#feels looser and freer

[essektheylyss]

I've always favored a headcanon that Essek kept his hair short simply because it was annoying to have to put it up in some presentable manner and it would get in his face while reading or studying or generally working, but at the same time, it required other upkeep. It required him to be able to cut it himself or have someone else cut it for him, regularly, which he would've had no problem with in the upper echelon of Rosohna.

But regardless of his reasons for keeping his hair the way he did in the Dynasty, that particular upkeep is too routine to be practical and I imagine he can't really maintain it on the run, so having it shoulder length makes it much easier to manage.

But I am also feeling some kind of way about how it's very similar to Caleb's hairstyle, which he also grew out after he left a restrictive and unsafe environment, when he was also on the run. It's also a much looser style, much less severe. It suits his breezy confidence about strolling into a major military encampment and casually evading guards while trusting a group of strangers not to fuck him over and meandering into a smut shop to apprehend his boyfriend's ex. He's in so much more danger than he was before shit hit the fan in the Dynasty, but he's also clearly very confident in navigating the life he now leads. Even under constant threat, even in having lost much of what he'd once held dear or important, he feels so much freer now.

You know what that is? Growth.

[guiltygearconfessions]

GUILTY GEAR TWERK OFF OFFICIAL RANKINGS! (CANON)

10. I-no

+Passion for the art.

+Has experience in carrying herself in a sensual way.

- She strikes me has not having a ton of twerking experience tho. Some but not a lot.

- She probably doesn't practice twerking. is reliant on intuition and her limited experience.

9. Johnny

+ Experience in the field.

+ can bolster his performance with his charm.

- Lacks restrain and control. Gets too into it and loses himself.

- Probably doesn't practice. Reliant on practical experience but thankful has a good bit.

8. Testament

+Can move with incredible grace.

+ Alluring aura.

- Probably doesn't care much for twerking. Lacks the passion required for a truly exceptional performance.

- Will likely keep things brief.

7. Happy Chaos

+Avant garde twerking. completely unique style.

+Invented twerking

- Views twerking as an experimental artform. Not all his techniques are gonna land.

- will likely get sidetracked by something else 2 minutes in.

6. Goldlewis Dickinson

+Has ass in spades.

+Has plenty of experience (source: it was revealed to me in a dream).

-Is a bit bashful and hesitant even after all this time. will take him a minute or 2 to really get into it.

- Grandpa back pains.

5. Axl Low

+Divine favour

+Unlike I-no who respects the art of twerking. Axl is willing to cheat by using his timestopping abilities.

- Has no experience, this is his first time twerking.

- British.

4. Raven

+ You just know he goes crazy.

+ Masterful technique.

- Like johnny, he'll get lost in it and not exercise as much restraint as he ought to.

- Built like a twig. Doesn't have a ton of ass to work with.

3. Nagoriyuki

+ Has PLENTY to work with.

+ Has a highly defined and refined technique, passed down for generations.

- Is quite chaste, will be hesitant to exercise his training until absolutely necessary.

- Even when he does go all out, his technique is one of restraint. His moves will be decisive and masterful, but will lack that bit extra a freer and looser technique would provide.

2. Faust

+ This man is a master of twerking and we all know it.

+ His tall stature and flexibility allow him to perform incredible twerking feats.

- He's gets a lil too goofy with it. at his worse he'll emit cartoon sound effects.

1. Slayer

+Twerk messiah.

+ Perfect technique

+ Tasteful use of both restrained and wild styles

+ A real respect for the craft and attention to detail.

+ Every twerk outta him feels like a love letter to the art.

+ Dandy swag.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

While your hard work and diligence is respected anon the office can't help but wonder how long this took to produce and we are scared of you

[bucked-it-up]

Buck woke in the night, chest heaving, mind racing. He feels... tight.

Heavy.

Untethered.

His thoughts repeating everything his mind had decided to play for him while his eyes were closed.

Devin.

The Truck.

The Tsunami.

The Lightning.

All washed through his mind. They wouldn't stop. He couldn't get them to stop. All he could feel was the tightness in his chest, the tensing of his muscles. He clutched at the comforter. Gripping it between his fingers hoping it would bring a sense of reality back but really it just brought more of the worse moments.

The Well.

The Hurricane.

Doug.

It wouldn't stop. He couldn't do anything. He could only lay there. Powerless. He felt weak. He just wanted it to stop.

Why wouldn't it stop?

He decided to move. He dragged himself out of bed. Legs moving so slowly. They felt like lead. They felt trapped. He felt trapped. He never left the bed. He could feel tears prickling, threatening to fall. Threatening to break him more. He couldn't stop them.

One fell.

Two fell.

His whole body was moving, the force of emotion thundering through him. He tried to be quiet. He needed to be quiet. He couldn't.

Another failure.

He heard movement. Fuck. He didn't want Tommy to see this. He didn't want anyone near him. He wanted to run.

He couldn't move.

"Evan?" Buck couldn't say anything. He couldn't speak. Noise wouldn't come. He couldn't do it.

More movement.

"Baby?" He felt a hand. He flinched. Violently. He heard a noise. He was so deep, he couldn't do anything.

He heard more noise.

