex my iconic mentally ill bisexual, conner my precious cynical boy. i need to read those again my GOD now i think about it that was fairytale fanfiction that happejed to bepublished and ohhhhh it was beautiful. im gonna read jt . iM GONNA DO IT!!!!

3c) in writing in general or just fanfic? for fanfic its that one day i had an gf fic idea (that i had to heavily revise/rewrite, but it did end up getting out eventually) that i hadnt read anything like it, and i wanted to see it. decided: hey, im shit at writing, but might as well!!!!!! 65k words later, its not a joke anymore. im a Writer now :) but as for in general, well ofc reading books. people told me in the past im creative and should get into book writing if you like reading so much. i decided well im gonna do it professionally, but might as well do something tiny, so i well uh wrote. im not gonna tell you but it certainly was Something. classic isekai mary sue dramatic plot hybrids etc etc etc but actually the queen the mc is “related” to is actually polyam and was in a relationship with both their dad and their mom and the big villain is the queen’s sister who’s pissed that both of her lovers ditched her for the human world (but actually they had to break up because because the society was not polyam friendly. there just happened to be a war after that). everything else was basic isekai except for that little crumble of lore. the queen was a bisexual. the dad was a pansexual. the mom was a lesbian. i think i ate there to be honest

3d) mmmmmm i gotta think. there was definitely a gf x amphibia au where ford got ploped in amphibia and the plantars IMMEDIATELY stole him and wrapped him up in their adventures right when the plot starting becoming a thing (early season 2). there’s one where stan and ford just….. climb a tree. it’s laced with a lot of philosophical talks straight from good omens knowledge but ultimately its just goody fun. mmmmm theres one where gabriel has no idea what crowley looks like, but he DOES know what Bildad The Shuite looks like, itd be tiny but so so so so funny. the gf/gomens crossover…..a human au based on that one tumblr post about a necromancer bringing people back from the dead to fuck with the killer and opening a discord support group….. the s1 humans + aziraphale being the victims, crowley the necromancer, and the s2 humans being the nosy outsiders who Notice things happens but can never say shit. oughhhh……… Yeah. yeah, thats good. most of these are recent except 4 the amphibia one, wouldnt change much about it even with the shit i know now EXCEPT being able to handle the relationships/emotions between the characters better, ive certainly gotten better at it and i love it. i havent published any bc either i started but couldnt finished, or just thought it was neat and moved on to plop it in the ideas folder and wait 4 inspiration.

OKAY THATS A LOT BUT THERE YOU GO sorry for the wait, man. you’re my best cupperty you know that right 🫵 ANSWERS!!!!! and ill work on titanic as fast as i can, it hasnt been forgotten !! i just gotta mow the grass….. (“short” fic wips)

#ask game

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sunshine-zenith · 19 days

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1, 4, 18, 19, 24 from this ask game

Thank you for the asks!

Heads up y'all, this one is a bit long and the questions dig deep, so mind the tags lol

1) What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I stick with default Ariel Size 11. Times New Roman is kinda the only other font I can take seriously when writing, and it’s kinda tainted from years of typing out essays and media releases for school and my old job

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Recalcitrant and pluperfect — two words that I don’t think I’ve used in any of my writing but I love working into conversations when I can (bonus — they’re both words I learned from reading fics)

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

From By Your Side Again (sorry, this is a long one, with even longer rambles, probably, but I put a lot of thought behind the headcanons I included here)

Spoilers for Nimona (both the film and the graphic novel), and obviously the fic

“...Your arm?” Ballister eventually asks.

“Just dislocated, don’t worry. I can move it fine, the sling is probably overkill.”

“I heard Todd broke his.”

“Good for him.”

They both chuckle weakly before Ambrosius stands.

Ballister’s eyes glance away before meeting his again, looking apprehensive. “Speaking of, could you… plug my arm in? If you’re okay with it.”

Ambrosius blinks, turning to face the arm on the counter. “I- sure. Of course.” Walking towards it, he sees the robotic prosthetic is in three parts -- the arm itself, laying palm up (-Ballister’s arm falling, almost mockingly slow, the sword falling from it as Bal screams and looks at him in shock-). He sighs through his nose, counting to ten and grounding himself back in this moment. As horrible as he feels about his actions, this arm, right here -- it's not about him and he’s not about to make it about him. He’s not going to make Ballister pretend the arm doesn’t exist. Beside it is something that looking like the upper right part of their chest armor, but thinner and more form fitting, with straps attached to it -- what the arm connects to, Ambrosius guesses, with the straps presumably going across Ballister’s chest and under his left arm to hold the whole thing in place. On the other side is a thin, tiny crystal-like device on a tray. Ambrosius runs a finger along the edge before giving Ballister a hesitant look. Ballister quirks an eyebrow that had Ambrosius nodding, confirming his curiosity.

“That chip reads my brain’s signals, sending it to my arm to make it work like my other one,” Ballister begins. “It's not necessary for the arm to work, but without it, my arm wouldn’t be quite as….” he wiggles his fingers as explanation. Ambrosius nods again, silently urging him on. “It's a hybrid -- electronic and body powered, as well as mind controlled. When it has no charge and the chip isn’t connected, the wires react to movement in my shoulder, which can open and close my hand and- you’re smiling at me.”

