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anemonet · 11 months ago

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oh my god thats so sweet of you!!!! thank you :DD also super sorry for deleting your ask btw

To get down to business well uh iterators huh, so I can tell you have read some of my ramblings before (very fun) and I will say in general I stand by those ideas - model differences and stuff - with some smaller changes here and there, for instance I made pebbles antennas stupidly long cause I think it looks funny - plus tons of tiny refinements, but generally I dont have too much to add unless theres something specific your wondering about - so I wont focus to much on that. Instead I'm gonna chat a bit about the other stuff you mentioned (NSH and wire headwear) ^-^ so heres the guys! (I'm gonna expand a bit on their design designs)

Ok so you have actully managed to point out something I really hoped no one would notice, which is that I never draw No Significant Harrasment (NSH) - who I hope you meant when you asked about sig, if not then dont look at me - and that is because I despise him with my whole heart. Or well, his design, the character is fine but I cannot draw this guy, I hate his colour scheme and his stupid little cape and why is his head symbols green on green - who allowed this - and in general we are not friends, which is a pity because I have alot of headcanons about him. But as you can see above I have semi settled on a design for him (note the semi, I am not super happy about it) and I do have some toughts and explanations.

So first of, I put NSH as being from the same model generation as suns - so predecessing moon and pebs by a bit - with older designs that have a larger focus on "religious stuff" combined with the anchients overall bonkers fashion sense - more is more - if you wanna read more about that its in this post about suns.

- I would also, this is a side note btw, like to mention I think having them being older models gives room to have some key differences between the oldies (NSH and suns) and the youngsters-ish (moon and pebs) in that one, they have older machinery and also early machinery which means both rougher quality and more wear and tear - which I like to think give them both the idea of slugcats as messangers earlier than most, as they knew their easily damaged functions (broadcast masts for example) would not last forever, which gives them a reason to want to solve it (by breeding scugs I guess) and added onto that I - and this is pure headcanon and speculation - like to imagine a lot of the "taboos" that pebbles and moon have - or well that I speculate they have, the no killing yourself or harming citizens taboo is confirmed canon, but I dont think its farfetched to asume they have other restrictions programmed - something that would most likely be added in later modles, but would be absent in the earlier ones like suns and NSH (not the earliest models but early) which theoreticly would give them a bit more leeway and "creative freedom", which ok why am I talking about this back to why NSH looks like that. -

Back to that, so suns and NSH will share design similarities: lack of face (to represent a lack of ego), lots of robes and layers, which leads us into the slightly more relevant sidenote of iterator clotheing:

So fashion comes and goes in cycles, your mom rebeled against her grandmothers clothing choises and is horrified when that fashion comes back via her daughter who think it looks cool again (20 year old rule or whatever) and that also applies to iterator design (look at that old suns ask for more info on this). So while I have talked about general trends a little, now I wanna talk about waistlines - in robes, because I have wanted an exscuse to talk about it, I be brief promise!

: so like you probably havent noticed all my iterators have different waistlines, or at least the ones from different generations - ignore moon, I'm a no robe for moon beliver, I like to draw joints and wires to much to give her robes - and I will sadly report I have not looked to closely at actual anchient fashion for the choises I made, but well cant have everything. So the most notable is probably pebbles, where I, ok Imostly fell for temptation of a modern highwaist cut, which while moslty being about my own tatse, also is an atempt to convey some form of "modernity" because while its a bright orange robe on a robot, it has a similar cut to highwaisted jeans. Which gives the silhoute from a couple years ago with a big bulky upper body and stick legs. But pebbles isnt intresting in that way, no its because every other design is a resistence against that.

And this again leads into the cycles of fashion. Because we know iterators were built under many cycles - however long those are - so we can asume it will be kinda like how fashion has changed from the 11th centrury to now. Which gives to reason that iterators have been dressed differently too. This added with that - from what I understood - different iterator cities (colonies) had different cultures (boradcast, red, in sky islands) all this then makes me kinda figure that the iterators should have different robes. Yes that was a long winded way to say that characters look different.

So back to waistlines and how their all anti pebbles robes - the most notable difference is of course suns, who has no waistline. They are not only without to create a bigger difference between them and pebbles, but to also lean a bit on - and this might not be the same for every culture - but on the general idea that older clothes were more "modest" or in this case, there are more layers and any hints of there being a body under there is desperatly covered. and that "modern clothes" have less layers and have show more skin - not that pebble is showing skin, but hes wearing one robe instead of seven. So with that the idea that suns is older is conveyed a little bit at least, and the same then applies to NSH. NSH while also having lots of layers, is different from suns by having an empire waistline, mostly because I think their cute and need them to look different, but also to give a hint that they have different city fashion cultures and also because when I see empire waists i think old paintins and old paintings=old.

-also while I'm on the subject of cultural differences between iterator facilities. Can we talk about how we only really get to see anchient society as its presented in moon and pebbles (shared?) facility. So really its very possible the whole aestetic is complelty different like five local groups away. Food for thought. -

So faceless and robe-rich is a similarity between suns and NSH, and I could mention many more, but I'm gonna restrain myself and only talk about headphones. As you can tell I - and most fanartist here - like to draw their antennas differently for all of them! which is also canon, but I also ignored canon so were gonna talk about it. Mostly the antennas give room for some fun mini details, like how moons look like wings or fins while suns are just sunbeams.

Anyhow so most people make NSH bald, me included, mostly because the super cool official art of him gives him no antennas (sad). I asume that means he works via bluetooth.

(I was about to start speculating about their headphones but that got to boring even for me so sorry if your super intrested in why iterators probably have headphones)

But I had a ulterior motive with bringing up the headphones - and not only to be able to point out moons antenna, which I delight in drawing - but also so that I can transition into the second part of this way to long response! itertors hairdos... wire-dos? basicly this \/

(im reusing my wip because these are a pain to draw so we use what we have - I coloured them in a bit for better oversight.)

(also I was gonna start talking about if iterators would actully do personalisations like this - as we can argue about if they concepulize themself as their puppets and see a meaning to decorating them - I would argue yes but also its complicated- and also explain how iterators have different prefernces, which I realised most people probably already asume so I didnt need to explain that - anyhow so that got to long so I'm not gonna get into it. Instead were gonna go into this section with the assumptions that they do fun things with their wires. and also that the wires connect to their nape and backhead instead of their back or spine.)

So to me th biggest thing to remember when we talk about potetial wire headwear is that:

- iterators live 24/7 without gravity and because of that cannot be bothered by to heavy headwear, therefore theres rooms for them and anchients (and me) to get funky with it without having to concider gravity.

-anchients wore absurdly many decorations - and while giving iterators flashy decorations does take away from my earlier statement that they were based on more humble monk stuff, we are going to asume they used the fancy headwear for cermonies and festivals (which we also know anchients did) and that it was used for showcasing and fun. If some iterators preffered to keep them afterwards is another query.

So with that in mind lets break these headwear thingies down!! :D

so as you can (hopefully) tell there three components in the headwear. The headphones that are different depending on iterator and are not removable (or as unremovable a computer part can be). Then theres the actual headpieces that keeps the wires togheter. These can be switched out and changed depending on whats preffered - also I drew them in gold but any material works, if were being closer to canon they would probably be made of some purposed organism and maybe be neon pink - theres also pearls dangling from them because its a perfect opertunity. Third theres probably the part I think is the most fun which is the actual wires. They obviously go through the headpieces and then are set free via wiretassles (that also comes in different forms) and after that is where my own speculations about wires comes in. Which is really simple in that iterators can most probably move the wires at will - they can control their arm thing, pearls and other objects in their chambers, reasonably they can move the wires - and I think its fun if different iterators move them differently. Like suns keeps them straight and neat, or pebbles moves them in syncronized formations or moon who just lets them hang, so many oppertunities ok ( you can see the general idea in the drawing). The wires then connect to their movement arms and connect to the mainframe.

And thats kinda about it? I dont have like anything super intresting to say about just the hairdos other than that I think its very fun and also that everyone is sleeping on wire customizations I am obbsessed with the idea send help.

Ok I think I'm done chatting!! Hope your still here and that this wasnt insufferable to read. Uh, thanks for the ask :D

(NSH for your enjoyment)

#asks #rain world #no significant harassment #also sorry this took a bit to answer i got distracted reading moon and pebbles dialouge trees #i suddenly have so many toughts about how iterators see themself and how they work #anyhwo also HI IF UH someone sent me two really long asks on anon about my reverze iterator au and if your reading this PLEASE dm so i can #gush about it its such a delight but im so bad at answering asks that i forgot to answer #so like if your seeing this hit me up please #also this applies to anyone i am a way better chatter in chatrooms #ahem yes sorry actual anon i just had to say that!!#anyhw aughjdofje your so sweet for sending this!!! hope this was close to what you wanted :)#ok ok we are listening to guys on every corner by the mountain goats

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faunsoda · 2 years ago

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sbi ib au w wilbur as mary is a concept i cannot stop thinking abt, like i haven’t touched ib in years and i was more into smaller dynamics in sbi than sbi as a whole, but it makes me so insane. you’re a genius and i adore that au concept. techno as gary is also so much fun, i rlly liked the whole thing. also the art was SO nice, your style is very neat. if you have any more thoughts abt the au as a whole i’d love to hear them, but if not, just know i love the concept so much

WOOO i hear u, my favorite dynamics within sbi are crimeboys and bedrock bros (it really shows in this au) because i am a huge sucker for sibling dynamics. the remake for ib came out for switch recently so the childhood hyperfixation reawakened like a beast

i have so many thoughts in my brain let me drop these bad boys. infodump time.

my idea of a first meeting between techno and tommy! rather than having his rose stolen like garrys, its tommy stumbling in on techno getting cornered by one of the lady paintings. techno probably wouldve gotten out just fine eventually, maybe lost a few petals but tommy distracts the painting so he can escape unharmed! then theyre like 🤝 team up time

please ignore the shitty ooc dialogue everywhere ive just been getting ideas jotted down in my free time hehe. i imagine the dynamic between techno and wilbur in this au being pretty tense! techno is IMMEDIATELY suspicious/wary of wilbur & wilbur wants to leave with tommy, taking technos place. techno doesnt wanna be too protective of tommy because a) this is some kid he just met what does he care b) he doesnt really have any reason to be suspicious about wilbur because hes done literally nothing wrong so far hes just off so techno doesnt trust him

also philza as guertena means he doesnt show up like at all BUT i really liked the theory from a few years ago that part of marys dislike for garry stemmed from garry resembling guertena and her feeling like she’d been abandoned since i cant really imagine she can grasp the complete concept and weight of death. so i did have techno resemble philza a bit here (eg. emerald and stubble that i keep forgetting to draw-) which will probably be unmentioned in stuff i draw for this au because again philza wont show up much. so yeah ooh possible idea that wilbur might resent techno for that a little bit or just be like kind of annoyed by it. idk man im just sitting here.

i also did the three main endings! promise of reunion and together forever were kinda quick because i did not have time to properly draw and color them :,] but i found a neat brush and wanted to draw the forgotten portrait painting because ow. in my original drawings of this au tommy didnt have a green bandana but i decided to give him one as a stand in for the hankerchief ib carries! after all this ill probably do some redraws of moments from the game or try to reimagine the toy box since wilbur is notably not a child like mary is!

yeah hey that was probably like way more information about this au than anyone couldve wanted but B] if you have any thoughts about this au that differ from mine or if you just have thoughts in general id love to hear em! my brain is rotting. thanks for coming to my ted talk (and thank you for the ask, i am new to tumblr so this is my first ask yippee!!)

#dsmp #dream smp #my artwork #sbi ib au #my asks #dsmp fanart #crime boys #bedrock bros #sleepy boys inc #asks

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vixstarria · 6 months ago

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Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 4 - The Dancing Siren

Chapter summary: How in the hells are they managing to run a theatre, anyway? Also, we slowly begin the descent into smut.

Chapter word count: 4,100

Previous chapter | Series masterlist | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

Sometime in the past five years

“It’s perfect!” Asmodea burst into the bedroom above their tavern.

Astarion had been lying, corpse-like, in bed in the darkness of drawn curtains and shuttered windows, staring off into space, as he was wont to do of late.

He knew he could have gone downstairs - everything was arranged in a way that made it perfectly safe for him during daytime, but he simply could not bring himself to play the amiable host role just then. It wasn’t necessary, anyway - someone else was down there looking after things. He wasn’t necessary.

“It’s in a heavily impacted area and most of the buildings around it are damaged - must be why no one has snatched it up yet - but it’s completely intact.”

Her arrival was a sudden explosion of noise and activity, drawing him out of his lethargy. Candles throughout the room lit up with a flick of her wrist and a murmured incantation. He sat up as she continued.

“A little bird told me that the area around it is going to be cleared for other entertainment venues. Restaurants, taverns. A brothel or two. Just what we want nearby. No temples. No solitary manors.”

She threw her jacket onto a nearby chair, kicked her shoes off and hopped onto the bed next to him.

“I can’t wait to show you - we can sneak back in once it gets dark.”

“As much as I enjoy skulking around abandoned buildings with you, I’m starting to feel like I’m a pet you take out for walks,” said Astarion, his tone sour.

“You’re not-” Asmodea began with a sigh.

“Shh, I’ve already heard everything you’re about to say,” Astarion cut her off, shaking his head. “Just tell me about this new place you’ve found.”

Asmodea gave him a concerned look, but continued.

“What the seller’s asking for is already reasonable, but I’m sure I can get them to knock it down further. It’s huge, more than what we need - but that’s hardly a problem. We can tear down some walls, erect others…” She went on, describing the building she’d located as a potential site for the theatre she wanted to open.

The expression on Astarion’s face thawed at her excitement, before growing sombre again.

“I suppose you have an answer for how we are going to pay for all that as well..?”

“We’ll get a loan,” she answered, with the intonation of one explaining something to a child.

“And what bank is going to give us a loan big enough to cover all that..?” he asked, copying her tone.

“Any bank, with Duke Ravengard as the guarantor,” she answered.

“Is His Grace aware of his role in this enterprise..?” Astarion asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll have dinner with him later this tenday and inform him,” she said, leaning in to give him a peck on the lips before getting up again.

“You’re so sure of all this..?” Astarion sighed, laying back on the bed with his hands under his head, to look up at the ceiling.

“You know Wyll’s got a soft spot for us,” she said.

“A hard spot, you mean,” Astarion snickered despite himself.

