#they still like use water but mostly just for like watering crops and making other stuff

[roses-for-rosalyn]

The Old Church Parking Lot

Look, I had an idea for a fic and all the sudden it was 4:00 am. I promise one day I'll write a fic where reader isn't a goddamn pillow princess, but today is not that day. Enjoy my darlings.

word count: 3k

minors dni pretty please 🔞

content warnings: Dealer! Ellie, innocent reader, friends to lovers, drug use 🍃, kissing, teasing, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), reader being a pillow princess

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“You’re joking.” Ellie raises her eyebrows at you like she actually expects you to take it back. “You have been on this earth for 19 years and you haven’t smoked weed?” You shake your head. “Ever?” You can’t help but laugh, her stunned expression doesn’t leave her face. She won’t take her eyes off you despite the fact that she’s literally driving.

“Eyes on the fucking road Els Jesus.” She nods and hesitantly turns back to look at the street. “I just never had the chance I guess.” You shrug your shoulders. “Grew up in a small town, not many friends. We mostly just got drunk. It was easier, and less illegal.” You have no idea why this information shocks Ellie to her core, but there’s something else there, an excitement maybe? 

“We’re gonna fix that. Tonight. I’ll pick you up after work.” She was definitely excited and extremely eager. She pulls into your driveway and puts the car in park. 

“Oh yeah? And where are you gonna get it from, not exactly like there’s a store we can stop at.” 

Ellie looks straight ahead and tales a beat before she answers “I kind of…deal the stuff.” She still won’t look at you. “It’s a side gig type thing, helps me stay afloat.” You can’t say you're shocked. You haven’t known Ellie long, she was one of those friends that you kind of just started spending a shit ton of time with out of nowhere. She was still new to you even though it felt like you’d known her your whole life, you were still learning about each other slowly. 

“Ok that’s…incredibly convenient, but where do we go?” You were both home from college for the summer, hence living with your parents. Ellie turns to face you, she brings her hand up to her mouth and starts biting her nail in concentration. It was an incredibly cute little habit, you could see her brain working to find a solution. 

“We’ll sit in the old church parking lot, I can drive us home after.” 

“Works for me.” You shrug. “See you later I guess.” You smile at Ellie and she has this devilish smirk on her face like she knows something you don’t. 

“God I can’t wait.” Her voice was breathy and low, something you hadn’t heard before, but it was incredibly…attractive. You go to open the car door and step out onto your driveway. 

“See ya.” 

“Bye.” You shut the door and head inside, having no idea what you have just agreed to. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You have tried on your entire closet at this point. You usually weren’t like this with Ellie, normally you couldn’t care less what you looked like, but something felt different between you two lately. The type of different where you felt like you needed to look good when you saw her. You’re not gonna dwell on it though, that would just make everything worse. 

You finally settle on just an old, cropped graphic tee and jeans. It’s something you wore all the time, unfortunately your whole wardrobe was strewn about your floor, so this was the best option. 

Jesus why were you nervous? Probably because you were about to do drugs for the first time. Definitely no other reason. 

You pass the time by doing your makeup. It always helps you relax, makes you feel good inside and out. Before you knew it Ellie was texting you she was on her way. She pulls into the driveway, her headlights lighting up your living room. You begin the trek out your front door to her car. It feels like it takes forever, you go through each motion as if you're moving through water. You finally get to her small car and open the passenger door. 

“Hey princess.” Ellie is smiling ear to ear, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her this elated. 

“Hey.” You can’t help but laugh at her exaggerated expression. 

“You ready? You excited?” She’s still smiling, she looks fucking adorable, it’s ridiculous.

“Definitely not as excited as you clearly are.” You can’t help but be a little nervous trying something new, but you were trying it with someone you trusted. 

“We’re gonna have fun. Promise.” With that she turns up the music and pulls out of your driveway. 

On the way to the parking lot you and Ellie belt out 90s hits at the top of your lungs. The windows are down, the wind blowing on your face and through your hair. It almost completely gets rid of any nerves you had. You look over at Ellie, watching her exaggerated expressions and hand movements. She acts out the words in the song like she’s performing. You can’t help but smile at her ridiculousness.

You pull into the parking lot and Ellie turns the radio down. Her arm reaches over your lap to the glove box. Her arm faintly brushes your thighs as she opens it. She pulls out a little baggie with what you would assume are blunts in it. 

“These are pre-rolls. Normally you would have someone else test them out first. This shit could easily be laced with fentanyl, which can kill you. You don’t know where it comes from, you never touch it first.” She looks at you with a serious expression on her face. “Got it?” You nod vigorously, she is obviously in her element here, trying to teach you everything she knows to keep you safe. “Words princess, that’s the most important thing I’ll teach you tonight.”

“Yup, got it.” Why is this so incredibly hot? The way she wants to make sure you’re safe, she’s acting like a stern teacher and it's severely throwing you off. 

She smiles and then continues “But, since you’re getting it from me, and I know where this has been and where it’s from, we’re safe.” You smile and nod, appreciating the reassurance. She takes the preroll from the baggie and grabs a lighter from the console. 

“So you’ve never smoked anything before?” You shake your head “Ok so I’m gonna light this end,” She taps the tapered end of the roll, “You’re going to put your lips around it like a straw and inhale once to get it into your mouth, and then a second time to get it to your lungs.” 

“That made absolutely zero sense to me.” Ellie laughs, shaking her head. 

“You want me to go first, so you can watch?” Oh god yes. 

“Yeah, that might make it easier.” Ellie nods and brings the preroll to her lips. She lights it with her green gas station lighter and you watch her inhale as she puts the lighter back down. She exhales a cloud of smoke towards you and you are immediately turned on. Why did she have to make exhaling seductive? 

“Your turn.” She hands you the roll and you take it between two fingers. You bring it to your lips like Ellie said. Inhale once, twice. Fuck.

You immediately feel the smoke tickle your lungs and throat. You cough out the smoke rather than elegantly exhaling as Ellie did. God, it fucking burns. 

“Try to breathe through your nose babe, here I brought a water bottle for ya.” You immediately grab the water bottle, trading Ellie for the blunt, you eagerly gulp it down. The water sort of soothes the burn, your violent coughing turning into heavy breathing. 

“You didn’t warn me I’d have a fucking asthma attack.” You cough again while Ellie giggles at your pain. 

“I forgot. But I knew you wouldn’t die, plus the surprise on your face was kind of funny.” She takes another hit and passes it back to you. You try again, but a smaller breath this time. It doesn’t burn as much this time. 

“I also forgot to mention, like how this shit makes you feel. It’s different for everyone really.” You pass the preroll back to Ellie. “Mostly it just makes you relax, but some people get talkative, some get sleepy, and most people get incredibly hungry.” She pauses like she’s thinking of saying something but is holding back.

“What?” Ellie shakers her head.

“Nothing… I didn’t even know if I wanted to bring it up, but like it also can make everything feel incredibly good.” 

“What do you mean?” This seems like it’s going in a direction you and Ellie have never really gone before. Ellie would talk about her sexual ventures with other women on occasion, but you never really discussed anything in detail about yourselves. It’s not like you would have much to add with the sex stories anyways, you just listened to Ellie and nodded. You definitely did not have the experience she had.  

“Like it makes people touching you feel 100 times better.” She sighs and laughs “It basically makes most people horny.” She looks at you with a kind of sheepish look. You wouldn’t expect someone with as much experience as her being shy talking about this stuff. Was she… Blushing? It was hard to tell in the dark, you could have definitely imagined it. 

You start to feel a smile tug at your lips and a warmth slowly floods your body. “I think...it’s hitting.” You giggle at literally nothing, which makes Ellie giggle. “Feels really good.” You breathe out. You caress your own arm, testing Ellie’s knowledge. “Woah.”

“What?” Ellie’s smiling at you, she decided she likes how you act high. It’s probably one of the more adorable things she’s ever seen.

“Touching does feel weird.” You continue to caress your own arm, you can feel the warmth of your own hands grazing across the small hairs of your forearm and it tickles. 

“It’s usually other people touching you that feels weird, but whatever works for you over there.” You look at her and back at your arm.

“You touch me then.” You reach your arm out, eagerly inviting Ellie to come closer. 

“I can’t.” She looks down, taking the last hit from the blunt. She won’t meet your eyes.

“Why?” 

“If I start touching you I can’t guarantee I can stop.” She stops herself abruptly like the sentence was forced out of her. She puts out the blunt before finally looking up at you, her confession lingering in the air between you. She’s searching your eyes for any disgust or rejection. She finds none.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Ellie just looks at you, eyes wide with disbelief. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately your body is craving her touch. Your entire body ignites with a type of electricity, it courses through you causing your skin to become tingly. 

Using your sudden desperation as a sort of courage you climb over to straddle Ellie’s lap. You hold onto her shoulders to steady yourself and Ellie backs the seat as far away from the steering wheel as she can. She keeps looking at you with those wide eyes. She moves her hands to cup your face gently, like she’s convinced you'll disappear. She keeps searching your eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation and all she finds is pure hunger. 

She kisses you, her lips are so soft and warm you immediately relax. You move your hands from her shoulders and thread them into her hair and she kisses you harder. She uses her tongue to open up your mouth and you groan at the sensation. She moves her hands down under the hem of your shirt. She grabs your breasts and starts roughly massaging the soft skin. She pulls down one of the cups of your bra and starts teasing your nipple. She pinches it between her fingers and you moan into her mouth at the feeling. She stops the kiss to pull your shirt over your head and immediately continues as she throws your shirt into the passenger's seat. She moves her mouth down and encloses it around your nipple, you gasp at the feeling of her warm tongue sucking and circling your sensitive bud. The ache between your legs has become more noticeable, it’s demanding attention. You start grinding a bit on Ellies lap. The seam of your jeans is barely teasing your clit through your underwear. It was heavenly, but not enough. 

Ellie is trying to devour you. She moves her mouth from your breasts to your neck. Exploring with gentle kisses until she finds just the right spot. She nips and sucks until you're squirming on her lap uncontrollably. 

“Back seat.”  She breathes out. You nod vigorously and climb off her lap and awkwardly maneuver your way to the back seat. You lean up against the car door while Ellie adjusts her seat again to make room. It gives you a moment to breathe before she moves to straddle your waist and continues where she left off. She kisses between your breasts down your stomach, gently making a trail down your body with her lips. She’s so gentle and slow, the feeling of her soft lips on your body is driving you insane. 

She gets to the hem of your jeans and unbuttons them. This is where you start to realize you’re entering uncharted territory. You’re trying not to panic, but suddenly a breathy “Ellie,” Escapes from your swollen lips. She immediately pauses and looks up at you. She sees the slight nervousness in your expression and immediately understands.

“No one’s ever-” You don’t even know how to finish that sentence without embarrassing yourself. 

“I know,” Her face softens “We’ll go nice and slow, tell me when I need to stop okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod and Ellie continues unbuttoning your jeans. Nervous butterflies invade your stomach, despite your altered state. Ellie pulls the jeans off and throws them on the floor. She then takes off her flannel leaving her in a black tank top. Her biceps and veins are enhanced by the moonlight, You can see her muscles flex and move as she does. She moves down kissing along the hem of your panties before placing a kiss on your clit. The sight of her head between your thighs is enough to push the ache in your cunt to an unbearable level. She teases you over the fabric, rubbing her fingers up and down your slit slowly. She brushes her finger over your clit repeatedly and a desperate whine escapes from your mouth.

“I know princess, just a little longer.” Ellie is savoring you like you’re the last thing she’ll ever see. She places light kisses on your inner thighs as she continues to tease you. 

Finally she moves your panties to the side. She runs a finger from your entrance to your clit collecting the wetness that pooled between your legs. You can’t help but whimper, your clit feels ten times more sensitive than usual. Every time Ellie is near it the feeling reverberates through your entire body. She blows out a breath on your cunt and the feeling is heavenly. 

“Doing ok, pretty girl?” She looks up from between your legs and you have to resist squeezing them together at the sound of her voice. It was low and raspy, and every word sounded like honey. 

“Yes.” You nod, your eyes squeeze shut in frustration.

“Look at me.” Her voice was lower, demanding. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I promise.” And with that she lowers her mouth onto your bare cunt. She laps at your clit lightly, she moves her tongue in circles around it, continuing her teasing. She licks from your entrance up to your sensitive bud and begins sucking on it. Your hips immediately buck up towards Ellie’s mouth at the foreign feeling. You are moaning loudly and uncontrollably, you had no idea anything could ever feel this way. It’s almost too much. 

Ellie moves her finger to circle your wet hole, once you relax a little she starts to slowly push her finger into you. She makes sure to be slow and careful. 

“Ellie.” You whine out once curls her finger and hits just the right spot inside you. She continues sucking on your clit and slowly curling her finger inside of you. 

“God you're so tight, you gotta relax for me princess.” You try to focus on relaxing around her finger, once you do Ellie adds a second finger. Your cunt swallows it greedily and you whimper at the pressure of two of her slender fingers inside of you. She sucks at your clit even harder and you gasp out “Ellie please ‘s too much.” 

Ellie pauses for a moment “I know baby, you just have to breathe for me. Here, hold onto me.” She places one of your hands on her arm which is wrapped around your thigh. You do what she says and relax under her. You try to let your body melt into her. “That’s it, you’re doing so well for me.” 

She starts sucking lightly on your clit again. You impulsively use your other had to grab at her hair at the feeling. The pleasure in your stomach is starting to come to a high point, you’ve never felt this before. It was all consuming. Ellie is making little groaning sounds which vibrate through your body. You can feel her start fucking you harder, her fingers hitting that spongey spot inside of you at every thrust. Your back starts to arch while the pressure in your belly grows. Nothing has ever felt like this, it's building to a point so intense you almost start to worry.

“Els, what-” You barely get your question out before blinding pleasure takes over your body. You moan out Ellie's name loudly over and over as she continues to fuck you. It moves in waves, crashing through you causing you to buck your hip into Ellie's mouth and fingers over and over. You whimper and whine each time her fingers move in and out of you. She fucks you through the whole thing until you start squirming away. 

She pulls her fingers out of you and sucks them clean. You stare in disbelief, you didn’t even know someone could do that. Your arousal was covering her lips and chin, glistening. She crawls on top of you to kiss you and you can taste yourself on her tongue. If your limbs weren’t jelly that alone would be enough to make you want to do all of that again. 

“I am so glad you chose to get high with me, you have no idea.” Ellie’s smile is contagious. It has just registered you’ve never seen it like this, laying below her, it felt right. 

“Yea let’s do that again sometime soon.” You both laugh a little. Ellie lays her head on your chest and sighs. 

“Very soon.”

