#and i need to practice drawing the bowl anyways

[smoshidiot]

screenshot redraw from a random 2015 smosh is bored 🫶

[physalian]

In Defense of Fanfiction (Or the perfect starting point for your original novel)

Fanfic gets a bad rap pretty much everywhere except Tumblr. It’s misunderstood and misrepresented by its average works, seen as juvenile and cringey, or a banal point of contention between a famous person or piece of media and its fans.

Outside of fanfic that writes about real people, especially smut fics of real people, I support the art wholeheartedly. Fictional characters are one thing, but personally, caricaturing a celebrity’s life for public consumption and writing or drawing them in compromising content without their consent is a little weird. You do you. Don’t like, don’t read, as they say.

Fanfic is the perfect starting point for a few reasons:

It places you in a creative box and forces you to work within those constraints

It does all the worldbuilding and character concepts for you

It lets you write way outside your comfort zone

When published and receiving feedback, it boosts your self-confidence

It's incredibly flexible

It’s practice. All practice is good practice

—

Behold your creative box

When I was little I had no idea the majority of fanfic was shipping fics. I always pictured and looked for canon-divergent alternate universes. Like, what if X happened in this episode instead of Y? What if this character never died?

Fanfic demands you work within someone else’s canon, whether it’s an OC in the canonical world, or the canonical characters in an AU. These are like little bowling bumpers saving you from the gutter, but also keeping you on a straight-ish path toward the pins.

The indecisiveness of too many choices can be too intimidating when you’re first starting out. You want to be a writer but you have no idea where to begin, what genre to pick, what characters you want to chronicle, what themes you want to explore.

Even if it sits on your computer never to see the light of day, you still got those creative juices flowing.

Pre-packaged worldbuilding

Sometimes all we want is to get to the good stuff. Maybe I want to write a story about elemental magicians but Last Airbender already exists and I just want to play in a pre-existing sandbox. So I write some OCs into that world and have a free-for-all.

I don’t have to come up with my own lore, world history, magic system rules and mechanics, politics, geography—any of it. I get to just focus on the characters.

Even if you’re writing an AU, like say a coffee shop AU, you don’t have to think about brand new characters, you can just think “What would M do?” and go from there. The trade-off is your readers will expect canonical characters to behave in-character, but I think it’s worth it.

Stretch beyond your comfort zone!

Do you hate writing action scenes? Go practice with a shonen anime fic. Need work on dialogue? Write some high-fantasy fic, or a courtroom drama. Practice a fistfight by watching fistfights and writing what you see, and do it over and over again until what you read makes you feel like you're watching what’s on screen.

But beyond that—practice genres that you aren’t super familiar with. If you’re new to fantasy, write fantasy fic. Or a mystery novel/show, thriller, comedy, satire, adventure, what have you. The nature of fanfic still gives you those “guardrails” and you can get some brutally honest feedback on how you’re doing.

And, of course, the realm of M-rated romance and smut fics. I haven’t because I think I would die of embarrassment if I tried and I never intend to include sex scenes in my works anyway, but if you do want to, use the internet as your test audience. Post it on a throwaway account if you’re nervous.

Build that self-confidence!

The fandoms I used to write for are super dead, so it’s insane how I still get email notifications that so-and-so liked my fic to this day. Comments are as elusive as ever, but random strangers on the internet telling me they liked my work is a magical reassurance that my writing isn’t actually awful.

Random strangers on the internet are, as we all know, beholden to no moral obligation to be kind to your little avatar face, or be kind to be polite. So a rando taking the time to like my work or even leave a positive comment can feel more honest than one of my friends telling me what they think I want to hear.

I tend to avoid the more present aspects of fandom like online communities, forums, social media, what have you, so I get a delayed and diluted aspect of any given fandom through completed works. Which means, in general, I get to avoid the worst and most toxic aspects of fandom and get to sift through positive feedback and critique.

Even if your fanfic isn’t written with stellar prose, it’s fanfic. We don’t expect Pulitzer-prize winning content. And if your work isn’t up to snuff, people are more likely to just ignore it than put you on blast (at least in my experience, I never got a bad comment or a “flame” in the old FFN days).

Fanfic doesn’t care about the rules of published literature

On the one hand, try not to practice bad habits, but with this point I mean that your layout, punctuation, formatting, paragraph styles, chapter length–all of it is beholden to no rules. I get as annoyed as the next reader with giant blocks of paragraphs, or the double-spacing between pages of single-sentence paragraphs, but if the story’s good enough I might ignore it.

There’s more than just straight narrative fics, though. People write “chat” fics, or long streams of text and group chat conversations. The scene breaks can come super rapidly–I’ve seen fics with a single sentence in between line breaks to show the passage of time. And without the polish of a traditionally published novel, I’ve never seen a purer distillation of author voice in any medium more than fanfic.

All practice is good practice

Even if it’s crack fiction, or a one-off one-shot, or something meant to be lighthearted and straightforward and free from complex worldbuilding and intricate plots. It really helps break writer’s block when you can shift gears and headspaces entirely and you can get relatively instant feedback to keep you motivated.

Beyond that, the “guardrails” help you stay consistent as far as character growth and personality if you struggle with designing rich characters.

The most recent fanfic I wrote was just a couple years ago, for a dead fandom I didn’t think would get any traffic whatsoever. It wasn’t my original works, but the feedback on that fic gave me the kick in the butt I needed to get back into writing more seriously.

—

In short, I support fanfic. I may not be proud of my earliest fics' prose now, but I am proud that they walked so I can now run.

[madaqueue]

4.20

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

themes/content: roommate geto. language, smut. smoking weed, high sex, pet names (angel, baby), praise, light nipple sucking, kissing, sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.4k

a/n: blah blah drugs are bad whatever anyways geto would absolutely smoke irl

You swing open the door to your apartment with a huff, throwing your bag down in the entryway and kicking your shoes across the hall.

“Bad day?” asks the familiar airy voice from across the room.

A sarcastic chuckle leaves your lips as you take your hair out of the tight bun you wear for work, shaking your head as it falls. “You don’t even know,” you respond, eyes traveling across the room to see the source of the question, your roommate Suguru, on the couch in your shared living room.

He sits with his legs spread, only adorned with grey sweatpants, his bare chest softly illuminated by the evening sun streaming in through the nearby window. Reaching his hand out, he grabs the bong perched on the coffee table, holding it up to you.

“Then you better get your ass over here, because I’ve been waiting all day for you to get home,” he teases.

He’s always known just what you need after a shitty day, a way to drown out the agitation your coworkers seem to never-endingly bring upon you. Running into your room, you quickly change into pajamas, desperate to remove the stuffy business casual outfit that always feels out of place on your body.

Now much more comfortable you return to the living room, slouching down next to him on the couch. “You didn’t have to wait,” you hum, reaching a hand out to grab the lighter, desperate for the mental respite of melting into that familiar high.

“‘Course I did,” he purrs, “no one else around to play with my hair the way you do, angel.”

Trying to ignore the butterflies building in your chest from the nickname, you flick the lighter on in your hand as you steady yourself above the glass piece. Igniting the carefully pre-packed bud, courtesy of Geto, the embers spread as you inhale the smoke. It burns slightly as it fills your lungs, holding for a moment before you exhale, the familiar sweet taste lingering in your mouth before passing it to Suguru.

Before you know it, the constant static of noise in your mind quiets.

The sounds of whatever cartoon he picked out echoes through your apartment as he situates himself between your legs on the couch, his back leaning against your chest as your palms comb through his dark hair.

This little routine between the two of you had become your favorite part of the week, an inexplicable relaxation washing over you as you sit in silence and forget your worries for a moment.

Your fingers absentmindedly braid and unbraid his locks, the sensation sending shivers through his body. For both of you this was practically a form of self-care, a way to treat yourselves for the stress you endure.

Shifting his weight slightly, he reaches an arm out to the table to grab the bong, holding it towards you so you can take another hit. Leaning forward, you rest your chin on his shoulder as he lights the bowl for you, smoke filling it as you inhale, the glass cool against the heat of your lips.

He repeats the action for himself, and something about the way his eyes barely close as he breathes in, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly, makes him look so soft.

Everything in your body feels light, warm. Lazily tracing your eyes over his body, he looks just as warm; something in you wants to touch him, feel him.

Sliding your arms below his, you place your hands on his thighs, taking in the fuzzy texture below your palms as you continue watching him. He exhales, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder at you.

“What’re you doin’ there?” he breathes, curiosity lacing his voice.

The way his skin seems to glow draws you in, placing your lips against his neck as you continue tracing your fingertips along his legs.

“Soft,” you murmur into him.

An airy chuckle escapes his lips as he leans into your touch. His hands find their way to the bare skin of your legs beneath your shorts, his thumbs beginning to draw small circles along your inner thighs.

Suddenly, it feels like you’re vibrating, your entire body pulsing with each beat of your heart. Scanning for the source of the new sensation, you notice the heat between your legs, cunt throbbing in pace. Suguru’s hands move slightly higher, only intensifying the desire building within you.

Of course you had thought about fucking him, it would be insane if you hadn’t, especially given the way he walked around in only a towel after showering, hair dripping as he strolled through the kitchen, or how he’d come up behind you and press his chest against your back when you struggled to reach something from one of the taller shelves, or when he would stroke your hair gently after a long day as you rested your head in his lap.

But at the end of the day, you both knew you couldn’t - you couldn’t risk jeopardizing your living situation (or, more importantly, your friendship).

Maybe it was the weed clouding your thoughts, or maybe it was the months of shoving down your feelings for him, but right now, you can’t bring yourself to care: you need him.

Your hands move up his legs to the waistband of his sweatpants as you paw at the fabric, mouth never separating from the crook of his neck as you begin to suck lightly on it.

He takes in a soft gasp at the sensation. “Careful, angel,” he hums. He wouldn’t admit it, but your touch is absolutely addicting, the softness of your fingertips tingling every inch of his body. Deep down, he knows that if you start, he may not be able to stop.

Yet, rather than heeding his warning, his words ignite something in you, something that needs more. You slide one hand under his waistband, but as soon as you nearly make contact with his cock through his boxers, he moves.

Before you can even realize what’s happening, he’s turned around so he’s on top of you, one knee between your legs as the other cages you into the couch. Loose strands of hair fall over his face as his dark eyes meet your glazed-over ones.

“S-Sugu?” you stutter as you try to focus your gaze on him.

Everything feels cloudy, far away. The only sensation tethering you to reality you is him, his leg beginning to press against your clothed cunt through the flowy shorts covering your lower half. A soft moan vibrates inside you as your eyes slam shut, your hips bucking up, aching for any source of friction.

His chest rises and falls, struggling to take in enough air as he looks down at you, your eyes closed as you rut against him, the sight making his breath hitch.

“God, you look so perfect like this,” he mutters, your motions never slowing.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, trying to stifle the sounds of pleasure threatening to leave your throat.

Suguru smiles above you, laughing to himself. “That feel good, baby?”

Eyes still closed, you nod, humming a soft, “Mhm,” in confirmation as you struggle to form words, the mixture of your high and your hedonism intensifying as you find a pace pathetically rubbing against his thigh.

Your hands reach up to him, grabbing onto his biceps in an attempt to ground yourself as you approach your release. Right as you feel the tightness in your stomach, he pulls his leg away from you, a desperate whine leaving your lips.

“Not yet, angel,” he purrs, “it’ll feel better if you cum on my cock. You want that?”

