#to do snag a few more of these samples

[glitchy-creations]

I turned this free flooring sample from Menards into the album cover for the Troy Saga from Jorge Rivera-Herran’s musical EPIC!

It was a lot of fun and a good challenge/practice for blending colours with acrylics! Definitely debating on doing one for the Cyclops Saga now 🤔

I also made the fire glow in the dark because it’s me, and I thought it would look cool at night!

[lalacliffthorne]

sweet lil halloween headcanons: modern!roommate!batboys edition 🦇

so in honour of halloween, I have been thinking about what it would be like with the modern batboys and, most importantly, what they would dress up as (or in Azriel's case, grudgingly be forced into)

Cassian's costume especially was the idea of @leafsandstarlight when I got stuck - she delivered, as usual, and I love her for it, even more than usual. mostly bc it's been stuck in my head ever since. you'll see. *grins widely*

happy halloween from this witch to the lot of you 🐈‍⬛🔮🪦

so apparently, Rhys' Halloween partys are legendary on campus

for some reason, so far, that completely went past you

(most likely because you spent the past few Halloweens with Feyre in her tiny apartment, buried in blankets, watching Hocus Pocus while eating your weight in snacks)

so you're a little confused when about two weeks before Halloween, Rhys drags you with him to meet with a caterer

you're supposed to sample food

tho you're never one to complain about something like that, you do feel a little confused when you blink up at him in question, and Rhys furrows his brows

"Wait, didn't I tell you?"

he didn't

he also didn't tell you that this year´s location is an old castle in the old part of town

it's where you meet the caterer, in the kitchens in the cellar

on the way, you freeze in place for a solid minute to gape at the cavernous ceilings with huge chandeliers and stone walls of the halls Rhys is renting for the party

it really shouldn't surprise you that much

it's Rhys after all

extravagant and over the top are basically his middle names

how he managed to snag a spot like that at Halloween is beyond you tho

connections, Cassian later says wisely

and probably a shit ton of money

when, staring at the display of different fingerfoods in various spooky forms, you ask tentatively about just how much money, Rhys sends you a grin that is downright wicked

"Well, someone has to spend something."

and spending he is

over the course of the next two weeks, Rhys disappears for hours, meeting with people for the bar, a DJ and to take care of decorations

then, a week before Halloween, flyers appear on campus

glossy and deep black, with bats and jack'o'lanterns printed on the front along with the date and location in purple letters

it's the beginning you of constantly hearing people plan their costumes in passing

and the moment you suddenly realise that crap --

you have absolutely no idea what to wear

Mor just giggles at your panic

she drops in as you're desperately scrolling through Pinterest, trying to come up with anything that you like, is cheap and can be assembled in under a week

"jesus, calm down. Rhys may make the whole thing the most extravagant student party of the year, but most people that are coming aren't spending loads of money on their costumes either, it's more about creativity and finding something you like."

that doesn't calm your nerves in the slightest

it's Cassian who, purely by accident, gives you an idea in the end

it's a few days before Halloween, and he's sitting on the couch, flicking through the book you left on the coffee table with furrowed brows

"So they're demon hunters?" he sounds intriguied, looking up at you as you lean over him to try and snag your book

you still, your heart doing a double flip

then you start beaming and pull the book from Cassian's hand, pressing a long, smacking kiss onto his cheek that makes him grin

"What was that for?"

it's for him giving you an idea

it's a perfect one really

the evening of Halloween, the city is already dark outside the windows

when you look outside, you can see kids and their parents on the street, dressed up and ringing doorbells, carrying flashlights and lanterns

Mor comes over to get ready at six

she's also the one who always gets up to open the door for children trick or treating

otherwise, she's sitting on the couch in the living room

she's wearing a long, dark red silk dress with a high slit, her hair open and wavy as she squints in concentration and paints her lips

she's dressed as a devil, complete with headband with little black horns that's sitting on the coffee table

she even put in red contacts

you're sitting crosslegged on the other couch, crunching your brows in focus as you spread the lightest shade of foundation you could find in the drugstore on Rhys' face

when he told you a few days earlier that he's going as a vampire, the first thing flashing through your mind was him in a cheap cape and too small fake teeth

it made you snort laughter and him huff

now you get it

Rhys is dressed to the nines

black silk shirt that's almost all the way unbuttoned and shows off his chest tattoos

black dresspants and black shoes

his hair is lightly styled back, and a strand falls into his face as you powder his face, causing him to sneeze and you to giggle

he even managed to get his hands on very real looking fake canines that flash in the light whenever he sends you a grin

no tacky cape

also no sparkles

he's like a modern, expensive version

almost like he stepped right of the pages of one of your books ;)

he lets you pale his skin before using eyeshadows to give him slightly sunken eyes and smear some red paint around his mouth

when he finally sends you a grin, it causes a giddy shiver to run down your spine

Mor does your make-up before, after a look onto the clock, shoos you off to get dressed

when a little later, you step back out of your room, there's a tall figure towering in the doorway to the living room

your breath hitches at the sight of broad shoulders straining against a black t-shirt, black jeans tucked into black boots and amber eyes

they're currently glaring, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why

or at who

you hear Rhys snort from the living room

"Yeah, there's no way you're going as you."

with the way Azriel is glaring, there's also no way he's putting on a costume

which doesn't surprise really surprise

Azriel really isn't the type to invest time and care into putting together a costume

if things were going his way, he'd probably stay at home and read a book

which of course, Rhys has planned for

when you move, Azriel turns his head

he seems to still, the glare in his eyes vanishing as the deep furrow between his brows, curtesy of his scowl, smoothens

and he stares

stares at you

dressed from head to toe in black, with a holster strapped to your thigh and temporary rune tattoos all over your exposed skin

and suddenly, something is fluttering violently against your ribs

somehow, you manage to send him a cheeky grin and get your legs to moving

they kinda feel like jello as you halt in front of him, having to tilt your head back to look up at him

"Darling?"

Rhys is suddenly smirking in a wicked way that works even better in his vampire getup, his violet eyes twinkling

"You don't happen to still have some of those tattoos, do you?"

it takes you a second to catch on

then your heart suddenly performs a series of dips and turns

"Well...", you look up at Azriel and somehow manage a cheeky, beaming grin, "that would certainly fit."

Azriel huffs

it takes a staring contest of roughly a minute until he accepts his fate

well

or until you smile up at him, something thrumming against your ribs as you crunch your nose

"please? come on, you're not even really dressing up, just - elevating."

you grin widely

Azriel's scowl deepens

(mostly because it's unfair you just have to look at him that way and he would dress up as a pink bunny if you asked)

but he doesn't protest

just rolls his eyes a little and brushs past you to plop down onto the couch

Mor is suddenly very busy correcting a flaw in her make-up you can't seem to find

so it's you who ends up sitting in front of Azriel, his skin warm under your hands as you apply the rune tattoos left all over his arms

you can feel his eyes on your face and try to fight the warmth spreading through your cheeks

at least he doesn't look as huffy as a few minutes ago

(it's hard to stay scowling when all he can focus on is that little crease between your brows as you concentrate and the way the smell of your perfume and shampoo rises into his nose

he's a hundred percent sure there's no way you don't hear the way his breath catches every time your fingers brush his skin

especially when you lean forward to put one of the runes onto the right side of his neck)

you can feel Azriel's warm breath ghost over your skin as your fingers gently press against the side of his neck

it causes your own to get stuck in your throat, right next to your heart

(you should really get that checked)

you try not to look up, because you're pretty sure you're close enough to see the golden spots in Azriel's eyes

and that would not bode well for your concentration

(you're also close enough that your hair almost tickles his skin and that your scent is everywhere

Azriel needs to physically stop himself from slipping his fingers under your chin and tip your head up to -)

you catch movement from the corner of your eye

glad for a distraction, you raise your head

only to grow wide-eyed

because unlike Rhys, Cassian hasn't told anyone what he's going to dress up as

now, you realize why

Azriel seems to realise you're suddenly distracted, because you feel him turn his head before stilling

most likely because he also sees Cassian standing in the doorway

dressed as Ken

the skater version

complete with sun visor over his tied back hair, neon yellow fanny pack and knee pads

he even has a pair of neon pink skates thrown over his shoulder

you blink at him

once

twice

then you snort a laugh and break into a fit of giggles

it breaks the spell Cassian's outfit has cast, and Mor nearly topples off the couch as she starts laughing while Rhys dramatically faints on the armchair

even Azriel looks, tho reluctantly, impressed

(mostly because the way you're laughing, tears in your eyes and barely able to breathe as Mor drops to her knees and bows, makes up for whatever extravagent party Rhys is about to throw your way)

when you get to the castle, the place is decorated magnificently

you suddenly understand why Rhys was gone for so long

the floor is covered by whisps of smoke, the lights are dimmed

there are fake cobwebs spun over the brick walls and high ceilings and even the chandeliers

you count two dozen skeletons in one room alone, and armadas of paper bats dangling from the ceilings on invisible strings

dry ice at the snack buffet in combination with the fingerfoods makes you wonder if maybe Rhys just wanted to give his father a heart attack in case he sees the expenses his son accumulated for a student halloween party

there's even an actual bar with a menu of spooky drinks

loads of people are already there, and it's only getting more

everyone is dressed in various degrees of more or less spooky outfits

Feyre is waiting for you near the entrance

she's dressed as Katniss Everdeen, in black armor and with bow and arrow over her shoulder, a little fake blood dried on her temple and eyes bright

"How the fuck did we miss this before??"

you have no idea

you also have no idea where she got the full costume and how she can look so comfortable in chest armor

you do have an idea tho why Rhys is suddenly looking very distracted

it makes you grin cheekily enough for him to huff down at you when he finally catches you staring at him

you're almost sure tho to see his cheeks gain a little color under the pale make up

especially when Feyre grins widely at him

you spend the whole night with Feyre and Mor

you ransack the buffet (you're very proud of your choices)

try your way through the drink menu

and dance

you sometimes catch a glimpse at Cass in his neon outfit reflecting the lights as he makes his way through the mist

he looks like he's having the time of his life

finally, sometime around two in the morning, your feet hurt and the adrenaline of the night has worn off enough to make you feel tired

also you've lost Feyre and Mor somewhere in the crowd after using the toilet

trying to catch a glimpse at either of them, your eyes instead meet deep, amber ones

your heart dips and swerves in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol or tiredness

Azriel is leaning against a wall halfway across the huge, cavernous room

a strand of dark hair is curving over his forehead, the pink and purple lights make his jaw and cheekbones look even sharper than usual and illuminate the rune tattoos scattered over his skin, fitting in perfectly with his real ones

the sight of him causes something to topple over in your chest

you caught glimpses at him all during the night

usually off in the shadows, leaning against a wall or lounging on a seat, sipping a drink

every time you saw him, there was someone next to him, mostly girls, talking to him, trying to flirt

it made something dip over strangely in your chest

but for some reason, he barely seemed to notice

for some reason, every time, his eyes were already on yours, flashing amber in the flickering lights

just like now

the slight crease between his brows that doesn't quite spell uncomfortable smoothens

then he pushes off the wall and starts to weave towards you

again, your heart does a funny little thing

but you push it away and begin to fight your way through the crowd to meet him

when you finally meet, it takes one look at you for the dip of a crease to appear in his cheek

"Home?"

his deep voice makes your skin tingle even through all the noise and the music, and you deflate with a sigh, feeling almost comically relieved

you text Feyre and Mor while Azriel steers you out of the full rooms, his hands on your shoulders

picking up your coats, you feel a happy shiver run over your skin when you step out into the night sky

your breath hangs in white clouds in the air when you huddle up and Azriel offers you the crook of his elbow, his hands in his pockets

and if you take a very long route to get home, wandering through the quiet, cold city and sniffling as you blink up at the bright moon, neither of you makes a comment on it

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secret-ly-here @knmendiola @luvmoo @azriels-mate123 @bookishbroadwaybish @maybe-a-winchester @stayinglow-exploringworlds @harrystylesfan2686 @icey--stars

[aqricus]

FIRST AID KISS ! feat. tighnari

V SAYS . . . “you keep tighnari on his toes with two things: your lack of care for your well-being, and your . . . spontaneity.”

