#limited shapes flavours.

[bones4thecats]

Hi! hello! It is I, 👪 anon 〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

I saw your requests were open and I saw that you write for some characters who I particularly adore (but see very little writing for (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)) so when I saw them on the character list I was like (⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠0⁠*⁠)⁠ﾉ Heck yeah! \(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)/

So, may I request Fellow Honest, Gidel, and Ruggie befriending a reader who bakes for a living and likes to treat them with baked pastries, pies, and other assorted treats. They even pay attention to what flavours and textures that they appear to prefer, and tailor their treats to their preference (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

I hope you have a lovely day! I'm sending good vibes your way, and they're not gonna stop (muahaha (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧)

Their S/O Being A Professional Baker

Characters: Fellow Honest, Gidel and Ruggie Requester: 👪Anon A/N: Hello again 👪Anon! I love your ideas when it comes to requests! As you guys should know when looking at my character list, you'd see that Gidel is one of the platonic only characters, so there is no romance insinuated in his part! Also, this is significantly shorter than other pieces. ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Stage In Playful Land Event ⚠️

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»»——————————-　   Fellow Honest　  ——————————-««

🦊 Fellow Honest, much like any other fox beastman, has a special kind of pasty that he can stand. His kind is not a large fan of chili peppers and garlic when it comes to certain foods

🦊 So most spicy things are off the table

🦊 But, if you were to bake him something with berries like blueberries or raspberries or even something with apples or grapes, he would fall head-over-heels for you. No doubt

🦊 When you first gave him and Gidel two pies, one fitting Fellow's taste or berries and the other fitting Gidel's of having a fishy-tang, he gave you an actual honest smile before kissing your forehead and helping Gidel settle himself at a table in your small bakery in the carnival

What do you think of Baker! Reader?

"I love their pies. They taste absolutely amazing, especially when they make a tiny fox-shaped figures on the tops!"

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»»—————————————-　Gidel　—————————————-««

🔨 Much like with Fellow Honest, as a beastman, Gidel has limitations in what he can eat wholeheartedly. Not saying that he'd die, but he'd get quite the stomach ache

🔨 These foods that upset him, such as mustard and chocolate, are things that Fellow Honest warns you not to put in his foods. And thankfully for both of them, you listen well

🔨 But, he does have a passion for when you make him desserts with cooked fish or even bananas, he gives you so many hugs and cute gifts that he either finds or makes

What do you think of Baker! Reader?

"They're yummy!" He writes

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»»——————————-　 Ruggie Bucchi 　——————————-««

🍩 Unlike most beastmen, Ruggie's sub-kind, which is a hyena, doesn't have any real threat to his system when it comes to food. Unless he ate something such as plastic, which is highly unlikely

🍩 He's smarter than that

🍩 Anyways, as his favorite foods are donuts, he loves it whenever he comes by your dorm and finds that you baked some yummy meat-pie themed donuts and even some cute berry-cupcakes

🍩 He also has a penchant for grabbing some of your pastries behind your back. He can't help that they're so delicious!

What do you think of Baker! Reader?

"I have only have five words to answer that. Their treats are the bomb. And if you disagree with that, then your taste buds have obviously given up on life and you have no taste."

[pepperstories]

Emergency Contact | Joseph Quinn

Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! Don't suck cock and drive please. That is very dangerous and also against the law. This is pretty much a series. Booty Call Joe. Tasty morsel of a man that he is.

Word Count: 3384

NSFW! 18+

A photo shoot prop worth the joy ride. Joe drove a smidge above the speed limit and enjoyed the gust of wind rattling through the sports car. The photo shoot was a success. The suit was ridiculous, but worthy of the name and the exciting chill he felt through his scalp from the excess water made him feel alive.

That was until he got a text from you.

You weren’t far away. A hideout bar in the centre of London, drinking dirty martini’s with work colleagues after a gruelling, unforgiving day in your black suede heels he loved so much.

