#but laine made me post them all at once

[clementinebriar]

[ MYERS BRIGGS - DEBATER (ENTP) ]

ENTPs are known for their rebellious streak. For this personality type, no belief is too sacred to be questioned, no idea is too fundamental to be scrutinized, and no rule is too important to be broken or at least thoroughly tested. This may make ENTP personalities seem overly cavalier or defiant, but at their core, their innate tendency to test boundaries has more to do with their desire for innovation and change. As they see it, most people are too ready to do as they’re told and blindly conform to social norms, pressures, and standards. ENTP personalities enjoy the mental exercise of questioning the prevailing mode of thought, and they take a certain pleasure in uncovering the value of underdogs and outliers. Their active mind can’t help but rethink the things that everyone else takes for granted and pushes them in clever new directions.

[ MORAL ALIGNMENT - CHAOTIC NEUTRAL ]

A chaotic neutral character follows her whims. She is an individualist first and last, valuing her own liberty but not necessarily striving to protect others' freedom. She avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. Though unpredictable, her behavior is not totally random; she is just as likely to cross a bridge as to jump off it. Chaotic neutral is the best alignment because it represents true freedom from both society's restrictions and a do-gooder's zeal. However, chaotic neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all authority, harmony, and order in society.

[ LOVE LANGUAGE - ACTS OF SERVICE ]

The acts of service love language is a way of showing love through actions that make a partner's life easier or more enjoyable. People with this love language feel most loved when their partner takes the initiative to do things for them without being asked. When a loved one goes out of their way to make their life easier, they feel deeply connected. An act of service communicates that they are a top priority. For them, actions speak louder than words.

[ ENNEAGRAM - THE CHALLENGER (EIGHT) ]

Eights are self-confident, strong, and assertive. Protective, resourceful, straight-talking, and decisive, but can also be ego-centric and domineering. Eights feel they must control their environment, especially people, sometimes becoming confrontational and intimidating. Eights typically have problems with their tempers and with allowing themselves to be vulnerable. At their Best: self-mastering, they use their strength to improve others’ lives, becoming heroic, magnanimous, and inspiring.

[ TEMPERAMENT - SANGUINE-CHOLERIC ]

The Sanguine-Choleric is more assertive than the other Sanguine combinations. They are very persuasive and make good debaters! They have an outgoing interest in others and the ability to gain the respect and confidence of various types of individuals. They have a firm, lively, and friendly expression. They tend to speak before they think, dislike being ignored, and can seem impatient, yet they don’t dwell on negatives. The Sanguine-Choleric has a difficult time with details, organization, and consistency. They prefer that others give them information that will help them make decisions rather than research it for themselves. They are usually optimistic, but may lack follow through.

[rineros]

SHE WAS TOO GOOD TO ME

summary: he wants to heal

characters: miya atsumu, ex!reader

contains: 1.6k, self reflection post breakup

note: don’t judge ooc atsuwu i haven’t written hq fics in four years and he was the closest person to my ex bestie #fuckthatguy

sometimes, miya atsumu allows himself to wonder what could have happened if he wasn’t such an asshole.

he glances to his right. across the empty side of the bed where the scent of your shampoo was fading, his alarm clock reads 2:56 am. he groans loudly in frustration and drags his hands down his face, stretching out his tired features.

he stares at his ceiling that is illuminated by the glow in the dark stars you and he stuck up there once upon a time. a small smile strikes him when he remembers walking in on you hopping on the bed to get them up there.

he had watched you for a minute before you saw him. he’ll never forget that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest when you laughed joyously the moment you saw him and jumped from the bed to his arms. he held on to you tightly as he spun you around, relishing in the feeling of being truly loved.

you had kissed him so gently as you smiled when he set you down that he thought of himself as an adorable little puppy.

you excitedly showed him the progress you had made over the past hour, which honestly wasn’t much, but he knew you had probably gotten distracted by your phone.

“i got an idea,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders. “turn around.”

“you’re one dirty dog, you know that?” you giggled as you followed his movements.

you had yelped as you felt yourself being hoisted up into the air, but he gripped your waist as you held on to his hair for dear life. you steadied yourself and praised him for being such an innovative and creative problem-solver, making his cheeks flush.

from there, he walked to wherever in the room you wanted to place the stars, bed be damned, and by the time you two had finished, the sun had set. he set you down as he had done earlier and the two of you had lain patiently in bed, talking to pass the time as you waited for the darkness to settle.

when the stars started glowing, both of you had squealed childishly, but he thought that all those rare, once-in-a-lifetime comets could never compare to the sparkle in your eyes. cheesy, he knows.

he checks his clock again. it’s a quarter past three.

osamu’s going to be pissed if he calls him.

fuck it.

atsumu grabs his phone from the nightstand and dials the person who will always listen to him. he cringes when he hears osamu’s ringtone across the hallway.

it rings… and rings… and rings. voicemail.

an eerie silence settles in the apartment. you always hated that. the air is still, his pillow is much too flat, and there’s a disturbing feeling bubbling in his throat.

atsumu jumps and drops his phone on his face as his ringtone blares in his ears. he pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing it to soothe the sharp pain as he accepts the call.

“the hell you want?” the raspy voice of his brother mutters. atsumu feels bad because he knows that osamu’s first class starts at 8:00, but he can’t deal with this anymore tonight.

“i just… i wanted to talk.” his foot starts to shake and bounce as the silence returns.

a second passes, then another.

“come over.”

with that, his restless body rises from bed and walks quickly and nimbly across the hall to osamu’s room with his blanket wrapped around him. he opens the door to a half-asleep osamu and climbs into his queen-sized bed, the perk he received since atsumu got the bigger room. he makes himself comfortable as he lays on his side to face osamu, bringing the blanket up to his chin, basking in the warmth that could never match your own.

“gimme a sec,” osamu says gruffly. his eyes are still closed as he lays on his back. atsumu watches as he takes a few more deep breaths, then slowly cracks his neck to wake himself up. “talk.”

atsumu moves to lay himself on his back after he sees his eyes open slightly. they both stare at osamu’s bare ceiling.

“i never told you this, but when she broke up with me,” he pauses. “she didn’t cry. she looked too exhausted.

“she told me even before we broke up that i stopped putting in as much effort and that she felt like she wasn’t even in a relationship anymore, just the ghost of it.

“she completely tore me to shreds without even raising her voice because that’s who she is. no matter how much you hurt her, she’ll never hurt you. she cares too much. she wasn’t even trying to rip into me, like, she was just explaining the type of person i am and how my actions affected her and everyone’s perception of me.

“she told me that every time i hurt her, it seemed like i didn’t take her seriously and i never took accountability for my actions; i was always trying to weasel my way out of trouble.

“but i just wanted to preserve everyone’s feelings, y’know? i wanted to keep the peace. i never meant to make her feel like that.”

atsumu stops talking for a second as he waits for osamu to say something. it’s all a blur, with bits and pieces flashing in his head, but he could never forget the blank look in your eyes as you pointed out his shortcomings as a person, not just as a boyfriend.

“we judge others based on their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intentions,” osamu says. his voice is still ragged with exhaustion and his eyes have closed yet again. “i heard mom say somethin’ like that to her friend once.

“i believe you when you say you think you didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s only from your perspective. you’re busy; i get that and so does she. there’s volleyball, classes, homework, clubs, work, your friends, and then you added her, but it seems like you had spread yourself too thin already—“

“and that’s exactly one of the points i told her,” atsumu interrupts. “i’m not gonna be able to give her 100% all the time because i already do so much.”

osamu side-eyes him. “will you shut up and let me finish?”

atsumu huffs but lets him continue anyway.

“what i’m trying to get at is that, yeah, you’re busy, but you’re not the only person that’s busy. this isn’t just your world that we’re living in, it’s everyone’s. to her, it must have seemed like all of the effort, time, and love she invested in you was losing its value every time you ignored her or prioritized something stupid when she needed you. it’s not difficult to detach yourself from something that treats you like you don’t matter if you know your worth.

“you also lie. a lot. and i know you think they’re harmless little white lies, but they’ve gotten too out of hand lately that you’ve probably become desensitized to them.

“she’s smart and she knows you. she knew whenever you lied and it destroyed any kind of trust or credibility that you had.

“and that bullshit about wanting to spare everyone’s feelings? you know you don’t care about all that. also, who cares? nobody made you play mediator besides yourself and it’s impossible to not hurt anyone. you’re already hurting people; you’ve done it before and you’re going to keep doing it because that’s what learning is about. making mistakes. and if you haven’t already realized that you’re hurting people more than you would if you’d just tell the damn truth, you’re screwed,” osamu finishes his monologue, leaving atsumu in his thoughts.

was it really that bad for you? was he?

when he was younger, his tongue was as sharp as a shard of glass and he was much more careless with his words. it didn’t matter to him if the true words, in his opinion, hurt those around him. his belief was that there was no improvement without criticism. as he grew up, however, he had to learn to filter himself because nobody would willingly choose to be around someone who solely focused on their flaws.

and somewhere between then and now, he had forgotten the importance of honesty, usually opting to twist and bend the truth to preserve his reputation. it started off with a fib of “too much hw, can’t hang tn :(“ to multiple complicated lies spanning months, in which he would tell others things to make himself seem better. the kinder person, the most reliable, the smartest. just better.

eventually, it became too difficult to manage all of these lies and his stories became mixed up. when he was questioned about it, he would lie even more and even harder.

even now, as osamu told atsumu what he thought of him and his situation with you, there wasn’t much good. though atsumu came to osamu for comfort tonight, he, like you, wasn’t trying to make him feel bad, but it seems that’s the way he is destined to feel about himself when his personality is brought into conversation.

osamu snores next to him and as atsumu snuggles up to his blanket further, he realizes that this is a path he no longer wants to walk down.

he’s going to be better.

[duskandcobalt]

Everywhere, Everything: Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary: Back in the same city once again, Azriel and Elain are no longer able to ignore what's simmering between them

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: smut. just smut. (18+ pls and ty)

Missed the first seven chapters? You can find the Masterlist for this fic here 🥰

A/N: hello again friends, i'm baaaaack :)

Once again, I must begin by saying thank you for all your lovely comments and messages on my fics and on my wip wednesday posts because they truly keep me going 💕 I hope you enjoy this next installment.

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

Azriel couldn’t keep his foot from tapping against the linoleum floor of the Velaris airport as he kept an eager eye on the escalator that descended into the tiny arrivals hall. 

He’d picked Elain up from this airport a number of times when she’d gone on work trips or holidays with her sisters. But he’d never picked her up like this - waiting for her inside instead of on the curb. Waiting for her with this new situation between them ever present in the back of his mind just as it had been ever since the morning after Christmas when they’d unexpectedly gotten a little too carried away in his workshop.

He had the thought that maybe he should’ve brought some flowers with him today - if only to have something to do with his hands because right now he couldn’t decide whether to keep them in or out of his pockets and so he’d been fidgeting like a madman for the last fifteen or so minutes. It was a wonder airport security hadn’t confronted him for suspicious behaviour. 

The issue with bringing flowers was that they were headed straight to Nesta and Cassian’s house for the long weekend and the thought of explaining why he’d bought Elain flowers to her brother-in-law was enough to give him a headache. 

He’d already received a look from Rhys when he’d volunteered to pick her up under the pretence that it would make life easier for him and Feyre but maybe he’d been too eager given the speed with which he’d offered when they’d been discussing the logistics for this weekend. 

But Azriel couldn’t have possibly kept his cool. Not when the last time he’d seen her in person he’d had to drop her off at her sister’s house without so much as a kiss on the cheek because Nesta had been standing outside, waiting for her on the porch with a look on her face that hovered somewhere between worry and disappointment, as if Elain were a wayward teenager who’d snuck out for the night. 

It’d been months of separation and now she was once again back for her nephew’s birthday and though they’d been in near constant contact - texts, phone calls, hours spent on Facetime each evening - he couldn’t wait to see her again and he was desperate for a bit of time alone with her - even if it was just the forty five minute drive from the airport to Nesta’s house on the outskirts of town. 

Azriel raised up on his toes and then back down again - made note that perhaps he’d been spending too much time with Feyre because he’d clearly picked up that nervous habit from her - and then focused his attention back to the escalator again just in time to see a girl with brown hair cascading over her shoulders, a bright smile on her cherry red lips, and pretty eyes that were already set on him. 

There were no words for the way that first glimpse of her made him feel. No possible way to describe the rush he felt in his chest or the anxious itch of his palms. For all the slack he caught for keeping his feelings to himself and hardly ever letting his emotions show on his face, now his cheeks actually hurt from the way he was grinning as Elain not so casually rushed across the floor to him before abandoning her bags and launching herself into his arms. 

He caught her easily, lifting her up with his arms wrapped tight around her middle - savouring the feel of her hands as they wove through the strands of his dark hair. 

“Hi,” Elain giggled, resting her forehead against his. 

“Hi, Lain,” Azriel smiled back, carefully setting her back down on her feet so he could move his hands from her waist up to her face, tilting her chin up to him before he lowered his lips to hers. 

He felt the momentary hesitation, the bit of slight shock. He thought for a split second that maybe he’d pushed his luck with her, taken it too far, but the feeling was short lived because he soon felt her relax in his arms, melting into the kiss - melting into him. He knew what would’ve been going through her head. Knew that she’d paused for a moment because they’d never had this before - the chance to be so open, to put on such a display of affection where anybody in their small town could see them.

“Missed you,” she whispered against his lips, suddenly shy. Her face was flushed, eyes shimmering as she pulled back and looked at him. 

