#Forgotten Dandelion AU

[neda-epik]

This drawing of teen Spark I did yesterday

@cyucya your child is awesome<3

[cyucya]

You're breaking my heart with the Skylar au - poor boy!

But hey, he finally gets what he wants! …Right?

Powerless Sonadow Kid AU! <start here

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P.S. Sorry this one took a few extra days — I’ve been wrestling with a lot of emotions lately. It’s the first diary entry in a while too, so I hope someone out there missed these little bits of SC’s brain. I’m planning to slowly get back on track with the usual schedule, though I can’t promise exactly when the next part will land. Thanks for sticking around and being so supportive — it really means the world. You’re the best. Seriously.

Please go check out forgotten dandelion AU!

As well as awesome art of Skylar-Chilli, rocket and my sona!

Also! There’s a Spark playlist now!

Thank you for all the fanarts, those are gorgeous!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: I'm hoping y'all like it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The chamber is pungent with sweat. A clammy sheen coats Edith's forehead as she gives another rattling cough. You hear the crackle in her lungs and smell the iron of her blood before it stains the crumpled handkerchief your mother dabs her lips with. 

She's been sick for months. Your mother said the summer heat would help her recovery but the drought that followed the spring downpour only seemed to worsen her symptoms. The once buoyant and bright eyed girl lays shrouded beneath a canopy, gulping and gasping, frail and despondent. 

Your fathe clears his throat, startling you from the doorway. You hadn't heard him appear. You glance at him over your shoulder and ser the grimness in his eye, the stone that has not dislodged since your sister fell ill. She always was his favourite. She's everyone's favourite. She is gentle and kind and rare.

Your mother turns to peek at your father's shadow. She gives a nod and rises, beckoning you forth, handing over the cloth and squeezing it into your palm. 

"Sit with your sister," she nearly whispers. The chamber is always quiet, as if speaking too loud might tempt the fates. Alas, it was always Edith who would sing to fill the dearth. She always knows what to do, what to say.

You perch on the edge of the bed as your mother crosses the floor. Not a word passes between your parents as they retreat. Again, the must discuss something dire, as they've done these last weeks. Each time, it only serves to gray their melancholy further.

Edith stares above her. Eyes glassy and distant. She coughs again and a fleck of phlegm lands on her chin. You mop it up as you wonder how her round cheeks could ever have become so taut and worn.

Her gaze drifts, slowly and lazily, a divet forming between her brows as she strains to look at her. The corners of her lips twitch but she hasn't the strength to smile. She gulps back another raspy cough.

"It's… you," she breathes, "my… sister."

Her words come far apart, each summoned with an effort. As you lower the handkerchief back to your lap she wheezes and lifts her hand shakily. She moves it towards you and lets it drop onto yours.

"I love you, sister," she wisps, "I… I remember…" she shakes her head and wets her tongue, "how much you love…dandelions and daffodils… and everything yellow and blooming." 

Her chest rattles as she falls into a fit. She curls her shoulders and clings to you tightly, her brittle nails sinking into your skin. She swallows loudly as she leans heavily against the pillows, her coughs subsiding. 

"I recall… and I know… you are just as… vibrant…" she bends her fingers around yours, "you must… be… for mother."

"No, Edi, you awe," you murmur, your syllables wobby, "and you will be. Again. You will be that for motha and fatha. You have to… I can't."

She groans and lets her head loll, "you will."

You frown. She is wrong. You cannot replace her and she will not die. It cannot be.

You lower your chin, eyes stinging. Your sister always cast a shadow over you, but you don't mind the shade. She always let you stand off to the side, she let you be quiet, she let you be unseen and safe. She is the only person who ever knew the real you and loved you for it. 

"Don't be… sad," her voice creaks, "I'm not."

You peek at her from under your lashes and furrow your brow, to ask 'you're not?'

She reads you as well as ever, "how can I be?" She heaves and gathers her words, "it may be a short life… but rich… and less than… lonely."

You can't hold back. It's more than what she says, it's the resignation in her tenor. Even in defeat, she is blissful. You bend over her and embrace her daintily, resting your head on her chest, listening to dull beat and the hoarse crackle within. You close your eyes and sniffle.

"You will be well again," you avow, "you have to get well." You let your tears flow down and wet her shift. She raises her hand and rests it on your head, petting your lightly, "I need you."

"I will be around… always," she hums, "you will know where to find me."

Her words dangle over you, confounding you. Cryptic but certain. You know she is right, as ever, but you want so badly for her to lie to you. 

🔹

You wake beneath the small glow of a single taper. Your mother holds a candlestick as she gently tugs on your sleeve. You peer over at your sister’s silhouette, her breaths whistling with each exhale. You sit up, reluctant to leave her.

“Come,” is all the wraithlike matriarch bids.

You obey, rising to follow her across the dark chamber. The hallway is lit only by her candle and the light shining out from a doorway further down. Your father welcomes you into his study, an unusual occasion but you sense not a happy one.

He sits behind his desk on the grand carved chair with medieval posts topped with polished wooden orbs. Your mother lowers herself onto a velvet seat and you take another stiff oaken chair, dragged in from the dining hall. You glance between them and purse your lips tightly. 

Your father sighs, long and heavy, steepling his fingers then quickly, letting them twine together. He sits forward and presses his chin to his knuckles. Your mother sits staunchly, staring ahead, sombre and silent.

“It is best in these moments to be pragmatic,” your father begins quietly, pushing his shoulders back as he forcefully clears the frog in his throat, “to think as a family, to consider the legacy of my name.” He looks down, unusually reticent. He moves his head back and forth, grazing his untended stubble across his fingers, “you will have to make the journey to Jade Park.”

Your frown. You’re uncertain what he means. You shake your head and blink furiously. It’s the closest you ever came to speaking out of turn. Though, your father despises how little you ever said.

“She is too sick to travel. Or to marry. Even if the lord in question made the trek himself to meet his betrothed, she would not be able to receive him… if she were still alive.”

You choke audibly and clutch your throat. Your mother lets out a thick breath and shifts on her seat. Your father’s lip curls, irritated.

“The Duke made a contract for a wife, he will have one,” your father declares, gritting his teeth, “whether he be disappointed or not, he cannot claim forfeiture.”

You send your mother a desperate look. You cannot go and marry Lord Laufeyson. He is to be Edith’s husband. You were still to have some time ahead of you.

Your father covers his face and drags his hands up, combing over his hair with a growl. He holds his skull before sitting up sternly.

“And by the lord, speak up! He will not want a mute as a wife,” he snarls.

You shrink. It should have been you. You should be the one sick and dying. It should be Edith carrying on your father’s hopes. You are not good enough for it. Nor are you ever good enough for him. Where he dotes on Edith, he rants at you.

“Speak!” He slams his palm on the desk.

You flinch and push your head up. You fix your posture and unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth as you part your lips, “yes, fatha, as you bid me–”

“As is your duty,” he sneers, “as a daughter must. As a woman!”

He rails as he waves his hand angrily with each word. He slaps it back down and pushes himself to his feet. He stomps away and stops before the faded portrait of his forebear. You peek again at your mouth, her lips are straight as she looks at you blandly.

“Fatha,” you eke out and stand, “I pwomise I will do my best–”

“I cannot hear you!” He spins to face you, “I hear only mindless babbling. No husband wants a mouse for a wife. Let us only hope Laufeyson will accept one sister in place of another.”

“Fatha,” you squeak.

“Wife,” he ignores you, moving back behind his desk, “you will be certain to review her diction. Mute and dumb, how pitiful.”

You wince. No matter your efforts, your words are always skewed. Every syllable is a little longer than it needs to be, and you cannot form a sharp R. It all fools loose and awkward.

“Fatha–”

“Fathaaa,” he mimics and turns his back to you, “Thea, get her away from me. Ready her luggage.”

“Luggage? When am I to leave, fatha?”

“As soon as we can have you gone,” he mutters, “your sister deserves to die in peace.”

You fold your arms, holding yourself as his words sink into your chest. Like a knife, it cuts to the core and you can’t fight the sob that rises in your throat. You spin on your heel and flee. You hear him boom at your mother.

“Be certain she does not act as a child for her husband,” he barks.

You clamour into your sister’s chamber and over to the bed. You lower yourself next to her once more and wiggle close. Your tears fall as you tuck her hand between her arm and her body.

“Sista,” you gulp, “oh, sista, I don’t want to go… I don’t want you to go.”

🔹

You touch your lips as the carriage shudders with each turn of the wheel. You still feel your sister’s cold skin against you. That final kiss you gave. You know for sure that is what it is. You will not see her again. Not above the earth.

You lean against the wall, trembling with the motion. Your mother is across from you, dabbing her eyes with a folded handkerchief. She bawls loudly now and again, a lock of your sister’s hair clutched in her other hand. 

Despite her protests, your father insisted it would be undue for you to go alone and for neither of them to attend the introduction to assure the contract’s fulfillment. So she accompanies you and the single maid, Doreen.

Dread suffocates you in the cramped space. Even as the sun shines between the curtains, it is gray inside.