"Baby, please, you need to listen to me." Buck wanted to, but the static was loud. He wanted to be free. He managed to turn. To look at Tommy. Eyes looked into him. Reaching into the pain. "Can I touch you, Evan?"

Buck nodded. He felt hands. They brought him into warmth. He wanted warmth. He wanted love. He wanted to be loved. More tears fell. This time onto warm skin. He felt himself relax. He pulled away slightly and looked at Tommy. No sound came. That was still trapped, but Tommy's eyes showed understanding.

"Evan, baby, you don't need to speak," Tommy pulled him in close again, mouth brushing against his hair. "I've got you, I'm not leaving."

Buck felt more tethered.

Lighter.

Looser.

He felt freer.

[dabletrablee]

Hear me out/theory time!

⚠️Slight Hazbin Hotel season one spoilers!⚠️

We all thought Angel Dust would be the first redeemed, until Sir Pentious was. So most believe it’s safe to assume Angel will be the next redeemed.

Now I have an idea for some things that could go down (it involves Huskerdust!).

Before Sir Pentious got redeemed in the way he did, most decided if a sinner got redeemed, it would be more like a heavenly light opening up above and pulling them from Hell. I like to believe that still COULD happen, and would in this scenario.

So Angel is ready to be redeemed, and as far as the main cast knows is the first one. Angel and Husk have grown quite close, and Angel’s hesitant to leave behind everyone—especially Husk and Cherri.

But then it get’s crazy, because, Husker could sing a parody of ��Looser, Baby” called “Winner, Baby”, a double name since winner is the opposite of looser, and the souls in Heaven are called “winners”.

Like, he starts doing a small dance with Angel, and in a much less upbeat tone then before, more like a bittersweet one (especially the last line)—

“You’re a winner, baby. A winner, goddamn baby. You were a fucked up little whiny bitch. Now you’re a winner, not like me. You’re a freer and truer, higher and purer. You’re a thrivin’, came from rock bottom. Thanks for keeping me company.”

And it would be even better if Angel’s little comments during the verse changed too as he realized what Husk was doing, and how he was letting him go.

“You’re a winner, baby. A winner, goddamn baby. You were a fucked up little whiny bitch.”

“Husk-“

“Now you’re a winner, not like me.”

“Don’t to this to me—“

“You’re a freer and truer, higher and purer. You’re a thrivin’, came from rock bottom. Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Husker!”

And then as Husk says that last line, he lets go of Angel, wanting the best for him to be redeemed, leading to Angel’s calling out “Husker!”. And as Angel goes away, Husk makes sure to tell Angel how he feels in an “I love you” that came a little too late, Angel unable to respond in time.

But then, it gets better—

Husk has already revealed he doesn’t care about redemption and changing his ways, but now he’d have a reason, to see Angel again. So he would try his damndest and eventually get redeemed and see Angel again.

And the second he’s up there, Angel finds him. And instead of an instant hug or anything, I imagine Angel tackling Husk like “Why didn’t you say anything sooner, why didn’t you let me have the time to respond, I fucking missed you, ect.”

But then after that, Angel would admit he feels the same way towards Husk, and us Huskerdust enjoyers would finally be at peace.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 34

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You used to long for lazy days. When you worked twelves and barely had enough time for sleep in between. After a week of lazy days, bound to the bed by back pain and Lloyd's overly mindful nagging, you are desperate to be mobile. At least he dropped the hospital thing after you told him no ten times.

You feel freer and looser. See, it always passes. You know your body. Even if it's changed beyond recognition, even as your tits balloon up and your stomach grows rounder by the day.

Besides, you don't go far from bed. The trip down to the sofa is enough to drain you. You lower yourself with a book and some fruity iced tea. The late spring light shines in and hints at the looming arrival of summer.

You're almost finished the book. A feat you've not made in years. You never had time to get past the third chapter but this one hand you by the throat from page one. You quickly lose yourself in the words, the pages open with the bottom of the spine propped up on your stomach.

The soft rustle of leaves and the song of birds adds to the calm hue of the day. It's almost too peaceful. In this house, that's rarely a good side. Something is always set to break the monotony. Rather, someone. 

"There you are, peaches," Lloyd purrs coyly, "elusive as ever."

You don't look away from the book as you hear him behind you. You hum in response and restart the sentence. He comes nearer, his shadow looming over you as you try to keep your focus.

"What's up, baby cakes?" He massages your shoulders as he lurks behind the couch. 

"Reading."

"Boring," he says as he bends down, his lips brushing your hair, "come on, put the book down."

"I'm almost done, you can bother me after."

He huffs. You can practically hear the mope. He pushes away from the sofa and his feet slap on the floor. His figure blurs above the top of the pages as you sense him watching you. 

You try to ignore him. You squint until your brows hurt. You scowl and lower the book.

"Lloyd, please, I–"

You quiet as you get a good look at him. He wears only a black thong, his erection obvious as it's barely restrained by the fabric. You scoff as he flexes and turns, showing you his and the straps that angle at a slant.

He slaps his own ass as he poses for you. You gape, dumbfounded.

"What on earth–"

"Look, I'm not gonna lie, I'm desperate for you, doll face. This thing's tight as ballskin."

"I… I don't even know what to say to that."

"Look, sugar tits," he puts his hand on his hip, "you don't gotta say nothing but we both know once you get the strap on, you know exactly what to say."