“Missed you, too.” Azriel whispered back, pecking her cheek once more for good measure. “Ready to go?” He asked, waiting for her nod of confirmation before reaching for her suitcase with one hand and taking her hand in the other because he simply couldn’t keep from touching her in some small way. 

The walk to the car was quick, quiet words exchanged about the flight as they walked - turbulent to start but otherwise fine. He knew how much she hated landings and so he’d given her hand a squeeze when she relayed with a small laugh the way she’d gripped the armrest, wishing he’d been there to hold her hand instead. 

There’d also, much to his chagrin, been a slight moment of embarrassment when Azriel started his car only for music to start blaring from the speakers - a bass heavy club track with female vocals that featured on his rotation of music he listened to whilst at the gym. He’d been listening to it on the way to the airport at top volume to keep his mind distracted.

Elain had looked over at him, a teasing grin on her lips and one sharp eyebrow raised as he sheepishly lowered the volume and quickly picked up his phone, switching to an indie folk song that was more indicative of the style of music he typically listened to throughout the day. “I see your club rat days aren’t completely behind you, after all.” 

Azriel chuckled as he threw an arm around her headrest and put the car in reverse, looking over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot. 

“Only within the constraints of this car and the gym, I’m afraid.” 

“Shame… I was hoping to see you with some glow sticks in hand again. It’s been awhile.”

Azriel shook his head at how much amusement she was getting out of this moment. He’d had a reputation in his college days for enjoying a good night out and while Elain had only witnessed him in his prime party days a couple of times, she’d never let him forget it. “Don’t worry, I keep the glow sticks in the glove compartment and pull them out at red lights to entertain myself sometimes.” 

“Very funny,” Elain rolled her eyes, settling into her seat and looking out the window as she quietly hummed along to the song that was now playing. 

Azriel watched her out of the corner of his eye, enjoying having her as a passenger in his car once again, happily chattering away about what they’d been up to and what this weekend had in store for them. It wasn’t until they were on the last five or so miles to their destination that he noticed how quiet she’d gotten a little over halfway into the drive, the conversation dying down into what he believed to be a comfortable silence. 

But the more the silence continued, the more suspicious he got.  He’d caught her twice now not-so-subtly sneaking long glances at him while she fidgeted with her necklace and shifted repeatedly in her seat, legs crossing and uncrossing as if she couldn’t get comfortable. It was dark out but he could just about spot a little crease between her brows - a dead giveaway she had something on her mind. 

He’d just opened his mouth to ask about it when she looked over at him. 

“Could you pull over?”

“What?” Azriel frowned, looking over at her as he slowed down, approaching the end of the long, dark road they were on. “Are you okay?” 

His own forehead creased in concern as he scanned her from head to toe. He didn’t know what he was looking for, could barely even see her properly now that the sun had fully set behind the mountains. 

“Yeah, I’m fine… I just… I… can you turn down here?” Elain gestured to the left where the paved road turned to dust and gravel - no street lights to be seen. They were supposed to go right and over the train tracks before turning into Nesta and Cassian’s neighbourhood. 

Azriel turned left as directed, driving a little further down the road before pulling to the side and putting the car in park. He twisted in his seat to face her, the dim lights from the dashboard doing little to help him see her.

“Lain, what’s wr-,” Azriel didn’t get a chance to finish his question because Elain was unbuckling her seatbelt and was halfway over the centre console of his car a second later - her lips fused to his neck, her hand skimming the waistband of his jeans. 

“Can we,” her hand slid along his jaw, turning his face toward hers. Her lips were inches from his. “Please, Az. Let me…”

The other hand that settled low on his waist slid down further, fingers gently palming him where his body had begun to catch on far quicker than his mind. 

“Fuck,” Azriel let out an involuntary groan, his hips keening upwards into her touch. “Jesus, Lain…here? Now?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. She breathed in the scent of him, tracing a path with her mouth to his ear where he felt her teeth just barely graze his ear lobe. “Been thinking about it all day long… this whole drive, on the plane, when I was at home. Want you in my mouth.”

Azriel cursed again under his breath, so caught off guard by her uncharacteristically brazen words to even notice that she’d undone the button and zipper of his jeans until he felt her fingers wrap around him, lightly dragging up his quickly hardening length. Just a tease of a touch that had him breathless.

He shouldn’t be surprised that she was acting like this - so out of her mind with the need to have him that she’d gone as far as to make him pull over when they were mere minutes away from seeing her family.

She’d been so eager a time or two on those late night calls, after all. Had only vaguely pretended to be shy when after hours of exchanging increasingly salacious texts, he asked if she’d undress for him. She’d nodded, a pretty blush creeping up her neck as she slowly took off her clothes and propped her laptop between her legs, dutifully following his instructions - lower, slower, yes, just like that… good girl -  until she was coming for him, rapid breaths, his name muttered into her pillow, the light from her computer screen casting her perfect skin in hues of blue.

“Come here,” he groaned, suddenly impatient, overcome with the need to have her - wanting to give her what she was begging for. He unbuckled his own seatbelt and pushed his seat back as far as it would go, helping her over the console and onto his lap, chuckling when her ass hit the horn. She maintained her focus, kissing him once, twice, then shifting down - squeezing herself into the space between his legs, her knees on the floor of the driver’s side, her hands on his thighs, her lips tracing a path around the head of his cock. 

It was like something out of a wet dream. It was every filthy fantasy he’d ever had. Elain on her knees, signature deep red lipstick staining his skin like a map of all the places her lips had explored. Heavy lidded eyes watering as she took him into her mouth - deeper, then deeper still, until he felt the back of her throat, heard the soft choking sound of her taking just a bit too much.

“Careful,” Azriel whispered, gathering her long hair in his fist and holding it back so that it stayed out of her way and gave him the view he was after.

Elain drew back, taking a deep breath as she smiled up at him - eyes glazed over with lust. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” she dragged her tongue over his head, her fist tightening and twisting around him. “For years.”

“Yeah?” It’s all he could manage because she was back to it, that torturous mouth making him see stars. The way she hummed around him in confirmation brought him right to the edge. Only a few minutes and she already had him there, thighs tensing as he tried to hold back just a second longer. “Elain… I’m gonna,” he tried to warn her. Tried to give her the option. But she kept going, nails digging into his thighs, almost smiling around him as he tugged at her hair so her eyes were focused on his as he spilled into her mouth with a loud groan.

He watched in a daze the motion of her throat as she swallowed, taking everything he gave her in stride until he was completely spent. He released her hair,carefully tucking it behind her ear as she dragged her tongue over him one last time.

Azriel reached down after she pulled off him, thumbing at her full bottom lip - now slick with spit. “This mouth… all I’ve been thinking about is your mouth. These lips, that lipstick - thought about it on my cock.”

“Hope I lived up to your expectations,” she smiled, shy once again.

“Exceeded them,” he slipped his thumb further between her lips, shaking his head when she playfully dragged her teeth over the pad of it as if she just couldn’t help herself. He had to pull back, keep his hands to himself before he abandoned all plans and hauled her into the back seat of his truck to return the favour.

Elain pressed small kisses to his thighs and his chest as she did her best to make him presentable again before settling back on his lap with her arms around his neck, her face once again tucked into his neck. “Thank you.”

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh as he leaned back to look at her, hands cupping her face. “Think I should be thanking you.”

She shook her head, smiling at him. “Needed that.”

All he could do was grin at her stupidly, tracing her cheeks and then her lips, before he kissed her. Slow. Deep. In no rush. 

To hear that she wanted him like that, needed him… he could almost come again just from the thought of her feeling that way. He was so in over his head, so deeply gone for her.

“Az,” she swallowed, biting down on her lip. “We should go… before the girls send a search party.” 

“You’re right,” he nodded, hands squeezing her ass once more before helping her back over the console and into her seat. He righted himself, readjusted his seat, and turned the engine back on. He started driving back towards the train tracks - his hand on her thigh, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The memory of a moment on a dirt road now a secret just between them - nothing but the stars in the night sky as their witness.

…

Filthy. 

It was downright filthy the way Elain felt about him. Filthy the way she walked into her sister’s house knowing her lipstick was on Azriel’s body, crudely smeared under his jeans. Filthy, the way she could still feel his fingers threaded through her hair - the gentle tug of his fist until her eyes were on him so he could watch as she swallowed. Filthy the way she wanted to avoid eating or drinking if only to keep the taste of him in her mouth just a little bit longer. 

She’d wanted it from the second she’d gotten ready for the airport, slipping on her favourite underwear while imagining him taking it off her. She’d wanted to make him feel the way he’d made her feel a time or two now - knew that he wouldn’t be keeping count but still, she’d been itching for it and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out as soon as she first spotted Azriel upon arrival at the Velaris airport. It was a miracle she’d even lasted that far into the drive. It was even more of a miracle that she’d been able to stop after all was said and done considering that now, hours later, there was a persistent ache between her legs the begged to be attended to. 

Arriving at Nesta’s house had been a much needed distraction. She’d checked her appearance in the visor mirror just to make sure there wasn’t any incriminating evidence of what they’d done lingering on her skin and then climbed out of the car just in time for the front door to swing open and her nephew to appear at the top of the stairs, shouting her name in excitement. 

From there, she’d been dragged into the house - taken on a tour of the toys and books he’d forced his parents to drag along for the weekend - before he finally handed her over to the adults when the excitement faded and the sleepiness took over. 

She was happy to be back in this house with her favourite people. It was so different from the last time she’d been here, when Graysen had been glued to her hip, his eyes carefully keeping track of her every move. The last time she’d been here, she’d told Azriel that they couldn’t be friends - at least not like they had once been. 

She couldn’t believe just how much had changed in such a short span of time. She couldn’t wrap her head around just how differently everything had panned out. Now she was back in one of her favourite places, no overbearing boyfriend in sight. And yes, she and Azriel weren’t friends, certainly not like they had once been. But it was true in a much different way than she’d anticipated and she couldn’t possibly be happier about it. 

It had been so easy to fall back into old patterns with him - the comfortable ease of their long friendship rekindled as if the year or two of limited communication had never happened. But while those first few weeks after Christmas were just like old times - friendly conversations talking about everything and nothing - at some point their daily phone calls escalated, certain things slipping out with the darkening of the sky and a couple glasses of wine. 

They’d sp0ken about their situation a few times over the phone. She’d confided in him about Graysen - about the mistakes made and the lessons she’d learned. About her hesitancy to jump straight into another relationship. So they’d agreed to keep things casual, to not label anything just yet. Still, it was evident by the constant tension between them, that they were undeniable more than just friends.

Perhaps that should’ve been obvious, given that the last time she’d seen him in person he’d had his head between her legs and it would’ve gone further had Nesta not rudely interrupted. 

She’d hated leaving him like that and had been so eager to see him afterwards but the New Year's rush had been hard to avoid at work for both of them and so they’d ended up agreeing to see each other when she visited for Nyx’s birthday - and to keep this new development just between them- until they could plan their next steps. 

That’s how they ended up in this house - Elain unable to look Azriel in the eye for more than a few seconds while surrounded by their family and friends without thinking of everything she wanted to do with him. She’d been more than happy to entertain Nyx and to help prep dinner. To do absolutely anything that would keep her busy so that she didn’t have time to think about the way she could feel him sneaking looks at her every time they were in the same room. With the distraction of other people, she could push aside the desire coursing through her for just a moment. 

Somehow, Elain had made it through the night successfully. She hadn’t raised any suspicions. Had managed to interact with him in a way that was just the right amount of friendly. But now, laying in the bedroom she always stayed in at Nesta’s house, all she could think of was him. Of what they’d done in the car on the way here just three or four hours ago. 

She wanted him again. Wanted his hands on her body. Wanted his tongue in her mouth. Felt like she needed him in a way that was borderline embarrassing. 

She picked up her phone, opening their text thread. She typed and deleted multiple messages before locking her phone and putting it face down on the nightstand. It felt too desperate to text him like that. Juvenile almost. But it was torture - each shift of her legs, the soft touch of the sheets, the feel of her t-shirt twisting around her sensitive skin - it all added to her incessant need. Her nipples were hard peaks and there was a thrumming low in her core that was becoming impossible to ignore. She’d never in her life felt frustration like this, pinpricks of sweat gathering at her hairline. 

She knew this wasn’t something that she’d be able to work away herself like she did when she was alone at home and desperate for him- in bed, her fingers stroking between her thighs.

Elain sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She needed air. A glass of cold water. And if she walked by his room… if she happened to see the glow of a light underneath the gap in his door, then that would be the sign she needed. Maybe then she’d knock. And if he happened to be awake, if he happened to open the door, then she’d feign ignorance - was just going to the kitchen and saw your light was on… 

With her mind made up, she slipped on her robe and padded to the door with the intention of venturing to the kitchen but she didn't make it far at all, pulling the door open only to almost walk face first into the solid wall of Azriel’s chest.

“Oh,” she swallowed, dragging her eyes up to his face. 

He looked just as dishevelled as she felt, his hair tousled as if he’d been running his hands through it. 

“I was just going to the kitchen because I needed some -”

“Save it,” he shook his head, voice low as he stepped towards her, forcing her to retreat back into her room. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, too distracted by the look of determination in his eyes as twisted her around and quickly closed the door behind them.

Her entire body sparked to life, burning as he reached for her again, both hands firm on her hips until she was completely pressed up against the door with nowhere to go, his hips flush against hers, not even a single inch left between them. It was that movement that made her snap out of the daze, it was the feel of him hard and heavy against her stomach that left no room for questioning what he was here for or that his intentions matched exactly what she’d had in mind while she’d been tossing and turning in her bed. 

