#between work burning me out and trying to engage in my hobbies

[shinaus]

every time i come onto this app i truly just get sad that i'm not granted as much time as i used to have

[myokk]

Hi! I'm still feral for these two, would you mind giving us some art of them in their later years together!?

Hello angel!!!!

Sorry it’s taken so long to respond🫶🫶 but I wanted to draw some new art for this ask💓

We have: Sebastian and Eloise trying out their new fancy camera with a selfie, pictures of them with their daughter, and finally…idk I just always felt like this drawing is when they’re a bit older💓

I want to take this ask as an opportunity as well to talk a little about how I imagine their future (I have no chill & you can ignore this and just enjoy the art if you want😇).

I am a COMPLETE pantser - I never know how a chapter’s going to end when I start writing it (I always just have a few scenes I know I need to include to keep the plot moving forward). Although I have different *big* scenes I’m always writing towards, and themes/plot elements I’m always foreshadowing (shout out to @elliecutte for catching *almost* all of my hints and appreciating my general no chill😆), IM STILL NOT 100% SURE HOW I WILL END THINGS !!! 😳 I have a lot of endings I see as possible, and I think soon it will become more clear to me what will work the best💓

HAPPY ENDING:

Eloise and Sebastian become Unspeakables. I have a LOT of thoughts on this profession that could be its OWN post, and I feel like Unspeakables are generally specialized in one or two departments, but as their interests/research change they also change.

Eloise becomes an Unspeakable in the Mind and Death departments, with the occasional foray into Time. Her ancient magic is connected with all of these things (my version of AM is NOT like the game) & the Department of Mysteries is one of the only places that gives her any useful information about these things. Plus she thinks too much (it IS her hobby after all😆💓) and is very introverted so a hermit job like this is a perfect fit.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable as well, but I feel like it takes him a long time to specialize in anything, if he ever does. I just feel like becoming an Unspeakable is the adult equivalent of sneaking into the Restricted Section🥹🫶

They grow old together (I won’t explain TOO much) & have a lovely little family🥹 at least one daughter that they both dote on. Sebastian had an amazing childhood (idyllic until it wasn’t), and wants to give his daughter the same, and Eloise works hard to make sure their daughter feels the love that she never had growing up🥺

When Sirius is burned off the family tree, Eloise and Sebastian take him in🥹🫶 (they’re like 100 years old but WIZARDS LIVE LONGER…) The same happened to her all those years ago, and she wants him to know that his whole family hasn’t abandoned him.

Eloise LOVED her nieces - Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa - when they were younger, but as Voldemort becomes more powerful & people realize WHAT he’s doing, she has to separate herself from them. Her heart breaks seeing Bellatrix go mad, and seeing Narcissa engaged to a Malfoy out of obligation😔 (iykyk)

I haven’t thought any more about happy ending but I think it’s fun to think about how their future story might weave in with the actual canon events, ESPECIALLY since Eloise is a Black🥹💓

SAD ENDING:

After Sebastian gets his hands on Slytherin’s relic, it really starts to consume him and makes him even MORE obsessive than his natural tendencies - I imagine it similarly “talking” to him like Slytherin’s locket/horcrux did in Deathly Hallows (😳)

Eloise is deathly afraid of the changes she’s seeing in Sebastian and steals it from him (he would never willingly give it to her ESPECIALLY if it starts to feel like a precious item to him)

BUT the relic triggers the latent Black Family Madness in her - the madness that afflicts almost every woman in her family since…🤭 - and she herself starts to lose touch with reality. Her body and soul are already destroying themselves between the curse and the ancient magic inside of her, and the relic is what triggers it in her.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable, focusing on the Mind, in a desperate attempt to find a cure for his Eloise🥺

He never gives up his research, and sometimes when he comes home she is lucid and they talk about his research - otherwise, he just loves and takes care of her.

(He’s never successful in finding a way to reverse what he feels he caused in the first place - his ambition and single-mindedness is, to him, the reason why all of this happened)

Honestly who knows if I end their story either of these ways😌 I just love thinking of AUs and different endings and I have a few others I’ve considered as well!!! And whatever endings I don’t write will be immortalized on this blog and in my art as well🙏

[heavenlymorals]

Do you have any tips for how to write Arthur Morgan’s personality in general? I’m trying to write a fic but I feel like no matter what I do it somehow just makes him feel out of character haha. It’s probably since I’m writing one with a reader/oc character x Arthur. Like I don’t want to remove Mary from the story because she shaped so much of his character’s pain (since in my opinion I assume that Arthur probably got Eliza with child from a one night stand trying to bounce back after Mary had told him that she was engaged to some other man). But I also don’t know how to really write Arthur as he’s completely over Mary and how he is instead with someone he considers the love of his life, cheesy I know but I had too haha. I’m also trying to somewhat do a slow burn and trying to instead have Arthur seemingly brood over his love for the reader rather than how he did with Mary in the game.

I don’t know if this makes sense and feel free to ignore it LOL

Ahah here goes nothing- my consensus on a general understanding of Arthur Morgan-

I think the biggest thing that people should focus on when writing Arthur is his personality differences between men and women. There is a pretty clear divide between how behaves with men compared to how he behaves with women. It can change slightly between how close he is with the people, but it's pretty much the same.

With women, Arthur is very respectful and chivalrous. He even gets mad at other men if they don't behave accordingly. He is more interested in them as well in the sense that he'll listen to their dreams and hobbies and either add to the conversation or encourage them in some way that seems more meaningful, even if it can be at times superficial, just a way to be polite. However, he is no push over. You know that meme that's like "Me and my girl don't argue, she tells me to shut the fuck up and I do"? Yeah, that is NOT Arthur. He can raise his voice, call them out, etc etc. when he feels disrespected in some way or if the person is doing something stupid. We see this with Mary, Sadie, and Abigail. He is also more likely to talk about his emotions with women, but not really BE emotional. Idk if that makes sense, but I don't know how else to say it.

However, Arthur is more inclined to be disrespectful to women who don't fit into his view of life and the status quo of the time (ie. Prostitutes, masculine women, etc.)

Honestly, just think of that when writing him with your oc (I'm going to assume they're a woman 😭). Is Mary a big part of Arthur's character? Yes and no. He can obviously make time for her, but she isn't controlling his every action and thought process. His main focus is the collective of the gang and once the gang is safe, that's when he'll actively start looking for love because that's when he'll have the time and energy for it.

Now with men, Arthur is much more rough. He is very much a suck it up kinda guy with other dudes. There is clearly a hierarchy in the game and he enforces it, especially with the men underneath him. He forces them to work, doesn't take their excuses really, will call them out, will be mean, and will even make threats (ie. Sean). He likes men who are hard workers and are always on the go (Lenny) and is more likely to be jovial, open, and willing to talk. He also will take NO shit from other men and that will either leave the other man read to filth or a black eye. Arthur also does not disclose feelings of fear or inadequacy to other men, but he will show more active emotions like joy or anger.

Honestly, whenever I feel like writing Arthur, I just think of the average older American outdoorsman and it helps me out pretty well. Chivalrous and respectful with expectations and a no bullshit attitude.

Hope this helps and happy writing 🫶🏼

[thelasttime]

hi madie! long time follower, first time asker here. bit of a heavy question for a tuesday night, so I apologize in advance.

how are you able to keep up with so much and also be good at it and also enjoy it? like what drives your incredible work ethic? of course this is the internet and ik we only see your highlight reel and not the behind the scenes stuff, to paraphrase taylor. I'm just having a bit of a rough day academically, as in being totally unproductive all day despite setting intentions this morning to be productive and get a lot of homework done today, which feels very frustrating.

I know you're studying to become a doctor which obvi takes a lot of dedication and hard work which are things I've been trying to improve recently but simply do not come easily to me.

so ig I'm just wondering if you had any advice for being a more dedicated and committed person when it comes to things like school as well as hobbies (congrats on nailing your audition btw!). I really admire your work ethic and wish you all the best in your studies and life and everything! 💓

hello anon!! thank you for being a long time follower and thank you for sending your very first ask 💕💕 welcome to my inbox hehe

thank you so much for the kind words - it's true that my blog is quite like a highlight reel so you do see a lot of the good parts and very few of the bad parts, but i do try to keep it real on this blog. the main thing is that you can't beat yourself up when you have an unproductive day because it sort of snowballs into a bigger thing if you let it weigh you down. rather than taking this unproductive day as something to be ashamed of, take it as something where you needed the break so you took it!! and then tomorrow, be as productive as possible because you had the break yesterday

it's actually encouraged to be unproductive on some days. when i was studying for the MCAT, we were specifically told to take break days and to make sure that we didn't over-extend ourselves because we would just burn out too quickly. so what i would do is study everyday of the week and give myself a nice break on sunday to do absolutely nothing !! and that was necessary !!

i think what also helps with my motivation is that i really like to keep myself organized which means i am religiously devoted to my google calendar and my to-do list. the google calendar is to make sure that i'm not losing track of the things i need to do but the to-do list is the thing that really keeps me going. it's very satisfying to cross things off of my to-do list and it makes sure that i'm doing everything i need to do before the day is done. if i don't finish what's on the to-do list, i just move it to tomorrow and so on. you don't have to finish everything on the to-do list but it keeps you motivated to cross things off and make sure you're doing what you need to do.

when i was studying for the MCAT, i essentially designed a calendar where i would do certain topics on certain days so i would do chemistry / psychology on one day and then biology / biochemistry on the other day. that way i wasn't boring myself to death with one topic and actually keeping things interesting. if you find that studying is really boring (because it truthfully is, for everyone) i find that starting the homework that you hate the most is helpful because you get the worst part over when you have the maximum amount of energy.

another thing about school studying is that you shouldn't just look at the paper and nod thoughtfully - you should be doing ~active studying~ which is what they encourage us to do during MCAT studying as well. you essentially have to engage with the material in order to learn it well so you can't just stare at the page and pretend you know it !! there's a couple techniques of active studying that you can find online but i recommend anything between flashcards to active recall

for hobbies - it's all just my own enjoyment!! i know i get really lazy and in a pit if i'm not doing my hobbies so i have to actively push myself to join orchestras and do stuff outside of work. one thing that really helped me is to focus on a hobby and see what i could do in the area to get involved. so . i really like playing in orchestras so i spent a day focusing on the different orchestras in the area and then sending them emails about their auditions. that way all of my research and dedication to that hobby is done in one day and i get to reap the rewards later (i.e. they email me back about auditions).

it's also okay to let go of hobbies and find new ones. if you don't like your current hobbies, try new ones! ask your friends if they have any hobbies that you haven't tried already. try a new instrument! try painting! art! there's a lot to do and hobbies are meant to be fulfilling rather than draining.

i hope this helps anon!!

[shearmouth]

If you're "slaving over fandom," it isn't a hobby. As much as we writers like to joke about being chained to our manuscripts or WIPS, we do it because we love it. I write fanfic to keep my writing skills sharp and to make the fic I want to see in the world. I love having readers, but at the end of the day I write for ME. I have gone YEARS between chapters sometimes. Some WIPs will always be dust catchers, and that's ok. I had fun writing them, then life happened, or I shifted fandoms, and I put them on the shelf. Maybe one day I'll come back, maybe not. Either way, it was time well spent.

You know what I don't do? I don't plug my (or anyone else's) unfinished work into ChatGPT to get some soulless bullshit ending whose generative text was made possible by the theft of other people's work. Because I have respect for my art, and other people's art. If I want to come up with the end of a story, I imagine it. Not to be all "back in my day" old man yells at cloud, but not too long ago we had to cook this shit up ourselves, and the creative spaces of the world were better for it.

I've seen the whole "criticizing people for using ai is classist and gatekeeping" (thanks for setting such a great precedent NaNoWriMo), and frankly, I call bullshit. It's not classist to demand art be made by humans. Plugging a prompt into ChatGPT or generative art ai models is not creating art, and as someone who has devoted years of her life to the pursuit of my craft, in my opinion it's fucking offensive to claim otherwise. A thinking, feeling, passionate, imaginative human being didn't make that fic. A million data scrapes in a trench coat did. I think I speak for a lot of folks in fandom spaces when I say miss me with that shit. The world is becoming saturated with it. Leave it out of fandom space, for the love of all that is holy. Let us keep this single space that exists not for profit, but for joy.

