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miasmaghoul · 1 year

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miasma i have been yearning for mean rain and the most well-behaved mountain you have ever seen. (he's on his knees.) will you indulge me? )

oh man rain's real mean you guys :(

(cw for slapping, spitting, a little blood, piss and rough oral. all consensual, dont worry, mountain is SUPER into it)

It's an ache Mountain can't describe that brings him here.

On his knees in Rain's room, fully dressed with his legs spread as far at they can go. He keeps his arms folded together at the small of his back and his eyes forward, watching dust motes float through the beam of silvery light pouring from an open window. The sun had been up when he first knelt, but Rain's space was meant for moonlight.

Mountain doesn't know how long he's been here, truth be told, and it doesn't matter. That ache demands he stays put regardless, forces him to stay still and silent. It makes him wait for something he can't put words to. Makes him yearn, makes him itch in a place he can't quite scratch. It makes him want.

And so, he waits.

And waits.

When the door finally creaks open, he thinks it's the holiest of hymns.

Rain slips into the room with a fluid grace Mountain could never hope to replicate. He moves like water, his lithe frame draped in the gauzy fabric of a flowy white top he'd no doubt stolen from Cirrus. It suits him just as much as the skin-tight black pants he's paired with it, as stark a contrast as his dark, loose curls are against his pale skin. Bathed in moonlight, he looks like something out of a dream.

Mountain would worship him always, if he could get away with it. Would lay himself bare for Rain to observe, to inspect. He'd endure agony, ecstacy and everything in between if it meant earning Rain's touch, his attention. If it meant pleasing him however Rain saw fit. He'd give anything, give everything.

Rain closes the door, and does not acknowledge him.

The ache grows.

Mountain doesn't move. Doesn't dare to so much as breathe too loudly, lest Rain become irritated and shove him out the door. He can't risk it, not with the singular sort of need that's been eating at him all day. He listens, though. Tracks Rain's careful footsteps as he makes his way across the room. He's in no rush, ever casual as he clicks on a bedside lamp and rifles through a drawer.

Mountain's cock stirs in the confines of his jeans. He's gone from soft to hard and back again more times than he can count during his endless wait. If he glanced down, there would probably be a stain on the light denim. He couldn't help it, but he knows Rain won't approve.

Hell, that's half the reason he wore these particular jeans.

"How long have you been here?"

The words cut through the silence like a razor, smooth and sharp. Mountain shivers with them, hungry ears finally blessed with the first hint of what he's been craving. He shrugs, eyes still locked on the bedroom door. He can practically hear Rain's eyebrows scooting upwards.

"You don't know?"

Mountain shakes his head. If he had to say, it would be something between five hours and a hundred years. He'd wait a thousand, if Rain asked him to.

Behind him, Rain hums. It's a pondering sound, as though he's wondering whether or not Mountain is worth his precious time. It makes his stomach hurt. He wants to beg Rain to let him stay, wants to plead with him to soothe the ache in his gut. Wants to grovel at his feet until Rain sees fit to relieve him of his need.

But Rain hasn't given permission to speak, so he doesn't.

Again, Mountain waits. Stoic at a statue despite the stiffness in his jeans, the stabbing pain in his knees and the tension in his back. Everything hurts.

He hopes Rain makes it worse.

It's ages before Rain moves again, before his boots thud against the hardwood and the other ghoul reappears in front of him. Mountain keeps his gaze resolutely forward, his eyeline even with Rain's torso. The fabric of his top sways in a nonexistent breeze, more than a few of its buttons popped to expose the creamy skin of his chest. It's speckled with bites and bruises, evidence of what, exactly, he'd been busy doing while Mountain waited his turn.

"Have you been just like this?" His tone gives nothing away. If anything, Rain sounds...bored. "On your knees for me?"

Again, Mountain nods. Rain hums once more, that same sound of almost dismissive contemplation. He brings both hands up, idly twists one of his rings, and the rustle of his shirt brings with it the scent of the lake on a summer evening. It's accompanied by a waft of spiced woodsmoke, and Mountain knows exactly who had been busy fucking up Rain's perfect skin.

"Are you growling?"

Mountain mutes himself immediately - he hadn't even realized he'd started. He didn't mean to, he swears it, but even if he were allowed to speak he knows Rain wouldn't want to hear it. He chews on the inside of his cheek and hopes his remorse is evident in the way his shoulders sag just a hair.

"Let me guess," Rain lilts, reaching out to fiddle with a loose lock of auburn hair by Mountain's ear. Even the ghost of his touch is electric. "You need me."

He makes it sound like a taunt, and Mountain's stomach burns. He nods again, slow and deliberate. Squares his shoulders again before Rain can chide him for his posture. The other ghoul huffs out a sigh.

"How pathetic," he chides, and oh does it sting. "Sitting here for hours when you could have been making yourself useful."

Long fingers cup his jaw and Mountain lets his gaze be guided upward. He finds Rain watching him with mirthless cerulean eyes, his mouth set in a hard line. Mountain gulps even as his cock throbs, and before he can stop himself,

"I'm sorry -"

He hears the slap before he feels it, a sharp backhand that makes his head spin and his chest tight. The sting hits soon enough and Mountain bites his lip, hoping to draw blood that he can offer in penance. Rain grips his chin in that same cruel hand, guides him back, and Mountain can already feel the fuzz creeping into the edges of his mind with the look on his stunning face.

"Lucifer, you're pathetic," Rain scoffs, dragging his other hand through his own stylishly disheveled curls. "And here I thought you were going to be good for me."

I will, Mountain wants to scream. I'll be good, I'll be so good, please -

"I suppose I'll just have to put you in your place."

Mountain can't help the way his eyes slip shut at the merciless tilt to Rain's voice. The one he only uses when he can tell exactly what sort of cruelty Mountain craves, when he wants to belittle and shame. It settles heavy in his gut, makes him just dizzy enough that Rain has to give him a little shake to bring him back.

"Eyes on me," he orders, and it's an easy command to obey. Mountain may be edging towards hazy, but focusing on Rain keeps him grounded enough to maintain his pose. The hand on his jaw threads into his hair instead, grips a nice handful. "Show me your tongue."

Mountain does - of course he does - despite how dry his mouth feels. He opens wide and lets that pink appendage hang down over his chin. Rain's hum carries more weight now, the slightest hint of approval enough to make Mountain throb. Rain yanks him back by the hair, makes him suck air through his nose, and leans over him, eyes sparkling.

"You look thirsty."

Mountain can't hold back the groan that bubbles up in his chest when Rain spits directly onto his tongue.

"Don't you dare swallow," Rain threatens before Mountain can so much as move his tongue. He wasn't going to. He knows better.

It's tempting anyway.

He curls his tongue instead, makes a nice little home for Rain's generous gift. Rain releases his head with a derisive snicker, standing back with his arms crossed.

"I think you enjoyed that a little too much," he admonishes, eyes squarely fixed on the wet spot Mountain can feel on his thigh. Less than an inch from the head of his sore, ignored cock.

He's so hard. Always is, for this. Rain probably won't even let him cum, if experience tells him anything - or maybe he'll make him cum over and over until he's empty and weeping. Either way, the suffering is what matters.

Mountain twitches when the toe of Rain's boot presses into his thigh, a hair's breadth from his throbbing length, and it's work not to swallow the mess on his tongue.

"Someone's excited," he taunts, nudging the swollen ridge of the head less than gently. Mountain gives a fervent nod. "You were messy before I even walked in, weren't you?"

He applies more pressure and Mountain pitches forward just enough to accidentally drool Rain's spit onto his own shirt.

Oh shit.

Rain's next slap is expected, and somehow all the worse for it. Same cheek, same hand. It cracks through the room with a sick echo, and Mountain tastes iron.

"Useless," Rain sneers, unceremoniously shoving two fingers into Mountain's mouth to wrench out a gag. When he pulls them back they're tinted pink, and watching Rain lick up his blood and saliva makes every inch of him sing. "All you're good for is making messes, isn't it?"

Mountain sniffles, eyes wet at the corners, and nods. Rain rolls his eyes.

"Use your words," he says as though Mountain is very stupid. His cock spits against his thigh.

"S-sorry Rain, I didn't -"

"Sorry who?"

Mountain shudders.

"I'm s-sorry, Sir," he breathes, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to make a mess, I -"

"Liar," Rain interrupts, and Mountain gives him a bewildered look. "I know you came here because you want to be a wet, filthy mess."

Mountain can't stop staring up at him. He doesn't want to.

"In fact," Rain croons, reaching for his belt, "I think you want me to make you one."

His intention is clear as crystal, and the moment it settles into Mountain's skin he bites his tongue. He swallows thickly, trying his best not to sway as he watches Rain slip his belt from its loops and toss it aside. Silently, Mountain hopes Rain plans to use it on him later. He grips his own arms tight behind his back while the other ghoul unzips, every inch of him twitchy and quivering in anticipation.

"What do you say?" Rain asks, low and sultry over the splash of his own piss.

Rain's only half hard when he pulls himself out, maybe less, but it doesn't matter - any time he gets to see Rain's cock is a blessing, as far as Mountain is concerned. Rain gives himself a few languid strokes, pushes and pulls his foreskin the way he knows Mountain likes best. Makes him drool. He fattens up so quick, gets nice and stiff right where Mountain can see but can't touch. Anyone else would want to stay soft for this, but Rain?

Well, there are advantages to being a water ghoul.

Rain cants his hips just enough to slap the head against Mountain's cheek once, twice, three times. Enough to leak a little bead of pre and leave a sticky spot behind.

"Say please," he commands. Mountain feels so very dizzy.

"Please," he manages to slur, barely a whisper. Rain snorts.

"Say it properly," he smears the tip over Mountain's lips just because he can, and Mountain's eyes roll back at the scent of him.

"Please, Sir," he breathes, staring up with heavy lidded eyes, "please...please get me wet. Get me messy."

Rain offers an unkind smirk, milks out one more bead of pre that slides onto Mountain's lip. He doesn't lick it up. Hasn't been told he's allowed. Rain pulls back, takes a deep breath, and aims.

"Whore."

The first drops hit Mountain's knee, impossibly hot, and then a perfect golden arc hits him square in the chest. It forces a wave of the deepest sort of shame through him, makes his stomach flip and his balls tighten up. Mountain gasps when it really starts to soak in, and he can feel real tears gathering in his lashes when Rain smiles down at him.

"Th-thank you, Sir," Mountain gasps, fighting every muscle in his core that's trying to make him pitch forward. "Thank you."

Rain hums, pleased, directing the stream wherever he likes until Mountain's shirt is well and truly drenched. He feels like he's burning from the inside out, like his brain is leaking out onto his thigh and soaking into stained denim. He's panting by the time Rain's done, watching in a daze as he pushes out the last few squirts, lets it dribble out to speckle Mountain's thighs.

"Open," he orders, and like the good boy he is, Mountain does.

Rain shoves his still-leaking cock down his throat with no hesitation, and Mountain chokes on it just enough for the tears caught in his lashes to track down his cheeks. Rain purrs, smearing them all over with mean thumbs.

"Gonna put this mouth to good use," he drawls, "and you're gonna take it."

The way he says it is completely at odds with the punishing pace he sets. Brutal thrusts that stab at the back of Mountain's throat, sure to leave a bruise. Every one answers the call of that singular ache, and in no time at all he's floating. Lost in the gross, wet sound of Rain taking his pleasure and the slap of his balls against his chin.

Maybe later Rain will sit on his face and he can well and truly drown.

Mountain hopes he does.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #ish #its a lil long lmao #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #mean rain #sub mountain #mountain/rain #mountain x rain #mountrain #these two are such pissboys you cannot convince be otherwise #dont worry tho rain gives him the normal kind of shower later #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT RICO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ♡♡♡♡♡♡

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astrologybyolga · 1 year

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Astrology transit

*Summer solstice 21/6

The summer solstice marks the start of Cancer season in astrology. At the solstice, the Sun appears to pass directly over the Tropic of Cancer. This is the moment when astrologers say that the Sun has “entered” Cancer, meaning that it’s now traveling through the part of the zodiac band represented by Cancer.

Each “season” lasts about 30 days, but the solstice always coincides with the sign of the Crab.

In astrology, the Sun is associated with the active yang principle. But here’s the paradox: The Cancer zodiac sign rules the receptive yin principle and is governed by the emotional moon. So we have the forthright Sun stopping in its tracks to usher in a new, flowy solar cycle.

This is the ideal time to consider ways we can balance the yin and yang forces in our lives.

Where could you use a little more gentle, receptivity? Where could you yang it up and put in more action-oriented, decisive energy?

We all contain both energies within us. In an age where humans are becoming more fluid and redefined than ever, the summer solstice is an awesome moment to widen our notions of what that means for us.

Activities for today :

* Do something with the elements: fire to honor the Sun (bonfire anyone?),

the Earth (flower crowns: they’re not just for Coachella!)

and water for Cancer, which is a water sign (swimming, a signature solstice drink, a cleansing bath).

*Aries - Focus in your home & family.

*Taurus - Focus on your neighbourhood & reconnect with siblings. Communicate.

*Cancer - You will strengthen your relationships.

*Leo - Focus on self- care, pamper , heal. Isolate.

*Virgo - Focus turns towards your friends, making new ones & getting involved in your community.

*Libra - You will focus on your career. You might shine this period. Recognition.

*Scorpio - You might travel, learn something new. Become more spiritual.

*Sagittarius- You might work behind the scenes. You might take care of taxes & debts.

*Capricorn - Your relationships are super important to you now. Reconciliation.

*Aquarius- You might start a new exercise regimen or book a dentist or consult a nutritionist.

*Pisces- Focus on kids & fun. Bring more creative and meeting a new love interest!

