#but when I'm not feeling particularly inspired or can't some up with anything good... I just end up feeling worse than I did before

[malachitezmeyka]

It's that "spend hours sobbing my eyes out in bed for several reasons, including but not limited to the fact tomorrow is Monday, the fact my social battery has been completely drained and won't recover anytime soon, the fact my landlady is due to show up tomorrow evening and will likely piss me off again, the fact I've had the urge to write since Friday and ended up not writing even a single fucking word, the fact exam pressure keeps rising and I still don't know what to do with my life after I'm done with school, and the fact I'm both completely overwhelmed and so terribly lonely at the same time" kind of Sunday evenings

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

part two

a/n i swear everytime im about to play love and deepspace, the app needs another update. my phone storage can't keep up T0T anyways, i'm not that far in but xavier is my fave. he lowkey reminds me of silver haha. rafayel is a close second tho

includes: all of octavinelle, scarabia + pomefiore

tw mentions of eating disorder

want more? check out part one!

Octavinelle <3

⋆ Perhaps the last dorm that you want to know about your skills. But alas, your heart is vast, so even shady seamen deserves some delicious home cooked meals/treats!

⋆ How about making some extra cash? Is what Azul says after taking a bit. He does mean it. Not only would Monstro Lounge gain some more popularity after news of the Ramshackle Perfect’s home made meals/treats were being served, but he gets to spend time with you without giving his feelings away? A win-win if you asked him. As we all know, Azul does suffer from an eating disorder, as much as he tries to deny it, but somehow your cooking/baking doesn’t upset him at all. If anything, he gets so lost in the flavors that he doesn’t realize that his stomach is full and plate empty. Should he be concerned? Disgusted with himself? Lots of negative emotions begin to swell up, but when he glances at you, fully expecting the worst, he’s met with your proud smile. Happiness practically radiating off your being. And suddenly, Azul doesn’t mind the feeling of a full stomach as long as you look at him like that again.

⋆ Jade finds himself coming to you more often to ask for tips on how to cook mushrooms in different ways. Heck, he even encourages you to come out mushroom hunting with him. He’s fascinated by the way you work, seeing you mix different spices and ingredients together inspires him to do the same. He enjoys getting a glimpse at a third world, your world. It reminds him that the universe is truely a big, fascinating place. He is touched that your first thought was to bring him food, don’t worry he’ll repay the favor.

⋆ Your food is the only thing to get Floyd out of his moods! Once he smells the delicious scent of your meals/sweets, he instantly goes back to being silly and goofy! He will pester the living daylights out of you to make his favorite foods. You will know no peace! Floyd always makes his distaste clear. He’s an honest guy, what can he say? So it’s a big achievement that your food gets the Floyd pass. He will glare at anyone that dares to come near his food. This is his food, not theirs! Floyd’s a good cook himself, so like Jade, if he’s feeling particularly chummy, you might be gifted with his own unique concoction.

Scarabia <3

⋆ Scarabia is known to have the best food in the school! So it was a little jarring when you decided to give them some of your homemade food. But you really have nothing to worry about when it comes to these too.

⋆ You thought you were going to go blind with how bright Kalim's smile was. It truly could rival the sun. Because of the trust between you and Kalim, he devours it within seconds. Practically buzzing in excitement as the flavors touch his tongue. He’s not joking when he says that it’s as good as Jamil’s food. He wants to throw a party where you and Jamil have a cook off! But also just to show off your amazing cooking. You’re going to have to politely tell him that might be too much for you. Or that you only cook for special people! (subtle flirting hehe) And well Kalim is Kalim so it’s like a 50/50 chance that it won’t fly over his head. But in the case that it doesn’t, Kalim gets all warm and flustered. You know how some people get cuteness aggression and just want to squeeze said cuteness, well that’s Kalim. Instantly you're in his arms while he exclaims how much he loves you!

⋆ Jamil gave you the weirdest look, thinking that you wanted something from him. But alas! You did it out of the goodness of your heart. After getting over his initial suspicion, Jamil is incredibly thankful! I get a feeling that between everything that Jamil has to handle, he tends to eat very little most days. Just enough to get him to bedtime. So when you popped out of thin air with food, but not just any food his favorite, Jamil is touched. Though just because he’s touched, that doesn’t mean he won’t critique it! Internally of course, unless you ask. I would like to say that this would lead to cooking dates, but Jamil gives me the impression that he doesn’t like others in the kitchen while he works. Though he’s willing to try it out for you! Omg, if you make him food from the Scalding Sands, he just might tear up (lol, probably not but that’s a funny thought) but he will be incredibly touched!

Pomefiore <3

⋆ A tricky dorm to cook/bake for. A life or death situation! You must satisfy the Queen’s tastes or else you’ll face everlasting sleep! OoooOOoooooOOOoooo

⋆ Your greatest foe, the Queen herself! Does your food satisfy the Queen’s strict diet? ………partially. Listen, Vil holds himself to high regards and keeps a stern eye on his calories and where those calories come from. And while yes, you are going the right path, you also took some side quests on the way. In other words, you were like 74% to getting Vil’s approval. But fear not! For Vil is more than willing to take you under his wing! Though, Vil’s not a chef himself, so he’ll guide you in the ways of his diets. As long as you keep those in mind, Vil finds himself thoroughly enjoying anything you make him. He enjoys foods that are light on the stomach with plenty of nourishment. Vil will oftentimes find himself thinking about your food. His stomach growling in hunger. He appreciates it whenever you show up with homemade snacks. Vil will oftentimes submerge himself in his work, whether that be new roles, schoolwork or guiding his dorm mates, and forget to eat. So knowing that you're always thinking of him and coming to check up on him makes him feel all mushy and gooey inside. Goodness, the effects you have on him.

⋆ C’est délicieux! Anything and everything you give Rook is eaten with fervor. Truly enjoying and savoring every bite! For how could he let anything go to waste? You put your heart and soul into it, it would be wrong not to enjoy it with his own heart and soul. His appetite is never quenched when it comes to your food. He consumes your food with such earnestness that it's hard not to get all flustered. The compliments are never ending when it comes to him. Rook could (and has) write poetry off the delicious taste of your food. Sweet, yet a little off putting. Will jump at any occasion to speak about your food, and by extension you. Eveytime he sees you with a bag or box, Rook is skipping towards you with a little tune to each step.

⋆ Nothing could beat his Meemaw’s apple pie, but Epel supposes that yours come to a close second. Your food is the only thing Vil will turn a blind eye to, which Epel takes as an opportunity to slyly (not really) suggest new recipes for you to try. Honestly, Epel really likes your food! He gets all flustered whenever you pop with food for him. At first he was a little insulted that you made him food, thinking you were insulting his masculinity or something by babying him. But after your very honest words (and a reprimanding from Vil and Leona for making you sad), Epel understands that it was just you trying to show him that you cared for him. I can see Epel going to Jack and asking ‘Is someone giving you food manly?’ and Jack, who happened to overhear Leona telling Ruggie, casually responds with, ‘My mom always makes my dad food, so yeah…” And Epel’s all like, ‘Well damn, if Jack looks like that then his dad must be super macho.’ or something like that. Needless to say, Epel has never hit someone so hard before over food. (rip grim and ace)

[irkimatsu]

Filling a request for @christinaatyourservice92! She requested a Husk x Reader where Reader "cleans up nicely", so to speak.

Husk/Reader, featuring Angel as an enthusiastic wingman. Some other characters kind of exist I guess. Reader is wearing a dress but otherwise their gender isn't specified; we're friendly to mascs in dresses here. Nothing further than dancing and kissing, anything with Husk is going to be a slowburn. But I love a good slowburn.

I'm still new to this fandom and haven't written most of these characters at all before, so please be patient with me! And feel free to send requests; I can't promise to have something for all of them, but who knows what could happen if you strike my fancy! (Probably only answering Husk related ones for now, though. Fuck I love Husk. Give me some Husk time for a bit. Husk... ahem.)

A ball wasn’t the worst bonding idea that Charlie ever had.

Granted, calling whatever was going on in the lobby of the hotel a “ball” was a bit of an overstatement. There weren’t that many guests, for one thing; the hotel didn’t have enough people for that, even including the employees. The decorations were set up quickly and cheaply, making the whole thing look more like a child’s birthday party. Entertainment was provided by Alastor, who stood off to the side and played instrumental ragtime music through his staff, presumably wondering what kind of nonsense this whole affair would lead to.

It had already led to Niffty dancing through the lobby with a “partner” made of bug carcasses, dust bunnies, and assorted other unmentionables, so that was a start.

Husk didn’t have to put in any sort of effort for this mess, but something had inspired him to clean himself up for once. He’d changed into a full suit and forgone the top hat, and he stood by the tables gently sipping a glass of red wine instead of chugging whiskey like it was a water bottle.

Angel, of course, noticed the discrepancy.

“Ooh, lookit you, all fancy,” he remarked as he took a spot beside Husk. Angel wasn’t too keen on the whole event, but he’d taken the opportunity to dress up in a nice skirt and wig, not one to waste a chance to play with his appearance. He certainly wasn’t giving up the chance to show off his legs, given how short his skirt was. “What’s the occasion?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Husk asked. “Not like I’m the only one dressed up.”

“Yeah, but I was born to look good. I ain’t showing up to even the shittiest party without showing off what I got! You, on the other hand, look uncomfortable.”

“It’s these wings,” Husk said. “It’s so damn hard to find a shirt that fits ‘em.”

“So why not take the shirt off?” Angel suggested, sing-songy tone confirming that he knew exactly how that sounded. Husk merely smiled and rolled his eyes at his friend’s sense of humor.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Husk asked.

“Ohhhhh.” Angel chuckled. “Ohhhh, I see what this is about…”

“Have you seen them?” Husk responded, his expression not changing.

“Someone like them at a ball? Uh-uh, ain’t no way they’re comin’ down here. You know they’re too much of a recluse for this fancy dress-up business.”

“You really think so…?”

“Aw, what’s got you lookin’ so down, Whiskers?”

Husk ignored Angel for another sip of wine, his desire to maintain some semblance of class preventing him from downing it as quickly as he’d like.

“Right. Be right back.”

“You better not be thinking about what I think you are!” Husk called after Angel as he walked away, but Angel didn’t respond.

—

You’re not going down there. You are not going down there. Not in this.

It’s not like it’s a revealing outfit or anything. It’s just a frilly, floor-length red dress. You’d picked it up when Charlie first announced the ball, fully intending to wear it that evening.

This is the first time you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror while wearing it, and the mirror is doing nothing to convince you to leave the room in this thing.

Even when you were alive, you were never particularly feminine; being feminine required being cute, and that just wasn’t something you were ever comfortable considering yourself as. Your appearance became even less of a concern after you died, with clothing being more of a suggestion than anything else. But a formal occasion sounded like the perfect chance to change that status quo.

What a stupid idea that was.

“Hey, Toots!” That voice along with three simultaneous knocks could only be one person. “You comin’ downstairs?”

“I’m fine! Thanks!” you call back without another thought. Why couldn’t you have gotten a nice outfit that was more gender neutral? Maybe you could change to your plain clothes and join the party that way…

But you know his tastes, and he might be disappointed to see you showing up for what’s supposed to be a major event in casual streetwear…

Better off not risking it.

“Aw, but it’s borin’!” Angel called from the other side of the door. “We could use some company down there!”

“Go ahead without me!” you assured Angel, preparing to change out of the dress and spend the evening to yourself in your room.

“But Husk wants to see you!”

The sound of his name makes you freeze.

It’s not a surprise that he wants to see you, really. You two have been getting along well, talking about your shared appreciation for music and the performing arts. Even the other members of the hotel have commented that Husk never softens quite as much as when you show an interest in his stories of his days as a performer in Vegas. He really does seem to like spending time with you.

But to hear it spoken out loud…

“You okay in there?”

You slowly open the door to see Angel standing there. At least you don’t need to worry about being overdressed; Angel’s got you beat in that department. He’s always impressed you with how he can take an outfit that should be so, so tacky on paper and yet make it work.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he lets out a whistle. “Well, damn. You in a dress. Never thought it’d happen.”

“I look stupid,” you mutter, holding your upper arm as you turn your head away. “I have no idea how to wear this thing…”

Angel scoffs. “You kiddin’? Look at me, honey. You know the types of people I hang out with, and let me tell ya, there is no one who can’t pull off a dress if they wanna.”

