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redflagshipwriter · 9 months ago

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batmom Cass progress post

(masterpost)

Far Too Young: Cassandra Wayne, Teen Mother Debutante?

Danny cringed away from the headline on the newspaper sitting on the coffee table. “I am so sorry,” he said miserably. Someone must have reported on that first day in the city. Why'd they sit on the story for so long? That was the only time he'd been in public with Cass. So far, he'd only left Wayne Manor with Damian and Alfred to volunteer at the animal shelter.

Cass blinked up at him, from her perch on the back of the sofa. “Don't be,” she said. “It's fine. They will always talk.” Her face twitched into condescension. “It means nothing.”

He wrung his hands because it really did look like something. She hadn't given him the article and he wasn't quite bold enough to request to read it. But it couldn't be nice. Even the headline was judgmental.

“It would probably be for the best if we made a statement.” Grandfather Bat said out of nowhere.

Danny startled and jumped straight up. The chair creaked unhappily when he landed back on it.

“Brucedad,” Cass complained.

He huffed and held his hands up. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to startle anyone.”

Danny hunched a little more into his hoodie. Well. Tucker’s hoodie. It was way too big for Danny, especially after the weight he'd lost. But it was weirdly comforting. He fiddled with the sleeves.

“Cass, could we talk about it in my office?” Bruce said. His tone was calm and even. Danny sort of suspected it was for his benefit. “Danny, Damian is looking for you.”

“Oh, for real?” Danny let his heels drop off the chair, onto the carpet. “Yeah, okay. Where's he at?”

Danny found his 13 year old uncle out in the barn with his cow. Danny hopped the wooden gate to go inside and sneezed at the dust in the air from dried hay.

“Danny,” Damian acknowledged. He was brushing Batcow. “I hope that you are well this morning.”

Danny made that weird white person smile-grimace where only his lips moved. “Good morning,” he said, instead of either lying or being a bummer. “Are we going to the shelter today?”

Damian didn't pause. “Unfortunately, I have been told that it will not fit in Pennyworth’s schedule today,” he said primly. He dragged another long, precise stroke down Batcow’s fur, exactly lining up with his last stroke. Danny eyed his sure, confident motions. “Instead, I wondered if you would join me in a project in the barn. Have you any experience with wood working?”

“Nope.” Danny drifted a little closer. “Do you?”

“No.” Damian dropped to a crouch to take care of Batcow's hooves. “It is of no importance. We can overcome.”

“Hell yeah, Uncle D,” Danny agreed genially. Why not? He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What are we making?”

“Storage shelving, for materials intended for art therapy.” Damian made one final brisk movement and rose in a smooth motion. He hung up the tools and brushed his hands off. Danny followed Damian as he started to leave.

“Art therapy?” Danny echoed curiously. “That's neat. For ….you?” He ventured.

‘It’s for me,’ Danny thought wryly. ‘This 13 year old takes his responsibility as my Uncle seriously. He'll say it's for him, but want me there, and-’

“Of course not,” Damian scoffed. “It is for Jerry and Batcow. They have unresolved traumas.” He pulled the door shut behind them. “We will require lumber from the storage unit, as well as an assortment of power tools. I am disallowed from using them without the presence of someone who is taller than 5 feet, or older than 20.”

“That is awfully specific.” Danny eyed Damian suspiciously. “I'm not going to get in any trouble for this, right?” He followed even as Damian picked up the pace a little as they crossed the huge green lawn towards a shed.

“Tt.” Damian tapped in a code at lightning speed and then hefted open the door. “No. You will be fine.” He said flatly. He stalked into the dark space. Danny followed and sneezed at the dusty interior. “Can you lift 50 pounds?”

Danny sniggered. “Yeah, easily,” he said with confidence.

Damian hummed in the back of his throat. “Good. You shall be the beast of burden.”

That was such a wild thing to say that Danny blinked twice while processing it. Beast of burden?!? Who said that?

“... I'm not sure I like that,” Danny teased. “Have you heard that I'm the baby?” He gestured at himself. Weedy as he was, he was still noticeably larger than Damian.

“You should be proud,” Damian said in a dry tone. “to be such an accomplished baby. Here.” He pointed at a bundle of lumber. “I require this.”

Danny was a burdened beast back and forth between the shed and the barn for three trips to assemble everything that Damian thought they would need. The preteen oversaw it all with perfect aplomb, dark eyes glittering as his plan started to come together.

There was a learning curve.

“That's why they say to measure twice and cut once, huh,” Danny observed. He pursed his lips at the board that was only about half an inch too short for their purpose. They couldn't like, glue or nail on a slight extension, could they?

“We shall throw this in the woods so that no one discovers our failure.” Damian lifted one side of the poorly cut plank and dragged it to the back of the barn into an unused stall. It dragged a line through the loose straw cushioning the floor.

“He's so little,’ Danny thought hysterically. He could not laugh at Damian. He absolutely could not. The little guy took himself so seriously. Danny was actually shaking with the effort not to laugh or coo.

Damian seemed to have no idea. “For the moment I will store it out of sight here.” He let the plank fall to the ground from an inch or so and then shut the stall door. Danny watched with his head cocked to the side and a hand pressed over his lips to hide his grin.

“We have two more excess planks.” Damian went back to business.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #red mama bat

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 3 months ago

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October 13 - Roleplay

pairing: dom!Wanda x sub!Reader

summary: Wanda paints you, and you find yourself enjoying your new role as a princess.

content warnings: cunnilingus

word count: 1.4k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

“Be a good muse for me,” Wanda murmurs, and you stifle a giggle.

At first, the thought of roleplay had sounded silly to you. I mean, honestly, why would you want to play pretend? But, Wanda had convinced you to be her muse. She had an art project to finish and needed a figure to paint. So, thus began your first introduction to roleplay.

You stayed still, a sheet draped over your body as you remembered your role. A princess, stuck in a castle with only the painter for company while she waited for someone to rescue her with a true love's kiss.

Sure, it was cliche and sappy. But that’s what you loved about it. It really played into the ridiculousness of the situation, and it definitely eased your worries of feeling silly.

“Is this pose alright?” You asked, sitting casually in your chair. Throwing a leg over the arm of the chair, you make sure that the sheet is covering your nude center before smirking at Wanda.

Her green eyes are wide and hungry, locked on the sheet hiding your supple curves.

“Perhaps you could move the sheet a bit, my princess.”

”How so?” You’re teasing her, your words light as mischievous as she glances up towards your face.

Wanda purses her lips slightly, setting down her paintbrush as she slowly stands. Her steps are sure, a few strands of her auburn hair escaping her bun and framing her face perfectly. A spare pencil holds her hair together, and you long to remove it.

Long fingers gently touch the fabric draping over your shoulder. Green eyes meet yours, and you shudder.

“May I?”

Mutely, you nod. Her fingers are warm and tantalizingly close, sure with their movements as they maneuver the fabric over your body. Wanda lays the fabric over one shoulder, leaving the other bare with a hint of collarbone peaking out. The sheet is soft against your chest, but thin enough to show your nipples poking through when she adjusts the fabric.

A small smile creeps onto Wanda’s lips, and you imagine that you’re a princess, desperate for attention and starved of any touch or affection. Suddenly, the urge to crash your lips against hers rages within you, and you feel yourself truly lean into the roleplay for the first time.

”Do you paint women often?”

Wanda looks up from where she was placing the fabric over your lap, her freckles standing out in the dim lighting from candles around the room. It’s easy to imagine that you’re up in a high cobblestone tower, the solitude surrounding you as you cling to your guest like a lifeline.

“I do, but none have been quite as exquisite as you, princess,” she whispers as if sharing a secret with you. It makes you lean in, your hands clutching the fabric tightly.

Looking back down, Wanda’s hands softly cover yours. She pries your fingers off the fabric, another hand gently pressing against your sternum until you’re seated against the back of the chair.

”It’s very important that you don’t move too much during this process, Your Highness,” she explains, a small smile playing on her lips at your reluctance to sit back. Her hands are warm, even through the cloth, and your skin burns from her touch.

Her hands leave, and you feel oddly… empty.

“Do you really have to sit all the way over there?” You ask, watching Wanda’s head tilt in thought as she looks between you and her easel.

“Well,” she muses, moving her easel closer. You can smell her vanilla perfume, and you grow dizzy with need and anticipation. “I suppose being closer would help with the details. Excellent idea, princess.”

Her hand pats your knee, and you breathe in deeply. God, how were you this aroused already?

”Remember, stay still for me.” Wanda begins painting, her warm green eyes glancing between you and the easel. The sound of her paintbrush on the canvas fills the room, and you find yourself longing to feel the touch of it against your skin instead. Anything to settle the sudden energy simmering in your muscles.

Your mind wanders, immersing itself into this false world you’re acting in. A sort of haze takes over your mind as you begin to dive deeper into the roleplay.

Imagining the loneliness of a princess who awaits her true love, feelings of despair and desperation well up. A warm ball of hope and excitement joins it, beating solidly in time with your heart as you gaze at Wanda.

A new guest. A beautiful one at that, once that actually touched you. It had been far too long since you’d had the company of another.

Wanda scoots her chair closer to you, angling the easel slightly towards you. Her knee touches your thigh, and you suddenly feel dizzy with need. It’s excruciating, trying to remain still while her body heat presses against you and her eyes take in your figure like you’re the most important piece she has to create.

Fuck waiting for true love, you’re pretty sure you’ve already found it. It shows in the small glances Wanda sends your way, in the fluid movements of her hand as she paints you onto her canvas, forever immortalized in careful strokes of a brush.

You lick your lips, desire taking over your body. You watch Wanda glance towards your mouth, her hand hesitating before painting the next stroke. Biting your lip, you smile slightly at the shaky breath Wanda takes.

“You seem distracted, am I boring you?”

Wanda’s eyes snap to yours, surprise coloring her features for a moment before she smirks. She sets the paintbrush down, removing her apron slowly as her knee presses steadily against your thigh.

“Of course not, princess. I just find myself longing to partake in a different art form.” She leans closer, her chair now directly next to yours. You could feel her warm breath hitting your cheek, and somehow manage to keep your composure.

“Oh?” Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat while Wanda moves closer to you. “And what would that art form be?”

Her breath hits your ear, and you feel her lips against your cheek. Your skin is tingling with energy, and you’ve never felt more alive. You can feel the roleplay haze taking over, the idea of a beautiful woman finally touching you after years of isolation nearly sending you over the edge.

“Let me show you.”

Her hand reaches for the fabric draped over your body, caressing your skin through it as you pant and squirm in your chair. Your fingers grip the armrests, your eyes pleading with Wanda for more.

She’s silent, her eyes hungrily roaming your body as she begins to slowly pull the sheet off. It feels almost reverent, the way her fingers graze your hot skin and how dark her eyes are when she looks at you.

Pulling you up from the chair, Wanda ignores the sheet as it falls around your feet, her lips connecting with yours in a frenzy of passion and need. You moan into her mouth, your hands gripping onto her shirt and bunching it up around her waist.

“Bed,” she commands, her voice soft and firm.

You obey, your mind filling with a vanilla-scented haze as you feel your senses become fuzzy. Wanda is everywhere, the smell of her perfume filling your nose as her hands run over your body. You can feel her hair as it drags along your chest and stomach while she kisses her way down your body.

Gasping, you feel Wanda’s mouth on you, licking up your arousal. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, your hips thrusting against her lips as she builds you up. Her fingers dig into your waist, your hands in her hair as you chant her name.

With a cry, your back arches, and your orgasm rises rapidly. Raising her head for a brief moment, Wanda smiles and says, “Cum for me princess.”

Your brain registers her command at the same time that her lips wrap around your clit and suck, pleasure exploding throughout your body as you throb. The feeling is intense, your mind fracturing slightly as you unravel beneath Wanda, her name flowing from your lips in short gasps.

Somewhere, you think you can hear your name being called, and you blink as soft fingers stroke your face, grounding you. Green eyes meet yours, a smile on Wanda’s glistening lips. She kisses you, and you respond eagerly for a moment before she pulls back again, her fingers reaching down to circle your hard clit. You shudder, and her smile widens.