“Am I?” Ambrosius asks absently. It's hard not to smile when Ballister gets passionate about something. “Should I stop?”

“No, no, It's just… I missed your smile.” Ballister’s voice dips low enough Ambrosius almost misses it. Clearing his throat, he says, “Anyway…?”

Just another thing they need to talk about eventually. Ambrosius lets it go for now, because he’s worried he’ll get choked up if he gets into it. “How would this even reach your brain?” He asks.

“Well, I cracked my skull open when the ground gave out that night.”

Ambrosius laughs at the unexpected answer. “Oh, of freaking course you would, Bal!”

“Wait- I- That was a joke, obviously I was joking!” Bal gives him an offended look that only makes him laugh again. “It goes in my ear, why would I- why would you think-?”

“That you’d do DIY brain surgery? Because you’re you, Bal. I mean….” Ambrosius gestures to the arm behind him. “I always said if you weren’t so squeamish, in another life, you’d be a mad scientist.”

So—

I specifically wrote Ambrosius with his arm as in a sling to both nod to the moment in the Nimona Graphic Novel this fic based on (where Ballister Blackheart’s arm is in a sling). I specifically gave him a dislocated shoulder because a) you can see his injured arm hanging limply as he approaches Bal after Nimona’s sacrifice, and b) I wanted to give him an injury that didn’t break continuity — his arm clearly being injured after the Director shot him and he was blasted to the ground, but it not being in a sling in the epilogue while Todd’s was

I wrote Bal’s prosthetic as a hybrid — biotic, mind controlled and body powered — instead of just biotic for a couple reasons.

In universe: he DIY’d it himself while on the run from the law, so it doesn’t need to fit solidly into one or the other. Who’s gonna stop him? Insurance coverage? Research funding? Nah, he’s out there probably salvaging parts from abandoned flying cars, he can do whatever he wants with his design

Out of universe/my personal experiences: my mother was in an electric wheelchair nearly the last decade she was alive, and while thing offered her a lot of autonomy, it was also, frankly, a clunker. One time when I was a teenager, we were going down the sidewalk when the battery that powered her chair just fell out.

I remember spending a good ten minutes trying to just pick the thing up to put it back in, it was so heavy. Luckily a nice jogger happened to be running by and stopped to help me lift it, but like. Y’all. When the cheapest electric wheelchair insurance will swing you loses its battery, it does not convert into a manual wheelchair. My mother physically could not move from that spot. Neither of us had good cellphones at the time and anyone we could’ve called wouldn’t get back to us very quickly, so if that jogger hadn’t stopped to help me lift that battery who knows how long we would’ve been stuck there

Since then, whenever I encounter fantasy mobility aids that rely on super high technology or magic or whatever, I just mentally tell myself that it’s a convertible/hybrid model that also functions without electricity/magic/etc or that they totally have a backup readily available just off screen, just because this memory is not a super fun one for me

As for why I specifically had Bal need to charge his arm/likened Bal’s arm charger to a phone charger, it’s because I’ve seen battery prosthetic users with above joint amputations (specifically, admittedly, above the knee amputees) describe charging their prosthetic as being like charging a phone

(Video examples by Alex1leg and Josh Sundquist, both above the knee amputees.)

I specifically took a moment to make Ambrosius unconsciously smile because I love his smile. I love his smiles for Bal. I love that little moment at the beginning of the movie where he tells Bal, “they’re going to love you,” before a smile grows on his face as he says, “like I do” — likes he’s excited and overjoyed he already gets to love Bal and the thought of others loving Bal makes him so happy. I love that moment where, when they see each other for the first time post-chop, when Ambrosius says, “Bal,” you can see his lip quirk up, like Bal’s name is just of of those sounds you can’t make without smiling a little. I love Ambrosius smiling because of Bal

The “chip” was my hand waving how Bal’s prosthetic could balance so well and had such fine motor skills when he’s basically finished DIYing it right before rushing off to the Institute. Many advanced biotic arm prosthetics do use brain scanning to interpret their user’s brain signals. Eh, its the future, if they can include holographic coins when venmoing tips to street musicians, Bal can DIY a neurolink in an alleyway while on the run from the law and probably having a hemoglobin of 3.6. I made it “crystal shaped” to mirror the crystals Nimona left behind after stopping the Director

Also Bal is absolutely feral enough to casually do brain surgery on himself. I just didn’t go that route because his signature finisher in the movie is headbutting people wearing helmets with his bare forehead, and thinking about it too long made my head hurt

Lastly, my favorite bit of characterization from the graphic novel was Blackheart’s love of science (I even specifically referenced Nimona shapeshifting into Blackheart and shouting “SCIENCE” in a set of notes I took for my friend for our cell bio class), and while I love the movie I am a little sad they didn’t lean into it. The “in another lifetime” line is a blatant reference to the epilogue of the graphic novel

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I guess my “journey” started in elementary school — I would draw pictures and tell admittedly impressively sequential stories about them. My mother would transcribed these stories, stable them together, and show my teachers, who in turns told me I should become a published author one day. I wasn’t sold on it at the time, admittedly (I’m dyslexic and I was bitter about it as a kid), but all the adults around me figured I’d either go into healthcare or become a writer (my peers figured I’d either cure all disease one day or become the next Jack the Ripper, so make of that what you will).