You put your head down and stare at the pages of the novel in your hands. Your vision is bleary and you don’t read. It is only an excuse, an act. You try to imprint your sister’s features into your head, try to memorise her voice. You never want to forget her. You want to keep every part of her with you.

The wheels roll on into the night. Your mother pulls a blanket around her but you let the cold chill you, almost praying that it might sicken you. That you could take the ague and your sister’s place. You shiver and look out from behind the curtain, watching the silhouettes of hills and trees pass.

The driver stops at the Crescent Hotel just inside the city. You rent a room and spend the night awake. Your mother sobs and snores until the sun rises. 

When you're ready to set back out on the road, your mother is certain to have the maid arrange your hair and check your face. She has you wear a particular dress, a shade of moss with pearl buttons, and a bonnet with a broad brim. Once past the city, it is only another hour to Jade Park.

You sit with hands clutched, the bench rigid beneath you, uncomfortable as your restlessness mounts. On and on until you are dizzy and quivering. You don’t know that you can do this, but you know you cannot say so.

You approach a great wall of lime washed bricks with a grand golden gate with twists at the peak of each pole. Your mother cranes to watch as you get nearer and you wring your hands together until the seams of your gloves sear your skin. The driver greets the gatekeeper and is let through after a brief introduction.

He proceeds through as the clop of the horses like hooves to your fragile mind. Closer and closer. The wheels slow and the carriage jostles as the driver climbs down. Yet another voice greets him, a groomsman who directs him before opening the door.

The driver places a step down for your mother to descend and you come out after he as the groom assists with a helping hand. You nearly trip on the inch tall heels of your shoes and your mother darts a reproachful glare in your direction. You apologise and look up at the square peaks jutting up from the top of the boxy manor.

The walls are a pale beige trimmed with lush hedges. Stone steps stretch before the wide doors and multi paned windows look out onto the sprawling lawn of green, speckled with marble statues, a fountain, and finely kept flowers. Tall trees peek out from behind the grand house and softly wave in the breeze.

Your mother steps closer to you and pinches your arm.

“Shoulders straight,” she girds, “do not gape like a simpleton. If you must, you may hide behind your fan.”

She takes a step forward, then another. Three before you kick yourself into motion. Your heart thumps loudly as you try to keep pace. The groom shows you up the steps and two others appear to open the double door at the top.

Oh my. 

[gremlinmodetweeker]

New Recruit

So as it turns out, my big thing is just making a ton of different aus for cod and throwing König into the middle of them. Poor guy never gets a break when I'm around.

Either way, this is a super fun au I cooked up and I think y'all might really like it. Super fun campy paranormal goodness. I am so happy with how this is going!

Anyways, SFW but a relatively longer fic from me

2.6k wordcount

Story below the cut

New Recruit

Was this really the place? The old firehouse in front of you seemed rundown and decrepit in how it perched on the corner of the street, kept in place only by worn down concrete sidewalks with dandelions growing up from the spiderweb cracks interlaced throughout. It seemed to be ready to collapse at the snap of your fingers, which you kept safely tucked away in the pockets of your pants as you took in what was supposedly your new workplace.

Once, the big barn doors had been painted a bright crimson red. Now they were cracked and chipped and broken down by time and teenage vandalism that had been power washed away. You walked to the corner of the street and looked down the side to find a smaller, more reasonable green door that had been tucked away from your sight. You walked up, trying to ignore the smashed glass windows and instead buzzed the doorway.

“Hello?”

The sonorous tone of the voice surprised you, but you called your name and explained you were here for the interview.

“Oh right! Yeah I remember you. Come on in.”

The lock clicked, allowing you to push through to look inside. You traveled down the chipped linoleum floors to a grand opening surrounded in white over green tiles stacked haphazardly on the walls. There, in front of a rich wood cabinet that seemed to be bursting with files, a large man with skin like rusted ochre sat and typed away at a keyboard that seemed to be dwarfed by his leathery mitts.

“Just one second,” the man held up a finger as he typed rapidly.

With time on your hand, you looked around the room. The pillars holding up the caving ceiling were working wonders to give the whole place a strangely clinical feeling. At the far wall, a set of rusted black iron stairs crawled up to places unknown while a strangely ominous door sat quietly to the right of it, hidden just out of sight from casual observers. The big balls of light held up by stringy cords swung with an unfelt breeze.

“Alright,” the big man turned his chair to you, “c’mon in and take a seat here. Make yourself comfy.”

He gestured with one large hand to a ratty folding chair. With nowhere else to sit, you took your seat delicately, lest you crush it beneath your weight (in all fairness, you suspected a paperclip might do it in). Adjusting your clothes, you straightened yourself to meet the man’s eyes, or rather, the sunglasses he wore indoors.

“Alright. The name’s Darnell Hutchinson, but everyone ‘round here calls me Hutch. You’d best to do the same.”

You nodded quickly.

“Awesome. So,” the man leaned his elbows onto the hardwood desk, “you know the job title’s not a joke, right?”

You had already forgotten the job title.

“Oh yeah, I know,” you played it off.

“Alright. So you’re a firm believer that there’s things out there that science can’t explain?” Hutch continued.

You tried to not let your facial expressions squirm too much as you lied through your teeth, “Sure thing. There’s a whole world out there to explore.”

Hutch ticked a box on a checklist, “Good. So the whole thing about this job is that you’ll be pretty active around here. Lots of running, jumping, ducking, dodging, all that stuff. You think you’re fit enough?”

“I can be if you need me to be,” you chirped.

“Great,” Hutch nodded with a rewarding smile, “I like your attitude. Anyways, most important question of this whole shebang: do you believe in ghosts?”

“Ghosts?” you couldn’t stop yourself from reeling back.

“Ghosts,” Hutch confirmed solemnly, “poltergeists, banshees, spirits, phantoms, shades, things that go bump in the night. You believe in any of that?”

This interview was a joke. It had to be.

“I’ll believe whatever you pay me to believe,” you replied truthfully.

Hutch lowered his shades to give you a long look.

“Ma’am this ain’t no joking matter. If you want to survive in this place, you’d best understand that ghosts are very, very, real.”

“Then they’re real,” you couldn’t believe what you were saying. Were you that desperate for a job?

“I’ll hold you to that,” Hutch shook his head as he turned over the paper, “so do you have any sorta background in science?”

“A bit?” you offered weakly.

“Better than nothing,” Hutch nodded and scribbled onto his clipboard before putting it down, “alright ma’am, I just gotta clear this with the others, and then I’ll get back to ya. Based on the other applicants we got,” Hutch winked, “I think you got the job.”

Your smile split from ear to ear, the brightest one you’d felt in the past two months.

“So, when should I hear back from you?” you asked hopefully.

“When the other’s come ba-”

The big double doors swung wide open as a big white white cadillac came screaming in with blaring sirens casting wild lights around the room. As soon as the car screeched to a stop, four people peeled out of the car like it was on fire.

“We got a real fighter in here!” a man with a heavy Korean accent held up a swinging black and yellow striped box crackling with energy.

“Hey hey be careful there!” a (by comparison) smaller woman yelled at the man, “that’s a class five you got banging around in there!”

A big man in a shroud shook his head as he stomped up beside you.

“Hutch,” the man’s slow russian drawl caught your attention, “Horangi caught the specter. Please tell Mrs. Wilson that her home is officially cleared.”

“On it,” Hutch said as he twirled his chair back to the computer monitor.

You blinked as the russian man nodded and walked back to the other three as they all retreated upstairs.

“Are those the others?” you whispered inconspicuously.

“Sure thing ma’am,” Hutch grinned, “those’re New York’s finest.”

You watched as the fourth and final figure stumbled forth. If you thought Hutch was big, this man was massive. His black cloth mask stained with two red tear trails swung with every heavy footstep he took towards you. When he laid his arctic blue eyes on you, you gave him a small wave. He stalled, then turned to look at Hutch.

“You gonna go into the basement and do your weird biology shit?” Hutch drawled.

The giant looked peeved, but nodded and hurried off with the sparking black and yellow box to the smaller door on the ground floor.

“I’ll go talk to the others. If you wanna wait around, it shouldn’t take more than an hour,” Hutch offered.

You didn’t have anywhere better to be. It’s not like you exactly had a job you needed to go to. So, you took up the offer and started playing around with your phone while Hutch loped off to catch up with the others.

Left alone, you were given the time to really take in what had just happened. What sort of job did you try and apply for here? You were just sending in your application to anything that was posted on the five job sites you’d been scouring through. You just had an interview for garbage disposal yesterday, and the day before that as a secretarial assistant for a hotel. You weren’t exactly picky, and neither was your landlord. You were already two months behind and he was breathing down your neck for your rent as the clock ticked down on you. One month left, and then you’d have to pay it all back in full. You didn’t know what you were going to do.

You sighed and slumped in your chair. Ever since you lost your job at the diner, you were scrambling for anything to get you by. The handiwork you’d been offering on Facebook Marketplace was dwindling down for the season and you didn’t have any equipment or expertise in lawncare to offer your services to the more elite of New York City. You were getting too desperate to turn down a job just because it dealt with ‘ghosts’ or whatever.