'Not right now," you snort, "are you serious? I'm pregnant. Very pregnant."

"It'll fit under, I looked it up." He comes closer and reaches to wiggle free the book from your grasp, "tell me you haven't been dreaming of shoving something up my ass."

"No, because I know you enjoy it too much."

"Bah, baby," he shuts the book and tosses it aside, "it'll loosen us both up."

He takes your hands and pulls you to your feet. You narrow your eyes as his gaze slips from them. His brows raise slightly and he runs his touch along your stomach to cup your tits.

"Wow, I did not think these things could get better," he squeezes and you hiss.

"Ow," you slap his hands, "they're tender."

"They're fucking glorious. Shit, my dick is aching. I think it's gonna split if you don't start fucking me soon."

"That would be wonderful. Save us both a lot of trouble in the future."

"God, I love how you play hard to get," he groans and fondles your tits again, "maybe I should just titty fuck you then. That's always fun…"

"I'd rather the strap," you shove him away, "fine, if I do it, can I finish my book?"

"Right now I'm giving you permission to do anything you want to me, and after, you can go ahead and do whatever you want by yourself."

"Mmm, fair trade," you reach down and flick the leather at the front of the thong, "come on then, let's get it over with."

He winces and cups his crotch. It doesn't deter him though as he waves his other hand past you, "ladies first."

You hear the grit in his voice and it's enough to content you. You should take whatever chance you get to cause him some pain, even if in the end he likes it.

You round the couch and go out into the entryway. You take your time on the stairs. Not just because of your belly but because you can sense his impatience. He squeezes your ass as he follows you.

"God, I love this ass," he snarls, "mmm, the juiciest peach of all."

"You're so lame," you say breathless as you reach the top.

"For you, yeah," he snickers and strides ahead of you.

You trail him as he leaves the bedroom door open. As you get to the room, he has the strap ready to go. You roll your eyes but undress.

"I still don't think it will fit."

"Make it fit," he insists as he untangles it.

You unclasp your bra and take off the pregnancy belt. You groan at the ache in both breast and belly. You grab onto his shoulder and step into the harness.

He pulls it up and slides the curved end into your cunt. You twitch as he secures the straps beneath your bump. You didn't expect this to be more than a honeymoon thing but it's better than him trying to break your back.

He stands straight and looks you up and down. He brings his hands to either side of your belly and bends forward to kiss it. You wince as he keeps his head close to your bump. 

“Look kid, you’re gonna have to close your ears for this one–”

“Ew!” You swat his head, “Lloyd, don’t.”

“Well?!” He stands and rubs his head, “I don’t wanna traumatize our kid.”

“Jesus, shut the fuck up. The kid won’t know–”

“Okay, at least I tried to be considerate.”

“Is that even a thing for you?”

He grimaces and shakes his head, “keep being such a bitch and I’m gonna cum before you even get the tip in.”

You give him a look but can’t resist how your insides flutter. The fullness in your cunt isn’t helping either. You really could use a nice orgasm to loosen up the last of the tension.

“Get on the fucking bed,” you point behind him.

“Yes, mistress,” Lloyd nearly dances before he turns around. “I’ll be a good slave boy.”

“Let’s not say that again,” you follow him as he hooks his thumbs in the sides of his thong.

“Nope, keep that on,” you order and smack his ass.

“Yes!” He gets on his knees and grabs the bottle on the bed. He holds it over his shoulder and you take the lube as he gets into position, “fuck, peaches, were you always such a domme?”

“Be quiet,” you pinch him and feel the strap angled along his cheek. You ooze out the lubes and let it run down in the crack of his ass. He’s almost shaking in excitement. “Don’t,” you warn as you notice his hand trail under him. “Don’t even think of touching yourself.”

“Yes, mistress,” he puts his hand flat with the other.

You stand on your toes and push the tip down between his cheeks. You glide it through the lube, spreading it around his hole. He groans as you prod him teasingly. You lean in just a little but relent, doing it over and over until he whimpers.

“Please just fuck me.”

You laugh and ease into him. Just the tip. He shudders and leans back into you. You grab the straps of the thong and push him off.

“Uh uh,” you tisk. “Turn over.”

He hesitates but obey. He lays on his back, his face flushed and his eyes sparkling. He brings his legs up, splaying himself for you as he clutches his thighs. You guide the toy down beneath him as his dick pokes slightly out of the thong. 

You dip into him steadily until you reach the limit. It jolts the toy inside you and a trickle flows into your core. You rock back and watch his stomach clench. You grasp the thong with one hand as you start to fuck him. It slips further down, revealing half his length. 

You watch how his throat bobs, his still unshaven stubble poking out across his chin and cheeks. He shakes each time you thrust. The sight of his pleasure is almost as intoxicating as your own mounts.

You tilt again and again. Losing yourself to your desire. Fuck, you feel it building in you, the tight coil spinning and spinning. You slam into him harder as you get closer and you brace his hip. You’re out of breath, your legs shaky.

You moan as he reaches to touch your hand. He quakes and lets out a guttural growl, “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

He grunts and spasm, his hole tightening around the toy as he babbles and slaps his hand against the bed. He cums with a strangled cry that sounds as stunned as it is delighted. His cum ribbons up his stomach as you bite your lip.

