#Like oh hi weird feeling of one of my organ not big enough for another organ

[sugaldean]

Everyday when I go to bed I wonder if I hate or love the feeling of my feet finally resting.

Yeah there is pain release but why does it have to feel like my feet is expanding and is trying to get out of my skin

[keferon]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... ���Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

___________

[Next]

[dark-moonlust]

Bound by the Rose Mark

This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent.

Pairing: beast oc (Alaric) x f!reader

Summary: This is a story with Beauty and the Beast vibes. You live in a grand castle with a beast named Alaric. One day, you accidentally touch him and a glowing rose tattoo appears on your skin. Alaric explains that the tattoo is a sign of a curse that binds the two of you together. You can't get more than a few steps away from him without feeling pain and arousal. Forced to stay close, you both succumb to your feelings and the deep connection between you.

Warnings: 18+, mid-eighteenth century story, true love curse, beauty and the beast vibes, magic tattoo bonding, virgin reader, oral (fem receiving), foreplay and stimulation, p in v sex, big 🍆, belly bulge, knotting, lots of 💦.

I completely forgot to post this commission! Enjoy!!

Château d'Azay-le-Rideau, France - 1750

“Make it stop!” you groaned, wide eyes on the Beast, who stood calmly by the fire, his large, furred form casting long shadows over the walls. “Please, just… make it stop!”

“I cannot do that.” Came his voice, steady and infuriatingly husky.

The moonlight shone through the castle's grand windows, pouring glittering beams across your body as you paced back and forth, the tap of your boots echoing on the sleek floor. Your fingers moved nervously against the mark on your wrist, the delicate rose pattern twisting and developing, shimmering softly against your skin. With each passing second, the flower vines extended further up your arm, emitting a sweet warmth.

It all began a year ago with a professional agreement. The Beast was Lord of the Castle and needed someone to govern it. You were that person. You lived in his huge fortress and worked as his chamberlain. But what began as a rigid work agreement quickly turned into closeness. 

In the past months, you’d grown used to his company, you were after all, alone in a huge castle with no one but a few servants to talk. He’d gifted you his enormous library, a beautiful haven of literature. He also spent time with you every day, taking you on walks to the gardens, organizing big dinners, music nights, and theatrical nights. You’d been foolish to allow yourself to get comfortable, to hover close enough and be tempted to touch him.

But his fur had appeared so silky and inviting. What was one touch?

You'd succumbed to the temptation and touched him, curved your small palm over his massive arm. 

A moment later, all order unraveled. 

A weird tingling sensation had begun to emerge from your wrist, and as you looked down, a red rose began to light softly, its delicate petals winding up your wrist, its thorny vines snaking out, tracing your skin with intricate detail. The tattoo was enchanted and even now— it continued to spread on your arm.

Oh, how foolish and naive you had been! To approach him so carelessly, hovering so close that his mere presence seemed to draw you in. It was foolish to give in to your curiosity, reaching out to touch him despite the warnings. And now, this—this thing—was strangely connecting you to him in ways you couldn't fathom.

The Beast—no, Alaric, as he was once known—kept staring at you like an idiot, his sharp features unreadable. He didn’t even look troubled. Why would he be? For once, he wasn’t the one in trouble. He rather enjoyed it, wicked Frenchman that he was. Yet as you glanced at him, you felt another spark, a liquid warmth in your belly. His form, massive and imposing, stood out against the moonlight, making the entire hall feel smaller, more intimate.

Alaric had been cursed long long ago, cursed to find misery, coldness and no love. His face was no longer that of a beautiful Prince but of a beast with horns, sharp teeth and lion’s mane. He was massive and muscled, with strong legs and a wolf-like tail. His clothing was still royal, tailored to fit his form. He looked as elegant and well-groomed as possible.  

With an exasperated groan, you stroked your wrist harder, the glow intensifying with each stroke of your fingers. "Damn! Why doesn't it stop?! Please, stop it!"

He spoke with a long sigh, his voice low and rumbling. "I told you I cannot do that."

"You can't or you won't?"

"It's the mark of the curse…" His glance swept across your wrist. "There is no undoing it."

Your heart sunk at his words. You were aware of his curse but had no idea it could be transmitted through touch. Damnation! And damn the warmth of the mark, affecting your whole body. It felt warm and wet between your thighs as if a fire was spreading beneath your skin, connecting you to him. Every pulse of fire reminded you of your error.

“I… I didn’t ask for this!” you protested, rubbing at the mark as if you could wipe it away with sheer willpower. “I was just—just curious! I did not want to be cursed.”

“You touched me, therefore now you will pay. You are bound to me.”

You shot him a sharp look, waving your pulsing wrist in the air. “You could have warned me that I’d get cursed just by touching you!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “But I did warn you not to touch me, didn’t I? You were simply too curious.”

“I thought you were goading me, challenging me! You didn’t mention the part where I’d be magically tethered to you like a pet on a leash,” you snapped despite the lingering warmth in your chest. 

“You are wild and untamed. Always speaking back to me, always doing as you please. It’s your fault, little one.”

“Still…” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

“Oh, yes, this is so hilarious. I’m cursed with a pulsing tattoo— it glows like a freaking beacon by the way—and you’re not in the least concerned.”

“The mark will stop glowing once you accept it.”

“I’ll never accept it!”

Alaric sighed. “The curse cast upon me ensured I would never be loved. I was cursed to live as a beast, hated and feared... alone."

You gazed at him, the weight of his words hurting your heart. His formidable, imposing frame suddenly appeared fragile.

“However,” he continued, “there is a way… for the curse to wane. Not to break it entirely, but weaken its grasp. The curse weakens—forever— when I am touched by someone who genuinely loves me.”

“So… this mark…”

Alaric nodded. “It means you are the one fated to love me. And because of that, the curse has loosened its grip on me. Though I can never return to the man I once was, I can have love.”

Your eyes welled with emotion, but you refused to cry in front of him. “So… this is permanent?" 

Alaric hummed and stepped close, his towering frame suddenly feeling much too close. “I’m sorry… but you are now bonded to me, my thorny rose,” he purred. “Alas, you could have worse company, no? And the mark… I think it’s quite beautiful.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Beautiful? It’s so big and so… damn hot!”

“That temper of yours…” he sighed softly, in a way a beast like him never would. “Of course it makes you hot. The closer we are, the more it will affect you. It’s a sign that our bond is… flourishing.”

You blinked, rubbing your thighs together at the effect of his deep voice, presence and scent. “Flourishing? My wrist isn’t a garden, Alaric. This is my skin. And I assure you, it’s not supposed to glow.”

“We are connected. The curse… it has tied our fates together. The more we fight it— both of us— the more painful it will become."

You swallowed hard. “And if I… don’t fight it? Will it stop and leave my skin?”

“No. Never, little one. The mark will just settle there, binding you to me, fully and irrevocably. But… I’m afraid we cannot stray far from one another without feeling pain.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lips curled, showing just the barest flash of sharp teeth. “Immensely.”

Stupefied, you spun around, intending to get some fresh air but the moment you moved away, a sudden, scorching pain went through your chest, making you gasp. He was there instantly, steadying you with a large, clawed hand. You curled into his body, sighing pleasantly at the feel of his fur against your skin. It felt so good, warm and inviting, his musky scent tantalizing your senses. You hadn’t realized it but your hands were buried in his forearms, holding him to you.

“Foolish one,” he muttered, his breath warm against your temples. “What did I just tell you?”

“Alaric…” you sighed, meeting his eyes with reluctant acceptance. “Make it stop, please, make this ache go away.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he rubbed your wrist, feeling the warmth pulsating beneath your skin and tracing the delicate rose mark. The rose's delicate vines had wrapped themselves around your forearm, growing faintly. You bit back a moan, despite everything, you felt the pull—the odd bond that bound you to him, pulling you nearer to him with each breath.

“Ah, yes… it can be intense. Every step you take away from me will only bring more pain, more desire pooling deep inside.”

“Deep inside?”

Alaric raised a brow, a glint in his eyes. “Hmm, deep inside your cunt. I can scent your sweet arousal. Always could scent your need for me.”

You looked away. His words made you wet. Tenderly, he turned your face back to him. There was no hiding your blush or emotions.

“The curse bound us together. Two halves meant to be one. And if we give in…” he trailed off, his huge palm framing your face. “Would it be that bad?”

The tension in the room shifted as he stood there, with you in his arms, the strange pull between you palpable. Were you truly the one for him? Your heart stuttered. The idea of being physically and emotionally bound to Alaric—a beast of both grace and power —was captivating.

And the more you thought about it, the more your heart and body betrayed you. Oh dear… Yes, you wanted him. You wanted him with every ounce of your soul. Right on cue, the tattoo—its once glowing petals and vines now settled into a permanent black design that curled up your forearm. Becoming a part of you.

You didn’t resist when Alaric scooped you up, carrying you through hallways to his private chamber— a huge, opulent bedroom with polished wood and velvet furnishings, tapestries hanging on the walls, and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The bed was the largest piece of furniture in the room; it had a dark purple canopy covered in silk and velvet covers making it appear incredibly soft and inviting.

Alaric lowered you on the plush bedding and he came to rest beside you, his body half-looming over you, massive yet tender and protective. His eyes, golden and intense, settled on you then down to the rose mark. His fingers, clawed but surprisingly gentle, traced the rose before his tongue brushed a petal of the tattoo, feather-light, sending a shiver of electricity racing up your spine.

You watched, breathless, as he nuzzled and licked every petal, every vine, every thorn, his muzzle soft against your skin. The heat of his breath warmed you as he worked his way up your forearm, his mouth following the intricate lines of the rose, savoring every inch of it. With each kiss, your pulse quickened, your body shamelessly hot, your pussy dripping slick.

“Alaric…” you said in a sultry voice you could hardly recognize.

“Easy. We’ll take it slow, my thorny rose.”

As he said that, his lips hovered just inches from your collarbone. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate indentation at the base of your neck. A sweet gasp escaped you as he licked a slow, tortuous trail down the round tops of your breasts, pulled up by your corset and your bodice. The laces on your bodice came undone, the corset disposed of in seconds as he skillfully drew the fabric down your waist, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

Your body arched closer to his, your nipples hardening into tight, aching buds. His eyes locked onto yours before he bent down and let his tongue trace the underside of each mound. You whined, burning so fiercely with desire as he licked the around your areolas. Teasing and exploring. Never quite getting to your sensitive nipples.

“Alaric,” you warned, thrusting your chest to his mouth.

“How I love it when you call my name.”

And with that, he licked one tiny bud, causing your body to shiver with want. Your hands gripped his horns, keeping him in place as he lapped one nipple, sucking wetly, his saliva and scent mingling on your skin. He did the same with the other nipple, and your body melted into his, hips arching up, breasts thrust sweetly into his lips.

You were lost in passion and he was only touching you.

You craved more. You wanted to touch, feel, and own every part of him.

Boldly, your hands slid up to his jacket, tugging at the heavy fabric, feeling its weight between your fingertips. You dragged his jacket away and he helped you remove it along with his shirt, without quite taking his tongue and hands off your breasts. Furry broad shoulders were revealed and a powerful, sculpted chest and stomach.

Large hands encompassed your tits as he growled softly and angled his head, his tongue trailing the curve of your neck. His fingers pinched your nipples, careful of his claws. Your breath hitched and you tilted your head back, offering him more.

“Oh god… yesss,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Blindly, you brought his mouth to you, needing to feel his kiss. But he hesitated, pulling back slightly. His golden eyes met yours, darkened with desire but shadowed with worry.

“I’m afraid… of hurting you,” he drawled. “I have no lips and my teeth… they’re sharp. I don’t want to—”

“Use your tongue,” you whispered, breathless, gone was the shyness in you. “Please.”

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then, as though unable to resist any longer, he surged forward. His mouth opened, and his tongue, hot and insistent, swept across your lips before plunging deeply. Deeper still. He tasted you, swallowed your breaths, and pressed his moist and burning tongue against yours, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you with each stroke. You gasped into his mouth, the sound drowned out by the sheer intensity of the kiss, your hands grabbing his shoulders.

The sound of fabric tearing and garments hitting the floor was the only indication of what was to come.

The flickering light in the room danced across your flesh, both naked and unashamed. His body enveloped yours, his weight pressing down on you, his thighs spreading your legs apart. The sheer size of him caused your pussy to clench. His shaft was a massive veined rod of flesh, long and thick, with a knot at the base. His cock throbbed and leaked moisture, and his balls thick and heavy, hung like ripe fruit.

You couldn't help but reach out, a little bashful as your fingers stroked the silky warmth of his shaft. It was both firm and tender, as hot as touching a blazing flame. Alaric snarled and watched your small hands. You trailed the protruding veins and bulbous head all the way down to the bulging sac. He growled, his entire body tense.

“Such soft gentle touches. But I can’t—little one. I need to taste you, have you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but whined instead when his tongue licked the delicate folds of your pussy. Your body ignited, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Spine arching, you opened your legs obscenely wide, his head buried in between, wet tongue consuming your depths. He thrust his appendage inside, snarling primitively, and you sighed delightfully, your cunt pressing against his mouth as you shut your eyes tightly and surrendered to the passion.