+ WC . . . 4.4k

+ MINORS DNI. fem reader. fluff. mentions of sex. messy kisses for your boy. <3 i slapped this together in a few hours to kill time since i’ve been so inactive on here recently. pls i’m so tired skfmdks. SEVERELY unedited.

you know tighnari hears you before you enter. 

you can tell by the way one of the sleek, sable-colored ears crowning the top of his head is already swiveled in your direction before the sole of your leather boot can cross the threshold of his private workspace, twitching attentively despite his eyes being focused on the fresh kalpalata lotus cradled in his palms. you nudge the ajar door shut behind you with your heel and adjust your grip on the wicker basket clutched in your arms, ignoring the stray pieces of hardened reed pricking at the exposed skin on your arms.

“i’m back,” you announce, voice a tad breathless from the lengthy trek you’d made back from gathering samples, and tighnari finally draws his attention away from the flower to return a warm smile of welcome. his eyes are fond as they trace over you with a familiarity you’ve grown to adore, and his smile blooms into a chuckle at the sight of your disheveled appearance, complete with sullied attire and a delicate sheen of perspiration glazing your forehead. 

“i was beginning to think you’d gotten lost out there,” his remark is light-hearted as he gingerly places the lotus into an empty petri dish. “did you find the samples i asked for? they—careful, watch your step.” his equable tone spikes with urgency as he notices the empty pot he’d haphazardly placed on the floor for the sake of a time-sensitive emergency earlier, but you simply step over it without noticing.

“what?” you blink at him, ignorant of the twisted ankle you could’ve potentially suffered.

for a moment, he’s silent, the withdrawal of his hand slow and almost reluctant. “uh . . . nothing, never mind.”

you hum acquiescently at his dismissal and set the basket atop the wooden surface beside the kalpalata lotus. nimble fingers peel back the layers of moist cloth encapsulating the tiny, vermillion seedlings you’d harvested, a proud grin playing on your lips as you display the fruits of your labor to your boyfriend. “i found what you wanted!” you pluck a single seed from the collection and roll it between your fingertips. “you weren’t kidding when you said they were rare. it took me hours to find them.”

tighnari doesn’t respond for a moment, and you’re too preoccupied with examining the seedling to notice the way he’s observing you instead, samples cast to the backburner of his mind as his gaze peruses your body once more—this time, more intently, as if committing your current state to memory. your knee-high boots are now caked with tacky mud and plastered with a variegated patchwork of soggy leaves and tendrils of moss, black laces filthy beyond remedy. your clothes aren’t in any better of a condition, wrinkled and begrimed and a small incision ripped across one of the seams in the right side of your shorts. did you snag them on a twig? tighnari’s ears prick attentively when his eyes snag on a discolored scrape arching up your thigh, framed by splotches of dirt and a couple more shallow scratches threaten to bead with ruby at the slightest wrong movement. or, did you fall?

“aren’t they pretty?” blissfully unaware of his scrutinization, you place the seed in your palm and extend your hand to show him, but it takes him a moment before he’s able to pull his attention away from you and half-heartedly focus on the seed with a clearing of his throat.

“they’re quite unique,” he agrees. “they appear very similar to sunflowers when they bloom and only do so at night, which makes them quite remarkable.” his gaze subconsciously flickers back to your leg, and his voice softens before he realizes it, wrought with concern and a bit hushed. “but . . . hey, did you fall? your thigh is all scratched up.”

“oh!” your eyes glint with a flash of clarity, as if it’d somehow managed to slip your mind during the journey home. a smile blossoms upon your lips, radiant and untroubled, despite your boyfriend’s obvious disquiet. “yeah, it’s no big deal. i wasn’t paying attention and ended up tripping over a root, that’s all.” you assure him with a breezy gesture of your hand. your gaze averts from his as you place the seed among the other before delicately swathing them in the damp cloth, and your hand lingers upon the swaddled seeds as you inform him, “i’ll tend to the scrapes on my own.”

“nonsense,” your eyes widen slightly at the stern edge sharpening tighnari’s tone, and his refusal is further cemented by the single, decisive swish of his tail as he slides the wicker basket to the opposite side of the counter and insistently pats the empty space with a gloved hand. “hop up here so i can take a look.”

“tighnari . . .” over time, he’s learned to recognize this particular tone of yours—that little, saccharine drawl of his name you typically wield to weasel something you want out of him, whether it’s approval to accompany him into uncharted territory or the green light to caress the ears crowning his head. he’s wholly aware of your next move before you can even open your mouth, undoubtedly to claim that you’re okay and persuade him into letting you off the hook. so, he nips the issue in the bud.

your next words fizzle away into a small gasp when one of his hands clamps down on your waist, firm enough for his fingertips to dimple the soft flesh just above the delicate curve of your pelvic bone through your clothes, yet not tight enough to cause you pain. for the next few moments, all you can do is sense—feel the gentle whisper of the flower petals adorning his shoulder over your bare arm and smell the aromatic, kaleidoscopic explosion of crushed herbs and crisp rainwater that clings, ever-present, to his attire—as he leans closer, reaching past you to drag forward a wooden stool sitting just behind you. 

you barely have time to register the unforeseen closeness in proximity before he’s withdrawing with a pensive twitch of his ears and a casual instruction of, “here would probably be ideal, considering the location of the wounds.” he doesn’t even bother to allow you to intervene, let alone look at you—although, with way the positioning of his hand combined with his adamancy to care for you is beginning to tug at the corners of your lips and spark tiny bolts of electricity that crackle and fizzle in the pit of your stomach, you figure that perhaps his blissful ignorance is for the best. you do your best to veil the elation and warmth bubbling in your chest by silently complying with his wishes, voice unreliable; but, you aren’t able to suppress the tiny, satisfied smile that crosses your lips as tighnari’s deft fingers shimmy the material up your thigh.

“is something on your mind?” tighnari has always been perceptive—in fact, it was one of the qualities that initially drew you to him, a sense of reverence and wonder toward his ability to detect discrete changes in his visual surroundings, the vibrations rattled off vocal cords, and even the chemical balances of the living beings he elects to analyze. in the time you’ve known him, you’ve rarely been able to sneak anything by him, whether they’re emotions, desires, or concerns; so, you honestly aren’t quite sure why you’re surprised to find his gaze already trained on your expression when you’re snapped back to the present. your tongue wilts, heavy and unwieldy, as his hazel eyes bore into yours, and you merely shake your head, smile earnest.

“no?” he quirks a brow. he knows you aren’t being truthful, you can see it in his eyes, but he doesn’t press the matter. “then, perhaps you can hand me one of those cloths over there.”

“tighnari,” you begin, but you stretch your arm across the wooden surface to pluck a single cloth from the meticulously folded stack, anyway. “y’know, it really isn’t that bad,” you chuckle. “none of them even broke the skin.”

at first, all tighnari does is hum as he vanishes from your side to locate clean water to soak the cloth in, and he doesn’t answer until he returns. “while there may not be any blood present, it is still crucial that you treat the wounds. this one right here,” he hovers his fingertip over a particularly long scrape etched into the flesh further down your thigh, “is dangerously close to bleeding. if you’d fallen with even a little more force, i’m certain you’d have an open wound—superficial, but open.”

goosebumps erupt over your skin at the frigid touch of the damp cloth as he begins wiping off the dirt framing the edges of your wounds, and you shiver. “maybe so, but aren’t you busy?” the touch of your index finger against his shoulder stills him, and as he straightens up, your hand falls away. “you’ve got a lot going on. anyone can tell.” you remind him, and the tip of his right ear twitches. “i’m serious, you don’t have to do this. i can sit right here and take care of it while you work.”

from the jump, you never expected him to patch up every little cut and scrape you endured; and, perhaps that’s part of the reason why tighnari doesn’t have any qualms about doting on you to this extent. you’ve always been so prepared to assist him and fling yourself headlong into his work alongside him—volunteering yourself to run errands for him, wading through riverbanks thick with mud on the search for elusive amphibians, and even recording all of his methods and instructions so you can tend to ill or injured creatures in his stead whenever he’s absent. he can think of a vast number of people who would kill to have the opportunity to have someone so devoted in their lives, and he knows that it should please him; but, it doesn’t—not when you shoulder all of his priorities except for one.

you.

he can’t recall the amount of times you’d voluntarily swap your safety for a quick snap of success, returning to his abode utterly filthy and bruised to hell with a jar of tadpoles or set of floral samples whose importance, without a doubt, paled in comparison to your physical wellbeing. being the one to insist on taking on the jobs, you never really minded and would always rival his concern with a glowing smile and a gait unhindered by any of the injuries littering your skin; but, not even your glacé reassurances are capable of nullifying his worries forever.

“your wellbeing takes precedence, and you’d be foolish to think otherwise.” he fishes a small, circular tin from the top drawer of his desk and unscrews the lid. he doesn’t return his attention to you as he swiftly swipes his pinky finger through the sweet-scented salve contained within, but he can still sense the weight of your gaze. “the flowers can wilt.” he spreads a sparing amount of the ointment over each individual scrape. “and, the amoebas can die. but you . . .” he finally meets your eyes, and you can feel heat trickling over the cusps over your ears at the certainty glimmering, crystal-clear, among murky puddles of coalesced oak-brown and forest-green, “you cannot.” there is no solemnity or grimness in his expression, only an easy confidence accompanied by upturned eyebrows and a neutral expression, as if he is speaking of a matter as simple as predicting the forecast—as if this is something he’s expecting you to already be wholly aware of. he only holds your gaze for only a moment longer before his attention bounces back down to your thighs, and he taps your knee. “spread your legs for me.”

“what?” your eyes round. “why?”

“not like that!” tighnari snaps, but you can tell that the implications of his words aren’t lost on him, either, based on the twitch of his ruffled tail and the way your knees are suddenly apparently far more intriguing to him than anything else. “there’s one last cut i haven’t gotten to. it’s further toward your inner thigh, whereas all the others were either front and center or along the lateral side.”

“it’s not a cut,” you shoot back. “it’s still not bleeding.”

