#da wilte

[hceinart]

i also made this guy into a de riva and im in act 2, passionately awaiting the poly mod

[hceinarchive]

btw my beautiful rook and my beautiful wilte

[grapecaseschoices]

he's gonna have to wait for play. but here is freyr ingellvar

[egginfroggin]

So like I know that きみでないのなら has romantic undertones due to the context and who it's being sung by in Itoki Hana's story (Phantom Aria), but like. I keep associating it with like. tragic siblings (especially twins separated through time/space, hm, gee, wonder why, hmmmmmmmmmmmm)

[iloveotters2000]

Ik moet je laten gaan, onze connectie is niet gezond en doet me alleen maar meer pijn. Om jou blijven geven is als mijn eigen graf graven. Ik ga nog een tijd om je blijven geven, maar de tijd zal het wel doen slijten. Je bent een mooi persoon en ik ben er zeker van dat je goed bent (van inborst), maar je bent jammer genoeg niet goed voor mij. Ik moet luisteren naar de mensen rondom mij en naar mijn eigen verstand. mezelf beschermen. Misschien zijn we zelfs te gelijkaardig en beïnvloeden we elkaar negatief door elkaars gedachten te versterken. Ik hoop dat je inziet wat je waard bent. En ik moet voor mezelf hopen dat ik dat ook inzie. Kan enkel als ik je loslaat. Ik verdien meer dan me totaal geen prioriteit voelen. Ik verdien meer dan smeken om jouw aandacht. Ik verdien meer dan altijd het eerste bericht te moeten sturen. Ik moet gaan voor mensen die ook voor mij kiezen. En zolang ik die ongezonde hechting niet doorknip ga ik blijven lijden en afzien en ga ik eronderdoor gaan. Het is alsof ik me ergens ben gaan vereenzelvigen met jou en telkens als je jezelf pijn doet voel ik dat ook. Ik moet leren genoeg afstand te houden van anderen zodat ik mezelf niet compleet verlies. Ik verlies mijn eigen interesses en passies uit het oog. Hoe stop ik met mensen te idealiseren en dingen in mijn hoofd op te bouwen die niet echt zijn? Ik schaam me dat ik me zo laat meeslepen. Waarom kan ik zelf nooit met mensen breken, ik wil blijven kansen geven. Ik wil enkel denken aan de mooie dingen die je me gebracht hebt, ik wil enkel in die momenten blijven bestaan. Maar alles wat erna kwam is ook echt. En dat mag ik niet vergeten. ik voelde me niet gerespecteerd en ik weet dat dat niet de bedoeling was maar dat gevoel was er toch. en het was echt. En ik had het volste recht om me zo te voelen. En ik begrijp dat je niet de ruimte hebt om altijd rekening te houden met mij, maar ik moet nu leren mijn eigen pijn niet te ontkennen of minimaliseren. Het doet fucking veel pijn. Het gaat nog pijn doen. Ik moet mezelf er even aan herinneren dat ik nog besta en dat het leven niet stopt na verlies. Ik heb mijn emoties nooit goed kunnen reguleren, maar ik wil het wel leren. Ik wil mezelf graag leren zien. en niet boos op mezelf zijn als ik fouten maak. ik wil gewoon terug leven. Ik moet verder kunnen gaan, want nu zit ik vast in een cyclus.

[galerymod]

If David was so great in Leonardo's work, how great could Goliath have become?

mod

About sculptures that were never carved in stone.

Everybody pulls for David, nobody roots for Goliath.

Wilt Chamberlain

This short film was created by R.J. Soy.

In the context of David's situation, it is pertinent to question whether there is any alternative to being admired.

[brunchable]

How I met your Father. | Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Getting noticed by your crush. Pining from Reader.

Summary: You work at the cafe Bucky always goes to and you've had a crush on him for MONTHS.

A/N: Conntected with How's Retirement, Bucky? and Ouch, my face.

The bell above the door jingles as the early morning rush dwindles down, leaving only the occasional customer trickling in. You’re wiping down the counter, lost in thought, when your coworker, Emma, elbows you hard enough to make you stumble.

“Ow, what—” You shoot her a glare, but her eyes are wide, and she nods her head toward the door with a smirk.

“Guess who just walked in,” she whispers conspiratorially, her grin widening. “Mr. Grumpy Pants himself.”

Your heart does an involuntary flip, and your eyes dart to the entrance. Sure enough, there he is, all dark and brooding with that permanent scowl on his face. Bucky Barnes, the man who you’ve secretly—and very stupidly—had a crush on for the past three months.

“Oh my God, stop calling him that,” you hiss, but your voice is a pitch too high, giving you away instantly. You try to ignore the fact that your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

Emma just chuckles and nudges you again, her voice teasing. “Come on, Y/N, everyone knows you’ve got it bad for him. You literally beam like a sunflower whenever he’s around.”

Another coworker, Lily, pokes her head out from behind the espresso machine and joins in. “Yeah, it’s like you’re part of some weird ‘grumpy guy fan club’ or something. He never even smiles, and you’re over here trying to win him over with puns and pastries.”

“Y’all are the worst,” you mutter, willing yourself to calm down. “And it’s not a fan club. It’s called being friendly.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Emma drawls, winking. “Being friendly. That’s why you spend extra time drawing hearts in his latte foam.”

“I do not!” You glare at her, scandalized. “He doesn’t even order lattes!”

“Okay, but if he did,” she teases, “you’d find a way.”

“Shut up, he’s coming over,” you say under your breath, hurriedly pushing Emma and Lily away as you straighten up, forcing yourself to look composed and nonchalant.

Bucky walks up to the counter, his usual stoic expression firmly in place. He gives you a nod of acknowledgment, but not much more.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“Good morning!” you chirp, and damn it, there’s that stupid sunflower smile on your face again. You catch Emma and Lily exchanging knowing looks behind the counter and pointedly ignore them. “Usual today?”

“Yeah, iced americano,” he replies, his voice that familiar low rumble.

You ring him up, trying to suppress the fluttery feeling in your chest. As you grab a cup and scribble his name on it (which you definitely didn’t write just a little fancier than everyone else’s), you decide to take a chance. You shoot him a playful look.

“Hey, did you hear about the coffee that got arrested?”

He blinks at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “No. Why?”

“It got mugged,” you say brightly, giving the punchline your best delivery, complete with a little ta-da gesture.

Silence. Bucky just stares at you, his expression unreadable. It’s like talking to a statue. You can practically feel Emma and Lily holding their breaths, waiting for his reaction.

“...Right,” he mutters finally, nodding slowly. “Mugged.”

You wilt a little but keep your smile plastered on. “Tough crowd, huh?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and for a second—just a split second—you think you see a flicker of something in his eyes, like amusement. Or maybe you’re imagining things.

You finish making his coffee, and as you hand it to him, Emma stage-whispers from behind the counter. “Come on, Mr. Barnes! Give her a break. She’s been working on those jokes all week.”

“Emma!” you hiss, mortified. Your eyes dart to Bucky’s, your heart hammering.

But instead of looking annoyed, he tilts his head, regarding you with a sort of curious intensity. “All week, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” you admit sheepishly, clutching the edge of the counter. “I mean, not just for you or anything—”

“Yes, just for you,” Emma interjects, grinning wickedly. Lily nods enthusiastically, her eyes wide and teasing.

You shoot them both a murderous glare, and Bucky’s gaze flickers between the three of you. Then, to your complete and utter shock, he makes a sound. It’s barely audible—more of a huff than a laugh—but you catch it. Your eyes widen.

“Did you—” You lean forward, grinning uncontrollably. “Did you just laugh?”

“No.” He denies it immediately, shaking his head, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting off a smile.

“You did!” You point at him accusingly. “I heard it!”

“Keep dreaming, Y/N,” he mutters, but there’s something softer in his tone now. He glances down at his coffee cup, where your careful handwriting spells out ‘Bucky :)’ with a little smiley face beside it, it’s almost mocking his stubborn scowl.

He sighs—one of those heavy, put-upon sighs that he’s so good at—and looks back at you. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“You have no idea,” you say with a grin. “And one of these days, I’m gonna make you smile for real. Just you wait.”

“Uh-huh.” He nods, raising an eyebrow as if to say I’d like to see you try. “Good luck.”

With that, he turns to leave, but just as he’s about to reach the door, he pauses. You’re still watching him, breathless and grinning like an idiot. He glances around the café, his eyes flicking to the stereo speakers mounted on the walls.

You follow his gaze, and that’s when you hear it: the soft, melodic intro to Sunflower by Post Malone. The lyrics drift through the air, the singer crooning about being left in the dust, a sunflower, and you feel a pang of embarrassment. Of course this song would start playing now.

Bucky’s gaze shifts back to you, and something changes in his expression. He looks at you—really looks at you—as if he’s putting together a puzzle that’s been right in front of him this whole time.

“See you tomorrow, sunflower,” he says, his voice lower, gentler.

You freeze, sure you’ve misheard him. “Wait—what?”