No one is saying you shouldn't participate in fandom spaces because you don't have time/ energy/ resources to write or draw. Engage in other ways– read, comment, brainstorm, RP, reblog, commission, make a discord. Fandom is a community. Enjoy it, and patronize it. Don't dilute it with plagiarized bullshit. It is a luxury, but that doesn't make it inherently bad. Fandom is fantasy, and a lot of people need that to help them endure reality. That's not strictly luxury. It's survival. It's sacred.

Also, just because one's effort is not always equivalently repaid does not mean the effort itself is not worth it. Effort is important because it's literally how we change the world around us for the better. It's important to care. It's important to try, to strive, to love something enough to let it roughen your hands. Of course you can burn yourself out like this, and I myself am constantly re-learning how to titrate my energy and effort so they're sustainable long-term and don't destroy me like they did in my teen years. That's a lifelong process for most folks. That doesn't mean the effort was not worth it.

Art for art's sake makes us human. Don't sell out your soul just because creating is hard.

just saw a fanfic on ao3 have a dedication for chatgpt... that section is meant for your horny perverted mutual who proofread your work, you violated sacred law and you will be torn apart and laid bare btw

[c0smicfern]

can't tell how much of this is just in my head. on saturday, i temporarily lost the ability to verbalize twice for a total of like 2-3hrs that day (or at least i felt like i did bc i suddenly couldn't even force myself to speak). but maybe if i'd just... been less anxious / intentional about wanting to speak or even just not acknowledged the thought of, "is it just me, or can we not talk rn?" then maybe it wouldn't have happened?? least of all, twice in one day?? like that's a relatively new sensation in itself since it only started happening during my burnout. the closest thing i experienced before then was... feeling kind of paralyzed in my ability to articulate moreso bc of tension & needing to express myself perfectly. almost like repeatedly trying & failing a speech check. to the point where somebody has asked me a question & i sit there for some time before i'm able to offer a response. but it's not like i literally couldn't speak in those instances bc i still could have forced myself to say *something* in that time. i had just been paralyzed by social anxiety. which isn't what *actually* temporarily losing my ability to verbalize feels like. most of the time, i don't necessarily feel that anxious about it at all unless somebody's pressuring me to speak, which happened on saturday bc it happened at work. i was mostly just kind of pissed off bc i was so overstimulated, though. i went on my lunch break & felt better afterward. which is similar to how i broke out of it at the arcade later that night. but the fact that i was even able to go to the arcade & actually have a good time makes me feel like maybe i made both instances up in my head? it's just. none of this makes any sense. i've been completely fine since then, btw. went to the grocery store to pick up my meds last night & didn't feel overstimulated in the slightest. idk what's going on with me, but maybe i just need to stay away from substances. if i just stay sober, maybe all of this will just go away.

i just feel stuck between these two sides, people & experiences on both sides telling me that i either can't be or that i must be. i'd say i don't care, but that's obviously untrue. more than anything, though, i just want one stable, consistent sense of self. feels like i may never get there, but it's unlikely that it's bpd either, according to my therapist. maybe it's just adhd & i'm experiencing some very rare side effects from the medication? maybe i'm neurotypical & shouldn't be taking this medication at all? i literally don't know, and the inconsistency of my recent symptoms hasn't been helping the distress caused by the not knowing.

i've been... somewhat more repetitive lately, at least in what i'm consuming & thinking about. feels like my focus has been narrowed somewhat. i feel no more consistent in engaging with my hobbies, though. i'm much more tired. i can't even say my executive functioning has gotten any better, though i guess it has in some regards. task initiation & task switching have gotten more difficult, i think. maybe i'm burning out again? god, i fucking hope not. feels like i'm dragging my feet with everything that was... difficult to do before, but that i could generally still force myself to do. laundry's being done much less frequently. i haven't played a video game in... maybe a week. you *Know* i haven't been writing. i've been much worse about getting my hw done when it was almost a habit only a few weeks ago. i just feel *Tired*. might be worth trying to switch over to a stimulant medication, but i worry some of the side effects might... get worse on one of those. if i've been stimming more & getting overstimulated more frequently on a non-stimulant adhd medication, then what would a stimulant do to me? that is, if i can even trust those side effects to be, well, actual side effects of the medication & not a result of drug use. and *that's* the other thing. i don't feel like my impulsivity has actually gotten much better, at least where drugs are concerned. maybe the recent resurgence of my drug usage is an emotional response to what i've been going through, though? i feel like *maybe* the impulsivity has been less in other areas, though. i feel no more need for a routine, nor any more resentment towards change. but i feel a little more consistent in myself. i feel like *maybe* if my executive dysfunction & fatigue weren't impeding me, i could maybe create a routine for myself. i mean, i've been listening to the same 2 songs for like. a week & a half. where i couldn't stand to listen to one song on repeat for more than a day or two before. i've actually kind of preferred being super repetitive in what i've been listening to. point is, my desire for things to stay the same hasn't gone away, but i feel less impeded by my adhd from creating more stability in my life. which, regardless of if i'm actually autistic or not, i've been enjoying immensely. i feel like the conflict in my brain has ceded a fair amount. only, i don't feel any more functional. but again, i'm anxious about trying stimulant medication. either way, i'm talking to my psychiatrist about this all in a couple of weeks. maybe sooner. and who knows? maybe a higher dosage of this medication will be more helpful. it seems unlikely from the number of side effects i've already experienced at the starting dose (difficulty sleeping, daytime drowsiness, nausea, etc.), but i'm trying to keep an open mind. anyway, we'll see. fingers crossed that i'm normal at work tomorrow.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bent, not broken 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; injury; blood; fingering, mean Steve

This is a dark!fic and features the winter soldier and Captain Hydra x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: An attack leads to the uncovering of decades old secrets when you are taken by the deadliest assassin in the world

Note: Here’s part 3. Right now I’m bouncing between things but open to suggestion for the upcoming week for ongoing series. (I’ll likely just add onto my Lee fic).

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The days passed like a pendulum, swinging between paranoia and suffocating tension. You felt like an animal caught and caged. Much of your time was spent in that room, abed and alone. Your only contact was when Steve brought you your meals but the soldat did not appear again. You were relieved not to have the silent watchdog around but it also made you uneasy.

The pain dulled. Your shoulder loosened up first and no longer sent a jolt down your arm every time you moved. Your ribs were another issue and even as the agony was less intense and consuming, the echo of the injury remained. You felt brittle as if one wrong move would break you completely.

Then, when the pain was not so strong to distract you, you grew restless. The walls seemed closer together and the meals further apart. Steve’s appearances were brief and mostly wordless. He’d linger to check on your injury or bark at you to eat, but he wasn’t as talkative as your first day in the hideaway.

There was little for you to do. You were left with a copy of War and Peace and the tight font often left your eyes fuzzy and fatigued, your mind as well. There was a booth hidden behind the narrow door and you washed when you felt up to it, the water ice cold. You spent much of your time staring at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse on you.

You weren’t stupid. You knew it was all methodical. The indifferent isolation. You were being conditioned like a dog with a bell and it was working. You longed for any contact, any company, and conversation.

That day, the door opened but you didn’t move. You laid with your head on the pillow, arms crossed, and one leg over the other. Steve placed the metal bowl on the nightstand and sighed as he stood by the bed. You felt him watching you as you ignored him for the pale white above.

“Sit up and eat,” he said.

You glanced at him. The scar through his eye wrinkled as he grimaced and tapped his fingers on the table. You shrugged at him and sighed.

“I’m not hungry,” you said.

“Eat,” he repeated.

“I will,” you relented, “when I feel like it.”

“Now,” he grabbed the bowl and put it over your chest, “come on.”

You rolled your eyes and sat up and took the bowl. His eyes clung to you as you bent your legs and stirred the thick oats. The goopy mixture made a gross noise as you did.

“You don’t like it?” he said.

“Bland,” you took a bite, “doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he rebuked, “you better be done by the time I return.”

You looked at him as he turned away and headed for the door abruptly. You choked down the thick porridge and took another bite. You were hungry but the pasty oatmeal went down like rocks.

When he came back, you scooped up the last mouthful and put the bowl aside. He neared and draped a lilac dress by your legs. You stared at it then looked him in the face. His expression was as impenetrable as the mountain compound.

“What is that?” you asked dully.

“Don’t be stupid and put it on,” he put his hand on his hip, “I’d say it’s a bit more fitting than that prison uniform.”

“Is it?” you grumbled as you tentatively reached for the purple fabric.

“Or you can go naked,” he reached out and jabbed your shoulder.

“Fine,” you turned your legs over the bed and watched him expectantly.

He raised a brow and waited. You shied away at his unflinching stare and swiped up the dress. You crawled to the other side and kept your back to him. You took off the shapeless shirt and dropped it behind you. You pulled on the dress and stood, pushing down the baggy bottoms. The dress floated at mid thigh and left you feeling exposed.

“Your ribs are healing,” he remarked, “you should be able to take the bandage off.”

You faced him as he went to the foot of the bed. He waved you over and continued to the door.

“Should get the kinks out,” he said as he set his thumb in the sensor and the metal slid up, “a proper tour is in order.”

You neared as he turned and waited for you to precede him. As you passed, his eyes slipped down your body and he tilted his head. You looked away quickly and carried on into the hallway. There was little point resisting a man who could break you in two with his pinky, especially in your state.

“Looks good,” he said as he followed you out and came up arm to arm with you, “you know, you, me, the soldier, we’re the only ones who know about this place. Not that you know much, huh?”

“I don’t like games,” you retorted, “I’m… tired. Please, don’t--”

“I found this place in 1955,” he led you along the shining halls, “it’s had a facelift since then. A hobby on the side. Used to be Stalin’s hideout, akin to Hitler’s bunker if anything ever went south. When he died, the co-ordinates were lost. They sent me out to find it…”

“They? Hydra? Why--”

“Because the other guys didn’t care,” Steve said, “I saw how they celebrated my death as some patriotic feat. Like I was just a shield. You know, the ‘bad guys’, at least they don’t try to lie about what you are. They use you exactly like they need to and don’t sugar coat it.”

“And your… friend… you like how they use him?”

Steve stopped short and caught your arm, “it’s best for him. He couldn’t handle a clear mind. We keep each other safe, like we always did.”

“Mmm,” you hummed.

“As I was saying,” he nudged you onward, “I gave them a fake map and all they found was a demolished bunker. It kept them happy and me too. I got a place to lay low. Place of my own.”

You turned down the next hall. You were quiet as he led you along, past that room with the bar and around another corner. You lost sense of direction as he took you deeper into the hideaway. You came into a large corridor with a glass wall that overlooked a mountain pass without. You were breathless as you stopped to peer through.

“He’ll hurt you again,” Steve said bluntly, “we both know that.”

“Then why keep me here? You can let me go. I wouldn’t say a word, I wouldn’t even know what to say--”

“And why would I do that?” he asked blithely as he admired the deep drop and jagged offshoots.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“It’s much more fun to keep you,” he chuckled, “and he wanted you so taking you away won’t do shit.”

“I don’t--”

He raised his finger and hushed you. He squinted as he listened but you didn’t hear anything but the winds on the other side of the glass. Steve’s mouth slanted and he stepped past you. You turned to the end of the corridor and heard a soft padding that grew to a tremulous stomp.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve taunted, “sounds like a rough mission.”

When the soldier emerged from the next hall, you gasped. His face was a smear of grit and blood, his locks dangling and slick around his mask. His gear was torn and gashed in places and his metal fist clenched as the plates of his arm bore even more scratches than before.

He stopped and his eyes dilated as he saw you. Steve went to him calmly and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re back,” he said softly, “snap out of it.”

He tapped the mask so the soldat looked at him instead. Their eyes met as the soldier’s chest puffed and slowed. Steve’s other hand went to his chest, just over his heart. The captain leaned in and kissed his temple, issuing a whisper you could not hear.

You were too shocked and confused to do more than watch. Steve gripped Bucky’s jaw and turned his gaze onto you. He smirked as he held him.

“Look at her,” he slithered, “isn’t that what you wanted? A pretty little plaything.”

The soldat didn’t move, just stared.

“She’s all ready for you,” Steve let go and clapped his chest, “isn’t that a nice dress, huh? A nice peek of her legs… don’t you want to know what’s underneath? Don’t you want to touch it?”

You took a step back as goose bumps rose on your skin. Steve released him and snickered. The soldat brought one boot down and then the next, marching slowly towards you.

