#and fyi it rained today

[divinityofthemachine]

fuckkk. remake because the original was literally concept art and i got lazy and cleaned that up and called it a day like the dumbass i am. so embarrassing

[angelmichelangelo]

welp. all the sainw angst got me alright. i know i technically already wrote a rip mikey's arm fic a while ago but @love-killed-the-superstar put a worm in my brain that i couldn't shake. still working on it but here's a lil sneak peek :)

[extr4normal]

not a flash flood warning waking me up from my deep slumber

[talesofesther]

deep devotion

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Over time you came to realize more and more that sometimes Wednesday wears her words like armor. They become almost futile when you learn she speaks through actions.

Requested by anons: Here and here.

A/N: I combined two requests in this story, and I hope you guys like it, even if I feel like I deviated from them a bit. I'm not completely happy with how this story turned out, but it is what it is. Also FYI, there are a few descriptions of blood ahead, and flashbacks are in italics.

Masterlist

There was something morbid about the way the deep red color of blood mixed with the polished wood floor. It trickled down Wednesday's chin in steady droplets, splashing beside her boots in what would be an annoying stain to clean.

At least in that, the raven-haired girl could take some solace. Losing to Bianca had that effect, the one that makes you feel all bad kinds of miserable and enraged. Today especially, because it was one of those few times in which Wednesday allowed her feelings to dictate her actions.

If her labored breathing and the white-knuckled grip she had on her blade were anything to go by, she was fuming with rage. If you were here, you'd notice — this is where Wednesday's mind first goes to and she curses herself for it — but others don't, her face was kept impassive as the blade loudly clanked on the floor, as she stomped the ground with purpose, reaching the door of the fencing class quickly otherwise she'd be breaking one of the significant rules of the school. No killing your classmates.

Wednesday thought she heard the teacher calling, something about going to the infirmary; but the door had already slammed shut behind her, muffling his voice, and when he managed to reach it, she was nowhere to be seen.

She didn't really register where she was going. She just kept walking. The cold wind hit her cheeks when she stepped outside, it was comforting, she felt it on the damp and dried blood now stuck to her alabaster skin.

It was by luck, or maybe misfortune, that her path crossed with yours.

Wednesday saw you before you saw her, the pages of a book holding all of your attention as you slowly walked the stone path outside, between the lunch tables and the trees. Wednesday stopped in her tracks, waiting for the inevitable. She could taste the metallic flavor of blood on the corner of her lip, feel the sting of the recent cut and it kept her grounded.

There was something about you, something about the way the few lonely rays of sun on this cloudy day chose to shine upon the bouncing of your hair. You were all delicacy and warmth as you traced the lines on paper. While Wednesday was nothing short of a midnight moon covered by rain clouds.

That girlfriend of yours is too good for you anyways.

Maybe Bianca wasn't too far off.

"Wednesday!"

Your voice clashed with her thoughts, and before she knew it, you were shoving the book into your bag and had your hands reaching out for her.

Wednesday flinched at the sudden closeness, blinking a couple of times. The air is suddenly heavier, the clouds past the school walls are darkening quickly, it'll rain soon.

You gulped and dropped your hands, fingertips grazing the fabric over Wednesday's forearm. "What happened?" The worry in your voice was evident.

Wednesday didn't like the crease in your eyebrows or that she was the cause of it. She shook her head, strands of her hair — messy from the way she had forcefully taken her mask off earlier — getting stuck to her damp cheek, "nothing happened."

"So that just showed up there?" You deadpanned, eyes glued to her fresh wound, to the dark tone of the skin under her eyes.

"Nothing that requires you to fuss over me." Wednesday set her jaw, very much aware of you sneaking your fingers between hers. She'd never admit to liking it, but deep down she knew she didn't have to. You knew it already, you knew your way around her and it took having it, for Wednesday to understand how much she'd been wanting someone who took the time to understand her.

"I care about you," you spoke softly, somehow looking at her even softer. Raising your free hand, you pushed away the wisps of hair that had been caught in the drying blood. Your touch was all tender, as if she was fragile porcelain. Which was the furthest from the truth. Yet you did it anyway, following the same rhythm your bleeding heart set, pulsing with each beat for her. "There's a difference." You finished, and pulled her along with you.

The door to the infirmary appeared and you walked past it with no second glances, leading Wednesday to your room instead. Her hand gripped yours tighter after that.

You opened your dorm door for her and asked that she sat on your bed. She complied silently while you disappeared into the bathroom, the dark wood creaking under your steps.

Wednesday didn't say anything when you returned with a few damp gauzes and a bandaid. Or when you sat beside her, looking at her in a silent question before holding her jaw with one hand and cleaning the blood with the other; the white cloth became red, and then pink and then it didn't change at all as you cleaned every last bit from her skin, careful to not cause her any pain, eyebrows furrowed as you ever so slowly brushed her cheek.

The antiseptic stung bitterly, yet Wednesday couldn't look away from you even if she wanted to. Subconsciously, as if you were tugging at her heartstrings, she leaned into your touch, her lower lip met your palm when she relaxed. No one had the power to strip her down from her defenses as you did. It scared her, but she was addicted to the thrill of it.

You placed the purple bandaid right over the nasty cut on her cheek, and only then you asked again; "will you tell me what happened?"

Her dark eyes regarded you with caution before she averted her gaze, pulling her cheek away from your touch as it flushed pink. "Fencing class."