“did you even know it was there?” tighnari’s brows arch as he glances up at you; and, the indignant huff that’s forced from your lips is the only answer he requires before he’s gripping your knee. “i didn’t think so.” the only resistance he receives from you is an intelligible series of mumbles as he eases your thighs further apart. 

fortunately, you don’t squirm or contest his decisions as he cleanses and applies the healing salve to the final wound. you remain quiet, but he can still feel the indignation emanating off you in waves as your eyes slit skeptically at his actions and your arms weave together over your chest. he cracks a small smile. always durable, always independent, yet he can still sense the soft fondness underlying your gaze as you observe him.

“you’re good to go,” he announces with a shuffle backward. you don’t hesitate to slide off the stool, soiled boots landing on the maplewood floorboards with a dull thump. “don’t change your clothes until the salve has time to soak in, or else we’ll—or rather, i—will have to start all over again. and, be careful when you walk upstairs. don’t let it smudge onto your other leg.”

“yes, sir,” you remark wryly, but you don’t bother to disguise the upward quirk of the corners of your lips as you tilt your head in his direction. “how horrible, indeed, it would be to have your hands all over my thighs again.”

tighnari snorts, and he angles his face away just before you have time to discern any changes in his expression, occupying himself with slipping the tin of ointment back into the drawer before rummaging around the controlled chaos for something else. you frown and pensively dig the toe of your boot into the floor. pity.

“ah.”

the small noise of realization that arises from you is the only warning tighnari receives before his ears swivel attentively at a string of quiet footsteps swiftly beelining towards his turned back. the final step is punctuated by the graze of a single finger beneath his chin, index finger hooking beneath his jaw to redirect his head to the side in one fluid movement. already aware of your presence, he doesn’t think to parry your touch or even question it, expecting perhaps a simple, chaste kiss planted on his cheek or lips or even a set of arms wrapped around him.

what he didn’t anticipate was the soft press of your chest against his, accompanied by a pair of lips slotting against his in a fiery kiss that couldn’t be further from the innocent smooch he’d envisioned. the tip of your tongue caresses the slender expanse of his bottom lip, laving over the slightly chapped flesh to coax his jaw into yielding. a quiet, pitched hum of surprise is kicked from the base of his throat at the sensation of your tongue delving past his ajar lips, and his muscles tense against the feeling of your nimble fingers twisting the hem of his hoodie into your closed fist. his ears erect, pointed and stiff and bleeding with heat beneath the thick layer of dark fur, when the hand resting idly beneath his chin begins to move, ticklish fingertips snaking down the porcelain column of his throat to wind around the back of his neck and draw him almost impossibly closer. 

his mind whirls at the onslaught of affection, body scorching with heat, and he can’t help but find this situation somewhat reminiscent of another—an occurrence he cannot quite place or recall in the heat of the moment. but, the sensation of your lips constricting around his tongue to suckle almost painstakingly gently on it discards the inkling almost as soon as it appears, wiping his mind blank until all he can do is allow himself to be engulfed in your presence, your touch—everything. tingly bolts of electricity arch down his spine, and his jaw twitches reflexively, sinking lower to allow you the freedom to move about him as you please. he can’t subdue the shiver that wracks his muscles at the light graze of your teeth against the sensitive muscle, nor can he silence the soft whine that rolls off his vocal cords when your grip tightens on his shirt. you shift toward him once more, sealing your lips over his once more to effectively swallow up all of the tiny sounds that spill from his throat.

you’ve initiated a fair amount of affectionate gestures in the time you’ve been his partner, but rarely have you ever approached him like this—all messy, sloppy kisses and bold invasions of his space to sap the strength from his knees and snatch up control in one fell swoop. considering how busy he’s always been, you typically prefer to transition smoothly into exchanges such as these, easing him into the mood and preparing him for what you want from him via teasing ministrations or outright requests. but this—he barely had time to think, let alone react. but, as he feels himself melting into the kiss, returning your gesture with identical fervor and a newfound heat stirring in his chest, he decides that while certainly unexpected, he supposes he could find an appeal in spontaneity as well.

his hands finally slip away from their place draped motionlessly over the edge of the drawer, lifting to blindly seek purchase along your figure. there’s a sense of desperation neither of you can deny in the way one of his hands tightens around your upper arm, fingertips roughened by countless hours of research and grueling field work pressing indents into your supple flesh just beneath the cuff of your sleeve to keep you pinned in place. your skin is overly warm, and so is his, housing twin flames that thrum and writhe with life and desire, each fueled by the other until your bodies are swathed in a heat so intense tighnari can feel a single pearl of perspiration trickle down the length of his spine.

his other hand slithers around your waist, fingers just barely dipping past the waistband of your shorts, and the delicate sigh of content that feathers past your lips as you relax against his chest has his ears folding back slightly. he indulges you—or, rather, perhaps it is you who indulges him. neither of you are quite positive who is more eager, each sloppy kiss complemented and doubled until tighnari can feel the first traces of excess saliva beginning to pool on the cusp of his lips.

although, he finds that it truly doesn’t matter, because after a few more moments, you withdraw entirely. it’s almost downright sinful, the way your eyes maintain their innocuous, teasing glimmer when they bounce up to meet his, as if you hadn’t just siphoned his soul directly from his lips. still ensnared in the moment, tighnari makes an attempt to pursue your lips, but you angle your chin upward before he can succeed, placing a quick peck to the bridge of his nose instead.

“what are you—” tighnari begins, but his voice is breathy and bears no real demand.

“i forgot to kiss you hello when i came in.” you reveal. you relinquish your hold on his shirt, but your touch doesn’t stray too far, drifting down to settle on his hip. “so, i thought i would combine it with my ‘thank you’ kiss.” you grin.

for a moment, all tighnari does is stare blankly at you, a tiny, disbelieving smile twitching to life upon his lips. a hello kiss? a thank you kiss? you’re screwing with him, surely. you have to be. that kiss was far too intimate—far too messy and heated—for it to be for something so trivial. you must have an ulterior motive. you don’t kiss someone like that unless—

all at once, he’s sparked with a moment of recollection, a split-second realization where he’s finally able to remember why the situation initially seemed so familiar. the kiss you exchanged was identical to the one shared two nights ago when he had you spread out under him, legs locked around his waist to keep yourself anchored while the flushed tip of his cock bullied your g-spot with crippling accuracy. he can still envision the way your fingernails etched pale scarlet crescents into his shoulders, your entire body convulsing as you moaned against his lips, demanding more! more! between each greedy kiss that left rivulets of saliva cleaving through a translucent sheen of sweat that layered both of your bodies. 

“cum inside me!” you’d whimpered. “fuck—please, i want it all. need to feel you.”

tighnari stiffens at the memory, ears swiveling to stand at attention once more. “wh—” he clenches his jaw at the incriminating wave of heat that sweeps through his systems, only to scoff at your poor attempt at concealing the knowing smile playing on your lips. you’re clearly more than aware of what you’re doing. “you’re horrible.” he gripes, but there’s no genuine venom detected in his tone. you laugh. his tail swishes sharply, and he reaches out, briefly pressing his fingertip into the center of your forehead. “not to mention, still injured.” 

“only kind of!” you insist and move to bat his hand away, but he’s quicker, shifting his wrist to block your strike.

“your legs are all scratched up!” he argues.

“barely! none of them even broke the skin! you said so yourself,” you fire back. “i still need to—”

“what you need to do is change your clothes and sit down.” 

“fine!” you huff, but tighnari knows you well enough to understand that you mean no simple acquiescence. “but, only if you come with me.”

“and, why, praytell, do i need to go with you?” he folds his arms.

your hands flutter animatedly, and tighnari sighs, already predicting the utter nonsense you’re about to spew. “because! you keep going on and on about how bad my injuries are, so obviously i need you to accompany me! what if i pass out? what if i fall and can’t get up?”

“it builds character.”

“tighnari!” your eyes widen in protest, but the momentary fit of laughter that wracks your body refutes the existence of any genuine hurt.

“you’re so obnoxious.” he snorts, but his hand is warm against your skin as his fingers coil around your wrist.

he rolls his eyes at your playful smile and the exaggerated, dreamy sigh that succeeds it, but you ignore it, deciding to continue teasing him. “you just saved my life, tighnari. i hope you know that. how fortunate i am that you love me, or else you’d surely leave me for dead.”

“you’re pushing it,” he huffs, but he can’t help the ghost of a fond smile that crosses his lips. it’s faint and nearly indiscernible, yet most certainly present.

because, you are, indeed, correct.

beneath all of his pointed remarks and no-nonsense attitude, he does love you—probably more than you’ll ever be capable of realizing.

[macsimagines]

what about alpha!kisaki, like do you think his yandere tendencies would be worse if he was an alpha? you’re very consistent btw, I love your blog 🥹🫶

(Finally Alpha!Kisaki <3!!! Thanks for the request and compliment this will be one of the last ABO requests I do so I'll try to make it good. Also I feel like an ass because I went overboard on this one... oops can you guys tell I have a favorite)

Yandere!Alpha Kisaki

Met you through a Rut Aid service. Sort of...

Kisaki was taken aback when he presented as an alpha. He was pleasantly surprised and was at first excited to be apart of an elite. Then his ruts hit and apparently they're out of control.

After a few doctor visits he's diagnosed with over producing dominate pheromones. Its apparently common when a young Alpha is surrounded by other very strong and dominate Alphas.

Because he is so much younger than most of the gang members and finds himself in a leadership position his body is trying to overcompensate.

When his ruts hit is when domineering pheromones' overproduce and cause him to have hyper aggression and feral behavior. His room was in complete shambles and he actually tried to fight his own parents.

Its decided he will be going on intense suppressants and will be having his ruts at a private facility where he will be supplied with artificial omegan pheromones that should calm him down.

They don't. Nothing fucking works for years and years. He's an adult now, and not one thing has helped. He just eats suppresants like they're candy and prays to god he can keep it together.

Nobody else notices his issues though. He keeps it under wraps and when he needs to rut, he usually has his lackeys prepare him a special room.

He's almost killed omegas that volunteer to help him through, he hopes one will actually work but they all smell like shit and his Alpha just wants to rip them to shreds when they get too close.

Then comes a new service that provides alpha's with fresh real omegan scents for their rut. If he likes one then he send his own scented item in. If you're a match you two will begin an anonymous pen pal service.

The idea appealed to him, because he was a very dangerous and private man. He needed his anonymity. It was worth a shot at the very least...

They send him a box of samples filled with items like plushies or sweaters (some freaks send their underwear wtf-)

Kisaki has gone through at least 4 boxes and he's about to give up when he stumbles upon a hoodie. Your hoodie. With some inane cartoon or video game (insert favorite cringe character here)

He throws your bag across the room hard as he can because he's so annoyed and it snags on the edge of the table and rips. Then he smells it.

The most perfect soothing calming thing he's ever had the pleasure of smelling in his life. And its your hoodie. He buries his face in it, drinks it in like its water and he's been dying of thirst.

Oh yes, thank fuck, dear god. You're perfect.

If he had a little more restraint he'd be embarrassed at how fast he comes that night. He's not even in rut but he's fucking his own hand like he's 12 again...

Calls the service the next day and tells them he's incredibly interested in your items and wants them all. Exclusively. He also asks (demands) for your personal profile.