(spoilers, I'm going with both)

(the healthcare/writer thing, to clarify. Not the scientist/serial killer thing)

My first degree was in English/Creative Writing, and I worked as a journalist for a couple years. I’ve even got a couple poems and a short story published in small magazines.

My mental health took a dive after some personal loses, including the death of a beloved irl writing partner, combined with a shitty work schedule (listen if your job promises only 35 hours a week but actually has you working 50 across five days, not including travel, with promises of punishment if you call out and refuses to offer part time, run), so I haven’t had the motivation to publish anything original lately. I’m hoping once I’ve got my second degree in nursing, I’ll be able to land a job that lets me survive off of three day work weeks, so I’ll have time to focus on poems and novels (I don't care if my work days are long, as long as I enjoy what I do and can get them out of the way as soon as possible)

For now, I’ve dedicated myself to my fanfics (instant gratification upon publication babay)

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

If you can’t tell, I overthink as many small details as I can lol. I try to plot my stories out in advance and research things in advance. This part of the process does lead me to procrastinating often, though — I’ll plot the entire thing meticulously, tell myself, “wow that was a lot of work,” then I won’t touch the story again for weeks. The thing is, once I do start writing, I let myself have freedom — the characters and plot will go where they go whether I want them to or not, so I don’t try to fight it. If there’s a specific bit of dialogue or action that I want, I’ll write that part of the story first and hope the before bits don’t go too off track to get there smoothly

I’m also the worst as guessing what my word count will be — it’ll either be half as much or twice as much as predicted and I won’t be able to tell you what the word count will be until it’s ready to go live

#ask #zyrafowe-sny #death mention tw #mental health hit reference #toxic workplace #I promise there’s neat/fun stuff in here

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callmesamuelxxx · 1 year

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hi there!!!! could u talk more about ur retelling novel of 'the iliad'? if it's ok with u!! it just caught my attention when i found some of ur drawings about it and it makes me "oh god im getting attached"😭

Omg hi!! Sorry for replying this late. I’ve been busy with university haha 😭

So basically last year I published a retelling of the Iliad. The novel focuses mainly on the Trojan side and I aimed to explore the relationship between Apollo and Hector during the last year of the war! The plot mostly follows what happens in the Iliad, though I made some little alterations when it came to tiny details here and there. I got to write about Hector himself, his siblings, Cassandra’s curse, Andromache and Astyanax, etc. I wanted to portray how, like all the other warriors, Hector was also trapped in the battle. The Trojan war destroyed his life, his chance to be with his family, the relationship between him and his siblings. Hector just had, so, so many things that he could lose. The readers will witness this war through what Apollo also sees. Apollo takes care of Hector a lot. And the book also has an outstanding amount of homoeroticism between a god and a mortal because I couldn’t help it lol 😭

The book’s only been published in Thai language at the moment, but I’m excited about the opportunities it might receive in the future!

These are the front and back covers in case you want to see. I was lucky enough to be working with an amazing illustrator 💘

Thank you so much for your interest! It means a lot! 🥺

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tabsters · 9 months

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ZODIAC Q & A, PART TWO!!!

questions submitted by the amazing @mythicalmagical-monkeyman, @demigirl-w01fwalk3r, and @hyperfixation-tangentopia!! zodiac lore posts have not been posted in a while so here's a huge compilation of asks i got about the zodiacs

previous posts are here

Would each zodiac sign prefer to draw or write? And if draw, digital or traditional?

Aries: Charcoal drawing Cancer: Landscape painting Leo: Portrait drawing Virgo: Oil painting Sagittarius: Old fashioned pencil and paper in a sketchbook Aquarius: Digital art Pisces: Watercolor painting

Writers: Taurus, Gemini, Libra, Scorpio, Capricorn

Sorry if this is obvious but I was listening to Pisces' playlist and I'm curious, why is Willow Tree on there? 👀

Oooh, good eye! Willow Tree isn't really about current Pisces, it's about past Pisces. The other person, "you and me, hanging in the willow tree", "now i see, we were never meant to be", is Pisces' sister. Which sister (there's three of them, and they're all constellations), I won't spoil.

WAIT WAIT WAIT DO YOU HAVE PLANET OCS??? IF SO *GRABBY HANDS* PLSPLSPLS

HASKHALSK I DO!!! BUT THEY'RE MOSTLY SEPERATE FROM THE ZODIAC SAGA, THEY DON'T REALLY INTERACT WITH THE ZODIACS AND CONSTELLATIONS!!!

(planet oc post is here)

Who count as gods in the zodiac world?

Like are zodiacs considered gods? What about the star sprites? or what about the Taiju?

The zodiacs are considered gods, Taiju (if they manage to even get to the Astral Plane) are considered gods, star spirits are not gods but they're above humans. But this is all in the Astral Plane. Everyone is below Taiju in the Abyss.

himbos vs their wife who wins (in a food eating contest, training, and a tickle fight)??

(hercules/Percy/Orion vs Andromeda)

Food eating contest: Andromeda. The woman's stomach is a bottomless pit. Second place is Orion, and he gets second place only because he tries to beat Andromeda.