“Lay back, darling,” Wanda says, her eyes sparkling. “I’m going to make my princess cum again.”

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zoppa682 · 2 months ago

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For any nonhumans struggling with species dysphoria, I want to help you all as much as I can. I've been experiencing it all week. It can be quite exhausting and put you in a lot of distress, in my case. X(

Here are some tips I'd recommend to help:

1. Mimic the diet of your kintype/theriotype. You are a shark? Eat seafood. A dragon? Maybe try to burn some food a little (or turn it black like my own preference if you want). You kin a character from [Insert source]? Try recreating foods/dishes from their world or dimension.

2. Listen to relatable music. I'd recommend making a playlist of any songs that feel species affirming/euphoric, or even echo that dysphoria further, therefore turning it relatable. (Few of my favorites are Bones by Imagine Dragons, Control by Halsey, Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land by MARINA, Momento Mori by Fish in a Birdcage, among other songs that feel therian coded to me).

3. Do vocals. Howling, barking, screeching, or roaring are very relieving if you are in the correct space to do them! If you are in a quite space or do not want to out yourself to anyone, try purring, growling, hissing, or other unnoticeable sounds. You have an object kintype? Mimic the sounds of the object, like beeping, clicking, etc. (I personally make microwave sounds just because it is fun). Recite voice lines of your kintype from the source they are in. Mimic their voice and volume to match.

4. Move and physically act like your kintype/theriotype. Quadrobics, mimic the flapping of wings, walk bidepedally, whatever you do, turn your mannerisms and motion to reflect your kintype/theriotype.

5. Dress like your kintype/theriotype. Is your kintype a character? Cosplay them, or mimic their clothing style, clothing color, hairstyle, etc. If they have tattoos, scars, or patterns on their body, copy them on your physical form with paint or pens. (PLEASE USE NON TOXIC MATERIALS. STUFF SAFE FOR YOUR HUMAN SKIN.) Are you a species of animal(s)? Dress in your species' colors, or, once again, paint or color yourself like it/them. Are you perhaps any other form of creature or object? You can use the same tips as the others, and another idea that works for all is that you can buy costume pieces of your kintype/theriotype. Masks, headbands, just normal clothing in general, the options really are infinite.

6. Express your dysphoria through artwork. I love doing art when I am heavily species dysphoric. Drawing, crafting masks, origami, painting, collages, all are forms of art. If you are skilled in music, then you could even create some songs of your own!

7. Go out and explore nature. This one is mainly targeted towards therians, whose types are grounded on the life on earth rather than other dimensions or universes, but just like the other methods, it can be universally used by any types of nonhumans. Collecting things is my favorite way of exploring nature. Collect rocks, shells, sticks, leaves, bugs, plants, anything that makes you feel more comfortable in your own (unfortunate) physical body. Stay grounded in the world around you and you may find the dysphoria slips away. Hiking and going on short walks can also help, building a den, smelling the scents of the outdoors. All great ideas that I personally recommend.

8. Write about your feelings. Whether you are good at expressing yourself through poetry, you keep a diary/journal, or you can project onto OCs for new backstory lore like I do, writing can truly help with any dysphoria. Not only that, but it is sometimes refreshing to come back later and read about what you were feeling before. It can serve as a great reminder that you are a powerful being and you will always overcome the feelings if you try.

9. Research about your kintype/theriotype. It does not matter if you are an animal, concept, or object from earth, a being from fantasy, or a character from the greatest book or show, you learn something new every day. So why not learn about yourself? Read books or watch animal documentaries of your theriotype(s), same thing for you otherkins and your fantasy species. Fictionkins can look up facts about themself as a character, their book, show, game, etc.

10. Talk and interact with other alterhumans/nonhumans. Remember, we are a community, and while you are experiencing horrible episodes of species dysphoria, there are many other beings going through the exact same thing at the exact same time. So why not talk to them about it? Share your experiences, help eachother cope, you may even connect with more individuals that way, building more relationships with others and meeting new beings.

11. Past life meditation. If you are a nonhuman who has a past life/lives, you may find comfort in meditation, where you can truly tap into what you once were, and still are in this life as well. Look to the forgotten, and turn in to remembered. Open up your past and live over again.

12. Listen to sounds. Nature sounds, voices of other characters you know from your world, vocals or sound effects of your kintype. These are all good options to turn to if you want to feel at ease with yourself.

13. Let your emotions out. Sometimes this is all you really need to do when species dysphoria hits hard. Cry, bite things, claw at pillows, LET IT OUT. There is absolutely no problem in being yourself and expressing your heavy emotions in your own, unique, nonhuman way. You may find you feel much better after.

That's all I've got, but I hope whoever/whatever reads this far has an amazing day/night. You are an amazing being, thank you for embracing yourself and living authentically. <3

#therian #therian community #therianthropy #alterhumanity #alterhuman #alterhuman community #fictionkin #objectkin #conceptkin #nonhuman #species dysphoria #otherkin #otherkin community #otherkinity

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 7 months ago

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kiss kiss fall in love | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

your hormones have peeked at your five month mark. your belly started to properly show now and your tastebuds were only slightly concerning. at least the morning sickness was gone, top two worst things about pregnancy, second having to give birth.

you lounged on the couch as you watched your daughter and husband playing on the floor, bits of their hair covered their faces in a curtain. spencer was already teaching her the ways of chess, she asked him many questions.

“how come the queen isn’t wearing a gold crown? she’s special.” holding a black chess piece in her small palm. you chuckled at the childish question.

“well she is wearing a crown, but if you want we can paint it gold. she is the most important piece of the game.” spencer agreed with annabeth, ruffling her locks. he stood from the ground, made a quick stop to kiss your cheek and went into the hallway to comeback with the craft supplies box. he pulled out the paint pens, “why don’t you decorate all of them how you want? it’ll be our special set.”

annabeth went quick to work on coloring over the pieces, some covered in swirled and dots while others had hearts or stars. she even drew a couple of happy expressions, then one sad one, “because he’s just a pawn.” you and spencer chuckled at her reasoning.

you rubbed your palm along your swollen stomach, old stretch marks reappearing at the bottom. your cotton shorts and simple tank feeling suffocating even with minimal fabric. “oh!” a tiny yelp from your lips, eyes widening and mouth pursing.

spencer snapped his head your way, “what’s wrong?” hurrying over to you. annabeth stopped her work to watch both of you with her big eyes. you let a smile ease onto your face, “the baby kicked.”

annabeth scrambled over, “can i feel?” tucking her hands into her chest for restraint. “of course, sweets. here,” holding a palm out for her tiny hand to sit and you guided it over to where the kick happened.

“try speaking to them. they like hearing our voices,” whispering to your daughter when the baby didn’t kick right away. little annabeth leaned in close, her lips grazing your ticklish skin, “i can’t wait to meet you. i’m gonna be the best big sister to you.”

it took a moment but then another kick appeared, “kick! i felt a kick!” she squealed, giving a little jump to her body. she looked to spencer, “daddy! daddy feel the baby!” reaching for his hand like you did earlier.

spencer cooed and gasped with annabeth when another kick appeared. “hi little one,” spencer whispered close, “i’m your daddy and your big sister is next to me. we can’t wait to meet you.” another strong kick followed.

“okay, how about we give mommy a rest. cause my organs aren’t feeling happy about being a soccer ball.” ruffling at your daughter hair. annabeth pressed a kiss goodbye to the growing baby and went back to her art project.

spencer joined you on the couch, arm thrown behind your head and resting on your shoulders while you leaned into him. “how are you feeling? need anything?” his rich voice caressing your ear and making your heart race.

you turned to him with a bright smile, “i do actually. i need a thousand kisses from you. haven’t been given my usually attention.” pouting exaggerated.

spencer looked surprised, “a thousand? man i must be really behind.” clicking his teeth. you nodded, “you have mister. better get started.” puckering up with your eyes closed.

spencer’s light giggles filled your soul and then his lips on yours caused a craving. “more,” a quiet demand.

a fast peck, “oh this is gonna take awhile.”

a lingering drawl, “we’re getting somewhere.”

another fast kiss, but you could tell spencer didn’t move far away. his breath tingled your wet lips, “i’m gonna have to call hotch to babysit if you want all those kisses.” a fifth kiss before his weight left the couch and his footsteps disappeared. you thought it was a little funny he was gonna call his boss on an off day so your child and his could have that playdate that’s been in the works.

“bethie,” calling for your daughter with outstretched arms. she worked her way beside you on the couch an wrapped her arms in a side hug, here genetic reid puppy eyes glaring upon you. “would you be okay to have a playdate with jack today?” smoothing a hand over the crown of her head.

“really?” eyes wide with excitement. you nodded, “you have to be a good girl for mr and mrs. hotchner. that’s daddy’s boss and our friend, say please and thank you. and also make sure you’re cleaning up after yourself.”

spencer walked back into the living room, “the hotchners are on their way. and they happily agreed to bethie joining them on their trip to the aquarium.” scooping annabeth up, both of them yelling “aquarium! aquarium!”

“i wanna see the stingrays!” annabeth declared to jack when him and hotch appeared at your door fifteen minutes later. the three of you watched the two chat while you packed her little backpack of supplies, you handed it off to hotch with a grateful smile.

“thank you for accepting on short notice. i just really want to be alone with my husband, im deprived of attention. i’m wilting like a flower.” sighing and aching as you talked to hotch.

the older man smiled and lightly chuckled, you’re one of the few to crack that stone facade spencer says. “jack’s been missing her anyway, he was trying for a sleepover as well tonight.” you raised your brows, “we’ll see how the afternoon goes.”

once you were completely alone, you dragged spencer behind you into your shared bedroom. “more kisses please,” sitting at the foot of the bed.

spencer moved to stand in the space between your spread legs, his hands cupping at your cheeks like you were fine china. your wandering fingers slid under his plain t-shirt, sitting in his waistband and rubbing against his slim stomach. “don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy. i will start getting angry.”

spencer bent in and let his plush lips mesh with yours, his nose tickling at your cheek when he changed angles to broaden the intimate act. a hum sounded from your throat as you opened your mouth wider and let your tongue wonder, desperately needing a french kiss. a moan echoed in the room as spencer moved from your lips to your jaw, further down onto your neck.

“this- this is nice,” letting a hand sink into the ends of his hair. your nails scratching at his scalp as your eyes fluttered and pulse spiked.

“i love you so much,” lips causing a shiver to erupt. you sighed, “i- i love you too. so lucky for- for marrying you.” your hands starting to mess with spencer’s belt and zipper.

“gonna show you how loved you are.”

#erin writes spencer #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x pregnant!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dad!spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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officialundertakersmoocher · 6 months ago

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may i pls request a scenario with violet and afab reader where he’s drawing them nude and then smut ensues?

An Artistic Craving

yall i am so sorry for the extended break, and I hope this meets your expectations 😭

Warnings: NSFW, Nudity, +18, Slightly OOC

• • •

"Stay still, okay?"

"But, Vi, it's so embarrassing..." You attempt to cover your assets which have been shamefully exposed to his eyes in the dimly lit study room.

"Don't think of it that way... It's just a study." You tried not to ask many questions, after all, he was more versed in the arts than you were.

It was lucky that you two happened to catch this moment alone, unchaperoned. Vi, actually very uncharacteristically, was the one to insist that he needed you as a model to finish this study to complete a project he was working on for his upcoming art exam.

After all, you two had been seeing each other for a long time now and were not only comfortable enough to do such a thing, but you also just happened to owe him a favor.

This is how you ended up in such a position for your lover, spewn on a dark purple couch in a private study room near the Purple House dorms. You knew that Gregory was too shy to say so, but there are many books on campus filled with similar references free for his use. He just wanted to spend time with you in an intimate setting such as this one.

You caught him stealing glances at you every once in a while, and he could sense your growing discomfort from staying still for so long.