[star-anise]

You just posted like ten different things about potatoes in the span of maybe five minutes, and I gotta know your take on "The Martian".

Like, the (fictional) man alone on a planet literally only survives because of potatoes shrink-wrapped in plastic for a Thanksgiving meal. If they weren't slated to be on Mars for Thanksgiving, he would have died.

And Andy Weir (author of the original novel) did such a good job with the science of every other element to the story, I honest-to-god believe that potatoes could actually manage to grow in Martian soil (even if that's not been proven for certain afaik).

Which means..... could potatoes terraform Mars into sustaining life??? Are potatoes the key to the universe???

Haha sorry for going so hard on them! Those were mostly all posts from 2020 when gardening and fantasy worldbuilding were lockdown fixations for me. One of them blew up recently so I wanted to give The People more of the content it seemed they were looking for. I don't actually know a lot about potatoes. I just think they're neat.

I do not want to take apart the concept of "colonizing Mars" as some kind of woke gotcha. I want to take your question seriously and charitably. However, I just am the kind of person who's like "Hmm, 'colonize', we should really stop and unpack that word," so let's do that, without forgetting the potato element.

(What "I don't know a lot" means: Potatoes were a crop my family grew several acres of for a few years on our farm before we switched our focus to sheep. I am about 50% as reliable as a horticultural brochure on various potato diseases and growing condition issues. I have listened to two University lectures and read perhaps four historical journal articles beginning-to-end on how the Columbian Exchange affected early-modern Europe, that and half as much again on medieval and early modern European farming practices and population changes, and perhaps three science/history articles specifically on the domestication and proliferation of the potato. I am a white Canadian who actively seeks out information and training in Indigenous history and culture in the Americas, but that's probably still only equal to like, two Native Studies classes in university. I know more than the average person on this topic, but I am also not an expert compared to people who have devoted serious time to learning about this.)

But I have some intuitions in a couple of ways:

The Martian is probably being wildly over-optimistic about its potatoes. They would probably have been irradiated into sterility before being vacuum-packed, and I don't think you can split and propagate them that quickly or successfully. However, potatoes can definitely grow in all kinds of conditions (including under my sink).

They might not be the world's healthiest or happiest potatoes, tho. Soil quality definitely affects the end product. Presumably Watney, being a botanist studying Mars' soil composition, knew how much he had to ameliorate his soil with latrine compost (which would definitely have needed a LOT of processing, since human waste is generally not good for plants, but maybe he used chemicals to speed that up?) to get good soil. However, we would probably need to add a LOT of shit to Mars' soil (and air, and water) for it to host plant life.

Mark Watney makes a joke about having "colonized Mars" because "colony" is Latin for "farm" and he farmed on Mars so haha, funny joke! And we talk about colonies on Mars partly because that's what science fiction did, and a lot of science fiction has been into that colonialism aesthetic. But colonialism and empires actually aren't great, not just because they necessitate huge amounts of racism, oppression, and genocide—I know, you asked me a fun question about potatoes and did not sign up for this, I'm not here to drag you, hear me out—but because they're also really sucky models for agriculture and successful societies generally.

My British ancestors tried to be colonial farmers in a place that is sometimes colder than Mars (Canada's Treaty Six), and let me tell you: IT SUCKED. Most of the crops and herbs and vegetables and flowers that settlers here brought from home and are used to? DON'T FUCKEM GROW. For the Canadian prairies to become conventional farmland, farmers and scientists had to scramble to find, or produce, cold-hardy varieties of everything from wheat to roses. A lot of flowers and plants that are unkillable invasive zombie perennials in other climates don't survive our winters no matter hard we try. The trees and flowers that hold cultural or sentimental attachments for us often don't grow here. The climate is so harsh and population is spread so thin that we cannot do the 100 mile diet and eat foods we're familiar with, and can hardly even manage the 1000 mile diet. (Not that I try, but, my family did once look into it)

A huge number of colonial homesteads, where the pioneers go out on their little covered wagon and build little houses on the prairie? Failed miserably and got bought up by land speculators. My own family came out to Alberta in the 1880s and moved around from land assignment to land assignment, like, six times before settling at their current place in the early 1900s.

Meanwhile: POTATOES

Potatoes are less than ten thousand years old! I am not any kind of expert on archaeology, please nobody throw things, but humans showed up in the Andes (think: high, cold mountains) of South America roughly 9,000 years ago. There are hundreds of wild potato varieties, but they generally produce fairly tiny tubers. It took active work of Indigenous Andean people around 8,000 years ago around Lake Titicaca to cultivate specific strains of potato, doing oldschool genetic modification to make them bigger, more delicious, and hardier. From that cultivation effort around a single species of wild potatoes, they produced thousands of cultivated potato varieties.

Ancient Andean farmers and botanists also played a big part in cultivating quinoa from wild amaranth, as well as producing modern food crops you probably haven't heard of, like oca, olluco, mashua, and yacon, and also coca, which may get a bad rap because it's what cocaine and coca-cola are made from but you cannot deny it's got kick.

Basically, Indigenous people of the Americas (South, Central, and North) went all in on botany and plant cultivation. Plants that we take for granted now have mostly been developed by Indigenous people in the past few thousand years: Tobacco, sunflowers, marigolds, tomatoes, pumpkins, rubber, vanilla, cocoa, sweetcorn, maize, and most kinds of pepper except peppercorn. These things were not found; they were made, by careful cultivation of the world as it was.

This gives us a vision of the future. Colonization, and industrial agriculture, both lean us towards the vision of a totally uniform end product, with the same potato varieties grown on each farm because we have made every farm the same. Instead we could embrace biodiversity and focus on privileging local knowledge and considering the interactions of environment, plants, microbiota, and people. We could create potatoes that were happy on Mars. We could create Mars that is happy to have us. We could create a society that can accept what Mars has to offer.

A lot of why we dream about colonizing Mars is the idea that the Earth itself is dying, that we are killing it, and we need to abandon this farmstead and seek out a new frontier. I acknowledge that shit is bad, but I don't agree with that framing. I am increasingly persuaded that there is a third path between ecological destruction and mass exodus, and I think we need to reject European colonial mentality that creates the forced choice. I find far more use in privileging the knowledge of people who live on and with land than their landlords and rulers, and I especially find value in Indigenous knowledge of land management practices and food production.

I am absolutely not saying that Indigenous people were or are wonderful magical ~spiritual beings~ who frolicked in an Edenic paradise that only knew death and disease once white people showed up. This isn't noble savage bullshit, nor am I invoking people who existed once but whom I have never met. I am saying that I have Indigenous neighbours, colleagues, relatives, and elected representatives. I have learned about mental health, leatherworking, botany, and ecology from Metis and First Nations elders and knowledge-keepers. And like. They have good and useful shit to say.

This is about culture, not race. It is not that their biological DNA means that they know more than me about how to get food from this landscape. It's about cultural history and what we learn from our heritages. What have our cultures privileged? Like, Europe has historically been super into things like metallurgy, domesticating livestock, and creating dairy products. If I want to smelt iron or choose animals to make cheese from, European society would have a lot of useful information for me! And what Indigenous cultures in the Americas have historically focused on instead of cows and copper* include 1) getting REAL familiar with your local flora and figuring out how to make sure you have lots of the herbs and grains and roots and berries you need, and 2) how to make a human society where people can live and have good lives, but do not damage the environment enough to impair the ability of future generations to have the same sort of life.

*Several indigenous American cultures did practice various forms of metallurgy. It's just one of those proportional things, about what societies really go for

Conclusion

I think we could use the processes that formed the potato to find and foster forms of life that could survive on Mars. It would involve learning to think that botany is a sexy science, and understanding just how rich and complicated the environment is. To oxygenate the atmosphere, we'd have to get super enthusiastic about algae and lichen and wetlands. We would have to learn to care deeply about the microorganisms living in the soil, and whether the potatoes are happy.

We'd have to create an economy that counts oxygen and carbon dioxide production on its balance sheets. To learn how to wait for forests to grow back after a fire, instead of giving up in despair because the seedlings aren't trees yet. To do the work now and be hopeful even though we might not see the payoffs for decades, or our victories might only be witnessed by future generations.

So yes, I think we could totally plant potatoes on Mars

But I also think that if we ever got there, we'd have turned into the kind of people who could also save Earth in the first place.

Which makes it a good enough goal in my opinion.

[c0la-queen]

I absolutely LOVE your writing, it's so nice to see eddsworld content especially this good <33 can I request Tord with a very shy partner? No pressure ofc, take your time!

Thank you!!! My neurons were absolutely firing with this piece, for realsies. It may not be exaactly what you envisioned? And I was trying not to make the Reader be the stereotypical "uwu im so shy sowwy" kind of shy? You know what I mean? Either way, I hope you enjoy, and if its not quite what you wanted, PLEASE feel free to send me an inbox message letting me know !!!

Run, Rabbit, Run. | Tord x Shy! Reader

Warnings: Mostly Tord's POV, not the fluffiest? it has a happy ending, but Tord is naturally a kind of fucked-up person.

---

Tord had a problem.

He doesn't have problems often, and certainly not problems he can't solve.

It wasn't every day that he wanted to be around someone - craved it. He acted like he only tolerated his roommates, kept the truth locked away under thick layers of steel.

But you. He sought you out, needed you like it ached. Your presence.

You, however, ran from him. Every time. Fled like a rabbit that had caught a glimpse of the stalking wolf. Scurried back to your burrow, safe and protected by densely packed earth. Where he could not reach you. It grinded at his patience, made him clench his jaw hard enough to crack a tooth. He walked into a room, you found an excuse to walk out. It was a constant among the chaos and unpredictability of their house.

The one thing that he needed like a dying man, and he couldn't have it. You wouldn't give it to him.

A problem.

He was going to fix this problem, if it meant the death of him.

And who was he but a stubborn man?

--

His opportunity came during a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The other three were all out, running errands and such. You were still home. Doing laundry, from the sound of it. He wasn't surprised, you liked to use Sunday as the day to do your household chores, reset for the coming week - not that he had been paying attention to your habits. No. Just coincidence.

From the garage, he could hear you. The wall that his workbench sat against was one that was shared with the laundry room, so it wasn't difficult. If he sat still, focused enough, he could practically imagine it. You, in your crop t-shirt and little sleep shorts that you always wore when you did laundry. Hair pushed out of your face. Dancing along to the music that he could hear playing from your phone - doing those silly, awkward dance moves that you did when you thought nobody was looking.

He wanted to be there. It was selfish, he knew. But that little undamaged piece of him sitting in his chest longed to join you. Insert himself into the little life that you had carved out for yourself in their house. Slot his own being so nicely beside your peace and quiet. You were so… unlike him. You were soft, sweet. Like the skolebrød of his childhood. You were vanilla and sugar. Unmarred by anything horrible in the world. That self-centered part of him wanted to take. To clamp his jaws down around your hind legs and sink his teeth in when you tried to escape.

Tord was moving before he even realized it.

You had moved out of the laundry room. Your music faded as you walked further into the house. If he remembered correctly (That phrase tasted bittersweet on his tongue. As much as he craved you, he didn't want to admit how actively he was chasing you. A wolf that resented the rabbit.) you would set about doing the dishes after depositing your empty laundry basket in your bedroom.

His mouth was dry. So he moved to the kitchen. To get water. (That's what he would tell you. That's what he would tell anybody who asked.)

The switch from the garage to the house was always jarring to the senses. The garage was cold, unprotected from the autumn chill. But the house was warm. Welcoming. Safe. (You were inside.) It was like sitting under a hot shower after catching hypothermia.

He stopped in the doorway.

There you were. In the kitchen. Dishwasher open. Your smartwatch was discarded on the kitchen table alongside your phone and water bottle. Music was still playing from the device's speakers. You were, just as he guessed, wearing your crop tee and shorts. (The collar was hanging low on one of your shoulders, bearing the skin to his vision. His hands itched.) You hadn't noticed him yet. Little rabbit unaware of the danger that lurks in the forest underbrush.

It was something beautiful watching you in your own little world. In public, you were so small. Reserved. Put a cork on your personality so that nobody could truly see who you were. To you, it felt like security. If nobody had access to your identity, then nobody could take it away. Nobody could judge you. Even home, with the boys, you were less than yourself. Not to the same degree, but still limited. They didn't take offense to it, they knew it wasn't you distrusting them. It's just how you were. But here, when you thought you were alone? The cork was removed and he loved to watch the bottle overflow.

You spun on your heel and nearly dropped the bowls in your hand from how hard you flinched at the sight of him. He could see the way that you drew in to yourself, made yourself smaller.

"Oh, um, hey. Tord. I didn't… realize you were home."

There was something tight in his chest at the way you looked so nervous. You shifted in your spot, looked anywhere but at him. He wanted you to look at him.

"I am."

You only answered with a soft 'oh' before turning back to the dishwasher. He remained still, watching. Clearly, you were looking for a way out, a chance to flee. Something he wasn't going to let happen.

"I should probably-"

"You keep avoiding me."

Your head shot up, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes. He dug his fingernails into his palms.

"What? No, no I haven't- I haven't been-"

"Do not lie to me."

It was cruel, yes, but it gave him the desired effect. You clammed up immediately. Shoulders slumped. Gave him just a little inch, but that was all he needed to take a mile. He stepped closer. You stepped back.

A snarling, drooling, hungry wolf, closing in on its prey.

Your back hit the counter. He stepped forward again.

A trembling little rabbit, cornered with nowhere to go.

He stopped a foot away from you.

"I have tolerated this for months. For months I have watched you run from the sight of me alone. As if the very idea of being in the same room as me is too much for you to bear. Do you even have any idea what you do to me? Do you know how it kills me?"

He could feel the way that you tensed up. A spike of anger stuck into his chest, burning hot. You weren't looking at him. You were looking at your shoes again. He forced his words out of his throat in the form of a growl.

"For fuck's sake, look at me. Look at- Look. At. Me."

Frustration boiled over, bubbling and spilling over the sides of the pot and he wasn't able to put the lid on it fast enough. He reached up and grabbed your jaw, holding it firmly between his index and thumb. Forced your eyes to focus on him. Only him.

A sick part of him preened at the little gasp that came out of your throat.

But you kept your eyes on him. Good girl.

"Tell me why you have been avoiding me."

His voice was softer now. He hated how much pain he could hear in it. How it trembled. He had hoped you wouldn't notice. But you did. Your mouth opened. Then closed. You swallowed thickly. Then you spoke.

"I thought…. thought you didn't like me."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Him? Not like you? How could you think that? He could only hate you as much as a hunter hates Mother Earth for blessing him with food.

"You just… always seem so.. annoyed at me whenever I try to talk to you. And you never really… really talk back.. Just kinda… give short answers. I thought you found me annoying. I didn't want to keep annoying you. So I just… just backed off…."