“Probably best not to bring that up over dinner,” Asmodea cautioned. “We’ll promise to donate part of our proceeds to an orphanage or a hospital or some other cause he’d approve - he won’t say no.”

“If you say so,” he assented. “Have you made any other devious plans I ought to be aware of..?”

“Well…” she drawled, “there is one more thing.” She disappeared in the adjacent room. It sounded like she was rummaging for something - for what, he had no clue. “I need your name,” she called out, offhandedly.

Astarion gave pause, frowning.

“My name is Astarion.”

“I need your surname,” she said, appearing in the doorway.

“What’s wrong with yours?” he asked, genuinely dumbfounded.

“I can’t. Use it. Due to my pact,” she gritted through her teeth. “You know this. And buying that building and all the construction work required would be a big undertaking - much bigger than just unofficially renting some dingy tavern space - and I can’t sign legal documents as simply ‘Asmodea’.”

“So why would your dear patron allow you to use mine, if it prohibits your own..?” he blinked.

“Fuckface said that marriage would fall under exceptional circumstances, and they would allow it,” she said.

“Mar-!?” he cut himself off mid-word. “Now… Hold on. Wait a minute,” Astarion started to grin. “Let me get this straight.” He sat up again, looking at her. She had coloured, he noticed. “Although I applaud you for your guile, using your patron as a means of trapping me into marriage… Did you just propose to me..?”

“I would never!” She disappeared back in the other room, making a ruckus with gods know what again. “You can do that yourself. Like a gentleman.”

“What?!” Astarion let out an involuntary giggle.

“And make it romantic!” she shouted. “I’m thinking midnight, someplace nice outside. Moonlight reflecting on water, that kind of thing. Maybe swans. I like swans.”

“Swans?! Is there anything else I should arrange - perhaps some jugglers and mimes..?” he tittered.

“Absolutely not! But a nice ring would be in order. One that no lady is going to grab my hand for, saying she’s recently had one gone missing that looked just like it.” Asmodea reappeared in the doorway. “And make it all a surprise, will you? I don’t want to see it from a league away.” She continued as Astarion got up and off the bed, making monumental efforts to keep his face straight. “If you manage all that within the next few days Wyll might even be compelled to provide us with a nice engagement gift when we see him.”

She made to disappear again, but Astarion reached out and grabbed her, drawing her against him by her waist before she could get away.

“Will you stay still for two seconds..?” He gently tilted her face up to make her look him in the eyes. “You sweet, ridiculous fool… So that’s what you want, is it..?” he murmured, tenderly stroking her face.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He kissed her, unable to contain a smile. His teeth clacked against hers mid-kiss, clumsily, as she also couldn’t keep from spilling into a wide grin. They both dissolved into giddy laughter as he pulled her after him, stumbling backwards to the bed.

Present day

Asmodea made her way to one of the stairwells leading down into the theatre.

The entire top floor of the building consisted of private apartments. A large section was used by her and Astarion, their rooms being connected to a private terrace. The rest were offered to visiting artists and other guests. It was much easier to secure an act whilst an entertainer was in the city, if your offer included lodgings.

A downside to this was that there was always a high likelihood of bumping into someone within what they considered to be their home. There was always someone around, whether in the guest rooms upstairs, in the theatre or in the kitchens, no matter the time of day or night. The Dancing Siren never slept.

After descending, she passed by the dressing room, pausing to greet the performers who had begun arriving.

Asmodea usually carried out her own preparations upstairs, but Astarion had an honorary vanity at the far end of the room. Lacking a mirror, instead it sported a multitude of drawings pinned to the wall, ranging from an impressive charcoal portrait of Astarion - its depiction of his semi-profile uncanny in its realism - to a doodle of a stick figure with fluffy white hair, fangs and red eyes.

She moved on towards the auditorium.

The audience section of the theatre was filled with plush, red velvet couches arranged in clusters around small tables, in tiers. Raunchy art lined the walls. The lighting in this area was perpetually dimmed. It was vulgar and decadent, but intentionally, even brazenly so. There was no room for subtle, alluring sensuality - the raucous bawdiness slapped the attendees in their faces. Their guests immediately knew what they were stepping into.

Astarion had been sceptical about this venture at first, having about as much enthusiasm about taking part in anything as he did back when Asmodea unwittingly forced him onstage with Dribbles the Clown’s doppelganger.

He did not have a single creative bone in his body, he said. He had no idea what he was doing. And, above all, he had had enough of being on display - he did not want or need any more eyes on him.

Blatant lies, all of it, it turned out.

It took some time for him to let go of his apprehension and inhibitions, but he eventually found himself diving headfirst into this new endeavour. Apparently attention was addicting when it was on his own terms, as was receiving genuine appreciation for his craft. Swaying an audience to laugh with him was gratifying and empowering. …As was having the authority to direct others and actually having them listen. Having recognition and respect.

Seeing him thrive was a joy - Asmodea only wished that most of the day to day minutiae of running the Siren hadn’t fallen on her shoulders, especially at the beginning. She’d spent her days organising advertisements, luring in performers, or crunching numbers with their accountant until she dreamt of requisitions, whilst Astarion spent his time planning choreography or getting costumes just right. Oh well, she thought. They had hired help for most of the mundane details now.

Asmodea found Astarion lounging on one of the couches, in the company of their stage manager and assistant director.

A rendition of a classical play was being portrayed on stage. Unrequited love between a maiden and her pining lover, cruel fate disallowing them from being together; the story concluded with a tragic suicide pact that somehow culminated in half a dozen dead bodies - everyone in Faerun was familiar with and sick of the story - that didn’t matter, as it wasn’t the focal point of the performance.

Instead, everyone’s attention was intended to be drawn to the shadows projected onto a screen behind the actors. As the actors performed their sorrowful dialogue, their shadows - in reality silhouettes of other actors behind the screen - displayed them doing anything but talking.

“How did you get the shadows to be so sharp?” Asmodea asked, impressed.

“Matrim devised some trick with mirrors,” Astarion answered.

Matrim was, quite possibly, the worst wizard they had ever met. The man was hopeless in everything but illusion magic, which incidentally made him highly sought after for high end spectacles and performances. He provided lighting and visual effects for the theatre, and in turn he was provided with a living and working space in the Siren’s basement, on top of his wages. His lack of proficiency in other schools of magic did not prevent him from stubbornly pursuing them, often with near-catastrophic results. Still, between spending much of his time in the company of scantily clad dancers, and Asmodea and Astarion ignoring the occasional explosions that shook the building, he was likely the most self-satisfied wizard in Baldur’s Gate, despite his professional shortcomings.

As it happened, it was Matrim who managed to conjure a perfect mirror image of Astarion (much to Astarion’s shock), absentmindedly, almost as an afterthought, just as Gale was informing Astarion that he had exhausted all avenues and deemed it impossible.

Gale politely commended the achievement which had eluded him, but ultimately dismissed Matrim as a one trick pony. Regardless, as far as Asmodea and Astarion were concerned, the man was worth his (rather abundant) weight in gold.

As the actor portraying the male hero onstage performed a heartfelt monologue, professing his undying love for the heroine, his shadow was shown to grow an enormous but otherwise anatomically correct phallus.

Asmodea’s patron hummed in approval.

“If Fuckface’s reaction is any indicator for how our audience will respond - this is great,” said Asmodea.

“It still baffles me, some of the things it finds to be funny,” Astarion murmured.

“I’m still under the impression that the concept of gender is alien to them, but they can appreciate a dick joke as well as anyone.”

Fuckface made no comment.

As the scene went on, the shadows began ravaging one another in progressively creative and obscene ways, performing acrobatic feats of increasing complexity.

“It’s good! And now no one will be able to say we don’t pay tribute to the ‘great works’,” Asmodea went on as the female’s shadow was picked up and flipped upside down by the male. “The only thing that concerns me is- OH! By Shar’s tits!” Asmodea gasped as the female suddenly opened and held her legs in a perfect spread eagle split, her crotch level with the man’s head.

“Indeed…” murmured Astarion. “Can you do that?” He glanced at her with curiosity.

“If I ever feel like dislocating a hip I’ll give it a try,” she muttered. “Who’s behind there?”

“The new girl,” Astarion answered. “Elora.”

“Hmm. I hope she sticks around. …Anyway, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this might actually be too crass,” winced Asmodea. “Aren’t they teenagers in the original work?”

“We could give them both beards,” offered Astarion. “Or add a line at the beginning about them struggling to pay their taxes - it will make their state of distress all the more plausible.”

Astarion stood idly swirling a glass of red wine spiked with blood, observing the crowd from behind a curtain off the side of the stage, concealed by darkness. He had been very pleased to learn that drinking wine this way was still enjoyable for him, even without the tadpole.

“See anything you like at the buffet tonight?” Asmodea purred in Astarion’s ear, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

He wore a corset beneath a bedazzled suit jacket, together with an obscene amount of jewellery. He preferred to keep his scarred back concealed, when he could. And apparently it was a pants day. Some nights he felt more conservative than others.

He made or altered everything he wore himself, just as he did many of the more outlandish costumes worn by their performers.

Asmodea herself wore her usual rendition of the evening attire she kept to when she wasn’t appearing onstage - a relatively simple red dress tailored to her figure, complete with a high thigh slit. A balance of sophistication and practicality - she made it a life principle to never wear anything that might be too constraining for her to be able to deliver a swift kick to anyone’s groin, should the need arise - all whilst keeping with the theme of the Siren.

“There are a few tempting options…” Astarion responded. “But why don’t you choose tonight?”

“What about the new bard? Devyn. He’s not performing tonight, just watching.”

“You always go for the men,” commented Astarion. “Should I be worried?” he teased.

“They’re more likely to follow through, and less prone to suddenly catching feelings and expectations in the morning,” shrugged Asmodea. “And I like watching you make them squirm,” she whispered in his ear, as he smirked. “But if you’re not up for that, what about that new dancer? Elora?”

“I thought we decided to avoid regular employees after the last fiasco?” Astarion lifted an eyebrow, glancing back at her.

“I’ve noticed she’s been making doe eyes at both of us - I think the other girls have been gossiping to her. Wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”

“Hmm,” hummed Astarion. “Maybe next time. The bard does look appetising.” He downed what was left of his wine. “I’m up.”

The way it started was unintentional. A wood elf ranger visiting their tavern, years back. Warm, guileless, companionable. Perhaps he reminded them of a younger, unburdened Halsin. They were drawn into a conversation with him late into the night. He had recognised Astarion for what he was, and was not frightened by it. Rather, he was curious. Unlike the blood merchant at Moonrise, there was something genuine and almost naive about his curiosity. He wanted to experience being bitten.

They’d explained to him the way it would affect him – the aphrodisiac-like element of being bit by a vampire. It only further sparked his curiosity. Of course that thought wouldn’t deter a wood elf, Astarion would roll his eyes later. They explained the way it would most likely affect Astarion, for that matter – thinking creature blood still tended to go straight to his dick, no matter the source. ‘You can’t argue with your nature’, was all the ranger said. ‘No, but sometimes nature needs to be ignored, replied Astarion.

He brought the ranger’s wrist to his lips, holding his gaze, and bit into it. It was meant to be an arrogant, snarky gesture. An “I told you so. Happy now?”. Instead, the moment the blood hit his tongue, something passed between them. Astarion found his eyes locked with the other elf’s, unable to look away and break the unspoken sultry exchange. No, this could not so easily be ignored.

An indeterminate amount of time passed. It couldn’t have been long, but each moment seemed to hold the significance of a lifetime. ‘Shit,’ thought Astarion, breaking away at last and glancing back at Asmodea, hoping she would write off any change she might have noticed in his demeanour as irrelevant and beyond his control.

Instead, she palmed his cock through his trousers, encouragingly, spellbound by the sight of them. He rutted against her hand, involuntarily. No, it could not be ignored at all.

‘Do you want to continue this upstairs?’ the wood elf breathed, shakily, taking in both of them.

They did.

Words of re-affirmation would follow between Astarion and Asmodea the next day. Was what had occurred fine? Yes, it was. Should it happen again? They didn’t see why not. Ground rules would be set out. Only together. Only with each other’s unwavering consent. Any hesitation meant no. Astarion would drink from their ‘guest’. If they did not want him to – they would not bother at all. Procuring sufficient blood for him to be able to dull the eternal gnawing hunger was still problematic back then. After, it had simply become part of the custom.

The new bard lounged between them in their booth, happily chattering away about his recent travels. He wasn’t scheduled to perform until the following evening, and was spending the night enjoying the evening’s show, at the invitation of his hosts.

Asmodea laughed and talked with the bard, as Astarion mostly kept his eye on the stage, interjecting at appropriate moments. This didn’t require his full attention.

The young man seemed fine. Jovial. Unpretentious. Slightly awkward. Suggestible. Undeniably attractive. He was tipsy, but not sloppily so. In other words, perfect.

Astarion shifted his attention to Asmodea, catching her eye over the bard’s head, as he babbled something about his recent time in Waterdeep. Asmodea held his eye, as he raised an eyebrow at her. She tilted her head slightly and smiled. He had her approval.

The rest was a game consisting of a multitude of little probes, trials and tests, one of several they’d worked out for themselves.

‘Doesn’t this remind you of… ‘before’,’ she’d asked him when they first started getting into this routine.

Of course it did. That was the point. Finding his own ‘prey’ for himself, by his own volition, without pressure, without anyone’s death, without pain or fear of punishment, knowing he could stop any time he wanted, and all of it with her every step of the way. It wouldn’t erase centuries of horrible memories, but having sufficient pleasant experiences might just throw a veil over them, eventually, or so he hoped.

Asmodea reached for a bottle of wine on their table, placing her hand on Devyn’s thigh, as though for balance, and kept it there.

The bard stammered mid-sentence and looked up at her, surprised but clearly pleasantly so. The hand stayed, as she smiled back at him, gazing at him through lidded eyes. He was attracted to her - that much was obvious. One of the little boxes ticked. He went on talking, until he suddenly froze, a touch of panic writ on his face, and turned towards Astarion - as though suddenly remembering that his hosts were a couple.

At that point Astarion had half turned towards him, his arm thrown over the back of the booth’s seat, above Devyn’s shoulders.

Devyn found Astarion’s carmine eyes inches from his own, when he turned. All he could do was look into them, hypnotised like a mouse before a cobra.