"Bianca?"

"She talks too much."

A beat passed in silence, the only sound being the howling wind outside your window preceding the storm. Over time you came to realize more and more that sometimes Wednesday wears her words like armor. They become almost futile when you learn she speaks through actions.

You picked up on it a few nights ago;

"Y/N if you don't turn that down I'll kick you out." Wednesday grumbled, before turning her attention back to her noisy typewriter.

You shared a glance with Enid — who sat beside you on her bed, biting her lip to contain a smile — promptly turning down the volume on your phone.

The night was a cold one, the glow of the half moon shining right outside the big round window cast bursts of color on Enid's side of the room and a soft white light on Wednesday's.

Time went by with you and Enid sharing a few laughs and Wednesday complaining about how you disturbed her peace. However, when Enid ended up sleeping on your shoulder and you squeezed yourself out of her bed to walk back to your dorm, Wednesday got up as well.

She quietly walked to her dark wooded wardrobe, opening its creaking doors to look for something inside. You followed, stopping right beside her to kiss her goodnight.

Wednesday paid you no mind, which made you frown. No matter what, there wasn't a day that came to its end without her lips settled on yours.

You reached out a hand to tug at her hoodie, but before you could, she was throwing a change of comfortable clothes into your face.

You messed up your hair as you pulled the fabric away to look at her. There was this glint in Wednesday's eyes, if you looked closely, you could see the shape of the moon on her irises. She pursed her lips in an almost smile, glancing at the clothes in your arms and then at you again.

Words weren't needed for you to understand, and your heart just about melted.

A few minutes after you exited the bathroom, now dressed comfortably in all black, you joined Wednesday in her bed. It was a tight fit and caused her body to be flush with yours — but you figured she didn't mind it much when she started playing with your hand under the covers.

Next morning you received just about twenty different pictures from Enid, most of them featuring you and Wednesday sleeping soundly, her head partly resting on your shoulder — though the last ones were all shaky, with a furious raven-haired girl reaching for the phone.

And today it's pretty evident that she's on edge, her eyebrows and lips hold a faint, permanent frown; her pupils are blown, yet miles away, as if she's here but her mind is trapped somewhere else.

"yeah, sometimes she does." There's more you want to say and Wednesday could sense it. You nagged on your lower lip as you gained the courage to do so. Her eyes followed the movement.

"Can I do something for you?"

Wednesday's eyes narrowed, her eyebrow twitched as if she was trying to solve a riddle. If you asked instead of just doing it, it was something you weren't sure she'd like. But you'd never given her a reason not to trust you.

She simply nodded, both hands resting on her lap, black nails tapping one another. Her eyes followed you as you moved to sit right behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off of you. When she couldn't see you anymore, she searched for something else to focus on, more specifically the grey clouds behind the tiny crack in your window.

When the tip of your fingers touched the end of one of her braids, Wednesday went as stiff as a corpse. She felt it, your touch barely there at first; careful, soft, as though testing tentative waters. Only when she melted the slightest bit toward you, that you started gently undoing the waves on her hair, strand by strand.

There was a lump on Wednesday's throat that she almost couldn't breathe over, goosebumps filled her skin at the same time her body felt too hot to the touch.

Her hair slowly fell in waves, a sea of dark over her shoulders and back as your fingers ran through it, untangling what was left of her braids. It was intimate, almost overwhelmingly so. Wednesday wasn't sure what you were getting at, but it felt a lot like a promise.

Once you were satisfied, you brushed aside her hair to lay your lips on her shoulder. Slowly as your top lip grazed the fabric of her jacket, you kissed her there.

Wednesday felt faint with the way you loved her. The splashes of rain hitting your window got blurred in her sight; she realized you just said to her those three words everyone cares so much about. And now she understands the weight of them.

Wednesday couldn't help but reach for your hand — the one that was gingerly playing with the ends of her curls — cold fingers wrapping around yours as she brought your knuckles to her own lips.

She said them back in the only way she knew how. And when your thumb traced the lines on her palm, she knew you understood.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan

[tgmsunmontue]

Brought to you by my drive home (and because I saw this post on my dash today), where I imagined Jake and Bradley in a “not quite a Grease AU”, put putting on the play Grease with a queer bent (community group raining money type thing), with Sandy being played by Jake. Javy was meant to be playing Danny, except then he breaks his leg and they’re scrambling to find a guy who is happy singing and dancing (and GOOD at it) and also playing the romantic love interest to a guy.

In walks Bradley Bradshaw.

People are grateful the show can go on.

Bradley and Jake have antagonistic behaviours, but obviously it’s UST and they’re getting closer to the full-dress rehearsal and actually having to kiss on stage in front of everyone, and Jake’s been making snide little remarks about Bradley not committing to the bit. (Yes, he wouldn't mind locking lips with him...)

Cue them finally singing “You’re the one that I want��� and kissing at the end of the song and then… they continue kissing and then –

“Guys, it’s the dress rehearsal. There are going to be kids in the audience. Keep it in your pants.”

Drama because it's community productions and humans and unresolved sexual tension...