You rolled your eyes. Who even believed in ghosts? What sort of nonsense was this all about? It seemed ridiculous and juvenile. But if there was some eccentric billionaire hiring ghost hunters for some bunk science experiment, you’d be down to clown. So long as you got paid, of course. Anything was on the table as long as the bills got paid.

You thought back to the four people who came out of that bizarre car. You turned to take a good look at it.

A white cadillac with a red trim sporting a siren and a megaphone on the top sat still, almost as though it hadn’t nearly shot your eardrums out just moments before. It looked like it had been modified in some way to give it more leg room, making it look decently spacious in size but you still couldn’t figure out quite how that big guy with the cloth mask fit in there. The thought of him crammed in there with his knees up to his chest made you snort.

“You don’t like my baby?”

You swung your head back around so fast you cracked your neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man chuckled as he descended down the metal stairs.

“I wasn’t laughing at your car,” you defended yourself quickly.

The man raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses, his smile hidden by a camo face mask, “So what were you laughing at?”

You bit your lip, then admitted, “Thinking about that big guy trying to fit in that car.”

“Oh!” the man gave a deep belly laugh, “it can get tight in there, but not bad. It’s good enough to get us around.”

“So that’s your car?” you asked.

“A 1958 Cadillac Miller-Meteor Sentinel ambulance. It’s been hauling us all around town since I rescued it from a scrapyard a year ago,” the man slumped into Hutch’s chair and kicked his heavy boots up onto the desk. He looked at you for a moment then pressed a finger to his mask, “Don’t tell Hutch.”

You laughed, “Won’t say a word.”

The man nodded approvingly before reaching a hand out, “I’m Hornagi, the face of the company.”

“You’re the face?” a feminine voice called out.

Horangi turned to glare up at the lithe woman at the top of the staircase, standing as though she was liberty and strength incarnate. She looked down at you with a knowing smirk.

“Nice to see you, Roze,” the man peevishly grumbled as he swirled in Hutch’s chair.

“Don’t listen to him,” Roze sighed as she walked down gracefully, “Horangi’s an idiot.”

“I’m the one with the physics degree,” Horangi scoffed.

“You also blasted a hole through Mrs. Wilson’s cat tree,” Roze snarked as she rounded the banister, “you’re just lucky she was taking that cat to the vet.”

“Eh,” Horangi threw up his hands, “she can buy another.”

“You know that comes out of our salary, right?” Roze leaned against one of the pillars before looking up warily, “sure could use that money to help out here…”

Horangi was about to reply before he looked up at the ceiling.

“Maybe,” Horangi conceded.

“So,” the woman turned to look at you with a smirk on her scarlet red lips, “you’re the new recruit?”

“I’m the new recruit?” you asked in bewilderment.

“Yes you!” Roze laughed and swung her dark hair from her eyes, “Hutch was pretty excited about you.”

“I didn’t think I did that well,” you muttered under your breath.

“Hah! I like this one!” Horangi cheered beside you.

“You like everyone, slut,” Roze rolled her eyes.

“I have very high standards, thank you,” the man sniffed.

“Are you sure?” Roze snorted, “doesn’t seem like it.”

“And this is why you aren’t allowed to be interviewed anymore,” Horangi pointed at her, “you’re too mean.”

“I’m just mean to you,” Roze pointed out.

“Only for me? You’re too nice.”

“I’d shove you in a trap if I could,” Roze growled.

“I’d say you have the worst interviews, but König exists,” Horangi sneered.

Roze sighed as she pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes, “König can’t be allowed near a microphone ever again.”

“That was the worst I’ve seen him in years, you know,” Horangi ran a hand through the back of his short but fluffy black hair, “did you see that poor reporter trying to get her mic back?”

“I had to help her,” Roze groaned, “but he just kept going on and on.”

“Is König the russian guy?” you wormed your way into the conversation.

Roze’s dark brown eyes widened as though she only just noticed you were there, “What? No, Nikto’s great in interviews. He’s the face of the company.”

“I’m the face!”

“Nikto seems pretty scary, but he’s actually really cool once you get to know him,” Roze’s smile dropped, “just don’t ask about his mask.”

Hornagi turned to you and nodded solemnly, “She’s right. Don’t ask about the mask.”

“The halloween mask?” you asked, thinking back to the Scream mask that the man wore.

“He rotates,” Roze offered, “but yeah, Nikto’s nice. He’s funny and he works hard. He’s smart, too.”

“He’s the only one of us that didn’t have a background in science,” Horangi cut in, “he only took the job because he needed one for his green card.”

“Now he has to deal with all of us,” Roze grinned.

“So you all have degrees?” you asked, thinking back to Hutch’s questions about your educational background.

“Horangi has a masters in physics, I have a masters in chemistry and a doctorate in physics, and König has a doctorate in biology,” Roze offered.

“Hutch has a masters in cyber security and a bachelors in mechanical engineering, which is how he got into the military,” Horangi added, “so he’s really our ‘man in the chair’ here.”

“And Nikto?” you asked.

“Something in the military,” Roze trailed off nervously.

“Nikto was in the KGB, I think,” Horangi clacked his teeth together.

“Don’t ask about that either,” Roze declared.

“Don’t ask about his job back home or his mask,” Hornagi affirmed.

“Are they related?” you inquired.

Roze and Horangi shared a look before turning back and saying, “Yes.”

Ah.

The door up above swung open and Hutch walked through, “There you guys are!”

“Yeah, we’re just talking to the new recruit here,” Roze called up as Hutch came down.

“So both of you think she’s a good fit?” Hutch asked.

“Sure do,” Roze nodded as Hornagi followed suit.

Hutch walked up to his chair and yanked it back so hard that Horangi nearly fell out of his chair, “Out.”

Hornagi grumbled as he relinquished the seat and strolled over to stand beside Roze with an indignant huff.

“I was talking to Nikto upstairs, and he seems to think you’re a good fit too,” Hutch typed into his computer furiously, “so, you know, majority rules.”

“Does König know?” Horangi asked.

“König can suck an egg,” Hutch shook his head irritably, “he needs to get over himself.”

The printer whirred to life and started chugging through paper. Hutch gathered the papers and a pen and handed them over to you, the stack still warm in your hands.

“Whelp, looks like you’ve got the job,” Hutch smiled warmly as he handed over the forms.

You read through the papers quickly before signing and handing the papers back over.

Hutch stood and you followed suit. He held out a meaty hand and gave you a firm, welcoming handshake.

“Welcome to the Ghostbusters, recruit.”

AU Masterlist

[lyranova]

Hi I'm new to the fandom and I see a lot of OC content. Can you make a guide to reading some of your and your friend's OCs related content? I want to understand when you all post new content. It seems exciting. Don't worry about the time it will take to read them. I'm on a break right now.

Hiya anon, welcome to the fandom 🥰! I hope you enjoy your time here! I absolutely can, and yes it will be a lot of content so I’m gonna put it all under the cut to make it nice and neat. I’m putting both character profiles as well as their stories if they have them! And I’m sorry if i’ve forgotten anyone, i’m struggling to keep up with everything these day’s 😔.

(Also, me and friends have a few AU’s that involve our OC’s, but I may make that a seperate post or something if you want 😂!)

Guide to OC’s:

Mine:

Neva’s Profile

Zera’s Profile

Next Gen Profiles (Not all of these are mine)

Children of the Future (complete)

A Fractured Diamond (incomplete)

A Royal Wedding (complete)

Dandelion Wishes (complete)

OC Central (a masterlist of OC’s)

@thoughtfullyrainynightmare :

Embers of the Sun and Flame

OC Masterlist

@loosesodamarble :

Faustele Masterlist

Next Gen’s

Other OC’s (scroll to the bottom!)

@koneko-pi :

Silver Season

@kalolasfantasyworld :

Paper Heart’s

Other OC’s/Next Gen’s (scroll to the bottom!)

@purpled-royalty :

OC Masterlist

@wildflowerwoodsworld :

OC Masterlist

@vilandel :

OC Masterlist

Also I know @bean-market-mafia @funky-sea-cryptid @valtoswife @acacia-may and @drmarune have some amazing OC’s as well, so please check out their accounts 💕!

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the third part of our angst rec list for you to check out! You can find part one here and part two here. The fics on this list are all amazing, so please be sure to read them, give them kudos, and leave a comment for the author. If you enjoy our rec lists, please like this post and reblog it to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Please, Don’t Say You Want Me | Explicit | 9,320 words

Prompt 496: ABO/royalty AU. Where Omega Prince Louis is forced to marry alpha King Harry by his father for the benefit of their kingdom. After the wedding, Harry lets Louis know that he didn’t want a mate and to not expect a relationship from him. Since they are already mated, Harry has to officially reject Louis’s omega to break ties. This practice is so taboo that he doesn’t know the omega has a maximum of a year left to live after rejection. As time goes on, the omega gets weaker and weaker.

2) All This Delusion In Our Heads | Explicit | 15,088 words

After Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can't take it anymore?