He took a moment to process that. Let it all sink in.

He couldn't help it.

Tord began to laugh.

Through his laughter, he noticed you pout, heard a soft whine leave you. A groan ripped through his laugh at the sight. As if his body was working on autopilot, he surged forward. Pressed his lips to yours. He felt your gasp against his lips, then felt your melt into the kiss. You kissed back.

When his oxygen began to run short, he pulled away. Not too far, though. Kept his forehead pressed flush to yours. Took in the sight of you. You, panting softly, lips swollen from the kiss. Looking up at him through your pretty eyelashes.

"I have never hated you, kjære. I am… aloof. I have a resting bitch face. You are not the first person I have unnerved. But.. you are the first that I have wanted to be close to. If you would have me."

Courtesy. Formality. Tord was a stubborn man, and when he managed to get a taste of blood, he clamped his jaws down tight and didn't let go.

And this rabbit laid down in his teeth willingly.

You smiled.

"I'd like that. Yeah."

[densewentz]

I have a lot of feelings about season 2 obviously, mostly that it was brutally fantastic, but it really serves to highlight the main difference between Crowley and Aziraphale's understanding of loss. long angsty analysis under cut

Because Crowley already knows what it is to lose Aziraphale. I mean really lose him. He fell to the floor in the burning heart of the bookshop thinking Aziraphale was dead and gone. We get to see in fantastic living color how broken it leaves him. He's forced to spend time wallowing in the hopelessness of it before Aziraphale is miraculously back. Then cut to heaven during their ruse, where Crowley is standing there in the flames with Gabriel grinning maliciously in his face, telling the love Crowley just got back to shut up and die. If that scrap of prophecy hadnt found them, if they hadn't been quick enough, clever enough, Crowley would have lost him again. For Good. For Ever. That entire scene, from the cropped cut of Crowley twisting Aziraphale's wrists in their bonds all the way through to the end, Crowley is in a visibly barely contained rage. He's quiet, and still. These are the beings that have been tormenting his love for centuries, who tried to take him away once already and want to take him away from Crowley again. And it boils in him in the same combination that makes terrified dogs Bite. And we see the lasting effect that fear has on him throughout season 2. It drives almost every interaction Crowley has with other characters, particularly in his vehemence that Jim!Gabriel not be anywhere near Aziraphale. Crowley is able to word for word quote that moment back to Jim!Gabriel mostly unprompted because I guarantee its just been repeating in his head since the archangel showed up in the bookshop. He needs Aziraphale safe in that desperate and agonized way you can only feel if you already know what its like to lose them. And the entire season he's combating the fact that the biggest threat to Crowley's love is sitting in his livingroom and Aziraphale keeps handwaving Crowley's trauma away.

Which brings us to Aziraphale. Aziraphale who has never had to experience losing Crowley. His demon is always there just on time, always at his shoulder and on-call. Aziraphale has no concept of the depth of Crowley's grief during the time Crowley thought he'd died in the bookshop, and no idea the damage Crowley's incognito trip to heaven had on him. And then parallel Aziraphale's part in the ruse. Yes, he's playing at being cheeky Crowley, but I'd bet all my money most of that was just Aziraphale relishing in doing what he loves to do: Dramatizing. Watch his scene in hell compared to Crowley's in heaven. Aziraphale is having a blast. To him its a stage production, a clever trick he gets to play. Michael pours 'Crowley' a holy water death bath and it just makes Aziraphale grin because he knows it wont work. He plays it up, wings the water at the demons, makes silly demands, asks the angel who would have killed Crowley to bring him a towel. It's a joke to Aziraphale, because he never even seems to consider (as Crowley obviously does) the reality that if they hadn't swapped places Crowley would be dead. That Michael came grinning down to hell to destroy him. Forever destroy him. And Aziraphale even giggles about it to Crowley on the bench. Aziraphale has no reference or context of what it would be like to actually lose Crowley, it'd be unheard of, so he never processes what could have happened in the way Crowley does. And we continue to see that ignorance crop up in season 2. His dismissal of Crowley's fears as being silly, the way he never once seems to worry for Crowley's safety even with the other angels and hell minions in the room. Michael and Beelzebub are right there. The two who would have seen Crowley turned into nothing. But there's just not the awareness of the threat to Crowley (or himself, but thats another problem) that Crowley inversely possesses. And it all boils down to the simple fact that Aziraphale has never ever lost Crowley. Until now. And you can see it beginning to process post-kiss. You can see it in Aziraphale's face as Crowley dons his glasses and turns his back on Aziraphale for real. This is going to be the beginning of Aziraphale learning what it is to lose his love, and its going to be absolutely heartbreaking yes, but also completely necessary to his growth.

There's that wretched little saying "you don't know what you've got until its gone". Crowley's learned that lesson the hard way already. I guess now its Aziraphale's turn.

[aikoiya]

LoZ Theory - Hylia = Amaterasu, But What Does That Mean?

Now, this theory is mostly just for fun, okay? So, keep that in mind when reading this.

Anyway, I'm sure that we've all realized to some degree that Hylia has some very obvious parallels to Amaterasu of Shintoist theology. At least, thematically speaking.

However, that brings into question as to who would take on the thematic roles of Tsukuyomi & Susano-o?

Interestingly, Hyrule itself doesn't really seem to have any gods of the moon & while wind & sky & even water gods have appeared throughout the games, the only one who you could feasibly refer to as a "storm god" really wasn't up to the same level as Hylia & I'd thus argue that he couldn't really be called a Susano-o parallel.

However, there was 1 divine entity that did appear in at least 1 game & had cameos in a couple of others. One that appears to bear some sort of connection to the moon.

The Fierce Deity. (Yes, he is actually, canonically, a Kishin, who are known for being compassionate protectors despite their viciousness in battle, however, I'm talking thematic roles here & therefore, he doesn't need to be a perfect representation of Tsukuyomi. At the same time, Hylia doesn't just parallel Amaterasu, but in some ways Danu, an Irish mother goddess, & even Christ to a degree. So, I don't understand why FD couldn't also have multiple influences.)

Not to mention, did you know that wolves, rabbits, & fairies all have some sort of connection to the moon? Like, I'm sure most of us know the wolf connection, but also there's the legend of the Jade Rabbit & I remember reading somewhere that the full moon was a portal to the realm of the fae. So, even in that respect, the Links still have some faint connections to the moon.

But if Hylia = Amaterasu & Fierce Deity = Tsukuyomi, then that still leaves Susano-o's Hyrulean mirror.

However, maybe we can figure this out by working through the game characters that Hylia & FD are most associated with, which are Zelda & Link.

And, as I'm guessing you're realizing, they too have a third: Ganondorf. And what seemingly divine entity is he most associated with?

The Bringer of Demise. Who happens to call down lightning in battle, as does Ganondorf. You could even make an argument about how his hatred could mirror the indiscriminant destructive power of a storm. Natural disasters, if you will.

Now, what I find interesting is what this implies about the 3 Hyrulean divinities in question. Because Susano-o had fallen from grace & been cursed into the body of a mortal for his misdeeds until he earned back his spot among the gods.

Is it possible that Demise had also been a true deity before committing some act that caused him to be cast out & become an... Akuma?

In fact, one of the things Susano-o did to get thrown out was that he destroyed his sister's crops. Specifically, it appears that he & Amaterasu both had 3 rice fields each, but whereas her fields were fertile, his were dry & barren, which in his jealousy, he destroyed her fields. (Which, itself, creates a bit of an interesting parallel between not just Susano-o's relationship with Amaterasu & Demise's with Hylia in SS, but also between the godly siblings & Ganondorf's relationship with just Hyrule, in-general. At least, if you trust WW Gdorf's words.)

One possible issue I see is a bit of discrepancy in the myths. In some depictions, it's Susano-o who kills Ōgetsuhime after his banishment, but in others, it's Tsukuyomi who kills Ukemochi. Which are simply 2 different names for the same goddess. Not only that, it was for the same reason. In order to serve them food, she produced it via some very unsanitary means, so they killed her for it.

As for Tsukuyomi, he seems to be regarded as an evil god, but at the same time, he only seems to appear in 2 myths. The myth of he & his siblings' birth & the myth of him killing Ukemochi.

Beyond that, personality wise, Tsukuyomi was described as cold & reserved, as well as having been noted to value things such as order, justice, & etiquette a great deal, to the point where it's said that he was willing to kill to maintain it despite murder not being condoned. In this way, he's seen as violent. Which could well fit with Fierce Deity, considering his portrayal as a Kishin with a few tweaks.

On the other hand, FD is referred to as a Kishin, which are inspired by the Buddhist Pāla or Protectors, a.k.a. Wrathful Gods. And though they are fearsome in battle & terrifying to behold, one of their core qualities is that they are compassionate, ultimately benevolent, & visit just vengeance upon those who wrong the innocent.

However, the only reason for Tsukuyomi being referred to as an evil god was his murder of Ukemochi. So, how does it change his character in a situation where the one to do so was instead his brother?

Are there other things he's done? It doesn't seem like it, which kinda paints Amaterasu in a not-so-great light considering how Susano-o does a lot more terrible things, yet later, she still forgives him.

Hell, remember he basically commits the exact same crime as Tsukuyomi. So, why is it that Susanoo gets a pass despite all the other shit he did, but Tsukuyomi doesn't despite technically having only 1 mess-up?

Is it because he hasn't apologized yet? Because he didn't get her some super powerful gift? Honestly, it makes me wonder what Amaterasu's reaction to Ukemochi's hostess skills & how she produced the food would've been.

Furthermore, either Tsukuyomi killed Ukemochi, Susano-o killed Ōgestuhime, or Tsukuyomi killed her, she revived, & then Susano-o killed her again later.

In the case of the last one, it brings to question why she hadn't learned her lesson? At that point, she only has herself to blame.

However, it's also possible that the story of night & day & Susano-o killing Ōgetsuhime could possibly be one in the same, just told from 2 different perspectives. Keep in mind that Susano-o was able to transform a woman into a comb even after being banished. It wouldn't be too farfetched to assume that he could transform himself as well. Hell, shouldn't taking on the visage of another person theoretically be much easier than literally turning another person into an inanimate object?

If I'm right, then the situation would unfold like this: Susano-o was banished, Ukemochi held a feast & invited Amaterasu, she couldn't come & sent Tsukuyomi instead, Susano-o heard of Ukemochi's grand feast, & took on his brother's appearance. Susanoo-o as Tsukuyomi asked Ukemochi to provide him with food, then upon seeing how she did so, he killed her before leaving, & that's when Tsukuyomi came upon the scene. However, this left Tsukuyomi to be blamed for her death because other partygoers witnessed the not-Tsukuyomi's crime, which resulted in Amaterasu & the real Tsukuyomi separating, thus creating day & night. (Not that this is actually what happened in myth, but it's just a thought.)

However, even if he did do it, if this was the only instance of Tsukuyomi behaving in such a manner, then it honestly seems very unfair to have him automatically slighted as evil.

Though, what I find interesting is that if my interpretation of the story were correct, then it'd somewhat create another parallel between Tsukuyomi & FD. The misconception that dark automatically means evil, which has led to both being demonized. In FD's case, pretty literally due to unfortunate translation association.

Sorry, I just found this possibility to be very freaking interesting.

LoZ Cultural Masterlist 1

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hey, hey, I just recently found your stuff, but it's awesome!! I'd like to ask for more Lance/Isaac and possibly some poly with Farmer if ya want 👀

No specific themes or anything, just any hcs you have of them!! That's all!!

*Rub my hands in anticipation* Oh, boy! Another opportunity to write about this ship! (And with Farmer too!)

I already had a draft with some headcanons, but now everything can be moved here, hehehe... 🌚 Thanks for asking, dear anon, and for the kind words! 😊💕

_________________________________________

Some random SVE Lance/SVE Isaac/Farmer headcanons:

With Isaac, Lance and Farmer will have scary dog privilege. That said, Isaac doesn't even have to do anything - one threatening look and cold stare from him will make any overly flirtatious strangers step back. Lance often teases Isaac about this, but he and Farmer appreciate this concern.

Though Lance is well aware that his two lovers are skilled monster hunters, the pink-haired adventurer still worries about them when they both go on a mission to the Crimson Baldlans. So he equips them with potions and protective amulets like a caring mother dressing her child warmer, for "they might catch a cold!" Isaac will always grumble about overprotection, but it's useless to argue with Lance on this point. The Farmer has no chance of winning the argument at all, with their number of cases of fainting and exhaustion in dangerous places.

Isaac is the worst cook among the three, and he can't cook much of anything. That said, he always takes the responsibility of getting food. No, not in a quiet environment, this is done by the Farmer with their rich harvest, but, let's say, in Skull Cavern. If their adventures drag on long enough and there are no provisions left, it is Isaac who starts the hunt for the flying serpent. After about 15 minutes, he places dead monster at his partners' feet with the single word "dinner," and waits for them to prepare a roasted eel.

Since Lance already knows a bit about growing plants (mostly monster crops) thanks to the talented Farmer, Isaac felt he didn't want to fall behind and also asked Farmer to teach him something. His first plant was a hot pepper, because he likes spicy food. Of course, the plant was on the verge of death a few times, but the scarred adventurer had already gained experience and was proud of his first pepper crop.

Given the crazy daily routine of the entire trio, Lance and Isaac don't stay overnight at the farm very often. They all have such a crazy schedule. How all three manage to stay romantically together and give each other the attention they deserve is a mystery to everyone. But at least they have no problems with time management.

Both Lance and Isaac are wistful to realize that Farmer still can't join them in Castle Village, drink ale in the tavern, or stop by the main Guild. They have no right to influence Camilla's decision in any way, but they can't hide the slightly sad looks on their faces as their beloved Farmer bids them farewell and teleports back to Stardew Valley.

One of their favorite dates/day off activities is swimming in the hot springs at the Sprite Spring. The relaxing setting, the nature around them, the water is beautiful and crystal clear... Farmer and Lance especially feel good as Sprite Spring energizes their mana. It's all a bit unfamiliar for Isaac, as he's used to a trivial five-minute shower, but he was still able to fully relax in the warm water. Especially as his lovers hands began to massage his tired shoulders.

