#i don't usually post my captures. huh.

[leofrith]

hello leovor community. 🧍🏻‍♀️

[5starluvr]

Sweet mornings

Paring:Hwang hyunjin x Reader

Genre: fluff,fluff and more fluff

A/n:A post to remind everyone that I exist😪

You crack eggs into a sizzling pan, the familiar rhythm of the morning a comforting constant. Sunlight streams through the kitchen window, painting golden stripes across the countertop as the scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. Humming along to the quiet melody playing from your phone, you're lost in the routine when suddenly, strong arms wrap around your waist.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Hyunjin murmurs behind you, his voice a low rumble tickling your ear. He nuzzles his cheek against your shoulder, his scent of mint shampoo and laundry detergent a welcome contrast to the frying bacon.

You yelp, startled, but a smile tugs at your lips despite the initial scare. "Hyunjin! Don't sneak up on me like that," you swat him playfully. "Almost gave me a heart attack."

"But how else am I supposed to get my morning cuddle?" he whines, exaggerating a pout.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Fine, fine. Your cuddle privileges are reinstated."

He tightens his hold, pressing a light kiss to your exposed shoulder. "Mmm, breakfast smells amazing. What are you making, Chef Y/N?"

"Just your usual," you reply, expertly flipping the bacon with a spatula. "Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. You know, the survival essentials."

Hyunjin chuckles. "Survival essentials, huh? That toast better not resemble charcoal again." He playfully pokes a finger at your back, earning a light swat with the spatula.

"Hey! I've improved!" you protest, your cheeks warm with laughter. "Besides, who cares if it's a little burnt when you have this amazing breakfast chef right here?"

Hyunjin spins you around in his arms, trapping you between him and the counter. He leans down, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Alright, Chef. How about I sweeten the deal for some extra crispy toast?"

Your heart hammers in your chest. "Oh yeah? And how exactly do you propose to do that?"

Hyunjin's lips curve into a sly grin. "Just one taste," he whispers, leaning impossibly close.

Before you can respond, he captures your lips in a soft kiss, the taste of coffee and sleep lingering between you. He pulls away, his eyes locked with yours. "Deal?"

[redr0sewrites]

First Taste of You

🥀A/n: Loki is my comfort character and i wanted to write something tiny as i haven't posted in a hot minute bc im writing a lot of *spoilers* for november. might write a pt2 to this w actual smut, might not... who knows.

🥀Cw: suggestive/nothing explicit, implied that reader is an avenger + lives in stark tower with Loki

cocky, charming, and manipulative. when you first met Loki, his impression was always of someone in need of constant control and attention- especially yours. he was always busying himself by bothering you, getting in your way by any means necessary if only to receive your focus for even just a short time. however, the more he was around, the more you began to like him, and an unlikely friendship began to bloom. suddenly, you both were inseparable, bonding over both your similarities and differences.

the attraction was obvious fo the both of you, and while you never actually went farther than teasing and flirting, the desire was so strong it was nearly tangible. soon, it turned into an enticing game of cat and mouse, seeing how far he could go and flirt before you finally snap and push through the boundary between friends and something more. fortunately for you, (and unfortunately for him), your patience with the god seemed to be never ending- until one day, he went too far. now, you have him pinned against a wall, cheeks rosy and bodies flushed together.

"so this is what it took to get you riled up?" Loki coos, green eyes narrowed as you pressed against him. "i would have flirted with them months earlier if it meant this reaction, darli-" you yank at his collar, tugging him down to your height and kissing him hard. the kiss is sloppy, all teeth and tongue and lust, but Loki's gently hands cupping your cheeks speak volumes. Loki's head knocks back against the wall with a soft clunk, and he winces beneath your touch.

"slow down," he murmurs against your lips, but his actions don't coincide with his words, considering the lustful rocking of his hips against yours and the firm hands now moving to grip your waist, pulling you impossibly close. you capture his bottom lip between your teeth and a soft whine melts into a groan as one of your hands finds its way to his scalp, tugging hard. he looks down at you with his usual teasing expression, as though he can't even believe how bold you've become.

"ffuck- someone's needy, huh?"

"you can never just shut the fuck up, can you?"

Loki smirks at your words, eying you with thinly veiled want.

"we really shouldn't be away from this party for too long..." he murmurs, pulling away from your lips to whisper in your ear. "it would be a shame if someone noticed our absence..."

"fuck the Stark party, theres one practically every other day. you hate those things anyway," you grumble, and Loki chuckles yet again.

"true... but, alas, if i am successful in wooing you, which considering our current position, i feel as though i might be.." you narrow your eyes as Loki continues smirking that signature grin, "then i wouldn't want my first taste of you to be in a random hallway, now would i? come to my quarters tonight, and i'll give you your compensation for making you wait oh so long. until then, let's return to the party, hm? wouldn't want to keep your little friends waiting," he sneers, but his eyes betray his affectionate intent.

"you really are a sweet talker, y'know that?" you huff, pulling away from him. you hadn't noticed how his knee had become wedged between your thighs, nor how tangled your hands were in his hair, but it was certainly obvious now. Loki eyes you cautiously, almost as though he's afraid your angry.

"we shouldn't go back together, that will make it incredibly obvious. i'll see you in a few hours," you turn to walk away, Loki still leaning against the wall with a reassured, dazed smirk on his face. you turn around to call back one last time.

"and fix your hair! it looks messy."

"i like messy," he purrs, and you roll your eyes.

"flirt."

"you fell for me, dear."

"see you later!" you say exaggeratedly, turning away so he can't catch the giddy expression on your face. fuck, you can't wait for tonight.

i wrote this as a little tide over since i haven't posted any writing in a HOT MINUTE,,,, i promise that im cooking i have a lot of things in plan for november bear with me 😇 anywayd i desperately need to write more for marvel its one of my favorite fandoms so if anyone has any requests,,,,,, please please please 🙏

[eridanidreams]

WIP Wednesday

So writer's block and health had me in a headlock for a few months, but as usual, can't keep me down forever...

tagging: @bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour, @artemis-crimson, @genesisarclite and @constellation2330

(As usual, the tags are read if you like, post if you like, no pressure!)

from the upcoming chapter of stars through my fingers like grains of sand

"Company?" he asked quietly; she nodded. Moving quickly, he set one of the armchairs at an angle to the door, then pulled his .45 and double-checked the safety. At her look of confusion, he mouthed Trust me and gestured her over.

By the time they heard heavy footsteps outside the door, they'd arranged themselves: she was curled on his lap, one arm curved around his waist. It was the very picture of an intimate moment—except for the pistols hidden at their sides, ready for action. There was no knock; only the smash of wood as the lock tore free. As one, their arms snapped up, weapons pointed at the unarmored head of Mei's security "chief". "Well, now," Sam said, his voice full of false geniality, "were we expectin' a guest?"

"Guests knock," Cait said coldly, and clicked the hammer back. Like him, Cait preferred a .45, though hers was the more modern XM-2311, complete with suppressor. "People who smash in the door get shot."

Stocker growled. "You wouldn't—" The suppressor twitched to the side, and Cait put a bullet in the doorframe a bare inch from Stocker's face. They snapped their head back. "You crazy bitch!"

"She don't appreciate bein' interrupted," Sam said, the cheer gone from his voice. "Neither do I. So give me one good reason why the next one doesn't end up between your eyes."

Stocker's jaw set mutinously, but they'd been caught dead to rights; like most bullies, they were essentially a coward. "Mei wants you downstairs," they growled.

"Then I suggest you turn yourself around and let Ms. Devine know we'll be down in good time," he replied, the bonhomie back in his voice as if it had never gone. Without taking his eyes off Stocker, he leaned over to capture Cait's lips in a kiss.

"You just made a big mistake," Stocker snarled. "Don't think I'm going to forget this."

Though she returned the kiss with interest, Cait's pistol never wavered. Sam was starting to get a little distracted when she finally broke it off. "You should rethink that," she told Stocker, cool as Akilan winter. "My Sam's a fair man. Everybody gets one mistake. This is your one."

The merc snarled incoherently, then turned and stomped away. Sam waited until he heard the ding of the elevator to holster his sidearm; once Cait followed suit, he cupped her cheek in his hand. "Your Sam, huh?" he murmured—saw the beginnings of a blush and gave her a quick, appreciative kiss to forestall it. "I do love it when you get all possessive."

She made a grumbly little sound somewhere between embarrassment and annoyance—well, that primal part of her was still a sensitive topic, and all he could do was reassure her when it came up. "How long do we leave Devine hanging?" she asked.

"Long enough to make it clear we're not playing her game," he said firmly. "I don't see Stocker coming up here without Devine's say-so—"

"They didn't," Cait confirmed. "But I couldn't tell whether they broke in on orders or for the fun of it. I think they'd enjoy it either way." She shook her head. "'I won't forget this?' Where'd they get their dialogue, Republic Serial Villain Academy?" She snickered a little. "Will we rue the day?"

Sam couldn't hold back a bark of laughter. "Someone's going to, that's for damn sure."

[hyperions-light]

15 and 8 for the de Riva prompt list pretty please?

Hello! Thanks so much! The de Riva asks are here! I have asks for 8, 2, 13, also!

Here’s 15! Will post 8 with the other ask!

CW: aftermath of torture, injury, imprisonment

15. Rook being captured by an enemy

It's been five days. No food— almost no water, but Leth can tell their captors don't want them dead, yet. They think Leth knows where whatever useless trinket and/or person they're looking for is (they're not sure which), but fortunately Viago is extremely paranoid, so they have no fucking clue.

Currently, they're chained to a wall (they'll take it over the ceiling) but they're expecting to be free shortly, based on the sounds of screaming and people in excruciating pain coming from the corridor.

They hear a door open, see the flickering light of a torch lick the walls. People in the adjoining cells call out, but the sharp, even footsteps do not slow.

The light brightens, and as it floods into Leth's cell its weilder revealed as Viago, his usual work uniform spattered with blood. He stops in front of the bars and turns to them, looking mildly annoyed.

They grin at him, split lip still bleeding sluggishly.

"What took you so long? I was expecting you days ago."

He scoffs, pulling a ring of keys from his belt and beginning to try each of them in the lock.

"You're lucky I came for you at all, after you made such a foolish error."

Leth raises an eyebrow.

"What, getting ambushed? Did I miss your lesson on precognition?"

The key turns in the lock; the iron door screeches as it opens. Viago wastes no time in starting on the chains.

"Evidently, you missed my repeated requests for you to be vigilant and cautious," he hisses, shoving a key into the into the right manacle.

Leth stifles a pained gasp.

"Can you… that wrist's broken. Can you angrily jostle the other arm, maybe?"

Viago says nothing, but switches sides and continues, more carefully.

"What else?" he says, voice clipped.

"Couple ribs. My nose. But I can walk."

Viago nods.

A scream is abruptly cut off in the other room.

"Did someone come with you?"