@blackbeanie7437 this is what I was thinking of for Q fyi... 😅

[p-redux]

Waking up to Sam Heughan in Los Angeles! I should have known he was coming--it rained all day yesterday hahaha (he always brings the Scottish rain). Thanks, Team for the heads up. ❤️

He was in the Los Feliz part of L.A. It's become a very trendy area full of restaurants, cafes, bars, and celeb homes. It's close to Hollywood, and years ago it wasn't so popular, but it has definitely become very popular. Los Feliz is also close to Echo Park, where Pharos Gym is where we've seen Sam work out before.

He tagged Love Again film producer Esther Hornstein 👇 So, obviously that's who he was meeting.

The restaurant where they met is Little Dom's in Los Feliz. 👇

Dogs allowed, so I'm assuming the beautiful dog in the pic with Sam is Esther's.

Seems like Sam is in L.A. for business meetings. But, as we know there are plenty of ladies he knows here and assorted friends, so let's see if we get any other sightings.

L.A. weather report: no rain today or tomorrow, but pouring rain on Sunday and Monday. Just FYI for those keeping track of the weather in his pics.

Anyhooo, I'm off to a couple of meetings, be back in a few hours.

*breathing in deeply* Aaaah, Sam and I are breathing the same air...at least for today. 🤗

[littleblackraincloudofcourse]

Warning for anyone with anxiety or sleep disorders

If you use rain or meditation videos to relax or relieve stress, ads now play randomly throughout all Amazon Prime videos INCLUDING THESE meaning at any unknown moment you can go from a calming blackout screen a gentle rain to blinding/flashing light and loud voices or music

FYI when I contacted Amazon to let them know the kind of problems this can cause and recommend the ads play before and/or after these type of videos their response was that I should pay the additional 2.99 a month for ad free

I've been dealing with an anxiety attack today because of this so I hope I can help other avoid the same.

[spasmsofthought]

swept away (sally x poseidon)

My take on a first meeting. I was watching a youtube edit of them and an idea popped into my head.

I finished watching season 1 pf PJO on Disney+ a few days ago, and the show has given me some thoughts. (I'm a book series girl first though FYI).

Anyway, I wrote this all at once, so please excuse any spelling or grammar errors. This is also not beta'd.

I welcome conversation and constructive criticism, but please be kind (like our dear Sally).

Enjoy! xo

+++

She meets him the first time as it's raining on the beach.

There's nothing necessarily special about Montauk for her. Sure, one could rave about the fishing prospects or enjoy time at one of the state parks. She just goes to get away.

There's been a storm brewing over the Atlantic the past few days, all dark clouds and rumbling thunder) but it's decided to make landfall today. She plans to stay in and make the best of the situation.

Sally is 23 and has her whole life ahead of her (that's what her friends say, anyway). She could go anywhere, do anything. She could be anyone. (But with no high school diploma, is that really true?)

Sally just wants to be loved.

The figure standing near the shore's edge tears her out of her reverie. From far away, it looks like he's decided this is the perfect time to go ocean fishing. Anger almost overrides her concern. The waves are cresting much higher than they were this morning, and the rain has turned into a torrential downpour.

She pulls on her rain coat and boots and decides to brave the storm. It feels like an eternity before she reaches even close to where he is. And suddenly he's not holding a fishing road like he thought, he's holding a trident.

"Hey!" She shouts over the sound of the ocean and rain. He ignores her.

"Hey! It's dangerous out here." He turns and glances at her, and then does a double-take when he realizes she's talking to him. "Yeah, I'm talking to you."

"I'll be alright. Thank you." There's a slight accent to his words that makes him sound older than he looks. He can't be more than a few years older than her now though, she hypothesizes.

"Really," She points to the small hill where the wooden structure of a house stands. "My cabin is just there. You can wait out the storm with me. It would be much safer than standing by these open waters. I wouldn't want you to get swept away."

"Don't worry. You really shouldn't care about what happens to me--"

"What?" Sally is bewildered beyond comprehension. The hood of her rain jacket comes down, a gust of wind blown against her face, as he gazes at her. His eyes are like sea glass, she thinks. And he's holding a trident. "Of course I care about what happens to you."

An echo of silence resounds that not even the waves or wind can swallow.

"Come with me," She says. Her hair is soaked now because of the rain, but he knows he's never seen anything more beautiful.

"Alright."

[mygreatadventurehasbegun]

Scattered thoughts on The Heiress.

I realized when I started watching the movie tonight that this is the first time I've sat down to watch the entire thing in years. I've caught parts of it on TCM from time to time, but I haven't seen the entire movie in at least five years.

So, here's so random thoughts.

Catherine's father is a massive dick. Yes, I know that's not a new discovery...but I think I hate him more than ever after watching this tonight. There's a moment when Morris is calling on Catherine and her father comes home. Morris says he is calling on "the most attractive girl...and her attractive father". And Austin's response is "I wouldn't say we were attractive." Not I. We. Even in front of a guest in his home who is paying his daughter a compliment, he can't seem to stop insulting her. And the fact that Catherine doesn't even noticed shows just how used to it she is...or maybe she's still glowing by the fact that a guy that looks like Montgomery Clift called her attractive.

I love the choices that Olivia de Havilland made for Catherine's voice. In the first half of the film, it's bright, girlish and airy. But as soon as things start to fall apart around her, her voice begins to drop. It becomes sharp and hard when she speaks to her father after he reveals his true feelings....and again when she sees Morris again at the end. And her physicality is excellent. The bits of business she does at the beginning of the film (fumbling with her dance card or twisting her handkerchief in her hand) really helps illustrate Catherine's insecurities. And the way she leans away from Morris is so interesting. In the beginning, it's because she isn't used to having people that close (especially men) and she is so nervous, she can't help but move back. At the end, she is genuinely uncomfortable around him when he tries to be intimate...leaning back and tensing up when he tries to embrace her. That is, until she finds a way to turn the tables on him.