[surreal-duck]

screw it. midoyuzu sdv au (very long bullet point post warning in advance)

midori inherits his late grandpa's farm. parents' greengrocers shop in the city used to get a good chunk of their crops from there til his passing and the farm was since abandoned

kanata is definitely handling the fishing shop. though he spends more time in the water puka pukaing than actually fishing and manning the store but its fine she manages somehow. when midori gets the fishing rod kanata just straight up pops outta to water to give him the rod and floats away 👍 souma helps out there also

chiaki owns the saloon and bartends even if he does Not drink himself and the only thing that ever plays on tv are tokusatsu shows

as for the others i havent thought abt as much and subject to change. kuro blacksmith with his apprentice tetora maybe . nagisa the museum and library curator (and by extension i think itd be really funny if ibara was a joja executive. mostly to keep an eye on nagisa but also keeping the yzib hostility). eichi is the mayor though keito his vice mayor does most of everything and his boyfriend wataru organizes the town events and such like the valley fair etc!! natsume is the forest wizard w his apprentice sora and tsumugi comes by weekly in that traveling cart thing. madara owns the ranch probably.

everybody else is probably just normal townsfolk, among others hajime and hinata take care of the towns plants n stuff!! tatsumi priest, mayoi is half shadow person and hangs out in the sewer (of which noritama at some point explore together and shinobu befriends and invites to visit the surface). i said i didnt think about this much but thats a lie at this point. mika stays in an atelier in the forest (owned by shu whos in the city but does visit on occassion) to cultivate his own art, still best buds with arashi. jun koga adonis and maybe hiiro part of the adventurers guild, trick5tar are their own lil band!!

some charas r not present most of the time or yet like tori who is off at uni w his longtime academic rival and childhood friend and also now roommate tsukasa. their presence is very important for later trust me. rich family rivalry still remains here (along with military camp Because)

due to tori being at uni and learning independence yuzuru is off of his usual butler work for a while and working in the general store owned by the himemiyas! partly to pass the time partly encouraged to find something new to do outside of his servant duties. he calls and nags at tori regularly to make sure hes fine and such

the request board outside of the store is always a good source for side jobs and one day a request for foraged spring onions is pinned up with a terrifying drawing scribbled on it. midoris head over heels Immediately and she already has a good amount to spare so why not take it

hes probably a week into living in the valley already? while yuzuru had just started working over at the store therefore she wasnt aware of this yuzuru fushimi and finds the very one while looking for who put up the request!! the master artist + fan dynamic goes from then on

other than the usual chitchats and more requests with encouraged atrocious drawings accompanying them, been thinking a good amount of the specific town events that happen through the year!! other misc things are various quests and errands from each of the characters, like helping mika gather cloth or hajime requesting various flowers to brighten up the town

Y1 Spring: egg festival, noritama hanging out, shinobu sweeping the egg hunt; flower dance , as they havent gotten to know each other to well enough to actually dance (just like in the game) (haley please. anyways) its mostly just small talk and maybe including some other side pairings i like djdhhfjdj chiaki with a suspiciously soaked kanata and hina dragging off tetsu

Y1 Summer: acquiring the rusty key from nagisa, noritama sewer exploration and befriending mayoi; luau, nothing special particularly for this one; dance of the moonlight jellies, from here yuzuru and midori get a lot closer playing in the sand and just getting along (a bit like siosai marina)!! probably some background drop for the both of them like takamine gramps' farm and yuzurus actual role as a butler while telling him about tori as well dkhdhdjs. they spot the rare green jellyfish together here too

Y1 Autumn (yeah im calling it autumn sue me): valley fair commences, led by everyones own wataru whos hopping here and there somehow managing three attractions at once. yuzuru obliterates the shooting game; spirits eve, chiaki is desperately being clingy out of fear. just more shenanigans in this one

Y1 Winter: festival of ice!! i kinda want to recreate the snow bunny/cute critter scene in jingle bells here, while the fishing contest isnt even a contest at all except between souma and kanata; feast of the winter star ill probably keep somewhat similar to that in the recent luck fest campaign gift exchange!! midori -> hajime and yuzuru -> kanata at the very least. just good vibes all around. community centre would also be finished by then so while joja closes, ibara ends up assisting at the museum w nagisa instead jshshdh

Y2 Spring: only thing of note is that This flower dance they do get to dance together!! 👍 had to get those hearts up beforehand sjhdhdjshd midori at this point fully realized he really does like yuzuru, but kind of the calm before the summer storms

Y2 Summer: gets a bit (a lot) more complicated from here. yuzuru receives word from tori that he'll be visiting from midsummer til the beginning of autumn, and coincidentally tsukasa is tagging along to meet up with his pen pal and friend sora!! bickering the entire way there and due to circumstances yuzurus hosting tsukasa as well in the end, having to share toris room with him aksjdhjwjs

tori gets introduced to midori. the famed young master of midoris crush and this random farmer boy tori had heard so much about for some reason. midoris rather intimidated in the end but it ends up not Horribly to say the least. didnt quite help how tori had noticed how yuzuru softened up even just a bit when interacting with him. sora as well finally meets tsukasa and "the torikun he's heard so much about through tsukasas letters" 🎉 toris awfully smug and tsukasa tries to salvage it saying he was badmouthing him the whole time (not completely a lie but definitely not completely the truth either. dork)

with toris arrival inevitably comes yuzurus duties as a butler, its plain to see his priorities and out of consideration midori backs off a bit. she thought he'd only have to keep his distance until tori's gone back but little did she know toris main reason for coming not only was to assess how yuzurus faring (well and to meet eichi again) but had planned on bringing yuzuru back with him too to which yuzuru of course though not without feeling a tinge of pain for a reason unknown to him agrees to it

midori hears this from tsukasa, how he didnt think yuzuru would stay in town for much longer. and of course midori ended up pretty devastated at the news but who is he to stop yuzuru from leaving? in the end yuzuru would all but abandon his duties, and after all that same diligence and devotion is what midori had fallen for in the first place. if this short year really is all he'd get to spend with him then at the very least she'll have to make the most of what time they have left

the moonlight jellies come around again, probably one of the last times they both thought they'd be able to spend together and went off with just the two of them. a bit of an awkward air around them, yuzuru comments on how toris been complaining about the sand and other attempts at casual small talk as usual but its painfully obvious theres still that tense atmosphere

midori finally asks if yuzurus really leaving after all, to which she got a yes. midori simply nods and had long since accepted that inevitability, and already resolved that when the time comes to put an end to his feelings and get rejected properly. and so he confesses, and while saying she didnt need yuzuru to give him any proper answer in return, all yuzuru could really say was an "i'm sorry" while finally realizing what that awful ache that has been eating at him the entire time was. even if he did realize he felt the same, no matter how much he wanted to say it back theyve both resigned to the fact that its not something that could or would really ever happen between them

once the jellies have all left, their parting was pretty awkward, with that one goodbye feeling a lot like their last. tori notices something off about yuzuru and that something had probably happened between them, but didnt pay it much thought until a while later

yuzurus made more mistakes than whats normal, miscategorizing the stock or putting salt in his coffee, tori and tsukasa are both shocked and tried to pry it out of him but hes a brick wall that wont budge even a bit. it was only when midori came around for his usual errands and groceries that tori could note how distant and awkward theyre both being and that slight bit of hurt behind yuzurus all perfect mask

after much uncomfortable tension and quietly longing gazes enough is enough amd tori eventually confronts him, that while he did say yuzuru could come back to the city asks him if thats really what he wanted. and of course, all hes ever wanted or rather, knew how to want was to be able to serve tori to the best of his ability and really theres no other reason to stay anyways. even more frustrated now tori brings up midori, if he really wont regret leaving things like that when theyll surely drift apart to the point of no return if he keeps it up

argues that whatever was between him and midori has nothing to do with it!! tori is Mad and says if yuzuru is hiding behind his role to run away from the depths of his own feelings hes being a freaking idiot. eventually tori calms down and while he did want yuzuru to come, never wanted him to tear himself apart so much and that he didnt need to sacrifice his desires or getting close to anyone else for his sake, and how before being a servant yuzuru is his family as well and he just wants him to be happy too. then asks one last time if leaving the valley really what he wanted

yuzuru finally thinks it over again and apologizes first. for letting himself get so caught up and carried away for even daring to get close to someone else (tori glares daggers at him. he stops) and affirms that while he did wish to stay, theres still nothing more important to him than tori and his wellbeing and even should he open up and find more people in his life its not gonna change that fact

toris finally satisfied, reminding him again that even if he were to run off to be with some farmer boy hed still be his butler and that he wishes them the best. then proceeds to grab the bouquet from over the counter, shove it into yuzurus hands and lock him out of the store until he has a proper talk with midori. yuzuru tries to argue but it all goes one ear and out the other with tori he is Not gonna let him back inside until then

eventually gives in and goes looking for midori. he asks all around town and seems to just miss him each time, til eventually it starts pouring and into a pretty hard rain. at this point all he could rly focus on though was wanting to see him so pushes on until running into her taking shelter in the forest. yuzuru is Soaked and disheveled and with the wind and rain the bouquet is stripped down to only a few of its flowers left but he does not care at this point

midori is understandably shocked and tries to dry him off with what he had, lending her jacket and asking what he was doing out in the rain like that. well with yuzuru only being able to think about wanting to meet him had completely ignored the rain and brushes it off saying there was something more important he wanted to say

even knowing that he'd (somewhat) rejected midori before, asks if he could give him a proper response this time if midori would give him another chance. she agrees, yuzuru lets him know he wont be going back to the city after all to midoris surprise. goes on that before he knew it midori had become important to him as well and that he truly does adore him, and if his feelings havent changed would like to court him properly. midoris just processing the entire thing before crying. never thought his feelings would be reciprocated and between sobs hugs him. rain clears up, a nice rainbow arches over and while midori accepts what was left of the bouquet they almost had a moment until yuzuru starts sneezing. cue them running back to the store before he gets sick

while yuzurus taking care of himself it leaves midori and tori in the store together. tori gives her a bit of a shovel talk and if he dared do anything to hurt yuzuru he could have his entire farm shut down. and asks to take care of yuzuru for him too. they do talk a bit and end up getting to know each other a bit more before tori and tsukasas impending departure

once midori leaves, tsukasa, having seen the whole conversation, asks tori if hes really okay with it and while tori cant say hes absolutely happy is glad someone cherishes yuzuru just as much. and even if he is a bit lonely will always have tsukasa anyways half as a tease and half being genuine

Y2 Autumn: tori and tsukasa leave the valley, promising to come back next year!! theres a lot more ive planned out from this point out but i am keeping it to myself for now. or maybe forever it depends 👍 my apologies if youve read this far you deserve a medal thank you for listening to my silly rambling 🏅

theres some other things like mini chara arcs/episodes and such (or stuff like specific "heart events" of a sort) i thought abt but among them is tatsumi and mayoi meeting and [omitted] or tetoras apprenticeship under kuro, or shus visit to observe mikas progress and [omitted], and specifically a certain trks episode also

[inkformyblood]

look and learn (Codday fic!)

Also posted on ao3 but currently anon over there &lt;3 Pre-canon, Cody-centric. Cody & Fox, Cody & Alpha-17

“Again.” Cody spits onto the dishevelled floor of the training room, the globule streaked with something dark and it vanishes amongst the cracks in the thick padded mats that the room is lined with. There is a ringing in his ears like he’s stood beneath the heavy pressure of the showers, his mouth open to taste the bite of salt against the soft give of his gums, and let himself break slightly around the edges. No cameras in the showers at least. No valuable data to be gathered there. 

His trainer is one of the older batches, a splash of an already fading tattoo across the base of his throat. His hair is close-cropped to his scalp, a dark prickle of regrowth just beginning to alter his colouration, and he rubs his palm against one side as he studies Cody. He can’t guess at what he sees but he straightens up, the bones of his spine grinding together as he pushes himself back into the mould he had peeled himself free from. Cody rests his hands in the small of his back and thinks about the bite of his nails against his palm, the delicate half-moons that would indent his skin in the spaces between his calluses. They’re all stripped down to their blacks but the same fabric that sits oddly on the scaffolding of Cody’s hips clings to the trainer’s chest, the expanse of his shoulders. He carries himself solidly, every movement tested and sure as he steps forward, looking down at Cody’s opponent.

Cody follows his gaze.

“Try the question again,” the trainer says. The mat hisses as he steps onto it, planting his feet wide, and a trickle of blood runs towards the heavy soles of his boots. He doesn’t move away. It’s a clear redirect, a hand clasped to the nape of Cody’s neck and dragging him along even as he tries to dig his heels into the unyielding metal underfoot, and Cody unlocks his jaw before he answers. Still tastes fucking bitter but he’s used to it. Mostly. 

“A break. Sir?” 

The trainer grins with only one side of his face moving. He rubs his palm over his scalp. Cody is close enough to hear the rasp it makes, the other man’s fingers curled to flip Cody off for his trouble. “Fuck off and get some water, Commander-in-training.”

His boots creak as he crouches down next to the crumpled form of Cody’s opponent. His blood is smeared on Cody’s knuckles, still a brighter red than he expected and he raises his fist to his mouth. Iron and salt. He snaps a salute at the trainer’s bowed head, a twinge in his back tearing open into something close to agony and his jaws snaps shut on a scream, and he walks away. He won’t break like this. Not here. Not yet.

Someone slides into step at his side, their fingers a whisper against his own, and Cody flinches away, nerves scraped raw and the thrum of a fight he doesn’t know the taste of yet burnt across his tongue. They’re a brother; the sleeve of his blacks torn with a fresh set of nail marks dragged over the span of his forearm and he favours his right leg, swaying closer and closer Cody with every focused step. 

“Causing trouble?” Fox murmurs, smearing the back of his hand across the tear in his lip, his tongue prodding at the same spot. His eyes are wild, never settling in one spot as he studies the groups as they pass. 

“You know it.” Cody doesn’t watch the groups, he watches Fox. There’s harsh lines of watchfulness around the corners of his eyes, his mouth already pinched into a snarl with no target, and his little finger, never healed right after getting caught beneath a boot, the snap still lingering at the edges of Cody’s hearing, curls around Cody’s own, steering him sideways. Cody goes where he leads, in step, in time, perfect soldiers, moulded in Prime’s image with a healthy dose of his temperment to go along with it. Fox’s attention catches on something over Cody’s shoulder, the briefest widening of his eyes, his grin sharpening on one side, gone before the expression could be anything more than an idea. He relaxes back into the same sharp posture his bones have been moulded into, his steps never anything but punishingly exact, and Cody raises a brow at him. 

Fox shakes his head, tucking a curl back behind his ear. It is just past regulation length, the line found and walked like it is a training exercise. “Come on. Water.”

The small station is an addition, a collection of pipes drawn out of the metal panelling and bent into a series of curves to try and leech as much of the salt out as possible. It still tastes metallic, leaving a film that lingers over Cody’s tongue as he uncaps the pipe, tipping his head back to drink. Fox waits next to him, relaxed into the curve of his hip making his posture just off centre enough to be noticeable by a brother. He taps his fingers over each other like he is trying to recalibrate his awareness of himself and Cody studies the side of his head out of the corner of his eye. He caps the pipe, swallowing the dregs with a wince, and taps his elbow against Fox’s side. They switch positions, orbiting around each other, and water hisses through the pipes as Fox begins to drink. 