"Teia."

"Aw, how sweet," they say, smiling, "I hope you didn't inconvenience her."

"She insisted on being here."

Viago frees their left arm and carefully moves to the right.

"You didn't mention the fingernails."

"Well, they'll grow back. And anyway, it didn't hurt that much."

Viago pulls the cuff open, and Leth slowly lowers their arm.

Frowning, Viago yanks open one of the pockets on his leathers and shoves a vial into Leth's good hand.

"Drink."

They do, immediately.

"Huh," they say, as some of their surface wounds heal over, "that's a nice change. Can't remember the last time something you gave me was curative."

"Did they keep your effects?" Viago asks, heading out of the cell.

"Don't know," they answer, following. "Didn't seem like they were open to small talk."

Viago sighs.

Teia answers the question by striding down the hallway with Leth's gear draped over an arm.

"Did you find them?" she demands from the part of the hallway still bathed in darkness.

"He did!" Leth calls. "Hello, Lady Cantori!"

Teia gasps and runs up to them, taking their face in her hands.

"Poor Colombina! What did they do to you? Vi, did you give them—"

"Yes, Teia."

She hums, dismayed and sympathetic.

"I should have killed them more slowly. Let's go home— Vi has a healer waiting for you."

"Careful, Viago," Leth teases, as the three of them process out of the cells, "do too many things like that and people will think you like having me around, or something."

"Horror of horrors," he says, drily, shutting the door behind them.

[tophat-69]

Bonus Chapter: it's the good, defining itself

So, it turns out that even after spending 22 days churning out a chapter a day, I wasn't entirely done with this world. I don't know if I'll keep posting periodic chapters to this AU, but I did want to share something with Tumblr in honor of my joining you all here during this story!

So here's a bonus chapter of "it's the good, defining itself" as Viktor begins to outlive himself in their previous timeline.

The air of Viktor’s office smells of ocean and ozone, blown in ahead of an evening storm that will lash these upper floors of the College of Techmaturgy but will disperse by the time it reaches the sumps of Zaun. Previously it would have ended up in runoff ditches, catching in the mud of the Promenade and eroding the natural fissures, but moving little further. In the city above it would have become runoff, picking up the pollution of Piltover’s factories and following their own elaborate drainage to spill into the feeders for the river far below. 

He’s been working on that--a water capture system that will help to bring fresh, untainted water to their citizens, and that will then trickle down from their gray water to Claggor’s garden and struggling orchard. Instituting city-wide changes in infrastructure is a slow process though, no matter how quickly he can redesign it in his mind. 

Still, he can do all of this because the people who care entirely too much for him have given him this perch in the sky, an eagle’s nest above the city he loves. He can barely see the city, though--instead, his windows face the risen tower of the Academy and the glistening spires of Piltover across the river.

He should have insisted on being down among his own people instead. He always thinks that in the rare times that he uses his office. Usually for meetings, or to do paperwork while his children commandeer his workshops and labs on the floors just below him, or when they’re too rambunctious in the unofficial teacher’s lounge that makes up the floor beneath, where the haze of the Entresol begins to grey the sky before it disappears entirely the further down the tower one gets. 

He doesn’t like the elevated position they’ve given him. An irony, since he gravitated towards heights in his past life, teetering on the edge and looking down from Piltover. That was when he was still apart from them, though. Before he became ‘of Zaun’ again, somehow emblematic of a people he left behind for a life on the topside.

From here, he can stare at the council building as well. But he’s not at the exact right angle to face the window that his death came crashing through.

This week, and a lifetime ago.

The fact that it’s Powder who finds him shouldn’t really surprise him.

The universe does enjoy its ironies.

A locked door means absolutely nothing to fissure folk, but she doesn’t try the knob first anyway. No, she comes in before the rain can slick the roof or the leaded glass, as the line of clouds approaches from the west. Her boots make a truly grating squeal as they slide down the glass, before landing with a thump on the iron ledge that circles the entire upper floor. She grabs the opened shutter and uses it to slip herself inside before closing it behind her so that the rain doesn’t find him. 

Viktor sighs and presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, gathering himself so that he can try to be ‘on.’

“You are aware that there is in fact a door.”

Powder bounces up and makes herself comfortable on Viktor’s desk, perched above him there in a way that completely disregards the piles of paper he’s let build up, legs folding beneath her as she blows an errant strand of her bangs out of her eyes, looking a little windswept from her escapades outside. “Uh-huh. But somehow that door is locked, the lights are off, and you’re sitting on the floor behind your desk. Weird, isn’t it?” 

“One might be led to believe that I was avoiding company.” 

“Wow, don’t be too subtle, there, Prof. I might miss the hint.” Powder, of course, has even worse ideas of boundaries than any of the rest of his intrusive little family in Zaun. Because she can see a boundary and still slips right past it because they don’t apply to her, her voice cheerful and completely irreverent. He’s blaming Vander for this behavior. Or Silco. Or Violet. He obviously would never have raised such a disrespectful child, and Jayce has proper manners so he’s clearly not responsible. Though Viktor did hire her on for his College as soon as she graduated despite basically everything about her being an invitation to bring chaos into their lives, so he supposes that he has himself to blame for that much. 

“Your Piltie has been wandering all around campus looking like a kicked puppy all day between classes. I think he’s the only person in Zaun that the ‘no one’s home’ act worked on even though his office is literally next door. Everything okay between you two?” Since she was eleven, Powder’s been torn between teasing Jayce incessantly for being irredeemably Piltovan, and being invested in their relationship as if there was any chance that their arguments might push them apart and leave Viktor hurt and alone. But insultingly enough, for all that her loyalties are inevitably with Viktor, she sides with Jayce in the majority of their disputes.

Because like Jayce, she centers ‘her’ people over any reason or any cause. And for all that Viktor works to keep all of the children out of their arguments, it’s as if Powder lives in the walls. She is an eternally meddlesome teenaged menace who—like literally everyone else in his adoptive family—has decided that she knows better what he needs than he does.  

That part is definitely Vander’s influence.

“We’re fine. It’s nothing like that.” Viktor sighs and straightens slowly, trying to ease the perpetual ache of his spine by forcing his shoulders square against the drawers of his desk even as it strains his back against the brace. Rainy days hurt the worst. It’s fitting, that today should be among them. “The fact that he would be held back by locks on the door of a Dean’s office is slightly insulting, though. I broke into Heimerdinger’s office to rob it for him within a day of meeting him.”

“Hah! I guess you can take the nerd out of the trenches, but not the trencher out of the nerd. That’s some top tier sump rat flirting there, Prof. Who knew you had it in you.” Powder’s voice is merry, teasing, and she reaches down to poke Viktor in the back of the head repeatedly to harass him into movement, getting her hand swatted away before he grabs for his crutch and uses it to leverage himself up reluctantly. If he stays on the floor, she’s going to try and braid his hair again. “Can’t believe that was too subtle for him to catch on to, since it took you guys coming down here to make it all official.”

“Seven years I flirted with that man and he missed it each time. Do not ever let my husband convince you that he is a genius.”

Right now, in another life, he would have been running along a pier as the storm rolled in. Running. For the first time in his life running without pain, the pigeon-toed twist of his leg straightened out into perfect mechanical symmetry. Now it’s the brace that keeps his leg from buckling beneath him given the stiffness of the position and the barometric pressure of the storm, forcing him to put more of his weight on the crutch as he finds his balance. An hour from now and a lifetime ago, he would have been carving runes into his skin in the shifting glow of the Hexcore. Two hours from now and a lifetime ago, he would have watched in horror as Sky Young’s human form dissolved into ash as she clung to him, trying in vain to pull him away from a danger that he created himself. He wonders what Sky’s life has been like without an obsessive madman to try and wrangle into obeying deadlines, stuck organizing his messes and deciphering his notes.

It should be a better life, he hopes.

In this new timeline, her closest counterpart in his life is the traumatized teenager who murdered him, but in this life is a dearly obnoxious gremlin smirking at him as she sits on his desk with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She waits as he settles into his chair without trying to interfere because for all of her invasiveness, she’s still a trencher and understands that a person should be allowed a little pride to do things for themselves. But only to an extent.

“Yeah, so speaking of stupid geniuses.” Reaching into the pouch on her hip, Powder pulls out a vial and dangles it between her fingertips, waving the glass back and forth in front of Viktor’s face so that the serum inside of it sloshes, just viscous enough to cling to the sides. “You skipped your treatment. You don’t get to skip your treatment.”

And there’s this routine. 

“Someday, I am going to find where the two of you keep your calendar, and I am going to take great pleasure in shredding it into very small pieces, then setting fire to them.”

“Uh-huh. Laser claw, burner in the lab, right into the forge. Heard it all. You’re a very scary crazy criminal mastermind, now drink your disgusting sludge already.”

Viktor sighs and takes the vial from her, popping the top and letting out a deep breath before he downs the entire thing in one shot as if to do so will make it less horrendous. He hates it. It glows poisonously green and tastes like he imagines licking the interior an active power core would—metallic and electric, burning as it coats his throat. The acidic crawl through his veins will stay for a few hours, now, spreading all the way through him. He's still dying. These are treatments for a disease, not a cure for the gift that is mortality. But even as the acid sinks into his blood and leaves him pained and exhausted and nauseous for the rest of the night, he knows that his family has clawed him just that little bit further away from death's door. 

He resentfully offers the empty vial back to Powder, trying not to pull a face even though he knows he’s long since lost any semblance of the “coolness” he had in her eyes when she was young. Oh, Powder and the others still are entirely too fond of him, but apparently the mystique of being a mysteriously appearing unknown mad scientist who stole everything that topside could teach him and started a revolution wears off once he actually becomes family. For Vander’s children, he’s the man their fathers have bullied relentlessly for the past seven years, and now they feel empowered to do so as well behind closed doors. 

And none of them moreso than the girl who was one of his first two students and has now since spent more time in Viktor’s company than anyone but his husband.

Thunder rumbles in the distance and the rain begins. A patter for now, gentle against the glass. It won’t remain that way for long.

Dropping the vial back into her pouch, Powder leans back and kicks her feet up onto the arm of his chair, ankles crossed so she can prod him in the shoulder with the toe of one of her boots. “Now, what are you two being weird about? Because you’re both being weird this week.”

A lifetime ago and hours ago, Jayce came up with the mad idea to go raid a factory in the undercity, enraged by the very girl who sits here in the office with him. Viktor never found out if it was this former factory of Renni’s, specifically. He doubts if Jayce even knows because the undercity was completely unfamiliar to him at the time. Jayce killed a child this week, and yet the boy is one of many that shows up to the library to learn from Viktor in the mornings. Jayce has as much difficulty looking at the child as Viktor does at Vander, but he recognizes that the boy being a part of Viktor’s youngest pupils is something of a balance in the universe: Viktor has helped to improve the life of Renni’s son, and Renni has kept children--including her own--out of her factories.

