#border jumpers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghostwhippet · 4 days ago

Text

From Scratch

Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny

No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.

One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.

He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.

Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones.

Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.

From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.

You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.

A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to.

Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour.

You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.

That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.

You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.

“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.

That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.

“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”

“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”

He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”

You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.

After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching thoroughness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.

Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.��

“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together.

You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier.

“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”

You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.

There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.

You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.

Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.

He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.

Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?

So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.

You're not cooking, but he's still here.

You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.

He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.

So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.

Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours.

It doesn’t move away when he sits back.

Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.

You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.

…You’re not stupid. Right?

After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge.

You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.

He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.

He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.

You fall asleep there. So does he.

Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.

You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.

You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.

Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.

But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely to be swept away by someone else too soon.

You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.

Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth.

You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–

–his mouth is just there, on yours.

He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once.

Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.

After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.

He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.

“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.

He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”

“Oh?”

That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.

His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”

You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.

And just like everything else about him, this fits.

His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.

His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.

His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.

When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.

His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.

You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–

“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.

…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.

“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.

You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”

His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”

You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.

He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.

You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”

You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.

“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?”

Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.

Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.

He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright��but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”

Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”

He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”

You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.

“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”

His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.

It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.

“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.

You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”

He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”

“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”

His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.

“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”

And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.

“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”

“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”

He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”

When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You don't want to rush this.”

He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”

Masterlist

#johnny soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny mactavish #slow burn #friends to lovers #060 #meet cute #comfort fic #demisexual #fluff #johnny x reader #cod

997 notes · View notes

luveline · 7 months ago

Note

coworker James au could i request kne where maybe reader starts her period at work unprepared and bleeds through so James gives her his jumper and she's like wtf but also thank you <33

James worries about you reluctantly until you need his help. Then he’s less begrudging. fem, 1k

“Why are you wearing that?”

James digs through the office fridge for his oat milk. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m just wondering.”

“It's cold out. People wear jumpers when it’s cold.” James grabs the oat milk from the deep recesses of the shared fridge and lets his tricep flex as he stands. Does he think you’ll care? No. But he does it anyway, he doesn’t work out for nothing. You probably can’t tell with the jumper, anyhow.

He’s expecting you to wrinkle your nose or fake a keck. You look at him funny.

“What’s wrong? You’re poorly,” he says.

“I’m not poorly, I just want some toast.”

“There’s no butter,” James says. No point letting you wait by the fridge.

You nod dispassionately. “Well, that makes sense.”

“I have a tangerine in my bag.”

“Okay, thank you.”

You’re definitely poorly. You wander out of the kitchen, James assumes to sit back down at your desk while he makes his coffee. He could make you a cup at the same time, it might help you pep up for the rest of the day, but he hasn’t made you any before and why should he start now? Everyone gets sick, it doesn’t make you less of a dick.

Even as he thinks it, he realises what he’s doing. James Denial Potter, what use is it anymore, pretending he doesn’t like you? You piss him off royally, but disdain? It’s like everyday you’re getting prettier and sweeter and softer in the eyes and James just has to watch.

He takes his mug to his desk. You’ve already posed his little Smiski figurines to be standing next to each other, though now you’re nowhere near his desk, instead having flopped toward the left side far from his reach with your face in your hand.

He sighs and grabs his back. The tangerine lays at the bottom near his lunch box, and it begs to be kept, but you’re looking too sick to ignore. It’s cruel to leave you without, at this point. “Here,” he says, popping the orange on the border of your two desks. “Quick, before you pass out.”

“Thank you,” you mumble.

It’s sad to watch you eat the orange. Your chewing is morose, your eyes tracking up and down your screen with little hurry.

He cracks too quickly. “You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want a cup of water?”

“James. I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

You stand and stretch with a sad moan, joints popping audibly, your arm over your eyes as they do. You let it fall and begin to walk away from the desk nook toward the bathroom, and that’s when James notices your accident.

He jumps up from his seat, his hand held forward and trying to catch you before you can get too far away. He takes your hand, to your confusion, pulling you back toward him.