Your own climax crashes upon you swiftly but is cut short but a sudden zap up your spine. Fuck. You lean against him, keeping the weight off your stomach as you almost collapse. You spread your hand over his chest as you push your knees against the bed.

“Help!” You murmur.

[newtonsheffield]

Anthony coming home with double the flowers as last time like "So, this time I mentioned that I don't wear pants when I write... and i may have implied you don't either. Okloveyoubye."

Poor Anthony. He does feel he was tricked.

He was talking about how he has a special set of clothes for writing, how he feels that because they're looser: he's freer, and he feels his creativity is as well.

"What does Kate think of your writing habits?"

Anthony chuckled, "Kate would prefer that I not turn my office into a nest, I'm sure. She also absolutely despises that I refuse to digitise my drafts. I type them all on a typewriter."

The journalist chuckled, "Would it not be very romantic if you changed for her?"

"You obviously don't know Kate, she tries to keep me on my toes and I do the same for her."

"And what does she think of your writing clothes?"

"Well I think we both like the idea of being a little more easily accessible to one another. No underpants is never a bad thing in our house."

Anthony could have groaned. He honestly could have as he heard his own words, trying to finish the interview as quickly as possible. He stopped at the florist on the way home, then a bakery, and he bought her a sweater she'd had her eye on before he made his way home.

"Hey, honey." Kate looked up, her eyebrows raised as she took in Anthony, weighed down by gifts. "Oh god, what did you say?"

Anthony sighed, falling onto the sofa beside her, "I told him we don't wear underwear at home."

Kate's mouth fell open in surprise, "You are banned from doing press unattended. No more."

[vixlenxe]

Sakura is a princess in a mission! He's off to ask after letters from Makoto since it's been a while and the increasing responsibility has been weighing on him.

It's perhaps why he's let himself go in long walks lately, happy to smell the fresh air, and as his new dress came in finally he's feeling a bit freer and comfortable in them. A coping mechanism of feeling pretty to ignore the stress.

But he was suddenly derailed by a familiar blue waking by. "Lord Aymeric? How strange to see you outside your office!" He gave a wide smile, trotting up to the Lord Speaker. "Taking a break?"

It was but his weekly constitutional, though not everyone truly awake of Aymeric partaking of such walks, it was rare he did so outside of that gaja suit after all, but even he needed to keep himself in shape; he was still a knight even as head of state now.

Then he came skipping down the street, & he was nearly unrecognizable without the familiar dazzling kimono & bow from his obi peeking out from his sides. The Lord Speaker just about did a double take. Those familiar wears he attributed Sakura too were gone, instead with a dress that was loose & simple patterned, held to person by a waist-only corset & was colored such a soft blue; it could match his eyes.

"... P... Princess Sakura?" He sounded surprised, & he was! Not by Sakura himself, but rather his wears, he did not picture Sakura the type to wear looser clothing, certainly not with his usual choice of his homeland's attire.

[thesinglesjukebox]

TEMS - "LOVE ME JEJE"

We're on her wave right now...

[8.09]

Alfred Soto: Seyi Sodimu's 1997 "Love Me JeJe" serves as the foundation for this delightful thing, a popiano groover which like many of its best songs doesn't insist on itself but has a way of insinuating itself.  [8]

Aaron Bergstrom: Last year, in a conversation for Interview, Kendrick Lamar asked Tems how she avoided being pigeonholed as an artist. In a surprisingly combative response, she took great pains to distance herself from Afrobeats specifically, Nigerian music generally, and everyone telling her that audiences would only accept her if she presented herself and her music in a certain way. ("It’s not that your music is bad, it’s just that it doesn’t fit in Nigeria. Nigerians don’t like this.") While she tried to spin it as me-against-the-world motivation, I came away from the interview exhausted on her behalf, overwhelmed by the idea that she would always be locked in a battle against forces that would seek to flatten her into a stereotype just because of the place she was born. With all of that as prologue, "Love Me JeJe" is a miracle in its weightlessness. Here is Tems at peace, unquestionably an individual but also unquestionably the product of her environment. Here is Tems effortlessly breathing new life into a familiar Nigerian hit that was originally released when she was two years old. Here is Tems gliding through the streets of Lagos as if floating, as if she came out the other side of her fight for individuality with the confidence that she won't lose herself.  [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Every Tems single this decade has been a little masterpiece; this is no different. But it is different — this is the most comfortable she's sounded on record, her performance filled with the little grace notes and playful asides that only come when a singer is in their element. "Damages" and the other singles off For Broken Ears were beautiful showcases for Tems' voice, but she largely stuck to grand gestures, melodies that spread across the sonic canvas like she was singing arias, gorgeous and lonely. "Love Me JeJe" feels tender in a way that her music never has, a warm and lovely party of a song — nostalgic not just in its invocation of Seyi Sodimu but in its whole feel, those call-and-response vocals and that "Heartbeats"-esque guitar riff invoking an endless succession of warm summer nights. Every note feels like an invitation to the sublime; even just in the way she subtly adjusts the emphasis the last time she calls to her lover, turning a note of devotion into something more flirtatious. The best pop songs we write about here are the ones that are worlds in themselves, self-sustaining systems of sound that seem to unfold further and reveal more to love about them with every listen. "Love Me JeJe" is one of those worlds. [10]