Azriel wasted no time, hands deftly undoing the tie of her robe, reaching up to slip it off her shoulders until it fell to their feet. His fingers were under her t-shirt a moment later, fingertips skimming the soft curve of her breasts. 

“Az, wait…” Elain breathed, trying to put a bit of space between them if only to clear her head a little. “Feyre and Rhys…”

“Don’t wanna hear names that aren’t mine right now,” he said gruffly, rolling his hips against hers.

“It’s just that they’re right next door. I share a wall and they could hear…” 

Azriel only smirked down at her, thumbs circling her sensitive nipples. “Guess you’ll just have to be quiet then won’t you. Do you think you can manage that?”

She knew he was being smart with her, knew that he remembered just how not quiet she’d been the last time he’d had his hands on  her like this. But her rational brain had seemed to vacate the premises and so instead of offering some sort of rebuttal back, Elain was muttering something like I can be so quiet, I promise I’ll be so quiet as she turned them around, tugging him down towards her and pulling him to the floor. 

“Right here?” Azriel raised an eyebrow, hands travelling up her legs and under the hem of her oversized t-shirt, leaving goosebumps in their path, until his fingers curled into the straps of the lacy underwear she wore.

“Yes,” Elain nodded, not bothering to explain that the headboard would likely be an issue for them. She lifted her hips up to make it easier for him to tug her underwear down her legs. “Here. Now. Need you.” 

“I know,” Azriel soothed, hands pushing her shirt up her torso before lifting it off her head, leaving her sprawled out underneath him - naked on the carpet. “I know, angel.” 

Elain bit down on her lip, watching as he quickly stripped out of his own clothes before lowering himself over her. One big palm was placed on her thighs, calloused hand spreading her wide in a way that would’ve made her blush if she wasn’t so focused on the blissful feeling of his weight settling on top of her and pinning her to the floor.

That same hand maneuvered in between their bodies, fingers easily parting her and slipping through her center - teasing and testing. He cursed under his breath, clearly pleased with what he found there. “You’re so fucking wet already, I think you could take me just like this but I’d like to taste -”

“No,” she shook her head quickly, blindly reaching between them to grip his cock, guiding it to where she was wet and ready for him. “Please.”

The feeling of him settling against her entrance was divine, and her back arched in search for more.

“Wait, fuck.” Azriel stopped all of a sudden. “Condom… they’re in my room. I can just go and…”

Elain locked her legs around him, nails pressed into his shoulder blades to keep him from moving any further away. She couldn’t bear for him to leave. Couldn’t possibly waste one more second with him when they were already so short on time. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill and I haven’t… there’s no one else so if you’re good then I’m good.”

“I’m good, Lain.” Azriel nodded quickly, relaxing a little as he once again situated himself, dragging his cock through her once before he pushed in just the tiniest bit so she could feel that beautiful pinch of initial pressure. “You sure?”

“Yes, fuck, pl-” her words were choked off with a gasp as Azriel pushed into her so slowly, each incredible inch of him sinking into her until there was nowhere else for him to go. 

His lips skated over her jaw until they found her own, kissing her sweetly as he withdrew out almost all the way before sliding in again. “There’s no one else, Lain. Just you.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes fluttered open to look at him as he sank into her. 

“Yeah, that’s how it’s gonna be now. Isn’t that right, angel?” He whispered as he plunged into her over and over again - slow, decadent drags of his cock that had her whimpering beneath him. “Just you for me and me for you.”

“Yes,” Elain nodded frantically, hips bucking up against his, desperate for more.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Azriel read her signs and lifted her knee, pushing it up and out to the side, allowing for a deeper fit that had her biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“I’m yours. Fuck, fuck, I’m yours.” Elain moaned, lips seeking his mouth for another kiss. 

She didn’t know what had gotten into him but she relished in it. Body growing taut at the suggestion of belonging to him. Maybe it was the distance for him as well, the time spent apart, that had him just as crazed as she had been. Just as feral. 

It was so good. So fucking incredible to have him like this, so deep inside her, making her feel so unbelievably good that she couldn’t even think straight. It was undeniable that this was more than sex. Despite the carnal urge they’d both felt, this had to be more than just physical desire between them. She couldn’t get enough. Wanted even more. 

“Az?” Elain raked her nails up his back, tugging lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck until his eyes were on her. “Will you fuck me?”

She could see the look of confusion in his eyes, the little crinkle on his forehead as if he was trying to figure out if that wasn’t exactly what they were currently doing. It took a second but she could pinpoint the exact moment he caught on to what she meant because his eyes darkened and his lips twitched.

“You want it a little harder, hm? A little rough? I’ll give you whatever you want.” He pulled out of her, kneeling back and nodding as he looked down at her. “Turn over. Get on your knees.”

Elain bit down on the inside of her cheek, nervous anticipation coursing through her as she flipped over as directed. Her hands and knees were on the floor as she turned back to look at him, watching as he knelt behind her, hands kneading her ass . He gave her no warning before lining himself up and pushing into her in one rough, hard thrust - knocking the air clear out of her. 

She hadn’t even noticed that she’d made a noise until his chest pressed into her back, his hand covering her mouth as he nipped at a spot just below her ear. “Thought I told you to be quiet.” 

She loved him like this. Loved the authority. The dominance. The control. She needed it sometimes and she loved that he did as she wanted, fucking her properly without making her feel like any of the other men she’d been with had made her feel in moments like this. Because for each rough movement, there was praise. 

You’re doing so well, angel.  Azriel told her as he gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You feel so fucking good. As he placed a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down into the rug to create the perfect arch of her back.

Look how pretty you look when I’m fucking you. So beautiful when you’re taking me. As he fisted her hair, roughly turning her head until she caught their reflection in the mirror hanging on the closet door beside them.

“Az!” Her voice was muffled slightly by the carpet, her eyes hazy as she watched him fuck her - the measured snap of his hips, the flex of his arms as he gripped her hair, her hips, her ass. He was so strong, so assured in his motions as he easily positioned her just how he liked. 

She hoped and prayed that these walls were solid enough to block out noise because while she was doing her absolute best to stay quiet, there was nothing to be done about the sound of his skin hitting hers each time he fucked into her. Nothing to be done about the sinful, slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of her given how wet she was.

“What is it, Elain?” He asked. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” she begged. She didn’t even really know what she wanted but she knew she wanted more of him. More of his touch. More of his words. Just more of him. “I’m so… I’m so close, please, I just need more.” 

Azriel slowed his thrusts, pulling gently on her hair until she was up on her knees, her back tight to his chest. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, her lips were on his neck tasting the salty skin there. 

“Feel like you were made for me.” His arms wound around her. One arm snaking up between her breasts to put slight pressure on her throat as he held her up. The other arm drifted down her torso until his fingers found her throbbing clit, his thumb smoothing quick circles there as he continued to push into her with deep, powerful thrusts. She pulsed around him, her stomach pulling tight as her desire reached a precipice with each stroke of his cock and each tap of his thumb. “There you go, Elain. That’s it.”

“So good. You feel so good.” She murmured, so pleased with the intensity this new position brought. “I’m so close.”

“Come for me, baby.” Azriel urged, his thumb still working her beautifully. “Be a good girl for me and come on my cock, Lain. Can you do that?”

Elain made a small noise of agreement, pushing back onto him to match his thrust, amplifying the feeling of him so deep inside her that she felt him in her belly, stretching her in the best way. It was like he was made to fill her. Made to fuck her. 

In the end it was his words that did it - the gentle praise coupled with the rough motion of his hips and his hands. It was Azriel whispering about how well she was taking him that tipped her over the edge. She collapsed back into him with the force of her orgasm, her teeth buried into his neck in a halfhearted attempt to muffle the way she cried out his name.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Ride it out. Take what you need.” His fingers continued to stroke over her, wringing out every last drop of pleasure until she was utterly boneless - absolute putty in his arms as he maneuvered them so that she was on her back again with him between her legs. “Just a little more, okay? I’m right there with you.”

When he dipped down to press his mouth to hers, Elain accepted it greedily as she spread her legs apart and welcomed him in. She was so sensitive, aftershocks of her orgasm still pulsing through her as he entered her again. She savoured the way their tongues slid together, moaning quietly as he lifted her hips and fucked into her quickly until his own hips started to falter. 

“Where do you want it, Lain?” Azriel asked, voice gravelly as he attempted to hold himself together.

“Anywhere. Wherever you want.” Elain told him, meaning every word. He could do whatever he wanted and she’d let him. He could come on her stomach, her breasts. Even her face if that would please him. But there was really only one place that felt right at this moment. One place that caused her to tense around him as if to wordlessly suggest the idea. “Inside me. Come inside me.”

She heard him groan at the suggestion, a string of low curses flying out of his mouth at her words. “Want it inside you? Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes,” Elain wrapped her legs around him, pulling him further into her. Showing him exactly how much she wanted it. “I’m yours, Azriel.”

He said her name as he came, hips stilling as his forehead pressed to her chest. She could feel it, the warm sensation, the jerk of his cock as he gave her everything he had until there was no room left for it all. Elain felt it on her thighs, felt it seep out of where they were still joined. 

“God,” Azriel moaned in disbelief, head still buried against her chest as he attempted to regulate his breathing. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Elain agreed, threading her fingers through his hair as she gently untangled her legs from his waist. He grabbed his t-shirt from where it was laying next to them, dabbing it against her thighs as he pulled out of her - ensuring nothing spilled from her onto the rug beneath them.

There were no words for what just happened. No possible way to summarise everything she felt in that moment. She’d never felt like that before. It was almost too good to be true how unbelievable it was. How incredible he’d made her feel. She couldn’t believe how much time they’d wasted not doing that.

They laid there for ages, neither of them able to find the energy to make it to bed. Instead, Azriel reached up and pulled a couple pillows to the floor along with a blanket, draping it over their naked bodies before pulling her into him. Her breasts against his chest. Her legs entwined with his.

They exchanged kisses in between whispered conversation- slow and heated - hands tracing and grasping until it was inevitable that somehow neither of them were ready to stop. It wasn’t long until Elain was on top of him, breathy moans slipping from both their lips as lowered himself onto his cock, riding him slowly. Grinding against him, taking her time drawing out their pleasure until they couldn’t possibly take it anymore and they both finished with stifled moans. 

“Az?” Elain broke the comfortable silence that had settled between them afterwards, her finger stroking along his jaw as his own fingertips traced soothing patterns down her arm. 

Azriel hummed, sleepy eyes fluttering open. 

It made her heart skip a beat - how beautiful he was like this - sex tousled hair and tired hazel eyes. Lips swollen, the dim moonlight illuminating his sweat slicked, tan skin. He was like a piece of art and she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to be the one to see him like this. To be the one that had messed up his hair and bitten his lips. 

“My necklace,” she forced herself to focus, swallowing nervously before she continued. “I never asked when you gave it to me but I’ve always wondered… the letter on the back…”

Elain trailed off, watching carefully as Azriel tilted his head back further into the pillow sandwiched between his head and the floor. She bit back a smile as a warm flush of colour crept up his neck and seeped into his cheeks. He’d caught on quick to where she was headed with this inquiry and his reaction was enough to hint at what his answer would be. 

“The ‘A’ on the back isn’t for my last name is it?”

“No,” Azriel answered quietly, his hand drifting from her arm. “No, it’s not.”

Her breath hitched in her throat as his fingers smoothed over her sternum, sliding in between her breasts until he reached the pendant. He flipped it over, thumb pressing into the small letter hidden there like a secret.

“Do you engrave your initial onto all the jewellery you make?” She asked.

“You know I don’t,” he answered. The initial signs of embarrassment were gone from his face and in its place was an unabashed, earnest honesty. “That was just for you.”

“Why?”

“You really don’t know, Lain?” He shook his head, tugging on the pendant gently. “I knew I couldn’t have you the way I wanted. Didn’t think I’d ever get the chance… so I thought I’d give you just a little piece of me. I suppose I liked the idea of my initial being right here. Against your skin. Close to your heart.”

As if to punctuate his words, he did just that - pressing the oval into her skin just as she’d done time and time again over the years in an attempt to steady herself in moments where she needed comfort. 

She knew. Of course, she knew that the letter on the back hadn’t really been for her last name. She’d seen the way his eyes fixated on it each and every time he saw her since he’d first put the necklace on her. Noticed the way he’d relax when he saw that she was still wearing it year after year.

It was a relief to know that all this time, what she’d secretly hoped to be true was actually true. 

“You’ve got a possessive streak, huh?” She didn’t know what else to say so she settled for the safe option of making a joke. Everything else that fought to leave her mouth would be too honest. Far too much, far too soon. “All that talk earlier about being yours…”

“I meant it,” he slipped his hand further up her neck, up to her jaw. His hold on her was loose but still, her blood heated with the suggestion behind the action. “We don’t need to put a label on anything. We can keep this quiet, keep it between us. But if we’re doing this then there’ll be no one else. Not for me. Not for you.”

“So we’re doing this, then?” she asked, finally breaching the question that had been hovering between them like a grenade over the past few months. “We’re… exclusive?”

“Yes, Elain.” Azriel laughed, lips hovering over hers as his thumb smoothed over the expanse of her throat. “We’re exclusive.”

She closed the distance between them, her lips pressed to his as Azriel rolled her onto her back and used his knee to guide her legs apart for the third time that night.

[quecksilvereyes]

oh, sister, I am sorry. your eyes are sunken and your skin is bruised. your lips are chapped, your nailbeds bitten raw. your husband's hand on your waist is a ghost's touch held by the band on your left ring finger and I-

I am dead.

I got on the train, Su. Nevermind your tears, nevermind the plea you could not shape with words, nevermind your fingers on the pulse point of my wrist. "stay", you'd said, as you have always done, dictionary in hand and baby teeth yet lodged in your jaw. "don't go where i cannot."