“Let’s have some fun,” Steve boomed and his eyes narrowed over Bucky’s soldier, “soldat, engage.”

His next step came down quicker and you spun on your heel. Without thinking, you dashed away in a blur of terror. You could hear him behind you, the heavy soles thunderous against the slap of your bare feet. You got around the next corner and your ribs throbbed painfully as your lungs burned.

You peeked over your shoulder. He wasn’t running, he was walking. A mock of a chase as he kept within sight even as you raced on. Your heart pounded in your ears and your legs felt like jelly. It was so long since you did more than pace your room or lay in bed.

You stumbled deep in the maze, all recollection of the path Steve led you on gone. You hit your knees on the hard floor and hissed. You had only a moment to gulp down air before you were seized by the back of your neck. You staggered as you were spun and your back collided with the cold wall.

The soldier’s metal hand was quick to grasp your throat and push your chin up as he held you on tiptoes. You clawed at his fingers as his other hand crept up your thigh. Your eyes watered as it felt like a vice was wrapped around your neck and chest. You quivered as the skirt caught on his hand and slowly rose with his touch.

You squeezed your thighs around his fingers and he poked you so harshly you whimpered. Your legs parted for him and he pushed against your bare cunt. You clung to his wrist as your other hand slapped at his bicep. His blue eyes focused on your skirt as he delved between your folds.

Your feet arched as you tried not to slip and your calves cramped. You whined through your teeth as he turned his hand and pressed the heel of his palm to your clit. He bent his finger into you and drew a pathetic yipe from you. He felt around inside and added another, eliciting another tremulous yelp.

“Pl.. please,” you rasped, “don’t… you don’t want to…” his eyes flicked up and met yours.

He paused as he gazed back at you and you squirmed. He hesitated and for a moment, it felt like he might drop you. Another set of footsteps approached evenly and Steve tutted as he came upon the scene.

“You shouldn’t play with your food,” he said, “go on. You know what you want to do. It’s why you took her.”

You choked as his fingers tightened and he buried himself to his knuckles, his hand firm to your clit. He rocked his hand and your body, every tilt sending a jolt through you. Your walls were scoured by his intrusion and your core thrummed at the distant stirring of instinct.

“Please…” you cried.

“Shhh,” Steve came closer and leaned on the wall next to you, “we don’t want him to break something else.”

“Wh-why--” you coughed.

“Faster,” Steve snarled, “make her feel it.”

The soldier lifted you off your feet with each dip of his fingers. You slapped your hand against the wall and reached for the captain. He swatted your hand away and backed up as he watched you. He rounded Bucky and peered at you from the other side and hummed. He sucked his teeth and came closer, his hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

“More,” he urged.

You closed your eyes and shrieked as his hand sped up, slamming into you over and over as your thighs clamped around him. You gritted your teeth as your pulse raced and you were swept up in a sudden fit of dizziness. You felt fire flickering from his touch, building and building a spark at a time as your body rebelled.

“Look at her,” Steve purred, “so weak, so small. Nothing. She’s not like us, she’s just one of them.”

You groaned as your cunt made slick noises around Bucky’s fingers and his hot breath glossed over you. He leaned in and his hand moved so that his thumb pressed along your jaw painfully. You whined as you felt as if he’d crush the bone.

“She’s almost there,” Steve mused, “faster, yeah, like that.”

You wailed as you came, terrified of the man before you and the way your body bent to him. Your nails grazed down the leather across his chest and your hand dangled limply as you let the tide wash over you. He kept on until you could hardly breathe and dropped you suddenly. Your legs folded and you crashed to the floor.

You kept yourself from keeling over onto your face and pushed your back against the wall. You peeked up as Steve took Bucky’s hand and licked his glistening fingers. You cringed as he let go and his attention turned on you. He knelt and exhaled deeply as he smirked at you.

“You want to know why?” he blinked and his nose scrunched sardonically, “because I didn’t want this. I was happy. Just me and him. Decades and he decides to go out and catch a pet.”

“No, I…” you rubbed your throat as it burned.

“Him, I know, but it doesn’t hurt any less,” Steve scowled, “but we can make it work.” He reached to you and brushed his thumb over your cheek, “I can make use of you. Just the way you took his fingers, that look on your face…” he retracted his hand and leaned his elbow on his leg, “and he could use an outlet. Something to ease the tension.”

“You… and him?” you wondered aloud.

“It’s the twenty-first century, isn’t it?” Steve stood and slapped the soldier’s ass. He got a sharp look in response, “not that it ever really mattered.”

“It’s not… I just didn’t… realise,” you rasped.

“Mhmm,” Steve intoned, “you’re just innocent.”

“I didn’t--”

“Get her up,” he ordered, “take her to our room and get her cleaned up. You too. You smell.”

You flinched as the soldier grabbed your arm and forced you up. Your thighs quaked in the after shock and your core ached. He pulled you away from Steve and you limped beside him. You shivered as the cold air enshrined your hot flesh.

“No touching,” the captain warned, “not until I say so.”

[voxiiferous]

"I'd be surprised if it was," From an outside perspective, Vox is certain he will never be able to articulate exactly what sort of relationship he shares with Alastor and Astor. He hates him, he loves him, they will kill each other and be the only people left as Hell burns around them. There are rules to their engagements, unspoken between them, and Astor had been an alteration to them after decades. At first, he'd been annoyed, and now he's come to appreciate the shadow for what he is, tonight even more so.

Vox rests a hand on his chest, faux offended. "Remind me to never let you meet my PA's wife. Dia would love you." And then he'd never hear the end of it, though her meat was, at the very least, usually cooked. Vox lifts an eye, a subtle annoyance at the reminder that he has, mostly, made his peace with. "Yeah, yeah, but that's old news. You didn't live through the 1950s dinner parties, you might be grateful to never have to eat another canapes if you saw some of the monstrosities that were made."

He grimaces, actually letting the expression project rather than the imperfect stutter of trying to hold the smile in place. There's not really any defence of the situation. "There's... a lot of work to do." It's a weak excuse, even to him, and that's a crying shame for a man who's job was propaganda. He might not be as good with words as Alastor but it's not like he's bad with them either! "I literally can't do that. Sinners can't die, beside, it's fine, just a little bored with it all." When was the last time he'd just... not worried and actually relaxed? Too long ago if he can't place it.

He can just imagine what sort of chaos aerial silks and a cat, shark or otherwise, would cause. Vark at least, has nothing quite like that for him to be able to pull down, and Vox is certain that may be a hobby he passes on, unless he fancies a broken screen. He laughs, "Pretty. I'm sure you're graceful." The city keeps building higher and higher, he's sure that Astor could see plenty from the rooves. "'Fly me to the moon / Let me play among the stars / And let me see what spring is like / On a-Jupiter and Mars," he hums, even if the top of the tower isn't quite Jupiter.

"Ah, now there you have me." It's not untrue by any means, the hostile takeover acquisitions speak for themselves. His empire was big, but was, by no means, made from the ground up in all areas. "I'm not sure that makes Vark a shark then-- he's less... patient."

"I'm glad," Vox says, pulling his hand back as Astor does. It's true, he's right. It's safer this way. No chance of anything, nothing... his fans whirl, and he nods, the smile firmly affixed once again. "Right, yes. Sleep, work. No rest for the wicked." If there were still blood to rush he thinks he might be lightheaded from that alone.

Vox laughs, forced and mechanical in a way that it isn't when it's genuine. "I'll be hearing from you then. I'd walk you out but..." he gestures around the penthouse. "Not really an out to walk to."

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[genshin-garbage]

Regret and the Truth

Lumine falls for the distant alchemist, Albedo, but he doesn’t realize his feelings until it’s too late. He hurts her in a way he can’t undo and regret settles in his heart. Regret can be ignored for a while, but it always comes back.

When Lumine first saw the alchemist, her first thought was that he was really pretty. When they officially met, she found the rumors about his coldness to be unfounded. He was quite pleasant to work with and engaged in conversation avidly. Albedo wasn’t shy about asking questions about her nature as a traveler of worlds, and was curious about her biology. She initially chalked this up to being about his research, but as the questions became more and more personal, she couldn’t help but be curious about him in turn.

Over time, their talks started to resemble normal conversations people have to get to know each other. Questions like: what are your hobbies and what’s your hometown like. Lumine eventually forgot how insatiable his curiosity really is and came to consider him a close friend, later even developing feelings for him. She went to visit his camp on Dragonspine whenever she was free, and when she had to stop by the Knights of Favonius headquarters she always asked if he was there.

It didn’t take long for most of the knights to realize Lumine’s crush, Klee especially was excited as she wanted to see the honorary knight be happy with her big brother. Aside from Klee, the knights generally supported her. A few who were closer to Albedo however, were a bit hesitant and tried to steer her away from him. Sucrose and Timaus in particular tried to tell Lumine about his one-track mind, and how he has a hard time understanding normal emotions. However, Lumine’s feelings couldn’t be stopped and those who were reluctant do eventually stop trying to sway her.

There came a day when Lumine had finally worked up the courage to confess her feelings with the support of her friends (and maybe a little bit of alcohol). It was sunset and Albedo had been collecting research materials in Dragonspine, she was a bit tipsy and waiting for him in his lab.

“Hm? Lumine? What are you doing here?”

“Albedo I, I need to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

Lumine approaches him, she was too nervous to look him in the eyes. “I, I like you a lot!”

“Hmm, I see. Then I wonder…” He leans over and kisses her. Lumine doesn’t kiss back out of surprise but quickly leans into the kiss. Their hands roam each other's bodies as they kiss, feet taking them to the couch nearby. As Albedo lays her down on the sofa, he kisses her down her neck and leads the night in a more passionate direction.

Lumine wakes up naked next to Albedo. Her head stung a little but she remembers clearly what had transpired. She blushes hard, she felt there was a possibility of Albedo returning her affections but she didn’t expect the night to turn in that direction. It felt good though and she doesn’t regret it. He never properly said he liked her back however, which irked her a bit, but there was still time. She feels Albedo stir below her, one hand moving from her waist to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes.

“Mhmmm, good morning.” He sits up carefully so as to not push her off the couch.

“Good- good morning.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel great. A bit sore but I really enjoyed last night.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary? No changes anywhere?”

“No?” She hesitated, dread washing over her. “Last night, you never really told me how you felt.”

“About that, I don’t want you to misinterpret my actions. I was merely curious about your biology and how your kind reacts to romantic interest, nothing more. Perhaps if the results were different we could have continued this charade a bit longer, but they turned out to be the same as any average person in Teyvat.” He reaches over to grab his shirt from the floor. “Please excuse me, I have work to do and I must record the data from this experiment.”

Lumine shifted off him but remained silent, tears began to well up in her eyes as she felt her heart be torn to shreds by every word that came out of his mouth. To him she was nothing more than an experiment, a specimen in his research to find the truth to this world. She was had, used, and now was being discarded as if she was nothing. “So last night, my confession, it all meant nothing to you? All those times you called me beautiful, was it all a lie?”

“No, not entirely. You are attractive and your company is pleasant enough.” He puts on his clothing as he speaks, his tone disinterested and his face neutral. It was clear he didn’t care what happened next or how Lumine felt. “However, beyond my research I don’t feel the need to be anymore than acquaintances. It was simply convenient to use your attraction to get a better idea of how you work.”

“I see.” Her voice cracked and Albedo turned to look at her. Tears fell down her cheeks and a fake smile plastered on her face as she put on her clothing. “I’m- I’m glad that I was at least some use to you. I, uh, I need to go. Paimon must be wondering where I am. Goodbye.”

She rushes out the door leaving a surprised Albedo alone in the lab. While he did expect her to be upset, he didn’t expect her to still treat him with such kindness. He expected her to beat him screaming at him for playing with her emotions. He felt a tinge of regret before smothering it, there wasn’t time for regret in the pursuit of knowledge. It was a necessary step in getting the data he needed. Still, the hurt expression lingered in his mind as he planned out his new routine until the people of Mondtstadt forgot about this incident.

The next few weeks, Lumine was emotionally absent. It was hard not to notice how she robotically went through commissions, taking more of them as well as bounties. Paimon noticed that what little sleep she did get on a daily basis was cut from her schedule, and that she had started eating less. Whenever anyone asked what was wrong, she would always say that she was fine. They knew it had something to do with Albedo, but he was more elusive than usual. He was the last to come and first to leave during meetings, all of his experiments now took place in Dragonspine, and his time spent babysitting Klee was now spent studying the area around Star Snatched Cliff.