Astarion ran a single finger up the back of Devyn’s neck, making the bard’s breath hitch and the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. He briefly toyed with the idea of further petrifying him, perhaps by insinuating that the bard had the audacity to flirt with his wife in his plain sight, but decided against it.

At that point Asmodea had inched her hand further up the young man’s thigh. He let her, and had even spread his legs further, all while continuing to look at Astarion with a mixture of trepidation and a growing excitement. Bold. Promising.

Astarion learned further in, slowly, to gage Devyn’s reaction. The bard stayed entranced and did not shrink away, although Astarion heard his pulse quicken.

It was all as good as sealed.

Astarion finally leaned in for a kiss, which Devyn returned eagerly. The little tease actually got cocksure enough to cover Asmodea’s hand with his own, encouraging her to go higher along his leg.

This left just one little detail.

Astarion slid his lips along the bard’s jaw and up to his ear.

“Do you know what I am..?” he whispered against the shell of his ear.

Devyn let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve heard many rumours… I don’t know which might be true,” he managed, voice thick with desire.

“Many rumours..?” Astarion smiled. “Seems I’m gaining notoriety. But I’ll give you a hint.”

His lips dipped lower, trailing along his neck, nibbling on it softly as Devyn gasped and threw his head back, to give him just the slightest nick with a single fang. He drew only the tiniest drop of blood - only enough to make Devyn crave more, and just enough for Astarion to determine that the blood was appropriate and untainted. He had learned to identify disease - he’s had plenty of test subjects over the past few years after all. Not to the point of determining what was wrong with his target, but enough to be able to tell when to stay away.

Devyn let out a low moan as Astarion continued to lick and lightly suck on his neck, no longer breaking the skin.

Astarion reached out to place his hand on Asmodea’s knee. She covered his hand with hers. They had developed little silent, basic tactile signals for each other. Sharp staccato taps - caution. Intertwined fingers - stay, more. Nails digging into skin - stop immediately. But she only caresses his hand back, reassuring and encouraging him. Everything was fine. She would take it from there.

“Would you like to join us after the show..?” she purred into Devyn’s opposite ear.

“I’ve never done this before,” he stuttered.

“What?!” she teased. “And you say you completed bardic college - I thought lewd indecency was a prerequisite for graduating.”

“No, I mean with-” his eyes darted between Asmodea and Astarion.

Astarion never learned whether he meant vampires, men, women or a combination thereof, as at that point he had to excuse himself and get back onstage. He got up with the strongest feeling of deja vu taking him back to their time with Wyll.

He left as Asmodea was cooing at the flustered bard, promising to teach him whatever skills he was lacking. She found this type particularly entertaining, for whatever reason. It didn’t matter: if she was happy, he was happy.

His new little snack and entertainment for the night was secured, and would eagerly await him.

Asmodea was interrupted by Ban, one of the bouncers, who looked uncharacteristically apprehensive.

“Madam, there is a man at the door asking to see you or the Master. He said he’s a friend of yours.”

“Did he give his name?” Asmodea asked distractedly.

“He refused to, but he is very persistent about seeing you.”

“Can you describe him?” Asmodea frowned.

“Human male, somewhere in his 30’s. Long brown hair. Not your archmage friend. And he has a small child with him.”

Asmodea racked her brain trying to remember anyone they knew that fit that description, who happened to have a child and might act this way. She shook her head.

“Ask him to come in, I’ll attend to him soon.”

Ban leaned in closer to whisper to her.

“He said he won’t enter without the express permission from the lord or lady of the house.”

Fuck.

Asmodea got up, smiling apologetically at Devyn.

“Another time.” She turned back to Ban. “Thank you. I’ll get Astarion myself and will see him.”

