#change it to a nice metallic gold perhaps?

[honeybunluna]

Restyled on of my day out clawdeens! Curling her hair was a nightmare, but I got it done in the end!

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Whump vs Flufftober: Day 5

heatstroke / Acorn, Chestnut, Pine Cone

Malleus didn't quite understand how to feel about the new farmer.

Ever since they'd moved into the derelict farm a few months ago, Malleus had regarded them with just a touch of suspicion.

He recognized that wasn't fair. People made radical changes all of the time, but he still couldn't figure out why someone who apparently had it all in the big city.

Malleus had seen them most frequently at Leona’s shop. They often had a small basket of crops to sell directly to him, and Malleus could tell he was happy to have the fresh veggies, even as he pretended otherwise.

Aside from that, he often saw them scurrying about all over town, lugging around their big backpack, twigs in their hair and acorns falling out of their pockets. He could never tell where else they went, because he didn’t care enough to follow them, but from listening to the gossip of the other townsfolk, Malleus knew they’d collected precious metals, gems, a number of artifacts, and a variety of fresh farm stuffs, because a few of them had received such items, presumably as gestures of goodwill.

Malleus just didn’t like it. What were they planning?

…and why hadn’t he gotten a gift?

Anyways, Malleus had noticed the farmer scurrying around more these days. Fall was well underway, as the trees turned brown and gold and their air got crispier.

Actually, today was surprisingly warm. Malleus had shrugged off his usual black coat while out on his morning walk, and even his thin sweater felt a little too warm.

He’d decided to head back home to change into something a little more comfortable, and instead spend the day warming himself by the shore, when, upon his return, he saw a familiar figure plastered to the beach’s white pearly sand.

The farmer was lying face down a few meters from the ocean’s waves. Their limbs were splayed all around them. Their backpack was still strapped to their shoulders, but it was open, and its contents were spilling out onto the sand.

Malleus stared at them curiously for a few moments. What was happening? Were they dead?

At the very least, it would be neighborly to wake them first, and so Malleus attempted to shake the farmer’s shoulders.

He was unsuccessful, and so tried again, a little harder this time. No luck.

Malleus dropped his coat and used both of his arms to flip over the farmer, almost expecting to see them with some sort of grievous wound staining his beach. But no, the farmer wasn’t visibly hurt anywhere Malleus could see.

Their eyes were still closed, though, with sand streaming up their cheeks.

As Malleus looked down at them, puzzling over what the best move was, their eyes flew open.

The farmer began shrieking, apparently in fear, and Malleus jumped back, leaving the farmer to thud onto the beach, and screamed himself.

“Where am I?! What happened to me?!” exclaimed the farmer, scrambling in the sand.

“The beach!” replied Malleus with a yell once he’d regained control over his senses. “Haven’t you ever seen water?!”

The farmer took a few deep breaths at that, placing a hand on their chest.

“I’m sorry,” they finally said. “I was startled. I’m sorry for screaming at you.”

“Hmph,” said Malleus. “It’s fine, I suppose.”

“I didn’t even know we had a beach,” said the farmer, looking around in wonder. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Yuu, I’m kinda new around here.”

Malleus hesitated to tell them they already knew that. “I am Malleus,” he said instead.

“Nice to meet you.” At that, Yuu shuffled themselves around to begin collecting their fallen objects, causing the bag that was still on their back to jingle.

Thy tried to stand, but immediately Malleus could tell their legs were wobbly, and he darted toward to catch them.

“Oh! It seems I’m still not feeling that great,” said Yuu, looking up at him.

From here, something became obvious to Malleus. Yuu was clearly sweating profusely in their thick coat.

“Evidently. Perhaps remove a few layers of clothing. Today is unusually hot for so late into autumn.”

Yuu nodded. “You’re right,” they said, plunking down their backpack to take their jacket off. Malleus could see the dark circles of sweat staining their shirt.

They tried to take another step, but Malleus had to catch them before they got the sand again.

“Oh! It seems I can’t stop falling into your arms, can I?” said Yuu, seeming more amused than concerned.

Malleus found their flippant attitude troubling. “Perhaps u can interest you in a cup of tea,” he replied diplomatically instead. “Sitting in the shade would do you some good.”

“Oh, no need!” Yuu reached their hands into the pockets of their overalls, and pulled out a fistful of… pine cones?

“When I need a boost, I can just eat these,” said Yuu, and they popped the mess of crunchy leaves and seeds into their mouth.

Malleus could hear the crackle in their mouth from where he stood. For a moment, he had no words.

Yuu placed a hand on their forehead, still chewing their snack. “Actually, maybe that tea wouldn’t be so bad…”

“It’ll help you wash down your… treat. Allow me to show you to my home,” insisted Malleus, placing a hand on their back to guide them to his beachside shack. “Yuu, was it?”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Yuu, nodding as they swallowed the last bits. “What kind of tea do you have?”

[neylo]

Becoming Marshal of France - Part one: The annoying but necessary shit

@cadmusfly is a bad influence and a terrible temptation. I want you to know that you have succeeded.

Since I was a kid, I loved the feathered hats, the colourful shiny uniforms and the overall vibe of the 18th and the beginning of the 19th century. Apparently, it wasn't a phase.

I am a cosplayer and I love myself a good challenge. And now here it is. I am to make the ultimate entry for the Napoleonic fandom of Tumblr and make my own marshal uniform. I cordially invite you all to join my journey and perhaps, get inspired!

Let's start with the tunic.

Disclaimer: Reenactors, chill, I am not a millionaire - I can't, unfortunately, afford the expensive replicas of the buttons etc. I do not intend to participate in any kind of reenactment activity, and therefore I can't promise 100% historical accuracy. I would love to. But right now I can't.

Note: I use the metric system. It is nice, it is logical, and you should implement that too, Americans!

Before you start:

Step one: find the appropriate fabrics. Are you looking for dark blue? Great start. Now, it's time for some research. Napoleon's Marshals book by Osprey Publishing has done a great job describing the details. You can basically choose your own preferred material: Silk, velvet or linen. Congrats! For a whole-ass marshal tunic, you will need 2-3 metres of fabric depending on your size.

You will also need lining. I recommend linen lining and viscose lining for the sleeves.

Step two: Assess your insanity. There are multiple uniform patterns, each for a different occasion (source):

If you have three years of free time and unlimited supplies of goldwork threads, you can do the grande tenue - the first picture. I would advise you not to. But if you want, there is actually an extant one you can draw your inspiration from. It belonged to Ney. If you are going for this, you will indeed be the bravest of the brave.

Petite tenue is more subtle with less embroidery. Still, difficult as hell.

Tenue de campagne is the one I am going for. I don't like commitments. You will only need to embroider the collar and the cuffs + some stuff on the back. That is doable. That is what I am doing.

Step three: The pattern. The thing is, the patterns of the era were almost the same. I simply butchered my civilian coat pattern and changed it for a single-breasted one with a standing collar. Do you want help? I will share the pattern with you.

This is how my thing looks at the moment.

Step four: Embroidery. What is this shiny thing on the Marshals' uniforms? This is a kind of embroidery called "goldwork" and you need special metallic threads for it. They are not exactly easy to find, but Etsy is your friend. There are multiple US shops, and there is also EmbroideryMaterial shipping worldwide from India. They have a great selection and very agreeable prices.

For the Marshal tunic you shall need two kinds of threads:

The French wire (lol, it is really called like that!)

The Japanese thread (a thread wrapped in a thin gold plate)

You will also need small gold sequins.

I will show you the embroidery progress when my threads arrive. Before that happens, we need to design the embroidery. No worries, someone did it for you. That someone was actually me:

That's it for today.

Stay tuned for more posts.

[finalfrontierpublishing]

Ravenous by @rageprufrock

This is my first time trying to upload a post on my phone, so here we go -

Statistics:

38448 words || 148 pages

Titling: Playfair Display

Chapter Headers: Alchemist Serif Font

Body text: Charter, 11 points

A quickie bind in between 2 chonky chaparral_crown binds! This fic was recommended to me on the Renegade Discord and after I read it, it immediately leapt to the top of my to-bind pile. Sometimes you just need a taster of short fic bind while you procrastinate on the next few steps. I have a great appreciation for rageprufrock fics (have been reading them since the Star Trek days of yore) and damn, is this Hannibal fic absolute gorgeousness.

I had initially planned a wound man design on the cover (went so far as to convert an image to a black and white PNG but the image quality wasn't great, and due to violence, it might have been a rather disturbing cover to post publicly so I changed my mind last minute and did something else instead. The spine was too small for titling - I had initially wanted to go for block letters a la Annihilation style on the front cover as the title is 8 letters, but it hadn't looked as good as the serif no caps font rotated 90 degrees - so serif font it was. Hannibal doesn't seem like a man who likes san serif fonts anyway, so perhaps this was the right choice.

I'm deeply fond of this particular bookcloth and its colour iterations but I need some colour variation on my shelf - next book will be green, I swear.

I kept the bind relatively simple and relatively classic. The endpapers are foiled, though the foiling doesn't show up well in photos. I used a chattering of starlings on the chapter headers, and can totally imagine Hannibal drawing little artistic birds for his own amusement while incarcerated in the psychiatric hospital. For the title page, I had wanted to do a face with a moth in the style of Silence of the Lambs, but couldn't find a nice enough stock photo, so I foiled a solitary moth with the help of toner reactive foil. The laminator didn't like the foil so much and left a line across the paper.

The HTV itself adhered largely like a dream other than the thin stringy bits that were a tad difficult to weed. The gold metallic is a standout and I didn't melt it this time. (hurray!)