“Do you think Husk will like it?”

Angel laughs, and you immediately regret letting those words escape your mouth.

“Um, not that I… it’s just, he went to parties like this all the time, right? When he was alive, and when he was an Overlord, so he knows what people are supposed to wear… we’ve been getting along, but it might look bad if I’m underdressed…”

“You could go down there in a brown paper bag, and ol’ kitty cat down there would still be staring at you,” Angel assures you.

“Are you sure…?”

“Jesus Christ, you two are clueless.” He takes your hand in two of his and starts tugging you toward the stairs. “C’mon. You’re gonna go give Husk something to do besides finish off the wine all by himself.”

—

The reaction you get when you reach the lobby is less than you expected. Charlie’s happy to greet you, which you appreciate, but hers wasn’t the reaction you were looking for.

The only reaction you get from Husk is a briefly surprised glance before he turns away to refill his wine.

Is that really it…?

Angel must be equally unimpressed with the response. He storms over to Husk, and while you can’t really hear the conversation, you can see that it involves a lot of arm flailing from Angel and tail lashing from Husk.

The only phrase you can pick out is Angel saying, “Well, forgive me for trying to get you some-”

Should you go back upstairs? Husk doesn’t seem as happy to see you as Angel implied he would, and all you’re doing down here is standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. While you try to decide whether to run off and never think of this again, you notice Angel approach Alastor. He’s talking to Alastor with the same animated arm motions, while Alastor listens on in mild amusement. As Angel walks away, Alastor rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then gently taps his staff against the floor.

The bouncy ragtime music abruptly shifts to a downtempo jazz number.

Husk’s ears perk up at the sound, and as he looks up to figure out what’s going on, he locks eyes with you. You’re looking back at him, maintaining eye contact for far longer than he had when you first entered. He can’t just ignore you after that, can he?

Indeed, he can’t. Slowly, he walks toward you, uncertain at first but progressively gaining confidence. Angel flashes thumbs up signs that he can’t see behind him.

“Good evening,” he greets you, his deep voice so much more smooth than anything he’d shown as recently as thirty seconds ago. “You look nice tonight.”

“Thank you,” you respond, flashing your best smile. “You, too.”

Husk in a suit… you could get used to this.

His smile is surprisingly gentle when he does it without teeth. He holds out his paw. “Shall we dance?”

You take his paw in one hand, and he takes your other hand in his other paw. The two of you gently sway together, not making much contact, but even this proximity is making your chest pound. His confidence has grown considerably; he’s clearly used to things like this. He’s perfectly on rhythm, not holding your hands too loosely or tightly.

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he places a paw on your shoulder and pulls you close to him. You’re at a loss at what to do with your now free hand. It finds its way to his hip, and instantly your face starts heating. No, that’s way too much, way too quickly-

He doesn’t say anything about it. He only smiles.

Maybe it’s okay.

You stop focusing so much on where his hands are, or how he’s moving his feet. Your only concern is the gentle look he’s giving you as he dances with you, leading you in a perfect rhythm.

His arms have found their way around your waist at some point. You’re too lost in the moment to question it.

He whispers your name, and is it just you or is his face getting incredibly close? You raise a hand to stroke the fur on his cheek.

His lips are on yours, so chastely but they’re there, and you’re so floored by the action that you barely even register Angel whooping in the background. The kiss only lasts an instant, but you’re both a little more breathless now than when you started.

It’s the only time you kiss for now, but you spend much more time swaying together. You don’t know where one song ends and another begins; it’s only the underscore for one long dance, where the sliver of space between your bodies feels like a chasm.

No… not tonight. Not here. Not while they’re watching.

—

If it were up to you, that dance would have never ended… which is why it’s probably for the best that the sultry saxophone music abruptly changed to a loud swing number.

Alastor looks rather pleased with himself for the interruption.

You’d spend more time with Husk in the lobby, but not only is the music giving you a headache, but Angel keeps on staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin, and you don’t want any more time to think about what he’s theorizing in regards to your personal life.

“I wanna go back upstairs,” you tell Husk. Before he can look too disappointed, you then add, “You can come with me if you want.”

After you shout a good night at Charlie and Vaggie and Husk flicks a good-natured middle finger to the smirking Angel, the two of you head upstairs, and after some brief discussion, you agree to spend your time in Husk’s room. The two of you sit on the edge of his bed for a while as he shows you his collection of vinyls, and you discuss the possibility of the two of you possibly performing some of his favorite songs as a duet, with him on his saxophone and you singing.

“It’d be nice if we could sing together, too,” you say. “You have a really nice voice.”

The compliment flusters him enough that it takes him a moment to respond. “Maybe… but most of the duets I can sing are love songs.”

Now it’s your turn to blush, and it’s a lot more obvious on you than it is on him. You can’t hide the truth; you might as well say it out loud.

“I’d like singing a love song with you.”

Husk looks at the ceiling and smiles to himself, his thoughts elsewhere. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done a duet. Singing a love song with someone, and meaning every word of it… there’s nothing like it. I wouldn’t want to sing a duet like that with someone who doesn’t mean it.”

You snap him out of his daydream by placing your hand over his paw. “What about me? If I did mean it?”

He chuckles to himself. “You’d mean it? This soon? You just got here. We barely know each other.” Despite his words, he turns his paw around so he can hold your hand in return.

“You’re the one who kissed me down there,” you remind him.

“A single kiss isn’t love. Love takes time.” His body language doesn’t seem to be matching his words as he squeezes your hand. “It takes patience. Compromise. It’s not gonna fall into place easily. It’s easy to screw up… I’ve done it before.”

He’s looking at your face again, a once-unseen vulnerability in his eyes.

“...I don’t want to screw it up again. Not with you.”

“We can at least try.” You stroke his cheek again, now more focused than ever on the white hairs in his dark fur and the bags beneath his eyes. He’s been around for so long… he’s been hurt so many times.

If you could be the one to help him with that hurt…

You press your lips to his, and he accepts the kiss, holding it much longer than he did while you danced. He wraps his arms around you, not pulling you as closely as he could, but still letting you share in each others’ body heat.

It will take time, but you hope that someday, the two of you can sing that love song.

[melancholicstation]

CONSIDERING AVIATION? - a bobby kennedy one-shot

summary: turns out this attorney general is definitely prone to peer pressure by pretty women! who could've guessed that. authors note: of course gimagus was not around in the sixties (though i do try to dress the readers in period appropriate clothes) the reader's outfits are literally an apparition of my ssense shopping cart at a specific time! feel no pressure to imagine them that way. let that fashion freak flag fly high! shout out to @remotewatch for indulging in airport bobby kennedy and giving inspiration!

tags: @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel @absurdlyvintage

warnings: none just bobby being peer pressured into taking off his shirt but he loves it more than he ought to!

words: 2,308

A lot of people probably thought you were crazed for selecting a career path in the sector of aviation—with all it's arduous work schedule, time away from friends and family, and draining time zone changes. But nevertheless you loved it.

"Do you think I'm crazy For considering aviation? I'm a fan of flying...

As a child of a particularly affluent New England family you enjoyed the pleasure of flying often in your childhood—your beloved aupair dutifully carrying behind you your soft shell carry-on luggage bag containing various cotton pique dresses and chemises, along with a backpack containing note pads and pencils to do your homework between flights.

Safe to say growing up flying across the globe gave you an innate fixation on it advancing into it as a career path in adulthood. Which is exactly how you got here, being an air hostess for Texas' biggest airline in the state: Air Texas.

Why not do it for the nation? Cause I have nothing else to do...

Safe to say your parents weren't the biggest fans of your particular career path. Your mother wanted you to be some sort of home-maker living it up in North Connecticut in a weatherboard house, sedated out of your mind on blue pills making jello moulds all day—okay maybe that's not exactly transcribing what she said but you get the gist!

In opposition your father always had dreams of you becoming a middle school teacher, claiming you had a certain way with children. However, you would beg to differ if a particular heated fight with one of your teenage cousins on Christmas morning ending in tears and a very unhappy look on both of your parents faces was anything to go by.

Instead of submitting to either of your parents wishes you bucked the trend and got a big degree in philosophy of all things, to which your father calmly explained that he would not spend over four thousand dollars into Harvards pockets just to facilitate a degree that would leave you severely and desperately unemployed.

But, because he's your father he relented, as you thought most fathers ought to do with their daughter's aspirations.

However you can't he was entirely wrong on the whole unemployment rate of philosophy students. Well-paying employers weren't exactly falling over themselves to find young, freshly-graduated philosophy majors to hire. So when Air Texas provided you with an opportunity you took it with absolute and total vigour.

Have a big degree in philosophy But I don't know what I want to be...

Working for an airline was, to you at least, a pretty stable method of income which payed you to basically talk shit with other twenty-something women and have limited contact with the on-board passengers, bar simply asking them if they want orange juice or coffee with their plastic covered, stale piece of bread to go along with their miso soup that is probably still in the best by date. Probably.

All in all it was a good gig, with a stellar choice of wardrobe.

Getting ready for your job was a relatively easy and stress-free task for you. First step was to wash yourself and hair in rose water, then carefully assemble your hair into smooth waves with the front sections pulled back by two ivory chignon hair pins engraved with the company namesake. Moving onto makeup was easy: fresh skin with a powdered t-zone, red lacquered lips, and a tawn beige blush to the cheeks.

So I'm going into aviation, yeah, mom I'm going into aviation, yeah, dad Going into aviationI'm going into aviation...

The uniform in its basic form was relatively strict: white ballerina toe high boots in white, low rise mini skirt or denim micro shorts in white paired with a halter fitted top in a cotton-linen blend also in white.

The details, however, in your uniform were more customizable. A hat was required so you chose a paperboy denim cap, a pair of butterfly lenses and with some more affixing of random jewellery pieces you'd possibly stolen from your grandmothers estate years ago, you were all but ready to head to work.

You'd thought today to be a relatively normal work day, that was until you attended the mandatory briefing meeting required before every flight and was informed that a member of "very high influence" had loaned out the aircraft for the day and that your boss had offered staff to service those on board.

How curious.

You'd never really heard of famous people being able to loan out commercial airplanes, you'd heard that more often than not they fly private—which made you realise that it was more than likely going to be a large volume of passengers boarding the flight to even start to justify what you imagined would be a gargantuan loan price tag.

After briefing was done you'd forgotten mostly about it till boarding—besides it wasn't the first time a famous person had flown public before. Though somehow it was always your most hated colleague that got to unfairly serve said famous person tea or coffee instead of you, so the star-power of a boarding passenger didn't all that much change your workday or your mood.

At least it hadn't until now.

You'd begun boarding and preparing for the short three hour flight without much fuss—being informed that the group would arrive in the next hour. So you used the time to make coffee for your three closet work girlfriends: Renee, Colleen, and Virginia. Now, you'd never say this to them face to face but them being there made those arduous flight hours worth it to you, and they were the only ones who would indulge your inclination to lightly gossip about passengers. Lightly, of course.

You'd all assumed your positions as boarding came into session, as if on auto-pilot you simply did your job: politely meeting the eyes of passengers, giving them each an earnest smile. But, after the 5th passenger you'd started to see a pattern linking each person from the next—and it wasn't that they were just from the same group loaning the plane, they all donned a specific sort of pin.

Initially they moved much too quick for you to discern any sort of writing on the pin, but once a women kneeled down to slide her cabine trunk under her seat you could clearly make out the content of the pin: the pin writing "Kennedy" in simple, white arial font against a lapis background.

Some wore it on their jacket lapel, others on their tie, and others simply on their mohair sweater.

Huh, must be a Kennedy campaign plane you thought to yourself. Not even really entertaining the idea that the "Kennedy" up for office would be on board at this very moment.

The first thirty minutes of the flight was pretty much smooth sailing all around, from what you gathered the campaign members were all young, vivacious citizens putting in the effort. In a certain light they were incredibly admirable for their efforts, though you didn't know that you quite had it in you to follow a politician to every damn state in the country.

That was until you'd seen his face. That damn face on his face.

To Colleen's credit you weren't the first to spot him, quite frankly because you were so sure a man of his status would be irrevocably be flying private. Always.

She, according to her word had seen him set up shop across two recliner chairs, sitting cross legged with a gentle yet firm hand stroking his cocker spaniel 'Freckles' and another flipping through a manila folder filled to the brim with loose leaf.