And I wanted to talk about Morris. Montgomery Clift's performance is so subtle, that it makes the character so difficult to read. Hence why when I was a teenager, I bought every single word that came out of his mouth. Tonight, I found myself watching him, even when he was in the background to see if there was any sort of tell. And for the most part there wasn't. But there is one little gesture that said so much.

So.

Catherine and Morris' reunion scene is one of my favorite scenes in the movie. Even knowing what is going to happen, I can't help but get swept up in the romance when that music swells and they kiss in the rain. I won't break down every moment because I'll be here all night, lol. But at the end of the scene, when Catherine has told Morris what has happened with her father and that she will not forgive him, we get a couple of closeups on Clift's face. In the first one, we can see the impact the news has on him that he isn't going to get the full 30K he thought (which, in today's money is about 1.2 million/year, just FYI). But on the second closeup, Catherine has just buttoned up his cloak for him and I saw something I never had before.

He grabs her hand.

He knows it's all over and yet he still grabs her hand.

So, to me, the way I read it is that he actually does care about her. I don't believe that he was in love with her, but he genuinely cares about her as a person and realizes that he is probably going to hurt her terribly, and he feels awful about it...because while he may care about her, he cares about the money more.

It's such a little thing that I'm sure was a choice on Clift's part. So, I agree with her aunt's assessment from earlier in the film. He would have taken care of Catherine and made her happy. There may have been a point down the line where he stopped being outwardly affectionate...but it wouldn't have happened immediately.

And in that final scene, I am 100% on Catherine's side when she says that her aunt is talking like a fool. The fact that she bought Morris' sob story is hilarious. I mean, I bought it when I was 17...but I was a teenager who knew jack shit. She is a full grown adult who saw her niece's heart break in real time and was like "yeah, Morris's story sounds legit". I get that she does want Catherine to be happy, but come on...do better, Aunt Penniman.

And finally, even though this has been said a billion times, Olivia de Havilland gives her finest performance in this movie.

Genuinely brilliant.

[my2phetaliaheadcanons]

I'm choosing tragedy today. Can I have Yandere allies with a darling that's pregnant ( by them ). She's been trying her best to make it work with them ( but the Yanderes can tell that it's not out of love, it's out of the fact that they'll be having a kid soon ), but it's very hard for her. Soon the stress of being kidnapped and forced to do things against your will caught up to the darling. It caused her to miscarriage. They can remember that dreeded day. The darling was streaming, yelling at that it was all their fault and they had killed their baby with their sick fantasy. From that day on, the darling grew cold and bitter towards them. It's gotten to the point they hardly ( if at all!!! ) considers their existence, and it seems that they'll never let up. I need something very angst-y and depressing please.

FYI: This one is heavy. It took me almost a year to write for this one and I wanted to do it justice. So, I hope it was worth the wait. 

Night’s freezing rain beat like a lover’s wounded heart against the old roof. The gentle, constant thrum mixed with the squeak of an old glider were the only sounds that filled the dark nursery.

(Y/N)’s unsteady rocking matched the wet, glazed look in her (E/C) eyes as the empty, white cradle hypnotized her.

Its somber whispers coiled around her. Reminding her of what she had lost, and what could never be. Her damaged fingernails cracked as she dug into the stained wood as the dark thoughts continued. How HE had taken the one drop of pure sunlight that had appeared in months.

A shrill creak accompanied by a harsh beam of white light broke the tormentor’s fantasy. (Y/N) didn’t react, only gliding in the cushioned chair.

Softly, he called her name. A gentle plea for her attention, reaction, anything to prove that his beloved was still alive.

The repetition of her name and pet names grew as his thunderous, slow steps grew closer. Her own frustration bubbled up in the form of dark tears. A low dog-like growl grew from her throat the closer he came.

When his hand touched the chair, stopping the sway. (Y/N) snapped.

“GET OUT!” She stood, barring her teeth. “You have no right to mourn for what you killed! For what you’ve taken from me!”

Wailing, (Y/N) continued her verbal gnashing. Letting the disgusting flood waters flow from the haunted swamp it had been trapped in.

As the tears began to shutter like the slow change of the tide, (Y/N) laid one more verbal sting. “I never loved you.” She laughed hysterically. “The only thing you were good for was being a sperm donor!”

America: The black, leather gloves wrinkled harshly against Allen’s fists. His teeth clicked as he ground them like metal gears forced to a sudden stop.

“I’m” His hand tightened on the glider.” tired of your shit!” The chair clattered and splintered as the force of the push caused it to become embedded in the nursery wall.

Gasping, (Y/N) attempted to stagger back yet Allen followed, offering her no relief. Closing the gap until they were only a hair apart. His finger bruised her breast as he jabbed into the supple flesh.

“He” Allen’s voice wavered as tears pricked his eyes like pins. “Was my son too, and for a time we were happy. You accepted me as your husband. And we WILL be happy again.”

Allen backed up; his flushed face paired with pained tears. “Just give me more time.”

Canada: Matt was silent and stiff as the words reverberated off the nursery walls like a mortuary bell.