Training: Tie between Hercules and Perseus. Orion spends most of his time goofing off and Andromeda spends most of her time shouting at Perseus and Hercules that they look hot working out.

Tickling contest: Orion. The little bastard plays so damn dirty.

Virgo's favorite store?

Virgo: Does one usually have a favorite store? Um...Barnes and Noble, I suppose? I enjoy reading new novels while drinking coffee.

I want to rip Eclipse into a million tiny pieces, throw them in a bender with milk and vanilla ice cream, and make Eclipse smoothies.

Eclipse: I don't think I'd taste very good, if I'm being honest

Ooo why's "The Search" on Aries Playlist?

Vibes lmao

Ok, so how do the zodiacs teleport between the astral plane and the mortal plane?

Eclipse set up a portal to the mortal realm in each zodiac's castle when they first became a zodiac, because she's (currently) the only being that can open full on portals between dimensions. Each portal's default goes to a different important city in the world (Pisces' goes to Tokyo, Virgo's goes to Paris, Gemini's goes to Berlin, etc. etc.), but the zodiacs are free to set each portal to go wherever.

*wraps the traumatized zodiac/constellation beans in soft blankets while hitting Eclipse with a hammer*

Eclipse: I REGRET NOTHINGGGGG *gets knocked out*

What's your favorite character in your Zodiac Lore? Sorry if you've answered this already lol

favorite character is sagittarius, followed by aquarius in a close second, and then gemini to round out my top three

QUEEN OF MEAN IS ON VIRGO'S PLAYLIST!?

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

HEHE BACKSTORY HINTS

(HT) 84: What is their neutral expression? With the Zodiacs :3

ooooh okay okay i'm interpreting this as 'what faces they make when they're doing work or by themselves'

aries, gemini, scorpio: kinda bored face

taurus, cancer, libra: little happy smile

leo: the most smug grin ever is constantly on his face

virgo: literally a blank slate, you cannot get any emotion out of her

sagittarius, capricorn: thousand yard stare into your soul

aquarius, pisces: always a slight frown

(HT) 71: Who is their ride or die? (Zodiacs bc curious)

the bestest of best friends lesgo!! (some zodiacs may be in multiple groups)

aries, gemini, scorpio gemini, cancer, virgo sagittarius, leo sagittarius, capricorn taurus, capricorn libra, aquarius, pisces

(HT) 4: Do they like cuddling? (Zodiacs, you might've mentioned this somewhere but I don't remember, sorry!)

i have not mentioned cuddling yet! the majority of zodiacs do like cuddling, except for scorpio, he doesn't like when people touch him unless he gives explicit permission to do so

23. How do they usually wear their hair? For female zodiacs?

taurus' hair is naturally curly and she either ties it into a braid or just leaves it as is

gemini's hair actually goes through some changes as the lore progresses (but spoilers lmao) but she starts out with her hair at waist length, and her hair dyed black and white, split down the middle. her hair was originally brown. sometimes she ties it back into two ponytails, with each ponytail being black or white.

virgo either wears her hair in a normal ponytail or in cornrows

libra mostly wears her hair in braid crowns or she braids a couple strands of hair and ties it back into a ponytail

capricorn ties her hair up into a bun because she's sophisticated, or she wears it down

aquarius has prehensile hair, and has a similar hairstyle to entrapta from she-ra, in that her hair is in two high and very long pigtails

ZODIACS FATAL FLAWS!!?? (because *little scream*)

OOOOOH OKAY OKAY YES

Aries: He tries too hard to make everyone like him. This man craves validation and will do anything if it means pleasing his friends or family.

Taurus: She values material possessions and indulgences too much, and while she is a very hard worker, it takes a long time for her to work up the motivation to actually do the hard work.

Gemini: She relies too much on her emotions and will often make extremely poor decisions in emotional moments, then regret them later.

Cancer: He lets people take advantage of him too easily. He's very easily to manipulate and persuade.

Leo: His pride will be the death of him. He's way too overconfident in himself and his abilities, and some of it is justified but some of it is not.

Virgo: She holds grudges for a long, loooooong time. She's stubborn as shit, and will hold her opinion unless you can find a way to persuade her.

Libra: She's way too indecisive and cannot be left in charge. She's the goddess of justice, but there's many ways to interpret what justice is, and she needs a lot of time to make up her mind on something.

Scorpio: He's possessive, and he clings to the people he cares about, maybe a bit too much. He has a hard time letting go of someone, even if that someone is super fucking bad for him.

Sagittarius: He thinks that everyone will leave him the second he screws up, which is why he doesn't allow himself to grow close to anyone easily.

Capricorn: She's very self-righteous, and believes that she's always right and that any opposing opinions are wrong.

Aquarius: She believes that everything that she does MUST be perfect. She's a perfectionist, and obsesses over every detail over anything.

Pisces: He relies too much on himself and doesn't know how to work with or cooperate with other people.