3) Dandelion Heart | Explicit | 17,563 words

After his sister’s death, Louis is granted full custody of his 4-year-old nephew, TJ. It isn’t easy, but with the help of TJ’s other uncle, Harry, they learn to make it work.

4) Death Wish | Explicit | 22,067 words

Louis hates vampires, he lives his life trying to kill as many as he can, night after night, year after year. He hates them. Then why the fuck is he kissing one? Again. “I mean it, Harry.” Louis says, into his mouth this time. “You need to get the fuck away from me.”

5) The Games We Play | Explicit | 23,448 words

Louis is a political lobbyist who chose his career over his personal life a long time ago and has never regretted it. Then he met Harry.

6) Bloom | Explicit | 24,887 words

When they first meet at Harry’s flower truck, Harry falls hard but Louis’ unavailable. Only before long, Harry reignites a spark that Louis thought long forgotten.

7) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28,000 words

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

8) The Road Not Taken | Explicit | 30,393 words

The one where Harry returns back home for the holidays after a successful debut album, leaving Louis to unwrap gifts as well as old complicated feelings. Cue: hometown holiday hookups, overbearing siblings, and a disastrous New Year’s Eve party. A 'Tis’ the Damn Season' inspired AU.

9) Compass To The Soul | Teen & Up | 31,439 words

Harry Styles, alpha, is 1/4 of the perfect pack, and 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time touring the world with his best friends and family. Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

10) Like The Stars Above | Explicit | 33,759 words

Louis has a witchy little secret that is slowly ruining his relationship. When that secret comes out, it turns out that he has a lot more to worry about than just losing the love of his life. He might lose everything.

11) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34,589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

12) Just A Pretty Boy | Explicit | 35,614 words

The alpha in front of him wasn’t only tall, but used every inch of his body to look even more threatening. He looked as shocked as Joseph felt, in his eyes he could clearly see horror and anger mixed into an odd and painful mix. It was as if he just watched a ghost or a monster from a nightmare come to life.  “Louis…” he said with a low voice. It wasn’t a question, he was calling Joseph by that name.  The crease between Joseph’s brows deepened. “Who?” Louis and Harry were married until, one day, Louis passed away in a tragic accident. Years later, he is found alive and with a thousand questions plaguing his mind. The most important ones; was his husband involved in his disappearance? And, how long did it take Harry and his best friend to fall in love after his supposed dead?

13) Best Colours For Your Portrait | Explicit | 37,717 words

Louis bites his lip in, his eyes leaving Harry's face, they are cast low as he takes a deep breath before sighing, "In solitude, I felt the liberty you spoke of." "But," The omega glances up, his eyebrows twitching as he brings his face closer to Harry's neck to overpower the alpha's scent with his scent, "I mostly felt your absence."

14) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41,041 words

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

15) Letters To June | Explicit | 41,150 words

It's 1915, Europe is in the middle of the Great War. Omega Louis decides to join the Letter Home Project to become someone’s penfriend. Through this he meets a lovely soldier who hasn't got anyone else to send a letter to. Along with his letter, comes a picture of the most handsome alpha Louis has ever seen.

16) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42,207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

17) This Glass House | Mature | 43,072 words

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

18) Oubaitori | Explicit | 48,822 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

After a year away, Harry comes back to his hometown ready to shoulder the responsibilities that come with being a Styles. However, an unforeseen return will greatly setback his plans as he finds himself confronting ghosts of the past, his prejudice, and a torrent of feelings he thought were long-buried. In the midst of a battle between protection and progress, trust that was once broken will try and pierce through walls of convictions he built around himself, leaving him grasping for power he is unsure he even wants. Meanwhile, Louis merely tries to save his family and make the next day better than the last. As he faces his past wrongdoings and the scars they left, chances will be granted to him - either to repair what was once broken or finally find closure. Torn between the desire to defend himself and the fear of the truth being rejected, he will learn peace comes from honesty - and that sometimes, what appears to be the easiest solution simply was the most coveted one.

19) Untamed Hearts Align | Explicit | 55,795 words

For as long as Louis has known her, Lady Margaret Tomlinson has had two aspirations for the remaining years of her life. The first was to out-dress the Duchess of Kent at every soirée and gathering. The second was to marry off her omega nephew to the most honorable – and highly ranked – alpha suitor she could find. He does not expect for her to arrange a marriage between him and the crown prince, and he certainly does not expect to fall for him. Everything changes when Harry disappears.

20) If You’re Out There (I’ll Find You Somehow) | Explicit | 55,916 words

Harry looks so intensely into Louis’ eyes it’s as though he’s reaching in and touching his very soul. “I never thought… I never… I’ve been searching for so long, Louis, but I never gave up. I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop trying,” Harry says, bottom lip trembling as he strokes the backs of Louis’ knuckles. “I just knew that if you were out there, I’d find you somehow.”

21) Of Lost Things | Explicit | 57,980 words

Louis comes with a familiarity Harry has never felt with anyone else before. After their fateful meeting, their chemistry became undeniable, and soon after, Harry had felt like he hit the jackpot when it came to finding the person he would spend the rest of his life with. But all relationships come with their own unique problems, and Harry soon realizes that their relationship is no different. When their problems go from unordinary to nearly bizarre in nature, he takes it upon himself to find an answer to their troubles. What he stumbles upon are terrifying coincidences between his and Louis’ story, and the ill-fated mythological couple, Orpheus and Eury. But it’s all they are; just coincidences, ones that feel as frighteningly familiar as Louis. Except… what if none of this is a coincidence? What if everything Harry has always seen as fiction is true, and myth—or rather, history, is about to repeat itself?

22) But We Have Promises To Keep | Mature | 62,608 words

Note: This fic is the fourth part in a series. We'd recommend reading the other fics first, though none of them have smut.

Maybe, Louis thought, from the beginning to the end, he had always known exactly what he wanted. He had always heard it, a quiet song in his head never giving up, because it had never been a thing apart from who he was. Someone who wouldn’t stop. Someone who could walk out into the dark, seeing nothing, having little, and still looking. The undeniable, terrifying, gorgeous truth was always going to be this: that he had a heart, and that that heart wanted to live.

23) Sink Into Your Sunlight | Explicit | 79,601 words

Louis hadn’t forgotten about Harry as much as he tried. It wasn’t due to the strange nature of their meeting, more so the magnetic pull he somehow had on Louis. He couldn’t fathom why this complete stranger stayed in his mind as much as he tried to stop it. Any time his phone sounded his heart skipped a beat at the thought of it possibly being Harry. In all honesty, it made him feel sort of pathetic. Gay guy falls for straight guy, what a cliche he had become.

24) The Rose Of Whitechapel | Mature | 100,180 words

Jack the Ripper AU. Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past. When their paths cross, truths are revealed, and perhaps hearts are mended... A darkness is brewing, and it's finally come to collect on the promise it was made.

25) Our Endless Numbered Days | Explicit | 120,815 words

“Harry?” whispered Louis, his mouth dry, his nose pressing against the other’s warm skin. “Mh?” Harry’s humming was gentle, his fingers lightly caressing the younger boy’s arm, his chest steadily rising and falling beneath Louis’ cheek. A couple of seconds passed, and Louis looked up at him in the darkness of the cave, barely able to make out the expression on his face. When he tried to inhale deeply, his breath hitched. He struggled to find the words to tell Harry what he was thinking about. Another couple of seconds passed, and Louis listened to the reassuring beating of the prince’s heart beneath his cheek. He couldn’t. “Nothing,” he whispered, his voice weak. I think you’re half of my soul.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[greyskyflowers]

You know how there's the soulmate AUs where people leave spots of color where they touch you? Like that but with blood.

I like idea of the people you love who bleed on you leaving marks. Not necessarily romantic soulmates but soulmates in the sense of I think we come from the same stardust.

Maybe it just lasts until that person heals, then it fades away.

Wounds that scar leave colors that never truely disappear but instead just water down to pale colors so both people are permanently marked.

All the hands stained from pressing on wounds.

All the shoulders and backs dyed from carrying someone.

All the knuckles covered, fights forgiven and forgotten but the skin remembers.

All the arms painted from relieved hugs.

The reminder of a kiss that left a mark like lipstick.

The lingering of a handprint so perfect it looks intentional.

All the fades spots on you that mark the places your loved ones have scars.

The stories you could tell, the memories that would linger.

Luffy: Crimson, burning sunsets and glowing embers fading into dusty rose

Zoro: forest, fresh ivy and week old bruises dimming into grey sage

Nami: Citrine, orange peels and fall leaves sliding into muted april

Usopp: Dandelion, flower pollen and honey combs settling into neutral cornsilk

Sanji: Cobalt, fish scales and sea glass washing away to pale celestial

Chopper: Rouge, spring flowers and winter sunrises easing into sweet blush

Robin: Wine, fresh blackberries and humming bird feathers drifting off into dusted heather

Franky: Cyan, open ocean and clear skies cooling into arctic blue

Brook: Obsidian, night skies and storm clouds weakening to sea mist

Also consider:

What if it was the people who love you that leave color? The surprise of color on your skin from someone you didn't realize loved you.