[lightofunova]

Previous

@life-of-kalos

As he leaned down to pick up his drink, Reshi became acutely aware of how calculated each movement of his was. The close proximity between them before he picked his poison, the swirling color that matched herself too well, the tone and way he spoke for her. This ‘Zeke’ knew much more than he was letting on, that was for sure.

The way he moved showed her that he was very much in control of the situation, leading her away with only an arm guiding her. Yet the question of where she preferred to go still proved how she wasn’t chained down. It was a complicated game to tread through, though she’d never been one to turn down a challenge.

“I’m carrying far too much to indulge in a dance at the moment.” She replied with a hint of laughter in her voice. “Perhaps the lake would be a better fit for drinks and lively conversation.”

The pair walked in confident strides until she was pulled in close to the crimson man, avoiding a spill of her drink via a rogue elbow. Air escaped her quickly at the sudden movement, despite how gentle and well intentioned it was.

"I will follow wherever you lead." Quiet, private. Something only she was privy to. That was when it hit her.

Lavish outfits in torchlight with the hum of instruments and lively conversation. Citizens dancing with one another jovially as they celebrated the event of peace, a night of fun.

And yet she found him off to the side, a frown plastered on his face. Approaching him was easy, it came fondly to her. “Why are you over here? There’s mead, ale, tons of lovely food prepared!” she asked, her excited gaze met with bored eyes.

“I’d rather not be here.” His unamused tone made her laugh, earning her a quick glare. She knew him better than anyone. Taking his hand, she gave the man a soft smile. “Then let’s get out of here. Make our own party, hm?”

His face became one of consideration, weighing the options. “Alright. So long as it’s not here, I will follow where you lead.” That was enough for her. No one seemed to notice the two slipping out from the ballroom, or their absence for the rest of the evening.

It took her but a short moment to come back to her senses. Reshi knew why she had such a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was too similar, too close. Taking a breath, she pushed past it and continued to walk with him. Panicking would do her no good. She resolved to let the feeling ride for now, hoping it would fade away.

A piercing blue gaze caught her eye, and she offered back a smile. “My apologies, your actions simply reminded me of someone.” She was honest, it wasn’t like she couldn’t be.

She continued on, waiting for him to follow her outside. “Coming?” she asked gently, her pale gaze meeting his bright one.

Moonlight shining down on them, crickets chirped in the brisk evening air. Her companion seemed to revel in the night, something that wasn’t surprising to her. The fur resting on his shoulders rustled with the night air, the warm gold metals changing to a frigid muted color. The horns atop his head seemed larger in the moonlight, his form taller than her by a few feet at least. Everything about him seemed so much different, somehow more mischievous.

A wolf stalking its prey, yet heeding to her beck and call. If she didn’t know better, she would say he seemed downright sinister.

However Reshi knew she had little to fear. If needed, she could leave, and he would let her escape his maws willingly. Something about him led her to believe that.

“How about there?” she pointed to the gazebo across the field. “Seems like a nice place to relax doesn’t it?”

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

TokSik - MOM HOLY FUCK

I LOVE IT SO MUCH

It's been two days since I found this one, and I've already played it so much I practically have it memorized. (Not just the chorus, the whole thing. I still trip up in the middle of the verses where it changes subjects or key... for now. I can do the fast parts in verse 2 and the whole bridge though!)

Yes, I had it playing over and over and over again on the way home today. It won't get boring! One of the things I love so much about Starset's music is the immense variety you get from a single song! Different movements that rival classical music in how vastly immensely VARIED a single song can be! The masterful build-up and escalation so that even each CHORUS is different from the previous! It's not just key changes and adding instruments; there's also a progression in how he sings it, how intensely the instruments hit, it's gotta be both composition and production value because Holy Shit It's AMAZING.

This one followed a standard A-B-A-B-C-B verse structure, but spanned genres across rock, metal, EDM, and even had me thinking of melodic pop on some verses. Excuse you, Dustin and Cameron Pierce Mizell and Evan McKeever. Who gave you the right to spin something so eclectic into absolute GOLD? That seems to be the MO lately, and I am living for every moment of it.

And the lyrics it's put to! I love their wordplay so much. "Have yourself a nice doomsday" is perhaps my favorite line in DEGENERATE, and with TokSik I smile every time at the line "It's reaching hypocritical mass". And in the title, obviously. They could've easily just called it Toxic. But no. Gotta be a reference to the clock onomatopoeia app. (I LOVE IT.)

Anyone else absolutely ADORE how the bridge lists all these groups people blame their problems on, but says "Dunning and Kruger are your real abusers", which I took to mean the Dunning-Kruger effect? You know, that phenomenon where ignorance and arrogance make people think they're more competent than they are? We're calling out more than the skylines now!

And the part that goes "Ay, what's that called? I can't recall... Oh yeah. You're in a cult!" The way the rhythm and pace and tone of his voice changes on those lines, and then it nosedives into the breakdown. It's DELICIOUS.

Not to mention, the commentary on blindly following people or repeating their rhetoric emptily. W o w . Starset has always struck me as having a message to think for yourself. And I get that message from a lot more than A Brief History of the Future, book and intro. I appreciate that immensely.

I'm not sure this one will usurp Brave New World as my favorite of their newest stuff, but sweet seven stars, it's already rivaling it.

Gods. Being drip-fed new Starset music lately is giving me such a high.

[lindsay00000008]

Some of my fav whumpsthetics

CW: includes Smump (smut+whump, implied noncon)

Clothes becoming soaked / torn / bloodied

Bonus if they’re white, drapey, or lavish. Double bonus if they’ve been provided by Whumper for this express purpose.

I love that this necessitates a change of clothes also, it’s another thing out of Whumpee’s control.

Thinking of that scene in Prince of Egypt where Tzipporah is pulling against her restraints and falls into the pool… *mwah*

When Whumpee’s bindings are pretty.

Think bejeweled collars and bracelet cuffs, thick gold chains with charms and pearls keeping their hands from wandering. Or perhaps it’s a leash? Whether at home of paraded in public, it’s nice to know Whumpee is so well provided for :)

Even ropes and gags can be beautiful. Dyed in beautiful colors, made of the finest materials. They press into Whumpee’s skin so nicely and make the prettiest little indentations when they’re finally removed.

Or what about tight leather straps, carved in designs bearing Whumper’s sigils and emblems? Their signature? When they’re removed it’ll take an hour for the marks to disappear from sensitive Whumpee skin. Good for loaning out Whumpee to friends and lovers for a short time.

When Whumper makes Whumpee their own.

They paint them for an event, claiming them with each symbol. Maybe there’s even a binding contract on those brush strokes, a magic that sinks under Whumpee’s skin. If they don’t sit still, Whumper will simply have to put them to sleep.

Tattoos work as well, if a Whumper wants to claim a Whumpee without maiming. It can be large, in a noticeable place, making it hard for Whumpee to hide. A slash of color across their throat, a spider web of claiming words on each hand, a symbol between their brows. Or it can be more intimate, something only Whumpee knows of, only sees in their mind’s eye as they go about their day. They feel it itching, even after it’s healed — on their sternum, splitting their chest in half — the very top of their thigh, circling all the way around like a ribbon — the bottom of their feet, with every step — the inside of their lip, every time they go to speak.

Piercings too, to match Whumper, or to simply enhance their beauty. Places Whumpee would never dream of putting cold metal rods and shimmering gemstones. When Whumpee gets used to the feel of one, Whumper will add another, or change it out for something more audacious. They add chains and loops, connecting the gaudy ornaments. A bonus, Whumper finds, is that the more they decorate Whumpee’s skin, the less they need to ornament them in clothes.

A brand is the ultimate decoration. It must be well thought through — the location, the size, the symbol. It must heal well, to preserve the shape of the scar. It must be placed with a firm hand, and Whumpee must be properly subdued as to leave a clean mark — but far be it from Whumper to take away the intimate connection of branding one’s Whumpee by dulling their senses. It’ll be a challenge, finding he proper binding method, the proper concoction.

[hallowed-nebulae]

4 and 7

this one is a bit longer, so, putting it under the cut!

4. an excerpt with dialogue i'm proud of

You let your hand drop to rest on his shoulders. You let your head drop, to tuck it into the little crook of the man's neck. So very warm, so very gentle, so very soft. . . "Are you sure I can't just stay here?" A sigh. One of their hands rises to brush your bangs from your face, as much as they can reach (and he is they, they are he, you know this. Somehow, somehow) and comes to rest cupping the ear that isn't squashed against the pillow. "You cannot. You know this." "It's so much softer here with you, though." You don't bother to keep the pout out of your voice. They've heard worse, you know. (Somehow, somehow.) They hum, but don't deny it. "You'll meet me in due time, I promise you. I will find and be found by you, in a time that is not dreaming." His hands shift, cup your face, and he lifts it that your eyes gaze into his. And his voice is so very soft, here, and hushed. "All you need do is find me. I will take care of the rest." It feels like a promise. Like a sacred thing, in this moment. Like something binding, reaching through time and space and being. It feels like the weight of a devotion so deep that there can be nothing else but that promise. "You swear it?" Your voice trembles. Your vision blurs, just a bit. But your eyes don't stray from his -- don't look away from those bloodred, ruby eyes, framed by russet hair and a constellation of freckles. "You swear I'll be able to see you outside of dreams?" You swear I'll be able to be safe like this, outside of dreams? They smile at you again. Slower. Softer. Sweeter, too, but still with their eyes squinted, still with the smile showing just a hint of fangs. "I swear it. I do, love. You will feel safe like this again -- if I can promise you nothing else, it is that." Then he loosens his hold on you, weak as it is, and lays your head back down on the pillow, brushing your bangs from your forehead and pressing a kiss there, softly. "I'll get us some food." They say to you, still so reverent. "Rest in the meanwhile, dear one."