Viktor murdering Chross and his men for keeping Isha and the others in the mines probably had something to do with that too, though. That is a thought he has to lock down on most days. Today should be one of the days he’s allowed to feel it. If this week is not one for reflection, when is?

“This will be a… difficult week for Jayce and I.” Viktor looks out for a moment as water ripples down the window, flowing down the waves of the surface of the glass that reflect the Zaunite advanced technology and yet how they do not search for perfection in their creations. Architecture is as much an art as a science, and it was one that Viktor left to others. Viktor can feel the different textures and depths of the glass with his fingertips, and in some ways the imperfections are a comfort. Imperfection is human. And in a life where he’s struggled for that, he embraces it when he can. 

“Yeah, no shit mister cryptic. I caught that much. I asked why.” 

Turning his eyes away from the storm, Viktor lets himself look at Powder in the half-light of the dusk sky, the flashing that illuminates storm clouds. He can almost see her in the crack of lightning--the girl who found him in the commune, never knowing that he was one of her victims. He never wanted her to know. It was irrelevant at that point, either way. It’s irrelevant now, too.

But he does owe her answers that aren’t just… fortune cookie. He can’t tell her the full truth, but he can tell her a semblance of it.

“This is the week I was supposed to die.” Powder sucks in a breath, eyes widening, and Viktor tips his head slightly with a faint smile. “Perhaps this is why you shouldn’t ask impertinent questions to your elders that you don’t really want the answer to.”

Seven years, Viktor always says. He and Jayce both do--focusing on the time they spent side by side, as if it was their entire life after they met. But there were eight years. And this week begins the start of that cursed final year, where he died and rose as something no longer human. The year when time and reality fell out from beneath Jayce’s feet, and then Viktor…

This will be a difficult year. And it begins tonight. They both have their demons for this week, but they only really intersect at two points: the ledge where he planned to kill himself and the council room where he actually died. They’d already drifted so far apart by this time, driven from each other by secrets and ambition and grief and pride. 

Now they’re tied inextricably together, mind and soul, but that comes with its own challenges. They’re in a feedback loop again, as happens sometimes on their worst days when Viktor’s turbulent emotions trigger Jayce’s own, building and building, until one of them overloads. 

The reasonable answer, Viktor knows, would be for the two of them to simply pass the time together--to dampen the way their souls scream at each other by just curling up in bed and weathering out the storm. But some pains need to be felt. And Viktor deserves to feel the pain of tonight.

“Pretty sure doctors don’t go week by week with predictions like that but are you… okay?” Are you going to die, she doesn’t ask. But she’s thinking it. He can see it in her, that fear of losing another loved one. Viktor pats her on the ankle, reassuring. 

“I’m not going to die on you this week, Powder. I’m not…” there yet. He’s still got time, both he and Jayce can feel it. Viktor just hasn’t wanted to admit it because in some ways everything after this is uncharted territory. He can’t prepare for it, can’t brace for it. There’s no definite timeline any longer, he has to just… live in uncertainty. Like every other human, he supposes. “But when you asked me, when you were small, this was the week I was thinking of. And I was right, you’re old enough to…”

“‘Torment the next generation of Zaun scientists.’” Powder finishes from memory, and she’s watching him in so much concern, with an edge of genuine fear and preemptive grief, and oh. The poor girl. He shouldn’t have teased her. Sometimes his ‘not funny’ quips genuinely aren’t, and he knew that she is among the only four people to know for certain that he is dying. It’s why she’s worked alongside Jayce despite her interests in science being aligned elsewhere, like Jayce’s own. For him, they both moonlight as alchemists now. “I didn’t think you were putting me with the little kids because you were trying to fulfil some sort of… of… prophecy you made me about you dying. I’m not that ‘grown’ yet!”

Viktor’s hefting himself to his feet, clutching the edge of his desk as he pushes a stack of papers aside so he can haul himself up to perch on the edge of it with her. His back is going to hate him for this, but he’s never been able to turn away a crying child. She falls into his side as she did that night seven years ago when she was just confronted with the idea of his mortality. This time he’s far more comfortable wrapping an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

“Hush. I’m not dying yet. You and Jayce and your truly vile serums have seen to that.” He lets his disgust for their medicines color his words, playing into the ongoing tease about how much he hates them, but it just gets him lightly jabbed in the side. So gently, compared to how he knows she could hit him. Her eyes are angry when he looks over to her. 

“Have you been trying to die on deadline? We have to hunt you down to get you to take the stuff, and you knew that it was…”

With a sigh, Viktor tugs at her shoulder again and reels her back in, resting his head on top of hers when she slumps back into him. She and Isha are absolutely going to contribute to him going prematurely gray this time around. Daughters, he is finding, are even more troublesome than husbands. He can at least read and understand and soothe Jayce’s emotions. Powder’s are all over the place, and he can merely guess at them. 

“Ridiculous girl. You try drinking battery acid and tell me if you enjoy it, I am obligated to inconvenience you both for that experience. But do I ever actually miss it?” He doesn’t. And he won’t. Not just because Jayce and Powder force it on him every week, but because he does have so much more he can still do with his life. He still finds it… difficult. To stay in the present and to try and look towards the future. But for them, he grabs hold of his tattered sanity tightly as he’s able in his wavering grip. For them, he tries.

He expected to be buried in the past right now. It’s why he isolated himself, why he hid himself in the office to let himself just feel it. To let himself drown in it. But instead he’s here, present, trying to be what Powder needs from him because that is the man that he should be in this timeline. 

So he presses a kiss against the top of his daughter’s head, just as he would against Isha’s despite how much Powder has grown, and he squeezes her shoulder.  “I told you then and I tell you now, I do what I must to be around for you as long as possible. …And I put you with the children because you are good with them. You have been ever since Isha joined us, and you know that. ‘Prophecy.’ Tch.”

Powder laughs a bit wetly, and that’s good. He can sit here and watch the rain for a while and then let her cajole him into taking better care of himself.

Then he’ll go find his husband, and try to be present for him, as well.

He has three choices: to look at this extra time as a curse, as a fluke, or as a gift. If it is a gift, it is from his family. And it should be for his family, too. 

****

Now that she’s not a student herself and has a small dedicated staff apartment above the dorms, Powder sneaks Isha in with her half of the time and has a bunk bed set up for the two of them. She lives where she can look over all of the students and make sure they don’t get into any of the trouble that she would have when she was one of them, but that doesn’t mean she feels that the rules apply to her any more than they ever did. 

Isha will come find her when the bar really starts to pick up, sneaking out in the crowd even though everyone involved knows that Vander is not only aware he allows it to happen and enables it, and that Viktor will just pretend like Isha’s an early riser when she inevitably tackles him in a hug as soon as he walks out of his house just after dawn. 

So Powder stays just long enough for Viktor to turn her mood around into nagging him and bullying him, as teenaged daughters seem to do, and then he sends her off to take care of her little sister. He sneaks her a bit of money for her to grab them something special to eat, knowing that the conversation had a toll on her too and that a night of fun with her little sister will do her good.

Sometimes that companionship is what’s needed. It’s not… always what Viktor wants. It’s rarely what Viktor wants. He prefers to push himself on his own through rough nights. 

So while Powder might be his daughter when it comes to science and genius and creativity and the brush of insanity that comes with all of it, she got her sentimentality from a different role model.

And Vander isn’t the only one who carries that sort of attachment to people.

It’s not hard to find Jayce when he goes looking. Taking the descender all the way down requires him to put his mask back on halfway, clasped on as the drop takes him back into the Entresol and then below the street level, to the depths of the factory that helped contribute to his own eventual death. Jayce has filters and ducts that run through these levels, dispersing the Gray before it can pool on the floors here as it used to in his basement, but that’s not what makes him need the mask any longer.

It’s the heat haze that gets to Viktor down here and makes it hard to breathe. It’s the smoke of the fire, and scorch of molten metal.

Hammer on anvil, Jayce is working his stress out in the way he has through two lifetimes now. Viktor lingers near the descender, watching his husband from behind where he’s outlined by the blaze of fire, how with every swing the light licks across bare shoulders glossed with sweat.

He’s been at it for a while now, if it’s starting to show. Even if the long line of tools he’s forged for his engineering classrooms spread across the workbench to the side wasn’t sign enough of that. 

Jayce is lost enough in his head that he doesn’t hear Viktor coming, doesn’t know that he’s there until Viktor rests his crutch against the workbench and slips his arms around Jayce, one around his waist and his human hand pressed against Jayce’s chest over the heavy beat of his heart. The cool metal of his mask and brush of unruly hair coming to rest against Jayce’s back combined with the sudden soothing of the emotions he’s doubtless been dumping on Jayce all evening make his partner slump immediately, hammer coming to a rest between his feet as he presses his arms over Viktor’s own, holding him there so he can’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor offers, the mask making his voice echo mechanically, though he’s barely loud enough to be heard over the heaving of Jayce’s breath anyway. Jayce understands regardless.

“You needed your space.” Ah, his poor sweet Jayce. He sounds wrecked, as if Viktor shredding his sanity has torn into Jayce’s own. They both have their demons, but Jayce ripped his soul in two and shoved half of it right into the worst of his own. Now he deals with the consequences of that selflessness every day. 

“And you needed your husband. So we find a compromise position. Requests?” Heat and smoke be damned, he wants to kiss Jayce’s shoulder. As if he can hear Viktor’s thoughts even like this, Jayce links both of their hands together and refuses to let him reach for the mask. Meddlesome man. They’re going to struggle with Viktor’s self-sufficiency and Jayce’s need to coddle him for the rest of their lives. However long that may be, now. 

“Can we take tomorrow off? Stay in. Put our kids on figuring out who will TA each of our classes.” If Viktor weren’t reliant on the work to keep him moving some days, he would have thought of it already. In this life, their college is his dream, and while Jayce shares it he doesn’t have the single minded obsession that consumes Viktor in every life. But for Jayce… 

“That is… not unreasonable. I can go in tomorrow morning for the children’s class, and see Powder there and ask her?” A compromise. He cannot let down the youngest children, who come to him before the day begins for the university itself. From the ones small enough to literally climb Powder for her dramatically presented storytimes, to the preteens who want to learn so much that they come to Viktor to absorb every bit of mathematics and introductory sciences and then take home the books he recommends to them based on their interests, to the teenagers who show up for food and an assignment before heading to the mines or the factories or the refineries to support their families… they need that consistency from him. 

And Viktor needs the proof that his College doesn’t only benefit those who push “progress” for Zaun. That he doesn’t leave others behind for not being a born scientist. It makes his days exhaustingly long, but Zaun needs so much more from her people than just scientists. If as a teacher he can help their people feel empowered to bring their own dreams into the city… isn’t that what he should do?