What clued you into his arrival however was the loud ruckus that your three friends were making by loudly and not at all discreetly whispering in each others ears in the crew area. Feeling unbelievably left out you race over there desperate to hear whatever they've got to tell, they clue you in with remarkable speed and clarity. Bobby Kennedy is on board right this minute.

Though, it's only when Renee motions your eyes with her hand that you see the main topic of conversation for yourself: Bobby Kennedy quietly reading a book... innocuous enough sure to the naked eye. But after a short inspection you see that not only did he discard his sleeveless sweater vest but that his white button-down has two-less buttons covered than it originally did: making a littering of chest hair subtly apparent to those who looked for it. Giggling with your girls, you started to feel a little bad for objectifying a man who's simply just reading a book but in your mind it was utterly harmless.

After about 5 minutes of ogling you'd been called over to refill the beverage jugs, leaving the three to have their fun with him. But only when you got back you saw just how much fun they were having...

You weren't exactly sure what you had walked into—all you knew was the first thing you saw was bobby being cornered by your very charming and very attractive friends and Virginia saying in a tone bordering on mocking tone, yet exceeding at being sickly sweet,

"Oh C'mon Bobby it's only your shirt! A peek really can't hurt now could it?"

Peeking out from your position in the cabin alcove, you observe a deep red crimson blush wash over his face, bathing it in the kind of expression right before the big dip of a roller coaster: exhilaration meeting intense trepidation all along the features of his greek god like face.

Blushing, he begins to fiddle with the cotton of his button-up, listening intently to the encouragement from your two other friends,

"C'mon Bobby we won't ever tell a single soul, it'll just be our little secret!"

Quietly giggling, as to not give your specific vantage point away, you're deeply shocked when he actually does relent to their request. Sheepishly removing the cotton layer revealing a mosaic of chestnut hair mediated by a taupe natural tan to the skin.

What shocked you even more, however, is that Renee calls out to you, seemingly aware that you had been there the entire time,

"Y/n, honey, come take a picture of us with that Kennedy boy! He's real cute too!"

Groaning internally from the embarrassment of being caught you take the camera from her hands, quickly snapping a few photos of your friends either side of a shirtless Bobby Kennedy.

This would surely be a story to tell at dinner parties, Huh?

Laughing slightly you hand the photos back, to which the girls ogle at the pictures pointing at the picture and calling him over,

"Oh Bobby, Look how darling you look here!"

As if just registering your presence as you were about to leave this very strange bordering on erotic situation. He appears docile as ever quickly nodding at you as if to say hello without actually verbalising it, waving with his left hand.

You wave back warmly and decide to leave the alcove, but not before taking in the utter physical comedy of a United States senator completely shirtless, wearing black trousers adorned with a slate belt, in front of a handful of Texas flight attendants simply at their request.

It's about an hour before you encounter Bobby again, and coincidentally you'd hit the tarmac into the airport about 15 minutes ago, with all passengers boarding off bar one: Bobby.

Apparently he had fallen asleep on the floor of the seat along with his dog and no one had the heart to tell him the planes landed by waking him up. It felt cruel, almost like waking up a newborn fawn in the middle of nap time. Did fawns even have nap time? You didn't quite know.

Taking one for the team, and totally not because you were curious what his face would look like completely rested: not haunted by the daily struggle you were sure he faced being who he was and doing what he did.

Kneeling down you quietly knock on the side of the plastic seat in an effort to wake him up, although that only causes his dog, Freckles, to awake and furiously lick the face of its owner. Which does begin to wake him up.

"Mr Kennedy, Sorry to disturb you but we've arrived at Lafayette Regional Airport."

"That's quite okay—thank you very much"

You notice he's put his button-up and sweater back on, much to your chagrin. Turning away you start to leave to collect your own baggage when you hear an audible stomach groan of hunger from what you can only assess as coming from Bobby as your the only two on the aircraft.

Sympathetic, you reach into your waist pack and fish out some rice crackers, along with a bottled water, and place it on the cushion of the seat in front of him. Leaving food for him to find like a person leaves food out for easily scared woodland creatures.

Coming back to do your final sweep and check of the seats before they were to be cleaned by the cleaning crew for the next flight, you lock eyes with Bobby and trail your eyes down, down, down to a surprisingly, shockingly large bulge in the pant of his trouser, accompanied by a pained from anticipation expression that almost drips over his entire face covering, encasing him whole.

All in all he looks utterly a mess and pathetic, not at all how he should present himself to the adoring fans lined outside the airport immolating his presence. So you do as anyone in your position would do—okay maybe not everyone but you'd wager on most,

"Give me one sec, I'll take care of it I promise."

You leave Bobby alone and catch your three friends unloading their personal carry-ons, you inform them that Bobby's in the bathroom and you'll see him out and make sure everything's in order for the next flight. They eye you suspiciously as if they know what's really going on, but no one dares to share.

They know you'll debrief tomorrow anyway so what's the point in spoiling the fun early anyway?

Safe to say after a good 20 minutes, Bobby Kennedy departs the plane and greets slobbering fans looking more chipper and revitalised than any person ought to look after spending hours on board a metal flying tube... but who were they to speculate on what went on during that flight?

I'm gonna take a vacation, yeah, man Fly fighter jets all over the nation Fly fighter jets all over the nation"

[modelbus]

This might be more on the angst side… oops? Also, this is like 3k words… There are POV switches!! And this was inspired by an ao3 story with a similar premise but that was with Kaz and Wylan so there’s that.

There is alcohol and suggestiveness in this! Be warned, it’s a bit different than my usual!

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x gn!Reader

Flufftober 4 - It’s All An Act (Spies)

"Sorry, what?" You stare at Kaz, and he stares back evenly.

"It's a simple mission. You don't have to do anything."

"Then why do you need me?"

He sighs, gloved hand tightening and loosening on his crow cane. Without a doubt, he was upset at you for not getting it, but forgive you for being a little startled when he asks you to pretend to date him!

"It'll be too suspicious if I show up alone. All I need you for is pretending to date me. But carry some weapons in case things go... awry."

"You want me to go with you to a party, pretend to date you, and... that's it?"

"That's it."

You stare at him for a few more moments, trying to figure out if he had any other angle. Most times, Kaz Brekker kept his crows in the loop. But there were times when he didn't, and you knew him too well to not try and figure out if it was or wasn't.

Although you were the second newest crow (thanks to Wylan for taking the newest title) you and Kaz actually somewhat got along. You’re certain it's because he values you ability to kill without hesitation. That's what you are to him: his assassin. Your role, your one job, was to kill and to kill efficiently. 

He didn't question why you were able to kill so easy, and you didn't question his aversion to touch and water. You got along, and things were fine.

Or, they were, until you had to go and start noticing stupid things about him. Like the way he looked mid-fight, slamming his cane into someone. Or the way his lips would barely twitch when one of them said something particularly funny. It took you a bit to realize, but when you did you knew you were royally fucked.

Because, of course, you started to develop feelings for Kaz Brekker. Feelings that, as long as you were sane, would stay quite hidden. Which only made this whole job harder.

He wanted you to pretend to date him. It might just be the hardest thing he's asked of you yet, and he doesn't even know it.

"Take the job. Wish I could go to a party." Jesper grumbles, and you glance at the sharp shooter sitting next to you.

"Unfortunately, no one in their sound mind would believe we were dating." Kaz says cooly. "That, and everyone knows your face around here."

You grimace. Your own insurance, coming to bite you in the ass. Most people only saw you face before you killed them. It was easier to sneak around in plain sight that way. Obviously the crows were the exceptions, and maybe a few others out there.

"You're sure nobody else wants to do this?" You try.

"Wylan and Jesper are far too in love for me to take Wylan, Inej is out hunting slavers, and Nina..." He shakes his head. 

"Fine. Whatever. I'll do the stupid job."

You sigh, knowing this job very well might be the death of you. Emotional death, that is. But then again, it was Kaz. Surely he wasn't the type to be a touchy fake date, not with his touch aversion.

"Good. Meet me down here at nine sharp tomorrow night. Dress nice, have concealed weapons."

Kaz walks off, not waiting for you to confirm you understood his directions. You scowl at his back before sighing. 

"This will be a disaster."

"I'm sure it'll be fun!" Jesper exclaims. "It's a party, how bad can it be?"

"I have to fake date Kaz Brekker." You deadpan.

"Yeah, but he wants you for arm candy. To draw the attention away from him. That's the closest to a compliment you'll ever get out of him."

You can't help but sigh again. "We take what we can get with him, don't we?"

-

Kaz is waiting for you outside the Crow Club when you arrive. He isn't dressed any different from his normal, except a pocket watch with a fancier chain than you’re used to. His gaze is level as he gazes at you as you walk towards him.

And you knows you looks good, but that isn't why he's looking at you. You’re in a nice outfit for once, flowing sleeves down to your wrists, and black gloves up to your elbows nearly. The gloves and long sleeves were carefully planned, knowing exactly what role you’d be playing tonight.

"How many knives do you have?" Kaz asks, looking behind you, almost like he's checking to see if you were followed by anyone. 

"Seven." You grin. You may be a pretty distraction tonight, but you’re just as dangerous as you are pretty.

"Good." He nods. Not approval, but close enough. "Let's go."

You walk next to him as they go through the streets of Ketterdam, slowly heading to the more expensive places. The streets widen, becoming more and more lit as they go, and you realize that maybe you should've asked whose party this was.

"So, Brekker. Lovely night, isn't it?" You ask conversationally. From the very start You’ve always used his last name, and haven’t even thought of changing that despite how he always ground his teeth at it.

"What do you want?" He snaps.

"Come on, be nicer to your date." You can't help yourself. Kaz might not react much, but it's funny when he does react.

"This was a bad idea."

"But we're too far into it now."

Kaz's jaw clenches, and you can't help but laugh quietly. "So, the plan?"

He sighs, and you wait a moment. Although he's sometimes an asshole, and mostly keeps things to himself, he's always told you everything you needed to know in a plan.

"Just look pretty and act stupid. Do what I tell you, for once." He finally says.

"Oh, yikes, that'll be really hard. I mean, listening to you?" You joke.

Kaz pulls up short, slamming his cane out in front of you. "I mean it, assassin." 

And just as you called him Brekker, he called you by your job. Assassin. 

"You can't call me that tonight." You respond calmly. "It'll give us away."

"Say it." 

You groan. "Fine. I'll listen to you."

He nods sharply, continuing on. "Good."

"You're a little paranoid, don't you think?"

Kaz doesn't even justify you with an answer at that one, leaving you to walk alongside him quietly. 

"This is it." He announces suddenly, and draws up short.

You let your eyes flicker over the building—tons of windows—then return to him. "...are you sure?"

"Yes. Inside. Now."

The second you take a step in, you shrink yourself. Shoulders curling in, angling yourself towards Kaz. You can feel his eyes on you as you do so, raking over you.

"Loosen up." He instructs you in a low voice.

"Easy for you to say." You murmur back. "You're not the one pretending to be the crow's whore."

"Someone's said that to you before."

It's not a question. Of course it isn't. Kaz's eyes sharpen, hardening into something mean in front of you.

"Not now." You say dismissively.

He glares at you but gives you a curt nod, and together you walk into the party. You, just for tonight, let yourself revel in the eyes being drawn to you. You give a taunting grin to someone they walk by, playing up your role a little.

Look pretty? Yeah, you can do that.

"Mr. Brekker." A merchant says, his eyes sliding from Kaz to you. "And..."

"Alex." you purr, tilting your head.

Like hell you’re giving your real name out to anyone here. Instead, Alex, a random name, will have to do.

"My date." Kaz cuts in smoothly. "Don't mind them."

"Pretty." The merchant says appraisingly. You should be flattered, but you’re more disgusted.

Kaz tilts his head, studying you. "Yes." He agrees coldly. "Get a drink, we're going to talk business. Loosen up."

You pause, but this certainly isn't the time to mention that youve never drank before. Instead you give him a graceful nod, floating off through the crowds. 

The bar is an open bar, you can tell that from the lazy way the bartender is flashing his watch. Nobody here is expected to get drunk, or to steal it. Unfortunately for them, you and Kaz are here, so no watch is safe.

"I'll have a drink." You say lightly, leaning on the counter.

"Of?" The bartender asks, snorting.

Shit.

"Make me what you're best at." You answer, looking at him through your eyelashes. It should be a safe answer.