(Y/N) watched as he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs to the point that the bandages around his chest strained to hold the powerful muscles back. He spoke with the exhale; frustration leaking into his tone like a cracked dam ready to burst.

“I understand your hurtin, Maple. But there ain’t any reason to take it out on me.”

Guffawing in shock, (Y/N) could only gasp before she began to spit her venom like a spited Sahara serpent. Numbering her woes like the course, grains of sand in a blood-red desert. Hissing as she described how each moment of forced obedience was as if he stroked her thin skin with a Cholla cactus, leaving slivers of spines and ruby rivers in its wake.

“ENOUGH!”

His roar shook the room, ceramic figurines tinkled as they rattled, and books shifted on shelves as (Y/N) was silenced mid-word.

Still, as the nursery statues, (Y/N) remained frozen as Matt stalked closer. Their eyes locked as predator and prey.

Matt’s heavy breathing fanned her paling face. Whispering, “Enough”. Scarred hands cupped (Y/N)’s face, leading her closer to him. Foreheads softly bumped as they touched. “I get it, Maple. It hurts, and that pain will never go away. But I will remain, even as you fight me, to ease that pain.”

France: (Y/N)’s eyes widened as she slapped a hand against her (L/C) lips. She whimpered like a scared child at the realization of her grave mistake.

She had dared to insult her tormentor. The man that claimed love, but instead showed obsession. A man that privately destroyed anyone that dared to injure his pride.

When François sighed, (Y/N) flinched. Muscles tense for pain and punishment, but he made no move to her. Instead, the frumpy Frenchman reached into his back pocket, seeming not affected by his wife's sharp insults.

He shuffled for a moment before revealing a box of blue and white box Gauloises cigarettes and a simple, black, Zippos lighter. With a quick flick and click, François lit the cancer stick and lifted it to his lips. Taking a long, slow drag before letting the smoke blow like a dragon’s fire.

“Cher,” His voice rumbled like a car driving on gravel. “Are you done?”

“No-o. I’ll never be done.” (Y/N) choked on her whimpers as she backed up shakily. “I’ll always hate you.”

Another sigh from François, this one heavier like a man tired of fighting an uphill battle as he made his way to her glider. The chair creaked as his weight fully settled into it.

The calloused hand with the lit cigarette was outstretched. Inviting her into his lap. (Y/N) didn’t move, only shaking further as she pushed herself against the bars of the white cradle.

“Come, to me Cher. Let’s dream of what our life could have been had our bébé remained with us.” His hand remained out, fingers and palm relaxed further. “And when you are ready, we can try again, but we will never forget our first.”

England: As her final syllable echoed off the pastel, nursery walls, Oliver's look of shock slowly morphed into something more sinister. His cool, blue eyes darkened into the pink slits of an angered Cheshire cat, while his lips rose to show off the large, sharp canines that looked ready to paint themselves with her blood.

“Now, Poppet.” He purred tightly. “Let’s not ruin tonight by acting like the last few months haven’t been wonderful. After all.” His smile sharpened. “I have quite the surprise in store.”

(Y/N) scoffed challengingly as she looked away. Her wet eyes burned holes in the white carpet as she dropped her voice down to a choked whisper. “We weren’t happy. It was a lie to keep my child safe. And now they're gone.”

Oliver’s hardened stare softened. “Not quite dearest.”

As the pastel-dressed man stepped to the left. he revealed a small child standing in the doorway. The light from the hall creating a small halo around their head. The fluffy hair on top of his little head appeared to be made of the softest strawberry-blond silk that curled at the top of his ears. His pale, freckled face was flushed red as his (E/C) eyes bubbled with unshed tears.

(Y/N) noticed that his lips trembled as his tiny hands nervously tugged at the corduroy overalls. Never looked at her, but at the floor, as he slowly shuffled away from their captor.

“Oliver, where did you get this child?”

The questioned man smiled. Though, this one was different from the tight one given moments before. This one was still large, but genuine, warm like the end of a summer day. Somehow that sent a chill colder than the winds of hell down (Y/N)’s spine.

“Poppet, don’t you recognize our son?”

Russia: As (Y/N)’s shout turned to silence; she sneered at her captor. Arms crossed and teeth bared like a starving dog in a fighting ring ready to resist any punishment Viktor would lay.

 Instead of the monotone lecture and bruising grasp of his bare hands, Viktor was silent and still. His frown was slight, but his eyes told a silent tragedy. His dull crimson irises appeared darker than normal, almost lifeless by the heavy, purple bags that hung underneath them. His brown hair was unkept rather than the neat sweep of its usual style.

“Милый,” He rumbled with a deep sigh, “I, understand that I am at fault. I caused you too much stress.” Viktor moved closer to (Y/N), his heavy winter boots sinking into the plush carpet with each step. “Destroyed your health to the point your body could no longer maintain our child.”

On Viktor went, rattling off minor inconveniences as if they were deadly poisons that lead to the death of their child. Each one sent (Y/N) further back until her back smacked against the wall. Her cold hands clawed against the painted material searching for something to put between her and the mad beast.

A loud slam against the wooden wall resonated through the room as Viktor placed his hands against the wall. (Y/N) froze, trapped by the large arms of her ‘husband’. Their eyes were locked, red ones full of grief and stress while the (E/C) eyes contained only fear.

His whispers of atonement only increased her fear. Killed her belief that she would ever be free.