from beckoned by sunlight and freedom (obscured by visions and mystery), chapter 2

this chapter is very long but i'm very proud of this bit of soft dialogue. it's soft. very sweet. very nice to write

7. an excerpt that i nursed in a daydream before finally writing

The fabric under your fingers is smooth, almost silky. Cool to the touch, and upon lifting a few ilms of it, rather light in weight. While expected, 'tis good to have confirmation that the Allagan gold weighs little, but does not bend or change shape upon your pressing into it with your claws. Lightweight yet strong -- exactly as Allagan gold should be. For a brief moment, you fancy donning the robes, perhaps attaching one of those colored sashes of fabric with yet more pins and clasps -- but no, no. It would not do to risk damaging the material, and it -- is not your place to wear such things. (Despite Unei and Doga's words, you are well aware that your lone Allagan Eye -- lone Royal Eye -- does not make you Allagan royalty. Your place here is only because of your knowledge of the Empire's history -- nothing more. The royal blood within you must be there only by chance -- any purpose known to it has long since been lost to the many, many years.) A sigh leaves your lips, and you turn to the next outfit, in a different shelf, a different crate. It is easy, at least, to tell which pieces of clothing are meant for combat and which are meant for leisure -- combat features more gold, more simple colors, more metal plating, while leisure features more of that smooth, cool silk and delicate little clasps and adornments. Such similarities, and yet such differences. The fabric of both types of outfits is still that smooth silky material -- the great Allag spared no expense in comfort, it seemed. Your fingers linger on one outfit (a set of heavy robes, with red and white sashes pinned to the front and back), and for but a brief moment you let yourself -- linger. Imagine a world where you wore this outfit, perhaps as a part of a much larger variety. A world where you were Allagan royalty in the truest sense, someone powerful, important, loved -- Then you shake your head, dispel the illusion. No. No, 'twould not do to think of things that could never be. Allag was not meant for you, and you are not meant for it, no matter how you chase it and swallow any facts or rumors about the empire that you can.

from like allagan silk

this one was a shorter piece but i've rotated it a good while before finally finishing it. i have many thoughts about one G'raha Tia Of The Students Of Baldesion. ffxiv didn't expect me to get so attached to his ARR self but here i am. rotating him. having many thoughts

[harrison-abbott]

6 Jan 2023

Ladies with liquorice eyelashes go tick tock on the cobblestones.

A church clangs the time in handsome gold reverb in the blue air.

Some ex colleague comes to the joint and there are big handshakes

And those manly hugs only men do and then that crackly language.

Voluptuous shapes of fish dart and sting in the canal water whilst

Overhead on the bridges these strangers pose in colour for cameras.

Stalls stuffed with glitter globes and metal toys with famous flags.

 Yonder down the park there’s a Christmas fair, a week unto 2023.

Kids go crazy on the carts and bumper rides in mock violence

And it kinda makes you wanna be a child again, that your body

Were that small so it could fit in one of the lil carriages in glee.

The leaves lie in wet auburn triangles on the floor and the adult

Folks smoking leave these terminal white puffs in rangy sight.

On the stereo speakers are these age-old Xmas classics sang in

American English with their universal crooner spleen and ore.

 Out from the market and unto the lofty streets with the vermillion

Trams shackling by as if it were 100 years back and you

Were in a movie or a photograph and weren’t anybody magic.

You pass the Farmacia signs with their seductive green neon crosses.

There’s a Poste Italia – here – and you pop in there, with a postcard

You must send back to your father in the United Kingdom and

The office inside is very hushed and the ladies in the booths are

Senior and wear gaudy paint on their eyes and there are a few words

Of English as they look for a stamp to send the card airborne …

Grazie you say as you leave and there’s a Polizia car outside;

And there’s a slight glimmer of nervousness at the slick blue vehicle.

(Yesterday you passed a governmental building of some sort and

There was this lady outside in camouflage uniform and this

Humungous machine gun saddled nicely in her arms as if she were

Holding a baby: and it was shit scary to be that close to a gun:

Because you’ve never seen one up so close and physical before.)

 As you walk your memories holler about with this inner friction.

Which jumps out in these random words, talking to yourself.

You wonder when your mind will ever stop being so relentless.

But when you’re in another part of the world … you feel, hmm,

A bit forgiven? Perhaps? And you’ll just have to live with your

Condition – whatever indeed that means – will need to prevail.

 There’s the gaudy crimson M sign of the METRO and, err, let’s

Go somewhere else and you yomp down these cold stairs and the

Sound changes with the texture of the oxygen and you head through

The grey tunnels with these tiled walls and citric banners con

Quelle parole folli … and then you’re on the deadly space of the platform

And your train’s a-coming in 3 ½ mins and you look at the indigo

Tracks and wonder how easy it’d be to jump off and wait there

With the sooty tubes and those electric bars of however many volts.

The train comes and seventy people get off, seventy go on, through

This scared bustle after the doors slide to and then there’s a beep

Beep beeping to wink the need to not be in the causeway when they shut.

Then la tua fluming under the city at this insane mph speed and your

Headphones are drowned by the gushing rumble of this animal vehicle;

The windows making these flashing reflections of yourself and the

Shapes of other people – women&tots and there’s a fluffy dog – and

You all make a distance across an entire span of a two million metropolitan

Area in thirteen ticks and then there’s this new station to bounce off on.

 Construction! This new skyrise’s being erected and there are these

Racy sounds of hammers and machinery and the windows are only frames

And have no glass and the soil around the building is all warred up in brown.

 Out from this station and along the roads and your pass the graffitied walls.

These energetic symbols in wonky capital letters; slogans of masses.

Some of them are names of people and you doan know the reference,

Who he or she was and you wonder when the graffiti artists come out

To prowl: coz you never seen them spraying: only see the spray paint.

You get to this super matrix of new highrises next in hard blocks v the sky.

Wondering what the people inside the balconies are like – and many of them

Are athletic it seems, for the bicycles tied to the railings, and many are

Botanical too, for the range of plant pots with the jungle leaves wavering.

 “Scusi?” there’s this man that’s just crossed you. Behind you, and you turn:

And take the headphones out again and he jabbers some sentences at you.

He has olive skin and these purple eyebrows and you eventually

Get he’s asking for a cigarette – sure, he can have one – and you

Pop the packet out and hand one over and he says thanks, my friend.

[Just a simple favour for somebody you’ve never met or will see again.]

 A mini football field afterwards with these boys taking

Pops at the goals and they’re wearing tops of AC Milan and Internazionale

(and still being friends despite arch rivals) and you find it odd

To be in a country where the soccer quality is actually worldclass.

You hope the lads grow up to be athletes themselves, and you wished

You could join in the game, but that’d be weird, to ask, and your

Wearing these clunky boots and you were never good at football anyway …

Farther down the street there are these posters for art museums either flank.

Neo modern art; bodies in magical forms of despair, all confused by this

Century, and how hover by the bin outside the hostel garden, finishing

A cigarette and listening to those chaps footballing in the park and

Wondering where to go afterwards and marvelling at the wealth of Europe.

[pierrotguru]

Glimmer of Stars

Summary: John Constantine really wants a drink, and he meets someone...unexpected.

John was really damned thirsty for a drink.

The bar was a bit too noisy, but to take what he could, and at the moment, he needed that drink. He could simply walk out and go, but the beer there was dark and bitter just like him. It was dark. And good. Strong stuff. So, he decided to drink it among the many distractions.

Behind the bar, he saw a backdrop of stars. John supposed that they were kind of pretty splashes of metallic gold against dark azure that glimmered in the dim lighting and just looked...nice. John took a drag of his cigarette. Humans liked stars as they also liked heaven. For him, the stars were more obtainable.

John was so engrossed in tracing the points of the stars that he hardly heard it when someone sat next to him.

"You look like you're having a rough night."

"Every night is a rough night," he replied automatically. John wasn't looking for sympathy, but the words slipped out anyway.

Then, John turned to beheld him for a second and almost stared.

The stranger was so dark. Chiseled lips, perfect cheekbones, and deep eyes. He was also a bit pale.

John could clearly sense the power in his aura. Maybe, he wasn't quite human. That was becoming more common these days. So, he made a mental note to mind his ps and qs The dark stranger looked important somehow. It made sense not to piss someone like that off.

The word "endless" echoed in his mind for some reason. Perhaps the bloke was eternal.

"You're a bit like a dark hole. You literally suck. But, at least you don't poison the room with your negativity."

Really? What a nervy thing to say.

Little fairy asshole.

John was starting to get a little pissed. "Why don't you get fucked?"

Well, that was an idea. If the stranger would be into that.

Then, John felt his dark eyes roam his face.

"I bet that you don't sleep a lot there are dark rings under your eyes." His voice was strangely soft.

John laughed bitterly. "Who does in this crazy world?" He took another drink of beer.

"You know to rest. An opportunity to escape in their dreams."

In John's case, that would be nightmares and he wouldn't consider them an escape, but he didn't want to reveal that much to a complete stranger.

John decided to indulge him in conversation. "But, then you have to wake up so why keep trying?"

The answer was so short and sweet. "Hope."

John swore that the word burned his tongue. Hope. It was such a painful word. John was the fuck out of hope. He still had that chronic cough. John should take up the bottle more, but then his liver would be diseased too. His body was just going to hell. Everything about him was.

He knew that he should take up yoga or something that wasn't destructive such as chain smoking or shots of liquor early in the morning. But, it was the way he was wired, and there was no point of running from it.

John stared straight ahead to see that someone had finally returned to the bar, but when he turned to look at him again, he found that the man had already fled. His bar stool stood empty.