He left his sketchbook behind momentarily to kneel down beside you and suddenly the room felt more quiet. Your eyes locked as he gently adjusts the position of your hand, placing it under your head in a graceful fashion.

He tilts his head and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face as if to get a better view.

He tried to back away to retreat to his seat, but was caught by your hand pulling him back. He sat confused for a moment but could tell your eyes were asking him to stay.

You move yourself upwards to face him and pull him into a kiss. His lips are soft and welcoming and he eventually moves to grab your waist.

You slowly move him onto the couch with you, straddling his waist. He begins to become shy from this now suddenly risqué moment and pulls away from your lips.

"Love, I don't know if we should..." You could feel the deep heat resonating from his cheeks, so you asked him softly, "Would you like me to stop...?"

"Please no..."

You just barely hear him mutter this, but his hot breath on your neck shows you how desperate he has become.

Before you know it, there are clothes being dragged away and thrown about the room, never finding the motivation to tear your lips apart from one another. You both are stuck in an agonizing dance, waiting for the moment that you both can be as close as you desire.

The room has reached a stillness as the dim candlelight bounces off of skin, and hot breath stills in the air. You are both frozen in time, taking in the moment for the first time now, and as you do, you notice that you've never really seen your lover in such a passionate way as this.

In this position, he's kneeling his body over yours and bowing his head in a shy manor. From the silence you hear him speak softly, asking, "Is this what you want, for sure?" And you have seemingly been too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the lingering question prodding in-between your thighs. You suddenly feel a harsh flush invading your cheeks and a needy wetness in the very same place that he finds his attention.

You turn your head to avoid the embarrassment of facing him as you answer his looming question.

Your voice shakes more than you intended it to, more out of anticipation than anything else. "Yes, of course, p-please keep going, my love-"

However, he catches you off guard by lowing his head down to your thighs. His proximity meant you could feel his breath tickle your skin and it invigorated you.

He softly grazed your folds with his fingers, and slowly exploring your body until he reached the most sensitive parts of you. The moment he grazed your clit, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, which is exactly what pushed him to continue despite feeling his own uncertainty.

He follows the sounds of your sweet moans, touching you and exploring your body in ways that neither of you have experienced before. Before long you find yourself growing more in need of his touch, pulling his hands and guiding him to kiss you. You both are grasping for each others touch and cursing into the silence of this empty room when the tension reaches an all-time high. You find yourself guiding his cock lower as a sign that you are ready (or maybe as a sign that you can't wait much longer now).

He follows your lead, pushing himself slowly across your folds, letting out a sigh as he feels the warmth of your pussy against his skin. He has one hand behind your head as a comforting act as he slowly guides himself between your thighs. He watches your expression change to a grimace of pain, almost stopping himself, but instead he caresses your face in an attempt to sooth your pain. You start to adjust yourself and whisper for him to keep going, and after a few moments the pain starts to replace itself with great pleasure.

You can't help the moans that escape your lips as you grasp onto him, likely leaving scratch marks on his upper back.

However, he doesn't mind this one bit. He can only focus on this heavenly feeling that seemed to blur his vision and tingle at his senses. The pleasure became overwhelming before you could comprehend it and it feels like heaven.

The sounds that filled the room should have alerted the others of the acts you both were sharing tonight, and maybe, just maybe, you should have been more worried, but neither of you could have the gut to care. Not tonight, not when it just feels so good and your vision had started bleeding white as your bodies worked in tandem with one another.

It felt like hours before you had found yourselves cuddling under a stray blanket, skin-to-skin and feeling on top of the world. There was peace settled in the air and you held each other and shared this perfect moment.

"Did you enjoy it?" Violet asked timidly while he stroked stray pieces of hair out of your face.

"Oh course, Darling. I've never felt closer to you than how we were tonight." You looked at him so softly and left a soft peck on his lips.

"Well, thats good, because... I didn't really get to finish my painting. We may have to do this again tomorrow night..." He wouldn't meet your eyes, but you knew that if you could see them, they would have a glint of excitement in them that you only see when he looks at you.

"Well, I suppose we would have to then- For your studies, of course."

• Epilogue • Tea Time •

"So, It couldn't have been just me who heard some oddly bizarre noises coming from the art studio on the west end last night..." Edgar mused to the other prefects as he took a mischievous sip.

"Oh, how I wonder what that could have possibly been coming from..." The sound of a breaking pencil could be heard only if he listened so intently.

"Oh, I heard it, alright." Greenhill pipped in, sounding more than mildly annoyed as he completed his afternoon stretch. "Some people really need to be more considerate of the fact that some of us need to study at such late hours."

"Well, maybe some people should consider that not everyone wants to hear the sound of your 2 hour long training routine at 12am either..." Bluewer rolled his eyes, obviously not knowing what the others were exactly referring to.

"Well, In just thinking that maybe when the professors discover a certain pair of undergarments left in said art studio on the west end, they may have to cancel class this morning. If you know what I mean..." Edgar takes an extended sip of his tea and watched as Gregory excuses himself, dropping his sketchbook and seemingly headed towards the west end.

"Well, that answers that." Edgar mutters with a smirk.

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taro-bae · 5 months ago

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°☆| Blow Your Mind~○°☆

Summary: how they react to a dancer S/O

Characters: (TWST) Riddle, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Cater

Reader gender not specified, could be yuu

Some scenarios have specified dance styles (e.g contemporary for Vil), no warnings

|Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is sheltered, his mother definitely taught him that foolish hobbies are a waste of time. The only form of dance he knows about is ballet, a more elegant and traditional form of dance. So if he finds out you are a hip hop, jazz, contemporary or another style oriented dancer he will be suprised. He won't be able to take his eyes off you. However if you are a dancer in a more 'explicit' style, Riddle will be a flustered mess, blushing while trying to maintain a respectful composure but inside he is panicking.

Riddle enters the room wondering what the music is and decides to check so no students are breaking the rules. He stops in his tracks when he sees you moving to the music. He watches you silently, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. Once you finish the combo he speaks up-

"That's a rather...vulgar...song."

You are not suprised by his comment, he's always reserved, well-mannered and with a strict definition on what is classified as appropriate.

"But I have to admit, my dear, your dancing is quite...endearing."

He will be interested about your training and why you chose dance as a hobby. He wasn't allowed to have such hobbies so indulge him a bit.

|Kalim Al Asim

This angel of a boy is your number one supporter. Once he finds out you are a dancer he is going to be all over you, and he will ask you to dance with him at any party he hosts. Every single time. He will play music and expect you to join him in a dance, he loves it.

"Y/N! Baby, I did not know you could dance like that!" He exclaims with his signature grin his eyes wide taking in every move. He doesn't waste a second joining you. He doesn't care what music or style it is. He WILL join in. Get ready for a lot of questions. He wants to know how long you've been dancing for, what your favourite style is and so on so forth.

He can't keep his hands to himself. If he's dancing with you he will be all over you. No shame if you're in public, at a party or alone, his body will make contact with yours. How can he not, he loves you so much and he wants to share these moments with you. He has to show you off and tell everyone how good you are. The whole of NRC will know within a day.

At parties and events Kalim will hold onto your hand pulling you towards the dance floor with a excited "y/n, come dance with me! I want everyone to see how good you are!". He's so proud of you!

|Jamil Viper

He won't show it but you captivated his heart. Jamil has a passion for dance, he himself is a breakdance dancer mostly because Kalim would drag him into it. When he sees you dancing, weather it is at a party of Kalims or a dance room, he is analysing your technique, how your body moves, the articulation, the projection, everything to the smallest detail.

Jamil stands near the door frame arms crossed infront of his chest, remaining stoic as he watched. The more he watches you, a smirk grows on his lips. Once you finish or acknowledge his presense he approaches standing infront of you. He feels rather competitive and intrigued.

"Care to dance with me? Come on, show me what you've got." His intense gaze directed right at your eyes watching your every reaction, picking up how you're breathing and starting to blush. He snakes (no pun intended) his arm around your waist pulling closer to him.

"Indulge me a little". He breathes out his voice low and satisfied. He loves the fact that you are a dancer. He totally doesn't dream spending hours in a space, just you and him, coming up with choreographies together, your bodies pressed up against each other. Make his dream come true...

|Vil Schoenheit

Vil is an appreciator of the arts. Dance is a beautiful form of art and performance, not only with expressions but with the whole body in ways that are difficult and requires hours of work. So imagine if Vil comes across you doing a contemporary routine.

He walked into the Pomefiore dance studio seeing you performing your contemporary routine. He stands observing and judging, how you project through your body, your facial expressions, and flexibility when you execute a skill or floorwork sequence.

"Not bad. You move flawlessly, darling. You're full of suprises. We should have recruited you into the SDC group." He says impressed. He can't help himself but add some corrections or points that he noted on how you can improve your performance.

His heart is swelling with pride that his partner is a professional dancer, he is ready to support and promote you even if you say it's just a hobby. He won't let your abilities go to waste. He would occasionally ask you some questions on what you do for stretches or fitness activities to maintain your flexibility and strength. He will he be very invested in your hobbies helping you improve in any way he can.

|Cater Diamond

Oh, honey...get ready for a personal photo shoot. If cater catches you dancing he will whip out his phone faster than ever recording everything. He is not going to leave you alone after that, and yes he's posting it on Magicam with #mylittledancer in the caption. Now it is your responsibility to teach him how to do some popular dance trends , he'll be asking you to film some videos with him wanting to showcase your talent and skill to the entire wonderland!

So when he sees you dancing, especially if you were filming yourself for a post he will be ecstatic. He walks into your room seeing you practising a combo taking out his phone and cheering on you. Congratulations, you gained yourself a cheerleader!

"Oh my sevens! Get it, baby!" He cheers with an occasional 'woo'. "Can you show me another dance, honey? You looked totes adorable when you did that move~". If you offer to teach him a combo he will not say no.

"You're such a good dancer, baby. I'm so lucky to have snatched such a talented cutie for myself~♪"

He's posting photos and videos of you dancing or doing some cool skills the hashtags showing how much he's infatuated with you #mypartnerithebest #dancingqueen #mycutedancemachine

It's a little short but let me know if I should write anymore characters

xoxo ♡

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piracytheorist · 4 months ago

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Twilight Eyes Project: "Operation Strix" (part 2)

(part 1 here)

As Twilight tries, very unsuccessfully, to convince Anya to study for the entrance exam, we get Twilight eyes.

He still approaches it from a spy point of view. It's interesting that up to now he's only used his "Loid eyes" once for Anya, to try to make her stop crying by luring her with peanuts. It's probably a combination of him not knowing how kids work and of his own distancing from his emotions and childhood memories, that makes him think acting cold and calculating with a child will work.

It's interesting, however, to see how even with "Twilight eyes", he can still subtly express emotions.

Investigative eyes in the manga, full-face Twilight eyes in the anime.

I assume this was a choice in the anime, since in the manga there's a small panel of his face as he first notices the barricade was moved, then a panel of the trace the barricade left on the floor, then a focus on his eyes. Instead, in the anime, we see the traces on the floor at first, and then we see Twilight notice them as well and react to them. Manga can afford a narrow panel that focuses on something very specific. Anime needs to use the entire 16:9 screen almost constantly, so they utilize animation to draw our attention to the thing they want us to notice.

And something super interesting from the manga: Along the way, we'll get to see many moments that focus on his eyes, as I already mentioned, either through "sad eyes" or "investigative eyes".

Here, where his first instinct is to go find Anya, and he immediately flips back to "No, I've got to get to safety, fuck them kids"... we don't see his eyes.

Not only is the focus purposefully on a close-up that doesn't really show us his eyes (the window to the soul and all that), in the next panel his eyes are covered in shadows by his hair.

It makes a lot of sense when you realize that he actually ended up waltzing straight into enemy territory just to save Anya. The spy rule to protect his cover at all costs became a hindrance when the cost was the safety of a child. He'd been working dutifully as a spy for so long that his first plan was to ignore his instinct, but then he switched back to following his instinct anyway.

What I'm trying to say is that abandoning Anya in danger was not his true self.