One night, they had finally had enough and managed to convince Diluc to let Lumine drink in hopes that some alcohol in her system would finally get her to tell them what was wrong. He agreed, and so Lisa, Jean, and Amber took Lumine out on a girls night out while Diluc manned the bar.

Lisa was the first to prod after Lumine was decently drunk. “So Lumine, What happened between you and Albedo? You haven’t asked about him in a long while. Did your confession not go well?”

“He- he doesn’t like me in that way. I’m nothing but a specimen in his research.” Lumine takes another long sip of her drink. “He said it himself, ‘beyond my research I don’t feel the need to become anything beyond acquaintances’.”

“I have a feeling that if he had simply rejected you, you wouldn’t be this upset.” Jean stated. “Something else happened between you two. You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but as your friends we want to help you in any way we can.”

“Yeah! Like Jean said! We all hate seeing you all mopey and sad! If Albedo did anything to you I’ll make it my personal mission to set Barron Bunny on him!” Amber added, crossing her arms to exaggerate her point.

Lumine, touched by their words, and incredibly hammered at this point, began to cry. “Tha-thank you guys. I- after I confessed we spent the night together, it was consensual and I enjoyed it, but the morning after he admitted that he only slept with me as part of his research. I- I really thought he liked me back, but he used me! I feel like there’s something wrong with me! I feel so dumb for falling for him, Sucrose and Timaus even warned me! Am I just not good enough? I thought I had a chance, but I was so foolish for thinking I was good enough. Why would he fall for someone like me? I’m nothing but an outlander!”

The rest of her words become unintelligible babble and wails. Amber held her in a tight hug as she bawled her eyes out. Looks were shared between the three women and Diluc as a roaring rage began to burn in their eyes. How dare he use Lumine like this. How dare he play with her feelings, then cast her aside like a toy. Any sort of respect they had for the alchemist beyond his genius had dissipated in the wind.

It wasn’t long before everyone in Mondstadt knew what had happened. He found the increased difficulty in obtaining items in shops and finding people to assist him irritating but not unexpected. He didn’t care about the glares from adults, but the questions from Klee did sting.

“What did big brother do to big sis Lumine to hurt her feelings? Klee can go get Jean and see if she can help big brother make up with Lumine!”

“It’s ok Klee, I’m sure Jean and Lumine have better things to do.”

“But-”

“Klee, it's fine. How about you go play outside.”

“Ok…”

As Klee exited the lab, Sucrose came in. She had an anxious look and was fidgeting. “Master Albedo? Do you have a moment? I wish to speak to you about something.”

“Very well, what is it Sucrose?”

“Why- why did you do that to Lumine? There were other ways to get the data you wanted without hurting her. So why did you do it?”

“It was simply the most convenient way at the time, and the data I collected was easier to analyze since I didn’t have to rely on a third party. It was simply easier to get objective information.”

Sucrose clearly didn’t like that answer as her body tensed up and her face had a hurt expression. “I see. I’ll leave you be then. I won’t be available to assist you for a while. I hope your research was worth Lumine’s pain.”

She stormed off in a quiet rage and left Albedo alone in the lab. He seemed to be alone more, he attributed it to the lack of hands helping him but he knew deep down it was because Lumine wasn’t there anymore. For the second time, regret flared up in his heart before he smothers it again. If loneliness was a consequence of getting closer to the truth, then he shall make himself the loneliest man alive.

The month after the confrontation with Sucrose, he overhears that the traveler had returned from Liyue with someone. He pays this no mind until he sees her with the man himself. An ugly feeling rears its head as he sees her laughing and smiling with a green haired man. If Albedo hadn’t been so observant he would have thought the man to be annoyed by her presence, but he notices how soft his eyes look at her and how he stands in a position ready to protect her if anything were to suddenly happen. When the man pulls a fallen leaf out of her hair, the ugly feeling grips harder.

Before he can stop, he realizes that he’s walking towards them. It’s too late to turn around as they notice him. “Welcome back, Lumine. May I ask who this is?”

Lumine shifts uncomfortably in place, she turns to hide herself a little. “Oh, uh, hello. This is Xiao, Xiao this is Albedo.”

“Is he the one you’ve spoken about in the past?” Xiao’s expression has lost its softness as he looks at Albedo.

Lumine hesitates to answer the question, nervous of his reaction. “Yes… yes he is.” She grabs his arm when she sees him tense up. “Please don’t do anything, it’s in the past. I just want to forget it happened.”

“Hmph, fine.”

“I shall take my leave. Enjoy your stay in Mondstadt and a pleasure to meet you Xiao.”

“I cannot say likewise.” He growls.

As Albedo walks away, he sees in the reflection of a store window that Lumine had kissed Xiao on the cheek.  Flustered Xiao turns away, but not without holding her hand in return.

“That could have been me.” The thought stakes its claim in his mind. As much as he tries and tries, he can’t smother the feeling of regret in his heart. He loves Lumine, but he hurt her, and now he can never have her. When he turned into his lab, he sunk down onto his knees and truly let the feeling sink in. He was a genius but clearly he still had much to learn, he just wished he had realized sooner what his teacher truly meant when she told him to learn the truth to this world.

He closed his eyes and hoped that if he were to ever be reborn he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, then let the darkness consume him.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: anything with Jiang Yanli, I’d love to see more of her PoV

part 2 of whumptober 20 (JYL/LXC field medicine)

ao3 link

-

It wasn’t that Jiang Yanli never thought about other men.

After all, she was a female cultivator, and her opinion was therefore one of the ones that was rather eagerly solicited when it came to naming the most attractive young masters in the cultivation world; it was only that it had never seemed to matter. After all, she was engaged, and always had been, to her mother’s dearest friend’s only son, and that, it had seemed at the time, was that.

Oh, her father spoke warmly about marrying for love and not for obligation, but Jiang Yanli had never quite understood what he meant. Even if she didn’t love Jin Zixuan, she loved her mother enough to want to respect her wishes, and it was easy enough to dismiss what negative things she’d heard about him – arrogant, self-centered, impetuous, but of course he was still young, and weren’t most teenage boys like that? – and instead daydream about the life she would have in the future.

When she was young, it was mostly daydreams of having some faceless man (she couldn’t imagine little Jin Zixuan, who at three years younger was barely more than a baby) bring her gifts and tease her and kiss her, then say she was the prettiest person he’d ever seen. The way she’d always heard was supposed to be how lovers talked, the way people said that a marriage ought to be like - the way her parents’ marriage had never been.

When she was a bit older, her thoughts drifted away from retreading romantic stories and to the actual work of being married, of being the mistress of Lanling Jin. In the beginning, her duty would be to first and foremost produce an heir and a spare, to remain healthy throughout the process, and to support her husband as he slowly began to take on the duties that would eventually become his, but later on it would get more interesting. A sect leader could not be everywhere, and his wife would often be left in charge when he was not at home – she would have to know everything about the sect, same as him, enough to make decisions in his absence; she would have to answer correspondence, make decisions, negotiate with traders, collect duties, enforce the peace, and she’d also have to manage the sect’s social scene on top of it all.

She probably wouldn’t have much time to cook, Jiang Yanli thought wistfully, thinking about how Lanling women prided themselves on never having to lift a finger for themselves, and threw herself into her favorite hobby now, while she still could. If she was clever about it, she might be able to get good enough at it that her future husband would find some dish of hers that he liked, something that only she could make, and then her cooking would be something done at his request – a charming idiosyncrasy, an indulgence of sweethearts.

When she got older still, and learned about Sect Leader Jin’s philandering and the iron grip of control Madame Jin imposed on Lanling in order to keep her position in the face of all the backstabbing and politics, she thought to herself that that sounded exhausting. But by that point, all of her childhood daydreams had Jin Zixuan’s name on them – although admittedly not his face, for all that he had grown up into one of the most handsome young men of his generation, and certainly not his mannerisms – and it was far too late to raise a fuss now. So Jiang Yanli studied willpower in addition to trade routes, learned how to exploit social norms in addition to how to manage a dinner party, taught herself how to play people just as well as she played the guqin, absorbed the lessons of both murder and mathematics, and above all figured out how to stand up for herself and what she believed in no matter what overwhelming pressure she might face.

Even though Jiang Yanli was pretty sure that Madame Jin wouldn’t appreciate that last part in a daughter-in-law, especially not one reputed to be as easygoing as her father.

(“Let her be upset,” her own mother had snorted when Jiang Yanli had tentatively raised the issue. “Are you supposed to ruin your own future because she’s a bitter old mother-in-law that’d rather not give up control so early? I may have agreed to marry you to her son, A-Li, but she agreed to marry him to my daughter. If she wanted easy and pliable, she should have thought again.”

“But she’s your friend,” Jiang Yanli had said, frowning a little. “Don’t you want her to be happy?”

Her mother had looked tired. “Once, more than anything,” she’d said. “But the chance for that passed long ago.”)

So it wasn’t that she didn’t notice other men. It was just that there was no point in allowing herself to look, and she knew enough of her parents’ marriage, and of Madame Jin’s, to not want to look.

And then, suddenly, there was.

Her engagement was broken. One could say that it happened at her own beloved brothers’ hands, at her father’s blind dislike of arrangements even when it was one his own daughter had long ago accepted and had even learned to long for, but in truth Jin Zixuan was a proper young master, old enough to make decisions for himself, to exercise some control over his own life, and the first bit of control he’d taken into his own hands was to decide that he didn’t want her.

It was – not fine, no. She spent some time crying over it, and yet more time comforting Wei Wuxian who was distraught at having caused her pain, and the most time of all quietly wondering what the point of her existence was now that she was no longer useful as a marriage tool. She’d never been much of a cultivator, never been especially pretty, never been anything more than average – what was the point of her?

Maybe that was when she’d decided to pick up medicine.

Field medicine was womanly enough to satisfy critics, and yet it was something useful in a practical sense: she could save people’s lives, if she only learned enough, and studying she could do.

Sometimes, she even got the chance to save the lives of very attractive people, like when the First Jade of Lan lay crumpled in the cot before her as she patched him up. So this is the one they ranked first, she thought, examining him with her eyes even as she kept her hands busy, and she was forced to admit that the other female cultivators of her generation had good taste. He was devastatingly handsome.

Kind, too, she soon learned; gentle and courteous in his mannerisms. He smiled often, which she appreciated in a person (if one interpreted Jiang Cheng’s scowls as smiles, he smiled nearly as much!), and he seemed to genuinely admire her efforts at medicine, however rudimentary. Over dinner, which he insisted on sharing with her even after he was well on his road to recovery, the conversation between them flowed easily and well: they both had brothers they loved, which was a conversation topic of which neither of them would ever tire, and they both enjoyed art and music. He didn’t know the first thing about cooking, but enjoyed asking questions (especially after she’d made him a meal he particularly enjoyed, which was often), while she enjoyed the way he blushed when she teased him.

She didn’t think much of it, of course. If she couldn’t keep the husband that had been promised to her since before she could walk – if she was too dull, too plain, too weak, too average to be worthy of an untried young man like him – then she definitely had no hope of catching the most attractive and capable young master of their generation, a dashing war hero and sect leader in his own right.

And then, when they were both laughing over an especially hair-brained scheme they’d concocted to try to get Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian to spend more time together – Jiang Yanli had noticed how much Wei Wuxian talked about Lan Wangji once he’d returned to the Lotus Pier, and Lan Xichen swore up and down that Lan Wangji had been no better – he turned to her and said, “If you were in Gusu, your brothers would be sure to come to visit you.”

“Me, in Gusu?” Jiang Yanli was startled into a laugh. “Why would I be in Gusu? As your guest?”

Lan Xichen coughed. “I had been hoping for something – a bit more permanent than that. If that would be something you would be open to.”

It actually took her a moment to understand, and then she had to raise her hands to cover her suddenly burning cheeks.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he said hastily. “Just something to think about, if you’re interested…and of course, if your heart is elsewhere –”

“It isn’t,” she blurted out, and had to turn away.

“I’d hoped that was the case,” he said quietly, his voice warm. “I’ll take my leave, Mistress Jiang.”