What happens if the love fades? Could you be covered in color from someone you love who now hates you?

What happens if it was never there at all? Do the marks show if you're trying to fool yourself into loving someone?

Could you bleed on someone you supposedly love and both of you are stunned into silence when nothing happens?

[the-bitter-ocean]

10 12 and 15 for isat ask game :3

(FULL GAME SPOILERS + 2HATS/A6SE SPOILERS ) Thank you for asking these questions @aroace-poly-show ! I’m going to answer 10 since 12 and fifteen I’ve already in previous asks! If you’d like to know my answers to those you can find them here (ask 12) and here (ask 15) I have a ton of headcanons for both the setting of the game as a whole and also for individual characters but for now I think I’m gonna focus more on the world building aspect in this ask! I won’t delve into all of them but I’ll grab some that I talked about to my friends:

10- any headcanons about the in-game world? (about the forgotten island, craft types, just like. world building hcs, etc)

For the island I like to think the people living there would collect dandelions, folded paper cranes and looked for shooting stars because all of those are methods of making a wish. I also like the idea of there being festivals and ceremonies where people would make and light up lanterns to put in the sky. I also think that the Island had a close trade relation to places like Vaugarde (Bambouche specifically given how close it is to the island + both areas are coastal and how its cultural aspects seem to have major overlap in some areas as well with the favor trees etc). We don’t know a lot about the island or its culture in game but from what little we see from Siffrin’s memories and optional content in game it is very fascinating. I like to think out of all the countries the island is the more technologically advanced (given the studies on the stars and cultural practices of wishcraft/ time craft that region could have been the main ones studying it, hence the lack of info on either of these things once the island got wiped from everyone’s memories). I love when people in aus and fics and art explore the effects of this post game. Seeing everyone’s interpretations on whether the islands culture slowly gets remembered or more stuff about time craft/wish craft gets discovered or explore the effects of the color red being a permanent thing people can see now due to the events of act 5 is wild to think about.

In general I like seeing the different cultures views/ gods / faiths and belief systems and seeing how that affects the environment and characters who live within it. Odile mentioned having multiple gods aka “Expressions” (polytheistic) and that you build shrines / pray to only the ones you need in that moment, Mirabelle believes in the Change God (monotheistic) and Siffrin believes in the Universe (which to me reminds me more of a way of life/ belief system / conceptual idea of “Fate” itself rather than a conscious thinking autonomous being in the way expressions or the change god is ) All in all having these different elements makes the setting feel more open and interesting/ grounded in reality which u appreciate immensely. In the photos listed down below I said my personal HCS about the country of Mwudu since we don’t really get to hear about it in game aside from passing mentions and flavor text when you click certain objects.

[ashbub]

blessings

genshin impact: venti × gn!reader

contents: college au, mild cursing! [4.1k]

IN WHICH: a boy with blue haired tips suddenly appears & your life has suspiciously gotten a whole lot easier

❝ may the winds bless your travels! ❞

The first clue that something was off about him should have been on the first day you two had met.

You had been resting the edge of your elbow lazily across the surface of the scribbled-on chair in front of you, the lecture room softly buzzing as your muttering professor began pulling up his PowerPoint presentation on the projector.

Introduction to the History of Teyvat to Present Day

Not that you could really give a shit this early in the chilly winter morning, especially with how you found out last minute you had to take this class as a requirement for your major- rushing your ass to squeeze in this class for the semester before any of the remaining spots could be taken. 

The crowded classroom had the hum of the bustling morning filling the air while you lazily fished out your charger from the crevices of the bag. As students filed in, there was a symphony of exchanged greetings, the rustling of book bags, and the soft murmur of back-and-forth conversation.

You had your busted-up laptop propped neatly on the warmth of your lap, a small yawn resting on your pursed lips. You had elected to sit in the back row of the lecture hall for this first day of class to gauge the atmosphere of the classroom. You nuzzled the tip of your chin deeper into the thick fabric of the chestnut brown sweater you had worn as your smooth fingertips wandered over the mousepad, carefully skimming the blaring syllabus in front of you. 

"Can I borrow a pencil by any chance, friend?" 

The voice was soft, almost like the beginning melody of a song into your perked ears- Your soft eyes flickered lightly over to the occupied seat beside you, a young man digging his hand vigorously into the empty pockets of his leather satchel, his pale fingers instead pulling at the fabric of the bottom of his bag pitifully.

His bright eyes were a serene teal, looking towards you with a hint of bashfulness at his situation, the tips of his braided hair sharing the same tinted resemblance of his expectant eyes. He wore a light blue hoodie and worn-out jeans to the lecture, his fair skin warmly blushing against the snug layers that hugged him.

He was ethereal.

"Yeah, it's fine-" You quietly mumbled, snapping from the sudden stare before pulling out a thin mechanical pencil you had packed with you, the edges of the clear plastic having indented faint teeth marks from your late-night study sessions with your roommate, Amber. 

He lightly smiled, a warmth grazing across his thin lips before smoothly accepting the pencil from your grasp. Mouthing out a quick, "Thank you," before turning to focus on the flickering presentation, the soft rustles of his notebook paper humming through your ears.

Your teacher had finally started his presentation after fumbling with the remote of the projector, keeping his introduction short before reviewing the coursework required from your class throughout the semester.

He was a middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetually disheveled appearance. His wrinkled, mismatched attire, featuring a misbuttoned shirt and untied shoelaces as his wiry glasses, had been frequently perched atop his rustled head, had seen better days, with duct tape barely holding them together.

Truthfully, you weren't really paying attention throughout his discussion of the syllabus. The notes you were typing were sporadic and sloppy at best, you had nearly even forgotten a whole section of notes about the future lessons till the same boy you had given your pencil leaned over, the faint scent of dandelions suddenly lingering.

Dandelions, huh.

"He's going to be discussing the seven divine seats of Celestia," The bright-eyed boy mused carefully, a curious glimmer peeking from the corner of his gaze before lightly tapping the empty section of notes presented on the screen of your dimly lit laptop, "The Archon War," His whisper was soft with the reminder, a small laugh hanging on his pursed lips with the edge of his fingertip curiously placed on the end of his chin.

The muted hum of the old heater provided a constant backdrop to the lecture. Students occasionally shifted in their stiff seats, their movement accompanied by the subtle rustling of winter jackets and scarves. The professor's voice was clear at the very least, carrying in the crisp air as they endeavored to hold the students' attention, your light laugh mingling back. 

"Thanks," The tips of your fingers curiously lingered on the smooth keys in front of you- His notebook had remained unmarked, the occasional eraser mark shyly grazing the paper with a content smile tugging the edges of his coy mouth. You tilted the screen of your laptop towards him from your lap, his pale complexion rosy under the warmth of the fluorescent lighting that flickered above in the classroom, "You didn't take any notes yourself; did you want to copy mine?"

He contently tapped the side of his forehead with a light hum, a quick wink fluttering towards your direction at the sudden rise of your right eyebrow, "I have a musician's memory, I remember most of this by heart." He proclaimed teasingly with a nearly sing-songy voice, his thin hand smoothly tugging on the thick drawstrings of his light blue hoodie.

Your eyes flickered towards his satchel, mostly remaining empty- Except with the small instrument peeking out: The lyre that was tucked away was a small wonder, made to be portable yet grand in appearance. Its body was a gleaming wood, richly stained and polished to a deep, honeyed hue.

As the professor concluded the day's lecture short, the college class began to stir with anticipation for the upcoming event. Students bundled up tightly in heavy coats and thick scarves gathered their array of belongings and began shuffling out of the classroom with soft murmurs, eager to escape the biting cold from outdoors to their next class.

You usually were out the door as soon as it was fucking clear too, no reason ever to stick behind, frequently hurrying to remain in the comfort of your dorm. Much to the disappointment of your roommate, who was very much excited at the prospect of a chattering conversation.

However, you had carefully tucked your closed laptop into the main pocket of your bookbag as your teeth chewed over your plump bottom lip, your voice smoothly carrying over to the boy with the dyed braids beginning to rise from the warmth of his seat beside you, "Are you a part of the school band? My classmate, Barbara, she's part of the school choir-" Your sudden question was immediately joined with the company of the faint tilt of your head, "I just have never seen you before around here."

His excitement was nearly bursting from the seams. "I actually recently joined the band here, I'm a new transfer-" His soft teal eyes shone almost brightly, a faint pop of his lips amusingly slipping out before adjusting the strap of his leather satchel over his shoulder with a shrug, "You certainly wouldn't forget a cute face like mine, huh?"

Feeling the ends of your ears grow slightly warmer at his boldness, you choose to ignore the question with a small scoff, instead scooping up your bookbag to the safety of your bundled arms in the midst of the conversation, "Freshman?" You replied with a soft laugh, your gentle fingertips tightly wrapping around the thin handle of your school bag before examining the youthful spirit hum.

His dark eyelashes fluttered closed at the comment, "Actually, I'm a senior!~" His dainty hands dug around the back pockets of his faded jeans, quickly patting around the thick surface before a small "aha!" formed on his smooth lips, tugging out a small brochure. “I am a bit older than what I look as many say.”