By the way the bartender smiles and starts to make something, it is. A second later a glass of something is slid your way. Here's to hoping this won't fuck with you too much.

-

Kaz Brekker

He's starting to get a little worried. Not too much, he knows you can handle yourself perfectly fine, but it has been a while since he sent you off. You weren’t at the bar: he's been checking it every few moments.

It's starting to piss him off. One job, one easy job, and you can't even follow that. There was no point in bringing you if you was just going to vanish. 

"Come on, Assassin." He murmurs, still scanning the crowd.

Truthfully, he shouldn't be calling you that here. Alex was the name you gave the merchant earlier, and Alex was the name he should be calling you by. He isn't sure where Alex came from, actually.

It doesn't matter. What does matter is what he came here for, and finding you. 

Of course, right as he's about to turn back to the real reason he's here, there's a clatter of decidedly sour guitar strings. Most don't turn towards the noise, but Kaz does. And when he sees, his entire body freezes.

Because where else would you be except talking to the guitar player. And, from the looks of it, flirting with him.

"There you are." Kaz says, striding to you, feeling like yelling. "I've been looking for you."

"Sorry." You chirp, grinning brightly at him.

At that, he falters. When was the last time he saw a smile that bright, that genuine? Actually, scratch that, when had you ever apologized to him?

He leans closer, whispering in your ear, words coming out more as a snarl than anything else. "What are you doing, Assassin?"

"Me?" You ask, looking genuinely surprised. "I'm talking to the guitar player! I used to play guitar, you know, before my father broke it."

He flicks his eyes over you. Not once have you ever divulged information about your personal life, and not once did Kaz ever ask.

"You're drunk?" He asks, incredulously.

"Me? Drunk?" You gasp, stumbling.

With a lurch, he grabs your arms to stop you from hitting the floor. Even through his gloves, it sends a jolt up his spine.

"Three layers." You slur, and he realizes you’re comforting him while drunk. "Don't panic."

"How much did you drink?" He demands lowly, dragging you to a darker corner.

"Three. Maybe four."

"Three what?"

Only three drinks shouldn't have messed you up this much, not unless they were straight vodka or something ridiculous.

"I don't know." 

He stares at you. It isn't like you to be so... careless.

"What do you mean you don't know?" He snaps.

"I've never drank before." Kaz's jaw goes slack. You’ve never drank before? This is your first time drinking? Ever? "Hey, anyone ever tell you your eyes are nice?"

"Shut up, I need to think." Kaz growls, drawing a hand down his face.

His eyes dart around, landing on a nearby door. Without a second thought, he shoves you in, closing the door behind you and locking it. It's a bathroom, and for that he's incredibly thankful.

"Splash yourself with water." Kaz orders, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

"Why?"

"To sober you up."

"Will it really?"

Kaz is starting to like you a lot more when she's sober.

-

You

An explosion rockets through the building, shaking the walls a little. "Woah." You laugh. It’s funny for some reason. "One of ours? Wylan's?"

"Yes." Kaz says, eyes flicking between you and the door. "Water, now."

"Why are we bombing the party?"

"Near the party." He corrects you impatiently.

There's a sudden pounding on the door, and Kaz swears under his breath violently.

"Anyone in there?! Open up!" 

You lift yourself onto the bathroom counter, sitting next to the sink. You watch Kaz, his scheming face on.

"What are you doing?" He asks, still glaring at you.

"Get over here."

"What are you doing?"

"Kaz." You raise your eyebrows. "Get caught or get over here."

Kaz clenches his jaw, striding up to you. "Now what? You're drunk, we're in a bathroom."

You run your hands through your hair, messing it up. You move back further to lean against the mirror, spreading your legs.

"Hands on either side of my head."

Immediately, Kaz stiffens. "Pardon?"

"We either make it look like you're about to fuck me or we get caught." 

His eyes go cold, but he leans in, placing a hand to right of your head. His left hand, though, goes to your waist.

"Three layers." He murmurs, almost to himself. "You're drunk, which means I'm yelling at you later for this."

"Please don't-" You cut yourself off with a gasp when the door slams open. You’re close. Not enough to touch Kaz, your mind isn't that foggy, but enough to certainly imply some things.

"Oh." A strange voice says. "Oh. My- my apologies, I didn't-"

"Get out." Kaz growls, turning his head away from you to glare at whoever is at the door.

The door shuts quickly with a loud "thud" noise. Both Kaz and you stay there for a moment, waiting to see if the intruder was actually gone.

"Wasn't that fun?" You say weakly.

"No." Kaz snaps, turning his head back to glare at you.

"Don't be pissed at me. I just saved our asses." You complain, meeting his eyes.

"Who said I'm pissed at you? Frustrated, certainly. I can't fault you too much for being drunk when I asked you to get a drink." 

"You have a nice voice." You say honestly.

"Close your mouth before you say something you'll regret."

you stare at him for a moment, mind swirling with thoughts you can't truly sort out.

You’re suspended for another second, neither of you having moved from the quite intimate position. You wasn't a short person, but you were smaller than Kaz, meaning he's practically covering your body with his right now.

"Could you get off me?" You say quietly.

"You're the one who put us in this position." He responds, raising his eyebrows. "If you were uncomfortable with it, you shouldn't have done it."

Either way, he removes his hands, but doesn't step back. Your head swims, having entirely forgotten his hand was on your waist in the first place.

"No, it's because I liked it too much." 

Kaz closes his eyes, rubbing his temples with gloved hands. "This is why I don't deal with drunk people."

"What, drunk people are too honest or something?"

"No. Secrets get spilled that nobody wants to hear."

"You don't want to hear my secrets?" You pout, a little upset. You must truly be nothing to him if he didn't even want your secrets to use against you.

"Why are you sad at that?" Kaz asks, and if you didn't know better you’d think he sounds incredulous.

"Because that means I mean nothing to you, which is depressing."

"Where did you get that idea?" His eyebrows furrow.

"You want everyone's secrets." You point out, still leaning against the mirror while sat on the counter. "Why not mine?"

"Trust me, I want them. I just want them out of your own free will."

Hell if you know what that means, but... "Nobody is holding a gun to my head."

"You're drunk. You have no filter."

"Correct. And? When did you care about morals?"

"I don't." He levels his cool gaze at you. "But when it comes to you... I know I wouldn't want my secrets getting out because I'm drunk." 

"When it comes to me?" You echo, jumping on the lose thread in his words.

"Get off the counter."

"Explain."

An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object, what happens? A collision so grand, so huge, that everything else pales in comparison.

But they aren't unstoppable or unmovable. You are drunk, Kaz has his own problems.

So he steps back, and you slide off the counter, fixing your clothes.

"Let's go." Kaz says gruffly.

But even now, even in the dim lighting of a bathroom, even with a foggy mind that is slowly clearing, you know. Hell, you both know.

Something has changed.

[periprose]

Ps5 Peter Parker x reader inspired by this?

It's one of my favorite MerDer moments on Grey's anatomy 🙈😭

Peter explains something about physics or an idea for a gagdet...

🤣 this image really cracked me up lol thanks for the ask!! I've set the fic to take place in the first game, Peter and Reader are Otto's assistants at Octavius Industries. Please ignore the science mumbo jumbo in this fic.

/

Otto's lab was really cold this time of year. He barely had the funds to make rent in Manhattan, let alone provide optimal heating and other luxuries.

Still, you shiver, searching through your locker for your comfy, oversized jumper. You're just pulling it on when Peter pops up from behind you.

"Hey."

"Jesus!" You flinch and then rub your eyes. "Hey, Peter. How do you get behind me so fast? That's the third time this month I didn't even see you come in."

"Uh... I just have good reflexes, I think." Peter's mouth twists a little, as he tries not to laugh at your jumper. "Are you sure that's up to lab standards? Where's your lab coat?"

"Ah, Otto doesn't mind. He knows I'm cold." You explain, and Peter sighs.

"Well, he never gives me special treatment."

"Probably because you're not as cute as I am." You joke, but Peter nods and you feel a callous level of attraction towards him for being so nonchalant in terms of flirting.

You never really know where you stand with the guy. He's a naturally witty person and you refuse to read into anything any deeper, just for self preservation.

"Hey, I can't disagree with that." Peter laughs that quiet, soft laugh that makes you smile on your own. "Here, I got you a cup of coffee. That should help warm you up."

You look down and see, sure enough, Peter's holding a coffee cup tray, loaded with three cups, surely your usual orders- for you, extra black espresso to stay awake, for Peter, usually some kind of healthy tea hybrid, and for Otto, a large, creamy Italian coffee blend that's particularly expensive (Peter always jokes that Otto wastes funding on things like this).

"Oh, I'll pay you back." You reach back into your locker for your wallet, but Peter stops you with a raise of his hand.

"It's free of charge. No worries." He hands you the cup gently, and your hand skirts across his. You think for a moment.

"Nothing is ever really 'free of charge', Peter." You give him a side glance. In the last couple of months you've known this guy, you've figured out when he has an ulterior motive.

"... Alright, alright. You got me." Peter starts pulling you along by the hand, towards one of Otto's offices filled with white-boards and desks and equipment. You take a sip of your coffee and notice that it's still quite hot- Peter must've been really fast to make it so.

Not that you're complaining, and now that you're warmer you do feel more inclined to listen to him.

"Okay. You know how Otto's neural interface for the experimental arms have been glitching out?" Peter's got a firm look on his face, as you sit and listen.

"Yeah. It's a poor prototype, I think he asked us to leave it alone? He said he'd deal with it." You shrug. "I've moved on to his requests for a tighter, stronger arm. You know I deal with hardware."

"Yes, but even so, the neural interface problem still persists. Otto's lying." Peter looks at the whiteboard, and sees that half of it is covered all over with erratically drawn diagrams and equations. It's fine, he knows he can write what he needs in that space.

"Okay, look." Peter begins drawing a diagram of the neural interface's circuitry. "See how the voltage is really high?"

"Yeah- but isn't that what Doc wanted?" You grimace. "Last time I brought up the voltage issue, he told me to mind my business and continue with soldering. He wants so much power for some reason."

"Right, that's what I'm talking about. Notice how Otto keeps having those outbursts?" Peter sighs, a deeply upsetting look overtaking him. "He's getting a bit aggressive as of late, and I think it's because he can't figure this out."

"You're telling me. Just yesterday he chewed me out for clocking in a bit late." You sniff. "Okay, I was fifteen minutes late, but still."

"I've been there, you don't even have to justify it." Peter laughs, and begins drawing squiggly lines. You can't help but notice how his strangely muscular arms are tense and visible through his lab coat as he scrawls, and you take a sip of your coffee, savoring the view. Looking isn't illegal, you try to rationalize, but you quickly banish these thoughts as Peter looks back with a sly glance, to make sure you're paying attention.

"This is the electricity flow... and it should be heading this way, but the neural interface is made incorrectly and the flow of energy is heading back this way... towards the-"

"The battery of the arms, not the interface." You suddenly realize, and take a scrap piece of paper off the desk, scribbling down notes. "Hmm... maybe the wiring used for the arms is absorbing too much energy? Or the batteries are too big?"

"Maybe, but neural interfaces are tricky business." Peter winces as Otto yells at something in the background of the lab. "I told Otto not to get too involved with it- it's far too easy to accidentally mess with your brain, and then suddenly you've got anger issues or worse-"

"Dementia." You finish his sentence with an equally grim expression. "Okay. I hear you, but how are we supposed to fix it, exactly? I can only think of using different, smaller wires, or a less cost heavy battery- but then it won't move at the speed Otto wants it to."

"Yeah." Peter's shoulders slump a little, and you feel bad. He's always just one dude trying to take on the entire world's problems.

"Peter, it's not your problem, really. You can only do so much- the man has made up his mind, he's going to have to take the brunt of the problem." You try to console him, but Peter has that determined Parker Pride you've seen far too often, and you know he's not going to let it go.

"Wait, wait. Okay..." Peter starts frantically drawing on the board, and seeing that he's running out of space, without missing a beat, begins to draw on the wall.

"Peter! You're drawing on the wall!" You admonish him, and to your shock and utter horror, but not to your surprise, he keeps going. "Now you've completely lost it- it'll take two seconds to erase the board-"

But Peter isn't listening, in that overly stubborn, inventor way that you know you've done before. He's too lost in his own thoughts, and you know that spark will disappear if he takes a moment to stop drawing.