I step through a wardrobe and you follow, damned be reason. I slay a wolf and you follow, I cling to the little ones and you follow, I am crowned and you follow, I am-

I go past a lamp post, and you follow, damned be dread. I go to a train station and you follow, trembling hands and tender heart. I go, and I go, and I go, and you follow. Sun of my skies. Light of my life.

I go. you stop.

are we too old for stories, now? ten-and-four and ten-and-three, budding bodies and steel bones, we are cast from our home. i hold the little ones until i drown in them. you grip your skirts until no iron can press the shape of your palms from them. and you have ever been, cruelly reasonable and logically callous.

say you, glass shard eyes and rouge-red lips: we are english. we are children. she thinks she has found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe.

say I, trembling hands and coiling guts: we are narnian. we are monarchs. if she's not mad and she's not lying, then logically she must be telling the truth.

my sister Susan, beautiful as folk tales are and twice as sharp, did you intend every invitation you took for me to twist the knife a godly animal once thrust into my guts? perhaps it was the way your eyes turned blue, or the sound of your laughter losing its bells. perhaps it was just my trembling fingers at the back of your legs, drawing stocking lines where no stockings had ever lain.

the line came out shaking, and you rubbed it off until your skin cried red. the hem of your dress still dripped wet when you left that day, turning on heels too narrow for you to walk in.

do you remember? it took you days to come home, and mother wailed for all of them. you crawled into my bed that night, as you did when we were parents to our little ones, those terrible months. your head on my shoulder, your breath in my ear, I held you until morning.

your mouth in my throat, eyes heavy with sleep, tongue heavy with champagne: we are here now. we must make the best of it. he cannot have all our lives, and all our joys. i wish you would laugh again.

doesn't little lucy, shrieking mouth and tumbling legs, laugh enough for us all?

lucy's manic. if she didn't laugh she'd cry.

i think sometimes, in the parts of my guts that are still a schoolboy, and are mean and cruel to match, that the alcohol makes you softer than the daylight ever could. i do not tell you.

i press my lips to your forehead. i wrap my arms around you. the year between us rings heavy, and when I get up in the morning, you do not follow.

I tried, Su. I did. I applied for university, I saw that girl with that smile. with those eyes. I let you take sections from the paper before I ever touched it, I held the little ones in my arms, and I made coffee in the morning. I sat all my exams.

I smiled when the little ones came back smelling of home.

Aslan's wounds, did I try. but-

I have ever been a thing made for stories. brave the way knights are, bloody knuckles and buckling pride. a horse between my calves, a sword in my hands.

I think, sometimes, that I was born for my sword, for the hollow ringing of my heart when I first held it. a part of me, even then, ten-and-three and soaked to the bone.

such bravery is not made for real world boys and real world taunts. there is a map, I think, from the summits of my knuckles to the jaws of every boy who ever looked at me and bared his teeth.

I am sovereign. I am the skies for your sun to burn in.

I am made wrong, for this england, and I cannot take this life you want. I belong, I think, into myths and legend, the star-studded shards of our home.

so I went on the train, Susan. so I died, and I named what you have chosen. so I banned you from their scorning mouths. so you grip your husband's hand, realest of us all, and you cry. you do not follow.

Forgive me.

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

i'm grateful you're my daughter more than anything

Post 6x09, Runaan finds Rayla as she takes care of Callum. She's changed, and he couldn't be a prouder father.

Felt cute might put up on ao3 later :b

The first moment they had alone was in the dead of the night, moon high above the Nexus. It felt fitting, almost full-circle.

On his way down the hall to the library, to get parchment to send a letter to Ethari explaining what could never truly be explained, at least not fully, Runaan spotted Rayla slipping down the hall, footsteps light and quick as a true assassin's, despite how opposite of one she was, a steaming teacup on a little plate in her hands.

She looked up when she heard him, smiling a little as her low ponytail swung. "Runaan. ...Hey." She cleared her throat. "How- how are you feeling?"

He shrugged in the enormously oversized nightshirt the lumberjack human, Allen, had lent him. It was off-putting, being out of his form-fitting, safe garb, especially in this strange, unknown place he should very well have felt relaxed in- a full moon, at the Moon Nexus, but all Runaan could feel was... odd. "As good as one can, I suppose. How are you, though? How is your human? Clem- Camel? Stop me when I get it right-"

She laughed, and it wasn't a snarky one he'd grown so accustomed to. "Callum." A smile ticked her lips upwards at his name. "His name's Callum. And he's-" Rayla looked away to the wall, the little table she elected to set the tea down on, anywhere but him. "He's okay. I think. Mostly in shock. But he'll get through it." The unspoken words hung in the air, a truth both of them hated knowing: What other choice does he have?

"He's got you," Runaan offered, drawing closer. "That's pretty damn good."

She laughed again, a real, merry one, despite the bitter undertones. "Yeah. Some cuddles and tea are all I can do until morning. Bright and early, we go to Katolis." She made a face, and at least that was the same- her utter hatred of mornings.

Just like that, Runaan found himself relaxing just a little more into her presence. No longer a little girl he felt the need to protect- Well, she would always be that, his beloved daughter once he started acting like it, but someone he trusted to have his back. Even with how much she'd changed, not everything had.

"I will be up with the sun," he promised, and she looked away. That had just been one more thing setting her apart from the rest back at the Silvergrove, during training: her adamant refusal to awaken at the crack of dawn for early-morning runs and sparring.

Good. Please, let her never be like the Silvergrove, Runaan prayed now, just as he had so many moons ago with Ethari after Lain and Tiadrin left. Let her never have the hardened heart of an assassin, the only ones the community would spare the time of day. She had an out, and one look at her and Callum was enough for Runaan to know that she'd take it and never look back.

"Well, I should get this to Callum," Rayla said awkwardly, stilted, moving to take the cup, but Runaan stopped her with a gentle touch to her wrist. "Rayla, wait." Gentle, the way he'd be with Ethari. Because this was his daughter, not a member of his troupe or someone under his jurisdiction. His family.

She pursed her lips slightly and shook her loose bangs out of her eyes, and Runaan couldn't help but remember back to her parents. She was the perfect combination of them, with Lain's braids and horns, Tiadrin's nose and face shape, and her lavender eyes unique only to her. Setting her apart. "Yeah?"

He drew his hand back. "I've never seen you like this," he said, admittedly curiously.

Rayla tilted her head, questioning kindly rather than the abrasive, aggressive way she'd always done before. "Like what?"

"Giving," Runaan said, because that was the first word that came to him. Rayla had always been kind and generous and loving, no matter how she'd hated to show it. "Kind. Loving. Happy."

She took a hesitant step closer, reaching to rest her gentle, small hand on his upper arm, blinking furiously.

"It's a good look on you." He blinked his own tears away as she bit back a sob-ridden laugh. "The best one."

Rayla ducked her head, bangs swinging with the motion. "Thank you. That... It means a lot. So much."

Runaan clasped her hands, drinking the sight of his daughter in. So small physically, but larger than life. So, so loved and gorgeous, inside and out, and he was sure her human made sure she knew it, too.

"You have a beautiful heart, Rayla," he said eventually, softly. "The most gorgeous I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. My worst regret is trying to burn it away instead of nurturing it. And for that..." A hand found its way to lay over his heart, bringing a sniffling Rayla’s with it. "I am truly sorry."

"Runaan..." She shook her head, reaching up to wipe away his tears, and they were the softest fingertips Runaan could remember, his own and Ethari's so calloused and rough. And here was Rayla, giving and gentle. The daughter he'd always dreamed of but never deserved. "Don't," she said firmly. "It was my choice. My choices. I had to find my way here on my own. In the end..." She glanced back down the hall, to the closed door that the boy she loved more than life rested behind. "I like where it got me. I'm glad I'm here."

"Rayla..." Runaan tucked her hair behind her ears, pressing their foreheads together. "I don't know what it means to you, but I am so proud of you. I love you, Little Blade. You are my daughter. I only hope you'll let me be your father."

Rayla threw her arms around him, sending him stumbling back in shock, immediately holding her back. "Of course. I'd forgiven you a long time ago, Runaan. I'm so glad you're my father. You always will be. I love you."

And he'd already said it tonight, but Runaan had spent far too much time hating and killing, and not nearly enough loving. So he hugged her back, whispering, "I love you, too."

[ww2yaoi]

I was lame and didn't have anything prepared to post for WGW this week but have a little snippet...

David looks over his shoulder at Joe’s lazing form, unable to help himself from leering whenever he pops into mind. Joe’s eyes are closed, his lashes casting spindly shadows across his cheeks like inverted conifers are growing from his tear ducts. He’s shucked off his shirt and tossed it aside somewhere, the skin pulled taut over his bony sternum flushed pink from all their sunbathing. He raises his half-smoked cigarette to his lips and takes a slow, deliberate drag. David smiles to himself. It’s times like these when he wishes he were better at drawing portraits, not that Joe would ever pose for one.

It’s good to see him like this: content. After Landsberg, he’d retreated so far inward David was afraid he’d never emerge. David had never seen him so quiet. Not even in Haguenau, after the hell of Bastogne, was he that reserved. For once in his life, David knew whatever he said would be the wrong thing — because he’s always saying the wrong thing with Joe — so he had just sat with him in the days following. Sat with him in the truck, sat with him at the billet, sat with him during the meals he picked at, sat with him in the late April chill as he chain-smoked cigarette after cigarette and never so much as offered a word.

It had taken a few weeks, a tardy suicide, and the boozy bacchanal that was Berchtesgaden, but eventually Joe let David touch him again, hold him again, fuck him again. The fucking seemed to help. At least, Joe started talking more. As they had lain in bed, sweaty and spent from letting their bodies voice everything they refused to, Joe had asked David about home, and David had told him.

“You’re staring at me,” Joe says, jolting David back to the present. An opaque plume billows from his mouth. His eyes are still closed.

“No, I’m not,” David replies without averting his gaze.

“Are too, Web,” Joe shoots back, nonchalant.

David lets out a small laugh. “Yeah? How can you tell?”

Joe shrugs and puts his cigarette back in his mouth. “The violent scribbling stopped,” he mumbles around it, pinching the end with his front teeth. “What are you writing?”

“A letter.”

“To who?”

To whom, David corrects in his head. He refrains from saying it out loud; Joe would wallop him.

“My brother.”

“Which one?”

“Frank.”

Joe takes another drag. “Yeah? And how’s the South Pacific? Can he hurry shit up over there so we can end this thing and go home?”

“Wrong brother, Lieb,” David says. “And I don’t think it works that way.”

Joe merely smirks, like he made the mistake on purpose to see if David would be bothered enough to correct him. David reaches over and plucks the cigarette from Joe’s lips, fitting it between his own and puffing on it. Joe opens his eyes a crack to shoot him an unimpressed look, but he doesn’t gripe, much to David’s surprise. Instead, he sits up, scooting over to sit closer to him. He peers at the piece of paper lying flat against the notebook that’s perched on David’s knee, then rests his chin on his shoulder.

“Joe,” David warns under his breath. He tilts his head towards the rowdy troop of swimmers still splashing away in the lake twenty yards away from them. “We’re not alone.”

Joe blows a raspberry. “They ain’t paying attention,” he says, blasé, too preoccupied with trying to read the letter over David’s shoulder. “What are you writing about?”

[semperamans]

western nights

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hello all! this is my first time posting something i've written to tumblr in well over ten years. for context, i was a 1D writer back in the golden days. i don't quite know how to do anything on here now, so please offer me grace! i posted this story to ao3 (semperamans) a while ago and wanted to bring it here, too!

bones and all has become my new obsession, so, i hope you enjoy!

blood and gore implied, but it's not graphic! pining for one another but make it as obvious as possible. lee is a soft boy in this one. oc doesn't have a name, so could be read as self-insert but there are a few descriptors. didn't proofread, so be gentle with me.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The summer sunlight, despite her weakening, danced upon the blacktop as the beat-up Chevy rambled eastbound. A sentimental sadness filled the cabin as a sweet-scented breeze carried the whisper of night across Lee’s cheeks. With the sky as his canvas, God himself must’ve hand-picked the clouds that raced over head. They were perfect. Toy Story clouds, Lee had called them. Who knew when he’d see them again?

Electric green numbers flickering on the dash declared that it was 8:15 in the diminutive town of Paxton, Nebraska, meaning that most everyone was tucked away in their single-story homes. The road, including the visible miles that stretched beyond, was nearly barren. There wasn’t much to look at in this part of the country, but the sun had a magical way of casting everything in gold. Every blade of grass shimmered. Every bird flapped auriferous wings. Every run-down John Deere seemed to emit a copper radiance. Lee was entranced. With his head hanging out of the open window, he watched as the sparse scenery barreled into view, then quickly disappeared. Tree bled into tree as the wind tangled his curls into tornado-like spirals. The ripping zephyr blasted against his eardrums, and he allowed himself to relish in the moments in between. He was with and without. He was in the truck’s cabin and soaring miles above with the whooping cranes. He was experiencing this moment in isolation, yet the girl sat inches away on the bench seat. This was Lee’s purgatory, served with the scent of wheat. After a while, the novelty began to wane. He pulled his head from the window.           

                    “Perfect timing,” the girl said. Lee only looked at her. Bathed in twilight’s orange and periwinkle luminosity, she was ethereal. Strands of her thin brown hair had fallen from the knot atop her head. The wispy strands cupped her cheeks in a way he wished he could. She peered over at him with a grin. “Listen.” Her long fingers splayed outward. The truck’s radio had two knobs, one for volume and the other for tuning. She fiddled with both of them momentarily, and then he heard it.