But he just smirks—smirks, like he knows something you don’t—and nods at the speakers. “You beam like one of those. Didn’t even need the song to tell me.”

He turns away, and you’re left standing there, staring at his retreating back as the door swings shut behind him. The café falls silent except for the soft chorus of the song. Emma and Lily stare at you, jaws practically on the floor.

“Did he just—”

“Yeah,” you breathe, still staring at the door. “He called me sunflower.”

Emma lets out a whoop, and Lily clutches her heart dramatically.

“Oh my God, Y/N, he’s so into you,” Emma squeals. “You broke Mr. Grumpy Pants! You did it!”

———

The door swings shut behind him, he makes it a few steps down the sidewalk before he slows to a stop, his coffee cup in his hand. He glances back over his shoulder, through the glass windows, where you’re still standing behind the counter, wide-eyed and speechless.

For a moment, he just stands there, watching you laugh as your coworkers swarm around, teasing you. You’re always like that—smiling, bright, never wavering in your ridiculous attempts to make him laugh. Even when he gives you nothing but deadpan responses and stony glares.

“Sunflower,” he murmurs under his breath, shaking his head. The word tastes strange on his tongue—soft, unfamiliar—but not unpleasant. He lets out a slow breath, and before he can stop himself, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, turning away before anyone can catch him grinning like an idiot. “Persistent little thing.”

He takes another step, his smile growing. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll linger a little longer. See what other terrible jokes you’ve got up your sleeve.

After all, it’s not like he’s in a rush to go anywhere else.

[arcanefox207]

See How She Rides

Pairing🔹 Joel Miller x f!reader Rating🔹 Explicit, 18+ MDNI Word Count🔹 4.4k [ AO3 ] Summary🔹  BoatMechanic!Joel Miller is just doing his job when you show up unannounced to soak up some summer sun.  Warning🔹 Reader age undefined. Joel is late 40’s. No Outbreak. I don’t want to ruin the plot but this one is mostly smut. Unprotected P in V. Oral. Infidelity. Sleazy behavior. Not beta'd!

F I C U P DA T E S 🔸 M A S T E R L I S T 🔸 A O 3

“S’cuse me, Ma’am.” The greasy boat mechanic says when he notices your shadow looming over him from the dock. “Didn’t know anyone was coming out today.” He leans back from the engine compartment to get a good look at you.

You are standing there in your skimpy bathing suit with a sheer coverup. A wide brim hat and worn flip flops. A canvas tote slung on one arm and your other hand holding a small cooler. 

To his point, it was mid-week and an unusual time to be at the marina. Your no-good husband had been on a ‘business trip’ and you were tired of spending the hottest days of summer cooped up at home.

You pull your sunglasses down slightly and look over them at the greasy mechanic in your husband's boat. 

Greasy and absurdly handsome. 

It was high noon and the sweltering sun rays were wearing him down. He looked wilted and totally done for. The deck of the boat was a mess of tools and oily rags. Clearly he was not expecting company.   

He grabs an oily cloth and wipes his hands on it. He looks up at you with scrunched eyes as the sunlight was facing him. 

“I’ll be another 10. You mind waiting?” He brings his hand to his brow to act as a visor so he can see you better. You notice how the sun catches the emerging gray streaks in his messy hair and how his weathered skin shows years of hard work. He was probably in his late 40’s if you had to guess. 

Not at all. You think to yourself. In fact, this was exactly the type of excitement you needed. After all, why shouldn’t you get to have some fun too. 

The soothing sounds of the water plopping against the side of the boat and the dock creaked under you. It made the pause seem extra dramatic and drawn out.

“Hurry up then.” You snap at him, with a hint of playfulness.  

He nods and tosses the nasty rag on the floor as he kneels on the backseat and lowers himself back over the engine area. He stretches his arms out long as he reaches to tighten something with a wrench. A sliver of his skin on his lower back peeks out at you and shows more and more the further he reaches. Sweaty and tanned by many hours in the sun.   

He was doing some sort of maintenance your husband probably requested they do. He cared more about that boat than he cared about you, that was for damn sure. 

You decide that standing on the dock and waiting wasn’t really your style, and you want a better view. You toss your canvas bag and cooler over the edge and step into the boat from the side dock. It shifts slightly with your weight and brings attention to your presence.

The mechanic turns around with a concerned look.

“Careful, ma’am” He reaches his filthy, oil-stained hand out to you as you step into the boat. You grab it, reluctantly, to help with your balance. With both feet firmly inside the boat, you look up at him. You are taken aback by his size. His wide shoulders and tapered waist sculpted perfectly as his sweat soaked t-shirt clings to his body for dear life.  

“Joel Miller.” He introduces as he gives your hand a squeeze with his massive paw and pulls it away after you share yours. The corner of his lip pulls up slightly and he eyes you up and down briefly. 

“Be outta’ your hair soon.” He turns back to the engine, but can’t help looking over his shoulder to steal one more look at you. 

Typical sleaze, but this one was charming. 

You let out a deep breath, not realizing you had been holding it. You wanted to tease him initially and have some innocent fun, but now you feel a heat bubble inside you. It was obvious to Joel, too.

You grab your things and kick off your sandals. You make your way to the front of the bow. 

This was your favorite part of the boat. The open bow had a lounger that wrapped along both sides and plenty of room to sit at the very front too. It was the perfect place to read a book and sunbathe. The perfect place to distract Joel.

You pull off your coverup and toss your hat to the side. Your hair falls loosely over your shoulders. Your royal blue bikini was an excellent choice for today. This one tied around your neck and made your boobs look fantastic. Your bottoms were strappy and high cut and accented your curves beautifully.  

You reach into your bag and grab your suntan lotion. You tie your hair up into a messy bun. 

You take your seat at the very front so that you are facing towards the back of the boat. Joel is bent over the lifted back seat where the engine was stored, and head first in there working. 

His jeans were tight on his ass when he was bent over. His meaty thighs sticking to the grungy denim. He looked hot and uncomfortable working in the heat, but damn he looked good. 

You slather yourself with the lotion while you watch him work, getting more turned on by the minute. When he backed out of the engine to grab a tool his biceps flexed and his sweat beaded on his brow as he met your eyes. He caught you looking.

You bend your knee on the lounger and rub the lotion slowly up the full length of your leg while you turn your eyes away from him. Pretending to be busy and uninterested. 

You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread your legs spanning between the two loungers and work on the other side. The minimal coverage from your suit leaves little to the imagination. 

Joel stands up with his back to you and his hands on his waist. He shakes his head like he is telling himself not to get involved and closes the engine compartment. His knee turned outward just slightly in a slutty stance as he waits for the hydraulics to finish lowering the lid. 

He pushes the top firmly to make sure it latches, and his arms flex as he puts his weight into it. He looked so strong. So capable. So competent. Masculine in every sense of the word. 

As he turns towards you he pulls the front of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. His tanned and sweat slicked skin glistens. You can see his tastefully toned abdomen in all its glory. Your eyes can’t help but notice how his jeans hug his hips and a messy thatch of hair trails up his belly.

“Got a water on ya?” He interrupts your gawking. 

He wipes his face once more with the shirt before letting it fall back in place. He scrunched his eyes and his lips pursed while he waits for you to respond.

“Yeah. Sure.” You snap out of your daze and reach into your cooler for a water bottle and bring it over to him. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

The bottle crinkles under his grasp as he makes quick work of it.  

He hands it back to you, empty, and smirks when your fingers feather over his. 

He gathers his things and poorly wipes down his grease stains with the cleanest of his shop rags.  

The back of your boat looks recognizable again with a full length seat spanning the width of the boat and another padded lounge area above it. Your other favorite place to spread out in the sun.  

Joel tosses his things onto the dock. He turns around and leans on the edge of the boat. His fingers tap the sides and he is stalling his departure, maybe deciding if he is going to make a move or be on his way.

You are also wondering if you should just say goodbye and be done with it. It would be the right thing to do, after all. Even though your no-good husband was probably knee deep in his mistress at this very moment. You had little loyalty to him these days, and tolerated just enough to get by with your comfortable life.  

“She’s a real beauty.” He slides his hand along the fiberglass edge, slowly and intimately. He pushes himself back up to his feet. He is towering over you again. 

“Excuse me?” You know he isn’t really talking about the boat, but you play dumb. 

“Would love to see how she rides.” He eyes you up and down and has a deadly serious expression on his face. He chews the inside of his cheek while he waits for your reaction. 

You were done for now. 

“I’m sure my husband paid you well. Better check your work, and all. Be thorough.”

Joel’s serious expression tries to hold back a grin. His brow softens. 

“Alright, I’ll be thorough.” 

You bite your lip to hold back your smile and hand him the keys.

Joel goes into full captain mode and starts the boat up. He jumps onto the dock to unwind the ropes from the metal cleats. He was a sight to behold. Letting out a few grunts as he scooched down to the ropes. 

You make yourself comfortable on the passenger side lounger, knowing full well you will be in his line of sight while he drives. You grab yourself a wine cooler.  