The pamphlet was littered with half-completed doodles across the front page, the information barely legible at first glance as you cautiously took it from his grasp- "You should come to watch me play!" He clicked his tongue cheekily at the offer, waving a small pointer finger at you, "I'm certain you would be entertained with my songs, mm?" 

Before you could muster a reply to his offer, a mysterious yet enchanting melody began playing in the air faintly, your eyes softly widening at the soothing whisper of music. You turned your head to find the source of the sweet song but saw no one there, only a few remaining students rustling up their notes into the safety of their bags, clearly preoccupied. Bewildered, you looked back at the dark-haired boy, but he, too, had nearly vanished into thin air, leaving you with the pamphlet in hand and as he had begun to open the elongated doors of the classroom with a lingering laugh.

The winter air streamed through the tall windows of the lecture hall, casting warm, elongated shadows across the worn wooden floors, "Wait-" His damp, white Converse sneakers pausing at your sudden call with a faint squeak as your voice remained thick with confusion, "I didn't catch your name-"

The ends of his braided hair swayed contently over his shoulder, loosely resting his fingertips over the handle of the lecture hall- His peeking smile was widely spread across his face at your sudden interest, a near mischievous glint emerging from the corner of his green eyes that for a brief second, you could have sworn under the swaying classroom lights were faintly glowing.

"Venti."

"The history of Teyvat is important, [y/n]!"

The dorm room was illuminated by a soft, warm glow as you and Amber huddled around your shared desks, engrossed in your studies. The room was adorned with bookshelves filled with classic novels and dented textbooks, and an array of post-it notes and highlighters were strewn about on the surface.

"I know- Which is why I'm studying this for the pop quiz, Amber."

Your roommate had puffed out her rosy cheeks, her hands smoothly closing your laptop shut with a small sigh, "Not just because of that- The history behind Teyvat is extremely part of our culture, of why our world is shaped the way it is. You are a transfer student, it is important to understand the stories and why they are so important." Amber had warmly reached over to run her fingertips over the fur of her pet bunny, dangling a bright carrot to the twitching nose that stuck out from the metal cage.

Relinquishing the snack over to the nibbling bunny, Amber briefly glanced at you with softening eyes, her warm brown eyes mingling with flecks of gold, "It is said that the seven archons were defeated in amidst the war, their remains scattered across Teyvat. Our nation was thrown into chaos, where lands were sent in disarray with the lack of guidance from our gods."

"But they managed to survive? Humanity?"

The brunette sat herself on the edge of her bed, smoothing out her bedroom sheets with her fingers, "Well, obviously, but many believe that the gods survived, regaining their strength and hiding amongst us humans for thousands of years."

Her eyes looked up at you.

"One day, the gods will return."

The memory was fresh of the study session between you & Amber.

Your gloved hands warmly wrapped around the paper cup of hot chocolate that you had purchased, the shimmering golden mora smoothly justling in the room of your back pocket. With a textbook in one hand and a well-worn backpack slung over your shoulder, you balanced a steaming cup in the other. The paper cup was adorned with a seasonal design that seemed to shimmer in the morning light, a small touch of cheer in the otherwise frosty world.

The campus was a world transformed during the first snow. As the first snowfall of the season blanketed the college grounds, it cocooned the familiar landscape in a glistening white tapestry. Every building, every tree, every path, and every bench was adorned with a layer of pristine snow. The air held a crisp chill, and a sense of hushed serenity settled over the campus, broken only by the soft crunch of footsteps and the occasional delighted gasps of students.

You were only going to see Venti for a second. After all, he had seemed rather excited to perform. It wouldn't hurt to slip by for a few seconds to listen to some music.

As you navigated your way through the snow-draped campus, your steps left a trail of footprints that soon vanished in the white expanse. You took deliberate sips from your cup, relishing the warmth that spread from your fingertips to your core. The hot chocolate was a comforting blend of rich cocoa, topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Amber had recommended the drink profusely, exclaiming that it was the only thing that had gotten her through her late-night shifts as campus security.

Among the snow-covered trees on the campus quad, the flushed bard had set up his performance space, seeming to have not noticed your presence while muttering to himself- a few wooden boxes messily set up across the snow for a makeshift stage that you quietly chuckled at.

Venti was a modest figure at a closer glance, his wiry frame enveloped in a weathered, woolen coat that had probably seen better days. His dark, tousled hair, and ruddy cheeks were the only bits of color in his otherwise enveloped dark green appearance. His nimble fingers danced gracefully along the strings of a weathered lyre in preparation, coaxing hauntingly beautiful melodies from the instrument.

In the midst of this snowy landscape, you found yourself leaning against the sturdy trunk of a massive oak tree. In your hands, you held a cup of hot chocolate contently, the warmth from which seeped through your soft gloves and into your chilly fingers. The swirling steam rising bashfully from your cup formed a fragrant wisp in the frosty air.

You rarely attended these sorts of events- Due to your busy schedule, you occasionally stopped by a concert or two held by the school to support Barbara and her singing- She was one of Amber's close friends who happened to be a part of the school's prestigious choir program.

You watched the scene unfold before you, a gentle smile played on the end of your lips. Your eyes were drawn to a small male bard who had set up his stage not far from yourself tucked away near the tree. You had ultimately concluded he had an unassuming charm about him, his flushed fingers deftly strumming a lyre once more, while his smooth voice wove melodies that seemed to be born from the winter winds themselves.

As the bard played, your gaze was fixed on him, and you couldn't help but admire his talent, his nose flushed and wrinkled up in the crisp air that enveloped the environment. The soft, haunting tunes resonated with the wintry landscape; each note imbued with emotion. 

The audience, which now had mainly consisted of wandering college students slowly gathering around him, listened in rapt attention, their jagged breath forming misty clouds in the cold.

You would have remembered Venti if you had seen him before- How could you not? He was damn near impossible to miss.

The bard's performance had a dreamy quality, like the whispers of forgotten tales carried by the winter breeze. A chuckle escaped from behind your wool mittens, before stiffening just as quickly.

 Though, you couldn't help but notice something curious. 

Each time a particularly poignant note was struck, a small, subtle gust of wind seemed to dance around the strings of the lyre, rustling his thick layer of clothing and the edges of his dyed hair ever so slightly.

It was barely noticeable. Honestly, you were doubting you had even seen it happen to begin with.

But then- another gust of brisk wind had fluttered the fabric of his dark coat, his brightening eyes glinting playfully at the whispering winds.

Your lowered eyes had caught these brief moments, flickering quickly to his wooden lyre that bathed in the attention that the bard had given him. You shifted your position slightly with your worn-out snow boots crunching under the freshly packed snow, trying to get a better look at the bard as your hot chocolate cup, nearly forgotten in your hand, suddenly felt cooler, though the drink inside was still piping hot.

You watched with a soft breath lingering on your chapping lips, what could you say? Your curiosity was piqued. The hints of wind abilities you thought you had noticed must be a trick of the imagination, you reasoned to yourself. Yet, as the blissful bard continued to play, the enigmatic breezes seemed to return, as if drawn by the mournful melodies.

The audience remained captivated, warmly bundled up students turning to one another in excited whispers and raising of the warm drinks, oblivious to the subtle interplay of air around the bard. 

You- However, had already turned away.

It had been a day or so since you had last spoken to Venti- You weren't avoiding him per se, but with your mind jumbled with upcoming assignments & adjusting to a semester abroad, the bard wasn't exactly easing the whole transition period either.

You briefly nuzzled your chin into the warmth of your freshly washed hoodie- You had elected to wear an ensemble of faded jeans and a pair of well-worn sneakers since you would only be heading to one class for the afternoon: Biology. Your dark backpack was stuffed to the brim with assorted textbooks and notebooks with post-it notes, boring a few coffee spills across the previous semesters, adorned with patches and pins in a measly attempt to cover them up.

From what you noted, the stairwell remained overall silent during the late afternoons, except for the occasional echoes of footsteps and distant voices from other parts of the building. The hushed tones and stillness of the stairwell were a stark contrast to the vibrant and energetic campus life just beyond its walls.

The stairs were constructed of sturdy concrete, its walls painted in a neutral shade of beige that had faded slightly over the years. It featured a broad central staircase with polished wooden steps that bore the marks of countless footsteps. 

You had rounded a corner to enter the stairs, adjusting some of the notebooks you had balanced in your grasp before setting your foot to notice the worn and uneven steps ahead. 

"Hey, [y/n], wait up!"

Then, it happened. A sudden, unexpected stumble sent you hurtling forward. Panic flashed in your eyes as your thick textbooks and multiple sheets of paper rustled into the air to escape from from loosening grasp. The ground seemed to rush up to meet you, and it felt like time itself had slowed.

Your eyes had flickered over to the owner of the voice- It had been Kaeya. The previous teasing smile that had usually adorned his sun kissed skin slipped- His dark hair had been messily tucked behind his round ears, his own expression stiffening at the top of the stairwell as his gloved hand raggedly reached out in an attempt to grasp for yours.