John eyed the empty stool he had been sitting at. "Well, good to meet you too, mate."

Of course he had left In truth, John had actually found him hot. Apparently, life was still never going to go his way, but some luck here and there would be nice

John hung around the bar a bit, but he never reappeared. John finished what remained in the bottle and then skulked away. The other patrons were starting to clear out anyway.

When he stumbled into bed, he had actually slept and he had dreamt but they weren't nightmares filled with growls, unholy demons, and flames associated with the hell realm.

No, instead he had dreamed of him. The man from the bar. A new dream for a change. Lucifer Morningstar could take a break.

John had had a rather simple dream. He had simply dreamt about standing with him out on a grassy field.

The dark stranger said nothing, but he did smile at him.

John woke up in a blissful haze. His eyes opened and he saw that the air was a tined with a blue light because the sun was rising to start another fucking day that he had to live through.

Though to be honest, the dream had been a bit too romantic. Of course, John knew nothing at all about him.

He sighed as he stared up at the ceiling.

If only John knew who he was. However, he did seem interested in dreams. That narrowed down the list. Although, on his own, he already did have some ideas. It would be a damned strange thing if it turned out to be true.

Only the universe knew if they would meet again, but then again, screw the universe

John could simply look into his ways. There was usually a way to contact anything in the world. That alone could be a curse.

And, it could be another chance to screw everything up. Fun.

He was John Constantine so that was always a possibility.

[umbravirtus]

Hans laughed as he looked at her wrapped in blankets sitting at the table. All in all, these first hours have been very amenable, and relaxed, with lots of laughter. Such a contrast to their moment on the tunnel, perhaps, this was because of their moment on the tunnel, he reflected. "Porridge and black coffee? What is this, the Isles? A Ship?" he jokes back, he shakes his head, and speaks with a tode that denotes an obviously feigned offense. He takes his cup of black spiced coffee and takes a full breath of it before drinking it calmly.

After, the manner of his speech changes, it has pause and gravitas but it also has pride and appreciation.

"A simple life isn't one devoid of luxury, I promise you, while you're with me, you won't lack good food, and good alcohol, for in my new line of work I learned, firsthand, how short life is, a flick of a blade and it's lights off, like that" he snaps his fingers. "And how it's truly the small things that make a life whole and well lived, which is why you appreciate every moment, every meal because it might as well be the last." then he resumes eating, some of his princely manners are gone, he does lean his elbows on the table and uses his hands more, but one can safely assume is the result of the last four years of his life. This is a man who has been touched by perspective.

He is not afraid of humming happy noises when he eats, or even doing the very sinful thing of speaking with food in his mouth, covering it with his hand, of course. "Good, this is so good," he says briefly before swallowing. He took a sip of his own orange juice the continued "The good company part, that's not up to me, it's up to you to decide if you are in good company." He muses aloud, using his knife and fork to break up more of his egg.

"As for what's to do on this farm, there's a lot, all of it will change your hands and your soul forever. Because you'll know the satisfaction of doing something with your own hands and it's addictive for people like us, who grew up with our life handed to us in nice metal platters, silver, gold, whatever you have." He takes another bite and then waits to swallow before speaking.

"Since it's late, I was going to do some measuring of the plot and draw where the farm should be, the goats I rented should be arriving soon to clean the plot so I'll check the fence and its sturdiness, maybe put down new posts, they will clean off the weeds faster than I can and fertilize it, prime it for me to start putting the chicken coops and the raised beds for the crops, space is not a concern I just need to have enough for me and you, to can and maybe be nice to the neighbours" He smiles, "That and I was planning to change my appearance, cut my hair different, let the beard grow," he speaks his mind freely.

"You can tag along and help me with anything you wish, or you can grab any of the books on that bookshelf." He invites her. "They're sorted in alphabetical order when you're done with a book, put it on the night table next to it, and I'll read it and decide if I want to keep it or not, the empty bookshelf is for those I want to keep those I don't will be turned with the pages facing forward so I know I've read them and can be donated to the public library by the end of the year." because he needed to contribute something to the community that would house him.

"Let me know if there's anything you're lacking in your room or for yourself, this would be a good time to procure it." He speaks as it occurs to him, going down the mental list of things to do.

"I also started to cook our next meal while I was doing breakfast, it should be ready whenever you're hungry, chicken soup." He smiles pretty proud of himself pointing at the big pot on the stove with his head "Bread is rising over there and I'll do a test run of the oven later"

The scent of cooking food roused Anna from the pile of blankets she was cocooned in to keep the night chill away. She set her bare feet on the plank wood floor, her body wrapped in a downy comforter, and walked out of the room to follow the smell of sweetmeats and eggs. Her stomach was cramped and rumbly. She smiled when she heard Hans call her, and she laughed in response. "When you said you were going to cook breakfast I did not imagine this. This all looks way better than porridge and black coffee." She seated herself and took a big drink of the orange juice beside her plate, which was piled high with food.

"Thank you for this great meal and for, well, everything. Do you have any plans today? What exactly does Farmer Hans do? Maybe I can help."

[0ryza13]

I wanted to figure out if this was correct or not, so I'm off to do research. (I will preface this by saying that I have no training or experience in this kind of thing, so anything I find or conclude could be baseless and I will accept constructive criticism and corrections from people who know better than me.)

Step One: who are the Gerudo actually supposed to be based off?

Surprisingly hard to get a coherent answer from the fandom wikis. I'm not looking for lore, I'm looking for design choices made by nintendo workers. Eventually, looks like they're supposedly based on the Amazons. Makes sense i suppose. Warrior women and all. So, Greece!

Step Two: would Greeks (or perhaps Romans) use a curved saber, a glaive spear, and/or a giant fuck-off club. This will be followed up by Step Three: outfits?? Please hold.

So, basic research shows that Greek spears more closely resembled the Hylian Soldier's Spear than whatever spiky thing Ganon is weilding.

How about the sword? Hmmm, while some Greek swords were curved, most were "leaf" shaped. Think Percy Jackson or Wonder Woman.

The club? Short answer, also no.

Maybe they're Roman instead of Greek? Let's see. No, no, and no.

Alright, so the Gerudo aren't very Greek or Roman. Yeah, I'm not exactly surprised - aside from being a society of warrior women, they didn't seem much in that direction.

Time for Step Three: Outfits - maybe these will tell us what the ACTUAL source inspiration for the Gerudo is.

Let's see. A lot of bright colors, exposed skin, loose flowy fabrics. Veils over the mouth. Sandals, sort of - certain parts of the look are clearly stylized, as nobody regularly wears high heels in the desert sand. That I know of.

Well, most desert societies IRL tend to cover up to protect from the sun instead of exposing skin to vent heat (which I am choosing to believe was the reason behind the Gerudos' uhhh... exposing armor). Let's focus on veils, bright colors, and gold and fancy patterns. What springs to mind for me is Arabia. I can't say if that's a result of Hollywood propaganda (I'm American), but it's a start.

Let's check the weapons again, against traditional Arabian ones this time. Scimitars and Sabers, check! Spears? Still looks more like the Soldier's Spear, but let's face it, the thing Ganon has is pretty stylized. How about the club? (Another thing I would be surprised to learn even was used IRL.) ... huh. A couple of those actually look kind of close, though the scale was definitely changed for the massive fucking tree trunk Ganon throws around. But the metal plating running lenthwise down it with the lil dots of metal, the tapered shape of it... those are here. Nice.

I'd be satisfied with saying "Arabian Inspired" for Ganon and the Gerudo based on all that. But let's check against OP's actual question. Do Ganon's outfit and weapons resemble Japanese ones?

Time to cycle back around to weapons again. Let's see. The saber sword could be a katana or wakizashi I suppose. It doesn't have the wavy line running down it like the Windcleaver does though. I don't think it's quite right, but I'll grant that it's close. How bout the spear? Hmmm... the Gerudo spears have a crossbar that does resemble the Japanese spear style. Ganon's spear remains an outlier though. It's just too stylized to be truly reminiscent of anything. The club? Oooohhh that's also got the tapered shape and the spikey bits.

Unless my research is shit, Arabic and Japanese ancient weapons have a handful of similarities. Time to resort to a fit check.

Okay, his outfits resemble neither ancient japanese OR arabic battle OR royalty outfits that I could find. Hmmmm.

I'm going to call it inconclusive on account of I don't know what I'm doing, but my hypothesis after all this is "Nintendo is a Japanese company and they tried for Arabic but ended up going heavily stylized through their own cultural lens and ended up with something between the two that doesn't quite match anything or make a ton of sense, but it sure is cool".

Again, I will take constructive criticism from people who actually know what they're looking at. But this was a decent way to spend an hour.

...hey why the fuck is totk ganon like. japanese, fashion and weapon-wise

[boutiqueseven]

Luxury Meets Sport: The New Rolex Cosmograph Daytona as a Symbol of Style and Performance

This year at Watches and Wonders 2023, Rolex once more set a new watchmaking record with its Daytona model. Being the 60th commemoration of the watch's unique delivery, this truly doesn't astonish anybody. In a similar vein, the relatively minor adjustments that Rolex made were not particularly surprising given that Rolex is a massive, incremental brand that does not tend to make significant adjustments. All things being equal, the brand likes to bit by bit move its models across various cycles to get them where it needs them (or forsake them by and large, as it did with the Milgauss and Cellini this year). The Daytona has undergone a few more minor tweaks this year than in 2016, but they are more significant. At the show, we had the opportunity to try on two brand-new Rolex Cosmograph Daytonas: the platinum reference 126506 and the steel and yellow gold reference 126503.

