#full of birdsong and delight

[spite-and-waffles]

OMG I instantly recognised the dialogue and nearly YELLED. That's one of my favourite fics!! AHSHDKAKJSHA I didn't think the story could get any funnier but THOSE PANELS FROM CANON. THE EXPRESSIONS. DADDY!!! 💀💀💀

Also holy shit those GIFs are so crisp they're smoking OP!! ADORABLE!!

Art for shipling rivalries by ScarlettSwordMoon

[funkyplantguy]

established relationship scarian where scar finds A Creature of some sort (dealer's choice) and starts in on the whole "Can we keep it?? 🥺🥺" routine to grian

i was originally going to go with a cat, then a baby warden (listen idk) then an ACTUAL baby...then landed on this (and giggled and kicked my feet the entire time as i wrote it). hope you enjoy :D

scar: g scar: grain scar: grian scar: light of my life scar: where are you? scar: i have gift grian: fishing dock scar: shoulda guessed scar: be there soon <3

grian stretched, quietly groaning to himself as his back (and wings) crackled in delight at the movement, tired of the endless hunching they’d endured over the past several hours. a gift from scar (especially an unexpected one) was sure to be…interesting. they’d been together long enough that scar knew what grian liked, of course…but sometimes…the “gifts” his partner would bring him would be more for scar’s own personal amusement than anything else.

not that he really minded, of course. not when that meant getting to see scar light up like a kid on christmas. scar was always so full of life - always giggling over something or other - and it just reminded grian of why he’d fallen in love with him in the first place. and honestly, that was gift enough for him.

despite all of that, he wasn’t quite expecting scar to bring him something...alive.

grian heard the chirping from the small bundle in scar’s arms before the man had even landed, and couldn’t help the inquisitive trill that forced its way out of him in response. and that, of course, set scar off - mimicking the noise with his own (very human) vocal cords (which only served to produce a melody akin to being strangled). he stared at grian with wide eyes as he touched down, and grian felt his cheeks burn under his gaze.

“g! i’ve never heard you make that noise before - that was so cute, do it again!”

“no,” grian chirped back, then pressed his hand against his mouth as scar laughed in delight. “scar - what is that?”

“it’s a baby!” scar responded, moving closer and tilting the bundle in his arms towards the avian. “look - it’s a little you!”

grian uncovered his mouth to retort - he very much doubted that scar had somehow found a baby avian wandering around hermitcraft - but another quiet chirp caught his attention, and he found himself leaning forward to peer over scar’s arms. and there, nestled in a pile of soft, brown blanket, was the ugliest baby parrot grian had ever seen in his life. and yet..and yet…

grian didn’t even realize that he was whistling until the baby returned his birdsong, eager little chirps and gurgles spilling out of its little fleshy beak. it tilted its head up at grian, blinking, and grian offered up a trembling finger into the makeshift nest. the chick nuzzled against it, purring softly, and something in grian’s heart felt like it might burst. he raised his face to his partner, and found scar’s gaze transfixed - but not on the parrot in his arms, but him. their eyes locked, and scar offered him a smile - something soft and warm, something that made grian want to kiss him more than anything in the world.

“can we keep it?” he whispered, and grian let out a short (wet) laugh.

“i…scar, where…where did you even find it? it’s so little…i can’t imagine its mama would have been far; she’s probably worried sick…do you really want to take the little guy from his mama?”

scar’s lower lip wobbled (and grian felt like he might be the worst person in the entire world for it).

“he didn’t have a mama! i sat and watched and waited for hours, gri, and nobody came for him…he was just all alone, on a branch in the jungle, and i got worried that something was going to come along and eat him! and…well…i figured you’d know how to take care of him. given that you’re…y’know.”

he gestured toward grian’s colorful wings with one hand, and grian’s feathers rippled obediently in show for his lover. from scar’s arms, the tiny bird chirped again, raising its little head and struggling to flap its wings in the same way grian had fluttered his. scar looked down to the parrot, then up to grian, eyes wide and sparkling as he jutted out his lower lip.

“see! he agrees! he wants you to be his new mama!”

(and if grian’s heart fluttered in his chest at the suggestion of being a mother, that was no one's business but his own. that was a topic to be discussed later - much later, in the warmth of each other’s arms and the shield the darkness their room offered for grian's vulnerability)

“we could name him…um…jeffrey!”

“scar - we are not naming our son jeffrey.”

“our son???!??” scar parroted back, jerking his head up from where he had dipped it to stare down at the chick in his arms. “our son??? so…we can keep him? really? you mean it?”

“yes, scar. i mean it,” grian responded, smiling softly at the hopeful peep from the newest member of their little family. “we can keep him.”

(and the way scar pulled him into a kiss, then, was the greatest gift of all)

[paperstarwriters]

Muriel with a face full of kisses

Just saw someone else do this for a different character lmao but like, it just SCREAMED our lovely ol' Muri lmao <3

Just crawling into his lap while he's reading a book or just sitting by the fire, taking his face into your hands, cradling his cheeks in your palms as you lean up and spatter his face with kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss.

He's startled, confused, and red as a tomato, sputtering half words as you keep kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. His hands are raised, startled at the intrusion, but when they finally settle, it's to pull you closer, even while he's still trying to ask you what the heck you're doing. All it takes, however, is a kiss to his lips, longer than the rest, held against him like a finger asking to be quiet. Only your request, is matched, with the gentle little lick of your tongue, testing the waters of how much both you and he were willing to go for this kiss, as well as teasing and taunting your so dearly beloved.

And one of those hands cradling you close slips up to catch you by the neck, pressing you close and keeping you from escaping as he all too eagerly reciprocates. Kissing you in the way you know he loves to do, swapping between tiny needy licks at your lips and chaste kisses that he's so so eager to dole out.

If at any point you push away from him, he'll release you willingly, staring at you with droopy almost dazed eyes, awestruck and lovestruck smiling, faint but warm, like the sunbeams of a dying sun slipping between the trees. It'll take him a moment before he remembers to ask, too busy basking in the warmth of your affection. Keeping his arms tight around you, cuddling in your shared embrace. Hell, he might never ask, honestly, thinking that his chance to has long since passed, or that he would rather not run the risk of making you hesitate to do that again.

Maybe one day he'll ask. If you haven't graced him with another session of sporadic kisses all over his face. He'll ask you why you did it in the first place, after asking of course if you even remembered doing it at all.

and maybe you'd tell him that he just looked like he needed some kisses, or that he was so so pretty by the firelight that you couldn't help yourself. Or maybe you'll just shrug and say you did it on a whim. And a look will cross his face, all too familiar to you as he hesitates to ask.

You however, beat him to the punch, reaching up on your tip toes, to cup his cheeks and guide him down to you, spattering his face with your affection once more, much to his quiet delight, visible only in the way you can feel his lips twitch upwards as you kiss the corners over and over again; at the feel of his arms snaking to hold you tight against him, lifting you up so he can enjoy your kisses without giving his back a hard time, and the way he reciprocates, at every chance he gets, trying to catch up and futility drowning in all the kisses you give him.

Be warned, though, the moment you lean away. The moment you give him an opening, this former gladiator turned soft hermit would seize any opportunity he's given, and be quick to enact his affectionate revenge all over your face and neck. Kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss.

And when he meets your lips again, he'll whisper a soft confession, drowned out by the wind rustling through the trees, drowned out by birdsong and animal chatter, drowned out by the rushing river not too far away.

Simple words, that only you would ever be able to hear.

"I love you."

[goosefruit]

5 times vanessa brought you flowers (drabble collection)

vanessa shelly x fem!reader

tw: none

a/n: i need her to show up at my door with a bouquet of flowers ples

Hydrangeas

The first time Vanessa showed up at your door with a bouquet of flowers was on the night of your first date. 

She nervously shuffled her feet, wondering how you might react to her last-minute grocery store purchase. In her defense, she had just finished working a night shift mere hours before she had to start getting ready for tonight. 

An arrangement of baby blue hydrangeas laid in her arms, with little white flowers filling the gaps. 

Vanessa had stood in the flower section of the store for a good half hour as she tried to decide on the perfect offering for you. The obvious choice would be roses, but she was afraid of coming off too strong. 

After all, she had only known you for a week, after dancing with you at a bar. Even then, there was a spark between the two of you that she had never felt before, and she knew that she would do anything to have this work out. 

So she decided on something perhaps even more thoughtful than roses. 

The hydrangeas had caught her eyes the moment she saw them. They were the same shade of blue as the sparkly aquamarine earrings you always wore (she knew because you were wearing them the night you met, as well as in most of your Instagram pictures). Something about the delicate hue reminded her of your soft smile and gentle eyes.