He pictures you in the almost see through white shirt. A peekaboo bra that threatened to reveal the secrets Victoria longed to keep. A grey or black pencil skirt that shaped and hugged you perfectly enough to seem professional but flattering to draw the attention from the eyes of those in the dark bar you currently sat.

It was casual. A hook up that was established long before his current limelight and claim to fame. A mere Tinder date that was successful enough to lay the ground rules to some of the best fucks he’s ever experienced without the need for chocolates, flowers and general validation.

But he cared for you. You spoke about past relationships and how it just didn’t fit around your lifestyle. You’re favourite Ramen flavours when you’ve had too much red wine to cook an actual meal. The books you have strategically placed around your apartment that threaten to fall each time he makes an impromptu thrust of his hips into your welcoming cunt.

You cared for him. His love for the theatre and the books he had gracing the walls of his single occupancy flat in the centre of London. His flourish of knowledge on Hollywood gossip you wouldn’t find in the gossip columns of magazines. And his expert technique of making you cum with a tightening of his fingers around your neck and a flick of his tongue on your clit.

It was an understanding between the both of you: Things were perfect just the way they were.

So as he drove at top speed, his destination a small, darkly light pub just shy of the Shard. Just past 1 am and he could feel his cock twitching at the prospect of fucking you in a vintage sport car. Too far from home to even attempt the chivalry of fucking you in a nice comfy bed after a long 8 hours, he needed you now.

The narrowing streets were enough to tell him that he was close. The one way system was a permanent tattoo in his brain from growing up near the City. The small enclosed lanes getting tighter and tighter as he neared the corner you said you would wait.

A flash. His headlights. They caught the silvery grey of your duster jacket and you checked your watch and adjusted your handbag. A slight tilt in your step which he believed to be the alcohol.

Smirking at your anxious and somewhat impatient rocking that you do when you’re horny, he pulled up swiftly. You stood where a space was available, how thoughtful.

Glancing into the car, your face was a slight tinge of red. An alcoholic flush that kept you warm but caused a shiver to run down your vertebrae. A sports car was just the icing on the ever growing arousal that kept you from calling it a night.

“You looking for a good time?” Was all you said before swinging the car door open.

———————

Cramped. That was the only word that came to mind as you lifted your leg over to straddle him. A small enclosed piece of land between zones was where he decided to park. Not conspicuous in the slightest, but added enough danger to the situation to make the event much more pleasurable.

“Could you have chosen a smaller car?” You breathed out. The smell of tangy lime and stiff alcohol on your breath as it puffed into his face. He could only laugh at himself. He thought you would find this sexy.

“I thought I would impress you?” You scoffed slightly, manoeuvring the lace of your underwear down your leg and chucking it onto your bag in the back seat. His obnoxious zipper catching the inside of your thigh.

“You don’t have to impress me. You do that enough already.” It was flirting. A slight blush rising from his neck as he pulled you into a kiss. Both of your hands threading into the near dry curls on his head. He moved his hands from the dip on your back to between you. Unfastening the belt and trousers he had put on in a rush this morning. Not exactly the easiest combo for this soirée.

You settled on neck, just below his earlobe, where he liked it. His head dipping down every so often to see the progress of getting the trousers off his waist. A frustrated grunt here and there as he struggled with the angle. Too conscious of the fact that you were already a mere inch from a concussion should you jerk up suddenly.

“Fuck! I thought this would be hot as fuck.” His frustrated outburst was enough for you to sigh. His attempts at removing his pants were unsuccessful unless you stepped out of the car. Not ideal should a passing motorist or God forbid, a police car, should pass you.

“Why don’t we just go back to mines?” You suggested. More for the fact that your unforgiving hangover tomorrow will be better settled in your own bed. A walk of shame was not on the cards this weekend.

“I have an early shoot tomorrow. I also need to bring this car back.” His grimace was enough to tell you that this wasn’t going to happen tonight. Kissing his lips, you settled yourself back over into the passenger seat. The cool air settling between your legs as your sat back.