“Mmmmm, so breathtaking,” he drawled, his tongue gracing your cunt. “I love the rose mark on your skin but even more so the petals on your wet cunt… so lovely and wet. I love to tease and lick them.”

Eyes holding your own, he hooked his large hands around your thighs, bringing them around his furred torso. His dick, massive and twitching, stroked against the wet petals of your cunt. He lubricated himself; you were soaked and ready to receive him. You wiggled and squirmed, impatiently attempting to guide him inside. Finally, with a gentle nudge, he growled, and the broad popped in.

Cupped your ass, he pushed inside, his cock gliding into you in one smooth thrust. You were incredibly tight, untouched and you gasped at the slight discomfort of the invasion. Despite his size, he somehow fit, his body seemingly designed to mold itself to yours. Your cunt was stretched wide, only his knot showing, and your belly bulged slightly, revealing the curve of his shaft beneath your skin.

Alaric caressed your belly lovingly as if marveling at the sight. “Yes, mine. It will be alright. I promise you. Does it hurt, little one?" 

You shook your head. “Not anymore. Please… hmmm—move. Need to feel you so desperately.”

“As you wish, my rose.”

His eyes never left yours as he thrust out of you, all the way out before slowly filling you up. This time there was no discomfort, only building intensity. His shaft slid in and out of you, the friction reigniting your desire. Your body flexed, your walls squeezing around his dick as he increased the pace. His thrusts became faster and more urgent, and you held him, rocking against him as his tongue stroked yours, making you dizzy with desire. 

Alaric was unstoppable, unrelenting and soon you were both shuddering in climax. He thrust one final time, bottomed out inside you till his swollen knot had popped inside. You whined, muscles contracting around him, your cunt snug around his knot, tying you together. You saw stars, thrashed wildly in little aftershocks as he released, a flood of cum filling you up. It didn’t help that he let out those delicious growls, tongue devouring your mouth.

Time seemed to stand still. You lay there, with him atop you, his dick still pulsing within you, his knot throbbing with a slow beat. It had been minutes and he was still spurting, though slower this time. You basked in the afterglow of your passion, felt so utterly at peace. Your bodies had become one and the tattoo on your wrist had never felt so right.

You were his, completely and utterly his.

“How are you feeling, my thorny rose?” he asked after he’d rolled over so you were draped over his chest, his knot still hard inside you.

“I feel loved,” you said as you rested over his chest feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the fur. “I have never been kissed or loved by anyone like this before—have never felt anything like this before.”

“There is no going back now,” he said possessively. “You gave yourself to me. What I feel for you is raw, primal. It cannot be stopped or contained.”

You grinned. “So, what? I’m just stuck to you for the rest of eternity?”

“Figuratively and literally, I’m afraid,” he said, groaning at the feel of his knot tucked inside your warm cunt.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Alaric’s eyes softened. “I will never be the charming Frenchman I once was. That man’s appearance is gone, replaced by this… beast.”

Smiling, you let your hand reach up to touch his face, tracing the firm lines of his jaw, his fur silky beneath your fingers. “The appearance might be gone,” you whispered, “but your heart isn’t. Besides, I think I’m past wishing for a handsome prince on a white horse. French or not.”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You’ve got a strange way of looking at things.”

“And you’ve got a strange way of doubting yourself,” you shot back teasingly. “You might not be the Prince you once were, but you’re more than enough for me.”

“Don’t you regret it?” he asked quietly after a few seconds. “Mating with me? That I’ll always be… like this?”

“Oh, I am surprised but this is so lovely,” you murmured, hands caressing his shoulder. “It’s so lovely because I always wanted you to be mine. I've always felt attracted to you but was frightened to admit it. I was also scared you would reject me heartlessly."

“Never. I could never do that.” He took your hand, kissed the rose tattoo on your wrist.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love. “You are thoroughly mine, Alaric.“

For a moment, he stared at you and a soft, almost amused rumble escaped him. “You really are something,” he drawled, his free hand brushing the curve of your ass. “You’ve given me something I thought I could never have again." 

“I am yours,” you whispered. “I love you. All of you, my Beast.”

“I love you more, my thorny rose,” he said, his eyes dark with lust.

Smiling, you kissed and made love again —harder, hotter, and wetter.

THE END

[mychlapci]

Ok there is a sfw tfa megop idea I really like . there's this tradition that a high ranking decepticon will gift their beloved consort the moons of their consort's favorite planet. The Decepticon Leader often uses a big space laser to sign the glyphs of their consort's designation into the most beautiful moon, or pulls this moon closer to the sun of its solar system so it can become as radiant as their consort. Or adding another moon to the planer's orbit, et cetera.

This is where Megatron hits a problem. Optimus's favorite planet is the backwater slag planet that imprisoned him for 50 years. But far more troubling is that this planet has only one dinky little moon and it's covered in these trashy organic trinkets like 'rovers' and 'probes'. Optimus has to explain to Megatron that he Likes The Moon the way it is, it's a beautiful gift (and Optimus accepted the gift to stop megatron's attempts to "convince" the leaders of Earth that their pathetic dinky moon is totally His to give away to His consort, if he can't have it none of you fucking will, he will turn into a gun and blow it up) and Optimus absolutely does not want "improvements" such as Megatron adding another moon to Earth's orbit, or trying to move the moon closer to the sun to see if that helps make it a little brighter, et cetera. I like to think deep down oppy really is pleased with the gift and he's "kyaa >///< this is just like my romantic holopads" but that's under layers of practicality and realism that have him yelling at Megatron that no, he can't "upgrade" a historic lunar landing site on the moon, optimus doesn't care how "ugly" it is. (Unrelated but apparently there's 96 bags of human waste on Our Moon right now. I wonder how many are on the tfa Moon . Megatron's gonna have a fit)

oh my god... you guys know how much i love super intense and weird decepticon claiming rituals, and i stand by the fact that TFA is just perfect for it... The Decepticons are always so extra. Especially high ranking decepticons who can afford it.

Optimus is so flattered that Megatron is so willing to give him his own moon and everything, but he kind of really wishes he was a little more considerate of Earth's demands. I mean, they need the moon, okay, Megs? It can just stay where it is, Optimus loves looking at it just as is. Yet Megatron always feels like he hasn't done enough. The moon he gifted his beloved just has to hang where it always was, rotting away covered in organic waste? How can the leader of the decepticons let that happen? He has to, at the very least, carve Optimus' name in it, otherwise someone else will claim the moon!

[nightlyrequiem]

alrighty sooohhh this might be worded oddly since im used to requesting certain writers who use certain words to describe 'y/n', so, like, forgive me if it sounds confusing or like, out-of-place 😭

could u do a Valeria oneshot with reader, her partner, whos also a big, hardened criminal, -- who runs another cartel, -- not a rivaling one, just a different one, which was forced to alliance themselves with Valerias cartel, after her and reader made themselves official

They're both big, mean cartel mamis, who have killed people, without second thought, not even a blink of an eye -- two women, making old men cry and piss themselves on the regular, -- yet, when reader and Val are together, they're just two appreciative softies

Total power couple in public btw. They're both covered in tattoos, wearing expensive clothes, earning more and more respect from more and more people as their empires grow,

when in private? Thats a completely different story. You got the jist, though.

Again, i apologize if this is worded wrongly/strangely, ive adapted my writing style to certain people, and physically cannot write in any other way without feeling weird about it .. aha. Giggle, giggle.

much love, traveling anon, aka, girlscout

-🐾🍪🏕

Don't worry, this was worded very nicely! This was pretty fun to write. I do enjoy some violence. Especially when it's being done by women. One dangerous woman is great, but two? Oh, I'm certainly swooning. This is one of my few works to have two drafts. I hated the first one and scrapped it. Much more pleased with the final product ^-^

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Some Gore

The Snake's Nest

Valeria slams her fist into the side of a man's head. He roughly hits the brick wall of the alley and crumples to the ground, clutching his face. His cheekbone no doubt shattered. You watch impassively as Valeria aggressively grabs ahold of his shirt and hair, hauling him away from the wall. She forces his face into the concrete. You kneel down gracefully.

"Why are you crying?" You ask softly. He did this to himself, yet he dares to cry. Your head tilts. He looks up at you, the whites of his eyes are pink with agitated blood vessels, either from the number of drinks he's had, the crying, or from the beating he's taking.

"Please!" He cries out. Begging for your mercy. Incorrectly assuming that you're the more merciful of the two. That you'll call of your guard dog, unaware that you are far worse. He's lucky that it's Valeria and not you.

You stand back to your full height. The man continues to squirm and incoherently sob out pleas. Valeria lifts one strong leg and brings it down on his head hard. You don't flinch at the violent cracking that occurs. His scream is cut off and distorted. She brings down her foot again and again until he goes silent. You turn your head and make eye contact with his friend. forced to crouch in the corner and watch. His face is haunted by what he's just witnessed. He will be left alone. Forced to pick up his friend's pieces and attempt to put them back together. You look back at the man on the ground with Valeria standing over him like an angel of death. You don't think there's strong enough glue to fix him now.

You take ahold of her soft hand. Brushing your thumb over her bruised knuckles. You two walk out of the alley. Your shadows split and morph together under the yellow streetlights. Valeria owns these streets, but you run them. With your combined forces you exert total control over everything. Eyes and ears are everywhere whispering their secrets to you. You and Valeria are separate but one in the same.

You were carefully nurturing the seedlings of your own cartel when Valeria was taking over hers and striking fear into the heart of Las Almas. She had what you wanted. Power, respect, and fear. You planted a few red herrings in her territory to give her a mystery to solve while you expanded your organization. You did whatever was necessary to succeed. Who it harmed didn't matter to you. You grew and grew. You got big enough that the small red herrings didn't matter to Valeria. She sent her men to sniff around your territory and routes. Not a show of outright aggression but a subtle threat from her to you.

For months you danced around each other. Trespassing but nothing more. There was a fragile peace between the two of you, one you intended to shatter. You quietly built-up strength in preparation to take over Las Almas and eliminate her and her cartel. The DEA was an unpredictable variable though. They began cracking down on the drug market. An infestation of them nested in Las Almas and its surrounding areas. Posing a genuine threat to the both of you. Your plans were put on hold, and you took the initiative to approach her with an offer of allegiance. Tempting her with territory and more firepower.

You two met on a burning Tuesday morning. You were to meet with El Sin Nombre at a local cafe. Instead, at your designated spot sat a woman. It took you five minutes to approach her. At first you were irritated that El Sin Nombre didn't respect you enough to meet you himself, but you swiftly figured out he was a concept and not a person. That she was The Nameless.

You intended to use Valeria as a way to take down the DEA without drawing too much attention to yourself. However, overtime you began to respect her. She was cold and calculating. She wasn't the type to waste her breath with meaningless threats. If you failed to be useful, she didn't waste her time in getting rid of you. Overtime she slowly dug her way through the ice around your heart and wormed her way inside like a little parasite. The sun had risen and finally set on the DEA. There was no reason to cradle the connection between the two cartels any longer but neither you nor Valeria made the first move to cut contact.

Your strictly business relationship flowered into something more. Something personal. The same hands that pulled teeth and put bullets between eyes lovingly traced the edges of her tattoos. Whispered sweet nothings into her ear at night, your legs coiled together like snakes after coitus. No one had ever treated you gently. Never kissed your hand or made you soup when you were sick. Those things were reserved for girls who were soft like velvet. Pure and kind. Not violent women with serpentine tattoos. Who sunk their teeth into the throats of others. Not until Valeria. Who bared her throat to you and bit back.

She clasped heavy gold chains around your neck with as much tenderness that one might do with a daintier piece of jewelry. You slid expensive rings onto her fingers with unspoken promises. 

The night isn't over, and neither is the need for violence. Not that either of you have any issue with that. Normal couples have date nights at the movies. Maybe a nice restaurant. You and Valeria strengthen your bond by inflicting pain and terror on lower life forms. In a warehouse eyes glitter from the shadows. A combination of hers and your own men. Valeria typically takes care of the interrogation and punishment. You have no issue with blood or violence. You take enjoyment it. But the sight of her lips pulled back into a feral snarl, her vicious efficiency, it makes you fall in love with her all over again.

This time however, you take the lead. A tall man, standing at an impressive six-foot-four stares you down in the centre of the room. He was a friend, once upon a time. Your second hand. The only person apart from Valeria you genuine cared about. The only other person you'd be willing to set yourself aside for. You were heartbroken to find out he was taking bribes from a smaller gang and trading your secrets for money. This is personal.

He's doing his best to seem unafraid, but you can see the fear in his eyes. Smell it in the acrid stench of his sweat.

"I'm not going to grovel for your forgiveness." He grumbles.