Those same blossoms of blue were seen in your favourite vase for months after, its petals dried and preserved.

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Wildflowers

For your one year anniversary, Vanessa had planned a picnic in a nearby meadow. 

You sat under the warm May sun with your eyes closed, leaning against your girlfriend's shoulder. The occasional cool breeze tickled your skin as you basked in the sunlight, sighs of delight falling from your lips. 

In every direction, fields of colour stretched on for miles. Flowers of all shapes and sizes were beginning to wake from their winter slumber, with many already in full bloom.

Groggily, you opened one eye to admire how wonderfully Vanessa’s blonde locks gleamed in the afternoon light.

“Hey honey,” she smiled when she noticed you staring. Giving you a peck on the forehead, she began to stand up. “I’ll be right back.”

You thought about following her, but were in way too comfortable of a position for your muscles to want to move. Instead, you laid back on the picnic mat and listened to the birdsong overhead. 

Vanessa returned soon after, prancing towards you in her pretty pink sundress. She held out a brilliant bundle of wildflowers: reds, blues, oranges, and yellows amongst various shades of green. The stems were tied together with a blade of grass, assembled into a perfect little bouquet.

“For you, my beautiful girl.”

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Lilies of the Valley

This time, Vanessa had to ask the Internet for help.

You and her had been in rocky waters for the past week, arguing over trivial things such as who was going to do the dishes. 

She knew that you were only matching her attitude, as she had been quite unfair in how she spoke to you lately. Really, she didn’t mean it—the long, stressful shifts at work had gotten the better of her, but instead of talking it out, she pent up those emotions until they overflowed. 

Vanessa knew she had to do something to clean up the mess that she had created. 

A Google search for apology gifts gave her a list of ideas, and she set out for the store while you were at work one day. It took her several tries before she found a florist that supplied what she was looking for.

The vase held a bunch of delicate little white flowers, each hanging off of thin green stems in rows. There must have been at least a hundred of them, every one perfectly bell-shaped. 

She recalled that you had once stopped to admire a patch of these on a walk, which is why she recognized them almost immediately when they came up on her search. Apparently, they symbolized apology, amongst other things. 

Knowing that she would already be at work by the time your shift ended, she left the flowers alongside a note on the dining table:

My dearest Y/N,

You are my world, but I haven’t been treating you like it lately. I’m sorry that I’ve been a terrible communicator, and for taking out all my stress on you. You didn’t deserve that.  

I got you a little something here: Lilies of the valley. It has a pretty name, just like you.

I know it doesn’t make up for how I acted, but take it as a token of my love. Really sorry I can’t be home tonight; you know how my shifts are. 

Maybe we can do something fun when I get back?

I’m going to do better from now on, my love <3

-Nessa

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Roses

On Valentine’s Day, you received the sweetest, reddest roses. 

Vanessa had taken a day off just to prepare for the occasion, taking it upon herself to decorate the entire apartment with candles and petals. 

At her insistence, she picked you up from work, wearing a suit so nice it made you feel underdressed in your plain blouse and jeans. The look was completed by a rose between her teeth, one corner of her mouth lifted in a gentle smirk. You giggled at how ridiculous but sexy she looked.  

She presented you with a bouquet she had hidden behind her back, a dozen more roses bound by lace and gold wrapping paper. 

Each flower had been carefully handpicked by her, the process having taken her nearly half a day at the florist’s. She made sure to select only the most vibrant ones, with every petal intact, for her babygirl. 

They smelled so good, it made your heart flutter. Of course, you knew that roses were known for their fragrance, but something about getting them from the love of your life made the sweet scent all the more mesmerizing. 

To top it all off, the lace holding everything together had the same colour and pattern as that chic white lingerie set you knew she loved seeing you in. 

You took a mental note to change into it before the evening’s fun.

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Paper flowers

You were puzzled when Vanessa took an unusual interest in the crafts section of the dollar store. 

Your girlfriend had never expressed herself as an artistic person, always leaving all the home decor DIY stuff to you. But now, she was buying stacks of coloured paper and disappearing to her office with them for hours at a time. 

You had been reading on the couch one Sunday afternoon when you felt her hands cover your eyes from behind. 

“Don’t peek! I have a surprise for you,” she whispered excitedly. 

You nodded, keeping your eyes shut as she set something down on the table in front of you. 

“Okay, now open your eyes!”

The product of her mystery project blew your mind beyond words.

In a tall glass vase, she had placed paper flowers of all different colours, each resembling different species with shocking accuracy. They were folded with such neatness that you immediately understood why it had taken Vanessa so long. 

“I saw a video online, so I knew I had to make some for you,” she grinned cheekily. “The papercuts were all worth it.”

You grabbed her face and kissed her, all while a singular thought circulated through your mind: How many other hidden talents did this woman have?

[cowboygenesis]

2: sign from the skies | geralt x reader

part 2 of the "wild woman" series: masterlist.

pairing: geralt x reader

chapter warnings: none.

word count: 4.4k

series summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

notes: here we go, chapter two! finally some more geralt/reader interactions... we're getting there, guys. enjoy x

The air was dewy and cold that morning. Geralt had woken up at dawn to the scent of musk, grass, and a sleek layer of moisture on his skin, cool and sensitive to the soft breeze nipping at his ears and cheeks. As promised, he had taken camp at the edge of the nearby woods; far enough to drown out the buzz of Posada’s rich nightlife, yet close enough to watch the churchbells swing rhythmically once the sun began to rise over the horizon.

“No trouble sleeping last night, Roach?” the man nodded towards his steed, earning a soft neigh. “Last night was peaceful. No sign of that creature the barmaid spoke of, or of anything else for that matter,”

Geralt’s eyebrows raised in agreement, stretching his torso against the rough bark of an oak tree. “Perhaps it only awakens for the foragers after all.”

He crouched down next to the remains of a crude, makeshift campfire. The heavy, weathered stones encircled a blackened pile of ash that housed a tiny, dying flame. The man hummed lowly, reaching his arms into a canvas sack as his fingers poked around the flailing mound of cloth, testing the textures and mounds of the treasures inside. Shining gold, glass potion vials, scraps of leather, and unread letters… finally, his index brushed against a smooth, waxy surface.

“Ah, so we’re not yet doomed.” he smiled coyly, picking out a small, luscious apple and bringing it up to the sunlight. The red skin glistened deliciously, and Geralt could almost feel the tart juices on his tongue.

Roach whined, hooves stomping precociously on the soft grass below. Her beady little eyes were bright, pleading, and Geralt chuckled softly at her reaction to such a delightful treat. With a flick, he tossed the apple towards her and watched as it rolled on the grass, finally making contact with her slender front leg.

“I know you’ll appreciate this more than I would,” he remarked with a nod, legs flexing to stand up once again. He grunted, metal clinging and slashing against his pauldrons while he swiftly fastened his gear. He adjusted the steel and silver swords in their holsters and finally fingered at his chest piece until a metallic wolf revealed its head from under his blouse.

“We can resupply in town, but if there is any truth to the talks of this beastie I might as well see what it’s about. Perhaps I’ll be in luck to find a rabbit or two while I’m at it.” Geralt mumbled, and his mare snorted in reply. Her snout lapped at the red apple in curiosity, tongue slowly flicking against the short stem before she made her first bite.

Geralt moved his gaze away from Posada’s rooftops and instead directed it at the lush forest behind. The treeline was thick, twisting and turning in the soft, white light of the morning sun. Considering their current location, these woods could span for dozens of kilometers with no habitable settlements in between, making the witcher’s next hunt more complex, or, at the very least, very time-consuming. He huffed at the thought, but with a full suit of armor now on, persevered ahead.

Geralt strolled in, boots squelching and creaking against the plush, moss-covered ground below his boots. As he made his way deeper into the pits of nature, the birdsong became sporadic. It dulled down to an occasional tweet, drowned out by the echoing volume of a cool wind weaving through the green and yellow leaves above. This breeze would grow in strength ever so often, tugging at thinner branches and whistling an eery melody into the morning dew.

When Geralt looked up again, the tree crowns had thickened to such a degree that the natural light struggled to pass through. Only singular, thin batches of light made their way through the thicket, beaming down on the earth below and illuminating the surface of a small stream. The clear waters had carved a small grove amongst the trees, allowing for a steady flow of life through the otherwise tranquil, idle surroundings.

There was a snap from behind. The man’s arm quickly tugged at the padded handle of his sword, half-unsheathed as his eyes narrowed. He scanned around, focused and unmoving while he confronted the perpetrator of chaos head-on.