“It’s fine. Could you take me back into town? I can get a cab.” There was a hint of a smile. Enough to tell him that you were disappointed but not angry. Adjusting his seat and trousers. He nodded, pulling the seatbelt over his shoulder and starting the engine.

——————

City lights were the best part of going into London. Illuminating the skyline with hues of the colour wheel. It reflected on your tired face as he drove through the still busy streets of London. His cock still twitching in his trousers, he adjusted and readjusted too many times for it not to go unnoticed.

Tilting your head round to him, you looked around the busy streets and glanced into the rear view mirror. No sign of flashing blue lights or an impatient motorist tailing too close behind.

Adjusting yourself in the seat, you simply advised to keep driving, eyes forward and don’t be too obvious. Unsure of the command, he simply nodded and set his gaze forward, focusing on the crude rusted metal of the Vauxhall Corsa in front of him.

Ripping away the buttons and zipper on his trousers, you pulled his cock free from his boxers. The soft pale flush of skin a dull comparison to the angry red tip. You weren’t completely settled on the idea of getting him off and leaving the small motor without at least some relief. Although he was driving through London city, your focus was on the task at hand. A tight squeeze of your fingers around the base of his cock, you pulled the soft foreskin down enough to reveal his leaking tip and the pulsing skin of his frenulum. All and all, he was fit to burst.

You sensed him raising his hand above the crown of your head and then settle back on the wheel multiple times. His concentrations wearying as you hollowed out your mouth and slide down the full length of him. Tongue flat against his soft under side of his cock, you bobbled and sucked. You done it within an inch of your life. You didn’t tease, you didn’t force yourself down. This was for his pleasure and you needed him to cum.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me wreck.” His eyes were rolling on their own accord. His hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. No red lights, no busying traffic, he found himself driving towards the Burroughs where you lived. Without setting your sights on the location, you hummed and moaned against him. His stomach tensing, his body rolling forward at the sensation. The tip of your tongue tracing the sensible vein that ran alongside his shaft.

Although you were no amateur to fallacio, your attention to detail haltered slightly when he seemed to get harder and larger in your mouth. Realising that his anatomy was so finely tuned to the need your body had.

“I’m going to cum. Fuck, hold it there.” He spread the palm of his hand out across the base of your skull, thrusting slightly up into your gaped oral cavity and causing the stream of saliva to drool out of your mouth and on to his smart grey trousers. The strategically placed uvula that dangles at the back of your throat now coated in his spent, he done his usual thing: grunt, gasp and heavy breath between his chapped lips.

Cleaning off the rest of him, you suctioned off his cock with an obscene pop, looking up at him as you done so. The beautiful scarlet red of his lip stuck between the pearly whites. Lifting yourself back into you seat, you realised he had stopped. The dimly lit street was familiar and you gave him a confused lift of your eyebrow.

“I thought you had to give the car back?” Your tone was teasing but serious.

“They know where to find me.” Was all he said before pulling your crinkled shirt in his hands and pulling you over the handbrake for an open mouthed kiss. His hands sliding into your hair where your skull meets your spine. Fingers splayed and massaging the tense muscle. Sliding your tongue into his mouth, you felt his wandering free hand skim up the fabric of your work skirt and feeling the hold ups underneath. Pulling away from the kiss, he looks straight into your glazed eyes and kneed the seam of the lace hidden so carefully underneath.

“They’re your favourite.”

——————

It wasn’t a matter of how quick he could get you up the stairs, but if he could restrain himself enough to get you in bed. With a turn of the key, he bundles you up from behind and slams you against the nearest wall. Your face smooshed into the wallpaper and he pulls your jacket from behind and tosses it into your flat. His arms rounding you to pull apart the shirt he loved so much. All the while, he whispered filth into your ear. Sucking on the delicate lobe, he asked how wet you were, imagining the pressing and tightening of your thighs all night as you waited for him. How he was going to fuck you against this wall because there was no way he could walk the 20 paces into your bedroom.