Jiang Yanli had grown up thinking of herself as the future mistress of Lanling Jin, with its riches and its beauty and its poisonous heart, and then she’d assumed she’d be nothing at all, an old maid that helped Jiang Cheng manage his sect until he finally found a wife to suit him.

She’d never thought about being the mistress of Gusu Lan.

Gusu Lan, which was not as wealthy as Lanling Jin but just as complex – with its own trade routes and subordinate sects and business to manage – with its beautiful and serene landscape, its culture that emphasized harmony and unity rather than backstabbing – with no overbearing mother-in-law that would have barely been tolerable even when her own mother would have been there to hold her back, but would have been impossible without such protection –

She hadn’t dreamt of Lan Xichen as a child, or even as a teenager, but when she thought about all those dreams with a faceless man that she’d named Jin Zixuan regardless of any similarity to the real thing…

Lan Xichen fit in much better to the idea in her head than the real Jin Zixuan ever had.

“I won’t live separately,” she told him when he came over the next day, before he could even say a word; it had been just about the only problem she could see with his proposal. “In another house, certainly, but not an entirely different dwelling, and if I have any children, I would want them to live with me regardless of their gender.”

“I wouldn’t dream of having you so far away,” he said, and he was smiling again, broad and bright and – somehow, impossibly – hers. “Might I kiss you?”

“You may,” she said, and he did.

“Mistress Jiang,” Lan Xichen said a moment later, “you’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.”

Remarkable, Jiang Yanli thought to herself, was better than pretty any day.

[ariel-seagull-wings]

TOP 12 SNOW WHITE PORTRAYALS

@princesssarisa​ @superkingofpriderock​ @sunlit-music​ @mademoiselle-princesse​ @amalthea9​ @theancientvaleofsoulmaking​ @astrangechoiceoffavourites​ 

Lips red as blood. Skin white as snow. Hair black as ebony. The fairest woman of all.

Snow White is one of the most iconic fairy tale characters ever created. And also  one of the hardest to portray. This happens because, the story is less about her as a person, and more about following her exploration of the world and how this world reacts to her. The tale calls her a princess, but really she is more meant to be a common everygirl for a variety of readers and audiences to see themselves in. So the greatest challenge to portray the character becomes how to make at the same time universally relatable, and an individual character, and today, i’d like to share my favorite portrayals, that camed closer in acomplishing this goal.

12º Laura Berlin in Sechs Auf Einen Streich (2009)

Berlin’s Snow White acts as an outgoing, playfull young lady who deep down is trying to deal with the longing for her dead mother. And then, her father marries a new, vain and cruel woman, and sayed woman orders that the portrait of the previous queen be trown out, wich obviously makes the princess verbally snap against her father weak-willed and her tyranical stepmother. And then her father has a stroke and her stepmother orders her death. Here is a young lady in an emotinal turmoil and distress, wich makes her very relatable to audiences.

11º Nicola Stapleton and Sarah Paterson in Canon Movie Tales: Snow White (1987)

One of the first times that we see the fair princess explicitly growing up from child to young adult. Nicola Stapleton is probably more charismatic as child! Snow White, having more time on scene where she gets to sing with her father, explore the room where her stepmother keeps the magic mirror, until finally having to run trough the woods and meeting the dwarfs, but Sarah Paterson also makes adult! Snow White likable, singing about her desire to someday leave the dwarfs house because she is growing and may need her own space, and showing the doubt between fear and curiosity in her interactions with her disguised stepmother. This highlights more the themes of coming of age and confronting ones fears from the tale.

10º Yuri Amano/Donatella Fanfani/Eileen Stevens in The Legend of Snow White (1994)

In this italian-japanese coproduced anime, the twelve year old Snow White is an inquisitive, merry and kind girl, that has to adapt to a more scary reality when she has to run away from the castle to not be killed. At the dwarfs house, where she is so hungry and tired she takes all bread from a basket and sleeps for hours, she decides to give her hazelnuts and try to do shores to compensate for entering the house and eating the bread. Unfortunally, being a princess who lived in comfort all her life, she fails hard when she tries to do domestic shores, burning bread and cutting lettuce that she tought were garden plagues. But she is so sweet and kind, that it doesn’t matter. Conquering the affection of people for who she is, and not for what she can do in exchange, is the greatest strenght of this encarnation.

09º Elizabeth McGovern in Faerie Tale Theatre (1984)

A lonely girl who just wants some atention and love. Those are the characteristics that McGovern’s Snow White extablishes for herself in her first appearance, trying to impress her stepmother with juggling tricks learned with the Court Jester. Later, in the forest, when she is about to be stabbed, she prays to God for the soul of the Huntsman who is about to kill her, and to her surprise this act of kindness is what changes the Huntsman’s heart and convinces him to spare her life. In the woods she finds the dwarfs cottage, and can finally have friends to talk about things like her nostalgia for swiming in the castle moat/pit. She won’t feel alone again. 

08º Kristin Kreuk in Snow White: The Fairest of them All (2001)

In this Hallmark TV Movie, Kreuk gives a 16 year old Snow White who searches friendship in garden gnomes. In a way, she expands the theme of loneliness explored by McGovern, and goes deeper about it, relating sayed loneliness with beauty: she is an awkward and melancholic person, who feels that people only care with her pretty appearance, but don’t actually come close to truly meet her as a person. In a lesser hand, this idea of a person who thinks being considered beautifull is hard could sound absurd and over dramatic, but the screenwriters and Kreuk’s sincere performance make it a compelling dilema.

07º Natalie Minko in Schneewitchen (1992)

An energetic fifteen year old, who likes to run around to play with the Court Jester, and mess up the kitchen while doing pancakes that glue in the ceiling. Minko’s Snow White is one of the few Snow White’s who is allowed to act as a normal teenager: she makes messes, she sometimes verbally fights with people, she constantly questions the adults around her, all the wille still being a genuinelly kind hearted person pursuing the path of truth.

06º Tamara Rojo in Emilio Aragon’s Blancanieves (2005)

I loved watching the DVD of this ballet production over and over as a kid. Trough dance movements, Tamara Rojo gives us a gracious and fun princess. Whetever she goes, a party will always start.

05º Adriana Caselotti in Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

My first portrayal of Snow White. The Disney version was raised working as a palace scullery maid, wich her stepmother hoped would make her ugly. But that didn’t work. She grows beautifull in body and soul: her singing voice is so sweet it is enough to make a dashing Prince fall in love with her, the animals are always engaged by her joyfull and sassy conversations, and she has a firm way of talking that assures a position of leadership among both the animals and the dwarfs who later befriend her. Really, she is awesome. What can i say about her that hasn’t been sayed already?

04º Marguerite Clark in Snow White (1916)

The version that inspired Walt Disney to make his version. Based on a 1912 stage play, this is the version that extablished being raised as a palace scullery maid as the reason Snow White is good with domestic tasks despite being a rich princess. Clark’s Snow White is also compassionate, sweet, romantic and dreamy, and she mix those qualities with some energy and spunkiness, being an almost wild girl.

03º Carol Heiss in Snow White and The Three Stooges (1961)

The sass, spunkiness and sweet romanticism are back, but with a new adition: an athletic hobby. Carol Heiss was originally a golden medal winner olimpic ice skater, and this movie was made to capitalize in her popularity at the time (along with reviving the Three Stooges popularity). So, we extablish in this version that the heroine who is linked to the snow loves the winter, and one of the most popular sports in this season. No other version before or after that did this, even tough its the most obvious and most awesome thing to do with the character. Ad to that the (uncredited) singing voice dubbed by Norma Zimmer, and you have one of the most complete portrayals of Snow White: she is beauty, she is grace, she can sing, she can cook and she can ice skate. She is the most interesting woman that ever lived.

02º Sakiko Tamagawa/Julie Maddalena in Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

Orphaned from her mother at birth and having a father who is always too busy rulling the kingdom to pay attention to her, this version of Snow White grows up raised by a nurse named Doris, and playing on the garden with a young boy named Klaus. Her favorite pass time is to climb trees to pick apples, her favorite fruit. But one day her stepmother, who for years has been ignoring her, calls the princess to her chamber, and asks if she thinks herself to be most beautifull than the Queen. Annoyed with the absurd of the question, Snow White calls her stepmother out in her vanity. What follows is her running away, having to survive as a fugitive. Getting lost from her Klaus and stumbling in a root, she crawls for her life, until being saved by the seven dwarfs and their wolf friends. Time passes, and she finds a bit of fullfilment while slowly learning to do domestic chores to help the dwarfs, and finding friendship in the wolfs and a giant black bear. But she still craves to reunite with her friend Klaus and to find some love, while the Queen’s menace lures in the air.

And now the moment everyone was expecting... My number one favorite portrayal of Snow White is:

01º Camryn Manhein in The 10th Kingdom (2000)

I know what are you thinking: “Wait, a two episode cameo in a tv minisseries, instead of a protagonist, this is your favorite”? Yes. Yes, she is. In the Hallmark minisseries The 10th Kingdom, a young lady from the real world comes to the magical world to help to disenchant a Prince that has been turned into a dog. This dog prince is Snow White’s grandson. And then the heroes arrive at the Dragon Mountain in the 09th Kingdom, and Virginia has a conversation with the spirit of the late Snow White for counsel. And Snow White counsels Virginia by simply telling her story of once being an afrayed, lonely lost girl in the woods, finding new friends in the dwarfs, suffering three murder attempts from her stepmother, being aesleep for years with the poisoned apple in her troat, until the Prince’s servants stumbled with her casket so she could trow away the apple piece, so she could finally live happily ever after. While she narrates the tale, she says that she knew the danger presented by the ribbons, the comb and the apple, but she also knew that she could hide in the dwarfs cottage, afrayed to be hurt, forever. And her husband was a good man, but she saved herself from death. With that dialogue, Manheim’s sensitive and wise Snow White ressignified the fairy tale for me, making me appreciate better the story and her character. And that is why she my number one portrayal of the fairest princess of all.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Elke Arendt in Schneewitchen (1955), Maresa Hörbiger in Schneewitchen (1971) and Elaine Bilstad as White Snow in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child (1995).

[internalsealpanic]

Stiff Peaks and Soggy Bottoms

mood board by: @knightfall05x​ (wuv you)

summary: You, Tim, and Kon try to bake. It ends well. 

A/n: Thanks to @littleredwing89​ and @multifandomgirl-us​ for proof reading. I was watching Kitchen Nightmares while writing this. I am surprised how fluffy this came out. You can blame my need for more poly and this piece by @symeona​. I have not shut up about this piece 50 years later (Hi Sym *waves*-Fish). I forgot to mention that reader is more or less gender neutral or I attempted.

warnings: Terrible cooking

masterlist

Kon yawns, scratching at his broad chest and running his hand through his tangle of curly black hair. He blinks one eye open successfully to the dim light flooding into the end of the hall likely coming in from the living room. The lights dance, glowing softly with faded color against the dark glossy wood of the floor. 

 Kon’s first sleep-addled thought is, Oh, Aliens. Ok, cool.

 It takes his brain a full minute to realize how much that doesn’t make sense. The apartment is dead silent, lacking the telltale whirring most spaceships give off when they’re hovering, the sounds of nervous fingers tapping against a stack of papers echoing in the mostly empty space. Kon strained his ears trying to focus on the other sounds flitting in the room. He can hear the steady calming beat of your heart come off rhythm, jumping a fraction of a beat faster. It wasn’t fast enough to say you were in danger. It was just fast enough to tell that you were extremely engaged in whatever was occupying your attention. Kon thinks it over. The last time he checked looking over papers- lab reports, especially- was the bane of your existence. He listens again. This time making out the voices coming from the TV. Kon wasn’t awake enough to understand what they were saying. 

 5:47 AM

 Kon groans trying his hardest not to laugh while he stares at his phone. You are an actual psychopath. Who wakes up at 5 AM? Villains that’s who. Did you even sleep? Why do you and Tim hate sleep so much? 

 Stepping into the living room as quietly as he can, he finds you huddled against the right side of the couch far away from the TV, your thick wool comforter draped over your head and shoulders making a fluffy tent. Strands of your messy bed head sticking out and swaying as you rock on your heels. Your stack of papers long since abandoned on the arm rest beside you. Kon can’t help but smile at how adorable you looked, still sleep rumpled and red-nosed from the cold. 