For an agonizingly long moment, you teetered on the precipice, your thumping heart lodged tightly in the back of your throat and your stiffening arms windmilling with the sudden tumble- Your cold fingertips attempted to reach for the edge of the metal railing in panic, rapidly clawing at the crisp air, grasping at anything to prevent the inevitable descent. The sudden voice had jolted you, your bright eyes suddenly widening with the impending collision with the bottom of the empty staircase.

But just as suddenly- the warmth of an adorning wind had fluttered past your skin.

Dandelions.

It lifted you gently and effortlessly at your sudden jagged breath, as though cradled by comforting invisible hands that slithered through the weight of your back. Your fall was halted for a second, only for a second, and you had hovered mid-air.

Your wide eyes met those of the boy with the smell of dandelions, the same bard with the expectant lush green eyes- His pale hands had carefully been placed on your upper back warmly in an attempt to steady your weight in his arms.

The thin ends of his braided hair nearly tickled your warm cheeks as you had frantically clutched the fabric of the thick sweater he had been wearing with your fingers with a small gasp, a single Cecilia pin adorning his chest proudly.

Venti.

He gently lowered you to the ground with his dainty hands quietly remaining on the edge of your quivering shoulders, the tips of his sneakers touching smoothly the final step with a small laugh slipping from his pink lips, you were safe- unscathed. Your scattered sheets of homework assignments decorated the floor beneath you.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, [y/n]-" Venti smiled teasingly, the curled ends of his mouth twinging upwards with a singular pointer finger waddling in the air, "Aren't ya happy to see me?"

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of the school, casting muted, dappled patterns on the walls, but the light felt distant as if the stairwell was a forgotten corner of the college. The soft, muted glow illuminated the dust particles hanging in the air, you had for a moment wondered if you would be able to see lingering dandelions mingling in the air.

Had time stopped?

"You shouldn't have been able to catch me if you were human. Not from there-" You finally managed out with a breath to him, your dark bookbag slumped into the corner of the stairwell before looking up at the bard with a frantic whisper melting into your seeping words, "What are you? Who are you?"

Instead, Venti had smoothly picked up one of the sheets of paper that mingled beneath the edge of his beat-up shoes with a quiet laugh in avoidance of the question or racing mind, "A thank you is usually in order, no? Sometimes even a kiss?" He lightly pinched the bridge of his nose, his words melting with a soft hum, "Never thought an interrogation as a formal way to thank someone."

Your drunken-like breaths had come out in ragged gasps before tightening on the wool fabric of his sweater tightly with the edge of your fingers. "How did you even- What was all of that-" Your bewildered eyes had quickly darted to his relaxed expression in a flicker, searching for a rapid explanation in his softening look towards you, "How did you even know my name-"

 He smiled warmly before his bright green- no- now blue eyes flickered with an emerging glow emitting from them. The playful bard had allowed his parted lips to linger on the warmth of your forehead with a small hum, smoothing out some of the remaining stray strands of hair away from your heated face with the edge of his wandering thumb.

The instant the warmth of his lips touched your skin, an overwhelming wave of warmth and comfort washed you. Your bright eyes grew heavy, and, almost involuntarily, they fluttered shut with a soft sigh before slumping into the softness of his sweater, your wispy eyelashes grazing your cheeks at the final blink. 

The last thing you saw was the Cecilia pin.

"Y'know," He whispered softly with a stray laugh lingering by your cheek, "Curious humans have always been my favorite," 

[y/n]!"

As you slowly stirred from your slumber with a quiet breath, your blurry vision hazily found yourself adjusting to the familiarity of the warm blankets you had nuzzled the side of your cheek on. Drool had pooled on the side of your chin before wiping it off with the edge of your thumb with a small 'tsk'. 

At the heart of the dorm room were two single beds, each neatly made with sheets and comforters reflecting the recent adjustments- Posters, tapestries, or photos adorned the thin walls- Your soft eyes fluttered open to the worried face of your roommate, Amber, her dark brown locks of hair spilling over her straightening shoulders, her golden eyes began widening at your flickering glance towards her kneeling patiently at the edge of your bed.

"Oh thank Barbatos, you're awake," She exclaimed with a light gasp at you small breath, her small fingertips interwoven warmly with your other hand with eyelashes finally fluttering shut. "You had us all worried. You just passed out sitting on the staircase, and we didn't know what happened."

You rubbed the side of your face quietly, your memory gradually returning with a soft sigh encasing your small gasps. Everything that had unfolded on the staircase. You couldn't help but wonder about the Venti- no- whoever he was- who had saved you and then kissed your forehead. It felt like something out of a dream.

Against one wall, two desks sat in a row, cluttered with textbooks, laptops, and notepads, bearing the marks of countless study sessions with bookshelves crammed with textbooks and highlighted notes. Amber had placed her small hand softly on the edge of your blanket, her own lips slightly pursed.

"Where's Venti?" You finally asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and slight raspiness. Your fingertips wandered over the skin of your forehead at the lingering kiss that had crossed it, a warmth spreading across your face before turning quickly glance at Amber.

Amber's expression shifted to one of confusion, her eyebrows quietly raising, "He wasn't there- Kaeya was the one who found you, [y/n], he brought you here."

You tried to explain the situation, recounting the events with the boy who had saved you. But as you spoke, you couldn't shake the feeling that your story was so fantastical, that it might as well have been a dream.

However, the sight on your desk that caught your eye—an exquisite Cecilia flower, its petals a vibrant shade of pale blue, sat in a small vase. You curiously reached out to touch it, your fingers warmly brushing against the delicate bloom.

"Kaeya found this near you," Amber continued carefully, her usually chipper voice softening as she saw the confusion lingering on your face before smoothly adjusting the plush pillow that resided underneath your back with a light laugh. "He had no idea where it could have come from."

You couldn't help but quietly smile, despite the surreal nature of the situation. You knew that Venti was far more than he appeared. He had saved you with a touch of magic, and now, with a single flower that remained blooming on the surface of your desk contently.

Though you couldn't explain the mysteries surrounding the boy, you felt a sense of gratitude and enchantment, he had woven a bit of magic into your world, and you couldn't wait to unravel the secrets he held, one Cecilia petal at a time.

a/n: i was considering making this a series or at least a pt 2 but i dunno hehe! it's kinda sloppy but pls enjoy! reblogs are appreciated! <3

[neda-epik]

I realized I listen exclusively to this Lithuanian gothic rock band called Siela when I draw the Forgotten Dandelion AU. They remind me of Skylar-Chilli

P.S. 1968 gotta be one of my faves

Skylar-Chilli belongs to wonderful @cyucya <3

[toxicanonymity]

Hi!! Living for your Raider!Joel and, with autumn right around the corner, I have a couple questions/ideas. Do apple orchards exist in the Raider au? If so, how comfortable would Raider be with apple/pumpkin picking? Maybe a quickie in the cornfield maze too 🤭 I trust you (and Raider)!

- 🌸🫛

apple & pumpkin picking

Thank you 🌸 Produce isn't as bountiful and well kept as in Lincoln, but it's out there. Raider is a practical guy. He's simple, but he loves food and especially the rare opportunity for variety. He's also never forgotten the look on your face when he brought home the first can of Chef Boyardee (Home). He knows you don't like eating small game all the time and dandelion greens are nice but they only go so far. You sometimes find berries and mushrooms, but not much variety.

@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog made a great point about raider night air - when he's sitting out by the fire and working on items for you, that's time he's dedicating to thinking about you. He tells himself these things are for practical purposes, but we can see there's more to it than that. Finding (or seeking out) fruit or vegetables could be another situation like this, where it's a good development in a practical sense, so it's easier to enjoy and not overthink it than if it were pure leisure (or, god forbid, romance?) with no "purpose."

Stumbling on an apple tree or pumpkin vine, I imagine he'd crack a smile--He wouldn't be able to help it with the way you'd react. You'd bite into one raw right there (even if it's pumpkin) and the near-orgasmic sound you make at first swallow would have him watching you in wonder, getting hard. "That good?" You'd nod yes with your mouth full. He'd watch you eat, then you'd go back to looking at the fruit and he might interrupt you, lightly pressing his hardness into your ass, with a hand snaking around your hip, then reaching down to slide up your inner thigh, between your legs. After a fun interlude, you'd pick as much as he could carry, coming back and putting it on the ground near his bag. And when it got to be a lot he'd be like "hold on, sweet pea, slow down," with a twinkle in his eye. Seeing him carry it home would bring you so much joy you might wonder if it's real. For days, you could eat the fruit and also roast the pumpkin seeds by the fire. Dare I say he wouldn't be opposed to you carving a pumpkin? We already know he's down to decorate for halloween.

[lilyandthegenshinbrainrot]

What is the Leyline Bard AU??

A question literally no one has asked but I like explaining anyway

In Imperatrix Umbrosa II, there are three major interactions with the memories of the dead. Ei tells us that they are the last recorded instances of the respective person's moments, and as such, they can only perceive the world from the perspective that the world was in when they died. The three warriors understood their archon was in danger, and reacted as though the enemies were specifically from the cataclysmic war. Old ghosts in the present, only able to recognize the past.

