#i'd love to hear feedback

[ohjeeztrains]

I think I'm gonna try out strictly having the engine forms just being flexible and bendy but have no visible ears, hair (other than some facial hair and such), and horns.

The middle forms will have hair/fur, ears, and horns and may have a bit of a mane on the tops of their smokebox heads styled similarly to their humanoid forms' hairstyles.

I'm thinking about giving the Sudrian engines' humanoid forms ears and horns too like I do with Maximus, but I'm not sure

[thewrongmoon]

i'm officially 75% done with the fe13 au.... or at least part one bc i plan on doing all the characters in the end (i am insane)

[nyssasatelier]

My scrapped Hermes designs :

VS the one that won🏆 :

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Three (m/m, cold)

And now, for something completely different.

Well, not completely - it's still a cold fic lol. This one is specifically for @ghostlychill who has asked for more Matt and Mark. This is basically the saga of how they ended up together, and it is certainly out of my wheelhouse because it actually has romance lmao. A pre-warning, this is plot heavy (for me) and a little sneeze light. There are a few Greyson cold sneezes, and Matt is sick for the latter half, but it's more of a romance sickfic than a true snz fic. But I hope you like it if you read it; let me know if you all want more Matt and Mark. They were honestly really fun to write, and I banged this monster of a fic out in just a few hours so the muse was musing.

Ok, done rambling. Enjoy :)

CW: Male, M/M (not sexually explicit, just kissing), colds, contagion, coughing, fevers, light mess. 4.3k words under the cut.

Three

Their first kiss was an accident.

Post-brunch. Pre-holidays. “Grab a beer?” Mark had asked as Matt stuffed his dirty chef coat into his backpack. It had become a bit of a ritual for the two of them to grab a drink after a long shift in the past few weeks; usually it was under cover of darkness, but this brunch had been particularly brutal and Matt was craving not just a beverage, but some commiseration. He shrugged, hoisted his backpack onto a shoulder.

“Sure. You’ve got first round.”

One round had quickly turned to two, then three, and before five pm hit they were drunkenly crashing their pint glasses into each other and talking much louder than the half-full pub required to be heard. Matt drained his fifth beer and looked to Mark, smiling sloppily. “One more?” he asked.

Mark pushed his hair out of his face and leaned his head into one hand, taking the other man in. “If it’ll keep you in my line of sight,” he said, emboldened by booze, “I’ll stay here all night long.”

When the bartender finally kicked them out around eight, the two men were so drunk they had to use one another as walking sticks to get down the block.

“We’re way too drunk to be on the street,” Mark laughed, putting a hand over one eye. “I’m seeing, like… quadruple.”

“That’s wild, ‘cause I can’t see at all,” Matt said, looping his arm through Mark’s. The two of them laughed and stumbled until they hit a bench near well-lit central park and flopped down.

“I can’t remember where I live,” Matt admitted, placing his head on Mark’s shoulder. Their arms had stayed looped. Mark gently placed his head atop Matt’s.

“Me either,” he said. “But… can I tell you a secret?”

Matt looked up. Nodded.

“I don’t want to go home,” Mark said, letting a slow smile spread across his face. Matt felt his cheeks flame; he let a beat pass before he smiled back.

“Me either,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Later, they wouldn’t remember who initiated it. All they would remember was when their lips pressed together, everything else melted away.

***

“Oh! Oh, shit, fuck, sorry guys I didn’t -”

“Chef, shit! Oh, fuckin’ hell -”

Greyson slammed the door to the bathroom shut, leaving Matt and Mark to stare at one another, eyes wide as saucers – the silence between them thick as the cigarette smoke that hung in the air outside that little room.

Finally, Mark broke the silence. “Um… do you think he saw anything?”

Matt couldn’t help it; he barked out a laugh. Mark slapped a hand across the other man’s mouth, making him laugh even harder. He really didn’t know what he’d been thinking following Mark in here in the first place.

Much like the stupid party they were hiding from in the bathroom, their second kiss was clearly a mistake.

The New Year’s Eve party had been Elijah’s idea, much to the surprise of literally everyone at the restaurant.

“What?” Elijah had asked when his announcement during pre-shift had been met with a stunned silence. “I thought you all loved parties!”

The servers and cooks eyed one another in a way they all hoped wasn’t completely obvious, until finally Greyson said what everyone was thinking. “Boss, yeah, everyone loves parties… except you.”

Elijah had scoffed at this. “You guys obviously don’t really know me; I love parties.”

Of course, Elijah didn’t love parties and it ended up moving from his roomy condo to Greyson’s tiny Brooklyn apartment at the last minute. Post-service on New Year’s Eve, Matt helped his boss load extra bottles of champagne, vodka, and tequila into the back of the restaurant’s van all while Greyson grumbled about Elijah.

“Fuckin’ Elijah,” Greyson said for about the fiftieth time that evening. “Why the fuck would he even mention a party if he wasn’t a thousand percent sure he wanted to ho – hh-”

Matt glanced up at his boss, who held an arm midair in anticipation. This was the real reason Greyson, who threw parties at his place at least three times a year, was pissed about having to host the work shindig: he was sick.