China: (Y/N) watched Jin’s eyes shut as he took a deep breath. Then another, his hands curling into tight fists before releasing in time with his breathing.

Like the slow ticking on a clock before a big event, his breathing eventually steadied. His red eyes opened like the heavy, iron gates of castles in eras past.

The tranquil rose-red garden that once lay within his eyes was no more. Withered and greyed flowers were what now remained inside. Almost like the weight of loss had begun to reveal Jin’s true age.

“I know, but will you still join me at her memorial?”

"Memorial?" 

"Yes, Qin. Though she never made it to this plane." Jin's breath shuttered as he held back tears. "She still deserved to be honored as if she did."

He held out his hand toward her. A broken smile on his lips as he silently urged her to take his hand. To begin the process of healing. 

Quietly, (Y/N) opened her mouth. No sound left her, not even the squeak of a syllable. She shook her head, licking her lips as she lifted her hand. Hesitantly placing it into his. 

"Ok."

[popchoc]

Saw Eliza (Clarke) and Tasya (Echo) at Dutch Comic Con (HDCC) today. To answer your first question: yes, they both looked absolutely stunning!! 🤩🤭 As a bonus, the Q&A panel was also very fun and interesting. Didn't take notes (or pics 🙈), but here are some things that stood out to me:

Tasya auditioned for multiple roles before getting the part of Echo, one of them being Anya's. They both concluded not getting that part was for the better, since Anya died and all. After a few auditions she also started to wonder what these people wanted from her, until she read about Echo spitting Bellamy in the face and it all became clear to her.

Eliza's least fav season was season 3 (too dark and gross) and season 7 (she didn't like killing Bellamy). Tasya agreed.

Eliza is positive that Clarke would do back flips if she could, if that would impress Lexa, "because she loved her. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ " She's also sure Clarke could do back flips (while she herself can't).

Asked about their toughest scenes to shoot, Eliza mentioned the long night filming in the rain when Finn died, while Tasya talked about the running around barefood in nothing but bandages after Mount Weather. Emotionally, Tasya also mentioned having to tell Bellamy that Octavia died.

There was also a very funny story about being visited by an actual bear while filming in the mountains/woods. Apparently Eliza raised her hands at that moment and Tasya thought it was her (pretty strange) reaction to the bear. It wasn't till now that it turned out Eliza was just following the script and had no clue about that freaking bear coming up behind her. (Sorry, this is probably one of those "you had to be there (in the audience)" kind of moments - I swear it was funny though!)

If they could have played anyone else, Eliza would have picked Murphy, Tasya would have picked either Octavia, Lexa or Jaha.

When asked which character they'd "get back from the death" they named (after a little one on one 😄) Lexa, Bellamy, Monty, Harper, Jasper, Finn, King Roan and Luna. I was this close 🤏 to shouting Madi, as I'm sure they'd agree if they'd thought of her! (FYI us Dutchies are not the shouting through panels kind of audience) I did appreciate they started with Lexa and love that they thought of Luna though!!

When Eliza heard about Lexa's return in season 7, she was stoked, because she loved seeing and working with Alycia again, but then she was "urgh!!" after finding out it wasn't really Lexa - yet still she was happy "because Alycia is just so cool".

[kellycataclysm]

I'm 30 chapters deep in the words we never say and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i basically read the whole thing within 3 days and now I'll hold on to these last 2 chapters like my life depends on it (I'm lying. I'll probably be done with it today)

You made it that far! I was surprised to see this as your last comment came in around chapter 20 or so! So now I have to know... did you read the last two or are you saving them for a rainy day. (Just FYI it is raining where I live, just in case!) What did you think of the most recent chapters? Curious, but also anxious, and also... thank you so much for reading. I can't even. All my words are gone.

[mcalhenwrites]

Oct 14: Umbrellas

[Used an alternative prompt for today, and this is from Seasons with Bee and El - and borrows the presence of a short story I wrote years ago, called Umbrella Spider. Just fyi I didn't edit this at all, I just typed it up this past half hour lmao]

I have always had a fondness for monster stories, and Bee loves spiders, so I chose a a book we could both enjoy. It’s called Umbrella Spider, and it about a giant spider whose legs are the handle of umbrellas and have them at the knees so that people can hide beneath them in the rain.

The story is causing Bee a lot of distress, however.

“Why would they rip off his legs?” He’s sobbing as he clings to my side. “That’s so mean!”

“They wanted an umbrella more than they cared about the spider.”

My explanation doesn’t console him.

“Let’s keep reading. It must have a happy ending.”

We don’t reach that part. As soon as the centipede shows up to steal Reuben’s legs, Bee panics.

“Don’t read anymore, El! You can’t!” He’s practically screaming in my bedroom now, and while Father isn’t home, Daddy might still hear him from the kitchen downstairs. I’ll be in big trouble if they find out I read material that upsets Bee, especially when I know he’s at an age where he’s sensitive to monsters.

(But he’s been at that age for decades…)

I shut the book and put it on my nightstand to finish in my own time. I suspect the themes might be more complex than my five-year-old brother’s brain can handle.

“No more,” I promise Bee, hugging him. “You’re safe.”

“I like centipedes, but not that one.”

“I bet Reuben talks to him, and they build enough legs together to help both of them.” I have no idea if that’s true, but it sounds like a good ending to satisfy Bee. “Sometimes people do mean things to one another when they’re sad, but when they find a solution, they can become friends.”