Part 5

~~~~~

Thank you for reading. PS. If you’re wondering whether anything mentioned about the theatre or play is a reference to something that exists irl - the answer is most likely ‘yes’.

Thank you @elora-the-slutty-songstress and @brabblesblog for the OC cameos. 😁

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles #asmodea

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outsideratheart · 2 years ago

Text

First Dates & Ferris Wheels (Aitana Bonmati x reader)

A/N: A little sequel to Reunited

The life of a professional footballer was hectic at times. Finding a time when both yours and Aitana’s schedule lined up proved to be difficult but after 2 months you finally had the same two days off. Since that night in Madrid you spoke to her every day but the only way to see her was over face time.

Once Aitana knew the days you had off she went into planning mode but refused to tell you a thing. She told you which train you should get and that she would pick you up from the station. All you knew was that the date was taking place in Barcelona which you didn’t mind at all. The city held happy memories, you would go with Aitana and her family to Barcelona matches on the weekend as it was a 45 minute drive from Sant Pere de Ribes.

The train from Madrid to Barcelona took almost three hours so you got yourself comfy, ready for the journey. What you didn’t bank on was seeing three familiar faces enter the carriage.

“What a coincidence” Lola says jokingly as she sits opposite you with Carmen next to her and V sitting next to you.

You didn’t find it funny in the slightest. All you wanted was a couple of days with Aitana, now it was a team trip. Your face was like stone and the three of them soon picked up on your annoyance.

“You don’t look happy to see us” V says.

“That’s because I’m not. You asked me what I was doing on my days off, I told you I was going to see Aitana alone. How did you find out, let alone the train I would be on?” You ask.

You see the three of them look at each other, as if mentally drawing straws to see who tells.

“Aitana told us” Lola says rather quietly.

This was a lie. You and Aitana both talked about how you wanted to spend this time together, just the two of you, so you both agreed that your plans would be kept secret.

“Try again” you stare at the keeper and she breaks immediately.

“We did ask Aitana but she wouldn’t tell us” Lola admits.

“So we asked Jenni to pry it out of Alexia because we knew that Aitana would go to her for advice”

“So correct me if I am wrong. You asked me, I told you no. You then asked Aitana who had the same response. At this point, instead of accepting that we didn’t want you to know, you coerced the information out of someone Aitana trusted”

All three of your teammates find themselves at a loss for words and the look on your face lets them know that they have crossed the line.

“We’re so—“

“I don’t want to hear it. I best not see you over the next two days. I have been waiting for this day for a very long time and I wont let you guys spoil it, do we have an agreement?”

“Yes” Lola says

“Sorry” Carmen apologies.

“We promise” Virginia tells you.

The rest of the train journey you refuse to talk to them. Instead you read your book just like you had planned to do before you got ambushed.

***************

After what might be the longest 2 hours and 45 minutes of your life you arrive in Barcelona. Even as you disembark the train you give your friends the the silent treatment.

Waiting near the platform is Aitana, a caring smile on her face which soon drops when she sees that you aren’t alone. Insecurities grow within her when she begins to think why you would bring them when she made it obvious she wanted you and only you.

“Ignore them. It’s me and you” you say as you pull her into your arms, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.

The affection you show calms her.

“Let’s go” She says as she leads you out to her car.

The short car journey is spent singing along to the radio. Aitana hands rests comfortably on your thigh as she drives. Every so often you would look over at her, finding her concentrating face adorable.

“We’re here” Aitana parks the car.

Looking up you read the sign.

Tibado Amusement Park

You cannot help but feel nostalgic. Ever summer the two of you would come here and spend the day going on ride after ride then trying, and failing, to win the biggest prizes.

“We have made so many memories, ready to make more?” Aitana asks as she holds out her hand.

The feeling in your gut is familiar yet foreign at the same time. Many things had changed since you were last here yet the look of excitement on your best friends face is same as it was all those years ago. You are frozen on the spot as the moment consumes you.

“Do you not like it?” Aitana worries as you don’t take her hand and the look on your face is unreadable.

“Sorry, too caught up in the past” you grab her hand.

“Don’t worry. I have spent a lot a time there too” Aitana reassures you.

Although she would never admit it, Aitana lost sleep over planning your first date. Patri had made a snide comment saying that just because young Y/N liked young Aitana didn’t mean that older you would feel the same. The words were stuck on repeat in the midfielder’s head ever since but as you held her hand she felt the same spark she felt a couple of months ago and the grin on your face lets her know you feel it too.

You spend the first part of the day going on as many rollercoasters as you could. The adrenaline you felt when you got off failed in comparison to the butterflies that Aitana gave you.

Then the two of you went to the games area where unlike your childhood you actually managed to win a huge teddy on one of the ball games. Just like in the movies you give the prize to your date. You are about to leave the stall when you see a young girl trying to win a similar prize. When she fails and her mother tells her that all the money is gone, she begins crying.

“Hola! You can have mine” Aitana says as she gives her the bear.

The interaction touches your heart. The girl’s mother thanks Aitana profusely whilst the little girl hugs her as a thank you.

“What are you looking at?” Aitana catches you staring but you don't mind.

“You” your reply is simple and honest.

Aitana dips her head with embarrassment as she feels her cheeks heat up.

“And the fact that you just gave away something I spent 5 years trying to win you when we were younger”

“Win me?” Aitana is shocked at your confession.

“Of course, I wanted to win a prize so that I can give it to prettiest girl I knew”

“That teddy bear has nothing on the prize I am taking home” Aitana says rather confidently.

“Oh, are you going to try and win that huge spider-man, you know they are impossible to win” you say jokingly.

Aitana slaps your arm at your silliness.

“Idiota! I mean you”

You wrap your arm around her shoulder as you begin walking to the next stop on your date.

“I am a pretty great prize” your voice thick with smugness.

The next ride had to be your favourite. The Ferris wheel. Yes, it was boring but you loved that it only enough room for two people. It was intimate but in an innocent way.

“Nice you see this is still your favourite. I swear you are the only person I know that comes to an amusement park and their favourite ride is the slowest” Aitana says as she can feel the excitement radiating off you.

You are stood behind Aitana with your arms wrapped around her neck, resting them on her chest. She in turn places her hands on top of yours.

“Want to know a secret? Why it is my favourite?” Aitana nods her head.

“It was the closest I got to you when we were younger. You would sit as close to me as you could because you hated the height. I got to hold you and I didn’t have to explain the reason why it felt so good. You would wrap your arms around me and rest your head on my shoulder, I still remember the scent of your citrus shampoo. It was a moment where I felt the most peace and I would look forward to it every year”

Aitana turns to looks at you. Shyness isn’t something you feel very often but after admitting a childhood secret, you are overcome with it.

“I’m not scared of heights, never was. I just wanted you to hold me”

You don’t have the chance to respond to Aitana’s confession as you the two of you are ushered onto the ferris wheel and as if no time has passed the Barcelona player sits as close to you as possible while you hold her. Although the action is familiar, the feeling in your gut is new. There was no secret motive to having each other close, you were both doing it because you wanted to.

“I’m really happy that I have you back in my life” Aitana says out of the blue.

When you look down at her you see that she is looking out at the amusement park that is becoming more and more like a miniature model with every minute that passes.

“What if we have changed? The history we had was amazing but what if too much time has past?” This thought has been running through your head since Lola made a comment a few weeks ago at training. You had annoyed her and she retaliated by questioning what kind of future you and Aitana could have if you lived in the past.

Your question gets Aitana’s attention as she abandons her admiration of the view and is now looking at you trying to figure out where this was coming from. Had you not enjoyed the date? Were you having second thoughts? Her insecurities from earlier return tenfold but the longer she thinks about it, the more she realises that you didn’t mean ill by your words.

“Someone said something didn’t they?” You nod your head “who?”

“Lola” your voice is quiet and your look shifts to the floor of the carriage as doubt settles in.

Aitana is infuriated. Why would Lola say something like that?

As if reading her mind you are quick to come to your team mates defence.

“I don’t think she meant it maliciously. I guess a part of me was already thinking it and then her words didn’t help”

Aitana agrees with you, knowing that Lola is harmless. She has seen over the past couple of months just how close the two of you are.

She turns, now fully facing you. You grab her legs putting them across your lap hoping that it is a comfier position given the small enclosure you are in.

“Our past is what made us. Some of my happiest memories are with you when we were young and I like talking about them, especially with you” Aitana wraps her arms around your neck, interlocking her hands as her thumbs play with your baby hairs “We have changed but the way I feel about you hasn’t. I love our past but I love the thought of having a future with you more”

You look at Aitana as if she hung the stars. What you must have done in your past life to have her in this one, you could never know but you were grateful for it. Your gaze remains on the woman in front of you and it is as if you have forgotten how to talk, that is the effect Aitana Bonmati has on you, in this moment more than ever before.

The concept of time is moot as the two of you sit there, neither speaking or moving. That is until the ride comes to a stop and you have to get out.

Much like before, Aitana grabs your hand as she begins leading you to the next part of your date but you don’t move. You pull aitana back towards you as you crash your lips in hers, what starts as gentle soon turns passionate as you both put all of your feelings into the kiss, only parting when oxygen becomes an issue.

The woman you have just kissed is about to speak when she is cut off by a familiar voice, one that you don’t need to see the owner of in order to know who it is.

“Fancy seeing you here” Jenni jokes

The euphoria that is consuming you soon perishes.

Aitana smile fades as the voices come closer to you.

“That was some kiss” Lola teases you.

Still, your back faces the group of girls.

“Y/N” Carmen says barely a whisper.

Her innocent tone gets your attention and as you look at her you can see the guilt on her face.

“What are you doing here?” Aitana asks your friends a lot nicely that you would of.

“We were bored and heard this was a good place to visit” Jenni says.

Aitana begins telling her friends about the day you two have had. Her kindness is one of the things you liked most about her but in the moment you didn’t care for it. The Barcelona girls begin talking as if nothing is wrong but your team mates look at you waiting for you to talk. They thought it would be funny to surprise you but now they regretted the decision.

“Nice to see your promises hold no meaning” you tell your best friend.

You see V swallow deeply when she realises just how mad you are.

“We both made it clear that we wanted to spend the day alone, just the two of us yet here you are going against our wishes like our wants mean nothing” your voice holds no emotion.

“Y/N, we—“

You ignore Alexia. In a way you were disappointed in her most, you thought she would understand your need for privacy. It was something you both had in common.

“I don’t want to hear it” you tell the captain.

Aitana squeezes your hand getting your attention “let’s continue this somewhere else”

Too frustrated to talk, you only nod your head as you follow Aitana to the exit of the amusement park.

Your team mates stand there not knowing what to do. Whilst they knew it was a risk interrupting your date they didn’t think you would react like you did.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea” Jenni says.

“No shit” Alexia replies.

***************

Aitana drives you to her apartment. The two of you don’t speak but it is comfortable silence.

The Barcelona midfielder leads you into her living room. She takes a seat of her sofa hoping you would follow in suit, only you don’t. Instead you stare out of her window and at the busy streets of Barcelona.

“I’m sorry they ruined our date” you apologise even though it isn’t your place to do so.

You didn’t try to hide your disappointment. You knew that Aitana put a lot of thought into your date and it had gotten cut short.

“It isn’t ruined, just altered. The end is same though, I have you in my apartment”

You cannot help but laugh at Aitana’s bashfulness.

“Is that so?”

Aitana nods as she pulls the hem of your t-shirt, leading you back to the sofa. She lets herself fall as you hover over her.

When she reaches up to kiss you, you waste no time in deepening the kiss. Your hands begin roaming her body when there is a knock at the door but have no interest it stopping but then a second knock follows.

Aitana caves before you as she gets in to answer the door.

She only opens it slightly given the she didn’t want whoever was on the other side to come in. You hear whispers then Aitana turns to look at you.

“You have got to be kidding me. I thought I made it clear at Tibado” you were more frustrated now than you were at the amusement park given what was happening minutes ago.

“Tell her we brought pizza” Carmen whispers.

“They brought pizza” Aitana does as she is told.

Now you wouldn’t say you could easily be bribed but your team mates knew you well. If they wanted something from you in the morning, they would bring you coffee and if it was in the evening, they would bring you food.

“Double pepperoni with stuffed crust?” You ask as you rest you chin on Aitana shoulder, inspecting the pizza boxes.

Carmen nods and it is only then to you realise is alone.

“They sent you” the atleti defender nods.

“They are down the hall aren’t they” again Carmen nods.

You take the pizza from her as you close the door.

Aitana is shocked but when she sees you with wicked grin on your face she opens the door again telling Carmen to come in as she shouts for the others.

Your team mates enter, more takeout boxes in hand. Each apologising to you and Aitana as they enter.

After ten minutes or so all is forgiven and everyone had split of into their own conversations.

“Have you completed your checklist?” Alexia asks Aitana.

She shakes her head “One thing left”

“Why haven’t you asked her?”

“What if she leaves again? Our friendship didn’t last before, what makes you think our relationship will?” Aitana watches as you laugh at some Jenni is telling you.

“Y/N isn’t going anywhere” Lola pipes in “She is signing at 4 year extension on Monday”

“See, she came back to you once, she won’t leave again”

Aitana just nods in agreement.

Meanwhile on the other side of the room you watch Aitana as she talks to Lola and Alexia. Although the day hasn’t gone as expected, it would still go down as a pretty good day.

“You’re day dreaming” Virginia says.

You can only smile “I’m not dreaming”

“So, have you asked her yet?”

You shake your head.

“What are you waiting for? To be separated for another ten years?” V pokes your side.

“I would have done it earlier but we were interrupted by my promise breaking best friend”

V holds her hands up in defeat.

“How about I get everyone out of here, would that make up for it?” V suggests.

“It’s a start”

Without saying another word, V goes over to Carmen who manages to gather the group as they leave. So V’s way of making it up to you was getting Carmen to persuade everyone to leave, typical.

Now you have Aitana all to yourself, for how long, god only knew.

“I—“ you both says at the same time.

“You first” again you speak in unison.

“You planned today, you go first” you insist.

The look on Aitana’s face told you she was nervous for whatever she was about to say. You take her hand in yours as you sit down.

“Y/N” Her voice is quiet, almost like she is scared.

“T” you call her by her nickname hoping that would bring her some comfort and when you see her smile you consider your mission successful.

“I know we have only be on one date and you have only just come back into my life but I don’t want to waste anymore time. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“I would love nothing more”

Much to your surprise, Aitana lets out a huge sigh of relief, how could she ever think you would say no.

You kiss her gently “Want to want a movie?”

“How about we pick up where we left off, you know before we were rudely interrupted” Aitana raises her eyebrows playfully.

“Even better” the eagerness in your voice is evident.

#aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati imagine #Aitana Bonmati one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #espwnt one shot #espwnt x reader #espwnt imagine #barcelona femeni one shot #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni imagine

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needleandhammer · 4 years ago

Text

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

#curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #smut #fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

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hello-yue-here · 3 years ago

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thank you @chiptrillino for tagging me in a wip game!

not quite sure what the rules are but based off of your AMAZING POST OF ART WIPS (check it out here yall chip is so talented) ive decided to just share some parts of my writing wips that i rlly like because i cannot draw whatsoever lmao

enjoy some lil snippets hehe

from heart don't stand a chance:

"Zuko couldn’t get over her eyes. She was looking past the camera towards the man who took it. Zuko could see clear as day the love she held for Sokka in her gaze.

It was a perfect moment that Sokka had captured. No wonder held it with him at all times. If someone had looked at Zuko like that, he’d never want to see anything again.

As he took in the photograph, Sokka sat next to him in silence. His hand was clutching the ring around his neck again in his fist, pressing it close to his mouth as he peered over Zuko’s shoulder to look. Zuko turned to him to compliment the picture and saw a sad fondness lingering in his eyes."