 Eyes glued to the TV, you pull up your knees to your chest revealing your fuzzy Red Robin socks. Kon frowns then makes a mental note to get you some Superboy socks later. You curl deeper into your comforter, easing and pressing into the armrest. All of your apprehension fading and relaxing as the rest of the world melted away. Kon smiles devilishly at your inattention. He tiptoes towards you which was entirely unnecessary because it didn’t matter that Kon was about as stealthy as a disco ball not when all of your attention was directed at the TV. 

 Kon launches himself at you too quickly for you to even react or comment or throw a pillow at him. You shriek as he lands on you, his muscular body squishing you into the couch. You wince hoping the neighbors didn’t hear. You’re not too worried about Tim waking up considering how tired he was. 

 “Morning, gorgeous.” Kon greets, winking and wrapping his arms around your waist. The audacity. You groan attempting to glare at him. He simply gives you a dopey smile. You have to blow out a raspberry to keep yourself from smiling back. You strain your lips into a flatline. The crow’s feet at the corners of your eyes betray you though. The corner of Kon’s mouth twitches, those big baby blues shining even in the dim light. He knows he’s won you over. 

 You’re too petty and sleep-deprived to give in. You roll your eyes at him, lips still wobbling and tingling from the effort of maintaining your unimpressed frown. Still, without resistance,  you shift the comforter and refold yourself to accommodate his intrusive form. Large arms wrap around your waist tighter as he lays his head in your stomach. How he finds this position comfortable for his neck is beyond you but you do appreciate the warmth. Kon’s smile widens as he looks up at you. It looks positively smug. Your nose scrunches up bracing for whatever Kon is about to say. 

 “Aw, baaabe, it looks good on you~” You look down at the oversized Superboy hoodie you’re wearing which was two times bigger than it needed to be as was standard of your hoodies.  You mutter a curse. Kon had been pestering you to wear it. It’s not that you didn’t want to. It’s just that you had a soft spot for the Impulse hoodie Bart got you a few years ago which meant it was your got-to-hoodie despite the fact that it was fraying.  It was in the wash so you decided to give this one a try and honestly, it is really fucking comfy and more importantly warm.  You huff at him, feeling your cheeks color. You glare at him, his dopey smile still plastered on his face. You make the executive decision to ignore him. 

 This decision does not last long. 

 About two minutes into your silent treatment, Kon whines and pouts weaponizing those baby blues. “Aw come on, gorgeous, you can’t stay mad at me forever.” He nuzzles into your stomach tickling your drawing a smile out of you. He grins at you and finally, you let yourself smile back fully. “Asshole.” You grumble.  He knows you can’t resist him when he’s being cute and calling you ‘gorgeous’. That is just plain cheating. Still, you relent. You wrap your arms loosely around his shoulders, running your hand gently through his dark hair allowing your fingers to tangle in his curls. The arms around you tighten a little pulling you closer to him. 

 Kon doesn’t need a reminder of how absolutely adorable you are but it is very much appreciated. Kon loves looking at you as the soft glowing colors flash across your face highlighting your features and softening them. In the dim light of the room and under the blankets, you press closer to him all the sharp edges of Gotham's alleys stripped away leaving you sleepy-eyed and very huggable. Between you and Tim, you were the one people pointed to when they thought Gothamite but that was the fun of it. He and Tim, they were the only ones who got to see this softer you. The you that you let get enraptured by hobbies and dumb little things. Kon held you close, relishing your presence. This was the version of you they got to keep for themselves and he wouldn't trade it for the world. 

 -------

 Tim shifts feeling either side of him vacant.  Tim rolls over, arms searching for either you or Kon as his mind catches up. The warm sunlight brushes over his skin as he rolls over once again, stirring him from his sleep. Tim blinks, eyes adjusting to the morning light. 

 9: 10 AM

 He groans, shifting up and burying his head under the pillows hoping to once again fall asleep. 

 “Oh no no no no!”

 “Shush! Don’t jinx it!”

 Tim’s eye cracks open.  He lifts his head a bit tilting it to find the bedroom door open, your voices filtering in like dust in a sunbeam, pleasant but ultimately not helpful. 

 “I can’t jinx a pre-recorded show, genius!” 

 Tim sighs. Sleep was, inevitably, lost at this point. Tim debates on whether to keep himself under the covers and finally be able to hog the thick blankets. Or he could, possibly, investigate the commotion happening in your shared living room and risk freezing. Sadly, he chose the latter. 

 Blearily, Tim searches the room for a shirt only to find one of Kon’s discarded on the floor. Well, it’s not the first time he’s borrowed one of Kon’s shirts. 

 Tim wasn’t surprised to find you out of bed. After all, the idea of sitting still ate you alive. You were always, always the happiest when you were in motion when your hands were working to make something like some part of you was constantly vying for the chance to be something instead of just being. Tim completely understood the feeling. 

 Kon had once accused you of being a workaholic when in truth at the moment you had been avoiding work by doing one of your side projects. He had also accused both of you of being sleep allergic which is probably true but at least, Tim’s drink (read: poison) of choice was tea and not a cocktail of monster energy drinks and misery. 

 It was odd to find Kon out of bed though.  Kon could laze around in bed for days if you let him, so his being up was worth investigating if only to make sure the apartment didn’t burn down.  

 “Look what you did!”

 “It’s prerecorded, jackass!”

 “You cursed him and gave him a soggy bottom”

 Tim can tell just how long you’ve been glued to the T.V. based on the way your vowels slant to mimic that of the hosts. Tim’s slightly chapped lips curl as he shakes his head at the way you and Kon cock your heads towards the T.V., attention completely captured by what seems to be a cooking show. You held your breaths, waiting for the judge to say something. Kon shifts up, leaning his head against your shoulder.  Your limbs were tangled loosely against each other. It was a rare, lazy sort of affection that never failed to make Tim smile. 

 “Ok, no. That’s just mean.” You huff into Kon’s hair, looking absolutely petulant and cute. Tim works to stop an ‘aaaaawww’ rising from the back of his throat lest you throw a pillow at his head. 

 “Babe, it’s Paul Hollywood. What were you expecting?”

 “Human decency. She worked hard on that.” You whine, genuinely looking upset. 

 Seeing, your reaction Kon relents burrowing himself closer to you for comfort. “True.”

 Tim turned his attention to the T.V.. What he found made his brow shoot up. 

 “Great British Bake Off?” Tim asks, sliding into your left side and placing his head on your shoulder. There is a reason you guys bought an L-shaped couch. Said reason was named Conner Kent who liked laying on top of people. Those people being either of you. Tim snuggles into your side, earning him a kiss on his nose.   His nose scrunches feeling itchy. He lets out a small sneeze into the back of his hand. You blanch at him while Kon snorts, throwing him a box of tissues from the coffee table. 

 “Mornin’, Space Case.” You mumble giving him another kiss, this time on the corner of his lip. Tim blushes,  his face brighter than the sunlight outside your window. Tim is, sadly, incurably adorable.  

 Kon smiles at both of you smugly for what neither of you has any clue. Not until you see what Tim is wearing and not until Tim sees what you’re wearing. You groan and Tim blows out a  breath through his nose while Kon presses his positively glowing smile into your hoodie. He’s not going to shut up about this anytime soon or ever. 

 “Do you two even know anything about baking?” Tim asks, crossing his arms over his chest and smoothly changing the subject. 

 You and Kon share a look. 

 “Nope”

 “Yes”

 “Microwaves and watching this show doesn’t count.”

 “Ooook, fine. I don’t. Buuuuuut considering none of us can-”

 “I can cook.” Tim defends, clipped. You roll your eyes dramatically. Kon smirks, also doubtful. You flicker your eyes to Kon to meet his and with the brief contact, you know you’re on the same page. 

 “Microwaves don’t count, Tim.” Kon shoots back, pulling himself off you so he can show Tim the full extent of his Cheshire smile. You can see Tim drawing his hackles up, so both of you, being the little shits you are, continue to goad him. 

 “You can cook in theory,” You drawl, letting the challenge embed itself into the syllables. Tim cuts you a look. You simply look at him innocently. Tim  knows  that you’re baiting him. He definitely knows this and yet…

 “Fine!”

 “Fine?” 

 “Fine. We’ll even make something from the show!”

 “Even chocolate eclairs?” Kon says a little too eagerly. You were just gonna say meringues but chocolate eclairs sound fantastic.

 Tim throws up his arms and exasperates. “Sure! Why not?”

 You and Kon share a dopey smile, smug and preening as you look at him. Tim groans, placing his head in his hands. He knew this would happen. He knew. You and Kon high five and make a little “yeah!” noise in celebration.

 This will not end well.   

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 You twitch your lips staring down at Tim’s phone, deleting and retyping the message for the third time. You weren’t  sure  how to explain this without having Jason falling to the floor laughing. Your eyes stung from the smoke so you decided to just send him your third try. 

 Tim: Hey Jason, theoretically, say your oven caught on fire like via laser beam or something, do you just pour water on it?

 You wait a few minutes, watching the three dots indicating he was typing only for him to stop typing without replying. You make a small noise, which was thankfully lost to the bickering behind you when Jason’s phone number flashed on the screen. You’re always nervous about talking to Tim’s family. Tim had once assured you that you were overthinking it but still. To be fair, it was easier than dealing with Kon’s. Actually, no. No, it wasn’t. Both were intimidating but in very different ways. You do have to say that Jason, scary as he was, was easier to approach than say Bruce. 

 “Baby bird,” Jason says, the edge of a wheeze gripping his throat. Clearly, having just recovered from laughing his guts out. He breathes, hand slamming against what you suspect was either a kitchen countertop or a workbench or both knowing Jason. “Ok, ok, I’m good-” He clears his throat. “Kay, tell me what happened.”

 You flick your eyes toward the fire and your boys who were more or less still bickering, their voices tangling with the crackling of the flames. You’re mildly surprised that neither of them is on fire but you’re not holding your breath. They’ll probably be somehow combust in the next five minutes. You love them but they’re disasters.

 “We were trying to bake- shut up-” Jason does not snort any quieter. “And well, Tim thought-”

 “It was Kon’s idea!”

 “You let me!” Kon defends sounding utterly betrayed. 

 You groan and Jason snickers.  “What do we do?”

 “Have you tried apologizing to it?”

 “Jason, I’m being serious.”

 “So am I. Now, apologize.” You sigh exasperatedly. Waynes are assholes. 

 Tim raises a brow at you and you give him a shrug not really knowing what to tell him. “Apparently, we need to apologize to the oven.” You deadpan, immediately regretting even relaying it. How have you never decked Jason? It wasn’t fear. After all, you’ve decked Batman. Ok, in your defense lack thereof, that one was by accident or moreover reflexive. 

 “Hey Kon”

 “Both of you have to apologize too!”

 “First of all, I was in the bathroom getting towels when you two chucklefucks decided to use laser vision to preheat the oven.”

 You hear Jason fall out of his chair. Distantly, you hear someone calling Jason an idiot but you weren’t too familiar with the voice. You instantly thank yourself for not turning on the camera considering what state you three were in. Kon was covered in chocolate, your hair-as well as your poor phone- was caked in batter, and Tim? Tim was covered in everything but mostly flour which keeps making his nose twitch like a rabbit. Though, you wouldn’t be surprised if Kon’s already taken a few pictures. You yourself have taken a few.  

 “Ok but seriously what do we do?”

 You hear some rustling and a chair squeaking back into place. 

 “No…”

 “First off, did you close the oven?” Your eyes flicker to them. Placing Tim’s phone between your shoulder and ear, you mime the advice. Tim frowns skeptical but Kon kicks the oven closed anyway. 

“Ok, it’s closed now. Should we put water in it?”

 “NO. Have you never put out a kitchen fire before? How do you three eat?”

 “We live in the middle of downtown, what do you think?”

 Jason sighs disbelieving and finally sounding appropriately exasperated. You could see him running his hand over his face.  “Who let you three live together?” This made your lips twitch up. “I dunno. Kon and I just started mooching on Tim and then suddenly we each got a key to the apartment.” It was an oversimplification of events but there was a fire and you had to get at least one joke in. 

 “Do your neighbors have- Wait, don’t you have a Kryptonian clone with freeze breath?”

 You blink and slap your palm against your forehead. The other two seemed to get what you had just remembered and act appropriately with Tim looking defeated and Kon finding the situation hilarious. 