On one side of the room, there are smaller groups, a trainer and a pair of brothers multiplied across countless variations. Cody can just make out the huddled form of his former opponent, slumped against the trainer’s legs. His head is tipped back against the trainer’s thighs, one of the other man’s hands cupped beneath his chin as the other presses against his collarbone. His arms are slack at his side and his legs are splayed, but his feet twitch, indentations spreading across the mat. 

Cody looks away.

Fox swallows, a round clicked into a blaster. “Did you know?”

He tips his head back and the water runs over his chin before he adjusts with a hum, swallowing once more. Cody doesn’t answer him, tucks his hands back into the small of his back and feels his bones ache with the slight pressure. He isn’t likely to grow any taller than he already is, the final accelerated cycle still working it’s way through his system all the same, steam with no outlet, rage with no focus, and everything feels formless like he can stretch himself wide enough to pass as an Alpha class brother. He knows how to fight them all the same. They’ve got the reach, oftentimes the power, but Cody never quite learnt when to lay down and die. 

He swallows, the lingering metallic taste of water blurring with the imprint of blood along his gums. It is a test, everything is a test. That brother with his broken nose and his patchwork of bruises up and down his side would wind up in medbay and from medbay, he would be on the fast track to one of the logistic positions somewhere far away from the front line. Cody is more than a little proud about those bruises, evenly spaced, the same force behind each one so the bruising would be uniform. 

He may slip into the medbay in a few cycles and copy the images over to his datapad, burying them deep in amongst subfolders inside subfolders. 

Fox gasps as he slides the cap back onto the pipe, the dull sound of water impacting the sudden blockage. A droplet works free, dropping onto Fox’s face, and he swipes his fingers against it, his nose wrinkling. There is a certain audacity in the way Fox looks at the universe, an expectation that he would be able to step through the cracks that linger at the edges, flatten his morals into something sharp enough that he can lever them wider and reach back to drag Cody through with him. Cody hadn’t been made like that. He’d emerged from his capsule to find problems and place himself in the middle of it. Where Fox is a whisper in the dark, Cody is a punch to the face. 

It’s no wonder Alpha-17 had picked them both out of a line-up, a class of future Command-slated shinies dragged out of one training pod or another and lined up like picking in a meat-market for the Alpha batch to look over. 

Cody’s never been to a market, never been anywhere but this training facility on Kamino, but he’s seen them in the training sims as examples of warfare, the brightly coloured banners and long line of people, soft at the edges, blurred where the pixelation breaks, to poke and prod at the items laid out for them. 

Alpha-17 isn’t a kind man. He isn’t unkind either, he just is. He exists for a purpose, like they all do, and he’s shoved his hands into its chest just to see if he can. He had his thumbs curled into his belt loops as he had walked down the line, gaze dragged over their heads and not fully looking at them. Every step had been precise, made to shake the world beneath him, and Cody wanted . It tasted like saltwater, infesting his lungs and drowning him. Fox’s hand tight in his own, Cody had curled his nails inwards, tearing at the still-soft patches of skin on his palms, catching Fox’s hand in the crossfire. Alpha-17 had paused, his gaze dropping to weigh on the pair of them before he had turned, unholstering his hands from his hips. Cody’s collar cut into his neck as Alpha-17 grabbed them both by them, lifting them upwards so he could inspect them better. 

Cody had bitten him. 

He’d bled just like anyone else, iron and copper, and he hadn’t dropped Cody. simply hiked him up higher. “These two,” Alpha-17 had said and his voice had tipped closer to pride than expected rage. “I’m taking them.”

Another cheer from the other side of the gym, and Cody turns as if he’s been heading that way all along, shouldering his way past a set of brothers placed in his way. They stagger, a snap of anger in their voices as they call over at him, a tattoo on one’s forearm blurring into the other’s as they catch their balance, but they don’t matter. Shouldn’t be standing in one of the marked walkways and they’d learn that soon enough. Fox, in Cody’s wake, cuts his teeth against a laugh, folds it away and tucks it into his pocket to indulge in later. They don’t stop walking when they reach the edge of the crowd, tucking their shoulders in line and nudging their way through. Most of the crowd are Alpha-batch, taller and broader and solid, so Cody works his way through them like he’s passing through an asteroid field, his breath tight against his ribs and his tongue caught between his molars until spit pools in his cheek and he has to swallow.

One of the Alpha batchers nudges the brother next to him, his eyes bright and an off-shade of grey that must be a strictly colouration mutation. “There’s 17’s lads. Told you they’d be by.”

Blood on the mats, blood on Alpha-17’s knuckles and teeth. 

It’s bright, the sole patches of colour in the overwhelming sea of grey and black, and the air is heavy, warm with salt and copper and rage. Alpha-17 steps back, sure and steady despite the unnatural cant to his ankle, his arms held at his chest. His knuckles, scabbed over and over again, are bright, bleeding, and he raises one fist to his mouth, running the flat of his tongue over the fresh injuries. His nose isn’t broken, not yet, but there’s swelling marks across his cheekbones, his lip swollen and cut open in a pout. He turns his head and spits onto the mat, catching Cody’s gaze.

Alpha-17 tips his head towards his opponent, his mouth curled into something more snarl than grin. Look at what I’ve done , he says without speaking, look and learn . 

Cody does.

He’s made from the same mould as Alpha-17 after all, crafted not in Prime’s image, but in his.

Alpha-17’s opponent, at first glance, looks in better shape than Alpha-17. . His eyes are beginning to blacken at their centre, a dull rust tinge across his cheeks from the effort, and every breath whistles through a fresh gap in his teeth. He’s standing curled forwards, his arms tucked to his chest, but not from readiness. Cody blinks, evaluates. Broken wrist, broken arm held close to his body by necessity rather than choice, eyes unfocused and looking through Alpha-17 as often as at him. He’s going to go down. And it will be glorious . 

Alpha-17 steps forward, doesn’t concern himself with masking the punch that he levels at his opponents face. It smacks dully against bone and flesh and the brother falls in a heap, a tangle of limbs built for combat and yet not enough for this. 

“Who’s next?” Alpha-17 calls and Cody steps forward. He wouldn’t win, not even with Alpha-17 three bouts deep and bloodied, but he’s still going to try until his last breath curdles in his chest. He doesn’t know when to stop and he doesn’t care to learn. He’s a Commander-in-training, some jumped-up little upstart, but he’s going to be glorious. He’s going to be the best. Cody is going to make sure of it. 

[alpaca-clouds]

Arctic Solarpunk

Let me continue with areas, that kinda get overlooked when it comes to Solarpunk worldbuilding, even though there is of course the anthology "Solarpunk Winters". Which is something I really do enjoy as a concept.

Yesterday we already talked: Most Solarpunk is set either in foresty (sub)tropical climates or in temperate climates. Which is also what the aesthetic focuses on.

But, of course, quite a few people live in colder climates. Especially up north. Sure, again, most humans will be drawn towards the temperate climates, but there are and always will be people living in colder climates.

So... How do we solarpunk this up?

First of all: One thing that humans living in those climates will not get around is heating. Because humans are not made to survive in cold temperatures, so we need heat. Probably one of the reasons our ancestors once upon a time figured out the entire fire thing.

At this point we can now argue, whether or not we should allow people living in those areas to burn some sort of ressource, even though it creates CO2, just on the basis that only few people will live there.

But again, like in the deserts, we will also be able to use something else: Passive warming through heat exchange. Because we can in fact warm buildings and other facilities through the heat from the ground.

In some areas, like Iceland or Hokkaido, this works even better, because we have geothermically active ground, so we can draw a lot of heat from the ground and use it for all sorts of purposes.

But there is also the food problem. See, historically speaking, cultures living far up north tended to go down more on the "gathering and hunting" part of the human evolution. Even though they had the knowledge about farming, they barely used it. Because farming so far up north is hard for several reasons. Outside of the temperatures, that do not work with a lot of crops, there is just simply the fact, that it is pretty dark for half of the year, which does not make for good growing.

So, a lot of these cultures lived especially from meat of all sorts and fish. With the cold temperatures being used to allow to keep the meat fresh for longer. We still see this to this day with the Inuit, of whom many will still mostly hunt for survival.

But, of course, within a Solarpunk world we would also have other possibilities to grow crops. For example we could create massive green houses, that also use artificial lights to keep the crops growing during the dark months of winter. We could also heat this up with warmth from the earth and geothermal heating.

And speaking of geothermal: We can use geothermal energy to create electricity as well. This is already done today in Iceland to account for some of the energy use of the island.

Otherwise it is a bit more dire when it comes to energy. While a lot of northern places do have access to bodies of water and hence also to hydroenergy, photovoltaic often does not work, due to the dark months. In fact, in the colder climates often wind turbines do not work either, as we have not figured out how to keep them going during especially cold periods and them also creating additional hazards.

So, this is something to most certainly keep in mind.

Other than that: Even the colder climates are habitat to a lot of fauna and some flora. As such we need to keep in mind that they have as much of a right to live their as we have.

Oh, and if you wonder: What is with the cold areas in the South?

Well, in general the habitable landmasses do not reach as far south as they do reach north. So even stuff like the tip of South America are not as extreme as northern regions. And Antarctica will never be home to any human, who ain't there for scientific reasons.

[calaisreno]

Reunion

Prompt: Together

Old friends, reunited.

Molly had always known that Greg wasn’t the kind of man who retired and had hobbies. Sitting around the house all day would drive him mad, and it did for a few weeks. When he told her he’d been offered a job consulting for the Met, she encouraged him to take it. It meant odd hours and missed dinners, but he was happier that way. 

Consulting Detective. 

She frequently thought of another consulting detective, one who’d left on a secret mission eighteen years ago and never returned. Something had happened, she suspected, something connected to the mysterious death of Charles Augustus Magnussen, the media mogul. Sherlock was involved, somehow, but the details never came out, and within a week he was gone.

She’d asked John about it, but he just shook his head. His wife had left him by then, suddenly and without explanation. She was pregnant, expecting a little girl, and they’d seemed happy about it. 

Gone, he told Molly. The baby wasn’t his. Mary wasn’t what he’d thought. He didn’t know anything about Sherlock, but his look told her what he believed. He wouldn’t be coming back this time.

It was disorienting, as if reality were unravelling, revealing another, very different reality beneath.  

Greg was the one stable thing during that time. He could make no sense of Sherlock’s sudden disappearance, either, and when John left too, he seemed as surprised as Molly. 

“I never understood it,” he told her. “Those two. They loved each other. Never understood what went wrong.”

She’d replied that when Sherlock returned after faking his death, they never really worked it out. Rubbish at talking, those two. 

She and Greg talked. A death could be mourned. It was a different kind of grief when people simply left and you didn’t hear from them again. 

That was when they’d started seeing one another, having coffee, and then dinner, and eventually moving in together. The wedding was a small affair, just Greg’s kids and a few close friends. After a few years, Molly gave up working at the morgue and began teaching. A few years later, Greg retired, then started working as a consultant. They had a nice life, she often thought.

The restaurant where she’s meeting him is a new one in their neighbourhood. Da Vinci, it’s called. An Italian bistro. They’ve been meaning to try it since it opened, and tonight they have a reservation. 

Arriving a bit early, she takes a seat in the waiting area after letting the hostess know she’s still waiting for her husband, and takes out her phone to check for messages. 

15 minutes, he texts. 

Tucking her phone away, she notices that someone else is waiting. She glances at him and startles as if she’s seen a ghost. 

He’s standing, a tall, thin man with dark hair sprinkled with grey. Not the luxuriant curls he used to wear; it’s cropped closer now. He’s wearing a black pullover and light wool trousers, no jewel-coloured shirt or dashing coat. The face is older, but the eyes have not changed. The colour of water, she’d always thought. Nobody, not even his brother, has eyes like that. 

Those pale eyes are fixed on his phone, and he’s smiling. Glancing up, he clearly recognises her. An odd look crosses his features, as if he is not sure what such a moment calls for. 

“Molly Hooper,” he says. 

“Sherlock.” 

All those years ago, before he left, he needed her help and told her his plan. Those two years were very different for her, her grief mostly for the people who believed him dead— Mrs Hudson, Greg, and especially John. John had never really recovered from the shock of it. When Sherlock returned, he resented Molly because she’d been taken into Sherlock’s confidence, and he had not. And Sherlock, who’d insisted on the secrecy mostly for John’s sake, had gone about his grand return all wrong. He never really got back on the right foot with John, who soon married a woman he’d just met. Sometimes Molly thought he’d done it to spite Sherlock, or at least to keep a safe distance from him. He never fully trusted Sherlock after that. But the love was still there. She could see the pain in his eyes when Sherlock left again. 

Rising from her seat, she goes to him. 

What do you say after eighteen years?

“When did you get back?”

“Just a few weeks ago.” He gives her a tentative smile. “I’m officially retired.”

How old is he? He’s about her age, so maybe mid-fifties. She supposes that undercover agents don’t have long careers. Though he’s still good-looking, she can see that the years have worn him down. A weariness hangs on him, so different from the manic man who swooped into her morgue and demanded body parts. 

“You’re not retired,” he says. “You’re teaching in the pathology programme at Barts. And you’re married. Obviously.”

She laughs. “Can you deduce anything about my husband?”

He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “Mrs Lestrade. You have a daughter, fourteen. She picked out your earrings.”

“Greg is on his way. He’ll be so happy to see you. Would you join us for dinner?”

“I’m expecting someone as well.”

That’s when she notices the ring. “You’re married.”

“Only just.” He suppresses a grin, glances at his phone again. “Says he’s running a bit late.”

Like everyone who knew Sherlock, she’s suspected that he’s gay. When she realised this, it made it easier to accept his lack of interest in her. An odd man, one who avoided sentiment; but clearly in love with his flatmate. 

She might ask about John. But John has been gone for years, too, and she doesn’t know anyone who hears from him, not even Mike Stamford, who told her that he’d joined Doctors Without Borders. That was years ago. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she repeats, unable to think of anything else to say. 

“You as well.” He nods at the door. “Looks like your husband has arrived.”

Greg has caught sight of them and is standing, a look of stunned amazement on his face. He gives a short laugh and strides across the waiting area. “Sherlock Holmes,” he says, throwing his arms around his old friend. “In the flesh, once again.”

“Not quite as sensationally as the last time,” Sherlock says. “I’m old news now. More accurately, no news at all.”