Full-on, almost exaggerated Twilight eyes as he considers starting over and leaving Anya to her fate (interestingly enough, he bends to pick up Mr. Chimera in the anime).

Twilight eyes under and through the mask...

And then, interestingly enough, in his most vulnerable moment in the episode, and one of his most vulnerable moments in the entire story up to where the anime has adapted, we don't get to see his face. We see it through Nguyen's mask as he reacts to Anya crying and he realizes why it upsets him.

This vulnerable, hurt side of him is not something the audience will be allowed to see yet.

Passing onto that, the manga doesn't show his young self's eyes from up close. It's something hidden within his memories, something he doesn't want to face himself.

I'm sure it would look awkward in the anime, to only show half his face - there's different ways to portray tragedy as this in static art and in animation - so they zoomed out, censored some violence, and used animation to make the portrayal impactful.

Another interesting addition from the anime: his face, with Twilight eyes, superimposed over the image of masked Twilight leading Anya into safety, as he reminds himself what his original purpose for becoming a spy was.

Yet, we don't see his face as his internal monologue reaches that part. It's still a vulnerable part the audience won't get to see yet.

A rare case of elusive nightmare eyes as he faces Edgar and his goons...

Although the anime omits the first and shows the second with Twilight eyes, only turning into nightmare eyes when he outright threatens Karen's life.

I guess that was a choice of tension escalation.

A new expression with real eyes, as he notices Anya stayed behind.

Twilight, best spy of Westalis™, caught off-guard by a five-year-old.

Jump to Loid eyes as he tries to convince Anya he just happened to be here! What a coincidence, huh!

Two expressions in the manga as Anya tells him she wants to go back home with him...

but three in the anime.

An additional expression of surprise in the middle.

All visibly different from the "Twilight eyes", and the scene closes with a last shot of sad eyes.

After they see Anya passed her written exams, we get an outburst of emotion, wide open real eyes expressing happiness he probably doesn't realize he's experiencing.

Finally, is there a better way to force a character to show their real face than when they're asleep?

Calm, relaxed eyelids, and a hint of a blush. It's the one time he's vulnerable, open, real... and that's the reason he's mortified at the fact that he fell asleep even in Anya's presence. Can't have that!

(anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

#Spy x Family #Loid Forger #sxf meta #sxf tep

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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Paywall-free version

On the outskirts of Austin, Texas, what began as a fringe experiment has quickly become central to the city’s efforts to reduce homelessness. To Justin Tyler Jr., it is home.

Mr. Tyler, 41, lives in Community First! Village, which aims to be a model of permanent affordable housing for people who are chronically homeless. In the fall of 2022, he joined nearly 400 residents of the village, moving into one of its typical digs: a 200-square-foot, one-room tiny house furnished with a kitchenette, a bed and a recliner.

The village is a self-contained, 51-acre community in a sparsely populated area just outside Austin. Stepping onto its grounds feels like entering another realm.

Eclectic tiny homes are clustered around shared outdoor kitchens, and neat rows of recreational vehicles and manufactured homes line looping cul-de-sacs.

There are chicken coops, two vegetable gardens, a convenience store, art and jewelry studios, a medical clinic and a chapel.

Roads run throughout, but residents mainly get around on foot or on an eight-passenger golf cart that makes regular stops around the property.

Mr. Tyler chose a home with a cobalt-blue door and a small patio in the oldest part of the village, where residents’ cactus and rock gardens created a “funky, hippie vibe” that appealed to him. He arrived in rough shape, struggling with alcoholism, his feet inflamed by gout, with severe back pain from nearly 10 years of sleeping in public parks, in vehicles and on street benches.

At first, he kept to himself. He locked his door and slept. He visited the clinic and started taking medication. After a month or so, he ventured out to meet his neighbors.

“For a while there, I just didn’t want to be seen and known,” he said. “Now I prefer it.”

Between communal meals and movie screenings, Mr. Tyler also works at the village, preparing homes for the dozen or more people who move there each month.

In the next few years, Community First is poised to grow to nearly 2,000 homes across three locations, which would make it by far the nation’s largest project of this kind, big enough to permanently house about half of Austin’s chronically homeless population.

Tiny-home villages for people who have been homeless have existed on a small scale for several decades, but have recently become a popular approach to addressing surging homelessness. Since 2019, the number of these villages across the country has nearly quadrupled, to 124 from 34, with dozens more coming, according to a census by Yetimoni Kpeebi, a researcher at Missouri State University.

Mandy Chapman Semple, a consultant who has helped cities like Houston transform their homelessness systems, said the growth of these villages reflects a need to replace inexpensive housing that was once widely available in the form of mobile home parks and single room occupancy units, and is rapidly being lost. But she said they are a highly imperfect solution.

“I think where we’re challenged is that ‘tiny home’ has taken on a spectrum of definitions,” said Chapman Semple. Many of those definitions fall short of housing standards, often lacking basic amenities like heat and indoor plumbing, which she said limits their ability to meet the needs of the population they intend to serve.

But Community First is pushing the tiny home model to a much larger scale. While most of its homes lack bathrooms and kitchens, its leaders see that as a necessary trade-off to be able to creatively and affordably house the growing number of people living on Austin’s streets. And unlike most other villages, many of which provide temporary emergency shelter in structures that can resemble tool sheds, Community First has been thoughtfully designed with homey spaces where people with some of the highest needs can stay for good. No other tiny home village has attempted to permanently house as many people.

Austin’s homelessness rate has been rapidly worsening, and the city’s response has whipped back and forth... In October [2023], the official estimate put the number of people living without shelter at 5,530, a 125 percent increase from two years earlier. Some of that rise is the result of better outreach, but officials acknowledged that more people have become homeless. City leaders vowed to build more housing, but that effort has been slowed by construction delays and resistance from residents.

Meanwhile, outside the city limits, Community First has been building fast. [Note from below the read more: It's outside city limits because the lack of zoning laws keeps more well-off Austin residents from blocking the project, as they did earlier attempts to build inside the city.] In a mere eight years, this once-modest project has grown into a sprawling community that the city is turning to as a desperately needed source of affordable housing. The village has now drawn hundreds of millions of dollars from public and private sources and given rise to similar initiatives across the country.

This rapid growth has come despite significant challenges. And some question whether a community on the outskirts of town with relaxed housing standards is a suitable way to meet the needs of people coming out of chronic homelessness. The next few years will be a test of whether these issues will be addressed or amplified as the village expands to five times its current size.

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024. Article continues below (at length!)

The community versus Community First

For Alan Graham, the expansion of Community First is just the latest stage in a long-evolving project. In the late 1990s, Mr. Graham, then a real estate developer, attended a Catholic men’s retreat that deepened his faith and inspired him to get more involved with his church. Soon after, he began delivering meals as a church volunteer to people living on Austin’s streets.

In 1998, Mr. Graham, now 67, became a founder of Mobile Loaves and Fishes, a nonprofit that has since amassed a fleet of vehicles that make daily rounds to deliver food and clothing to Austin’s homeless...

Talking to people like Mr. Johnston [a homeless Austin resident who Graham had befriended], Mr. Graham came to feel that housing alone was not enough for people who had been chronically homeless, the official term for those who have been homeless for years or repeatedly and have physical or mental disabilities, including substance-use disorders. About a third of the homeless population fits this description, and they are often estranged from family and other networks.

In 2006, Mr. Graham pitched an idea to Austin’s mayor: Create an R.V. park for people coming out of chronic homelessness. It would have about 150 homes, supportive services and easy access to public transportation. Most importantly, it would help to replace the “profound, catastrophic loss of family” he believed was at the root of the problem with a close-knit and supportive community.

The City Council voted unanimously in 2008 to lease Mr. Graham a 17-acre plot of city-owned land to make his vision a reality. Getting the council members on board, he said, turned out to be the easy part.

When residents near the intended site learned of the plan, they were outraged. They feared the development would reduce their property values and invite crime. One meeting to discuss the plan with the neighborhood grew so heated that Mr. Graham was escorted to his car by the police. Not a single one of the 52 community members in attendance voted in favor of the project.

After plans for the city-owned lot fell apart and other proposed locations faced similar resistance, Mr. Graham gave up on trying to build the development within city limits.

In 2012, he instead acquired a plot of land in a part of Travis County just northeast of Austin. It was far from public transportation and other services, but it had one big advantage: The county’s lack of zoning laws limited the power of neighbors to stop it.

Mr. Graham raised $20 million and began to build. In late 2015, Mr. Johnston left the R.V. park he had been living in and became the second person to move into the new village. It grew rapidly. In just two years, Mr. Graham bought an adjacent property, nearly doubling the village’s size to 51 acres and making room for hundreds more residents.

And then in the fall of 2022, he broke ground on the largest expansion yet: Adding two more sites to the village, expanding it by 127 acres to include nearly 2,000 homes.

“No one ever really did what they first did, and no one’s ever done what they’re about to do,” said Mark Hilbelink, the director of Sunrise Navigation Center, Austin’s largest homeless-services provider. “So there’s a little bit of excitement but also probably a little bit of trepidation about, ‘How do we do this right?’”

What it takes to make a village

Since he moved into Community First eight years ago, Mr. Johnston has found the stability that eluded him for so long. Most mornings, he wakes up early in his R.V., feeds his scruffy adopted terrier, Amos, and walks a few minutes down a quiet road to the village garden, where neat rows of carrots, leeks, beets and arugula await his attention.

Mr. Johnston worked in fast-food restaurants for most of his life, but he learned how to garden at the village. He now works full time cultivating produce for a weekly market that is free to residents.

“Once I got here, I said, This is where I’m going to spend pretty much my entire life now,” Mr. Johnston said.

Everyone at the village pays rent, which averages about $385 a month. The tiny homes that make up two-thirds of the dwellings go for slightly lower, but have no indoor plumbing; their residents use communal bathhouses and kitchens. The rest of the units are R.V.s and manufactured homes with their own bathrooms and kitchens.

Like Mr. Johnston, many residents have jobs in the village, created to offer residents flexible opportunities to earn some income. Last year, they earned a combined $1.5 million working as gardeners, landscapers, custodians, artists, jewelry makers and more, paid out by Mobile Loaves and Fishes.

Ute Dittemer, 66, faced a daily struggle for survival during a decade on the streets before moving into Community First five years ago with her husband. Now she supports herself by painting and molding figures out of clay at the village art house, augmented by her husband’s $800 monthly retirement income. A few years ago, a clay chess set she made sold for $10,000 at an auction. She used the money to buy her first car.

“I’m glad that we are not in a low-income-housing apartment complex,” she said. “We’ve got all this green out here, air to breathe.”

A small number of residents have jobs off-site, and a city bus makes hourly stops at the village 13 times a day to help people commute into town.

But about four out of five residents live on government benefits like disability or Social Security. Their incomes average $900 a month, making even tiny homes impossible to afford without help, Mr. Graham said.

“Essentially 100 percent of the people that move into this village will have to be subsidized for the rest of their lives,” he said.

For about $25,000 a year, Mr. Graham’s organization subsidizes one person’s housing at the village. (Services like primary health care and addiction counseling are provided by other organizations.) So far, that has been paid for entirely by private donations and in small part from collecting rent.

This would not be possible, Mr. Graham said, without a highly successful fund-raising operation that taps big Austin philanthropists. To build the next two expansions, Mr. Graham set a $225 million fund-raising goal, about $150 million of which has already been obtained from the Michael and Susan Dell Foundation, the founder of the Patrón Spirits Company, Hill Country Bible Church and others.

Support goes beyond monetary donations. A large land grant came from the philanthropic arm of Tito’s Handmade Vodka, and Alamo Drafthouse, an Austin-based cinema chain, donated an outdoor amphitheater for movie screenings. Top architectural firms competed for the chance to design energy-efficient tiny homes free of charge. And every week, hundreds of volunteers come to help with landscaping and gardening or to serve free meals.

Around 55 residents, including 15 children, live in the village as “missionals” — unpaid neighbors generally motivated by their Christian faith to be part of the community.