#astrologybyolga #zodiac #astrology #horoscope #astrologersofinstagram #astrologers #horoscopes #zodiacsigns #astrologypost #dailyastrology

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horsemusicherald · 2 years

Audio

Tw3Lv3 - lost in my thoughts on a rainy night | Drum and Bass / Hip-Hop Album

Tw3Lv3, a deer musician contributing to the fandom releases since 2019 and now known as the founder of VibePoniez, her strong skill production on Drum and Bass and for numerous collaborations with musicians of the community and features on labels. Tw3Lv3's music never fails to immerse you into their emotions, sounds to experience another world and make you feel part of their vibrant musicality. This year alone they released 4 albums, this 4th album in particular is a contemplation and an internal struggle, an album that represents her feelings that the music sings for itself.

we've never met before

As our deer musician friend is having her space with a spliff, this intro vinyl crackles with downhearted strings is the definite vibe and representation of saddening and being the first track. A beauty of sound equal as admiring a nebula, the crystalline synth melodies and pads are a spectral in unison with the flowy sub bass. A chill journey of sadness under the rain.

desolation

Producing for the first time on a different DAW (Ableton), this song's emotion steps harder. The flute as the main melody glides smoothly in the orbit of the drums while the void of solitude is filled with eye tearing background elements. A deserted consonance and a tearful emotion intertwine in one howling tune.

Solitude (VIP) (feat. Doodled)

Solitude was featured in the album Fluid back in 2020; the physical CDs of Fluid may be sold out, but the digital album is still available on their bandcamp page. 2 years later, jumping into our present, the quality of this version steps up its game and featuring the maniacal lyricist Doodled! The artistry in sampling merges so well with the rapid pattern of drum and bass and the hip-hop groove as Doodled integrates their part. This symphony is the only company needed for solitude.

scars on my shoulder

The one with the strongest meaning for the musician. The lo-fi piano is the cicatrix throughout this song and mildly distorted but engaging violin plays to heal the sorrowful vibe. To notch up the aesthetic, a hip-hop section massages the mood with thumping drums. A song to remedy our past pains during a smoking session and to introspect.

As we conclude after escalating mood swings, two tranquil songs are the outro of an mesmerizing album as the smoke and tormenting thoughts fade away and the rain stays wiping off the tears. An ending song leaves the message of Tw3Lv3 being glad to have friends by her side and we the listeners are glad for having Tw3Lv3 pouring out her feelings and share with us musically. The album is available to purchase and to be your companion for rainy nights, you may get lost in your thoughts, but the music and friends will reach in to your heart.

#bandcamp #Original #Electronic #Misc #Drum & Bass #Hip-Hop

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irrelevantwriter · 4 years

Text

House Call

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, reader being scared and horny, Rio’s BDE (y'all know what's up)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Part 1. Rio shows up unannounced to talk business. Among other things.

A/N: It’s here...it’s happening. It took me a whole 2.5 seconds to become obsessed with Rio once I started watching GG. Ya’ll know how I roll. Anyway, this is me just dipping my toe into the water. I didn't get too deep with a plot (spoiler alert: there isn't any). It’s essentially just reader-insert into the show’s current plot, but with some smut thrown in. For fun. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Added a Part 2! Read it here.

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

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

“You okay?”

The sound of your friend’s concerned voice filled the line, pulling you back to the moment and the conversation you’d been engaged in before you’d burnt yourself in the spray of hot water.

“Yeah, just washing dishes.” You explained, cradling your cell between your shoulder and cheek as you maneuvered dirty dishes under the spout of water.

“So the meeting with the principal? How’d it go?” Rachel asked, getting you back on track.

You sighed, beginning to scrub at a stubborn coffee stain left behind on one of your favorite mugs.

“Fine. The kids are still having a hard time with the divorce so it’s…” You paused, unsure of how to describe the child-like brooding your son and daughter had taken to participating in since you’d separated from their father.

“Tense? Difficult? Weird?” Rachel listed off helpfully.

“All of the above.” You deadpanned, still scrubbing.

“You take the rest of the day off?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to do with these kids. Paul said he’d come over later to talk it over.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of him.” Rachel replied, sarcasm and disdain dripping from her words.

“Well, it’s a start. And as much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, I can’t. He’s still their dad.” You explained for the hundredth time, feeling the stress of your situation with your ex starting to creep into your body. Your shoulders felt stiff and your head began to throb with a dull ache. It was a familiar reaction these days. One you loathed.

You opened your mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere when the doorbell rang, chiming throughout the empty expanse of your home.

“Paul?” Rachel asked, obviously hearing the alert of someone’s company over the phone.

“I guess. Look, I’ll call you later.” You said with another sigh, this one more tired than annoyed. You gave up on the stained mug and moved onto drying it, shutting the water off as you did.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You ended the call, aware that you were short with her, but unable to feel sorry for it. You had plenty of other things to worry about, none of which involved your shitty ex or his new girlfriend.

You placed your cell on the counter and turned to make your way to the entryway, mug still clutched in your hand. The ceramic cup dropped to the floor and shattered into pieces when you saw who was already in your kitchen. You gasped, clutching your chest and yelping at the familiar man in black, the dark ink splattered across his throat the first thing you noticed. Your heart leapt, your body going rigid at the unexpected visit. Pop-ups like this were never a good sign.

“I let myself in.” Rio supplied, voice low and thick with authority and charm. He wore a smirk, lips upturned at your surprised reaction. He always seemed amused by you. That fact only served to unsettle you further.

“What’re you doing here?” You managed to say between shaky breaths, fear making your own voice quiver.

“Just checking in, mama. Can’t I do that?” He challenged with his arms spread wide, daring you to say otherwise.

You didn’t.

You went to move around the large kitchen island but the shards of broken mug prevented you from getting far on bare feet. Rio took notice and strode towards you, all clean lines and hooded eyes. He had a swagger about him that radiated. It sent a clear message about the kind of man he was. Confident. Skilled. Smart. There was an ease in his movements, but a beast lay in wait inside, ready to strike when the need arose.

His piercing gaze took in your dress, uncaring of being discreet or polite. He appraised you from the tips of your painted toes to the top of your head. It was as unnerving as it was thrilling. He crowded your space. He always did. While the scent of him filled your nostrils. Something spicy, but pleasing. It sat in your nose, and you knew from previous experience that you’d smell it for hours after.

You swallowed, wanting to avoid his close proximity. You hastily bent down to gather what you could of the jagged pieces, moving around his sneaker-clad feet that stood before you. You tried to ignore his presence, tried to appear calm and composed. It was an uphill battle. The man always knew how to throw you off. He knew how to keep people on their toes. It was yet another facet of him that you both coveted and despised.

You hissed, feeling the edge of one of the shards dig into the tip of your finger. You stood and sucked the tip into your mouth, trying to clear the area of the blood that had started to surface. His eyes were on you, watching you with interest and a certain level of lust that you didn’t allow yourself to explore. You stiffened when he reached for your wrist and pulled your finger away from your lips. He inspected the cut, his flesh warm and soft against yours. It was a side of him that eclipsed the man you’d come to know over the last several months.

“It’s not bad. I’ll be fine.” You whispered, attempting to pull your hand free of his. It was futile.

“Band aid?”

“Uh...yeah. In that drawer. Next to the stove.” You pointed in the direction of the drawer, holding your breath as he retrieved the item. This time, you watched him. Watched as he unwrapped the bandage and tended to your finger with all the care of a parent with their child. He held the appendage steady as he got ready to wrap it, but he stopped himself. He locked eyes with you instead, making you shiver.

“I make you nervous.”

It was a statement. A very true statement. And yet you found yourself shaking your head; ironic because your voice felt too unsteady to use.

Your heart stopped when he placed a tender kiss to the cut. The air around you crackled with heat and tension. It was unlike any feeling you’d ever been subjected to before. It was danger mixed with primal fascination...attraction. And it called to you like a raft in a sea of treacherous waves.

He ignored your silent response and sealed the band aid over your finger, ensuring the ends were smooth against your skin. He didn’t let go of you.

“Don’t lie to me, okay? Trust is an important thing. And we’ve gotta have it if we wanna keep doing business together.”

His calm demeanor and gentle chastising made you a puddle of obedience. Your need to please wasn’t just born from fear. It was something you’d been unable to come to terms with until now. You saw it for what it truly was. You wanted to please him. In as many ways as he’d let you.

You nodded in response, agreeing to his statement.

“Let’s try it again then, yeah?” He started, eyes roaming your face. “I make you nervous, don’t I?”

“The constant threat of my life makes it difficult for me to be calm.” You said, choosing to still be untruthful.

You forced yourself not to fidget as his stare scorched your skin. His black eyes roamed across the open expanse of your collarbone and to the modest neckline of your wrap dress. He licked his lips as he focused on the measured breaths of your chest, your breasts rising with each pass.

“That’s not the only reason.” He retorted with a shake of his head. He leaned in close, noses almost touching as he spoke. “Don’t move.”

You said nothing as he bent down, continuing your failed task of picking up the broken bits of ceramic. You observed him dutifully gathering each piece, piling them into one large hand. His face looked pensive, as if he was trying to solve an equation in his head. You leaned against the island for support and bit your lip, unwilling to give into the lecherous thoughts that haunted you at night and managed to infiltrate your dreams.

“Nice dress.”

His compliment made you pause, looking down to meet that familiar smirk. He’d set what was left of the mug onto the counter, the floor relatively clear of large fragments. His fingers now played with the hem of said dress, the flowy material dancing in the air and away from your body.

“Thanks.”

Your voice was small. The apprehension so clear that you could both taste it. He found it funny. You found it humiliating.

He slowly straightened, taking the fabric with him as he gathered it to just above your knees.

“Color looks good on you.”

Again, the juvenile warmth of his praise sent you reeling further into anxiety’s waiting arms. Inwardly, you were responding to every lick of his lips and quirk of his eyebrow. Your thighs shifted restlessly against each other, waiting for that satiation that you hadn’t felt in forever. Outwardly though, you remained as skittish as a wild horse. You were as much on the edge of pleasure as you were on retreating.

“Thanks.” You said with a pleasant smile, wanting to conceal the yearning that bubbled just under the surface. You smoothed out the hunter-green fabric that rested against your abdomen, hoping to urge his hands away from you and the dress.

No such luck.

Instead, he ran his fingers up your skirt and along the outside of your thighs and hips, almost meeting the edge of your lace panties. Your traitorous body showed its hand, your nipples hardening in eagerness. Rio’s gaze predictably caught the action. And his face showed his approval.

“How long you been divorced?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his sudden curiosity. But the switch in topic had you alert again and somewhat clear of the fog he was so insistent on throwing you into.

“Why? What does that have to do with anything?” You questioned, stepping back from his body.

His hands fell away from you finally, but they didn’t stay idle for long. They skimmed over your hips, pressing your backside into the edge of the kitchen island.

“Answer me, mama.” He demanded, head craning down to meet your eyes. The intensity of his stare made you shift on your feet. He had an amazing poker face. A skill that left you envious.

“Two years.” You dutifully supplied, leaning backwards every inch that he moved in.

“It’s been that long then.” He commented with a nod, a finger tracing along the neckline of your dress, hovering just above your cleavage.

“That long for what?” You asked, taking note of the subtle ways in which his face changed. There was no trace of the teasing, light-hearted flirting that you’d become accustomed to seeing from him. He was serious. Almost as serious as the times he’d threatened your life. His touch was more insistent, telling you what he wanted rather than hinting. His mouth lowered to your ear, his nose brushing against your neck in a far too erotic manner. Your fingers itched to anchor yourself to him. You denied the request.

“Since someone stretched you out.”

A gasp caught in your throat, though you didn’t know if it was more from his words or his touch. He’d managed to slip a hand under your dress, tracing the crotch of your panties with a dexterous finger as he spoke.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stammered, knuckles tightening against the edge of the counter you were currently gripping.

“I mean…” Rio started, lips brushing against the shell of your ear with each syllable. His finger barely teased your slit, but his voice more than compensated for the lack of physicality. “You haven’t had someone here,” He emphasized the word with a firm press of his finger against the soaked material that hid your clit from view. “In two years. Maybe more.”

You whimpered, biting your lip as he continued to manipulate your body. Your head screamed at you to stop, to pull away. But the sensation of his body pressed so firmly to yours was far too comforting to deny.

“You don’t know that.” You attempted, though the effort was obviously pointless. It was true. Since your separation and subsequent divorce from Paul, you’d barely been on a date, much less had sex. Your body was fiending for it...for him. And he knew it.

He scoffed, finding amusement in your words. He pressed his finger along the same dampened area, seeing your eyes roll into the back of your head. He licked his lips when your hand shot out to grasp at his wrist.

“Yeah, I do.” He affirmed with a nod, finger still teasing over your lace-covered slit. “He stepped out on you, didn’t he?” He continued, his eyes taking stock of the way you responded to his touch.

You had trouble focusing on the conversation he insisted on having while his hand was up your dress and practically in your underwear. You didn’t feel the need to supply an answer anyway. He already had all the information he needed.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

You were jolted back to reality by his words, straightening your spine and pushing his hand from between your legs.

“And what? You do?” You threw back, agitation seeping into your tone. You felt like he was patronizing you. He was always one step ahead. Always aware of the skeletons in your closet before you were.

“Never said that.” He said with a shake of his head, not stepping out of your space. His hands were off your body now, but the stains they’d left on you would remain there. They wouldn’t easily be erased. And you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted them to be.

“Why are you here?” You asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

“Business.”

“A simple call or text works for that.”

“Wanted to come in person.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. He wore an expression of smugness, as if he knew something you didn’t, which was often the case.

“What do you want then?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” He retorted swiftly, lips pulled into a thin line.

The seriousness was back, his eyes nearly swallowing you as all humor became sucked from the room. The nerves in your stomach came back full force, the fear aiding them in their efforts. He was challenging you, apparently done with your lying.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to even begin. He was too intimidating. Just too much.

“I-I can’t.” You finished lamely, shaking your head and looking down at your feet.

He tilted your chin up, his mouth only centimeters from yours as he dared you to move.