He pulls the shirt off your shoulders, letting the garment hang around your skirt where it was tucked. The soft skin on your shoulder a reddish hue from your bra strap as he pulled it off to place wet opened mouthed kisses to it. Your panting and wanting was only urging him forward in his mission. Thumbing both nipples over your bra as you pushed your arse against him. His kisses roamed your cervical spine, placing soft pecks to the inter-vertebral discs as he watched you relax further into his touch. Reaching the middle of your back, he replaces his mouth with his fingers, rubbing two fingers underneath the clasp of your pretty bra and using his thumb to pull free. You whipped it off before he could and turned in his arms as he took to his knees in front of you.

He had no words. Your eyes a drunken, sexual glaze. Your neck hollowed from the deep gasping breaths you were taking and your perfect tits sloped and pert just for him. He decided he wasn’t going to take the skirt off at that very moment. Tilting his head to at you, he places both hands on each ankle. Running his hands up the velvety soft material of your light stockings and pushing up the impossibly tight pencil skirt. The fabric releasing it’s grasp of your full thighs and wide hips and nestled just below your bellybutton.

Nothing. You were bare to him. The V-Shaped valley of your cunt in perfect view. The modest little wax job you had since the last time you saw him left a tuff of curly hair that rested just above your clit. The rest was the perfectly smooth and hair free skin he couldn’t wait to taste. Your puffy lips rippling with anticipation as he leans forward to place a kiss on your pubic bone.

Pulling a leg over his shoulder, he licks a long thick stripe from your hole to your clit. A shaking breath coming from you and pushing your splayed fingers through his soft curls. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he flicks at a quick pace and marvelled in the mewling sounds you make from above. Gripping his hair tighter and moving your leg higher for him, he latches on harder and licks faster. His lower half holding up your sliding weight as you arch off the wall.

You weren’t sure what to feel in the moments leading up, but your body was buzzing with pleasurable electricity. His tongue grounding you with his fast and hard licks. His soft tight curls in between your clammy fingers. You gasped and tightened as he suctioned your clit between his lips. Suddenly he stood, grabbing your soft cheeks and pulling you into a kiss. Lifting your leg around his waist as he began to grind his hips into your soft cunt. The perfect hard friction you needed to cum loudly into his mouth.

He was surprised at your quick finish. Your shaking leg against his hip as your cunt pulsed against his clothed cock. It was enough for him to pull away from the kiss, unbuckle his belt and feel then slid down his legs. Taking your other leg, he pulls you up against the wall and forces you to wrap and hold your weight against his hips.

Gasping into his open mouth, he shifted his weight back and held you with one arm. The adrenaline from what was about to happen giving him the strength to hold your entire weight against him. Doing his signature move, licking a thick saliva filled strip down his hand and looking you straight in the eye as he done it, he pumped his cock straight into you.

It was the fullest you ever felt and it told you a lot about what was happening. The head of his cock striking your cervix straight on as he pushed straight in. The feeling of his cock still a stranger to your being as he moaned into your mouth. He settled into you before he began his thrusts. It was hard and true as he fuck you straight into the wallpaper. The slick feeling of his cock causing you to moan and pant into his mouth as he licked at your top lip each thrust he done.

A slick sound in the air of your small apartment as the headlights from the passing car gave you a glimpse of his thrusting cock into your wet hole.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Was all he said as he thrust up into the spongy interior of your cunt. Your legs becoming somewhat numb from the position you had adopted. Words were hard to form in that moment. Biting back a sense of reality to relish in the continuous stokes he was giving you. It was a sense of passion you had never felt before. Warm brown eyes staring straight into yours. Forget about corporate mergers, Excel spreadsheets with broken coding, too tight a skirt and dirty martini's with colleagues you hardly knew. This is where you wanted to be.

It wasn't long before your breathe hitched. His mocking gasp in your face and the smirk highlighting the crinkle cut laughter lines on his face as he brought you closer. The stamina of his hips meeting yours. The angle he had you placed was striking that pink wet wall at the base of your cervix. Enough pain to produce pleasure and enough pleasure to dull the pain.