Julian Axelrod: Until this year, Tems' voice felt like a rare and incredibly valuable natural resource, meted out over a few sparse EPs and occasionally used to apply a lacquer of prestige to a Marvel soundtrack or an air of gravity to a Future beat. It's been hard to know the singer through the songs, but "Love Me JeJe" feels like the fullest picture of Tems we've heard so far. She sounds looser and freer than ever, but her voice has never sounded richer, whether soaring or scatting or talking shit in the studio. The song is presented as not just a reinterpretation of the Seyi Sodimu song of the same name, but as an homage. And whether this is an act of earnest homage or an attempt to avoid a lawsuit, it's incredibly charming to hear Tems sing its refrain almost to herself, like it's been stuck in her head for years. It feels like an act of adaptation that tells you as much about the singer as the song. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: The way Tems sings speaks to me. It's a modal tone, so comfortable and gentle; her voice floats comfortably in her chest register and feels as if she is talking to you, explaining something very difficult. Tems may arc into little peals and soft whole notes, but she stays in her range, tantalizing and lively, showing the loyalty and tenderness she sings about. On the tail end, she simply jokes: "Why won't you just open your mouth and say something?" It's such a gentle rhetorical question, a taunt a lover would say to you as their friend rightfully points out your fraidy-cat tendencies. It's a simple moment of in-studio banter, and it fits the actual lyrics so smoothly, cresting as soon as it reaches its end, ebbing into the sea. [10]

Jonathan Bradley: Tems is too chill here for me to call her shuffling West Africans rhythms upbeat, but she lets her words ("I need and I need and I need and I need you more) cascade over one another with a lovely liveliness. "I'm on your wave right now," she confides, and little flourishes of highlife guitar endorse the intimacy. The convivial call-and-response — "love me tender" — enhances the coziness; "Love Me JeJe" relaxes into the comfort of familiar company. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: "I'm on your wave right now" is such a beautiful declaration. Tems sings it with an assurance of what it implies, of an unshakable bond with a future and past. She makes that known with the call-and-response interpolations; it is quietly pleasurable in the way that all in-jokes are when worked into everyday conversation. Those who don't know the Seyi Sodimu original can still feel its familiarity: it's the sound of a love that has stood the test of time, that has always felt eternal, that is capable of endless shared memories. [8]

Ian Mathers: Some love songs are overtly intense (wonderfully or horribly so), but this one succeeds by seeming, if not casual, at least laid back. A low-key ode to sharing a wavelength with someone, with that playful little guitar lick pealing away in the background over rim taps, there's a confidence and joy practically embedded in the music here that's infectious. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Infinite and intimate, tender and timeless, warm and unwavering. Tems’ voice sounds like golden rays of sunshine, and if this summer fulfills its full romantic potential, I’ll come back and change this to a [10]. [8]

Katherine St. Asaph: "Relaxed" and "breezy" are not mutually exclusive with "mid." [5]

Will Adams: Simply gorgeous. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[pinespittinink]

🍾 find the word 🍾

I was tagged by @awritingcaitlin 🌺💐 my words were loud, blood, run, smirk, and surprise.

Taken from The Great Glavenisean Theater, as usual

🔎 LOUD 🔎

The corridors inside are dimly lit, the naked electrics turned down to amber specks barely illuminating the dark. My breath sounds inordinately loud in my ears as I hurry through the bowels of the theater, all its residing souls tucked away and sleeping. My boots slap the floorboards. For a disoriented, terrified moment, I think the whole building might come down on top of me, that it may buckle and break apart, shattered by my intrusion.

🔎 BLOOD 🔎

I’m shaken by something wildly, staggering across a dreamland street, the City of Spires impossibly high and crystalline above me. I shake again before I can find my feet, tripping over the curb. Blood tints the air, a rich red scent. I inhale a terrified lungful of air.

🔎 RUN 🔎

I glance at the offered synopsis as I run one fidgeting hand against the worn polish of my arm rest, skipping dolphins carved out from the wood. My left foot taps the ground, excitement simmering in me as the rest of the guests pour into the house. By the time the pit orchestra finishes the concerto, the resonance of violins hanging in the air, there is not a seat left unfilled.

🔎 SMIRK 🔎

“Does Ariel ever come to these parties?” I ask, curiosity a small bubble through me, powered by the picture Travis painted of an enigmatic prima donna.

“Sometimes,” Seonghwa replies, his smile lazy and benign.

Christina scoffs, jostling Deirdre’s fawnish figure slumped in her lap. “Whenever they deign to grace us with their presence,” she says. “She shows her face when she feels like it, which isn’t very often at all.”

“Unless Zachary has them tied up,” Travis replies with a smirk.

“They aren’t half the item you think they are,” Seonghwa says easily, batting a hand back at Travis’s face like a man chastising a kitten nosing at a plate.

🔎 SURPRISE 🔎

The room has filled tremendously, packed with bodies, brass and fancy strings in the air. Seonghwa and Travis drag me over to a velvet couch green as absinthe, and I’m grateful as I sink into it, glass still held in one hand, miraculously undisturbed. I can barely summon up the energy to fuel my surprise when Travis starts to kiss against Seonghwa’s neck, pawing and palming over his chest through his shirt. There is a disregard for propriety here that I am grasping in spades. This world has a different language all its own, a people freer and looser than the rest of the city, uncaring as they dance with each other, hands lacing over hips, higher towards ribs and bodices, lower towards the edge of skirts.