"I'll clean it. It's fine. We got to get a move on." Peter points to the new diagram on the wall. "Look at this."

Peter's drawn a rudimentary depiction of the robotic arm prototypes you've built for Otto, but the battery pack has been split up into several, smaller batteries that extend over the course of the arms. Something about the way the arms move in Peter's drawings look a lot more... smooth, silky, like a cephalopod.

An octopus.

But you are amazed at Peter's capabilities, either way. "Using multiple different batteries, so the energy isn't drawn away from the neural interface in a great capacity?" You blink, a bit amused at Peter's eager expression. "It would work, I think, but only if Otto is willing for a slight decrease in power."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. We don't need to sacrifice power at all." Peter draws a set of gears, interlocking through the squiddy looking arm, and you clap your hands, clambering up out of your seat, finally enthused by his idea.

"Peter Parker, you genius!" You shake his arm excitedly, and he turns a bit pinker as he watches you, grinning. "Otto wanted the arm to be almost entirely synthetic material- but if it has rotating gears, the less it will jerk around. It'll be faster, smoother-"

"Thus requiring less power anyways, and less power will be redirected into his neural interface. And, hypothetically, no more angry Otto." Peter grins, and you smile up at him. "I mean, it'll still take some tinkering to figure out, but incremental improvements are still improvements, right?"

"Definitely. Plus we can always try to convince him about solar power again." You joke as Peter snickers.

Peter opens his mouth, about to say something to you, but he stares for a moment too long and hesitates, especially because in the nerdy excitement, he had gotten so close to you, and he was a liar if he said he had never checked out his cute co-worker. Any second now, you should be teasing as you usually do- but your eyes are wide and Peter gets the sense you've been swept up in this too.

He's never been so... close. He can make out individual eyelashes, tiny scars, imperceptible to normal people, but not to him.

And his phone buzzes with some kind of alert. He looks it over with bright, concerned eyes, while you take a moment to step back, much to Peter's mild irritation.

"Ah... must be MJ?" You ask, trying so very hard not to sound like a jealous girlfriend, just a curious colleague. You have nothing against MJ- you just feel that she and Peter are so meant for each other, and this is exactly why you've been trying to protect yourself.

Who are you kidding? You and Peter are both so busy- you'd never have time to be his doting, adoring girlfriend. You just have to remember him as a friend.

Already you feel the walls coming into place, your expression turning neutral, your heart becoming steely, when Peter looks at you again, surprised.

He can tell you're holding yourself back- and he doesn't like that. He wants you to come back to him, to be close with him again, and it drives him nuts that it has to be your choice, but he respects that.

"Not MJ. We broke up a while ago." Peter swallows, hoping he's saying the right things. "Uh... I don't think we're going to get back together. She's dating someone else now."

"Oh." You squeeze Peter's shoulder as comfortingly as you can. "Peter, I'm sorry. I would've been less of an ass if I'd known."

"No, don't be." Peter fixes a firm, kindhearted glance at you, taking your hands, the warmth of his own making you feel especially treasured. "You're great."

There's a teeny bit of hope working it's way into you, into your silly, girly heart despite all the steel around it, and Peter has a soft smile reserved just for you- you know that smile, you've seen it before when he comforts you when an experiment goes poorly, or when you've had a Eureka moment.

He rubs your hands. "Jeez, you're cold! I know women are usually freezing in the workplace- different body temperatures on average and all that- but I'm going to have to talk to Otto about making it warmer in here."

"Lest I die of hypothermia, right." You snort, and Peter snickers, but he still stays close, as if he's using this as an excuse. "Well, at least I have your hands."

Peter's phone buzzes again, another alert, which he apologetically takes a moment to read after letting go of you. Something about Fisk's thugs making their way through Grand Central Station- he shouldn't leave right now, but he can see your curiosity is piqued.

"Just a news alert. Nothing big." Peter lies, and you don't quite buy it, but you don't want to pry at this moment after he's complimented you and been so nice to warm up your hands.

Otto bursts through the entrance of the room, sighing.

"Will you two lovebirds stop canoodling with each other and test out the circuitry? You know, like I'm paying you to do so with very limited funds?" He barks, and then inhales. "Sorry. Just... try to stay on task. And I know you're young and all... but stop drawing on the walls!"

He leaves, grumbling about youth being too romantic and wishing they would understand sensibility.

You're about to refute whatever Otto said, so Peter doesn't feel uncomfortable, when he speaks first.

"I take it he isn't a romantic." Peter jokes as he grabs some paper towels, and you laugh, feeling that Peter's flirting was more genuine than you thought.

[deltadarlingf1]

On the Reality of Dating a Famous/Wealthy Man:

I was going to post this on Twitter but decided I wanted to a do a long form post. So an explanation of this tweet, which was inspired by the screenshot just below it:

First a disclaimer: I am not at ALL saying Mick is anything like the men I'm about to talk about (I genuinely doubt it). I'm using this response to him hard-launching his relationship as an example of the mindset I see in a LOT of the young female F1 fans. If you read the gossip blogs, you've seen posts like this and worse, particularly on Charles, Pierre, Danny, and Carlos's gfs.

As I said in my tweet, if these young girls knew what it can be like behind closed doors for the WAGs of the rich and the famous, they probably wouldn't make statements like this.

I see a lot of younger fans here on social media posting their imagines and fan fics, and as someone a bit older than them, it does worry me. I know for most people it's simple fantasy and fun, but when I see things like the above I know there are some younger girls that really just don't get it.

My aim in posting this is that maybe it'll be a bit of a reality check for some of those girls. And I don't mean that in a bullying way, I mean that in a "please don't look at these smiling pretty girls with the closet full of designer, perfect body, and seemingly perfect life and feel bad about yourself" way.

Lastly, how do I know any of what I'm about to talk about? I wish I was just chatting shit, but I have lived through all of what I'm posting below as the daughter of a "man" of wealth. His money came from corporate life, not fame, but when you have as much as my "father" did/does, you rub elbows with the famous. Everything I detail below happened to me, my mother, and the wives of my "father"'s coworkers. I'm now watching history repeat itself as I've moved up the corporate ladder and find myself around millionaires and billionaires on a regular basis.

1. The "Starter Wife" Phenomenon

In wealthy circles there's the concept of a "Starter Wife". This is the woman wealthy/famous men marry because they were high school sweethearts, worked together early on, or they dated before the man had his "come up". Sometimes men marry these women and have kids for the SOLE purpose of having the "Family Man" persona. For famous men, this can be good PR. For wealthy men, this can boost their career.

A lot of these men fucking HATE their wives. By the time they have money, they want the freedom of single life back. They can now afford their "dream woman" and loathe being "stuck" with their current wife because of it. Leading to:

2. Serial Cheating

These men have all the money and resources they need to live a double life. Not to mention built-in time and an alibi: They're on the road all the time for their job, work trips, events, etc. No time unaccounted for because they're always working.

Some of those work trips to wine-and-dine clients include runs to the local strip club, escorts, and in some cases some of those escorts are of INCREDIBLY questionable age (in reality, they are victims of trafficking). Again, I wish I was talking out of my ass, I have seen this shit with my own eyes and wish to the Gods I hadn't. Then there's also:

3. Domestic Violence

This is bad enough when it's a wealthy man whose built that "Family Man" persona to protect himself, but it's even worse when they're famous. No one believes the victims, in some cases the woman is financially stuck and can't just take the kids and run when it happens.

And for some women it hard to leave the man they thought their partner was and, yes, to let the lifestyle go. Speaking of the lifestyle there's:

4. The Loneliness

This is a big one for the F1 girlies I see posting their imagines and fanfics and what not. The fairytale of "he'll make time for me because he loves me and I'd be special. I'd be different."

These men are busy as shit. That Cartier Bracelet you envy on these girls is often a "sorry I missed your birthday". The big bouquet of roses is a "sorry I had to leave our trip early." Yes, we know the joke "well at least I can cry in a Ferrari", but that shit will wear on you more than you can believe. I can't tell you growing up how hurt I was when my performances were missed, major dates were forgotten, or my proud life updates were met with "yeah, uh-huh, hold on I have to take this call."

Of course there are good times, of course there's memories you'll cling to, but when you're out, you often realize how alone you felt in the relationship. Lastly, and most poignant with this F1 WAG nonsense:

5. Keeping Up Appearances

You're no longer your own person in a relationship with these men, you are an extension of them. With famous men, you're a part of their "branding".

You have to look a certain way, act a certain way, talk to the right people, have the right friends. In the corporate-wealth world, that means making your partner look good, playing the part of the trophy wife and perfect mother. Smile in front of those coworkers that you know just spent the last business trip drinking, gambling, and cheating on their wives. Wear the right dress to the corporate dinner to make his coworkers envy him, but don't dress too sexy or he'll grow angry and think you're trying to cheat.

If you're dating someone famous, by the GODS, you better look immaculate in every post. You better be there to support him at his events, but if you're there too often you're "attention-seeking". You better have model good-looks, but if you ARE a model, you're "a jobless loser trying to profit on him". Don't post him on your IG, but if you happen to post that you're in the same city as him, you're "dropping hints". If he posts you, it's only because you "probably begged him to".

It's a maddening dance where you cannot win for losing. And once you break up, enjoy letting the world decide if he should have stayed with you, or if they're relieved that he finally got away from "that selfish bitch".

Do what you will with the above. I just wanted to get it off my chest. But I do hope that maybe, MAYBE, it'll give someone that needs it some perspective.

[annawayne]

Annaaaaaaaaaaaaaa T^T I hope you're doing alright today! Did you bake anything new recently!

For the writer's ask btw: 1, 4, 5, 8, 12, 14, 15, 23, 27 :3

Do it, tell me all about it! And I hope you have a great week :3 Thank you for blessing us with all your beautiful art and love T^T

Moon, hello (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Thank you a lot for asking, and OH MY, that's a lot, but don't get me wrong, I appreciate your interest a lot T^T

Let me first tell you about baking: I baked only the plum pie recently, and it's already gone... But I plan to bake pumpkin muffins with orange cream soon :3

As for the questions:

1 - the last sentence you wrote

I've already answered this one a bit earlier here, but as I got around to answer your question, here's another sentences that I actually wrote the last one:

"I wonder, why can’t we notice… until we’ve lost it already?"

👀

4 - a story idea you haven’t written yet

Oh, I have this one story idea in my mind, based on this one art...

Can't say much without spoilering , but this story has some angsty development. Like, very angsty.

Other than this, it's also a story about how AruAni met and fell in love, so some kind of strangers to lovers, with a lot of immediate attraction and interest, all set in Switzerland, 1911.

The caption in the original post - "It was the love at first sight" - is a leitmotif of this whole story.

I've been thinking about it while working on this drawing, and I didn't consider writing it, but the more time passes - the more I think that, eventually, I'll write it...

5 - first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

Uhm... Well, I think, the chapter 10 of MYLYSW counts for now, yes? If yes, so here we are:

"How to breathe without feeling the burden of the mission to be fulfilled; how to sleep without all the images of the world through the eyes of others; how to say a word without feeling obliged to remember a promise to come back; how to look at the sun and see in it the beauty of another day borning out of the velvet darkness of the night into the golden sunrise, and not to cross out another twenty-four hours out of one hundred and thirteen thousand nine hundred fifty-five hours of defined expiration of her."

Me and my damn love for the long sentences...

8 - if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

Oh, good question! I don't really have a lot of fics, but I think I would love to write for Neverland of (Our) Desires, the Fort Salta oneshot-sequel, where AruAni are caught in feelings and have an awkward-silly conversation about their boat *adventure*, with all these emotions and feelings of having the life ahead of them and not knowing what to do with it... Oh well, oh well, such a potential 🤌

12 - a trope you’re really into right now

Hm... Honestly, I've been into Forbidden Love or Star-crossed Lovers tropes recently...

It's quite canonical AruAni, to be honest, and I just love to think about it in different AUs and canon-compliant too, so yes, I would say these ones! And here a remark, that Forbidden Love/Star-crossed Lovers don't mean that it's a tragic ending - more like obstacles and a lot of angst, which challenge the characters and their love, and how it all develops within the plot.

14 - where do you get your inspiration?

You know, I thought I had a proper answer for it, but when I started typing it, I realized, that, in fact, I don't.