“Hh-! HhhITSZZH-ue!” Greyson folded over into his elbow, sniffled, and cleared his throat.

“Bless,” Matt offered, placing the rest of the alcohol into the back of the car. “Chef, I’m sure that everyone will understand if you don’t feel up to having twenty people in your apartment. There’re tons of parties right around here, why don’t you just… call it off?”

Greyson, stubborn as ever, just shook his head. “I said I’d do it. They’re already on their way.”

So Matt loaded into the van with Greyson, and Mark got in Elijah’s car with the GM while the rest of the staff hopped on the subway for the party that no one really wanted to be at. Greyson, who’d been able to keep his illness at bay for most of the shift thanks mostly to the Sudafed he kept slamming, started coming down hard the moment they began their drive to Brooklyn.

“Hh...hhITSZZH-ue! Huh-! ETSZH-ue! Fuck mbe,” Greyson muttered, using his sleeve to wipe under his nose with one hand while he drove through the busy Manhattan streets with the other.

“Um… do you want to pull over so I can drive?” Matt asked, a little more pointed than his boss was used to him being. Greyson shot his sous chef a look.

“Ndo,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

Matt was hardly a germaphobe – working in a kitchen bred that out of you pretty quickly – but he couldn’t help but cringe away with every sneeze and cough that came from his boss’s side of the car. He found himself thinking about Mark; they had plans to hang out in just a few days, plans that both of them had been forced to cancel multiple times already, and Matt could just feel Greyson’s germs making themselves at home inside his body. He really didn’t want to cancel on Mark again; he wasn’t exactly sure what they were, what he wanted them to be, or what Mark thought they were, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to fuck it up. Matt was entirely too good at fucking up a good thing.

“HRRSHH-ue!” Clearly, that one snuck up on him, because that time Greyson barely covered his mouth. Matt shrank into the door and considered pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his boss from infecting him. Greyson glanced over at Matt and coughed out a laugh.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, patting Matt’s leg, “but you’re probably already fucked.”

Eventually, they made it to Greyson’s walk-up and after what felt like an eon, they got everything inside. Elijah immediately recruited Mark to help pour champagne for everyone, and Greyson left his sous to go outside and smoke on the patio – Matt had no choice but to just start drinking.

By the time the cooks and servers made it to Greyson’s apartment, Matt was half in the bag. He floated sloppily from group to group, telling jokes and prompting everyone to take shots with him, all while keeping one eye on Mark at all times. Elijah had been keeping his liege busy; Mark was bartending, putting appetizers in the oven, picking up trash… everything except hanging out with Matt. So when he finally got to take a bathroom break, Matt threw back his tequila soda and, emboldened by liquor, followed behind him.

“Hey, it’s occ-” Mark started to say when the bathroom door opened right on his heels – but he was cut off when Matt swung him around, grabbed his face in both hands, stood on his tiptoes, and pressed his lips firmly on the other man’s.

Mark certainly wasn’t pulling away; in fact, the moment their lips touched, Mark grabbed Matt by the hips and lifted him onto Greyson’s tiny vanity to make the kiss easier on both of them. Matt pulled away for just a moment to look at Mark – his black-framed glasses were askew, his hair was wild from Matt’s hands coursing through it, and his face was flushed with lust. Matt was sure he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

“What was that for?” Mark asked, his voice low. Matt’s face cracked into a smile.

“I haven’t gotten to spend any time with you tonight,” he said, pushing Mark’s hair away from his face. “And I’m probably gonna have to cancel our plans on Monday.”

Mark’s brows knit together, confused. “Why?” he asked. “Is this, like, a fare-thee-well, this is the last time this will happen kiss situation?”

Matt laughed, shook his head. “No,” he said, cocking his head towards the door, where the party rumbled outside. “I’m, like, 99% sure Greyson infected me with his disgusting illness on the long-ass drive over here. I wouldn’t force you to hang out with me when I’m inevitably sick.” He shrugged. “So I figured I’d sneak some time with you where I could.”

Matt didn’t wait for Mark’s response about his impending doom; he just leaned in again. This time, Mark parted his lips and slid his tongue in to meet Matt’s. Matt allowed a quiet moan to escape his lips, let his hand feel its way down to Mark’s shirt, and began unbuttoning when the door flew open once more.

“Oh!”

Greyson.

***

“Chef, I am not in the mood today.”

“Oh c’mon, if I can’t poke fun at your drunken antics then what’s even the point of living? You make fun of my drunken antics all the time.”

Matt put down his knife and gave his boss a pointed look. “Yeah, maybe for like a day after they go down, but New Year’s was three days ago. Are you planning on ever letting it go?”

Greyson shrugged as he pushed onions into a deli container and snapped the lid shut. “Probably not. I mean, it’s just too good – caught red handed in my bathroom. Like, it couldn’t have happened more perfectly if I wrote it myself.”

Matt rolled his eyes; while Greyson living for his embarrassment was annoying, it was kind of the last thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mark – after the bathroom kiss situation went down, he’d slipped out of the party and hadn’t mentioned anything about it to Matt since. Matt assumed he wanted to put it out of his head. Maybe the kiss – both of the kisses – hadn’t felt to Mark like they did to Matt. Maybe Mark was put off by how drunk Matt had been both times. Maybe he just wasn’t into him.