"I'm gonna cum, keep fucking going." You didn't recognise your own voice. Whether it was the alcohol in your system or the fucked out A-lister pounding his way into your womb, your voice sounded miles away.

"Wasn't going to. Never will." He grunted. A squeeze of your arse cheek and a hike of your leg pushed you further up the wall but him closer to your breast bone. The shlick of sweat gathering between the valley of your breasts was no match for Joe's skilled tongue laying flat and gliding up the column of your neck.

The creamy base of his cock pulled strings of moisture up to your clit, the friction being enough to pull a haunting groan from your lips. Something Joe was quick to pick up on.

"Right there? This where you need me?" He moved impossibly hard now. Deep thrusts that were wet and plentiful. He felt it before you, the pulsing ripple of your cunt swallowing him whole. No award. No character he played ever made him feel like this. Never made him work so hard to please. It was all you.

"Fuck!" He felt you jolt as it took you higher. A soaring wave that made your fingernails bite into his shoulders, your head fall against the wall and his cock to sputter inside you.

"Where do you want me, love? Hm? Inside? You want me to cum inside and fill you up?" His thrusts were calculated now. The aftermath of your orgasm tittering out as you thrashed and pinched your eyebrows at him. You almost looked savage as you growled and rolled your hips to meet his.

"Inside. Fuck, cum inside me." You said through gritted teeth. A manic, desperate look in your eyes. Just looking at you was enough. He felt himself slipping and sliding inside your cunt. His hands holding the majority of your bouncing weight as he felt his cock slide against your public bone. It made him possessed.

Howling into your neck, he came with three striking thrusts. You didn't think you could get any further up the wall until he proved you wrong with his finish. Heaving, wet breathes into your neck, he grounded his feet below up and held you close.

"Too hot. Too much. Too fucking good." Was all you thought as Joe rubbed his forehead into your breasts. His heavy breathing sweeping over the lace of your bra and cooling your damp sweat slick skin. Pulling his head up to look at you, you searched for something. A weaver of doubt. An inking of regret. Instead, you saw a stillness. A familiar relaxed lull in his eyes that made you feel safe. It was intoxicating.

"We're far too good at that." Was all he laughed out as he sighed against your neck. Soft little pecks to your jugular and needing hands on your thighs. "Hmm, I bet you never spoke about this in your interview's" A little snarky but witty, he softly bit the taunt skin of your chin making you yelp as he pulled out and slide you down his body until your toes touched the ground. He held you firmly against the wall still, tippy toes just allowing you the height for him to kiss you soundly and passionately on the lips. A thank you.

"Wait." You mumbled against his lips, his dark chocolate eyes opening again to look at you. A cute little head tilt thrown into the bargain. "How do they know the car is here?" A raised eyebrow was enough to make him bite his lip. Anticipation building as he pondered the right response. "You're my emergency contact."

[catsharky]

It looks like her horns are much bugger and more devil like than tiefling naturally. Would her horns grow back to that shape if sue let them, or is it more like docking a tail and permanent? Would she become more comfortable with her original horns being around tieflings more if they could grow back? Why did she trim them initially?

Ehehe I'm glad you caught that, cause yeah you're right her horns are very much meant to be more devil than tiefling!

I figured if a devil is going to screw someone over by giving them a stolen child, why wouldn't they aim to pick one who would bring as much chaos and misery to that person as possible? Ember has no idea who her bio parents are, but she's definitely no ordinary Tiefling.

I put the rest under a read more because it got a bit long:

To try and kind of match the other companions, I wanted her to have the capacity to be incredibly powerful, but limited for game/story reasons. So for Ember, at least one of her parents is someone Powerful and Important in the hells, and that parent is where her sorcery comes from.

It means she's capable of crazy strong magic (like, on par with Gale before he got nerfed strong) but a combination of being self-taught and a lack of motivation means that she's never had a reason to find out what she's actually capable of. She also grew up very isolated, so until she met Gale she was under the impression that magic was just like that for everyone. And tied to all that, one of the most obvious tells that there's something else going on with her is her horns.