“Just say the word.” He rasped against your lips, his free hand cradling your cheek.

You let yourself stare back, taking in his dark lashes and the angles of his face. He confused you on many levels, angered you beyond belief. He made your life a living hell. And yet, you wanted him more than anything. More than the money and the thrill of crime. And somehow he was privy to it all. And he wanted to give it to you.

So you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out, your hands finally coming to rest on his chest.

He needed no further encouragement. His mouth settled over yours in a tangle of lips and tongues. He tasted like mint, his lips much softer than they looked. The scratch of his facial hair only added to the moment as you pressed further into him, asking him to take more.

He did.

His hands were rough, but not unpleasant as they trailed along your body. They had the marks of healed scars. Not to mention the blood of those who chose to cross him. They were everywhere and all at once. Your breasts, your neck, your waist, your ass. He kneaded where he knew you yearned for more and tenderly stroked the areas in between. You struggled to keep up as his hips pushed into yours, his own yearning making its presence known.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You managed to say between heavy breaths, Rio’s mouth attaching to your neck and sucking near your throbbing pulse.

“Why not?” He mumbled into your skin, hands unwilling to slow down.

“Things will get complicated.”

He pulled himself away from the crook of your neck, his thumb running over your kiss-swollen pout.

“Yeah, they will.” He said with a chuckle, that devilish smirk staring back at you.

It was all a blur after that.

Limbs intertwined together as you worked on the buckle of his pants while he pushed your dress up and over your hips this time. He harshly pulled the lace away, the elastic snapping against your thighs as it got caught before making its way to the floor. Your mouths didn’t separate, not even when he lifted you onto the counter. He pulled one side of your dress away, exposing the matching bra you wore underneath. Your pebbled nipples called to him and he responded, massaging the flesh with expert precision. You moaned and writhed like a woman possessed. Like a woman that hadn’t been laid in two years.

“Feels good?”

The roughened gravel of his voice made your walls spasm, the hint of self-assuredness causing a wave of arousal to seep from within you. You could only nod, wordlessly pleading with him to continue on. His touch ventured south to your spread thighs. You widened them, allowing him access to the place you needed him the most. He didn’t disappoint.

His fingers were long and probing as they penetrated your sex, slipping easily in. You gasped at the fullness, the stretch around him making your eyes squeeze shut. He let your body guide him as he rubbed at your clit, his fingers curling against your walls.

“I’m...god...I’m gonna cum.” You confessed, only somewhat embarrassed by the suddenness of your climax.

He worked hard and faster. Your nails dug into his back, your mouth landing on his shoulder as you struggled to not cry out. You bit down when the euphoria of orgasm washed over you, trapping his hand within you. He could feel every tremor he brought forth as you shook in his arms. It felt like it lasted for hours, your body unwilling to let the feeling be a fleeting moment in time.

“You still with me?” He asked, lips pressed to your temple.

You nodded, hissing when he removed his fingers from the confines of your body. You watched, feeling as if you were in a daze. He shifted his pants and boxers down, revealing his length to your ravenous eyes. The hand that had been so deeply embedded in you now wrapped around himself. He was long and hard, as rigid as his hands. You felt like a moth to a flame, hand reaching out to feel if he was real. He was.

You swiped your finger over the tip of him and were overcome with wanton pride at feeling the moisture that sat there. His jaw clenched in a way that you’d only ever seen him do in anger. He didn’t allow you to continue. In an instant he was wedged between your thighs, his body already pushing into your waiting sex. Even with the climax from his fingers, he was a tight fit. You both expelled breaths, his a mumbled curse and yours a throaty moan. You shut your eyes as a new burst of pleasure radiated from your core and traveled up your spine. There was only a brief moment of intimacy as he sat unmoving within you, letting your body adjust to him.

It was short-lived.

“Fuck...” He cursed as he began to fuck you into the counter, hands holding your hips in place.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lavished yours with kisses and bites, each thrust of his hips causing his teeth to graze your skin. The chill of the marble countertop beneath your bare ass cooled your overheated skin. You bit your lip so hard you could taste blood as he filled you over and over, each pass making your walls accept more of him. He was deep and hitting that gloriously elusive spot that sat within your womb.

He cupped your breasts while you scraped your nails down his back, hearing him growl in response. The sound made you yearn to hear more. So, you did something you’d always wanted to do...you licked the ink on his throat. You decorated his skin with tantalizing kisses, your tongue aiding your actions. He shivered against your lips, the reaction making your walls clench around him. He was, at least for the moment, a slave to your ministrations. And it was a high unlike any drug you’d ever encountered.

It was animalistic fucking at its finest. He hit every nerve, soothed every ache. The union of your bodies was enough to send you sailing off the proverbial cliff, but his touch kept you tethered to solid ground, longing for more. He rocked his hips mercilessly into you, making your back arch at an almost painful angle.

“Right there, huh?” He teased, feeling you squeeze around him in raw desire. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

You whimpered and tensed when he savagely rubbed your swollen clit, forcing your legs to tighten around him. He laughed, the sound ominous in your ringing ears. You could only hold on as he delivered the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. You spread your thighs wider, trying to get him closer than humanly possible. You opened your neck up to him, letting him have access to your bare flesh. You wanted him all over you and leaving a scorching trail of hunger in his wake.

It was manic. It was frenzied. It was passionate. And it all combined into a seductive elixir that made fireworks burst from within.

“Shit...I’m cumming.” You warned, feeling him double his efforts. Every muscle went taut with blinding pleasure as that coil finally snapped. You felt weightless, and yet the firm body still driving into your depths made you feel sublimely solid. And whole. More whole than you’d felt in the entirety of your marriage.

It was on the tail-end of your climax that Rio found his. His hips stuttered as he grunted and groaned, releasing himself into you and painting your walls. His fingers dug into the flesh of your inner thighs while his face burrowed into your chest and neck. It was as uninhibited as you’d seen him. And you were addicted to the sight.

You both heaved with shallow breaths, the exertion of each of your climaxes literally taking the air from your lungs. The room smelled of sex and instant regret as you straightened in Rio’s arms. He separated from your body, eyeing you as he redressed. You shifted your dress back together to cover your bra, the mess between your thighs preventing you from closing them completely.

Before you could say anything, Rio reached up and cradled your cheek. He played with your bottom lip, his thumb once again finding the appendage. His eyes took in every part of you, as if he hadn’t fucked you senseless seconds before. He licked his lips in that dangerous way that let you know his thoughts were on more than just money.

“Business is good?” He asked, warm palm still pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Cool, cool.” He nonchalantly replied, hand leaving your face as he stepped back from your debauched body. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You said with a nod, pushing your dress further down over your thighs, a lame effort to protect any modesty you might’ve still possessed. He smirked at the action.

“Might wanna clean up the mess.” He said with a cheeky upturn of his lips, hands gesturing to the remaining fragments of ceramic that still littered the floor but eyes locked solely to the spot between your legs. The place he knew he’d left a part of himself.

You bit your lip and nervously played with the hem of your dress, feeling his eyes bore into you. Despite still being fully dressed, you felt naked to him. Bare. Exposed. Vulnerable. You hated it.

He retreated, facing you as he walked backwards towards the front door. You watched him from over your shoulder, still unsure of what to make of the whole situation.

“And lock your door from now on. All kinds of madmen running around these streets.” He quipped, eyes lighting up at his own joke.

He was gone as fast as he’d arrived, causing havoc and then leaving without a second thought. The door closed with a crisp click at his exit, the house now feeling bare without his foreboding presence.

You didn’t move from your spot. You remained on the counter, Rio still leaking from your walls and your dress still disheveled despite your best efforts. Your mind raced with thoughts, each one riddled with panic. His unexpected visit left you with more questions than answers, all of which were tinged with fear. What did this development mean for you? Did it actually mean anything? Or was he simply taking what was so obviously laid out in front of him?

Did it matter?

No. It didn’t.

Because although he may have indulged your craving, your appetite was far from being fulfilled.

#rio good girls #rio #good girls rio #good girls nbc #nbc good girls #rio x reader #rio x you #rio imagine #rio fanfiction #rio fanfic

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thatslikely · 4 years

Text

Fireball - F.W.

Fireball- Fred Weasley x fem!reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: food and allusions to sex

Word Count: 3k

A/N: did I go overboard? yes. do I want to go to an amusement park with Freddie? yes.

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and Y/L/N is Your Last Name

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @probably-peeves @anchoeritic @theweasleytwinsgirl @horrorxweasley

if you wanted to be added, send me a dm or ask!

“Sweetheart, have you got everything all packed up? I hope you didn’t accidentally pack any Canary Creams this time!” Fred jested from the room across the hall of the Burrow as you eagerly stuffed various waterproof jackets, sticky bottles of sunscreen that smelled pungently of hot summer afternoons spent loitering by the lake, and stacks of Muggle ‘cash’ into a small backpack.

“I think so. And do you really have to bring up that one time every time I’m in charge of snacks?” Zipping up the pockets of the sack, you gave it a satisfactory pat.

“Don’t worry, I thought you still looked cute, even as a bright yellow birdie.” You were helpless to stop your eyes from rolling in your skull with a sarcastic grumble.

As Fred sauntered over to you, arms extended and ready to give you a bear hug, you extolled, “are you excited? Your first time at an amusement park!” His muscular arms tightly wrapped around yours’; so tightly, in fact, that you lifted off the ground, still wrapped his playful yet loving embrace like a familiar blanket of comfort. The shirt handsomely draped over his figure smelled like home; of the common room after the crackling fireplace ceased, the deserted aisles of a fluorescent convenient store at midnight, burnt popcorn kernels smoking from the microwave.

“Of course I’m excited, Y/N. You’ve only blabbered about this place since the beginning of time. It better live up to the stories you’ve told!” he said cheerfully into your ear, his warm breath fanning your face, causing electric shocks of thrill to pang every one of your nerves.

“Today’s gonna be so much fun!” Your chest fluttered as Fred gently set you down like a prized china doll, throwing the stuffed backpack over his broad shoulders.

“I hope the fun carries over into tonight, too.” Fred painted a devilishly handsome suggestive smirk on his features, barely fighting off the urge to buckle your knees with his signature wink.

“Oh shove off, Freddie!” you giggled as you friskily swatted your boyfriend’s bicep. “Let’s just focus on the park for now, we can worry about that later.”

His intoxicating lips pressed a small peck to your forehead before he asked, “You ready to go have the best day ever with your impossibly amazing, handsome, clever, boyfriend?”

“Yes, Fred,” you smiled as he unsheathed his spiky-handled wand, “yes!”

With a quick, pickle-jar-lid pop! you and Fred were instantly engrossed in the eye of a large crowd of joyous Muggle families scurrying around in circles reminiscent of the windy spirals of a cyclone. Most grinning adults had a tiny, chubby hand gripped in their palm, and most of the bubbly kids had a drippy strawberry popsicle in theirs’.

The familiar plaza surrounding you flooded your heart with comfort and security. Wheeled food stands with bright, enthusiastic neon signs formed street-like pathways; the distant screams from speedy roller coaster riders melded with the thematic music echoing from speakers.

“We’re here!” you squealed, running over to a stand to grab a neatly labeled map of the park, despite knowing its layout like the back of your hand. Fred had been prone to getting lost before, especially in non-magical places, such as malls or airports (We have a lost boy named Fred Weasley, lost at gate thirty-six, and he’s looking for his, er- significant other, Y/N Y/L/N. He’s sixteen years old, quite tall, and has bright red hair, impossible to miss. Please come pick him up at the travel counter, thank you). You were tempted to tease him as you handed him the map, but considering the high possibility he had some sort of prank secretly stashed on his person, you wouldn’t dare risk it.

Fred uttered a “whoa,” as he took in his surroundings with enchanted, curious umber eyes, “this place is absolutely wicked.” His gaze then downturned, scanning the map, intently awaiting the vibrant, printed graphics to spring to life like pamphlets in the Wizarding World do.

“The map’s not going to start moving, if that’s what you’re waiting for, silly,” you teased, pointing to your location on the detailed unfolded brochure.

“Pfft, I knew that.” His insincere arrogance didn’t help to conceal the slight pink tone that heated his cheeks at all. Pure-blood wizards were truly an enigma.

You ignored his unsuccessful cover-up with an expression that screamed, ‘yeah, right’, as you explained to him (a bit condescendingly) like a schoolchild, “we’re right here, at the entrance. There’s a list of the rides, bathrooms, shops, and places to eat off to the side.”

The blazing sun overhead coated your surroundings with tepid, dandelion-hued light, and the relaxed summer breeze softly ruffled your flowy strands of hair, as well as Fred’s. He quickly combed through his fiery mane with his fingers, a smirk quirking his lips at the promise of so many exciting things to do and see.

“We’re gonna start off with my favorite ride ever: The Fireball.”

Fred dropped his jaw to respond, but you wasted no time maneuvering to the beloved orange scream-producer. You hastily snatched his large hand before weaving him through the cluster of people, scuttling towards a looming bright, tiger-orange arc towering above everything in the distance: the peak of the Fireball. The Fireball was the single best roller coaster ever constructed: its seats were comfortable and secure, its extensive track was fluid and fast, and the excellently paired loops and corkscrews were enough to spark terror in even the bravest riders.

You had been savoring the thrill of the beloved flame-colored coaster for as long as your crown had finally surpassed the minimum-height indicating green line on the sign before its intimidating crimson gates so many years ago.

Tears streamed horizontally across your face, a painful, open-mouthed smile etched onto your features. Screamed giggles echoed from your toothy mouth as you firmly gripped the bar in front of you, letting the rapid twists and turns of the coaster envelop you wholly. By the time the track had slowed and looped back to the station, your head was spinning, allowing you to barely think, let alone walk. Your hair was fluffed out like a bird’s nest but you couldn’t care less. All you knew was, you had to ride Fireball again.