All Matt knew was, he desperately wanted to talk to Mark – but despite working the same hours in the same tiny restaurant, Mark had managed to avoid him like the plague.

Speaking of which.

“HTSHH-uh! Hh! Hh’ITSHH-uh! ETZSH-ue!” Matt turned away from the food to sneeze into his shoulder, then his hand, then finally his elbow. Greyson stepped over and plucked Matt’s knife out of his hand while the younger man was compromised.

“You’ll take someone’s eye out that way,” he chastised, placing the knife on Matt’s cutting board. The sous rolled his eyes, sucked in through his nose, and trudged to the sink to wash his hands.

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Chef. You’re the fucking plague rat of this restaurant,” Matt murmured, pulling a hand down his face. This was the other issue: Matt and Mark were supposed to hang out tomorrow, but just as he predicted, Matt had been gifted the cold Greyson had on New Year’s. If Mark didn’t want to talk to him when he was healthy and just a few steps away, he certainly wouldn’t be traversing the city tomorrow to hang out with Matt when he was fever-addled and snot-ridden.

“Rude,” Greyson said, continuing his prep. “But not entirely untrue. Sorry you’re sick.”

“Whatever,” Matt grumbled, his bad mood amplified by his pounding head. “Can you just drop the bathroom situation?”

Greyson bit his cheek to keep from smiling. “I can certainly try.”

Matt knew that meant ‘no’, but he’d take what he could get. He picked his knife back up to start chopping broccoli, but almost cut himself when Mark slipped into the back kitchen.

“Chef?” he asked, prompting both Greyson and Matt’s heads to shoot up. Matt’s face flamed when Greyson swiveled his head to meet his sous’ eyes with a cheeky grin – he put his head back down, pretending to focus on his work.

“Yes, Mark, how can I assist you?” Greyson asked, wiping his hands on the towel next to his cutting board. Matt felt Mark shoot a quick glance his way; his cheeks burned with the knowledge.

“Elijah is looking for you. Says he has a question about tonight’s ten-top with the prixe fix?”

Greyson rolled his eyes, but abandoned his prep for the moment. “When doesn’t Elijah have a question about a prixe fix?” he asked to no one in particular. “I’ll go talk to him. Thanks.”

The chef exited the back kitchen, leaving a sniffling Matt and a stuck-in-place Mark in his wake. Matt was the first to break the silence – unwillingly.

“Hh-! NTSHH-uh!” The sous attempted to stifle a sneeze into his palm, but only succeeded in making a mess of himself. His face reddened impossibly deeper, and he was forced to put down his knife and head for the sink.

“Bless you,” Mark said as Matt pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and blew his nose. Matt swallowed painfully, washed his hands again, and nodded.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat.

They lapsed into silence once again, neither one looking at the other. “Um,” Mark said, finally, “are you -”

“I have to get this work done,” Matt interrupted, though he couldn’t explain to even himself why he wouldn’t let Mark ask if he was okay. “Have a good shift, okay?”

Mark blinked, taken aback, but nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and turned to leave the back kitchen without a word. Matt didn’t let himself watch the other man go.

***

It was like watching a train wreck.

“Matt,” Greyson called from his spot at the expo board. “Where are we at on the halibut for 63?”

Mark’s eyes darted behind the line where Matt was doubled over, coughing into the collar of his chef’s coat. The sous chef had started the evening looking very much under the weather and quite a bit worse for the wear, but now, at nine PM he looked like he was ready to keel over right there on the line. Mark bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything.

“Matt!” Greyson called again, and Matt stood, shakily, to place the likely-overcooked halibut onto its plate. He pushed it through the window and gave his boss a pointed look.

“The food has to cook, Chef, you gotta give mbe a minu – uh! ETSZCH-uhh!” Matt collapsed once again into his collar, righted himself quickly, and sucked in through his nose. “A mbinute,” he finished, his voice cracking.

“Halibut doesn’t take twenty minutes to cook, Chef,” Greyson snapped, snatching the plate from the line. “I expect my number-two to be able to keep ticket times under fifty minutes so the fucking restaurant doesn’t shut the fuck down.” Greyson handed three plates to Mark, who took them wordlessly and slunk out of the kitchen.

Mark dropped the food at its respective table, the guilt of not saying anything to Matt slowly eating away at him. He counted the tables left in the restaurant who still needed to eat – definitely more than he was hoping for. He really, really didn’t want to go back to the kitchen.

“Hey, Lij?” Mark said, approaching his boss at the host stand. Elijah was moving reservations from table to table on the iPad, configuring the remainder of the night.

“Hmm?” Elijah murmured, only half paying attention. Mark pursed his lips, weighing whether he should say anything.

Finally, he said, “Do you think you could ask Greyson to kind of… cool it with Matt? I mean, he seems like he’s really sick and Chef is like… totally berating him.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow and looked away from the iPad to meet Mark’s eyes. “You want me to ask Greyson to stop yelling at Matt… now? In the middle of service, when there are tables who have thirty-plus-minute ticket times?” The GM huffed out a laugh. “Man, Greyson told me about the whole bathroom situation, but I figured you guys were just drunk. I didn’t realize you were down so badly for him.”