I like to think that for most Tieflings, their horns do grow throughout their lives, but hit what's considered 'full sized' by around puberty- at which point the growth slows to a crawl. I also have to assume based on Karlach's broken horn that if the horn breaks? It's gone for good, though they will still maintain that slow growth so long as the core at the base of the horn remains intact.

For Ember however, her horns are just enormous. At age 4 it's expected a Tiefling will have started growing their horns but that they'll still be blunt, nubby things like a baby goat. Ember's were the size they are in the age chart, and continued to grow even larger as she got older.

She likely would have trimmed them no matter what, because not being used to having horns in the first place made dealing with them frustrating, but they're really just unreasonably huge. She trims them down pretty much as far as she comfortably can, the blue tips being where the darker outer layers were cut away.

To her annoyance, they also grow back and do so remarkably fast, which is where the jewelry she has wrapped around them comes from. Those gold embellishments are actually enchanted so they'll stay the size she wants them! (They also keep them from catching on fire when her emotions are high, but that's a whole other thing) So she could actually let them grow back to their full size if she wanted to, she just doesn't because they'd be way too unwieldy and annoying to deal with.

And while I can see some of this stuff becoming relevant after the events of the game, for the duration of BG3's plot this is all just more or less flavour text. The magic stuff is the only part that would have a notable impact.

Also fun fact, this whole part of her backstory is just because I needed an excuse to make her immortal. I didn't have the strength to give Astarion a companion who he'd have to lose in less than 100 years. My heart can't take that 😭 So fuck it, she's the daughter of some big powerful demon or whatever so Astarion can have one nice thing that won't be taken from him!!!

[serenpedac]

Truth and Beauty

Let me preface this by saying that I’ve read the English translation of The Dark Forest, rather than the original, so this may very well all be nonsense. That said, I still thought it was interesting. (So I decided to write a ridiculously long tumblr post on it, as one does)

A warning: this post contains major spoilers for The Dark Forest.

Now, time to talk about the probe sent by the Trisolarans, aka the droplet! It’s described as:

“It transcended every possibility. Not even in Plato’s Republic was there such a perfect shape: straighter than the straightest line, more circular than a perfect circle, a mirrored dolphin leaping out of the sea of dreams, a crystallization of all the love in the universe…. Beauty is always paired with good, so if there really existed a demarcation between good and evil in the universe, this object would fall on the good side.”

What caught my attention here is the “Beauty is always paired with good”, because my mind went to beauty and truth. Not the intangible concepts, but quarks. And I think this connection between beauty and truth and quarks can also be found in the text, whether it’s deliberate or not.

In short, quarks are a type of elementary particle, meaning they are a particle that is not composed of other particles. This is in contrast to, for example, molecules, which are composed of atoms, which in turn are made out of protons, neutrons, electrons. Dissecting protons and neutrons even further leaves us with quarks.

Quarks come in six different “flavours” (types), which are grouped into three “generations”: up, down; charm, strange; top, bottom. BUT! The names of the two quarks in the third generation were up for debate for some time, and among the possible names were truth and beauty.

Let's get back to the book! 

The droplet arrives at a time when humanity believes it will win in the Doomsday Battle against the Trisolarans. They even think that, in the face of their space ships and their overall progress, it cannot be long before the Trisolarans will ask for negotiations and there won’t even be a final battle. This will turn out to be a delusion, but everyone seems truly convinced, to the point that even the hibernators initially buy into it.

This mindset, combined with the “perfect shape” of the droplet, must have played a role in how they view it as something beautiful, something good, rather than what it turns out to be in truth: something to be feared.

This leads me to my point: the droplet pairs beauty not with good, but with truth.

The word ‘truth’ is mentioned twice in relationship to the droplet, once right after Ding Yi concludes that its message is about the Trisolarans destroying humanity and how powerless humans would be against that:

“Just seconds after Ding Yi, the lieutenant colonel realized the truth.”