“James, I’m fine,” you say, clearly shy.

“You’ve bled through.”

Your face fills with palpable, horrified mortification. “What?”

“The seat of your trousers,” he says quietly. James can’t confess to caring about discretion when it comes to human function, but he doesn’t think you’d enjoy your private business being shouted across the office. “It’s not a lot.”

You freeze.

He lets your hand fall.

“It’s okay,” he says, frowning at your embarrassed pouting and the glossy shine that’s formed over your eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess under your breath.

It’s so stupid because it’s not vulnerable, you aren’t some wounded animal that needs his help, but he has that awful aching sorriness for you that he can’t bite back. You’re not his friend and he’s sympathetic anyways, he’d never let you feel embarrassed over something you can’t help because he knows exactly how it feels (even if your particular affliction isn’t one he suffers). James nods at you decidedly and leans forward, grabbing the neck of his jumper and pulling it off quickly.

“Here,” he says, his hair tickling his ears as it falls back into place. He offers the jumper. You don’t take it.

“James, I might…”

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine. Just take it and I’ll see if I can sort something out. I’ll get Lily for you. What do you think?”

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Of course I’m sure. Tie that around your waist, yeah?”

You take the jumper from his hands. “I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry? It’s fine, it happens.”

“You don’t even like me and you’re always doing things for me,” you say, wobbly.

James blames the hormones he thinks you might have ravaging your system right now. You’re tired, you clearly didn’t eat enough at breakfast, and you’re on your cycle. It’s not a nice mix of things to experience, and to pile some public humiliation on at work must make crying inevitable.

He takes your elbow into his hand, bending just so to put your faces on better level. “We don’t always get along,” he says softly, “but that doesn’t mean you have to do things by yourself, without anyone to look out for you. Okay? This isn’t a big deal to me.” He gives your elbow a mild shake. “Okay?” he asks again.

You sniffle but don’t cry. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay. Don’t worry, angel. Those trousers were a choice anyway.”

You wave him away with a weak laugh.

James walks one way in search of HR and you slink to the bathroom with his jumper around your waist. And Remus, who’s gaze had been summoned by the rapid departure of you both at the same time, sits gobsmacked at his desk. James had looked not even a millisecond from kissing the frown from your lips, his thumb pressed with tender care to your arm, and you’d just let him do it, the rigid set of your shoulders relaxing the longer he touched you.

Remus takes his phone from his pocket to text Sirius. Need to talk to you about James

What’s he done?

Remus sort of thinks his friend might be falling in love. It’s gonna be a total disaster.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

976 notes · View notes

vigilskeep · 1 month ago

Text

various and sundry artbook tidbits i found interesting (SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE VEILGUARD ARTBOOK. obviously)

faction & location stuff:

a sketch page from the very early days exploring shape languages for factions like elves, dwarves, wardens, the necropolis, tevinter, and rivain, also includes concepts for the mages’ college and the ben-hassrath

early rivain concept arts have npcs with a similar armour patterning to duncan’s, suggesting it’s a mark of his rivaini heritage like i always thought!

the depiction of the ““creation story”” suggests elves were mimicking the bodies of dwarves when they formed their own, not humans like i think mythal says in game flashbacks, which would make more sense timeline wise

there’s concept art of the city of ventus, which i believe is of particular relevance to mercar players? it’s right on the border of arlathan forest, and surrounded by magical statues holding out raised hands forming a ward along the tree line to keep it from encroaching

the home base was going to be a lovable fixer-upper of a ship given to us by isabela, named the dumat. this didn’t fit the spy theme they were originally going for, so they tried really really hard to make it a submarine without feeling anachronistic by making it sort of sea monster shaped. there are a lot of cutaways and schematics. they were going to give it a mystery engine that you would get light fetch quests to feed random objects: “ten dried lavender flowers, five quail’s eggs, three brass belt buckles, etc.....” the submarine then turned into an undersea mansion on the back of some giant shambling sea creature you would never get a good look at

later on there were some funny takes on the lighthouse specifically, like bringing back the sea creature theme to put it on the back of an interdimensional veil whale, or having it be the true location of the black emporium with a collection of eluvians that xenon the antiquarian lets you use