Mark’s face flushed crimson; Elijah smirked at him, and turned back to the iPad. “Matt’s a big boy, Mark,” he said, not looking the floor manager in the eye. “He can handle Greyson yelling at him.”

“Yeah,” Mark muttered. “Okay.”

Mark trudged back to the kitchen to grab more food, the sound of Greyson’s frustrated voice hitting him before he could even step foot through the swinging doors.

“Order in! Two filets, two tofu, one halibut! Matt, I swear to God I had better see table twenty-six up in the next three seconds, Chef, it’s already at twenty-two minutes.”

“Yes, Chef,” Matt mumbled, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

“I can’t hear you, Chef,” Greyson yelled back, tweezering herbs onto a dish.

“Yes, Che – ITZSHH-ue! HRETSZH-ue!” Matt ducked down below the line to sneeze, the sound painful and desperate. Mark could hear the crackling cough he was trying to hide all the way from where he was standing; his heart sunk. He wished like hell that he’d had the balls to say something – anything – to the other man this week. He wished he wasn’t such a fucking baby when it came to his feelings, or relationships, or standing up for himself or anyone else. He wished he was anyone but himself.

“Bless – Chef, do you need to switch spots with me?” Greyson asked, his voice finally softening at the sound of Matt’s coughing.

“Ndo, Chef,” Matt managed, standing. “I’mb fine. Twenty-six, up,” he said, slamming the plates onto the pass.

“Great,” Greyson mumbled. He garnished the plates and shoved them into Mark’s hands. “Twenty-six, go,” he said, not looking at the floor manager.

Mark nodded; he took the plates out into the dining room and dropped them; as he did, he made a promise to himself and, silently, to Matt: maybe there was nothing he could do or say during the shift to make Matt feel any better, but he would figure out a way, post-shift, to do something to help him. He would grow some balls, if it killed him.

While Elijah was still busy looking at reservations, Mark slipped into the bathroom and pulled out his phone. He put in a grocery order, to be picked up at ten the next morning. He typed out a text to Matt, scheduled it to send at the same time he would be picking up the groceries so he wouldn’t be able to wimp out and unschedule it. Then he put his phone back in his pocket, opened the door, and went to finish the shift.

***

His phone was ringing.

Matt groaned as he came to; he was covered in sweat, he could barely breathe, and he was stiff as a fucking board from passing out on his couch. Who the fuck was calling him? It was his one day off, could Greyson not leave him alone for one fucking day?

He grabbed the phone off the coffee table, ready to throw it across the room, when he realized the name on the screen wasn’t his boss’s.

Call from: Mark, Work.

Matt’s stomach jumped into his throat. The phone continued to ring while he squinted at the clock in the corner: ten twenty-three AM. Had he and Mark spoken last night? He could barely remember a fucking thing about the previous night, other than being utterly and completely miserable. The two of them definitely hadn’t spoken; he remembered giving Mark the cold should before service started, remembered the pitying look Mark had given him as Greyson screamed the restaurant down, remembered flying out the door the moment Greyson told him to go. They hadn’t spoken, their plans were obviously off, so why the hell was Mark calling him?

The call went to voicemail. Matt coughed into his elbow, a chesty sound that he really didn’t like, especially since he didn’t have health insurance. After a minute or so, another notification popped up: one new voicemail.

Curiosity got the better of him. Matt opened his phone and hit ‘play’.

“Hey, Matt, it’s um… it’s me. I know this is super weird, like I don’t know why I did it at this point weird, but, uh… I’m outside your building. I texted you, but now I’m realizing you’re probably asleep. Uh… I mean, if you get this I’m gonna, like, hang out out here for a bit. I brought soup! I can’t cook, so it’s from a deli, but I figured you might need something to eat, and you probably don’t want to cook since you’re sick. Your place is nice, by the way. Um. Okay. If you get this, cool, if not, I’ll uh… I’ll leave in a little bit. Okay. Bye.”

Matt felt his heart near-explode in his chest. Mark was sitting outside his building, with soup? What was this, a Hallmark movie?

He did it without thinking; he pulled up his text conversation with Mark and typed, hey, im awake. sorry I missed ur call. ill buzz you up :)

Mark was up the stairs in record time. He knocked, and Matt stood from the couch, forgetting until he was vertical that he was still in his work clothes from last night. Gross, he thought, but it was too late to change now – he took a few shaky steps towards the door and opened up.

Matt barely recognized Mark at first; he was only used to his floor-manager getup, button-downs and ties and slacks, his hair gelled back. Today, Mark wore jeans and a jean jacket over a Brighton University hoodie – did he go to college in England? - with black high-top converse. His curly hair was in his face, and he was carrying two full grocery bags. Mark smiled.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Yea -” Matt attempted, not realizing his voice was completely shot until he tried to use it for the first time that day. His hand flew to his throat and he attempted to clear it, to no avail. “Shit, sorry, apparently I can’t talk,” he whispered.