If I'm totally honest - I don't think I even have something special as "inspiration". I have ideas that pop up in my mind on their own, and then, I turn them into story or a moment in the fic, but I never particularly searched for it. I suppose, it's also a consequence of my constant art and literature involving, where I read/observe/study something, so I have this almost never-stopping source of new experience and knowledge, which leads to ideas and inspiration to create my own stories/drawings.

So, I think that my inspiration is constant studying and sources of knowledge.

15 - favorite weather for writing

Answered here :3

23 - pick three keywords that describe your writing

Moon, what a question *sigh*... Let's say:

evocative, raw and poetic

I thought of what to answer you on this particular question because it's a bit difficult for me to evaluate my own writing style, but I also remembered the words I received about it (including your wonderful feedback), and I guess, it helped me to pick these particular keywords.

27 - your favorite part of the writing process

Answered here, too :3

Thank you a lot for your interest and support, Moon, I wish you all the best and take care🖤

[xadianglyphs]

Infantis Sanguine: Why Is It Like That

Okay, it's finally time to talk about Infantis Sanguine. In that I can't put it off any longer, not that there's a particularly good time. Everything we see on the Infantis Sanguine page is pretty much unique within the series so far, so there aren't any repeats or connections to follow. It also doesn't bear a ton of resemblance to anything we've seen before. So I'm kind of left with going over possible external connections or inspirations, and what we're meant to think about it based on the design.

Like, it's pretty clear from the way they show the Infantis Sanguine spell how we're supposed to feel about it. It's dirty and smudged, it's rendered in a red/black gradient that evokes dried blood, and the writing that goes with it is much shorter and sharper than any of the other writing systems we've seen, which are all very calligraphic. Additionally, it looks like an early version of the sort of magic circles we only see associated with dark or corrupted magic, like Kim'dael's summoning circle, the Tenebris Praesidium circle effect, or even Claudia's spellbook:

That kind of arrangement doesn't occur in any primal magic we've seen so far. Sometimes primal magic has individual runes arranged in a circle, like the Silvergrove entrance illusion or the Sunfire purification ritual, but the intricate, geometric stuff is exclusive to dark magic.

Anyway, now let's take this nerd shit to an 11 when it probably ought to stay at about a 5.

I'm absolutely sure that everyone d'une certaine génération of anime saw this in s5e9 and thought the same thing I did, which was, "nope, I've seen enough Fullmetal Alchemist to know where this is going."

In actuality, most of the Fullmetal Alchemist transmutation circles don't really resemble Infantis Sanguine, though there's some basic similarity between the human transmutation circles and the cover of Claudia's spellbook. The only one that's bears a passing resemblance to Infantis Sanguine is this one:

(Side note: would you believe it took me literal hours to find the source of that, probably because it's exclusive to the 2003 anime? It's the transmutation circle used in conjunction with a homunculus's human remains to force it to vomit up all its red stone (life force) and become mortal so it can be killed. Interestingly.)

Now, a lot of these graphic elements are rooted in other meanings or practices. A pentacle is a pentacle, Hiromu Arakawa didn't make that up. She actually incorporated a ton of researched alchemical symbolism into Fullmetal Alchemist, and the similarities don't mean "oh, TDP copied FMA." (I'd be kind of shocked if no one on the TDP team has seen FMA, though.)

The central element that makes these two graphics resemble each other is the crucified serpent, which is an actual thing, generally associated with Nicolas Flamel because it appears in a book attributed to him (this isn't from that book, it's a later representation):

Basically, as an alchemical symbolic concept, the crucified serpent represents the stabilization of a volatile substance. The serpent is further a symbol of the "prima materia," a universal, chaotic matter and the starting material for the philosopher's stone. You can go a step further and interpret the cross as the four elements uniting together to form the fifth, but medieval/renaissance historical alchemy was also deeply entwined with Christianity—the cross is also seen as emblematic of the cyclic "death and resurrection" of the prima materia as it is refined into the stone.

The crucified serpent with wings and crown is, as far as I can tell, something Hiromu Arakawa did make up for Fullmetal Alchemist, but it's really just adding another layer that further clarifies the concept as a symbol of having attained perfection or divine wisdom. (Hence its association with Ed and Izumi, who have both seen The Gate and attained the ability to perform alchemic transmutation without drawing a circle.)

Furthermore, the crucified serpent is associated with the rod of Asclepius and the caduceus, which also have a design association with the symbol for dark magic. We also have a strong association between snakes and dark magic because of recurring use in the series.

Now, as for the symbols that surround the Infantis Sanguine geometric/serpentine design, they bear little resemblance to any other writing symbols used thus far in the setting. Possibly they're similar to the symbols used in the blocks of body text from repeating book pages:

It's hard to say, though. I think it's probably a coincidence, since in both cases they're trying to use symbols that resemble a simpler, alphabetical writing system instead of the pictographic primal runes or the complex calligraphic symbols we see elsewhere. I'm not convinced the art team thought at all about human vs. elven styles of writing, and a lot of the symbols we see on human objects or books are also very calligraphic. BUT if that was something they HAD thought about... after seeing the Moon Nexus, Sunfire, and other calligraphic symbols endemic to the elven locations and cultures, I'd see the Infantis Sanguine writing and be like "oh, that's human, then."

Basically, I think the symbols surrounding Infantis Sanguine are meant to be perceived as actual writing or notation—something you could jot down with a pencil. Some of them even bear a passing resemblance to alchemical symbols, which were used as shorthand notation for materials and processes:

Finally, I don't think it's coincidence that there are these relationships between Infantis Sanguine and alchemy. As I noted above with the magic circles, we are meant to associate this spell (and possibly deep magic as a whole) with dark magic. Primal magic is laid out as very spiritual, in this series—it's energy-based, a connection made deep in your soul with a natural, universal force. Dark magic, on the other hand, is rendered as very physical—it uses materials, which are altered or destroyed in the process. It's also something fostered and developed by humans over time and experimentation, similar to science. We don't really know where primal spells come from, beyond a single reference that they are "discovered" while referring to the discovering character as an "oracle."

So yeah, I think we're meant to draw that association, if only to contrast Infantis Sanguine from primal magic by connecting it with something that itself has more physical and scientific associations.

...

Actually, there is one other writing/symbol that bears some similarity to what we see in Infantis Sanguine. But I'll get to that in another post.

[zzthekaiju]

Geez...

Call this whining, but now that Wingard's out of the director's seat (here's hoping they either get Dougherty back in the saddle OR someone like Guillermo del Toro on the line), I've been noticing a LOT of people wanting the next Godzilla movie to basically be "Godzilla gets fed up with humanity and turns on us all". And I really don't want that for a number of reasons (reinforces the bias against reptiles, been done before a million times, personal bias, etc.), particularly one specific detail...

It renders Serizawa's sacrifice, and the overarching themes of coexistence in the Monsterverse, entirely pointless.

That heart-tugging scene of him putting the fate of the world and its number one guardian above his own, of him making one last connection with the beast that inspired him, that moment they lock eyes before he gives his life to save him...it all goes down the drain if the ultimate endgame of the Monsterverse is Godzilla becoming our greatest threat when the OH SO PERFECT AND SQUEAKY-CLEAN APE gets to be the hero all the time (don't get me wrong, I love this version of Kong, but it just feeds into the "mammal good, reptile bad" trope I despise so much). Everything Serizawa and Monarch stood for as a whole ends up being for nothing if that's how it all goes down. And really, we've now done the whole "Godzilla gets pissed at us because of the actions of a few" thing with the Mechagodzilla situation.

NOW, I'm not saying Godzilla needs to be totally spotless. Absolutely not. I'm fine with him being kind of a jerk at this point...but what if he changed? What if, instead of just keeping him that way...we saw him develop? Y'know? As a character? Which is what he very much is, and NOT some glorified plot device?

Listen, making our relationship with Godzilla the centerpiece of the conflict isn't a bad idea. Not at all, as a matter of fact. A good way around it could be that the new monster he has to defeat is Hedorah, or a monster very much like Hedorah (considering the involvement of Yoshimitsu Banno, it feels inevitable). A horror conceived by our hubris and lack of care for the Earth. And yeah, Godzilla would be really angry at us...but he could also be tired. Overwhelmed. Borderline depressed at his Sisyphean life of having to undo every mistake we make. Maybe the real conflict could be him trying to find something, anything that makes his job worth it and not him not feel completely out of place in a world that's changed so much in the centuries he's been dormant. Maybe Monarch and/or a new cast of humans could help show the Big G that we appreciate him. They already teased this with how he acts around the Roman Coliseum (the novel confirms that he's homesick, awww), so why not give him that sort of emotional arc like they did for Kong? Maybe even give him more than just one scene with him and Mothra together, and show why their relationship works so well, ESPECIALLY when Big G's having a crisis! A unique jerk-to-nice-guy plot! I don't know, something that doesn't begin and end with him doing nothing but destroy things. That was cool for a while, but we need to get out of this "Godzilla can't be relatable because reptile" bunk that I have no doubt the higher-ups think. Heck, give him that son that Wingard clearly wanted to give him. Maybe the twist is that Little G absolutely adores humans and convinces his old man that they aren't so bad. That would work amazing! The possibilities are endless!

That, or they could go with my pitch for a "Godzilla X Mothra" movie. Please...?

I'm kidding, Twitter user Riamus came up with a WAY better premise, to be honest.

[nekkomaa]

Warnings: Violence, inappropriate language, manipulation, toxic relationships.

Note: Another chapter! Very late actually, I meant to post it much earlier, but well, school didn't give me any time off. And I'm moving this week! So maybe I'll be a bit more inspired.

Excerpts from the story will be coming out earlier and earlier on my Ko-fi, check it out!

Portuguese version published on Wattpad

Word count: 1924

The room has been turned over and all you can do is watch, not that you can do much, knocking out the man in front of you in order to escape was not smart, and you doubt you could hit him with your hands tied. At the sound of the slightest movement you make a change is noticeable in the man, although he doesn't stop searching and collecting whatever he wants around the room, you can see his shoulders tense slightly and then relax when he realizes that you're still planted next to the door in the same place where he left you.

Watching him made you learn something, if you really wanted to escape from him alive, you'd have to be very clever, obviously you couldn't beat him in physical strength, and apparently a vase wouldn't bring him down easily. Men like this aren't easily fooled, offering yourself to him wouldn't do any good either, and you particularly prefer not to take that approach.

He moves towards you, the words he said earlier echoing in your mind, a shiver running through your body as your eyes meet. He leaves no victims, either he will kill me here, or he plans to try and get more information out of me with some kind of torture.

You see the letter in his hand, the one you read, and a few others, the contents of which remain hidden from you.

"How about being a good girl for me now?" He seems to smile under his mask, his eyes narrow, the tone of his voice seems deeper and more muffled. There's no time to think about what he means by that because before you can say anything he's taking a black bandanna out of one of his vest pockets and fastening it around your eyes, he makes sure it's covering your eyes well, and then he sticks a strip of tape over your mouth.

Now you're sure, he's going to take you with him, to kill you, to get information out of you that you've already told him you don't have, or worse, to take you to who knows what kind of organization he's part of, and take advantage of your body.

His hands make contact with your hips and soon you're bent over what you think is his shoulder, a low sigh is all you can give, it's hard to breathe upside down but you can't complain.

He says something as he comes down the stairs, but you don't quite understand, the dizziness of being upside down drowns out what he says, the feeling that there might be someone else with him leaves you with a worse sense of fear than before.

You never considered yourself to be good at masking emotions or even the expression on your face, but after David revealed himself you had to get good at that theater, or else you're sure you'll end up dead and buried in the backyard of that house, and your parents will never know where you are. The thought gets darker and darker, pulling you towards the thought that maybe dying now would be better than whatever awaits you.

Your attention is drawn to the footsteps he takes. The sound of a car door opening sparks an instinct to flee, you're not sure what part of the world you're in now, but you know a bit about the surroundings, and you know that if you get into that car you certainly won't know where you'll end up.

You try to move your legs so that they hit him and maybe he'll let you go, but the movement is useless, the only thing the man does is sigh before throwing you into the car.

"I thought you'd already accepted it. You know you won't be able to escape, trying will only get you into more trouble, little thing." The door is slammed shut and muffled gravel noises are all that can be heard. Still undeterred by his words, you try again to find an escape route. With your hands tied in front of you, it's easy to pull the blindfold down, giving you a bit of a view, although all you can see is the dashboard and the front seats in a very precarious way, since removing the strip completely would attract more attention.