Your teary eyes flutter open and meet his, pupils blown wide in lust as you weakly nod.

He leans over you, lips nearly touching your ear. “I know you’ve got some words floating around in that pretty little head of yours,” he whispers, “use them.”

Using all of your energy, you manage to choke out a broken “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin, his words making your cunt throb. His fingers trace down your body until he’s thumbing the waistband of your shorts. “Why don’t you take these off, pretty,” he softly commands.

He leans back, allowing you to remove your clothes and toss them across the room as he sits up, back resting against the couch and legs spread apart. He pats the thigh you had just been grinding against, and you crawl to your place in his lap.

Straddling his waist, his eyes lazily trace over your body, now only covered in your tight tank top and soaked-through panties. One of his hands moves to your hip as the other pulls down his sweatpants, freeing his cock that nearly hits his abdomen from how hard he is.

Your eyes are drawn downward as your mouth opens in awe of his size, reaching down and gently stroking up his length. He sucks in a sharp breath as your thumb traces over his slit, dragging the precum that had been pooling over his flushed tip.

So focused on the way his cock twitches in your palm you barely register his fingers ghosting between your legs, pushing your panties to the side as he glides up your slick folds.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmurs as you continue absentmindedly stroking him.

Without realizing it, your hips begin circling against his hand, his palm roughly rubbing against your clit as you whine. “More, Sugu, please,” you beg, the words tumbling out of your mouth.

He chuckles lightly at your soft desperation. “Okay, angel,” he hums, mind hazy with his own desire for you.

He gently grasps your wrist to move your hand away from his base and replaces it with his own, using the hand on your hip to guide you above him, aligning his tip with your entrance.

Slowly sinking down on him, your eyes flutter shut as waves of ecstasy course through your body. Your head falls forward as you lean against his shoulder, the sensation of being stretched by him making your vision go white.

When he finally bottoms out in you, your pussy clenches around him involuntarily, eliciting a soft “fuck,” from the man as your eyes threaten to roll back.

“Y’take me so well, angel,” he purrs, “such a good girl f’me,” his words slurring in lust.

Eyes still closed as you lean against him, you begin to rock your hips forward, your motions slow and imprecise. As you find your rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you as you circle your waist, his hands trace up under your shirt, his touch like electricity sending shockwaves through your body.

His palms reach your breasts, his fingertips setting your nerves on fire as he kneads the soft mounds. Pleasure builds in your core as you lean your head back through a moan, mouth hanging open as you arch towards him. Leaning forward he places wet kisses down your neck before lifting your shirt above his wrists, sticking his tongue out and circling your hardened nipple before placing it in his mouth.

“F-fuck, Suguru,” you whine as your hands move to his hair. As he feels your fingertips brushing along his scalp, tingles run down his back and he shivers against your body.

Pulling away from your chest he moves his palm behind your head, tilting you down to look at him. Your eyes are unfocused, a lopsided grin across your cheeks as your eyes roam his face. He looks equally dazed, a lazy smirk decorating his features.

“Wanted you so bad,” he hums, “been thinkin’ about this for so long.” He looks up at you with a fuzzy adoration in his tired eyes, the smile on your face spreading as you blush at his words.

Everything about the moment is unhurried, calm, as you lean forward and kiss him. Your lips meet messily, mouths parting as your tongues glide together.

Your hips continue grinding against him mindlessly and he starts to thrust up in pace with your motions, his cock hitting deeper and deeper into you.

You moan into him, the only sound you can make as your thoughts cloud with bliss. Tension tugs at your core as you feel yourself approaching the edge of your release.

Your shared apartment is filled with the sounds of skin against skin, the lewd wet sounds of his cock bullying into you, your whimpers and moans echoing off the walls. Both of you are otherwise silent, lost in the moment, unable to formulate coherent thoughts other than the ecstasy you share.

“M’gonna cum, angel,” he finally whispers into you. “Finish with me?”

All you can muster is a nod, mouth loosely agape, waiting for his tongue to slot back against yours.

As soon as he does, his lips warm and moist, he thrusts harder into you, purely following a carnal need living deep within the core of his body, his muscles acting on their own.

Pushing his pelvis higher, his tip prods against the sweet spot inside you that has you completely losing yourself, the tightness inside you snapping as you come undone.

Your pussy flutters around his length, pushing him to his own release as he pumps thick, hot ropes of cum that coat your insides.

His hips slow as he imprecisely fucks himself into you, prolonging your high.

When you finally return to reality, he pulls his lips away from yours, a trail of saliva momentarily connecting you as your eyes flutter open to meet his.

“Y’look so pretty,” he coos, taking in your sweet fucked-out face: pupils blown wide, eyes glassed over, lips parted as drool pools in the corners of your lazy smile.

Resting his hand along your jaw, he brings his thumb over to wipe the spot from your mouth, rubbing it over your lower lip. Without thinking you stick your tongue out, taking his thumb into the warmth of your mouth as you suck it, eyes nearly rolling back inadvertently as his cock twitches inside you from the sight.

Moving his hand away, he instead pulls you into another messy kiss, feeling the heat of your skin against his.

Finally sliding yourself off him, you both giggle in bliss as you clean yourselves up, returning every once in a while to take another rip of the bong.

You fall asleep cuddled next to him on the couch, playing with his hair, more relaxed than you’ve ever felt before.

[yuyuswrld]

O Captain, My Captain || 1

series intro here, or read chapter 2

characters: reiner x reader (this chapter), various aot boys x reader.

notes: this is an 18+ series, please don’t interact if you’re a minor! reader is referred to with she/they pronouns.

content warnings: explicit smut, fingering, reiner eating pussy like a god!!, alcohol consumption, degradation, mild slut shaming (?), mentions of marijuana at the end

“Has he always been a bitch?” You question Marco, inhaling bites of your ramen. He shrugs, “We’ve both been on the team since freshman year and I’ve never had a problem with him. Maybe you’re the problem?” He meets with dead silence as you stare up at him from your bowl.

“Funny, Bott. I’m just not looking forward to spending so much time with him, if he behaves like that, anyway.” Exasperation visible, you slump in your chair to think. “It’s not like he’s on the sidelines. He’s the damn captain, which means I have to talk to him a lot.”

Marco shrugs. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s not that bad. Just try to be nice to him, please. Eren won’t get any nicer if you’re mean. Plus,” He stops to take a bite of his food, “we don’t have the time for fighting. We’re expected to go to nationals this year, and that’s not happening if you two scare each other off.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Bott. I’ll see you at practice later.” Uncrossing your arms and brushing off your legs as you get up from your seat. Okay, sure, Eren has yet to be anything except slightly dismissive and maybe just a little shit. He hasn’t actually done anything to you. You toss your bag over your shoulder before thanking Marco for the meal and dismissing yourself.

As the time for practice draws closer, you collect your thoughts as you stand outside the cold metal doors of the university’s second largest gym. Sure, you went to a school notorious for its D-1 volleyball, but the gym’s size was excessive. The high rise bleachers felt as if they would swallow you alive and the walls would collapse in. They had before. You remember the bile pool in your throat as the sports cameras flashes ate at your failure and spat you back out. Like a gazelle running from its predator, your body craves to run away from the glorified arena ahead of you.

“The fuck are you standing in the doorway for? Are you going in, or what?” Is it wrong to want to choose violence? Couldn’t he just say excuse me or ask if something’s wrong like a normal person?

Ugh, you should choose peace and not mess up a good opportunity. Just think about the money and all the nice things you can buy.

“I’m obviously just trying to get in your way.” You push the door open and walk into the gymnasium, not bothering with holding it open for Eren. In fact– hopefully it hits him! 

You hear the door fly open again behind you and a bag hits the ground with a loud thud. Eyes landing on the congregation of men in jerseys surrounding a smaller man, you beeline over to them. As you near, the smaller man, who you assume to be Coach Levi, locks his gaze with you. Is he… angry? Concerned? It’s impossible to determine what he’s thinking as he continues to stare.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Your jaw drops. You’ve met more people in your life than you can count and never did a single person start a conversation in such a way.

“Not as far as I’m aware of…?”

“Okay, if you do what Hanna did, I will rip that baby out of your-”

A blond kid speaks up, “Um, Coach, you probably shouldn’t be threatening them on the first day. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to do that when we really need someone to organize our itinerary and keep practice stats. We’re nothing if we don’t have those numbers.”

“Fine, Arlelt. You and Braun stay here, explain how game statistics work and start having her do one-on-ones after. Performance evaluations for all of you.” You watch as Coach Levi’s eyes hover over Eren, who looks less than pleased. You’re not sure what’s going on there, but also can’t bring yourself to care. “Rest of you can go practice.”

As you glance over at the two boys who stayed, it throws you off that you’ve seen both of them before. The little blond one, you’re pretty sure his name is Armin. You’ve seen him walking around with Eren before, but he always looked so out of place in how gentle he is. You’re pretty sure you watched him bump into a trash can and apologize.

The other, however, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man with such a commanding presence. He’s well-built. You’re pretty sure even a Greek god couldn’t hold up in comparison. You scoff internally, ‘it’s always the fucking volleyball players.’ But there’s something that lingers on your tongue, a conversation revolving around him. Then it hits you, Petra’s gossipped about him before!

“There are some really cute guys on our volleyball team. Did you know that?”

“Not this again, Petra. We’re supposed to be doing our biology homework.”

“Bitch, please. Let me speak. Anyway, there’s this guy on the team, his name is Reiner and oh my god- that is one fine ass man. He’s built like a tank engine. Not only that,” she says, a little giggle follows. “I’ve only heard this from two girls. He says he doesn’t like to hook up a lot, but his head game is insane. Like cum in a minute insane.” 

You stare, “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, Petra.”

“I don’t know! Hook up with him yourself and you can give me all the juicy details afterwards.” You can only sigh in response, disturbed by your best friend’s inability to study.

But, here he was in the flesh, all 6’2 farmers tan of him. You couldn’t possibly do something so scandalous on your first day, could you? You shake the thought out of your mind as Armin talks.

“Volleyball stats are relatively easy to get the hang of. You just need to watch pretty closely. Even if you do miss something, we record them and you’ll go back through with Eren to make sure everything is recorded properly. Then, you’ll want to convert the numbers of each hit, serve, and pass into percentages compared to how many times it occurred per set.”

Reiner laughs, just a small one, but lord it’s like music to your ears. “Armin, you’re dumping too much info on them at once. It’d probably just be best to just show them the ropes visually and they can go from there. C’mon, let’s have coach set up the camera and record the three-on-three’s that they’re doing now.  We’ll watch the game, I’ll have you watch me record it, and then we’ll go back over it while watching the tape later.”

You nod, feeling just a hint of warmth across your face. Is this even possible, to have a school-girl crush in university? Those days were supposed to be behind you, but you can’t help but have the smallest bit of a smile as you follow him and Armin to speak with Coach Levi.

As you watch Reiner and Armin record the stats, your mind spins with utter confusion. You’re beyond lost, unsure how they’re even keeping up with the sheer amount of movement the players are doing. Dig? Write it down. Set? Write it down. You want to groan, or maybe even just go get dinner as you feel your stomach rumble.

As practice wraps up, your stomach rumbles in pain once again as it craves its next coddling. Reiner glances over from where you two stand, finishing up showing Coach Levi the statistics and getting a dismissive, “make sure it’s right,” instead of an appreciative response. He smiles at you, looking down.

“Gettin’ hungry?” He asks.