🎐🎐I’m tagging: @sentfromwolves @italiangothicwriteblr @inkingfireplace @the-void-writes @legiomiam @bloodlessheirbyjacques @jess-p-edits @magefaery @theskeletonprior @magic-is-something-we-create @kashacreates @agrimedena-drax @florraisons @flowerprose

your words (if you choose to accept lmao) are: after, bruise, ache, gently, and height

[roguesscribbles]

I wanted to finally actually make some art for Loranis’ adoptive father as all I have is a basic sketch from a few years ago, so here he is! 

This is Dawand Harkenves, the adoptive father and mentor of my wizard character, Loranis. The last time Loranis saw him, he was in his mid 50′s. However, now that she’s been thrown through time 100 years into the future, his current whereabouts and fate is unknown, and she’s still missing a good chunk of her memories.

Backstory:

Dawand never really liked cities.

He was the only child of Kodas and Nolra Harkenves, growing up in the bustling city of Lanhull. He and his parents were part of the upper class of the city due to a successful family business, however this high status never really clicked with Dawand. Whenever his parents would dress him up and drag him along to some social event to rub elbows with nobility, Dawand would spend the whole time wishing he was back home getting lost in a good book. This eventually led to him becoming isolated from his peers , never finding his place among the stuffy air of superiority.

During his early teens, Dawand was presented with a unique opportunity. The court wizard, Elius Azulore, had announced that he was searching for a new apprentice, someone to take his place when he inevitably retired. Dawand’s parents, seeing the opportunity to potentially have a trained wizard in the family, used their influence to secure Dawand a place among the candidates. Fortunately, that was one of the few times his parents had some something on his behalf that he agreed with.

Elius set each candidate a series of simple tests to weed out the slackers and narrow down the options. Dawand’s dedication and enthusiasm towards the tests stood out among his peers and he flew through the tests quite easily, so he was eventually chosen to become Elius’ new apprentice.

From then on, Dawand lived on the castle grounds to study under Elius in his wizard tower. Dawand didn’t truly realised how isolated and awkward he had become until he was under the care of Elius. Elius was a kind, patient mentor, who knew how to cultivate Dawand’s talents and how to push him to improve. However, he was also quite kooky and eccentric, providing quite a fun and laid-back atmosphere which was a stark contrast to the stuffy, rigid nature of high society. Additionally, his interest in magic only grew and grew as time went on, and he found he had a natural affinity to it.

Eventually, after many years of continuous study, the role of Court Wizard was passed to Dawand and Elius left to retire. However, his stay in the role would be short lived, as during his studies he met Mari Holloway, a hand maiden of the queen. The two fell in love with each other and started a secret affair, but eventually Mari was tired of hiding their love and begged Dawand to leave with her. Conflicted, but young and naïve, he said yes, and shortly after he took the position of court wizard, he stepped down and left with her, leaving his hard work behind.

Moving far away from the city, they settled in the remote forest town of Darkwall, in a cozy cottage a little way into the woods. Dawand was quickly accepted into the close-knit community, using his magical prowess to help bolster the towns defences and to help with the various problems around the town, as well as his education to teach some of the town how to read and write. The forests helped him feel freer, looser, and more in tune with himself. In contrast, the relationship with his wife was talking a turn for the worse, as he and his wife tried many times to conceive a child to no success. However, after some investigation, they found out that Dawand was infertile, and his wife left him in disgust.

With his wife now gone, Dawand had more freedom to stretch out his connections as a powerful wizard in the realm, but despite everything he kept Darkwall as his roots. As the years went by, he began to play with the idea of trying to recruit an apprentice, both as a way of passing on his knowledge as his mentor once had, and to sate the yearning he had for a child of his own, even if that reasoning was selfish. When he initially reached out seeking one, however, the candidates he was sent just didn’t click with him, and after many months of trying, he was close to giving up.

That was, until word of his search led a family of poor merchants to his doorstep, begging him to take in their youngest daughter.

[chimeramoth]

marijuana has been so kind and medicinal to me. it has loosened aches and muscle stiffness that i never thought i would experience. growing up with undiagnosed fibromyalgia, undiagnosed anemia, and a list of other conditions had convinced me that this is just normal. this is what standing up and sitting down feels like. always in a tight, dull ache. always feeling like my muscle fibers are made of paper that has gotten wet and is now warping and shrinking while it dries. like there is no such thing as resting with all of your muscles and skeleton fully accepting gravity and falling down into a chair, a couch, or mattress. my body is always tightly holding itself together in a strenuous way.

marijuana has shown me that my muscles can fully accept gravity. fully drop my weight into my bed. i can stand up, and although i may feel wacky, i can trust my joints to be ready to bend to what feels like the correct angles. my muscles looser, more fluid. i can stretch my body in ways that make me feel like a gymnast. although clumsy and wobbly like a baby horse, i feel freer. the mobility constraints that i normally have to abide by are much more forgiving, much more relaxed. i can move in ways without my body being on high alert, afraid of pulling a muscle or tendon just a little too hard. even if i fall down, it is easy to smile and shake it off. stand up again. much like a baby horse.