They tell him "Thats not how this works sir." and he almost burns their headquarters to the ground, but decides against it. He has to be smart and safe about this. He can't loose his omega.

Plays along with the service, has his best cashmere sweaters and silk shirts sent out to you.

Its a match! Of course it is. You're all but mated to him at this point, and its decided then that for your heats and his ruts you'll be exchanging scented items.

While that happens he has his men infiltrate the company and find you. Finally gets his hands on your information and wants to puke.

There's nothing wrong with you, its just the circumstances.

You suffer from a pheromone diversion disorder and a pheromone deficiency. Your body has a hypersensitivity to alpha pheromones causing you reject the majority of them and your body produces a miniscule amount of omegan pheromones because of being unable to handle others.

Its like you were made for him. His perfect match...

You're younger, and poor. At least by his standards. He can't stand the fact that you send him your cheap shirts and sweaters. Not because he finds it to be pathetic, but because he knows you deserve better. You need what Kisaki, your alpha, can provide.

Lets you go through one heat with his scented items and gets a letter from you explaining how thankful you are.

"You were the only alpha to like my scent, funny right? Saved my butt though, your smell was the only one I liked too."

Kisaki decides that's it. He's gonna make you his Omega soon. He's got an imported collection of hand crafted luxury collars on the way, you'll pick one out when you're ready he just wants to have them prepared and he plans a meet cute.

He had his men tracking you for weeks, since the first time he found out your name and address. Knows you like to just listen to music and walk in the park. You'll bump into each other, smell one another on accident, and fall in love.

The guy is so dedicated to this that he even wears casual clothes, (Vicuna Wool isn't casual you pompous shit), and when it happens he loses himself for a moment.

Your shoulders brush, your eyes meet, and for once in fucking years, he feels at peace. He doesn't even say what he was planning on saying and you take the lead (that wasn't supposed to happen shit-)

"Uh, heya stranger," you smile at him cocking your head, "Smell'ya around?"

This was easy, you two hit it off. You make it easy... Your personality is incredibly calm compared to his own highstrung one. The only problem is that he doesn't want to wait. He needs you now.

Fate is finally on his side, and you ask about the item exchange. He says "What if we just...Shared our heats and ruts together.

He has you convinced it's a good idea. When else will you meet an Alpha whos smell you actually love?

The key to his plan. You're going to bond Kisaki. He's going to get you so high on his over production of pheromones that you're going to go feral and bite him right on his mating mark.

You'll wake up after your heat and feel like a total monster, while he's on cloud nine. That was the best week of his life, his knot felt so at home snuggly inside you...

Kisaki will comfort you. Tell you its not your fault, that he should've done something... Don't worry baby, he knows you'll take responsibility.

[piratefishmama]

Live to Serve (You) | Part 4

It wasn’t Steve’s fault. He was only human, a healthy young man it was a wonder he hadn’t sampled the simple pleasures of life sooner, so Eddie probably wouldn’t have held it against him for very long... but it kept happening. So much so that duty no longer played any part in what he was doing.

More and more as the year went by, the women never stayed very long, sometimes he’d even snag one of the pretty servant girls, never by force, oh heavens no, but a smile from the Prince, a softly spoken compliment dripping in honeyed charm, a rapidly growing reputation for his giving nature, not to mention the promise of the comfiest bed known to man, well… what young lady would refuse such a proposition?

Nobody.

Not a single young lady, and Eddie knew this because he had the wonderful task of waking them up every morning. His irritation growing stronger and stronger every day, every new woman, every new little bruise that didn’t come from someone hurting the prince, he knew it was jealousy, he knew it was a vile thing building inside of him, jealousy directed at the women who so easily caught the princes’ attention, at how easily they could have him, even if just for one night.

Eddie couldn’t have that. Steve had never looked at him like that, they’d spent twelve years together and the only thing Eddie had managed to get was a compliment about his hair. He had half a mind to cut it all off in spite, but… no.

No, he’d never had short hair, he didn’t intend to have short hair, that’d be a little drastic.

So, distance was what he went with, even if the Prince didn’t exactly get the memo.

“Come riding with me!”

“No, I have chores.”

“You should read with me in the library, we never read together anymore.”

“We’ve never read together, you always just slept through my attempts to read to you.”

“Fine, read to me while I nap.”

“No, I have chores to do.”

“Can you teach me how to—”

“You have tutors to teach you things, your highness, perhaps you ought to listen in your lessons more.”

“Nggghhhh, Eddie! Don’t— where are you going?”

“I have work to do.”

Attempt after attempt after attempt, all shot down, but Steve was persistent. Eddie couldn’t even begin to justify it to anyone else, even Robin in the kitchens had cornered him to ask him what the hell he was playing at after she found Steve moping in the library, his behaviour wasn’t okay in the slightest, his feelings weren’t Steve’s fault, nor was Steve intentionally trying to hurt them, but… he was only human. He could only take so much, so he distanced himself, sought to protect himself.

He couldn’t escape his feelings, but he could build walls around his heart to protect himself from them and if that meant holding Steve at arms-length and hurting the both of them, well… so be it.

But as previously stated, as Eddie well knew. Steve wasn’t just persistent, he was resourceful too. He’d made friends while Eddie had been putting distance between them, he’d reached out more and more to the other servants, asking for information, bonding with them, with one in particular who regularly challenged Eddie’s nonsense because “what the fuck, Eddie he’s sad, it’s like someone’s kicked his puppy, what are you doing to him?”

Which, uhm. Servant solidarity Robin, why the fuck wasn’t she on his side? Ultimate betrayal that one, and Steve hadn’t even slept with her.

Unfortunately, this meant that Steve had friends who could help him. It meant he could request a little help with cornering Eddie where he couldn’t run off, claim he had chores or disappear through a sneaky servant door that no one else knew existed, it meant one evening, a few weeks after Steve’s nineteenth birthday, after a stellar streak of masterful avoidance on Eddie’s part, Eddie found himself face to face with a locked door.

A locked door, and the Prince of Hawkins at his back.

“Why is this locked?” Eddie did his very best to remain calm as he jiggled the doorhandle, no dice.

“Talk it out!” Came Robins familiar holler through the door along with the jingle of keys and the echoing sounds of footsteps leaving them behind.

“Oh, I’m going to kill her, I’m going to kill her, bury her body in an unmarked grave in the woods, then dance on it.”

“Uh-huh, and why are you so against being locked in a room with me? What have I done exactly?” Eddie finally turned to face the other man, not for the first time noting just how much he’d grown. How handsome he’d become in what felt like the blink of an eye. No wonder women fell over themselves to get a taste of him, to get just a night in his bed.

“I’d be against being locked in a room with anyone against my will” Eddie bit back “you’re not special, your highness.”

“That’s another thing, this your highness crap, where the hell has that come from?” Steve crossed his arms over his chest “and the morning thing, which by the way, what the hell? You don’t even help me with my clothes anymore! Just breakfast’s ready and you’re gone! You know I hate breakfast first thing! And my mother hates my fashion sense!”

“You’re nineteen years old, Steven, you should be able to dress yourself and manage your own breakfast schedule by now.”

“Steven? What the—okay. Okay, clearly I’ve done something wrong, so if you could just tell me, because I’ve wracked my brain and cannot for the life of me figure out what I could have done, I can fix it and get my stupid friend back.”

“I’m not stupid.” Okay, maybe he was being a bit stupid, but he could justify it to himself so—

“Oh my God, Eddie. Please. Please just tell me what I’ve done, I want my best friend back, and I don’t know how to get you back so can you please just tell me?” 

“This isn’t something you can fix Steve. It’s… it’s just got to be this way, alright?”

“No, not alright, this isn’t alright, I did something, I know I did something, or I’m doing something cause you’d have forgiven me by now if I’d only done it once so… just tell me and I’ll stop.” Eddie just looked at him, a small frown pinched on his brow, not of frustration but… of something else, pain, distress, like he wanted to, but he couldn’t. “You’re not getting out of this room until you tell me so you might as well just tell me.”

“You’re such a brat, Steve.”

“I’m royalty, it comes with the territory. This all started after my birthday, after that stupid hunt, did someone say something? Did I drink too much and say something to you? Cause I dunno what I said but—”

“You didn’t say anything, Steve. You haven’t done anything wrong, don’t—don’t look at me like that, you haven’t. This… what I’m doing? I’m doing it for me. I’m doing it to protect myself.” Every time he had to wake the prince up and he found some woman in that bed with him, his morning spot beside the prince long since taken up by a random feminine form, it ached. It hurt more than he could explain, more than he thought hurt could. “And yes, it might suck for you that you now have to dress yourself but… it’s best if you just allow me to keep my distance.”

“This isn’t about dressing myself, Eddie, Lord almighty, I’m—I want my friend back, I want to go riding with you, and listen to you read, I want to take you on hunts with me cause it’s shit out there without you, I want to be able to tell you about life things, I want to watch you lace up my tunic cause I can’t do it myself, it’s always too tight… I just want you back and I don’t know how to do that so please tell me how.”

“I can’t…”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not fair! I can’t— I can’t justify it in any way that you’ll understand, in any way that’ll make what I’m doing sound fair to you because it’s not your fault, you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s me, it’s all me, I’m only human and it hurts so I’m protecting myself, please just let me protect myself, just… just call me selfish, or irrational, be mad at me for pushing you away for a bad reason, just… just let me go.”

“Not until I know what the reason is.”

“Ngghh, why? Why do you have to know?”

“Because you JUST said it’s hurting you…” he stepped closer, Eddie had nowhere to go, couldn’t back away, couldn’t side step, he just had to allow the prince to step into his space, to be too close “I don’t want to hurt you, Eddie… I don’t want to be the one causing you pain, I don’t know what it is, but… if you tell me, I can fix it… I can make it better again, I can have my best friend back…”

“You can’t fix it, I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say it to get it through your skull, but you can’t.”

“I can try!”

“I wouldn’t ask you to! That wouldn’t be fair!”

“You’re being difficult.”

“You locked me in a room against my will and interrogated me, difficult is the LEAST I can do!”

“Ugh, will you just tell me, please?!”

“No!”

“Why?!”

“Because—Because—!” In Eddie’s defence, Steve was not letting him out of that room, and he was also too close for Eddie to fight his impulsive thoughts, in one swift, somewhat clumsy move, Eddie had put his hands on Steve’s jaw and closed the gap between them in a mess of inexperienced teeth and spit and Eddie expected to be shoved back, expected to be pushed away and refused, he was no Lord and Steve was notorious for bedding only women, but that... didn’t happen.

Sure, Eddie was pushed backwards, but it was against the door, the clumsy kiss adjusted and bettered by experienced lips and tongue, bigger, warmer hands than his own cupping his cheeks, and soon enough Eddie was melting into it. The hands he’d placed on Steve’s jaw falling to wrap arms around his neck and chasing him in vain when he moved to break it. “Wh-what...?” Steve breathed, lips still brushing bruised, spit slicked, plump lips as he spoke “you...” Eddie didn’t know what to say, words stuck in his throat, trapped in Steve’s searching gaze, his own eyes wide, shimmering and swimming with a mixture of panic and want. “God, why didn’t you do this years ago?” Those eyes widened just a fraction more before they succumbed to the mind melting feel of lips against his, sliding shut as tongue slipped between his lips to coax his own into play, to teach him how to play.