In the Hidden Strief event, aka Diluc's skin release, there was a red leyline blossom that physically brought back the enemies, and the state of Dawn Winery during that time period. At least, that's the explanation I'm going with, because the other one is just that Diluc decided to leave all his old letters out in chronological order that we would find every other day to piece together the event timeline. Old ghosts AND their past being brought to the present moment, a terrible collusion.

Then we have GAA 2. A series where not only the past is brought back to the present, but the actual manifestation of past regrets and mournful memories are brought up to make the people there face their past and overcome it. They called this the difference that willpower made, what decides the differences between "dreams" and "hallucinations". The work of technology working the leylines to mimic the powers of Nahida.

Finally, as explained in the fic, Venti recalls how Thousand Year Wine is made from the first moments of its corking, with dandelion seeds carrying the soul of the people making the wishes for the year and bottling the wine. When Venti pulls out the long forgotten bottle for himself and Lumine to drink, that moment is shared and the frequent exposure and strain on Irminsul brings out a Bard from the morning of the final battle, who is unable to leave until their goal is completed. To take down the tyrant in the skies.

Only Decarabian has been dead for a long, long time, and isn't Mondstadt openly resting under the true sky ??

[rosie-kairi]

i've been thinking about your not-lauriam au recently,,,,, do you have any thoughts about how off lauriam is? is his hair slightly the wrong shade? are his movements a little too smooth? does he always say just the right thing in any moment? is he always ever-so-slightly too helpful, always in the right place at the right time?

oh bestie do I have the "excerpt from a perpetually unfinished fic" for you!!

...Except this was not Daybreak Town, and that thing was not her brother, no matter how much it tried to convince her otherwise. First off was its appearance. Sure, it looked like Lauriam, but slightly to the left. Same skin tone, same dusting of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose, same eyes, nose, everything. Lauriam typically kept his hair down, but this thing tied its hair into a low ponytail. It wore a black button-up that it didn’t button-up, like, at all, which gave the illusion of the shirt having an absurdly deep v-neck. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to its elbow, revealing a colorful flower tattoo on its right outer-arm. It showed pink roses, purple hyacinths, and yellow dandelions all against a background of green leaves. There was a necklace hanging off its neck which had a small purple jewel attached to the end, reminding Strelitzia of the one she used to wear back in Daybreak Town. The rest of its outfit was the same as what Lauriam wore, same pink pants and black boots. For all intents and purposes it looked exactly like Lauriam, but something was still off about it. Strelitzia always got a horrible feeling of uncanny valley whenever she looked at its face for too long. There was something about its eyes, how it stared into her soul, completely unblinking, and how there didn’t seem to be any sign of light in them. Its smile never reached its eyes and sometimes it seemed like the thing would smile and just forget to stop smiling. Then, there was its voice. It sounded like Lauriam, almost heartbreakingly so. The second Strelitzia first heard it speak, she almost broke down sobbing. She had almost forgotten what he sounded like, after all the years, and hearing his voice again was enough to stab her right in the heart. It would’ve been better if it had been coming from him and not some strange entity pretending to be him, though. The inflection of its words were all off. It emphasized weird parts of words and would phrase questions like statements and commands like questions.  She had never seen it mad - nor did she ever want to- but she had a feeling that when the time came that it finally got mad, there would be no emotion present in its voice. It sounding completely neutral while completely steaming with rage was a scarier thought than it actually sounding angry. The worst part of all, though, was the way it tried to act like her brother. How it tried to force her into playing a messed up little game of House.

[ghost-maya]

Thanks for the tag @fivedayslater !!

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Oh god... I haven't cleaned that out in ages... most of the non one piece ones are abandoned unfortunately :") - I'll still put the rest in the "read more" bar in case anyone is interested but it's probably best to stick with the op ones lmao

Behind Blue Eyes

life's a precious thing

Deep Sleep

Ghost Hunting AU Outline

omegaverse outline

sanji's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad heat

Straw Hat Vampires

The Cruise - Outline

The Skyscraper

(+ 2 wips that have not made it out of the discord dms yet. let's call them "zosan closet pwp" and "nami x conis pwp")

Tagging: @ms-all-sunday @abilusanji @brunetta6blog @misqnon @summerofspock @sinelanguage @redyarns @lakesandquarries @purpleneutrino

Fandom works (mostly haikyuu lol):

Gelphie Omegaverse

Zukka Canon Divergence AU

A leap of faith

A Whisker Away AU

BokuAka in BOTW

Just Sum World Building

KageHina Witch Fic

Kageyama Birthday Oneshot Thing

kghn band au thing

KGHN hurt/comfort

Shadow God Kageyama AU — Outline

SPSS & PSS: Operation SakuAtsu

The Absence of Hinata Shouyou

The Kagehina Wedding Saga - Miwalisa

The Kagehina Wedding Saga - Planning

The Silver Lining

train au??

TSL Info & dumping grounds

MLP:ZLS Loredump

Zelink

Long Forgotten Words

Original works:

*Record Scratch* *Freeze frame*

Character background stuff

Character Info

Coffee shop AU: A Character Study

Dandelions

Evergreen

Getting into Mo's Voice Stuff

I have too many beginnings

in the classroom

Izzy vent

Kit's backstory

Kitzy Banter

leandy

Lucilleana Fic

Magic System

Nanowrimo Outline

The Ghost of Wilson High School

Train

Untitled document

Untitled document

Untitled WIP (A Novel Study)

Venty Thing

Vy's Butchered OCs

Word Vomit

World Building.exe

Zodiacs

If anyone ventured in here; hello! I'm happy to post/talk about any of these still. Some are a LOT more recent than others. This game finally had me move my "miraculous ladybug" folder out of there bc i know i am truly never going to touch those again rip 😭

Also bc i find it interesting - the last time i did this game was 2 years ago. Hyperlink if anyone wants to see which "wips" have been sitting around for 2+ years now (i dont think i published any of them.. just put them in the abandoned folder..) *sweats*

[starwrittenfates]

Stats and Info on Ciri in her Hogwarts Verse; The Lion Cub of Hogwarts (Harry Potter AU):

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

NAME MEANING: Cirilla = Swallow 

NICKNAMES/TITLES: Ciri, Lion Cub of Cintra, Zireael, Swallow, Ashen One, Lady of Space and Time, The Lady of the Worlds,  Lady of the Lake, Ciri of Vengerberg

DOB: May 1st // in her teens (year subject to change depending on things)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Female - She/Her

ORIENTATION: Bisexual

SPECIES: Human (Witch)

OCCUPATION: Student at Hogwarts

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

FACECLAIM: Video Game & Freya Allan

HAIR COLOR: Ashen-Gray

EYE COLOR: Emerald-Green

SCARS: No Scar

BACKGROUND.

BIRTHPLACE: Skellige (TBA, somewhere in Europe though)

CURRENT HOME: Verse Dependent

LANGUAGES: Common

PARENTS: Pavetta (Biological Mother, Deceased), Emhyr var Emreis (Biological Father), Geralt of Rivia (Adoptive Father), Yennefer of Vengerberg (Adoptive Mother)

SIBLINGS: N/A

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None

CHILDREN: None

OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS:  Lara Dorren (Ancestor), Calanthe Fiona Riannon (Grandmother)

MISC.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor

BLOOD STATUS: Half-Blood

WAND: English Oak Wood, Dragon Heartstring Core, 10¼

BEST CLASS: Defense Against the Dark Arts

WORST CLASS: Transfiguration

QUIDDITCH POSITION: She doesn't play Quidditch

BOGGART: TBA?

RIDDIKULUS: Emhyr dressed as a jester

PATRNOUS: Swallow Bird

MIRROR OF ERISED: Her biological family alive and well along with Cintra again

AMORTENITA (What she smells like): Citrus and floral. Petrichor.

BIOGRAPHY.

Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon (Born May 1st) is an English Half-Blood Witch, the biological daughter of Pavetta and Emhyr var Emreis as well as Calanthe Fiona Riannon's granddaughter. 

Being orphaned at a young age after tragedy struck her family and home, she ends up as the adoptive daughter of the wizard, Geralt of Rivia, and the witch, Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

She attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, being sorted into Gryffindor House, and discovers she has a very old, rare, mysterious and powerful form of magic long forgotten --- Ancient Magic.

IMPORTANT NOTES:

Geralt is the Care of Magical Beasts Professor at Hogwarts. He was also in Gryffindor.

Yennefer is the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Triss is the Potions Professor.

Tissaia de Vries is the Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Philippa Eilhart is the Transfiguration Professor.

Emhyr Van Emreis is the Minister of Magic.

Jaskier/Dandelion is the owner of the Three Broomsticks Inn.

Roach is a Hippogriff that belongs to Geralt.

Ciri's abilities with the Elder Blood are presented as Ancient Magic in this verse (much like what was presented to us in Hogwarts Legacy with the MC.)

Ciri has a black pet cat named Kelpie. She was sad she couldn't bring a horse to Hogwarts as a pet.