[justiceburst]

for a while, morgana clung onto the idea of being "male" as a mark of humanity, ignoring their own feelings regarding their gender. eventually, through becoming more comfortable with himself, learning about the existence of nonbinary genders in humans, and talking it out with joker, he adopted a looser, freer, and more honest vision of his own identity. she no longer labels her gender, and uses he/she/they pronouns!

[eddysocs]

Introducing: Marjorie Blatherwick

Fandom: Nanny McPhee

Face Claim: Megan Follows

Full Name: Marjorie Noelle Blatherwick

Age: 19

Myers Briggs Type: INFP

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Love Interest: Cedric Brown

Collections: Recipes

Style/Clothing: Though she sometimes feels stuffy in them, Marjorie wears the clothes suited for a young lady of her status. She married well, and though it was but brief, she takes pride in her appearance and new social standing. Though she feels much freer in looser fitting clothes in lighter fabrics.

Signature Quote: "I simply won’t let myself live in unhappiness, it would change nothing of the past."

Plot Summary: After losing her brand new husband to a sudden illness, Marjorie Blatherwick runs home to her mother. When Cedric Brown finds his cook in the kitchen, consoling a crying young woman who he soon comes to know as her daughter, he’ll offer her a place to stay. Marjorie is thankful for his hospitality and doesn’t plan on staying for long, but one thing leads to another and soon the place truly starts to feel like home.

Forever Tag: @arrthurpendragon, @baubeautyandthegeek, @foxesandmagic, @carmens-garden, @chickensarentcheap, @endless-oc-creations, @unheolycs-ocs, @fawera, @themaradaniels

[prettytm]

don't feel like logging into my rp blog rn but~ slurred words for your PARENTS

Still accepting

Christmas eve. It's surreal to him even now. Before Eve and Sal he never had celebrated holidays not even his own birthday, it's one of those things he thought of as "for other kids". The ones with normal homes and families. So it's no surprise he's still a little timid and speechless when it comes to family gatherings like this. He had been included since the moment he was brought into the family but he's still so.. Broken from his life before that even though he's coming out of his shell, he makes turtles look quick in comparison. He knows mama and Sal don't mind and neither do his siblings but he sometimes doesn't like how shy he is. How scared he is. It's like he has one foot inside and one foot outside. So when he starts to feel looser, freer with his words and his affections.. He keeps right on drinking the eggnog one of the older kids had given him. Never thinking that Frankie would have spiked it.

He doesn't think anything of it when someone asks him a simple question, an aunt or cousin he thinks, one who means well but in his drunken state he seems almost insulting. "They're the best! Mama is a miracle walking around, a real saint you know. Come here.. I tell you a secret." He leans in close to whisper, though it's anything but one. "I didn't believe in any of that bullshit until I met her. Dad's amazing. I like him and think he's cool as hell.. But mama? She made me believe in god and angels and all the saints. Cause she is one, I tell you. She's prettier than any Hollywood actress and she'd give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. And have you heard her speak or sing? Voice like a bluejay. Or a bell.. Doesn't matter which, you get the point. She's the opposite to dad. He's hard and jagged but that's okay because he loves us and would do just about anything for us so it's okay. He's supposed to be like a rock to keep us all safe and protected. Never thought I'd have parents, a family and even in my wildest dreams? They were never mama and daddy." He only stops because he suddenly felt the room spinning and his ears were ringing. He doesn't think last years eggnog made him feel funny..

[riptozier]

@diedbrave said: " i never feel like this grumpy asshole when you're around. i feel like… me. the real me… "

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✘ . *. ⋆ ❝ SINCE WHEN HAVE YOU EVER BEEN A GRUMPY ASSHOLE? ❞ richie teased in response, giving the other a playful yet gentle shove on the shoulder. well, richie had usually kept the ' eddie is such a grumpy asshole ' thoughts to himself whenever they surfaced, but at the same time he also noticed quite a significant difference in eddie's demeanor when they were together. he seemed much looser, more cooperative and willing to joke around, much ... FREER. if that was his doing or not, richie had no idea. but it made him happy to think that he had such an effect on the one person he probably loved more than anyone else, and he wanted to keep doing it, keep making him happy. it was part of his career, after all. he didn't choose it for nothing.

❝ just kidding. you've probably wanted to bite my head off more times than you can count, when we were kids and ever since meeting back up in derry. ❞

GRUMPY / SUNSHINE TROPE PROMPTS !

[weirdfishy]

@king-of-the-rain-and-wolves

dude!!!! alfoienskeoslwmxmwkfo

🙇🏽 i adore getting long comments, thx!!! n lmao even when i’m not writing in this freer style i love my run on sentences n commas 😆

n to the ‘rushrushrush’ of those lil bits, ME TOO i LOVE doing that; to me the repetition gives it more build, n it’s a smoother flow to exclude the spaces — my fav one is the milesmilesmiles bc i looove that it’s a similar-feeling imagery to ��rolling their name around in their mouth’ (or yk the mantra of someone’s name during sex)

(i do see what you did there, hats off to you) and ahhhhhhh im so happy you enjoyed the riffing i did comparing them and their love for the other to godhood bc i genuinely could not fucking let it go after the initial thought (idk if it’s left me completely but it was Worse just yesterday).