                  “Amarillo by morning,” George Strait crooned through the static. The girl furrowed her brows and shifted the dial to the right the slightest bit. The next line was clearer. “Up from San Antone.” She appeared pleased as she glanced at her passenger. Lee gave her a smile and began to sing along.

                  “Everything that I’ve got is just what I’ve got on.” Like all good Kentucky boys, the lilting wail of forlorn cowboys had been the soundtrack to Lee’s childhood. He had mentioned it to her once as they curled for warmth in the truck bed, their chattering teeth harmonizing with serenading cicadas and crickets. The girl’s battery-operated radio had lain between them, emitting staticky white noise for upwards of twenty minutes, when an unexpected voice came through. George Strait. Lee chuckled. His breath made a Toy Story cloud. He explained to the girl how this had been the song he had his first real slow dance to. Even with half her face tucked behind a blanket, Lee registered her disbelief. He smirked at her, eager to show his prowess, and up he jumped. The girl giggled, Lee turned the volume higher, and in the dim glow of the Chevy’s headlights, he demonstrated the way he had twirled and dipped and romanced his childhood flame.

                  “Amarillo by morning. Amarillo, I’ll be there.” He sang, reaching over to push the girl’s hair behind her ear.

Lee liked singing to her. Lee liked touching her. Lee liked her even though he knew he shouldn’t. Their kind didn’t make friends often. They couldn’t. Lee figured this out the hard way when he was venturing out on his own. He tried to ward her off. He met her friendly advances with cold shoulders and clipped responses, but it was no use. On their first night together, Lee fished pieces of Barry Cook from between his teeth, and he watched her every action. She was lithe and intentional. Lee caught himself grinning as she plucked records from Barry’s stand, belittling his choices and then begrudgingly admitting he had taste. Her eyebrows rose as she peered at Lee from over her shoulder. 

                  “Well, I wouldn’t know. But surely you can attest to that, yes?”

She was witty. By the end of the night, Lee had bitten the inside of his cheeks raw to keep from smiling.

                  “You can sleep with me in the bedroom.” She told him that night after ensuring that while she did bite, she wouldn’t take more than a nibble out of him. Lee didn’t respond. She blinked absently at him. “The couch is covered in jizz, and the recliner has springs that will go up your ass. So, it’s either the floor, or,” She took a running start, then flung herself onto the bed. It wobbled beneath her. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. “The waterbed.”

Lee couldn’t help himself. He propelled himself forward, bellyflopping onto the polyvinyl with a thwack. The girl laughed, then rolled onto her side to look at him. She didn’t say anything, not at first anyway. It wasn’t awkward. Not for Lee. He realized in that moment that he liked looking at her. She had freckles, quite a few of which concentrated primarily over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes reminded him of the lake back home—a shimmering blue green with a depth that made him nearly uncomfortable. Her hair, clean of grime and blood, hung in loose, wet spirals. Runny droplets raced down her arm. Lee dampened his lips.                

                  “You’re staring.” Her voice was melted chocolate. Lee wanted to drink it.

                  “So are you.”

Silence. Then,

                  “Can I draw you?”

Before Lee could answer, the girl had nearly toppled off the bed to grab her bag. She rummaged through it, making a pleased sound when she pulled a moleskin from the deep recesses. Lee still hadn’t given permission, and so she waited, blinking up at him expectantly.

                  “You can draw?”

                  “Sort of.”

Lee gave a curt nod, then watched as she etched his face onto a yellowed page. She was sort of a liar. She could do more than draw. She could create works of art. Watching her sketch quickly became his favorite past time. On long stretches of highway, he would gaze over frequently. She never failed to amaze him, often capturing the smallest of details that he had long forgotten, like the mole on the waitress's cheek or the glint in a toddler’s eye. Somewhere in Missouri, they stumbled upon a mom-and-pop art supply store. Lee, who was usually so good with their money, placed a box of colored pencils on the counter after the girl had vacated the aisles. Six dollars. They’d have to ration their meals, but the smile on her face was worth it.

He was falling in love with her.

He was lying to himself.

He was already in love with her.      

                  “Are you feeling okay?”

Lee could no longer hear George Strait’s voice. The song on the significantly quieter radio was a Patsy Cline classic. He’d gone quiet some time ago. The girl appeared concerned. With an easy grip on the large steering wheel, her eyes continuously darted from the road to his face.

                  “I’m fine.” Lee said. He ran a hand through his hair. “Tired.”

                  “There’s a state park entrance somewhere up the road. Weather is nice. You okay with sleeping in the truck bed?”

Night had fallen quickly. Gone was the golden brilliance of the day. Deep blues and blacks coated the void in isolation.

                  “Sounds good to me.”

Silence. The girl pulled into the left turn lane.

The meandering path, lit only by the Chevy’s headlights, felt as though it had been plucked from a horror story. It was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead, but the girl expertly guided the truck onward. They both knew that they were likely the scariest things in this part of the woods. As they ventured forward, Lee watched the lightning bugs littering the vast expanse of darkness overhead. They were mesmerizing, their somber glow churning the darkness. Lee couldn’t wait to settle in and watch them with the girl pressed against his side.

The gears whined as she put the truck in park. They had stumbled upon a meadow that Snow White herself would have felt right at home in. Flowering bushes bordered the expanse of mashed grass. Hordes of hooting owls and night birds nested in nearby trees, keeping them company as they prepared to bed down for the night.

As Lee fluffed their blankets and lined the truck bed, he watched the girl collect purple columbines. She had an affinity for flowers. There were quite a few detained in the pages of her journal, and even more hung on a strand of jute across the back window. There was something so whimsical about her, despite the griminess that came from life on the road. Lee found himself wondering how she had been as a child.

 ��                “Oh, I don’t really remember.” It was only after she spoke that he realized he had asked the question aloud. “Most of my childhood is a blur.” The pair had known each other for a week, and suddenly Lee realized they didn’t know each other much at all.

                  “Mine too.” He said, tossing their makeshift pillows atop the blankets. “I remember when my mom brought Kayla home, though. Best day of my life.”

The girl smiled. Like the flowers, she had planted herself on the moon-soaked ground. Her fingers were weaving the columbines together. Lee went on.

                  “She’s five years younger than me, but you wouldn’t be able to tell. The girl grows like a goddamn weed.” He let out a contented huff. “She was a tiny little thing back then, though. My mom said she was born too early.”

                  “Really?”

                  “Yeah.” Lee, who was leaning pieces of firewood together, nodded. “Mom thought I’d be upset because she wasn’t a boy, but I didn’t care. I was so fuckin’ excited.” He canted back on the vamps of his worn sneakers, evaluating his work. “I loved her so much. Right from the start.” He fished for the fire started lodged deep within his pockets. “My mom was in a car accident so the doctor prescribed her a bunch of pills. She slept a lot, so I took care of Kayla. She felt like she was mine from the very beginning.”

The girl didn’t speak. She couldn’t tell if the warmth she felt came from the fire now blazing before her or the power of Lee’s love for his baby sister. Regardless, it felt good. She had never been in the presence of such devotion.

                  “Kayla never cried, which was a blessing because our dad was a real piece of shit. He beat my ass more times than I could count for crying.” Lee’s blue eyes were awash in flame. “Kayla rarely did.” He pulled at a few strands of grass. “Girl is a fuckin’ mystery.”

                  “You made her feel safe.” The girl’s hushed voice was near silent beneath the popping wood. Lee turned to see that she had drawn her knees to her chest. The crown of columbines sat abandoned near her boot. Their eyes met. “She had no reason to cry. She had you.”

There was something buried in her sentence. It was a whisper wedged too far beneath the ground for Lee to grasp. The girl gave him a sad smile, propping her chin atop a kneecap.

                  “It was just me and my grandma growing up,” she said, picking her dirty fingernails. “We moved around a lot, because, you know.”

Lee could imagine, but he didn’t know, and he told her that. She was amazed. Had he not felt it since birth? Had he not had to battle the burn? The urge?

No. Lee told her that up until puberty, he was what anyone would have described as a clean-cut country boy, but at 16, he became the devil. The first was a girl from his neighborhood—a blonde who picked at Kayla until she bled. It happened suddenly. Lee had gone over to set things right. To ask her, as he had before, to leave his sister alone. Lee knew something bad was going to happen from the moment she opened the screen door. The breeze wafted her scent over him: perfume and lemon pledge. He wanted to get closer, and closer he came until suddenly he was bathed in crimson. Despite her deplorable actions, the blonde’s blood was sweeter than honeysuckle. Lee’s veins positively thrummed in delight as he took the life that had not belonged to him. The sin was second nature. The next kill was easier. Cleaner. More efficient. Unlike reaching second base or driving, Lee did not need a manual to learn this debaucherously sickening feat. It came naturally.

A flash of ire lit the girl’s electric blue eyes. How did he get away with it? Lee shrugged. It was too easy, really. In their neck of Kentucky, people disappeared often. Age-old adages of fathers leaving to get milk and never returning were true. The impoverished area was stricken with depression and drug addiction; no one cared, and no one accused Lee of any wrongdoing until...

The words became thick in his throat. Too dry. Too real. He was too close to the truth, which he simply could not face.

                  “I was seven.” The girl said. She must have sensed his trepidation but mentioned nothing of it. Lee had skidded to a stop, but the girl was slowly beginning. In a near-embarrassed murmur, she recounted her descent into what she called madness. It was a boy who lived next door. Her eyes fluttered shut. Lee knew she was drawing him. Reanimating his dead limbs. Filling his cavernous chest with stolen breaths. His hair was the color of the sand on a New York beach. His eyes were driftwood. He had been kind to her; he was the only one in class who didn’t stare with wide, judgmental eyes. “He cried.” She said it with open eyes. Nothing more came from her, and Lee knew she would not speak more of it, and he didn’t blame her.

                  “Come ‘ere.” He patted the cool metal of the tailgate, his rings clattering against the ridges. There was a moment of nothingness. Nothing appeared to move. Nothing stirred within her eyes. “S’okay.” His voice was even. Delicate. She turned her chin, contemplating him for a moment before ambling onto fawn-like legs. The crown of columbines dangled from her index finger as she neared.

As she came to a stop before him, he studied her face. Dusky plum circles ringed the delicate skin beneath her eyes. He wanted to run his thumbs over them. He wanted to brush the exhaustion from her features. Instead, he reached for her hand. It was a first. It was tip-toeing to the end of the diving board, and, blessedly, the girl chose to jump. Her hands were smoother and softer than Lee could have imagined. There was no biting this smile away. There was no tamping this feeling down.

                  “Let’s go to California.”

The girl’s eyebrows furrowed. Lee had been headed for Wyoming when they met. He wanted isolation and solitude; he had told her that. What had changed? Lee was honest.

                  “You.”

Lee wanted everything with her, but he wouldn’t say that yet. Maybe one day. In the meantime, he squeezed her hand. She was grinning at him in a way that made monarchs flutter within his gut.

                  “What do I have to do with California?” The girl placed the crown atop Lee’s greasy curls.

                  “You said you’ve never seen the West Coast. I think you’d like it.” It was the golden state, and she was a golden girl. He knew they’d make a lovely couple. The girl dropped her eyes, then pulled her hand away. With the fire’s warmth wrapping around her ankles, she moved closer to the flames. Lee traced her silhouette. He would never be an artist. Where she was creativity and beauty, he was destruction and brimstone. He would never be an artist, so he would brand this image into his mind. She smiled from over her shoulder.

                  “Can we be people in California?”

                  “People?”

                  "Mm," the girl said, turning to face him. “Get a place. Get jobs. We could just-” She hesitated, her eyes bouncing back and forth between his. “Be people.”

                  “Yeah.” Lee nodded. His smile was wide. “Let’s be people.”

[srbachchan]

DAY 5487

Jalsa, Mumbai                Feb 23,  2023               Thu 7:57 PM

Birthday- EF - Dr Manoj Mehta Friday, 24 February .. love and grace on this special day .. from the Ef .. ❤️

At times it goes back to time .. a used to conundrum .. once set on it difficult to change .. but change is the dribble these days .. change or suffer be left behind .. so I did the pass over .. went to the latest in speed .. it is the most relevant in the today of todays .. some fascination but came back to the tried and tested .. and am doing rather well .. rather be the well of the change .. 

a day of clearing .. clearing the post and much that has lain devoid of any need or character .. tough to part , but parting has ever been the needed tough .. so let it bleed in its hemisphere of its presence, and delivered off the limits in space ..

the space .. the space .. the much needed ingredient in the lives of those that collect the affection of the mass and more .. to store them is never a problem so long as it is known that it became the part and parcel of the store within .. within .. the heart and the soul .. that little cubicle residing in us the space within .. the best in all conditions .. it weathers every storm .. every joy and lingers on till it is time to part in departure .. or some say remains till the departure has matured .. 

no one has been able to justify it with fact though ... yet !

so yes on the issue of the ‘give’ and the comments read .. there shall of course be effort to deliver and see what can be done in an efficient manner .. and in the discipline of the giving .. 

we give to the most for the need of the most .. we give to to the MAKER .. and there is ever wonder whether he is the needy too .. the giving though here is the reverence and obeisance to the Almighty .. that give is the excess .. 

and a remind of the maker of films and he that produced them in the Southern .. who whatever he made in his project would part with half of it to the deity of his belief  .. he carried his earnings in the fold of his spread lower wear , the cloth that covered him in the styled wear of the south and offered it to the LORD .. a believer of immense faith and trust and affection .. 

so .. so .. so ..

so me goes .. and goes for the while ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[onthesandsofdreams]

The Author [1/?]