The Daytona's immediate aesthetics have not changed, but we are well aware that the devil is in the details. The 40mm case diameter has not changed, but the lugs have been slightly widened to give the watch a more contemporary feel. Since watches are becoming smaller rather than larger, this seemed ironic to me. You can rest assured that the Daytona still looks fantastic: It is, has been, and probable will keep on being quite possibly of the best-wearing chronograph available Rolex watches online.

However, in addition to the improvement to the lugs, there is another modification that does give the watch the impression of being a little bit larger. The Daytona got a Cerachrom bezel in the 2016 update that covered the entire bezel. This gave the watch a dramatically wide appearance and made the dial look a little smaller than it was. A small polished ring has been added to models with the Cerachrom bezel to surround the insert. It also has a recessed appearance (despite being flush), which makes the entire case appear more present around it. This makes the dial a little more prominent and thins out the bezel. Again, the watch's physical feel has not changed, but the lugs and bezel have been changed to make it look slightly bigger on the wrist.

On the models with valuable metal bezels, the edge is essentially cleaned (in lieu of some abnormal differentiating ring). The models remain unchanged from previous iterations except for those case modifications. Despite the 100-meter water resistance provided by the screw-down Triplock crown and pushers, I have always preferred the unscrewed pushers on the Daytona and any chrono with screw-down pushers. Perhaps that is simply me.

The etched scale on the bezel of the platinum and black-and-gold models is made of PVD platinum or gold fill to match the cases. This is a small change that you might not notice, but it makes the watch look nice and makes it more cohesive when you do. Both the sapphire crystal and the bracelets remain unchanged, with the bracelets sporting an AR coating and the very convenient and simple-to-use Easylink extension mechanism for the sapphire crystal.

One thing to specify is that the platinum form is a weighty watch. You immediately feel the weight; I quickly got used to it, but when it stopped, I felt a lightness that almost jarred me. It was just as shocking to switch to a different model, like this two-tone 18k yellow gold and steel one. You should be fine as long as you don't switch from the platinum Daytona to the new titanium Yacht-Master.

The platinum 126506's strange combination of brown and ice blue, first seen 10 years ago when it debuted for the model's 50th anniversary, looks absolutely stunning in person. You don't think it will work, and it might not have to, but it does. A surprising and pleasing chromatic balance is provided by the warm-to-cold contrast. The two-tone 126503 is honestly not my cup of tea. Beautiful watch, but I find the white, steel, and yellow gold to be too bright and 1990s for me. I'm going yellow on yellow on yellow if I go gold.

Regardless, the dials. The dials, like the case, appear identical from a distance, but they immediately have a lighter, more open appearance. Rolex has made little acclimations to the markers to make them longer and more slender, disposing of the in fact squat files that graced the past age (however they actually highlight the brand's splendid Chromalight lume). The chronograph registers' rings have been thinned, further refreshing the dial. This open dial might appear a little odd to people who are accustomed to the coziness of older Daytonas, which was never cluttered, but the thicker markers and rings made it feel fuller. That was the opinion of a few of my coworkers—almost all of whom are more knowledgeable about Rolex than I am—but I prefer the new dials because I don't like the chubby markers on the old dials.

Did you really think I wouldn't mention the most significant change? The platinum 126506 Daytona presently includes — without precedent for a Rolex sports watch — a showcase caseback. All things considered, this isn't significant. You won't see it on your wrist, and the movement isn't particularly impressive. When I held the watch, the caseback was more remarkable for the fact that it was made for the first time than anything else. Remember, Rolex is extremely late to this game. The caseback, on the other hand, isn't just about following a trend or making people happy—Rolex is terrible at the latter. A solid platinum caseback would be very expensive, and the brand probably found those savings and the chance to start a watch nerd frenzy too tempting. This is going to generate irrational excitement among people. In case it wasn't obvious, the other models still have sturdy casebacks.)

As previously stated, looking through the caseback isn't much of a show, but it is better than the previous generation of Daytonas. This is due to the updated caliber 4131 automatic chronograph movement found in the current generation. This new type, similar to the watches it powers, is a development, not an unrest. It still has all of the Rolex bells and whistles, including the Chronergy escapement, Paraflex antishock system, and blue Parachrom hairspring, and the specs are the same: 28,800 vph with a 72-hour power reserve. It is still a Superlative Chronometer, having passed Rolex's stringent in-house testing to -2/+2 seconds per day in addition to being certified by COSC. However, it uses fewer components than the 4130 thanks to incremental updates, resulting in greater reliability (fewer things to break).

However, the most significant changes made to the 4130 are cosmetic and beneficial to the caseback ogler: a steel-and-solid cutout 18k gold oscillating weight (the 4130's) and a new style of striping that the company is calling "Rolex Côtes de Genève." This style adds narrow, polished bands between the traditional stripes. They can be difficult to find in pictures and, frankly, they were difficult to find face to face, depending on the light as they do.Order now Rolex Cosmograph Daytona at  Boutique 7.

[manchasama]

I may have failed to do this on Sat, but I was determined to do it today! Even if today is rapidly running out lol.

So this AU has gone through a lot of changes in my planning stages, and no longer fully represents the bits and piece posted. That said, the heart of it is the same, and this is kind of a nice refresher on how the idea originally started. :> I am super glad you are enjoying this idea, it was one of the first ones I had for Submas lol

I’m going to touch on answering your comments first (ty ty<3), then probably ramble a whooooole lot and get some of the new ideas into the light of day!

“No one ever figured out that the ‘ghost’ was actually two people”

ngl this is honestly one of my favorite bits about this AU. I love the secret life trope, the hidden identities, and adding a layer of it being two people playing one part makes it further obfuscated → not me living for this bit! That, and the hyper competence it would take to successfully play both parts, not to mention the specific skills and talents each role needs to succeed as much as they do! I get both excited thinking about the possibilities, and overwhelmed because how can I possibly write that? (Slowly, is the answer.)

“The cracks on Chandlure’s glass would never fully go away.”

The scars they all have are a testament of what they’ve been through, but Chandelure’s are particularly poignant. She is a, what’s the word…object pokemon? Made up of glass and metal, or something very like it. Those things don’t get scars. But cracks on glass? She came so very close to breaking herself over this, and the pattern on the glass reflects it. But she lived through it, and is stronger for it. I have a vague idea of trying to find an excuse to kintsugi her, have the cracks be lined with gold. (Arceus’ blessing perhaps? <<)

“It definitely feels like it fits with this au's version of Nimbasa: Cracked, but not broken and capable of healing “

;_; bless u that is so it yesssss the heart of this AU

“I would so so so love to see in what ways the boys help Nimbusa aside from fighting mobsters. 'Cause that can't be the only thing they're doing to help.“

You are so right! I think now is a good time for the revised history of the boys. Warning, it got a bit dark, but this AU is a bit dark. And so. My notes are piecemeal if there are weird jumps that is why.

Father works for the Bad Guys. (Since I never played the game, I was hesitant to use Team Plasma for this. Still not sure if I should, or just use Ocs.)  He is an amazing trainer, and they have a control over who gets pokemon in their territories. Pokemon regulation and all that jazz, can’t let dangerous creatures into the wrong hands. It's part of how they can look legit on the surface.  Those who are part of their org can show the happy families smiling and laughing with pokemon on the surface.  Underneath only those who can pay, who conform to their ideals, are allowed to participate.  And at any time your pokemon can be taken from you if you break the rules.

Not sure every part of what the org does, but one of the big money makers is an underground fighting tournament for pokemon.  It's not league approved, but it rakes in the money.  It's the only way for some people to have any hope of freedom/their own pokemon, so many sign their lives away too it and can't get back out.

The father is The Trainer.  He is the one who has a bond with pokemon, can get them to do things outside of what a normal trainer can manage. No one gets a pokemon he hasn’t trained to the organization’s standards. He hates it.  He hates it so much, the exploitation of himself and the pokemon, but he has no chance of getting out.  Even though he has been granted riches and privileges, they are just part of a gilded cage.  They will never let him go.  He tries to escape all of once, and the injuries he received deter him from trying again.

He finds one good thing in this life.  A lovely woman who is also unable to escape the underground life, but remains sweet and optimistic despite it.  He wants to help her as much as he can, so he proposes to her to get her out of her current situation.  She actually turns him down.  It's a sweet sentiment, but she hardly knows him, and won't bind herself to potentially an even worse situation.  He then makes it his goal to get her to believe his good intentions and all that jazz.  Eventually they do fall in love, and eventually she does say yes.

They have a few good years ofc.  Then she gets pregnant, and it's not an easy time.  She keeps turning down medical assistance, insisting on doing things as naturally as possible.  She does not want to know what sex the child is, nothing. What is really is, is that she is afraid any help accepted will doom them, tie them even closer to the organization. (She is right, but they have other ways.) As always he bows to her whims, but it is stressful.  He can see her decline.

The worst of it comes at the birth ofc.  She dies in childbirth, possibly not even getting the chance to see her boys.  The twins is a surprise.  The hospital is possibly dealing with a large influx of people from some event or disaster, so the amount of time doctors and nurses can spend on the couple was light to begin with.  Once the children are settled with the father, fed on formula and asleep, they are left alone with the covered body of the wife until there is time to process the paperwork.

Enter a high ranking lady in the organization.  She explains she was originally there to be the child's tutor, as they were not going to let such an asset as the Trainer's child go untapped.  Surely the child would have some of the talent of the father, or could be trained as such.  Another bind to keep the father under their thumb, another asset to exploit. Now that the wife is dead, she is stepping in to be the child’s mother instead.

However.  She is actually part of a movement to undermine the organization.  It's a long haul job, she's been undercover for years gaining trust and position.  She seems to be one of the most loyal, and this is her move to ruin one of the strongest parts of the org.  No one has been able to out train the Trainer.  If she can keep the child from becoming a pawn of the organization, then she will consider her job complete.