"I wasn't going to give you the chance to." You reply calmly. He's expecting more words. Maybe a monologue about how angry or hurt you are. You stare at him for a long time, letting the tension build. Higher and higher and higher. Until too many stagnant minutes have passed and with them his moment of understanding. Only then do you act. 

Quick as a scorpion's strike you stick him like a pig in the gut. he hisses in pain and tries to grab you but you're too quick for him. You kick out his knee and dart behind him, ripping your blade from his stomach. He howls like a dog while you hold him by the throat with your bicep. You place the tip of your knife in the squishy bit just under his ribs, in the middle of his abdomen. You struggle to keep the placement as he writhes but you get it right and push in, feeling muscle and skin tear under the steel. His screams echo back at him mockingly as you drag the knife down, tearing him open.

He slumps to the ground in a pool of his own blood. One last pained whine leaving his throat. You stare up at everyone watching. A public lesson. Though you can see that they're more entertained by the show then worried.

Back home you carefully strip out of your blood-soaked clothes. Setting them down in the laundry hamper. You crawl into bed and watch Valeria do the same. Admiring the smooth tan expanse of her back. Of the muscles shifting under her skin. You want to trace the ridges of her spine. She joins you under the covers and rests her face into the crook of your neck. Breathing in your scent. 

[star--anon]

Thominewt Roadtrip Headcanons !

yay!

Well, first off, Minho is the only one of these losers to even have a driver's license.

Despite this, Thomas will make up for it by... Backseat driving the hell out of Minho. "Turn right! Turn right! Oh wait, no, Apple Maps says go forward for another 8 miles. Sorry." "Minho, the speed limit is 86mph, you're going 87!!" "Minho-"

Minho ends up turning his hearing aid off for most of the drive. It's mostly for show, though. He can still hear through his right ear (which is, unfortunately, the one Thomas is shouting in). But it does get Thomas to shut up about his driving for a few minutes.

Until there's a gas station, anyway. Then Thomas is immediately forcing Minho to pull over because this man? This man is so big on snacks. He's got 'em all organized by vibes and behaviors. Chocolate-y snacks for when he's feeling tired, beef jerky for when he just wants something to munch on, gummies for when he's chatting with Newt and Minho, crackers for when he's staring out the window and listening to music...

Speaking of music, Don't. Touch. Newt's radio. Doesn't matter if it's Minho's car. It's Newt's playlist. He's going to decide the music. It's one of the few things Minho's smart enough to not argue with him on.

A lot of people think Thomas would be the one chatting away, but it's actually Newt. Newt's the one pulling Minho out of that autopilot Driver Brain Numbness to chat, Newt's the one convincing Thomas to take his headphones off (he picked a playlist just for this road trip and Thomas wants to listen to his own music? rude).

The man needs his closeness. His love language is quality time and you can't change my mind. He revels in the comfortable silence as the three do their own things together, and he basks in the amiable chatter between his boyfriends (except for when Minho starts dunking on cats during their classic Cats VS Dogs convo, but every fantasy has a few holes).

Speaking of love languages, Minho's is acts of kindness (again, you can't change my mind). And it shows when he overpacks so much.

Oh, what if Thomas gets cold? What if Newt's ankle starts acting up? Compression helps with ankle pains, right? He should bring sixty blankets for a 3-day trip, right? He brings back-up toothbrushes (because Newt forgets his at motels sometimes), brings weighted blankets (Thomas hates the motel ones; they're so light), brings ten gallons of moisturizer (Newt hates dry skin), brings a taser (a bit much, but safety is good), brings a waffle machine (a little weird, but Thomas is adamant that waffles are just pancakes but better), brings a saxophone (okay, that one might just be odd), brings a horse saddle (Minho stop-)

Newt makes everyone write a list of all the stuff they're bringing so they don't forget their things when they're coming home (Minho's list is ten miles long). The first thing Newt writes on his own list is spare hearing aid batteries. It's the one thing Minho never bothers to worry about when he's (over)packing. He knows Newt will bring it.

Thomas sits backseat. Sometimes, if the trunk can't fit all their things, they'll have to put some stuff in the backseat, and Thomas ends up a little squashed. But that's okay. Newt tries to offer him passenger seat, but Thomas turns it down each time. He likes the backseat, it's where he can kiss the back of his boyfriends' necks.

(He's tried kissing Newt from the passenger's seat. It doesn't work as well. Also he once kicked Minho in the face trying to do so.)

[storm-saturn]

incoming: another fucking voltron rant because i watched a langst edit and now i wanna cry😭😭

they did not take time. they did not slow that show down for a little bit. especially for lance. cause he did not getting a fucking moment to find himself again after he FUCKING DIED. we saw him homesick, we saw him missing his family, we saw him insecure about his position on the team, we saw him insecure about himself, but we never actually saw him go anywhere else but being sad. he really did get barely any character development.

and tbh i feel like in a way just all the characters didnt have a moment to slow down. and i know, i know, its a kids show, its about fucking robots for fucks sake, theyre in the middle of a war. which, yeah. youre right. but there couldve been so much more, for him, for all of them. what about them? as people, with feelings. where are there emotions. why is it only sadness and happiness and not the enitre confusing spectrum of emotion between. does pidge not feel lost after she finds her brother? yeah, hes back, but i bet she didnt imagine she would be fighting an intergalactic war, and now matt is too. she imagined family dinner, brother barging into her room, dad making corny jokes, house happier and full of life.

hunks family was put in a fucking work camp. he had seen this across the galaxy, zarkons army imprisoning people, making them work, killing them. did he imagine that for earth ? did he imagine that for his family? how the fuck did he cope fighting a war, anxious as he is? how did he cope at all?

shiro isnt even in his fucking original body. thats fucking weird. im not saying that in a rude way bc like yeah, organ transplants are a thing irl, and a major life saving thing they are ! but like, how odd it must be to have someone elses kidney or heart in your body. nevermind to have your entire soul and conciousness put into another body, you but not really you.

keiths life,,, dude probably just doesnt even give anything a second fucking thought anymore. but like, could they not have shown him showing some more emotion. fair enough if he doesnt always cry in the moment but rather late on, but you'd think seeing allura die, they wouldve at least put some tears in his eyes. he had fucking no one before he had voltron. only shiro, and even then he was alone for so long when shiro had been on his mission. you cant tell me he didnt want to think of voltron as his family. they bonded :(

and lance, gosh lance. i feel like, if we looks at this as it is, lance would be the character that people think back on and go "oh yeah, he helped me accept my emotions, he helped me become the best version of me and gain confidence in who i am". in the fandom hes seen as someone with big emotions that he wears on his sleeve, but also someone who will put everyone else and their needs before himself.

he's a story of self-sacrifice, quite literally. he's the story of sincere love, of casual admiration. he's the story of the most wonderful friend, of loyalty, of no, I'll step down because there's a cause bigger than me, and im not the one for the job when there's people like my friends and you on the team.

and no one wanted to explore that? no one wanted to see him do more than just, what? flirt and literally die and fall in love and barely find his place on team voltron? that was it for him. it shouldn't have been, but it was.

[mad-c1oud]

perhaps a “Don’t freak out, please” from the injury prompts list for karaoke duo :3 only if you want ofc

KARAOKEDUO LETS GOOOOO

yes yes yes YES Went a completely different route (This isn't really an injury but uh you'll see) for fun and man, wanted to turn this one into a full oneshot but alas- kept it short for the sake of practice but who knows, this one was fun.

Thank you for the ask anon!!!!!

+++++

“Don’t freak out, please.”

Charlie feels a little hysterical at how calm Baghera is right now with all— this. “Don’t freak out? I’m not freaking out I am so completely and utterly calm right now.”

“Good!” She cheers, “It isn’t a big deal, right? We’ll be okay.” Baghera says happily as she’s actively melting into the ground, limbs turning a translucent yellow as her bones start poking out of what was always solid skin. Charlie whimpers a little at the sight, unable to acknowledge the new appendages at his back or along the side of his face. He can’t even talk about the fact that his bones are firmly in place. What he would give to pull a rib or three out in stress right now.

“Is slime like come. Or the feeling of breast milk? What if it was?”

“Baghera.” Charlie doesn’t even know how to continue that or even begin to reply, “You’re a piss-yellow more than anything. Go that direction, at least.”

The pile of goop bubbles and gurgles happily and holy fuck this is weird, knowing she’s laughing, amused and silly silly silly, but not being about to understand anything else than surface-level emotions. Something bubbles up in his own throat and he has to swallow it, panicked. The pile of lemon jello ripples happily and Charlie desperately needs someone more adult than them here. Phil. Where is Philza Minecraft. He can fix this switch-a-roo they’re stuck in.

“Were you going to chirp? You swallowed like you were going to chirp, Charlie.”

“Stop watching me swallow, you’re weird.”

Baghera sounds too delighted when she talks back, “Not until you chirp. Oh! Maybe you can fly! You are not a duck, but you still have w-“

Charlie groans loudly, “Don’t say it. Don’t.”

The pile of Baghera stays quiet and Charlie worries she lost her voice box in the mess of bones and organs, but he’s not that lucky. The mound bubbles.

“Your wings look like they belong to a little bird, like a hummingbird or a green bee-eater-”

“Baghera Jones what did I just-”

It’s fine. This is all fine. The wings at his back flutter anxiously and the ones at his temple keep trying to block his face like they want to protect him. Charlie wants to throw himself off of cliff to see if he can fly or just to die in general, but he has no idea how avian hybrids work. There’s no time for tests when his best friend is becoming one with the ground, also.

“Okay, enough goofing, it’s bucket time, Jones.”

“Oh, I have never had bucket time, I’m so excited! How many will it take? Can we bring my bones, please?”

Despite the situation they’ve found themselves in, Charlie smiles hard enough for it to hurt. He’s happy Baghera is here with him.

“At least five buckets. And of course, we can bring your bones.”

Her happy chittering doesn’t stop the entire trip it takes to find another islander to help them. And if Charlie lets out a few accidental chirps and trills too, there’s only one other person around to hear, and he’ll never mind that it’s Baghera.

[thelampisaflashlight]

I Am All Eyes

[Hoping to escape his past and begin anew, a young man takes a chance on an AD in the local newspaper, only to find he has, perhaps, bitten off far more than he can chew. A reintroduction to my OC, Quincy, and how he came to be the abbey's librarian. This fic will consolidate the events of the first two original ficlets I did with Quincy and diverge from the original plot from here. Not suitable for younger audiences.] Below the cut.

For what it's worth, if Quincy had to choose how he was going to die, death by satanic cult is a vastly cooler way to go out than he would have personally imagined for himself.

Kneeling at the base of some... big titty goat person -pretending not to see how worn the bronze in that particular area is- surrounded by a circle of cloaked figures that look like they walked off of the set of some old school horror flick, Quincy's mind, of course, drifts to the worst case scenario.

A million thoughts send his head spinning; When he'll die, and by what means, and one thought that he refuses to acknowledge, because-

"It's like that one scene from that music video I saw yesterday-"

Yeah, nope.

Not the time to be thinking about hockey bukkake.

He pinches his eyes shut and tries to focus on the present.

He hears the click of boots on the black marble beneath him.

He's fucked.

He's so fucked.

Everything he's ever done leading up to this, to the moment he said screw it and shook off the mounting anxiety in his chest and pushed open those ornate wooden doors to take shelter from the coming rain he'd sealed his fate.

He shouldn't have come here to begin with.

He shouldn't have called to arrange an interview with some... some shady lady who called herself something as weird as Sister Imperator.

Why'd he think it was a good idea to respond to an AD in the newspaper anyway??

Who even reads the paper anymore?!

Quincy.

Quincy reads the paper -for the crossword puzzles and the horoscopes, and to groan at this one columnist who always has the shittiest takes in the opinions section- because he's a giant nerd.

...and because he has a friendly competition going with the old man who runs the newspaper stand across from his apartment.

Point is-

He just wanted a job in his field, okay?

He spent years studying to become a librarian, but he’s been stuck working at a dive bar since before he could even drink himself, and he’s kind of tired of coming home smelling like spilled beer and vape smoke -the ban on “electric cigarettes” indoors hadn’t quite hit his area yet, and Quincy was sick of having to smell the pungent aroma of cereal scented clouds of vapor.

All that money wasted on getting a higher education, and he’s somehow still stupid enough to stumble upon a cult in broad daylight and embarrass himself in the process no less!

Lord, he wants to cry.

He must look so pathetic down on his knees, because one of the hooded figures offers-

A tissue?

Quincy sniffles.

“First day jitters, huh?” Another says, taking a packet of little bear shaped cookies from their pocket and pressing it into his palm, “Don’t worry, you’ve got this!”

What?

“It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

“I thought-” Quincy looks up at them confused, “-what is this place? I-I was called to… for a…”

He digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out the newspaper clipping, “A-A woman called, S-Sister Impera… Impera…”

“Oh, hey! Someone actually took the job offer! Fucking finally…” someone sighs, placing a hand on their chest, “I’m getting tired of trying to organize that place myself…”

“I… Huh.”

Huh.

With one stiff pull, Quincy is back on his feet, a bit wobbly, but, at least he’s standing.