He wouldn’t be able to sit through a day off from that any more than he allows himself an “off” day for the children. Jayce understands that. With a squeeze to his hands before releasing them, Jayce turns in Viktor’s arms and coils around him in turn, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Yeah. I’ll come with you and I’ll take the teens.” Jayce doesn’t normally interfere in the mornings, but tomorrow morning a lifetime ago he found Viktor just as he was going to step off of the ledge and let himself fall, and then by tomorrow night he was left with Viktor’s broken body and a terrible, desperate decision. So. Compromise. “Then we stay in for the weekend, except for…”

Viktor sighs regretfully as Jayce tugs his shirt back on, both at the unfortunate (but thankfully quite temporary) shrouding of such a masterpiece, and because there really is no escaping his weekend obligations. Not anymore.

“Except for Sunday when I am contractually obligated to socialize with the undercity gang who call themselves my family, or I will be dragged unceremoniously from our bed by whichever one of you brutes wins a coin toss.” Jayce is not-so-subtly stealing Viktor’s crutch from him and positioning himself to take its place, but he’s been so good for Viktor all day even when Viktor was literally driving him mad. So he can have that just this once. It’s also pouring rain, so even the short trek from the college to their home is going to be miserable. “Vander and Silco are going to be insufferable. Powder pressed me on our behavior until I admitted that this is the week I’m meant to die.”

“Don’t… don’t say it like that.” Jayce visibly flinches, and Viktor sighs and links his arm through Jayce’s, leaning most of his weight into his husband’s side as he takes the first limping steps towards the descender. 

“You may not have the right, but I am allowed to call them a gang, just as I am allowed to refer to us as sump rats and…”

“Viktor.”

It wasn’t his best piece of redirection, granted, but he really has no other defense against the relentless sincerity and pleading stares Jayce fixes on him. Viktor sighs again and turns to face Jayce as they step inside the car for the hydraulic lift, resting a hand against Jayce’s chest for balance. He’d be tipping his chin up and demanding a kiss if the damned mask weren’t a sticking point. So instead he lets his fingers scratch gently into the soft thatch of Jayce's beard, petting him as he might the kicked puppy that Powder compared him to. “Compromise. Let me be miserable tonight while you decide how I’m allowed to phrase that. And then tomorrow we have incredibly life-affirming sex essentially all afternoon and evening.”

Jayce still flushes at the mention of sex and glances at the descender doors as they open onto the street level like someone is going to be waiting there to judge them. Truly, this man is too sweet for him.

“We’re doing to duke it out on the ‘miserable’ thing.” Of course they are. But Viktor knows that if he keeps Jayce close, his husband will be spared the worst of the second-hand madness. So he’ll crowd into the shower with him when they get back and will curl into the couch with him, aware that Jayce will know why he’s doing it but is incapable of pushing Viktor away. In return Jayce will do his level best to distract Viktor out of the melancholy that’s trying to consume him. 

Compromises are the basis of any healthy marriage. Particularly, it seems, between a bullheaded dreamer and a fanatical madman. 

They’ll make it through the week.

Then through the year.

And then determine what happens from then on.

[orbital-obvious]

The Batman (2022) thoughts [pt 2/?] FRIENDS AND FAMILY (w Spoilers)

Kinda squeezing opinion about Batman Allies (mainly Selina) and Bruce's family (which includes his parents and Alfred) into one post but we'll live.

Martha Wayne being a woman with mental health issues that had to have gone to several mental facilities felt like a revelation. I am kinda sad I didn't see more discussions about it in the tags. ESPECIALLY since a lot of her anguish stemmed from Trauma and being so close to the public eye. This is intensifies tenfold if if you relate it to theories like "Bruce is Autistic". Because, HELLO, Martha's family probably viewed her as "wrong" if she exhibited neurodivergent behavior and I keep thinking about possible parllels between her and her son and Thomas accepting her as she is and ahhhhhhh. MUCH TO THINK ABOUT.

Selina Kyle felt much more down to earth in this, which I was thankful for. She felt very... not REALISTIC, rather un-fantastical. She is not Catwoman YET, and is weirded out by costumed weirdo Batman and that made their interactions a lot more potent. The movie also did away with some Catwoman-isms I don't like, what my friend reffered to as "too sexy to be alive".

Actually, I felt as if the movie used wigs to have a visual representation of Selina going into a "role" - being sexy, looking innocent, etc etc, while her no-wig look came into play when she was more her real self - which is part of the movie theme of identity.

That is not to say that Selina wasn't MESMERIZING, btw. They gave her this sparkly/flakey eyeshadow that reflected the light so prettily and made her shine.

Selina red wig look was the best Selina wig look. Gosh, Kravitz made that plastic wig WORK. ALSO NARRATIVE IMPORTANCE. The movie heavily associates black-red with the Batman, so Selina wearing a red wig and black outfit is singling that she is working with the Batman.

no "Hello boys!" from Selina. Thank fuck. Also I kind of enjoyed a version of this character that is not overtly flirtatious. Her romantic moments felt kind of sweet, actually. (I'm going to think about Bruce going "Selina?" when the eyecam gets turned on forever)

So..... Selina and Anika (her "friend" that also worked in the club) were dating, right?

I greatly enjoyed this version of Alfred. It was a diversion from the usual interpretation but I think still managed to capture the character's essence. Alfred is Bruce's father (Bruce, keep your teenage-angst-at-30 for yourself, please) - and I enjoyed his prodding trying to get Bruce Wayne to function like a person in society (level: impossible)

There is more staff than just Alfred - Dory the housekeeper, who also seems like a person who was with the family before the Waynes murder. I don't know why, but I really liked this addition. Maybe becasue it allowed my next point, which is-

It's never was outright said, but I got the feeling like Alfred was the Waynes bodyguard, not butler. Which makes a lot more sense in this more "grounded" universe. It also explains why Alfred was so torn about their death and gives better reasoning as to why he felt it was his duty to protect young Bruce. It's not only Bruce the death is eating up, but also Alfred, and perhaps even more so (as Alfred said, Bruce was just a kid). HOWEVER, I think Alfred dealing with those intense emotions and still not spiraling to WHATEVER Bruce had going on makes him a good foil to Bruce and a better mentor/father figure.

I was legit scared they were gonna kill Alfred. Not only cause I LIKE Alfred, but because I could not even begin to fathom the abyss Bruce would have spiraled into.

Martha was an Arkham? Bruce have a connection to ARKHAM? that's a FAMILY? are they in charge of Arkham Asylum? Are any of them alive? I get that the point here was to be like "Bruce Wayne is the prince of Gotham" (as per Falcone- using Prince cause he's the king) but. Like. HUH?

Thomas Wayne was an idiot for consulting Falcone, and that is the best case senario of that predicament. Especially in a city like Gotham. But that's just the thing - Thomas panicked in how this could have affected Martha / Bruce (I fully believe Alfred when he said it wasn't about the campaign) and that made him act out stupid. It's humanizing.

While I think the death of the reporter was way beyond a reasonable reaction, what business does ANYONE have with Martha's mental health? Rhetorical question, of course. Falcone hinted it was a hit piece but tbh I think it was more like a scandalous "tea" and "drama" about a public figure. There is so much to say about the personal life of public personas, prejudice regarding mental health and especially mental health WITHIN the Batman stories. The movie really wasn't about that, but, you know, many thoughts.

[mybrainisrotted]

Gojo/gn!reader, established relationship. Post Shibuya incident spoilers. When our man returned.

Read on Ao3.

"I mean this respectfully Ijichi, please get the fuck out of my way."

The metal examining table under Gojo's thighs is cold and uncomfortable, but it's a different sort of cold and uncomfortable and for that he's grateful. But the voice that echoes in the hall outside the medical room sends a rush of warmth through him that makes it feel like his heart has been restarted when he didn't even know it had stopped. For a moment--a second stretched indefinitely--he forgets where he's been, what he's seen, what he's felt, who he's lost.

The door slams open, bouncing off the wall hard enough to make even Shoko wince a bit as she takes a drag from her nearly ever present cigarette. Smiling softly, she joins Ijichi in the hall, closing the door behind her.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't wait anymore."

Gojo's already on his feet when you come barreling into him, arms open and ready to catch you. Your body molds to his, arms wrapped tight around his middle, face pressed against his chest where he's sure you can hear how his heart has picked up pace, slamming against his ribcage. He folds himself around you as best he can, squeezing you a little too tightly because he knows that's how you like your hugs. You take a deep breath and let it out with a pleased hum, nuzzling your cheek against him.

"You smell like you. Like home."

The corner of Gojo's mouth ticks up, and he presses his own nose to the top of your head, letting the faint but familiar scent of your coconut shampoo take over his senses. It triggers memories that are uniquely coded to you; smoothing fingers over your shoulder as he ghosts his lips over the back of your neck in bed, and steam filled showers that you always begrudge him for taking with you even as you lovingly massage that shampoo into his hair (which he bought to keep at his place specifically for this purpose), humming softly under your breath as your nails gently rake over his scalp.

Gojo's favourite part was smelling you on his things. Rolling over in bed, alone, and burying his nose in his pillow and smelling you. Drying his hands on his towel, sitting on his couch, pulling on his clothes and having that faint scent of coconut suddenly tickle his nose. You're with him even when you aren't. And in the Prison Realm, with nothing to do to pass the infinite looping of time except dive inward into his own mind, he'd tucked his chin into the collar of his shirt and--smelled you. Lingering within the fabric and threads was the simple essence of you and suddenly he hadn't felt so alone.

"I'm sorry I've been gone," Gojo murmurs, mouth at your temple and fingers smoothing nonsensical patterns up and down your spine. Now that he's got you in his grasp again, when the likelihood of that had begun to seem like a fleeting possibility, he doesn't want to let you go. "It won't happen again. I promise."

You squirm in his hold, placing both hands on his chest to push him back slightly so you can look at him face to face. You don't think you've ever seen him on school grounds without his blindfold or sunglasses. The nineteen days without him makes you realize between the sky and the ocean there isn't a shade of blue that could possibly capture what you see swirling in his irises.

"You don't need to apologize for something out of your control, Satoru," you say with a slight frown. You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, committing him to memory all over again, warming when his expression softens under your touch. "You have no idea how happy I am that you're back. That's the only thing that matters."

Something in Gojo's eyes flickers, and though he smirks it doesn't carry his usual lightheartedness. The coil of tension in his stomach twists uncomfortably. "Missed the strongest sorcerer, huh?"

You shake your head again, smoothing the pad of your thumb over his lower lip. "I missed your corny jokes. I missed your surprise mochi deliveries. I missed our late night hot chocolate talks on your balcony." Your fingers trace a gentle path upward, over his sharp cheekbones and soft brows, smoothing a lock of silky white hair over his temple and then settling at his nape. "I missed your morning bed head. I missed your laugh. I missed your touch. I missed the way you said you loved me. I missed my sweet Satoru."