“Listen to her purr.” He taps the steering wheel as he gets back on the boat. He stands at the wheel and moves the throttle just enough to ease out of the slip. He tunes the radio to something playing yacht rock.

It doesn’t take long to get through the channel. The lake is quiet today. 

When you finally reach open water Joel pushes the throttle and your sporty boat glides over the waves. The breeze is refreshing and the occasional mist from the waves when the boat catches them just right feels good. 

From his angle Joel has a perfect view of your cleavage. You bring your knees up and knock them to the side so he can get an eyeful of your entire body. The suntan lotion makes you shine in the sunlight and you smell tropical and delicious. Coconuts and vanilla. You let your hair down and it blows in the breeze as you cruise along. 

After a few minutes you are in the middle of the lake. There is little boat traffic and you are far enough from land on either side. You look like specs in a sea of water.

You reach your hands back and untie your top and let it fall to the floor. You lay back with your chin up and arms to your side, pretending to soak in the sun. All you have left is the tiny strip of fabric barely covering your mound. 

It makes you feel alive and rebellious. No one can see your naked chest. No one except for the one you are showing off for. 

You are not looking at him, but you know he is staring at your body. You know his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight. You know where this is going. 

“Goddamn.” You hear him mutter and out of the corner of your eye you see his arm move to rake through his hair. 

Joel slows down the boat and kills the engine. The radio continues to play softly, but the sounds of the waves clacking against the boat are much louder. 

“Does it bother you if I do this? I don’t want tan lines.” You innocently ask as you turn your head over your shoulder at him. 

Joel is eyeing you.  

“Bother aint the word for it, sugar.” He rakes his hand down his face and scratches his scruff. He crosses his arms in front of him and leans against the captain's chair. 

You puff your chest out as you adjust in your seat. 

“You gonna stop teasin’ and get over here already?” He asks. 

You drape your legs back properly to the floor and push yourself up, sliding your skimpy suit bottoms down. You saunter over to Joel, naked and confident.

He is still looking greasy and miserable, but considerably more refreshed. Your eyes go to the bulge in his denim and you reach out to grab his waistband. You want to climb him like a tree. 

“I will...” you hook your fingers over the top of his jeans. “.. if you keep this little boat ride between us.” You trail one of your hands lightly over his zipper.

Joel looks you straight in the eyes with a feral hunger. It sends a shiver down your spine.  

“Deal.” He enunciates it with finality. No more charades. 

He grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap as he sits back in the seat properly. Your legs are straddling him and you can feel his hardening cock grind against you. He presses his mouth into yours and roughly pushes his tongue into you. His hands roam your body. 

You break away for a moment and grab for his shirt. He pulls it over his head and lets it fall to the floor. You bring your hands to press flat against his chest. His skin is firm and his muscles are tense. He smells sweaty and metallic. It isn’t pleasant, but it brings out some animalistic lust inside you and you don’t want him any other way.  

His calloused hands find your tender breasts and he grabs at you. His rough fingertips brush over your nipples and he thumbs your hardening peaks. He is so rough, and it is exactly what you need. 

He breaks his mouth away from yours and nips at your jawline and the supple skin in your neck. His movements are ravenous. His hands travel further down your body until he has them firmly on your hips. 

He hoists you up so you are sitting on top of the steering wheel. You brace one arm on the side windshield of the boat and the other grabs onto Joel’s hair as he dives into your pussy. 

He licks a broad stroke from your asshole all the way up to your clit, taking pause to swirl his tongue when he reaches your most sensitive part. 

You let out a moan and buck into him, tangling your fingers in his mess of curls and holding on for dear life. His scruff scratches against your tender skin. 

Joel pushes further into you and puts your legs over his shoulders, giving himself more control. His nose nudges your clit while he presses his tongue inside you and laps at the wetness he is extruding from you.

You lay your head back and gasp for breath as he just goes at you deeper and with more ferocity. It is a good thing he is supporting you with his shoulders as your legs are becoming weak. He digs into your hips to pull you even closer into his face.  

“Joel! Oh my�� god.” You can barely speak. He is devouring you and you can feel your insides surge with elation as he worships you. Your thighs start to clamp firmer on him as you feel the wave of pleasure building and building. 

He pulls away briefly and sneers up at you. 

“What a messy cunt she is.” His words are crude and vulgar. His mouth is as filthy as he looks. It makes you pulse even more. 

He resumes lapping at your folds and is relentless. Pressure is building inside you and you grind against him as he starts to pull away and deny your release. You whine a little, relishing the final brush from his scruff leaving your thigh. 

You were so close to coming. This was surely payback for teasing him.   

“Ain’t you a sight to see.” He sits upright in his chair and keeps you at arms length with his hands still firmly grabbing your hips and your legs slip off his shoulders. He eyes your swollen and needy cunt. “I got just the thing for you.” He brings a hand to his jeans and unzips. 

The audible moan you make when you see its size makes him smirk. He is already hard and leaking. His shaft is impossibly thick. Uncut and girthy. 

“You want this?” He strokes his full length and the head of his cock is swollen and seeping as he pumps himself. You have never seen such a beautiful dick. You feel like a feral cat, ready to beg for scraps. 

You let out a moan and slide yourself back into his lap. The heavy weight of his cock slaps against your belly. You try to rut up against the underside of his shaft. Anything for some friction. He denies you contact and takes it back into his hand.

“Gonna’ have to ask real nice, sweetheart.”  

“Joel. Please.” You beg. 

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me.”

Joel shifts under you and gets up from his seat, pulling you up with him. One arm finds the small of your back and pulls you up close to him, and the other he snakes between you. He brushes two fingers up and down the length of your slit until they are wet. He thumbs at your clit and plunges his two fingers deep inside you. 

The stretch is a lot to take so suddenly but you are primed and begging to have any part of him inside you. His fingers were thick. If you weren’t soaking wet for him you might shudder at how gritty and filthy they were. 

He can feel your walls flutter around him as he thrusts his fingers deep, finding that perfect spot inside that makes you come undone.

“There she is.” He smirks as he looks over his nose and down to you and watches your eyes go wide when he touches you just right. Writhing by his hand.     

He fucks you until you come, soaking his fingers with your release and breathlessly moaning his name.  

He pulls his fingers from you and licks them clean with his tongue. Savoring your sweetness. Pleased with his handiwork.  

While you are looking fucked out but still wanting more he doesn’t give you time to recover. 

“Oh, did you want a taste, sugar?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond and presses his mouth into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue. Under normal circumstances you may have found that revolting, but he had a way of making you feral for any contact with him. 

You moan as he wraps his tongue around yours. His taste mixed with yours is intoxicating. He reluctantly bites at your lip when you find the strength to pull away. 

As much as you enjoy being pleasured by his touch, your mind is clouded by desire to have his cock inside you. Under the baking sun, nothing could quench your thirst more than having his cum spilling into your throat. 

“Your turn.” You bite your tongue as you hold back a wicked smile and press away from him. You tug at his jeans and boxers enough that they slide down him. He hastily kicks off his work boots and steps out of them fully. 

You take in his perfectly sculpted body. Under all that filth he really was a sight for sore eyes.   

You drag your hand down his chest and your fingers trace over his thick happy trail. You step towards him and back him to the edge of the boat while your hand wraps around his shaft. Your delicate, soft fingers are laughable in contrast to his size. You slide a finger down his full length, tracing his pulsing vein. You tease his sensitive tip with a feather touch. He is ready to burst and you don’t want to wait another moment. 

He widens his stance and groans softly as you drop to your knees and take him in your mouth. Your hands hold him at the base while you swirl your tongue around him and lick the underside of his cock. 

His fingers tangle in your hair as he firmly holds onto you.  

You bob your head slowly as you take in more and more of him and he bucks into you. You move your hands to wrap around the back of his thighs as you take him deeper. 

You can feel his restraint to take it slow and gentle but it is waning the longer you have him in your throat. Your eyes swell with tears as you try to relax and let him fuck your mouth.    

“Look at you. Taking me so well.” He rests his head back and grunts as you pull back and suck on his tip. The salty taste of his precum invigorating you to suck harder as you hollow your cheeks. You feel his cock twitch and pulse and he is so close to bursting inside you.     

He suddenly pulls you off of him with a rough grip in your hair. Your swollen lips and open mouth looking pitiful as it loses contact from him.   

“Not yet.” He groans. “Gonna make that pussy mine first.” His words fire out through clenched teeth and his eyes are blown out and dark. He pulls you up by your hair. You gasp at the audacity and his roughness.

You stumble over your words of protest and excitement as he pushes you over to the back seat. Even if it’s morally fucked up, you do want him to claim you. 

He bends you over the back seat so your knees are perched on the seat and your body is splayed over the back. He pushes his body up against you and nudges you with his cock as he leans over you to speak into your ear.     

“Look.” He sighs, picking up that you are having some concerns about this behavior. “Seen him fuck more than one woman on this boat. He’s a loser.”

“Don’t I know it.” You nod in agreement. 