The father is numb to so much of this.  The only light in his life went out, and he's still expected to keep on going.  He can't find it in himself to love the children, but he wants the world to be good for them where he can't.  So in the hushed hospital room, in the shadow of his dead wife, he listens to the woman's proposal.

They will hide the presence of the second child.  So far as the records will show, the wife only had one.  She will marry the father for the pretense of it, the excuse to the world why she is there to train/teach/raise the child.  To the organization she is the teacher/trainer of the child to take over once the father has outlived his usefulness.  The child would be taught the innerworkings of the organization, and would be beholden to it. The father would teach the child the secrets of being a great trainer.

In reality though, she will teach the child about the dark truth of the org, the secrets that could undermine it, with the hope that when they are grown they can use the information to have it taken down at last. She will teach them how to survive.

And so it goes, and so they grow.  In the privacy of the home, both children are taught equally.  Outside they are traded, so they each get to experience the limited view the org will allow them.  There is no public school, there is no interaction with "normal" life, just views of the tournaments, and lauded tales of how one day they will be the heroes who participate with their trained pokemon, or train pokemon for the trainers like their father.�� Glory awaits and all that.

When there is a check-in on the family, an unexpected arrival or even the expected ones, there is a hiding cubby behind the backwall of a closet.  It's small and cramped, especially as they grow.  They are expected to be quiet, make no noise while the visit lasts and their twin is the only one seen.

Perhaps the woman "tests" scent blockers in case of visiting pokemon, and is known for it.  So it's not unusually for the house to be drenched in the stuff.  Perhaps she uses it for her job as a spy ("spy"), needing it so that no pokemon can ever trace her.  So ofc her home is full of it.  That way the second child is never noticed. Ingo and Emmet spend all their time together, so their scents are mixed as well.  It would take a very suspicious pokemon to figure it out, and most aren't encouraged to have such free thought.

Eventually her betrayal is discovered.  Perhaps it comes as a summons when the family is home, and she realizes what it is.  There is no escape.  She and the father exchange a knowing look.  They had contingencies, plans, etc.  She would buy them time to escape, meeting her own demise.

The father had agreed on the surface, but he was Done.  There was no escape, and he knew it.  You had to die to escape.  (But he could get the boys out.  The last bit of his light would escape with them.  They'd hate him for it, but they would be free.  But you had to die to escape.)

He knows they are coming, and they will take Ingo. And while at least Emmet would be safe, he can’t let it happen. Better to lose both than separate them.

So he tells the boys. There’s no where to run, because they will be hunted down. If one were taken, the other could be free (they protest vehemently, as he expected). Or they could do something scary, and dangerous. He has access to many dangerous drugs. Including ones that are designed to quietly get rid of people, making them fall asleep and slowly their body shuts down. There is a cure of course, if it can be administered in time. But there is a small window where they could appear dead. If Ingo will take the poison, Emmet can administer the antidote once it’s safe to do so. And if they are “dead”, then they can escape together. (It’s a plan full of so many holes, but it’s the slim hope. In the mind of a child, the plan will work. Yes it’s scary, but they can do it. Anything to stay together.)

Ingo and Emmet are arguing over who should be the one to “die”, and dad solves it. By stabbing Ingo in the back. (Careful not to hit a vital, but still a very debilitating wound). In their disbelief, Ingo collapsing, Emmet frozen, Dad manhandles Emmet into the hiding space in the closet. Presses the antidote in his hands. Once he’s satisfied Emmet is going to stay quiet, he turns back to Ingo, face blank. (In the remaining moments before the mob arrives, he carefully administers the drug, watching as Ingo’s breathing fades, the blood not flowing as fiercely. There is such a small window for this to work...)

The mobsters come busting in, Big Bad with them. Finds the dad standing over the body of his son, blood pooling everywhere. Big Bad realizes they were too late, that the whole family is a wash. More irritated at this than anything. Why couldn’t the dad just do what he was told? His life wasn’t that bad. And now it was over, because he was no longer useful.

Dad is obviously off his rocker, if he thinks he can take on all the mobsters present, and their pokemon. Dad has a surprise up his own sleeve, a couple of pokemon he trained personally. It’s honestly a bloodbath. Mobsters die, pokemon die, Dad definitely dies. Only the big bad, heavily injured and out of pokemon, survives.  He takes note of the child in the pool of blood, obvious dead at this point, at the dead father, and is irritated at the loss of the assets to the org. He’s damn well convinced that dad was just taking out as many people as he could after he cracked, including his own kid. He retreats to get treated.

As the apartment settles, Emmet emerges. He is still silent. Silent tears, silent steps, makes no sound. Finds his brother’s body, slips something between his lips. Cradles his brother to him, coaxing him to swallow. After an interminable time, Ingo coughs, groans, and sluggishly starts to move again. He is alive. Hurt, woozy from blood loss, but alive. Emmet patches the wound as best he can. Gathers a backpack of stuff. (Walks over bodies. People. Pokemon. Dad. Numb, just keeps moving). Helps Ingo walk. Last thing he does is light the place on fire. It was part of the Plan. Dad didn’t give them a chance to agree, so all he can do at this point is follow it. No one will notice a missing body in the wreckage.

(The truth of it is, the father knows there is no escape unless you’re dead. So if they see his son dead, they will have no reason to ever suspect their escape. So yes, he stabs his son, making a mess of it, but he knows his other son will save them. All he can do is give them a chance.)

They have nothing that hadn't been grabbed/packed before they left. Emmet probably has a pack with some supplies. No pokemon, nothing but themselves.  They make their way to the subway tunnels to hide (where a purple glow awaits).

--

It is a lot of backstory about OCs, yes, but it helps set up the world, and gives the twins a base set to work off of. I have so much more to share, you have no idea!! Such as the slightly more fleshed out meeting with Litwick 8]

--

Emmet and Ingo move slowly through the dark streets. Keeping out of sight. But they need a place to hide, where they won’t be found. They can’t make it out of town like this. They don’t want to leave. They don’t know what to do now. Ingo is in so much pain, and Emmet is just numb to the world. Eventually Emmet’s eyes land on a dark tunnel. Tracks leading into it. Perhaps there.

They limp their way in. Further in. It’s dark. They pass the occasional light, but it’s barely enough to illuminate the way. Some lights are out. Finally Emmet spots a crack in the wall. Big enough to crawl through, a small cave on the other side. It was likely some pokemon’s den. Long abandoned now.

He and Ingo curl together, shivering from stress, wounds, cold, shock, the whole shebang. They are together. They are together. (Is it enough? To keep going? What do they have left in the world?)

Eventually a small light catches their attention. Emmet does not care, but Ingo needs a distraction from his spiraling thoughts. And when Ingo moves, Emmet can get invested. Needs to be pulled out of his head a bit. Outside their little hideaway is a small pokemon. A litwick. It’s warm. They are drawn to the glow, crouching around it. It’s not violent, or scary. (They can feel the pull on their souls. They exchange a tired look. Is it enough? To keep going? At least this way they can be of some use.)

They talk quietly. Admiring the pokemon, because they do love them. (Litwick preens at the praise, feeling a /little/ bad about draining them, but hey, it’s what her kind does. She needs to eat. Not her fault a couple of kids wandered too far from their parents. Right?) Quiet talk about a future they wish they could see, could have a hand in creating. What they would have done with their lives. (Litwick kind of loves what they’re talking about. She also realizes…maybe they DO realize what she is doing. But they are not leaving?)

Suddenly there is a rumbling. All of them are alert (the twins, sluggish. Ingo can barely move. Perhaps litwick had been pulling a little more from Emmet to compensate since she was trying to be subtle. But yeah Ingo is worst off). Unsure what’s happening. An earthquake? A pokemon attack? What?? A pair of lights appears around a corner they hadn’t perceived, piercing through the dark. It’s over in a few seconds. (Time stretched out. The twins brains immediately kicked in that it was a /train/. They were on tracks. Morning had come, though they couldn’t tell because of the dark tunnels.)

Ingo curls over Litwick, unable to do more than scope her into his arms. Emmet with herculean effort pulls his twin with him as he dives off the tracks. They hit the ground and roll, hitting the wall and laying flush against it, clinging to each other, as the train whips by. So close they can feel the wind ripping at their clothes and exposed skin, trying to suck them under its wheels.

When the train has passed, the silence is deafening. That was the last the twins could manage. They were too drained, too on the verge of the end to do more. Ingo’s hand is sprawled out, his blurry vision staring into the darkness (on his back). Emmet (on his front) manages to inch his hand forward, putting his hand in Ingo’s. They are together. It’s enough. Both pass out.

Litwick realizes what the twins have done. That they saved her. They could have left her there to save themselves. At any time they could have done something, but instead they decided to give themselves to her, to protect her even in their final moments. And the future they spoke of sounded so amazing. She wanted to see it come to fruition.

She pushes energy back into them. That’s not how it’s supposed to work, of course. That is how litwick and their line can share energy, feed each other. But it’s the only thing she can think to do, to restore some of the stolen energy to them. Once she senses their souls stop sputtering, are no longer threatening to die (noting their souls now have the purple glow of ghostiness), she begins to drag them. One at a time, slowly inching them into the hiding hole. Pausing every time a train passes, almost holding her “breath”, because while it is scary, it’s also impressive to see it so close, to feel the power of the machine fly by.