Mark pursed his lips, obviously concerned. “That’s okay,” he said, stepping through the front door. He placed the bags on Matt’s tiny kitchen table and began pulling out supplies. “I come bearing gifts.”

There was the soup, like he said, but Mark also pulled out dayquil, and sudafed, and cough drops. He pulled out a box of tissues, bags of tea, and cough syrup – quite literally the whole nine yards. “I didn’t know what you had, so I figured I’d grab one of everything,” Mark said, embarrassed.

Matt didn’t know what to say. “Mark, I – hh! hhIGTSZH-uhh! Hh’TSHH-ue!” Matt crumpled into his elbow to sneeze, hard, and lapsed into a fit of coughing. Mark pushed the cold supplies towards him, smiling a bit.

“Bless you,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re so sick.”

Matt took a moment to blow his nose and uncapped the cough syrup. He chugged a bit, righted himself, and shrugged, embarrassed. “Not your fault,” he croaked. “Thank you for bringing all this.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Mark said, not looking into Matt’s eyes. “I’m really sorry for ignoring you the past few days, Matt. I… I mean, I don’t want to scare you off or anything but I haven’t really had, like, a real relationship in a long time. Like, a really long time.” He looked up, caught Matt’s red, watery eyes in his, and gave up the whole truth. “Like… ever.”

Matt nodded slowly, processing. “So… you don’t hate me?” he asked, the fever tossing to the wayside any filter he might have once had. Mark’s face colored; he laughed.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like… I really don’t hate you. I – I mean, I really, really like you, Matt.”

It was Matt’s turn to flush bright red. “Even like this?” he asked, coughing into his fist. Mark smiled.

“Even like that.”

The two of them stood there, smiling twin goofy smiles, for a moment before Matt ducked once again into his elbow.

“Hh – ITSZHH-ue! Guhh.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand, not caring how disgusting he looked. “I, umb, I really like you too, Mbark,” he said, coughing again. “Like… probably mbore than is normal or rational.”

This time, it was Matt who was caught off-guard. Before he knew what was happening, Mark had his hands on either side of Matt’s hot face and was tipping Matt’s head up to meet his. This one was different; while the first two kisses felt hungry, dangerous, this one was soft; an invitation. A promise of a future yet to come.

Matt pulled away to catch his breath. “You’ll get sick,” he muttered, eyes closed and hands around Mark’s thin frame. Mark tipped Matt’s head up, pushed his sweaty, dishwater blond hair out of his eyes, and pressed their foreheads together.

“I know,” he said, and pressed his lips against Matt’s once again.

Their third kiss – well. That was the one they would tell everyone at the wedding about.

[the-volterra-chronicles]

The Orkney Islands, Scotland, October 17, 1953

Demetri had never been more grateful for his inability to feel the cold than right now, standing knee-deep in the frigid waves of the Northern Atlantic. The mission to handle some feral newborns in Scotland had been more tedious than anything and he was thankful for this brief reprieve before he and Felix went home. His friend had decided to go hunting, leaving Demetri alone with his thoughts. The feel of the breeze on his face and the smell of the salt in the air brought near-faded memories of his human life to the forefront of his mind.

The rocking of the deck beneath his feet as he sailed from Greece to Egypt. The sea spray on his lips as he charted the stars from the ship's bow. The roughness of the ropes as he and the first mate tied the sails tighter against the summer gales that almost ripped them from the mast. The heat of the sun on his skin as he helped the merchants unload their wares onto the dock. The drunken laughter of his crew as his captain loudly declared him the best damn navigator in the world and dared everyone nearby to find someone better.

Then there was the sharp pain of Amun’s bite, the molten heat of the venom as it filled his veins, the burning in his heart before it stopped forever. Demetri had thought that being turned would be the most life-changing thing that would ever happen to him until Aro, Felix, and Chelsea (Charmion at the time) approached him with a proposition. It hadn’t been an easy decision but it was easy enough to make him feel guilty for a few decades afterwards.

He had respected Amun, and still did, as both a sire and a mentor but his life in Egypt hadn’t given him what he truly desired, something Amun couldn’t afford to give him: freedom. As a member of the Volturi elite guard, Demetri had seen more of the world than he ever thought possible before he’d been turned. He’d traversed the entire continent of Africa, climbed to the peak of Mount Everest, and became one of the first vampires to explore the New World. And yet he still came back to the ocean every chance he could.

Demetri couldn’t remember much about his mother but he could remember her telling him that he had seawater in his veins when he was a boy. As he stood in the surf, shoes and slacks soaked in salt water, he imagined it seeping through his diamond-hard skin and into his veins. Perhaps then, he could retain a small piece of the calm he felt now, with the sand beneath his feet, Cassiopeia above his head, and the ocean surrounding him. A small moment in time that would live on forever.

[signalhill-if]

v1.1.0 - THE TEST RUN UPDATE IS OUT NOW

This version includes several huge updates to Signal Hill, including...

NEW LEADS

TEST RUN (24.5k). You've convinced the Lamplighters to give you a chance- but before you can become a member, you'll have to do a little test run. Nothing big, of course. One of her guys has been kidnapped by a gang called the Motorheads, and she's just going to drop off the ransom and pick him up. Hopefully nothing goes wrong...