He presses his cock against your ass and has you pinned down under his weight. He slides a hand up the side of your thigh and around your front to make a little room between you and the seat. He gently grazes your clit and lets his middle finger dip into you to gather some of your slick. There is no hiding how wet you are for Joel Miller.    

“I’m gonna fuck you right, f’this is what you want.” He kisses you in the crook of your neck as you push back against his cock. 

You want him inside you. You need him inside you.  

“Fuck me, Joel.” He drags his free hand down your spine as he stands upright. You arch your back as he slinks his hand between your legs to press them open.

His cock is still wet from your saliva and he rubs your slick over it for good measure.

“Alright, sugar.” He pushes the head of his cock into you and you claw at the seat under you. His fingers were a lot but they paled in comparison to this. He grunts as he pushes in deeper, taking it slow and letting his cock drag heavy against your walls. 

“Goddamn you’re tight.” He picks up the pace and digs his nails into your sides as he pulls you hard against him. 

The stretch from him hurts so good. With each thrust he makes more room for himself inside you and you welcome him in eagerly.   

He grabs a fistfull of your ass and slaps you hard. You wince at the sudden sting. He claws his fingers back into your sides and holds you tight. He has to be close to finishing. He has been painfully hard for too long to hold out much longer. You are almost there yourself. Filled to the brim by his thick cock.

He lifts one leg onto the seat for more leverage as he pounds into you. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and furiously grabs at your breasts. Each plunge of his cock goes deeper and harder. His hands grab desperately at anything to hold onto, pinching at your skin.

You are teetering on the edge of release. Screaming his name loudly where no one can hear but him. It's cathartic. 

He pushes you back down roughly and comes undone inside you. Snarling and panting as he unloads his hot cum deep inside you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He pants. 

You moan and milk his cock as you ride out your shared climax.

As your breathing slows he plants his foot back down and eases out of you slowly. His spend drips out of you and down your leg. You feel like a slut. Joel’s slut.  

You crawl down into the seat and lay on your back, with the biggest smile on your face. You have never felt more alive. 

You both take a much needed dip in the lake before ending your boat ride. It is refreshing and intimate floating with Joel. For a greasy boat mechanic, he was good company. 

When you get back to the marina and Joel parks the boat the moment is bittersweet. You know this can’t happen again and you know you will never stop wanting it to. 

“She rides good.” Joel teases as he peels himself away from the captain's chair and goes to step off the boat. “Hope my works’ to your satisfaction, ma’am.”

“Joel?” You bite your lip as you smile at him. 

“Mmm?” He looks at you from the dock.

You smile, shyly, struggling to find the words. Joel makes a zipper motion across his lips. He knows exactly what you are trying to say. 

“Between you and me, sweetheart.” 

With a wink he turns and disappears down the dock. 

You resume your leisuring in the sun, plotting when you can do this again. 

As always love to my sluts 🧡 @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @for-a-longlongtime @pink-whiskey-woman

@youandmeand5bucks @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen

And tagging friends who I hope will enjoy this one too. Love you all, thank you for supporting my shenanigans 🧡

@toxicanonymity @joelsgreys @yxtkiwiyxt @itwasntimethatdidit40 @thebeldroramscal

@schnarfer @tonysopranosrobe @milla-frenchy @nerdieforpedro @mountainsandmayhem

@sin-djarin @strang3lov3 @guiltyasdave @iamskyereads @maggiemayhemnj

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @yourcoolauntie @inept-the-magnificent @604to647 @sawymredfox

@murder-wife @pedroswife69 @yorksgirl @moonlitbirdie @pedropeach

Banner by me. Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

[binisainz]

loved you then , love you now ⸻ oscar piastri x reader

feat.   childhood  friends  to  lovers,  tooth  rotting  fluff,  birdy's  own  assumptions  about  an  australian  summer,  undisclosed  favorite  ice  cream  flavors,  all  lowercase  as  a  stylistic  choice  😭 word  count.   0.9k author's  note.     number  #62  on  the  prompts  list  !!  had  so  much  fun  writing  this,  so  thank  you  so  much,  anon  !!  i  love-a  da  yearning  i  fear.  also  title  is  from  tongue  tied  by  group  love  (though  i  was  listening  to  the  glee  cast  version  while  writing  this  😭)

requests  are  still  open  !!

summer in melbourne always makes you feel like you’re wilting.

the heat clings to your skin, relentless, heavy in a way that no fan or open window can fix. it’s worse now, lying on the floor of your living room, the cheap standing fan oscillating lazily, doing nothing to stop the sweat forming at the base of your neck. oscar is beside you, legs sprawled, one arm thrown over his forehead as if the sheer act of moving is too much effort.

a ball passes between you two, red and semi-chewed up because it’s technically your dog’s ball. but you you’d wanted to test his reflexes, see if all those years of racing had actually done something, but he’d caught it so effortlessly every single time that the novelty had disappeared quickly.

now, you pass it back and forth without much thought, fingers grazing over each other’s hands in a way that doesn’t mean anything, shouldn’t mean anything, but you’re hyper-aware of it all the same. you always are, when it comes to him.

“you’re slow,” you say, just to get a reaction out of him.

he lets the ball land on his stomach instead of catching it. “you’re slow,” he repeats, lazily.

the heat makes you both sluggish, stretching time like molasses. the room smells like summer, sunscreen and something citrusy from the candle your mother left burning on the counter. the tv hums in the background, some holiday movie no one is watching. you glance at oscar, at the way he’s looking at the ceiling like there’s something interesting there. you think about how easy this is, how it always is with him.

“everyone up north is probably having a white christmas right now,” you say, watching the ceiling fan spin uselessly above you. you should probably get that fixed before the worst of the summer heatwaves decides to grace brighton. “like, sitting by the fire, drinking hot chocolate, all that. meanwhile, we’re dying.”

oscar hums, his voice soft, almost lazy. “sounds miserable.”

you glance at him, expectant. “miserable?”

he lifts his head, eyes flickering toward you before dropping back against the floor. “mm, not one for the cold.”

“oh, i know,” you say, grinning at the memory of him shivering the last time you were in europe together, visiting him for one of his first ever races in the big leagues, bundled up in way too many layers. “but i wouldn’t mind snow just once.”

he hums again, noncommittal, and for a while, there’s nothing but the distant hum of cicadas outside, the occasional creak of the apartment settling. you shift slightly, feeling the floor stick to the bare skin of your legs, and suddenly, you remember— ice cream.

you sit up abruptly. “wait. i have ice cream.”

oscar groans. “don’t make me move.”

“your suffering is noted, but i'm getting some.” you push yourself up, stretching slightly before making your way to the kitchen. you don’t have to look back to know oscar is following you; he always does.

“what kind?”

you don’t tell him you bought his favorite flavor on the off chance that he’d come over. you just grin, already padding towards the fridge, throwing open the freezer door to retrieve the tub.

oscar follows, leaning against the counter beside you as you both dig into it, the cold a welcome contrast to the warmth pressing against your skin. the counter is cool beneath your thighs as you perch on it, legs swinging slightly. oscar hops up next to you without hesitation, his knee knocking against yours, thighs pressing against each other. neither of you move away.

it’s always been like this. the closeness, the casual touches, the stolen glances that linger for a beat too long. neither of you ever acknowledge it. you don’t know why. maybe it’s because oscar is always leaving. because the world demands so much of him, because he’s always moving, flying, racing. but he always finds his way back to you.

“you totally bought this for me,” oscar says, taking a bite, his voice light, teasing.

you roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “you’re delusional.”

he doesn’t argue, just smiles around his spoon, and something about it makes your chest feel too full, makes you want to look anywhere but at him.

the conversation flows the way it always does— easy, familiar, slipping into something comfortable. you talk about the past season, about the upcoming one, about things that don’t really matter but feel important in the moment. it’s always been like this with him. you’ve known him forever, and yet it never feels like you run out of things to say.

“you know,” he says at one point, between bites, “if i wasn’t racing, i’d probably still be here, doing this with you.”

something about the way he says it makes you pause, makes you glance at him. “that came out wrong,” he adds quickly, shifting slightly as if trying to find the right words.

you tilt your head, watching him. “how did you mean it?”

he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, and you think—

oh. he’s nervous. oscar looks cute when he’s nervous. you’ve known him long enough to know the tells, eyes flickering to his spoon, then to you, pink creeping into his cheeks. cute, cute, cute.

“just—” he hesitates, eyes flickering to yours. “this feels like home, that’s all.”

it’s the easiest thing in the world to kiss him. it’s barely anything, fleeting and innocent and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. when you pull back, he’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize you, like he can’t quite believe this is real.

you smile, just a little. “so, not miserable, then?”

he laughs, soft, shaking his head. “not miserable at all.”

and with that, with the last scoop of ice cream melting in the tub between you, with the fan still whirring uselessly in the background, with your knees still knocking together on the kitchen counter— he kisses you again.

[yukizme]

meet the residents . . .