No other coaster could even dream to compete with the beast of an attraction; it drew you in like a magnet, and hadn’t let you go since. Every other ride just felt inexplicably off in a way that even the most eloquent weren’t capable of articulating. And you finally got to share your favorite coaster with the person you undoubtedly love the most: Fred.

“Freddie, are you ready to go on the best roller coaster of all time? It’ll blow your mind!” you excitedly asked, pulling him towards the coaster’s spaghetti-twisted track. The look of pure bliss that exuded from your body was so, so difficult to say no to. There was something so child-like about your pupil’s vivacious glow; it reminded him of the days so long ago when his biggest stressor was whether he should pull a prank on an unsuspecting Ron or Percy next.

But an equally childish emotion struck his heart: fear. Fred Weasley feared nothing. A furious Umbridge, maniacal Dark Wizards, and even speedy rogue Bludgers wouldn’t even make him flinch. A roller coaster however, was different. Whether it was the sketchy-looking track held together by metal bolts, the loopty-loop that he would surely fall out of, or the fact that it was made by hands, not magic, inexplicable waves of nervousness flooded his body, causing his heart to boom faster and louder in his chest and his palms to condensate with sweat.

“Hey, uh, angel, it’s actually getting pretty hot, don’t ya think? Why don’t we go have some ice cream first, my treat?” Fred nervously asked, an unshakable stutter in his words. He delved into his pocket, revealing fistfull of bills and coins, eagerly looking for an ice cream stand. “I hope you know where the ice cream is?”

“‘Course I do, Freddie. The best cones are this way, follow me.” You giddily guided the lanky ginger through twists and turns, passing a multitude of fun (and tamer) rides Fred had never seen before. At long last, the two of you reached a small, dark and light blue-striped stand with a snowman holding a cone of strawberry deliciousness hung out front. The best ice cream in the whole park.

While the prospect of romantically sharing a cone of ice cream with Fred sounded tooth-rottingly sweet, the both of you were a tad too stubborn to be willing to share a single frozen treat. He did generously give you a lick of his drippy strawberry cone, however, and you relented to his pitiful puppy-dog eyes and quivering lip, letting him have a bite of yours’.

The ice cream almost instantaneously sent Fred back to summers at the Burrow when he was still equally adorable, but a far cry from who he was now. He was short, only an inch or two taller than Ron, his grin was crooked, and the bridge of his nose was dotted with bright orange freckles. Every cherished summer afternoon was spent slashing in the creek, throwing mud pies at Percy, digging up worms in the dirt, and daring Ron to bite into a cattail to see what it tasted like (that didn’t end well).

Once the delicious cream safely resided in your stomachs, you eagerly asked if the vermillion-haired boy across from you was ready to go on the ride of his life. When he responded with an inscrutable expression, the trips of his ears pricking with nervousness, you added persuasively, “c’mon Freddie, the line’s gonna get long if we wait much longer. The park’s filling up fast.”

“Hey! I have an idea. Instead of waiting in a boring line that’ll take forever,” -he exaggerated each syllable- “I could try to win you a prize at one of those booths over there. How does a giant teddy sound?” The grin on his face was impossible to renounce.

“Only if I get to play too. We’ll see whether you’re gonna be the one lugging around a huge stuffed bear!”

Fred yanked you to the nearest carnival game like an eager golden retriever, which evidently was a vibrant water gun race. The object of the game was to position your water gun to hit the target perfectly, and whoever held the jet until the quota was filled won.

Fred slapped a few bills onto the counter proudly, and the Muggle worker eyed him confusedly, before handing back a stack of greens to Fred. “It’s only five to play, sir.”

Fred took the vacant stool to the right to you, eyes glued on the prize: a large, bubble-gum pink teddy bear. Before he could even learn how to play, the bell rang, and water spewed out of the guns in front of you. Easily, you lined up the stream to the orange target before you, causing varicolored lights to flash and spiral., clashing the darkening sky above. Fred, however, wasn’t so lucky; he accidentally drenched the less-than-happy carny’s clownish uniform. The dripping employee sharply handed you the teddy before grumbling for the both of you to leave, preferably immediately.

“Ha! I won!” you boasted, rubbing the plushie in Fred’s amused face as you walked hand-in-hand past coasters and rides. He chucked before grabbing it from your hands, offering, “I’ll hold your prize for you, Miss Champion-water-gunner.”

“Okay, let’s go ride a coaster! I’m sure you know which one I wanna ride by now.” However, Fred was still nervous as ever. He’d never admit it, so naturally, he came up with every possible excuse.

“I- erm, why don’t we go ride that spinny one over there?”

“The carousel? That’s a toddler’s ride!”

“If I want to ride a horse-y, I will ride a horse-y!” Fred swooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the roped-off queue bridal-style while you flailed your arms, your face reddening with embarrassment.

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself seated on a jewel-embellished caramel horse, one of your hands gripped onto the golden pole lifting your pony up and down in a galloping motion. Your other hand was intertwined with Fred’s, who was perched on a mahogany horse draped in orange and green carpets and tassels beside you. Astonishment swam in his cocoa pools; his toe tapped in the stirrup to the old-fashioned circus music playing, he fiddled with the plastic emeralds of the horse’s bit, and he gave you the most innocent, heart-melting grin you’ve ever seen.

Once the bejeweled horses’ hopping halted, and the melodic recording of the march slowly faded, the sun crept below the horizon, granting the prussian blue air a chilly nip; it looked as if a Monet painting were suspended above the millions of flashing cabochon bulbs.

“Freddie, it's getting dark. We have time for probably one more ride,” you said, not failing to note the lively glow drain from Fred’s rosy cheeks and faint saffron freckles.“What’s wrong?”

“I uhh… I didn’t want to tell you this before, but…” -he scratched the nape of his neck with furrowed brows- “I’m scared of roller coasters.” Fred cracked a nervous side-mouthed smile. “Something about it just… I feel like I’m gonna fall out!”

“Oh, Freddie, I had no idea,” you said apologetically, resting your hand on his flanneled shoulder. The coruscating glow of the kaleidoscopic lights highlighted the fearful darting of his pupils.

“I wanna ride Fireball, it looks sick, but I’m more scared than I’d care to admit.”

“Here it’s okay, we can go on a smaller coaster if you want. Rocket’s always a classic, too,” you suggested, gesturing towards a short, blue and silver arch suffused in colorful carnival irradiance.

“No, I need to face my fear! Let’s go ride Fireball, darling. No buts!” Fred ushered you towards the Fireball, despite not having a clue about where it’s spaghetti bowl of track was grounded.

“It’s just like riding a broom! More safe, actually.” Fred lifted the chains of the queue for the both of you to mischievously slip under; you were pleasantly surprised to see the line was relatively short.

“Oh by the way, you better not tell anyone that I, Fred Weasley, star Quidditch player and most popular student, actually can get scared, or expect a foul prank in your future.” Fred embraced you with a hug from behind, not shy of showing some more risque displays of affection to the other teenaged riders to cement the unwavering fact that you were his, and only his.

“Well someone doesn’t seem so nervous anymore,” you teased, poking his chiseled chest playfully.

“What can I say? You’re too distracting.”

You gave him a sarcastic simper as you pulled him by the collar closer and closer to the loading station which was packed with workers and thrill-seekers alike. Fred continued to stay tricksy, a permanent smug smirk upturning his lips as his hands stayed glued to your body, in one place or another.

At long last, the mechanical locking of lap bars and revving of coaster-cars stiffened the slightly cocky Weasley (his nervous form reminded you oddly enough of a breadstick). You gave him more compassionate touches of affection, combing your fingers through his messy hair and tracing small circles on his back, humming.

When the menacing silver gates opened, allowing the two of you to climb inside the fire-truck red carts, Fred looked as if he would explode at any given moment. You grabbed his large, defined hand, your thumb soothingly rubbing vertical strokes on his metacarpal. Fred’s knees were nearly level with your chest once he was securely seated; the lap bar was generous with your wiggle room, but you didn’t mind, as long as Fred felt safe.

Fred’s hand’s grip was tight on yours��; you could feel his heart pump through each of his branchy veins rapidly. He asked seconds before the train was off to slowly climb the first daunting hill, “promise me you won’t let go?”

“I’ll never let you go, promise.”

The next approximately two minutes of ride time were a fantastic blur, just as magical as anything the Wizarding World had to offer. Streaks of golden lights shone around snippets of swirling orange tracks that subjected your body to addicting G force. Your weightless figure flew up and down serpent-esque hills and valleys, you were firmly pressed into your seat, hair hanging down in a flame shape on loopty-loops, and on corkscrews you swear your insides were rearranged.

As promised, you didn’t let go of Fred, in fact the opposite. On the first steep drop, he mustered the courage to hold your intertwined fingers above his head as he emitted a bellowing scream of raw pleasure. He submitted to the following expertly engineered twists and turns, letting his lanky body swish and fly at the mercy of the ride. It felt like a fierce match of Quidditch to him, except for the fact that his eyes were scrunched closed with joy, not open and alert for Bludgers.

Once Fireball came to an impossibly speedy ending, reality smacked you like a bus. As you got up from your seat to exit the dock, your legs wobbled and shook due to the copious amounts of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You concernedly surveyed Fred, who graciously supported you out of the station.

You peeled your awe tingling lips open to ask how he felt, and almost physically, he uttered a single, “wicked!”

“How could I have been ever scared of that? I feel like my bones are shaking inside of me!” he managed to exuberantly smile. He swished his arms back and forth pure joy flooding through him, prickling at his every nerve.

“I’m so glad you had fun, Freddie.”

“Thanks for helping me, y’know, have fun, let loose. I feel alive in a way I never have before, it’s insane!”

“I think we may be able to squeeze in one more ride. Wanna go for round 2?”

Fred pressed a rough, passionate kiss to your unsuspecting lips, his electric taste overwhelming you, coating every inch of yourself with red-hot desire, a new and welcome sensation that would linger for weeks.

“You know it.”

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sepdet · 3 years

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okay so @sevdrag asked for neat things and here is mine:

I FOUND A FOSSIL FOSSILS!

me back in september, driving across the Mojave Desert and camping under the stars to avoid all humans, meeting my parents at their condo in St George, Utah: I wonder if my poking around on geology and paleontology blogs and websites and documentaries and books and online courses has taught me anything yet.

*stumbles across the street in 100 degree heat and peers at some Rocks.*

Huh.

Well now THAT's fuckin odd. It's not like an intrusion of molten something or other; parts of it are just a crust on the surface, but parts are embedded. And it's PARTS.

And that's sandstone behind it. But not dunes, because there's no crossbedding. I think maybe water put it here. There's flowy bits.

Horseshoe crab tails? But some are too big. Plant stems? Again, some seem a little large. Or just some weird rust discoloration from ore, or a very odd sort of mineral that grows like a crystal without being quite regular in shape? But growing in sand/silt? instead of a fluid-filled cavity? Can that happen?

And then there's this. Small tracks on either side of a tail drag? Or a rolling pebble with water ripples on either side?

Fas t forward to May 2021. Vaccinated. Return to St George to meet parents. Visit St. George Dinosaur Discovery museum, which has some of the best-preserved dinosaur tracks in the world on ancient silty mudflats, including a bona-fide dino butt print where a dino sat down on its haunches and then wandered off.

I show my photos to a paleontologist working the desk, and she says, "Oh, that's just petrified wood."

Just. Because it's common in this part of the southwest.

So we go home and I show Mom the rock face. While we're standing back, she points out they're part of an entire fucking TREE lying on its side, branches fanning to the right, partly embedded in the cliff, partly eroded out of it leaving a light imprint in the siltstone.

That dark horizontal bit above the right side of the yardstick is the petrified skin of a treebranch (debarked, I think; there's other places that show a bumpy bark imprint whereas the brown petrified wood bits are smooth.) I think the "tail drag" mark might be a conifer twig with needles.

So I posted THESE to Twitter's #fossilFriday, and the curator of the museum spotted it and said he'd come by to document it, although I don't think he has yet because it's not in a very good state of preservation. Quoth he:

I agree with your identification as a portion of a tree with branches, and trees are very common in the Late Triassic Shinarump Member of the Chinle Formation buried in braided river systems some 230-225 million years ago. Unfortunately, from what I can see from your photos, most of the fossil is missing and I can't make out anything identifiable.

— Dr. Andrew Milner

Which means it just barely postdates the last survivors of the Permian die-off, my buddy Lystrosaurus, but not by much! (wrong part of the world, anyway; this isn't Gondwanaland.)

And after that email exchange I kept searching the cliff and found at least one more tree fossil as well. It's very definitely fossil treeroots from a tree that's lying on its side, but unless the top broke off and is not lying quite at the same angle, it's probably a second tree. It's behind the edge of my parents' neighbors' yard, so hopefully it's well-protected.

More bits of petrified wood from the first tree.

[Most photos May 8-9 2021]

And I'm just stoked, you know? I'm not a geologist, although there's lots of scientists in my family, and my maternal grandfather taught geology at a junior college. I've just gotten interested in this as a hobby of the past 10 years.

And there it is. An honest to gosh fossil tree, maybe one of the first to grow tall again after the end Permian extinction, shading the silty flats of a wide river down to what became lakes or the inland seaway. The first dinosaurs trotted past it, leaving tracks in the silt. That's a real tree that lived for decades or hundreds of years, and it moved in the wind and felt the rain, hundreds of millions of years ago, when the animals and insects that scurried on its bark were almost entirely different from today.

Fossils are amazing.

#fossils #geology #petrified tree #paleontology #st george #utah #jurassic #fossil tree #my photos

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elizabethtarington · 6 years

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How to Woo Humans: An Orc’s Guide

Pairing: Male Human x Male Orc Warning:SFW (Mentions of college, anxiety, dating struggles) Word Count: 3888 Note: ORCTOBER!!!!!! Ao3 Version | My Website Version

It was three weeks into the fall semester at the college and already Xug had forgotten that a paper was due in three days for his Interspecies Relations class. He wasn’t normally forgetful, but his focus had increased on the wrestling team since last semester now that he was in higher weight bracket. Joining that Crossfit gym to gave his muscles a proper workout over the summer and soon Xug found himself weighing over 320 pounds.