All missionals undergo a monthslong “discernment process” before they can move in. They pay to live in R.V.s and manufactured homes distinguished by an “M” in the front window. Their presence in the community is meant to guard against the pitfalls of concentrated poverty and trauma.

“Missionals are our guardian angels,” said Blair Racine, a 69-year-old resident with a white beard that hangs to his chest. “They’re people we can always call. They’re always there for us.”

After moving into the village in 2018, Mr. Racine spent two years isolated in his R.V. because of a painful eye condition. But after an effective treatment, he became so social that he was nicknamed the Mayor. Missional residents drive him to get his medication once a week, he said. To their children he is Uncle Blair.

Though the village is open to people of any religious background, it is run by Christians, and public spaces are adorned with paintings of Jesus on the cross and other biblical scenes. The application to live in the community outlines a set of “core values” that refer to God and the Bible. But Mr. Graham said there is no proselytizing and people do not have to be sober or seek treatment to live there.

Mr. Graham lives in a 399-square-foot manufactured home in the middle of the village with his wife, Tricia Graham, who works as the community’s “head of neighbor care.” He said they do not have any illusions about solving the underlying mental-health and substance-use problems many residents live with, and that is not their goal.

“This is absolutely not nirvana,” Mr. Graham said. “And we want people to understand the beauty and the complexity of what we do. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on the face of the planet than right here in the middle of this, but you’re not fixing these things.” ...

From an experiment to a model

Community First has already inspired spinoffs, with some tweaks. In 2018, Nate Schlueter, who previously worked with the village’s jobs program, opened Eden Village in his hometown, Springfield, Mo. Unlike in Community First, every home in Eden Village is identical and has its own bathroom and kitchen. Mr. Schlueter’s model has spread to 12 different cities with every village limited to 50 homes or fewer.

“Not every city is Austin, Texas,” Mr. Schlueter said. “We don’t want to build a large-scale village. And if the root cause of homelessness is a loss of family, and community is something that can duplicate that safety net to some extent, to have smaller villages to me seemed like a stronger community safety net. Everybody would know each other.”

The rapid growth of Community First has challenged that ideal. In recent years, some of the original missional residents and staff members have left, finding it harder to support the number of people moving into the village. Steven Hebbard, who lived and worked at the village since its inception, left in 2019 when he said it shifted from a “tiny-town dynamic” where he knew everyone’s name to something that felt more like a city, straining the supportive culture that helped people succeed.

Mobile Loaves and Fishes said more staff members had recently been hired to help new residents adjust, but Mr. Graham noted that there was a limit to what any housing provider could do without violating people’s privacy and autonomy.

Despite these concerns, the organization, which had been run entirely on private money, has recently drawn public support. In January 2023, Travis County gave Mobile Loaves and Fishes $35 million in American Rescue Plan Act funds to build 640 units as part of its expansion.

Then four months later came a significant surprise: The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development approved the use of federal housing vouchers, which subsidize part or all of a low-income resident’s rent, for the village’s tiny homes. This will make running the village much more financially sustainable, Mr. Graham said, and may make it a more replicable blueprint for other places.

“That’s a big deal for us, and it’s a big deal on a national basis,” Mr. Graham said. “It’s a recognition that this model, managed the way that this model is, has a role in the system.”

Usually, the government considers homes without indoor plumbing to be substandard, but, in this case, it made an exception by applying the housing standards it uses for single-room-occupancy units. The village still did not meet the required ratio of bathrooms per person, but at the request of Travis County and the City of Austin’s housing officials, who cited Austin’s “severe lack of affordable housing” that made it impossible for some homeless people with vouchers to find anywhere else to live, HUD waived its usual requirements.

In the waiver, a HUD staffer wrote that Mr. Graham told HUD officials over the phone that the proportion of in-unit bathrooms “has not been an issue.” But in conversations with The Times, other homeless-service providers in Austin and some village residents said the lack of in-unit bathrooms is one of the biggest problems people have with living there. It also makes the villages less accessible to people with certain disabilities and health issues that are relatively common among the chronically homeless....

Mr. Graham said that with a doctor’s note, people could secure an R.V. or manufactured home at the village, although those are in short supply and have a long waiting list. He said the village’s use of tiny homes allowed them to build at a fraction of the usual cost when few other options existed, and helps ensure residents aren’t isolated in their units, reinforcing the village’s communal ethos.

“If somebody wants to live in a tiny home they ought to have the choice,” Mr. Graham said, “and if they are poor we ought to respect their civil right to live in that place and be subsidized to live there.” But he conceded that for some people, “this might not be the model.”

“Nobody can be everything for everyone,” he said.

By the spring of 2025, Mr. Graham hopes to begin moving people into the next phase of the village, across the street from the current property. The darker visions some once predicted of an impoverished community on the outskirts of town overtaken by drugs and violence have not come to pass. Instead, the village has permanently housed hundreds of people and earned the approval and financial backing of the city, the county and the federal government. But for the model to truly meet the scale of the challenge in Austin and beyond, Chapman Semple said, the compromises that led to Community First in its current incarnation will have to be reckoned with.

“We can build smaller villages that can be fully integrated into the community, that can have access to amenities within the community that we all need to live, including jobs and groceries,” Chapman Semple said. “If it’s a wonderful model then we should be embracing and fighting for its inclusion within our community.”

-via New York Times, January 8, 2024

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bharv · 1 month ago

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How can I kill the perfectionist in my brain? I’ve never been able to finish a project because of it. It’s my deepest shame.

ahhh anon you know what, I CAN speak to this. In my 20s I was paralysed by perfection. And you know what, I did actually write some of the best stuff of my life. An award winning poem that I've never reached the heights of again. Two or three really excellent short stories.

But that was over years.

The first thing I would say is you gotta punt that shame into the sun. Shame is the death of all joy and creativity. It's not shameful to want to do a good job.

The second thing I would say is that perfection is also the enemy of art. Particularly, the idea of perfection linked to ideas of muses, of being struck with inspiration, of waiting for art to come to you. Art is craft, graft, and turning up.

The way to kill the perfectionist is to actually kill any idea of the mystery of creativity and the perfect reader. Set a time every day to write a small amount, or if that doesn't work with your schedule, a day a week to write a bit more. If you miss it, don't beat yourself up! Just find another slot to do it, or pick it up. Set a task and do it, even if that task is sit and look at a sentence you don't like for twenty minutes until you figure out why you don't like it. Accept that the work might just be fine, and do it! And the thing they don't like to say is that if you do it consistently, you might not FEEL like your writing is perfect, but it will probably be much closer to that high standard than you can see.

And there's not going to be a perfect reader who this is for. It's going to mean different things to other people. So how CAN it be perfect? All it can be is done.

I write about 150k a year now, vs maybe 15k when I agonised over things. And I send that stuff out, and other people like it (side note, for submissions I send them and then force myself to forget and do not check in unless I get an offer. I move onto the next and I NEVER put all my eggs in one basket with submissions.) And I do that by turning up every day, and trying to get it to a point where I can stand by it, and that has to be good enough.

#ask me about writing #this is really interesting anon

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thunder-opossum · 2 months ago

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The two slugcats squirmed through tight tunnels and vast open spaces. Sizzle's stomach flip-flops in the lack of gravity; it's a strange sensation, there was no heft to his body, not to anything he touched. He would compare it to falling... but even then, you can still feel wind batting against your fur. The air here was still, the oh so familiar noises of the outside were all replaced by mechanical whirring.

Artificer reached out and snatched one of the small floating creatures from the air. She stuffed it into her mouth, "Eat these, and be quick."

Sizzle reached out as well, his paws grabbing onto the organism as it flashed an aray of bright colors. He but I it it quickly, hoping it wasn't in too much terror. The texture was chewy, with hardly any taste. "What are these?" Sizzle asked, reaching for a few more.

"Food. You can eat it, and you won't die from it." Artificer didn't need to eat anymore, she had already filled her belly with scavenger meat. It sickend Sizzle. But the green slugcat still needed to survive the cycle, he ate his fill and continued through the complex machinery.

Then the two suddenly popped into a different looking room, inhabitanted by something more complex. Similar structures to a slugcat, upright posture and diget-ed paws. But it was attached to wall with cords wrapping around it's metallic skin. It beeped weird noises as it stated at the two slugcats, seemingly annoyed.

Sizzle flinched at the familiar white-eyed-glare. He let his mother move in first, and she did so with confidence, the strange hunk of metal that's been following her around poped into existence and immediately caught the other beings, eyes. A moment later, gravity returned.

Sizzle smacked his face on the warm metal floor groaning as his mother landed safely. He really needed to work on his landings. Before Sizzle could lift himself up, a blaring light enveloped his vision and his ears rang with loud noise, similar to that of an explosion. He was propelled backwards and onto the floor once again. He clutched his head in pain, but there was a sudden clarity to the noise. A voice.

The two slugcats rose to their feet as this... iterator started to speak to the two...

[timeskip i ain't writing the spiel 5P gives Arti]

What a strange thing, Sizzle was having trouble wrapping his head around being in the presence of something god-like. Scavengers were known to exaggerate their stories, but the things they've said about gods in sky boxes suddenly were more believable.

Artificer was taking it in stride. She knew what coming here would give her. And now Sizzle must question the reality of the situation. There's no way his mom could survive slaughtering an entire city. It was impossible. But she seemed entirely confident.

She heard what she needed and waved Sizzle back up to the exit as gravity disappeared once again. She moved out through the pipe, but her son heared a shift in the room. The iterator, Five Pebbles. It made him come to a halt.

"You, green one. I need to mention something to you." His voice echoed in Sizzle's skull.

Sizzle angled his body around to face the iterator. Sure listening was uncomfortable, but his words must be important.

"I have seen pieces of your journey, and you seem to exhibit complex social behavior. So if you can prosses this information, I think you should know it," blue overseers popped up around the room, flashing bright holographic screens, "as much as one animal can lie to another one... well, I don't think you should be lied to."

Sizzle looked on, confused, and the holograms started to project a familiar environment... and a familiar friend.

---

hopefully the writing made up for the art! This is all I got motivation for right now, but I think it should give you guys a kick! Sorry for any typing mistakes, new phone and such.

#my art #rain world #slugcat #doodles #rw sizzling waters #rw artificer #rw artificer's pups #rw au #rw five pebbles #writing

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velvetlilacsdaisies · 1 year ago

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Shit at Feelings iii

Bodhi Durran x fem!reader

Synopsis: Bonding with dragons? No issue. Killing venin? Unfortunate, but doable. Confronting your feelings towards your childhood best friend? No thanks.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: SPOILERS!! Swearing, drinking, trauma, probably not proofread well lmaooo, lmk if I missed anything

A/n: Part 3 weeeeeee! I hope you all enjoy! Couldn’t pass up on some more platonic banter between the crew. I have stuff cooking for part 4 👹👹

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You felt helpless, a pang of terror struck through you as three wyvern ganged up on Cleasaí and you. Though she was one of the most menacing and cunning of the Greens, every maneuver she tried to pull it seemed the wyvern knew. You were easily becoming burnt out of your power, astral projecting, never projecting the lengths you have until today to trick your opponents. Now you were about to be cornered.

“I have to try one more time,” you heaved heavily down the bond to Cleasaí. “Just to change our position.”

“You can’t,” she growled, quickly banking right past a sharp cliff side, her tail catching the earth and flinging it back at green fire wyverns. “You will drain yourself and die. I will not lose my human already.” The move proved to be useless for the wyverns just merely flinching at the rocks.

Violet was taking on two wyvern herself with the help of Xaden, and you lost sight of Bodhi, Imogen, and Soleil. You were on your own for this one.

“If I don’t try, not only am I dead, but you will be too.” You argued. “I need eyes on the rider.” Your skin was so hot, and a migraine was already wreaking havoc in your skull. But you would not let Cleasaí die, the creature that mercifully bonded with you and saw potential when you felt like no other did.

“Are you sure about this?” You could tell she was feeling the defeat you were plagued with. You straightened your shoulders, adjusting your goggles.