“Beyond hungry,” you say, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I’m being tortured. I haven’t eaten since noon. It’s 7 now! It’s criminal that you guys would starve me for so long.” You tease Reiner. He only responds by glancing at the gym door where most of the boys say their goodbyes before tapping out for the night.

“Y’know, I’ve heard I make a mean rice bowl.” 

It didn’t take much convincing for you to follow him back to his dorm room as practice winds down. Upon sitting across from each other at his make-shift dinner table, you learn Reiner is one of the middle blockers, coming at no surprise to you when taking in consideration to his stature. Although, you also learn he was from the countryside and this scholarship was his way out.

“Y’know, I always kinda dreamt of moving to the big city and being able to do what I love. But it’s crazy, man, I still can’t believe I’m here sometimes playing for the top university on the island.” 

Hearing the passion in his voice, you question if it’s right for you to intrude as a manager. Is it okay for you to be in charge of the livelihood of the men who’ve come so far and done so much for their passion? The men who could very well play on Paradis’ Olympic Team in the future? The concern is quickly shoved into your mental locker to be returned to as Reiner asks about watching a movie over some post-dinner snacks and beer. A much needed chance to relax after endless studying, you agree chipperly and move over to his plush couch.

As you two get halfway through Inglourious Basterds, you feel his arm wrap around you and his head turn in your direction. The alcohol running through your system has you heating up just from the skin contact. You blush as Petra’s words return to the forefront of your mind. You turn your head to face him, eyes interlocking with each other. His eyes signal a look of need, not want. You’re not sure if anyone’s ever looked at you like that before. Like a hunter who’ll starve without the meat of the deer he’s trailing.

“You’re so fucking hot” He mutters, you’re surprised a man of his stature can be so quiet. “I don’t think I’ll last with you as our manager.” Reiner closes the gap between the two of you. There’s a slight metallic tinge on his lips, but it’s addicting in the worst of ways and only deepens the experience. You two continue, allowing yourselves to sink into the couch, your body hitting the arm rest. His kiss moves from your lips to your neck, hands beginning to roam until they find purchase underneath your shirt. First, he plays with your bra before making his way under. Reiner moves his lips from your neck gently, almost like he’s scared of making a mistake. He helps you pull your shirt over your head and follows by removing your bra, his delicate touch unhooking the backing.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you coo to him, lust-filled gazes connecting. “Please, I like it a bit rough, I swear.” He groans into the valley of your breasts.

“Don’t say that shit, I might break you.”

You can only laugh at his words, unfazed by the prospect, if not even more turned on by it. 

“Holy shit, please do,”

“In that case,” He says, voice lower as if weighing his options internally. “Don’t blame me if you limp to practice tomorrow.” Reiner helps you remove your pants before his fingers begin to dance over your body again. The touches are soft as they ghost the outline of your skin, your heart beating as you wait for him to soothe the ache between your legs. You attempt to rub them together for a semblance of friction but his arms find their way to keep them split. His gaze shifts up to you, eyes narrow as if disapproving of your behavior. Reiner’s face then begins to move lower, tongue licking a stripe up the inside of your thigh as his fingers begin to dance over your clit. He moves his face over to meet his fingers, tongue flattening against your clit, which draws a moan of approval from you. It seems evident that it spurs him on further as he begins to speed up his tongue, then switching to sucking your bud and having his fingers delve lower to your hole. Reiner holds eye contact with you as he begins to press one of his monstrous fingers inside of you. 

You can only make a noise of approval as he pushes it further in, approving of how well even one of them feels inside. It heightens your pleasure as he thrusts it forward, keeping his tongue dancing and sucking against your clit in a flurry of movements that have you questioning if Reiner is really a man and not a god in disguise. As he pushes a second large finger in, you cry out much louder than you should be in the dorms. You bite down on your lip to withhold any further noises, but Reiner puts a complete pause on what he’s doing.

“Keep moaning, baby. Let them hear how well you’re getting finger-fucked right now. This is what Armin wanted to be doing to you right now, did you know that?” He lets out a deep laugh, lips and face glistening in the dim lighting of his tv. “Bet you’d like that, though, huh?” His fingers move again and you gasp. “Yeah, you’d fucking love it if I bent you over and fingered you from behind to show off the entire team what a good little pocket pussy you are.”

That’s what tipped you over the edge. In fact, it’s probably disrespectful to feminism that you allow yourself to be finger-fucked while getting off to the disgusting words spewing out of the blond’s mouth. But social constructs be damned if this man didn’t stick his dick in you soon. You clench around his fingers as they continue to move, despite your cum gushing over his fingers.

“You’re fuckin’ nasty. But you’re still not ready for me.”

His face returns to its original spot, blowing hot air on it first as you wriggle at the stimulation. Reiner only adds another finger in response, allowing the three large digits to stretch you out before moving them once again. It feels as if you’re melting around his fingers as your back arches to the stretch. Despite slight discomfort, it’s overwhelmingly pleasurable to feel the expertise in his ways.

It’s not long after he adds another finger that you feel the coil in your stomach once again. As his tongue laps at your clit with a technique unknown to you, you’re about to unravel against his touch once again.

“‘M gonna cum,” you pant out desperately.

“Do it, cum on my fuckin’ tongue.” He replies approvingly, allowing you to take the time you need to ride out the rush to your body. For a second, you feel as if you’re floating in the way your back arches off the couch and your head spins in pure ecstasy. You glance over at Reiner, eyes fixated, as he removes his pants and reveals the thing you’ve been so curious to see. It matches his stature in almost every way, which makes you cringe at the thought of him fitting it in.

“You said you like it rough?” It’s a trap, that much you’re sure of. You glance back down to examine how large he is before you reconfirm, but before you know it, the condom has slipped on and he’s making his way back to you. He asserts his way on top, arms on either side of your head as he leans in to give you a quick kiss. It catches you a bit off guard, the earlier metallic taste has changed into the taste of your own cum and there’s a slight wince as you taste it. You can’t tell if this man is slightly depraved or hot as hell.

“I asked you a question. It’s not nice to ignore me.” 

A loud smack to your clit resounds as you let out a sharp, pleasure-filled gasp. 

“Yes, please,” you whine. It’s slightly pathetic, how you’re behaving for this man, but god be damned if anything were to impede your moment. 

He only grunts in response, lining himself up with your entrance. As he sinks in, you bite your lip to fight the stretch. You attempt to lie back and relax in his touch to allow him in, but he’s just so large. Reiner bottoms out, tip just ghosting against your cervix. He only grants you a few moments to adjust to his size before he’s pounding into you, your cries of pleasure nothing but music to his ears. The tip kissing your cervix is making your brain fuzz beyond anything you’ve felt before, and your walls hug him in intoxicating ways. Reiner grips both of your legs, bringing them onto his shoulders to push in further which earns you a grunt of approval from the larger man. 

He fucks you like he hates you. Every so often, his head falls back, and he lets out grunts of pleasure. His body moves like an artist painting their long-lost lover from only a distant memory, hips ferocious in their assault of your cunt. Reiner flips you over onto your hands and knees after an indiscernible amount of time, your sweat-covered body cringing at the chilly breeze it causes. His pace is still unrelenting from the back, cock feeling as if it’s touching every inch it can inside of you.

“Holy shit,” He cries out. “I’m gonna cum. I wish I could cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours.”

Without another word, except for your moan of approval, Reiner finishes and delicately slides out of you, removing the condom and disposing of it. He arrives back a couple minutes later, towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“So, round two?”

“I’m pretty sure you started my period just now.”

[himbo-in-limbo]

[a random head canon thingy idk cuz my I pad is charging n I can't draw rn 😞] Glamrock Bonnie/Glamrock Freddy

_____________________

I like to think Bonnie often goes off on his guitar during live performances (leaning towards it sounding like heavy metal) n often forgets he's playing for children LMAO

The kids love it regardless but the gangs like "dude again?" His longest solo was like a good 3 minutes...

He craves to have artistic freedom, I'm assuming the rest do as well tbh

Imagine hearing Freddy practicing his vocals, since we see chica shredding her guitar in her spare time I wonder if he dose the same?

I bet Freddy also likes to help whichever staff member is doing heavy lifting n he sees them struggling with the cargo n just goes "Oh please it's the least I can do! You all do so much for us, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourselves."

Also likes to help because Freddy has trouble just doing nothing...he needs to be doing something!

Or else he gets a bit antsy

Which is why he loves conversing n little tasks!

Bonnie calls the people closest to him "Carrot cake" bc he loves it sm and he loves them sm

In terms of the OG Trio I see chica being the one they protect the most like that's their baby sister to them 🥺♥️

Side note that it's a shame we don't have enough interactions between chica n Freddy in the game...

Like I wanna know if their just as close to each other as Freddy and Bonnie were

Bonnie gets excited hearing stories that the staff members tell him (if he's friends with em) about the outside world...

He LOVE'S it when they share their favorite music with him! He likes to analyze the guitar solos n usually that sneaks into the next concert hehe

He wants to go outside so bad...he often looks outside any windows and wishes he could just step outside for a bit...

This is also something I think the rest have in common.

They are happy working with the kids! They love their job! They would just like to feel the sun n quite literally touch grass...at least once!

Going back to Bonnie loving carrot cake he dose actually have a slight problem with it similar to chica...just don't leave your slice unattended with him, like a magic trick it'll disappear ✨

I like to think Bonnie originally didn't have eye liner but he saw one of the staff members have some on and he just told them "I want that! Can you put that on me?!" And ever since then it's been a part of his iconic look

Freddy laughs to hard at simple jokes like dad jokes kill him, which is why when he tells them sometimes he can't finish the joke 💀

His laugh is so cute n contagious 😭♥️

Everyone groans but they laugh at Freddy's reaction anyways

Bonnie's laugh is dorky, he snorts on occasion and the others call him out n he gets embarrassed

All in good fun of course!

If Bonnie were to blush I like to imagine that his whole face goes red like you can always tell when he's flustered hehe

Honestly I believe Freddy has that classy rizz, like he's such a gentleman, he'd court you properly is all I'm saying

As for Bonnie he's flirty, if he likes you he'll be teasing you a lot

He likes to bully his crush a tiny bit by making em all flustered, and yes he challenges you to bowling quite often!

It's his favorite bonding activity what can you do

He's such a good teacher for bowling too! Has to be for the kiddos of course!

All in all these boys have a heart of gold

They'll inspire you in some way n leave you feeling happy! And you do the same for them! Their still learning how to modify their hugging power tho!

It's strong! 🧡💙

[theboywithburninghands]

So uh... in my last story I sorta implied Pomni was autistic. This is the story that confirms it. I wanted to explore more of her worldview and how she might find ways to pass the time. So this is what came out of it. It's a bit short, but it's personal and sweet and I think you'll like it. Lists T/W: profanity in some of the linked songs? I guess? I hope anyone who reads my stuff has heard the word fuck or shit before...

Pomni paced about her room. Pacing helped her think. She was here indefinitely, and while her boyfriend and girlfriend kept her from slipping too far into existential despair, boredom was a whole different animal. So, after racking her brain for several hours one evening after dinner, she finally settled on the one idea that would offer instant gratification.  