Not that Xug wasn’t pleased about it; he came from a long line of orc warriors who often bulked up with little issue and managed to tower threateningly over everyone. While he definitely was the tallest in his family, he didn’t look quite like them since he began college. He had chopped off his usual maroon-red dreads with bright orange tips. As it grew back after the first semester of school, he kept the sides shaved and enjoyed his new flowy mohawk that he styled a little differently depending on how he felt.

His appearance for the day had flown out the window as he stared down at the syllabus. He checked it on a whim as he brushed his teeth and much to his dismay, the impending date of his unwritten essay stared up at him. The dread of receiving a zero and dropping his grade point average was enough to nearly spit out his bubbled toothpaste onto the mirror. Instead, he choked a bit and accidentally smeared the mint green paste all over his chin as he managed to lean over the sink to spit.

After he rinsed his mouth and chin, Xug rushed out the door of his dorm room with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He knew exactly which books he was going to need for this paper and hoped that they would still be at the library. Unfortunately, much to his dismay every copy of what he needed was checked out and had been for days.

“You’re in Professor Pumpernickel’s class, yes?” Came a gruff voice of a small obsidian orc, peering at Xug from behind a pair of bedazzled spectacles.

“Yeah.” Xug sighed, “Do you know where I could find them? Maybe at a different library nearby?”

“I’ll check the database for you, but next time you take Pumpernickel’s class, make sure you pay attention to what she says. If she says get this done earlier rather than later, she means it.”

Xug wanted to roll his eyes at the grumpy orc but decided against it as he was helping Xug out. A few mouse clicks and typing sounds later and the orc began writing everything down on a piece of paper before handing it to Xug.

“Here’s the address. It’s about 5 blocks away from the science building and it looks like they have several copies available. Good luck.”

Snatching the paper quickly, Xug was out the door yelling his appreciation, “Thanks!”

He had ignored the librarian’s annoyance as he yelled at Xug to not run in the library. But it didn’t matter as Xug was on a mission. The rules would just have to wait for someone else who wasn’t feeling this anxiety.

Once he was out of the building, he ran, glancing at his phone for directions every so often to make sure he was on track. He didn’t even break a sweat before he found the community library and was relieved when he walked inside.

It was typical of any library. Quiet. Smelled distinctly of books. It even had several computers where other people sat typing and listening to their headphones to avoid any distractions. As Xug glanced around he spotted a young man standing at the front desk, silently checking out books for a young woman with an orc boy who clung to her skirt.

“Alright, ma’am, those books will be due in about three weeks. I’ve put a little bookmark inside with the date on it.”

Xug kept his gaze on the man as he moved to line up behind the woman. He was was awestruck as he watched as the man worked, his movements were elegant and fluid. It went hand in hand with the man’s tall and slim appearance, clad in an untucked blue button-up shirt and a pair of dark jeans with a black name tag.

The name Arnold was engraved into the plastic and Xug decided that the human looked like an Arnold. It suited this clean-shaven man, with his neatly trimmed black hair that was parted and swept to the side. Xug could have easily got lost in the breathtaking eyes of Arnold and nearly did as he continued to outright stare at the man.

Arnold. With flawless warm beige skin and honey brown almond shaped eyes. Arnold was captivating, so much that Xug didn’t even notice the woman and child leaving the library and that he was staring at Arnold.

“Sir? Did you need help?”

Xug managed to snap out of it, silently praying to the ancestors that Arnold didn’t see how the heat was rising in Xug’s cheeks, “Uh, yes, I need to find these books for my Interspecies Relations class.”

Holding out the small paper, Xug’s eyes went wide as he compared the size of his hands to Arnold’s own slender ones.

The man laughed as he took the paper, briefly glancing down at it, “I see you have Professor Pumpernickel’s class. She’s notorious for wanting these particular books only because she helped write a few parts. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s still asking for you to write a paper specifically on these books.”

“Oh, did you take her class?”

“I took it three semesters ago and despite being the diligent student, I struggled to keep up with her workload.” The man paused, as he came around the corner and stood briefly next to Xug, “Let me show you where these are.”

Arnold led the way, easily walking in between the stacks of shelves whereas Xug frowned from being unable to fit without having to shimmy to the side. He concentrated on not touching or knocking anything over as he continued to move, taking small side steps and stopping only when Arnold stopped.

Xug couldn’t help but focus on Arnold as he pulled out a book before moving a little closer to Xug and pulling one more. The man was fluid in his movements and muttered under his breath as he wandered away to a different shelf, leaving Xug to carefully shuffle out from the previous aisle. He decided it might be best not to follow Arnold and waited patiently as Arnold came out with the final book.

“Here you go, these are the ones that you’ll be needing. I can point out the specific lines that she’ll want you to put into your paper if you’d like?”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” Arnold smiled, walking back to the front desk with Xug following behind.

Patiently, Xug watched as Arnold opened each of the books, and began using post-it-notes to underline what Xug would need. Arnold jotted down a couple of notes and much to Xug’s dismay, the man’s handwriting was illegible. It looked like Xug’s grandfather’s shaky writing that resembled chicken scratches. Xug snorted suddenly, drawing up Arnold’s attention.

“What?”

“Oh—uh nothing.”

Arnold raised an eyebrow before glancing down at his post-it note, “Oh, you’re laughing at my writing, aren’t you?”

“No no. It’s—uh—”

“Don’t worry, I’m very aware my writing is awful. I usually only use the computer for writing—especially for this very reason.” Arnold rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “Although I don’t know why it’s funny.”

“It just doesn’t suit you.” Xug admitted, suddenly worried he offended Arnold, “You look so well put together. I thought maybe your handwriting would be beautiful too.”

Arnold chuckled, his shoulders relaxing, “Well, it’s nice to know I look well put together.”

Crap. Xug wasn’t too sure if that was too forward or if he just made it more awkward. Or worse, both. Xug was getting lost in his thoughts of worry as Arnold continued to jot down more notes and placing more post-its in the books.

“Are you a cardholder of this facility?” Arnold finally asked, glancing up at Xug with a small smile.

“I am not. Er—does it require money?”

“No, no. You live in the dorms right?”

The question was innocent enough, but Xug blinked at him before understanding that Arnold wasn’t trying to get personal information out of him for booty call benefits. It was to make sure that he would get a free membership, much to Xug’s slight disappointment. Scolding himself inwardly for getting his hopes up, Xug reminded himself that he just laughed at the man’s illegible handwriting.

“Yeah, I live in Sheppard Hall.”

“Oh, I’ve lived there—it was my second semester actually. I live off campus now—I think I prefer it over living in the dorms any day.” Arnold nodded before turning his attention to the computer, “Alright, let’s get you that library card and get you checked out. I’m sure you have a lot of work ahead of you so I won’t keep you much longer.”

Xug wanted to reply that he wouldn’t mind if he was kept a little longer but decided against it. He had no idea what the mating rituals for humans were. Xug found most human men unsuitable to his tastes but Arnold was different. The man had struck something in Xug wasn’t even aware existed.

“Okay.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Xug of clan Spearslammer.”

Wordlessly Arnold typed before asking a series of other questions, quickly putting it into the computer until it was time for Arnold to take Xug’s picture.

“You’re fairly tall, I’m going to have to find a chair—or—aha! The counter will do, I just need to crouch down.”

Arnold climbed onto the counter, expertly snapping the photo after telling Xug he could smile or not. Before Xug could really decide, Arnold took the picture and hopped down before showing Xug all of his information and the photo.

Xug stared at the picture of himself and frowned. In comparison to Arnold, he was big with dark green skin, hair that looked unkempt from the run and large fang-like teeth that jutted upward from behind his bottom lip. His face looked like he was confused in the photo.

“Ah, I look so dumb.”

Arnold laughed, turning slightly to pull out his wallet from his back pocket before showing his own library card to Xug, “Don’t worry, everyone does. I had just crawled out of bed when I had mine done.”

Arnold’s hair was even more disheveled than Xug’s mohawk with little bits and pieces sticking up everywhere and all with Arnold’s eyes half open. It was super cute.

“That’s adorable,” Xug spoke before thinking and suddenly felt very embarrassed.

Arnold, however, didn’t mind and just smiled, “Thank you.”

It wasn’t long before Arnold had printed out the card and got the books checked out for Xug. There was a little bit of disappointment as he left the library without asking out the man, but Xug was determined that he would see Arnold again once he finished his paper.

He ran back to his dorm room and buckled down, ignoring calls from his friends as he focused on his paper. The little notes that Arnold had left behind were helpful. Especially the pointed out quotes that Pumpernickel had specifically given for the books itself. It might have been a bit silly to feed his professor’s ego, but Xug wanted to get the best possible grade that he could.

Those three days were a kind of fevered dream as Xug did his best to finish his paper, managing to hand it in on time. He thought about returning the books earlier before his grade came back, but decided to wait as it would give him an excuse to talk to Arnold. But he also thought that maybe if he returned the book before the grade, that would give him an extra excuse to see him again. Then again, Arnold might not even be there. Xug would have gone for nothing and look like a dumb-dumb for not bringing the books with him.

Xug ended up avoiding it until he got his grade back and was more than a little surprised at the grade he managed to get. A shiny 98%. It was his highest grade that he had ever received that wasn’t sports related. Excitement finally pushed Xug over the edge as he returned to the library, peeking in through the window to find Arnold standing at the front desk.

He had to force himself to calm down as he walked into the building, holding both his paper on top of his books. Arnold immediately noticed him and his smile couldn’t have been more enticing to Xug than it did at that moment.

“Xug! How did those books work out for you?”

Xug, a little too forcefully, slapped the paper down onto the desk, causing it to shake slightly, “Oops, sorry—read it and weep.”

“You got a 98%? Holy smokes, that’s amazing Xug! Congratulations!”

“Thank you and uh—also, thank you for helping me out. I don’t think I would have gotten that grade if you hadn’t helped.”

Arnold continued to smile, waving a hand, “It was all you—all I did was point out what makes Pumpernickel the happiest.”

Unsure of how to respond, Xug nervously chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well, thank you all the same.”

“Oh, are those books you want to return too?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for bringing them back. I’ll get these all sorted out. If you need help with finding anything let me know.”

Xug was hoping for more of a long interaction and turned away from the desk to look at the expansive library. He had no idea what to talk about with Arnold or even how to ask him on a date. Normally, he’d do what orc tradition dictated but Arnold was no orc.

That’s when the question popped into Xug’s head. How was he supposed to go about romancing a human? He simply didn’t know, but here he stood in a library full of knowledge. Surely there was a book that could help him.

Determined to find a book, Xug headed to a computer to start looking through the library’s online catalog, finding several titles that he considered worth reading. Mating Rituals of Humans. 100 Ways to Date a Human. Romancing Humans for Dummies. The list went on.

Xug chose ‘Romancing Humans for Dummies’ first, asking Arnold to point it out for him. It became their song and dance every week. Xug would go down the list of books, take one home after Arnold found it and checked it out for him. Then he’d come back and Arnold would always give him the brightest smile every time Xug entered the room, but he wasn’t clueing in that Xug was interested. Three weeks and several unhelpful books later, Xug decided to try one more book to gauge Arnold’s reaction.

As he handed the book over, Arnold smirked, “What a lucky human you have. You’ve been dedicating yourself to this type of book for almost a month now. I’m sure you’re the master of romance.”

Xug’s eyes almost bugged out as he watched Arnold. Did this silly volunteer not know that Xug was interested in him? How could this human be so oblivious to his advances? He was, after all, trying to come by the library almost every other day, even if it was just to read these awful books. And they were truly awful. Each one was a mixture of strange rituals that often involved watching a movie and then going and buying dinner and drinks. He even learned about showing interest through several dating apps and it utterly disgusted Xug. That wasn’t a way to learn about someone. Not by any orc standards.

First, an orc proves their strength and hunting capabilities by hunting down food. Then they show their cooking skills by preparing what they have hunted. It would show the potential mate their dedication to the relationship and that they were willing to put in the work and time. Then if the relationship proceeded onward, they would do ritual dancing and the meeting of the clans. But watching a movie—the very idea made Xug shudder at how it lacked intimacy or even proper words to express feelings.

But Xug was trying to woo Arnold and just borrowing books wasn’t enough of a signal for Arnold. Despite that knowledge, he was going to take this book back to his dorm and pout a little about how awkward he was when it came to starting a human relationship. These books weren’t helping him.

Another week had passed and Xug hadn’t even bothered picking up the latest book, already coming to the conclusion that it was rubbish. Instead, he sat in his dorm, thinking of purchasing a pig from a butcher and maybe roasting it outside somehow. He’d get in trouble, but it would be worth it if it meant Arnold would start seeing him exclusively.

That’s when the idea snapped into his head. He could clearly recall a man giving a woman flowers during a human holiday called Valentine’s day. Xug had asked him about it and was surprised that the man had chosen a very specific flower to give the lady. He said it had a special meaning.

Without any haste, Xug started looking up flower meanings and found the perfect one. He had poured over a handful of websites and was delighted that he knew where a great deal of them grew. It was amusing because these specific flowers had grown around the campus, placed in tidy little flower beds around the buildings.

They were called jonquils. A happy yellow trumpet-like flower that stuck out of a star-shaped arrangement of petals. Xug had wasted no time, buying up a set of chocolates from the store, before going around campus and pulling up the cheery flower. He took his time cleaning the dirt off of them after trimming the stem, wrapping them up with a simple strand of twine.

But before he was going to give them to Arnold he wanted to look his best. He showered, putting product in his hair to make it stick up the way he liked before putting on his clan’s beads around his neck. He would have worn a suit, but since he had put on weight, his normal suit didn’t fit anymore. He managed with a button up shirt and a pair of slacks.

Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he took the flowers and the chocolates, marching his way to the library. Xug took precious care of the flowers, holding them gingerly in his hands the whole way there. He stopped as he neared the door, peeking his head in the window and found Arnold was leaning against the front desk.

“You can do this, Xug. He’s a sweet and kind human. And you are a catch.” Xug spoke out loud, ignoring the looks he got from passersby, “Yes, I’m a catch. Any human would be lucky to have me. You’re strong and could easily catch a boar for that handsome man.”

This conversation lasted about 5 minutes until Xug finally worked up the courage and walked through the doors. He did his best to keep his face straight but was inwardly debating if he should smile, thinking it might make him more approachable.

“Xug.” Arnold stood up, smiling the way he normally did before his eyes drifted toward the chocolate and flowers. “Oh, are you about to go on a date or something?”

“Um, well, I wouldn’t mind going on a date.” Xug started, suddenly tripping over his words and unable to fully articulate what he wanted until he finally managed to blurt it out, “I want to go out with you, Arnold. These are for you.”

It was awkward. Horrifyingly so. The smile fell away instantly and was replaced by shock as Arnold stared up at him before looking at the flowers and the chocolates. This was not the reaction Xug was looking for and he couldn’t help but wonder if he messed it up. Or perhaps Arnold wasn’t attracted to orcs or maybe he wasn’t attracted to men.

No no no. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Xug knew from several classes and conversations that humans weren’t as fluid with their sexuality as the orcs were. How could he be so ignorant?

“You—you want to go out with me? But those books-”

“Were so I could see you and learn your human rituals on ‘dating’.”

“You did all that for me?”

Xug could feel sweat trickle down his back as he continued to hold out his offerings to Arnold, “Yes.”

Disbelief turned into a giddy glee as Arnold happily took the flowers and chocolate, “No one has ever asked me out like this before. I’m so happy.”

Relief caused Xug to untense as his shoulders dropped and he wiped the new sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, “Oh thank the ancestors, I thought I messed this up.”

“No, no. I’m sorry, I was just a little surprised that you were interested. I mean, I’ve been interested in you, I just didn’t know how to say it.”

“The fact that I was taking out those books every week from you didn’t clue you in?”

“Well, I thought that maybe it was, but I didn’t want to assume. I thought maybe you had a human girlfriend or boyfriend and you were trying to be the perfect partner.” Arnold laughed, sniffing the flowers, “You’re the first guy to give me flowers.”

“They mean ‘desire of affection’. I thought it was a suitable meaning given that I wanted you and your attention.”

“Thank you, they are super sweet.” Arnold paused, “Did you get these from the flower beds around campus?”

“Yes.”

Arnold howled with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes as he walked from behind the counter, “C’mere.”

With one swift movement, Arnold gripped the front of Xug’s shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. He still was giggling as his mouth met Xug’s, but they softened as Xug lifted him up. It was gentle and slow, but Xug ended the kiss first by setting a blushing Arnold back down. He grinned up at Xug, briefly touching his lips.

“You’re pretty brave to be stealing flowers from the campus.”

“I stole them? You are mistaken.” Xug raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“You’re not supposed to take the flowers from public property. You normally have to buy them or find them in a field somewhere.”

“I don’t understand, so you plant flowers but no one is allowed to take them? What a silly rule.”

“I agree, it’s a little silly.” Arnold chuckled, “Regardless, I would very much like to date you, Xug.”

Xug grinned, still feeling the heat that lingered from his kiss from Arnold. The books might have been useless in many respects, but Xug was happy that it managed to get Arnold to notice him. Now all he had to do was plan out a date for Arnold so that Xug could show off his great cooking skills.

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ilovemygaydad · 6 years

Text

Dance, Dance

Part Four: Black-And-White Ball

Based off this post that you really need to read for context!

Pairings: Analogical and Royality (past sleeplogical)

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Logan, Roman, Sleep/Remy, Deceit/Dominic, October/Toby, September/Ember

Warnings: domestic abuse, swearing, sexual humor, crude comments, bullying, making out, abusive deceit, mentions of vomiting (just one word), step parents, food mentions, anxiety, and possibly something else

A/N: if you asked to be tagged last time... i don’t remember who you were... sorry... also, trying to avoid the new tumblr rules suck

Masterlist | Ask Blog | READ ON AO3

Logan sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Being at this school dance just reminded him of why he absolutely hated being around people. During the ten minutes that he’d been sitting at his table, he’d already heard three fights break out over people wearing the same dresses, someone be called a slut because they were smiling at someone else’s boyfriend, and about three dozen rumors that Logan Parker was at the dance somewhere. Well, shocker, Logan was there. He just didn’t care much for the frivolous socializing, especially since people would just flip out when they found out that the guy who was flirting with them was Logan fucking Parker. But it was fun being famous, right?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he heard a familiar voice from behind. “Oh, is that Logan? That’s him--no, wait… It’s not.”

Ember.

“Yeah, of course not!” And Toby? Logan brought his hand to his face to check that his mask was secure. “Logan can dance, so if we see a man who can dance, that’ll be it.”

“Well,” Remy drawled. His voice felt so close to Logan that the dancer shivered. “Tell me when you find him, okay?”

“Remy! Uh, hey! We were just looking for you!” Toby’s voice shook slightly as he regarded the alpha friend.

“...Right.”

Without trying to bring much attention to himself, Logan stood up and walked over to Roman, who was standing by the snacks.

“Lo, my best friend, the sorcerer to my prince, why did you tell me that this was a costume party?” Roman was dressed like an angel. Huge, white wings were strapped to his back with a matching white mask on his face.

“Aw, come on. You look great, Roman.”

The angel pouted. “None of the guys take me seriously like this! How am I supposed to find a dashing prince when I look like this?”

“I’m sure that you’ll find someone who thinks you look cute.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Roman looked as though he was going to continue for a moment, but his eyes fixed on a point over Logan’s shoulder. “Looks like I’m not the only one who didn’t get the memo…”

Logan turned around and saw two people descending the staircase into the ballroom. One was dressed in a flowy white satin dress that sparkled blue and pink in the light, and the other had on a deep purple dress with plaid patches and purple lace sleeves. The one in white had a white, lacy mask that matched his dress, but his friend’s was plain black. Logan couldn’t take his eyes off of the one in purple.

He was beautiful.

“Patton,” Virgil whispered harshly. “Everyone is staring at us!”

“Yeah, and it’s because we look beautiful!”

Virgil caught Patton’s elbow. “We should go. People are going to figure out that it’s us, and they already make fun of me for being trans and you for wearing all those colors. I don’t want to be the laughing stock of the whole school, Pat.”

“We won’t be.” Patton smiled gently. “It’ll all be okay.”

All Virgil did was grumble and to go down the stairs. He made a bee-line to the food table, desperate for something to soothe his nerves a bit. He bit into a brownie and turned--

“Hey!”

Virgil had no idea who this guy was. He was tall with brown hair, but most of his face was hidden behind a silver mask. There was no way to identify him, especially due to his plain suit. Panicking, Virgil turned to Patton and nodded towards the tall boy.

“Talk to him!” Patton mouthed. And then he walked away. Great.

“Um, hey…?” Virgil greeted the boy awkwardly. “Do you, um, want something to drink?” The boy held up his cup of water and swished it a bit. “Oh, um…”

Patton stepped around Virgil and the boy who took interest in him to talk to the guy dressed as an angel. He’d seen him while he was on the stairs, and he had immediately wanted to know more about him.

“Are you supposed to be some sort of angel?” Patton internally slapped himself for asking a stupid, snarky question to someone who he found cute.

“Yes! Thank you for taking notice of my fantastic costume, my prince.” Angel boy bowed deeply.

Patton smirked; he could play this flirting game. “Well, it certainly is… something.”

“Come, now! I’m trying to woo you here. What will it take for me to win over the heart of such a handsome knight as yourself? Oh! Would it help if I said that I’m best friend’s with Logan Parker?”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Patton mentally cheered himself on for keeping his tone flat and unimpressed.

“Well, yes… However, I think that I have another trick up my sleeve.” In one fluid motion, angel boy dipped Patton. It was an absolute miracle that Patton’s white masked covered the blush that was spreading on his face. Angel boy gracefully stood them back up. “So…?”

“I suppose that I can let it slide,” Patton sighed jokingly. “Wanna dance?”

A loud surge of bass at the end of the song playing drowned out mystery boy’s voice, and Virgil had no idea what he was trying to say.

“What?”

He said something else, still unheard.

“Did you say that you want to--”

“Do you want to dance?” The boy shouted as soon as the song ended. He winced at how loud his own voice was, but still extended a hand to Virgil.

Virgil squinted at him. “You do realize that I’m a guy, right?”

The boh laughed gently. “Well, I would hope you were a guy because I’m not looking to dance with any girls.”

“Oh… Then, yeah. I’ll dance with you.” He smirked and started to walk over to the DJ. “If you can keep up, of course.” When he got to the DJ station, he handed over his iPod and gave directions on which track to play. Just before it started, he raced back over to his partner.

For once, Virgil was glad that he’d been taught the following position in dances. He was smoothly able to dance with mystery boy, and he even added his own flare. It felt like they were on fire as the dance floor traveled beneath their feet with fluidity. Virgil did a few tricks that were moreso show than practical, but mystery boy followed without slipping up once. His partner spun him out, allowing him to do a few more spins on the floor, and the light fabric of his dress puffed out as--

“Stop!”

Something slippery wedged its way under Virgil’s shoes, and his feet slipped out from under him. Without any grace, he hit the floor in a heap. Black and white M&Ms were rolling all over the floor. He shouldn’t have come. He never should have fucking come to this stupid dance.

“Hey, oh my god, I’m so sorry. Here--” The mystery boy was standing over him with his hand out to help Virgil up. Begrudgingly, he took it and allowed himself to be heaved off of the ground. They stared at each other for what felt like too long, but the boy spoke up again. “You were… You were incredible out there.” The boy took off his mask.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Virgil had been dancing with Logan Parker. The Logan Parker.

A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled him from the moment. Patton whispered in his ear, “Virge, we’ve gotta go.”

Virgil glanced up at the clock, which read eleven forty-five.

Shit.

Oh, shit!

No. Nonononono--

“Sorry, I’m late!” Virgil rushed, pushing Logan away. He ran over to the DJ and pulled his iPod out of the speaker without even asking. As he was rushing over to the stairs, he instinctively tried to put it back in his pocket, but he forgot that he didn’t have his sweatshirt on, and he’d let go before he realized. The clattering of his iPod--the only source of calm at home--on the dance floor made him cringe, but there wasn’t any time to stop. He had to get home, and he didn’t even have the time to do that.

When he reached the top of the stairs with Patton, he turned back to have one last look at the ball. Logan was holding his iPod, staring up at him as he left. Virgil turned and ran from the venue.

“Patton, come on! I have to get home!”

“I’m going as fast as I can without getting a ticket, Virge!” Patton switched gears, but a huge clanking sound reverberated through the van.

“No! That wasn’t--”

The van slowed while Patton pulled up to the curb. “I’m so sorry. The check engine light wasn’t even on!”

“Shit. Fuck, Patton, I’ve gotta go.” Virgil flung himself out of the car, ditching his shoes and mask inside, and began to sprint home. He was only a few streets over, and it wouldn’t take him more than a few minutes to get there, but he knew that Dominic would have his head if he found out about this whole situation.

Just as Virgil ran into the driveway, he saw the headlights of Dominic’s limo turn the corner. A distressed noise escaped from his throat as he rushed inside. Thomas, Joan, and Talyn were coming down the stairs with their cleaning supplies, and they greeted Virgil as he entered.

“No! Guys, he’s right outside. Go!” They sprinted up the stairs and into Dominic’s room. Dominic’s loud, drunk rambling floated upstairs at the same moment that Virgil shut the door behind them. He ushered his new friends into Dominic’s bathroom, knowing full well that Dominic wouldn’t be going in there for a while. The violent panic in Virgil almost went away until he realized that he was still in his dress. Internally screaming at himself, he threw on the nearest robe and flung himself on the bed.

The bedroom door swung open, and a drunken Dominic stumbled inside. He sat down next to Virgil, swaying just slightly. “Well, you certainly did it.” He paused. “You like my after party? It’s a real rager!” Pause. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’m a Mr. Not-So-Popular just like you!” Pause. “I am just so tired.” Dominic suddenly slumped onto Virgil’s lap, completely out cold, and fell to the floor. Virgil took this opportunity to rush over to the bathroom and let Thomas, Joan, and Talyn out. He silently thanked them for their help as he ushered them downstairs and outside.

As soon as they had driven away, Virgil made his way to his own bedroom to undress and process everything. Less than an hour earlier, he had been dancing with Logan Parker. The same Logan that he’d secretly been crushing on since well before he’d been a pop star. And, fuck, Virgil wanted that so badly, but… it had no chance of happening. People like Logan didn’t end up with people like Virgil. That just wasn’t how the world worked.

With a sigh, Virgil slipped on some pajamas and passed out on his bed.