The love you give him, have always given him, is free of strings and expectations. Gojo doesn't know what his future is going to look like but he knows he wants one with you. By your side. His smile wobbles as he gently swipes away the tears at the corners of your eyes, that knot in his stomach loosening with your words. He kisses you on the forehead, on each damp cheek, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips, once, twice, three times, before he taps his head to yours.

"I missed you too, sweetheart."

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #16

A/N: Ya girl is running behind, but still trucking! ✌️

part 1

xxx i can't feel anything

"Dickie!" Jason says, a dopey grin splitting his features. "Heyyy."

Dick smiles back. It's the kind of tired, fake smile that Jason sees through every time – when he's not drugged up to his eyeballs, anyway. Dick's physically exhausted; being up for over thirty hours straight will have that effect on most people.But it's not just that. Mentally, emotionally, he feels flayed, like he's a walking bundle of exposed nerves. Babs has been trying to coax him into going home for a shower and some sleep, but he can't bring himself to leave Jason's side.

They don't understand. They can't. He knows they're trying to, and he appreciates the effort, but the fact is they weren't there. Anything he says to them to try and explain won't come close to capturing how harrowing the experience had been. In the collapsed building, and then in the ambulance ride and ER after, as they struggled to keep Jason stable.

"How are you feeling?" he says, forcing himself back into the present. Pushing down thoughts of last night is getting harder to do as he grows increasingly fatigued. "Any pain in your arm?"

"Pain?" Jason says, squinting. "In my arm? No, I – I can't feel anything." He frowns. "They didn't take my arm, did they?"

"Nope, they didn't. Your arm is still there," Dick assures him. He points to Jason's left arm. "It's in that cast, see?"

Jason looks down and his eyes widen comically. "Whoa." His gaze shifts back to Dick. "Will you sign it?"

"Later," Dick says.

"There," Jason says, gesturing at the cast.

"Careful, Jaybird. You don't wanna pull your IV."

"You can sign it right there," Jason continues, ignoring him. "D-I-C-K." A mischievous look crosses his features. "Or you could just draw a dick."

Dick laughs. It's the first genuine smile he's had since he learned that Jason was in the building when the explosion happened.

"You'd better watch it, dude," he says as the post-op nurse snorts.

Jason hums. "You love me."

"Mm-hmm."

A shadow falls across Jason's face, and he looks like he might burst into tears. "Bruce doesn't love me."

Dick's heart clenches. "Of course he does."

"He hates me," Jason says quietly.

"Don't say that." Dick lays a hand on Jason's knee. "Bruce does not hate you."

"He does," Jason says, and lets out a wet sob. Dick looks up at the nurse, who's moved forward to put a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"It's normal to feel a bit emotional after the anesthesia," he says, and Dick knows he's saying it for his benefit as well as Jason's. "That's okay. You're okay, buddy."

"How long will it take before it wears off?" Dick asks, and the nurse shoots him a small, sympathetic smile.

"This part of it usually lasts an hour or so, but it'll be about twenty-four hours for all of it to be flushed from his system completely."

"And he won't remember any of this?"

"It's highly unlikely, unless you want to get your phone out."

Dick absolutely doesn't.

xxx

Jason falls asleep pretty quickly after he's settled back in his room. Dick texts the group chat.

Surgery went well. Jay's resting in his room now

There's a small knock on the door and Haley, one of the nurses that's been in and out a lot over the last day and a half, pokes her head in.

"Sorry to disturb you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's a gentleman here to see you."

Dick frowns. "To see me?"

She nods.

"Huh." He looks over at Jason, and something like grief pangs in his chest. Jay looks younger when he's asleep like this, more his age. If not for the white in his hair and the scars, he could pass for a regular nineteen year old.

"He'll be okay without you for a few minutes," Haley says gently. "I'll make sure he knows where you are if he wakes up."

Dick sighs and, a little reluctantly, stands. "Thank you," he says.

She smiles, and there's a ruefulness to it as she pats his arm. "You're a good brother."

Another sharp pain through the center of his chest, and this time it persists as he follows the nurse through the halls.

"Just in here," she says, opening the door to a quiet room.

His stomach drops.

Bruce.

xxx to be continued...

[goodluckclove]

ok ok ok Clove i need to know: who are some of the best writers here in your opinion ? who do i need to follow if i want to follow the next generation of great writers ? i need new blogs to follow

oh shit let's party.

first off i can't say that i know all the best writers here. i'm still learning! also, maybe i like things you don't. the usual disclaimer. but i'll still take the chance to rave about some of the immense brilliance of some of my colleagues on here!

first of is @ivaspinoza, who is the first person to send me her writing the very first time i asked. she writes the most beautiful, almost prophetic word pieces. not quiet prose, not entirely poetry. it's language you can really seep yourself in like a heated milk bath. she's working on a longform vampire novel in the same style which i have seen snippets of and it is truly incredible. love her dearly.

i'm actually in the middle of Song of the Heartless by @rkmoon, because he was hesitating to post it and i harassed him into sending it to me. and oh man, it's great. really solid premise and a world that feels vibrant and expansive and also shit because it's kind of dystopian and the vibes are not great. obviously as another aspec writer i love the representation. it's great to read yourself on the page and still see your struggles draped in thematic excitement. i can't say any more without spoiling it but i really want to. this could easily be a fucking great movie adaptation.

i feel insane pointing you towards @godsmostfuckedupgoblin because he doesn't really post his writing as far as i know but he's got some of the best mastery of dialogue i've seen in non-published writing and his excerpts are always so exciting and fun to read. maybe if enough people him to share more he will but until then his memes are lit as a child has once said before.

@stajorathefallen is working on a longform Lord of the Rings fic that is truly beautiful. I would rather read this finished product than the actual Lord of the Rings. I don't know if she'll find that a compliment or a war crime, but it's just nicer. It feels warm and cozy to read. I actually don't even know if it's referenced the original canon at all since I saw the movies but didn't pay attention. I was not qualified to look at this fic but I got to anyway and it's great.

@cssnder is someone else who doesn't post enough writing, but my hope is with enough confidence she'll branch more into sharing. Literally every time she drops a line everyone's like huh?? wow!! and then she whispers a thanks and disappears back into the catacombs. if you like dark academia based on tiktok you should follow her to see what those tiktoks wish they could capture.

this is obviously not everyone. these are not even all the people that sent me writing to look at. i have two separate emails that i still need to marry, some people are still in the egg-cracking stage of being a writer, and my adderal can only do so much. if you aren't one of these people just know that you are amazing and you need to post more of your work so i can point people to your page please thank you i love you.

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien’s Warm Fragrance Date translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

Arriving As Promised Free SR Event | Prologue+Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6-9 | Warm Fragrance Date (You're here!)

"I think, rather than a good little assistant, it's more accurate to say that MC is a very talented gardener lady."

"Huh? Why do you say that?"

Lucien doesn't directly answer my question, instead, he pulls my hand and places it on the location of his heart.

I immediately understood the words he didn't say.

"This beautiful flower continues to grow, connecting all the veins that are linked to you."

[T/N: VERY RECOMMENDED to read the event story first because some convo on this date will make more sense if you read the event stories first]

[Date – Video ver]

(T/N: As always, I always recommend watching the video for a more comprehensive experience.

If the direct video doesn’t work - [Use this link]

(Besides, tumblr doesn’t allow us to use an old text editor anymore so I can’t add up more than 30 pics in this post. Tumblr post alone won’t capture the change in background and sprite as usual(for reference I always have like 60+ pic in one post LOL)

[Date – Transcript ver]

[Part 1]

The gentle morning sunlight pours down, passing through the vines on the wall, casting specks of light and shadow.

I look around, and as far as my eyes can see, various types of plants occupy my surroundings. However, I don't catch sight of Lucien's figure amidst the lushness.

MC: …Is Lucien not here?

I double-check his text message, then I put down the jasmine flower pot I've planted and the "OPEN" wooden sign. Afterward, I turn around and walk deeper into the greenhouse.

Today is the official opening day of the "Flower Shop." Perhaps 'Shop Manager' Lucien is currently preparing in some corner.

Following the path through the greenhouse, I continue forward. The comfortable temperature in the air makes me feel as if I'm in an oasis.

Under the towering green plants in front of me, dozens of calla lilies are cozily undergoing photosynthesis.

Next to the one blooming the most vibrantly, there's a label that reads "Reserved." My fingertips brush against that familiar handwriting, and I mutter softly.

MC: Miss X?

MC: ...I can't believe there's a reservation already.

[A throwback to Dance SP MQ and main story Dr. X :"]

I can't help but sigh, and I bend down to carefully observe these well-taken-care-of plants and flowers.

The snow-white petals of the calla lilies bloom brilliantly, and the leaves stretch energetically. The red and yellow tulips nestle against each other as if even the falling patches of light have become gentle.

??: Have you been here for a while? Why didn't you call out to me?

A familiar voice sounds behind me, and I quickly turn around.

The sunlight filters through the glass roof and falls upon Lucien, outlining a faint halo of light around his figure.

His white shirt appears exceptionally bright amidst the lush surroundings. His collar is unbuttoned, and he casually rolls up his sleeves, revealing his slender forearms.

The blue work apron he's wearing is loosely tied, and he doesn't seem to have noticed. A warm smile graces the corner of his lips.

With the jasmine pot I had just set down in his arms, he slightly bends forward and reaches out to hang the wooden sign on a nail above the railing.

This version of Lucien catches me off guard, and I find myself laughing with a belated realization.

MC: Pfft.

Lucien: (laughs, then playfully says) It seems my outfit is indeed a bit funny, isn't it?

MC: Of course not, "Shop Manager Lucien" is much more handsome than I imagined!

Lucien: Oh? Is that so?

Lucien slowly approaches me, and as his familiar scent envelops me, my heart rate instinctively quickens a little faster.

Lucien: (chuckles) So, can you tell me, what did you imagine 'Manager Lucien' to be like before?

MC: Manager Lucien's appearance right now has completely erased any other imagined images I had in my mind.

I hook my arm around Lucien's neck, a smile playing on my lips.

MC: Right now, my heart and eyes are filled with just the one before me.

I retie the loosely knotted apron behind him smoothly. But as I start to pull my hand back, he captures it in his grasp.

The next second, a gentle kiss carrying the scent of grass lands softly on my lips. Before my eyes could fully close, all that was left in my vision were those eyes brimming with joy.

Lucien removed his glasses at some point, and the gentleness in his eyes reflected my gradually reddening cheeks clearly.

Lucien: (whispers) Everyone else is busy in other greenhouses. Today, there are only the two of us here.

He slightly increases the distance between us, his brows and eyes curved.

Lucien: I remember that a lady once said that on the day she visits my "garden," she would buy the most beautiful flower from me.

MC: I remember that. I won't easily back down from my promise.

Lucien: Then, how about becoming my assistant? Consider it as payment for the flowers you intend to buy.

I tiptoe and peck his cheek on the side.

MC: Of course I'm willing to.