Fandom: ASoIaF Pairing: Sansa/Sandor Summary: Sansa Stark knows she is a romantic at heart. She has never been shy about it, she's one of the girls who is in love with love. Who enjoys a good romantic movie or book or song… or her ultimate guilty pleasure: fanfiction. Warnings: None Notes: For my sister @mousedetective, hope it brightens your day a little. By the way guys, she's going through some rogh

Read @ AO3

Sansa Stark knows she is a romantic at heart.

She has never been shy about it, she's one of the girls who is in love with love. Who enjoys a good romantic movie or book or song… or her ultimate guilty pleasure: fanfiction.

It was not that she thought fanfiction was bad, after all, how many classic books had had their origins in legends and spoken lore? Most of them. So, she refused to feel bad about it. It was only a guilty pleasure because the author of this series of fics was her favorite. She would cry if they would ever stop. Whomever it was behind the all of the stories, had a gift. They brought to life stories of knights and maidens, of brave princes and love struck princesses with such effortless grace that she was a bit jealous.

She had dabbled and still did in writing fanfiction, but in her opinion, NotASer was a better writer than her.

Reading and re-reading their stories were a highlight of her day. Hell, one time, NotASer had gifted her a story for her devotion to his stories and her constant comments; comments that were always respectful, but gushing. And they had struck a friendship of sorts, NotASer would comment on her stories, and she in theirs. But she didn't know who was behind the username and she would not be nosy enough to ask. That felt like a breach of privacy, like looking behind the curtain; and while she was curious, she would never do anything that made the writer uncomfortable.

She was doom scrolling when up popped up a notification: NotASer had just posted a new story: Lady Jocelyn's Journey. She rushed to read the story, it was a very good start; the story about Lady Jocelyn Baratheon after Duncan Targaryen had jilted her for a low born girl. The story promised to show how Jocelyn had overcome her grief and grow and find love by herself.

Once she reached the ending of the first chapter, she immediately left a kudo and a comment: Lovely start NotASer! Can't wait to see what you do with the story 😍

To her surprise, NotASer's response came quickly: Thank you, LadyWolf! The next chapter is almost done, so expect it soon!

She squealed excitedly and responded: Yay! Looking forward the next chapter!

She held her phone to her chest and looked at her dog, Lady had lain down at the foot of her bed and had all but jumped the very moment she had let her squeal of excitement out, now, her usually calm and easy going husky (yes, she lucked out, she knows) was giving her sad puppy eyes.

"Come here, darling girl," she said as she patted the other side of her bed. Lady jumped and curled at her side, "I'm sorry I startled you, just… my favorite author posted!"

Lady looked at her mistress, gave a doggy sigh and laid back down. She laughed and scratched Lady were her hand could reach. "I know, it's silly. But it's harmless, I mean, Arya has LARPing, Robb and Jon have video games, Bran also reads and Rickon is always in nature. Let me have my fics."

Lady snorted.

[tmbg-tournie]

WELCOME TO TMBG BEST SONG TOURNAMENT 💿

EXPLANATION/RULES/WHATNOT UNDER HERE ⤵️

I’m going to do polls on all tmbg songs in mostly chronological order (oldest to newest) and then put the winners from each album against eachother for the TMBG BEST SONG!!!

There are 2 mods: mod goober (owner, she/her, @gooberdude101) and mod lain (basically my secretary [does all the hard stuff], they/she, @shreeky)

Any untagged posts are probably me before lain showed up, also polls will not be tagged as either mod

I use Apple Music and Spotify as references for what is an album and what is an EP for the most part, so the Spine collections are being polled as albums, rest assured though that all songs will be polled one way or another

Don’t mind my pfp

I post polls once a day (ish) until there’s no rounds finished, which I’ll either wait or poll singles in the meantime until I can get back to polling the actual albums

Sometimes I forget to post so sorry about that

I count eps under the singles category just because it’s easier usually, but if an ep/compilation where most of the songs aren’t on a studio album I’ll poll is as an album (ex. Miscellaneous T)

If a song is in multiple albums/eps I’ll still poll it, even if it is the same version of a song. This is because it’s still part of the official album, so I think it still deserves at least a chance to win

stuff not technically under TMBG but still made by both of them (ex. Other Father Song, I’m Not A Loser, Hot Dog Dance Break, etc) will still be included but I may not know about/find all of them so let me know if you want to make sure I poll something, it really helps me make polls

Solo projects (Mono Puff, 50 States Songs) will NOT be polled until all other TMBG songs are polled including singles and eps

All polls are randomly selected and I have no hand in choosing polls. The only way a poll would change is before I start I might randomize it again

If you have any questions comments or concerns my ask box will always be open

This post will be updated as I feel there’s more things to explain

POLL STATS:

ALBUM: They Might Be Giants (1986)

Winner: Don’t Let’s Start

2nd place: Put Your Hand Inside The Puppet Head

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

ALBUM: Lincoln (1988)

Winner: Ana Ng

2nd place: Snowball In Hell

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

ALBUM: Flood (1990)

Winner: Birdhouse In Your Soul

2nd place: Istanbul (not Constantinople)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

ALBUM: Apollo 18 (1992)

Winner: The Statue Got Me High

2nd place: I Palindrome I

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

ALBUM: Miscellaneous T (1991)

Winner: Hey, Mr. DJ, I Thought You Said We Had A Deal

2nd Place: I’ll Sink Manhattan

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

ALBUM: John Henry (1994)

Winner: End Of The Tour

2nd Place: Sleeping In The Flowers

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

ALBUM: Factory Showroom (1996)

Winner: Till My Head Falls Off

2nd Place: How Can I Sing Like A Girl?

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

ALBUM: Long Tall Weekend (1999)

In progress…

[vivispec]

Happy Friday! For DADWC: "I had no choice..." for Viera Lavellan / Solas?

thank you for the prompt! ngl i got super sleepy halfway through but hallelujah it is finished.

i went for post-game, concerning their dreamer daughter. since vie isn't a mage, i like to play around with her dreams a bit. now, it is time to sleep.

@dadrunkwriting Viera'vun / Solas words: 1010

She was pigment and plaster, dried and cracking where once she’d been gold.

  This…it was familiar, brushstrokes she knew. Her eyes followed the length of the blade beside her, up into the sky, where at its haft a lidless eye bore down upon her. Wolves howled, and she stumbled back into jagged mountains. 

Looming, winged and fanged, shifting just beyond sight. From the clouds there came a head, and that one eye opened into many—six, red and glowing, centered upon her. A shadow fell upon her, feet bloody where they stepped upon broken peaks, but she could go back no further. She pressed against the barrier at her back, and faced him with chin raised. She faced him, and straightened.

Something brushed against her fingers, and when she looked they were solid no longer, but soft; flesh, where before she’d seen stone, and at their tips was a figure she recognized. A wolf, gray with eyes of blue like lyrium. He stepped back as her eyes cleared, and so did she.

Then, the wolf shifted and changed, until a man stood before her. Viera hardened herself.

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised you actually came.”

Solas tucked his hands behind him. “No more so than I,” he said, appraising the room her dream had composed for them: his rotunda with its frescoes, somehow breathing and alive. “I figured, however, that you would not call me as you did, if not for good reason. I was quite surprised, to hear such a request from your daughter.”

How easily, he admitted his fault. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her, gauging her response while maintaining that placid air he used like a shield. It almost made it easier to think he cared so little, even if she knew the truth.

Almost, but not quite. She sought the words she’d practiced while waking, the questions so carefully tailored to pick him apart, but found they all failed her here. This, all of it, was too near her heart to be scripted. Viera pushed breath through her nose, and shed her pretense.

“Solas,” she landed on as she found again her voice, “what is it you think you’re doing, truly, hanging around her dreams?”

He didn’t answer right away, mulling over his words carefully. “It was my intent only to watch over her, until she could navigate the Fade on her own.”

“And yet she wakes in the morning to tell tale of the wolf in her dreams, as much a friend to her as the wisps and Curiosity.” She scoffed, and shook her head. “Tell me, how does this possibly end?”

“I had no choice.”

“No choice? You’ve always had a choice.” With the rising of her voice the walls seemed to ripple, like raindrops disturbing otherwise tranquil waters. “Even if that choice is to stubbornly turn away from any option that might bring you happiness, and then covet the very thing you left behind. If you wanted to be her father, her mentor, there was a place at our side, even so long after you turned your back on me. You made the choice to never share your burden, and walk your path alone.”

“And it is a choice I must stand by,” he uttered, eyes locked still upon the roiling pictures before him, shaped by his hand, maybe, but given life by her thought. “Regardless, she is a Dreamer. There are dangers within the Beyond for one such as her, should she lack proper guidance. In this, I had no choice.”  

“I know this. We’ve taken steps to protect her, she’s in good hands—”

“Hands that protect, maybe, but do not know. Ones that cannot fathom to teach.” Finally, he looked down and away, and though he held his voice steady still she saw the hollowness within him. He’d seemed to overflow with passions, once, even before they’d lain beside one another. Such spirit had since been drained. “Viera’vun, do not think I’ve deluded myself into believing I can walk beside her any longer than I have. Already she knows the pathways well, and has found fast friends to lead her down it,” he clarified, “but she is young still, and trusting. Had she not called for me, I’d have never stepped from the shadows where I watched her.”

“But where does it lead?” He blinked, eyes flicking away to find stone again. “Already your charm protects her. Can’t it be enough, that she carries a piece of you? Must she, too, carry the pain of knowing the wolf she called ‘friend’ is the same who’d break her world?” Silence. She breathed, deep into her core, and placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense beneath her. “There isn’t any hiding, I know you see it. She’s bright. Observant, and stubborn, too. Let the lessons you’ve taught be enough a foundation, and let her find her own path.”

“And if the charm is not enough? If she were to wander into a danger it cannot fend against, on her own?”

“What ifs and chances, whereas I know all too well where the path at your side leads.” She squeezed, and the figures etched onto the wall seemed to slow, and deflate. Its luster dulled, as if aging eons in mere breaths. “Please, Solas, for both your sakes: don’t come for her again. In her dreams, at the very least, let her know peace.”

He had fully turned away from her, now, as if so much as looking at her pained him. Her grip loosened, lingering before it freed him, and fell back to her side. She’d wanted for an answer, or any sign that he’d taken her words to heart; as it was, she’d little indication that he hadn’t turned to plaster and pigment himself, outlined as he was by the many eyes of the fresco, boring down around him.

It couldn’t be helped. Viera turned, and left him there amongst the ghosts of their past. She only hoped her words would echo there in the rotunda around him.

[autonomousllama]

Get to Know Me - Sims Edition

Thank you @papermint-airplane for the tag!

What's your favourite Sims death?

In the Sims 1 it would have to be death by fire, the screams were very messed up. What does that even day about me?

In the Sims 2, death by locusts. I just think it's very creative really, and karma for not cleaning up lol.

In the Sims 3 it would have to be either death by meteor or being crushed by a vending machine. They are jsut so abrubt and random, not to mention if a school gets hit by one, the children can't escape! Thta's messed up.

I haven't played the sims 4 in ages so uh, i dunno...

Alpha CC or Maxis Match?

In the sims 2, Maxis Match, sort of, all my defaults are clay hairs now. They used to not be, but I will never use Alpha cc.

The sims 3 is a bit tricky because I feel like there isn't really maxis match or alpha. I guess maxis match since I don't really like the really shiny alpha hair.

When I used to play sims 4 it was primarily maxis match.

Do you cheat your sims weight?

Nope, I don't even have to, these people lose and gain weight quicker than I can even notice it, it's weird.

When I was playing with the Bunch family in the sims 3, Jack had to get athletic points for his job and he immediately lost tons of weight even though it had only been a day!

Do you use move objects?

Yup, well, mostly in the sims 2, it hasn't really come up often in the sims 3...

Favourite Mod?

In the Sims 2, it has to be 50 New Lifetime Wants and Lifetime Want Chooser by Lamare, it's changed my life honestly. I would also reccommend Semester Changes by Cyjon which makes University 8 days long, which is a lifesaver.

For the Sims 3, I have a few. There is this one here that stops snow day from happening at all, but it is in a different language. There is also Faster Gardening by berryblonde. I also use the Random Genetics Mod by NeuroBlazer that has been deleted by the links are saved in this post here

First Expansion/Game Pack/Stuff Pack?

For Sims 1, I got the ultimate collection, so they all were the first one...

Um, I don't remember for the sims 2, I really don't, I used to play it when I was really young and my mum just bought them whenever she found them.

I do remember that I bought every expansion pack as it came out for the sims 3, the exception being world adventures for some reason. I think there was some kind of problem with that pack? Well, it was Ambitions for me, I love that pack!

For the sims 4, I think it was either Dine Out or Get to Work.

Do you pronounce live mode like aLIVE or LIVing?

aLIVE, no shame here.

Who’s your favorite sim that you’ve made?

Lain, I feel like I put a lot of effort into making here since I was going to show her off to the internet. I also feel very attached to her since I've given her so much backstory and personality, which I haven't really done for other sims in the past. Not including Jane...

Have you made a simself?

Only once, back in the sims 2. I made me and my family and played for a bit with them. Haven't done that since, by maybe I will try and do that some day.

Which is your favorite EA hair color?

Well...I like the red hair swatch in the sims 2 I guess? And the sims 3 plantinum blonde is fun. Don't know about sims 4 though....

Favorite EA hair?

Although I replaced them all with clay hair, I do still feel a lot of fondness for the sims 2 hairs. I think my favourite is the one with the beanie and long straight hair.

Sims 3 hair...is not good. Although, the hairs that came in later expansions were better. I like the surfer hair for guys that came in Island Paradise.