Part Five

#sanders sides fic #thomas sanders fic #analogical #royality #m writes things #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #dance dance fic #cinderella!au

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themostinnovativeperson · 2 years

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8 Ways to Improve Your Handwriting

Handwriting is more than just a form of communication. It's part of our identity; you can always tell if something is written by you or someone else. The flourishes, how we cross our Ts and dot our Is, can be telling of our personalities. Our handwriting can change from being super neat and then chicken scrawl when we're in a hurry. Handwriting is almost certainly what sparks discussion. Everything from what pen or paper was used to produce such elegance, to advice on how to improve handwriting skills. Writing on a desk will provide you with a more stable platform than, say, on your knee, or sitting on a train, or riding a roller coaster, you get the point .Your choice of pen will sometimes, but not always, affect how you write. A fountain pen can yield a different handwriting style altogether if you're used to using a ballpoint. I've also known some super talented masters of handwriting, who produce jaw-dropping handwritten texts regardless of what pen they use. The more flowy the ink, the greater the challenge in controlling those letter forms. My grandmother would often scold me on "choking" the pencil. You know, where you wrap your fingers so tight that they're contorted around the pencil, almost like you're trying to breath while you are choked . A firm, controlled grip on the pencil, a loose wrist, your elbow as an anchor point, and relax your shoulders - this was her handwriting mantra. You'd move your hand across the page with your elbow almost like a pivot point. Moving from the wrist will eventually cause hand fatigue and cramping, so keeping this loose and your shoulders relaxed will ensure a pleasant writing experience. Take it back to basics.Start with writing in big bold letters like we used to when we were learning letters in kindergarten. Write using crayons or markers if you want to. Going back to big letter forms can help reshape and retrain your handwriting muscles for writing on a smaller scale. Keep your old writing samples and date them. This is a great way of tracking your progress. Remember it's not about getting it perfect, but rather, progressing and improving. Be kind to yourself, especially when you're first starting out. Handwriting refers to the style and technique that you use to jot things down day to day. Handwriting needs to be quicker and more practical . While everyone has their own personal handwriting style, there’s always room for improvement!

You’ll find eight ways to help you improve your handwriting.

1. Practice with a worksheet

If you want a structured way to improve your handwriting just practice a some free worksheet which is available on google . The cursive writing featured in the worksheet set isn’t any sort of formal style. Instead, it focuses on the letterforms that I, personally, use in everyday cursive handwriting. Those letters are easy to create, and they connect to each other beautifully to make for quick writing.

2. Embrace your personal style

Handwriting is a very fluid, personal thing that is always evolving. It’s not like calligraphy, where you more or less write the same every time. Instead, you’ll have neat days, and you’ll have not-so-neat days. No matter how your handwriting looks, it is a wonderful reflection of you and your personality. That’s why people love receiving handwritten notes: they represent a piece of you! So, don’t get too hung up on a radical change: instead, focus on making clearly formed letters that are easy to read.

3. Use a nice pen

The adjective “nice” is subjective you’ll have to hunt to find the pen that works for you! You can find thousands of pens on the market, so I encourage you to shop around. Pick up a pen here and there, and give it a try! It doesn’t matter if you prefer gel pens, fountain pens, ballpoint pens whatever you connect with the best is perfect.

4. Maintain a relaxed grip

A nice, relaxed grip is one of the main things that will improve your handwriting. A “relaxed grip” means that none of the muscles in your hand are overly flexed, and your fingernails shouldn’t be white from squeezing the pen’s barrel. Many people tend to clutch the pen, which will result in an achy hand after a few minutes of writing. We often clutch without realizing we’re doing it, so try to mentally check yourself every few minutes to make sure you’re still holding the pen comfortably.

5. Start with drills

Whether you plan on writing in cursive or print, it can be difficult to form nice letters without warming up. Doing a couple of simple drills will help you to write clear, confident characters . Handwriting drills tend to be simple but mighty, and the more you do them, the more of a difference you’ll notice.

6. Experiment with paper rotation

As children, we are generally taught to keep our paper in a vertical position in front of us. If that works for you, great! If not, feel free to experiment with different paper rotations. Keeping the paper at a certain angle can go a long way in helping you to improve your handwriting! Most right-handed people are fine with the traditional vertical paper position, but I’m not one of them. I have always found it easier to write particularly in cursive, which is my style of choice my paper is rotated 90 degrees. I’m not kidding: you can watch this super short video to see! Paper rotation is a personal thing, so I encourage you to try all sorts of different angles. Right-handed people should start at the vertical position, and rotate the paper to the left until writing feels easy and comfortable. Left-handed people should start at the vertical position, and rotate the paper to the right.

7. Sneak in practice when you can

Just like anything else, you can improve your handwriting with use. The more you write using good habits and implementing styles that appeal to you, the better your handwriting will get. You can get practice through a number of ways — for example, you might send some a hand written letters in place of an email or text. If you have the time and interest, you can start writing in a journal every night. Entries don’t have to be long; they can be short accounts of how your day went!

8. Write on a lined paper or use templates

Writing nice, even words are a big shortcut to neat handwriting! If you want to write a letter to someone, you can put a piece of notebook paper under printer paper. More than likely, you’ll be able to see the notebook paper lines through the printer paper, and you can use those lines as guidelines for even writing. Or, if you don’t mind the lines, you can write someone a letter directly on notebook paper. This point reminds me of another tip: always use a “padding” piece of paper. No matter what piece of paper you’re writing on, it should always have another piece of paper under it. For some reason, the slightly cushier surface provided by two pieces of paper makes it easier for all pens to write!

I hope that you enjoyed this post, and that it inspires you to ditch the keyboard and write something by hand this weekend!

To learn more on how to improve your handwriting and also to learn some calligraphy handwriting visit our website https://www.oll.co/to get personalized classes to improve your handwriting or fill out the google form below .

https://forms.gle/XJEP4WE2sbP59XnL7

#good handwriting #handwriting #onlinelearning #oll

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kyberled · 7 years

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1, 16, 19, 31, 38, & 41 !! ( ik that's a lot i'm sorry lol )

42 character development questions!

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

I will start by saying that Braig talks with his hands. Unless he’s holding his hands behind his back, like at parade rest, or carrying something, chances are he’ll be gesturing with every other word. Part of it is because he’s just that energetic, part of it is because it’s easier for him to get his point across with gestures, and a third part of it is that talking with your hands has combative applications. I am not kidding. It’s a way to have your hands up and ready if you need them, without seeming aggressive.

He usually walks at a steady pace, with speed depending on where he’s going, and why and when he needs to be there. His hands are often behind his back, resting at his hips, or with his thumbs hooked through his belt, if they’re not hanging loose. He tends to like fiddling with or holding things, though, so he’s not usually just sitting with his hands idle.

His posture is straight, whether he’s walking, sitting, or sparring, since it makes him look taller, reduces the likelihood of back problems, and helps with balance and stances and the like. He doesn’t tend to slouch unless it’s to express a mood or emphasise a word, and he would never do this in formal conversation - it’s hard enough to get people to take him seriously, as is.

A few people have described his overall movements as ‘fluid’ and ‘flowy’, and that’s a good way to put it. It’s a result of his training, mostly, but also the areas he’s focused on, and his general body type. He’s got muscle, sure, but he’s not a Dwane Johnson or John Cena. He’s lean, I suppose, is what I’m getting at. He doesn’t have a lot of bulk to hinder his movement, and, on top of that, his training helps him be as graceful as any other Jedi.

Energy, for him, depends on what mood he’s in. Like most people, he has highs and lows, and it all depends on what’s happening around him. If he’s excited or angry, it’s more high-energy, sad or tired or content are low, confused is somewhere in between. Of course, even then, it can vary, but that’s the usual.

Braig gestures a lot, so I’m just going to list a few of them here. When he’s nervous, he’ll tug on his scarf; when he loses his scarf, he tugs on his sleeves, his collar, the hems of his shirt/tunic, or his padawan braid, if he still has it. When he gets his infamous facial scar, he scratches at it idly, and often has no idea if he’s doing it. When he’s ashamed, being scolded, or uncomfortable, he’ll hunch his shoulders and avoid eye contact, maybe bunch his fists around the hems of his sleeves. If he feels unsafe, he’ll have his hands resting on his lightsabers, and he’ll be gathering strands of the Force around him. If he’s angry, he’ll be tensed, gritting his teeth, and making eye contact with his shoulders back, possibly with his hands held behind his back and tightly clasped, depending on the situation. Another thing he’ll do if he’s nervous is run his fingers through his hair, but he’ll do that idly, too. If he’s afraid or unsafe and Obi-Wan is around, he’ll hold on to Obi’s sleeve (It’s a habit developed over long years, and it’s gotten to the point in threads where Obidad just holds his arm out automatically; Braig appreciates it). When he’s thoughtful, he’ll stroke his chin with his right hand, usually look to the floor with his brow furrowed; If he’s excited, he’ll rock/bounce onto the balls of his feet. He’ll puff air out of his cheeks if he’s frustrated, stretch and rub his eyes if he’s sleepy or just waking up. He doesn’t bite or chew on his lips often, but he might, sometimes, on the rare occasion. He tilts his head to the side when he’s listening to someone, curious, or confused, and arches his brow usually; he’ll smother smirks or little laughs behind his hand or fist. If he’s saying hello to someone, or thank you, there’s usually a little bow thrown in - Usually this is for knights and masters, but he’s done to to shop keepers, other padawans, and even a youngling once; It’s a habit that just springs up from time to time, and it can cause some pretty humorous situations. There are more, but I think this is enough for now.

16. Do they dream? What are those dreams like?

Oh, he dreams a lot, almost every night, and it’s almost never pleasant. He sees the faces of those he hasn’t been able to save, of those he wasn’t supposed to save, of places he’s been (those aren’t too bad), battles he’s fought in, traumatic things he’s been through… But he’ll also have dreams about his friends, people he knows well, and the most abstract things. Sometimes it’s nothing.

It depends.

19. How do they behave within a group? What role(s) do they take? Does this differ if they know and trust the group, versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? Why?

Depends on the group. In his best friends (the gathering group), he’s sort of the unsung mastermind. While most people assume that the twins are the ones behind it all, or Lohata or Naweh, he’s actually usually the one coming up with their game plans. Not always, of course. The others have their schemes, too. And once they get going, they all have their own roles and do their own thing, but someone’s gotta get the initial spark.

If Obi-Wan’s part of the group, or any Jedi master or knight he likes or is even remotely curious about, he’ll let them take the lead quite happily, tagging along and asking them as many questions as he thinks he can get away with, and maybe a few more than that, depending. He’s been described as a ‘puppy’ by a lot of people, and that’s not at all inaccurate. He can get very enthusiastic about learning from or spending time with people he likes.

The older he is the more comfortable he is taking an explicit leading position in a group, so, when he’s just starting out in the GAR, he’s more likely to let Cody take charge, since he’s still finding his footing, but the older he gets the more comfortable he is leading on his own.

Chances are if he’s in a group of of strangers and has to take the lead, it’s because there’s some kind of crisis going on. Believe it or not, he’d feel more equipped to handle that than other moments. If it’s not in this context, he’s less of a fan of groups of strangers. He can navigate them fine (it’s a lot easier if he can sense them in the Force, to pick up their emotions), but it’s a lot more comfortable for him to be with familiar people, though that’s not just for him. I think that’s pretty common.

Lastly, since I didn’t mention this earlier, if Braig’s put with a master he doesn’t like (which, given his track record, probably isn’t likely), he will do as he’s told as best he can, but he will trust his gut above anything else, and is way more likely to second-guess what he’s being told to do or think. It’ll be fairly clear that he doesn’t want to be there, but he won’t put civilian or clone lives at risk just because he has a bone to pick. Besides, being too stubborn or difficult would only leave him with punishments, and he’d rather not deal with it. (But he will complain to someone he likes better at a later date.)

31. Is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? What makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? Why?

The first bad-thing that comes to mind is excluding someone based on irrelevant or outright ridiculous logic or prejudice. For example, he understands not inviting the clones to games of push-feather, since that requires Force-sensitivity to play, but if it’s like ‘we don’t want Rodians playing boloball because they have different noses’, I don’t know, he’ll promptly leave as soon as he possibly can. If someone acts really pompous and arrogant and high-and-mighty, he probably won’t want anything to do with them. Anything that involves flying or mechanics work, he’s out; he’s not big on those. If it’s high-energy and he’s just had a long day, that’s a no-go; Anything that glamorises or romanticises the war is right out, so there are a lot of holovids he won’t see, a lot of video games he wouldn’t play even if he were allowed, a lot of books he won’t read, songs he won’t listen to, and so on and so forth. When he’s younger, he’s not a big fan of public speaking or crowds, so that’s out until he gets used to it. Anything that involves breaking the law is right out, in almost all verses, so that’s another thing. When it comes to food, he’s not a fan of carrots and broccoli, so that is also a no. He doesn’t like anything to do with excessive eating, or wastefulness, or even anything to do with buying expensive or luxurious material goods in general. On a ‘bad’ day, he’s not a fan of sitting down for long periods of time unless he has something to feel accomplished or productive with, but on better days, he’s grateful to take some time to meditate or stargaze or go on walks or take tea with his friends and/or master(s). Also, talking with politicians about negotiating treaties to help their people get the food they desperately need while said politician is shovelling imported delicacies into their mouth and complaining about everything. That’s a bad-day maker.

Things that would make a day/activity better include being invited out to something, since that means he’s actually wanted there, or doing anything with people he cares about, so anything to do with the Space Fam or the Gathering Group are right in. Things that involve sparring or building lightsabers, he’s probably down for. He likes flowers and stars and books and tea, so, chances are, he’ll be down for activities involving those. He likes swimming, so he would be glad to do that (though he doesn’t like getting wet, otherwise). If someone wants to brush, braid, or otherwise style or toy with his hair, he’s all for it, depending on who it is (and, obviously, no scissors). He doesn’t like things that are too loud or chaotic, since he gets enough of that when he’s at war; He also isn’t a fan of large crowds, just ‘cause the Force can get a little noisy on top of people themselves, so he’ll enjoy things with smaller groups (And by large crowds, I mean anywhere where people are all packed into a place with not a lot of room. If he’s in a large, open place with a few people, he’ll be chill; But put him in a crowded train car, and he’ll be pretty :/ about it). He likes high-energy things sometimes, but he also likes quiet moments, so something that fits his mood makes it better. Being around people with relatively peaceful Force signatures is another good thing. He likes cooking, and some chores, and he likes being warm, and he likes things he can learn from and challenges.

Over all, it really depends on his mood - there are a lot of things that change and shift on a day-to-day basis. You can usually tell what he’d be interested in or if an idea entices him just by watching his reactions.