“We never heard anything,” Greg says, stepping towards Molly and planting a kiss on her cheek. “All I could get out of your brother was that you were working for the government. The only way I knew anything at all was from talking with John—“

Molly cringes and Greg seems to realise he’s said the wrong thing. 

“Mycroft believed it was critical to keep it all confidential,” Sherlock says. “In those days I’d been so much in the news, he was attempting to keep me out of the spotlight.”

“But you were on a mission, weren’t you?”

Molly takes Greg’s arm. “Won’t you sit with us, Sherlock? I’m sure you don’t want to be discussing this here.”

Sherlock speaks to the hostess while Greg and Molly are led to a table for four. Following them, he takes his seat, asks for a glass of wine, and fiddles with his napkin. 

“Tell us about your husband,” Molly says. “Where did you meet?”

His eyes twinkle. “In Kazakhstan. We were on a flight from Beijing that had engine trouble, had to set down in the middle of nowhere. From there, we were bussed to a small hotel, where he and I ended up being roommates for the night.”

“Love at first sight?” she asks.

He pauses, his lips twitching in a smile. “I felt as if I already knew him. We wasted no time in getting married.”

Molly tries to imagine the Sherlock she knew marrying a man on an impulse. Or marrying anyone. He’d proposed to a woman once, but that was for a case. He wasn’t like that, when she knew him.

“Where’s he from?” Greg asks. “What kind of work does he do?”

“Geneva is his home base, but he’s now relocated to London. He’s… a doctor.”

“You seem really happy,” Molly says. “I’m so glad.”

“I am happy.” Sherlock looks a bit surprised by this. “He’s everything I could ever want.”

They fall silent, sipping their wine and looking at the menu. 

“Ah, here he is!” Sherlock’s face lights up in a way Molly has never seen. He’s standing, looking towards the door, impatiently rubbing his hands on his trousers, as if he can hardly restrain himself from running across the room. He waves. 

Molly and Greg turn to see what kind of man could put that look on the face of Sherlock Holmes. 

A short man in a trim suit, greying hair and beard, glasses. As he catches sight of Sherlock, he grins and opens his arms. They meet halfway in an embrace. 

John Watson.

“Blimey.” Greg shakes his head. “Another ghost returns.”

@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @bertytravelsfar @momma2boys @jrow @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @elwinglyre @mydogwatson @thetimemoves @jobooksncoffee @lhrinchelsea @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @7-percent @shiplocks-of-love @khorazir @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @the-reading-lemon @a-victorian-girl @discordantwords

1506 words / Flash Fiction

Note: This is a sequel to The Tarmac, a fic I wrote 3 years ago.

Thank you all, readers and writers, for participating in this prompt fest! And thank you to @notjustamumj for starting us off, inspiring us with her prompts. It's been fun to wake up to lovely, fluffy, angsty little stories each day, but this is our last prompt. We'll have to do this again! Thank you 💕 and keep writing!

If any of you writers have posted your daily stories for these prompts in a collection or series on AO3, please share a link to them. Mine can be found here: Trifles Two.

[ratwithhands]

Made these designs very late at night, but I figured I'd try designing the clan leaders as Sapioflores.

Adaman is based on the Japanese iris (Iris laevigata), since it's a flower that grows in water/wet soil and the Diamond Clan lives in a marsh. The ornament he wears on his face is not only a traditional accessory (for Sapioflores), it also acts as a glorified hairclip to hold his long face leaves together. He wears a tasuki if he isn't wearing his coat both so he can get more sunlight and also to hold his sleeves out of the way when working. Speaking of, similar to Ingo, he prefers thick dark clothes to retain heat/moisture (and to mimic the muddy water he spends much of his time in).

Irida is based on the winter peony (Kan-botan), since it blooms in freezing cold winters like the Pearl Clan would see in the icelands. Her face ornament was originally a larger set of accessories, but the stones were removed and put together into one piece instead. The mino and hat she wears are based on the straw tents used to protect winter peonies from snow. Since it's the snow and ice bothering her rather than the temperature, she still dresses pretty light underneath. Her obi is tied to have multiple bows on either side, as a way to mimic the appearance of the actual peony (like a sort of way to say she's constantly in bloom/at her best). Her clothes are cropped at the sleeves and bottom to leave more access for light.

uhhhh other design notes:

I was trying to figure out how to get Adaman's hair to be more blue because without any colour it looks like the left image and I wasn't sure how to feel about it. The current running joke with the writing team is that he drinks dyed water/dyes his hair to be prettier/cooler. Anyways dyed water looks like the right image

The cover on Irida felt like armour when I was sketching it and honestly I kinda want to see her beat someone into the ground with it on (particularly cause while I was trying to look up Kan-botan, I stumbled on Hanakotoba and peonies are supposed to represent bravery according to that)

I ditched Irida's bracelets and anklet in favour of the ornament sorry. They felt a bit clunky and I couldn't figure out how to reasonably fit them on the design so for now they're just not present. If I make a proper battle outfit for her then I might bring them back as limb guards

Adaman is probably soggy a lot of the time since he'll just go chill in the water. Likely just quickly scrubs off any major clumps of silt/mud and heads out if someone calls him during swamp time

Fun fact Volo was gonna be in this design set but I'm too tired. He's likely going to be white spider lily (Lycoris albiflora) mostly because of the whole "death to the universe" plot and also cause he's allies with Giratina. He's probably not gonna be too interesting anyways so it's fine.

Hope you like the art, let me know if you have any thoughts. Have a good night and see you guys later.

[beckettj]

1 Year Repost: In the Blood (CS oneshot)

It's been a whole year since I first published this fic so I'm sharing it again now!

Summary: Emma breaks the news to Killian that she’s pregnant.. She’s excited and it can only be a good thing… right? Then why the bloody hell does he feel so damn terrified?

Words: 3,279

Read on AO3

'How much of my father am I destined to become?' 'Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?'

--

“Killian!”

The unexpected shout, originating from upstairs, was enough to make his head shoot out of the book in his hand, a small frown crossing his brow. It was an excited yell, almost a squeal – a noise he had never heard from Emma before – but one most certainly filled with joy, so he inferred there was no reason to panic; something of a miracle given all they had been through. Even still, the noise, the shout; it confused him.

Emma bounding down the stairs, with all the enthusiasm of her overexcited little brother on Christmas Day, only added to his befuddlement. The Emma who all-but hopped, skipped, and jumped into the front room scarcely resembled the dead-on-her-feet Emma that he had seen only an hour ago. The transformation was as impressive as it was remarkable. She had been exhausted, complaining that she felt totally drained, to the point where he had ended up carrying her up the stairs and into their bedroom, as she could barely face moving. When he had expressed his worries that her tiredness was becoming a frequent occurrence, she had shooed him out, insisting that she would be perfectly fine once she caught up on rest.

An hour had passed, and it appeared she had been correct. The short nap seemed to have rejuvenated her, turning her into a bundle of energy which was only unnerving him in that he wasn’t used to seeing her quite so animated. Emma stopped right in front of him, a huge grin on her face which met her green eyes and made them sparkle.

“Feeling better, love?” Killian remarked, raising an eyebrow at the vast improvement he saw before him.

She didn’t answer his question directly.

Instead, she drew his attention to an item she held in her hand, by holding it out towards him, and exclaimed, “Look!”

Killian did look, but he had no bloody clue what he was looking at. Every time he thought he was completely up to date with the technology and other advancements of the Land Without Magic, a new one would crop up for him to marvel at. The latest one didn’t look at all impressive, merely resembling a stick, only instead of wood it was, of course, made of plastic. It was mostly white, with a pink end to it, and an indent in the centre within which were two thin lines.

He failed to understand Emma’s excitement at such a device, it’s function most definitely lost on him. He flicked his eyes from the object back up onto Emma, finding her staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to share her excitement. The only thing he felt was lost.

“It’s…” he drew out, hoping for a hint or, even better, a sudden realization.

Neither came. Emma just nodded at him enthusiastically, her head seeming to bounce like one of those ridiculous bobble head dogs that people in this land liked to put in their cars.

“…a stick?” Killian finished hesitantly, aware that Emma had been hoping for a different reaction from him to what, seemingly, was nothing more than a piece of plastic.

“Well, that was anti-climatic,” Emma huffed, dropping her hand back to her side, the unidentified object along with it. “You really don’t know what it is?”

“Am I supposed to?” Killian responded.

“It’s a pregnancy test,” Emma filled him in.

They had tests for that? The scientific advancements of the Land Without Magic never failed to surprise him. He glanced at the shape of the item – the long, narrow stick – and promptly decided that he did not need to know the exact details as to how the tests were carried out.

Not immediately, at least. Clarification was more pressing.

“You took… a pregnancy test?” he checked slowly.

“Yes!” Emma nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm and smile returning. “And look! There’s two lines!”

“I have no bloody clue what that means, love,” Killian told her.

Even though he wasn’t following her at all, and still felt rather lost, there was a bemused smile on his face, simply from watching her own expressions of glee. They had fought hard, against curses, magic and various enemies, for these moments of happiness.

“It means I’m pregnant,” Emma resorted to spelling it out for him. “Killian, you’re going to be a father.”

The grin on Killian’s face faltered, and then disappeared entirely as he took the time to process the news. Emma took a seat on the couch next to him, leaning into his side, before splurging out a ton of information about doctor appointments and stages of pregnancy, none of which went in. It was all just noise to him. His only focus was on the rapid speed at which the words were escaping her mouth and the animated hand movements which accompanied them.

It didn’t take a body language expert – an actual career (that people were paid for) in the Land Without Magic, he had discovered – to determine that Emma was thrilled at the prospect of being a mother again. Killian had seen her with Henry, and he had watched her when they had babysat little Neal over the years; there was no debating that she would be a great mother to their child.

Their child.

Killian could scarcely believe it. It didn’t feel real; that he and Emma had created life, that a child was growing inside her that very moment.

Perhaps it wasn’t real?

Had he fallen asleep?

It was the only explanation which made any logical sense to him. It had to be, he decided, that he had drifted off whilst reading his book and been thrown into the nightmare unfolding before him.

Nightmare? No. Dream.

He was dreaming that Emma was pregnant because having a child would be a good thing for them… right?

“…currently about the size of a prune.”

He took in a snippet of the whirlwind of information Emma was throwing at him.

A prune to whom he would be – was – a father.

Father.

What did that even mean?

“Killian,” Emma spoke as she took his hands in hers; her light touch, and the slight coolness of her skin against his, pulling him from his thoughts. She leaned in close, her green eyes locking with his blue. “This is a good thing, right?”

His question, exactly!

He knew it was supposed to be a good thing. He knew that Emma thought it was a good thing. The one thing he didn’t know was why he was struggling with it so much.

“It’s good,” Killian agreed in a daze, resorting to forcing a smile.

Because why the bloody hell did he feel so damn terrified?

--

It turned out it wasn’t a nightmare – no, dream – it was his reality; a completely terrifying – no, amazing – reality in which fatherhood was heading for him at an alarmingly – no, excitingly – fast rate. Ten weeks had flown by since Emma had bounded down the stairs and broken the mind-blowing news and, all of a sudden, he found himself at the hospital with Emma, awaiting their first pregnancy appointment. The feeling of terror, which had subsided as they’d promptly returned to going about their normal lives, had come crashing back down on top of him as soon as he had stepped into the hospital.

He needed to get out of there. Fast.

It was a need which wasn’t going to get met any time soon. He sat impatiently drumming his fingers against the cool metal armrest of his uncomfortable chair. There was only so much toing and froing he could watch the hospital staff do before he became bored out of his mind. His eyes flicked to the clock on the sterile white walls, confirming what he already knew; the appointments were running way behind. They should have been seen thirty minutes ago.

They could have been out of the bloody place, already!

His eyes fell on Ella and Thomas, seated on the other side of the waiting room. The couple were expecting their second child, and both wore smiles of gleeful anticipation upon their faces. Thomas had his hand resting on Ella’s stomach as she leaned against him, presumably looking for something more comfortable than the horrible metal chairs.

Killian glanced over at Emma beside him. She had a small bump, nowhere near as big as Ella’s who was months ahead of them in the process, but it was growing by the week. Emma had her own hands placed on her stomach, an action which – if he were to go by the mountain of pregnancy books Emma had bought – marked an unspoken language of love between her and the unborn baby.

He had never carried out such an action himself. A glance back at Ella confirmed Thomas still had his hand on her stomach. Killian found himself getting hit by a wave of doubt. Was he supposed to do that? Didn’t he love his unborn child?

“Killian!”

He was nudged in the side by Emma, pulling him out of his thoughts before he could work out the answer to that question. Except, he realized immediately, there was nothing to work out. Love towards his own child was unconditional. That much he was sure of, that much he knew without having to place his hand on Emma’s stomach. He could already feel the love for that child, rooted deeply within him.

So why the bloody hell was he still completely terrified?

“Killian!” Emma snapped his name.

He turned to her, “Huh?”

“We’re up,” she told him with a small smile of anticipation.

She pointed up at the screen on the waiting room wall which was being used to call patients to their appointments. Sure enough, the name Emma Swan was lit up in bold white lettering against the blue background, accompanied by Room Four to direct them.

Emma led the way, taking off at speed as if she were in hot pursuit of a suspect evading arrest. He found himself hurrying to keep up with her as she navigated the corridors like the back of her hand. He wasn’t at all surprised at how well she knew the layout, given the number of times she had been there over the years.

They were at room four within half a minute and Emma pushed the door open, being greeted immediately by the sonographer inside.

“Oh my gosh, guys!” the sonographer – Olivia – all but squealed. “I’m so happy for you both!”

“Thank you,” Emma replied, “though we aren’t telling anyone just yet.”

Storybrooke being the small town it was meant that everyone knew everyone and, as the Savior who had saved the town, and its inhabitants, on countless occasions, Emma could barely so much as buy hot chocolate (with cinnamon) at Granny’s without everyone knowing about it. Killian was surprised that no one had figured out their latest news already.

Emma had insisted they kept it on the downlow, with a splurge of information about pregnancies being at greater risk of complications in the first trimester. He hadn’t really understood it, but he’d gone with it, mostly keeping out of all the baby stuff, content to leave it to Emma. He certainly wasn’t in much of a hurry to tell anyone.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Olivia waved a dismissive hand. “Patient confidentiality. I won’t tell a soul! Though, I will say, everyone is going to be so excited when you do announce the news! I still remember the buzz around town when your parents were expecting Neal.”

Killian hovered in the doorway, staring at Olivia, perplexed by her gushing and the level of excitement that she was exhibiting. Anyone would have thought that she was the one who was pregnant. In just a minute, she had radiated more excitement than he had felt over the past ten weeks.