this is a scene i wrote a while ago thats gonna appear in a much later chapter. but yeah. more yue angst for you guys im so sorry.

from i love you (and that's all i really know):

"Mister Sokka," a little voice wishpered in his ear as he felt tiny pokes on his cheek, "Wake up Mister Sokka."

"Good morning to you too Izumi," Sokka responded wearily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked towards the little girl who was standing on her tippy toes to see over the edge of the bed and poke his face until he rose.

She smiled at him once she realized he was awake.

"Can we have pancakes?" She asked shyly, hiding her mouth just below the edge of the bed as she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

That look was going to be dangerous for him later on, he could aready tell.

"Sure thing, Izumi, just let me sleep for five more minutes, mkay?" He asked as he shut his eyes again. He was exhausted from last nights events, and the sun had barely risen. How did Zuko do this?"

this is a scene from the next chapter of this fic. so much sokka and izumi bonding you guys are gonna explode hehehe.

from cherry (the mailee fic i wont shut up about that is now a whopping 19 pages):

"Mai never had to guess with Ty Lee. She always knew when Ty Lee was happy about something because she would use an obnoxious amount of exclamation points. She would send gifs of people or cartoons making outlandish expressions whenever she wanted to react to Mai’s text with a specific facial expression. Sometimes Ty Lee would even send voice memos whenever her thoughts became too long, or she got too excited about a story that her fingers couldn’t type as fast as she could speak."

hehe i love mailee.

from yours (the mailee sorority fic that i promise i did not forget about):

"Mai lifted her head off the pillow again and met Zuko’s eyes. She studied his impassive expression, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. He did seem like he missed Mai and Azula, so maybe he did really just want to catch up with them.

But Mai wasn’t going to give up a golden opportunity like this.

“Tell us everything about the boy toy as well and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Mai said.

Zuko rolled his eyes and sighed, “Ugh, fine. And his name is Sokka by the way.”

“Nuance. You also have to wake up Azula.”

“No chance in hell,” Zuko scoffed, “You’re the roommate and her fellow ‘pong princess,’ wake-up duty is all yours.”

“If she murders me, it’s your fault. She’s a bitch when she’s hungover.”

“Whatever you say, Mai,” Zuko grinned before returning back to his phone."

i have decided that zuko is a little shit for this fic and no one can stop me.

from Where'd All the Time Go? (the yuekka fic that i have severe writers block with that i also promis i have not forgotten about):

"“Sokka I really think you need to take a moment and-”

“I am fine Aang, I don’t have time for a feelings talk right now. Right now I need to find the fucking chief of this damn place.” His words came out harsher than he meant, but he didn’t have the time to dwell on that.

Before Sokka could run off again to continue his search, a hand grabbed his arm. One of Arnook’s advisors, Malina, had started dragging him towards the podium.

“Do you not realize how late you are for this Sokka? The ceremony was supposed to begin with your speech nearly an hour ago-” she hissed at him as she pulled him along through the crowd.

“Malina I’m sorry but I really need to speak with Arnook it is urgent-”

“This damn speech of yours is what’s urgent right now Sokka, you can speak with Arnook later but the guests are getting antsy so you need to give your speech right. Now.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Maline shoved Sokka towards the podium and suddenly all eyes were on him. Every guest in attendance had their focus solely on Sokka."

homeboy is stressed in this scene. things are slowly going to shit in this chapter. i promise i will update this before the end of the year. i swear. im so sorry.

from a currently untitled jetko/sukka boiling rock fic:

"“Oh good, you survived after all,” She said in a mocking tone.

Jet didn’t answer. He knew anything he said would be used against him. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was happening. But he would be damned if he showed that weakness in front of the fire nation.

“I was told you were more talkative than this,” the girl mused. There was something familiar about her, “my informants were very detailed when discussing your little teashop romance.”

I knew it. Jet snarled in his mind, That bastard betrayed me."

i want this fic to be a little darker but idk how good i am at writing darker fics because i love fluff and humor too much. this could be good angst practice for me.

from a toph and sokka fic that i wrote a while back to help me cope w some shit that i dont know if ill ever post:

"“Sokka? Are you still there?” Toph asked, the slightest hint of concern began to slip into their voice

“Tell me a story,” he was trembling. Despite all of his efforts to sound calm, he knew his voice came out trembling and scratchy and pathetic-

“Is everything okay? You don’t sound too hot,” Toph said through the phone.

Breathe, Sokka, breathe. You don’t want them to be worried, you just need to calm down.

“Please, Toph, I just,” he said through shaky breaths that weren’t nearly deep enough for him to be getting enough oxygen, “I just need a distraction. I just need to hear your voice okay?”"

nonbinary toph anyone?

from a 10 things i hate about you kataang and zukka au:

"“What? Something on my face?” the guy asked deadpanned. He rubbed at his scar as if he were wiping off a smudge of mustard, and Aang’s face went pale.

“Stop scaring the sophomores Zuko, this one’s new. He won’t get your… humor… just yet,” Ms. Wu said as she waved Aang off again.

“I’m hurt that you’d imply I’m not funny, Wu. I’m hilarious,” the senior, Zuko, said as he walked past Aang.

Aang let out a sigh of relief knowing that this Zuko guy didn’t seem all that offended by his awkwardness, and darted out of the room."

zuko is a little shit part 2. the amount of sarcasm i have dripping off of heath ledger zuko is glorious. let zuko be a little shit. i havent added to this in months but when i finish some of my other wips i cant wait to get back to this.

i have more wips and drafts saved but none of them have anything juicy or funny or interesting yet because all of them are like less than three pages so far

but yeah, heres a good chunk of sneaky peakys from my wips!

I hope you liked them!

anyone who wants to do this can totally go for it. imma tag @ambykinns @lumities and @flowers-inthepieshop (only if you all want too!!) because this was fun :)

#liv talks about writing #liv talks ab fanfic #liv wips #liv fics #i love sharing my writing #especially when i have a bit of a block going on with well.... every fic #maybe this will give me inspiration!!!#i love sharing my writing im proud of these little snippets and i hope you all likes them as well :)#atla #avatar: the last airbender

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emokpopgal · 4 years ago

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Entanglement - PART 1

Yandere! Ghost! Kyungsoo (D.O.) x Fem! Reader

Warning/s: Mention of suicide, violence, and guilt-tripping. Read at your own risk...

Part 1

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Empty.

It's all what Kyungsoo can describe the world before him. He weakly stands on his bathroom floors, eyes staring at his reflection in the mirror. His swollen eyes have developed bags underneath his eyelids accompanied by his build that obviously decreased in weight. He hadn't eaten properly ever since she left. He hadn't felt alive too

. What he only feels are the turmoil of sadness, guilt, and betrayal inside him. These feelings are what weighs heavily on his chest and he had cried so much that no more tears made its way out of his eyes; it's like he has evolved to be numbed to the effects. He feels like an empty husk of his former self. It's all my fault. He says to himself. He felt like he was the one to blame in putting such a relationship to waste. The 10 years of memories and hardships, gone. Their marriage, forgotten. If only he had changed sooner. But he couldn't figure out why. He did give her everything— a roof over her head, his undying love, and a lavish lifestyle. What more could she want? All he wanted was for her to stay, but how could she betray him like this? She promised him that she will stay by his side for all eternity and this was evidenced by her accepting the ring at the time of his proposal. He also promised to change his ways, and he did. But she still left. It has been a week since she abandoned him and the memory continues to play on his head like a broken record. "I want to break up." "What...?" "I said I want to break up, Kyungsoo. I can't handle this anymore!" "Jagi," Kyungsoo he says to her. He attempts to grab her hands in which she immediately swats away. "Is there something I did again? surely we can sort this out—" " I don't think I would want to sort this out again, Soo." "And why is that?" He questions. "I want to END this..." Y/N answers. He couldn't believe what she was saying. Is she really trying to do this now? He thought. "End... " He repeats, inquisitively. "A-are you serious?" Y/N, in response, just lowers her head and diverts her gaze on the floor. She's not the type to joke around on these type of situations. Her silence is enough to send him the sign that she is indeed serious on what she's saying. Anger is slowly building up to him. He can't fathom her intentions on abandoning a long term relationship and the marriage that is drawing near. "END?!" He shouts. "What is this bullshit, Y/N?! You want to END all we've been through?" He then plunges his fist into the wall, leaving light cracks on its surface. He's slowly loosing himself and is beginning to give in to the intensity of his emotions. Y/N flinches from the noise. His manner of speaking is starting to frighten her, but she promised herself that she won't back down. Even in the midst of fear, she forced open her mouth. "I-I don't care anymore, Soo! I don't want the marriage, and I...I—!!!" "YOU what Y/N?!" He threatens. "You don't wanna be with me anymore?" "Yes, Soo. And this is not—" "Oh please!" He interjects, kicking the furniture next to him. "This again?! Oh come on Y/N, you're really breaking it off when IT'S 6 MONTHS BEFORE OUR WEDDING?!" He's doing it again. Instead of reasoning out, he reverts to guilt-tripping. It's all because he's blinded by the emerging feelings inside of him and the rising fear of her leaving. He can't stop, he doesn't know how to and this is the only thing he knows on how to respond to these kind of situations. Deep inside, he wants her to take back all what she's saying. Anger is his weapon, but this time it wont affect her as much. "FUCKING YES, I AM!!!" She finally snaps, angered by his reaction and childish choice of actions.Now, she's using the same tricks as his. "Why? 'Cause you don't love me anymore? You don't LOVE me, who gave you everything for the past 10 fuckin' years?!" Yes, keep going. Tell her everything you did and throw it in her face, she is nothing without you. Let's see if she still has the guts to leave... "You really want me to answer that, Soo?" Y/N challenges him. "FINE!" Kyungsoo's eyes widens, fearing the possibilities of what she might say. "Soo, I can't love you anymore, you kept on HITTING me. And for the past 10 god-forsaken years, you still haven't learned to control your goddamn jealousy! I've endured all of this, because I LOVED you! But now I just can't take this anymore!" It's true. All of this is true. But he just simply cannot control himself, and again, he doesn't know how. And he just loves her too much to the point that he must do things in order to make her stay, even if it means that she will answer to his hands. But he changed didn't he? He even got some help like she always asked him to do. Was that not enough for her? "B-But I've changed Y/N!" He says, with tears starting to form around his eyes. "Tell me... When's the last time? It was like, months ago remember?" She remained quiet again, this time staring at him with mixture of sadness and contempt in her expression. "...Remember?" "Soo..." She says. "After the last time, my love for you started to fade away..." It puzzles him even more. What does she mean it started to fade away? Was he living with the mirage of her loving him all this time? "What?" He says. This is now his breaking point."What do you mean...?" "I don't love you as much anymore." She bluntly replies. "I thought I would love you again after you proposed. But I did not, especially the time you did it again..." Reminiscing those painful memories brought tears to Y/N as well. She can remember the pain of his broken promise that he will change for the better. The pain of his fists landing to her body and his insults towards her left a mark that she definitely won't forget. Then it hit him. The words that came from Y/N became a knife that pierced through his chest that sliced and cut his heart into a million pieces. He felt his body go numb as his tears made its way out if his eyes, trailing down his face. This can't be true — she couldn't possibly mean what she says, right? They have fought like this before and still managed to be together. Surely this will all pass and she will come back again. Or so he thought. "Y/N, y-you can't possibly m-mean that, r-right?" Kyungsoo pleads in between his sobs. "Please t-tell me you don't mean that!" "I meant what I said." Y/N hisses out. She rolls of the sleeves of her blouse, revealing her arms filled scars and cuts that came from Kyungsoo's beating. "All of this was from you, Soo! And I think this is alone is enough for me to end this." She covers her arms again and fixes the sleeves of her blouse. She takes an item from her purse, and brings it in front of Kyungsoo's face. The item was their engagement ring. It's silver luster and reflectious diamond stone mimic the light of the sunset rays coming from the window. "We're through." She says, then she proceeds to throw the ring across the room. The ring bounces off of the opposite wall and falls in the red, mahogany floors of Kyungsoo's house. It's impact on the floor emits a sharp tinging sound. He didn't attempt to look at where the ring has landed off to for he was still frozen of the events happening before him. She then takes one last glance at Kyungsoo, with the sharpest gaze she could muster. "This talk is done, goodbye Doh Kyungsoo. Don't contact me ever again." Y/N turns around and walks towards the door, but before she can reach the handle, Kyungsoo reaches to her, wrapping his arms on her waist with his face resting on her shoulder. She could feel his tears dampening her shirt. Why is she feeling bad? "Please," He says, sobbing. "P-please don't leave me! I will make things right, I'm sorry! I know I can't control myself sometimes but I swear I'll work on myself! Just don't—" Y/N sees the hysteric state the he's in. She is starting to feel guilty about what she is currently doing, but it has been decided that she would leave their toxic relationship. What is the essence of lavish living if she would just constantly live under his fists everyday? It's time that she should think about her own wellbeing rather than their both. She tries pry off his hold to her, but he won't budge. He is stronger than he looks. "Kyungsoo please..." She pleads as she squirms in his arms. "It's going to be the same again! Just let me go." He then lets go of her. It became clear to him that she no longer wants to do anything with him. He watches her make her way outside his house as she slams the door in front of him. Y/N is his whole world, and always will be. She was his savior from his own darkness, but the down side to that is, in certain times she takes all of it. The outcome of this is their frequent fights, leaves Y/N as always the loser, evidenced by the painful marks left on her skin. He did gave her everything, as he said. But...She still chose to leave Going back to reality, he stares at the object sitting at his sink. He's been contemplating of doing it, since he lost everything the day he lost her. However, he sets this plan aside for the moment, because he is yet to bring her back to him. He'll even beg in his knees if he has to. ----- SM Telecoms is the company that Y/N works for. On the foot of the building is a café, where he and Y/N would usually meet. This is where he often picks her up— he even knows her favorites from their menu. The café's exterior was made up of windows huge enough to see it inside, which is usually filled with customers from or outside the company. This is Y/N's hang out place after her work hours. Kyungsoo's car was parked parallel to the café, granting him a clear view of the place, even when he's on the other side of the road. He patiently anticipates the time she goes to the café. After a few hours of waiting, he spots her on the building's lobby, with her peers around her, seemingly chatting about some stuff he doesn't care about. She looks so normal, as if nothing has happened to her. He makes his way outside his car and crosses the road to meet her, which in turn just ends up him standing outside the building's entrance. There he can see her better, as she and her friends enter the café on the entrance on the building's lobby. He decides to observe them some more before barging in. Two of her female friends went to get their orders while she and a particular male friend sits on a spot together. They are sitting in the same side and appears to be chatting. Y/N seems to be enjoying it as she laughs along with him. She doesn't laugh like that around me... He thought. He took one step towards the entrance, then stopped again to take another glance at her. She looks so happy with them. This made him hesitant to continue on his intentions because he also thought that it would do nothing. It's pointless coming in here... I should just leave her alone. That's what she wants. It might be his excessive jealousy, but seeing her with another guy sent an overbearing amount of anger and hurt in his nerves. He can't continue on his plan anymore, for it appears that she had found someone else to lean on, therefore there is no point of him pursuing her. He confirmed it— she doesn't love him. He went back to his car, and drove away with such speed. The car ride back to his house was absolute hell -- he drove carrying the feeling of heartbreak and loneliness with small tears clouding his vision. He almost got caught for over speeding and even thought of crashing it to the traffic in front of him. He blames himself, yet he's pins all of this at her. He loves her, yet he loathes her. Days have passed, but he still feels the same. He even sent her hundreds of messages and missed calls, to which she didn't even bother to answer. His mind is slowly succumbing into madness. He abandoned everything — his family, his work, and his life is coming next. His family and coworkers are wondering where he is, because he's not even responding to their messages. He's closed himself off to everyone. He thinks that there is no more point in living, especially if she's not in there. The one who gave him purpose has thrown him away. Everything reminds him of her, and it's driving him insane. He wants her so bad but he can't have her anymore. All of his irrational thinking is clouding the clarity of his judgements and its spiraling him out of control. Drowning within the emotion of anger, sadness, and betrayal, he grabs the object that has been waiting for him for so long. His handgun. He begins loading it, and switches it off to safety. He takes one final breath, and then proceeds to point it on his head. The index finger of the hand that holds the gun brushes on its trigger, and in a split second. He fires. He brought his insanity in his grave. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Local Man commits suicide — Cause unknown; no letter found. Calling...