I like none of the sims 4 ea hairs. I feel like the community does a better job at making clay hair than the sims team, sorry.

Favorite life stage?

I'm also going to be boring and say YA. It's were the fun starts. Teens are also fun in sims 2 and and 3.

Are you a builder or are you in it for the gameplay?

Gameplay. I've gotten more into building lately, but I do get kinda impatient with it.

Are you a CC creator?

Nope! I have no talent for it at all.

Do you have any Simblr friends or a Sim Squad?

I have no idea what a Sim Squad is supposed to be, but I do have Simblr friends.

Do you have any sims merch?

I wish I did.

How has your “Sims style” changed throughout your years of playing?

In the past, I just jumped into the game and messed around for a bit then started a new game. It's only now that i've been trying out challenges and legacies. It's made me want to play the games a lot more.

What’s your origin id?

The fact that I had to go and check. It's persona34a. I've had it for a while, it's in reference to the persona games when Persona 4: The Animation came out. You can add me if you want but I have never used Origin as anything more than a way to access the games I play so I have no idea what any of that will do...

Who’s your favorite CC creator?

For sims 2: @platinumaspiration and @midgethetree

For the sims 3: @sweetdevil-sims, i've just gotten so many stuff from them

How long have you had simblr?

uuuuuu-

Over a year now I think, that's when I first started the Doe Legacy.

How do you edit your pictures?

I use Gimp to edit my pictures, which was a rather steep learning curve when I first started. I'm still a little rusty on it but It's not like I need to do much them other than cut out the bits of UI.

What expansion/ gamepack is your favorite?

For sims 1: Vacation, I had a lot of fun jsut sending them on vacation and quitting when their needs dropped too low, lol.

For sims 2: Apartment Life. What can I say, I love apartments and Belladonna Cove

For sims 3: Now that's a tricky one, but I am going to say Generations just because it so much depth to family gemplay and finally gives kids and teens something to do.

Sims 4: um...pass...

Edit: How the hell did I forget to tag people?

I am tagging: @hause-of-pancakes @treason-and-plot @erasabledinosaur @frostedshore @uglynormie @faeriefrolic @igglemouse @platinumaspiration @hurricanesims @kevinvoncrastenburg @tsims @simsdastra

[redrosesartcabin]

6.Scenario: Poetry

Megatron x reader fanficition ( can be found here as well https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrosessoulcabin)

Link to the previous chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/redrosesartcabin/722531581594583040/5scenario-an-unexpected-visit-from-the-past?source=share

Link to the first post: https://www.tumblr.com/redrosesartcabin/722529797578833920/double-posting-my-fanfic-now

Link to the next chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/redrosesartcabin/722531904486850560/7-chapter-a-cool-secret-to-keep

—

Curious of his discovery, Megatron lifts the little booklet off the barn-floor and carefully opens it up, somewhere in the middle.

There was a text written, a little differently structured then he had seen so far in human written books.

It read:

 “The cats sleep on the humming tune

My ear aches for as well

Warmth spreading like burning coal

 You are their shelter

As you are always mine

Huge and kind

Like my house

Here rests my heart

Right beside yours

Glowing like a star

I’ve seen it before

And there in it’s pit

I could see the years just pass

Before my eyes

And I’ve seen glory and pain

Destruction and death

And once pierced through

 What pretense has let you live before?

Letting you live now?

Again, with me?

But I shall be so blessed to believe

That fate has wanted you

Dancing in my chest

Singing ‘I’m in love with you’

A crest of strength

Tattooed on our souls

And no brittle ire

Will take you anymore”

 Megatron traced the words again and again with his index finger, feeling his spark whirring incessantly.

He suddenly remembered that one very sunny day in spring, where he had lain in the freshly, after winter-born grass and tiny flowers dancing in the breeze and automatically, his optics had closed, dozing into stasis. When he had awoken again, Ying and Yang had lain on his chest, purring contentedly. “Well, hello there, little ones” he had greeted them, carefully petting their little heads, and seeing them there, he just couldn’t bring himself to up and leave, even though he wanted to stretch his numbed limbs. Stirring them from their slumber felt like disturbing good-hearted but powerful ancient gods. You must’ve seen them then, he thought, though had felt the same need not to disturb the scene and instead let it unfold and end in its own time, which eventually it did of course.

Megatron turned the page, reading over the next poem:

 “I call it head

You call it helm

I call it chest

You call it chassis

I call it heart

You call it spark

 But when its hard and broken apart

When it thinks, and cannot quieten

When it beats, but cannot speak

It becomes all the same

Differences peacefully disintegrate to dust

 And one quiet sound, envelops us in clouds

Brings us to a heaven

That belongs to only you and me

Sweet and polite like honeybees

Making liquid gold to feed our souls

Right here were we will grow to be

As one

Where you began I will begin

Where I ended you will end

Where I began you will begin

Where you ended I will end

This game, a delight for eternity

Having been

and becoming

all that ever is”

Here Megatron remembered how you had shown him honey.

“I wish you could try it”, you had said, “It’s like liquid gold, but you can actually consume it. It’s sweet, sometimes even too sweet but delightfully so. It’s something I could consider a miracle, made so easily by such small, pretty, little creatures”.

At that Megatron had smiled and said, “Sometimes that’s how I feel about you. Such a small creature, capable of miracles”.

“Well,”, you had answered to that, a little flustered, “I suppose we are all connected. Where you end, I ended, where you begin, I began and so on and so forth.”

“The circle of life”, he had said-

 -and that was also the title of the poem he now saw, written in small, neat letters on top of the page.

He decided to stop reading for now, instead wondering how long you’ve written poetry about you two and your moments. He was so deeply touched by them he felt he had to just do something.

And then suddenly, he had an idea…

*

It was 5:30 a.m. when you awoke. The birds chirped to the silent tune of the rising sun. You awoke, slowly opening your eyes, the world one blur until the contours of your surroundings became sharp edged and visible, reality coming into fruition.

After you got ready, you headed to the kitchen, planning on making yourself a cup of your self-brewed coffee over a real fire, outside on your little fireplace made of a simple stone circle. As you wanted to open the cabinet where the kettle resided, you saw a little post-it-note on the cabinet-door. Curiosity peaked, you removed it swiftly, bringing it closer to be able to read it properly. It said, “With a pink sunrise, an elated wish for dark, bitter essence to touch blooms within. And so, beauty decides to make it, blessing the day with that arrival”.

You cocked an eyebrow, not quite understanding what this meant, though at the same time feeling that you very much did. Not quite awake yet, you didn’t think about where this might lead and who, quite obviously, wrote this, so you just decided to keep going as you had planned.

As you headed for the front door, you saw another post-it-note there.

“The blessed being moves in graceful strides towards the outdoors, longing for the cold morning breeze. The breeze will bring company the being knows but does not expect. Someone residing in the spark, and he hopes you won’t mind this gift as he has tried to give back what has been started.”

“Megatron?”, you asked yourself now. What does he mean? For some reason you were a little nervous now, going out. But there had been no reason to be, there was only wonder. A path of light-pink flowers built a path towards the fireplace that you couldn’t but excitedly run on and towards your desired destination.

And there, as expected yet much better, sat Megatron, already having prepared the coals just like it was necessary for the coffee to brew right. Aside from that though, he had prepared little bowls of fruit and other little breakfast snacks that stood on a small wooden table you kept in your junk-room as back-up for when guests came.

“Am I still dreaming?”, you asked him in disbelief, “Or do we have some anniversary I forgot?”

He laughed, “Can I not just do something nice for you for once?”, he asked, but you just raised your eyebrows.

“Darling, I love you, but until a few days ago you absolutely refused to make any sort of art and now you write poetry, you didn’t want to make grand romantic gestures because it still irked you to be too kind-“

“You know”, he interrupted you, “I have realized that despite how much I’ve grown, I still can seem a little harsh when it comes to human mating costumes, and I still have this pride in me that sometimes makes it seem like I can never give you what you need and deserve. But yesterday I found something of yours that made me realize, that I want to at least try to give my all to you”

It only took you a few seconds to realize what he meant.

“My poetry”, you murmured.

“Yes”, he said, “It made me want to write for you too”.

“You aren’t so bad at this, mighty lord”, you teased.

“There is still much I don’t know about myself”, he answered, much more serious than you would’ve liked. He now stared contemplatively at the coals, unable to hold back a few tears, running over his face plates and he didn’t dare to speak, he was embarrassed enough you saw him in such a weak state.

Understanding of his position, you carefully sat next to him, laying a hand on his arm.

“It’s alright, my dear. You will learn in time, and you have so much of it. Don’t rush or force yourself to be something that you aren’t or aren’t yet. If you want it enough, you will become it eventually”.

He only nodded in answer, still afraid to speak.

“Thank you”, he was able to say after a while, where you had started brewing the coffee and had eaten a couple of the neatly placed strawberries- Megatron had even remembered to wash them!

“No, thank you”, you simply said.

“I hope”, he continued, “You can trust me now in the future to show your poems, I want to cherish each and every one”.

You only nodded, sitting down next to him, pulling out your cellphone out of your pocket, typing something in for only maybe a minute and then grinning up at him.

“I wrote a Haiku about this moment”, you simply stated with a wide smile adorning your gorgeous features.

“What is that?”, he asked, genuinely wanting to know because by Primus, he wanted to know everything about the things that made you glow like that.

“It’s a Japanese kind of poetry. The rules are, that you can only write three lines. In the first line there must be 5 syllables, line two has 7 and line three has 5 again so that in total, one has 17 syllables. Don’t ask me why it is that way, but it works well… with Haiku’s you can express a lot, even though it’s so short and technically says so little”.

Megatron had hummed at each information with interest and immediately as you finished the explanation, he inquired about it.

“Read it to me”, he demanded, “…please”, he added, and you patted him gently in encouragement.

“One moment”, you said, noticing the coffee had finished brewing.

You made yourself a cup and settled back into place and read:

“Once there was a void

Metal demon, angels call

Hope came in flowers”

You had been right. It said so little, but somehow, he understood, better than ever. He decided to shrink for a moment, taking you in his arms, and you complied, melting into it.

You would read to him each of your poems now.

‘Every fear broken, stones of trust lain down, the complete foundation of love’, you thought to yourself and smiled. The next opportune moment of poetry was already riding towards you, and you were more excited than ever, because you could share it with the one you loved most.

[arrivisting]

2022 fanfic meme

okay, @undercat-overdog​ tagged me for this, three weeks ago, so naturally I’m showing up at the end of january being like, this is the time for a fanfic wrapped. absolutely.

Word count for the year:  I wrote much more than I posted. Also I have a couple of ao3s! If I only count posted fic in 2022: 60,035. that’s actually a lot more than I would have guessed.

Number of stories posted to Ao3: 10. though I feel like I wrote nothing in 2022! 5 to vauquelin (elftrash), 4 to arriviste, 1 to [redacted]

Pairings written for:

on arriviste: all gen, though one was elrond/celebrian, elros/wife, another technically nerdanel/feanor, another aragorn/arwen.

on vauquelin (elftrash), one was finrod/edrahil, one caranthir/haleth, one fingon/maedhros, two gen (one of them technically celeborn/galadriel).

a big year for gen and canon het. hm! unfortunately I have a lot of truly demented m/m in the pipeline.

Fandoms I wrote for:  everything silm/lotr except [redacted]

Most popular story: a wild surmise (gen, silm. elrond’s ship accidentally finds valinor of the years of the trees rather than valinor of the end of the third age). the unfinishedness of this one haunts me. people were so nice!

Fic I spent the most time on: the fire’s toll (gen, silm. nerdanel, amrod. past nerdanel/feanor) I wrote half of this in 2021 so it feels like cheating to put it in the 2022 list, but honestly: it’s so easy to write the first half of a story. I never have trouble getting started. writing the second half was agony - everything from

They wed in the way Elves had, once, at Cuiviénen: quite alone, out in the wild, with no one to witness but themselves. They had made promises to each other, and to Ilúvatar. They had lain down together under the wheeling stars and neither of them had been capable, then, of imagining a future in which they thought each other less brilliant, less fascinating, less perfect; in which they loved each other less, or in which they parted forever.

I always wonder if people can tell where the join is! I feel like when I stop dead on a story for ages (months... years) it’s horribly obvious exactly where I picked it up again, but I never notice these things myself as a reader. there’s a 3 year pause in the fic I just posted last night. I feel like it’s glaring, but hopefully not.

Fic I spent the least time on: there are a few very slight ficlets on vauquelin. after that, the least time I spent on anything was conversely the longest thing I wrote in 2022, easily sever what never was one (caranthir/haleth, 17k). was written in a hot panic/writing fugue in three days. I was literally writing it up until a minute before posting (challenge deadline). I wrote it in an uber. I wrote it at dinner with friends. I wrote 10k of it in one day.

did I have only three days to write it? no. I had months. I didn’t use them wisely.

Favorite thing I wrote: a wild surmise. I would like it even better if perhaps I had had even one iota of patience and not posted the first chapter and then dipped, but that first chapter was no effort at all. banged it out in an afternoon. it just walked into my head. I will spend tortured months finishing the other two.

I also like next year’s words a lot (gen; elrond/celebrian, elros/wife) because it was a challenge to remix a perfect story and to do it any kind of justice but I think I landed the plane? I’m not much use at tolkien’s languages so I was like D: D: D:

Story I’m most proud of: the fire’s toll. getting it off the wip list after a year+ of being totally stuck was so satisfying. I’m not happy with the balance of it, but I am so happy I finished it.