 “Thanks, Jay.” You mutter wanting the Earth to swallow you whole. Esme, your chubby rat, squeaked nuzzling against you as she wormed her way out of your hoodie. She may or may not have been the primary reason for the size of your hoodies. She smiles at the phone, wide-eyed and happy as if she could see Jason. You hear a soft laugh coming from Jason’s end. 

 “Is that Esme?” Your brow ticks up not quite sure how to answer. “Uh yeah.” You answer dumbly, giving Esme little scritches that she leaned into happily making all her little happy noises.     

 “Give her a cuddle for me.” You give Esme a kiss on her nose and she snuggles in reciprocation. Kon pouts face still full of chocolate, “Where’s mine?”

 “You’ll get one once our apartment isn’t about to burn down.”   

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Fresh out of the shower, you plop down next to Tim letting your wet hair flop onto his face and his fuzzy Wonder Girl sweatshirt. Tim huffs at you taking another bite out of the hot fresh-ly ordered stuffed crust pizza. The cheese was still gooey and molten. It made your stomach rumble like nobody’s business. You whine childishly trying to get Tim to hand you one. He looks at you, mouthful of pizza, and grabs one only to hand it to Kon. You gasp at him. You stretch your legs over their laps in protest only to retract them immediately after Kon pokes at your feet a couple of times tickling you. 

 You hide behind Tim, glaring at Kon and sticking your tongue out. Tim, the traitor, moves out of the way letting Kon’s long arms capture you. You shriek almost sounding like Esme as he pulls you in sitting you in his lap. You sigh in defeat as Kon places his chin on your head. You don’t even want to see the triumphant smirks on both their faces. 

 You grab a slice and through the mouthful of cheese and grease, you murmur “We really need to learn how to cook.” Tim hums in agreement, leaning against Kon, aka the cuddliest heater in the world. You lean back into Kon as another signature bake is brought up to the judges. You all watch with bated breaths as you wait for the results. 

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 You marvel at the fresh ingredients laid before you and the posh man standing in your kitchen rolling up his sleeves. 

 “Hey, Duckie, are we in trouble?” Kon whispers from behind you. He’s got your back, he said. 

 “Kind of?” Tim bleats, his voice a little high. 

 You snort raising an eyebrow at him hiding your smile behind your hand. “Timmy, what does kind of mean?” 

 “I can hear you.” Alfred deadpans. You and Kon stiffen.  You’re pretty sure even Tim straightens up, probably out of habit. 

 “Do any of you know how to cook?” Alfred asks in the primmest sounding accent you’ve ever heard. 

 “Nope, we live downtown for a reason.” You snark reflexively. Tim glares at you and hisses silently.  You shrink and mutter an apology which Alfred takes graciously.

 “I am assuming you don’t then. Well, it’s lucky that I have a free afternoon.”

 Tim eyes him suspiciously. “What happened to B?”

 “Your father can take care of himself.”

 “You sure?”

You think you see Alfred smile at that. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading!

tag list:  @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes ,  @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell

[professorsnape394]

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Three: Steaming Sessions

A/N: This is the third part to my fanficiton ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list. 

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 1726

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

As much as Severus hated to admit it, even to himself, thoughts of the young witch had persistently threatened to enter his mind the week following their initial meeting. Despite how badly Severus wanted to suppress his primal urges, he could not deny he had noticed her beauty.  An attractive witch of her age was a rarity in his life, and so he allowed himself the simple pleasure of a thought or two regarding the new Professor. That was until he actually got to know her. She had taken it upon herself to interrupt his last few weeks of solitude before his life was disrupted by masses insolent children. The once somewhat pleasant thoughts of the woman had now been replaced by anger and agitation. He had in fact been preoccupied in thoughts of Aria Dumbledore upon her arrival to his office on Tuesday morning. He was enraged at her boldness to contradict him and any thoughts he ever had regarding her attractiveness had for sure been killed during their most recent meeting, or so he told himself.

The following day Miss Dumbledore delivered a list of potions she wished to revisit with Professor Snape in order to give him time to prepare for their next session. The temper she had awoken within him remained, as her comments still lingered in his mind. Never before had he met someone so audacious, and brave he hesitated to add, that they would so cunningly insult him in such an underhanded manner. The rage inside him motivated him to test his apprentice's abilities even further. Inspecting the list in front of him Severus Snape began to devise a plan.

"You should have learned by now, Miss Dumbledore, that I am very much a fan of saving time and working as efficiently as possible." Severus begun, warranting an exasperated eye-roll from his coworker as she thought back to the caterpillar scenario. Clearing his throat and shooting her a threatening look Snape continued his speech. "In order to further prove yourself I have arranged for us to complete several potions from your list simultaneously. "

"You should have learned by now, Miss Dumbledore, that I am very much a fan of saving time and working as efficiently as possible." Severus begun, warranting an exasperated eye-roll from his coworker as she thought back to the caterpillar scenario. Clearing his throat and shooting her a threatening look Snape continued his speech. "In order to further prove yourself I have arranged for us to complete several potions from your list simultaneously. "

"I'm sorry?" Aria asked, not fully comprehending how his set up could possibly help her grasp the correct brewing method for each individual potion, especially since they were ones she had admitted she was not completely familiar with.

"As you proved the other evening you are very capable of brewing a potion on your own, with my help you should have no problem perfecting say four? maybe five?" He shrugged slyly.

"Five!?" Aria gasped. "You do realise Professor Snape that the list of potions I gave you were those I am unfamiliar with. I wish to spend the time going over them with you, so when the time comes I will have no problem helping the students. I fear this method may not be ideal in allowing me to master those fine details."

"Well then, Miss Dumbledore, I fear you do not have what it takes to match the skills I require in an assistant."

"I want to make it clear, Professor Snape, that I am not your assistant. I am to be your apprentice. This means it is your duty to train me as such. I will do as you ask of me, but believe me I will not be pushed around and made a fool of for the whole of this year."

"Then I hope this means we understand each other Miss Dumbledore, for I will also not tolerate the back chat I received the other day when lessons finally commence."

"Then I suppose we both have to respect one another’s wishes." Aria stated finally, circling the desk of cauldrons. Beside each cauldron she found the list of instructions. Taking the time to read each one carefully, realising these potions will take a little longer than she anticipated. "These cannot be completed in a day?" She questioned.

"Clever girl, you noticed." Snape retorted sarcastically. "You see now why I could not dedicate one lesson to each potion. The potions have different brewing times and can all be left to rest over night, this gives you time memorise the instructions between lessons. We will complete them over the next three days, giving us both the weekend free."

Complying to his wishes Aria set about collecting her ingredients and began brewing each potion one after the other. It wasn't long before Aria noticed the Potions Master get comfortable behind his desk, burying his head in another one of his dusty old textbooks, she knew he would not be attempting to assist her any time soon.

The day was long and tedious. Neither Severus nor Aria felt the need to engage in any kind of conversation at the risk pissing the other off. Severus was clearly a lot more used to the silence and spent hours behind his desk reading, occasionally making small notes in the margins of his book. Aria on the other hand felt every slight noise she made was amplified a hundred times over, hesitant to make too much noise at the risk of Snape telling her off.

The room quickly became stuffy and humid from the constant steam emitting from all five cauldrons. The young Professor struggled to work in her tight, un-breathable clothing, she had previously thought was a wise choice for her sessions with Severus. The witch peeled her thick locks of hair from her perspiring face, pulling it up into quick messy bun. Struggling to breath from the fumes, Aria took a short break, sliding off her uncomfortable shoes, hiking her skirt up to her thighs, to air out her legs and unbuttoning her blouse exposing her chest. This did not go unnoticed by the older professor, as he stealthily watched her over the top of his book, absentmindedly turning a page ever second or two. Aria let out a throaty groan, fanning herself down with a nearby notebook.

“Aren’t you hot?.” She panted.

Severus felt his jaw almost drop in awe at the woman's movements as she rose from her chair, reaching up to the sky to stretch out her bones, her skirt shifted further up her thighs as she did so.

"Can't we open the door or something." She gasped the heat getting the better of her. Severus wriggled uncomfortably in his seat, unable to take his eyes off her body. Her eye catching his, Aria awkwardly attempted to cover herself up. Shocked at the Professor's boldness, she began to roll down her skirt covering back up her legs, her chest on the other hand remained bare.

"Professor." She spoke again, trying to catch his attention.

"Umm, very well. If you must." He flustered, clearing his throat, embarrassed he had been staring in the first place, let alone been caught out.

"You don't tend to be around women much, do you Severus?" Aria questioned, seeing no reason either of them should pretend she hadn't just caught him looking.

"Professor Snape." He once again stressed. "And I don't really think that's any of your concern, is it Miss Dumbledore."

"Forgive me. I was just trying to make a little conversation." Aria found herself rolling her eyes at the man once again. "The day has dragged in after all, it might go quicker if we talk?"

"I prefer to work in silence." He retorted, carefully ensuring his eyes did not leave the page of his book.

"I'm just saying." She pushed further, ignoring his statement. "I don't blame you. Being stuck in this school 10 months of the year cannot allow for much of a private life."

"No it does not." Severus agreed, his eyes burning into the page, not seeing a word that was written.

"Still." Aria continued, going back to brewing her potions. "It doesn't mean it's impossible. I'm sure there's plenty of women in Hogsmeade willing to date, bar maidens and what not." She shrugged.

"That may very well be true Miss Dumbledore, but I am not interested."

"Men then." She stated, raising one eyebrow playfully, although she knew very well he did not bat for the other team .

"Don't be absurd." The Professor scoffed.

"What about hobbies." She chose to change the subject, turning up the heat on potion number 3. "What do you do for fun?"

"Read." Snape replied bluntly, motioning to the book in front of him, turning the page though no information entered his brain from the last.

The pair continued to talk for the remainder of the day, although Severus provided nothing but blunt responses to his apprentices enquires, he had to admit, he was not completely opposed to her company. Soon it came time for the potions to be taken off their heat and left to rest for the night. It saddened Aria knowing she had to go back to her quarters, having no one to speak to until it came time for dinner with Hagrid, and though she hated to admit it their conversations on bowtruckles and grindylows had become rather tedious.

Pausing as she reached her exit, Aria turned back to her mentor, who didn't even look up from his desk. "Professor Snape." She spoke to get his attention. "Do you fancy joining us for dinner? Hagrid and I, that is. I usually bring food down from the kitchens, so you don't have to worry about his cooking." She laughed nervously.

"Spending my evening in his cramped hut, being drooled on by that beast of his and discussing the best way to distinguish knarls from hedgehogs? Sounds like the perfect evening." He commented sarcastically. "Goodnight, Miss Dumbledore."

Letting out a short breath Aria Dumbledore flashed one last smile at the Professor before taking her leave. "Goodnight, Professor Snape."

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel

[driima]

Fly Love | Hawks x F!Reader [Rio Song-Fic AU]

Title: Fly Love

Pairing: Hawks x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Sappy love, fluff, mild kissing

Note: This is my first ever time posting on Tumblr and I quite honestly have no idea what I’m doing. My AO3 has been a bit dry, smh. Anyways, this is a song-fic so I’d recommend listening to “Fly Love” from the original Rio soundtrack whilst listening. Thank you!

You were beat.

Your shoulders were stiff and your eyelids felt heavy as you made your way into the large, fancy apartment complex that housed you and your fiancé. Working at one of the busiest Hero agencies in Japan took its toll on you, and today was an especially busy and stressful day.

You attempted to ease the growing headache that was beginning to manifest in your temples by gently rubbing soothing circles along your forehead as you stood in your private elevator. Being engaged to the Number 2 Pro Hero had its perks; a private, floor-large flat atop one of the nicest complexes Japan had to offer, complete with its own elevator, hallway, and patio that overlooked the city on the very top floor.

The elevator gently chimed each time it went up a level, and you rolled your shoulders, hearing a stiff pop resonate from one of them. You wanted to do nothing more than relax for the rest of the evening.

When the elevator chimed that it was at the very last level, you gripped your work bag and waited for the doors to open. About to enter your hallway leading to your flat, you paused when you noticed a trail of peculiar items scattered along the floor.

“Cherry blossoms...?”

Your lips quirked up as you tediously followed the flowers down the length of the hall, your hand digging into your pocket to grab your keys. When you unlocked your door, your nose was instantly flooded with the smell of candles and freshly made bread.