That manages to calm him down to mere sniffling. Good. I might avert a crisis, at least until bedtime, and if tell Bee to sleep in my room a couple of nights, he’ll be safe. There won’t be an incident where my fathers wonder what got into his head to make him too afraid to settle down. He’ll have me, the brother who protects his little siblings.

“Our umbrellas aren’t made from spider legs, are they?” asks Bee innocently, his watery eyes peering widely up at me.

“No, no of course not. Our are made from wood and wire and cloth. I promise. There’s no such thing as a spider with umbrellas for legs.”

Bee nods solemnly. “Good. I couldn’t use an umbrella anymore if it came from a spider. Or a centipede, even mean ones.”

“No, no I suppose that wouldn’t be nice.” I hide my amused smile from him by pulling him close again. “I couldn’t touch an umbrella if they were made from spider parts.”

“Spiders creep you out!”

“That’s right. But I do use umbrellas, don’t I?”

Bee hums, pleased with my answer. “Okay, I believe you, El.”

I hold in a chuckle, because I don’t want him to think I’m mocking him. I’m suddenly grateful for aversion to insects, spiders, and worms. If it has more than four legs and less than one, I don’t want anything to do with it.

Bee quickly calms down, and we fetch one of his favorite books that I’ve read to him at least a thousand times over three different well-loved copies to help him forget about the Umbrella Spider.

[that-one-i-think]

Part 2 of Forge MCD lore, this time I think I will be focusing on the culture of the Tu'la Desert of Havas. (FYI Havas is like, the only listed place in Tu'la)

So established previously, children in this region of Tu'la are viewed as precious, and any form of harming a child can result in the assaulter quickly becoming the assaulted. It is a desert, so life is precious whether is is a child, pup, kitten, or piglet (piglens).

In Havas, the number 5 is incredibly important, with there (normally) being 5 fingers on a hand, 4 limbs and a head on a body, and 4 direction with 1 where you are. So integers of 5 in birthdays is also important.

At 5, children get their first piece of jewelry. At 10, they start training with their families, be it crafts, forging, buissness, magic or weaponry. At 15 they can leave home to travel to other tribes by themselves and at 20 they are considered fully grown and able start their own lives.

These ages are not static, though, with some starting training much earlier, but magic and guard training must wait until they are 10, for it involves a high amount of physical and emotional control. There aren't many magic users in Havas so training for it is very limited as well.

In regards to the traveling, normally the teens will travel with people their own age and stay with various family members and associates in the various cities, villages and tribes. Sometimes, there will even be groups of werewolves, mei'fwa, and humans sharing a single in room all piled on top of each other. Humans have been known to overheat in the cuddle pile of death.

Inns will give reduced prices or have moments of "Oh, I was tipped well today, you don’t have to pay.". Traveling is essentially you and your friends going on a coming of age road trip with occasional stops at home. This event is called "The Roaming Years" and it is discouraged for the families of these teens to force their children to work though the teens are encouraged to keep up their training.

Now, time for holidays!

"The Roaming Rain" - This is a holiday where the teens who are on their roam return to their families for the first rain of the year. It is celebrated with large meals and everyone sharing stories. Customary for children and teens to play in the rain and if at least one of them don't end up sick, it is considered a failure.

"The Rise of The New Festival" - This is considered the new year festival. It involves a lot of trading and bartering, with people bringing trading old things for new as a symbol of the new year.

"Beginning Blaze" - This is a major bonfire that is had before the summer begins. It is a time spent with family for comfort, prayer, and food as everyone prays for the summer to be easy. It is a desert, after all. At the end of the night, they set a large bonfire and dance, play music, and stories.

"The Festival of Fall" - This is the festival after the summer has ended and out of all of the holidays, it is the most fun. Pranks are played, and there are dances, costume contests, music, and even some plays in certain villages. In the town where the current family resides, a member of the family will dress in a boar mask and do tricks with fire, the ones with the ability to go into their piglin form will even light themselves ablaze as they have fire immunity.

[asyastudieskorean]

9/20/2023 — Hello, studying world. Today I start my journey of learning Korean with my first university Korean class (online). We didn't have any work on the first day, so all I did was read the syllabus (the most basic, non-informative syllabus I've ever read, ha), set up my new desk space, and updated my student bio on Canvas. I haven't been a college student for about 3 years, so it felt like I accomplished a lot. When the readings and assignments start coming in, I'm sure reality will hit.

I've always wanted to learn Korean, and my goal is to reach a near-fluent level, but I know it'll be hard, especially with my full-time work priorities. Eventually, being able to teach and work in translation is my goal. FYI, Chinese, Thai, and Japanese are on my list, too, but I'll be realistic and focus on one language for the foreseeable future.

Last week, as it so happens, I had to move from my family and childhood home, and I am lacking in the positivity department rn, so I think having a place to chronicle my studies and the progress I make will be good for me. I tend to start a new blog on here when I'm having a hard time, and it helps.

So, the plan is to take two full academic years of Korean (that's 3 quarters per year at my university). That's just how much Korean the school offers. I graduated in 2020 from this same university with a BA in English with a focus on professional and creative writing, and I really enjoyed the overall experience studying here.

I spent a whole lot of time obsessing over grammar, reading new and old literature, trying to understand poetry, and just enjoying the inner peace I felt when writing fiction. It was maybe my most happy time because I had no other real responsibilities or worries besides school. All I did was read and write.