He feels like a newborn deer surrounded by… surprisingly nice wolves.

“What… what is this place exactly? The AD said it was… um… a-an abbey? A church thing, so… and, and what is that?”

He eyes the statue again, face warming as he takes in the carefully crafted areolas....

What?

They’re massive and very aesthetically pleasing to look at!

“Oh, that’s Baphomet!”

“Bapha-who-ha?”

“Baphomet, he represents the balance between opposites, although, I think the Papa Emeritus that commissioned it just really liked the idea of having a statue with big ol’ boobs in the foyer to be honest…”

Quincy bites his lip.

Ah.

“It used to have a huge schlong, too, but I think they had to remove it back in the 60’s? 70’s? So it would be less, uhh, sinister?”

Quincy opens his mouth, and physically has to stop himself from asking what they mean by “sinister”, instead asking, “W-Where is Sister Imperator… So I can speak with her?”

“Her office is on the third floor, last door at the end of the hall.”

“Third floor, gotcha. And the elevator is…?”

“Out of order until they get the stains off the wood paneling.” the figure who explained the statue says, “However, there are stairs at the end of the hall that will take you up to the second floor, then you just have to head down to the end of THAT hall and take the left up another staircase and, boom, you’re there.”

“That’s a lot of stairs.”

Despite this, at no point does Quincy have the thought that he could just leave now.

Just, not show up to the interview.

For all his earlier hesitance and regret... he just keeps walking.

As he passes door after door, pausing briefly to admire the architecture -the woodwork is gorgeous to say the least- and breathe in the age of the building itself…

No, that thought doesn’t occur to him until he’s actually sitting in the interview, with an older woman in a modest black dress and a tight bun that makes Quincy’s head hurt imagining the pull of it as if it were tearing at his own scalp.

Sister Imperator.

She’s… a lot more intimidating in person than she sounded like she would be on the phone.

She'd sounded rather jovial and kind during their initial conversation, but now, Quincy isn't so sure.

He blames it on nerves.

She adjusts her reading glasses and sets his paperwork down.

“Well, you certainly have the necessary qualifications for the job, although, I do have to wonder… you’re leaving a job you’ve had for nearly a decade now for one that pays…” she folds her hands on top of the desk between them, “I have to ask, what made you answer our advertisement, Mr. Byrne?”

“I attended university with this specific line of work in mind.” Quincy replies, sitting up straight, “A-Although I’ve been working as a bartender for some time now, and I would be making more if I continued to do so… I decided some time ago that I needed a career change.”

“Any particular reason for that that you would be willing to share?”

Quincy shakes his head, “It’s… a personal matter, and won’t have any bearing on my performance.”

“I see.” she looks back down at his paperwork, “Right then, just a couple more questions.”

Quincy nods.

“Full disclosure before we begin, as you’ve probably already guessed based on aesthetics alone… we are a religious organization, no less legitimate than, say, the catholic church, but not quite so… Mn, prominent.” she says, clearly choosing her words carefully, “Will this be an issue for you, Mr. Byrne? We can assure you, that you needn’t subscribe to our views in order to work in our library, it is merely a matter of comfort for yourself, and to avoid the possibility of you treating our clergy discriminatorily. You may also choose not to answer.”

“I’m not particularly religious.” he replies, “I was raised Christian, but I suppose these days I would be considered an apostate? Yes.”

“And as far as your views on our religion thus far?”

“I will admit I was… taken aback… by what I saw in the foyer, but I have no ill feelings towards the people here.” he thinks back to the kindness he was shown earlier despite his obvious apprehension and doubt, “They, your clergy, have been… nice.”

“That is good to hear.” she says, smiling, though Quincy could have sworn he caught a glimpse of something… dark in her gaze before he spoke.

“Onto the next question: We have several semi-permanent residents here, so it is likely that you will be encountering them quite often-”

The rest of the interview goes…

It goes fine.

Quincy doesn’t have an expectations, but when Imperator quietly leans back in her chair, he thinks he definitely didn’t-

“Can you start tomorrow?”

“Y-Yes, but, don’t you have other applicants to-”

She shakes her head, “You’re the only one who replied, and I think it would be ridiculous to let you go.”

He swallows, “So then… I got the job?”

“Yes.”

Quincy visibly relaxes.

“How about a tour of the building?”

.

.

“And this is the dining hall.” Brother Elijah -the figure who had given him the bear cookies earlier, now dressed in a much less ominous, but still quite formal looking cassock- says, gesturing through the open doors to a surprisingly quaint looking dining room, “If you bring food with you, you can eat it here on your break, or you can take it outside and eat in the courtyard, that’s what a lot of us do when it’s nice outsi- Are you quite alright, Mr. Byrne?”

“This place is… way bigger than I expected.” Quincy breathes, “How are you not tired?”

Brother Elijah sets his hands on his hips, looking confident, “I can run the length of this building three times over in twenty minutes or so.”

“I timed it once out of curiosity!”

“I’m… whoo…” Quincy sits down on a nearby bench, Brother Elijah stands beside him, hands behind his back, “I don’t know when I got so out of shape.”

“Ehn, it happens. Once you hit thirty-five or so-”

Quincy coughs, “I’m twenty-seven.”

Brother Elijah’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, “Really?”

“I don’t know whether or not I should be offended, how old are you that you think thirty-five is old anyway?”

“Forty-eight. I’ll be forty-nine in August.”

Quincy makes a face.

“No…”

“Yes, actually!”

“You look younger than me!”

“I have a great skin care routine.” He shrugs, “I think it’s probably because I still have my hair intact, no gray hairs either… Ah, apologies…”

Quincy runs a hand through his hair, through the white patch in the front, “Ehn, I like my hair.”

An awkward silence fills the space between them.

“Um… Do you… Do you like working here, Brother Elijah?” Quincy asks when he’s finally feeling less winded.

The older man nods, “I’ve been here for quite some time now, and I don’t feel I’ll be leaving anytime soon. I have friends here, and, well, it’s certainly an interesting place to live.”

“You live here, too?”

“Many of us do.” he says, looking a little somber, “Some people come to us because they have nowhere else to go, and others, like myself, simply wanted a fresh start… If I might pry a little, could I ask you something?”

“Mn.” Quincy nods, “Go ahead.”

“Are you at all superstitious, Mr. Byrne?”

“Like, do I believe in ghosts and the supernatural? Or… like fortunes and such?” Quincy asks, crossing his legs, “I’ll admit I enjoy reading my horoscope in the paper now and then, but, well, I’ve never really put much stock in the paranormal.”

“I see.” the man smiles, unlike the sister’s smile, it seems wholly genuine and kind, “And what is your star sign?”

“Capricorn.”

“Ah, yes, the sea goat. An interesting one that, being an earth based sign, yet being depicted by a creature you’d sooner see in the water than on land.” He chuckles, “And what did the paper tell you today?”

“I think it was, ‘Something you lost will be returned to you.’, though it hasn’t happened yet, so…” Quincy shrugs, “Though, I don’t recall anything I could have lost either.”

“Is there anything you were hoping to have given back to you?”

“Nothing immediately comes to mind, no.” He says, standing up slowly, “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Your star sign?”

“I am a leo, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Quincy hums, “I think your fortune for today was 'A new business venture will yield unexpected results’ or something like that… It’s all a bit silly, huh?”

“Indeed it is.” he laughs, then pauses, holding up a hand, “Listen.”

The sounds of a bell tolling echoes through the halls.

It chimes once.

Twice.

And then a third and finally time.

“3 o'clock on the dot.”

“It’s that late already?” Quincy blinks, “It feels like I only just got here…”

“Do you have somewhere else to be at the moment?”

“No, not really, I, uh, I worked closing at my old job last night.” he explains, “It’s been a while since I’ve really been up and at 'em at this time.”

“Ah, I see. We can finish up the tour when you return tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I look forward to it.”

Despite parting ways with Brother Elijah, Quincy finds himself lingering outside of the abbey, waiting for his ride to show up.

He hadn’t wanted to drive all the way out here in his own car… at least not yet, for a variety of reason, but mostly because he hadn’t wanted her to see him leave, to question where he was going or, worse yet, follow him there.

It would be easier to cuts ties with her, with the rest of them, too, if he could just… disappear.

Truth be told, he’d had to stop himself from asking Brother Elijah how one might go about moving into a place like the abbey.

He’s certain if he asked, he might be understanding of his circumstances, but Quincy…

He’d rather not get into all of that on the first day.

“Just… see if you like it, and go from there.” he tells himself, closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale, “Just gotta wait it out.”

Checking his phone for the first time in hours, Quincy feels the tension build behind his brow as he sees how many missed calls he has, how many texts…

At some point, he’ll have to decide whether to just block them all or change his number.

Turning off his phone, Quincy sits down on the steps and waits.

It’s oddly peaceful out here, and the air feels crisp and clean.

It’s… it’s nice.

Watching the grass roll on a nearby hill, he can’t help but think…

“Shawn would have liked it here.”

He’s glad when the rain picks back up before the car arrives.

.

.

The abbey’s library is absolutely stunning.

He’d said as much when Brother Elijah brought him there after his interview, and, even now, nearly a month into his work, Quincy finds it just as magnificent and fantastical as the first time.

However…

“20 down, 6 letters, an old English word for church…”

Although Quincy loves the library, it’s not the most lively place.

Clergy come and go, and some linger to study books about this or that, Quincy isn’t sure what the primary focus of their research is, but much of it involves skimming through heavy resource books that are all written in some archaic language he cannot begin to understand.

Thankfully, the spines are labeled in English, or, at the very least, Latin.

A bell tolls, signifying midday, and the assembled clergy begin closing their books, setting them off to the side, shuffling their notes and gathering their belongings to leave.

Quincy nods to them as they depart, and receives small waves and warm smiles in response.

The siblings are always very respectful and polite, to the extent that it makes him a little nervous.

Despite having left the faith years ago, Quincy had grown up Christian, and is still struggling to unlearn the more “us or them” teachings his church had beaten into his head as a child and young teenager.

It is not an easy thing to do, and his mind often swirls with negative thoughts and feelings that he tries not to let color his opinions of the people around him, but he has to try.

Quincy stretches, then stands slowly, rolling up his sleeves.

“Right, let’s get to it…”

Tidying up the library requires Quincy’s full attention, having not fully acquainted himself with the layout, he can easily sort the books themselves by their DDCs but…

“Why are none of these shelves labeled??”

“Mn, I believe it’s because the late Papa Emeritus III found the placards too plain, and thought that they ‘detracted from the aesthetics’…” Brother Elijah had told him during lunch one afternoon, “Which is… funny, considering I do not think he spent much time actually in the library… at least not to utilize the resources there.”

“What was he doing then??” Quincy had questioned, “Just sitting about?”

“Ah, no…” Brother Elijah trailed off, “Well, kind of. He was fond of… roleplay so to speak.”

Quincy is still not entirely sure what he meant by that.

What kind of so-called “roleplay” could you even do in a library??

He’d tried to ask Brother Elijah exactly that, but the older man waved him off, saying it was better if he didn’t know.

The same day, whilst cleaning, Quincy found a desk towards the back of the library, out of view, with… decidedly nail shaped indentations on the surface, as if someone had been gripping it tightly.

He’s still not sure what to do with this information, nor certain how or why he thinks it’s connected to the dead guy’s… roleplay.

Returning to the present, Quincy finds himself on the second floor, a single book remaining in his hands; It’s old and worn, and the sticker label marking where it belongs has long since faded beyond his ability to read.

He flips it open, examining cover to cover trying to find some marker or indication of where it belongs, but everything written inside -and indeed it is written, handwritten in a brownish ink- is in an illegible cursive scrawl.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he accidentally snatched up one of the siblings’ notebooks, but the book was simply too old for that to be the case.

The paper, the bindings…

It’s a very old tome indeed.

Another bell tolls.

“I’ll figure this out later.” he tells himself, descending the staircase and depositing the book at the front desk beside his crossword puzzle, grabbing his bag and departing from the library… only to find the hallways packed with clergy members and much chatter.

Quincy hops to see over the crowd, but he can barely see passed the wall of people.

“What’s going on?” he asks, tapping the shoulder of a nearby sibling.

“The ghouls have returned!” they announce excitedly, “They’re finally back!”

“The what now?”

“The ghouls!”

Quincy blinks, “That… clears up absolutely nothing.”

“The ghouls are high ranking members of the church.” a now familiar voice explains, “They’re essentially celebrities here.”

Quincy tilts his head up in the crowd, making eye contact with Brother Elijah.

“So they’re kind of like… the 'popular kids’ here then?”

Brother Elijah chuckles, “Mn, not quite. They do have a rather large following, but that’s only natural, they are musicians after all, and everyone gets at least a little excited to see their favorite ones.”

Quincy hops to see over the crowd again, catching a glimpse of… well, more tops of heads, and one face towering above the assembled clergy.