And a little later, when the droplet is destroying one warship after another, and two members of the space fleet are figuring out what is going on:

“[...] the earliest analysis to come close to the truth [...]”

This ties the droplet to both beauty and truth, but not yet to quarks. For that, we’ll have to look at what the droplet is made of, or rather how it was made. It’s smoothness suggests the particles are so close together, even their molecular vibrations have stopped. Ding Yi concludes that this has to be the result of strong interaction somehow. This force works on very small scales, which brings me to quarks, because it is strong interaction that binds quarks into protons and neutrons.

On these very small scales, the sophon barrier starts playing a role in the books: no scientific progress can be made, so it would never be possible for humans to make something similar to the droplet. It confronts them with the limit of their knowledge, which lies at quarks. The droplet is an object of beauty that sends a message of truth.

It’s not clear how the droplet was made or what it is composed of, but what is clear is that it’s connected to these two concepts, and I think the word choices made here may be a deliberate reference to the two flavours of quarks.

This leaves me with two questions:

Is this beauty/truth idea also reflected in the original Chinese text?

Did Cixin Liu knew truth and beauty were used as names for two quarks? 

I’ve no idea about the first, so if anyone has any insights, I’d love to hear them! (Also feel free to tell me I'm way overthinking this, haha)

As for the second, I don’t think it’s impossible, as this info is hardly some obscure fact, and he seems to have done a lot of research into the topics coming up in his books.

[dailyanarchistposts]

The Politics & Art of Solarpunk

Although solarpunk never had a particular political ideology assigned to it, it’s been embraced by liberatory ideologies of all flavours. From social ecologists to post-civ anarchists to green socialists.

The philosophy of solarpunk and the politics of anarchism are practically built for each other. Anarchism emphasises personal freedom and collective liberation from hierarchies, authoritarianism, and exploitation. It seeks, as an ongoing project, common ownership, voluntary cooperation, horizontal organization, and mutual aid. Anarchism has generally been ahead of its time on many political issues, from queer to women’s liberation, and its approach to ecology has been no different.

Solarpunk can easily be synthesized with anarchism, and many of its various strains, as it explores the possibilities of liberatory technology, the localization of production, an end to destructive and wasteful consumption, and a reorientation of our relationship with society, work, nature, and ourselves.

It all sounds pretty gooey and feel good. But I want to briefly address those that have lost hope in a better world. Who are stuck thinking that this, largely, is the best that we can do. There’s this idea in politics these days that imagination has no place in our “pragmatic”, no-nonsense world. Which is just false. Humans are flexible creatures, capable of a whole range of social arrangement. If everyone limited themselves to the confines of what is, we wouldn’t be where we are today. It’s time to take some steps forward, with a variety of tactics in hand.

One of which is art. Art has a tremendous influence on us. Music, books, paintings, TV shows, movies, etc, they shape our ideas of what humanity is and what humanity can be. While there haven’t been many major examples of solarpunk art and entertainment yet, I think we can change that. There are interesting stories to be explored and debates to be had, through art. Imagine a novel that explores the different sides and dimensions of the debate on meat consumption in a solarpunk world or a comic that follows a community’s journey as it seeks to rewild and resuscitate the surrounding ecology.

Or picture this. Maybe alongside a game that imagines a horrifying endgame that maintains capitalism, like Cyberpunk 2077, we imagine an uplifting, yet still challenging game that exercises our ability to balance the needs of our local ecosystem and deal with the difficult decisions and conflicts that arise as we reorient our place in the world. Could call it Solarpunk 2033 or something. There’s a free idea right there.

[ahockeywrites]

one

link to main masterlist pairing: lila rogers (ofc) x arber xhekaj warnings: none in this chapter authors note: chapter one is here! let me know how you guys are finding it :)

Lila didn’t speak French. Well, not much French. Not enough to hold a conversation with patrons so in the bakery, she was the one creating the baked goods. Bread, croissants, doughnuts, brownies. You name it, she made them with their traditional flavours following family recipes but each week there was a limited-edition delicacy that the shoppers loved. The role in the back of the store allowed Lila baking creativity and freedom that she had never had before.