The hands left his cheeks, pulling at the fabric of his tucked in shirt, tugging until those same hands could slide under and grip his slender waist and pull it tight, flush against Steve’s own, he had to tear himself from the kiss at that, head dropping back against the wooden door to groan his pleasure out into the rapidly warming air around them, Steve wasn’t deterred in the slightest, those talented lips of his sealing over Eddies pulse point and suckling the skin there until bruised and angry, moving on quickly to another spot to repeat the process. “S-Steve...” Eddie gasped, hands feebly gripping shoulders “Steve… I’ve never—w-we shou—”

“Shhh, I’ve got you, you’ve looked after me for so long, Eddie... let me—let me take care of you for once.”

Maybe… Eddie very briefly thought as Steve slowly dropped to his knees, just before all thought vanished from Eddie’s mind replaced by warm, wet bliss, that actually… maybe he wouldn’t kill Robin.

Part 6

[st0rmyskies]

Emergency Commissions - Closed!!

Thank you everyone for the help! Commissions slots are all filled, tips are still always welcome. I will advise if any additional slots open up in the next few weeks.

So if you’ve been playing along at home, you may know that I returned from vacation this week to find that my central air conditioning unit died. Our house sustained some damage from the system overheating. Repairs/replacement are going to run in the five-figure range and they can’t wait, since July in my area of the world means brutal heat. 

So in the spirit of “well fuck me I guess,” I’ll be opening a limited number of emergency writing commissions slots, not to exceed eight depending on the scope of each work and the amount of interest I receive. 

Be advised that this is a one-time thing. I don’t intend to reopen commissions after this financial burden passes.

The Basics

I write for the LoZ and LU fandoms and will accept commissions for either in-universe writing or one of my own AUs (Townhouse AU, Count Darkula, the omegaverse series, etc.).

I will write crack, fluff, angst, spice, horror, murder, whatever. Choose your own adventure! 

If you’re interested in something sweet or spicy, I’ll write Linkshipping, Zelink, MidZel, GanLink, lesser-known characters, you name it I don’t care. I’m a multishipper at heart.

Characters can be cis, trans, unspecified, doesn’t matter to me.

I’m always happy to try on new spicy themes, even if it’s not something I’ve written before. This is a judgement-free zone, even if I end up saying “no thanks.” Seriously, just run it by me. I also have a handful of existing WIP options in the list below if you need any inspiration.

You get to choose whether this is a work to be published or if you’d rather keep it for your own private enjoyment. No price difference between the two options, I don’t care.

Not sure what you’d request? If you want, you can sponsor an active WIP. This is literally more bang for your buck, since I’m not going to charge you for the words I’ve already written. Once you snag a commission slot and leave your deposit, I can send you a sample of one or two works if you’re having a hard time choosing between options. Think of it like trying different flavors at an ice cream bar. An extensive list of my active WIPs appears in my pinned post. If sponsoring an active WIP for an ongoing series like HSH or LMTCOY, that work will be published.

Do you have an unfinished WIP of your own that you’d like to see finished but don’t have the time, energy, etc.? Throw it my way and we’ll see what we can do together! Once again, you are only charged for the words I put into the work in these cases, not the total word count. I will only be taking on up to two of these types of commissions.

The Nitty-Gritty

Pricing is 2 cents per word. I'm flexible with regards to word counts but I suggest the following tiers:

500 words - $10

1000 words - $20

2000 words - $40

2500 words - $50

A deposit will be required to lock in your commission slot on a first-come first-served basis. Deposits will vary based on the tier you select with any remaining balance due at delivery, if applicable. If I end up going over a bit and wrote 525 words for a 500-word slot, oh well, bank error in your favor.

Deadlines are TBD between myself and the commissioner depending on the scope of the work and the number of responses I get. Could be anywhere from a few weeks to a couple months. I don’t see myself letting commissions drag on past 3 months. 

Feel ready to take the plunge with me? You can send me a DM preferably via discord (st0rmyskies) but also through tumblr and we’ll get to work!

The Fine Print

You must be over the age of 18 to commission me.

Commissions are not to exceed 2500 words unless we negotiate otherwise. WIPs listed at larger word counts excluded from this rule.

If sponsoring an active WIP or work in an ongoing series, I may already have a plot and end goal for the story, so specific requests (e.g. “I want Twark to break up.”) may not be honored. I can do a one-shot of such scenarios, though, even if they’re outside canon plans.

I will not write for someone else’s series (e.g. “Can you continue this story from [author] that’s been abandoned?”).

No original characters.

I reserve the right to decline any request for any reason.

Can’t commission, but want to help?

You can leave me a tip via Venmo or PayPal, or signal boost on tumblr, discord, wherever. We need all the help we can get! 

Thanks so much for reading this far, friend. Any help with spreading the word is appreciated. 

- St0rmy

[fromthisuniverse]

friends to lovers with hermione granger (fem!reader) maybe a first kiss trope

Please see below for your writing sample! ------ Hermione had naturally offered to help you with your flying, close as the two of you were. In fact, she heartily volunteered to help you with any subject, and was often found snagging your arm and dragging you to the library for enthusiastic rounds of tutoring. While many students dismissed her as a ‘bossy know-it-all,’ these traits were always strangely endearing in your eyes. Today was no exception. 

As you both strode onto the grassy field, you frowned and looked at the sad broom you’d been saddled with: an old, second-hand Nimbus 1000 that was only held together with Spellotape and hope. The sorry state of your riding instrument did not escape Hermione’s perceptive gaze, and she frowned warily as well. “Are you quite certain you wish to do this?” she asked skeptically, her tone indicating that she did not approve. “Yes. Even if this is all I have, I need to get better,” you replied, clasping your hands together in a gesture of pleading. “Oh, very well,” she stated with a huff, unable to find the words to tell you no. “At least let me cast a Gripping Charm before we take off.” Without waiting for approval, she swirled her wand and spoke the incantation for the spell, and you felt as though your hand were drawn to the broom like a magnet. She kicked up first, and watched you warily as you took to the air afterward. You both practiced a few simple soars and turns at initially, though your broomstick seemed to fight you at every instruction. Hermione went into a simple loop, and waited for you to follow suit – but as you arced upward, your broom suddenly jerked to the right and spiraled unexpectedly. You yelped as it violently shuddered and wobbled, unwilling to be tamed. It was a small blessing that Hermione had thought ahead and cast the Gripping Charm, or you would have surely been flung off. “Hold on, I’m coming!” Hermione flew alongside you without thinking, her eyes wide and alert with panic. It took some effort, though she managed to steady your flight path by matching your pace and then reaching out to grab you. As she pulled you both together, her broom took the lead, and the dizzying mess was righted to a calm sway. Her cheeks were flushed as she held onto you, and you realized that you were clutching onto her for dear life as well. 

“Honestly! They should make sure that everyone at Hogwarts is at least supplied with a standard issue broomstick,” she fussed on your behalf, sounding ready to start a campaign right then and there. Yet even though the danger had passed, you realized that neither of you had let go of the other. Her warmth and closeness was comforting, and as she continued on about socioeconomic injustice, you noticed that she was blushing more and more. Was Hermione… nervous? Having known her for as long as you had, you knew the answer was yes. “Hermione… thank you,” you smiled as you interjected, and her words crumbled away. She nervously tucked her bushy hair behind her ear and stole a few glances at you, reflecting your smile.  It was utterly adorable, how shy she was at that moment. “Hermione,” you spoke her name again, summoning her attention toward you. Her brown eyes fixed onto yours, and for once, she seemed to be at a loss for words. As you coasted through the air in such close proximity, you both realized all at once: the two of you were much more than friends. You felt yourself gravitating toward her, and she you, her eyes fluttering closed as her heart hammered hard enough to drown out every other sound.  ------ If you are interested in ordering a full, custom-tailored fanfic, please feel free to visit our Ko-Fi for more info! Thank you!

------

[luminberry]

From a Unknown Friend?

tl,dr Jeri gets stuffed with slimes! Got the idea while chatting with stuffums and a few other folks and here we are.

there might be one with zeke later on if i get the time..cause yes.

It had been a rather slow and uneventful day at work for Jeri and Atty, the twins did appreciate the slower days since it let them catch up with the mounting paperwork their jobs tended to rack up.

Jericho sighed and pushed himself away from his desk for a moment to get up and stretch, sitting for so long had begun to make him drowsy..not to mention hungry.

"Should be bout time for lunch ta start if my clocks still on time..Maybe I can pop down before tha lunch rush hits and snag me n poor Atty a bite or two."

Leaving his coat on the hanger it hung from he moved to head out when someone at the door knocked abruptly, startling him just a tad.

"Ey, I thought mail delivery already swung by, who is it?"

"Special delivery for a uhhhh...Geriko??"

Jericho pulled the door open to see a rather scruffy person holding a large package out for him to grab..And it appears it was addressed to him? He was curious since not many packages got sent to his work address, must be important then.

"Yo, Gerkin you gonna accept the package? It's kinda heavy as hell and we're on a time limit."

"Hey now don't get snippy with me, but fine fine. Do I gotta sign anything?"

"H'yup! Just gotta sign this form saying you got the delivery big guy and we good!"

The surprisingly heavy package was shoved into his arms alongside a very beat up clipboard on top. Grunting a bit in surprise he shifted to put the package on his desk and fish out a pen to scribble his signature on before handing it back to the..delivery person. A mess of brown locks fell into a very very cocky looking grin, they didn't look any bit like a postal worker.

"...What mailin service are y'all workin with?"

"Rickies Super Fast Drop Offs. Or RSFDO!"

"...Never heard of em.."

"Brand spankin new actually, I'll take that cause I got other places to be!"

Without another word the lanky man snatched the clipboard out of his hands and took off down the hallway, yelling thanks for his service.

"...Gotta have a word with tha front desk bout doin better screenins on weird folks.

Shaking his head some he moved back into his office to see what got sent to him..He didn't really recall ordering anything specific and there didn't seem to be a general return address that he could see. Grabbing a knife he made short work of opening the box and peering inside.

Inside were four solid looking containers..they looked like tupperware but more resilient and dark, a faint smell of something that made his stomach groan loudly wafted up.

"Huh..maybe someone send me a lil care package? Now ain't that jus a cute idea..Wonder who could be behind it? Well let's take a gander at what they packed me for lunch then."

One by one the containers were pulled free from the box and sat on his desk before the cardboard box was set back down near the door for tossing out later. Moving to take his seat once more, curiosity was growing stronger as the first containers contents he chose gently shifted and swayed inside.

Cracking open the lid, Jericho was met with a overpoweringly savory smell, the source was a dark almost coffee colored substance. The scent was making his mouth water, must be some sort of soup? He leaned in to get a better smell as a clawed finger gently reached out to dip in to see if he could get a taste.

He let out a quiet hum of surprise when the surface jiggled under his touch before yielding and letting him scoop a tiny sample out to pop into his mouth. Strangely it didn't melt like he expected but slid around over his tongue and slamming down a almost decadently rich meaty stew flavor before he gulped it down.