. . . of SUNFLOWER SQUARE ! — a two-building complex that serves as a residential as well as a commercial centre located in the very heart of the city. sunflower square pride itself on supporting various businesses such as a flower shop, a law firm, a security company, a tattoo studio and their very own café on the upper ground floor; all while maintaining a tranquil and peaceful environment for its residents and patrons. for more details and information about housing plans and/or lease agreements, contact sunflowersqadmin.jp.

yn yln — apt. 444 ; 11th floor.

( art deco by lana del ray // pressed flowers // knowing it's for the better // glitter on the floor )

runs the super freak tattoo shop and routinely cries over the two headed calf as if it were her own child. has a pinterest board named "poems that made me cry on my kitchen floor" and when she has a bad day, scrolls through it to make it worse.

has a cat called coochie and the name has been subjected to many, many, many debates held by her social circle and her only argument has been that it is synonymous with pussy.

would've happily dated sukuna had he not called her baby ugly and lowkey felt it when yuji said that sukuna and her act like a bitter divorced couple who never even dated.

has an nth number of tattoos and piercings and doesn't remember how she got most of them and at this point, she's scared to ask. (she isn't allowed to drink more without supervision anymore because she almost got a face tattoo the last time they all went clubbing.)

sukuna ryomen — apt. 609 ; 12th floor

( ivy by frank ocean // wilted flowers // pink dye // finding escape in escaping )

runs the flower shop, "i'm so thorny." and has never elaborated why he named it that. he thinks it's hilarious. yuji thinks it's fucking stupid.

hates the girl who owns the tattoo studio below his shop in the commercial block, because a. her demon cat ripped apart his expensive as FUCK dahlias, b. his (half) nephew works at her studio and he cannot stand that betrayal and c. he's tired of explaining that he actually runs the flower shop while that witch with pink bows in her hair is the tattoo artist.

deep, deep down he wants that fucker of a cat to like him so bad but he once pspspspspsps-ed at it and it hissed at him and he's been bitter ever since.

really hates his nephew giving out free flowers every time she stops by their floor; the fact that he keeps those ugly fuckers in stock is completely unrelated.

satoru gojo — apt. 382 ; 9th floor

( christmas kids by roar // getting to know someone again and again // clear blue skies // violet nail polish )

part time model who has way too much free time and makes it everyone's problem. he's temporarily (nanami is working on making it permanent) banned from the building common area without supervision because one very bad day, gojo was bored.

is filthy rich and isn't humble about it. everyone hates having him as their pick in the building's secret santa which is mandatory — thank you, utahime — because he's impossible to shop for solely because of how expensive his daily stuff is.

no one mentions the Thing he has going on with suguru, mainly because they value their peace of mind but it very much is a Thing. everyone is sick of their Thing.

he's also coochie's dad (he sent yn increasing unhinged texts until she agreed to co-parent) but yn refuses to call him anything but a deadbeat because she walked in on him and geto making out and it wasn't even 9 a.m.

suguru geto — apt. 193 ; 9th floor

( smoke signals by phoebe bridgers // broken lighters // if you go, you have to stay gone // purple skies )

is an artist and he's so fucking good at it. has his own art gallery a few blocks away and his paintings are so targeted yet so open to interpretation and he has his own little fan base consisting of girls in their 20s and art students and people seeking god.

has to have a required amount of alone time or lay in bed at least once during the day or he starts to follow through with the various threats he has made. (once gojo tried to annoy him but setting alarms on geto's phone to go off every 5 minutes and the next day, gojo was seen wearing a bucket hat that seemingly stayed glued to his head. everyone bet on it being a bald patch.)

has a few piercings that he got done by choso and lets yn decide which one he's gonna wear whenever he changes them.

watched the haunting of the hill house and the haunting of the bly manor with the girls and nanami and cried.

utahime iori — apt. 396 ; 10th floor

( falling behind by laufey // alone with their loved ones in the past // cherries // pink and white )

owns the café on the upper ground floor, "we have coffee" and runs it like the navy. the sign outside the glass door says "these freaks are banned" along with a photo of gojo and geto and another picture of gojo with bright blue sunglasses and geto with a neon green wig.

met yn and shoko in university and they've all suffered through the horrors i.e the 20s together.

loves jewellery and gets matching stuff for her girls, yn, shoko and yuki, whenever she can. her favourite the set of matching pendants all four of them have; a kiwi (shoko); a cherry (yn); an orange (yuki) and a strawberry (for herself.)

once brought in nine kittens and managed to keep them hidden for two weeks because they all escaped and she has been mourning them ever since. prime number 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19 and 23 have their own photo album in her phone.

shoko ieiri — apt. 103 ; 10th floor

( last night's mascara by griff // expired makeup // fluorescent lights // forever being eleven years old on that playground with no friends )

teaches biotechnology at the local university and is easily the most liked professor over there. calls off classes because she saw a cat and got lost trying to pet it or because she took too much ibuprofen and can now hear colours; there's no in between.

once went to a couples counselling session with utahime to see how long it would take for the counsellor to realise that they weren't together. the session was over in an hour and a half and they had been advised to talk about their problems and communicate their feelings explicitly. yn has not let this go.

knows the most about everyone in their circle and she's mad at someone, she just casually drops the most insane piece of information and watches everyone argue. everyone likes her.

tried to confess to utahime but she just replied with "thank you!" and shoko doesn't think she can get drunk enough to dissect that interaction or confront her again.

yuki tsukumo — apt. 288 ; 11th floor

( arabella by arctic monkeys // silver jewellery // never existing until someone asks you how you are // animal print )

joined yn's studio because the ad said "hot people with decent drawing skills required + we have a cat" and was hired on the spot after she drew yn a perfect five-pointer star.

tried to bake cookies for her friends one day and managed to cause a blackout. ino still hasn't forgiven her because his essasy was due at 11:59 and his computer crashed and it did not submit; yuki thinks it's his fault for starting to write an essay at 11:27.

has multiple piercings, mostly in her ears and yn and her facetime every morning to decide her earrings for the day.

tattoos yn all the time along with choso. cherries, hearts, stars, dinosaurs, flowers, anything she can think of. her favourite is one with a small cherry shaped like a heart; just like the one on her own middle finger.

choso kamo — apt. 492 ; 12th floor

( strawberry wine by noah kahan // handwritten letters // missing the sunset by a few minutes // choosing to stargazing but it's cloudy )

works at the super freak tattoo shop and has been solely responsible for all the plants around the studio; his personal favourites are christofern, salad and prick.

his texts to yn include photos of plants followed by "look (o゜▽゜)o☆", "yuji asked u to stop by the shop because he has a new combo of flowers for you :D"; "sukuna just called coochie something from pandora's box btw can we slash his tyres ?? !!!!!!!!" and variants.

has a tiny crush on yuki but thinks that yuki and yn have a thing because they're always calling each other very affectionate names and choso thinks that he connected the dots.

sukuna yelled at him for two hours when he learnt that choso started working at the studio part-time and choso went back the next day with cacti and sheer willpower and made his position permanent. choso's mantle photo was placed on the side table by the couch that very evening.

kento nanami — apt. 307 ; 11th floor

( too sweet by hozier // beige and blue // time passing isn't an apology // blueberries )

works in finance. truth be told, no one from the circle knows exactly what his job is or his designation, they just know that he's very serious about his job and that he truly hates someone named "matthew" because of the phrase he often says, "matthew for the love of god — !"

cried when he spent four weeks tutoring ino for his physics paper and he got 3/100.

gojo hangs out so much at his office that they had to put a sign that said "no gojo allowed inside"; the said sign was promptly ignored and nanami had to visit the hr department because of some very interesting words thrown around in his office when he saw jack frost's cousin swirling in his chair.

has only one tattoo but will never ever disclose where it is and what it is.

hiromi hiruguma — apt. 203 ; 11th floor

( lover's grip by them & i // love letters // forced to be the one who got away // banana bread )

has his very own law firm and his office is on the same floor as yn's studio in the commercial block. it's both his worst nightmare and the best thing because the only other choice was next to sukuna's flower shop and he Cannot have that.

his number is saved as "sexie lawyer," "sex c attorknee" and variants in everyone's phone and he has given up on trying to change that.

has a group chat with nanami, shiu and kusakabe and all of them talk so much shit about their work and the other tenants. one time, they were so in deep figuring out the truth behind the divorce of apartment 105 that hiruguma had to make them sign an nda.

since his office is on the same floor as yn's studio, she sometimes hangs out there when she doesn't have any clients and he doesn't have any cases and they watch buzzfeed unsolved.

takuma ino — apt. 338 ; 6th floor

( cherry wine by grentperez // splintered skateboards // but i miss you like a little kid // temporary tattoos )

works as an intern in nanami's company but he might as well be working at the tattoo studio with how much time he spends there. he has his own small desk and a chair in their backroom and he nearly cried when he first found out.

once pulled the fire alarm because he forgot the papers nanami asked him to get and he'd chew on glass before disappointing his mentor. nanami had to make it very clear that he's allowed to forget things but he's not allowed to pull the fire alarm for the hell of it.