Mrs. Doh "Y/N! Y/N!!!" The voice calls to her in the midst of crying. "My dear Soo! *sob* H-He's gone! My S-s-soo's gone!!!" Y/N can only stare at the tv, wide eyed, with regret slowly creeping up to her. It's all my fault.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Love is like wine as many would say; the longer it gets, the sweeter it tastes. But in the case of Y/n and Kyungsoo's relationship, the 'wine' in their 10 year relationship has grown moldy that it leaves a very strong, unpleasant taste. This only signifies that the love that binds them together has not been nurtured well, therefore creating a very sickening and pungent flavor. A flavor that only Y/N tastes between the two of them. In the beginning, she thought that he was the one. Others would say that she is lucky in having him in her life— very hardworking, mature, and has a future planned ahead of him. Y/N, on the other hand, compliments him. She is known to be steadfast yet loving and soft; a kind that every man needs. If one were to only view the tip of the iceberg, their relationship would be described as a "dream" relationship. But plunging further to its depths is where things goes in a much darker turn. Their relationship became toxic as she began to feel trapped under his spell. It's very suffocating, knowing that someone is slowly gaining control of your life. For her sake, she decided to end it all. But where did it land her? Did she get any satisfaction from what she's done? The sky is painted gray as countless of droplets plunge into the earth from the skies. It seems to mourn with them for the loss of their beloved Soo. People dressed in black has their tears mixed with rain as their wails adds to the sound of thunder that ravages the clouds. She stands in front of him, yet she couldn't take a look on where he's at. She's at pain too, and its because of the mixture of sorrow and guilt that she feels. She does cherish a handful of good memories with him, and she did love him nonethless. But she never expected that he would go like this. She also knows herself that she has something to do with this "Y/N," his mother calls to her. "I think this belongs to you. We found this at his house... I think you'll need this." In his mother's hand was a shiny, silver ring decorated with a big diamond gem — their engagement ring. It still shines despite the gloomy weather. She doesn't know why, but something's compelling her to not take the ring. It radiates a certain negative force, causing her fear that screams in the back of her psyche. She's afraid of the item, because it reminds her of him. Noticing that Y/N was not taking the ring, she grabs her left hand and proceeds to insert the ring on Y/N's ring finger. "Please don't loose this," she says to her. "This is the only thing that binds you to him..." They say that emotions get left behind on certain places or items. An example of this is the feeling of happiness, or nostalgia, upon seeing an item or a place that has made a special connection to you. This is also like looking at a photo, wherein as you look into the pictured world presented before you, you either feel the sensation of joy, longing, sadness, or any emotion you think attributed to the picture. This is the case for the ring he left for her. The memory of betrayal and anger has marked the object, thus Y/N sees this as something dreadful. These certain emotions harnesses energy emitted by the mind, thus attracts certain entities or beings beyond human comprehension. However, If these emotions are strong and lingered long enough, the entity it attracted will find it difficult to leave, because it has already made a strong connection to the emotions. What she thought she has left can never and WILL NEVER leave her at this point. The ring was still in her hand as she made her way back into her own home. Night came and enveloped her room in moderate darkness, with the moonlight shining on her. Her eyes can barely figure anything in the dark, yet it is still open. The longer she sees the ring, the more powerful the guilt grows inside of her, eating away what's left of her sanity. She is alone in her current house with no housemates or relatives to keep her company. She closes her eyes, yet she can still see his tear-stained face, begging for her. Finally, she delves into sleep but unbeknownst her, a pair of watchful eyes observe her in the darkness. It feeds off her strong emotions that is caused by the memories that haunts the ring. He promised to take her back, and he will. Even if he's in the afterlife.

A/N: I finally did it! My first post!!! More coming soon though, please be patient with me. Also, I do apologize if I took too long, did a lot of last-minute changes. Feel free to DM me to help me improve my work. Criticism is accepted, just as long as you are nice about it. See you again on the next part! ^____^

#exo #exo k #yandere #kyungsoo #yandere exo #yandere kpop #yanderekpop #kpop #baekhyun #kai #chen #sehun #chanyeol #suho #yixing #xiumin #yandere nct #nct

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flourchildwrites · 3 years ago

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Six years after their escape to the human world, the Grace Field children live together in a happy, harmonious home. Twenty-one-year-olds, Ray, Norman and Emma, have folded themselves into modern society and work tirelessly to provide for their younger siblings, putting the greater good of their family before their personal needs. But as children turn to into teenagers, new house rules come into play. Norman, convinced that Emma will never remember their unique childhood bond, makes a bold proposition — to prohibit romantic relationships between the Grace Field children and end his hopes for something more with Emma once and for all.

Ray knows all too well how dangerous it is to reignite a spark, but for the happiness of Emma and Norman, he's always been willing to burn.

Fandom: Yakusoku no Neverland | The Promised Neverland (Manga)

Relationships/Pairings: Emma/Norman (Endgame), Emma/Ray (Fake Dating), Norman & Ray, Emma & Ray

Genre: Post-Canon (Spoilers for Anime-Only Fans), Fake/Pretend Relationship

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,930 words (incomplete 3/5)

A/N: Oh, hi! So it's been a while, but I have neither dropped off the face of the Earth nor given up on this fic. Sometimes, I just have to wait until I'm in the right state of mind to write a chapter. Until next time....

Chapter 3

The cuckoo clock on the wall of Norman’s study is an ornate piece of artistry. It does its job fashionably and without complaint, keeping time with as much precision as its pendulum can muster. Norman likes to lose himself to the details of the carved wood. The dancing animals and crisp steeples that surround the clock face never fail to interest him when his thoughts turn sluggish at the end of the day.

Norman would happily wile away his evening hours waiting for the clock’s melodic chime to sound at the top of the hour, but this is not the gift’s purpose. Instead, it is meant as a constant reminder that time itself is a precious commodity. Mike Ratri gave him the clock upon his admission to law school. And though Norman’s enthusiasm for the present has dissipated, he cannot disagree with the principle behind the clock’s coded message.

Time can be a beautiful, but unforgiving mistress; yesterday’s opportunities are lost in the past, gone forever.

Perhaps, Norman muses, for his next graduation, he will receive a high-end watch from the Ratri clan. Then he, along with his time, will be literally and figuratively shackled to the course the family’s scion has mapped out for him. Norman knows he is regarded as the best of the bunch, the poster child amongst the extraordinary children born and raised in the demon world. Ever rational, he cannot disagree with that conclusion.

Still, he rakes a finger under the collar cinched around his neck to loosen his tie and fusses with the first few buttons of his pressed shirt. The emblem of Lambda 7214 peeks out from underneath the scoop neck of his undershirt, and not for the first time, Norman traces the tattoo’s hard lines where they are exposed. Compared to this marking, the numbers on his neck are practically forgettable.

Norman isn’t like the other Grace Field children, not since Peter Ratri’s malicious experiments. Neither can he lump himself in with the other Lambda survivors. Though Barbara never shies away from advocating for the latter.

“Are you even listening?” Barbara’s voice is shrill as it comes from the cellphone wedged between Norman’s shoulder and ear.

In the background, he can hear boxing gloves rhythmically pound against a punching bag. Norman doesn’t like lying to Barbara; he knows what the woman is capable of when she’s feeling feisty. But after hearing the juicy gossip from the younger children in his house, concerning a date between two certain someones, Norman’s mind refuses to focus on administrative matters. Still, he tries to soldier on as if nothing is amiss.

“Of course,” Norman fibs. “You’re concerned about the benefit, just like you are every year. And every year, it turns out fine. We get our funding; the Ratri family keeps their moral high ground.”

The sound of hard punch startles Norman, and Barbara pauses, slightly winded, before responding. “But the problem is that they want Zazie to attend this year. Zazie!”

The thought causes Norman to pause. He is wont to recall Zazie as he once was — a child stuck in an overgrown body with a paper bag hiding his face and twin swords strapped to his back. But Zazie, like his brothers and sisters, has grown into his shaggy hair, and in his case, his mental strides are much more impressive.

“What does Zazie think about attending the benefit?”

Barbara scoffs. “He’s fine with going for a little while as long as he isn’t on his own, but why should he waste his precious words on that family ? They don’t fund his therapy out of charity; they pay for it because his hardships, all our hardships, are their fault.”

Normally, Norman would play devil’s advocate. He would remind Barbara that Mike isn’t like Peter and point out that most of the advances made on behalf of the cattle, Lambda and farm children are funded by the donations of the benefit’s attendees. But tonight, Norman has no such fight in him. He has four cases to read and brief, an argument to draft for his legal writing class and a Ray-and-Emma-shaped problem that seems to become more bizarre by the minute.

“I’ll talk to Mike and see if we can defer Zazie’s involvement,” Norman capitulates, rubbing at his neck as his to-do list grows longer. “He may look like an adult, but he’s still a teenager. It can be easy to forget.”

There’s a pregnant pause on the other side of Norman’s cell phone connection.

“Are you feeling alright, boss?”

A part of Norman wants to laugh, a great big belly laugh that would draw the kind of attention the household head does his best to avoid. Of course, he isn’t alright. It was a relief when he first made the decision to impose a fraternization ban, but then, Ray went and asked Emma out just to spite him.

Clever, impulsive asshole.

How could Norman go through with it after that? Either he would have seemed like a heartless roadblock or a jealous cockblock to his siblings. And neither alternative comes close to the truth, an inconvenient conundrum that’s been eating away at him for years.

Norman exhales, long and slow, and because he can ordinarily be (somewhat) honest with Barbara, he doesn’t lie to her this time. He won’t divulge the whole, messy truth. For that, he wouldn’t even know how to begin. Heavy the head that wears the crown, or in this case, Norman thinks it’s more along the lines of a cape.

“No,” he responds, “I’m not alright. But I’m sure I’ll be fine after exams. I just need some time to rest and get my head on straight. No need to be concerned.”

There’s a flurry of movement coming from Barbara’s side of the connection, and when she speaks again, her voice sounds unflinchingly clear. Norman braces himself when he realizes she’s paused her evening workout and taken herself off speakerphone.

“Far be it for me to suggest that you shouldn’t be living with the Grace Field kids, but you’re also one of us — a Lambda experiment. We have different needs, and Lambda House could provide you with much more support or at least a break from being in charge. Come live with us and let someone else run things over there. We all miss you, boss. Maybe someone could help you for a change.”

A lump sticks in Norman’s throat, and he swallows it, ready to make excuses that never arrive. Words fail him for the umpteenth time in a handful of days. Suddenly hot, he scratches the back of his neck and shrugs off his collared shirt entirely. The top of his Lambda 7214 tattoo remains on full display. Sometimes, he hides it so well that he begins to believe his own lies, but there are moments when the truth corrodes his carefully constructed facade.

Norman may be the brightest child from the demon world, but he’s also damaged goods, marked in ways that Ray (for example) is not.

He could live at Lambda House. Correction, he should live at Lambda House to better avail himself of the on-call therapists for his night terrors and have his medication managed with more regularity. But then, there would be no reason for Norman to oversee the Grace Field children’s home. He wouldn’t be able to drag himself down to breakfast each morning to find her, Emma, sipping her coffee and joking around with the younger children, or feel his heart flutter when wishes him well in the evenings.

Norman stays because she’s worth all the small inconveniences and then some. The time in between, the numbing hours spent studying, problem-solving and balancing the books, are a means to an end. Emma always tips the scale in Grace Field’s favor. Even with an anti-fraternization rule, Norman doesn’t expect his feelings to change.

Nevertheless….

“I’ll think about it,” Norman hears himself say, and he ends the call promptly with promises to be in touch soon simply to put the matter to rest.

Read the rest on AO3!

#tpn #noremma #the promised neverland #yakusoku no neverland #tpn emma #tpn norman #tpn ray #tpn phil #manga spoilers #flourchildwrites #when the mood strikes her

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greggorylee · 4 years ago

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i apologize if this is too much and feel free to ignore but do you have any advice or tips for coping with living in an awful home environment where u grew up? like im an adult now but i'm still here and it hasnt gotten better, i'm afraid i'm never going to be able to leave. either way thank u, this is a good blog, sorry

im truly so sorry to hear youre still stuck there friend, theres circumstances happen way too much with too many

for starters, we werent aable to escape ourself until the age 21 about, and its unfortunately very common for young adults grown up in abuse to struggle with removing themselves from it. nothing seems safe: staying with the evil that kills you or risk supporting yourself alone or trusting / “burdening” (you arent aburden but thats how it feels) another with your living situation

this is not your fault, okay? this is NOT your fault. none of your abuse is your fault. you aren’t weak or anything less of a survivor for not having the strength and resources to get yourself to safe place. you do not have to do this yourself, everyone needs help, and its okay to admit that. you are strong to admit that and not give up on yourself

i promise this will end. it will end in some way or another, and you have influence on when and how it ends. reach out to the people you truly love, the people who are honest with you, who want you around, your real friends and family. hold them close, always tell them the truth, allow yourself to be sad around them. obviously dont use your friends as therapists but you must be open with how youre feeling, you are never obligated to pretend to be happy just so you wont “drag others down”.

i understand that feeling so, too well. please, please reach out instead of isolating yourself in your pain, this is the biggest thing that kept us alive when we were still trapped. spend as much time as you can with the people that want you alive, that make you want to stay alive. they wish to see you grow, as do i

it also helps very much to compare your experiences with your frieinds---not in the sense of “my traumas worse than yours” dumb bullshit, i mean if you feel like something is not right, if you are being treated horribly, if you need advice, my own friends saved my life with their advice and observations. my sibling recgonized my m*ther’s sexual abuse after hearing me describe her behavior. sometimes someone whos not directly in your position can see and help with things you may not notice yourself (which again, is absolutely not your fault when youre most likely being gaslit by your abusers)

besides true loved ones, any special interest / hyperfixation / hobby or fascination to distract you from the pain. i know this is an obvious answer, but im just speaking from experience. drawing and my other passions helped us not only distract but process our trauma and express our pain in ways that helped release it

and above all, you must not give into the evil they try to distill in you. you are not like them, you never were and never will be. know that you have done nothing to deserve abuse. your relatives have no empathy or soul if they cannot recognize the pain they inflict upon you. they are selfish at the core if they are unable to change. i know this is not what any survivor wants to believe, but what they offer is not love. love does not abuse, love does not wish you dead.

you cannot help them if they dont want to be helped. this is also not your fault or responsibility. children should not be teaching their parents how to be better people. but they cannot take your love from you. you see the truth, you wish for peace. you did not bring this upon yourself, nor will your suffering last forever

i was very lucky to happen upon the kind of support that i had in order to move out and recover, but please, try not to give up hope that you can also do this. there ARE people who would help you given the chance, you just have to have the perseverance to find them

also im not saying its YOUR responbility alone to find help and get out, like i said earlier, every survivor needs help and no one should be expected to “save themselves”. what i mean is that you must try not to give up on yourself, your future, your hope, because there’s always a chance for the help that you need to come to you

just continue to reach out, never stop reaching out. others like myself understand what youre going through and want survivors like you to be able to recover

please take care, i hope this helped somehow, its difficult to articulate exactly all our coping mechanisms beyond these basic few, because these are the things in our memory we can grasp clearly as the best parts of our past life

if you truly have no one else to talk to, you’re welcome to come back here to me with things that you need to tell somebody.

#ask #trauma #abuse #child abuse #Anonymous

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transrightsjimin · 4 years ago