Lists. Lists of what? Well, any kind of list. Chronological lists, best to worst lists and vice-versa, top 100 lists… something about them scratched a hot red itch in her brain. Information could be so overwhelming when it was just flopped in front of you, especially in huge portions. If it was broken up piece by piece based on certain categories, it was far more digestible. You didn’t shove an entire pizza in your mouth, after all, you cut it into slices. Being able to break something down was not only comforting, but satisfying. Maybe that’s why she was so good with numbers…

So, Pomni went to Gangle. She had plenty of paper. Most of her room was covered with drawings of all sorts, done in crayon, colored pencil, watercolors, magic marker, even the odd charcoal. 

“Sure, I can lend you some paper…” Gangle had said with a timid but pleasantly surprised smile. “I didn’t know you liked drawing too, Pomni.” 

Pomni laughed a little. “Um, actually, I was going to make a journal. To keep up with all of the wild stuff that goes on around here, you know…?” 

“Oh, okay! That’s a good idea! I don’t know if I have any regular pencils, but I have some black colored ones. Would that be okay..?” 

Pomni had told her it was perfectly fine, and she went back to her room with ten big sheets of sketchbook paper, three black colored pencils and a red twist sharpener. She made a makeshift desk, the flat side of one of the oversized building blocks in her room and another building block for a chair. No real lumbar support, but eh. Her body was a bunch of pixels anyway. She set her things down tidily, placed one of the sheets in the middle of her desk, and began to write.

She tapped her pencil on her desk. Man, it felt good to have something to fiddle with while she thought… She decided to start with a profile of every other performer in the circus. She began by writing out a quick template, something she could use as a reference so every profile followed the same pattern. After some thinking, she came up with this: 

Name: Their name (duh)

Potential Real Name: Educated guesses on what their real name was before they came here

Likes: Hobbies, favorite foods and candies, favorite people 

Dislikes: Fears, least favorite foods and candies, anything else that bugs them 

Musical Taste: Music I’ve heard them listen to on Layla, or if I’ve asked them. 

*Hobby Related Stuff: See asterisk

Personality: What they’re like. What they’re like to me, others, etc.

*Variable, only if needed for major hobbies

Things like gender or age didn’t matter since she already knew all of those by heart. Personality would be the biggest category obviously… well, the only way to see if it satisfied her was to try it.

So she started with the first person that popped into her head.

Name: Jax 

Potential Real Name(s): Jackson/Jack, John/Jonathan/Johnny, Max/Maxwell, Braxton, First initial J, middle initial A, last initial X, Alexander/Alex, Xavier

Likes: Me, Ragatha, practical jokes, spaghetti and meatballs, lock picking, bowling, Nerds Rope

Dislikes: Corn, bad dreams, condescension, authority, anime, Ayn Rand, black licorice

Musical Taste: Radiohead, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Foster the People, Soundgarden, Garbage (the artist), Linkin Park, Flyleaf, whoever wrote that song “Pepper,” Big Black, Bad Brains

Personality: Formerly a bitter, selfish assho-

Hm…

Pomni stopped to think. She had never tried actually writing down a swear word here before. They were never censored in her head, thankfully, but as soon as they left her mouth they were filtered out. 

She picked up her template sheet and wrote “asshole” in the bottom left corner. A few moments later, a black censor bar appeared over it. Pomni smirked ruefully and went back to Jax’s profile, scribbling out the beginnings of her swear word and continuing. 

Personality: Formerly a bitter, selfish jerk. In fact, in some ways, he still is. One of the first adventures I ever went on with him, he threw me out a window between two moving trucks. He kept putting things like tacks and whoopee cushions on my chair at dinner, hid bugs in my room, he was awful…  A few months later, he let me come into his room and talked to me about the law of entropy… He actually said he was sorry for the way he treated me after that. Then he got me my favorite food (honey-glazed garlic salmon), down to the way I like it cooked. I kissed him. He kissed me back. We kissed a lot. We didn’t really know what we were for a while, but it got made clear pretty quickly that we both loved each other.  

Now he’s… better. Not perfect… no one is perfect, but… he’s grown a lot. I don’t know what changed. He told me once he acted like such a bully so people would forget about this whole purgatory situation and be mad at him instead of at the world. I didn’t believe that then and I still don’t. I could ask him, but I don’t know how he’d react. I guess I’ll wait and see.

Anyway. He’s great, really. Underneath that sandpapery outer shell, he’s just as vulnerable and human as the rest of us. He’s funny, he’s charming, he’s handsome… and most importantly, he’s genuine. I love him. 

Pomni smiled at this completed profile and set it aside. She paused to sharpen her colored pencil, the lead on the end worn down to a nub. After it was sufficiently sharp, she grabbed a fresh sheet of sketchbook paper, cracking her knuckles and fixing her posture before getting back to work. 

Name: Ragatha

Potential Real Name: Agatha, Raquelle, Ann/Anna/Annie, Annabelle, Agnes, Anya, Christie

Likes: All of us here- me included, horses, video games, ballet, hugs, stuffed animals.

Dislikes: Centipedes, circus peanuts, ripping her stitches… she doesn’t have a lot of dislikes.

Musical Taste: Aretha Franklin, Roberta Flack, Smokey Robinson, Tom Petty, Pink Floyd, OutKast, Kendrick Lamar, Joan Jett, Carole King

Video Games She Likes (Heavily Abridged): Dark Souls Trilogy, Final Fantasy VII, Legend of Zelda, Goldeneye, Spyro the Dragon, Bloodborne, Uncharted 2, Assassin’s Creed 2, tons more…

Personality: When I first got here, I thought Ragatha was just being nice to me because I was new. But she just… never stopped being nice. She always had my back, always had something encouraging to say… I left her behind like a coward the first day I was here and she didn’t give up on me. I look up to her.

She’s not perfect. She can be a bit arrogant without meaning to, and she used to let Jax walk all over her, but… well, things are a lot different with Jax now. And I think she helped in some way with that… 

I love her just as much as I love Jax. I couldn’t imagine life without her sweet smile and her cute laugh and her hugs. Oh my god, her hugs! I HATE hugs, but somehow she makes hers incredible. She’s incredible.

Pomni re-read the profile and grinned. Oh, this felt so GOOD. Being able to put her thoughts down and in the form of a neatly organized set of lists. Scraps of order in this world of never ending chaos… She needed to write more.

She sharpened her colored pencil again and started work on Gangle’s profile, breezing straight through it and moving on to the next person. Zooble’s profile wasn’t as complete as the other three so far, since Pomni didn’t know as much about them. She would just have to add more to it the more she found out about Zooble. 

She was a good ways into Kinger’s profile, adding Luna moth to his list of favorite insects, when her eyelids sagged. Pomni grunted and rubbed her eyes. Time must have really gotten away from her. She should ask Caine for a clock. Well… maybe not. Seeing time slowly creep by in this prison would probably do more harm than good. Either way, she must have been writing for an hour or two, it made sense for her to be tired. She went on an adventure that day. 

She decided to take a break, give her brain a chance to wander. She crossed her arms on her desk and laid her head atop them. Sketchbook paper always had a pleasant, ethereal smell to it, like a shaft of sunlight illuminating a shelf of old yellowed scrolls in a castle’s study. She loved that smell. Pomni felt even more at ease. She found something to pass the time, and nobody could stop her. She could write as many lists as she wanted, about anything she wanted. She closed her eyes, the warm, private dark behind her lids the perfect place to imagine what she could write next. 

Within minutes, she was asleep. 

——

The faint yet insistent song of birds woke Pomni up. She blearily opened her eyes, lifting her head up off of her arms, the spots on them where her head rested warm and flushed. Pomni reached a gloved hand to her right eye and rubbed it, something slipping off of her shoulders and drifting politely to the floor. She turned around to find her comforter rumpled about her chair. It must have been draped over her while she slept at her desk. Did she do that..? She turned back to her desk.

 It took her eyes a moment to defog, but everything on her desk was right where she left it, Kinger’s profile stopping at Luna moth. She stretched, a yawn bubbling up and escaping her mouth. She picked her blanket up and made her bed, tempted to flop right back down onto it and get some more sleep. But she needed to organize her things first. 

She yawned into her palm and picked up the completed profiles, tapping the sheaf of papers on her improvised desk so they fell into order. She blinked and examined the top sheet. It was written in purple colored pencil, not her black one, and it definitely wasn’t her handwriting. She held it a bit closer.

Name: Pomni

Potential Real Name: No idea

Nicknames: Pompom, Poms, New Stuff, Newbie, Shorty, Clownface, Jingles

Likes: Jax and Ragatha, Salmon and rice, number puzzles, swimming, long walks, lemon drops, fudge ripple ice cream, cuddling

Dislikes: Hugs from strangers, snakes, spicy candies, cooking, whoopee cushions

Musical Taste: U2, Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Marina and The Diamonds, Regina Spektor, Keane, Ariana Grande, Corinne Bailey Rae, Duffy

Personality: Pomni shouldn’t have lasted long here. She’s a nervous wreck that’s prone to crying, depression, overstimulation and anxiety attacks. We were all a little worried she would abstract early. 

But she never did. She showed everyone that not only is she tougher than she looks, she’s smart as a whip and one of the most courageous people any of us have ever met. She’s a great friend to everyone, and never gave up on even the people here that seemed beyond help.

We all love you, Pomni. 

Pomni set the piece of paper down on her desk. She rubbed her eyes again, her glove coming away flecked with water. She got everything organized, sliding her paper and pencils under her bed. She took the sheet with purple handwriting, folded it neatly, and tucked it into her pillowcase. She rubbed her eyes again, sighed shakily, and opened the door to her room, ready to meet the sunrise. 

[multi-fandom-lunatic]

Fitz and Keefe: A Deep(ish) Dive

Sick of the toxic part of the fandom hating on Fitz and idolising Keefe.

Fitz has his flaws, sure, but saying that these flaws ruin his character, especially when he's working on these flaws, is just so devaluing. I honestly think that those Fitz hater extremists are more like Fitz than they realise.

I'm of the belief that Fitz hating started in Exile, when Fitz yelled at Sophie. I will reiterate the obvious: Fitz's dad practically DIED (actually, I'm pretty sure what happened to Alden is regarded worse than death by one of the characters), and Sophie was heavily involved in the situation. While she didn't cause the break, it was really a matter of wrong place wrong time, and Fitz lashed out, saying cruel things to Sophie. But Fitz has apologised. Multiple times, because he understands his lashing out as a mistake, which is what I find the toxic part of the fandom fail to understand. It is 1. a mistake that 2. he's trying to fix. That's more than the Keefster is doing.

Another key moment is with the whole matchmaking drama in Legacy. Sophie refuses to tell Fitz her bio mom and Fitz lashes out and Sophie breaks up with him. No denying that he was in the wrong here, but we also can't deny the nuance that comes with the situation. For one, the matchmaking system carries social consequences to those who don't abide by it. I bet money that Fitz wasn't trying to upset Sophie but rather try to help her not face the social injustices she would. Obviously, this backfires because he goes about it all wrong.

This isn't to say that Fitz didn't do anything wrong. Because that isn't what I'm saying, but rather to consider Fitz more than 'anger issues' (by the way, Fitz is not an embodiment of anger issues and it's upsetting that many use the term so carelessly), and Keefe more than 'perfect guy'. The point is that we shouldn't see things in black and white but rather shades of gray. Fitz has made mistakes, done some bad things, but this doesn't make him a monster, not in his case at least.

Then there's Keefe. Worshipped by the fandom, while his actions affect everyone around him negatively. Come on. You cannot be telling me that Fitz has anger issues and Keefe doesn't when he throws a bowl of stew because he was angry. That isn't anger issues either, by the way, but it's an example of Keefe's temper.