He wanted that. He wanted to be excited at the prospect of having a mini-me running around, and at teaching the child to sail and how to use a sword, but something was pulling him back. Something was making it so that whenever he so much as thought about being a father, he was hit by complete and utter dread.

Looking around the room at the various devices, the function of many completely unknown to him, only multiplied the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Since Emma had told him that she was pregnant nothing had really changed. They’d gone to work, they’d dropped by her parents’ every-so-often, and they had taken the odd sailing day trip. Other than Emma no longer consuming alcohol, buying the odd pregnancy book, and occasional musings about the nursery, they had mostly gone about their lives as normal. For the most part, he could pretend that things were normal. Standing in the doorway of the ultrasound room meant it was starting to feel real. He couldn’t push it to the back of his mind any longer. He couldn’t run from it anymore.

“Killian, come in and shut the door,” Emma prompted him.

He cleared his throat, sending her a small smile, “Right, of course, love.”

He ventured into the room, pushing the door shut behind him as instructed, and took the empty seat positioned beside the bed that Emma was lying on. She took ahold of his hand, sending him an excited smile which he did his best to replicate in return. He still didn’t feel that bloody excitement. All he felt was terror.

“Alright!” Olivia was grinning from ear-to-ear – someone clearly loved their job – as she pulled some protective gloves over her hands. “Let’s get right to the exciting part and take a look at your little one, shall we?”

Killian had no clue what it was that Olivia did next. It was the Land Without Magic so he knew that, if he asked, she would give him a scientific explanation that he would not follow. As far as he was concerned, however, it was magic, for she had rubbed some kind of potion onto Emma’s bump and then a black and white image of their child had appeared on the screen. He had done nothing but gape at the image as Olivia had determined the baby to look to be developing well and then proceeded to point out various features on the screen.

Olivia handed Emma a physical copy of the image on the screen. She passed it on to him as she started asking questions and delved into a deep discussion with Olivia over future tests and scans, nutrients, and vitamins. It all went over Killian’s head; he wasn’t listening, continuing to stare at the scan in his hand, processing exactly what was happening.

It was a picture of his child; a physical picture, their first picture, and he had it right there in his hand. The very hand that was sweating against the photographic paper.

It was real now.

His heart started beating fast, threatening to jump out of his chest.

There was physical proof of the child’s existence, beyond Emma’s bump and that stick device thing.

His breathing quickened.

There was no denying it. There was a child growing inside Emma; one that would come to depend on him as he once depended upon his own parents.

His chest tightened.

There really was no running from it anymore.

He couldn’t breathe.

He had to run. He had to get away.

He stood up abruptly. The chair legs scrapped against the floor. Two sets of eyes turned on him. He thrust the child’s picture at Emma.

“I’m sorry,” he forced out between sharp breaths, “I can’t.”

He didn’t wait around. He shot out the door like a bullet from a barrel. A series of hospital corridors. No windows. He needed to get outside. He needed air. The red exit signs lit his way. He burst through the doors, into sunlight, into fresh air. He dropped onto a bench. Closed his eyes. Tight.

Breathed. In. Out.

In. Out.

Slow.

Calm.

For a moment, for the briefest of moments; calm.

Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come, and a wave of guilt crashed over him. He had left. He had thrown the only picture of their child at Emma and ran. He’d left them.

“Killian?”

Emma. Gentle. Cautious. She placed her hand on his.

There was no running from her, from it. She knew her; she wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t run from it. He didn’t want to run from it. He wanted to do better.

In the fresh air, with Emma, so understanding and patient for an explanation, things were clearer; things were starting to make sense. He was still terrified, just as he had been for ten long weeks, but, finally, the reason for his terror was apparent. For weeks he had tortured himself for being so terrified of his own child, but he had gotten it all wrong. It wasn’t his child he was terrified of; it was himself. He was terrified of becoming the man he had hated for so long, the man he had driven himself to kill; he was terrified of becoming his father, of running from his child when they needed him most.

He opened his eyes, meeting Emma’s. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see anger or frustration in her green eyes, yet he only saw concern.

“I’m bloody terrified, love,” he confessed, allowing himself to be vulnerable with her; he trusted her, with everything.

“I know,” she replied softly. “It’s a big step, and it’s not something we were expecting quite so soon, but you are going to be brilliant.”

Killian dropped his gaze to the floor and gave a small shake of his head. He dared to pose the question, to speak the words out loud, “What if I’m just like him?”

“Like who?” Emma asked.

“I believe the saying goes ‘like father, like son’,” Killian expanded.

“No. Not you, not your father,” Emma protested adamantly. “I know you; I know the man you are. You won’t abandon our child for your own selfish reasons. That’s not you.”

“What compels you to put so much faith in me, Swan?” he asked.

“You do,” she stated. “You stand up and you fight for what you believe in, no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. Now, take this and look at it.”

She held out the scan photograph for him once again. He eyed it carefully and she shook it gently to prompt him to take it. He reached for it, holding it between his thumb and first finger, and dropped his gaze onto the image. It was blurry, it was black and white, but it was his child. The child wasn’t doing anything of note, just growing and developing, and yet, looking at that single image, Killian had never felt so much pride. 

“And answer me one question, just one,” Emma continued. “Do you believe in her?”

Killian raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, “Her?”

“It’s a gut feeling,” Emma shrugged with a small smile. “So? Do you believe in her?”

“Aye, with all my heart,” Killian said.

Speaking to Emma, voicing his thoughts and concerns, getting it all off his chest had done wonders in alleviating his terror. Where he had once felt fear, all he felt, as his gaze returned to the image in his hand, was hope. Hope for the future, and hope for his family.

He lifted his left arm and gently guided his hook over his child’s image as he murmured, “I'll forever endeavour to do right by you, little one.”

Tags: @teamhook @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv @exhaustedpirate @anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @myfearless-love

[felixstudios]

Every since that post about the managers playing Subnautica, I just wanna know what they would think about Minecraft

Random Corporate Clash Headcanons, Playing Minecraft Edition

Duck Shuffler

🎰Has a house made of random blocks he decided were neat. Together it looks like a complete mess, but he loves it

🎰Finds the freedom of choice a bit overwhelming sometimes, so he uses his slots to decide what he's gonna do next. Even if he ends up getting "fight the Ender Dragon" 32 minutes into a new world, he will do it or die trying

Prethinker

🧠You remember those Minecraft essentials books we all had as kids? He got those and studied them, learned they were heavily outdated, and looked on Reddit for guides and knowledge on the game before he'd even launch the game

🧠Wants to do everything he can think of in the game so he has bragging rights

🧠His house is a hole he dug in the ground because, "Appearances don't matter. What matters is all my tools are inside!"

Derrick Man

🛢️Plays on hardcore just because

🛢️Pretty much just likes to get OP tools and armor and then go hunt monsters and kill bosses

🛢️Preparing for a fight with the Warden

Deep Diver

🫧Very interested in the ocean biomes and will make an underwater base with a huge glass dome so he can watch the fish swim around

🫧Plays on peaceful because she just gets annoyed by all the monsters, especially drowned

Rainmaker

⛈️Plays on peaceful because the monsters scare her, and she still gets scared because she expects monsters to still lurk around or glitch in

⛈️Had to turn off cave noises because they always made her run out of caves

⛈️Loves her farm, though. She will grow a lot of crops just because she really likes it

Land Acquisition Architect

🚦He's the guy who builds a mega base, entire cities, ETC. ALL IN SURVIVAL MODE.

🚦If he goes on creative mode {he will a lot}, let's just say he's gonna become famous in the Minecraft community for his builds

🚦Knows a lot of really niche things about the game, which makes him good at the Minecraft prison escape niche as well

Gatekeeper

⚔️Fights monsters constantly and plays on hardcore

⚔️Her biggest flex is beating the ender dragon on hardcore with only leather armor, a stone sword, and a bucket of water

⚔️She wants to fight the wither and the ender dragon at the same time

Witch Hunter

🔱He doesn't play it

Public Relations Representative

🧱Has a lot of fun playing the game, though he frequently forgets important things about the game and has to re-learn them

🧱His favorite thing to do is explore the different biomes on the surface and just run around

🧱Builds small bases, but he never stays in one place for too long because he just wants to explore

Bellringer

🔔If he sees a monster, he's gonna kill it

🔔Likes to carry a LOT of potions of regeneration with him. He's learned a thing or two from fighting Toons, after all.

🔔Builds a really cool base over the course of a few months

Multislacker

🥪Plays on peaceful because he doesn't feel like having to constantly fight

🥪Mostly just sits around and watches animals walk around since he's too lazy to play

Mouthpiece

☎️She's that one person who plays on normal difficulty. Probably the only person

☎️Has a modest base and doesn't get super far in the game, especially because she mostly just plays it to spend time with her grandchildren

☎️If any monsters hurt her grandkids, she will THROW HANDS.

Major Player

🎹Makes a lot of note block redstone contraptions

🎹Has a HUGE house, and of course the stage he performs on is recreated in his house

🎹Loves showing off his builds online

Firestarter

🔥Plays with Graham... yes, their beds are right next to each other

🔥Flint wants to play on peaceful but Graham doesn't, so they decided to play on hard but make Flint undetectable by monsters

🔥Mostly mines for materials and just goes along with whatever Graham wants to do

Plutocrat

🌑Doesn't really care much for the game

🌑Likes going on creative mode to build whatever's on his mind, but otherwise it's just not very interesting to him

Treekiller

🪵Plays with Chip a lot. They have a large base together

🪵Likes cutting down lots of trees and made the base himself just out of said wood. It looks amazing, actually

🪵Also loves to go mining for materials

Chainsaw Consultant

🪚Plays with Spruce a lot

🪚He doesn't really enjoy any one thing in particular and just does whatever he feels like in the moment or whatever Spruce wants to do

🪚Watches animals walk around a lot since it's really calming and peaceful to him

Featherbedder

💤Falls asleep while playing a lot

💤Zzz....

Pacesetter

👟Plays with Flint a lot

👟Is always wanting to expand the base just because why not? But he usually gets frustrated with how long it takes to gather all the materials and then do the building part so he cheats a lot to do it faster

👟Has a content pack that replaces paintings with pictures of him and Flint together. Their room is covered in paintings

[brianlesshetaliawritings]

if you're still taking requests - nsfw alphabet with Austria

Austria NSFW alphabet

i couldn’t tell whether i wanted him to be submissive or not.. so i kinda did both. also i wrote this in a he and you sort of way and i dont know if i like it or not..?? feel this stuff isnt that accurate but whatever..

warnings: nsfw obviously, kinks vary alot, nothing too intense unless spanking counts. just say if you want me to add one since i cant really think of anything really in here

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He either goes right to sleep or he might drink some water then take a bath after a bit of time laying with you. It mostly depends on what happend, how long it lasted, and how his day went.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands alot, theyre help him play instruments, plus you seem to like them alot when he uses them on you.

Roderich's an ass guy, maybe thighs. But his favoritee part yours is your lips, they can do all sorts of things and that makes him feel drawn to them often.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Prefers pulling out and cumming on ur tummy, it's easier to clean that way. Also, even if he's not a big fan of cum, the image is really nice when he sees it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to masturbate to the sight of you touching yourself, but it'll take awhile for him to admit that to you. Oh, and he wants to try out some roleplay but that he'll probably never admit it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yeah, only with being submissive though since Hungary used to dominate him a lot. Probably not much experience domming with his partner though, maybe he slept with a couple other people beforehand.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

I don't think he's a fan of really complex positions so he usually goes for cowgirl or missionary, lazy doggy too possibly if hes being penetrated.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Roderichs serious during sex, he'll chuckle at anything silly that might happen for a bit though, then continue on like normal.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He isn't all that hairy to begin with but he shaves once it becomes noticable to him.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's not too romantic during sex but he does make sure to sneak a few kisses in, he also tries to have a good amount of eye contact with you too.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not too often, maybe once a week or less if you two have been together alot that week.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Roleplay

Spanking(on you, bare hands or with a riding crop. both work.)

Pegging (him)

Wax play (both)

Lingerie (both)

Food play (both)

Bondage (you, he would try it maybe once or twice.. ten times so far)

Edging (you)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed, just more convenient for him and also more comfortable. Maybe in the tub, but you'll have to be in charge.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I feel that he has sensitive thighs that like getting rubbed, so keep a look out for that. Likes hair pulling as long as it isn't too rough on him, gentle tugs make him excited. Sitting on his lap would end with interesting results too.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything gross, I think he really really hates spitting and stuff like that. He can't hande it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I would say he's pretty friendly with oral, isn't it's biggest fan but never against it. He's real good at it, and this is a good opportunity for that hair pulling I mentioned earlier also. Not against getting his dick sucked at all.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Can't go all that fast for various reasons, so his speed can go from slow to about average. He likes to take his time though, so slow preferrably.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not a fan. He has once probably, but it just isn't his thing. He'd rather savour these sorts of activities for as long as possible, like he does with other things he enjoys.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

No risks, but would experiement. He's willing to try things you mention most of the time, and things he might be interested in. Risking getting caught isn't something he'd do, actually, it'd probably haunt him if he did. Just a bit.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can up to 5. He'd do it for even more if he didn't get absolutely exhausted. Rounds last for awhile too. As mentioned, he likes to take his time with these sorts of things. Results can vary depending on if he's dom or sub, or on how he's feeling that day. Usually tries to get more than one in.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Hmm.. Excluding that riding crop from earlier, not too many. And there's also the bondage too, if that counts. Once bought you a vibrator so he could watch as you use it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, definitely. Just enough to make you want more. He finds it really entertaining to see you all riled up.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He ain't quiet. No screaming, just mostly moans and groans. He would also talk quit a bit, not constantly, but he will. Pants everytime he finishes because he's tired.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Horny guy when drunk, like really really horny. This has ended in chaos for him multiple times.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Uncut, average size. No hair, he just doesn't really grow it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high, would like to have sex four times or maybe even more a week. Masturbates otherwise, although he really prefers to have sex instead.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

fifteen minutes to two hours. Depends if he took a bath or not, even if he doesn't he still does need time to relax afterwards and catch his breath. Plus he'd talk with you a bit, most likely on whos cleaning this in the morning.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Poly! Kanej x male! Reader - Teasing the devil and his shadow

A/n: I know the characters are ooc but just roll with it

Request: Hi! Can I request Kaz and Inej (can be either separate or poly) x a feminine male!reader who likes to tease them with really short skirts and crop tops? (Also thank you for writing literally any grishaverse fic that isnt fem reader, you're doing God's work)

Warnings: A bit spicy but minimal touch, swearing, teasing, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Pairings: (romantic) poly! kanej x reader, (Platonic) crows x reader

Pronouns used: He/him

Pov: 2nd person

Y/n L/n knew exactly what he was doing when he decided to put that skirt on.