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more ranting abt welfare benefits hell

sorry for whining so much abt income on here, i know it should just be easy nd solveable by applying more for jobs, but the literal issue is that i have no skills or confidence (latter is according to my friend, but the way i cant envision handling any jobs well is jst the truth??) nd still havent gotten any help from the municipality w getting consulted by someone w more knowledge on the job market nd maybe being pushed to take on shitty jobs that at least perhaps pay better than mail delivery. it’s jst so frustrating how i requested welfare benefits over 4 months ago but it only counted since 3 months ago bc they kept fucking up w the requests, promised a payback for the lost month, but didnt, i believe?? now december we got nothing nd probably also january bc our ‘income was too high‘ for the minimum.

uh i side tracked nd forgot where i was going before, but i meant to say tht HALF A YEAR AGO i also requested help w getting help w jobs but bc bureaucratic bullshit it took until DECEMBER to get the help approved. and they would get me a contact person ‘surely before christmas, don’t worry!‘ and then they didn’t and replied they hadn’t forgotten about me and will surely help soon and i’m just. so fucking anxious about this all??

my parents help me financially w cash they gave (nd some of which came from my grandmas) (nd no im not happy w that bc one of them is doing worse financially but still wants to give it away, nd the other is dead nd my uncle gave her left over money to family which feels ironic bc hes a millionaire but only gives a bit from his dead mom??) so that i can buy groceries bc me and my friend’s paychecks + welfare benefits can only cover rent + food and so not also other bills such as for healthcare that i have to make payment plans for. and even w help w groceries i still end up in the negatives, especially last month bc we ‘made too much‘ to receive something. i dont even dare to sell clothing or anything online for money bc that’d only mean ‘income from hobbies’ they could see i have and thus more reason to get stripped from this too.

and that is just the whole issue!! the municipality runs all these checks and forms and calls and appointments and documents you need to hand in, but there is NO calculation determining what you actually need. instead, based on the type of household, we were categorized as fiscal partners without children who receive the benefits together and thus we receive benefits (in the months that we do) to add it up to the ‘living minimum‘ €1500 in total. this amount does not cover our actual expenses, nor does this match inflation or how social housing has been broken down as a system and that real estate owners can increase rent prices as much as they want. there is a monthly grant that tenants could receive for renting a home, but only if it is an apartment AND below 752,33 euros per month (which is when it is considered social housing, above that it’s the ‘free market‘), and that is just virtually impossible?? but we were not once asked if we can actually pay anything and the people meant to help us w benefits just don’t fucking get flex work contracts or how our income over a certain month is received way later in the month after that. like they have a stable job and just dont fucking get that it is not designed well for us.

i think my anxiety over this issue has gotten worse ever since the news came out that a dutch woman on benefits got a €7000 fine because her mom did groceries for her and that’s considered fraud??!! she couldn’t afford food so her mom bought groceries for her but that is also considered financial compensation and thus she got this huge fine, which she probably cannot afford and the fucked up thing w fines from institutions is that they ask interest over it if you don’t pay it in time or enough of it, and give more fines and even charge fees for something like you receiving a letter and they’re just free to pull this shit bc it’s a for-profit business. and that’s how ppl end up w debt and huge loans. it’s just so infuriating nd i really dont want a fine or lose the right to benefits. even though i prob wont get it for a while bc of my friend’s job that tends to make our incomes together reach just the ‘living minimum‘. i have this bill of €250 for adhd diagnosis, then monthly bills for meds that are €76 of which i can receive most back and ‘only’ need to pay €25 from it, then theres an orthodentist bill of around €92 bc i forget this insurance company still counts from back when i was w it the first time nd orthodontist stuff gets insured up to €1000 and that amount was used up like 10 years ago nd they still count like that despite me having had a different insurer in between.

i just need a stupid fcking job nd i hate to whine abt this bc theres so many ppl in much worse situations who ‘take initiative‘ nd start looking for jobs, but AGAIN i have no ‘basic’ skills like being able to listen and understand words well nd fast or show the right facial expressions or have good memory or dexterity or be able to answer difficult questions or focus on reading etc etc, nor do i i have an idea what job i should or could do.like i fcking need an income, moreover i need a break, im in this fcking burnout since like 2013 and in depression since at least 2004 lmfao but it’s never been recognized as bad enough by specialists bc im not suicidal, but it’s also not good to the point where i ever know if i felt ok. also just. i feel like i did use to have a bit more confidence in myself in high school but it all got sucked out of me in art college (bc horribly bigoted teachers + students and being taught that drawing well is in fact not at all important in the domestic market but rather being INNOVATIVE and NETWORKING and also COPYING is the way to success!! like not kidding, thats what teachers told us) nd by my parents (bc i became older nd didnt spontaneously do all these chores or jobs despite having no fcking clue how bc they never taught stuff). like i just dont know how ppl live comfortably w themselves and know what its like to be themselves nd not feel bad nd anxious abt everything

#rambles #family stuff #death mention / for grandma #this is a long rant im so sorry thisis a mess

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corancoranthemagicalman · 5 years ago

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Hannibal - Ep1 - Reaction

Okay, so this is starting because of @quartermastercandlestickmaker and @todorokisrose [yes, y’all both gettin’ tagged in the annoouncement and this one. I need to be clear on who is causing my suffering.]

I’m here in this hole now. This dark pit.

This is not a live-blogging of my watch, but I am writing this live. So, writing live posting later. If that makes sense. I’ll have one post per episode and after I’ll compile them all into a master list.

Spoilers ahead.

What a grand opening my dudes. Thrilling music. He’s got that “he fucked up” face going on. WAIT NO HE’S SHERLOCKING THE SHIT. OH COOL. NO WONDER I SAW SOOME FANART OF THEM BEING BFFS. Oh, I like this. Weird effects flex but I dig it.Ooooooooooo I was not expecting that voice. IS THIS WHERE THE “THIS IS MY DESIGN” SHIT CAME FROM WHAT THE FUCK Have I known this more than I thought.

Also low-key bitch *looks* like a psychopath no wonder what is gonna happen happens. Oh rip Mrs. Marlow ;;~;; that was a hard change bro.

I don’t wanna think about ---

BITCH THIS *IS* WHERE THE THIS IS MY DESIGN SHIT CAME FROM OH M Y G O D

Also Laurence Fishbourne god bless I love him.

It’s difficult for me to be social too, fam. LAURANCE WHY DID YOU FIX HIS GLASSES THAT WAS SO WE IR D???? Also bro same I love you, Will Graham, you funky little sociopath.

“Every girl is a candy bar” mhm okay thanks for that. Will and this sociable thing is really fucking me bro minus the serial killer obsession/profession/vibe.

Laurence Fishbourne is an amazing actor but I’m also digging the dude playing Will (srry names are my weakness so his name is Will.)

Oooooo booi. I recognize Katz from fanart she’s a popular one right. But we’re going upstairs.

I’m so worried about opening the door

Oh no

He knew

This bitch been knew

Holy shit

I like the whole thing with eye contact. I’ve seen the gif where it’s mentioned but I like how it’s subtle and not overly emphasized so far. Oh we’re flashing back again. Poor Elise. It’s a super interesting story technique using him as the killer. Also damn bitch “you unstable” you’re such a nosy bitch how were you interrupted when you were asked not to enter

Now everyone is here

Antlers promote healing mhm okay

I wanna hug him but I also don’t want to make him uncomfortable with contact. IS HE STOPPING FOR A DOG OH ,Y HO GOD. I’D DIE FOR THIS MAN. I’D DIE FOR THIS MAN. HE STOPPED FOR A DOG. HEWENT BACK FOR THE DOG OMGH THIS MAN THIS MAN IS,,,,, he adopted a fucking stray dog. This man is lovely. I love this man. This -- HE DOES IT TO MULTIPLE DOOGS OH MY GOD I WANNA MARRY HIM ANDHAVE WINSTON AND EVERYBODY AND OMOG HE’S SUCH A LOVELY STRANGE CREATURE.

Where are we now. In a dream state? OH SHIT WE ARE THAT’S A BODY AND A HEARTBEAT IN MY EAR WHAT THE FUCK ahhhh fun nightmares I love it. Oh shit the towels. Bro. There are quite a few visuals happening.

“USE THE LADIES ROOM” dafsjhg

Stop yelling at him ;;~;;

Woah this is a lot to unpack in this scene you can see Will like slipping omg. It’ss almost unsettling him not having eye contact but like I know the reason for it and therefore it’s just impressive acting and not like unsettling of the actor to do that if that makes sense? I really am impressed by that level of commitment to not have a “look at the camera” to keep showing how he won’t look at other people.

Ooo this is one of the lady psych talkers which is like on the Graham side while the blonde one is for Hannibal, right even tho Hannibal is a brain doc. ALANA that’s her name and that might be how you spell it. She doesn’t want him out there but Laurence needs her to be his back up. (Oh, his name is Jack.) JACK DONT MAKE PROMISES WILL CAN AND WILL GET CLOSE.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHOW WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE SHADWS AND THE ANTLERS PIERCING HER OH MY GOD WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS SHOW I THOUGHT THE VISUALS I HAD SEEN IN FAN ART WAS JUST LIKE FANON IMPOSED OMOG “SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE MEAT” O G M OOG HE’S EATING THEM FUCK

Is this

Is this my bitch

MY BITCH MADS OH MY GOD.

I love him. He’s so unconventionally handsome. He looks like he’d kill and eat me but I’d thank him for it, yanno? Oops.

No nonsense MM handing this crying man some tissues I love it. “I hate being this neurotic” omg the mood also Hannibal’s glance to the tissue is fucking amazing??? V Subtle Acting /cries in beauty

Franklyn, the lion isn’t in the room boy (just discovered I might wanna put subtitles on but they’re not working so rip)

Frankie boy got so scared by that comment thanks, Dr. Lector.

Mhm no secretary that’s,,, suspicious,,,, “sad to see her go” mhm okay sure Jan

Oh this bitch does draw oh my god john hopkins internship and all. Laurence is impressed and Mads is “mhm are you gonna try something” sdajkfgh A LAYMAN DAMN aww he’s like “oomg you’re so amazing dr. mr. sir”

OH THEY’RE IN THE SAME ROOM HERE WE GO BBY

FUCKKK IT BEGINS

SORRY HE’S GIVING THE WHOLE DOWNLOW

“Associations come quickly-” “so do forts”

QEFJWahgrsdfdkq WHAT THE FUCK

THIS IS LITERAL THE FIRST DAMN CONVERSATION HE HAS WITH HIM. I KNEW THE CONVERSATION ABOUT EYE CONTACT WAS ONE OF THEIR FIRST, BUT THIS IS THE LITERAL FIRST WITH THE ADDED BONUS OF HE ACTUALLY MAKES E Y E C O N T A C T OOMGGG??!?!?!?!

Oh ;;~;; “YOU WONT LIKE ME WHEN I’M PSYCHOANAYLYZED” im this is very flirtatious als jack you’re like br o

So he’s the King of Empathy. He’s,,, helping Will see his own face,,, mhm,,,,, what does that say about you, Dr. Lector?

He’s mocking where he was apologetic is this maybe noT

FJAGUDIS

SHIT THOSE ARE LUNGS

“HE HAS A DAUGHTER SAME AGE” O H B O Y THAT’S UH DADDY HAS SOME ISSUES WITH BABY LEAVING HOME

Also this is a copy cat dklafjsghjfd OH DAMN THAT SNAP BACK ABOUT DR. LECTOR FFUCKK MAN.

Also,, I can see why this show,, caused issues,,, a man should not look handsome while eating fucking lungs.

More visions I cannot even

What does this

What the hell is this

Dr. Lector showing up at his house o h .

IS HE FEEDING HIM FUCKING LUNGS BITCH OH MY GD ON A FIRST DATE???

“God forbid we become friendly”

“I don’t find you that interesting”

This smells,,, like a ship,,, mhm,,,,

Breath will damn breath slow and use the words omg

Mhm ookay “we’re just alike” in the first bit…

Uncle Jack sees him as a fine china tea cup. That’s hilarious.

“How do you see me?” says Will.

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by,” replies Hannibal WHILE WILL IS KEEPING EYE CONTACT.

OH MY GOD. MHM. KAY. IM OKAY. THIS IS OKAY.

So is there a reason -- “plain but pretty” hannibal gives a look -- is there a reason no official officer is accompanying them like????? They’re both not??? FBI????

Damn hannibal spilling shit everywhere.

HE’S USING A TISSUE TO PICK UP THE PHONE

TO CALL HIS DAUGHTER

MHMMMM?????????

Wait no he’s calling someone else

Who is this

OH HE’S CALLING GARRETT. OH. wait is he helping other cannibals get away. What the fuck. You can’t do that, Hannibal. Is there a fuckking cannibal union yall get together and trrade recipes.

OH NO GARRETT MURDERED HIS WIFE AND KID DIDNT HE OH NO

OH PLEASE NO

Wait we’re back to reality

This back and forth is trippy

H N

OH NO

FUCK YU HANNIBAL AND YOUR STUPID FUCKING CANNIBAL CLAN THIS PR WOMAN :(((((((((

I do love how this built up to Hannibal being the cannibal but it was Hobbs. NFIEGSIBFD

HOBBS NO

FUCK HIM UP WILL

(also I guess Will technically is FBI that probably helps lmao)

Oh no

O h n o

Dont whisper at him to see bitch

Oh no

Will

Will it’s

Oh no

>:((((((((((((((((((( hannibal Imma fuck you up

Will honey let someone clean your glasses. Does she survive? I hope the girl survives. The Traitor Cannibal Bitch is going with them. Mhm.

Alana tryin’ to protect him. (Does she like him? I got bad news, babe, he’s gonna fall in love with a man-eater.)

shE SURVIVED??? AND HANNIBAL IS THERE WITH HER???? OMOG??? DOES HE FEEL BAD YET YOU FUCKING BITCH YOU READ THE CANNIBAL WRONG AND HE NEARLY MURDERED HIS FAMILY wait is this chick who everyone calls their daughter oomg??? Is this her????

WHAT WAS THIS SHOW OMG WHAT WAS THIS SHOW

#C's 2020 Hannibal Watch #Hannibal (NBC)#I'm watching this for the first time in 2020 oh my lord #I'm super excited for it #it's very promising #Hannibal spoilers?#do I need to tag for that?#murder husbands #because whoops

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elesianne · 4 years ago

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A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter three of four – Carnistir/Tuilindien

Chapter length: ~2,700 words; Story rating: Teenage audiences

A/N: I had to split the 'last' chapter into two because it became too long, so there will be another chapter after this one. I'll try to post it some time next week. This chapter is just one happy, quiet family moment.

Warnings: Very quick references to pregnancy and childbirth.

AO3 LINK

Chapter III // Daughter of Míriel’s line

The next two days are peaceful and quiet. Tuilindien rests and nurses the baby, and Carnistir takes care of them both. They do not hurry with holding a ceremony to announce the child's father-name, or to have even close family visit; they prefer to have a few days this private time to bond, and anyway, Tuilindien needs the rest. The labour was long, and it will take time for her to recover.

Carnistir knows it is only normal. Everyone told him so, beforehand, knowing that he needed the reassurance. He is not taking any chances, though. He will gladly keep other people away as long as she Tuilindien lets him.

When she wakes up from rest again on the evening of the third day since the baby was born, Carnistir once again brings her food and helps her sit up to eat. She has barely finished the nourishing soup when their daughter wakes up and starts fussing in her cot that Carnistir brought next to the bed and attached there already before the baby was born.

Carnistir lifts her, marvelling again that the child is here and that he can touch her, and most of all that his touch seems to calm her – only for a moment, though, before she remembers that she is hungry.

It takes a little while for mother and daughter to negotiate the beginning of nursing again, but once the baby gets started she suckles with good appetite.

It feels a little strange to watch, as a spectator to mother and daughter's shared experience, but Carnistir does watch because Tuilindien said the first time that it was alright.

As soon as she is certain that the baby has latched on well and is comfortable, Tuilindien lifts her eyes to him and smiles, tired and triumphant still.

He smiles back.

'Do you want something more to eat once she is finished with her meal?' he asks. It is surprisingly easy to set his own, lesser tiredness aside and focus on taking care of Tuilindien, like it was all through her pregnancy.

You always have been overprotective of me, she said when he once expressed his surprise. It serves you well now that you guard me against my own exhaustion.

'No, thank you', Tuilindien says. 'Just some more water, please.'

He pours her a glass and sets it on the bedside table.

'Look at her', Tuilindien whispers, her eyes on the baby again. She sounds almost choked up suddenly. 'Look at her, my love. How beautiful she is, how full of life.'

His own voice rough, he agrees, 'Yes.' And because that might be inadequate an answer, he adds, 'I could look at the two of you all day.'

Their daughter, their sweet spring child, has Tuilindien's golden-brown skin but a thick tuft of black hair – Carnistir's hair, though curlier, a little like Tuilindien's in that at least. Carnistir cannot find it in himself to be disappointed though he had dearly hoped for a golden-haired child; the baby is beautiful for all that she looks a lot like him.

He leans forward in his chair to touch her tightly clenched fist and marvels for the hundredth time at how small her fingers are compared to his. Her grip is strong, though, for such a small person. Stronger than Curufinwë's son's, Carnistir thinks smugly, though he is certainly a biased judge.

He marvels at Tuilindien, too, at her strength that to his shame he has doubted. And he looks at how tenderly she holds their daughter, and that makes his chest as warm and tight as the baby's chubby cheeks and already-familiar spirit do.

He takes the baby to burp her when she is done feeding. He practised this, too, with Curufinwë's son during the last few weeks. He is glad that he did. Before Tyelperinquar, the last babies he burped were Ambarussar, so he was out of practise.

As he walks to the window while his daughter grows sleepy in his hold, Tuilindien asks, 'Is it raining still?'

'It is.' It has been raining since before Tuilindien's labour started, and the few flowers that had bloomed already are beaten to the ground almost. The gardeners will have plenty of work once the rain stops.

'How strange that the rain has lasted longer than our child's life', Tuilindien muses. She is arranging herself to a more comfortable position. 'Come to bed', she says to him firmly. 'You need to rest, too.'

'I have rested.'

'In that chair.'

'That chair –' he begins, but Tuilindien interrupts him.

'That chair is not a bed. Don't make me have to fuss about you', she chastises him.