Also Keefe does not learn his lessons. He runs away TWICE, shatters a building but sure. Let's pretend he hasn't done wrong. And all of this is justified, both by Shannon and the toxic fandom, by his parental situation.

I'm not discrediting his mother as the leader of a terrorist organisation. But we shouldn't use this as a JUSTIFICATION but rather an EXPLANATION. To use it as a justification is to excuse his behaviour, which is unfair on those he inflicted harm to. But to use it as an explanation could help us draw conclusions on what is going on in his mind when he makes bad decisions.

Also, keep in mind that this isn't me evaluating who's better for Sophie, because honestly? None of them. I'm a massive believer of aro ace Sophie (as well as Keefitz). But this is more of a dive into their characters.

I really blame a lot of the hate toward Fitz on Shannon, because she insists on feeding in to a false notion that doesn't even make sense (Fitz literally broke in to exile in Neverseen. There is NO WAY he cares THAT much about matchmaking).

And honestly this is why I prefer books 1-3. They remind me why I loved these characters, and any book after feels like Shannon's trying to write them with her biases.

Conclusion: Fitz and Keefe are nuanced characters and their idolising/hating on either is evidence of not using critical thinking skills :P

PS: Give them both therapy.

Anyways I feel the need to ping you, @thesfromhms

[bihansthot]

I don’t usually post WIPs but I figured since this one might be long and might take a while to finish, I would. How are we feeling about it thus far? Feedback is appreciated. :) Also a title would also be really helpful. This will be a solo Syzoth x f!reader but there is an established OT3 with Bi-Han too because they’re all together and all happy because I said so, but Bi-Han won’t have a big role in his story. The main focus will be a desperate, animalistic, very much in need Reptile satiating his primal needs with the readers help. Again I don’t know if I’ll have this done by the game’s release, but I’m trying to, my partner is out of town for the next two days, so I have plenty of time to write, but I also have to look after Denny, so I’m trying to balance writing and park time. So, anyway I hope you loves enjoy the sneak peak of what I’m up to.

You yawn and roll around the bed groggily, you’re disoriented and groggy and more pressingly, cold. At some point during the night, your electric blanket had decided to turn itself off and you curse the automatic timer to yourself before burrowing deeper under the covers. Something feels off though, not right, and you roll over towards his side of the bed and realize he’s not there, “Sy?” You call out, unwilling to come out of your mountain of blankets as you search around the bed fruitlessly, “Bi-Han?” No answer from either, not that you expected the Grandmaster to actually still be in the vicinity of the bedroom, he had most likely been awake for quite some time overseeing mission paperwork and morning workouts. You shiver as you force yourself out of bed, very reluctantly, and throw on your heavy fur-laden robes as you make your way to the bathroom. You put your hair back before splashing some water on your face and scrubbing the cleanser onto your face, you take a moment to savor the hot water on your skin. You almost reluctantly pat your face dry with a nice fluffy towel as you set upon the rest of your morning routine, you yawn loudly as you make your face up, of course, both Bi-Han and Syzoth insisted your were beautiful as is, but you wore makeup for yourself, not for your lovers. Besides you didn’t like how sleepy and sickly you always looked without eyeliner on so you set to your task and draw a thin line of coal over your eyelids and make your final touch-ups. You change into your fur-lined day clothes and head out of the Grandmaster’s chambers.

You wander around the compound for a bit trying to keep an eye out for either of your lovers, but having little luck tracking down either. Slowly you make your way to the kitchen, breakfast was long over but if you were lucky you’d still be able to sneak a bowl of congee from the girls in the kitchen. Luck was in your favor as you enter the wonderfully warm kitchen and greet the girls, “Zhilan, good morning!” You call brightly as your morning fatigue seems to lessen upon seeing your favorite of the serving girls.

“Good morning my lady!” she replies happily, bowing lowly as a sign of respect for you, “I set aside a bowl of congee and some soft boiled eggs for you.”

“You’re a live saver Zhilan!” You smile happily as you take the bowl of piping hot congee from her before helping yourself to a nice hot cup of coffee. You take a seat on one of the wooden stools in the spacious kitchen as you begin to enjoy your breakfast, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the congee but it was hearty and warming and in the harsh climate of Arctika, nothing seemed to hit the spot quite like it. You take your time finishing your breakfast, but nearly gulp down the coffee, desperate for the satisfying buzz of caffeine. “Say, Zhilan, have you seen Bi-Han or Syzoth this morning? I can’t seem to find either.”

“The Grandmaster was overseeing the youth practice this morning, but I haven’t see Master Syozth, my lady, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help to you,” she looks down worried as Zhilan replies to your query.

“Ah ok, thanks so much, I’ll go pester Bi-Han then,” you slid the dishes into the sink before thanking the girls again and heading back out into the harsh cold. You make your way to the training grounds following the grunts and dejected cries from the young initiates, “Polar Bear, there you are!” You smile happily as you make your way across the training field and find the Grandmaster there sternly barking out corrections.

“Qīn, you’re finally awake I see,” he smiles playfully as he motions for Kuai Liang to take over directing the young warriors. He glares intensely at his students as he hears snickering and snide comments from a few of the more troublesome students, “you and you! See me after class. I have buckets with your names on them.”

You wince slightly at his tone and the harsh punishment of making the boys stand out in the cold for who knows how long holding heavy water-laden buckets with their arms extended. “Polar Bear, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have interrupted class, maybe go easy on them for once?”

“There’s no mercy in the Lin Kuei qīn, you should know that by now.” Bi-Han sneers before steering you off to the side, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, I don’t think at least, I just can’t find Sy and was wondering if you had seen him,” you answer truthfully.

“I saw him early this morning, something seemed,” the cryomancer pauses for a moment as if searching for a phrase that wouldn’t alarm you, “off. His eyes seemed unfocused and his breathing was hard, I sent him to the physician. I’m not sure a human physician will be able to tend to a Zaterran though.” Bi-Han answers as he cups your worried face and his cold fingers caress your cheek trying to assuage your worries.

“Is, is he going to be ok?” You ask worriedly, torn between staying with Bi-Han a moment longer and running to the medical bay.

“I think it’s just a fever qīn, I’m sure he’ll be fine once it breaks, Syzoth is a strong, powerful warrior, something like a little fever won’t keep him down for long.” Bi-Han reassures as he pats your head, his tall frame dwarfing yours.

“I’m going to go check on him, maybe the healers will have some more information,” you reply before reaching up on your tip toes to give Bi-Han a peck on his cheek.

“I’ll see you for dinner qīn, I have to work through lunch, there’s so many contracts to go through,” Bi-Han sighs as he bids you farewell and heads back to barking orders at the trainees.

You wave goodbye to your lover and his brother before making your way across the sprawling compound to the healers.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Study buddies

@seventypercentvodka here is the fic I came up with following your suggestion on this post. Have some (hopefully funny) junior shenanigans!

I really hope you (and everyone else!) like it, I had a lot of fun writing it!

The juniors are studying in Sizhui's room, books, notebooks and brushes haphazardly scattered about the usually tidy place.

Lan Jingyi is laying on the floor on his belly, sifting through a thick cultivation manual without really reading anything, while Ouyang Zizhen leans on an elbow drawing practice talismans. On his bed, Lan Sizhui dutifully reads his notes, back straight against the headboard.

The only one missing is Jin Ling, but as a sect leader, he has other duties now - though it is without question that he would be starfished on Sizhui's bed complaining about the work or falling asleep with a book on his face - it has happened before.

Jingyi cups his face underneath his chin and sighs. "You guys think Senior Wei would teach me the paperman technique?"

"What do you need it for?" Zizhen replies as he balls up another failed talisman and aims it for the garbage bin. He misses by millimeters.

"I dunno, I wanna go around spying on people."

"Jingyi," Sizhui calmly intervenes as he reaches for another cultivation manual on his night stand. "It is forbidden to-"

An eye roll. "Yeah, yeah, it's forbidden to disrespect people's privacy, rule 47 or whatever."

Sizhui smiles, just a tiny bit smug. "48."

Jingyi sticks his tongue out at him. "You're too much like Hanguang-Jun. Learn to live a little."

"Living a little shouldn't require blatantly disrespecting the rules, Jingyi."

"Ok, Hanguang-Jun The Second."

Sizhui smiles again, serenely, and "accidentally" sends a small notebook Jingyi's way. "Oops."

He barely dodges. "That was on purpose!"

"It was an accident." Sizhui replies, unconvincingly.

"Now whatever happened to the rules?! Lying is forbidden! Rule 3!"

Sizhui barely holds in his laugh. "I did not lie."

"Like hell you didn't!"

He's masked a giggle with a cough. "Do not curse, rule 29."

"You-"

"I will silence you."

"And I will tell Hanguang-Jun you snuck us out to the festival last week!"

"Being a snitch is forbidden!" Zizhen intervenes, laughing.

"It's not, unfortunately." Sizhui laughs as well, and Jingyi can't help but join in.

"We're actually encouraged to be narcs." Jingyi completes, half serious. "On ourselves but also others. It's disguised in shit like 'take accountability for your actions' and 'do not let injustice happen' but we all know what it really means."

Zizhen, "Who do you guys think is the biggest narc in the Cloud Recesses?"

"Hanguang-Jun used to be in charge of punishments, so it's most likely him." Sizhui says, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but he's not like that anymore. He lets us get away with a lot of stuff. Especially me, to be honest." Jingyi adds. "But I think the biggest narc would definitely have to be Teacher Lan."

"Hm... but he's the one that people snitch to. There's no authority to snitch on him to." Zizhen ponders. "And even if there was, who in their right mind would break the rules where he could know about it?"

Jingyi and Sizhui answer simultaneously. "Senior Wei."

Zizhen sighs. "He's an exception. Anyway, I think the biggest narc has to be Zewu-Jun. But he's lowkey about it. Like you won't know it was him that ratted you out, he seems so nice, but he's still his uncle's nephew, you know?"

"Zewu-Jun would never rat on people." Sizhui says.

"Exactly! Nobody would believe he's a snitch! The perfect cover!"

"Which is why I need Senior Wei to teach me the paperman technique!" Jingyi interjects. "So we can see what he does in the Hanshi when he thinks nobody's watching!"

Sizhui sighs. "He's probably meditating. Or doing paperwork."

"I wonder what Teacher Lan does." Jingyi says, reaching for the bowl of dried fruits he's brought for the study session. "I bet he writes the rules like a hundred times for fun. Or he practices lectures out loud and yells at pretend students!"

"What do you do in your room, Jingyi?" Sizhui asks, barely restraining an amused eye roll.

"Regular stuff! Eat, read, sleep... and other things, but what's that to do with anything?"

"Teacher Lan probably does the same things, Jingyi. He's just a person, like us."

"I don't see Teacher Lan doing..." but he stops himself from saying any more, a light blush on his face.

"What about Hanguang-Jun and Senior Wei?" Zizhen suggests. "What do you guys think they do in the jingshi?"

Embarrassed looks pass both the Lans faces. "Everybody knows what they do in there." Jingyi quickly adds.

Zizhen blinks twice before realization dawns on him. He doesn't share the embarrassment, though. "Good for them. Must be a lot more fun than what we're doing right now... well, we are getting fucked in a way too, aren't we. Mindfuck is a thing."

"Zizhen."

"I don't wanna hear it, Sizhui, I heard you calling sect leader Yao a bitch ass cunt under your breath at the last discussion conference. Don't you have a rule against hypocrisy up on that mountain of yours?"