AND THAT'S IT!! QUESTIONS ABOUT MY LORE ARE Ģ̴̧̡̡͍̲̖̞̝̗͙̞͙͖̖͉̊̏̅́̋͐͐R̶̨̫̜̩̰̬̳̗͎̮̹̹̬̣͗͌͝ͅȨ̶̲̙͎̱̳͚̬̻̼̂̄̾̈́̃̈́̄̂͐̽̌̎̾̃́̒͜Ą̴̡̡̢͙͉̪͉̳̥̞͎̥͎̗̙̥̿Ţ̸̮̞̠̼͖͖̟͎̭͎̠̝̟͖͐̐̀͑̀̀̾̇̏̀͘͝L̷̙̒̂͌̊̐͝Y̸̨̞͈̺̳͍̼̩̤̒͂́̋̓̅͂̆̄̊̑̀͊͌̚ ̷͇͖̤̙̪̻͈̣̮̳̘̦̭̟́͒͊͗͗̽͝Ȁ̸̡̨̙̠͔̰͓̣͍̭̝͛͜͜͠P̶̧̛̞̳̗̻̩͍͇̐͐̈́̌͌̃̅̆̇͝P̴̡̲̩̟͔̥̼̗̠̄͒̊̈́̈͑̌͌͒͋́̈́͠Ŗ̴̨̧̛̟͇̹̯͕̩̭͇͔̗̗̞̊́̔̇̑̓̀̂͝É̴̱͖͖̫͈͕̞̳̻̭̼̫̯̺̥̇́̊̈̈́Ć̶̲̒̿Ĭ̴̛̛̤͎̘̹̹̳̬̥̲͖̙͖̖̝́̃̌́͆̍̐͂̉̅͗͝Ä̴̛͕̤̠̻̬͍̠͔͍́̓̾̾̑͂̆͑͑̒̋̍̊͝T̶̡̧̗̹̰̤̬̺̝̭̪̥̳͍̲̿̈́̈́̽̄̄̉̂̀̿͝E̶͖̹͕̽͛̉̃͌̆̄͆̓͒̉̀͌̚Ḏ̶̢͔̩̾̃́͛͛̌̎̏̒͊̔͠͝

.̸͔͍̼̼͓̻̟͎̠͆̾̍̂.̴̢̡̛͔̤͚̯̪̱̞̠͍̠̯̲͔̙͛͛̓͗̉͐̽̈́̓̒̽̕̚.̷̛̖̹̣͂̈̄͜͝

̷̛͓̗͎̼̙̐͆̅̓̓̿́̐̔̚͠ ̷̡̛̛͙͔̮͈̼̲̫̞̱̦͉̳͓̲̬̓̏̇̊̈́̃̈̔̒͒͂͘͝y̸̡̩̗̬͈̝̻͓̜͈̗͕͐͛͛̀̒̚͠ͅo̴̫̩͙̦̦͇̼̺̳̘͒̈́̑̓̎͒̀̕̕͘͜͝͝u̴͉̼̩̿̍͆̒̽͆͗͆͂͝'̵̺̥̓r̸̥̫̽͛̍͗e̸͈̟̺̺̪̭̼͖̥͉̹̜̙̿̈́̀͂̓͗̔̍̚̚ ̴̨̪̹̰̗̟͈͙̣͚̱̐͂̌́ͅͅa̷̢̛̯͖̘̟̯̯̠̮̼̟̬̤̱̜͇͕̅̑̾̑̑̈͒̍̀̋l̵̛̘͍̰̔͒̍̌̈́̃̎̾̒͘͘ͅm̵̫̝̫̣͕͕̝͓̲͉͓̰̔͗̉̀̓̿̔͒̎̐͆͗͠ó̷̢̪̠̳̞̩̮̃̍̉̆̀͑̌̂̏̓̈́̌̇͜͜͜͝ͅs̴̛̝̔͗̓͆̓͛̌̂̊̎͊͝ͅt̷̨̧̢̛̬̜͔̯̲̖̻͖͈͍̝̟͍̳̋̓͋̆͊͂͛̕̚ ̷̭̞̑̐͋͐͜t̴͖͇̯̼͉͕̪͍̖̱̆̈́͒̈̅̈́̍̒̍̐̆̎͜͠ḩ̸͈̲͚̺͎̳͈̲̗͔͚̗̤̒͋̈́̅̊͒͆̔̕̕̚͘͝͝ę̸̧̧̦̰͕͉̺͉͓̦̞̺̥̟͔̈́́̿́̎̋̀͝͝ͅr̷̢̢̧̛̹̘̙̬̯͕͍̰͚͎̙͇̎͌̓͌̌̽̾̄̈́̌̒̊͘͝ͅe̴͖͐̃̍̔̿̉̓͊͊͊̑͊̊̕͠͝.̷̛̳͎̭͚̫̠̺͔̘̙̭̲̆́͌̃͌̽́̌̕.̷̢̢̲͓̠͔̪͉̜̱͖̬͂̀̕.̴̟̔̍̉͆͊̌̃̄͊̒͑͛̂̈́̓͜