there’s a tiny concept art for a “high-speed aravel chase” in a canyon like a western

tevinter gladiators are mentioned a couple times. we WEREEE going to get to see the minrathous proving grounds :( there’s also a dwarven embassy concept art somebody take me out back and shoot me

there are a lot of ghilan’nain creature designs that didn’t make it into the game which is a shame but i can see why they would have been resource heavy

the antiva concept arts are so gorgeous. a lot of it got through! and definitely the overall Vibe made it. at some point it seems to have been antiva city itself; they don’t call it treviso and they mention the circle of magi as a major landmark

“The entrance to the Necropolis is like an inverted Tower of Babel. They seek knowledge in the grave instead of heaven.” <- this just rules as a line

for arlathan: “To differentiate it from previous forest and jungle locations in Dragon Age, we went with an autumnal colour palette. It has the benefit to feeling ominously like the end.”

the veil jumpers have a “skull halla” symbol that “implies their willingness to risk death”. did that end up in the game?

“With each faction, we explored a range of aspirational fantasies. For the Wardens, this ranged from knights in shining armour to butal tanks to a Nietzche quote: ‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.’”

there’s this concept among the warden armours for an insane orlesian noblewoman look with the winter palace morrigan corset and a piled high wig, but the skirts torn knee length and a serrated fan in hand. i’m kind of obsessed

“To bring more life to the world, we thought about what industries would keep the Anderfels afloat. We took the prominent Warden blue colour and envisioned an industry harvesting flowers, creating dye, and then weaving copious amounts of blue fabric.” this is probably where the flower quests in the hossberg wetlands started off conceptually? v cute

character stuff:

in completely different early versions of the game, solas had a “bad cop” right hand woman called reva

imshael the desire demon/choice spirit from the masked empire and inquisition was going to be a two-handed weapon warrior companion, and also sexualised now while in largely feminine form, which would have been a Choice. there is one art of him in masculine form, also sexy but still not showing as much skin as the feminine one

as i said, neve was going to be calpernia

taash was a rogue. (they’re still a light-armoured dual wielder so that checks out.) it seems like davrin was briefly a mage. at some points harding seems to have inherited bianca

saarbrak, another qunari companion, seems to have lastest the longest of the abandoned concepts. he’s the only non-canon one who got as far as having a place for him sketched into designs of the lighthouse: “saarbrak’s planning room”. mentions and sightings of what might be him are sporadic and i think you only see his name on that sketch, but i’m connecting it to the description “a potential qunari companion evolved from saarebas to dapper qunari spy, offering a deeper look into qunari culture”

the embroidery on harding’s clothes is how she passes the time while “waiting for days in a sniper perch” on missions. i just thought that was cute

#veilguard spoilers #long post

189 notes · View notes

ssdaley · 28 days ago

Text

Dachshund through the snow..

A very S.S.Daley Christmas jumper, Models wear the 'Harold' Lambswool sweater in Olive.

Inspired by Steven's dogs Basil and Ernest, we see a duo of Dachshund dogs, their bodies spiritedly wrap around the entirety of the sweater against a rich dark green and cream colour palette, accented by a grass green border.

#ssdaley #fashion #menswear #british #christmas jumper #xmas #festive #dachshund

82 notes · View notes

tkaulitzlvr · 1 year ago

Note

TOM AND Y/N SHOWER FLUFF PLEASE I BEG YOU

SELFCARE - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: after a stressful week at work, tom notices that you aren’t yourself. to help you loosen up, he decides to take care of you and give you even more princess treatment than usual, setting up a self-care night when you come home more stressed than usual.

content: fluff

a/n: tkaulitzlvr actually posting an imagine can u believe it😱😱😱 this was requested a while ago, but it lost the poll i put up a few weeks ago and since then it’s been in my inbox pretty often, so here u go! this is my first time writing since i last posted so i’m sorry if this is shitty😭