It was a navy blue flowy miniskirt with some petticoat underneath to make it poof. He twirled around and giggled to himself, the skirt, although it was the main event was not the only thing he was wearing that would make his partners go crazy. With the skirt he wore a white, short sleeved, cropped-polo top that showed just the right amount of stomach to piss off the Wraith and to make Dirtyhands silently fume. This was all topped with some black suspenders, and a checkered sheath. He looked absolutely fabulous, and he felt incredibly sexy. It made him giddy to feel so happy with himself.

Of course there was more planing behind this outfit other than self-love, although that was the whole reason he had first gotten the idea to wear it, there was something more sinister behind it. He decided he would use the lesson that Inej, and Kaz had taught him against them and use his outfit as an advantage.

He was going to tease them to the ends of the earth.

By all means, he wasn't going to push the two of their boundaries, but he knew where he had to stop, he was mostly fine as long as he didn't touch them. And if he did he would have to ask for permission first but he would still find a way to make them lose their fucking minds.

He threw his head back and laughed as he headed out of the room and started walking down the stairs.

As soon as he got there he saw the corner usually reserved for the Crows and the first one to notice him was Nina. As Kaz and Inej were deep into planing their next mission at a separate table from the others, and although it was irrational he was fuming in his shoes. Couldn't they just at least lift their heads to say hello to their boyfriend, or acknowledge him at least? No matter, they would regret it soon.

"Damn Y/n!" Nina whistled. "You're killing it today!" She motioned towards his outfit and he winked at her before twirling around a bit just as Kaz had looked up to see his boyfriend in front of him and he was showing off a lot of leg in that twirl. He gulped and look back down before muttering a "Hello."

Inej finally looked up and her jaw dropped as her eyes ran all over his body before also quickly looking down and following Kaz's example before her.

This frustrated him, but he also knew his plan must have been working.

He took his seat beside Inej with Kaz right across from him. This was going to be heaven on earth for him but a freakish hybrid of hell-heaven for his partners.

They deserved it for not appreciating the outfit.

"Inej." He ducked down his head and whispered as if he were sharing a secret with her.

"Yes?" She asked, albeit a bit breathless and that made him smirk.

"That slaver from two weeks ago that was given you trouble is dead."

He lifted his arms up a bit and placed them on the table to he could rest his chin, when that happened though his shirt rode up so more of his stomach was revealed.

"Did Kaz-" Inej's eyes flickered down and her words died in her throat before she tried to cover it up with a cough.

"Did Kaz kill them?"

He rolls his eyes but smiles sweetly at her before leaning in so his breath fanned out across her cheeks. "No, I did."

Inej was left sputtering and spitting out her water and Y/n knew that he had finished the first part of his mission.

He didn't say anything to Kaz right away, he didn't need to, he just stared at him like he was the most interesting piece of art in the world. He nearly doesn't want to stop admiring Kaz but Brekker shifts nervously in his seat as he glances up to catch Y/n's gaze and he knows his mistake right away.

Y/n's foot rapped around Kaz's own and he used the grip to pull himself closer to the table so in short he was closer to Kaz.

"Y/n." Kaz warns curtly as he tries to look anywhere but his mischievous boyfriend but he just shrugs his shoulders before playing with one of his suspenders.

"Kaz," He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side as if he were observing him.

Frustrated, Kaz brush's his hand across the table and his pen clattered to the floor.

Kaz lets out a very restrained grunt as he goes to grab his pen before Inej stops him.

"Kaz let Y/n get it, it's better for your leg."

"No."

Y/n gets up anyways and heads over to Kaz and bends down, purposely sticking his ass out as he does so his skirt rides up in all the right place, then he plopped the pen in his hands.

Inej and Kaz's face's are priceless and Y/n grins knowing that he's broken Inej, and he's so close to breaking the bastard.

"I could bend down again Kaz, this time I can give you a better view of my ass."

Kaz's face erupts into a rose color, falling over his ears, across his cheeks down to his neck. Y/n had never seen him look so red.

"Anyways, I don't think I'm needed here so I'm going..." He trails off as soon as he sees the looks his partners are giving him.

"Stay." Inej says and she inclines her head towards where he was sitting before.

He really did piss them off didn't he?

A nervous smile creeps onto his face as he starts backing away.

"You know I really have to go."

"Actually Y/n," Kaz starts speaking. "Inej and I do have some use for you, after that wonderful offer you gave us."

His mouth drops and his hands fidget with the navy blue skrit.

He should have made a run for it because Kaz and Inej were suddenly at both his sides gripping on to each of his arms.

"I would like to see your ass from a better angle darling." Inej whispers into his ear.

Oh, fuck.

Words 1067

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist (let's hope it works): @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmasamueltifan06

[thedo0zyslider]

Reunited - Chapter Two: Old Hobbies - 2K Words

Fwhip has another hard day, and spends it remembering things he wishes he still had.

A03 Link

One day, Fwhip gets an old urge to make something again. It really shouldn't shock him, when it happens. He was an inventor at his core, and always had been his whole life. It's been six months since he even saw a workbench, let alone sat at one and actually made something new, or chipped away at a new project. The urge to create after all this time is only a natural thing, and he knows that. But that doesn't mean he has to like the urge. 

He even sits down at his desk, in the workshop he had. Well, the work room Gem said he could have, the one right across the hall from her own little spell room or whatever she called it. Fwhip hadn’t used the space for its intended purpose at all though, treating one side as an office of sorts; with papers and half finished sketches piled onto a desk. The other was treated like his own personal library, with two bookshelves full of god knows what books crammed in there. The place was also full of whatever he'd managed to save from the manner, most of that stuff being together on one shelf. Like they were too precious to be contaminated by any of the other, newer things lying around the home. 

It takes him a few minutes of sitting at his desk, of looking around for a spare tool or pen, to even realize what he’s trying to do. He’s just running on old habits, doing things that had long been committed to muscle memory during long hours in his forge and workshop. It was just like he was back home, in the Grimlands, getting ready to start a new project for the empire. It was just like the good ole days….

When Fwhip does realize what he’s doing, the realization hits him hard. Very hard. Enough to render the former count motionless for a few seconds, staring at the wood of his new desk blankly. The wood of his new desk, not the well loved and charred one of his old one back in his workshop. His workshop, the one right down the hall from the meeting room and his bedroom he never slept in. Not right next to his sister’s own workspace in a small house they built with their own two (mostly Gem’s uninjured) hands, but a manor that had been his childhood home for generations. His home that was gone because of him. 

The ginger makes a strangled noise, grumbles to himself, and stops looking around his desk for a stupid pen or wrench of whatever. Instead he folds his hands over themselves, fingers tight with tension he didn’t even know he had left in him, and just….lets them rest there. He didn’t used to do that, before the explosion and his injuries. The half dragon had never let himself rest, he used to always be fidgeting, always going going going. Now he could just sit still for a while, and not feel the need to move at all. (Take that ADHD, or whatever undiagnosed neurological thing he probably had.)

His gaze, now somber, shifts to the window. It’s not even a minute till his eyes are trained on the river, one as blue and full of life as his own gaze used to be; once upon a time. It was the main reason he, Gem, and the villagers they had with them had settled here, because it was a good source of water, one they could filter for drinking and fish and water the crops from and swim in. It’s his favorite spot to look at, whenever he needs to stare out the window and think. Or when he needs to take a lonesome walk. For a lot of reason; because it’s pretty, it reminds him of the one back home, and of…..a certain someone Fwhip takes a lot of care to name nowadays, lest it bring the choking guilt and sense of failure back into his throat.

He feels like the biggest failure in the goddamn world, that's what he feels like. And it's a fitting feeling too, considering he'd been the one who'd ended it. Fwhip’s the one who had the idea, to make that new dumb Codfather’s head, who’s forge blew up and destroyed everything and killed people. All of that, that was all him. All the blood was on his hands.

It was a plain and simple fact, in the half dragon’s mind at least. He failed. He failed his friends, his family, his kingdom, everyone. Fwhip had failed all of them, and there was nothing he could do to change if. There was no way he could go back in time and undo everything, save everyone, even if he wanted to. Even if he wanted to more than anything in the world. Or well, what's left of the world anyways. 

It was his fault the Grimlands was nothing but a pile of rubble. It was his fault the Ocean and the swamps had drained. It was his fault the Mezalean Matreal Palace had been split in half. It was his fault debris had fallen and destroyed the Crystal Cliffs Academy. It was his fault all the other empires had been sent ablaze. It was his fault all their friends and all those innocent people had died. It was all Fwhip’s fault, no matter which way you viewed it. All of it was his and his alone.

A frown becomes firmly etched on his face, as Fwhip sits there for whoever knows how long and thinks. He thinks about home, all the things he lost in the explosions and the fire. The memories and the lives and all his staff and his friends and his people and Clara . He thinks about the other empires and emperors too, the ones missing, the ones alive and the ones they knew were dead. The ones they knew were dead because they’d had to find out through what little gossip and hearsay they got. Because at the end of the day he and Gem had run, and hadn’t gone to pick up anyone else. They hadn’t even checked if they were bodies to bury or any people to save, just packed up what was left of their things and got on her dragons. And cried, they’d cried a lot. It was selfish of them, both of the twins knew, but they hadn’t known what else to do at the time. Fwhip wishes they hadn’t done that, but that was in the past. There’s nothing they can do now. All they can do is take care of themselves, and the people that have been found along the way, and just try and survive.

Fwhips holds back a sound or two, a wet sob maybe, and rests his forehead against his folded hands. There’s a lot of grief choking his chest today, a lot of regrets too. And the pain, the pain that was present in his legs and the phantom ones that never left his backside for long. Today is a very painful day, on both the emotional and physical fronts. He hates those days. But couldn’t help it when they happened; even if they and how useless they made him feel annoyed him to no end. Mental illness was a bitch, or whatever Gem said. 

When he removes his head from his hands, he’s composed again, the best he can be, and biting down on his tongue in an effort to keep his sad little dragon sounds back. Worst part about being a hybrid that was, your body is moving and making sounds based on your emotions and not what your brain wants them to do. Though he was missing all of the limbs that could do that now. The involuntary little half dragon sounds were still unaffected, very unfortunately. The explosion couldn't even take away the inconvenient things, because of course it couldn’t.

Fwhip lifts his head again, all that grief and sadness and pain pushed down for now. Hopefully for the rest of the day too, if he’s lucky; because they wore him out and he’s sick of dealing with all that constantly. He lifts his head, eyes fixed back on his beloved little river, and doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching the room, too lost in his own thoughts and reminiscing. He also doesn’t notice the presence at the doorway, even though she watches him for a good few minutes, the world entirely blocked out as Fwhip remembers a happier time; in a different place with a different man he very much would give what’s left of the world to see again, even it would only be for a few precious seconds. He’d give anything, anything at all.

“You’re staring at the river again.” Gem notes from behind him, leaning against his doorway. Her brother jumps at the noise, not having heard her approach. She’s always good at sneaking up on people, much better than his clumsy self had ever been.

“And?” Fwhip asks, not turning to look at her. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed out the window, not wanting to tear them away. Not yet. He also doesn’t want to look at Gem. doesn’t want to see whatever pitying look she’s probably giving him. Probably.

“You need to talk about him, Fwhip.” His sister says, her gaze piercing into his backside. He shifts uncomfortably under it, a frown forming on his face in record time. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and it won’t be the last, either. Fwhip knows his sister is just trying to help, help heal and get better, but he really really wishes she would drop the damn topic. He doesn’t like thinking about it and all the pain it brings. “I don’t.” Is all he says, feeling his whole body go stiff with tension. He does need to talk about it, most likely. He knows it would stop him from waking up crying in the night, from dreams and resurfaced memories. But the thought of it feels too large, too much of a task to conquer. So the half dragon doesn’t need to. He’s fine. He’s absolutely fine not talking about it.

“ Yes, you do!” Gem exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air just a bit. The conversation just started and she already sounds exasperated beyond belief. Which means he’s being extra frustrating today, or she walked in here in a sour mood. The ginger thinks it’s a mix of both today. “You need to talk about him instead of just…just moping over it!” 

“I’m not moping , I’m just reasonably sad. ” He fires back, glancing over his shoulder just a little bit. If only to throw a glare at his twin, if nothing else. Or a disapproving frown, at the very least.

“You walk around the river aimlessly and looking all dejected.” Gem deadpans, her arms being crossed over her chest. And, even though he wants to, the inventor can’t deny that she has a point. He does do that at least once a week, when things get too heavy and his mind needs to be cleared. Or he just needs to grieve . “That literally fits both definitions of moping!”

“I’ll talk about him later.” Is all he says, starting to turn back to the window again. So he can watch the river again, and then keep watching it for the next few hours. Like he’d been perfectly content to do before he was so rudely interrupted.

Gem sighs, sounding annoyingly exasperated at him. He hates when she sounds like that, he really does. It’s grated on his nerves like nothing else since they were children. Usually  because it meant she was being stupidly stubborn and not getting the goddamn hint. (And for all he loved his sister, she could be the most grating woman alive at times. But hey, what were twins for?) “You always say that.”

“Maybe it's because I don’t want to talk about it!” Fwhip snaps, feeling his tail stub twitch when he speaks. If the rest of it was still there, he knew it’d be lashing with annoyance. And maybe his wings would be flaring out in anger too, if they hadn’t been so horribly torn to shreds months ago. He doesn’t want to talk about Jim —about him . It hurts too much, even though it’s been six, almost seven, months, it still hurts too much to talk about. It hurts that he left and went missing , that he’s not here and that Fwhip’s the reason he’s gone —

“Sorry….I’m sorry. For pressing.” Gem sighs, backing down a little easier than she normally might. She even gives him an apologetic look, before moving her own gaze to the wall. “I just want you to be happy again, that’s all.”

Fwhip snorted, his gaze fixed firmly on the river once more. He knows that he’s probably being too harsh right now, but he can’t help it. “Well that’s gonna be pretty damn hard.” His tone was sharp, and ears flattened back. He hadn’t truly been happy in almost a year, and didn't see that changing anytime soon. 

“Sorry.” Gem repeats again, a frown in her voice once more. She's no longer leaning against the doorway, now starting to retreat back down the hall. Her voice fading with her footsteps, and the next words called over her shoulder distantly. Good riddance , is all her older brother can really think upon hearing them. Even if it is a bit mean spirited, admittedly. “I’ll go feed the cows now.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Fwhip says over his shoulder, his gaze never moving from the water. Gem can go feed the cows all she wants, like she was probably supposed to be doing right now. She can do whatever the hell she wants for all her twin cares, as long as he’s left alone and isn’t pestered about looking at the river again. 

He doesn't need to talk about it.