̴̡̨̢̪͍̻̙̲̱͉̞̞̘͔̙̞̈̒̊̓̾̔͗̌͠ ̶̺̫̥̜̻̠͚̰͕͉̼̔y̸̮̣̩̗͐͊ǫ̸̡̠͎͙͕̱̓̑̈̓͆͌ͅͅư̷̫͔͕̼̝̭̠̠̙͆̽̅̃̏̔̇̌'̵̨͔͖̠͎̬̘̭̂͑̑̽̇̿͐̏͐̋͗̐̃̎̚̕͝ŗ̴̧̖͔̲̯͉̹̩̊̕̕͝e̷͓̖̭̳̳̻͚̍̿ ̵̢̱̦̪̬͂̀̐̊͐̿̓̓͊̋̇̓͂̊̽͝s̸͍̺̤͕̖̤̪̑̓̾͐̔͆͊͝o̵̢̤̙̺̲̯͕͂̈́́̏̎̍͗̄͒̋̈́̆͗̀͝͠ ̶̩̫̯̼͕̟̲̮̺͔̲͚̲̌̾̓̇̏̓̑͑͘͝ͅc̴̨̱̱̟͚̰̳̥̥̮͙͓͌́̔̕͜ͅl̶̨͚̬͔͍̖̫͔͚̘̙͌͒͛͠o̶̧̮̠̖̱̞̭͎̠̦̩̯͕͉̩͈͛̐͋͛̈́̌͒̃̂̉͗̋̎̓̚̚͜ș̵̡̢̜̜̘̫̗̱̘̥͕̤͒͂̎̎̀̕é̴̢̟̰͖̮̘̳̺̘̪̟͔͉͈͕̬͗̽̀̏̓̈́̈͆̀̈́.̷̨̺̰̥͎̹̳̖͉̭́ͅͅ.̸̨̢̛̦̯̜̘̟̾͊̀́͋͌̚͠͝.̵̨̪͖͙̫̺̼̗̟̳̒̒̍͑̉̃̆͛̀̾̉̐͌͘͘̚ͅ

̸̨̯͓̝̫̱̺͓͋̓͝ ̵͔̖̙̝̺̻̻̓̈́̚h̶̛̪͓̪̖̦̲̪̩̺̦͖̟̃̋͌͊̽̉̋̑̂̈́̇̅̍̚͝͠e̵̛̺̹͚̩͕͐̔̂̅͘ͅl̸̟̈́̓͐̾̑́̊́͒̏̄̚͘͘̕͠ṗ̷̞̟̦͍̦̞̩̟̭̭͚͌͗̎͌̅́̕͝ͅ ̵͚̺̐́̽͘͘ȗ̷̧̯̻̞̭̺̯͚̦̝͎̞͙̖͖̂̑̔͌̋̃͂͆̎͑̓̃͑̕͘͜͠s̴̨͔̯͖̝̞̻͈̘̤͉̩̞͑͐̉͒̔̀̉̈́͜.̷̡̛̺͚̻̲̭̺̝͖͈̖̗̔͆̆́̏̾́̓̾̀̒̑͝.̸̨̧̡̡̛͚̦͖̩̭͕̩͉͆̌̉̏̊̄̿̀̕͘͘.̸̨̪̬̲͍̈́̌͊̍͐̄̋͂͊̒͌͗́́͝͝

̴̨̢̘̞̖͚͎̤̝͔͉̬̙̪̈͂ ̸̡̗̗̙̩̠̼̜̲̙̰̈͑̍̓̉̓͑̾͆̈́̒̇̍̍̚̕͠s̸̨̢̨͉͍̹̟̅ͅa̶̢͓͇̱̥͎͙̼͙̹͇̲͈͓͗͋̉͑͘v̶̢̙̲̦͇̻͇͎͚͚̦̭̲̏̓̇̀̓̐̈́̂̉͒͂̎͑͐̋ë̵̞̦̲̯̪́̎́́̈́̓͑̐̄̚̚͜ ̶̼̺̙̯̔̒̂́͌́͛̃̊̚ư̵̧̡͍̝̻̥͙̦̺̠̗̹̺͒̓̌͒́̿̎̓͑͘͠ṡ̷̨͙̘̞̰̦̰̙͓̀͝.̵̬͖̳̥̲̜̯̈́́̋.̵̢̨̣̞̗̦̰̫̩̭͕̦̦̯͙̣͊̀̃̍͒̏͜.̵͔̹̻̲̰̊̎̓̈́͠

̴̡̨̛͍̜̩̥̮̪̘̝͋͋͂̋͜ ̷̢̙͔͖̪̝͓̺͍̫̠̦̝̟́́̔̿̐̋͐̾̓͛͜͝.̶͉͉͖͙͕̤͋̈͗.̶̢̢̣̙̫̑̋͒̃̒͠.̵̨̢̖̙̬̣̥̬͇̠͙̬̠̩͚̄̈́̾͠