Up ahead, just by a thick, decaying oak stump, stood an animal. Her tawny coat shone with a matted kind of luminance, a thick bristle dotted with milky spots and lines that trailed down her slender limbs. She raised her head, beady eyes looking into Geralt’s through a fan of black lashes. She chewed peacefully on a patch of green moss, nose glistening with a healthy sheen of moisture and no apparent desire to escape her pursuer.

Geralt readied his weapon, slowly letting it slide out of its protective casing as his right foot stepped up. The steel swished against leather, now gripped with two hands: mightily, purposefully. “Better than a rabbit,” he muttered under his heaving breaths.

The man advanced slowly, watching as the doe made peace with her fate. Her head stood still, jaw clenching and unclenching with the chew of her final meal.

Suddenly, another snap, from up ahead. The animal’s ears perked up, large head darting behind, then back forward. She looked at Geralt with glazed eyes and a wet nose. His legs tensed up. Then, she galloped away.

Her speed was unthinkable, furry body darting through the thicket while the witcher sprinted after her. The doe’s nubby tail twirled, hooves stomping on moss and soil before she made a final jump ahead, disappearing into a tall honeysuckle bush.

Geralt’s feet stuck in place, halting rapidly with a quickened breath as he examined the greenery. The blood in his ears was deafening, the birds and wind abruptly silenced. He readjusted his grip on the sword, sweat trickling down his forehead as steel slashed at the twigs ahead. With the self-made opening, he squeezed his body through the branches, feeling a sting as they tugged at his exposed skin. His eyes squinted at the sunlight pooling onto his face, stepping ahead cautiously with his blade leading the way.

He was in a small clearing. The glade was filled with an array of wildflowers and poppies, lined with sparse, decaying fencing and housing a small, swampy pond at the right-most edge of the valley, speckled with rounded stones and water reeds.

Ahead, down a decline, stood a wooden hut, its roof angled awkwardly, holding the four walls together in a matter of unbelievable asymmetry and heedlessness. The small, rectangular window perched on one of the sides had been covered with a decrepit plank, rotten and mossy from the test of harsh elements and time. Walking closer, Geralt realized the shack was completely uninhabited, and perhaps for a while at that.

Seeking an entrance, he strutted alongside the wall, gloved palms feeling the roughened, brittle surface of the wood. A small porch could be visible from just beyond another honeysuckle, this time easily traversable by foot.

He slumped down through the thicket, eyes squinting as he made it to the other side. The air felt stagnant. Geralt’s eyes trailed towards the porch, down the betrodden path, and towards the blinding red below.

The doe was dead. Her soft, white underbelly rested against the soil, tufts of fur stained a brilliant crimson that speckled her snout, ears, and backside. Her eyes looked the same as when she was alive, beady and lifeless. Geralt’s eyes trailed to the liquid pooling at her wound, eyes following her flank. Four deep gashes were carved into the tan bristle, cutting skin and muscle with apt precision. Geralt’s grip tightened.

He stepped away, circling the body cautiously. The porch fencing was tangled up in a mess of twine and ivy, and nestled within a cracked open entrance; an inconspicuous, wooden doorway with no knob or handle. Kicking away at stray vines, the witcher positioned himself against the entryway, shoulder-angled and tense. He breathed in, and out, and with a quick bodyslam, the door slung wide open.

The stench within was indescribable. Sour, earthy, and musky, with hints of myrrh and lavender, heavily lacing the atmosphere within. Singular streams of sunlight flooded into the hut through boarded-up windows, revealing constellations of dust particles dancing and swiveling through the air like stars.

The ceiling was adorned with bundles of dried herbs hanging by a thin twine, so dried up they had begun to flake off onto the floor in little piles.

Along the first wall stood a kitchen drawer, hanging out of its hinges and exposing the void within; the second wall was occupied by a bed, covered in hay and a small, child-sized quilt. Despite its visibly decrepit state, the textile was able to retain traces of handiwork: small, colorful stitches connected individual pieces of cloth, some of which bore tiny floral designs and some kind of animal iconography.

Geralt furrowed his eyebrows with a hum. He took another general glance around the room, licked his chapped lips, and adjusted his gaze to the flickering glimmer at the corner of his vision. He sheathed his sword and cautiously approached, eyes squinting at the object. He dropped his right knee, fingers reaching out to grab a crooked floorboard. As he pulled, the blackened wood crumbled between his fingers, the stench of mold unraveling under his nostrils.

The glimmer of light faded as his figure obscured the sunlight, the small compartment below the deck emanating with darkness. Geralt reached his hand down, feeling around the moist soil and cobwebs before his knuckles brushed against a hard spine.

A book, bound in a weathered skin of tan fur and leather. The cover was simple, unsigned, yet bearing a sizeable silver plate. The metal dipped into a shallow grove in the center, worn with scratches where the valley was deepest. His fingers sunk under the side of the cover, flipping through a few pages until the book lay flat on the ground.

The pages were yellowed, stained with dirt, grease, and herbal residue, but otherwise blank. Geralt flipped a few pages in bulk, but the paper held no writing. A few more, and still, nothing. Raising his arm, he bit at the loose fabric of his glove and with a grunt, removed it entirely. His hand hovered over the crease binding the book together, eyes closing. The exposed skin of his fingers reverberated, gently caressed by an unseeable force emanating from the paper.

“Magic,” he muttered, his hoarse voice cutting the silence of the cabin like a dulled knife. “Unreadable, perhaps purposefully locked away.”

His legs tensed against the dusty floor, smacking the book shut before he rose to his full height. A hum escaped his throat, echoing through his head as his eyes scanned the leather cover of this newly discovered artifact. If there was a sorcerer in town, he could try and decipher the pages. Hells, perhaps an alchemist could aid him.

With a cautious turn, Geralt turned towards the doorway. The outside light was beginning to fade, the cool tones of dawn melting into a soft warmth. He pushed at the rotted wood and walked out with two short strides, shutting the door behind him. The hinges creaked with the impact.

The air felt fresh. A gentle breeze carried through the small valley, kissing his eyelids as his gaze wandered to a splash of red—the dead doe.

He inhaled, circling a patch of moss until the tips of his boots grazed the animal’s fur. The pool of blood had spread since he last examined her, forming a shallow lake around his feet and sinking into the porous material. With a sharp exhale, he propped his arms under her stained belly. The exposed skin of his left hand dipped in the crimson liquid, letting it lap at his creased palm and sinking under the fingernails. Once his grip felt secure, he lifted with a soft grunt. The deer’s head sunk, lolling lifelessly in the air as Geralt threw the body over his shoulder. The doe felt light, so fragile she could break at any moment if his movements were to become brazen.

The witcher took one last look behind, the insides of the hut greeting him once again with a dark void. He hummed, turning away at the sensation brewing in his gut. His feet stomped across the soil, grunts filling the air as he adjusted to the extra weight on his side. The doe lay perfectly still upon his collarbone, her white tuft of a tail now motionless next to Geralt’s cheek.

Thick clouds had emerged on the azure backdrop above once the witcher had finally returned to his campsite. The sky pulsed in shades of blue and white, clusters of grey hanging with a suspicion of rain, perhaps a thunderstorm if his luck was really down that day.

Geralt had thrown the fresh carcass onto a flattened boulder, letting it sit a while as he re-sparked a fresh batch of coals for a campfire. The sleek, steel blade slid against his flint in jots of white and gold, the sound of slashing metal harmonizing with the sudden onset of distant grumbling. The sky began to darken, the distant clouds fat and ashen with moisture. Geralt hummed, striking the flint once more. Volatile sparks flew into the mound of dried lavender and sage piled amidst black coals.

Another roar in the atmosphere sent Roach into a manic spree, her hooves kicking spastically into the air, cries of fear filling the cool air.

“Easy, girl,” Geralt commanded, yet a gentleness laced his grave tone as a hand raised in the air, reaching towards the mare’s snout. Her snorts calmed, eyes scanning the man’s pale face in search of something familiar and comforting. He smiled. “Just a thunderstorm,” he reassured, “judging from the wind, it might be headed away from us.”

The warm glow of the growing flame lapped at Geralt’s knees, giving the two companions a tiny bubble of comforting illumination. He hummed, gripping the slender blade in his rough palm, and swiftly crawled towards the deer. Her body looked flaccid, restful almost, as she continued her eternal rest against the jagged surface of the flattened boulder.

His eyes shifted towards the horizon, hovering over the betrodden path and along the navy overskirt of a woman heading his direction. His eyebrows furrowed, the firm grip on his blade loosening as she approached with a bright smile plastered across her tired face.

“Geralt?” the girl called out, breaking into a fiddly sprint. Her movement was jagged and awkward, possibly inhibited by the size of her hand-me-down boots that croaked loudly, even at a distance.