He makes the briefest of eye contact with the man; He’s tall and lean, with a narrow face and long brown hair that looks oh so soft, and when he locks eyes with Quincy, it may be his imagination, but there’s the slightest hint of…

…Anger?

Quincy shivers, grateful, suddenly, for the wall of people between them.

He’s certain the other had scowled upon seeing him.

It could just be nerves, or his mind playing tricks on him and seeing hostility where there is none, but he doesn’t try to jump up to confirm either theory.

“Are you alright?” Brother Elijah asks, peering down at him worriedly.

“Ah, just… wondering when the crowd will clear up.” he says, waving off the other’s concerns, “I wanted to go eat my lunch.”

“If you say so.” he hums, “Here, I’ll clear a path. Stick close.”

With that, Brother Elijah begins pushing his way through the crowd, and Quincy grabs the band around his cassock to keep them tethered together so he doesn’t get lost.

It doesn’t take long before they’ve popped free into the main corridor, taking the opposite path from the… the ghouls?

“W-Why are they called ghouls?” Quincy asks, letting go of Brother Elijah’s belt, “Is that, like, a status thing?”

“In a sense, yes.” he says, smoothing his uniform, “It’s hard to explain, and I’m not entirely sure how much I can tell you about that, honestly.”

“It’s another one of those, 'You have to be in the know.’ kind of deals, yeah?”

He nods.

“It’s better if, for now, you just make yourself aware of their presence and avoid them when you can.” he goes on to say, “They’re not bad people, nor particularly dangerous, but they can be a bit… much.”

“You forget I used to work in a bar, Brother.” Quincy points out, “I’ve likely dealt with similar or even worse.”

“Still… I think it would be better if you didn’t involve yourself with them more than you have to.” the other states, his brow furrowed.

He seems genuinely worried about the idea of him interacting with the ghouls, but that just makes Quincy… curious.

However.

“Mn, I probably won’t see them, so it’s fine.” he says, “One of them, the really tall one, he gave me an odd look and, frankly, I don’t want to find out what it means..."

“Ahh, that would be Mountain… He’s a fairly easygoing person, but he can be rather… abrasive at first.”

“His name is… Mountain?”

“Yes. Actually, all of them have sort of-" Brother Elijah searches for the right word to use, "-nicknames?”

“I se-” Quincy’s stomach growls loudly, cutting himself off.

Brother Elijah smiles.

“Come now, let’s get some food in you.”

.

.

Returning to the library after lunch -mostly simple, easy to eat snacks like fruit or cheese for Quincy, and a sandwich from the kitchen for Brother Elijah- Quincy settles back behind the front desk, pulling out the book from earlier and tries to glean any new information from it that he can.

The letters seem to swirl on the pages nonsensically at first, but the longer he focuses on them, the more recognizable the shapes become.

He can tell which are meant to be lowercase 'q’s, 'p’s, 'g’s, and 'y’s now at the very least.

But none of the words are familiar to him.

He sets the book down again, taking out his crossword again.

“13 across, 7 letters, a rumbling during a storm…”

“Thunder.” a low voice booms, “…do you always do puzzles while working?”

Quincy startles, almost falling out of his chair, but a long arm reaches across the desk, grabbing the back of it.

"Ah."

Quincy's eyes widen.

"You should be more careful."

It's... it's the man from before.

It's Mountain.

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You need not apologize to me.” the tall man sighs, “But, really, you should pay more attention to your surroundings, how could you not hear me come in?”

Quincy squirms in his seat, he feels like a little kid caught doing something wrong.

“I… I was distracted.”

“Yes, by your puzzle.” he states coolly, gesturing at the paper, now spread out across the floor behind the desk, dropped in his fright.

“I’m sorry.” he apologizes again, “I-I… were you trying to get my attention? I’m sorry…”

Mountain frowns, righting the chair and pulling Quincy back towards the desk in one fluid motion.

Why is he so strong??

Why is he so… fucking tall??

Quincy gulps.

“I just wanted to say hello, but you seemed to be off in your own little world, so I thought I might snap you back to reality before someone more important found you goofing off on the job.” he chastises, clicking his teeth for emphasis, “You haven’t been here nearly long enough to get away with this sort of thing, so you have to be careful, yes?”

Quincy nods quickly, “Yes, Sir.”

Mountain’s face contorts more, if possible, becoming even more annoyed.

“Don’t call me 'sir’.”

“What… what should I call you then?” he asks, side-eyeing the massive hand still latched to the back of the chair.

“Mountain.”

“Mountain… I’m…”

“Quincy Byrne.” Mountain drawls, tilting his nametag upwards with a single, large finger from his free hand, “I want us to be friends, so, be careful not to get yourself into trouble, alright?”

Friends?

He-

With that, Mountain releases him, standing to his full height, and ascends the stairs to the second floor, leaving Quincy to babble uselessly.

“What.”

What was that?!

Despite Mountain having righted his chair before leaving him, Quincy still bails out onto the floor with a loud crash.

“Ow…”

“…Are you alright?” Mountain calls from the upstairs railing.

“Y-Yeah, I’m great.”

Quincy sits on the floor for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

What even…

Grabbing his paper from the floor, Quincy goes to stand, bumping his head on the underside of the desk.

Thud.

A loud sigh echoes through the silence of the library.

Oi.

“Be quiet down there, some of us are actually trying to get work done.”

Quincy bristles, “I-”

“Shhhh-”

Did he just shush him???

Ugh…

Quincy picks up his chair and sits back down, about to toss his paper in the bin, when…

“Oh, 20 down…”

“Cirice.” Mountain says from somewhere above, “And do learn to read in your head.”

Quincy bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

[bratzs12345]

Short scene from a WIP

I swear, I've been working on this fic for over a year. And, god dammit, I swear I'm finishing it up before the start of the semester. /:(

Suddenly, Armin spoke up once more. “You know, Levi. I think I owe you an apology.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, hesitant to ask but still playing along. “What for?” 

“I guess there had been a few rumors going around school that you and Eren had…involed, so to say,” He said, choosing his words carefully. As he continued talking, he kept on eye on both boy’s and their expressions. “But, it was wrong of me to assume. I mean, we’re a team now. So, if i had any suspicions about what you two were doing, I should have just come to you.”

Levi could sense where this was going. From the corner of his eye, he surveyed Eren’s face and could see the younger man a red blush creep up his neck. His lips were tightly pursed as he waited for the next words to come out of the blonde’s mouth. 

“The best way to go about this is just to be direct, yeah. So, just to be sure, is there anything going on between you and Eren?”

Though he didnt show it on his face, Levi was slightly stunned by the blonde’s boldness. This entire conversation made him realize that he had greatly undermined the sammer man’s guts. Before tonight, he never would have thought Eren’s sidepiece could be so confrontational. Then again, I guess it takes some guts to step up and run as big of a crime organization as the Scouts. 

Finally, It was Eren’s turn to break the silence. 

“Well, that would be weird, considering he used to date my brother,” Eren said, trying to make his voice was smooth and nonchalant.

Levi guessed this wasn’t the first time he had to lie under pressure. But, he had known him for so long that he could tell. He could hear the slight crack in his voice; see the sweat beads that were accumulating on his neck. To the trained eye, Eren was terrible under pressure. 

Armin looked back at him in surprise. “Is that true?”

Its no surprise Armin hadn’t known about his and Zeke’s previous affair. Levi had threatened more than a few Scouts for bringing up it up around him. All the more reason for Eren’s incidental confession to make a nre loe. Levi’s eye twitched as he felt two pair of eyes stare back at him. Armin’s with confusion and intrigue, and Eren’s with fear and desperation. Levi couldn’t help but feel annoyed that the latter would throw him under the bus like that, especially when he knew what a toll the breakup took on him. 

“I don’t know if I would say date,” Levi responded slowly, trying to keep his anger out of his voice. “That’s a pretty strong word after all. Some would say it was his brother that had a huge crush on me. And, we fucked several times.”

“Oh?” Armin said, nodding but still pretty lost on where this conversation was heading. 

He knew it was petty and childish, but his past relationship was still a pretty sore spot. He couldn’t help but to become even more spiteful in response. 

He turned to the younger Yeager with venom in his eyes, “But, I mean, Eren, there’s no need to be modest. I’m not the only one dating family around here.”

Armin looked back at Eren confused. Inwardly, Levi smirked triumphently. If Eren could play dirty, then do could he. 

“Oh, right,” He said, feigning nonchalance. “He probably didn’t tell you, but he definitely dated my cousin at one point as well,”

Eren chucked, as more beads of sweat continued to drip down “Like Levi said, ‘date’ is a strong word. I mean, it was just middle school,”

“How long were you two…seeing each other?” Armin asked hesitantly. 

Another nervous chuckle escaped from the nervous man. He wisely decided to pass up on answering his lover’s question. “I mean, can you even call it “dating” at that point? Middle school relationships hardly ever count,”

“I mean, she liked you enough to deal with all of your bullshit,” Levi muttered. 

“Bullshit?” Eren exclaimed, for a moment, indignance overridden his embarrassment. “Mikasa was the one broke up with me. And over nothing at that.”

“Oh please.You lied to her almost every day,” Levi couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “What else do you call that?” 

“Maybe I only did that because I had no other choice. Because, the actual person I had feelings for kept ignoring and rejecting me for years,” 

“So, you admit to using my cousin in your petty quest for revenge, huh?” He said with a blank stare. “Well, it’s about time Yeager.”

Armin couldn’t keep up with the as his eyes flickered between the two, watching them bicker. At this point, even he didn’t know what to say. He could tell there was still a few issues between the two men that they still have yet to address. And, he could tell that the two have a lot of shared history. Though he didn’t know if that was supposed to make him more reassured of his status his and Eren’s status or less. 

Meanwhile, Eren could feel himself getting more and more worked up as the argument went on. It was the same old argument they always had, but he still couldn’t help but be annoyed as they rehashed the same issue they had been arguing over for years. For some reason, he had hoped that after this mission and their agreement, they would be able to put the past behind them. And, maybe Levi would even come to understand why he did some of the thing he did. But, that hope was quickly squashed in a matter of minutes. 

This issue refused to leave either of their minds. Levi still saw him the same way he did ten years ago: an immature kid who didn’t think or care about anyone. At this point, his perception was probably even worse. 

Eren groaned in frustration. With anger seeping into his tone, he responded, “You know, that’s just like you, Levi. Always in one ear out the other. You’ve always been the same,”

“I know you’re not making this about me,” He responded, appalled that the other Scout would even take it there. “This is not my problem. I am not the issue here. You are.”

“Everyone, calm down!” Mikasa yelled breaking up the bickering. 

[adamwatchesmovies]

Tin & Tina (2023)

If you only ace one part of your movie, make it the ending. For the most part, I was enjoying Tin & Tina but it didn't seem like anything special. After the final act, my thoughts on it changed completely - for the better. Due to that period of uncertainty, I have to be slightly conservative with my rating, but this is a movie I’ll remember down the line.

Set during the early 1980s, in Spain, Lola (Milena Smit) and Adolfo (Jaime Lorente) have just said their marriage vows when they unexpectedly lose their unborn twins in a miscarriage. Hoping to make their family whole again, the couple adopt twins Tin (Carlos González Morollón) and Tina (Anastasia Russo) from a nearby religious convent. Lola soon becomes suspicious of the children, though Adolfo insists their odd behavior stems from innocence rather than malice.

When we meet the twins, they seem needlessly creepy. They’re either albino or extremely blonde, they’ve got weird haircuts and their smiles are too big. The children are extremely religious. They've never watched TV, they quote the Bible for fun, the idea of not saying grace before a meal mortifies them. It's offputting but you can understand where that behavior comes from since they were raised by nuns. They're introduced playing the organ with a skill far beyond their years (reminded me of “The Orphan”), which is another sure sign that these kids are baaad news. Despite their appearances and strange habbits, you can see why Lola wants to adopt them, however. As a child, she lost a leg. She was also a “weird” kid and she’s specifically looking to replace the twins she lost.

Soon after arriving to their new home, Tin and Tina's actions raises some serious red flags. Not necessarily the kind that exposes them as evil but they would make any sane parent go back to the orphanage and ask the sister in charge (sor Asunción, played by Teresa Rabal) if she ever noticed anything weird from them. Less patient parents would go to the police and tell them to investigate the orphanage. Whatever those nuns are teaching the rugrats, it’s going to make them all into serial killers. Even for loving parents who really want a family, even for the place and the time period, Lola & Adolfo are way, way too cool with what happens. No one watching would tolerate some of the horror movie behavior exhibited. It’s enough to make you want these people to fall victim to whatever terrors await them once the kids turn full-on evil. I mean when you can’t read ANY of the signs, you deserve it.

Although I still feel like sometimes, Lola – and to a certain extent Adolfo too – let things that no one else, not even a saint, would let slide and that is frustrating, the ending changes all of that. This movie is much smarter than it seems. You see the creepy kids, you witness the horror-movie behavior, you think you know exactly where the plot is headed. You dismiss the characters as too stupid to live and essentially give up. What you don't realize is that you’re the one who's made the mistake. There’s something you haven’t considered while evaluating this story and probably wouldn't have in a million years: the possibility that although this is a horror film, the children aren’t actually evil. What if they’re not the problem? What if it’s Lola and Adolfo?