Anyhow, fast forward to now, after pondering different language learning options (which are limited in my area), I decided to take my Korean classes at the university level because the classes will show up on my official university transcripts, and I imagine that will be best when I apply for future Korean-related jobs. I am also hoping that by taking university-level language classes, they will have some sort of superior level of... intensity? accuracy? efficiency? Something like that. Granted, this route isn't the best for my finances, as there is no aid for non-matriculated post-grads, and the cost of a single class is quite ridiculous. But alas, here I am, with an empty wallet and hope in my eyes.

Upon reading the syllabus today, which could basically be summarized as "TBD," I realized the textbook I bought, the textbook I waited over a week for, the one listed on the online course materials list, is, in fact, not the correct textbook.

And, icing on the bitter cake, the correct textbook appears to be a rare Pokémon that isn't available anywhere except the dark corners of eBay, where shipping will take at least 2 weeks. Like how did other students get this? Did they order it two months in advance? Meanwhile, I have my first assignments and readings due Monday.

I quite literally just sent an email to my professor and asked what I should do, so we'll see what she says, but I really wasn't hoping to be that one student, emailing the professor about an issue on day 1.

Since this is my first post here, here also is a tiny bit about me:

My name is Asya ("Asia"), and I'm a 24-year-old English grad based in Washington; no, not the one followed by DC, but the state with a lot of rain and trees. Twilight? Starbucks? Amazon? Yes, that one.

Since graduating in 2020, I've been a freelance editor and writer. I'm taking Korean both for passion and for work purposes, and I really should have started sooner. But I guess we're all on our own timelines.

I've been on Tumblr for a long, long time, but I've never been part of the studyblr sector. I'm glad to be here. :)

[marisramblings]

Coming Home (vague Witch Hat Atelier spoilers)

Beldaruit x gender neutral witch!reader cw: fluff, age gap (reader is around mid 20s)

You stretch and take in the bustle of the city around you. Being back in the great hall isn’t your preferred choice but it beats sleeping on straw mats. Also helps that your favorite person is here. You purchase a meat bun from a nearby vendor and heft your travel pack over your shoulder.

The garden is empty when you step in, as expected. You say hello to your favorite trees and breathe in the salty air. An adventurous homebody is a strange combination, but what are you if not made of contradictions?

You make your way through the special door hidden within the silverwood trees. Twists and turns take you to familiar doors and you hesitate. A stop at the bathhouse might have been better but you so desperately want to collapse on soft sheets and pillows.

You knock in a coded pattern and the doors open like arms welcoming you inside. You tiptoe around the room hoping to surprise its occupant but the bed is made and empty. There aren’t a lot of places a sealchair can hide here. The disappointment feels like a stone.

“Damn, I’ll have to wait—“

“Wait for what?”

You shriek and turn around. The great sage, Beldaruit, sits before you dressed in his full regalia. Pale blue eyes light up with mirth.

“You are such an insufferable person,” you sigh. “Is this even you or an apparition?”

“Oh foo, you’re as bad as Olruggio.” The visage fades into smoke, and the lights flicker on illuminating the real Beldaruit laying in bed.

You roll your eyes and take the seat by his side, divesting yourself of your shoes and cloak. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to really surprise me in the coming days.”

His eyes twinkle. “If you had returned earlier you would’ve seen quite a sight.”

“Hm?”

“Qifrey’s apprentices had their second test interrupted and I let them make it up. I wanted to be surprised.”

There are few situations that require the sage of wisdom’s input, he must’ve been quite excited. “Were you?”

His face lights up with a dazzling smile and he excitedly grasps your hands. “It was wonderful! They took such common spells and created such beauty. They even opened a path that my chair could fit through.”

His joy is infectious and you find yourself smiling. If children could figure out how to make the hall accessible what are their leaders’ excuses? If it wouldn’t be considered vandalism, you’d carve glyphs into every nook and cranny.

He bounces your hands. “Absolutely marvelous! It’s a treasure to see such passion in young children.”

Ah, he’s started. You deftly climb to the empty space beside him, sinking in the bedding. It’s not that you don’t love his passion but you’re a bit tired. He tells you about the spells, the rain and sunlight reflected through gate doors. The mimicry pouch and rainbows that shined.

He finishes with a pained breath. You bolt upright and grip his hand. “Belda—“

He squeezes back and smiles. “I’m fine, just a little tired from an excursion.”

“I’ll make you some tea.”

He pulls you to his chest and rests his cheek upon your head.

You pout but relax in his hold. Today isn’t the time for such a serious discussion.

“Some days I wonder what keeps you interested in an old fart like me.” He mumbles this into your hair and the vibrations tickles.

You run a few fingers through his hair, twirl a strand. “I’m pretty boring so I guess it works out.”

“You’re far from boring. I remember a certain incident involving dancing cleaning supplies.”

“You know how much I hate chores. Besides, don’t sell yourself short. You’re the most passionate person I know. The dedication and love you have for magic is inspiring.”

You lean up and kiss his cheek. The slight blush and widening of his eyes make you giggle.

“Compliments and kisses? You’re rarely this affectionate. Did something happen?”

You shrug. “No. I just really missed you. I’ll tell you about the stuff I saw—“ you yawn, “tomorrow.”

***

FYI I take requests. Reader imagines or between characters, many things go!