he once intentionally placed bread crumbs outside kusakabe's apartment and then procured a few ducks to give the older man a surprise because he insulted ino's hello kitty tank top.

once fell down 28 stairs because there was a double rainbow and he had already downed three red bulls. he regrets nothing.

atsuya kusakabe — apt. 299 ; 6th floor

( softcore by the neighbourhood // fog in winter mornings // i am not a violent dog, i don't know why i bite // cocktails with tiny umbrellas )

no one knows where he actually works; it could either be with nanami or with hiruguma or it could be somewhere entirely different. (it's actually with shiu and toji, he's the head of their marketing department and he has no intention of telling the others where he works lest they bother him there too like they do at his apartment.)

surprisingly likes coochie and takes her to work with him if shiu doesn't have her already. she's their mascot and he'd never admit it to anyone but she has her own small desk with toys and her own name cards.

got forced to dress up for halloween by ino for the party and showed up as the grinch, only to find out that it was just a normal get together and he was only one in costume — he has hated that kid ever since; his hair was green for two fucking weeks.

his most played song on spotify last year was symphony no. 7 in a major, op. 92: iv. allegro con brio by beethoven and shoko gave him so much shit for it that he never ever asked for aux again.

shiu kong — apt. 692 ; 7th floor

( into it by chase atlantic // chevy corvette // always borrowing grief from the future // sunlight on water surfaces )

owns a security firm that he built from the ground up and is probably the most laidback guy ever. babysits coochie when yn goes out and is secretly coochie's biggest fan.

comes from old money but never tells anyone about it outright. casually mentions stuff like "the old manor" or "the private school i went to" and then proceeds to drop the most insane lore when asked about it.

lives in the apartment complex only because he was bored in his penthouse on the other side of the city and watching yn and sukuna argue has got to be the most fun thing here. he once saw sukuna spray yn with water and then proceeded to watch yn push him into the lobby fountain. no, he did not intervene.

has been babysitting megumi since forever and the teen has his own room in his apartment. toji is jealous because his kid actually enjoys shiu's company while he just gets called "shit clown" by his own blood.

toji fushiguro — apt. 375 ; 6th floor

( party monster by the weeknd // half finished whiskey // something other than time that heals all wounds // headlights on the ground when it's drizzling )

works right under shiu at his security firm and does not treat shiu as his boss at all. shiu threatens to fire him every hour but never does. no one is surprised why.

has a fun ton of money due to his job but he's stingy as FUCK. megumi pretended to not know him once when toji had a breakdown over which cereal to take home with him while standing in the aisle.

lives in the apartment right below shiu and calls him when he's out of creamer for his coffee and has shiu pour it from above. yn, who lives right under toji's unit, is sick of them.

will literally never answer his phone, so if someone needs something, they have to either ask someone on his floor to ring his bell (continuously) or go to yn's apartment and throw stones up at his fire escape. (shiu banned them from his apartment after ino fell out the window and on the fire escape; on a completely unrelated not, ino is now banned from standing/sitting/laying down/dilly-dallying/attempting to catch pigeons near any window without adult-er supervision).

[pocket-vvardvark]

She made her own moon 😬

Little thing I'm writing under da cut, I'm sure theres 1000000 grammar problems +other issues lmao, but I'm eepy

Deep from within the festering wound of her heart, a moon willed itself into existence–burning so stubbornly regardless of its diminutive size. Blessed by azure skies and fresh, grassy plains, it looked like paradise. Eternal paradise, the words lingered in her mind, and she is suddenly tempted to speak. To mold her lips, flex and purse them to form words, is foreign. Surely, by now, her throat had gone hoarse from lack of use, having no one to speak to. This world birthed by her ambitious, greedy, and unyielding self was not a place of bliss. It existed to mock her; hopelessly lost against the forests, which so beautifully transformed light into little speckled dots across the diaphanous canvas that is her wilting body. A star that is yet to die, Alethia blinks against the glaring sun. There is nothing left for her, no one to go back to, not when she had done something so foolish–the circumstances dire. Beneath her soft, pale flesh lies a flower bed, carefully matted as if even the foliage obeyed her silent commands. Lifting herself up with great effort, she is gaunt and pointed, the thin disguise of her flesh hardly capable of stretching across clean, white bone. Nearly transparent, it’s as if the light shines through her–casting an otherworldly glow across her alabaster exterior. Absentmindedly curling lithe fingers around a flower, she pauses in recognition as fleeting memories wash over her mind, cradling it with nostalgia. Lily of the valley–pale, cracked lips open enough to release a hoarse gasp, and unbidden memories flood every fibre of her being. The onslaught is overwhelming, and for a moment, the faint thrumming of her pulse is noticeable. 

Fingers curl around her own, cold, soft and large. Clasping over her fist, they silently urge her. Unsure if it is a trick, she wills herself not to turn, in fear that this comfort will disappear the moment she does. Trembling, Alethia swallows thickly, listening to the eerie calmness of the forest as her eyes trace the palm surrounding her own nearly covetously. 

Cool breath traces her nape, reminding her of spring in Auridon, laughing with…Someone…While the cherry blossoms littered the ground in a sea of pink. Panic seizes her heart, pumping the fist-sized organ with as much adrenaline as her glands might offer. 

Her name is whispered, reverent and soft by someone she should know. But, the forest takes and takes. It is a greedy thing, like herself. Possessive and draining, it saps her very core, forcing her to slumber for eternity–time left unmarked. Collapsing in a heap, her eyes struggle to remain open in a stubborn attempt to alter her fate. A sob bubbles past the dry, scratchiness of her throat in a plea of submission. Fisting the flowers beside her, her eyes lazy with sleep hurriedly trace across the hand which held hers so softly, only to find nothing. Disappearing in a haze at the last second, she is lost once more in an ever-lasting cycle of torment. Something other than a sob leaves her lips at the last second–a humorless bark of laughter which stings her aching throat. The Aedra were a sham, a foolish attempt of the universe to enact some semblance of order against the Daedra. Digging into the loamy soil, she leaves a mark of something surly and determined; letters scrawled messily to revive her memory once she awakes from her torpor. 

Wearily, her hand drops against the forest floor, and she is lost in time once more–doomed to forget…And, to be forgotten.

[hceinarchive]

portrait for the inquisition please hold still for 6 hours

[creatively-cosmic]

more stuff for our cr retake looooore. something about cycles and reincarnations... supposedly.

[Lore under da cut . also blueberry milk is @viscarrion 's guy i just did concept art ^^]

[ edit: a lot of this is already outdated u-u ]

disclaimer: this was copied straight from a ramble over discord i did while very tired so this is Not final and might sound like a message written at 6am on a hyperfixation high

the thought with the ancients story is . We're making it cyclical with it babyy. age old legacies passed down over ages of cookies made of the same recipes yet Tweaked, born again, over and over, changing and evolving, lights of virtue watching and Waiting for an incarnation worthy of being their avatars. the beasts were a catastrophe that could not repeated- no, the next wielders had to prove themselves.

early attempts resulted in disaster, cookies chasing purpose and power, yet falling into the same corruption as the Beasts and becoming mirror images of their madness. as time passed and recipes changed, eventually, one success would rise- proven by their good natures and a great act of leadership and power. (possibly by striking down another corrupted incarnation deemed the Leviathans- smth we're still workshopping, based offa thing mentioned in the pre-registration artbook)

the soul jams had changed by then, too- but these heroes were, all the same, worthy of them. a successful batch at long last.

for a while the world thrived under their rule- peace prevailed and kingdoms were born, built, and flourished.

yet good things never last.

white lily, on the night of witches, fell into the "ultimate dough" after discovering the true nature of the witches all cookies revered as Gods- how they saw them only as snacks, puny and fragile and delicious. as the woman drowned in dark magic, poisonous ingredients, and was burnt from every angle from a second baking, she emerged changed. angry. pained. hateful. and imbued with that great power, she found herself strong enough to make a stand against the witches.

one by one, they fell. and in pursuit of vengeance and the power to change everything, let's just say that she decided to turn the dynamic of Witch and Cookie on its head. with bloodied teeth and bones as trophies, the now Wilted Lily cookie, who would come to be known as the Dark Enchantress, set out to show the world what she'd discovered. and how she would change it.

of course, the Heroes wouldn't let this stand. the enchantress did not take pleasure in fighting her once-friends. did not revel in how she had become unrecognizable. white lily, however, had always chased goals that she believed was for the good of the world- this was no different, and no one would stand in her way. at any cost, she would prevail.

on a fateful night, the war between her and the Heroes came to a head. Two kings, two queens, and a sorceress entered that battlefield.

what came of it were five shattered soul jams, four orphaned kingdoms, and only one survivor; sealed away by forbidden magic in a final attempt by Pure Vanilla to save the world as he knew it, in his dying breath.

a few hundred years passed. the dust settled- the war, forgotten. but having lost their leaders so suddenly, so cruelly, and while they were so young, the kingdoms left behind were weak. cookies left, rulers took and left the throne far faster than anything reasonable. societies rose of their own merits, but the remnants of kingdoms clung dearly to what was left, their people spurred on by whispers of legends- of undying heroes, who would one day return and bring their small lands to power again.

when spurred by belief, anything you hold closely can be true in the eye of the beholder.

a cookie was baked with pure vanilla extract and decorated in the flowers of the vanilla plant it had been harvested from. a kindly and pacifist healer, a shepherd- the village under the sky kingdom's remains watched closely, and began muttering of his uncanny resemblance to the legend of the kingdom above.

sparks of hope would become a guiding firelight in the villages hearts- slowly, the name Vanilla Flower was drowned out by the prayers for the return at last of Pure Vanilla.

a young girl cookie, red and tart and bursting with life, wandered into the Hollyberry kingdom from Dragon's Valley. she boasted of victory over beasts great and small, bringing great supplies and hopes for prosperity to the beautiful little kingdom. her passion shone bright, her natural sense of leadership even moreso. the queen that their age-old songs would never forget must have returned!

again, the name of Red Holly was lost under the voices singing of the triumphant return of Hollyberry.