ooo yeah that’s a p good line- one that scratches my brain is “across universes n the fall from his bed to the futon on the floor where miles decides to lay his head for choice holy nights”

🥺🥹to the- the end of your days?? marriage immediately 🤧

i’m immensely flattered this piece was so well received <3

(for these not-quite-yets tho i feel like they’ll be done in this looser style as opposed to the more structured /traditional sort of writing (??) i usually do, but also, style consistency who lmao)

seriously!! thanks sm for your lovely comments!! 💚

gotta urgent need for some not-quite-yet punkflower where hobie is chillin in some rubble post-(successful) battle all knackered out n miles is visiting (idk bc he just told his parents abt spiderman n it went well so he's bursting at the seems with love at being accepted n all yea? he's gotta tell someone, and why not him? why not hobie? it's no one else but hobie he's gotta tell, if he's being honest with himself [denile is not a river in his egypt, ok pav?] so yeah, he finds himself on 138) n catches the tail end of the battle, tracks down where hobie decided to make a couch outta concrete and lands in front of him, buzzing with cheezy lovey dovey feelins of elation, top o' the fucken world, and asks on abt hobie, rambling until hobie just lifts a hand, a silent ask for help up, (always asking for connection always makin sure they're actually there) n miles, have i mentioned he's happy? he's straight up a sap, so he takes that hand.

he takes that hand gently, bending at the waist a bit, dramatically sweeping back his other arm, bowing, for hell's sake, n plants a kiss on the back of hobie's hand, nice n proper, with a cheeky wink to boot (he'd finally fixed the eye mechanisms last week, thanks to penny), before pulling up new london's own spiderman chest to chest with a bright laugh that puts a different kind of stars in hobie's eyes, half dancing half belting out a song in spanish he doesn't quite understand but knows all the words to (it's some continental dialect, nothing his mami speaks, but would filter out the headphones of that kid in his building he walked w in middle school everyday)

before the sirens start getting closer n hobie can feel the warmth of miles-- the warmth of his smile, his hair that's still sparking from transdimensional travel, his arms, chest, laughter, everything, n all at once it pulls every affectionate n pining bit of hobie to the surface, if he weren't wearing his mask his blush would be so impossibly visible it's straight mad how much hobie loves n adores miles, how much seeing miles be happy lights hobie's whole fucking world

and oh, hobie's never seen a god he didn't punch, never believed in any one he couldn't, but right now, with his fingers entwined with miles', aches leaving his bones like he's never felt his left shoulder twinge the second it drops below 21 just because miles just yelled fuck off to the approaching pigs, he could fall to his knees n swear pious fealty to milesmilesmiles.

but hobie is cool (never has a label stuck to him like the one miles has given him), and his real, livin n breathing god is starting to ramble, so hobie webs them upupup, heat along his back as god wraps arms around him, breath on his neck as home weaves tales into the leather wrapping it.

then miles hears hobie's stomach growl, so he starts pulling them away from the path of what he knows is towards hobie's flat, and towards what he swears is the only good puerto rican food in the whole of hobie's haunt, his excitement steamrolling over his usual stuttering spanish, exchanging shouts n jeers with everyone behind the counter

bc everyone knows him, like miles has lived here, earth-138, new london, his whole life, like hobie brown being dragged into the shop every other week by miles morales to get the same two plates (n an extra something for miles to gush over n hobie to taste) is how the rest of this life will go, like hobie n miles are together, in a way that the unsubtle looks the owner's kid at the register is aiming at miles' left hand are correct, but don't involve stuffy socially religious systems like marriage

but they're not, as much as hobie would love to kiss miles, gaze into his eyes for ages, hear his laughter, his off-key singing, his scritch-scritch of something on paper everyday-- bc he can't go abt this like he does everyone else, can't do it with half a foot out the door n a shrug as agreed; it's gotta be both feet on the floor, n it's gotta be for the rest of this life, so he'll take what he can get, and he'll take the distance n devotion, take the faith n the heartache. take what he can get from his god, glad to be touched by his god, glad to be loved by his god, across universes n the fall from his bed to the futon on the floor where miles decides to lay his head for choice holy nights

(hobie doesn't know miles is putting himself at the base of his god's shrine, hoping for his deity to fall into his arms, spikes n all, (ready, so ready to tear apart dimensions again for hobie, to bleed and cry n go to war for hobie) fingers splaying on the side of the mattress warmwarmwarm after hobie starts snoring, before they slip down softly, a prayer imparting from the pads, memorizing the patterns of his god's breath, the smell of the room, the borrowed shirt he wears, the sounds of a second city he calls home, thrumming full with a bass note plucked from an electric guitar, usually shaky hands sure n still picking out a different shape to hobie's eyebrow piercing, deftly screwing a star onto the bar. miles brings offerings to his god in pins n patches on clothing, stickers n torn out sketches decorating a shrine)

so they'll song n dance in new york, in new london; learning each other's cities, earths, haunts, people, arts, each other, like new scars for the collection- permanent and signs of living, odes to loving and protecting.

chest to chest, fingers entwined, warmth in the skies above cities, right on the edge of it all until they fall together, eyes wide open, gods broken down into blood and teeth and lovelovelove

not-quite-yet 3

my ko-fi