“No, but there’s no other way.” You held on tight to the ridge of her back as she darted up into the cloud coverage.

“Project the clouds, until we get sight on the one with a rider.” She ordered. You steadied your breathing, mentally grounding yourself in the art studio of your childhood home, letting her power take over within you. Before you can let out the last bit of energy, you’re jerked down.

“Cleasaí!” You screamed out loud. Her back claw is in the mouth of a wyvern and you can see her blood dripping. Another wyvern slammed into her side, throwing her into a cliff side. You jolted from your sitting position, trying to hang on for dear life, but ultimately sliding off into the sharp cliff side as well. The sting of gravel loitering in your hip and side as the festering migraine throbbed in your ears, and your vision gets spotty.

“Y/n!” A voice shouted, and you couldn’t tell if it was Xaden or Bodhi. Everything had started going in and out and black stars were hazing your vision.

Lightning strikes in the near distance, and the wyvern that slammed your dragon into the cliff goes down, but the one that has your dragon’s claw in a firm grip in its mouth still stands. You just wanted the wyvern off of Cleasaí as you hung on the prominent ridge on her back, keeping a leg hiked onto her the best you could.

You caught a glance of her kicking her claw out the wyvern’s grasp as her tail whips at it, repeatedly striking the head of the beast to no avail. The reverberating pain settles in your body making you release a blood curdling scream, Cleasaí roared with you as you mentally open the remaining bits of power you can access. The sound projected through the cliffs of Resson, no doubt alerting all your friends in radius.

The last thing you see is the wyvern’s jaw being forced open off Cleasaí’s claw by a phantom wind and wave of green taking the wyvern down before passing out.

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The scene on the paper was murky, much different than the precise nearly perfect sketch of Bodhi you had drawn the other day. The parchment smeared with charcoal and graphite with little ebbings of scenery with ink to depict the lightning and rocky mountain sides in Resson. The feeling of the rock shards embedded in your body is what woke you up this morning. You had been having the same nightmare every night. Of the same scene at Resson with different endings: one night it had been you that died, the venin scaling on to Cleasaí and not only draining the entirety of you, but her as well. The next night it was Bodhi who had died, he was in your position and all you could do was watch, paralyzed in place on your dragon.

You had ignored the knock of Imogen this morning to go on your daily run, listening to her curse and rattling your door trying to pick the lock. Quinn had taught you a lesser magic to keep your door locked yesterday after lunch, and it proved fruitful thus far. Imogen had tried for three minutes before accepting you weren’t up, and walking away, leaving you to go back to restlessly sketching in your book until you made your way down to the mess hall.

You were one of the first in the hall this morning, still working on your drawing while idly eating your breakfast. Preferring the solace of being alone and your haunting thoughts at the table that your wing would be filling up fast in the next forty minutes or so. With most of the cadets partying the last three days, no one was eager to get to breakfast right away. Leaving some extra quiet time in the mornings.

“Interesting drawing,” someone said from behind you. You jumped, abruptly shutting the book. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” You turned to see Violet tugging on her lip, brows furrowed.

You sighed, mustering a smile and thanking the gods it had only been her nonetheless. It would’ve been hard to explain why there was a wyvern on the page you were working on to anyone else. “Hey Violet,” you greeted, stifling a yawn as she walked around to sit across from you.

You noticed small dark circles formed under her eyes. You wondered if she had difficulty sleeping like you? You knew she had been struggling more than everyone else since returning from Resson. Feeling guilty you haven’t checked in on her much since your return, you watched her as she peeled an orange uninterestedly.

“How are you?” The question caught her off guard, when you spoke up, cutting the awkward tension like a knife. Faltering her movement in peeling.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” She had a strained smile on her lips. Her voice goes up an octave into an almost overly sweet tone.

“You don’t have to lie, I hope you know.” You looked at her earnestly, choosing your next words carefully. “Liam was a great man, always was. And I can’t imagine with everything else you know now, it can’t be easy.”

“I don't know how to go on like everything’s normal.” She quickly said, looking around to see if anyone’s paying attention before turning back to you. “Everyone’s partying expecting school to go on, and with what I know now—“

You grabbed on to her slightly trembling hand, surprising not only her but yourself. “You don’t have to continue that sentence. I’m sorry I brought it up.” You paused momentarily. “We had to do the same after the executions, our foster families threw us into training and academics. Aristocratic parties and bullshit, it felt all so cruel and surreal when we all knew what had been happening.” Then it was her hand that topped yours to stop your rambling.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a watery gaze in her eyes.

You pulled your hand away, “it’s been six years, it’s been easier to become desensitized about it.” You went back to playing with the porridge in your bowl and her to peeling her orange meticulously.

“That picture,” The silver haired girl started. “Was that of Resson?”

You nodded, “drawing helps me sort whatever’s going on up there.” You pointed to the side of your temple.

“I've never seen you with it before.” Nothing gets past a Sorrengail does it?

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot going on up there that I can’t sort out with a morning run, contrary to Imogen.” You grumbled the last part. That’s the excuse that she had given you when she dragged you out of bed yesterday after picking your lock again. When in reality she just egged you on for more information about what happened with Bodhi.

“Is that why I didn’t see you running with her earlier?” A hint of amusement sparkled in her blue grey eyes. You wondered when she saw you because you hadn’t seen any trace of her the prior mornings.

You shook your head, “She just wants an excuse to gossip.”

“About you and Bodhi?” A smirk grew wickedly on her lips. You tried to keep a poker face, but she had let a real smile break on her face. “Sorry, Xaden and I saw you two sneaking out the courtyard a couple nights ago. He filled me in on your complex… relationship?” She tested the last word out to see how you would react.

You flushed bright red, no longer letting your face stay neutral. This girl observed everything. Huffing out a breath of air, you weren’t surprised Xaden knew. But you were surprised he kept it to himself around you. Him and Garrick often loved to tease the shit for anything they could, just to get you upset. Seeing as Garrick was who you grew up with for a better half of your life those two were the closest things you’ve had to brothers.

“If it makes you feel better, it seems complex relationships run in the family.” She reassured meekly.

Your refrained from displaying your shock, you had figured Violet and Xaden’s relationship went much deeper than a bonded pair of dragons and his duty to General Sorrengail, but to actually hear it. This was the most exciting thing you heard about his love life since he broke his betrothal with Catriona. You liked Violet a lot more, but you wouldn’t admit that out loud quite yet.

You decided to entertain the conversation more, if she had caught you red handed there was no point in going around the topic. “I think the only one making it difficult is me.” You admitted frowning, wishing that it could be that easy of an explanation as she said.

It wasn’t even a relationship, only a friendship, and it just seemed Bodhi was a masochist at this point. You wielding all the power and torture making it harder than it needed to be.

“Liking complex women runs in the family then?” She offered. Gods could she be any more down to the earth? Soon enough your icy resolve will be melted around her and you would have to kick Riorson’s ass if he hurt her. And then that’s ultimately another person on your list to care about.

“I don’t even think I could classify it as him liking me either—”

“Like I said: complex.” She popped an orange slice into her mouth.

“I-I can’t argue with that.” You sighed.

“Xaden said you liked arguing if you had talked to me.” She said in a matter of fact tone. This was a stark contrast to a year ago when Sorrengail first made an appearance into everyone’s lives.

Before you could even say anything, Ridoc’s laugh bellowed into the mess hall. Turning you saw him trail in with Sawyer, Rhiannon, and Nadine. The purple haired girl is now notably wearing a sling. Did you even want to know?

“So much for peace and quiet.” You muttered under your breath, earning a laugh from the girl across from you.

“Since when have you two started taking meals together?” Rihannon teased, but you didn’t miss the look of apprehension she gave the both of you.

Violet went back to picking at the orange peel on her plate, avoiding her friend's eyes.

“That’s what surviving a Gryphon attack does? Bring two unlikely people together right?” Lightly kicking her under the table when she was still staring at her scraps.

She immediately started nodding looking at the group. “Yeah, exactly?” She gave you a look. You wanted to facepalm yourself, she did not do well at being discreet.

You brushed her off and smiled, “besides we’re all second years now, and I haven’t been the most warm? Charismatic?”

Ridoc snorted, “you do a hell of a job at being charismatic when you’re drinking.” You didn’t miss how he took a seat next to Violet though the empty spot next to you was closer. He had been creating as much distance as he could since the other night with you, which was a shame. You liked riling him up.

Rihannon rolled her eyes, taking the empty place next to you. “You’re not wrong, this is the most you have spoken to us ever.”

“I like that there’s another person to add to the conversation.” Nadine added diving into her porridge.

“You just like the idea there’s four ladies versus just me and Ridoc.” You could barely make out what Sawyer said through a mouthful of egg.

“Solidarity versus your two’s dumb ideas.” Rihannon laughed.

“Are you still on about us wanting to sneak out to Chantara tonight?” Ridoc said exasperated. Chantara? They were talking about the town the first night when you were drinking with them. It was banned for the rider’s quadrant to go there, but cadets still did it anyway. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea, especially if you or Violet sneaked away. You two were already on close watch with Varrish around, and you could already hear Xaden yelling at you if you encouraged his little girlfriend to do something that could put more of a target on her back.

“Second year hasn’t even started and you already want to break out! How can I be okay with that as squad leader?” Rihannon hissed.

“Could you be any louder about it?” Imogen interrupted, walking up to the group, and setting her tray down on the table. You gave her a bewildered look. She was in on this?

Bodhi, who had also walked up with your best friend, gave Ridoc an annoyed expression as he sat diagonally across from you. “You never know who’s listening to us.” You then looked at him with the same expression, him too? After just barely making it through graduation?

He merely just raised an eyebrow in your direction, that stupid lazy smirk lingering on his full lips whenever you were around him now. Like he always knew something you didn’t.

“Would you two be in?” Ridoc asked, whispering.

Violet line of vision flitting from each one of her friends back to you.

“Please, please agree.” Sawyer begged. “That will give these two no choice but to agree.” He gestured to the girls next to you.

“Y/n’s not going to agree.” Bodhi chuckled. “She doesn’t like breaking rules.” His tone was smug, causing heat to rush to your face.

You whipped your head towards him, sending him a pointed glare. “Who says?”

The table got quiet, anticipating what was about to happen. “You, you never liked to sneak out your Mistresses house with the rest of us to the fields at night when we were younger.” The curly dark haired man reminisced on your younger days in Aretia.

“Or skip lessons with me.” Imogen added quietly. “Or leave the balls or those important dinners early.” Her head slightly tilted thinking of all the other times you’d refused to join your friends because you were too nervous.

“You know how strict my foster parents were.” You argued.

Bodhi let out a hearty sarcastic, “Ha!”

Your pink haired friend gave a side eye, “you lived with Garrick, who snuck out allll the time.”

“Well, that’s Garrick. I was held to a different standard.” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest. You weren’t wrong. If it weren’t for the promise of being enrolled into the rider’s quadrant, you would have been held to the standard of an Aretian aristocratic lady once you were 18. Only then you had the capability to do what you wanted with your friends in between war strategy and training.

“How bad can it be going for a couple hours, no one will notice right?” Violet interrupted, looking at you. Did no one see the harm in this idea? Think this through? It is obvious leadership is already suspicious of what happened in Resson.

The man diagonal from you had a ‘told you so’ expression. That only made you more irritated, what was he trying to prove? More importantly, what were you trying to prove as you opened your mouth?

“Fine I’ll go,” you announced. “The minute though—and I mean it—the minute something goes wrong I am returning with or without any of you.” Cheers rang through the table. Ridoc and Sawyer rubbing it in Rihannon and Nadine’s faces that they had to come now. Bodhi scowled now. You had actually agreed, and that pang of irritation turned to satisfaction and you offered a smirk to the look of disdain.

“That’s that, we’ll meet in the west alcove after curfew.” Imogen stated hesitatingly, looking in your direction also warily. This is what they wanted so now why were they both so apprehensive you agreed?