There are indeed subtle details that hint at the couple not being idyllic. At the orphanage, Adolfo insists that they’re only for children free from deformities. His wife wears a prosthetic leg. She has since childhood. What does this statement say about him? We find out that Lola has a bitter relationship with God. Bitter enough to make her subconsciously hate children who love Him more than anything else? Maybe. Trust me. I know not knowing if a movie is better than "just ok" for nearly 2-hours is hard, particularly with several developments that make you think "Oh come on. How many more signs do you need?!" but it all comes together so well during the conclusion you'll feel foolish for having doubted the film.

There may also be a deeper meaning to some elements of the picture, since it's set during a tumultuous period of Spain's history that I'm not familiar with. I can't say for sure. What I do know is that Tin & Tina deserves your patience. I'm still not 100% sure the characters are not a little bit dumb but that conclusion is so solid I'm more than willing to forgive it. It's scary and makes you think in the most unexpected way. (Original Spanish with English subtitles, May 28, 2023)

[stars-in-a-jam-jar]

[JUMPS IN YOUR INBOX] YOU! KEEP TALKING.

Saw your analysis post information Marble Sky and was incredibly intrigued by how well you connected details in the story. I hadn't caught the detail of Holly presumably being an incredibly important member of his species because of his addition to The Vault. That's a very nice catch. Additionally, I do think you're right about the Vault's function being long-term preservation rather than a holding place for people about to be killed. Holly's obviously been there long enough to put down literal roots and has been onserved to be peaceful enough that Ward was placed with him for co-habitation.

Not only does that imply that Sculptors cares about his subjects not killing each other, but he also has found through rooting around in Ward's brain that humans are social creatures and need social interaction to maintain vitality. If he has plans to kill Ward, it wouldn't make sense for him to place him with another inmate, giving him a "roomie" suggests that he plans to keep Ward long-term, and in fair mental condition. The same applies to Holly as well. Nobodies stopped him from growing plants in the Vault, despite him obviously being captured and under surveillance. If we're to assume that proximjty to vegetation is important for teegardians (tbh its important for humans too, but I digress) then it can be assumed that they're trying to keep him sane as well. Not for anything good, mind you, but it implies Sculptor isn't a "mad" scientist but rather a thorough and clinically practical one.

I have Thoughts about other aspects of your analysis (positive ones prommy) but this ask is very long. Anyway A+ analysis you forced me to overcome social anxiety to brain dump in your inbox haha

Thank you♡♡♡♡♡

I love when a scientist who's Objectively A Bad Guy is also Objectively A Good Scientist, it makes everything feel so tactile, if that's the way to describe it. "Some of you will die be horrifically traumatized and violated by weird information scraping biotech. But that is a sacrifice I am willing to make."

There seems to be established protocols around the situation with the humans. 'We found a primitive spacecraft with creatures inside.' 'The edible kind?' Ward says he feels like they're being watched. Ecliptica warns Alcor not to bite Oscar because he doesn't know where he's been. These Are Very Organized People, and because we the audience are more inclined to lean into Oscar's POV than Ward's on account of wanting to see Oscar successfully woo this big scary alien, we don't notice how Fucking Terrifying That Organization Is. An organization facilitated by Sculptor's deeply unethical science because final leadership defaults to Ecliptica due to her being the biggest and strongest.

Like. Like the Echolocators a curious species, but in a universe where they are some of the most dangerous things in space, so everyone, especially high ranking officials like Sculptor and Ecliptica, just confidently takes what they want. The hierarchy within their own colony is functionally the only thing that gives any of them pause. When Ecliptica is testing how far Oscar's trust in her not being a danger to him goes, Alcor fearfully scurries out of his arms because 'Oh shit, the moon is getting up in my space, I gotta get out of here.' and he looks on anxiously as she picks Oscar up because Oscar is his fun big dude who tastes like a great snack when he bites him and has this cool music stuff in his headphones. It's perfectly fine for Alcor to crawl all over and cling to Oscar, but suddenly Oscar is up close and personal with the most dangerous thing in Alcor's life and he just stands next to Ward anxiously flicking his tail around.

I have an idea mostly based around uhhh nothing I guess that it's not that female Echolocators are rare or anything, it's that they're Extremely Territorial and very likely to fucking Kill one another.

[north-blue-hearts]

Family Practice

CisFem Reader x Trafalgar Law

CW: sex, language, violence

Summary: Modern Mafia-coded AU starts in last semester of College

Chapter 2: Graded

A few weeks later you’re in the library again and Law comes to sit with you. He sets a cup of coffee down in front of you and one for himself. Before he sits down across from you, he pulls out his wallet and hands over the agreed upon money.

Your face lights up as you take it. “New high score?”

There’s a hint of a smile. “Yeah. I suppose I owe you an apology.”

“Bah,” you wave it off, tucking the money away. “You’ve paid the price for doubting my genius.” You grin. “So, your grades were already high, did you ace it?”

He shook his head. “99.3%. Highest score on the midterms that professor has seen in thirty years.”

“Hells, you missed…” You did the math in your head. “A fraction of a question?”

“Yeah, most of the test was multiple parts per question.” He explains.

“Wow, that’s impressive Pre-Med.” You admit, teasing him with the old nickname. “It feels weird, as a lazy linguistics major to say so, but I’m proud of you.”

“Am I going to be Pre-Med until I have my PhD in my hands, or?”

You grin. “Maybe. Ah, so anyway, I won, and you’ve only paid the processing fee. Where’s the rest?”

Law sighs. “Your place. Sachi and Penguin are hosting a study group tonight.”

“Fair enough. Are you going to bring dinner with you, or am I handling it?”

“Are you going to order abominations again?”

“Abomin… I’m not the emo reject that dislikes bread. Bread! Of all things!” Your face reflects your continued disbelief. “I could get it if you were allergic, but to just dislike it as a matter of opinion is,” you could feel Law’s eye twitching. “Unique. Touchy subject?”

“A little.”

You put your hands up. “My apologies then.”

“Back to the question.”

You smile, “Pad Thai? Oh, ready to brave my cooking?” You ask excitedly.

It took a couple days for you and Law to adjust to one another, but it’s been going smooth since. He’s a man of few words until he’s really interested in something, or passionate about it. A little stunted in the emotional development department, but not so much that you couldn’t work out what was going on in his head. Reading people was something of a survival skill for you, so you were good at it.

His roommates, Sachi and Penguin are studying marine biology, and a fourth friend of theirs Bepo is double majoring in Zoology and wildlife conservation. Because of his schedule, you’ve only met Bepo once so far, but he was the biggest, cuddliest, most polite pile of walking warmth you’d ever met. He had an unforgivably cute collection of polar bear hats and scarves too.

In making one accidental friend you ended up making four friends, and it was nice to know you actually could. Making friends in middle school and high school had been easy - being stuck in classes with the same people over and over would help anyone make friends. College was a different beast.

“Pad Thai is fine.” Law states, trying to hide the look of horror that slipped across his features.

You sigh, but you can’t argue. You’d have to beg some cooking lessons from Sanji the next time you were back home. You weren’t a terrible cook, but you weren’t a good cook, and unfortunately you had been so nervous about cooking for your new friend that you had managed to set pasta on fire. The night had ended in Law administering first aid to some burns on your arm, and the two of you eating chicken wings.

The rest of the day goes easily and the two of you head over to your apartment. You had considered staying in the dorms, but the apartment you found was one of Shanks’ properties, and he was good friends with Luffy. You got offered a deal that would’ve been financially irresponsible to turn down. Shanks, like Big Mom and Pops, was head of his own organization. He was a kind of a spiritual successor to a long-passed rival of Pops’, and Shanks was also one of the biggest reasons Luffy became who he was.

Out of everyone, Shanks actually scared you the most. He was too jovial and easy going, and you couldn’t read him like you could most people. His success coupled with his general attitude had you convinced there was a demon behind those eyes. Really good-looking, wildly disarming eyes, if you were being honest, but that just made him scarier in your opinion. Not that you feared him, but you had zero interest in becoming friends or associates with him.

Let someone else wrangle that beast.

“Welcome to my swanky bachelor pad.” You said jokingly, opening the door and letting Law step in first.

He got his foot just past the threshold and his hands grabbed onto the doorframe. “(Y/N)-ya… did you do this yourself?”

“Gods no,” you said, trying not to laugh. “I lost a bet with my brother, and I think he brought the whole family down to redecorate for me over the weekend.”

Inside your usually spartan space, there were velvet sheets and blankets hanging from the walls and ceiling. Various colors of light bulbs created a slightly rainbow effect, but they weren’t so bright in hue as to clash. A beaded curtain was hung just inside the entrance, and you were glad that you had turned off the “ambiance enhancing music” this morning before you had left.

Thankfully your kitchen and bathroom had been spared, but your bedroom looked like a red-light special and you were absolutely not letting anyone in there right now.

“Please get in there before someone passes by and thinks I’ve converted my room to a hookah bar.” You urged, and Law stepped inside reluctantly.

“How long is it staying like this?” Law’s distaste for the new look was obvious.

“…until finals.” You admit with a defeated sigh.

“What was the bet?”

You made a very displeased noise. There was silence from Law as the two of you made your way to the living room.

“… (Y/N)-ya?”

“Eh?”

“What was your midterm grade?”

You made the same displeased noise and Law wheeled around practically glaring at you.

“Don’t tell me you failed?” The disbelief in his voice was comforting. In the last few weeks you had at least proven your capacity to be on par with him in terms of book-smarts.

“Hardly!” You scoffed, but you were having a hard time looking at him. “Look, I passed. I passed with a respectable grade and everything.”

“Then what was the bet?” Law had his hand up to his temple, trying to stave off a headache.

“If I got anything less than an A, Marco - my, er, brother, was allowed to decorate my place as he saw fit.” You explained.

“What did you get?”

“Eighty-seven point nine percent.” You said in a devastated tone.

“That is respectable.” Law agreed. “What happened?”

“I refuse to answer.” You said, setting down your stuff and grabbing the menu off the fridge. “Tell me what you want.”

“Refuse to answer on what grounds?” Law pressed. You had both agreed to be at least mostly open about things, with a few caveats. Grades weren’t one of those caveats.

“There’s no way for me to answer that without giving it away, so I’ll just admit that I was completely flawless on the Latin portion of the test and maybe a little lacking in a couple other areas.” You say, leveling him with an aggravated glare.

Law put it together quickly and returned your grumpy expression. You weren’t surprised, you’d been helping him with his Latin-rooted medical terms a lot. “Don’t do that for the finals.”

“I won’t, I won’t, now dammit, I’m hungry - what do you want?”

After you got the food order in and made some tea you turned to Law and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Alright, what do you want to know?” Law sighed. Lost bets came in two parts - monetary loss and the right to ask questions about the other.

“You mentioned an adoptive dad.” You say. “You can tell me about him or tell me why you were adopted. I’ll even toss in something about myself to help, since either option is pretty personal. I, technically, am adopted. My, uh, ‘Father’ is alive, but I’ve been raised by Pops since I was six.”

“I don’t mind answering both,” Law says. “Especially since you seem to have sacrificed your precious apartment in order to win our bet.”

Law looks more at his teacup than you, but his tone is even as he speaks, and there’s no sign of distress. “My parents got sick when I was middle school, and neither of them made it through my time in high school,” He explains softly. “They were both doctors, and I had always wanted to be one as well, but the whole… thing… really nailed my resolve into place. A friend of my father’s adopted me when it became clear that they weren’t going to survive, and so, Rosinante’s my adopted dad.”

You were quiet for a long time, not really sure what to say. Law took a couple sips of tea before speaking again.

“Too much?” He asks. There’s a tone of resignation in his voice, as though he feels like he messed up.

You shake your head. “Nah, I just don’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter how long ago it was, that sucks. It’s complicated too.”

“How so?” He asks, looking visibly confused. “I mean, it’s heavy, but it’s cut and dry.”

“Ah, er… it creates complicated thoughts in me.” You clarify.

“Your dad’s alive, but your mom’s not.” Law says. You hadn’t laid it out for him, but given what you’ve said before it makes sense he could sort it out. “I don’t want to make assumptions, but the fact that he’s alive and you’re living with a different dad means your situation is complicated. But, complicated or straightforward, it all does, uh, ‘suck’.”

“Yeah, loss is hard no matter the circumstances.” You agree. “I’m sorry about your folks.”

“Thanks.” Law smiles a little sadly. “You would’ve liked my mom. She was weird about words too.”

You were getting ready to be indignant about his joke when there was a knock at the door. Food had arrived and the conversation was on hold until the two of you sorted everything out. With some food to distract you, and ease some encroaching hangry-ness, you let the jab from earlier go and decided to switch gears.

“So, you said your dad was going to be away on business during winter break,” you said after a few bites of food. “Why don’t you come to Grandline with me?”