SHOTGUN ROMANCE (4.5k). You chatted up the guard at The Rose and Thorn, Reese, and it seems like he's into you. He asked you to meet him at the bar in The Stacks after work. This would be a good chance to learn a little about The Rose and The Red Light District. And also maybe get laid? (This lead is not available for male player characters)

QUALITY OF LIFE CHANGES

Some players felt that turning off location descriptions caused them to get too disoriented when walking around the overworld. I've implemented a new system by which every location will show the full description upon first visiting, and after that, it will be replaced by a condensed one paragraph description. You can always re-read the full one by clicking the location's title. This should save some scrolling for folks who don't want to turn off descriptions!

For devotees, the altar is now accessible. If you already set up your altar and it was not accessible, it now will be. You can sacrifice items there to receive a buff to one of your skills at a time.

For a full list of bug fixes and updates in this version, check out the public release notes, which will be updated for every new version of the game.

PLAY IT NOW.

Patreon | Ko-fi | Public Trello | Submit bug report | Release notes

[simsforks]

After the wedding, Cornelius and Blaire moved into a big home that their parents had acquired for them. They both felt as if though they had waited forever to finally be able to spend some time alone. Especially now that a few more doors had opened in terms of exactly what they were allowed to do...

[literalnobody]

Tumblr insists I compress these down to ugly quality >_>

You can listen to the Prologue and Chapter One if you want to understand what to heck is going on here!

Listening time: 17 mins~

Sound effects used: [x][x][x]

[szfiction]

people like you (always want what they can't have)

pairing: Nanami Ryusui/Shishio Tsukasa rating: explicit word count: 23,229 chapters: 1/5 summary: Nanami Ryusui is little more than a nuisance, crashing into Tsukasa's life without a care in the world. He's everything Tsukasa loathes in the rich and privileged, right down to his incessant flirting. And no matter how stubborn he is about worming his way into Tsukasa's heart, Tsukasa has long since closed himself off to love and friendship. Or, at least, that's what he has convinced himself. But with every interaction they share, Tsukasa finds his walls slowly begin to crumble, until one night it all crashes down around him. Left in an unexpected position, he scrambles with whether he can manage this new, turbulent addition in his life—or whether they were truly incompatible from the start.

First chapter of my new Ryukasa fic is now up with the longest chapter for something I've written. I worked hard on this one and hope you enjoy~!

[willowworkswithwords]

Eddie and Wayne have a heart-to-heart. Part 4 of “Eddie hates his hair but he won’t always”! 

part 1, part 2, and part 3

tw: brief allusion to past child abuse

---

Three days pass. They drive up to Indianapolis for the funeral. It’s just him, Wayne, the priest, and two friends of his mom’s that Eddie had never met. The priest says the usual, looking at Eddie with a soft sort of pity throughout the graveside service. Wayne whispers something to the coffin as he throws a handful of dirt down, but Eddie can’t make himself say anything. They drive back to Hawkins in pouring rain, and Eddie stays in his room until the next day.

Wayne is at work. It’s still raining outside. Eddie feels empty and tired and tries not to just stare at the rain all day, but the day drags. Mostly, Eddie putters around the trailer, looking at the odd assortment of knick-knacks that Wayne has all around. There’s a wall with about thirty different hats, and in one of the cupboards there’s a bunch of mugs and a single glass. The mugs all look like Wayne bought them at a gas station or those funky roadside stores Eddie would sometimes see when they had moved around.

After he digs up stuff for a sandwich, Eddie goes into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s tired, it’s plain as day all over his face. The little bit of his hair that Annie had been able to detangle is starting to get knotted, and as he runs his fingers through it, they catch. Eddie yanks and cries out when it pulls at his scalp. It’s tender and Eddie—

Eddie wishes Annie were here so bad, it hurts worse than his throbbing head.

That’s where Wayne finds him hours later, shut up in the bathroom crying. He knocks on the door and Eddie jolts against the wall where he had slid down.

“Eddie?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

“Kid—Ed, I’m gonna come in, ok?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

Wayne slowly creaks open the door, peering around the corner before he opens it all the way. He sighs, that look from Sherry’s car back again, and squats down with a groan in front of Eddie.

“It sure is a lot, ain’t it?”

Against all of Eddie’s years of learning, against every fiber of himself that’s screaming at him to stop, to get a hold of himself, to stay where he is, Eddie finds himself rocking up onto his knees and right into Wayne’s chest.

Wayne sighs again, but both of his arms wrap around Eddie and Eddie can’t keep it in anymore.

Words and screams and the worst of him come spilling out, saturating Wayne’s flannel with his tears. Wayne takes it all in, squeezing Eddie against his chest and whispering quiet, quiet encouragements to keep crying, if that’s what he needs—and Eddie does, until Wayne’s hand lands in his hair.

“Don’t.”

Eddie catches his breath just long enough to spit the word out, jerking in Wayne’s strong grip, sounding broken.

Wayne’s hand is off him immediately.

Eddie smashes his face back into Wayne’s shoulder, suddenly drained. Wayne’s hand slowly comes back to Eddie’s back, rubbing circles in time with his own breath.

“Head off limit, Ed?”