“Geralt!” she affirmed, giddiness laced into her breathy voice as she placed a protective hand over the sizeable item in her other arm- a woven basket. She approached the man with a half-jog, eyes wide and bright.

“I… I looked around… everywhere for you,” she heaved, struggling to catch her breath. Her face was reddened and moist with sweat. “I remembered… I’m so glad you decided to stay!” she exclaimed with a kind smile, dusting off her apron. The material was off-white and stained with ale, but came alive with the addition of small beading and sewn decals at the seams. The colors were mismatched and varied, yet somehow brought the girl’s features out in just the right way.

“I took your job offer,” Geralt reminded her with a nod, hand hovering over the deer’s thick bristle. The girl’s eyes dropped at the gesture, her smile fading into a frown; not fearful or disgusted, simply upset.

“Poor girl,” she said quietly, kneeling with the basket perched upon her hip. She placed a nimble hand on the animal’s back, slowly trailing towards her belly. Her pinky grazed gently against Geralt’s, making her withdraw shakily. “Such beautiful animals.”

Geralt remained silent, watching the woman’s eyelashes brush her blushed cheeks as she studied the carcass with a profound fascination.

“I hope she didn’t suffer,” she added with a sharp inhale, hesitantly dragging her gaze away from the doe’s white belly. Geralt hummed with an acknowledging nod, deciding to stay silent. He didn’t know whether the doe suffered or not, and bringing that up to the woman felt fruitless at the moment.

“When I was little, I would try and count the spots on baby deer, the little white freckles. My mother told me every one of them meant a past lifetime. I think it was some sort of tradition she picked up from her own mother,” the woman continued, that same soft smile returning to her lips. Geralt maintained his composure, hands placed firmly against his knees as he watched the woman fidget nervously. Her nailbeds pressed into the coarse material of her apron, and Geralt scanned along the place where it met her corset. This one looked looser, clinging onto her waist a lot more comfortably than her tavern attire. She must have been taking a day off.

“Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to deal with my chattering this early in the morning. I hope you’re hungry, I brought you something as a ‘thank you’,” she chuckled dryly, giving him a grin as her hands reached into the basket. She dug around for a moment, one eye closed in concentration before she finally withdrew a large loaf of bread. Her other hand unraveled a checkered napkin, which she opted to spread by the campfire. She placed the bread on top, then dug out a small paper parcel and leather decanter. She passed the latter into Geralt’s hands, and he grabbed it haphazardly. “For helping us out,”

The tanned leather felt cool against his fingertips, rough around the seams and adorning a crimson-stained cork at the top.

“The deer was dead when I found it,” he muttered, twisting the flask open. The cork squealed at the pressure, revealing a strong aroma of tart cherries and foreign spices. He tilted the bottle and looked inside, catching a glimpse of the bright-red concoction that swirled in the soft light.

“What is this?” Geralt questioned with a sniff.

The girl’s eyebrows seemed to relax at the notion that the doe didn’t suffer at his own hands, despite that conclusion being far-fetched and faulty. Sparing her the details of the strange occurrence in the woods seemed like the wisest course of action, regardless.

“Black cherry wine,” she declared with a smile, “A traveling merchant was selling these in bulk at the market this morning, for real cheap too. I hope you like it, though the spices might not be to everyone’s taste, I find.”

Geralt placed the nozzle to his lips, taking a modest sip and letting the tangy liquid slosh along his palate. The initial sweetness of the cherry transformed into a mild burn of cinnamon and cloves, filling the witcher’s chest with a comforting warmth that radiated down the stomach and limbs.

“It’s good,” he commented ingeniously, earning a satisfied nod from the girl.

“Right? It’s not so bad,” she chuckled, hands hovering over the fat loaf of bread warming against the fire. Her fingertips pressed into the crisp skin, as she eyed the witcher’s blade. “I don’t drink so much anymore, but these fruity wines from Skellige are always worth the trouble. ‘Lush’, I think they call them, traditionally. Something about the method of preparation. May I?” she trailed, pointing at the man’s knife with a mingy finger.

Geralt paused, taking another drink from the leather decanter. The supposed infamy of Skellige’s wines had never come to his mind. He cleared his throat, tossing the knife upwards to reposition his grip. His hands gently clasped onto the blade, handle aimed at the woman in front. She took it carefully, anxiously, letting the hilt land in her elfin hands, analyzing it meticulously and toying with the base. She let the flat of the knife slide against her palm, securing it in her grip.

“You don’t have to eat that doe anymore, you know?” she declared quietly, her voice laced with uncertainty. She didn’t look up, instead continuing to stab into the soft flesh of bread with a certain might and precision. The knife sliced into it smoothly, producing three slices of perfectly thick wedges that looked soft and delectable in the harsh light of the campfire.

“It’s a waste of meat if I don’t,” he replied, hand extending as the girl handed him two of the three slices in her possession. They felt moist against his skin, rough around the edges where the skin had baked into a thin crust.

“How about you sell it at the town’s market? The butcher could pay you handsomely for such a prime doe,” the woman suggested, peeling back the paper parcel to reveal a white goat’s cheese. She used the knife to slice it, placing the soft rectangles onto Geralt’s bread, then did the same with her own. “Venison spoils quickly, and you won’t make good use of the animal nearly fast enough.”

Geralt hummed, sinking his teeth into the morsel. The cheese was fresh and soft, spilling buttermilk on his tongue as he savored the delicate flesh of the bread below. Perhaps a fat pouch of coin would prove more beneficial than spoiled deer, indeed.

“Would you lead me to this market, then?” he questioned, quaffing the cherry liquor in intermissions. The girl’s eyes lit up, cheeks bunching with a smile. Her teeth sunk into her meal, chewing quickly and negligently. The bread disappeared quickly amongst her teeth.

“Let’s set out after our meal, in that case. The clouds have been brewing all morning, haven’t they?” she pointed at the horizon, thick gusts of silver nipping at the rooftops. “We wouldn’t want to get caught in that squall. Posada is infamous for these storms.”

The refreshments were gone quickly, replaced by a lulling comfort in their guts as Geralt stood up to prepare them for travel. He doused the campfire with water from his carafe, kicking at the remaining flames with his boot. He then unloaded his gear onto Roach. The deer hung off the steed’s backside, accompanied by the witcher’s travel pack and his visitor’s hand trailing gently along the mare’s muzzle.

“Hi, girl,” she spoke with a smile, rubbing her hand alongside the horse’s cheek. Roach whinnied, leaning into her touch. “Oh, just how precious you are! What’s your name?”

“Roach,” Geralt grumbled out, securing the leather saddle onto the horse’s back.

“Roach,” the woman repeated, scratching behind the mare’s ear. “Why Roach?”

“I name all my horses the same,” Geralt huffed, hands snaking down the thick bristle until his fingers tangled into the reigns. The woman chuckled at his explanation, and he raised an eyebrow in response. Her laughter was warm, hearty, and completely uninhibited by her company, it seemed. “There’s only space for one with the deer in the back. Get on.”

The woman’s face turned to face the witcher, lips pursed as she eyed the leather saddle under her palm. She approached slowly, neck craning as she maintained eye contact with the flaxen-haired man. Her cheeks flushed with a soft pink, dusting her nose and temples as she exhaled. She looked at her companion pleadingly.

Geralt hummed with an acknowledging nod, circling behind her back. His arms extended, hands hovering over the dip in her waist. He took note of the woman’s moss-green blouse, sitting loosely against her shoulder blades and exposing a fragment of the soft skin beneath.

She looked down, locks of mussed hair caressing her neck as her breath quickened, heavy in her chest whilst her breast expanded with every sharp inhale.

“May I?” Geralt questioned, his right hand gently resting atop her hip as he awaited confirmation. With the indication of a quick, subtle nod from the woman, he positioned his grip firmly against her waist and lifted. She gasped softly at the touch, her blue overskirt swept in a gentle breeze as her buttocks landed firmly against the saddle.

“Thanks,” she breathed out shakily, fingers wrapping firmly around the cantle. Her lips curled into a coy smile, watching as Geralt tightened his grip around the leather reigns and tugged, bold gaze relentlessly conversing with hers. He exhaled sharply, letting Roach trail ahead while he placed a free hand on the mare’s neck, nearing the girl’s hip.

“You’re strong,” she declared candidly, followed by a suppressed chuckle.

“Does it come as a surprise?” he questioned, head turned safely away from the woman’s curious gaze as he let a cheeky smile creep onto his lips. She laughed heartily in return.

As they led Roach down down the glade, she let her gaze trail along the stormy horizon, watching as the clouds approached in proximity to the red rooftops of Posada hovering solemnly in the distance.