̵̡̠̤̗̲͉̩̞̙̰̺̗͈͒̈́͛͌̓̏̋̇́̓̑͜͠ ̵̧̪̮͍̜̫̫̝̪̫̩͗̾́͛̇̏́̐̂͜͝ỳ̶͚͇̘̾͋̾̅͒́̒̾͆̔͛̀̀̄̆͜͝ö̸̡͔̼̪̰̦͙̦̞͎̲͇̳̟͓̻́͂̓̋̏̍̽̀̕͠u̶̡̡̢̪̠̤̎͌̇̎̃̈́̊̀͊̃̽̓͛́̀ ̷̢̛̻̝̮̩̜̫̤̹̰̙̦̣͓̋͛̍͂́̇͂̀͘̚͝l̵̡͚̪͖̖̮̲̯̳̰̟̫̞̋́͗͒̈́̊́̀̆̈́̓͂̐ö̷͚́͑͝ō̴̢̡͖͉̼͓̦̝͈̩̪͋̿̀̀̓͐̒͝͝͠k̵̫̗͍̩̯̙̰͈̉̔̎̋͊̒̑̇.̷̨̛̯͙̌͋̈̉͝͝.̵̨̯͇͓̥͇̲̞̻͇̜͉̲̪͑́̈́.̵̢͈̼̪͕͉̪̬̖̼̪͓̙̪̯͒̇͂̂͑͒͜s̸̨͉̯̖͚͚͚̝̝̳̭̹̩͇̏̄̓͘͜ǫ̴̢̢̨͖̥̞͓̤̪̤̪͙̈́͆͗̑̉͐̋̌͂̂̃͆ ̷̖̆̀̄̔͊̿̍͋͗̊̍͝m̸̢͎̻͎̯͙̫̘̱̜̬̫̪͚͛́͊̈́́̾̾͐͛̆̔̏͋̎̕͘͠u̷̖̹̺̾͂́̆́c̷̢̢̧̭̻̜̜̟͉̪̰̲̱̊̈͛́̇̎̄̓̿͗͝͝͝ḥ̴̲̀̾̐͑̋͘͝͝͝ ̵̢̪̦̱̥̋͊̒ḻ̶̢̱͊̓̚͜í̵̧̝̘̃́̿̏͛͑̂͝͠k̶̯̬̼͚̹̈́̏̇̑̒̍̇̂͝ḛ̴̡̻̗̠̭̣̥͇̮͉͒͊̌̋̈́̆̏̽̐̀͑̐̚͝.̷̧̢͇͕͎̓̿̂̅͒̆͛͆͘̚͜.̵̡͚̦̀̋̎́̍́̎̐͐̽́̚͝.̴͕͚͆͛̅̈͂̽̓l̷̢̩̱̼͎̺̹̺͔̘̭̩̣̙̉̌̿͑͠͝i̴̮̘̬̩̝̹̭̫̙̙̫͙͊̎̽k̴̢̻̥̳̱͍͕̙̰͓̠̮͆̒̍̇͊͋͂͘e̵̡̛̫̰̪̫͎͚̗͉͐̇͊͜.̵̡̛̩̬̤̮̙̫̥̥͓̘͓̱̦͙̜͊̔̋̇̚ͅ.̷̞͈̓̆́̄̇̍̇͑͋.̵̮̫͙͇͍͇̞͔͉̖͒̉̋̅͒̓̎̂̆̇̌́̚͜͜ͅ

̸̲͚͎̲͂̈͋͘̚ ̴̡͔̠̩̯̪̺̣̳̱̯̙̰̆͆̀.̴̢̨̼̟̮̼͙̇̐̊͋͛̓͒̎̀̉̆͋̓͐͘̚͠ͅ.̴̧̻͓͙͙̘̬̣̗̜̞̝͉̐̽͌̆̑̒́̈́̆̚.̸̲͎̠̬̪̅̈̃͐̽͑̽̔̍͝h̸̡̨͔̟͇̦̠̳̯̤̱͙̫̪̓́͗͆́̉e̵̢̨̢̙̜͍̦̟̤̫̥̞̝̭̐r̵̢̝̺͍̝̫̖̝̗̆͜͝.̵̳̠̞̱̼̫̤͖̠͊̀̃̐͒͐͑͆͒̃̾͐͂̚̕.̴̧̠̳̘͓̗̱̤͈͕̞̙̜̇̇͜.̷̣̗̲͊̋̑

̸̨̧̡̛̬̣̲͉͓̻̮̙̻͈̪̟͛̑́̈́̈̈̄͗͗̂̓̈́ ̸̘̦̝̺̮̣̝͔̼̦̯̖͎̞̥̍̅̆̅̓̈́̌͑͜.̶̹̟̜̻̝̃̅́͂̉͌͆͒̕͘̕͝.̶̛̠̯̗̩̥̗̬̖̻̠̥̗̠̓ͅͅ.̵̧̞͎̘̻̬̮̯͉͙̼͍̙̋͋̄̄̉͜͜͝ö̴̧̢̫͚̯͎͈̙̞́̔̓̽͗͝u̵̥͔̹̲͍͕͎͋̔̂̂̈́̑̑̍̿̅͘r̵̢̨̺͙̞͇̫͎̙̞̼͎̯̣̭̪̂͊́̿̈̅̄̀͋̊̇̐͘ ̷̧̝̯͍̝̤̩̮͇̯̫̠̣̪̿́̍̎̀̈͂ͅć̶̞̖̫̰̘̜̭͉̲̯̤̍̔̽̍͐̑ͅr̸̛͓̩͚͕̪͔̪͓̯̻̥̪̍̓͋̋̎̑̆̐̑͌̏̉̚͜͠͠e̵̡̾̄̓̈́̇̋̄͆͊̉́͠ͅa̸̧̰̯̥̺̘͍̥̗͇͒̃̋̿̊͗́̎̃̔̉͘̚͠͝͝t̴̥͍̱͓͈͓̫͔̰̭͎̪͙̰͙̖̪̅̐̐̅̇̈́̅̆o̵̱̲͚̰̥̤͎͑͋̉̊̓͛̍̈́̀̎͂̈́̄͘͝͝r̵̺͉̣̹͙̜͎̮̜̝͈̮̮͎̭̻͌͂̈́͑͗͌̌̽͐̔̾͑̈́̔.̷͖̫͔͉̮͇̬̲̞̠̼̯̍͛͜ͅ.̸̢̛͓̺̣̳̤͉̫͉͔͇̩̗̻̝͐̿.̵̧͚̤͎̤͈̠̳̣͎̬͙̥̀͗̈̈͒̉̍͜͜͝͝