“Just…” Eddie doesn’t want to say it, but Wayne is asking, really wants to know, and that’s more than Eddie’s ever let himself expect. “Not my hair. ‘s gross—I’m disgusting.”

Wayne goes perfectly, dangerously, still.

“Disgusting?”

His voice is clear and strong, and Eddie tenses without meaning to. The circles start back up.

“Disgusting, Eddie?” Wayne is quiet again, soft now.

“My fu—my stupid hair. It’s all a mess and Annie only fixed it a little before…”

“Ah.”

Eddie’s all run out of tears, and he feels himself sinking further into Wayne. Wayne seems to feel it too, because he shifts suddenly, pulling Eddie into his arms as he levels himself and stands. It says a lot that Eddie just shuffles a little in his hold, doesn’t say he’s too old—he’s just so tired.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Eddie, you listening?”

“Mhm.”

“We’re gonna go get some water, and some dinner?”

He waits until Eddie hums in agreement again before he goes on.

“And then, we’re gonna have a little talk, and then I think it’s best to head to bed,” Wayne says, walking slowly into the kitchen. “I just wanna ask you a couple questions, and nothin’ you say is gonna be wrong, ok?”

Eddie takes a minute to answer this time.

“Okay.”

Dinner isn’t silent. Wayne sets a record on the player that’s just loud enough to let Eddie focus on the music instead of the throbbing in his head and Wayne sets about scrambling some eggs. Eddie isn’t paying attention to how he’d doing the, just looks up after a while from where Wayne had set him down on the couch to a plate of fresh scrambled eggs and a slice of toast with grape jelly. Eddie sniffs but doesn’t start crying this time, and Wayne sits down beside him, his own scrambled eggs with cheese and his toast with peanut butter. They each have a mug of water.

It takes all of side one of the record for them to both get done. Wayne flips it over and grabs their dishes. He settles back down against the cushions, enough space between them for Eddie to turn and face him if he wants to.

He faces front, just like Wayne.

Now that he’s had all of dinner to calm down, embarrassment and dread start to seep back in, but Eddie pushes them back back back. He wants to stop feeling like he has to run, to fight, to think and feel everything all at once just in case. So he pushes it back for now and glances at Wayne before looking back down at his hands.

“What are your questions?”

“Who’s Annie?”

“My friend from school. We ate lunch together.”

“And she helped you with your hair?”

Eddie takes a deep breath.  

“Yeah. She knows how to do hair and uh, we didn’t have money or, or really know what to do with it. So, she helped me.”

“That was real nice of her.”

Eddie sighs shakily but smiles, small but true.

“Yeah, it was. She gets it.”

Wayne hums. He understands what Eddie means, and ain’t that something. Eddie doesn’t have to say what it is, just has to say it, and Wayne believes him.

It gives him just enough courage.

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

The record plays on. The crunch of gravel and baying of dogs peters in the through the window from all across the trailer park night.

“Well,” Wayne says. “The best way to do something you don’t know is with someone else. Makes you both feel better for not knowing.”

Eddie sniffs and leans against Wayne.

“There’s a woman cross the park, Jenny. She does a lot of the kids hair ‘round here. What d’ya think?”

Eddie sniffs again.

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll call her in the morning before I head off to work. I’ll be home round five again. If you get bored, just go outside. Plenty of kids and dogs you can be with.”

Eddie isn’t sure how he feels about that, but he nods anyways.

“Did your daddy ever hit you?”

Eddie nods. Wayne blows a long breath out, brings a hand up to rub at his eyes.

“Your momma?”

“She never hit me.” Eddie surprises himself with how vehemently he says it.

“I didn’t mean that,” Wayne squeezes Eddie’s hand once. “I was askin’ if you daddy ever hit her.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Ok. What’s your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?”

Eddie looks at him in confusion, the shift in tone making him blink.

“Um, I’ll eat anything?”

“Wasn’t what I asked, kiddo.”

And it goes on like that, back and forth until Eddie’s head starts to bob against the back of the couch and Wayne stops.The silence is the good kind again, and Eddie drifts to sleep. He wakes up the next morning with his bedside lamp on, and he rolls out of bed with a quiet anticipation growing.

Five o’clock just can’t come fast enough.

---

@manda-panda-monium

[polarmoon]

i hope u guys have been liking my ts2 posts! i've been thinking about posting ts4 again too, since i've been playing a bit again and the balance between the game has been nice. lemme know what u guys think about a blend of games on here :>

with all of the hiatuses i've taken it's been difficult finding a place in the community again but i hope i can rebuild relationships here, it rly is the only social media space i've maintained over the years. u guys are always great tho 💘

[dani-the-goblin]

.

[do-you-ship-this-taz-ship]

Submit a ship through the form or in my askbox!

[corduroy-creates]

I've been poking around the new community here on Tumblr for Starfield, and I'll be honest, it's a little lackluster, so I'd like to do my part and share my OC!