She shuffled in the saddle, legs crossed as she let her eyes meet with the witcher’s long, flaxen hair, watching it trail down his heavy-set shoulders and toned back. He must have been robust under all that armor, certainly, after years of fighting monsters by hand and sword.

He strode down the beaten path with an air of inexplicable confidence and a certain, palpable grit that was made apparent through the fluidity of his movement. The woman gazed through half-lidded eyes, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“There’s another reason I wanted to speak to you,” she declared, stroking down Roach’s mane. Geralt kept his steady walking rhythm, allowing the girl to continue with his comfortable silence. “I know you spoke to Sylvanus in his room last night.” she trailed.

“And?” Geralt surmised, eyes glued towards the sky. The woman’s foot fiddled with a stirrup, eyebrows furrowed.

“I spotted him in the market square this morning, while I was resupplying ale for the tavern. He had just left the alchemist’s shop with a hefty purchase, and it very much appeared to me that he didn’t want to be seen or questioned about it, by anyone,” she confided, tone laced with slighted apprehension at the memory.

Geralt hummed in acknowledgment, fingers tightening around the leather reigns in his palm. He recalled the strange man’s declaration last night, his gravelly voice echoing in the witcher’s mind as they trotted down a patch of grass.

“Show me to that alchemist once we’re in town,” he commanded, a loud, crackling rumble filling the atmosphere suddenly. The woman gasped softly, eyes gazing into the darkened skies as the ozonic air entered her lungs, flushed skin met with the soft droplets of the first autumn rain.

[walkswithmyfather]

Psalm 16:11 (NASB). “You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever.”

“Joy in God’s Presence” by In Touch Ministries:

“Draw near to God to discover authentic joy.”

“Today’s verse tells us, “You will make known to me the way of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; in Your right hand there are pleasures forever.” What a promise! This scripture teaches that for us as God’s children, the delight of our Father’s presence is beyond measure and always available.

To help us appreciate this profound spiritual joy, let’s think about the pleasure derived from a more mundane source—a summer garden. In full bloom, a flower bed can be a riot of color, with variations of green, red, yellow, purple, white, and more. Blossoms release fragrance into air that is often filled with birdsong. It’s a treat for our senses.

But delight in God’s presence surpasses that of any human experience. In Him, the psalm says, we find “fullness of joy.” What’s more, His goodness is not dependent upon circumstances; it is always accessible—even when life is filled with concerns and hardships.

God’s presence and the blessings it brings will endure for all eternity. But cultivating a heart of gratitude, prayer, and worship can help us experience deep delight now. As we draw near Him, we will find solace in sorrow, strength in weakness, and hope in despair—all of which add to the fullness of our joy.”

(Picture by Mi Pham at Unsplash)

[queruloustea]

Hey! This will eventually have a question after this prelude.

I did not know that things were happening with your health. I dont quite know how to approach a subject like this (forgive me for my almost-17-year-old woes and inexperience) but I will try.

Even if you cannot fully recover, we will still be here to see and bear witness to all of your wonderful art that you have/will post. I am still very happy to hear about your slow recovery regardless. Ive been surrounded by chronically ill/disabled people for practically my whole life (and consider myself as mentally disabled) so I get that life will KICK YA IN THE ASS yaknow? Always the kind of shit with ups and downs. Irregardless of what happens exactly, lets hope youre able to manage it well enough sooner than later!

Heres the question: What would you say are the music taste of these two ocs? It can be a vague genre vibe or even specific bands. Forgive me for not knowing their name, I have not used Tumblr in a good 2 months or so. I am simply OBSESSED with music and discovering it…and perhaps you can use this as an excuse to reccomend me some music! Perhaps I may even comment my opinions on the music if you GAF.

(Your OCs are giving real “Sea, Swallow Me” by the Cocteau Twins ft. Harold Budd btw. I dont quite know what it is but your ocs look like they admire the ocean. Considering you like the rain, this tracks!)

thankyou, my friend, that is incredibly sweet. granted that full recovery looks unlikely with the current expected diagnosis, this is very very comforting to hear!! life really does have a habit of kicking one in the ass well-bad, though. goodness :'] i'll just keep ambling on at my own pace for now, and see how getting medicine goes.

and also!!!! thankyou for the lovely question :]] i will assume you mean randall and maverick, since those are the two i've posted most about :] i've got some ideas about music tastes!

mav's probably the most musically-interested person - i figure he listens to a lot of the same genre he plays. that is, gentle folk-country-blues-man-on-a-guitar (/aff) type songs. in terms of Play Music (as an instrument-player myself i think this counts), he also writes a lot of love letters to both his hometown and his very very platonic buddypalfriend. i think he'd be really into that

randy? hm, not as into Music That Isn't Morning Birdsong, but a friend and i have figured he'd be more of a classical guy if he did listen. and, later, he bonds with mav's little sister over music, too, so probably gets most of his recommendations at that point from a feral eight-year-old with access to radio - so, i suppose, the short answer is a bizarre mix of classical music and. whatever aforementioned eight year old makes him listen to.

i might have to think a little more about specific recommendations (memory fog), but if i or my dear friend come up with any i'll see if i can remember to rebloggle!

thankyou so so much, this was such a delightful ask to receive and think about :] made my day

[anneapocalypse]

Dragon Age Femslash Recs!

Happy Femslash February! I got thrown off the rec wagon the past couple months for Life Reasons but I'm back and I've got a whole pile for you.

Ordered from shortest to longest. If there are other ships, I have noted those as well. Ratings and major warnings are listed; as always, please check AO3 for the full tag list.

These Moments Given by Mytha. Cassandra/Leliana, 1200 words, rated T. The Left and Right Hand take comfort in one another after the explosion at the Conclave. This fic really brings to life the terrible events we don't see in the game.

Vulnerability by @ziskandra. Isabela/Female Hawke, 1200 words, rated E. Hawke and Isabela deal with the aftermath of the Qunari invasion in their own way. I love how this explores Hawke's insecurities and fear of losing those she loves, lots of complicated emotions and uncertainties.

Right Hand by @ziskandra. Female Trevelyan/Cassandra, 1400 words, rated T. The Inquisitor works to adjust to her disability and a new role at the side of the Divine. I like the way it explores some complicated feelings on the part of Trevelyan about ability and agency.

Coin Tricks by @chocochipbiscuit. Isabela/Merrill, 2200 words, rated G. Merrill and Isabela talk about luck, carrying it with you and making your own. Choco writes both characters and their dynamic so, so well and it's a delight to read.

Arcane Deflection by @settiai. Harding/Dagna, 2600 words, rated T. This charming fic explores a growing relationship between Harding and Dagna while also digging into Harding's inner life and experiences in the Inquisition in ways I love.

Aeducan Pride by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold. Rica/Female Aeducan, Rica/Bhelan, 2900 words, rated M. Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, power differences, dubious consent. Sereda Aeducan takes everything from her brother: the crown, his son, his plans, and finally, his wife. My favorite thing about this fic is Rica, her cunning and shrewdness and her focus on keeping herself and her son alive, and I also really enjoyed how a conniving and manipulative Sereda not only keeps Rica close but gains her affections as well.

Close at Hand, Friend and Foe by Cryptographic_Delurk. Anora/Cauthrien, 3000 words, rated T. A sharp and incisive character study Anora as well a story as two very different women fleeing the kingdom that has cast them aside. I really enjoyed the tension between Anora and Cauthrien as they struggle to find common ground.

bound up by your thread by @chocochipbiscuit. Isabela/Female Hawke, 3400 words, rated E. Some good old bondage, an old favorite of mine! and Hawke not having to make decisions just for a little while.

Birdsong by @montpahrnah. Isabela/Female Hawke, 6000 words, rated M. Warnings: Major Character Death. Isabela struggles to come to terms with Hawke's death in the Fade. An incredible, moving exploration of grief I'm not ashamed to say I ugly-cried my way through.

Her Beacon and Her Shield by Sheeana. Female Cousland/Anora, 8500 words, rated T. Political marriage to lovers, a trope I adore! I loved watching Anora and Elissa's foundational respect for one another as allies progress to fondness and affection. A bittersweet conclusion, yet with a sense of hope.

Dinner Time series by @fireferns. Dalish/Skinner, six short fics totalling 18000 words, ratings G through E. I love the author's prose style, and the loving attention to both these minor characters, developing their personalities and backstories; a truly wonderful read.

Happy Femslash February, friends, and happy reading! 💜

[lal-ffxiv]

Prompt #26: Zip

It was one of those days when the comforts of home were suffocating. The dullness of routine perilously leads to melancholy. This is why Lujain chose to go birding and invited her sibling on the outing. Luanne was a bit reluctant because Luanne at best was only at an armistice with birds. Lujain was excited enough for the both of them though as he didn't fear being pecked to pieces.