The flat was comfortably lit and fuzzily warm. You eyed the kitchen counter where a tray of deliciously expensive food sat, waiting to be served, as you maneuvered your way to the living room.

It seems as if your fiancé made it home before you, a rarity in itself.

All along the floor, cherry blossoms were scattered, some full whilst others just petals. When you entered the living room, you noticed the lack of your fiancé’s presence, and you frowned internally. Where could he be?

About to turn to the bedroom, you paused, glancing at the patio door which was cracked open. With an eyebrow raised, you set your bag down by the side of the couch and pushed the door open, poking your head outside. Your jaw fell open in amazement.

Similar to the inside of your flat, cherry blossoms littered the floor of the patio. The railings were lined in cute fairy lights and the overhand had grapevines dangling from above. The table had a basket of freshly made milk bread sitting on it and a candle burned brightly in the center. Soft jazz was playing from one of your speakers.

“He did this all for me...?” you wondered.

To your dismay, your fiancé was no where to be found, so you turned to head back inside. Your hand just barely brushed the doorknob when a whoosh was heard behind you and a soft thump followed. Your lips pulled up as a pair of familiar strong arms wrapped their way around your waist.

“Now, where do you think you’re going, my beautiful little songbird?” said a teasing voice.

You leaned your head against his chest as you tilted your head up, your gaze connecting with his gorgeous yellow eyes.

“Off to find my beautiful soon-to-be husband,” you chirped. His lips quirked up into a smile, one that you adored.

He spun you around quickly, and your hands wrapped themselves around his body as he hugged you close to his chest. A tender, warm kiss was pressed to the top of your head and you closed your eyes in content, melting into his touch.

“Long day at work?” he breathed against your hair, his lips peppering kisses along your roots.

You nodded. “A very long day.”

He pulled back slightly so that he could look at you fully. “If you want to sleep, we can do just that,” he said.

Your eyes widened slightly as you glanced around the beautifully decorated deck. “And ignore all this hard work you’ve done? I don’t think so, mister!” you scoffed, tugging him over to the table. He chuckled behind you, admiring the grin on your face as you took in all of his preparations.

“I went just a little overboard,” he commented, and you turned to him.

With a quick push of your toes, you pressed a quick peck to his lips, your eyes connecting as you said, “I think it’s perfect. Thank you, Keigo.”

A light blush dusted his cheeks but he smirked in response, his hands grabbing yours as he tugged you close to him once more.

“Don’t think that’s all I have up my sleeve, little songbird,” he mused, and as if on cue, a familiar melody began to play from the speakers and you stared in awe as Hawks began to whistle.

Isn’t this a song from Rio...?

Before you could as what he was doing, his deep and beautiful voice filled the air as he began to sing, “Wasn’t really thinking, wasn’t looking, wasn’t searching for an answer - In the moonlight, when I saw your face.”

Your mouth fell open in amazement as you listened to him sing, your cheeks going crimson. This was the first time he had ever sang to you. In fact, you didn’t even think the chicken man could sing. He smiled down at you as he began to move his feet back and forth in what seemed like a slow salsa, his hands interlocked with yours, urging you to join him.

“Saw you looking at me, saw you peeking out from under moonbeams,” he continued, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Through the palm trees, swaying in the breeze.”

As he began the chorus, his hands quickly tugged you towards him and you found him dipping you back sensually, one hand on your hip and the other holding in between your shoulder blades softly. His face came close to yours, his breath, which smelled like his minty toothpaste, fanning down on your skin.

“I know I’m feeling so much more than ever before. And so, I’m giving more to you than I thought I could do,” he sang, bringing you back up so you were close to his body. He began to sway slowly with you, his hands resting on your waist and yours settling against his chest. “Don’t know how it happened, don’t know why but you don’t really need a reason - When the stars shine, just to fall in love.

“Made to love each other, made to be together for a lifetime.” One hand left your hip to gently take ahold of your jaw, his fingers tilting your head up so he could look deeply into your eyes. All you could see was deep adoration and love swimming in his golden pools, some of his blonde locks falling into his face as he looked down on you. “In the sunshine, flying in the sky.”

He gave you a gorgeous smile before he spun you, his hands intertwining with yours once more as he cheesily started his little salsa dance once more. You giggled as you copied him, your bodies moving languidly together as one as he watched your every move.

“I know I’m feeling so much more than ever before. And so, I’m giving more to you than I thought I could do.” He began to whistle once more, his body coming closer to yours as he twirled you around again, your back connecting with his chest.

“Now I know love is real,” he sang, his voice lower and right in your ear as he wrapped his arms around you, your bodies swaying together gently.

“So when sky high, as the angels try, letting you and I, fly love.”

His song ended with a soft and satisfying strum of a guitar and you stayed still for a moment, his arms and crimson wings encasing your body in a warm hug.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hawks murmured, leaning down to comfortably rest his head between the junction of your neck and your shoulder. His lips pressed a soft kiss against your skin. You hummed in response, enjoying his company as the two of you stood together under the setting sun on your shared patio.

“You mean everything to me, (Y/n),” he said quietly, pressing another kiss to your neck. “You’re so gorgeous and funny and sexy. I can’t believe a man like me wound up with an amazing girl like you.”

You smiled and turned around in his embrace, meeting his gaze once more. Your hands cupped his cheeks, the feeling of his short stubble brushing against your thumbs.

“I love you so much, my songbird,” Hawks said. There was an emotional prick at your heart for just a moment as your entire body was filled with serotonin. Keigo watched as a stupidly happy smile spread across your face and he smiled too, his hands moving to cup your face as well.

In one fluid motion, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was tender. His lips moved against yours softly, your eyes fluttering closed as he brought you close. It lasted only a moment, and when the two of you pulled away, you could feel the buzzing sensation on the spots where his lips met yours.

Hawks smoothed his thumbs over your skin as he simply looked at you, taking in every detail about you.

He wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t believe he wound up with someone as amazing as you.

Your personality, your looks, your witty remarks, your hobbies. Everything about you entranced him. He had fallen wings over heels for you the moment you smiled at him.

“I love you, (Y/n),” he said.

“I love you too, Keigo.”

[solarscholarsofmagick]

10 Things that EVERYONE Needs to Know Before Starting the Craft

1. Wicca and Witchcraft are Not the Same Thing

This is a pet-peeve of mine when people use those words interchangeably. So, what’s the difference? To put it simply, Wicca is a religion, while witchcraft is a practice. It’s like saying that prayer and Christianity are the same thing. Wicca is a relatively new invention, being created in the late 1950’s by Gerald Gardner after he spent a lot of time in Asia and became enthralled with their spirituality, which he merged with various occult practices that he came across in his travels. Witchcraft, on the other hand, is defined, at least by this author, as the act of manipulating the energy around you to achieve a goal. You can be either or you can be both, but they are not mutually exclusive.

2. Witchcraft Does Not Need to Kill Your Bank Account

If you follow many big-name witch influencers, more than likely, you will get caught up in the aesthetic of hundreds of beautiful crystals, perfect altars, sculpted candles, and much more elaborate and expensive things. Now, I want to make it clear, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, but it is not always feasible to have (or afford) everything required to fit that aesthetic. Rough, unpolished crystals will work just as good as the one you saw that was professionally polished and carved into the shape of a skull. You can get candles at thrift shops, not just at the website that sells specifically anointed candles for every specific intention. Remember, it is not the tool that makes the witch, but the witch that makes the tool!

3. Know the Difference Between a Coven and A Cult

While it is not necessary, there are definitely some benefits that come with finding a coven that welcomes you with open arems. So, first off, what is a coven?

A coven is a group of like-minded witches that help each other out magickally and hold a special bond or connection. They will often perform rituals together. Please keep in mind that there is a difference between a coven and a cult.

A coven is rewarding, full of (usually) great people and potential friends, while a cult is dangerous, toxic, and filled with people who often prey on the vulnerable or unaware.

Here are some potential warning signs of a cult:

They encourage you to cut off ties with your friends and family.

They try their best to make you dependent on them.

They pressure you into engaging in sexual/criminal/drug activities.

You feel as if it is dangerous to leave.

The “leader” equates themselves to a deity or is a “my word is law” type.

You feel as if you are walking on eggshells around them.

There is some “divine” goal that you must behave a very specific way in order to reach.

Those who manage to escape are demonized and/or are made into examples.

If you suspect that you or a loved one are in a dangerous situation, please contact the appropriate authorities.

4. Witchcraft Can Become Mundane

Pop culture has a bad habit of sensationalizing witchcraft. As cool as it looks, witchcraft isn’t all lightning fingers and demon-slaying. You most likely won’t become a soldier of a magickal war, facing down an ancient evil that was recently released. Sorry, I didn’t mean to burst your bubble!

That being said, witchcraft is extremely rewarding and can be as fun as you make it!

Just like with any other art, it requires discipline! It requires study, practice, and essential tasks (or as they are often fondly called, witchy chores). Some of these “chores” include cleansing, charging, decorating, meditation, and more. Unfortunately, as we all know, these tasks may feel tedious, but they are often very necessary. Again, it is as fun as you make it, and you will be less likely to burn out/hate performing the tasks if you view them as the essential tasks they are rather than unnecessary chores.

5. Learn As Much of the Basics That You Can

As much as we want to immediately jump into more flashy things such as astral projection and elaborate spells or hexes, you must learn the basics first. Why? Because, without a strong grasp of the basics, your magickal work can be unstable and reap results that you may not have intended, including ones that cause harm to you or those around you. To quote a cliche, you must learn to crawl before you can walk.

Here are some basics that I recommend you begin with:

Visualization

Meditation

The history of witchcraft

The elements of a spell

Color/stone/common herb correspondences

Grounding

Different types of the craft

6. Elitism Exists and it’s Bullsh*t

Unfortunately, no matter what community you are in, there will always be a few bad apples, but I will be referring specifically to elitists. Elitists in the witchcraft community tend to preach that their way is the only true way to be a witch, that you must have the most expensive of tools, or that witches who come from a family of witches are better than those who do not. If there is one thing that I want you to take from this article, it’s that, no matter what anyone says, you will NEVER be any less of a witch because of your bloodline, ethnicity, skin color, religion, spiritual practice, or socio-economic status!

7. You Don’t Need to Choose Between Religion and the Craft

One of the most common reasons of being apprehensive towards starting your journey through the craft that I see is a fear of retaliation within your own religion. For example, a lot of Christian witches will initially be afraid of going to hell for their practices. As someone who grew up in the Bible Belt of the Southern United States (poor Awen still lives there), I can definitely relate to this feeling. However, I, as well as several other religious witches, can say that you can have both. You do not need to drop one to have the other. In my eyes, your relationship with your god(s) is between them and you and is nobody else’s business.

To make things a little easier, however, I recommend sliding into the craft slowly. Dip your toe in the proverbial water. Try starting by engaging in activities that aren’t necessarily tied to witchcraft such as meditating, grounding, growing plants, or even just collecting pretty rocks. I also recommend reaching out to practicing witches within your faith for advice. It also may be a good idea to truly research religions of interest and make sure that your religion is a good match for you. It is okay to realize that the religion you were raised to be in, like being raised to be in a particular political party, does not have to be your religion. If it is and it causes you and others around you no harm, then I am truly happy for you and support you.

8. Learn to Listen to Your Intuition/”Gut”

We tend to have a 6th sense for danger or the presence of another being. You may recognize this feeling when you can feel that someone is watching you. Our instincts are built into us to keep us alive. Personally, following my gut has saved my life more than once. In one particular incident, my gut told me to stop at a crosswalk despite not seeing any nearby cars and the sign telling me to walk. Seconds later, a truck sped by, running the red light at full speed.

If you feel that a spell has taken a turn towards the unwanted, find a stopping point and seal it away. Feel as if a deity is calling you? Take the time to research them and their calling cards. However, please take the time to learn the difference between a negative gut feeling and general nervousness, as it does feel different.

9. Learn the Difference Between Good and Bad Resources

Misinformaion and toxic ideologies can be dangerous when it comes to witchcraft. You can read extensively about the difference between the two in my previous post about it here.

10. It’s Okay If the Craft is Not for You

If you decide to try out the craft and later feel as if it isn’t clicking… that’s okay. The initial decision to explore is not one for life. Just like how certain sports, hobbies, music, et cetera are not for everybody, witchcraft is not for everybody. Anyone who decides to judge you for that is wrong and not worth your time.

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