The Cacao kingdom stood strong- a council lead them steadily and held them well through the endless winters of their land. But as time passed and mindsets changed, the council would fracture- no single party trusted enough to watch and unify. Nobody, except... Him. A decision was made- it was time to take a kingdom-wide belief seriously. They watched, as each newly baked cookie would come through. Trying to discern if one could finally be the reincarnation of their king. Until finally, a boy of lonesome and bitter origins came to them, begging for a chance to fight for the good of the kingdom. They saw the look in his eyes, and knew he had come home.

Frigid Cacao, under the guide of the council, quietly let his name be lost under their uplifting words of how Dark Cacao had returned.

The golden cheese kingdom had long ago made a promise to their queen- in the event of her death, they were to prepare and ensure her reincarnation happened smoothly. They did not simply sit and wait. Over those hundreds of years, they carefully engineered each step of the recipe- carefully gathered every ingredient, carefully crafted her dough, and carefully, carefully, set her aside- shaped to perfect form- to incubate in her golden egg cradle, slow-baked by the warmth of safety and adoration. It took ages, but she emerged almost perfect. It had taken too long to care about the flaws- for now, this cookie was their queen.

Before Pyrite could even learn her name, she was taught the only one she'd ever be called by her people- Golden Cheese.

the next cycle began with these four, names and identities cast aside to fill the roles of monarchs and heroes the people of the land sought for. They made idols of men, and each kingdom raised them as such.

And even so, how could they doubt who they were when even the lights of virtue told them exactly the same...?

though the soul jams were still shattered, each of the four had been baked with a small piece within them- a piece that now connected them to the past life they once embodied. the lights whispered of destiny, of rebirth- showed them memories of lifetimes long since passed. the four upheld their virtues as best as they could. even as the weight went on to exhaust them, burdened by the responsibilities, legacy, and promises of a life they had no say in- of a person they never were.

... what of the fifth?

dark enchantress, though sealed, was not dead. her soul jam was still hers, right? and white lily had no kingdom, no subjects to morn her, or to wish for her return....

... mostly.

the kingdom of the faeries held her in dear regards. she'd been a friend and savior, bringing unfathomable power only outdone by their own monarch. They led her along on her quest for answers... and felt responsible for the following chaos.

dark enchantress... that was not the cookie they'd known. whatever happened, it was not white lily. Not to them. white lily was still out there, exhiled from herself. what she needed... was help!

so the faeries made a cookie. as best they could, they made White Lily cookie. she would be born anew as one of their own, her flowers not quite the same.. but still hers.

and carefully, they laid that husk where one day, her soul would find its way home again.

Valley Lily cookie did not awake until desperation grew high enough to force a lost soul into her body. And given life... she awoke. Confused, lost, and with no idea of who she was, where she was, and even what she was ... though far more dazed, Valley Lily was no different than the other young "reincarnations."

the only difference was now, that cycle of uncertainty was not at the hands of a kingdom. it was at the hands of cookies who had been forced to remember the lily of a different life. of cookies who looked at a lost stranger, and instead saw an old friend.

[hypnzo]

Flowers wilt overtime, so...

Leo Valdez x Reader

(please excuse the spanish if there are mistranslations.. English is not my first language!!)

Spring has always been beautiful, it's the season of time where flowers usually bloom under the rainbow rays of the sunlight that peaks through the clouds.

Flowers felt like colors that shun through the vibrant green leaves, appearing out its stem from the rich nutrients of the soil underneath.

Adoring flowers from afar was one thing, you'd often see its bloom in the demeter cabin's garden. They were beautiful, healthy, and obviously well-taken care of, which made it a little hard to resist from plucking out a piece of flower from their garden.

However, receiving flowers was also one thing, and that slowly turned to a routine at least once a week ever since you've got Leo Valdez on your side of the line.

“Hey Sunshine,” Leo grinned, tucking his hand behind his back, trying not to look suspicious. Though he did already look suspicious enough just immediately from the tone of his voice, but you decided to play along just to see that smile of his, “how's your day been!”

Before you could respond, he popped the flower in front of you, “Ta-da! How do you like that?” he says, adding a flare of wink which complemented that sweet grin on his face, “specifically from your Leo Valdez.”

“Wow Leo, I.. never would've expected that,” an amused smile twitched from the corner of your lips as you looked at him with a raised brow before holding the small bouquet of flowers he got you.

“Uh-huh,” Leo quips out before grinning, “anyway, do you like it? Looking beautiful, huh?” he tucks a hair strand behind your ear, causing you to form a small smile on your lips.

“Yeah, they are beautiful. Thank you, Leo,” you say as you look him in the eyes. His eyes softened before forming a small laugh on his lips.

“Gee, you're not getting soft on me, are you?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows with that stupid, sweet grin of his.

Rolling your eyes lightheartedly, you muttered out a small, "Of course not,” but you couldn't resist the smile that appeared on your lips after seeing that signature smile of his.

Of course, flowers don't last forever. Unfortunately they wilt every time. As much as you try to keep your flowers alive, they just can't seem to appear lively which makes you question how the demeter kids do it...

Though, that really isn't much of a question considering their powers and heritage.. You've tried to ask them to help you out, but unfortunately you've been confused over and over and the results were always the same.

It didn't help when the Demeter kids apologized since they cannot keep a flower from wilting. I guess that's just how nature goes... “Bummer,” you muttered out in a whisper.

As you watched your flowers tilt slowly over time, you heard a knock outside your cabin. “Who is it?” you answered while walking towards the door.

“Guess who, cariño,” (sweetheart) a familiar voice echoed through your ears and surprised you after you opened the door. Of course it was your boyfriend, Leo Valdez, with his usual smile.

You couldn't help but smile after you realized it was him. “Leo, what are you doing here?” you asked curiously, raising a brow from his sudden presence.

“Rude,” Leo stated with a mock pout. “Did you not want to see me, sweetness?” he asked, trying to look wounded by your words. It was clear that he wasn't, not when he's trying his best to suppress that grin of his.

“Of course I wanted to see you,” you said with a smile, brushing off his dramatic antics. “Just– what are you doing here? Do you.. need something?”

Leo rummaged something from his newly built-in pocket, taking something out of it really carefully as if it's too fragile and too much pressure would crumble it apart.

Giving you a grin, he showed you something he artistically crafted just for you.

It was pieces of metals stuck together which formed it into a flower. You were struck by the sight, not exactly expecting this, but this piece, you couldn't help but smile knowing it was definitely something Leo would make.

It gave you a rush of giddiness around your body knowing he spent his time to evenly craft something just so he'd see that smile on your face.

“Your reaction's worth it, mi amor,” (my love) Leo winked, which made your earlier surprise melt away and replaced with a smile on your lips, a tint of glint glossing your eyes.

“Leo.. you,” you giggled out, “you didn't have to, y'know?” you say as you took the metal flowers in your hand, it was a perfectly crafted rose—three roses, to be exact.

“It's not that I was required to,” he says shyly, scratching the back of his neck before looking back at you, “I wanted to do it. For you, y'know?”

“And plus, those flowers I give you every week? They wilt all the time,” he poked your side with a teasing smile before he spoke again, “don't even get me started with how sad you look whenever you have to witness those little things wilt.”

He paused.

“So why not craft you something that won't wilt?” he says, exaggerating the 'wont' which cracked up a smile on your face.

“I love you,” you muttered out before pulling him into a kiss. Leo was surprised but melted instantly, priding himself internally for his creation—one that put a smile on your face.

Pulling away, he couldn't help but smile while your foreheads were pressed to one another. Before you both could pull away fully, he pressed a quick peck on your lips. ”Yo también te amo, querida.” (I love you too, darling.)

Bonus

It had already become a practice for Leo—he would often get you flowers at least once a week and soon enough this became a routine for you ever since you got together.

Leo, of course, willingly always brought you flowers. It wasn't like a routine for him where he just had to. He wanted to do it—which he'd often reason it was just because "he loves you,”which was true!

However, sometimes, he just wants to see that smile of yours and admire the way it never fails to appear on your face whenever you receive a flower from him.