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“I didn’t actually think you would agree?” Imogen fixed your shirt—well her shirt. If that’s what you could call it?

You wore a black corset tank top, and a cropped hooded sweater connected that only covered your arms. The sleeves covering a majority of your rebellion relics, only the parts that scattered either side of collarbones displayed. The corset tank top covering the top of your dragon relic, Cleasaí’s clubtail peeking out from the bottom. Paired with your training leather pants and boots.

“I don’t know why I agreed either now.” You fidgeted with the ties of the corset. “What if we get in trouble?”

“We won’t,” she turned you to face the mirror in the corner of her room. “This has been happening for years now and no one has batted an eye.”

“But Varrish is around now.”

“Varrish can kiss my ass, this is tradition for the second and third years. A rite of passage you can say.” The pink haired girl retorted. “It’s going to be fun, Y/n. I promise.”

You only casted a sideways glance her way, and with a roll of her eyes she stood behind you grabbing your shoulders.

“Look how good you look too, I forgot what you look like out of uniform.” She grinned cheekily, prompting you to roll your eyes now.

She had lined your top eyelids with kohl that winged out on the edges, along with adding some to your lashes, and applied some lip oil to your lips. You had to admit you did look good, and sometimes missed getting dressed up like you had done all the time in Aretia.

“How’d you manage to get all of this stuff in here anyway?” You changed the subject, looking to your left at her overflowing armoire of regular clothes. Most of it consisted of black, white, and grey, but a few tones of greens and blues popped out as well.

“Supply runs, do you think I’d be in my normal training clothes going to the pubs?” Fair enough, Imogen always had a penchant to be the center of attention. Never shying away from looks, and a chance to fuel her ego; the complete opposite of you.

A knock on the door sounded before Quinn popped her head into the room, and you could see the colorful top she chose to wear from the armoire. “You two ready? The girl’s are waiting at the stairwell.”

“Be there in a minute,” your best friend said. Quinn only nodded, closing the door behind her as she left you two alone.

“She doesn’t question where you get all this stuff?” You asked.

“Why ask when it benefits her?” She shrugged. Fair point too.

“What are you going to do with it all when you graduate?”

She grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the door. “You ask too many questions, Y/l/n.”

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The tavern was in full swing at max capacity filled with Basigiath students and civilians. The majority of the students were Healers and infantry mainly, a few scribes littered amongst the crowd along with some other riders that had snuck out as well were scattered in the crowd. A live band played on a small stage in the back of the establishment. people dancing in the spaces that weren’t occupied by standing patrons to the sound of mandolins, drums, lyres, and guitars. The warm summer breeze wafting through the doors and windows not doing much to evade the heat in the room.

You had been to taverns and music halls back in Aretia, but this was insane.

“Over here!” Ridoc called excitedly to your group. Him, Bodhi, and Sawyer had left earlier to save a seat for the group. They sat at a circular booth nestled in the corner of the tavern giving enough room for the group.

“This is crazy!” Rihannon shouted over the loud music and talking as Ridoc got up to give her a huge hug in greeting.

“It’s great right?!” Sawyer grinned broadly sitting at the furthest part of the booth.

“Absolutely insane!” Nadine agreed, as Ridoc wrapped his arms around her and Violet.

“Wow, does Basigiath provide those clothes?” Ridoc asked, looking at the group of you girls. Imogen had let the other girls borrow something for the night as well, begrudgingly deciding to not let them feel left out.

“No, you idiot. There are more things to do than just drink in Chantara like shop.” Imogen flicked him as he tried to greet her with a hug. “How much have you given these fools to drink, Boh?” She looked over at the man who casually leaned against the booth, nursing a glass of amber liquid.

“‘Thank you Bodhi for reserving a booth.’ Oh you’re welcome Immy.” Bodhi replied sarcastically not looking at her.

No, his eyes were on you. Making you subconscious of what you looked like under the dim tavern lights and how his brown eyes drank you in. It felt like he took an eternity within seconds scanning every part of you before he met your gaze. His usually warm brown irises were darkened, and a look you couldn’t distinguish lay behind them. He then broke eye contact only when Ridoc came up to you, unsure to give you a hug. He finally looked at the pink haired woman as you just held up your hand for a high five from Ridoc who beamed at the idea.

“Besides, I'm not their babysitter.” Bodhi added.

“But now we have to catch up!” Quinn shouted teasingly. “I got the first round of shots!” She took Imogen’s and Rihannon’s hands, dragging them to the bar.

“Come sit,” Sawyer urged the rest of you to sit. Nadine and Ridoc slid in to the right of Sawyer, and Violet took the other side. You slide in next to her, and Bodhi takes a seat by you. Great.

“You might have overdressed, don’t you think?” Bodhi’s breath caressed your ear as he whispered. Even sitting, he was so much taller, having to crane his neck down to speak to you. The smell of his usual cedar, patchouli and musk filled your nose along with the scent of smoky churam filled your nose. He started to trace the skin along the sleeve of your sweater, despite the heat, you could feel goosebumps rise on your arms. Your stomach flipped in waves of butterflies at the small gesture.

You kept your eyes on the empty part of the booth across from you. “Says the one wearing their flight jacket.”

“Sorry I don’t have an armoire of clothes at my disposal like Imogen.” He still kept tracing your wrist softly. The sensation was driving you crazy.

“Maybe you should start smuggling clothes in, instead of churam?” Sarcasm dripped from your tongue.

“Maybe,” he chuckled. “But churam is way more fun. And you know what would make it funner?”

“What is that?” You hummed, finally meeting his gaze. His stare had you frozen in place from how intently he looked at you, and your throat ran dry.

“If you joined me.” He murmured.

Your skin was warm from where his fingers were, and your cheeks were hot. Hoping the blush wasn’t noticeable, clearing your throat as you inhaled deeply through your nose remembering how to breathe. You hated what he did to you, and this had been the very reason you always tried to avoid him.

You pulled your hand away into your lap. “Funner’s not a word, Durran.”

He cracked a meek smile, pulling away from you. “Right.”

The girls returned with a tray of shots and drinks in their hands for everyone.

“Don’t say I haven’t ever done anything for you.” Imogen declared, passing the drinks around.

You straightened your back, trying to brush off the ignition of warmth that was still within you. Imogen had a smug look on her face when she handed you your drink and shot. You just subtly scratched your cheek with your middle finger at her.

“Welcome to your first night in Chantara newbs!” Quinn proclaimed, raising her shot glass. Everyone followed suit, providing excited celebratory ‘cheers’ and shouts as the clinks of the glasses rang out.

The clear liquid burned your throat when you knocked it back making you wince, the warmth spreading through your body instantly. Grimaces mirrored your expression from around the table, Ridoc downright making a disgusted face and noise causing a laugh to escape Violet’s lip and the remark of ‘pansy’ under Bodhi’s breath, but he too had a cringe on his lips as well.

The man you knew merely only a few years ago would have never made a face taking a measly shot.

“Lost your touch, I see.” You leaned over, your eyes full of amusement watching him take a big chug of the amber liquid finishing the glass.

He wiped the edge of his mouth with his thumb, his brows furrowed. “Me lose my touch? Y/l/n I think you have me mistaken.”

“Mm, I don’t think so.” You challenged him as you brought your own drink to your glossed lips. You could have sworn you caught him glance down as you took a sip, but his eyes were back on your own. You willed the shudder that wanted to escape you away, and the flip of your stomach at bay.

“Find me at the end of the night after you have had a few, then we’ll see who’s lost their touch. I finally get to see the real Y/n Y/l/n in action now that you don’t have to run back to foster mommy and daddy at midnight.” He taunted quietly, before standing up. “Immy you owe me a rematch of billiards from the last time.”

“So eager to get your ass beat?” She cracked her knuckles jokingly. “Anyone else want to join?” She looked towards mainly the guys.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Sawyer and Ridoc stood to join the two.

“I hope you two have some coins to spare, it adds to the friendly competition!” Quinn added cheerily.

“Well you ladies know where to find us.” Imogen called over her shoulder, and Ridoc tipped his head as if he had an imaginary hat on his head following the smaller group that retreated to the billiards tables on the other side of the tavern.

Fuck Bodhi and his nonchalantness, was all you could think as you glared at his back walking away from the table.

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moobloom-mention · 2 days ago

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Every Action Has Its Equal Opposite Reaction

Summary: MK can't say he's ecstatic after being kicked into the ground during a sparring match with Macaque. It isn't too bad, though, as Macaque rewards him with noodles with the only caveat being MK finds them bowls to enjoy their takeout within.

But as he scrounges through Macaque's kitchen, the only two bowls he's able to find more resemble failed art projects than bowls. One more smooth and refined, the other far more clumsily made but with small engraved peaches and a fingerprint on its side.

Huh, that's kind of cute. Surely this won't lead him to bodily harm.

Content Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: Too many words 2963

Shout-out to @blametheeditor for helping me with the intro's fight scene. Goddamn do I struggle with fight scenes.

----------

“Ready?”

MK grins. “Always-!”

He nearly isn’t able to dodge a shadow staff that whizzes past him in time, not having realized they were starting now. Like, right now. He hadn’t even seen Macaque move and yet the shadow had already thrown the battle in his own favor.

MK finds himself pinwheeling his arms in an attempt to remain balanced after his dodge, a desperate grasp for his own staff proving to be what keeps him from stumbling to the dojo’s hardwood floors.

His teeth grit.

Y’know, he would’ve thought that Macaque wouldn’t want to risk killing him during a training exercise of all things. And yet, nothing quite says “I want you dead” like forcing him into a vulnerable position whilst preparing another attack before he’s recovered from the first.

...wait a minute.

What little had been left of his confidence drains when he realizes why it’s likely a bad thing to see a shadow stretching out toward his feet. A shadow whose grin definitely doesn’t mean good things for MK. Nah, not in this sparring match.

MK uses his staff to propel himself away from the looming shadow, twisting his body so he could roll safely back into a practiced defense stance.

Not that he would ever brag or anything, but he avoids the possible incoming concussion flawlessly. Might he even say his defensive stance is something Macaque would’ve applauded him for if they weren’t mid-fight.

MK barely catches the subtle shine of another shadow before Macaque erupts from it, his shadow staff raised over the head before being brought down. In the back of his mind MK can see that while the impact is devastating, it takes an awkward amount of time for the move to be completed. In the front of his mind, he can only imagine how the crevice left in the earth could’ve been his head if he hadn’t leaped away in time.

Which, putting good news first, he isn’t knocked out! Bad news, his desperate attempt to save his own life had left his back to Macaque, meaning he’d more-so stumbled onto the ground in a flurry of limbs than truly laughed in the face of death.

Far too aware he wouldn’t be able to stand before another attack, he rolls onto his back, yelping when a staff smashes onto the ground inches from his face.

Heavens above, is he trying to kill MK or not? He thought they were cool!

As Macaque lifts the staff above his head for another swing, MK forces his feet firmly into the ground, waiting until he’s about to be struck before pushing with all his might. The force pushes him over the incoming hit, a summoning of his staff giving him enough leverage to land more gracefully behind Macaque.

When the next blow is delivered, MK’s own staff is there to meet the swing. Finally, some actual progress in pushing this match in his favor.

Step, step, block. Step, step, block. The occasional near loss of balance whenever Macaque feints a left swing before making a right one. The loss of space between his opponent before he regains it when he makes his own feint of attack but only to withdraw himself slightly.

It isn’t long before MK finds himself oddly confused amidst the controlled tempo of parried strikes.

If MK could compare his own strategies of combat to a demon’s, Macaque could lay claim for his to be akin to a celestial warrior’s.

They'd always looked refined and practiced.

It’s why MK can’t help the nagging doubt that sits tight in his stomach when he notes the countless openings Macaque’s stance leaves. The monkey is pushing far too heavily into his strikes, making for slower recoveries despite the fast-paced match.

It isn’t sloppy, but it isn’t the familiar polish of experience.

A well-timed block forces Macaque’s staff into the floorboards of the dojo and MK lunges at the sudden opening.