Finally she’s able to get them squirreled into the hole. Even in unconsciousness they migrate to each other. But there is a small space between them where she can snuggle in. She may not be able to provide them warmth, but she will not steal from them again. (She absolutely will, but only as a snack lol)

--

Okay, let me get back to your comments. What ways do the boys help Nimbasa other than fighting mobsters. That entirely depends on the timeline, of course. At first, the boys aren’t doing much of anything. They are two kids with a single pokemon between them. First they need to get some partners. That’s not to say they’re not gathering intel on the org, finding patterns, figuring out where they want to start picking at the foundation to see it crumble.

But they also want to see their region thrive when the org is gone. If you just strip it out completely, it leaves a hole behind. Hm, how to phrase this… They need to figure out who can compete in various areas/positions/locations against the org, without really being aware the org is there. The org works behind the scenes, and will need to be taken out in the same manner. Too many people could get hurt in a direct confrontation. So some of what they do as they grow up IS get involved in the people of the town, encouraging young trainers following their dreams, spreading the word about new businesses or efforts to encourage their success, things like that. It’s never them doing it, but they are always there encouraging, guiding, helping.

As an example, Elesa and her dream of becoming a model and gym leader. They would probably meet when they are older, and she is closer to having to make the decision to pursue her dream or not. Perhaps the pokemon league hasn’t had a working gym in Nimbasa for a while, and the twins can recognize this as a great opportunity to get the league’s eyes on Nimbasa. Makes it harder for the org to do things when it’s under the spotlight. And Elesa is good at spotlight.

People haven’t been very supportive of her trying to combine modeling with gym battles, and she is Irritated at it. They think her style isn’t dignified, that gym battling should be taken seriously and not be a circus. (She is this close to quitting the gym thing altogether. That, or showing up dressed as a damn clown, if that’s what they want.)

Ingo and Emmet are likely working on getting the battle subway started. One of the things they determined they needed was a Look. Something recognizable, thematic. They are building their personas. (Really, they are just letting themselves BE themselves here. There isn’t a need to mask their interest and joy, to hide their intentions, to pretend to be someone else. It’s the closest thing to their true selves.) So they go to Elesa and ask if she will design their outfits. They must be fit for battle, tough and practical, but they must also fit Ingo and Emmet. (They had noticed some of the politician-types that were in the pocket of the org harassing Elesa, trying to drive her out. They were determined to get her to stay.)

She is doubtful of their intentions, probably suspecting they either have no idea what her styles are like, or are subtly making fun of her. But their sincerity bleeds through, enough for her to agree. She is unapologetically herself about the designs, which are flashy, complimentary, and tough enough to handle an all out brawl of a pokemon battle. They are delighted, and again their honest joy rekindles her desire to push for her dream.

Another thing that’s going to be a goal, is that the org is definitely in charge of the subway and trains that go through the Unova region. Helps them control people, by limiting their ability to travel. Also by controlling the main method of transport for people and goods, it gives them a lot of power. Borrowing from mipmoth, I think Ingo and Emmet continue to live in the subway tunnels for most of their youth, perhaps even permanently as mipmoth’s comics were showing (loved them so much lolol). Also a lot of the shady dealings can happen in/around the abandoned tunnels or offshoots, so that’s likely where a lot of the physical battles take place.

By the time they are adults, they will have weakened the hold the org has on the subway, enough that they can join it legitimately and finish off their influence by being the ones in charge (they have ambitions, okay).

I also have to think about what this anti-mob organization is (ha ha haaaa i really need a title), that the step-mom worked for. At some point it would make sense for them and the boys to team up, but at the same time I like the idea of them being as baffled about what's happening as the org is.

Honestly at this point, this story is kind of batman-esque, with some detective pikachu in there, and a smidge of detective conan black org. They are going to become vigilantes, but also need to be able to insert themselves into “normal” life as well. Help get the town back on its feet. I have so much more about it aaaaaa

I have been reading a lot of Batman/Danny Phantom crossovers lately, so I too have seen fics exploring Crime Alley, the people and lives there. That definitely influenced a lot of the re-imagining of this story. If you have any ideas/wishes/suggestions, I’d be happy to explore them! I want to flesh out their lives growing up, so having some better direction would help lol.

Okay so this is completely raw train of thought that I refuse to be embarrassed over.  It also may jump around because it was written on two different days, since I had more Ideas™ about it.

Also, Emmet in the distortion world is absolutely influenced by @that1nkyone‘s Distortion Guide AU, tho not lifting anything from where they are taking that story.  Just that their idea of Emmet being in the distortion world definitely inspired my brain to go this way.

This is in my (god damnit I need a title) anti-mob AU

–

How Ingo Disappears

Ingo and Emmet get overwhelmed by some group.  Possibly make it Team Plasma, set during B&W 2 or something.  Or just some splinter group trying to rekindle things.  (Actually maybe when I think this AU out I could figure out how to make team Plasma the mob group.  Hmmmm….)  Either way, and for whatever reason, Ingo and Emmet are tied up while the group tries to do their thing. 

Keep reading

[sab3rto0thed]

i eat words like gold, which is probably why i am always starving. i was thin-ribbed when i was ten, always piercing whenever somebody touched me -- eventually, of course, they learned not to. i call it adaptation; you call it misery. i collect language trying to yank the emotions from my petty heart and verbalize them, give them a name. i can no longer say i am angry. i have to say it with my teeth, say i feel something with teeth and claws clawing up my spine and latching onto my sternum, digging its nails into my throat and peeking its head with eight eyes out of my teeth. isn’t that an image? 

when you are a picky eater, you don’t eat much at is. burdened as you are to society, i stopped eating words so fast when no one else ate the words. my first goal was to fit in; of course, that’s everyone’s goal when they are thirteen. i chose my dinners carefully and threw them back up. i put my books down and hid my truths in my hands. when my friend, a boy, tells me all the intricacies of how he has sex -- it’s about power, i infer later, of course it is -- i do nothing but smile. i am a pretty face, and i am starving.

i am sixteen when i finally give. my ribs are like blades, and if i am careful enough, i can pull them right out of my skin and sharpen them the same way some people swallow swords. the first person that has told me to write in five years leaves unsatisfied. i try to describe the exact color of my led lights, but i’m out of metaphors, and the spaces between my fingers have been bleeding for three years.

so i begin to eat. i read poetry until i change the way i walk, and my tongue feels different in my mouth. i yank organs out of my sick body and teach them how to walk again. the first emotion i truly register when i get enough nutrition to feel: the longing of hate. so i take it.

i write about claws and blood and gashing my own stomach from knife-tipped sternum to bone-sharp groin. i talk about fire ants dancing along my skull, girls with freckles like fallen stars and the sun in their mouths, and boys with hands that are basically guns. they put their fingers in my mouth like a cold metal holster, iron a tang on my tongue, joints clasped around the ocean that is my throat.

when i miss people, i make sure i miss them appropriately. instead of my yanking, tugging, screaming longing, i do a little searching. i read about death, about sex, about that terrible tugging vulnerability trip and the power balance that always yanks, yanks, yanks like a violent game of tug-o-war. i read about bloody hands, bloody smiles, bloody grief.

and i start to swallow words again. when i am all out, i leave the room and scream about lyricism until the birds in my backyard’s tree all flutter away, too small for such a loud voice. i read the words of those i find beloved and swallow them as they come, savoring the shape of each one. oh, it is so nice to finally eat when the words you are eating aren’t cutting your mouth open.

my essay about frankenstein was lacking eloquency, but i have so many words to eat still. and sometimes, if i am lucky enough, they sink into the patches in my flesh, the internal wounds that i can’t quite reach, because my hand only goes wrist-deep down my throat. so perhaps -- perhaps, all i needed to keep eating was a meal served with care.

my favorite words that have been used to describe the things i eat, because even as a recovering addict i still had something behind that hollow smile: raw, as in real, as in cutting, as in healing. beautiful, as in shaped, as in objective, as in this essay is a piece of shit but i love it. and the best: endearing, as in i know you love me, and i love you, too. because you are a writer, and you are brilliant, and my god, you are not worthless, no matter how stick-thin you are. as in, my god, you can still smile.

they still love me, and it is only now that they are gone but not really gone, nearly a year later, that i have the words to prove that sometimes, when you are throwing up your grief, all it takes is someone to hold it for you while you breathe in between those shaky, smattering breaths.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Annoying neighbor - Part 1

A/N: Written for @saiyanprincessswanie ‘s writing challenge. Prompt used: Annoying Neighbour. I ALWAYS wanted to write a single Dad Tony, the amount of feels?! Feedback is love!

Pairing: Single parent! Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word count: 2.3k ish

Requests & Challenges

.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There it was again.

The pestering sound of metal tapping against your window. Every time you tried to ignore it and fall back asleep, it would start again and irritate you.

Clicking your tongue, you threw your blankets aside and got out to investigate. Sure enough, it was a toy plane stuck on a branch of the tree right outside your window that was striking against the glass.

The cool night air met your face harshly as you opened the panes and reached out to grab the toy. Your neighbor was probably awake again, that you figured given their bedroom light was perpetually on whenever you happened to glance there.

He probably had trouble sleeping, you had figured. Or preferred to work at night because you rarely saw him in day time.

The one time you did, he had been friendly, had a charming smile and striking facial hair and a face you couldn’t really forget. Dressed in a crisp suit, you had concluded he was very well to do, also that his cars screamed all things rich. But you somehow never caught his name.

After grabbing a hold of it, you perched the plane on your desk, making a mental note of finding out who it belonged to in the morning.

With that, you went back to bed with a relieved sigh, unaware of the fact that there was a rather upset five year old right next door, on a lookout for her lost toy.

..

Work was hectic the next day, you had a terrible headache by the time you reached home. A glass of wine and a nice, long bath was all you needed.

You had everything set up, the water was just the right temperature, the room filled with the aroma of your favourite essential oils and a glass of vino for company.