"There are birds all around us. How does it matter which is what?" Luanne asked in genuine ignorance. 

Since while Luanne was learning conjury from the sylphs, Lujain learned the birdsongs from their mother. 

"By the sound. It sounds like a zip." Lujain said as he crouched carefully in the foliage.

"A zip? What noise is a zip?" Luane asked, baffled. 

It is very much like the way that plants grow towards the sun or how rivers flow down hill that nature answers when Luanne asks. 

The bird call started with a sequence of chirps, pyu-pyu-pyu-pyu-pyu, leading into, well, a zipping trill. 

"It is the Twelveswood Warbler." Lujian whispered with delight. Eyes wide, smile wider as they searched the canopy."

"There it is." Luane spotted the singing bird with white belly though it was a challenge with its top feathers being as light-green as the leaves in sunlight around it. "On the branch."

Lujain follows the pointing finger until she sees the bird herself. Once she takes out her sketchbook, Luane steps aside so Lujain can take in a full observation. 

Luanne laid on the ground. It's an action she doesn't often allow themself to take despite working in gardens all day. The urge to be eaten by the earth becomes too great to resist. To be swallowed and broken down as fertilizer to feed the better, greener things of the realm. 

For now, Luane smelled the rich soil around them, felt the warm spring sun on their face, and listened to the scratching of the writing utensil against the page. It was one of those days that took everything in Luane's being to accept being alive.

Alive with Menphina and her hound still above the realm and awaiting another catastrophe. Alive while the corpses rot around her. Alive while the wounded died. Alive to listen and alive to breath. Alive to live in this time of peace as it was hard won.

"Don't go falling asleep now. We have to keep going." Lujain nudged Luanne to sit up.

"I know, I know." Luanne said, brushing off the dirt and twigs as they got up again. "I was just resting my eyes a bit." Luanne got alongside Lujain and  walked on. Survivors.

(x) (x)

[drsteggy]

Work in progress Wednesday

The cavern itself had been unassuming. He only saw it by chance as he left the new tower at the top of the hill. He immediately changed his course to step inside. The tunnel ran into the hillside and down slightly before opening into a large, inviting room. He could see the smeary blue and green of a shrine to the side, on its own raised shelf.

Simple enough to get to. He lowered himself to the floor, striding across the room, focused on the shrine.

He didn’t see it until it was on him, cold hands on his waist, his wrists and his throat, tearing at him, squeezing, his ears full of it shrieking in delight at capturing him. His vision went red, then black and somehow he managed to warp himself back to the Skyview tower.

He vomited on arrival, falling to his knees and leaving a mess on the travel pad. He panted there, eyes tearing, a hot metallic taste at the back of his throat. The sound of the breeze riffling through grass against a background of soft birdsong filled his ears. The world was gentle and safe again.

He dropped to the his side, knees drawn to his chest. He was not this weak when he awakened on the Great Plateau, so long ago. He thinks he will never feel good enough to stand again.

He does not know how long he lays there, listening to the birds, and smelling his own puke. Eventually, his strength returns and he can push himself up to sit. He pulls the only apple he has left out of his pack, eyeing it and hoping his stomach could handle it. After a long moment, he takes a bite, chewing slowly and wondering what happened.

But that had really been the second one.

[cannibalisticskittles]

OC + Random Associations

tagged by @fiendpact, thank youuuuuu <3

Animal: i always waver between a dog and a cat with her – she's got the teeth and claws of a cat, the propensity for sleeping in and laying around in random bits of sunlight, and her mouth has a bit of that catlike :3 curve, but she is also extremely full of love in a way that radiates out from her much like a dog enthusiastically wagging its tail around exciting new people. either way tho – house pets that will love you deeply and also grievously wound someone who tries to harm you.

Colors: gold + vibrant blues and greens

Month: september?? i will be honest, i hadn’t had a month association before 

Songs: make the grade - jack conte, i won't hurt you - the west coast pop art experimental band, my dog’s eyes - zammuto, existential crisis hour - kilo kish, birdsong - regina spektor.

Number: 1 because she always feels lonely maybe, haha

Plants: asphodel – and I always think of strawberry blossoms when I think about what flower would best fit her, even though she is Very Allergic To Strawberries. sorry babe, but the imagery of the humble little strawberry flower is just too fitting.

Scents: ash, sulfur, whatever the hell bat guano smells like bc of all her spell components – but also something pleasantly warm and earthy, like rocks in a hot spring

Gemstone: i feel like i’ve got to go with amethyst bc. purble. 

Time of day: late late late at night, creeping into the very early morning, when the world is quiet and you can’t help but hear your thoughts (or your worries) clearer than ever before 

Season: autumn – the warm colors and dry crackle of shed leaves for her well, and even more so because she’s recently accepted the patronage of equinox, an autumn eladrin-flavored archfey

Places: caves with bioluminescent plants/fungi, places with strange and magical flora like the feywild, but also busy, crowded city streets where it's easy to get lost in the noise 

Food:  stew! and traveling rations like hardtack or jerky or dry, aged cheeses – things that would keep for a long time on the road. she’s an obligate carnivore, but she does try to pad her diet with as much non-meat as she can.

Drinks: really shit ale that you can buy in bulk at the local tavern as you daydrink with your adventuring party and discuss what steps to take next to fulfill your quest as you also take turns sneakily refilling your friend’s mug so that he remains convinced that it’s magically self-sustaining. (and also, a shitload of water. to wash down the dry ass jerky and hardtack.)

Element: fire

Seasonings: cinnamon and clove! also maybe saffron because she spent so much of her life traveling with trading caravans and saffron seems like the kind of coveted shit that would justify long-ass journeys by guarded caravan.

Sky: night, somewhere in the wilderness where it's so dark that the stars fill the sky everywhere you look

Weather:  hot, dry, windless summer days – if faerûn had wildfire watch levels, it would be stuck on extreme 

Magical power: fireball babyyyyyy (+ a dash of hellish rebuke)

Weapons: daggers. and more daggers, hidden in various places on her body. and teeth. so many sharp teeth. 

Candy/Sweets: honey candy, soft caramels – and pop rocks. she would be delighted by pop rocks.

Method of long distance travel: walking. just… long slogs on foot. walking across distances that are truly miserable to traverse – the sort where you’re ready to give up halfway through but can’t, because turning back would take as long as soldiering on, so you soldier on anyway? that. 

Artstyle: my memory of art styles has not really been brushed up on since my middle school days, i admit, but i think i lean towards impressionism for her

Fear: being useless, being alone, being Known; and, of course, the combination of those fears combined – having someone get close enough to her that it feels like they really know her and see her for who she is and then reject her as not being worth their time. 

Mythological creature: fairies/fae! they're beautiful, terrible, awful little winged shitheads and she adores them. and, to a lesser degree, unicorns, lmao. an association with and an assumption of goodness while also being fully willing and capable of skewering someone.  

Piece of stationery: an old, old notebook filled with small, cramped notes; various plans and calculations and details about people she comes across (‘naming day is just before the winter solstice; remember, they dislike most sweets and pastries’)

Three Emojis: 🥰🔥✨

Celestial body: stars, but distant and far off – she views herself as one of many, not standing out, and she’s very content with that! (imagining herself as one star in a sea of stars would delight her, actually. would feel a little less lonely.) perhaps she is a sun to someone, but that will never be how she sees it.

tagging @amphyn, @biknuckles, @brekkie-e, @fangmich, @lesbianaloy, @meishuu, @riddlcr, @stellamancer, @wasserpl – no pressure tho, haha

[itzpris15634]

here's the full prompt list with each of its fics

1. strawberries (Pink Spring) 2. adventure (Hiking) 3. golden hour (Morning Tea) 4. lake house (Fun and Games) 5. picnic (In the Park) 6. mayflower (Spring’s Scents) 7. nostalgia (Butterflies) 8. homecoming (The Things That Don’t Matter) 9. juice box (Midnight Drink) 10. farmer’s market (Excess and Errands) 11. morning light (Staying In) 12. birdsong (Bird From the Window) 13. drive-in theater (Through Rain and Shine) 14. island (All Around the World) 15. photographs (Helping Out) 16. riptide (Waves) 17. coffee-to-go (Today’s Plans…) 18. tree house (In the Heights) 19. instrument (Up to Speed) 20. cerulean (Blue) 21. porch (Pick a Name) 22. animal shelter (Not Just Yet) 23. lemonade (More Than Warm) 24. potted plant (Bye-Bye Bertram) 25. spirit (Apparitions) 26. milkshake (Delight in Love) 27. orchids (Flower Shop) 28. field (By the Neck) 29. petrichor (Soft Rain) 30. sketching (Marks on a Page) 31. memory lane (Going Back)