“another tough day schatz?” his voice is soft, bordering almost sympathetic as he runs his hands through my hair, arms wrapped securely around my upper back, staying that way from the second i had melted into them, doing so as soon as my tired feet trudged their way through the front door. this had become habitual over the past couple weeks, my job becoming particularly demanding with the annual roll around of christmas, my already packed schedule more hectic than ever, my happiness the cost of the overwhelming chaos that festivities inevitably brought along - the customers seeming to pour in faster than i could comprehend. though today, work had been almost too stressful, leaving me a lethargic mess, unable to do anything besides wrap my arms loosely around tom’s frame as he greets me with soft kisses, attempting to ease the stress that weights heavily on my shoulders, even if it is just a little bit.

“mhm.” i mumble, burying my head further into his chest, sighing loudly and allowing my eyes to flutter closed, already feeling at ease from the simple remedy of his touch.

he hums sympathetically in response, tightening the grip of his arms around my back, his lips pressing onto my forehead as a comfortable silence envelops us. his hands trail upward, moving tentatively under my thick jumper, the warmth of the knitted material replaced with the soft touch of his fingers as the pads trail across the skin of my back, tracing random patterns and allowing me to drown everything else out of my surroundings, tuning into only on the movements of his fingertips.

after a few minutes spent wrapped in his arms, he slowly moves away, though any doubts of him ending the tender moment are soon put to bed when his hands move upward, cupping my face in his palms and moving it closer. his lips are placed onto mine, their touch so gentle, so soft that my heart tugs at its strings, the stress that had weighed me down all week seeming to melt away. he pulls away every few seconds, tugging my bottom lip between his teeth, that same cocky smile on his face, though it doesn’t last long as he closes the gap between us once again. this time, his arms wrap around my waist, pulling my body flush against his as he begins to sway side to side. his fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, chuckling into the kiss when i jump slightly.

“i love you.” he mumbles against my lips when he finally pulls away, breathless and flustered, his cheeks a light shade of red as his now swollen lips mirror my own. he doesn’t wait for my response, a slight smile gracing his expression as he opens his mouth to continue. “how about i help you relax? we can shower and then put on one of your favourite movies, i’ll even order takeout. how does that sound schatz?”

when my lips curve into a soft smile he already knows the answer, moving closer once again and kissing my cheek. his hands find their way to my heavy winter coat, reaching to pull it off of my frame as i look upward at him in confusion.

“you’re exhausted honey. let me do this for you, okay?”

i don’t object, nodding my head silently and standing still as he gently removes my arms from the sleeves, walking away momentarily to hang the coat with the rest of the clothes beside the front door. he comes up behind me, quickly lifting me upward into his arms before i can object.

“what are you doing?” i giggle, patting his back whilst small chuckles escape my lips, legs flailing around as his arms remain tightly around my waist. he places me gently on the couch, flashing me a soft smile before bending down in front of me. i giggle in disbelief when he reaches for my boots, slowly undoing the buckle.

“baby i’m tired not incapable. you don’t have to take my shoes off for me.” i shake my head slowly, laughing quietly to myself as he looks up, making eye contact with me.

“but i want to. let me take care of you.” his voice is slow, though the movements of his hands as they remove my shoes are even slower, bordering too careful, tugging the zippers on each foot downward gently. one hand moves to the heel, the other placing itself at the front of my shoe as he pulls it off, setting it on the floor and moving to my other shoe, until they are both off of my sore feet.

he clears his throat, moving his body upward so that it hovers above my own. he kisses my lips briefly, smiling into it and pecking them a few more times. “let’s go shower yeah?”

he scoops me into his arms, my legs instinctively wrapping around his torso as i bury my head into his neck, the familiar scent of vanilla and cigarettes calming my mind. his fingers tap against my thighs in a random pattern, arms hoisting me further upward whenever i would slip out of his embrace. my eyes only open when i feel my position change, realising that tom has set me down on the bathroom counter, the marble cold against my skin despite the denim that covers my lower half. he mutters a quick ‘i’ll be right back’, before disappearing out of the bathroom, leaving me alone momentarily. the silence is peaceful - a clear contrast from the chaos i had been unwillingly part of all day. it is strange for things to be so quiet, without the annoying and far too frequent complains of a customer, or the constant sound of christmas music blasting around the store. but it is nice, and my entire body relaxes at the lack of noise until tom reappears, holding some fresh pyjamas, a random array of unlit candles placed on top of them.

he places them next to me, turning away and messing with the shower until hot water begins to pour from it. he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lighter and setting the candles upright. his fingers flick the light switch off, small orange flames casting their brightness around the now dim bathroom. his eyes meet mine, gaze staying locked on mine as he walks over, his fingers finding their way to the hem of my jumper.