"Huh..well now ain't that somethin...Some sorta jello? Nah..never had jello be savory before. Wonder what tha others are then.."

Jericho shifted to grab and pop the lids off of the remaining three containers to sample their contents. Each held a different flavor that made him hum in delight. The second had a strong taste of pumpkin pie, the third like almost freshly baked bread, and the last was a silky tasting chocolate.

"Whoever sent all this has a strange method of cookin..not that I mind somethin this delicious..Wonder if Atty would want some. mh?"

As he moved to get back up and call his twin brother Atticus over, the first container rattled, making Jericho pause and stare.

"...Did, nah..must be seein things.."

Letting out a sigh he missed the savory contents slowly rising up and launching itself at him, earning a surprised muffled yelp from the man.

"mMphg?? GHk"

Somehow his hands only slid through the attacking substance uselessly as it wriggled and worked itself past his lips and further beyond. Struggling to free himself and failing greatly, the animated foodstuffs took its time filling his mouth before easing itself down his throat and sliding home into his empty stomach. The taste while delicious left him alarmed at what just happened, hands flying up to his now slightly filled midsection as a odd shifting sensation made itself known.

It felt as if he ate something living and it was busying itself with getting comfortable inside him.

"Wh-what in tha fuc-..wait. Oh no."

No sooner had the first container emptied itself into his gut did Jeri notice the other three were starting to shake and wriggle as their contents stretched themselves out towards him almost eagerly.

"Hold on, I don't think I can eat all this, lemme jus-uRK"

The bread flavored one didn't seem to want to wait or listen as much like the first strange food stuffs, it launched itself at his face and his open mouth. Wasting no time at all it filled Jerichos mouth with the overwhelmingly delectable tastes of bakery fresh breads smothered in warm sweet butter before sliding down his throat to join the first in his grumbling stomach.

Jericho was overwhelmingly filled by now with the oddly shifting contents making his stomach feel strangely warm. Surprisingly other than the overpoweringly full feeling he was experiencing there wasn't any pain.

The poor man sagged in his chair, catching his breath for a moment as his poor stomach whined and protested loudly as he heaved to try and relieve any sort of pressure he could. Hands flew up to undo his vest before the buttons could rip themselves free from their strained bindings on his midsection. And after a quick thought he undid the button to his pants as well to let his swollen gut sag and slosh freely at last.

"Hoooughh...Good lord..please I don't think I can get another bite down. If ya slimy lil things can even understand me jus wait a minute..hey-hey! I said-mhnp!!"

The last two had waited paitently for their host to catch its breath before combining and sliding forwards over that heavy gut and towards his mouth much like the others moments ago. Jericho tried to fight al he could but there didn't seem to be much he could do to stop the pair from prying his jaws wide open and filling his mouth with a almost sickeningly sweet but overpoweringly delectable taste of pumpkin and chocolate.

Jericho whined softly as little by little the last two eased themselves down his throat, filling him up at last as the final few morsels vanished into his swollen gut minutes later.

He felt severely full, hands coming up to gently rub and press at his alarmingly big stomach. Feeling gentle shifts from within as the contents situated themselves and left Jericho feeling drowsy and warm.

"..uugh..Surprised I -hic- could even keep that all down..Gonna have ta do somethin bout this..Maybe later.."

Filled to the brim like he was, it was next to impossible to resist the food induced coma overtaking him after that strange experience. He could figure out what just happened later after he slept some of this meal off. Leaning back carefully in his chair he got comfortable as best he could before letting sleep take him.

[misshowdoyoudo]

This library was more and more fascinating. Don was already noting down various patterns and formulating theories as to how it worked based just on the types of books he found. It was a bit telling when it came down to which books were blank, which ones were partial, and which ones were complete, at least in his mind. This was especially true when he started testing out the theory with titles he knew backwards and forwards.

...he hoped the turtle in charge didn't care that he had snagged one of the blank books to formulate his theories in. He'd given Raph his notepad, after all.

Still, looking at the books was one thing. It gave him a lot of good information, of course, but it didn't give him everything. How could it, when there were so many blank books? No, no, to really confirm the theory he had in the back of his head, he'd need a bigger sample size. And to do that, he'd need to talk to the other competitors around here.

Looking around, Don's eyes alighted on one, and he headed over to the figure, giving a friendly wave.

"Hello," he greeted. "My name is Donatello, although I'm fairly certain you would have guessed that already. Would you mind if I asked you some questions about what you've read and the books you've looked at here as an investigation into a theory I'm forming?"

(aquietwritingcorner)

"Um!" Little Leo, four-years-old and unable to read very well yet, looked up at Don. "I read some comics from another me. And I watched Jupiter Jim in the lab!"

"I saw a few books that were suspicious," April chimed in. "One of them had a story that sounded familiar . . ."

[rgr-pop]

I’m looking for another signature gourmandy powdery thing with a lot of longevity. here are my mainstream perfume positions

- don’t like aquatics very much, don’t need more white florals though i do like them. hate any shampooy fragrance

- the only mainstream perfume that i can think of that i hate on me is black opium but i don’t know why. i also sadly don’t like muglers on me. it makes me think i wouldn’t like prada paradoxe but i am very drawn to that aesthetically so i want to like it

- my current special occasion perfume is ellis brooklyn sweet. i REALLY like this but unfortunately it doesn’t last long on me so i don’t wear it every day. a slightly messier and longer lasting version of this would be one ideal

- i’m out of prada candy and i will repurchase when i’m able. it also doesn’t last as long as i wish it would. i wish they’d make a ‘dark intense’ one. i’m very interested in a prada candy variant but i don’t think i’ve fallen in love with any.

- over the past few years i’ve really liked samples of: valentino donna born in roma, ralph lauren romance, burberry her (i think). i enjoy all of these enough to like buy at tj maxx but i’d rather find the better version of them (especially since they all have ugly bottles)

- the last perfume i bought a few years ago was dior poison hypnotique. i do love this and the bottle is the greatest (if you can stomach them i kind of think everyone should have a poison, especially for the price) but what i really wanted was juliette has a gun mmmm and i should have gotten that.

- i intend to acquire by the fireplace and i should do it for the fall. i’ve bought this for multiple people but i can never spring for it for myself. id love some recs of indie/weird girl versions of this!

- speaking of, do they not make lipstick on anymore??? hard to wear but i miss that.

- i want a doll head perfume and i would probably say this is a need. what i REALLY want is melissa zappas the pink bedroom. i looove the the perfume oil bottle. it’s perfect because it looks like the choco musk bottles only it costs ten times as much

- i reordered choco musk and i ordered a set that also has soft and dalal. this was cheap. al rehab choco musk is top five most essential perfumes in world history and if you even remotely think you’d like smellin chocolatey you have to snag yourself the perfume oil for seven to ten dollars. i went on fragrantica and learned that this is trending on tiktok which it should but i have had it six years or something. tiktok is welfare for girls who don’t know any heaux or arab girls

- i still wear la vie est belle, often because i don’t feel like i have a lot of options. i do love it but i’m embarrassed to wear it around others because it’s so much. i retain a lingering love for flowerbomb but they are so similar. i should at least get myself a flowerbomb sample to wear it more and think on it. i’ve liked many of the variants over the years too

- i also still wear si because i have a huge one. don’t really like it anymore. like to sleep in it or wear it around the house when i need a perfume shell. i miss si intense.

- used up ck downtown. id buy this again if i saw it at tj maxx also. i wouldn’t mind having another lite ozonic fragrance. i’d wear it as other people would wear something like clean and sporty

- open to trying some milk scents. historically i like them in candles but not on my body as much but i’m curious enough to keep trying.

- i got a mini of nest indigo from biscuitfortune. this has some flaws as a perfume but i’m in love with the tea note. i always forget how much i love this note like in hand soaps. why not perfume! need to discover more!

- one thing i do still have is like minimalist indie etc pure vanilla and sugar type scents. however every time i hear a girl going on about finding the perfect vanillla i’m like what if i tried more vanilla……

[cheswirls]

ace walks in to find sabo asleep on the couch.

he sighs, pressing fingers to his forehead, but really, what did he expect? with the way they were conversing earlier, so tender and affectionate, of course sabo would see fit to stay up and wait for him to come home from his errand.

well, it’s also partially his fault for leaving, then. how easy would it have been, to call and have someone else check up on samples? everyone would have been understanding. hell, sabo just barely got his leg cast removed. ‘understanding’ in ace’s situation would be putting it lightly.

but what’s done is done. he’d be smarter next time.

sabo is leaned against the side of the couch, one arm slumped over the side. his head rests beneath the other, curled like he had set it there for just a moment, like he was just resting his eyes.

ace puts his hand on the crown of sabo’s head and pushes his fingers back so they roam beneath blond waves. he repeats the action, scrunching his trimmed nails into sabo’s scalp, and sighs when sabo remains fast asleep.

he’s not in the mood to drag this out longer. it is partially his fault, so he accepts responsibility, sliding his arms around sabo to hoist him up off of the couch. 

god, but he can remember when this used to be difficult. it’s next to nothing now to carry sabo like this with all the weight he’s lost. the realization leaves him biting on his lip. he adjusts his hold to put less pressure on sabo’s left leg.

walking is fine. climbing the stairs is another story. it puts a strain on him that he’s not used to, one that leaves his muscles burning halfway up. he must get careless by that point with all his shifting, because sabo grunts, head sliding from where it’s leaned against ace’s chest.

ace stops, heart in his throat. he waits for sabo’s breathing to even out before daring to take another step.

it’s a risk with little reward. sabo’s voice, barely audible, floats up to him as soon as his foot touches down again. “ace?”

shh, ace thinks. go back to sleep, he almost says. but he doesn’t. sabo had waited for him. whatever he wanted to say must be important to him, to do such a thing. how can ace not indulge him, in that case? he takes another step. “yeah?”

“will you put the ring on my hand?”

ace’s foot misses the landing and falls back to the final step. he notices a few things at once.

one: his heart is fucking hammering in his chest, and sabo has to be feeling it. two: sabo’s little finger is caught on his shirt, curled up to pull the fabric out just the tiniest amount. three: the leather band his engagement ring is on is back around his neck, the tied ends visible from just underneath his shirt’s collar. 

the same strap ace had picked out and fortified into a necklace just for sabo, so sabo wouldn’t have to wear the ring properly, so he could still have it on him in a way that was comfortable for him. for sabo, who didn’t ever really like rings. for sabo, who had agreed on the whole thing on a whim just to please ace, not really caring one way or another if their relationship status morphed into such a thing. for sabo, who didn’t care, or shouldn’t care, as far as ace knew. and yet. and yet he. he was.