“It sounds exhausting just listening to you suggest it.” He admitted flatly.

“All the Charlotte kids are staying on campus.”

“How would you even know that?” Law looks more annoyed by the mention of the Charlotte family than he does impressed by your knowledge.

“Nutmeg and her friends aren’t exactly subtle.” You point out. “And they get on my nerves, so it’s hard to block them out.”

“How’s come?” There’s a tone of actual curiosity, and not just polite conversation in his voice.

You learned quickly that Trafalgar and the wall he had built up around himself were both rock solid. You weren’t surprised an aspiring doctor was practiced at keeping in shape, but you smacked him on the back once when you were kidding around. He’d turn an impressive red when you’d lifted his shirt up without thinking – you weren’t entirely convinced he was made of flesh at that point.

It had taken a lot of apologizing, and a couple rounds of free food to smooth things over. You’d admitted to having grown up around a lot of boys, half of which barely wore shirts unless the occasion demanded it. That had also been when you’d made the agreement about bets and getting to know one another.

“I can forgive the ‘Mrs. Degree’ thing, to an extent, but ‘Meg’s a smart girl. I haven’t asked her what her grades are or anything, but her answers in class, and even her questions, are genius. I’m talking ‘This will help the class understand better if I ask’ kinds of genius.” You explain, your shoulders dropping. “To think that her mind is preoccupied with trying to find love in a few short years, just so her mom doesn’t match her up with some troglodyte. Instead, she could be focusing on becoming whatever she wanted to be.”

“… They get on your nerves because you feel bad for them.” It wasn’t really a question, but it was barely a statement.

“Mm.” You admit, feeling your ears and face start to go pink. “S’weird, isn’t it?”

“Compared to the rest of you, hardly.” Law answers, his usual resting scowl softening a little.

You pause in eating for a moment and start laughing. “I can’t tell if you complimented me or devastated me.”

He eats quietly for a moment, and then lets out a small sigh. “If I don’t agree to go to Grandline City with you over break you’re going to hound me for the next week about it.”

“Next two weeks.” You correct him.

“Two weeks would put us a week into break.” He points out.

“Ah-yup.”

You can almost see his eye twitch.

“I’m being blackmailed.”

“By definition, yes.” You agree with a smile.

You watched the internal conflict tear through him. Trafalgar Law was a mostly subtle person. All his emotions hit the wall around him and barely made a crack on his face. You didn’t think he was truly an emotionless person – trauma and loss just made him wary about connecting with more people. After a couple weeks, though, you were learning what some of the small facial changes meant.

“… I don’t want to meet your family.” He said finally.

“I had no plans to subject you to that.” You promise him, taking out your phone and sending some texts while you’re thinking about it. “I’ll get Robin to reserve a couple rooms, and I’ll let my brothers know that I’ll be busy. Er, oh, I guess there is one thing…”

“What is it?” He was doing his best not to growl the words.

“Pop’s is going to have a big Christmas party a few days before the actual holiday. I’m not asking you to attend, I’m just saying you’ll be on your own for a few hours.” You admit a bit sheepishly.

Law sighs. “You’re dragging me to your hometown, but you don’t have to make sure I’m entertained the entire time, (y/n)-ya. I’ll survive.”

[serafiel-jacobs]

Requiem Bell (Fanfic)

New chapter from my main series 🩷

Geppetto got off from work and made his way towards the cemetery and bought flowers along the way, leaving them on the tomb.

He wanted to be alone this time, Pinocchio will probably have to see him crying as soon as he opens the door of their home but that doesn’t matter, he wants to get sentimental, he wants to remember his family.

He is remembering his wife and all the good moments he had with her, she would have loved Pinocchio, she would have been a great mother to him but Geppetto is happy that Pinocchio does have a mother, that Antonia is his mother, he couldn’t ask for a better person to fulfill that role for him.

Ever since they cleaned the house, he has been thinking a lot about the past specifically about Carlo and Romeo. Geppetto knows that being stuck in the past is what made him go mad but he wants to look back at it, this time not with the delusional idea that he could change it, but with the idea of looking at it fondly, that they are no longer here but that they will never be forgotten.

Geppetto is remembering something specific, he is remembering something that happened just before Carlo got sick.

——

“Father”

Carlo is in front of him and Romeo is next to his son, they came to visit unannounced but that doesn’t matter, Geppetto welcomes the company of his son, wanting to fix their relationship as his top priority.

“Yes, son?” Geppetto can tell that Carlo is acting a little off.

“I know this is stupid…” Carlo looks away for a moment but regains his composure, “I want to ask for a favor”

Carlo takes a deep breath, “And I know I haven’t seen you in 3 weeks and I come here and ask for a favor but please this is important” Not to mention that the last time they spoke it almost ended in an argument.

“Carlo I’m your father I would do anything for you”

“It’s just that it’s a big favor” Carlo is embarrassed to ask for something like this.

“Anything you want, I’ll do it”

Carlo takes another deep breath.

“Me and Romeo want to, um,” Carlo is stumbling over his words.

“Get married” Romeo speaks on his behalf.

Romeo who is wearing that necklace, that one he gave Carlo for his graduation. A part of Geppetto feels bad that his son gave it to him, as it was supposed to be special, but he has no one to blame but himself, he was selfish for not attending his graduation.

Geppetto smiles, “Oh don’t worry, I can manage to find a way to arrange that”

“Well we don’t want to do it in a church, it would be weird and even if I don’t care what people think, people will talk badly and I don’t want that to affect you” Carlo clenches his fist, he is marring Romeo who is a man and also a puppet, “I know I already ruined your reputation enough but-“

“Carlo please don’t say things like that” Geppetto knows that he is referring to how Carlo has behaved, that he is seen as a troublemaker, and that people talk about this behind their backs.

“I don’t care what others think, you will always be my priority” Geppetto gets closer and plays with his son’s hair, “Besides you are a good boy Carlo, my good little boy”

“Father!” Carlo gets embarrassed again, he is 20 years old, not a child. “Don’t say that you dumb old man”

Geppetto laughs, it’s good to talk to him, he missed him.

“Okay but still, we don’t want to get married in a church, we want to get married somewhere else”

“Where do you want to get married?”

——

It was a hard favor indeed, but there is nothing Geppetto wouldn’t do for Carlo, he had to call a lot of people and give a few “donations” but he managed to do it, to rent The Opera House just for themselves for a few hours.

The three of them were there, so was Antonia with Poledina, Venigni with Pulcinella, and of course Sophia was there as well.

The reason they wanted it to be at the Opera House was because this wasn’t going to be a traditional wedding, Carlo and Romeo had planned a play for them to perform.

Well, Romeo planned most of it, he is the one who is passionate about theater. Everyone was helping with the arrangements, hearing Carlo and Romeo talking with each other.

“Ugh Romeo I can’t remember these stupid vows right, why did you make them so hard?”

“You are the one that wanted unique vows, and they fit with the play”

“And you are the theater kid who wanted to have the wedding here in the first place”

“Carlo you agreed to this and don’t tell me you would have preferred the cathedral with holier than thou Andreus”

“Oh God no, not him and his weird sermons about the one-winged angel”

“You are going to hell for saying that love” Romeo was teasing him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Carlo punched Romeo lightly in his shoulder, “Idiot” After that he kissed him as well.

“Why do the two of you need these?” Geppetto pointed a the two weapons, one a sword and another a scythe.

“It’s part of the play, we are fighting,” Carlo said nonchalantly.

“What?!” Geppetto was mortified.

“Relax old man, it’s not like we are in real danger, it’s a play”

Geppetto didn’t look too convinced about that idea.

“It's okay,” Romeo said while grabbing Carlo’s shoulder, “I won’t let anything happen to his pretty face”

“Romeo!” Carlo punched him lightly again.

“Love you are going to break your hand hitting me like that, you know how sturdy your father made me”

Geppetto made Romeo with only the best materials, he remembers two years ago when Carlo was 18 he built Romeo a new body, this body was even more durable than the last and came equipped with better ways for fighting capabilities. Carlo and Romeo had given him a few notes on what they wanted Romeo to be able to do, they were going to be the best stalkers in the world after all.

Romeo winked at Carlo, “But you already know how sturdy I am right?”

Carlo was the one who was mortified now.

“Don’t say that shit in front of my father!”

“Carlo language” Geppetto was scolding him.

“Ugh, I’m NOT a child” Carlo sighed but then he laughed, at least he wasn’t nervous anymore.

After a few more adjustments to the stage, it was all ready to go, and with the help of a few puppets working backstage for the props and the lights, everyone was perfect to go.

Once upon a time, two star-crossed lovers lived in peace, not knowing that their love was never meant to be. For daring to love each other, fate decided to play a cruel prank on them, to both die a gruesome fate and be reborn as enemies.

“I have to kill you to stop it all, there's no other way!” Romeo grabbed his scythe and pointed it at Carlo, a red light was set on him, and with tricks of the light that reflected the stage, it looked like it was engulfed in flames.

Carlo drew his sword, no words were exchanged on his behalf, his dedication to fighting spoke for him, his quest to end the life of the one in front of him, to do was fate had asked of him.

“It's all going up in flames... bright, white flames” Romeo’s sorrow-filled voice echoed through the walls of the place.

A fierce battle took place inside a grand church; piercing attacks coming from all directions from both of them; slashing, striking, blocking, and parrying. The fight was coordinated, like looking at a mirror, yet it was elegant, almost as if the two of them were dancing under the veil of the lights that illuminated the stage.

After barely blocking an attack, Romeo took a few steps back, his guard was lowered and Carlo pointed his sword at Romeo’s neck.

“I must do, what I was asked to do” Carlo’s voice was filled with regret.

“Then tell me…” Romeo stared directly into his eyes, “Who's the puppet of fate, you or me?

Carlo lowered his sword and then dropped it into the ground, he shed a few tears, “I don’t want it to be this way”

“It doesn’t have to be this way” Romeo dropped his weapon as well, “It's gonna be okay, as long as I'm at your side, Carlo”

Both of them embraced each other, the lights changing from dark red to bright blue.

The two lovers, now not bound the the fate of the stars, decided to marry right there and then, sharing their vows.

Carlo lifted his hand “With this hand I will lift your sorrows” Then he grabbed a cup “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine”

Romeo repeated the same words and continued, grabbing a candle and lighting it, “With this candle, I will light your way into darkness”

As Carlo grabbed his candle and lit it as well and repeated the vows Romeo had said.

Both grabbed their respective rings, both grabbing each other’s hands, speaking together as one.

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

They kissed each other, a passionate kiss filled with love, the ringing of church bells resonating across the Opera House.

Before they left, a small stop was made, at the statue in front of the Opera House.

Geppetto looked at the statue, the words he had engraved long ago "In honor of the happiest days of our family because of her presence. I still miss you, Camille”

Carlo left the bouquet of flowers in there, instead of throwing them into the air, as most weddings do, “I wish, she could have been here” Carlo shed a few tears.

“Me too” Geppetto wiped away Carlo's tears, “Hopefully we can see her again someday”

A few days later, Carlo wasn’t feeling well and one visit to the doctor confirmed their worst fears, he had been inflicted with the petrifaction disease.

Geppetto wasn’t the only one that was there by Carlo’s side, Romeo never left his side either.

In the end, Geppetto is happy that they managed to get married before they passed, the two of them are now gone, but he knows that in death, they are together.

Geppetto looked at the sky, it was getting late and he needed to head back home.

When he arrived home, Pinocchio was reading a book, he greeted him and they talked together before going to bed, Geppetto promising his son that they would do something fun together in a few days.

—-

“Am I overcompensating?” Geppetto asked Antonia; Pinocchio had spent time with her that day, and he pulled her aside for a moment.

“I don’t think so, you are mending your mistakes” Antonia smiled, “And considering how you have grounded him, I doubt it”

In Antonia’s eyes, Geppetto would be overcompensating if he didn’t let Pinocchio do anything on his own and suffocate him by being 24/7 with him and not scolding him when it’s necessary.

“Not all parents are perfect, even I have made my mistakes with the boy” Antonia knows deep down that constantly spoiling him isn’t good, and after Geppetto talked with her, she has stopped a little, but sometimes she can’t help herself.

And she has come to learn that it’s true, that Pinocchio does in fact not act like a brat in front of her, she eventually did learn that Pinocchio said her age out loud so that she would get mad at Geppetto.

”You have come a long way Geppetto and each day you improve even more” Antonia was smiling, but not for long, her demeanor changed to a more serious one.

“But I am worried about you, I can see that you are too afraid to lose him, it’s clear how much this affects you and no one can blame you” Antonia put her hand closer to him, trying to make him feel more secure.

“I think you are traumatized”

Geppetto looked away for a moment but he looked back at Antonia, this might be hard for him to hear, how but he had to hear it and Antonia is a good friend, she always knows what to say in these situations.