“can i take this off schatz?” he asks, smiling weakly when i nod my head. he lifts the material upward slowly, dropping it to the floor and studying my upper body. he moves his attention to my bra, looking into my eyes once again, waiting for that permission he had sought moments ago. i mutter a quiet ‘yes’, his fingers pulling the clasps undone. knowing better than to make the moment sexual, his gaze lingers only briefly as he appears to snap out of it, mumbling a quick ‘so beautiful’ before removing my jeans, letting them pool at my feet. i stand up, removing my panties myself whilst he turns to his own clothing.

“wait.” i say, his head turning to face me. he stops his movements when he is just about to remove his shirt, watching as my hands move his own away, my fingers clasping around the soft material as i lift it over his head, revealing his upper body, adorned with rigid muscle and soft skin, something which still makes my stomach swarm with butterflies - no matter how many times my eyes land on the sight. he grins softly, planting a sweet kiss in my hair before pulling his own jeans down, his boxers quickly following.

i enter the shower, the warm water quickly easing the tension that had habituated around my body, my eyes shutting at the satisfaction. i feel tom’s presence behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist slowly. his head dips just below my ear, lips ghosting over the skin until they eventually make contact, placing slow and messy kisses there, my head falling backward as i make no attempt to stop him.

“you okay baby?” he whispers lowly against me, pulling his head out of my shoulder, turning my body around so that i am now facing him, his frame considerably taller than my own, his head looking downward whilst my own neck bends upward to look into his eyes.

“mhm.” i offer him a weak smile, watching as he reaches behind me, grabbing the shampoo from the small shelf.

his hand places itself on my shoulder, applying a little pressure. “turn around schatz.” he whispers, twisting my body so that my back now faces him. i take a guess at what he is doing, my prediction confirmed as correct when i hear him open the bottle from behind me, squeezing some shampoo into his hands. he lathers it up for a few seconds before his fingers thread into my wet hair, massaging the suds deep into my scalp. i sigh in relief, head falling backward slightly at the feeling. his fingers move deeper, leaving no part untouched, the bubbles now coating my entire head. once satisfied, he reaches for the shower head, testing the temperature before moving it so that the water falls directly onto my hair.

“close your eyes honey.” he says, moving the stream of water as the suds run down the front of my face. his hands still run through my hair, taking real care to make sure that the shampoo is completely washed out. he grabs the conditioner, rubbing it softly on the ends of my hair, rinsing the remainder under the water.

he lathers some soap in his hands whilst my conditioner soaks in, turning my body around so that i am facing him once again. he starts at my shoulders, covering them in the soapy suds, then trailing down to my arms, hands, stomach, waist, back. a playful smile tugs at his lips when he reaches my breasts, touching them a little - in fact way more than he needed to. his hands cup them firmly, thumbs swirling over my nipples as he looks into my eyes. i shake my head playfully, though i don’t have it in me to tell him to stop, allowing his hands to work on my breasts.

“just making sure they’re clean.” he confirms, letting a soft laugh escape from his lips. his hands detach from them after a few minutes, moving to rest on my ass. though when his face nears my own, i soon realise that this is no longer about ‘making sure that i am clean.’ he walks backward slightly until our bodies are submerged under the stream of water, pressing his lips to my own. the kiss is different this time. it is firmer, rougher, playing dangerously on the line between loving and lustful. his tongue slips into my mouth, hands kneading my ass as he pushes his body further into mine, the feeling of something hard between my thighs snapping me out of the moment.

i look downward, stifling a laugh once i pick up on tom’s problem. “and here i was thinking this shower was for you to take care of me.” i sigh, shaking my head and laughing quietly.