“yeah,” ace manages, repeating himself. 

sabo hums, smiling, now, against ace’s shirt. his pinky uncurls to rejoin the others, forming a loose fist, twisting away from ace to bare his ring finger. 

ace has to remind himself to breathe. he finishes ascending the single staircase to avoid any sort of accident. 

by the time he pushes into their bedroom he’s almost properly out of breath. he still sets sabo down as carefully as he can manage, pulling the sheets down and then up over sabo’s form when he shudders, missing the warmth that came with ace’s close contact. 

his eyes open. just enough to seek ace out. his hand moves from under the sheets to snag ace before he can move around to the other side. sabo wiggles more towards the middle of the bed and ace takes the hint, pushing in after him and drawing close.

sabo releases him and presents the same hand in ace’s line of sight. waiting. like ace had the chance to forget his request. like ace could ever forget a request like that.

ace smiles. he pulls the necklace from sabo’s shirt and presses his hands into the pillows to pull it seamlessly over sabo’s head. it takes very little effort to undo the knot and slide the ring off, and he tosses the leather up further into their pile of pillows, making a mental note to find it again in the morning.

sabo lets him push the ring all the way on without any resistance. ace had been expecting it, too, expecting him to twitch and back out of ace’s hold, a ‘nevermind, forget it’ falling from his lips. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t.

sabo moves his hand up to see and twists it this way and that, admiring what little light making it through the window has the silver band gleaming on his pale skin.

ace catches sabo’s hand in both of his own, drawing it close. he thumbs over the ring and his breath hitches.

“are you crying?” sabo asks. he sounds amused.

“‘m not crying,” ace hiccups. not very convincing, if the way sabo’s fingers curl to interlock with his is any indication.

sabo’s eyes shut. he moves closer, pressing his forehead up against ace’s. “thank you.”

ace can’t resist bending forward to press a kiss to the corner of sabo’s mouth.  he moves their hands back into the warmth of the sheets, then sets his fourth finger against sabo’s so their matching rings rest on top of each other. 

sabo huffs out a breath that may count as a laugh, but his next words have ace forgetting all about it. “love you,” he whispers, so sweetly, free hand pulling ace closer to him. 

to ace, it’s the fourth time sabo has said it, since he’s gotten home. one clear, verbal admission hits the spot, but it doesn’t discount any of the other little ways sabo’s said the same thing. it’s also, on ace’s part, very easy to return the sentiment.

[beebthatscreams]

Like a million years ago the wonderful @altocat was answering a lot of ask about aus where Sephiroth had a sibling or siblings. And I saw one that made my braincells actually work about how Sephiroth's life or behavior would have changed with a much more science minded sibling that worked more directly under Hojo almost like Chadley.

I ended up making like an entire OC who I have a lot more stuff on than what's here but I'm not sure if I wanna keep posting it cause canon changing OCs are such a hassle and I know most people aren't super fond of them.

But here’s basically the story up to CC:

In this au Sephiroth is one in a pair of fraternal twins. (because we all know there’s no way in hell an entire separate instance of baby is happening there. I don’t care about the Costa de la sol scene Hojo doesn’t get bitches.)

Sephiroth and his sister Eden are both very promising and performed mostly on par for a large part of their childhood. While going through testing has little if any enjoyable parts they often minded the least what the other hated the most.

Eden goes through mandatory classes and mental tests like a game and tends to dread most physical tests and training. While Sephiroth tends to mentally clock out for class whenever he can get away with it and can’t wait for chances to burn all the frustration from being cooped up in the lab.

Sephiroth picks up his habit of being of very few words very young and it often leads to Eden speaking for him when it comes to interacting with the scientist, especially Hojo, in order to get things across. The both of them often cover up or try to explain situations where the other would get in trouble. Results on successful cover up or getting out of punishment vary.

All in all they’re extremely close siblings and when they’re introduced to the public and soon after put on the field fighting in Wutai, it seems like nothing will be changing.

Sephiroth is always quick to divert press and questions to Eden. Eden is always quick to trade for missions that were recon or stealth orientated.

Things begin to split.

Eden, despite what she would ever admit, clearly wants any approval and validation from Hojo she can get ahold of. Especially with having much more interest in science and tech than the battlefield she was designed for. Monsters with oddities or mutations she often records or even snags a small sample off of to bring back to the science department like a cat with a dead bird. She’s a weasel, says exactly what needs to be heard to get what she wants. Praise, attention, recognition, she spends hours pouring over papers and journals, volunteers to help with anything she can get her hands on in that lab. She’s a little too comfortable with “playing the game” of science department politics and has the intention to win. It gets under Sephiroth's skin, that after all they’ve been through somehow she still is so enamored by anything that happens under the watch of that awful man.

Sephiroth quickly becomes the star of the war. His combat is efficient, and extremely destructive. But most of all it’s an escape, it’s a sign of his worth, his strength, that he is not the child in the lab cowering behind his sister. And he never will be again. The death doesn’t matter to him, the reason doesn’t matter to him. While in theory he understands that he is killing and this war, but he’s so divorced from comprehending what that really means. This is the closest to freedom he’ll ever get. No one is telling him what to do mid battle. He takes no pleasure in the violence but it’s his only purpose and only goal. It’s the only thing that gets him out of watchful eyes. The carelessness of it horrifies Eden, she can’t comprehend how he sees the war as anything but a loss of life no matter how much propaganda they were raised on. Life is fascinating and complicated and each one has vast connections and he doesn’t care.

Genesis and Angeal being added to the mix hurts and helps.

It softens up Sephiroth a little emotionally, instils a little empathy. It gives something positive for Eden to associate with SOLDIER work. They get jealous over each other in their own petty and quiet ways. Jealous of their new friends paying attention to the other, but also for the first time not being the only people in each other's lives. But in general it seems to be mending things.

Then a mission goes extremely wrong.

SOLDIER accelerated healing is a blessing and a curse. It keeps Eden from dying from an otherwise lethal injury even for a SOLDIER, but when your spine is shattered and it begins healing immediately around all those shards out of place, it creates irreversible damage.

Things can be done of course. With all the technology and magic that Shinra has available it’s surely fixable.

To an extent.

Eden is lucky to be able to walk at all even after all the surgeries and healing. They assure her her recovery will be quick because of her enhancements. They assure her she will be able to fight again and she’ll be moving around without pain and without aid in no time.

She doesn’t believe them.

Hojo trusts her under no one else’s watch but she can’t be useless while she recovers. He needs a lab assistant anyway, the last one chickened out. It will only be a few months.

A few months turns into a year.

And then two.

And Eden has only just now been able to make it through days without a cane but only when feeling at her best.

It hits everyone that the lab job is permanent.

Just like that they’ve had their first loss of a first class, and she’s still alive and well. Reviewing sim data and making sure what used to be her peers are in good health.

Sephiroth has a sneaking suspicion she’s happier this way. And he should be happy for her not having to be in the war. Not having to kill when it affected her so much. But he can’t, because all he can see in her is just the next Hojo. He’s holding his breath for the day she also crosses that line of ethics. That line of hubris. It isn’t hard to see her inch closer and closer.

[thelaithlyworm]

Repod Roundup: Good Omens Edition

These are part of a much longer series - a non-religious Advent calendar for each day of December by Snowfilly1 and all of them are lovely, really.

Laughter

[The Bentley] has developed quite a few non-car-like pieces of knowledge over the years. The first of which, of course, is the ability to be aware of herself as a car, and the things she can do as ‘not car-like.’

The second was an awareness of her partner. (She does not think of Crowley as an owner, nor herself as a possession. They are partners. The Bentley can’t go fast without her partner.)...

Gift

Here are some gifts Aziraphale has given Crowley:

A curving wing in the rain. Call it protection, call it safety, call it love. An act of unthinking grace: I have this thing; this is all I have; I offer it to you. Call it the thing Crowley remembers every day for 6,000 years; the thing that becomes the foundation and the building blocks and the crowning glory of his life. Call it the thing Aziraphale judges his every action against, afterwards…

In which Crowley’s informal av club ends up being slightly more revealing than he’d planned. This fic has lovely little gems of lines: “... then—with the agonizing slowness and precision of an elderly lady punching her PIN into a credit card reader— [Aziraphale] picked up the paper…” And, it has some interesting discussions of adaptations in general and adaptations of Pride and Prejudice in particular. (I’m with Crowley on this matter.)

Much more melancholy - three days before the Apocalypse, Crowley asks Aziraphale to cut his hair. It’s all warm and sweet and gentle - and mournful - with a lot about how we build identity and work through transitions. When I first made this, I found a sample of improvised piano in the rain, and it pleased me to continue the rain theme.

How short?” Aziraphale asks quietly.

“Short,” Crowley says. “Take it off.”

He runs his hand through Crowley’s long red hair, his fingers snagging in the tangles of an updo taken down carelessly. Aziraphale thinks of hair blowing in a desert wind as thunderclouds gathered on the horizon. He doesn’t remember the names of the cities the Flood washed away, or the song someone sang to their children as they all huddled on the roof of their hut, or whether he wept when the waters receded. But he remembers Crowley’s dusty hair, the braid behind his ear…

And onto some fic written by me. This originally started for a femslash exchange, and it was interesting to dig into Agnes Nutter’s POV. Fun to find a character that might get her attention, really. In this case, Constant-in-Affliction, v. modest, surprisingly daring. I ended up doing a lot on Agnes’s prescience, and what it meant to know exactly how a relationship was going to go. Sometimes I think Agnes is an analogue for Christ, in that she healed the sick and was executed in a painful way, and she left behind a book to follow. And sometimes I think she’s an analogue for god, at least the god of Good Omens. Loving something, with all that vulnerability and risk, all laid out in four-dimensions. (Also, I think I was trying to imply that by accepting the love affair, Agnes was accepting her super-prescience - that she decided to be brave. So! Constant-in-Affliction saved the world…? Eh. Not sure if that ever came through for the reader, though.)

And, always a good time to get into the kind of medicine that involves leeches and placing every herb under a guiding planet. (I had story notes!)

I wrote “Reading in Bed” first, because I wanted Aziraphale to have a good time, and then I threw in a minor detail about how the angel liked to read different translations of the same book, like different vintages of wine to savour, and then I stumbled into a scholarly treatise about two versions of Persuasion, where the key word did not have an exact cognate in the language and the different choices the translators made… and it got very thinky.

I don’t remember exactly where “Dappled Things” came from, except of course for the Gerard Manly Hopkins poem: 

Glory be to God for dappled things – 

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow…

Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;

And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange…

They both ended up in 2nd Person, both an exploration of each characters internal stresses and what they think of the other… I think I might have been doing a Podfic Bingo with ‘splice two fics together’ or something.

I do find it interesting that where Aziraphale sees his uncertainty as something to be worked through and triumphed over, Crowley sees the dappling of his character as something beautiful. How the comfort that Aziraphale takes for granted is something that both attracts and scares Crowley. (Am never not going to love Crowley’s elbow-knobby, surprisingly comfortable hugs.)

As a podfic this ended up fully SFXed, with the slightly anachronistic Sabre Dance/Spinning Plates Music moving through the noise of the air raid. Is Crowley gallantly fighting or is he a clown? Either way, the sweat is flying. And I do dearly love the gentle clock and blackbird song for the second half.

There’s something about femslash that often makes me go for the dark and angsty. I’m so sorry! I do write happy fics with girls in it, I promise! I just… I just have a bit of an urge to go wild.

In this case, I was filling a prompt for the Femslash Exchange - Crowley/War. And I was definitely doing a destructive kind of a romance there, but also exploring Women In Wartime - the ones sheltering behind walls to wait it out, the captives, the warriors, the beautiful casus belli. Helen is a bit of a cipher, really - there are wildly different interpretations of her from different sources, and I suppose I wanted to explore that a little.