And of course he yields, in something like this. 'Fine, I will come to bed.'

'We must all rest when we can', Tuilindien whispers as she watches, with a small smile, him cuddle their baby close. The baby's perfect little eyelashes are fluttering as she draws close to sleep, her fëa withdrawing from Carnistir's reach.

He'd expected to feel her spirit more distinctly after she was born than when she was in Tuilindien's womb, but he barely does. It apparently is normal, though, and Carnistir knows also that as weeks and then a few years pass and their child gains, little by little, control of herself, he and Tuilindien will no longer feel her in an open connection until – if – she chooses to let them in again.

His heart aches as he thinks of not being connected to his child like he has been, but he knows that it is a good and natural thing that must happen. It means that the child no longer needs so much support from their parents as they do during the first few years of their life.

He is not yet looking forward to it, though, and he takes solace in feeling the sleepily contented mood of his daughter as she lays in his arms.

'We need to decide on a name for her soon', he says, quietly so as not to disturb either the baby or Tuilindien's slipping into restfulness. 'It feels strange thinking of her as just 'the baby' or 'daughter'.'

Tuilindien smiles. She says, 'Come to bed and let us discuss it.'

Carnistir gives the baby to her for a moment, saying, 'I'll hold her again as soon as I get in.'

He stands up, realising as he does how badly he does need rest. He circles the bed and gets in on the other side, praising his past self for commissioning a large bed where he can keep a distance from Tuilindien so he can't hurt her by a sudden accidental touch. She is very sore.

But as he lies down at a good distance from her she asks, 'Hold me too, darling, please', and he bites his lip to keep from asking if she's sure. She has reminded him many times that she knows the limits of her body and mind better than he does.

Still, as he scoots closer to her, slow and careful, he tells her, 'Tell me how I can hold you both.'

Her lips tug into a smile. 'It is surely the first time that you need instructions on how to hold me', she says, but she does tell him in clear and gentle words.

He settles in his place, leaning against the headboard with one arm around Tuilindien and the other cradling the baby. Tuilindien tugs the baby's little tunic straight so it's comfortable, and pats her stomach gently until she closes her eyes and keeps them closed. She slips into sleep as quietly as she is loud in waking up.

Carnistir doesn't realise that he has frozen in place, just looking at the baby and the way her chest rises and falls in so rapid a rhythm it is still a little startling, until Tuilindien calls his name.

He raises his head so rapidly that his hair that escaped its braid a day ago and he has forgotten to retie hits him the face, and he spits strands of hair out of his mouth and decides at once to cut it shorter as soon as he can.

Tuilindien says in a soft sigh against his shoulder, 'My love, all is well, you need not worry. Try to rest; you promised me.'

It was hardly worded like a promise, he thinks, but he intends to honour it all the same.

'As for the name –' She yawns; he presses a kiss on her head, on her messy, dirty hair. 'It is yours to decide. Her father-name.'

'And yours to approve.' She is better with words.

'You do not need my approval. But we can talk about it, of course.' And as she speaks she touches his hand, sharing with the aid of touch with him a flicker-fast image of her trust in him.

She hasn't needed to touch him to share thoughts with him since early on in their courting, and it makes worry rise in his heart again. Is she that tired in spirit? But he swallows his words of concern and instead holds her just a little bit tighter and thinks at her, Thank you, my beloved, for understanding me.

He has a name in his mind already. He has known it since he first laid eyes on his child. He hopes that Tuilindien will like it, too.

Tuilindien caresses their sleeping child's little head with careful fingers, no doubt as fascinated by the down-softness of her hair as Carnistir still is. 'Have you a name for her?'

Carnistir is finally ready to share the name that came to his mind as soon as he saw their daughter come into the world, screaming and red-faced and her black hair flat on her head. It now sticks up in tiny curls most of the time.

'I do know that daughters, eldest daughters especially, are often given a father-name reminiscent of their mother's name or qualities', he begins.

Tuilindien looks at him like she already knows what he is going to say. 'Not always', she says. 'I would not mind if you named her after yourself.'

He sighs, exaggerating the sound for her sake. 'You know me too well.'

'It was your hesitation to talk to me of her name that made me think you want to name her after yourself.' She caresses his hand instead of the baby for a moment. 'You should not have hesitated.'

'We might not have other daughters', he says, arguing even against himself as he is wont to do.

'Or we might have three more, like my parents. Either way, I will not mind.'

'Then I shall call her Moriel', he says. Daughter of the black one, or dark daughter, or daughter of the night, or all of them. 'It is the simplest name, the most obvious one, I know, but I trust that you will give her a better name in time.'

'It is a good name.' There is a soft, sleepy smile in Tuilindien's voice. All her smiles are soft and sleepy now. 'She was born at night, and her hair is as black as yours.'

Carnistir takes his turn caressing their daughter's dark hair ever so gently. 'When I was a child I hated my pitch-black hair and that my father named me for it, my least beautiful feature. I thought then that nothing dark could be as good as light, based on all stories and songs I'd heard.

'Seeing the same black hair on her little head, and curling up like yours – it is beautiful. I understand now my father, and the name he gave me, like I never did before.'

'And that is also why you want to name her for her black hair.' Tuilindien rests her head on his shoulder and takes a strand of her own hair, warm-golden and curly, and one of his, black and straight, and twines them around each other.

Carnistir closes his eyes for a moment – it is all almost too much happiness – and then opens them because he is holding the baby. He is holding Moriel.

'Did you choose it also because of Míriel?' Tuilindien asks.

'I did not think of it because of her', he has to reply. 'It came to my mind because of more self-centred reasons. But I am glad that it resembles her name.'

'Your father will like it.'

'He will.' The smile that took up near-permanent residence of Carnistir's face when Moriel was born becomes crooked. 'He doesn't deserve it, though – the joy he will get from that name. Not after how he has treated you.'

'And you for loving me', Tuilindien says quietly. 'But he has been much more pleasant recently.'

Carnistir snorts at that, and gives Moriel his index finger to clutch in her sleep. It calms him down and, together with the warm contented restfulness he can still feel in the thread of connection between him and his child, brings back his smile.

'I did not choose her name because it is like Míriel's', he repeats. 'But it is fitting, Moriel for the first daughter born of Míriel's line.' He chuckles. 'I wonder, if I had been born a girl with hair this black, would my father have called me Moriel?'

'Perhaps you should ask him.' Tuilindien smiles too.

'Perhaps I will.' Right now Carnistir is more interested in thinking about how Moriel's cheeks are slightly ruddy in shade, more so than Tuilindien's. He wonders if she will get freckles when she is older, like he has.

'You should send word to your parents and brothers that they can come see Moriel tomorrow', Tuilindien suggests. 'We can tell them the name, too, though the official naming ceremony will have to wait a few weeks. I know that your family will want to do it with great pomp and circumstance.'

'Are you sure you are ready for my parents and all my brothers? There are so very many of them.'

He would have her rest for a day more, at least – though his family is very eager and impatient to meet the newest addition to the family. He has been fending them off, and their messages and their gifts, for two days out of the three that Moriel has lived. The only person Tuilindien has wanted to see is her own mother which Carnistir knows is very understandable, though it rankled him a bit at first.

'We could let only my parents come', he suggests. 'Not the pack of brothers.'

'Netyarë and Curufin let us meet Tyelperinquar when he was only two days old', Tuilindien reminds him. 'We might as well let them all meet Moriel tomorrow. I know you worry about me still but you do not need to. I feel strong enough to sit up in bed and beam like the proud mother I am as you pass Moriel around to each member of your family like the little treasure she is.'

'Not a little treasure', Carnistir says. Moriel still holds on to his finger with her tiny one. 'The greatest one.' He realises he did not give Tuilindien a proper reply. He says, 'If you are certain you are up to it.'

'I am.' Tuilindien combs her fingers through her half-unravelled braid. 'If you are up to looking after Moriel alone while my mother helps me wash as much as I can and get dressed – it is another strange thing about having a child, having to rely on my own mother for things she hasn't helped me with since I was a child – and tidying the room to be fit for visitors.'

'Of course I can do those things.'

'Good.' Tuilindien sighs. 'Let us do them in the morning, and have your family visit later in the day.'

'I will send an invitation.'

'Not a formal one that makes it sound like a grand occasion.' Tuilindien yawns. 'It will be a short visit.'

'When have I done anything formally?' he grins, feeling light as air despite the tiredness weighing down his limbs.

He does not need to go anywhere quite yet. He can stay here, cradling little Moriel in his arms, Tuilindien beside him slipping into a healing sleep again, birds singing their spring courting songs outside the window even as the rain continues falling down on newly-green earth.

He will send the message later, after he has rested a little.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter, whether in an AO3 comment, Tumblr reply, or tags – I love them all <3

#I really hope that the banner doesn't mysteriously disappear this time #tolkien fanfiction #silmarillion fanfiction #caranthir #caranthir's wife #tuilindien #of míriel's line #my fics #elesianne's fics #cw: pregnancy #cw: childbirth

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wasalwaysagreatpickle · 4 years ago

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Tuesday 30 August 1831

5 3/4

11 5/..

Fahrenheit 64˚ and damp rainy morning at 6 – putting things in my new cupboard etc. about an hour – dressed, out at 7 3/4 – to Lower Brea – took George Robinson to the new foot path to be made through Well Royde wood – had Joseph Wilkinson there – all agreeable – George had got a man ready to begin – set him to work and George to begin leading stone – then to old Mr Wilkinsons in the Hough – not at home – sat a little while with his wife explaining about water course, etc. – should be back again at 12 – and would see Mr Wilkinson then by the new Godley Road to Halifax, to the bank – got draft at sight on Messers Swann York for £14 payable to Mr Lawton, Proctor and £86 in cash –

Then called and sat 24 minutes with Mrs Saltmarsh – very glad to see me – to excuse me to her mother if I could not call if not should write – I had intended to stay till December or longer – found this arrangement could not be managed – could not be made convenient to my sister – and I was obliged to be off at 2 or 3 a.m. next Monday at the latest – so hurried and busy because quite unprepared – had no idea of being able to stay – should explain more to her mother if I saw her but should swear her to secrecy as usual –

Home at 10 1/2 – paid my father the £10 I borrowed on Saturday – breakfast at 10 55/.. – observed to George Robinson this morning that if Stump Cross Inn was ever to sell should not like it to go for nothing – begged George to let me know – he said Mitchell had valued it far too high – at 30/. a day-work on that hill side to farm – about 20 days work belongs to Hammertons and co. joint property –

Mr Sunderland came to visit McDonald for her throat and then came in to my Aunt and me in the drawing room – thinks my father very well – he has quite rallied again – out and at Well Royde wood at 12 10/.. found Mr and Joseph Wilkinson and George Robinson there – more difficulty in settling the matter than I expected – part of bit of ground I wanted to wall in belonged to Upper Brea – well then, said I, measure it off and I’ll give Joseph a shilling a yard for the 16 yards – George Robinson sent down to Lower Brea for the money – I put it into Joseph’s hand and now ‘we’ll have the wall up as soon as we can – you can make no more objections’ –

They talked of building a new barn at Upper Brea – Went with them to see where they would put it – Luckily it will be farther back and more out of sight – there ought to be a new house said they – I then asked if they would let me the old buildings – there was no room for me at Shibden – I might go and live there (Upper Brea) – well! they could make a lease for 20 years – well! said I, we’ll think of it – but that wont do like selling just the old buildings and a bit of ground about them – why! Joseph thought of living there himself and building a new house but not more than 4 rooms on a floor – went with George Robinson to the mill to see what he wants addressing – a new room about 6 yards square - £100 will do it – then spoke to me of enlarging the dam and making a new entrance to the mill – but he would do it himself – no! said I, I am not fond of that – why! that would not be wanted of 2 years – very well then said I say nothing about it yet – nobody knows what may happen before that time – perhaps I can make some better arrangement for everybody by then – observing that the field the mill stood in ought to belong to the mill – the new room to be done as soon as George gets rid of his partnership with his brother I to have seven percent for my money –

Home at 2 10/.. found note from Mr James Edward Norris – compliments and is sorry it has not been in his power to give an answer sooner – ‘not been able to come to any terms with Mr Emmett, but through a friend he has some expectation of having a ‘price fixed for the plots of ground in question’ – Mr Emmett is and will be from home ten days or a fortnight’ after his return Mr Norris will through his friend endeavour to bring the business to a conclusion – Halifax 30 August’ – I must think about this –

From 2 1/4 to 4 20/.. (interrupted myself by inking over a couple of very bad to make out pencil pages of my Dutch journals) wrote pages 2,3 and 4 and 1 page and 1 end of 1/2 sheet envelope to Isabella Norcliffe will write to Mrs Norcliffe before the 6th and direct post office Whitehaven – anxious about the boy (Joseph Booth) not missing the place in the racing stables at Mr Scotts (Whitewall Corner near Malton) and beg Isabella Norcliffe to do anything she can about it – mention my being so unexpectedly obliged to change all my staying at home plans, and be off as soon as I can to the Continent – cannot know till Friday or Saturday whether the plan at present in agitation can be managed – if it can, must be off very early on Monday at the latest – will write and tell her how it ends directed to croft – after Sunday will be too late find me here – she had best then direct to Messers Hammersleys bankers Pall Mall, London –

Then wrote a kind, chit chat half sheet full (much in praiseful commentary on the 3 girls and Charles we had at Langton) to Mrs James Dalton – said I was unexpectedly obliged to change my plans or should have spent the winter here and paid my promised visit at Croft – then wrote very short letter on the back of my draft for £14 to Mr Lawton and then quickly and off hand, a half sheet full (quite to my mind?) to Mrs Milne, and went down to dinner at 5 3/4 instead of 5, as I had ordered it, having to go to Well Royde wood at 6 1/2 – came upstairs between the courses of my dinner for 10 minutes –

and copied my letter to Mrs Milne dated today there is no merit my dear Harriet in giving if we are rewarded a hundred fold I had not nor could have ‘pleasanter contemplations than those arising from the assurance of your forgiveness and regard ‘bonheau’ bonne heure when the elements that destroyed one world revivify another not everything will translate so happily aux douces no the spirit would be gone all would be vapid and not even the kindness of an absent friend would ween that memory had ‘breathed up on the face of the waters’ yes a friend that word that means so little or so much I leave it in your keeping what but must be better in such charge?

I am very sincerely rejoiced to hear such good accounts of your invalids I hope and trust your mothers spirits and fortitude will support her thro so much anxiety I have twice taken the liberty of directing Cameron’s letters to the minster court not knowing exactly where Miss Pearson lives I shall venture to do so again as soon as I am able to fix the day of my departure without fear of further delay how provokingly you missed Mariana in spite of such rapidity of movement I hope and trust her rummage did her good may I ask you to be so good as give my love and thanks to Mr and Mrs Duffin for their long kind letter. You will see Isabella on Thursday and dear Isabel! she does not seem in very good travelling estate my kind regards to all your family circle and believe me a faithful guardian of the petit coin you are too kind to value and always my dear Harriet very affectionately yours AL –

Made up into a parcel to ‘Mr Fisher, Petergate, York’ my letter 5 pages and one end of the 1/2 sheet envelope) to ‘Miss Norcliffe, Mr Fisher’s, Petergate, York, (Tuesday 3 August 1831 per mail – carriage paid)’ and enclosed in the same envelope my letter (3 pages and under seal of 1/2 sheet) to ‘Mrs James Dalton, Croft Rectory. Darlington’ – put into the parcel my 1/2 sheet-full enclosed in little French envelope, to ‘Mrs Milne Minster-Court, York’ begging Mr Fisher (on the whitey brown paper in which it was folded) to forward it according to the address – Left the parcel with George and my letter for the post to ‘Mr Lawton, Proctor, Petergate, York’ – vide business letter book) – draft for £14 on Messers Swann, and saying it was my intention to execute the will in London and leave it at my bankers, Messers Hammersleys and co. of which I should be much obliged to Mr Lawton to make a memorandum –

Off at 7 10/.. to Well Royde – found Mr George Robinson and his man Matthew who had just cleared out the line of foot path through the wood when I got there – sauntered back (along my walk) as I went and came in at 8 10/.. – wrote great part of the journal of yesterday and went downstairs at 9 1/4 and came up again at 10 40/.. – according to my letter from Paris my Aunt was to pay for herself and McDonald £90 a year on paying Marian for 4 months, from Tuesday 7 June day of arrival, to 7 October next, she said she should be satisfied with £80 which makes it one even sum per quarter –

Fahrenheit 69˚ at 10 40/.. p.m. and windy – damp drizzling morning till near 9 – afterwards tolerably fine day –

#Anne Lister #Anne Lister Code Breaker #1831

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