38. Is there anything they wish they could change about their worldview or thought processes? What, and why?

He wishes that he wasn’t so emotional, so empathetic, that it was easier for him to detach himself from the things he’s seen and had to do. It would be a lot easier to handle being a Jedi, that way. He also wishes he knew more about the actual situation in the galaxy. The older he gets, the more he realises he’s been drinking the propaganda kool-aide just like everyone else. He doesn’t know the Mandalorian’s side of the story, for example. He doesn’t know why people like Mina Bonteri would join the Separatists. He doesn’t even know why he’s fighting, some days.

41. What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors or motifs? Why?

Aside from the typical stars and galaxies, the images Braig brings to mind are flowers, leather-bound books and blank parchment, fountain pens and ink blotches, gentle scrawls of text, cups of tea or hot chocolate, bandages - often bloody - tiny weapons parts and tools, dirty hands, flying birds, long dark hair, scars, brown fabric (esp. rough), small boxes of candy, pastries, lightsabers, leather boots, etc.

Phrases include ‘kill them with kindness’, ‘someday I’ll be better’, pretty much the entirety of Phil Collins’ ‘Son of Man’, ‘The strong must protect the weak’, ‘I found my family’, ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb’, ‘no pain no gain’, ‘my pain is irrelevant, as long as you’re okay’, ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’, ‘the sun will come out tomorrow’, ‘spit your blood and wipe your mouth’, ‘a cup of tea a day keeps the doctor away’, ‘he was your father, but he wasn’t your dad’, and a bunch more - I’m not the best with remembering quotes, honestly. There’s a tag for it.

Honestly I- Have a mental collage for Braig, really? It’s just putting them into words. He’s my boy tho. I think about him a lot.

#long post //#thanks for the ask love <3!!#fiighters #&& as best i can; answers #&& give the sun a head start; ooc #&& temple archives; headcanons

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teesturtle · 4 years

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hawkingbishop · 7 years

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OC questions:

I’m gonna answer these for my character Rebecca Tollingworth. Who I later changed to Persephone Rhodes. She’s from the story The Undeclared Life of Marilynn Baxter.

1. What’s their full name? If they’re an alien and their name is in their native planet’s language, have you thought about what it means? —// Rebecca Philippa Ann Tollingworth —// and then later on —// Persephone Alexandra Rhodes

2. Say your OC made a playlist on Spotify. What bands would be on that playlist? Any specific genres? —// I actually have writing playlists for different characters. —// https://open.spotify.com/user/hawkingbishop/playlist/4munDDgJ08wsBLwSXc0e73?si=3X6dnju1 —// That’s the one specific to Rebecca/Persephone, but I have a few more for Rebecca/Marilynn and one full playlist for the whole story. —// I’ll go back and add links for those. —// Brand New, The Wooden Birds, The New Amsterdams, The American Analog Set, Fiona Apple, Tegan and Sara, Jenny Owen Youngs, Uh Huh Her, Do Make Say Think, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Paramore, Daughter, Kate Nash, Kesha, No Doubt, Weezer, Feist, Metric, Bright Eyes. —// She likes a lot of music. She bonds with Marilynn over music. They share bands back and forth.

3. What kind of video games would they play? Any specific titles? —// LIFE IS STRANGE. —// She’d probably play Overwatch. Portal, Halo, Fallout 4. —// She’d probably be a Nintendo fan. Mario Kart, Pokémon, Zelda, etc…

4. What would their favorite cartoons be, and why? What would their favorite characters be? —// Sailor Moon, Hey Arnold!, The Powerpuff Girls, Totally Spies, Jem, Gargoyles, Doug, Scooby Doo, Aladdin, X-Men, Spider-Man, Batman, Recess, Captain Planet, Daria, Pepper Ann, Kim Possible, Gummi Bears, Care Bears, Futurama, Avatar, The Legend of Korra. —// She loved these because they showed her tough, strong, independent women. Also they were super cool with superheroes and adventurers. (Plus she had a crush on most of the girls.) —// Faves would be Korra/Asami, Katara and Toph, Elisa and Demona from Gargoyles, Daria and Jane, Sailor Uranus, Spinelli from Recess, Shego and Kim Possible, Rogue from X-Men, Patti Mayonaise from Doug, Leela from Futurama.

5. What’s their favorite type of weather? Do they like to do anything specific on days when the weather is how they like it? —// Autumn for sure. She likes wearing nice warm sweaters and going for a walk, watching the leaves rustle in the cool breeze, listening to music. She likes hot cocoa. She likes snuggling with Marilynn (both for gay reasons but also just friend reasons).

6. If they’re a fan of Hot Chocolate, Tea, or Coffee, how do they like either of those drinks prepared? —// All of the above! —// Hot Chocolate with mini marshmallows. —// Tea with sugar, milk, and honey. —// Coffee with sugar and milk. —// She likes chai lattes. Caramel Macchiato.

7. What kind of animals would they like as a pet? What names would they give their pets if they got any? If they already have pet’s what are their names? —// She’d love cats and/or dogs. —// I forget if she already had a pet. I tried looking back but couldn’t find anything… —// She’d have a cat named Lara Croft and a puppy named Hades. (Get it? Because she’s Persephone. I’m so lame…)

8. How does your OC keep track of time? Do they have a planner? A calendar? —// She has a journal she’s constantly writing in. So each page has the time and date. —// Other than that she has a wall calendar of Symmetra and she uses the calendar on her phone.

9. How do they write? Do they write in cursive? How do they dot their i’s and j’s? Do they have specific ways that they write certain letters? —// She’s a neat writer. Print. The perfect mix of bubbly and square. Sometimes she put stars above the “i” and “j”. Most times it’s just a big dot. —// She writes “z” and “7” with a line through it. —// She sometimes mixes cursive and print.

10. What’s their favorite time of day? —// Evening. She loves the dark, cool, quiet of it.

11. What kinds of foods and drinks do they like? Do they like certain foods to be fried? Do they prefer certain foods to be prepared hot/cold? —// She tries to be a vegetarian. She’s mostly good at it. She still eats eggs. She prefers scrambled with cheese.

12. If they were an actual character in an animated film or TV series, who would they be voiced by? Do they have a certain accent that the person would need to perfect? —// I think Tessa Thompson would be good. Or maybe Kiersey Clemons.

13. If you are an artist, and if your OC can draw as well, could you replicate what their artstyle looks like? Or, if you can’t, could you describe it? —// Lots of rounded edges. Very fluid. Precise when she needs to be.

14. If your OC owned a Tumblr blog, what kind of content would they post? —// GAY STUFF™ —// She’d be complaining about Supercorp not being canon. She’d love Wynonna Earp. Van Helsing. Grey’s Anatomy. How to Get Away With Murder. Scandal. The Bold Type. Chasing Life. Sweet/Vicious. —// She’d reblog a lot of hot women. —// Poetry. Mostly others’ but she’d post her own sometimes too. She might even have a sideblog she uses to post her writings about Marilynn. —// Cool photography. Drawings. Art in general.

15. How do they type? Do they use emojis? Do abbreviate and shorten words? —// She’s a fast typist. She begrudgingly used emojis at first but then falls in love with them. 🤷🏼‍♀️ —// When texting Marilynn she’ll shorten things. But on her blog she’s mostly longhand everything. Usually just when she gets excited will she resort to things like “v sexy” or “btw” or something…?

16. If your OC was a film director, what kind of movies would they make? —// Gay ones. Lesbian indie romances. LGBTQ in general. —// She’d use lots of flowy imagery and close ups. Lingering scenery shots. —// She’d also want to direct sci-fi/fantasy.

17. If your OC was a musical artist, what genres would they do? —// She’d probably play bedroom pop? Indie? I can see her playing acoustic guitar and singing. Maybe ukulele, keyboard, drums?

18. What type of singing voice does your OC have? —// Sultry. Soft. A bit scratchy. She has trouble with really high notes, but she mostly sings in whispers anyway.

19. Does your OC like to collect things? What kind of things do they collect? —// She has tons of pictures of her and Marilynn from over the years. She has some on her vanity and the rest in a photo album. —// She also collects little things she finds when traveling somewhere with Marilynn. Seashells, rocks, twigs, leaves, feathers, coins, other miscellaneous stuff people dropped like playing cards or dice or something.

20. Was your OC inspired by anything? Another character? A person? —// Yeah, she was originally inspired by my friend (crush at the time) Molly. Rebecca was originally a tall blonde just like Molly. Wlw like Molly (she’s bi though). Vocal. Social-minded. Nice. Beautiful. Smart.

#becks writes #tulomb #ask game answers #I took it upon myself to answer all of them!

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wionews · 7 years

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A male Belly Dancer's passionate struggle against all odds

“Is this the way to Eshan Hilal’s house?”, I ask two teenagers perched on a balcony in a narrow street of East Delhi. “The belly dancer?” comes a reply laced with sarcasm, followed by laughter. “”Yes”. Two other people I stop for directions also snigger at me before I find myself sitting in a small room on the roof of a house, on the hot Thursday afternoon. 24-year-old Eshan Hilal is like any other young Pathan man-- tall, lean and sharp-featured-- but his profession and his gender fluid dressing sets him apart in many ways, to the point of being called “feminine” by some and a “Kafir” by some others. Eshan is a belly dancer or how people usually put it, a male belly dancer. A tag he doesn’t want for himself. Adorned in oxidised silver jewellery, a flowy black skirt and a kurta rolled up to expose his belly, Eshan steps out of his room in the sweltering heat to practice for the auditions of an upcoming dance reality show. He isolates his body movements and sways with the music. Nothing looks “feminine” about his dance. His belly dance, however, seems to be on point. His turns are sharp and his eyes focussed, deep and expressive. As we sit to talk, he pulls out a bunch of photos of Bollywood actress Madhuri Dixit. Someone who has inspired scores of girls in India to dance. She inspired Eshan too. In fact, one cannot miss the glimpses of her style in Eshan’s belly dance. “Dance is something which I started doing from my childhood. I started learning Kathak because I was a huge fan of Madhuri Dixit. I was so much into Kathak, travelling, performing and doing events but there was a void space,” he says. He was talking about freedom of movement, and above all, he was looking for the freedom within to accept his interests. “In Kathak, you can’t move your hips, it is called Badtamaeezi. I came across a lot of male belly dancer videos on YouTube and fell in love with the dance form,” he says. But the road to becoming a professional belly dancer was not easy. Eshan comes from an orthodox Muslim family, where dancing is not a fitting profession, especially for a man. “My parents say dancing is a Taboo in my religion. It is Haram. They never stopped me as a kid thinking I’ll give up dance when I grow up. They thought I would realise how girlish dancing was. But when I told them I wanted to be a choreographer, they asked me to quit.” He didn’t. For about eight months now his parents and younger siblings--a brother and two sisters--haven’t been talking to him. They live in the same house but Eshan has a separate portion for himself. “My father says dancing belongs to a category where you entertain people. We don’t entertain, we get entertained.” Eshan says. When I meet his father, Eshan stands outside on the steps of his part of the house, listening to our conversation. “Dancing is dirty. Our religion doesn’t allow it. It is Haram. Even a rupee that he earns through dancing is Haram for us. We will never support him.” Mohammad Hilal (50) says. Back in their village in eastern Uttar Pradesh, family members taunt Eshan’s parents saying his son has become a “nachaniya”, a derogatory term used for female dancers. This doesn’t go down well with Mohammad. “I have tried telling them that there is nothing feminine about it.Your body is moving to a sort of music. How can you call this feminine? There are no gender roles in art forms. No such published book that says that. Since childhood, I have been listening to these things. Don’t cross your legs and sit because girls do that. Don’t use so much of your hands while talking because girls do that. There was a constant comparison between me and my brother. He was the normal one and I, an abnormal. I never understood that. Belly Dance gave me solace from these things.” Eshan says. His struggle to separate his gender from his dance is not just limited to family, friends and the society. Even in his world of escape, there are stereotypes he has had to fight. Belly Dancing in India is still not considered a proper art form. Many call it vulgar. And it is mostly associated only with women. “People are quite uninformed about belly dance here in India. When women perform belly dance they are labelled by some people as characterless. In the case of a man, people question his sexuality. Just because I am a belly dancer, people call me queer and gay. I don’t understand how the choice of a dance form that I perform defines my sexuality. If I was doing hip hop or some other dance form that is considered masculine. The scenario would be different.” he says. This was perhaps one of the reasons why dance schools in India were not ready to teach Eshan Belly dance. He says he approached a famous school for five years till they were finally ready to take him in. “I tracked so many schools in Delhi and Mumbai. So many popular dance schools outrightly refused to take me in. They said they don't teach belly dance to men.” He says. Many male belly dancers here take to cross-dressing. Eshan says this practice further fuels the gender stereotypes. “Often people ask me why don't macho and masculine men opt for belly dancing. They do. If you see al these American, Egyptian and Chinese belly dancers they are so masculine and macho. They are married and have kids and they are belly dancers. And they wear those proper male sharky costumes.” he says. “There are so many boys in India who cross-dress. They wear fake wigs and bralettes and they dress up like women and perform in public spaces and call themselves male belly dancers. Which is absolutely wrong and leaves a wrong impression of the art that belly dance is.” Over the years Eshan has learnt to not let prejudices impact his interests. Fashion designing is one of his hobbies. He likes designing clothes that are gender fluid, a form of dressing he himself has embraced. He started wearing heels designed for men when he was 20, became androgynous in his dressing and belly dancing he says gave him liberty. “Since childhood, I was a very spineless sort of a guy. Very perplexed. I though I have some issues in me and that’s why my parents scold me and the society teases me. I always thought I was wrong and they were right but I explored myself through this dance form and realised there is nothing wrong with me. It's just the perception of the people who can’t take different things.” he says. Eshan now earns a living by teaching kids belly dance and occasionally doing wedding choreography. He now looks forward to making a name in the world of belly dance. He says the only dream that now remains is winning the love and support of his parents. “My only achievement will be when my family accepts me for who I am publicly and proudly says he is our son. He is a belly dancer.”

(WION)

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