The faintest trace of disappointment registers in Macaque's expression before it hardens into something akin to disapproval.

Oh fuck.

Macaque’s staff reappears just in time to clash violently with MK’s own, the shadowed weapon’s surface wavering slightly. Dread tears through his skin; that waver isn’t from the power of his strike.

That's the crumble of resolve and patience.

He took an opening that wasn't meant to be taken.

Despite the sudden change in tempo, Macaque’s redirection of power is far smoother than his previous strikes and the shadow’s triumph drains what little was left of MK’s confidence.

Macaque’s lips twist into an ugly sneer and its familiarity in context strikes something primal at MK’s nerves. He’s done something wrong.

His thoughts drown beneath the mantra that his stance is perfect. There isn’t anything for Macaque to hold over his head in terms of leverage, to use to turn this fight in his favor. His legs are shoulder width even while ariel and- and he’s using that one strike Macaque taught him months ago what could be wrong-?

A tail made of obsidian fur wraps itself around his tail.

“Wait-!”

It’s too late. MK knows this game well.

The tail yanks him forward. Straight into the boot that carves its home within MK’s sternum just as his lungs shriek.

The sheer power behind the kick sends MK crashing into a beam, the wooden structure’s groan loud enough to smother his desperate wheezes for air.

Between the spinning of his gaze his thoughts filter in. “Stay alert but regain your breath,” a prior lesson sings. “You can’t fight and gasp for air.”

The shadows hiss with laughter and MK has to strain to hear Macaque above the pound of his own heartbeat.

"...break something...the whole place will come down with it.”

The original goal to recover peacefully slips through his fingers, rage a new fuel to feed into his fire. He stands if only to angrily gesture toward the beam. “You threw me into it!”

“You shouldn’t have gotten cocky.”

His eyes roll. Of course.

“Don’t hold back, MK.”

“You’re way too confident, MK.”

Okay, guy.

He’ll just go fight another city-destroying demon with his “too confident” strikes.

As if able to read his thoughts, Macaque’s arms cross. Disapproval writes its own story between furrowed brows. “Don’t give me that face,” the shadow chastises. “You got bold and got it handed to you. Sloppiness won’t fly on the battlefield.”

MK drops back to the floor with a huff of defeat. “Fine.”

Macaque’s mouth curls around another word but MK can’t help the way his mind focuses on just how close the shadow’s crouched beside him.

Suspiciously close.

Like close enough that he could grab the other’s ankle if he really wanted to.

“This’ll be a good stopping point,” the monkey hums and MK’s demand for violence rises slightly. “I’m getting hungry anyway.”

Oh-ho, in that case-

“I can grab us some noodles,” he chirps, using the staff as a pole to lean on in his scramble to stand.

“Hold on, kid-”

MK barely registers the familiar purple hue of Macaque’s clone before he collides with it. His attempt to catch himself does little to fix his accidentally slight. The clone looks disgruntled though its bag labeled “Pigsy’s Noodles” sits safe within its grasp.

He smiles weakly. “Sorry?”

The clone- whose grin looks a little too mocking this time around -thrusts the bag into his arms. It gives a short salute before a plume of smoke swallows it whole, leaving MK and Macaque to their own devices once again.

“Ordered ahead of time; figured it’d be easier,” Macaque shrugs. “Now c’mere, I’ve been craving this all week.”

Don’t need to tell me twice-

The bag rustles as MK lunges to his mentor’s side, his hand already amidst an attempt to grab whatever Macaque had ordered for him.

A loud hum interrupts MK’s interest, the bag falling into a shadow vortex before it reappears within Macaque’s grasp.

If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said Macaque looked a little too happy with himself.

“We’re gonna need some bowls. No offense, kid, but eating out of take-out-boxes is for slobs.”

MK’s eyes bulge, offense blatant in the way his shoulders tense. His clenched fist waves, faux rage on his mind. “It’s not slobbish! ‘Sides, Monkey King does it all the time-”

“My point exactly.”

MK swoons to his left, clutching at his heart. He knows Macaque and Monkey King don’t have the best of history but if he doesn’t defend his mentor, nobody will.

“Monkey king’s not a slob,” he protests. “He’s just…convenient?”

“Kid, you don’t become a hoarder without being at least a bit of a slob.”

…ok, fair enough, fair enough. Macaque’s got him there.

Declaring this a loss, MK stands to fetch the requested bowls. He doesn’t go silently, feet dragging loudly against the ground with each step.

“Cheer up!” Macaque calls, amused. “Moping isn’t gonna get you out of conditioning.”

Nah, he huffs. It never does.

Surprisingly, the dojo’s kitchen isn’t far from the main training room. It’s all the way down a hallway- one eerily lacking in the door department -where the space widens if barely to make room for a dark kitchen space.

Flipping the light on, MK blinks once before the kitchen’s dim light flickers to life.

Sheesh, Monkey King might be a hoarder but his kitchen has never looked half as disorganized as Macaque’s. Whether that’s because Monkey King doesn’t use utensils in the first place doesn’t matter in the long run.

Monkey King 1: Macaque 0.

MK’s careful as he navigates the small kitchen, minding his elbows as he begins to shuffle through the cabinets in search of bowls. Even just a step backwards is enough to press his back against the other countertop, a fact that sparks a fond memory of his own.

The one- and only -time MK tried to find apartments to move into, Pigsy had insisted on accompanying him. It never mattered what apartment they went to; Pigsy always complained about the same thing:

“The kitchen is just too small, kid. How are ya’ supposed to cook anything in this thing?”

And so, MK had feigned ignorance over the true motive for Pigsy’s gripe and agreed that the kitchen space was a deal-breaker.

After only a day of searching he proclaimed that finding the right place was in fact “too hard” and he’d just have to stay in the noodle shop for a bit longer.

He blinks, forcing his knuckle between his teeth.

Focus, MK, focus. Bowls, bowls, bowls- we need bowls!

In all honesty, he thought finding bowls would’ve been waaaay easier than it’s proving to be. Each cabinet he opens either produces a bunch of items MK declares cannot be cooking related or a couple of miscellaneous plates too shallow for broth.

At this point in his desperation, MK’s convinced that Macaque doesn’t own a single cup either.

The only evidence that the monkey owns bowls in the first place is the handful in the kitchen’s sink, some still sporting old broth.

At least, those and whatever on this green Earth was in the gap between the cabinet’s top and the kitchen ceiling.

A closer inspection declares that the dishes seem like bowls, stacked on top of one another and looking like someone had hastily shoved them into the farthest corner.

Oh yeah, this’ll work.

MK nearly trips over himself climbing onto the countertops, eager to dig into whatever Macaque had ordered for him. Even on the counter the bowls are still too far back to reach.

C’mon MK, you’ve got this. A little tippy-toe action never hurt anyone.

An annoyed Macaque might, though.

Much to his own relief, the two bowls are snagged with little to no struggle. He tries to keep his jump from the counter light; only the Heavens know how mad Macaque would be if he ended up breaking a floorboard by landing heavily on it.

He peers curiously at his findings; now that he really looks at them, they aren’t really bowls at all.

They’re more like poorly made clay clam shells, the indent itself shallow and its “lip” frilled in a way that wouldn’t be the best at sipping from. An attempt at pottery, MK concludes, but yeesh if its creator didn’t struggle with whatever image they were going for.

One is definitely more refined than the other, surface smooth as he skims his finger over it. Its depth is just barely deeper than its counterpart too.

The more disheveled one has bumps and bruises along its surface including a fingerprint and what MK is 50% sure is a peach engraved along its side.

…it’s kinda cute, like its creator had tried to make up for its other imperfections.

Still, MK glances back toward the pile of dirty bowls. They’d definitely be more ideal; one thorough scrub and they’d be good as new.

That is, if Macaque has dish soap. Pigsy usually kept his on the counter but MK can’t see any even as he rummages through the cabinet below the sink.

“Clock’s tickin’, kid! The food’s getting cold and we’ve still got conditioning to run through.”

Ah, screw it. The misshapen bowls are good enough.

With a quick rinse-off and a onceover, MK gives his own nod of approval before he darts back through the hallway.

“Brainy kid to rescue,” he declares. “I found a couple of, uh, well-”

Calling the lumpy things “bowls” wouldn’t quite be right. But then again, they definitely aren’t narrow enough to be failed incense plates.

“-old bowls!”

MK’s head lifts triumphantly, prepared for the resounding “-good job, kid/bud” © that both Macaque and Monkey King had gotten into the habit of offering.

But silence only greets him, MK cracking an eye open to make sure Macaque hadn’t abandoned him.

The shadow is right where MK remembers, almost eerily still. The only notable difference is the sudden roundness of Macaque’s eyes and the subtle childish spark of something that lurks there. If Mk didn’t know any better, he would’ve called it fear.

“Macaque-?”

“Where did you get those.”

Gone is the witty banter that’d once infected the dojo, replaced with something far more sobering. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed the drop in tone alone chilled the room.

Tension lines Macaque’s shoulders, lips slightly curled just enough to show the tips of his fangs. MK’s never been bitten and he definitely isn’t finding out now.

He falters, limbs heavy as he gestures vaguely toward the kitchen. “Uh, they were- the cabinets?”

MK nearly jumps as a vortex forms just above his hand, the pieces of pottery disappearing into the shadows. The portal closes and MK flexes his hand just to make sure it hadn’t taken a piece of him with it.

In a blink the tension in Macaque’s stance evaporates, movements once again fluid as he rustles through the bag until two tubs of broth and noodles are set down. He even grins as he produces two pairs of chopsticks.

“You gonna stand there all day?”

Is that an option?

The nervous laugh MK coughs up only earns him a raised eyebrow, and he’s quick to take it as a signal of being in the clear. Despite the suddenly calm atmosphere he’s still slow in his approach, sitting a little further than normal from Macaque.

MK shuffles his personal tub of broth and box of noodles closer to himself. It smells like Heaven, but that might just be how close MK actually is to death judging by the sheer fury radiating off Macaque.

MK’s not sure why he waits to begin eating; he half expects another vortex to appear and produce two different bowls. Ones that don’t cause fear and anger to whomever stares at them.

But the shadows stay silent and content.

“Eat up,” Macaque grunts, already busy dipping his clump of noodles into the separated broth.

“But I thought you said-”

“Kid.”

MK’s eyes snap to his tub of broth. He knows a warning when he hears one. If it were Monkey King he might’ve pressed it further, but Macaque’s limits are still new.

Pushing it too far could cause a fight that MK definitely isn’t prepared for. He might be good, but he’s still not Macaque good.

Who knows, the monkey could trap him in between two shadow portals and leave him “falling” for Heavens knows how long. MK’s shoulders shudder at the thought and he quickly grabs his own chopsticks.

Macaque offers no further conversation as they eat, silence a companion in itself with how loud it feels.

At least, silence and guilt.

MK’s eyebrows furrow at the sheer amount of guilt that fills him each time he swallows a bite of noodles. He hadn’t accidentally gotten himself between a failed art-project, had he?

…he had kind of implied that the bowls were terribly made. It would be as if Pigsy snooped in MK’s sketchbook and declared his drawings to look nothing like Monkey King.

If not for the chopsticks in his hand, MK would’ve slapped himself.

Good going, MK.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he murmurs. “You did really good with them.”

There’s a beat of silence as Macaque’s expression morphs. His eyebrows pinch, confusion replacing the lurking fragments of irritation.

“That’s sweet, kiddo,” Macaque mutters in a tone that says it isn’t. “But they really aren’t mine.”

Huh. As far as he knows Macaque doesn’t have…friends. Er, at least anyone MK would categorize as a friend.

“Holding onto them for someone else?”

Macaque’s tail flicks and MK finds himself tensing, prepared for an explosion of anger.

But the other only sighs, the final pieces of anger melting from Macaque’s tone until it can be molded into something akin to fondness.

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

#lego monkie kid #lmk fic #shadowpeach #lmk macaque #lmk mk #angst #angst with a happy ending #I definitely didn't complain until Blame agreed to help with the fight scene #But man did it kick my ass

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