Rowan

This is Rowan, she's a former Space Scoundrel who's trying to find her way in being a better, more legal, person. She's an empathic and caring soul who wants to do what she can to help people, but has been burned by others because of those feelings so she tries to keep it to herself. She has parents and a sister, and has caught the eye of one Adoring Fan 🥰

For the past week or so I've been working on an outline for her story. It's still very much a Work in Progress considering I'm taking my time going through the main quest, but I have a somewhat firm grasp on how it starts and her backstory, which I'll put in the cut below.

I'll be honest, it's just me reciting story beats of what all I've done in game, but hopefully in an interesting way. The further along I go the more the more I would like to insert more character and feeling into the story, but I'm pretty happy with what I have so far :)

One thing I'd like to ask y'all, have you ever seen the story of Cyrano? It may not come up in this first part, but it will be relevant 🤫 If you haven't I do seriously recommend it, it's a beautiful story.

Here's what I have figured out thus far: Pt.1/?

Rowan started out as a Space Scoundrel, running around with a spacer gang, specializing in persuading people and functioning as their getaway ship. This fell apart, however, after a series of circumstances that I'll get into later (gotta keep some mystery 😉). After she leaves them she does her best to keep moving and lay as low as possible. She's not sure if her old 'friends' will try looking for her, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Later on, she gets a job with a mining company on Vectera when she finds an artifact. Then Barrett gets there, they get raided, it's a whole ordeal... Barrett then tells her she has to make the delivery for the thing he (hopefully) paid Lin to find. Rowan put up less of a fight than she wanted to, but agreed to it nonetheless.

Rowan goes to Constellation with the intent to return their ship and robot and the funky piece of metal that Barrett commissioned Lin for, then wash her hands of the whole ordeal. it's getting way too weird, and weird could mean easily spotted... Unfortunately, things don't work out that way. Considering she's the one who first found the 'Artifact' they seem to want to keep a close eye on her.

[I'll be honest, I'm not sure how this next part should go. It pretty closely follows the MQ and the whole time Mabon is side-eyeing the whole group, not sure why they seem so intrigued to see her aside from the fact that she brought the artifact. She somehow gets roped into joining and doing the first mission with Sarah, and along the way she does an interview with SSNN about the attack on the mining colony by the Crimson Fleet.]

While she and Sarah were gone, the story about Vectera got published.

{Enter Cyrano, in a twist of the usual story, we see his and Roxanne's first meeting}

Her new Adoring Fan was a strange one indeed - Very excitable and visibly on the edge of vibration - she would have chocked it up to the copious accounts of coffee he says he normally gets, but he apparently didn't get any that day, er... at least not in the last 2-3 hours judging from his self told 3-4 cups a day. This man is going to die of heart failure if bit something specific to do with caffeine. He seems to be completely focused on her their entire conversation, and it makes her more than a little uncomfortable, and when he says that he wants to be part of her crew, she's not really sure how to take it.

For what feels like the first time since leaving her old crew she needs to be quick on her feet about how to handle the situation; she decides to make a deal with him, the two of them will do a few favors around the city for roughly a week, and if she decides he's not fit for her crew, he stays here and never speaks to her again. He agrees before she even realizes he said anything.

So, for that week they stay planetside in New Atlantis doing odd jobs and small favors for pretty much anyone. It doesn't really matter what they do, all she needs to know is how he handles himself and if he's trustworthy.

He actually surprises her. While he's not all that useful for getting insight to whatever it is they're helping someone with - he mostly likes hearing what she has to say and praises her no matter what it is - Rowan does find that it's pretty fun just having him tag along. Having a companion who seems to genuinely enjoy her presence... It's not something she's felt she had for a long time.

He also relishes in being her pack mule, which is something she kinda feels bad about but he seems to enjoy it, so what can you do I guess 🤷‍♀️

There were two things Rowan had to get out of the way at the start of their deal. First - considering how enamored he seemed to be with her, she had to ask, "You're not... romantically interested in me, are you?" Her fan was so quick to deny and reassure her that his (completely platonic) love for her was "unbreakable" and "unyielding", but he would "never sully something so pure, with something so ordinary". The last line in particular seemed a little weird to her, but he gave the answer she was looking for, so she let it slide and went onto her next question, "So what's you're name? I don't want to go around just calling you my 'Fan'."

His eyes shined brightly at the question before doing an overly dramatic semi-bow at the waist and answering, "My name is Adrian, my liege, and I am ever at your service!"

[relicsongmel]

Being a music-based synesthete with absolute pitch is wonderful but so frustrating because the vast majority of people have no context for the way I experience music and thus whenever I try to explain it it makes no sense to them. What do you mean you can't tell what color this song is. What do you mean you don't hear a Bb minor chord and feel your body react to it before your brain does. What do you mean you can't feel the warm sunbeams of D major dancing across your face. My world is filled with musical color but even if people think it's cool they will never really see it and it makes me sad

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Prodigal Son (TV 2019) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell Characters: Malcolm Bright, Dani Powell, Gil Arroyo, JT Tarmel, Jessica Whitly Additional Tags: Malcolm Bright Whump, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Protective Dani Powell Summary:

How much guilt can the body take? What would happen if Malcolm continues to carry guilt that a majority of which shouldn't even have been his burden to bear? What if one day his body just couldn't take it anymore? What would happen if his body decided to shut down after staying silent for so long and lying to the people he loved most?