Funniest: I don’t think I’m very good at humour. I didn’t write anything that light in 2022! dawn song was meant to be terribly light and sweet (finrod/edrahil, the adoption of gildor into the house of finarfin) and I think it is, but it’s not puns puns puns.

Kinkiest: [redacted]

Saddest: hm. this is harder to answer than the funniest one. I usually don’t think what I’ve written is that sad but then people are sometimes like, wow, I was stabbed here. probably the fire’s toll.

Least Popular: a bit of ivory (gen, findis, lalwen).

Most Cringe-Worthy: [redacted]. though everything I write I cringe about. then years later I will reread it and be like ‘this is so good! what a shame I can’t write like that any more.’

Favorite Opening Line(s):

“It’s unbearable,” Curufin said conversationally.

Maedhros glanced at him. There had been no conversation before that remark. Curufin had simply come to stand beside him, leaning back with exaggerated casualness against the same window-frame that Maedhros had selected, sighed, and thus begun.

“The way you stare,” he elaborated. “You look at him like you’re starving and he’s dinner. You look at him like a Man seeing one of the Eldar for the first time. You look at him the way everyone in Tirion used to stare at the Silmarils whenever Father wore them--”

“That’s enough.”

“My point exactly!” said Curufin. “It’s become tediously clear that the staring isn’t ever going to stop. Father and Fingolfin fighting didn’t stop it, though loyalty alone should have been enough to quench it. Twelve years of exile only made it worse. It was too dark to see on the night we swore the Oath, but I would still wager Caranthir anything he wanted to stake that you were making eyes at Fingon across the square nonetheless. Well, Father’s dead. So’s Fingolfin, if you were holding back out of fear of him. Home’s gone, and we can’t go back. What could possibly be standing in your way now but want of courage?”

“My way to,” Maedhros began. Then he stopped, breathed in through his nose, and said, “I’m not in the mood to entertain you trying to be clever, Curufin. Go away, and try not to stab anyone as you move across the room.”  

“You want him,” said Curufin, ignoring him. “If you think you’re being subtle about it, let me assure you that you are not. You have never been subtle. Nor, for that matter, has he. Finrod used to say that it was painful to be in the same room as the two of you. He said sharing the very air felt indecent.”

“I think,” said Maedhros, “that you had better not mention our late cousin to me. Stop this vein of argument and tell me outright what it is you want. You are too much the son of our father to help me to the bed of Fingolfin's son without a better object than my happiness in mind.”

“Oh!” said Curufin. “You are determined to think the worst of me, after Nargothrond. I will not argue with you, though I am sorry that you think so little of me that you will not credit me with a sincere desire for your good.”

This isn’t really an opening line as much as an exchange, but it popped into my head almost full-blown and then I had to figure out a way to finish the ficlet/land the plane.

Favorite Closing Line(s): I didn’t really write any banger endings. I like to end on a knifepoint (to the gut!). I like the way the fire’s toll zooms out and the catalogue of nerdanel’s retrospective takes over.

Top Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:

from 2022 fic? probably Dor Caranthir from easily sever what never was one. or the ruins of the Haladin steading. Sometimes a story is as much about the settings as the action.

Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to: something I haven’t written really at all yet? Finrod surviving the wolf (serious). Finrod’s very secret diaries spanning the years of the trees to his death (silly). truth serum fingon/maedhros slipped into himring to cause chaos by a thrall (serious).

New things I tried:

Me, 2005-2011: I only write RPF.

Me, 2011-2022: as god is my witness, I will never write RPF again.

Also Me, 2022: 🤡

Fic-writing goals for 2023: oh lord. I don’t want to set the bar too high.

finish a wild surmise.

finish & post the fic known only as ‘the bad fic’.

finish & post the next scion fic, alias ‘the finrod and gil-galad fic’, alias ‘this long abiding’.

write some goddamn porn.

finish and post at least one (1) of the ossified wips in the wip folder: outsider pov/’how like a winter’, or ‘legxit’, or, wow, I don’t even remember how many wips I have on life support

finish a stranger in my bed?

finish and post [redacted] [redacted] [redacted] [readacted] [redacted]

[silvcrignis]

Also kid meme for Keira and bill and Missy and Claude plz

{Meme}: Send a pair name and I’ll tell you what I think it would be like if they had a child. {x}

Name: Stellis Oliver Afton (He lets people call him Stell mostly some people fuck up his very simple name)

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Another kid with his mother's weird silver hair what a fuckin surprise, his talons are never retracted because he thinks he looks pretty cool like that, once again taller than both the parentals but honestly for Will not THAT much he's like 6'7 it's barely noticable, he has heterochromia his right eye is green his left is grey & man is he popular because of it. He made one of those varsity jackets with a Mangle theme & if you see him without it on it's in the wash

Personality: Insufferably pretentious when talking about the politics of Hell. Charismatic as fuck with any other subject, people LOVE this kid, Keira & William are always showing up to see people they... Don't know in their house & he's like "This is my new friend, _" & they're like "... Okay..." They're so used to it now.

Special Talents: He can open up the pits to Hell just like his mam. He's also really good at household handy work, especially fixing doors.

Who they like better: Keira

Who they take after more: Keira, he went right ahead & became a big dumb jock just like her. Quidditch or die lmao.

Personal Headcanon: He bullies his father all the time for "letting himself get arrested like a big loser" like Stell stop being so MEAN to him. Keira can bully him but show your father a MODICUM of respect bls.

Face Claim: Jeremy Dufour

Spoiler Alert:This one below is never happening Claude has FOUR kids, does not want more & demon pregnancies are fuckin horrific Alana almost DIED birthing Laine & Mads & that bitch is a MERMAID.

Name: Chloé Vivienne Frollo

Gender: Female (Gremlin)

General Appearance: Like every single biological product of Claude Frollo she got his pale as fuck turquoise eyes, & shitty uncontrollable hair, she's like fuckin 6'5 send help, also has the RBF like JFC not 9 months of carrying her for Missy just for her to be a clone of Claude because she's also blonde.

Personality: She keeps trying to out war criminal her big sister Clair... So... Awful lmfao.

Special Talents: She's a great violinist just like her dad but she won't stop covering Wonderwall in the campus quad on it so she can fuck off. Also SUPER strong if a car hit her it's the CAR that will suffer.

Who they like better: Missy because Missy will let her throw the rotisserie chicken at cars passing by Dad is no fun :////.

Who they take after more: Her shitty older sister Clair & Claude wonders which one of them is gonna get themselves killed first.

Personal Headcanon: She won't stop carrying Victor swaddled up like a baby all around the house. Vic loves it, Claude just... Sometimes he needs his cigarettes watching that shit

Face Claim: Amanda Stenberg (If anyone has questions they did not read his bio. It's linked in the pinned post so go do that instead of pestering me lmfao.)

(REALLY YOU ALWAYS WAIT UNTIL I'M AT MY BREAKING POINT OR SUPPOSED TO BE DOING SOMETHING ELSE IM STARTING TO THINK YOU HATE ME)

[kyndaris]

A Jaded Bookstore

A week or so after my date with Spring, I met up with bachelor number 6. Tall, Caucasion, with a head of wild unruly curls and younger than me by four years, he was the only one to offer the date that I’d been craving from the start. A first date at Kinokuniya - the Japanese bookstore in the heart of the city. So, you can imagine the dilemma I found myself in. How could I say ‘no’ to books? Even if the date turned out terribly, it was simply impossible to tear myself away from the bait that had been lain before this bookworm.

Not that there were any immediate red flags when it came to Mr 6 - who shall henceforth be called Benoit. Plus, it was going to be a date in the middle of the day AND it was in a populated store. No chance of being brutally murdered. I hoped.

Benoit met me outside the store. Or, at least he tried to, but since I’m a slippery eel of a bookworm, I’d managed to sneak in and head to my favourite section: Fantasy and Science Fiction. After looking through a few titles, I saw a notification on my phone and responded sheepishly that I had slipped into the store but would try to meet him at the entrance. Once introductions were properly made, we resumed roaming the shelves of my favourite genres and chatted generally about our lives.

Much of the conversation devolved into him - Benoit - asking me a few questions and me responding. Once I had finished, I often had to remind myself to reverse the question and learn more about him as well. You know, simple getting to know each other stuff. A dance one would think I’m already aware of having gone on quite a few first dates.

Alas, I can see why people want to skip the small talk.

Regardless, somehow the conversation came round to Rian Johnson’s Knives Out film. It was probably because I was recounting how utterly disappointing Amsterdam was. In any case, we both expressed our delight at the upcoming Glass Onion film (yes, this was in early November 2022. I know the post is up in February 2023 but give a girl a break when it comes to detailing the adventures of her love life, will you?), even as we strolled through the Fantasy and Sci-Fi section for several long minutes as I pondered what books to buy.

Was I disappointed that he didn’t offer to buy my books for me? A bit. But in our current economy (or the economy of November 2022), it didn’t feel appropriate to demand such favourable treatment. Especially when Benoit was still studying to be a speech pathologist. 

Can you imagine? Truly? Me, the woman was raking in more dough - albeit saddled with a hefty mortgage - requesting a poor penniless University-aged boy (okay, they probably aren’t that destitute nor is the world so Dickensian) to buy me gifts on the first date? It just wouldn’t be fair. 

After all, I’m a strong independent woman who don’t need to man. Except maybe Henry Cavill’s depiction of Geralt of Rivia. Or Viggo Mortensen’s portrayal of Aragon?

Phew! When did it get so steamy in here? And what was I talking about again?

Ah, that’s right. The date with Benoit. So, because we both liked our mystery thriller films and Benoit himself was fascinated by accents, especially the ridiculous one affected by Daniel Craig, his codename was formed.

Once I had roamed my fill, I walked away with two novels. Benoit, too, had also picked out a novel he had been eyeing for a while. Jade City by Fona Lee. Apparently he, like a bookish online friend that I know who reads this blog but doesn’t like or comment on these posts, had also fallen for quite a few Chinese authors and was also dabbling with their online works. He also heaped quite a bit of praise on Cixin Liu and the Three-Body Problem. 

It’s probably a sign that I ought to buy a few of his novels and give them a spin myself. See what the fuss is all about.

By the time we had shopped to our hearts content, our stomachs were grumbling for food. Eager to have a variety of options for lunch, we headed towards Pitt Street Mall and the food court on the upper levels rather than the one down underneath Myers. After all, this was a first-rate date. It needed to be fancy. No expensive McDonalds burgers for us!

Though Benoit was able to settle for a karaage rice bowl, I was less decisive with my food options. It wasn’t after a few minutes of looking through everything that was on offer before I settled on going Greek and grabbed a pita wrap from Zeus Street Greek.

FANCY!

And just like our conversation in the bookstore, Benoit would ask me question after question. I suppose the one thing I felt could have been better was if he allowed some topics to breathe. Instead of dissecting more on the lore of World of Warcraft, he would jump to the number of pets I had rather than allow for a sizable rant about what the writers had done to poor Sylvanas character and the blatant favouritism shown to the Alliance over Horde leaders.

Not that I’ve played World of Warcraft much over the years. I’ve dabbled with it but each new expansion seems to retcon backstory or walk back character developments so quick as to give anyone that wants to follow the lore whiplash.

Regardless, I learned that he had an older sister that had gotten him invested into the Warcraft universe, that he wasn’t much of a comic reader and that he had gone back to university to pursue something he was passionate about instead of coasting on his first degree that had proven to be less than enjoyable.

Once lunch was done, we even had pancakes at gram!

Big fluffy pancakes that left me stuffed and unable to move.

But as with all good things, the date had to come to an end. As we both took the train, we headed to the closest train station. And as we said our goodbyes, Benoit leaned over and gave me a hug before I could duck out of the way! The sheer nerve of the man! How dare he! 

Still, trying to be polite, I patted him awkwardly on the back and so, the date concluded.

While I like to keep an open mind, a part of me wonders if Benoit will be the one. He did offer a second date to watch Glass Onion when it was in cinemas but I was busy during that time. A disappointment, to be true, but after I’d managed to catch it on Netflix, I was able to provide him with quite a few insights on what I thought about the sequel movie to Knives Out. 

Can I just say that the ending, as they were smashing the glass statues, I was honestly terrified for Helen’s feet. She was wearing open-toed sandals for goodness sake! She could have totally cut herself up if she hadn’t been careful!

Other than that, my favourite character was Peg and her ‘so done with this bullshit’ attitude when it came to dealing with Birdie. I don’t think I could ever willingly get into such a toxic codependent relationship - be it with a partner or friends - but I loved how Jessica Henwick portrayed Peg in the film. Including her outfits that weren’t quite cool enough.

Don’t get me started on the stretching in the background when everyone was still getting introduced. So good!

Long story short, I just wanted an outlet to talk about Glass Onion following everyone falling in love with Daniel Craig as the gay southern detective. And maybe ruminate on relationships? I don’t know. Probably not.

It just felt good to chat with someone that I can connect with when it came to talking about mystery who-dunnits. Now we just need Kenneth Branagh’s Hercule Poirot (I’ve honestly been loving the Murder on the Orient Express and Death on the Nile. The fact that Emma Mackey got to display her acting chops beyond Sex Education is GREAT!) to go up against Daniel Craig’s Benoit Blanc and see who is the superior scenery chewing detective with a ridiculous accent.

What? You want more? You're saying that it's not enough to just chat about something I like and that you want a deep discourse about the human condition or something something connection with another being?

Fine. Well, there’s still the second date with Spring that I can ruthlessly dissect for your reading leisure. Stay tuned to the next episode of...

DATE 2.0: The Kyndaris Story.

Yes, I’ve even added a secondary title to it. I hope you’re happy about living vicariously through my relationship failures.