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

🔆anon

I still need to expand on Trinity more. I’m writing this before I write the actual story and I know she’s going to make it difficult.

— —

Disappearing Children: Trinity

—

Trey honestly feels like he got the best deal, only having to look out for his sister. After seeing the mess in Heartslabyul caused by everyone else, knowing how energetic Dusk can be, and seeing how young Toryn was, Trey honestly couldn’t be happier to have an excuse to not help and say his time is already occupied.

That’s not to say Trinity is an angel, of course. She’s four. But Trey does know how to handle her well enough. He wasn’t her older brother for nothing. Plus the older brother to their younger siblings.

One thing that he remembered was Trinity loved to help with baking, so that’s where he started. Simple chocolate chip cookies. It worked as well as expected. She did mess up a couple of times, but that’s alright.

One thing Trey did somehow forget, though, was how much of a chatterbox she was. To the point Trey questioned if she needed air.

Well, he was disproven when she had to take literal breaks in her talking to take a deep breath, practically a gasp, before continuing.

She did need air. She just forgot.

She also seemed to have endless energy, but all of that went to talking. It was a bit of whiplash from the silent person she is today. Or was… until whatever potion.

While they waited for the cookies to bake and then cool, they spent some time drawing nearby. Luckily Riddle had some coloring books and crayons Ruse didn’t like for whatever reason. Though, Trinity seemed to love them.

Just small things through the day held her attention while she told story after story about things she remembered or tales she made up in her mind.

—

Trey: *holding an empty bowl and an egg* You remember practicing how to crack an egg with mom and dad, right?

Trinity: *on a step stool* Yeah! Momma said to just tap it a little bit and then open it. I remember doing it when I was really little! It was my first time and I did it too hard and it went everywhere.

Trey: *placing the bowl in front of her* I know! They still have the video of that. They played it a lot after you left…

Trinity: Yeah! Daddy thought it was really funny! It made everything feel funny. I wanted to play with it but Momma said no. She got me to help clean it with a towel, but that took forever. The egg got in really high places. That’s when Daddy started to help. He reached all the way up on the cabinets and tried getting it off. He was really funny, and-

Trey: *places a hand on her head* I remember, Trin. How about we do this egg first and then you can tell me a lot more once we have the cookies in the oven.

Trinity: Oh, okay! But do you remember when there was a bit really up high that Daddy needed a stool for? *continues to talk while cracking eggs*

Trey: *lets out a quiet sigh as he moves to help her*

— —

That one felt short. Was it short compared to the rest of the series, idk.

Trinity would probably be such a nice character if I wrote more of her and developed her.

But anyways, there’s another kid who did a complete 180 in personality.

Aw the clover siblings~

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

Harlequinade

Ledger!Joker x Harley (what I think she’d be like in the Nolanverse)

Warnings: None

Summary: Harleen assembles her costume and requests to join Joker in his mission to spread chaos, much to his horror.

Author’s Note: Woo! Last chapter of this fic is complete! I didn’t think I’d ever get it done. Harley has officially gone off the deep end. There’s no turning back now! Anyway, I renamed this fic on Ao3 to Fire Meet Gasoline in reference to a Sia song because it’s totally them. I’m probably also going to rename some of the chapter titles as well because they’re vague and not very creative. Coming up with titles is not my strong point. Anyways, as always enjoy! I really liked writing this. There will definitely be more to come.

Joker woke up to the sound of a loud crash. He sat straight up and scanned the apartment. He relaxed when he realized it was just Harleen. She was in the kitchen making something. Two metal pans had fallen on the floor.

Sighing, Joker stood up and stretched. He groggily walked into the kitchen.

“Whatcha doing?” He asked Harleen.

“Cooking breakfast.” She replied as she mixed something in a bowl.

Joker watched her work, admiring her curves in the dim morning light. 

“I found a pancake mix. It was in the back of one of those cabinets I cleaned out yesterday. You need to restock on food by the way.” Harleen told him.

“I don’t feel like going anywhere today.” 

“I could go later.” 

“How?”

“I’ll walk. Duh.”

“That’s not a very good idea.”

“There’s a Walmart three blocks from here. It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

Joker sat down at the kitchen table. Harleen poured the mixture into a buttered pan on the stove and let it cook.

“How’s your side?” She asked.

“Sore.” 

“It should be. That cut was pretty deep.”

“Your bad stitching is part of it.” 

“It was good enough that you wouldn’t bleed out. Give me a break. I’m a psychiatrist not a surgeon.” 

Joker smirked. “Practicing psychiatrist?” 

Harleen shot him a look. “You love rubbing it in my face, don’t you?”

“Oh come on. Who would willingly want that job? It’d be so boring. Paperwork, phone calls, and sooo much sitting. That’s all those people know how to do! Every time I see my doctor he’s sitting down.”

Harleen laughed at his dramatics. “I would. And it’s not boring. Do you have any idea how fascinating the mind is?”

“Sure I do. I’m a prime example.” Joker said with a wide grin.

Harleen shook her head and flipped the pancakes in the pan over. Joker wasn’t done.

“You’re, uh, too pretty for that place, doll. They would’ve ruined you.”

Harleen smiled a little. It was getting ridiculous how much he kept calling her pretty.

She finished off the pancakes and brought them over to the table. Joker grabbed the syrup bottle and made a smiley face on his, making Harleen chuckle. He could be so adorable sometimes.

After they ate, Joker gave Harleeen some money for the groceries. 

“Here. Buy what you need to. Try not to get stuff that goes bad quickly. Don’t talk to anyone unless you have to and don’t draw attention to yourself.” He instructed.

Harleen nodded. She threw on one of his flannels to stay warm in the chilly October weather, pocketed the knife he gave her, and went on her way. 

She bought the food first, avoiding people and laying low just like Joker asked her too. The cashier gave her a weird look when she checked out and Harleen guessed it was the love bite Joker had given her a couple nights before. Embarrassed, she hid it with her hair, paid for the food, and left carrying two big brown bags.

As she rounded the corner on the way back, she made a second stop. This was why she really wanted to go out. If she wanted to join Joker, she had to look the part.

The second stop was a thrift store with clothes and other miscellaneous stuff. Being October, they had out their Halloween stuff which gave Harleen more options within the style she was looking for. 

She came across a sleeveless black crop top with a red rim on the bottom. It was a bit too revealing for her liking but she could cover up with the reddish purple flannel she stole borrowed from Joker. Then she found two pairs of jeggings. One black and one red. She couldn’t decide which one she liked the best so she got both. Next she needed some shoes. She saw a pair of black lace up boots and decided they were right for the job.

A black belt with a diamond shaped buckle caught her eye. It wasn’t necessary but added something to the look. She grabbed it as well. She already bought hair dye and makeup at Walmart so she was good there. 

Feeling satisfied, she went to check out. There was a sweet looking old lady at the counter. She rang up the items and chuckled.

“Are you gonna be a clown for Halloween or something?” She asked innocently.

Oh she has no idea.

“Um yeah… Me and my boyfriend actually.”

“How sweet. That’ll be fifteen fifty two.” 

Harleen used some of the leftover money to pay. Joker had given her a lot. The old lady handed her the bags and Harleen nodded her thanks. She left the store and started the route back to the apartment.

When she finally got there, she began the climb up the stairs. It was a struggle with the bags in her hands but eventually she made it to the right floor. She put the bags through the window and tumbled into the floor. She stood up and carried the bags to the table. 

Joker was sitting on the bed tinkering with something. Harleen hoped it wasn’t an explosive. He glanced up at her. 

“Need help?” 

“I’ve got it.”

Joker went back to focusing on the device and Harleen used the momentary distraction to hide her costume in the bathroom. She stashed it in the cabinet under the sink.

Then she went back to the table and started putting the groceries away. She looked over at Joker and tried to figure out what he was working on.

“What is that?” She asked him.

“It’s a bomb. But don’t worry, doll, this is just the wiring. I won’t hook up the explosive part until I need it.” He said with a wide grin. 

Harleen shook her head. She finished putting up the groceries and sat down at the table.

Joker stopped where he was at and stored the device in a box with all his other weapons and supplies. 

“I’ve got to go wash my suit. I’m going out tomorrow.” He announced and grabbed his clothes from the floor.

“Wash it where?”

“There’s a washer and dryer downstairs. How else do you think I washed your clothes the other day?”

“There's a downstairs?!” 

“Yeah. It’s just kinda eerie down there. You probably wouldn’t like it.” 

“Oh.”

“Need anything washed?” 

“No. You go ahead.” 

Joker opened a door in the kitchen that led down a staircase. Harleen had thought that it was just a closet. Joker disappeared down the stairs, carrying his clothes in a laundry basket.

The next day

Joker and Harleen sat at the kitchen table, eating an early dinner that Harleen had prepared.

“What time are you leaving tonight?” She asked.

“Uh, probably around six. Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

Actually she was just estimating how much time she had to get ready. Joker was going out tonight and she was going to join him.

Joker stood up and tossed his plate into the sink. 

“I’m not gonna get any sleep tonight so I should probably take a nap. I’ll be in bed if you need anything.” He said with a yawn.

He fell face first into bed and curled up under the covers. Harleen waited a few minutes before she made her move. Once she was certain that Joker was asleep, she went to the bathroom and shut the door, locking it.

Harleen took out her outfit and looked over it. It was so perfect. She remembered she couldn’t decide which color pants she wanted and got an idea. If she couldn’t decide on one color then why not attach them both together? It would match the idea she had for her hair and it made her look more clown-like. As a bonus she could have an extra pair of pants.

So she grabbed the sewing kit from the cabinet and got to work. She cut the two pants in half and sewed the red sides to the black sides. Her sewing skills were not the greatest but they managed to get the job done. After the pants were done she tried them on to make sure they fit properly.

Seeing that they did, she folded them and stored them under the sink along everything else. She left the bathroom to check on J. She glanced at the clock. It was 4:30. She had plenty of time to dye her hair and do her makeup.

Joker was sitting at the table dying his hair green again. His makeup was scattered across the table. He finished with the dye and put his hair up into a small ponytail.

Harleen chuckled at how silly he looked, causing him to look up at her.

“What? I look gorgeous. You’re just jealous.” Joker quipped, tossing a towel over his shoulders.

Harleen stifled her laughter. “Whatever.”

Joker moved on to his makeup and she watched his process. He dabbed on the white paint first and then slathered on the black paint around his eyes. Lastly, he took the tube of lipstick and smeared it over his lips and scars.

Inspired, Harleen went back into the bathroom.

“What’re ya doing in there?” Joker called from the kitchen.

“Shaving!” Harleen lied.

“Good to know.” Joker mumbled.

Harleen set the hair dye on the counter. There were two boxes. One was a red color and the other was a black color. She read the instructions and opened them.

She took the dye out and dipped the bottom of one section into the red dye. Once it had soaked in long enough, she wrapped the strands in foil and moved on to the other side. She dipped it in the black dye and repeated the process.

While she waited on the dye to fully seep in, she began to piece together her outfit.

She put on the crop top first, careful not to mess up her hair, and then the mix-matched pants. She fastened the belt around her waist.

Harleen admired her work so far. She hoped Joker would like it as much as she did. That was all that mattered.

She checked the small clock on the counter. 15 minutes left until the dye was ready.