Your head merely touched the back rest of the tub when a loud crash reached your ears, alarming you out of wits. Your best guess being one of your windows had been broken, that eventually was right.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you pulled on a bathrobe and made your way down the stairs angrily, muttering curses under your breath.

Sure enough, several glass pieces lay shattered by the window sill in your kitchen, along with a toy robot? Perhaps that’s what it was, a tiny red and gold armoured robot that had flown inside, breaking your glass window.

As you looked around, your vision landed on your neighboring house, and sure enough, there was a flurry of movement and the curtains were drawn close quickly.

Was it him? If it was, he was about to get an earful.

Storming outside, you held the toy bot in one hand, not bothering about changing out of your robe as you walked up to the front door of your neighbor, glancing at the nameplate which read The Starks in a rather fancy format.

Three sharp knocks and you waited. Waited for the man to show up and explain himself for ruining an already miserable day.

“I know you’re in there!” You muttered out loud, finally hearing footsteps approach.

The doors swung open to reveal a little girl with brown hair, matching eyes wide with apprehension as she stared up at you.

“Oh.”

Is all you could say as your anger dissipated away. You realised you were still clutching the toy in your hand that probably belonged to the kid.

“Uh, hi. Is this yours?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw a man peek through a column before straightening up and walking over to his daughter.

It was him! And he had a kid? That was quite unexpected, you thought.

“Daddy had the remote.”

She spoke, making you chuckle as she pointed to his Dad before running back inside the house.

“Thanks for ratting me out!” He called out after her before turning back to you and flashing you a winning grin and holding his hand out.

“I’m Tony, Tony Stark. Your next door neighbor and lawbreaker.”

You chuckled and shook hands, introducing yourself and looking down at your hands still clasped together.

“I’m really sorry about your window, I’ll have it fixed, I promise.”

“So it was your idea to let your kid open the door so I wouldn’t yell? Really classy.”

You teased, watching Tony let out a nervous chuckle and scratch the back of his head.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He was right.

Tony’s brows furrowing and he perhaps hid a smile as he took in your outfit, you were in your bathrobe.

“Matter of life and death?” He smirked.

“I had to know if my house was being broken into.”

“Fair enough.” Tony held his hands up in defeat.

You exchanged polite conversation back and forth, he seemed smart and funny, he had interesting insights and was someone you could get along with easily.

You made plans of catching up over a cup of coffee before saying goodbye.

He turned back around to catch a glimpse as you walked back to your house, meeting your eyes with a chuckle as you did the same, waving at him before heading back inside with a big smile on your face.

…

It was close to four in the morning when you finally made it home after a girls night out. It had been a week, and you very much needed to unwind.

Killing the car lights, you got out, only to see Tony sitting alone on his porch steps, nursing a cup of coffee in his hands.

“You’re about three hours too early for coffee, I think.”

Tony’s head snapped in your direction as he heard your voice, letting out a soft laugh at your words.

“Rough night?”

You called out more softly, smiling when he patted the ground next to him, gesturing you to join him on the steps.

“Rough week.”

“Tell me about it.”

You let out a sigh as you sat down opposite him, leaning against the pillar behind, closing your eyes for a brief moment, feeling Tony’s eyes on you.

“So, Mr. Stark, what’s keeping you up at night?”

Tony tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at you calling him ‘Mr Stark’ smirking as he offered you the mug he was holding.

“Lots of things, Miss Y/L/N, my work, Morgan, this divine mug of Chardonnay.”

“Wine in a coffee mug? I think I like you already.” You teased, sipping on the wine he had offered.

There were many ways your night could’ve ended, sitting on your neighbour’s porch drinking wine wasn’t something you had fathomed.

“That and I broke the only wine glass we had left.”

He hung his head, chuckling to himself before the front door opened, revealing Morgan rubbing her eyes sleepily, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her side looking between the two of you curiously.

“What are you doing up, Maguna?”

Tony held out his hand for his daughter while you watched Morgan curl up in his lap adoringly.

“Did Daddy break another window?”

She turned to face you, her brown eyes full of sleep. Her question making the two of you giggle, Tony kissed the top of her head sweetly.

“He has a habit of breaking things, huh?”

You teased, winking at Morgan who nodded shyly, giving you a smile. Tony had called in someone to fix your window the very next morning after the infamous incident and paid for it before you could protest.

“Would you like to come over for a movie night tomorrow?”

Tony asked out of the blue, finally mustering up the courage to ask you out - something he had been planning on for days. Fidgeting with Morgan’s toy absentmindedly, he waited for you to respond.

You pretended to think about it, but really there wasn’t much to think about, you found the man interesting and so did he. What you didn’t expect was him asking you on a date with Morgan.

“Well it depends, are we watching The Lion King and are we having ice-cream?”

Your grin widened when Morgan screamed ‘yes’ breaking the silence of the night with her tiny, excited squeal.

Tony whispered something in her ear and she ran off inside, leaving the two of you alone once again.

He walked you back to your house, glancing at you every so often as if to check if you’d changed your mind.

“That is one first date my five year old is most looking forward to.”

Tony scratched the back of his head as you unlocked your front door, leaning an arm against the door frame.

“I can never pass on my favourite movie and ice cream.”

“Duly noted. So, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is. Good night, Stark.”

You wanted to hug the man, but you settled for a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping inside, your heart fluttering hopelessly.

“Sleep well, (Y/N).”

…

You must’ve checked yourself in the mirror a hundred times before finalising on an outfit for the evening. Sure, it wasn’t a fancy one but you made an effort to dress your best.

Grabbing the bottle of wine you got for Tony, you closed the door behind you and headed over to his place, fixing your hair while waiting for him to open the door.

The man was holding a bunch of red roses as he opened the door for you, bowing in exaggeration as he held the flowers up, making you giggle.

“Welcome to my humble abode. You look beautiful.”

Pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you inside. You could feel his lips linger on your skin long after the kiss as you walked inside, waving hello to Morgan who practically ran down the stairs to greet you.

You had brought the toy plane that had landed up near your window weeks ago. The moment you took it out from your purse, Morgan let out a happy squeal and hugged your legs tight, elated at finding her lost toy.

“I want to show (Y/N) my toys!”

Without waiting for an answer, Morgan grabbed your hand and pulled you towards her room. Chuckling at her enthusiasm, you glanced back at Tony who simply raised his hands in defeat, watching the two of you go upstairs with a fond grin.

“My date’s been hijacked. Pizza arrives in ten ladies!” He called out before heading to the kitchen to grab a couple of wine glasses.

When you returned, Tony had set everything up in the living room, blankets over the couch, a big bowl of popcorn, pizza boxes and wine. It was perfect.

“Ready?”

“I want to sit next to (Y/N)!” Morgan exclaimed, clutching your hand with both of hers, making Tony narrow his eyes at the two of you playfully.

“Well me too.”

Tony shrugged and took a seat in a corner, leaving you to sit in the middle between the two of them.

As the movie played along, you sipped on wine, occasionally stealing glances at Tony who had scooted closer to you, placing his arm on the back of the couch, hovering over your neck. At times you felt his fingers through your hair, playing with it every so often, sending tingles down your spine.

By the time the credits rolled, Morgan was fast asleep with her head in your lap and your hand around her middle to keep her from rolling off the sofa. You covered her with a blanket before leaning back against the sofa, letting out a soft sigh.

Carefully, Tony picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom, whispering ‘I’ll be back’ to you.

Carrying the empty pizza boxes in the kitchen, you were about to refill your glass when Tony strolled in, standing right behind you and reaching around to grab your wine glass, letting his hand linger over yours.

“Allow me.”

You felt your breathing halt for a moment as you felt his breath against your cheek, teasing before he swiftly moved away.

“So.”

“So…not your ideal first date?”

You turned around and leaned against the counter, watching Tony follow suit, this time your shoulders touched.

“Wouldn’t call it traditional, but I had a lot of fun. Morgan is adorable. Is she um, I mean are you—”

“Her mother and I parted ways a long time ago. She never wanted a child, which is why she left Morgan to me.” Tony shrugged.

“That must’ve been hard for you.” You placed your hand on top of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze, getting a small smile in return.

“It was. I actually would put her diapers on wrong for an entire week, before finally getting it right.”

You didn’t know if it was the wine or the moment or both really, but you felt the urge to kiss Tony’s cheek. As you leaned in to do so, he turned his head to face you, glancing down at your lips before meeting your gaze silently asking permission. You closed your eyes and captured his lips in a soft kiss that nearly made you weak in the knees.

You were about to break the kiss and move away when you felt Tony pull you back in, this time standing between your legs and snaking an arm around your waist while the other carded through your hair, his lips molding against yours, tasting and exploring. His syrupy kisses tasted of coffee and berries, something you could get addicted to.

When you finally broke apart, you were grinning ear to ear, touching your forehead to his, your breaths a little shallower.

“You know, you aren’t too bad for an annoying neighbour, Stark.”

“Yeah? I don’t promise not to break more of your windows though.” He chuckled, pecking your lips a couple of times.

“I think I can live with that…”

Tony Stark Taglist - @patheticallysentimental @raspberrymama @ladyeliot @boop-le-snoot @make-a-memory-drink-it-up @loveisallyouneed1125 @ownsmyheart @anthonyjanthony666 @downeyreads @the-secret-thief @getlostsquidward @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @elemephstudies @mycosmicparadise @feetoffthetablee @vibraniumwing @damntonystarkandhissmile @stronginawayjbb @mm2305 @underoostarks @ccbsrms

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @mcugeekposts @suchababie @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @imerdwarf @ladyburberry @chickensarentcheap @dontmindmyname123 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @buendiabebeta @princess-jules47 @nataliewalker93

Read Part 2 here!!