̸̨̢̙̥̙̠̮̫̗̬̳̔͆ ̴͔̹̹͍̤̋̿͐̈́̈͑̅̉̿̎̈̈́͊̕͝͠.̵̨̛̦̻̬̺̱̳͕͚̜͓͑̄̐̿̉͋̈͂̕̕.̶͓̺̇̀̀̕͠͠.̴̧̡̛̪̟̖͍̫̮̈́̂̎̃͋̿̃̆͋̈͜͝ͅẅ̸̛͇̩̫̹͚́́̉͂̒́̓̔̂͘͘h̸̙̠̖̭̆͂̎̓̀̂̇̒̅̿͜͠ý̵͇̙͚̺̲̟̼͉̙̝͓̰̜̽̂̐́̍̃̒̿.̷̢̛̖̪̩͖̗̹̩̤̰̰͙̩̓͂͒̂͑́̈́̆̈́̌͒̈́̕͜.̷̡̧͔̤̬̖̺̗̻̲͚͎͕̪̇́ͅ.̸̮͚͇̙̮̳̖̹͊̋̈́͗̋͊̉̀͆͜͝ḑ̸̢̙̘͕͓̳̱̩̖̻̞̭̣̳́͑ǫ̸̢̡̛̛̲̪̬͕̞̙͖͇͖̥̮̖̻͗̎̋̓̎̋̉͊́͐̚̕͜.̸̡̦̹͓̝̩̗͓̖̹̼̯̬̭͔̊͌́͋̅͋̊̿̍͗̊̌̔̚͠͠.̴͇̳̳̟̞̩̗͇̘͛̓̀̏́͆̆͂̎̈́͑̊͜͠.̸̢͇̲̭̗̯͈͍̫̟͚͔̠̽͐̋̍͆̋̌͘͘͝͠͝y̴͖̖̻̥͔̠̖͓̳̼̝͇̮̪̟̫͂͒̀̽̓́̽͊̕ͅò̸̡͉̤̘̩̝̬͖̈́͐̈́͂̎̂̿̎̀̒͛̀̋̆̈́ü̸̢̪͔̻̩͓̪̣̻̈͌̔̋͒̾̄̇̕͘̕.̵̙̤͇͍͙̪̳̫̈́̓̔̌͊͋.̶̢̧̟̤̬̮̥͓̿͆̇̍͐̄̈́͠͝.̶̬̦̠̳̀̆̌̋̆̂̊͑̾̉̈l̶̩̘̰̜̙͚̲̳̜͎̑̇͋̽͌̊̓̀̑̋͠͝ǫ̸̟̮̭͖͚̩͉̝͇͌̀͛͐̂̈́͋̊̀̾̎͌͌̕ǫ̷̳̩̩̰̹̪̱͈̺̮̯͆̂́̽͌̈́̆͛̃̃̇̓̈́͝͠͠k̸̡̖͈̼̖̱̰̳̗̋̄̾̓́̕͜͠͝ͅ.̵̨̥̗̤̗͔̋̌̈́.̵̣̼̳͇͖̎́́̇͜.̶̧̡̨̪͕̣̠͖̪̦̮̦̼͕͈͍́̑̈́͋̃̇̈́̾̎̇̽̄̅͛͝ļ̷̨̬͓̤̃̈̐̃͐̓̅̈̉͑́͜͠ḯ̴̧̢͓̭̹̫̩̼̯͈̇͋̆͊̈́̾̿̆͂̄́̀̚ķ̶̢̱̗̹̩̥͕͚͉̥͙̟̫̿͂̌̿͒͛͠͝ê̶̹̆̂̐͝ͅ.̸̤̂̑͂͛.̴̧̢̨̜͈̖̣̺̙̘̯̇̆͌͑͋͜͝.̵̡̘͍̙̺͙̩͕͉̈̆̌́̒̎͆̾̿H̸̡̳̪͕̦̝̜̘͗̌͑̅̏̎̆̿̔̊́̌̑͆̚̚͜È̸̼̹̤̰̻̝̈́̓̂̆̑̉͂̏̌̀͑̾͘͝Ŗ̷̢̗̠͔̜̭͔̻̖̮̪̮͋̑́͜?̵̨̮̻̦̠͙̣̹͗̋͌

#oc #oc lore #zodiac #zodiacs #zodiac sign #zodiac signs #zodiac lore

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