[shegetsburned]

ocs as experiences —

Tagged by @shellibisshe and @trench-rot to do this uquiz. Thank you for the tag! 🧡

No pressure tags @poisonedtruth @confidentandgood @simonxriley @children-of-epiales @nightwingshero @voidika @unpetitoiseau @unbindingkerberos @jendoe @kryptonian-puppy @inafieldofdaisies @captastra @phillipsgraves @scentedcandleibex @baldurrs @detectivelokis @florbelles @madparadoxum and anyone who sees this and wants to try, consider yourself tagged! Apologies for any double tags, or if you’ve already done it, I’ve seen it going around a bit-

you leave people feeling alive.

if I were to emphasize what being an *experience* is with any personality, it's you. you are a good cackle. a thunderstorm. late-night skinny dip. 85 mph, but getting away with 90. the smell of humid summer nights. sharp silver. a meteor shower. letting go of the handlebars for just a moment. the pop of a champagne bottle. swimming in the rain. another street of city lights to explore. there is a deep hum of possibility, and you want to fly within the jetstreams of it. without testing the boundaries of how far someone will go, you do invite a sense of excitement; never playing into the rush, but delighting in the fact that you don’t have to go far to find it. this life is meant to be lived, and you will do it well.

you leave people feeling refreshed.

a full exhale. first day of spring, a step into a hot bath; fruit eaten in the sunned grass. a full glass of water. birdsong. a cat napping by the window. the smell of a meadow after rain. deep green. laying with your head in a friend’s lap. coming back home after a long trip. freshly laundered sheets. a rallying force and refuge. both steadying and renewing. feeling your shoulders totally relax. when people are close to you, there’s a sense they can take their shoes off in the safety of your presence. to be unguarded and at ease. feeling safe enough to close their eyes; to rest in the peace and the comfort you offer, though you might not even be aware of it. you might ask people how they’re doing, but what they know you mean is, “where can I help? what do you need?” when the world can be such a tumultuous place, it is no small gift to have support like yours.

you leave people feeling nostalgic.

drug store valentine's cards. a favorite childhood song crackled through the radio; secret folded notes to find later. a soft yellow. christmas lights. knowing all the movie scenes that make your best friend laugh. birthday candles. a favorite hot chocolate mug. arcade carpets. lazy sunny saturday mornings. young, but not naive. you give people the sense of being held. falling asleep in the car and being carried safely inside. an acknowledgment that no matter how we age, there’s still something small and reaching within us that never goes away completely. (and that it’s not a bad thing.) there’s something sweet about you that feels hard to come by nowadays. a “they don’t make them like you anymore.” maybe it’s a chance to dip a toe back into childhood or a less pressured place—into imagination again, if even for a short while. a chance your presence gives in allowing people to enjoy it all more fully this time around.

you leave people feeling challenged (affectionate).

a shiver. a breath of cool winter air, a stick n poke tattoo; the last few switchbacks at the end of a hike. a deep red. a proud sweat, a delicious ache. early dawn’s blue hour. a favorite story you love to retell. the excited scream, the staggering leap into water below. not fearless, but not afraid to let a good memory leave a few scars or stains. while you have moments of being rough around the edges—an acquired taste, a book not fully grasped in the first read-through—you can rest knowing that there will be people that rise to your challenge. you give off a sense of knowing yourself, and while that could be the case, you’re still learning, too. the close people in your life aren’t afraid of your seasons, your come-and-go silence, or your own way of showing love. they’re there to stay. they’ll join you on that blue hour dock just to read. they’ll take that last-minute road trip to the desert. you’re here to say, “I know you could do it.”

[starlitangels]

Park Picnic

Came up with this in the shower last night. Just had to get it written. Can you tell the brainrot is strong, y’all? 1.6k words

—

A gentle breeze drifted through Aaron’s hair. He closed his eyes and leaned back a little, letting the sun wash over him. It was the first really warm day in Dahlia in months. Winter wasn’t that cold in southern California, but ever since he’d moved away from home to go to college his ability to tolerate cold temperatures had plummeted and so a day this warm felt much better compared to previous months.

He inhaled deeply. The air was fresh and clean. Much better than the stagnant chill of the office.

His partner hummed to themself quietly as they finished setting out the picnic. They’d brought quite a bit in the large cooler and had taken them a while to unload all of it. But when they were done, they laughed and tapped his knee. “Let’s eat!”

His eyes opened to see his playful, brilliant, sweet, smartass of a partner smiling at him. He smiled back. “It looks great, baby,” he said.

They laughed and held a plate out for him. He took it and started to dish up.

“You know,” he began, “when you said you wanted to do a picnic at the park, I figured you’d bring sandwiches. Not a full three-course meal.”

“Well, I happen to be a better cook than you,” they sniped playfully. “So I can bring more than just boring old sandwiches.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. They scrunched their nose and stuck their tongue out at him. He lunged forward, bopped a kiss on the tip of their nose, and went back to his relaxed position, plate held in one hand. “You are a nightmare,” he said.

“Yeah. But I’m your nightmare,” they retorted. To punctuate their point, they popped a grape in their mouth and started to eat it while smiling the whole time. Aaron shook his head fondly and looked down at his own plate, choosing what to start with. “Hey,” his partner piped up. He looked up. “I… I’m glad we get to do this. I know it’s been a stressful couple months but I think a picnic was a great idea.”

“You’re just saying that because it was your idea.”

“No. I… I mean it. You’ve been stressed and it’s nice seeing you relaxed like this.” They gave him a soft smile. No evidence of teasing in their voice or eyes. They set a hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We both work ourselves too hard, sometimes, and I think this is exactly what we both needed. A chance to sit on a blanket in a park and eat some food with no worries and no plans for the rest of the day. I might even take a nap right here on this blanket.”

“No, you will not,” Aaron retorted. “You’ll get a sunburn.”

“I put on sunscreen!”

“And that’s not going to last forever. You need to reapply often.”

His partner heaved a heavy, world-weary, sarcastic sigh.

Aaron scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t give me that.”

“You’re such a hard nose,” they complained.

He leveled a look at them full of sarcasm and bad attitude, but didn’t say anything. They started to snicker and went back to their lunch. Aaron rolled his eyes. “You must take some sort of sick delight in torturing me.”

His partner shrugged. “It’s funny to get you riled up. You get… bossy.” They shot him an over-the-top wink and popped another grape in their mouth, pinching it between their teeth so he could see their cheeky grin. He took a deep breath and released a long, slow exhale to keep his frustration in check.

“You’re impossible,” he said.

“You love me,” they replied playfully.

His eyes met theirs. Theirs shining in the sunlight like every good thing in the world he’d ever found. They were still smiling broadly.

His heart softened. “I do,” he admitted. “I do love you.”

They leaned forward. He matched their movements and pressed his lips to theirs. He could taste the grape juice on their lips. His tongue darted out from between his to run over theirs. They snickered again.

The two exchanged a few more kisses before withdrawing and going back to their lunches. The birdsong twittering in the trees was pleasant and the breeze cooled the way his skin and clothes were baking in the sunlight.

Maybe it was just his workaholic tendencies sticking around during a nice day out, but there was a touch of anxiety lingering in his chest. His heart felt tight, like he’d been doing something stressful, not having a nice lunch with his partner. He couldn’t put his finger on it—or why he was feeling that way. He wasn’t supposed to be anxious about anything. He was having a nice, relaxing picnic with his partner. Nothing to worry about.

A muscle flickered in his jaw as he looked around the park. As if the source of his anxieties would be hiding amongst the trees. There weren’t many other people around. No one seemed to want to be out in this heat in the middle of the day on a weekday. A group not far away was running around playing with a Frisbee—maybe a family? There were a few kids and a trio of adults. Another group of people were clustered around the playground. Lots of children being supervised by parents.

Nothing dark and scary lurking under a tree.

No reason to worry.

Aaron sighed. “Come here, baby,” he said softly, holding an arm out for his partner.

“Why?” They sounded a little concerned, a little bit jokingly confrontational.

“Just do it, you smartass.”

They smiled and scooted over on the blanket, snuggling up to his side under his arm. He wrapped it around their shoulders and rested his head to theirs.

“Everything okay, Aaron?” they asked softly.

He hummed. “Yeah. Just feel like I can’t relax.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Having you right here by my side helps.” He buried his nose in the space between their neck and shoulder and inhaled the scent of them. It mingled with the fresh, park air, but he could still smell them. “Thank you for this picnic, baby,” he said softly, voice muffled by their shirt. “I did need this today.”

“Awww. You’re welcome,” his partner replied.