Oftentimes, he'd pluck out at least one petal from the flowers and take it with him. Whenever he's not able to come by through the cabin and see the flowers, that petal helps him to determine if the flowers have already wilted or not.

So, just like clockwork, once sees that the petal have wilted, he'll immediately run over to the demeter cabin, politely and awkwardly asking for another set of flowers.

This became normal to the demeter kids as they have gotten used to him suddenly appearing outside their cabin, asking for flowers.

(They should honestly start charging him, they're most probably considering it..)

Leo saw that the petal was almost wilting. Usually, he'd run over to the demeter cabin by now, but.. he brainstormed for a while and thought: Why not make something else?

His mind was set on flowers, but he was wondering how the hell he was gonna make flowers as a Hephaestus kid. Personally for him, he doesn't see himself being interested in planting flowers, that feels so out of character for him!

He did have some left over metals from his earlier works. He took one good look at them and realized an idea: Metal flowers!

Leo immediately got to work, though he's not gonna deny it, it definitely took a lot of tries. He wanted it perfect exactly for you as his lover, so he spent hours on making it and trying to perfect it each time.

“And.. done!” he beamed out a smile as he held the metal flower in his hand, “Man, Leo Valdez, aren't you a genius?” he says with a sigh of relief.

It took a lot of hours, but at last, it was finally done. Was he proud of it? Yeah. Was he nervous to show you? Yeah..

But when you gave him that smile, he swooned over it so fast and all the nerves that were making him sweat on his palms suddenly melted away.

Have a request? Feel free to send one in!

[petermorwood]

More Sword Questions...

These are further questions prompted by a post already long enough that I’m not reblogging the whole thing.  It’s here.

@softness-and-shattering (who posted the original Ask) wrote:

Thank you so much! What Im getting is that there arent any exact rules, different people and places mixed and matched sword features as they liked. Is that more or less correct? The swords that are green, is that oxidization? Theyre very pretty. And if fullers are to reduce sword weight, what are ridges for? Thanks again :)

*****

(1) Yes, it's oxidation. The uncomplimentary word is "tarnish", the complimentary word is "patina". Bronze swords in museums can be various colours ranging from green (verdigris)...

...through golden...

...to shades of brown and almost black.

I don’t know why (archaeological metallurgy is a mystery to me) but at a guess it's related to the acidity of the ground in which they were found, the proportions of copper / tin / other metals in their bronze.

It may also be the point at which conservators decided they'd gone far enough with that particular artefact and further restoration / cleaning would cause damage.

*****

(2) Ridges on sword-blades add stiffness, is the remnant of the bar or rod of steel from which the sword was made, and are created as the blade's final form is hammered out on either side, leaving a sort of raised centre-parting.

(If this is over-simplified or just plain wrong and swordsmiths reading it are going "Nooo!", please correct me!) ;->

Here's one example with a very prominent ridge, from the Victoria & Albert Museum in London...

...and another with a more restrained centre-line from the Metropolitan Museum in New York.

*****

(3) Sword shapes and features changed depending on functional requirements. If a shape worked and its use didn’t change, it stayed the same. The Roman gladius and Japanese katana are two examples of not much change in shape over several centuries.

Demands of fashion also played a part in what kind of sword was worn when and with what.

While swords (not just Messers or falchions or other "fighting knives") do appear without armour in medieval art...

...swords only became a regular part of civilian dress in the mid-late 1400s.

In Germany this was called a Reitschwert - "riding sword" - for self-defence when out (riding) in ordinary clothes. In Italy it was a spada da lato - "side-sword" - for what's now called EDC (every-day-carry) not just in war. In Spain it was an espada ropera - "robe sword" - for wear with regular clothes rather than armour.

That last one, worn down, mispronounced or just plain pinched, became "rapier", and because it was worn every day, with stylish garments, it became yet another way in which to show off.

The most common Europe-wide rapier was a "swept hilt", comprising bars and loops, while Spain and Spanish-influenced places like Italy preferred the "cup-hilt", which had a different style of swordplay.

Cup-hilts are familiar from movies because it's easy to dress up a sport-fencing sword as something much older. Here's a stage-combat modern épée and two real rapiers.

Cup-hilts could be plain metal bowls like those, or beautiful examples of chiselled, pierced metalwork.

Swept-hilts could be equally impressive.

They were proof that their wearers were dedicated followers of fashion, men of wealth and taste - and, of course, always armed and just as always ready to use what they carried at the drop of whatever was just dropped.

Duelling became a craze, laws against it were ignored, any excuse would do, and Shakespeare summed it up nicely:

MERCUTIO:  Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou? why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast; thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? With another for tying his new shoes with old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling?

(That one about the doublet had echoes in 1922, with The Straw Hat Riot in New York, involving assaults on men who hadn't stopped wearing straw hats by the fashion-approved date of mid-September. At least nobody got run through...)

Oddly enough, portraits which include rapiers usually show swept-hilts, even in Spanish portraits where cup-hilts might be expected (I've seen a couple, but not many). Perhaps the artist didn’t have one to hand, or thought the swept-hilt style was more visually interesting.

The smallsword (shorter, lighter, less cumbersome to wear) replaced the rapier, and it too featured a lot in portraits. It was a piece of masculine jewellery, with a stiff narrow blade on an elegant hilt which might be metal...

...or some more exotic material like mother-of-pearl or porcelain.

Then fashion changed again, smallswords also went away, and once again the only people wearing swords on a regular basis were uniformed military types, whose swords could be all sorts of shapes and sizes depending on branch of service and function.

Even when that function is just to be part of regalia, and look good on parade.

[night-raven-miscellany]

(✨NOOO IT DELETED MY OG RESPONSE AUGGHHG)

The spell James cast placed a sigil above Chase's injury, emitting a harsh light. Supposedly, it was used as emergency first aid in older time periods. It would stop wounds from bleeding and would force them to close, sometimes even cauterizing them if needed. He figured it burned, but he hoped that for everyone's sake it didn't, and felt more like a warm light instead...

--

"Why..." Yuna spoke softly, looking down at her arm.

It... Could have been better, sure, but she assumed it probably looked worse than it actually was. Nothing felt anything more than skin deep, but she wondered if maybe her affected judgment was altering how she saw this, too.

"Why... Help... Me?" She stammered, blinking slowly as her body began to sway. "I... Hurt.. you?"

--

Lewis went to cast the spell at the weakened phantom, but was shocked when it suddenly exploded into a mess of ink and glass, damaging the furniture around the hall

He put up a shield spell instead to keep himself from getting heavily injured by the flying glass, and watched as the beast fell to the ground, dissolving into nothing more than a puddle of ink and rose petals.

"I... Sure hope that's a good thing that just happened..." He said when he finally lowered his shield.

A notification flashes across phone screens everywhere throughout NRC. The radio podcast, NRTea has gone live once more!

"Hello, hello, dearest listeners! And welcome to another episode of NRTea, the hottest tea party on sages island! I'm your host, Chamomile-"

"and I am Earl Grey"

"And oh boy do we have a story for you today! Take it away, Earl!"

"...alright.

As of late, there have been brambles spiralling up and encasing parts of the Ramshackle dorm. The brambles themselves seem generally harmless, as do the roses that fall from them, but if you prick yourself on the thorns, it would be quite an unpleasant sensation, so I'd suggest exercising some extra caution when visiting for now."

"Yup, yup! If you've got a friend or two living in the dorm out there, go check on em and make sure they're doing okay!"

"I know I myself must check in on my dearest companions soon..."

"Well that's it for now! We've been your hosts, Chamomile-"

"And Earl Grey,"

"And this has been NRTea. Stay thirsty, dear listeners!"

The stream continues on for a bit before cutting off, though.

"Hey... James?"

"Yes?"

"Y'know how Yuna has been locking up lately and stuff? Says she's been super sick recently."

"Mhm... It's quite concerning, if I am being honest. I haven't seen her for a while..."

"...I wonder if Yuna is alright. I hope she doesn't get hurt with all those brambles."

"...Me too, Lewis. Me too."

(✨sorry for the delay after that message I sent I had to. Drive. Hshdjf. Anyways ITS HEEERE!!!

-✨mod, @night-raven-miscellany)

[Shiyuu IMMEDIATELY bursts in through the door.] “WE GOTTA GO CHECK ON HER.”

[meanwhile, at Ramshackle, Chase has been engulfed in brambles, the thick vines wrapping around his body and making it too painful to move. Inno is flying where he is, desperately trying to pull them off.]

“C’mon, C’mon! Why isn’t my magic working?!”

“Inno!”

[Inno startles to a halt.] “Chase, I have to get you out of—”

[Chase cuts him off, shaking his head slightly before wincing.] “No…go find the others. I know you can help them…”

“…b-but…” [Inno squeezes his eyes shut as he clenches his fists, tears flowing down his cheeks.] “Fine! I-I’ll be back, okay?”

“Go.”

[Inno stretches out his scaly wings and flies off to find Shiyuu, Lewis, and James.]