She worked on her makeup next. First she applied mascara and black eyeliner, extending it out into wings. Then she took her eyeshadow palette and smeared the blackest shade around her eyes. It looked similar to Joker's black paint but more smudged and transparent. She used the eyeliner again to make a line down her eyebrows and cheekbones. This gave the look another clown-like effect.

Next it was time for her mouth. She grabbed her tube of lipstick and spread the bright red pigment on her lips. She purposely smeared it on the corners and around the edges to look more like Joker.

Harleen glanced back at the clock. The 15 minutes was up. She removed the foil from her hair and examined the coloration. It seemed good enough. She divided her hair into the two sections again and braided them. The black side on her left. The red side on her right. 

Lastly, she completed her look with the black boots and threw on the red flannel. She looked at the clock again. It was almost 5:30. She needed to approach Joker now. It would give him enough time to process this before he had to go. She turned the door handle cautiously and tiptoed out into the open. 

Joker was leaning against the counter in his entire 3 piece suit, a full face of makeup, and freshly dyed hair. He was reading the newspaper to pass the time.

Harleen gathered her courage and spoke.

“J…”

Joker looked up at her and his jaw dropped.

“I want to be your partner in crime. Your harlequin.” She said, looking him in the eyes unafraid.

Joker stared back at her in shock.

"What?"

"I want to join you." Harleen repeated firmly.

Joker was speechless at first. She looked hot. He was starting to get aroused just by looking at her. He shook off those thoughts and focused. He was touched by her enthusiasm but he couldn't let her do this.

"Harley... I, uh, appreciate the thought. Really, I do. But I can't ask you to do this. It's too dangerous first of all. And I don’t want you throwing everything away just for me. There’s more for you out there."

"But I want this. I want you. I'm not throwing anything away. You're all I have right now. I have no job, no home, no family..."

"You have a doctorate degree in psychology. You could get a job somewhere."

"I don't have money, J. I was flat broke when I came to Gotham and now I'm fully depleted. Where am I gonna go? Besides, I don't wanna leave you."

"You could just stay with me. I'll provide for us."

"No. I'd feel so useless. You’ve done enough for me. I owe you something."

"Harley, no. I can't let you do this. You wouldn't know the first thing about this kind of work."

"Please. I can learn. You can teach me."

Joker started to get aggravated.

"Harley, I said no. What's even keeping you here with me? You know the risks. Am I really worth it?”

"Yes! I would've left a long time ago if I didn't think this was worth it. I...I love you."

Joker looked stunned for a second.

"Ha! Love me? You barely know me." 

Harleen gasped. That was hurtful.

"We've known each other for two months!" She shouted.

"Exactly. Only two months. That's not nearly enough time."

"You didn't have this attitude the other night! You wanted us to be together as much as I did! This is just you being defensive. You're afraid.”

"Watch it."

"No! You're pushing me away because you don't want to deal with these feelings. Just talk it out. It's okay."

"Just stop! Stop it. Just let me...let me think." 

Joker paused and stared at the ground. Harleen went silent. After a few moments, he seemed to come to a solution.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll tell you what. You can come with me tonight just to see how things work. If I see that you can handle it, then I’ll let you help. That sound good?"

"Yes. Thank you." Harleen said and stepped forward to kiss him.

Joker put his hand up to stop her.

“Harleen, look at me. You know what will happen if you’re seen with me and even worse if you’re caught, right?”

“Yes. I’m prepared for it.” 

Joker exhaled loudly and threw his hands up.

“I just don’t get it! Explain to me why, out of all the ways you could help me, you choose this.” 

“While I don’t entirely agree with the way you’re going about it, I like your message. Your chaos monologues are starting to make sense to me. I get it now. I don’t wanna help from the sidelines. I wanna be there with you. Whether you’re robbing mob banks or blowing shit up.” 

“You have no idea what you’re signing up for. You will be in so much danger.”

“So be it. I don’t care. As long as I’m with you.” 

Joker sighed. “This is just…baffling. I don’t understand. Nobody’s ever…” 

“Nobody’s ever what? Use your words.” 

“Nobody has ever, uh, cared about me this much. What is so great about me? I’m such a monster. You’re the complete opposite. You’re just so radiant. In everything you do. I love that about you.” 

Joker gasped. He couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Those sappy, gushy words actually came out of his mouth. He felt better confessing to her how he felt but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to vomit at hearing himself swoon.

Harleen, however, was elated to hear him say that. She reached up and tenderly kissed his cheek.

“You’re no monster to me.” She whispered in his ear.

They stared romantically into each other’s eyes until Joker snapped himself out of the trance. He glanced at his watch.

“Enough of all this sentimental shit. We gotta go.”

He took Harleen’s hand.

“Come on my dear. Let’s go stir up some chaos.”

[forest-falcon]

WIP Wednesday

Given that Virgil is into music and art, I thought, why not writing? I have a fair bit more written for this fic but I'm still tweaking it. Anyway, a bit of FishTank for WIP Wednesday!

Night Shift 

An alarm sounded and Gordon Tracy woke, ready for duty. Thankfully, it wasn't the piercing IR alert designed to wake even the likes of Virgil; so he stretched, kicked off his covers, then lay back, allowing himself a moment or two to appreciate his diverse collection of tropical fish, despite the ungodly hour. Most of his diurnal species had chosen to tuck themselves away into various crevices within the coral. He envied their option to rest as he forced himself out of bed and grabbed the nearest clothes to hand. 

The aquanaut followed his feet towards the comms room; his brain slow to shake the dregs of sleep. A warm breeze greeted him as he entered. 

Damn, does Scott never sleep?  

He looked to his Father's desk, but found it empty so scanned the balcony and spotted Virgil scribbling away. Grabbing a bowl of cereal, he headed over to join the brother who should have long been in bed. 

"What are you drawing?"

"Not drawing. Writing...well, trying to." 

Gordon attempted to read the room...balcony. Virgil didn't seem to mind his intrusion, so he perched on the neighbouring lounger and took another bite of his cereal.

"I thought you were an artist?"

"Can't I be both?" 

Virgil's baritone was mumbled out from around a pencil held between his lips. If Grandma could see them now, she'd clout the pair of them.

"Besides, I wouldn't really call myself an artist. I dabble..." His older brother shrugged.

"Don't you sell your art to studios for like four figures?"

"Sometimes five."

"Wow, imposter syndrome much?"

Virgil snorted.

"Who made you my therapist?"

"Just calling it as I see it bro. You should give yourself more credit."

He was rewarded with one of his brother's heartwarming smiles.

"Thanks." 

Virgil returned to silently re-reading one of his pages for possibly the fifth time in as many minutes. The paper was littered with arrows leading to hastily scribbled notes and no shortage of question marks. The engineer made a couple of sharp intakes of breath, as if calculating possible additions to his plot, before letting out a long exhale in defeat. The dog-eared journal, discarded in disgust, fell open at the floor. Gordon was quick to scoop it up.

"Don't!" A wall of muscle scrambled off the chair.

It was a weird combination to see something so big and powerful so...vulnerable? His brother gave the impression of a startled horse ready to turn and bolt.

"Aren't stories meant to be read?"

"It's not finished yet."

"I don't mind."

"Yeah but I'm not sure I want anyone I know reading it."

"Why, is it about us?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Gordon wasn't entirely sure why he was pushing his brother on this. Virgil's art was exquisite, so a part of him was genuinely curious to know what new masterpiece his brother had created. Another part of him almost felt the need for his brother to trust him. They put their lives in each other's hands on a regular basis. Why would Virgil not trust him with this?

"I...don't know." The engineer in Virgil always liked to give people a proper answer to any queries, but his brain denied him any real reason not to share his work, maybe other than the quiet fear of being judged. But Gordon wasn't like that. His brother had an arsenal of practical jokes, but they were matched by just as many compliments.

"Isn't your art 'n' music the same sorta thing though?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

A shrug.

"Somehow, it doesn't feel the same. I can't explain why. I guess...I'm new to writing. I'm used to you guys hearing me play."

Gordon smiled. Trust had to be earned and he had no intention of pressuring his wingman to dive beyond his comfort zone.

"Fair enough. I won't pry. You have your secrets and I have mine."

"What secrets?"

Truth be told, he didn't have any, but it was fun to keep his brother guessing, so he gave an impish grin, and wiggled his eyebrows for good measure. "Wouldn't you like to know?" 

"Fine." Virgil shrugged with a smile.

Gordon shoveled another spoonful. "Doesn't look like much fun though. Looks like you've more variables to solve in that little journal of yours than Brains tackles in his lab."

"Meh, the characters keep taking charge of the story and it derails my plot."

"Virgil?"

"What?"

"They're. Not. Real." He whispered emphatically.

"That's what I keep telling them."

"Dude..." Gordon shook his head with mock disbelief.

Virgil ignored him, but continued to erode the end of his pencil with his teeth. 

"You know you'll be blaming Brains for how those look in a few days. Why don't you take a break? Sleep. You'll be fresher in the morning."

"Can't sleep."

"Peru?"

"All of it."

There was a pause.

Virgil's shoulders slumped, his eyebrows knitting in a way that darkened his already silhouetted features. "It's never... about the one bad rescue though, is it? ...They're just the catalyst to unleash the rest of the sh*tty iceberg we keep trying to bury below the surface." 

"Just as well you have the most talented and by far the most handsome aquanaut here to come 'n' pick you up! I'll have you know that navigating treacherous seas is kinda my speciality."

[sunflowerjune]

When I re-wrote chapter 3 of my fic, this part became irrelevant. But I don't want it to languish, so here is a little drib-drab of Maglor and Earendil content. The context is that Maglor was living on HImring, but he got dragged into the ocean during a storm and washed ashore on Tol Eressea. Practically on Earendil's doorstep.

The Mariner settled Maglor before the central hearth fire and stood back. He looked at the elf lying before the fire. He was still shivering, seawater drying on his skin, sand-dust clinging to his damp skin and sodden hair. A bath then. And some broth. All his bones showed through his too-pale skin. He fetched a bowl from the kitchen and ladled a bit of broth from the pot that always hung over the cook fire into it.

He laid it down on the raised hearth to cool a bit and went to draw a bath, more glad than ever that one of his Noldor uncles – Turgon or Finrod – had insisted on fitting their little cottage with running water, though it stood far from any city.

He got their largest pot and filled it with water in the kitchen, hanging it over the hearth fire to heat. Then he sat down next to Maglor, and laying his head on his knee, began carefully to spoon the broth past his parted lips. Maglor sputtered a few times, but mostly he seemed to swallow well enough.

The bath! He’d left the taps running while he set about the other things, and now it was surely overflowing! Earendil started up, managing to catch Maglor’s head, but hearing the bowl clatter behind him. Well, he thought ruefully, screwing closed the taps, a bit of broth would hardly make a difference, considering the state of his guest and his floor already. At least he’d been in time, and the bath hadn’t overflowed.

Re-crossing the main room, he stood before the fire regarding Maglor once more. Perhaps he ought to give the elf more broth – surely he would be thirsty after such a long stretch in the salt water. After the bath, he decided, wishing he could ask Elwing’s advice.

He heaved the great pot into the bath room and drained cool water until he could add enough of the hot to make it a pleasant temperature for soaking. Then he fetched Maglor again, and unwrapping him, laid him in the bath. Maglor stopped trembling and his closed eyes at last seeming at rest. Earendil ran a cloth over his limbs and carefully washed the sea water from his face. He frowned in dismay at the long tangle of hair. He could wash the salt water from it, but he feared he would have to cut it. That could wait until Maglor awoke, he decided. He poured cupful after cupful of warm water over the Noldor’s head, shielding the elf’s eyes with one hand after he coughed and began to struggle at the feel of water pouring over his face.