“you’re naked in front of me. i can’t help it baby, i swear.” he jokes, his hands resting on my lower back as he pecks my lips lovingly a few times. “don’t worry, we don’t have to do anything. this is your night, and i’m gonna take care of you, just like i said i would.”

my heart warms at his words, arms reaching to wrap around his torso as i pull him into a hug. he is taken aback, but quickly hugs back, his hands resting on my back as his thumbs run up and down it.

“i love you.” i mumble, face flush against his chest.

“i love you more schatz, always.” he replies, resting his chin on my head, the room now silent besides from the sound of water pouring from the shower head. “c’mon let’s finish up then you can pick a movie, whatever you like.”

i nod my head, about to wash the conditioner on my hair out myself, though tom beats me to it, running the hot water through my hair until it is completely clean. he steps out first, reaching his hand out for me to take, grabbing a towel as i exit the shower. he starts with my hair, squeezing the excess water out of it, before moving the towel down my body, removing the small droplets that rest on my skin. the time he spends focusing on himself is next to nothing - he briefly drew himself off and slips on some grey sweatpants, running a towel on his braids for a few seconds.

“lift your arms up.” he says, grabbing the pyjamas that he had brought in earlier, placing the oversized t-shirt (he knew instinctively to pick one of his out - remembering that i would much rather wear his clothes than my own) over my frame, tugging the baggy sweatpants up and over my legs.

i mutter a quick ‘thank you’, exiting the bathroom and flopping onto the bed, body sinking into the fresh sheets. tom follows a few seconds later, chuckling at my state when he enters the bedroom. he walks over slowly, picking me up and climbing under the covers, only letting me go to place my body on top of his own, legs intertwined, my chest flat against his own. he reaches for the remote that sits on our bedside table, handing it over to me.

“it’s all yours.” he smiles, watching as i gladly take it, shifting my position so that i can see the large tv directly opposite our bed. though this subtle change clearly separates the distance between tom and i too much, his arms reaching to wrap tightly around my waist, my own resting on his torso, head snuggling into his chest as i flick the tv on, the screen quickly lighting up.

“thank you for taking care of me.” i mumble against him, snuggling further into his embrace. i feel him smile against me, hand giving my waist a soft squeeze.

“of course. it’s my job baby, you know i’d do it a thousand times over.” he places a kiss into my hair, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. “all i want is for you to be happy. you know i’ll do anything to make sure that you are, right?”

i nod weakly, eyes landing on the movie that i want to watch, knowing that tom won’t be as thrilled as i am. “does that include watching the notebook?” i peer upwards at him, studying the way his face falls momentarily, a loud groan escaping his lips, knowing just how much he completely despises this movie.

“now that crosses the line.” he jokes, a playful smile now on his face. “you really sure you want to watch this? out of every movie?” he knows that attempting to change my mind is pointless, though any small chance of getting out of this is something that he will take. but when i nod my head slowly, he realises that it is no use.

“i’m just kidding. anything you want schatz. it’s your night.”

i kiss his cheek repeatedly amidst mumbling rushed and almost inaudible ‘thankyou’s, the smile on his face only growing wider and wider as he places his hand on my back, shaking his head once i return to how i had been sat before, my head resting on his chest. the movie begins to play, tom’s thumb rubbing soft circles on my skin, the feeling of his eyes burning into me providing a clear distraction.

“stop staring.” i whisper, hitting his chest lightly. “watch the movie tom.”