[Part 2]

As we walk through the corridor built with flowering vines from the entrance hall, the floral fragrance becomes even more rich and fragrant.

Lucien leads me through the corridor, and a lounge surrounded by flower walls comes into view. A row of bookshelves and an innovative instrument sit quietly in the corner.

Lucien: This is a newly introduced instrument from the Bioscience research center. It can measure various values of the brain's nervous system to detect the brain health of residents.

Curiously, I approach the instrument, looking around with keen interest.

MC: Can brain health really be determined using these two lines on top?

Lucien: If you're curious, you can put it on and give it a try.

Lucien noticed my eagerness and took the instrument's wires, guiding me to position my head correctly.

Lucien: Bring this wire over here, and place this device on here…

Following Lucien's guidance, I carefully placed the device from the instrument's wire onto my head.

Lucien: Now, let's take a look at Visitor MC's brain health, shall we?

MC: …Um!

I stare at the screen intently, and after a while, a green curve with a centered slope appears on the display.

MC: How is it?

Lucien: Hmm…

MC: I-Is it very bad?

Lucien: (chuckle) Very healthy.

MC: Phew…

MC: Back then, you were worried I might not adapt well, but the truth is, my "vitality" is quite resilient as well.

Lucien: How come I remember that it was a certain lady who was more concerned about me at the time?

Lucien: You prepared all sorts of emergency medicines for me, yet you only brought a small amount for yourself.

MC: Well, that might be because I've been eating well, sleeping well, and thinking about you a lot…

Lucien: From a medical perspective, perhaps "thinking about me a lot" played the most significant role.

MC: Although you're right, 'Professor Lucien' shouldn't go against medical principles just to prove the importance of "thinking about you".

Lucien places his hand on the top of my head and proceeds to explain seriously.

Lucien: Medical studies have confirmed that positive emotions, or good moods, are beneficial for brain neurons.

Lucien: I believe this 'Professor Lucien' hasn't gone against medical principles.

Lucien: People, scenery, animals, objects... all can serve as triggers for positive emotions.

Lucien: Including the plants we are cultivating now, it's all for studying the effects of different species on brain neurons.

MC: Does that mean that even for the same species, the experience could be different for different people?

Lucien: Exactly. The factors underlying the generation of positive emotions vary from person to person, and the feelings evoked by the same external factors can be completely different.

MC: Hmm... just like how I feel happy when I drink sweet milk tea, and Professor Lucien feels happy when savoring a cup of tea?

Seemingly amused by the interesting analogy, Lucien chuckles softly.

Lucien: (chuckles softly) Yes and no.

Lucien: If we slightly modify the reference in the comparison to "savoring tea alone and drinking milk tea with MC," for me, the latter naturally brings more happiness.

MC: Oh~ So the Great Professor's sweet words must also vary from person to person, right?

Lucien: Hmm... Not exactly.

Lucien: To be precise, I'm only like this with you.

I can't help but raise my lips; a kind of subtle tenderness seems to be quietly emerging from the depths of my heart, making me feel light and I can't help but indulge in it.

MC: I'm only like this with you too.

The conversation is interrupted by the hum of the instrument, and the fluctuation in the green curve produces new monitoring data for the device.

MC: Huh? Is there a new change?

Lucien: Mm, it seems that at this very moment, this little lady is happier than before.

The rising curve on the screen dances exuberantly as if it wants to reveal my thoughts in full detail.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I remove the device, afraid that the next moment it might detect those beautiful feelings in my heart once again.

MC: Alright, alright, I admit that indeed "thinking about you" played a significant role.

MC: So... Professor Lucien, do you think about me a lot too?

Lucien: Yes. Because I miss you so much, it feels as if the flowering period is endless.

Lucien's gaze softens, and the corners of his eyes curve like a gentle spring, causing the humidity in the greenhouse to quietly evaporate, filling the room with a sweet fragrance.

[Part 3]

After becoming familiar with the structure of the greenhouse, Lucien guided me through the final preparations before the official opening.

Since he has already completed most of it, my next task is to transplant the calla lilies into the flower bed.

Lucien: Here are these new gloves for you, and take this too.

Lucien hands over a brand new pair of gloves and then takes out a beige headscarf, naturally tucking my hair behind as he ties it on me.

His slightly warm fingertips inadvertently graze the back of my neck, creating a subtle and ticklish sensation.

Lucien: Hmm, you indeed look very cute with it on.

Lucien places a small red trowel in front of me and begins to demonstrate personally.

Lucien: Calla lilies thrive in a humid environment but are sensitive to waterlogging. They have high water requirements, so the root seedlings are crucial.

MC: I remember you mentioned in the email that Calla lilies, being plants adapted to humid regions, are much more challenging to grow in the desert compared to other plants.

Lucien: That's correct. Therefore, during the transplanting process, be careful not to damage the root seedlings with the trowel.

I nod and carefully take the calla lilies that Lucien has prepared, ready to transplant them into the flower bed.

The delicate and fragile root tendrils seem as if they could snap at the slightest inadvertent touch, and I take a deep breath subconsciously.

Lucien: (gently) Take it easy.

Lucien gently squeezes my hand, and the familiar reassurance gradually soothes my emotions.

I nod and readjust my breathing.

First, plant the flower seedlings into the small holes that have been prepared in the flower bed. Then, rearrange the positions of their roots, and finally, cover the soil from the side onto the flower seedlings…

I'm mentally rehearsing the steps Lucien taught me, carefully following the instructions as needed.

MC: Wow! It's a success…

Before I could even finish cheering, the next moment, the flower seedling drooped in front of me.

MC: ...Oops, did I just waste a flower seedling?

Thinking that each of these flower seedlings was personally nurtured by Lucien in such an environment, I can't help but feel a sense of guilt and regret.

Lucien: You didn't, it's just not fully acclimated yet.

Lucien: Don't worry, let's try it again.

Lucien said as he leaned closer to me, his palm gently cradling my hand. He carefully adjusts the position of the flower seedling and then presses the soil down slightly.

As if by some kind of magical spell, the delicate flower seedling trembles and sways, but it never topples over.

MC: Is it... a success?

Lucien: Yes, you did great.

With the experience of this successful attempt and Lucien's hands-on teaching, I learned some small techniques, and the subsequent transplanting process is going much smoother than I had imagined.

MC: Phew, just one more pot to go until we're done!

As I said this, I raised my hand to wipe the sweat from my face. I was about to dig out the seedling from the pot when Lucien suddenly chuckled.

MC: ...What's wrong?

He raises his hand with a smile and the clean back of his finger brushes against the tip of my nose.

Lucien: You've turned into a spotty bunny.

MC: …!

Thinking about the "fertilizer elements" in the soil, I hastily raise my hand and start randomly wiping my face.

Lucien can't help but laugh, then he grabs my hand.

Lucien: (laughs softly) If you keep rubbing like that, our spotty bunny might turn into a black bunny.

Lucien: Let me help you instead.

He uses the clean part of his palm to gently wipe across my face, bit by bit.

The delicate touch of his fingertips and the warmth from his palm gradually amplifies.

His breath, accompanied by a warm breeze, audibly falls on my ear, and my earlobe subtly starts to feel ticklish.

At some point, his gaze has shifted from my face to my eyes, and his finger lightly taps on my cheek.

Lucien: Now it's clean.

I can't seem to take my eyes off his face for a moment.

Lucien: (smiles) Do I also have something that needs wiping on my face?

MC: Ah? Well, right here on the chin…

I lift up my sleeve and gently wipe away the almost invisible speck of dirt on his chin.

The scent of flowers blending with the earthy aroma lingers in the air, and a gentle kiss softly grazes my cheek near my lips.

Lucien: Thank you, Miss Gardener.

[Part 4]

After a day of busyness, the flower shop's business is doing quite well.

People keep coming to buy flowers and admire them, and Lucien can smoothly carry out his experiment. He has printed a thick stack of monitoring data alone.

Until the sun sets in the west, everything except for that reserved calla lilies has been sold out.

MC: Looks like it's time to flip the signboard and announce the closing time~

Lucien's gaze falls on the back of the wooden signboard, his fingers tracing the patterns on it.

Lucien: Unexpectedly, there is a "gardener fox" on the other side?

MC: You noticed it!

I said as I leaned closer, my fingertips lightly tracing the slightly crooked wood-carved design.

[So it's her 'artwork' that she mentioned in the event :"]

MC: I carved it based on the desert fox's appearance and added a little touch of my own creativity.

Lucien: It's a nice touch. A little fox wearing glasses, an apron, and holding a pot of flowers.

Lucien: Hmm... Is it like this?

Lucien speaks as he raises the sign next to his face, mimicking the posture of the little fox on the wooden sign.

MC: Hahaha, it seems I carved it quite lifelike!

MC: By the way, after closing the store, let's go see the desert fox together~ I saw it last time near the sand dunes near the guest house.

MC: This time, I have Mr. Fox with me. So who knows, we might just have a smooth encounter with it.

Lucien: Of course, that's great, but I'd rather have a chance encounter with a desert rabbit.

Lucien: This little fox seems a bit lonely. I think this wooden sign leaves me some room for creativity.

[He also wants to carve a dessert bunny to accompany the dessert fox so it won't be lonely🥺]

Lucien carefully puts away the wooden sign and retrieves cleaning tools from the greenhouse.

Lucien: You've been busy all day, take a break. I'll handle the cleaning.

MC: There's no way the little assistant can take a break and let the big professor be busy.

MC: Besides, I've been resting well these past few days, but you've been in the experimental greenhouse all this time. I think you should be the one taking a break.

I say this while playfully pushing his back, half-forcing him to go rest on the sofa next to the flower hall.

Lucien accommodates and sits down but takes the opportunity to hold my hand.

Lucien: Well, there's no reason for the little assistant not to listen to the professor.

I can't resist this demeanor and tone at all, so I have to compromise and sit down next to him, nuzzling up against his side.

MC: The little assistant is now obediently resting. Professor Lucien, do you have any more requests?

Lucien: I think an obedient little assistant like you should receive her well-deserved reward.

Lucien promptly gets up and when he returns, he's holding the only remaining pot containing the calla lily with "reserved" written on it.

Seeing me blink in confusion, Lucien smiles and speaks.

Lucien: From the moment it miraculously survived, I selfishly reserved it in your name.

MC: My name? Does that mean…

At this moment, I finally realized belatedly why this unique pot of calla lily had been reserved early on and kept until now.

That Miss X is actually myself.

MC: So this calla lily…. is the first one that survived as you mentioned in your email?

Lucien: Mm. You mentioned wanting to see it with your own eyes, and now it's yours.

A gentle voice brushed against my heart, and I quickly took a few steps in his direction.

He cradles that pot of calla lily in his hands so dearly, and I feel as if I can hear something blooming in my heart.

MC: It's really beautiful... From this angle, the outer edges of the flower look like the shape of a heart.