---

Earendil began to grow weary. Steam fogged the air. The warm water dried uncomfortably cold on his shirt cuffs where they were pushed over his elbows and on the knees of his trousers. Maglor slipped and slumped in the bath, slack as he was, and Earendil had a deal of trouble keeping him from breathing in water. He’d done enough of that already, if the wet coughs that occasionally convulsed him were anything to go by.

There was much to do before he could rest. Maglor’s hands, which he’d thought were merely dirty, were a mess of cuts, the nails all torn or broken. One palm had a deep gash. And after he tended to his hands, he’d have to clean the floor by the hearth and make up a bed there, and feed Maglor some more broth.

At last he had Maglor dried and fed again and laid on a bed of soft rugs and blankets before the central hearth. Include something about how he does the work carefully anyway because Maglor needs his help/he cares about him.

He slipped upstairs to look in on Elwing, hoping she was still awake and would speak to him. But she lay on their bed with her back to the door. She did not stir, though he lingered some time in the doorframe.

At last he turned away with a sigh. It would not do to leave Maglor alone downstairs, ill as he was, lest he should wake or worsen in the night. He had vague memories of sleeping in the nursery with the boys one night, for Elwing had said they could not be left alone while they were feverish.

He made himself a pallet of all the blankets that were left, covering himself with the cloak hung by the doorway and sank at last into heavy-hearted slumber.

He stirred awake as a shadow leaned over him and felt Elwing press a kiss to his brow. He reached out for her hand, still sleep-shrouded.

Laughing a little, she pressed his hand and then slipped away. He heard her clattering about in the kitchen as he blinked away the sleep from his eyes, which fell on the still slumbering elf before the fire.

And his long dark hair lying half-combed in a bowl of water. Elwing. He smiled.

[ome-magical-ramblings]

ElNafi's works distillation: Archangels calling ritual, diarrhea spirit attack, and gnosis.

Catchy title, right?

Story time and practical in one post! wowie.

These are my previous three posts on working with Elnafi: ( Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ) I use Continental tarot attribution with hebrew letters, concepts...so when I say magician, think ALEPH not BETH.

In this post I will try to distill all the wisdom imparted on me by Elanfi hoping that you're motivated by it. I will definitely say that DON'T WORK WITH THEM IF YOU'RE NOT READY OR HAVE SUITABLE PROTECTION. I met someone who told me from a friend of his that she worked with Elnafi and ended up with stomach bleeding....I ended up with Diarrhea and loose bowl for 2-3 days, it's not fun happening to you at midnight from 2 am, 3 am, 4 am, and every hour of night. anyhow this is the summation of practice taken from this stomach attacking spirit lol. Elnafi appears a a whirling aleph, his presence is the duality of ternary. It's not the image of air boiling out of water that's hot and steaming under fire. Elnafi is like the whirling air produces when a planet full of coldest ocean and a planet full of the hottest lava appear, It's that whirling pneumatic pressurized air ready to cut down steel and iron. Primarily if anything....it is active wisdom in action. Awareness in action. What did I took from the dangers of working with them? I think it's better to give the practical work with El Nafi instead of going into the theoretical gnosis I gain. I want to say that the following ritual takes the same correspondence of directions of LBRP but I don't want to call it lbrp-killer or 10 TIMES BETTER THAN LBRP, I really want us to break away from this mentality. A wheel in a car is useful, a wheel outside of a car wouldn't really help you as much, ye? Same with the LBRP, within it's system it's wonderful...but outside of it? why are you doing it.

Cardinal Ritual of Archangels

Item recommended: Magician Card from Tarot or a drawing on a page of paper of it.

I encourage people to try the following ritual to grow a more...organic relationship with angels instead of just churning rituals in and out like a routine movement. This ritual only have one small condition for it to work well, I want you to go read about the four cardinal archangels Raphael, Michael, Gabriel, and Uriel. The internet is filled with junk, I recommend A Dictionary Of Angels by Gustav Davidson and then you can jump from there, Hadean Press have booklets on them, jump from there. look into all resources, etc. Anyway I assume you at least have some ideas about them and you're using the same correspondence as me: Raphael - East Michael - South Gabriel - West Uriel - North Once you got that, you will put the the magician tarot card in the middle of your space, start by the eastern direction and call Raphael "Archangel Raphael, Lord of the eastern wind and of wisdom shine your light and blessings of wisdom into this chamber", you should make your own prayer from the heart. This is part where you need to think of what you need from the archangel and also to give the archangel space to manifest, before you move to Michael rest and wait. Create a space in your mind and let archangel Raphael response come forth, just wait, you don't need to force yourself to be silent but let the archangel come forth...in presence. then go in a circle once and call the rest of the archangels from your heart. Once that's done, you will start the second part Circumambulation around the space, it can even be a simple circling around yourself if you have no space. The important thing is that you embody the principle of the card here you're like the hands of the Aleph card being aware, reaching out, allowing the element to come, like this: you can see the hands of aleph and aleph itself is creating a cross reaching out to other elements, the concept of magical chains plays into it if you read Levi, you're forging this chain of elemental energy to flow through you.

ℵℵℵ ℵℵℵ ℵℵℵ

How many times you want to perform the Circumambulation? easy answer is 9, the long answer is that it's up to you! Why nine? I don't know I was inspired by that number and there's probably some hidden concept that I need to contemplate in regard to how it works. Once the performance is done you can just stand there and ask yourself if the performance was satisfactory or not. I hope that this ritual help create a more organic relation with the archangels. Respect, Sincerity, Simplicity in your prayer. That's all. Concluding I would have added my theoretical gnosis into this, but it seems that this post is already, big lol, until next time.

[emilietheharpy]

Wow, your drawing is amazing!!! I would really love to know how to draw, but I'm quite hopeless even at that... But I try, I try to do everything creative even if maybe I'm only good at writing! It might not seem like it, but I'm quite temperamental too! Do you think the two things are related? Hehe! I can't wait to show you a picture of my cat when I can. She insists on having two breakfasts like a hobbit and would like to eat all the time... and now she's curled up and sleeping on my clothes... Speaking of cats, our beloved Freddie was a cat lover too, and today I want to dedicate to you the song he wrote about his cat Delilah! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lpj18JT0IKQ

A kiss from Your Christmas Friend

Hello darling ! 😊 sorry if i take time before reply i was at the hospital 😅 i had a tooth infection a few days before my birthday.seriously in my point of view your not hopeless you only need to continue practice draw and you can do it with time im sure about it ☺️ anyway writing is a way to be creative too my dear and im impatient to read your work ! For the temperamental maybe artist are i mean all artist no matter what they do need some inspiration and we take it in our feeling,our experience,our surronding so yes maybe artist are more temperamental that we think 😊 Im really impatient to see your beautiful baby girl ! She seem so cute and so nice to be around 🥰 cats are just fantastic and really lovely more important they are the best confident and adorable animal to had knowing that they are independant its great to see that they choose theyre owner and not the contrary,for my cats they always eat ahahahh i put them an automatic bowl i work 10 hours per day and i go out a lot with friends so i prefer be sure they can eat when they want i love them so much 😍 thanks for the song darling its made me smile no matter if i suffer or no actually and yes i know freddie was a cat lover it seem that we had more in common with freddie that we can think ahahah thanks again to come darling i hope you had a great day and week dear ! 🥰😊 take care of yourself and here i think lucifer want to said hi he come to lay on me during i made this reply

[pen-of-roses]

WHG 20 Prompt 2-Silver

WHG tag list: @ratracechronicler, @maple-writes, @concealeddarkness13 @drabbleitout, @grailfish, @forthesanityofsome, and @pied-piper-of-hamlet (let me know if you want to be added)

I volunteer. They mouthed it over and over again. Two easy words. Probably not even necessary ones.

They were already vibrating out of their skin.

The noise of the square was almost enough to make them turn around even before they fully saw the thick crowd of tightly packed anxious bodies around the stage being watched by the cameras and Peacekeepers. One wrong move, the accidental brush of someone else’s hair even, might be enough to set them off. 

Perhaps worse yet, their clothes alone were enough to draw attention. Everyone else was stuffed into their finest, whether actually nice clothing or the scraps they could pull together to create a passable illusion. On the other hand, they were still in the grass stained and sweat soaked cargo pants and hole riddled jacket they practically lived in now with their quickly cleaned hands shoved into the pockets. More than one Peacekeeper had already given a reproachful look at their approach.

Still, those passing looks wouldn’t keep them from easily slipping away. 

A couple extra steps into the crowd to get to the nearest alley, and then they’d just have to keep moving and be aware of the Peacekeepers for the next few hours. It wouldn’t be the first time anyway, nor probably the last. They’d probably even make it to the hideout before it became a problem. The memories of whatever training they’d had were still buried in that fog, but the muscle memory had apparently been etched deep into their bones.

They didn’t like thinking about why.

But there was the obscenely ruffled pink dress they had helped Calla stitch together for the past few weeks.

They forced their lead filled feet to step closer to the crowd.

There was the chance, a very good chance, that it wouldn’t matter anyway. The names would be called, unfamiliar ones, and they would simply slip away after that. Meet up with the two after and joke with Calla about whatever in the abyss that person from the Capitol was wearing. Oren would relax in a few days, probably.

The Capitolite-what had he called them–escort walked to the first bowl and their nails bit into their palms.

I volunteer.

It was two simple words. They could force those out. They’d only have to say them once. Or not at all.

“The first District Seven tribute for this year’s Hunger Games is…” Manicured fingers slowly opened the slip of paper, pausing for a more dramatic effect, before “Layla!”

If there was a last name, it was lost in the boneless relief that overtook them, even as the crowd went silent. What that silence meant was lost on them as the now tribute took the stage and ignored the escort’s attempts for words. 

Guilt settled in for their own relief. But they weren’t a hero. At least, not anymore.

The escort was quick to show all their teeth in a too wide smile as if completely unbothered as they turned to the second bowl.

In the corner of their eye, Calla held tighter to Oren’s hand.

“And our second tribute for District Seven is…” Another show carefully plucking out a single slip of paper.

I volunteer.

It wouldn’t be necessary.

“Oren Moorefren!”

I volunteer!

The words wouldn’t leave their throat.

A sob rang out. 

“It’s alright, Calla, let me go.”

“You can’t!”

“I volunteer.” This time they were a whisper.

“Please.”

Peacekeepers were moving closer and the crowd was moving away from the two. Murmurs were rippling through the crowd and getting louder. Louder. Too loud. Too much. Too… They needed to…to...

“No, no I won’t let you, I’ll..I’ll..I vo–”

“I volunteer!” 

They winced from the scream, hands grabbing for a weapon that didn’t exist, body ready to fight.

All eyes were on them. 

The crowd was silent again. 

That face was staring at them from the screen. The one they’d been catching glimpses of in mirrors and still waters since they woke up.

“Silver, you can’t! You promised!”

“I volunteer,” they whispered again, throat raw.

Forcefully, they lowered their eyes from that face to the escort and the stage and lead filled feet moved forward. The Peacekeepers kept watching, falling in to step behind them.

Once on the stage, the escort turned to them, asking questions, but they stared blank faced next to the other tribute.

Oren and Calla were both crying now. But they were both safe from this. And that’s what mattered.