As for the recording, I’m not sure I have much to say about it, except that voices were tricky because both Crawly and War have a bit of a drawl. I kept War’s voice a bit higher for characterisation reasons and hope I managed to keep them different enough. Also, as I recall I did a big trawl looking for ancient Greek instruments and ended up with a double-reed duduk in place of an aulos. Shrug. We do what we can.

[vctlan]

It snagged on the edges of his recollection, this needling sense that he had seen this one before… but that did not aid his attempt to remember who it could be, nor did it inspire him to consider it further.

The young man was clearly a SOLDIER, no doubt about that, and there was no SOLDIER that did not pass through his hands eventually. So many faces, so many bodies, all blurring into oblivion, archived in his mind only as specimen typing and project numbering - if they were worthy of even that. And perhaps it so happened that this one wasn't, a failure struck out from his mental records.

It wasn't uncommon for the scraps of the program to fall between the cracks, to harbor resentment, to seek retribution. The fact that this one lived long enough to try something on this grand of a scale, however, was.

He watches the group's fight with a predatory gaze, well aware of the danger he was in, but entirely convinced he would escape unscathed should it come to it - they were the ones encroaching on his territory, after all, someplace where not even the most foolhardy of staff knew to step into uninvited, as he controlled every single piece of equipment and flesh, specimen cages to be emptied at his discretion, caring not for the senseless loss of life as long as it gave him fresh study samples.

His current ones were long past gone the point of being recognized as being once human, as it stood, and budget cuts afflicted every department every so often.

… They are, however, victorious.

That does give him pause, a reason to look closer, a condescending leer from behind the bridge of his nose that coincides with a bitter glare and a question asked with so much vitriol it would no doubt be caustic were he to handle it with his bare hands.

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" — @youmourn

The Professor lets the silence hang in the air for just a few seconds more, his judgement and observation nearly palpable as a hand rests underneath his chin, spurred just enough to allow his eyes to linger on that face - and a spark of recollection finally does catch his attention, his form shaking with an ill timed chuckling, silent to them through the glass.

He does, however, eventually lean forward properly, both hands on the control panel as a finger held down the button for the intercom.

"My boy, you'll have to forgive me -- I make no habit of remembering failures." His voice echoes around them, light, mocking and yet joyous, absolutely enthralled by the notion that he proved himself wrong, that perhaps one of his many scrapped failures still had something worth salvaging. "Tell me, what project were you? What is your number?"

He still does not remember, still does not have a name for the face, an origin for the body that once landed on his operating table, but those are details he can fill in once the specimen is in containment again.

Because knowing who it once was didn't matter to him. What mattered were his hypothesis.

[sylvanfreckles]

Day 11: Accidental Injury (Alt 4)

Part 11 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: T Warnings: Broken bones

Summary: Her arm twisted over the rim of the well and something gave with a terrible crack. (Read on AO3)

...

Imogen wrapped the rope more securely around her forearm and braced her feet against the side of the well. She told herself she had the easy part—she was just holding the (admittedly heavy) bucket. Ashton, on the other side of the well, was supporting Orym’s weight as the halfling scraped up samples of moss and fungi that were growing on the walls of the well and loading them into the bucket.

Their contact in Yios was always willing to pay good money for any samples they could take from the dilapidated structures in and around the Gloomed Jungles. The elderly orc, who reminded them all of Lord Eshteross, just a little bit, had expressed a particular interest in moss and fungi, which was why Orym was sixteen feet down the well scraping weird purple mushrooms off the crumbling stonework.

“Doing okay down there?” she called mentally. They still had a few more minutes of contact left, so his reply came easily.

“Plenty of the purple stuff,” Orym said in her head. “Stonework down here is pretty loose. I can get some soil, too.”

“Ask him if he’s found any bones,” Ashton called. They shrugged when Imogen shot them a look. “Creepy abandoned well in a creepy abandoned settlement…there’s probably bones.”

“Damnit.” Orym’s voice echoed up in her head. “Tell Ash the rope’s stuck.”

“He says the rope’s stuck,” Imogen repeated. When Ashton shot her a look she shrugged back.

Ashton let out a dramatic sigh and tugged on the rope. Their brow creased in a frown when it didn’t budge, and they tugged again.

“Hang on, it’s caught on a cross beam. Tell them to hold on.”

“Ashton?” Imogen raised her voice to be heard over their muttered cursing. “Now Orym says—”

“Got it!” Ashton gave another vicious pull and the rope snapped free. Imogen heard Orym’s muted cry of shock before a heavy weight suddenly wrenched at her arm.

She yelped as she was tugged toward the well, managing to drop to her knees before she could be pulled into it. Her arm twisted over the rim of the well and something gave with a terrible crack. Pain sparked through her vision, her stomach clenched, and the rope slipped through her numb fingers.

“Fuck it all!” Ashton was already by her side, leaning over her to snag the rope before it could slip away. “You good?” they asked, hand on her back.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Imogen stammered. Her arm was pulsing, twisting in red-hot pain.

Ashton swore. They looped one arm around her waist and half-turned to move her away from the well so they could focus on hauling Orym out. “Letters! We got a problem!”

Imogen curled around her arm, panting into the faded grass. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Bruises were already blossoming up and down her forearm, and her thumb stuck out at a weird angle. From elbow to fingertip everything was just agony, and if she tried to move the pain spiked all the way to her shoulder.

“Oh dear! Oh, Imogen!” The creak of metal announced Fresh Cut Grass’s arrival at her side. “Oh, your poor arm.”

“Can you,” she gasped. “Can you…heal it?”

“I’ll try. Can I see?”

She nodded, though she couldn’t hold back a cry of pain when they very gently probed at the disfigured joint. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ashton pulling Orym out of the well, along with the bucket.

She knew what had happened. When his rope snapped, Orym had grabbed onto the bucket rather than risk the fall to the unknown depths of the well.

That didn’t make her arm any less broken.

“I can heal this, but I need to set it first,” Fresh Cut Grass announced. “Want me to get Laudna?”

Imogen shook her head, not wanting to trouble her friend with this, but Launda was already running toward them.

“What happened?” Laudna demanded. She sat down and gently pulled Imogen’s head into her lap. “Who did this?”

“I think it was an accident,” Fresh Cut Grass began.

“I don’t care! Who hurt you, darling?” Laudna leaned over Imogen, her dark hair hiding their faces from the world around them.

Imogen managed a trembling smile and brushed Laudna’s cheek with the fingers of her good hand. “It really was an accident,” she promised. Then FCG touched something on her wrist, and she groaned as pain lanced up to her shoulder and turned her face toward Laudna, away from her mangled arm.

“My poor girl,” Laudna crooned. She gently ran her fingers through Imogen’s hair, curling around her to keep her steady as Fresh Cut Grass prodded at her injury. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix your arm up in no time.”

“I’m gonna need—Ashton!” Fresh Cut Grass leaned away from them to wave down their friend. “I need your help?”

Imogen whimpered and burrowed closer to Laudna. The pain was setting off that migraine that always seemed to wait at the back of her mind, looking for the right moment to be unleashed. She barely heard them talking—something about Ashton setting her arm while FCG cast the spell—and tried to focus on Laudna’s soothing voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Orym said from somewhere nearby. Imogen didn’t want to look up, but she reached out with her good hand and flailed around until the halfling caught it.

“Just an accident,” she choked out.

“Yeah, but…”

“If you don’t accept her forgiveness, you’ll never have mine,” Laudna announced. Imogen had to smile at her friend’s logic. If Imogen was determined to forgive whoever caused the accident, then in Laudna’s book they should count themselves forgiven and be grateful.

“Mostly that bucket,” Imogen added faintly. “Weighs…more than you.”

“Yeah, probably,” Orym agreed. He squeezed her hand gently before shifting it back to Laudna’s.

The crunch of footsteps signaled Ashton’s return. “Okay, we ready for this?” they asked, crouching down and resting a hand on Imogen’s good shoulder. She nodded as Laudna took her hand and tucked her head against Laudna’s side.

Ashton took hold of her arm at the elbow and wrist and Imogen bit back another moan of pain. Then they shifted and pulled and twisted and for a split-second the world was nothing but blinding, white pain…then the warmth of a healing spell flowed over and into her arm and washed the pain away.

She lay panting in Laudna’s lap as Fresh Cut Grass gently manipulated her arm and shunted a little more healing into it. “Thank you, FCG,” she whispered.

“You should probably rest it the rest of the day,” they replied. “Here, let me get you something to wrap it up in.”

She nodded, though they didn’t see it as they were already off on their errand. Imogen let out a sigh and relaxed as Laudna ran a hand through her hair again. “Can I just stay here for a while?”

“Of course, darling,” Laudna replied. “Whatever you want.”

[zedtiae]

Inquest RATS ask thingy! Yahkha ~ #3 and #8 !

Imetyl ~ #3 and #11 !

waaaah you mad lad, thank you so much for the ask ;u;

obligatory link back to the ask game here

and now off I go with my rambles since I've been enabled HEEHEE

Y A H K H A -

3. How and why did they join the Inquest in the first place? For Yahkha, her start with the Inquest was very circumstantial. She was still in college when they had just barely began, and as a result knew the mega-krewe as a conservative effort to preserve Asuran innovation. Her future (ex)wife, however, scoffed at the idea of joining a krewe and insisted they venture off to build up their own dynasty. Which they did! However, 20 years later, when money troubles finally ripped them apart and the Pact wasn't doing nearly enough to protect the rights of their collaborators... well, she more or less decided to phone in a friend and revisit the idea of investing her patents into something more, uh, lucrative.

Alas, for reasons beyond her control, it doesn't quite work out...

8. How valuable replaceable of an employee are they? Fairly valuable, actually! See, before confirming more serious negotiations on her botany and biomedical research with the Reds, Yah-Yah decided on one last run with the Pact in order to snag her final few pieces of research - after all, SURELY samples from an Elder Dragon of the jungles would yield the answers she needed in turning plants into viable prosthetics for flesh folk! And what better time to go obtain results than when the organization was making first contact?

(Spoiler alert: this is where things Do Not Work Out. But at least she got some valuable experience while in that blighting pod! :^) !!! ) -----

I M E T Y L -

3. How and why did they join the Inquest in the first place? Oh, Imetyl. My sweet, stammering little rat. As someone who was perfectly mid throughout school save for her exceptional written argumentative skills, she went into college to become a lawyer and plunged STRAIGHT into the Red Zone once it became exceptionally clear that nobody would take her seriously over the tremors that have wracked her since she were a progeny. And seeing this was during (my hc'd) time when the Inquest were barely rising into power? Why, slipping right into ranks was easy as pie - no recruiter required. :^)

11. What are their long term goals in regards to being part of the Inquest? Currently, Ime's goals are pretty straightforward: she wishes to shape the Inquest back to its original intentions, and will do so through the courts once she's elected into a judicial position.

(She also wishes to help the friend-turned-experiment that she dragged into this mess of a mega-krewe get out. But that, frankly, is not something she'd ever admit aloud - not if she wants to keep looking politically indestructible. And so she keeps working from the shadows, doing her absolute best to keep poor Yah-Yah away from any malicious actors...)