Lucien: Perhaps that's why the calla lily's flower language is "the veins of our hearts are connected together".

The pure white petals sway gently in the soft breeze of the flower hall, the sunset's light casting a golden shimmer on Lucien's eyelashes. The picturesque beauty momentarily left me a bit entranced.

It's only when he bends down to place the flower in my hand that I realize our distance has somehow become so close.

Lucien: I think, rather than a good little assistant, it's more accurate to say that MC is a very talented gardener lady.

MC: …Huh? Why do you say that?

Lucien doesn't directly answer my question; instead, he pulls my hand and places it on the location of his heart.

I immediately understood the words he didn't say.

Lucien: This beautiful flower continues to grow, connecting all the veins that are linked to you.

A soft feeling wells up in my heart, his warmth in my hand, and before me is his most familiar expression.

The accumulation of longing and his gentle words make me unable to resist leaning my head against his shoulder and nuzzling it.

MC: I'm the same.

MC: Every move you make, it's all connecting with me.

MC: Sowing, nurturing the soil, watering, fertilizing, and then the flowers bloom…

MC: Every time you share these with me, it's like I can feel your emotions in that moment.

MC: You sharing your happiness with me makes me feel even happier.

Lucien: Mm, I like sharing with you.

Lucien: (softly) It's like we're taking care of them together, and you're right here by my side.

MC: If that's the case, then I'm just like you.

MC: When I see the photos of the seedlings you post, I imagine how you planted them.

MC: When I'm planting jasmine flowers, I also feel like we're nurturing them together.

MC: I get incredibly happy when I receive emails from you, and I imagine the world you see through the things you share.

MC: I feel like I have something to look forward to every day because of the promise I'm about to fulfill, it’s as if... all the waiting and longing is sweet.

Lucien reaches out and pulls me into his arms, affectionately nuzzling the tip of my nose.

Lucien: (tenderly) Endless is just a broad concept of time, it doesn't even begin to capture a fraction of my longing to see you again.

Lucien: MC, I miss you so much.

Lucien: Even though you are right in front of me.

The gentle breeze, carrying the fragrance of flowers, rustles the branches and leaves inside the flower hall. In my ears, there is the gentle rustling of leaves and Lucien's slightly sinking voice.

In a moment of reverie, the hues of the sunset have a scent, and the fragrance of flowers has a sound.

I submerged myself in the veins of his longing, where love flourishes abundantly, lush and verdant.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

I've done a Backstory!Post! for the first of my currently mentioned platonic yandere favorites... now I think it is time for the next one. To begin with, we had how Logan Howlett/Wolverine met his bby... so that means Victor Creed/Sabretooth is next! Let's begin this second Backstory!Post:

• Victor has not had a pretty life. Abused by his father, seen as a freak, hurt and cursed and hated, it wasn't a hard choice for him to decide to become the monster everyone expected him to be. It served them right. Everyone was the same, cowards and pigs, the lot of 'em. And if one was to survive, you had to be the meanest, the strongest, of the lot. He could count on his hand how many people he actually had an interest in.

• His bby is likely someone who surprises him. They are something unexpected, something different than the usual people he deals with. Maybe they are someone with a powerful mutation, or someone who happened to gain the upper hand on him. Maybe they have been dealt a similar hand to him, being hurt to such a degree that it leaves lasting wounds on their psyche... Either way, this bby isn't scared of him. For some reason, they don't see him as someone to revile or hate... if anything, they might be neutral, or even cordial, with him. For once, someone just treats him like a person.

• Their first meeting could be anywhere, really. Perhaps they meet on opposite ends of a fight... perhaps they are in the same group for the time being... for this scenario, I think they would both be held captive by someone. A scientist who wants to study different mutants and their abilities, and in turn make them into weapons, pawns, their own personal soldiers. This person is cruel and manipulative, playing their captives against each other, in an attempt to leave them unwilling to unite against them. Yet for the bby... they don't crack...

• And for the life of him, Victor can't figure out how they did it... how his bby stayed themself, unbroken and untamed... but no matter how they did it, he's not complaining... this is their origin story of meeting, after all, and of course his bby would turn out to be as unbreakable as he is...

• Of course it's his luck to get stuck in this situation. Another freak-of-the-week mad scientist wantin' to try their hand at mutant experimentation. Yep. Just his freakin' luck. And this one... this one is one f*cked up son uv a gun...

• You're not having a great time. Some nut-case is capturing and testing mutants... and you're one of the (un)lucky souls who got caught. Your mutation can only do so much, and this complete psycho has prepared for almost every ability there could be. All sorts of drugs, plenty of torture devices, not to mention the actual power-negating stuff... and this freak doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. They want to break you, to squash you into nothing and program you and every other mutant here into their personal toys...

• And you happen to have gotten on their nerve this time. It's not like this is the first time you've tried... but this is the first time they actually showed any outward signs of anger. They didn't take too well to you calling their work meaningless, a disgrace to science... so it seems they've finally decided to do something about you... So here you are, being dragged into a room and locked inside until they see fit to "test you" again... but... the thing is... you're not alone in there...

• Great... looks like they brought 'im some fresh meat... Victor groans a little as he gets up. Chains hold him to the floor, shackled to a thick metal cuff around each of his wrists. D*mn it... he can't even leave his side of this prison. And he takes a good look at what the lab rats brought 'im... and he isn't very impressed. It's a kid, that much he can tell... one who looks roughed up quite a bit... heh. Seems like someone made the doc mad.

• "Heh. Looks like we're gunna be stuck here fer a while, huh, whelp? Why don't'cha come closer, so we can get better acquainted?" He watches them, as they take in their new surroundings. The fresh meat winces as they move, but, they do approach him... yet they stay just out of reach... and then ask if he's okay...

• What? Is the whelp drugged er somethin'? They seem to realize what they just asked, and rub at their neck, looking sheepish. They point out that it's a stupid question, but that they are concerned. About him. "Uh, whelp. Ya realize ya should be more worried 'bout yerself, right? The doc must be rather p*ssed with ya ta throw ya in here with me." He lets out a cackle, then regrets it almost immediately when his chest aches with every breath. D*mn that f*cking *sshole doctor, professor, whatever the h*ll they claim to be! The whelp ain't the only one who earned the doc's wrath... whatever the loon gave him, it inhibits his healin' ability...

• "I guess the doc doesn't really like us, eh? This must be "special time-out" fer us, huh, fresh meat?" He sighs, his ribs aching with the motion. The kid hasn't stopped looking at him, but... it's not with fear, or contempt... if anything... they actually look worried fer 'im... They shuffle their feet uneasily, but he can't smell fear on them. None in the least. Blood, sure. Sweat, yep. But not a trace of panic or hate. Huh.

• You watch your cell-mate with concern. He's a giant. Chains hold him back, limiting his movement and leaving him trapped to the back of the cold room. Dark, dried blood covers him, and you can see wounds where the cuffs rubbed against his wrists. Not to mention the bruises coloring patches of his skin splotches of greenish-tinged black. He looks dangerous, deadly... but you stay near, asking if he wants something to eat...

• "Ya realize there ain't any food here, don't'cha, fresh meat? Unless yer offerin' ta be a sacrifice," he huffs out. But you just chuckle, and produce something hidden within the fold of your sleeve... it's a squashed protein bar... but... it's food...

• You ask the man if he doesn't mind that this is what you were able to hide on you. Then promptly explain that it won't taste very well, but it should sate some of his hunger. That he needs it just as much as you or anyone else here needs it. You notice the shackles restrict his arms to the point he can't lift them to his face... possibly as a method to force him to rely on the scientist and their minions for everything... you ask if he's still hungry, and that you're going to have to hold it for him while he eats, if he wants it...

• "'Kay, then. I promise, I won't bite ya. Scout's honor. Now, can ya come over here? I'm starvin'." He waits patiently as you approach him, bringing the much-needed food with you. You open it, holding it up for him to eat, still no signs of panic or fear. He can't help but chuckle a little at that. Looks like ta him, you're one tough little whelp. Maybe you're worth keepin' 'round...

• He takes a bite from the offered food, and you give him a soft, tired smile...

• "Not bad... hmm... thanks, whelp. I think we're gunna get along just fine..." With that, he devours what's left of the food... this moment is how you met Victor... and he never would've guessed that he'd end up with someone like you as his bby...

[wells-creative]

I want to share one of my favorite little things to make. It's a go to item for me when I feel like making something but I really don't feel like putting much effort or thought in. A zombie project if you will. I know, sue me for wanting a low effort, low brain power something to do once in a while.

So what is this zombie project you ask?

Crochet wash cloths!

And super simple ones at that. I've come up with a size that absolutely suits my needs and works up within a couple hours of mindless crocheting.

The latest ones I have made are from a color I found at Walmart which is called "Chocolate Milk" and I just adore how the colors mix when working these wash cloths. I will add a link at the end of this post to the exact yarn I use as well.

These turn out so soft and sturdy they can be used anywhere from bathing a baby to moonlighting as a hot pad in the kitchen.

The magical part of these to me is the simplicity to make. There's no complicated stitches to remember or rounds to keep up with. It's all one stitch and you stop whenever it reaches the length you want. Personally I've found that and 8"X8.5" size is perfect for my needs.

For anyone wanting to replicate the "pattern" goes like this.

Begin by chaining 30. Turn

Single crochet into the first chain from the hook and each chain across.

At the end of the row chain one and turn.

Single crochet into every stitch across.

Repeat steps 3 and 4 until wash cloth reaches your desired length.

It's that simple! For even beginners this is a fun pattern to do because you only need to know how to chain and single crochet.

The finished product should look something like this.

Another reason I love making these is that they are so easy to take with along anytime I leave the house. I just shove my yarn and my hook in my bag and go so it's super easy for me to keep my hands busy if I get an idle moment.

I especially like to crochet in the car. I am usually a passenger princess whenever Travis and I are going places so this helps me keep my hands busy but also my mind free to talk as well which is something I seem incapable of doing while I'm on my phone scrolling Facebook or Pinterest because I have tunnel vision AND selective hearing apparently.

Crochet rather than scrolling saves me a lot of "Huh?s" and Travis a lot of breath repeating himself.

I spent last weekend snapping out a couple of these while we were riding dirt roads (a favorite pastime of Travis's) and checking out all the water from the recent deluge of rain we had.

Keep these in mind next time you have a creative spark but not much motivation to tackle a big project. They are great at making me feel accomplished but also not being too big of a commitment because I struggle with finishing things.

Amazon link: https://amzn.to/4gU8JPq

And for anyone that likes these but doesnt want to make them, I have them listed in my Etsy shop as well.

Hope you've enjoyed this read and if you make any of your own wash cloths please feel free to share them with me!

You can find me on Instagram

Post may contain affiliate links.