“sorry.” he mumbles, returning his attention to the screen, though i sense his gaze on me throughout, not having the energy or heart to stop him, instead letting him get away with the not so subtle glances that he sends my way, deciding to give him the false hope that he is being discreet.

eventually, his breathing becomes slower and deeper, body no longer shifting as it had done for the past thirty minutes. i turn around, seeing his eyes closed, mouth slightly parted with quiet snores escaping from it as his chest moves up and down, arms still holding me tightly in their embrace. i turn the tv off, pulling the covers over both of us and placing my leg over his, fingers tracing random shapes onto his chest as i feel my own eyes becoming heavy. just as i am about to fall into a slumber, tom begins to stir in his sleep, bringing my body even closer so that it now rests on top of his own. his eyes remain closed, still on the verge of sleep as his mouth opens slowly, voice low and groggy. “i love you schatz, goodnight.”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tomkaulitz #tokiohotel #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #tom kaulitz smut #kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst #bill kaulitz

197 notes · View notes

ranticore · 11 days ago

Note

in inver verse (inverse, if u will), what's the difference between a faerie and a god? it seems to be less a matter of innate difference, and more a matter of whether or not a given entity is socially acceptable to worship. the Immortal Hound is a god, the Puca is not, despite both seeming to be of a similar nature

and if this is true, does that mean that the Southern God is also a faerie?

actually i will answer this but it's a waffling nonanswer as is my custom

although the monarchy & upperclass of inver (and lower class ppl from the regions in the west like Moya, arranged along what were once ancient battle-lines between Inver's founding people) certainly have their own set of cultural practices, celebrations, and rituals, they would not describe kossith as a god nor think of him as one. for a definition of god as we would understand it (i.e let's take the prechristian irish pantheon for example since i guess that's an apt base state to compare against. it's not like that). although the practices are on the surface somewhat worshipful it is not worship, and neither is it mandatory for any citizen of inver loyal to the monarchy to do the same. you, random person, you are free to take or leave the Immortal Hound. it doesn't matter what you choose or how you think of him because your disbelief is not an existential threat.

people who are in some sort of contact with faeries exist on a spectrum from witch (active communication) to any random everyday person who leaves a set of iron tongs by a cradle to guard a baby. if you aren't a witch you wouldn't be considered to be associated with any one entity - the farmer who stops to turn his jumper inside-out to ward off any faeries who might trap him in a field isn't participating in an act of worship or even self-defence. that's just mundane common sense. anyone would do that.

it was not just the monotheism of the church of suzette that was originally considered so unacceptable that it was banned from entry to inver, but the thought of 'organised religion' in and of itself was kinda fucked to consider for even ordinary people of inver. by the 1860s there would be small enclaves of converts, particularly along the border with Aquitan (which is a theocracy after all), but they were poorly understood by their peers. "so it's just the one faery?" they'd ask. "And you're answering to a bishop instead?"

but god is not a faery, the converts insist

conceptualising 'the actual Christian god' as presented by the Suzette Church posed a problem to the uncivilised barbarians of Inver. "now hold on," they would say, "the leader of Aquitan is a bishop? not god?"

"no," the missionary would reply, "the bishop serves under the Throne, who is in communion with God."

"sure we could just talk to god ourselves then, cut out the middle men"

tying the Church to its medical services (and other philanthropic activities) was the only method by which it got any foothold at all in Inver. their miracle cure, penicillin, was considered on the same level as a witch's spell. "god did that, I suppose." but the dilution of Suzette's faith by the inevitable incorporation of Inver folk magic was also a reason for it not to spread too quickly there, and to guard the foothold it had without trying to step any further.

is there evidence for god? any fool could look outside and know faeries and their servants are real. god, though?

#yeah so the truth is that [a huge lorry drives past horn blaring and drowns out what i say]

33 notes · View notes

freeusemuses · 7 months ago

Note

Stave had been seated in a luxury suite for quite some time now, He had already finished his job smuggling border jumpers from Atlas to Vale, and he was gonna spend the rest of the night relaxing. Is what he would say if his Aervulf ears didn't pick up the clacks of high heels.

Yor's instructions were clear. Take out a VIP in the last compartment of the train. Then to dissappear once the train reached Atlas. We'll the first part of her mission had been completed successfully. Now she just had to lay low until the train stopped I'm Atlas.

#closed rp #closed starter #delugedecade

99 notes · View notes

derww · 2 months ago

Text

DAY 25: VOID

At first, she thinks that she got something wrong. Because- of course, they are sick in their heads, but it can't be- maybe she missed anything? Maybe it's a figurative expression?