“Let's be honest, Carlo dying and you building an exact copy of him as a puppet, that's not something a sane person would do, even more so considering you were trying to bring him back” Now that she says it out loud it sounds even more like unstable behavior, she did notice that Geppetto was acting off during that time but he looked so calm about the entire situation, too calm and he would mainly stay upstairs and barely spoke with anyone that wasn't Pinocchio. Antonia looks back at how it took Geppetto too long to realize that Pinocchio was his own individual, that he was never Carlo.

Geppetto can’t argue against that, Carlo died and that was the worst period of his life, he was so desperate to bring him back that he was willing to hurt others, Romeo’s death was his fault.

He has gaps in his memory about what happened and he has nightmares, somedays he starts shaking and it doesn’t stop until hours later.

Lately, he feels as if he has been feeling worse, he knows that it’s because he almost lost Pinocchio, and he is been trying to put up a strong front for his son, but ever since Dorian Gray almost murdered Pinocchio he feels as if his mental state has gone downhill. He thought he was fine when he came back from London, but the more time passes the more stressed he gets about it, more so because Pinocchio was recently in danger when he saved Cinderella. Not to mention all the bad things that happen in Krat in general.

Sometimes he just wants to hug Pinocchio and never let him go. He already lost Carlo, he can’t lose him, he doesn’t want to know what he would do without him.

“Oh and mind you, just because you are struggling that doesn’t mean that you aren’t competent to do your job anymore” Antonia knows about the office drama Geppetto and Venigni have to deal with, she wants to reassure him that he is still the same, even more so with how dedicated Geppetto is to his work life.

“As always, if you need my help, if you need a shoulder to cry on, I will be there, but Geppetto there is only so much I can do, maybe it’s time you seek help”

“I haven't even seen a regular doctor ever since… since Carlo died” Geppetto knows that he is afraid of even the most simple of medical things, it was unbearable to see when Carlo was sick, the treatments his son had to go through, they were too invasive, too hard on his poor son but no one knew how to truly cure the illness, so they did what they could, but sometimes Geppetto wonders what those doctors were even thinking.

He was there with all of those treatments, it was hard to see him like that, but he had to be strong for his son, but ever since he avoids doctors like the plague.

“I see, but unfortunately this is what's best, and avoiding doctors, in general, is bad, you have to be too have to tend to your health, specially at our age” Antonia is an older woman, things get harder with age and while doing well, she has had some issues come up due to the fact she was also ill with the petrification disease.

In some way, she was lucky that she got sick when she did, she didn't have to be subjected to quarantine, being seen as a lost cause, and abandoned or subjected to those treatments and her son managed to find a cure for her and all those other people in need as well.

“I understand” Geppetto knows that Antonia is right.

“And Pinocchio could also benefit from that” It hurts Antonia to know how much Pinocchio has suffered, it was painful to see him have that breakdown at the party she held a while ago.

“That’s going to be a little hard”

Pinocchio doesn’t have the best exposure when it comes to things related to mental health, first, the horror tales that come out of how Hotel Krat was a Mental Institution and what he had heard from Alice of what she experienced.

“But I’m sure I’ll find a way to explain how this would be good for him without scaring him”

“I can explain if you want”

“No Antonia, I want to do this”

“Just saying because you know…” Antonia smiled again, “Sometimes you are bad at explaining”

Geppetto became embarrassed.

“That’s different” He mumbled under his breath.

Antonia laughed and Geppetto even if he was embarrassed at least he didn’t feel tense anymore.

He will have a talk with him soon, but for now, they going back home and tomorrow they can spend time together as father and son.

[infiniteorangethethird]

Hellooooo hi, I'm too lazy to scroll yeah

Can you tell me a bit about your paracosm? :3

A bit? Nope, sorry, no can do, I can only tell you a metric fuck TON about my paracosm. Hope ur prepared for an infodump >:)

Sooooo uh. There’s a lot to talk abt (because I don’t know how to shut up) so let me break it up a little. Setting-wise, the story’s set in a fantasy version of Earth, where the most important difference (aside from the presence of magic) is that if someone writes a story and enough people read it, the story becomes real in a parallel dimension. I originally thought of this as a way to explain how my OCs could meet with the characters from my favorite shows/books, nowadays it’s both a mechanic that facilitates the story and (recently more frequently) the focus and source of conflict.

Because of the setting, aside from the numerous stolen characters from other media and reworked versions of said stolen characters, there’s obviously a lot of magic going around with a fuckton of places to visit and even more magical species to populate the world and wield said magic – “angels”, demons, shapeshifters, monsters, gods, you name it. Most of my paras are non-human and those who are also tend to have non-human ancestry or some kind of extra magical power (what’s the point of fantasy without fantasy, yknow?). But also, because I have a weird obsession with Organizing and Putting Things In Boxes, I have the physics of magic worked out to an absurd detail, feel free to shoot me an ask abt it if you want to be bored to death :D

Plot-wise… well. I would summarize the story, I actually HAVE a pretty decent summary, but it’s like, 100+ pages (50k+ words if I recall correctly), and I’m pretty sure tumblr would not Like That (and this version’s not even up to date), so. There used to be a lot of exploration of the world (aka me integrating my current interests into my paracosm because I can), nowadays it’s a lot more character-focused, with the plot revolving around 15-ish “main” paras and their lives. Which can be anything from “I can finally go to college and study the stuff I wanna study! Yay!” to “oh god oh fuck I’m a general in a multidimensional war and thousands are dead if I make the wrong move” so. There’s a lot of throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks. (I am a sucker for big epic fights tho so that happens a lot lol)

Thematically, I like to focus on the inner worlds of my paras and how they relate to the world around them. Each of them come from different backgrounds with different perspectives so any time I wanna explore a concept I can just pick whoever falls closest to that (like, “oh THIS one was abandoned by their family but THIS one is a stable father figure, found family trope go brrr” just to name an example). There’s a lot of hurt/comfort generally speaking, heavy on the emotional angst and, because I’m a secret whump enjoyer, there also tends to be a lot of blood. Like a lot. (Dw I always balance it out with some old-fashioned “finding peace in each other’s presence” daydreams, especially soft and cuddly.) Oh yeah and also everyone’s gay but that’s pretty much expected at this point.

Sometimes I also like to wonder about the morality of certain aspects of this universe, since the setting and world is so different from ours, but ig that’s a topic for another day haha

Anyway yeah that’s as short as I could get it 😅 it’s a bit hard to talk about my paracosm as a whole because it’s so old and as a result incredibly widespread. I do have a sideblog dedicated to it but tbh I haven’t really touched it in ages so what little info it has is probably outdated. Idk what else to say, if there’s any part you’d want me to go into greater detail feel free to ask (I know ppl mostly only care about the paras which, fair, but when it comes to talking abt my paracosm practically any topic is free for the asking lol), and sorry for the long ramble haha

Bonus doodle of one of my paras (Rowena) I did like a day ago

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

💖 for Little Lao!

@hatxtoss

💖 AND I'LL GIVE OUR CHARACTERS A RELATIONSHIP SUMMARY FROM THIS MEME || ACCEPTING

How likely they are to enter a relationship with them:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Would they…

Make the first move? Yes | No-ish Lao is a unique circumstance where the two are on such a similar page that he will beat Zuriya to the punch by little more than a couple of minutes. Which her competitive side will huff over for a moment, but his arrogant satisfaction and that joy in his eyes is more than enough to make any frustration dissipate on the spot. Say “I love you” first? Yes | No Zuriya said 'I love you' first twice. The first time, it was bittersweet and rang a bit hollow because as much as her feelings were legitimate, they weren't on the same page. Lao felt like a novelty to her, and Zuriya was guilty of fuelling these self-deprecating feelings because she WAS loving him like a novelty. She was only scratching the surface because she, thanks to her trauma, feared connecting with him deeply because of the chance he'd leave her once he learned what she was actually like. After that first 'I love you' though and all the growing pains of moving past her demons that hamper genuine love, she told him again, but these times, the words rang like a sharp hook to the gut, and it destroyed them both in the best kind of ways. Cheat on them? Yes | NO Zuriya is a party gal, but once her heart, damaged as it is, sets itself on someone she loves for life! She would never turn to another, not for love or physical affection, and she wouldn't be afraid to exercise her voice both to scream at a creep to back off or to proclaim her love and lust for her lovers. Be the jealous type? Yes | No SHE IS SO CONFIDENT OH MY GOD, Lao may be a catch and a half with an arrogant charm she knows will have most swooning. But she is confident in herself, her value, and more importantly, his character. She knows and trusts Lao. He'll lead on a flirt or two for fun, but his heart and soul is true to her beyond the fun and games. The passing comments are great for the ego but she knows after he's had his fun, he'll turn them down and come back over to her with that 'did you see that?' grin on his face, brush it off and they can both laugh about it into the sunset. Plan the dates? Yes-ish | No Zuri will drag Lao to fun and lively places that draws her naturally extroverted spirit, but complex planning? Not at all! Making reservations may actually kill her, and Lao is more than happy to pick up her slack and make those phone calls for organized fun! Initiate the first kiss? Yes | No Zuri's ass stared at Lao wantingly for so, so long, but her heart was too worried about all the rumours she'd had about Earthrealmers and overstepping her love's boundaries. She heard tales about monks not even being allowed to touch other people, as in handshakes, from members of the court. Let alone the conflicting tales from her stories. She doesn't want to hurt him or drive him away. She likes him FAR too much for that! She doesn't know how to pose the question without seeming ridiculous (because she is being silly). But meanwhile, as she's stuck in overthinking. Lao is just taking her by the cheeks and giving her a big smooch. Leaving her with massive stars in her eyes! Remember anniversaries? Yes | No THESE ASSHOLES ARE THE FUCKING PEOPLE THAT ALWAYS POST THOSE ANNIVERSARY POSTS WITH GIFTS AND OFTEN MATCHING OUTFITS

BOLD WHAT APPLIES:

Their Relationship Is:

friends to lovers | rivals to lovers | enemies to lovers | still just enemies | mutual pining | star crossed lovers | old married couple | perpetual honeymoon phase (after the initial misunderstanding and settling in) | stable and boring | stable but not boring | secret lovers | best friends hiding their feelings | and they were roommates | friends with benefits | coworkers avoiding HR | one-sided affection | weird sexual tension | it’s complicated | toxic relationship | a secret affair | an actual dumpster fire | other

Lao PSPSPSPSP'd Zuri from team Outworld and being extremely morally ambiguous into team Earthrealm with the lads. I cannot for the life of me think about better words to use to describe this, but he looked at the hot giantess sorceress and said, 'I can fix her' AND HE FRIGGIN COULD!!! Now, if only she could help him with his humbleness problem!

PUBLIC Displays of Affection:

hand holding | kiss on the hand | kiss on the cheek | kiss on the forehead | kiss on the lips |  cuddling | hugging | affectionate messages or comments | pet names | pictures together | no displays of affection

PRIVATE Displays of Affection:

hand holding | kiss on the hand | kiss on the cheek | kiss on the forehead | kiss on the lips |  cuddling | hugging | affectionate messages or comments | pet names | pictures together | no displays of affection

And even more NGL, Zuri keeps the sappiness toned down in public because Lao will get teased about it, but put her in private, and she'll be sappier than a hallmark feel-good special!!

Do they stay together?

yes, this is endgame | yes but someone is gonna die tragically | something is keeping them apart | they part ways as friends | they part ways as enemies | they’re on-again-off-again | they have a super messy breakup | it was just a fling | other

Zuri will end up outliving her Lao by thousands and thousands of years, but she couldn't stomach the idea of that. Of watching him wither and die in front of her, years chipping away at his light. She would beg him to let her use some magic or sorcery to prolong his life and stay with her forever. It would lead to a lot of fighting, a LOT. Sadly, it was just one of those things they could never really get over. In the end, rather than being able to bring herself to watch him fade away while she remained helpless. She left but would ultimately return to be with him in his last years, for his sake, even though it destroys her heart in the process because she'd never stop loving him. Per his wishes, she would not take his soul into her gem after he passes; she'd let him return to the Earthrealm Jinsei, and she'd return to Outworld and likely the temple. For additional heartwrenching facts: Zuri gets her heart and hopes up every time she hears that another descendant of the great Kung Lao has emerged and taken the mantle of the last. Every time she hopes that somehow his soul has reincarnated and she'll find his light again, but it doesn't happen. They're all different, even in minor ways, and she'll leave again. She wants no imitation; she misses him. (which also, like, rip any Kung Lao descendent that comes to her in hopes of getting her approval of 'oh yeah, they're just as good' because her hurt and heartache would make her so bitter. like how dare you stand where he stood, you aren't even his shadow. WHICH OUCH, Lao would be so disappointed in you Zuri, but also strangely aroused and left warm and fuzzy from your devotion to him)

BONUS

What terrible pet names would they give each other?

OH GOD, this gal, she has so many for Lao it isn't funny. The first would be ruby, such a bright, flaming, regal, attention-grabbing stone. It's just like him, capturing her eye and attention. But then he's her little bee, so silly and funny, always buzzing around. But at the same time he's also her love, her heart. Her lion, so strong and brave. And--