Aaron tilted up to be able to meet their lips for another kiss. He closed his eyes and wrapped both his arms around them, holding them close.

—

“Eli!” Aaron shouted, running but barely moving, reaching a hand out. Five-year-old fists slammed into the glass window. Several hundred yards away. Violet eyes were wide under curly blond bangs. “Just hang on! I’m coming!” Aaron’s feet pounded the ground hard. He moved his legs faster, but was making no more significant progress. If anything, his baby brother seemed even farther away.

“Aaron!” Elliott’s young voice screamed. “Help!”

“Elliott!” Aaron cried.

Around the corner, unbeknownst to Aaron, a familiar figure—not dissimilar from the child in the house behind the window, but much older—slammed into existence and looked around in confusion. Purple Converse hi-tops clicked against the sidewalk in a dead sprint, careening around the corner to see the scene.

“Oh no. Whoa, whoa, whoa. We’re not doing that tonight,” Elliott muttered. “First time my brother has dreamt of me in years and it’s this? I don’t think so.” He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

The dark, despairing landscape vanished. Replaced by a sprawling, sparsely-populated park. Elliott twisted one hand and laid out a picnic, plopping his brother and his brother’s partner down on the blanket and taking as much of the perception of the nightmare as he could.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to reach out and touch Aaron’s mind with his magic. To make him suddenly lucid in his dream. To talk to him for the first time in ages.

But Aaron hated Elliott’s powers. He’d known when he moved all the way to Dahlia for college and work that it wouldn’t stop Elliott from being able to reach his dreams. But he’d made it very clear that he never wanted Elliott tampering with his dreams while he slept.

Elliott figured maybe the nightmare would be the exception. Especially if Aaron never found out about it.

—

Elliott closed his eyes and ducked back behind the tree. This was all he could do for his brother. Sometimes he felt pulls in the dreamscape. Someone dreaming about him. Usually it was his parents. Often they were just simple dreams where his mom was getting him ready for school when he was seven or his dad was showing him how to change the oil in a car when he was sixteen.

Rarer still were Aaron’s dreams. Sometimes Elliott actually peeked in. Just to check.

Tonight was the strongest Aaron had been yanking at him in years. The nightmare made sense for the strength of it.

But better to leave his brother with a sweet dream of his partner and a simple picnic than a nightmare of running and not being able to get any closer. He’d seen his five-year-old self in that window, looking terrified and screaming for Aaron.

Do you still think you have to protect me, Aaron? Elliott thought. Do you even know I learned that need to protect the people I care about from you?

He shook his head and pulled his beanie on more securely.

Casting one last furtive glance around the tree to make sure the dream would hold in pleasant peace, Elliott turned and walked away.

In a shimmer of purple light, he Walked out of his brother’s dreamscape.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

What kind of experience is your OC?

Tagged by @corvosattano​​​​ @shellibisshe​​ and @roofgeese​​​ to take this uquiz

tagging: @direwombat​ @strangefable​ @fourlittleseedlings​ @hopelesscounty​ @voidika​ @afarcry5fromstraight​ @adelaidedrubman​ @derelictheretic​ @marivenah​ @dumbassdep​ @locustandwildhoney​ @nightbloodraelle​ @purplehairsecretlair​ @strafethesesinners​ and anyone else who might want to give this a go

you leave people feeling challenged (affectionate). a shiver. a breath of cool winter air, a stick n poke tattoo; the last few switchbacks at the end of a hike. a deep red. a proud sweat, a delicious ache. early dawn’s blue hour. a favorite story you love to retell. the excited scream, the staggering leap into water below. not fearless, but not afraid to let a good memory leave a few scars or stains. while you have moments of being rough around the edges—an acquired taste, a book not fully grasped in the first read-through—you can rest knowing that there will be people that rise to your challenge. you give off a sense of knowing yourself, and while that could be the case, you’re still learning, too. the close people in your life aren’t afraid of your seasons, your come-and-go silence, or your own way of showing love. they’re there to stay. they’ll join you on that blue hour dock just to read. they’ll take that last-minute road trip to the desert. you’re here to say, “I know you could do it.”

you leave people feeling refreshed. a full exhale. first day of spring, a step into a hot bath; fruit eaten in the sunned grass. a full glass of water. birdsong. a cat napping by the window. the smell of a meadow after rain. deep green. laying with your head in a friend’s lap. coming back home after a long trip. freshly laundered sheets. a rallying force and refuge. both steadying and renewing. feeling your shoulders totally relax. when people are close to you, there’s a sense they can take their shoes off in the safety of your presence. to be unguarded and at ease. feeling safe enough to close their eyes; to rest in the peace and the comfort you offer, though you might not even be aware of it. you might ask people how they’re doing, but what they know you mean is, “where can I help? what do you need?” when the world can be such a tumultuous place, it is no small gift to have support like yours.

you leave people feeling alive. if I were to emphasize what being an *experience* is with any personality, it's you. you are a good cackle. a thunderstorm. late-night skinny dip. 85 mph, but getting away with 90. the smell of humid summer nights. sharp silver. a meteor shower. letting go of the handlebars for just a moment. the pop of a champagne bottle. swimming in the rain. another street of city lights to explore. there is a deep hum of possibility, and you want to fly within the jetstreams of it. without testing the boundaries of how far someone will go, you do invite a sense of excitement; never playing into the rush, but delighting in the fact that you don’t have to go far to find it. this life is meant to be lived, and you will do it well.

[blissfulalchemist]

OCs As Experiences

Tagged by @shellibisshe and @statichvm to take this uquiz for some kids and boy oh boy did it read the ff kids too well. I’m terribly late and so just sending a few tags out to: @belorage @florbelles @unholymilf @adelaidedrubman @confidentandgood @strafethesesinners @jackiesarch @shallow-gravy @themarcspector and anyone else that wants to that hasn’t done it!

Siberite Akagane you leave people feeling nostalgic. 

drug store valentine's cards. a favorite childhood song crackled through the radio; secret folded notes to find later. a soft yellow. christmas lights. knowing all the movie scenes that make your best friend laugh. birthday candles. a favorite hot chocolate mug. arcade carpets. lazy sunny saturday mornings. young, but not naive. you give people the sense of being held. falling asleep in the car and being carried safely inside. an acknowledgment that no matter how we age, there’s still something small and reaching within us that never goes away completely. (and that it’s not a bad thing.) there’s something sweet about you that feels hard to come by nowadays. a “they don’t make them like you anymore.” maybe it’s a chance to dip a toe back into childhood or a less pressured place—into imagination again, if even for a short while. a chance your presence gives in allowing people to enjoy it all more fully this time around.

Demos Reyes you leave people feeling inspired. 

a moment of stolen breath. aquarium peace, walking through an art museum alone; a mesmerizing chorus of crowds singing along at the concert. turquoise blue. a sunshower. stained glass. paint stains on jeans. finishing a good book. pressed flowers. glasses of wine on your best friend’s balcony, the sun flirting from the horizon. spending time with you is nourishing in a way that feeds growth. it is the creative way you view the world, the way you move through life (whether expressed through dance, writing, music, visual art, cooking, or otherwise) that sparks the imagination of those around you. they watch you translate your experience in the truest form you know how, and they feel inspired to do the same. you seek to find universal understanding through these mediums, and the ones you hold close admire that hunger; maybe also happy to join in and get dirt under their nails, digging to the heart of things.

Anthea you leave people feeling refreshed. 

a full exhale. first day of spring, a step into a hot bath; fruit eaten in the sunned grass. a full glass of water. birdsong. a cat napping by the window. the smell of a meadow after rain. deep green. laying with your head in a friend’s lap. coming back home after a long trip. freshly laundered sheets. a rallying force and refuge. both steadying and renewing. feeling your shoulders totally relax. when people are close to you, there’s a sense they can take their shoes off in the safety of your presence. to be unguarded and at ease. feeling safe enough to close their eyes; to rest in the peace and the comfort you offer, though you might not even be aware of it. you might ask people how they’re doing, but what they know you mean is, “where can I help? what do you need?” when the world can be such a tumultuous place, it is no small gift to have support like yours.

Azem you leave people feeling alive. 

if I were to emphasize what being an experience is with any personality, it's you. you are a good cackle. a thunderstorm. late-night skinny dip. 85 mph, but getting away with 90. the smell of humid summer nights. sharp silver. a meteor shower. letting go of the handlebars for just a moment. the pop of a champagne bottle. swimming in the rain. another street of city lights to explore. there is a deep hum of possibility, and you want to fly within the jetstreams of it. without testing the boundaries of how far someone will go, you do invite a sense of excitement; never playing into the rush, but delighting in the fact that you don’t have to go far to find it. this life is meant to be lived, and you will do it well.