– What? What do you mean? – she asks, feeling as if the carpet had been torn out from under her feet...

– Well, yes, – Bacon confirms, – this is the last part of the initiation. It's like a trust fall. It may be difficult for you at first, but it's a matter of practice. We are already doing it pretty well overall. If we are not being thrown, of course. There's usually just not enough time to focus.

She looks around, trying to figure out if Bacon is serious. Mapicc does not pay any attention to the conversation, staring at the communicator, and Zam, on the contrary, glares at her, smiling broadly and as if barely restraining himself. She is surprised that at this point he has not yet started to put empty rails next to them and shoot them.

She laughs nervously.

– And how do you do it? Can you demonstrate?

– Sure, why not, – Bacon shrugs. A voidhole is right in front of them, and the void begins just several blocks below, and he comes close to it, calmly peering into the void, and then turns around at her. – Look, Jumper, everything is quite simple. Do you remember how the Abyss came into contact with you? It happens when you're, you know, in such a special state of relaxation and openness, right? Do you understand what I mean?

– Yes, yes, of course, – she babbles. She has no idea what he is talking about. The Abyss has never spoken to her – and she has never actually tried to get in touch with her.

– Well, basically yes, – Bacon agrees, – you need to get in touch with her, the stronger the bond, the better. As long as the Abyss sees you as her adeptus, she will accept you.

Imperceptibly and imperturbably, as if doing nothing unusual, he jumps down without turning around, and she runs to the edge, and Bacon is there – standing on a missing surface, in the air, on the void, and he is not even wearing elytra. He looks like it's something completely routine – he walks around for a bit and then turns around at her.

– Did you understand how? – he asks distantly. He's bouncing a little bit. – We need to do this more often. That's cool.

Zam rushes past her and, laughing, jumps after Bacon, and visibly effortlessly stays on the surface of the border. While she stares at both of them, calmly strolling through nonexistent matter, feeling fear clutching her chest, Mapicc jumps too – he lands between Bacon and Zam and then yawns – either from fatigue, or boredom altogether. Standing on the void. Being one step away from death. Being supported only by a chthonic deity with unknown motives and practices. Icy sweat flows on her back.

– It's your turn! – Zam shouts to her as if they were not standing ten blocks away from her, – don't be afraid, just give yourself up to enter and jump!

That's what she realizes at this moment: she can't. She had never even heard the Abyss, not even as a whisper or suggestion, as surface contact with it was described. She didn't stand a chance. She's already lost. And they didn't even try to buy it, did they?

– Yes, give me a little more time! – She answers and forces herself to pull herself together. She was infinitely far away from the divine bullshit, but right now she just needed to make herself feel like one of the Abyss members. It's not so difficult. She knew how to play a role, after all.

She just needs to- yes. She is a member of the Abyss. She looked into the Abyss and saw its deepest charms and spoke to her. She is an adepus dedicated to her goddess and the fulfillment of her will and was endowed with knowledge and abilities for it. She is devoted to the Abyss and devoted to her team, who saved her from loneliness and gave her a new home and purpose...

She feels a faint prick on the top of her head. She gets a strange and incomprehensible feeling of lightness. This body is both hers and not hers at all, and all the muscles are relaxed in it. She's definitely in a trance. Is this what was expected of her?

She slowly walks to the very edge and looks distantly at the people standing below. For some reason, she feels absolutely nothing. A whisper in an unfamiliar language covers her ears.

She jumps, and it's so easy to understand the moment when she reaches the height of the border – she can almost see the surface itself, absolutely transparent, reminiscent of itself rather by the sensation and movement of shadows – and she's going to join the members of the Abyss, but for some reason absolutely nothing picks her up, and she falls like a stone. She doesn't have enough time to put on her elytras.

#abyss arc #d.fics #jumperwho #mapicc #princezam #baconwaffles0 #fanfiction #zam really wanted to be called the “voidwalkers”#so lets let them to actually walk in the void #lifestealtober2024 #abyss au

29 notes · View notes