[saritagiovanna]

"I'm Going Slightly Mad" and Good Omens 2

YES!! This song is ABSOLUTELY in Good Omens Season 2. Just like the other coffee shop scenes, I didn't hear it until I saw it in the X-Rays! (So is The Show Must Go On, see my post about that). It's in Episode 5. Nina already called Crowley out on being an item ("bit on the side") with Aziraphale. This is about 13 minutes into the episode. (My apologies, if anyone knows how to do screenshots or GIFS, please message me or comment so I can figure out how to capture this visually). The scene I'm referencing is where Nina is all alone and has the chalkboard displayed on the counter and starts getting emotionally abusive texts from her partner. These texts are displayed on the chalkboard, and then Nina erases them away. The scene RIGHT BEFORE this is where Crowley calls Aziraphale over as he sits at the French restaurant drinking some wine and hiding from Jim/Gabriel, worried about being "smited? smote?"..."Smitten, I believe." He is WORRIED, he stayed up all night WORRYING about what could happen. The scene RIGHT AFTER Nina erases texts from the chalkboard is Crowley confronting Jim/Gabriel about trying to destroy Aziraphale and telling "my only friend to shut his stupid mouth and die...and I did not care for it." Crowley goes TO THE EDGE and tells Jim/Gabriel to jump out the window. This is UNHINGED Crowley...and yes, indeed he is "Going Slightly Mad."

Crowley isn't the only one, however, "Going Slightly Mad," and I'm curious why and how Nina is also "going slightly mad." I don't think it has anything to do with her abusive relationship, but rather all the weird stuff that is going on around her. Think about all the times that Crowley and Aziraphale are trying to influence them...they are FOCUSED on Nina and Maggie getting together. Think about their power TOGETHER when they made the miracle SO BIG it sent alarm bells off in Heaven. Do you think those miracles towards Nina and Maggie could have a...strange effect on them? Is that why they can't be "hypnotized" after the demons storm the bookshop? I still think something odd beyond what we can see is going on, but even if it's just the miracles pointed in their direction, at least Nina is sensing something weird. She even expresses this in Episode 5 to Aziraphale and to Maggie. She knows Something is going on, and she can't quite put her finger on it.

This song really is a great look at how both Nina and Crowley are feeling "slightly mad" about things going on around them. The other thing it COULD mean is that..."we, as the audience" are also going "slightly mad" since we know something is weird and we can't quite put our fingers on exactly WHAT is going on. FOR EXAMPLE...I just think it's interesting that the coffee shop is ALWAYS playing Queen songs (just in instrumental versions), just like the Bentley...

It's just all these small details that I freaking love! Here are the lyrics if you want to see what I mean!

I'm Going Slightly Mad, Queen

When the outside temperature rises And the meaning is, oh, so clear One thousand and one yellow daffodils Begin to dance in front of you. Oh, dear

Are they trying to tell you something? You're missing that one final screw You're simply not in the pink, my dear To be honest, you haven't got a clue

I'm going slightly mad I'm going slightly mad It finally happened, happened It finally happened. Oh, oh It finally happened I'm slightly mad

Oh, dear!

I'm one card short of a full deck I'm not quite the shilling One wave short of a shipwreck I'm not my usual top-billing

I'm coming down with a fever I'm really out to sea This kettle is boiling over I think I'm a banana tree

Oh, dear

I'm going slightly mad I'm going slightly mad It finally happened, happened Finally happened. Uh, huh Finally happened I'm slightly mad

Oh, dear!

Ooh-ooh-ah-ah, ooh-ooh-ah-ah

I'm knitting with only one needle Unraveling fast. It's true I'm driving only three wheels these days But, my dear, how about you?

I'm going slightly mad I'm going slightly mad It finally happened It finally happened Oh, yes It finally happened I'm slightly mad! Just very slightly mad! And there you have it!

[verybigdinosour]

Accidental post!!!

Aaaahhhh whyyyyyy

Status: Captured

Arthur's note: this story is about Mich meeting the space riders, sorry if it looks like I'm bouncing around his story.

I'll have y'all decide whose space riders OC meets Mich.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mich stands there looking at the blacked out window in front of him. He could sense that there were critters at the other side of the window looking back at him. Mich then looks down.

Mich: "*sigh*, what have you gotten yourself into..."

Mich doesn't know where they are taking him or what will happen to him, but he knows it's not going to be good. It's been fifty minutes since Mich woke up, when he awoke he found himself standing on a device that prevented him from moving and stripped from his gear. Mich hoped they took his ship with them, for if Mich manages to escape he would have a ride.

6 Hours Ago

Mich was orbiting a planet's moon waiting for his probe to finish mining ore on the moon. As for why Mich was not on the moon, both the planet and the moon were completely covered in red smoke. Mich doesn't know what it is but he senses that the red smoke is not good. Mich would sometimes see this red smoke on other planets and would give off the same feeling, not good, not safe. So Mich would usually avoid these planets covered in red smoke. But not this one, Mich was sent here on a collecting mission for somecritter.

Al-ex: "Warning, three patrol ships have been detected exiting hyperspace."

Mich: "Great."

After hearing this, Mich told his probe to return back to the ship quickly. The probe started to return back to the ship but the probe's ETA ("estimated time of arrival" for those who don't know) would be ten minutes, another thing that worried Mich is that there was nowhere to hide while waiting for the probe, and Mich didn't feel like hiding in the red smoke. Mich hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions if they found him.

Mich spotted the patrol ships flying by, it wouldn't be long for the patrol ships to spot Mich and start flying towards him. Things couldn't be anymore perfect for Mich.

Patrol 1: "This is [space rider patrol] calling to unknown ship, do you know that this place is unsafe and restricted to be at, right?"

Mich: "oh.. uh.. I didn't know this place was restricted."

Patrol 3: "Then why are you here?"

Mich: "I'm waiting for a friend, he told me to wait here."

Al-ex: "*not being picked up in the call* Probe ETA, five minutes."

Patrol 1: "Well then, tell your friend they should pick a different spot to meet up alright?"

Mich: "Yes, right, I'll for sure tell them."

Patrol 1: "Great, you're free to go."

Patrol 2: "Not so fast, can you show us some identification."

Patrol 1: "Why identification? He's free to go."

Patrol 2: "To you, can't be too safe nowadays, well unknown ship?"

Mich: "uh.. Here's my identification."

Mich then sends them a fake identification that he prepared for these types of situations.

Al-ex: "Probe ETA, two minutes."

Patrol 3: "You're wasting time [patrol 2]."

Patrol 2: "can it."

Mich was starting to get nervous, will they see through his fake ID? Mich though. After a little while, Mich spotted his probe flying towards his ship.

Patrol 3: "Is that a probe?"

Patrol 2: "what? I think it i- huh? It has a drill, he's illegally mining!"

After hearing this Mich fired a missile at the patrol, the missile was an EMP ("electromagnetic disturbance" for those who don't know") that will disable their ship for a few minutes depending on their technology. After Mich's probe docked on his ship he started up his hyperdrive and entered hyperspace.

Al-ex: "Warning, two patrol ships are trailing."

This is bad, very bad, Mich though. After hearing this Mich then exited hyperspace and flew to a nearby platen, the planet he chose had very dense clouds that were very hard to see through and scramble radar. After entering the planet Mich then entered the clouds, Mich was flying straight down to the planet. This was very dangerous but Mich knew when to pull up, because he uses this planet to practice his maneuverability. Mich then exited the clouds and was met with sharp rocks coming out of the ground of the planet surface. Mich then pulled up and started avoiding the rocks, barreling left, barreling right, this would make a critter very sick but not for Mich.

After avoiding the rocks Mich made it to a clearing and stabilized his ship. Mich was looking around trying to see if the two patrol ships were still following him, nothing, or so he thought. Mich was then hit with an EMP making his ship stop flying, he was then tractor beam which made his ship stop dead in its tracks. Little did Mich knew there was a panel that came loose behind him, from all the barreling, and after stopping so abruptly the panel flew towards the cockpit window and then hitting Mich in the face, knocking him unconscious. Seems Mich didn't account for the space riders advance technology.

End.

(here's a song I think would fit the scene, fly into a planet, avoiding obstacles, while being chased, skip to 1:50 to hear it)

[dandelion-wings]

*kicks legs cutely* torture whump?

I was going to preface with "as you know" and then realized the last two times I posted about it, I prefaced it insufficiently and confused at least one person each (and myself the second time), so. XD The general plot summary is: Jean goes to a secret meeting that Kaeya set up for her with some Abyss Order defectors -> some agents of the Abyss Order capture Kaeya to try and learn where the meeting is, with the intention of seizing or killing both Jean and the defectors -> Jean gets home to find out that Kaeya has been missing for four days -> they eventually find and rescue him -> a bunch of comfort/recovery aftermath.

Now, you can proceed to ignore the whole "plot" part, because this is 100% an excuse to physically torture Kaeya and emotionally torture Jean, then indulge in the post-whump comfort. To the extent that I was a good bit into planning this out by the time poor aromantic-eight woke up to a Discord message of my pros and cons list for "should the bad guys be the Fatui or the Abyss Order?" and the entire enabling plot was back-engineered from there. XD

Anyway I am writing this WILDLY out of order because sometimes I am in the mood for the torture part, sometimes I am in the mood for the action parts, sometimes I am in the mood for the post-rescue comfort, and sometimes I think of a clever idea to write into the setup, so I can't guarantee any particular bit I'm spinning up now will survive the eventual "turn this into a coherent narrative," but I will give you some of the setup I was playing with last time I worked on it!

"That's very impressive," Lisa remarks from the couch where she's positioned herself with a cup of tea, just as if Jean was here to share it with her. "But maybe you could do a little less showing off, and a little more writing with it? We don't want to leave all that work for Jean to do when she gets back." At her words, Kaeya freezes, snatching the quill he'd been spinning before it can fall from mid-air. Here he thought he'd beaten that urge by locking his usual Mora away in a drawer. He smirks at Lisa, trying to cover for his inattentive fidgeting. "We, huh? Funny, I don't see you doing much of the paperwork." "Yes, but I'm not the Acting Grand Master. Everything on that desk needs *your* signature, cutie. I've already done what I can do this morning, while you were out on inspection. Now it's time for a well-deserved afternoon tea." Lisa's smile is benign, but he can see a trace of sympathy in her eyes that makes his skin itch. "*Acting* Acting Grand Master," he corrects her, smirking all the harder. "I can hardly claim Jean's title, even temporarily. She needs it at the moment to prove her bona fides, after all." All his obnoxiousness earns him is a mildly exasperated look. Lisa takes another long sip of her tea, then shifts in her seat, patting the cushion beside her. "Acting Acting Grand Master, then. You know, I think you could use an afternoon tea break, too. Chamomile is wonderful for nerves." The itching sensation intensifies. Kaeya resists the urge to squirm in his seat, uncomfortable with both her keen gaze and her kindness. His mouth is open to make an even more obnoxious retort when a knock on the door draws both their attention.