Obviously with your hands tied there's not much you can do, there's no way to open the car doors quickly and shouting for help was never an option, the guards appear to be dead or tied up, and well, the house is miles away from any civilization. If you had the chance to run now it wouldn't solve much either, I mean, look at the size of your legs and look at the size of his legs, before you even reached the edge of the forest he would have already caught you, or maybe lost patience and shot you dead.

The car door opens and all you do is cringe, the car shakes a little and the door closes, a second door opens and the process repeats. You can only see the arm of one of them and a bit of the side of their face, perhaps it's the person your kidnapper was talking to earlier. You feel stupid, if you hadn't been so desperate you would have been able to hear what they were saying, it was just a few words but sometimes it could prove very helpful later.

Hardly a word has been exchanged since they got into the car, just what you think is a conversation through glances, through the windows all you can see is the sky and the treetops passing by in a blur.

The second man has surely noticed that his blindfold is out of place, but he hasn't moved to fix it. Instead, he just busies himself with watching you from time to time, just to make sure you don't change position, or try something silly.

The thought of hanging one of them crossed your mind again and again, they tied your hands in front of you, you fantasized how easy it would be to sit on the bench and slip your arm through the seat back and hang one of them. The thought ended when you assessed the win rates.

You'd probably end up with a bullet between your eyebrows before you even managed to choke either of them.

At some point during the unknown journey you ended up in a soft nap, which was enough for the two men sitting in front of you to start talking.

"Do you think she'll be useful?" The man in the car asked.

"I don't know." He replied, his eyes glued to the road. His reputation for driving vehicles wasn't very good, but this time he was doing a good job.

"Has the customer contacted you?"

"Not yet, you know how it is."

"I thought this one was different, you said earlier about a better opportunity." The car slowed down and turned onto the tarmac. A sigh of relief came from the passenger.

"Who knows, maybe it is."

The car door is opened and a cool wind invades the interior of the car, a chill runs through your body and makes you shiver slightly. The man watches you from the door, you don't see him, but you know he's there, and you know he's already seen the state of the blindfold, the twisted fabric giving you some insight, if he's annoyed or upset by this he doesn't show it.

He grabs your body and pulls you out, again on his shoulders, you don't feel bad this time as you're placed upside down, you keep your eyes open and try to lean over to look around, it's not possible to see much, in fact it's impossible to see anything that might be important, just like your house this place is surrounded by trees, in fact it's even worse, there are bushes everywhere, and before you can judge further you're inside a wooden house.

The floor creaks with the weight, you didn't notice but the second man is already in the house, your kidnapper puts you in a chair and ties you to it, when he walks away you take a moment to look around.

The house was small, with no decoration apart from a vase of wilted flowers on the table. The fireplace had no wood and was full of cobwebs, the floor of the house was also thick with dirt, although the wood made a lot of noise the floor was still intact, with no broken wood or wood that looked rotten.

The man sitting on the shabby dark green sofa in the corner of the room had a freshly cut mohawk, an unshaven beard and a tired expression on his face, his gaze was somewhat emotionless, he assessed you the same way you assessed him, from head to toe.

When your gaze returned to the man with a skull covering his face, you frowned, irritated by the fact that you couldn't say anything, let alone move your aching body; it was late afternoon, judging by the light outside, the orange hue bathing the undergrowth. He didn't seem to mind your grimace though, he just removed the tape from your mouth and stared at you, probably expecting you to shout or say something, when you didn't he just nodded and walked away.

"I thought she'd have some resistance, she knows how to shout and everything." The Mohawk commented, looking more animated now, he didn't look at you instead spoke directly to the other man in the room.

"I think she's understood that no one will come even if she shouts." He commented and disappeared through the door to the left.

"It's just the two of us for a while, miss, how about a chat?" The Mohawk smiles and suddenly turns to you.

"Fuck off." His voice came out hoarse from disuse, his throat slightly scratchy from lack of water. He didn't seem offended, he just laughed.

His smile irritates you, it seems so natural to the whole situation, in fact you shouldn't even be surprised by it. He's probably going to interrogate you, just like the other one did, trying to get information out of you that you don't have, a wave of irritation passes through you, and then that familiar feeling of fear comes over you.

It starts with your stomach, twisting and turning, and then with the shivers that run through your bones, your blood seems to pump faster and everything is suddenly a bit fuzzy, not enough to make you lose consciousness, but enough to bother you and slow down your thinking.

Your fixation seems to drop with every passing second, you had been kidnapped. And you were stuck in this chair, in a little house in the middle of nowhere, with two men, without even knowing where you were. Not that your life with David was wonderful, you didn't like that life, you kept dreaming of going back, opening your own eyes and showing your younger self that that man was a snake, but it was too late and as far as you know they haven't invented a time machine yet, so going back wasn't possible, and moaning about what could have been didn't make sense either.

The mohawk starts talking to you again, but the anxious thoughts talk, and talk, and make you dizzy, until your hands are shaking and your feet are tapping on the wooden floor. And then everything goes dark.

[thesparklingwriter]

a gift from a dragon

"Was I ever going to be told about this, or was I supposed to accidentally discover it myself?"

tags: pet names, fem!reader, established relationship, reader is preganant, dragon!zhongli doing dragon!zhongli things because im a simp, nesting, tooth rottingly fluffy

ao3 link | taglist | masterlist | next

hello everyone ^^ this segment of the zhongli flufftober that is now just 31 fluffshots is inspired by this ask! i recommend checking it out so you know what the original context was :) i had so much fun writing this, i was literally kicking my feet and giggling like an imbecile... anyway I've been told by a couple of betas on some other works that i may have a slight over reliance on dialogue so I've been working on setting the scene a bit more through description, please tell me if this slays or not.

i am down so astronomically bad for family man zhongli be still my beating heart and ovaries cause wtaf

Zhongli's favourite part of the day is easily six pm when he can hurry home from the funeral parlor to see you. But over the few weeks, he's been becoming more on edge as the clock tends to the end of his work day. He's never particularly enjoyed being away from you for long, granted, but he always wants to be at home now.

On his way home, he passes through the market stalls and finds himself drawn to a couple of stands, musing over how the wares would suit your home perfectly. Before he knows it, he's bought a ridiculous amount of goods and is staggering under the weight of it as he returns home to you. He'd only meant to buy the vase, but then he'd been drawn to some woolen blankets and pillowcases with golden threads, and how could he ignore his instincts when they were calling out to him so loudly?

"You're finally home," you smile when he comes through the front door. You dare not ask about the ridiculous amount of things he's been buying recently–when you do, he looks at you with confusion, as if you're supposed to know what he's doing. You don't. At all. When it comes to Zhongli and his instincts, you've learned to ride the wave and accept whatever you're told.

Zhongli lowers his head to kiss you, manoeuvering his pile of goodies out of your way. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm great. How are you?" You shoot back snarkily. You know that's not what he's asking—he's asking about whether the baby's been good today or whether you've done anything particularly exciting with the sudden excess of time you've been granted since taking maternity leave.

"I'm well, thanks," he replies, chuckling at your evasion of his question. You do this almost every day, withholding the details of your day from him until he sits down and gives you his full attention—something he can't do while carrying a whole mound of knitted goods.

"I'll tell you more after you put that away. Where are you stashing all that stuff anyway?" You ask, and Zhognli shrugs.

"Places." he smiles, heading upstairs. The aforementioned place is your room—not that you spend much time in it. In fact, Zhongli's been in your old room more often in the past three months than you have since you moved in. As your pregnancy progresses, you seek him out more than usual, desperate for his comfort. And so, his room has become a shared room. Not that he particularly minds.

When he returns downstairs, he lies down, resting his head in your lap, and you tell him everything you've done today, absent-mindedly braiding his hair as you talk. He likes being close to your stomach, even though you're barely showing, and listens attentively, asking questions about your adventures. Nine times out of ten, you both fall asleep like this, and you awake in the morning in your bed. But today, you wake up before Zhongli does, having napped earlier in the day, and carefully slip away from him, slipping a pillow under his head where you once had been.

The sheer amount of knitted things Zhongli brought today has made you want to revive your old hobby of crocheting in the hopes you might be able to make something for the baby. If you remember correctly, the last time you crocheted anything was when you still used your room for its intended purpose—and not as a walk-in wardrobe. And so, you march yourself to your room, ready to check under the bed for your trunk of supplies.

Or rather, you would be if Zhongli hadn't replaced your bed with what feels like thousands of pillows and blankets.

Oh, Li, you think, wrapping a blanket with golden threads around your shoulders.

Sometimes, it's easy to forget that the man wasn't always human—that even though his body is that of a man's, his mind and soul aren't, and that sometimes old instincts kick in. Was he embarrassed? Was he worried that you'd think he's weird?

You walk towards the large pile of comforters out of curiosity. If he put this much work into it, you might as well test if it's any good, right? You sink into the blankets, curling up with one of the pillows in your hands. It feels like every part of your body is being hugged by him and you can swear the blankets smell like him. Before you know it, you've fallen asleep, a golden pillow clutched close to your chest.

When Zhongli wakes up and finds you replaced by a pillow but the house silent, he's slightly concerned. Have you injured yourself while he's been sleeping? It can't be. He would have woken up. And so he decides to search for you. Just to make sure you're alright. He can't be too careful. But you're not in his bed, and you're not in the bathroom, the study, or the small makeshift library he'd put together for you.

The final place to look is your old room, but you'd had no reason to go in there before, so why would you go now all of a sudden? But of course, that's where he finds you, curled up in the middle of the sorry attempt of a nest he'd put together to try and curb his urges. He wishes he'd had enough time to finalise his preparations, but seeing you sleep so happily makes his heart swell. He sits on the floor beside the bed, carefully taking your hand in his as you stir, resting your hand on your stomach as you sit up.

"Good evening," he smiles, and you stare at him blankly as if you don't understand, a sign you've slept well. "Are you alright?"

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into bed with you. When you've finally woken up enough to talk, you look up at him and ask: "Was I ever going to be told about this, or was I supposed to accidentally discover it myself?"

"I had intended it to be a gift for you and the baby when you were further along, but I have no objections to you getting an early present." His smile is excited and bright as he pulls you closer to him, suddenly overcome with the feeling that you can never be close enough.

"This is not what I expected when I found out dragons nest." You smile against his chest.

"Well, I can't exactly bring you feathers, can I? You'd slaughter me the minute I step over the threshold, so this will have to do."

"I can think of worse places to sleep," you smile, kissing him lightly. "Thank you. I love it."

© 2023, thesparklingwriter. please do not copy, edit, repost, or translate.

taglist: @ainescribe @thelonelyarchon

[innerchorus]

Not much to do with the new chapter but spinning Wolfsong in my head. Particularly the idea of Shapur asking the man who tutored him to also tutor his brother and son. I have to wonder where Shapur's righteousness came from— couldn't have been his parents in practice although as @honig-bienchen said they could just be hypocrites and not practice what they preach while Shapur actually committed to it, but for Wolfsong I think I want Shapur to have an outside influence as well on top of that. What do you think such a man could be like? I have the broad stroke vague vibes such as him being a younger son of an aristocratic or knightly family who didn't inherit and chose a different path instead but ???????

The only concrete thing I have of him is that, during the Wolfsong equivalent of the Sindhura arc, Isfan and Areyan hear about what's driving Sindhura to pick a fight with Peshawar (a succession crisis, brother against brother) and them decidedly Not understanding how that could've come to be because they sure as hell never even thought of such a thing (just as Shapur himself is having a mini confusion crisis over there in Sindhura bc he also can't understand them) and the tutor guy saying “The fact that you have never considered it means I have taught you well.” (grandmama Eihon would of course be talking about that whole when-does-family-stop-being-family thing we've talked about before)

Hmm, I don't know how much help my answer will be, but I do think it's an interesting angle to consider that Shapur's father at least may have provided the model for his son's righteousness, only to shatter it by turning a blind eye to what his wife did to Isfan and his mother. If he was also a military man, he may have spoken about being 'protectors of the weak' in broad strokes, yet failed to uphold that when it came to his own household.

A young Shapur who was very idealistic and saw things in very rigid black and white terms may not have opened his eyes and questioned what his father was saying before, because he saw his father as a protector of Pars and wanted to follow that same path. In Shapur's eyes, of course that would extend to protecting the vulnerable, the poor, the lower classes, the servants in his household. It's easy, when you believe something is logical and the only right and just thing to do, to believe that those you love, those you look up to, those you see as good people also think the way you do. It's easy to ignore the smaller signs that to them, some people matter less than others (I wonder what Shapur thought of the circumstances of Isfan's mother's pregnancy?).

In terms of your AU, it's a similar situation to how Shapur will later find out that [insert Marzban of choice] was responsible for the clan massacre. Someone he respected, likely someone whose prowess inspired him, someone who, like him, had been awarded one of the highest positions in the Parsian army, who had fought many hard battles to keep the people of their country safe, could still show such disregard to human life when they deem those particular lives don't matter.

If Shapur made the connection between the two, that's going to be a bad feeling for sure. Because he's seen it before, but he didn't see this coming. How many others are capable of the same?

But yes, a tutor figure would undoubtedly be influential and leaving the matter of Shapur's father aside, there's a lot of scope there for interesting conversations and perspectives. I personally don't think Shapur himself would have considered anything other than the army as his path in life, so he might be curious about why his tutor chose differently. I can't recall if this man is purely an academic tutor or if he would also have trained Shapur with weapons etc, but if so a young Shapur might find it puzzling that someone so skilled didn't chose to rise through the ranks of the army.

So, what I'm saying is that the reasoning behind it is interesting and worth digging in to. Was there a question of who would inherit, and he chose not to for a specific reason? Did he and his brother discuss it? Why didn't he pursue glory in the Parsian army? If he'd wanted to, as someone of noble birth he could certainly have entered the cavalry with men under his command right away. Did he specifically choose to become a tutor, and why? To make a difference in some way? Does he disagree with how he himself was taught when he was younger? What brings him to Shapur's household? Does he have connections there, or to that area?

I feel like I'm spamming you with questions, but I just thought they might be interesting to ask, and might help flesh things out. If the tutor is intended as a counterpoint to Shapur's father, it might work to have him as someone who ended up in that position (less prestigious than a high military rank or inheriting a bunch of land) because of his morals.

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

Artist Highlight: Talanashta

This week, we're highlighting @talanashta! All recs this week will be for their work. @talanashta writes, and makes graphic designs at @talanashta-graphics. If you want to see all their work, check out their website! (which they also designed and maintains) We're highlighting Talanashta for their incredible Stobin dynamic.

We strongly recommend checking out their UnderTale crossover fic -- Fallen Down, which they also did a bunch of fantastic graphics work for. Talanashta answered some questions about their creative process and their work under the cut

Why Stranger Things?

I had read a few Stranger Things fics way back when the show first came out and knew a bit about the show, but at the time I hadn't been drawn in. (This was immediately post-season 1.) But then as the show continued, and Steve became a bigger part of it, and Robin was introduced, I got sucked in fast. I love both of them so much!

What's your favorite ship (platonic or romantic) to create for?

Stobin. They are my OTOTP, above any other pairing in any other fandom, and I'd like to think that comes through in my works. I have so many emotions about these two, it's ridiculous. Pretty much if I've got both Steve and Robin in one of my fics, that's it; they're the main focus.

What's your typical writing process like?

I have a bit of a hodgepodge of styles. It really depends on if I have a plan in mind or not. Sometimes I'll write with a super detailed outline and stick to it, but most of my works I just go with the flow and write where my creativity takes me. If you ask anyone, though, I'm a notes person. Any of my fics that involve actual planning end up with pages upon pages of notes.

What got you started on making graphics?

For the things for my site, I just wasn't finding resources out there that were what I wanted, so I started making my own. Plus I wanted my accounts to have my own creative touch on them, instead of someone else's.

What's your typical designing process like?

Vibes. 100%. I have a couple styles I like, so I pick a theme or color scheme and just build on those. Like for my seasonal stuff, I'm just like "What's Halloween-y? Pumpkins? Toss some of those in there then!" I use Canva (the free version) for making most of my graphics, but I use Krita for anything Canva can't do.

What has been your favorite project so far? Why?

Fallen Down is for sure my favorite. It's very fun to see these two familiar characters going through a very new situation like this, interacting with other characters I love. It's got a bit of mystery, some adventure, friendship, the works. I also have a very loyal fan of the story who leaves me very detailed comments that always make my day!

What has been your hardest project so far? Why?

Kinktober. I've been doing creative writing for over 15 years now, but I only recently dipped my toe into occasionally writing smut, and boy, did I struggle with it. It's like any skill, and I just didn't/don't have a lot of practice. I ended up only filling a few prompts for it and called it good.

Have you ever had a creative block? How did you get over it?

I don't have too many issues with that, in general. I feel I'm a pretty creative person. Over the years, though, I've learned a few tips to help when I come across a stumbling block. If the story isn't flowing, I go back a few paragraphs and try again. Usually, the direction I'd been taking the story in just wasn't the right one, so I don't force it.

Is there a big source of inspiration for you? Books? Art? Games?

Stranger Things isn't my only fandom, so some of my inspiration comes from what's going on in other fandoms. I read a lot of fanfiction if I'm being honest, and that shapes a lot of my ideas.

Is there an upcoming project you're particularly excited about?

My Eddie Munson Big Bang fic! I don't want to spoil anything, but it follows middle-school Eddie just after he moves in with Wayne. In the fic, their neighbor at the trailer park owns a dog. It's a very "horse girl" fic, with Eddie and this dog and their developing friendship. It's got some angst, but it works towards a lot of positive feelings and a happy ending.

Is there anything we didn't ask that you'd like to add?

If anyone out there reading this ever wants to talk about any of the things I've put out there (my site/coding, my fics, my art) or ask more questions, feel free to DM me! I'm always happy to chat.

[ebenelephant]

Tell me about your snupin fic!

What’s the premise? Is it an au or canon-divergent? If you had to list out five (or more) tags right now, what would they be?

Oh my god, I'm in love with you, sorry I've not been checking my inbox! Tl;dr: two desperately lonely people look for a connection; find it. Nothing changes.

This fic is what I would call 'canon amenable' – borderline contradicts canon, but technically could happen. The premise is basically two intertwined character studies across six meetings, in which Severus and Remus gradually grow to understand one another more, culminating in a kind of sad, this-is-as-good-as-it's-ever-gonna-get sex before they part ways on New Year's Eve.

Basically, it's Christmas Day 1995, and Snape and Lupin run into each other by chance in a little cafe. Lupin can't explain what possesses him, but he sits down at a table across from Snape and it sort of goes from there. Have you ever just been so tired and so busy and so overwhelmed that you couldn't even bother to be annoyed by someone? This is essentially that. They don't discuss it the first time, but Remus finds himself returning to the cafe, and eventually Severus turns up again as well on the 27th. They don't particularly like each other, but they're mutually understanding, and more than that they know each other. Snape sees more of Lupin's imperfections that most, and likewise Lupin sees more of Snape's goodness.

Tags: #loneliness #queer themes #doomed romance #dialogue heavy #bittersweet

Characters: Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, minor OCs, frequent reference to canon characters

Setting: Dec 25th-31st 1995 in a variety of domestic settings notably removed from magic and the known personal lives of both characters (i.e. cafes, pubs, libraries, but not Hogwarts, Grimmauld, Spinners End, etc)

I don't think anything specific inspired it, I just have a love for character studies and pretentious films with a lot of conversation and not a lot of plot.

I like when information is revealed about a character that recontextualises them. There are two vague concepts I've been thinking about: that week of liminal space between Christmas and New Years when nothing feels real; the 1914 Christmas ceasefire. You know that story from WW1 about British and German soldiers on calling a truce on Christmas to play football on No Man's Land? You better believe it's getting referenced here.

Not really a specific detail, but generally speaking, neither of them are putting on airs as much: Lupin allows himself to be sharper, meaner around Snape; Snape can be without some of that shame. Or, well, the shame can never really leave, but he can wear a woolly jumper in the cold and not seem weak, because Remus has already seen him weaker.

I'm genuinely happy with the details I've got ironed out so far regarding their differing relationships with the muggle world: Remus who travelled the world without a passport because he went by floo versus Snape who still has the Pink Floyd band tee his dad got him as an apology in 1979. I've got details ironed out so far regarding Snape's relationship with the muggle world that please me to no end. His background (working class halfblood to a muggle father in a failing northern industrial town) is endlessly fascinating to me, especially so when queerness is tossed into consideration. I also like the idea of Lupin absolutely not having it together at all: he's a coward, he's sometimes mean, he's been on and off homeless since he was twenty because it's hard to keep a job, he defends muggles but knew very little about them for the longest time.

In one scene, Remus asks Snape what he would do, and Snape says he would do it all again. R: "You're miserable." S: "I am. But there are more important things than me."

Also fond of the line: "Maybe you'll think about it years later, maybe it was special. Some things are."

One more specific detail is how they eventually say goodbye, as 'Snape' and 'Remus' – Snape finally admitting that they are something like friends and Remus finally respecting him enough not to call him 'Severus' (Snape has hangups about the intimacy of a name).

Thank you so much for the ask!

[insomniac-djmm]

Omg I saw that you accepted my request! Thank you so much :3. Soo I have another BATIM ask for sammy x reader (he’s my favorite) Sammy x artist reader? They can just draw casually or be an art department person or anything else I don’t mind

(btw I love your writing style so much!)

A Musical Muse: Sammy Lawrence X Artist! Reader

Summary: Sammy's lover has always had a knack for creating things, especially pictures. After a while of art block, they find inspiration in the man closest to them.

Character: Sammy Lawrence - Bendy and the Ink Machine franchise

Warnings: None! :)

Genre: Fluff

Author's Note: Thank you so much for your request, I really appreciate it! I absolutely LOVE writing for Sammy, he's got to be one of my all-time favorite characters! Thank you so, so, so much for the compliment on my writing style, by the way! It means so much to me! I hate to say it, but I did put this off until two days ago and did it during an all-nighter, so it's gonna be short and sweet, sorry :( I wanted it to be a bit longer, but I wrote the last sentence and thought that was a sweet way to end it :)Merry Christmas, and happy holidays!

Word Count: 509 words

"Uugghhh..." Y/N groaned, falling back onto their bed, holding their sketchbook and pencil in the air. For almost a month now, they would sit down with snacks and their art supplies, ready to draw, but the moment they picked up their pencil...

Nothing.

Their brain came up with nothing.

No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't think of a single thing they wanted to or felt like drawing. Either that, or they got side-tracked. "Curse you, art block..." They groaned, letting their arms flop down beside them.

"Art block?" Sammy spoke up, having just then walked into their room. It was one of those rare occasions when Joey let him actually leave the studio instead of staying in the Artists' Rest, which was a good thing because he hardly got any sleep in there anyways, and it gave him more time with his darling.

"Goodness, it's a horrible thing." Sammy winced, recalling his own episodes of experiencing art block. When you do creative work for a living, art block is the last thing you want to experience, and Sammy had his fair share of scuffs with the involuntary lack of creativity.

"Yeah... Got it right now." Y/N sighed, sitting up now as their legs dangled off of the edge of their bed. "That was rather apparent." Sammy chuckled, making his observation clear.

"I just... Ugh! I wanna draw something, but I can't think of anything at all!" They exclaimed, the frustration clear in their voice.

"I'm sure you just need to give it some time." Their lover offered a smile. "It usually clears up on its own." "Sammy, it's been a month now-"

"Oh-"

He took a moment, pausing. "Well, my dear, have you not yet come across something, perhaps... Particularly inspiring? Something that would get your mind going again?" He asked. "Perhaps revisiting a source of media you enjoy could get you back into it." Y/N paused, nodding. "Yeah, maybe." They glanced to their sketchbook before looking back to Sammy.

Maybe it was the way the artificial light from the overhead lamp hit his eyes, his patient smile, his soft hair. Maybe it was what he said about finding a source of inspiration.

Either way, they'd just found their source of inspiration, and it was him.

They smiled, and Sammy gave them a curious sort of expression.

"Actually... Would you mind if I drew you?" They asked, picking up their paper and pencil. "I wouldn't mind at all, dear." Sammy chuckled, feeling a bit flattered that his darling would project such creativity onto a piece of his likeness.

"That's great because you're gonna be there for a bit." They laughed.

"Oh!" He chuckled, shaking his head with amusement.

And for about 30 minutes he sat there as Y/N sketched his likeness onto their paper. The curve of his smile, the glow of his eyes, and the warmth he made them feel - they projected it all into their work.

After all, you know what they say.

Drawings are the love language of an artist.