The Montreal sun basked down on Lila as she made the short walk from Jessica’s house to their bakery. It was an early start for Lila, but she didn’t mind as her finish time was earlier than her aunt’s. A travel mug was a staple in her hand, and she sipped the coffee, savouring the hot liquid as it travelled down her throat.

Her morning routine was always the same. One: heat up all the ovens. Two: make a batch of sourdough, white, rye and wholemeal bread, shape them and leave them in the proving oven. Three: defrost the doughnut dough and start making the filling for them. Four: take out the pre-shaped croissants and other buttery items and put them in the oven to bake for the early morning visitors to the shop. Five: clean out the coffee machine and the front of house so that when her aunt arrived, they could open their doors immediately.

By the time Lila had wiped down the coffee machine and refilled the beans, Jessica arrived through the employee entrance at the back. It wasn’t really an employee entrance because only two of them worked there but that’s what a proper restaurant or bakery would call it so that’s what her and Jessie called it.

Jessica was only a few years older than Lila and were more like close cousins or friends than a traditional aunt and niece. They both shared their family’s blonde hair, green eyes, and shortness with neither of them being taller than five foot three. Lila just pipped Jessica by half an inch and the older woman refused to accept it, even though she knew.

The women worked in tandem until both of their alarms went off to signify that it was seven am and time to open the store. Jessica started welcoming in the early customers and making various types of coffees for the commuters who were on their way to their jobs on the centre of the island. Lila took the opportunity to hide in the back and begin preparing dough and batter for the following day.

The phone rang, probably someone requesting a custom cake or a supplier who wasn’t able to get something they usually requested, and Lila popped out to the front with a fresh tray of bread and doughnuts to restock up the counter. It was almost the lunchtime rush so Lila was pretty sure that it would be quiet as she sat on the stool in front of the cash machine. She made herself a cup of peppermint tea and sipped on it, hoping no customers turned up.

Her phone buzzed and she noticed that the latest post on the bakery’s Instagram had been posted on a travel account and now the following on that account had started going up by the minute. An idea popped into Lila’s head, and she quickly went through her photos to find one she took outside the store with the opening times on the outside. It was perfect because it would give all the new followers information of when the bakery would be open and should increase the profits.

The bell above the door rang and Lila jerked off the chair, almost dropping her phone onto the floor but very thankful that she didn’t as the bakery didn’t make enough for her to replace one just yet. She would need to save for at least another two months to be able to afford that.

“Bonjour,” Lila’s limited French was coming in handy, but she didn’t know how much more of the conversation she could hold up without changing to English.

“Anglais, merci,” the customer asked, and Lila sighed audibly. A chuckle escaped the man’s lips. Thank the heavens that this customer didn’t want to speak French or that they noticed how bad her Quebecois accent was, they felt bad and spoke English to her. One or the other, Lila didn’t mind, it calmed her anxiety down tenfold.

The customer was tall, had shaggy, dark hair paired with chestnut-coloured eyes. His chin and upper lip were dotted with a sparse coating of stubble but not enough to fully cover his light skin, but enough for him to go a few days without shaving before he needed to sort it out.

His face looked familiar to Lila, but she couldn’t place it. She welcomed the customer in English and took his order. Vanilla latte, two apple fritter doughnuts, two croissants and a loaf of sourdough. He didn’t look like a sourdough type of man, but who was Lila to judge.

She was thankful for the regulars who came in every other day for a bread restock, the couple who came in every weekend to get two americano’s with cream and two croissants before going on a walk in one of the local parks, the tourist who had found her Instagram account and wanted to try a speciality doughnut. Lila was thankful for every person who walked through the door and took a chance on a family bakery.

Lila packaged up the items for the customer and even gave him one of their branded tote bags for free. She hoped that by him carrying it, he might become a walking billboard and inadvertently advertise the small family bakery. He was attractive, so it wasn’t an impossibility, Lila thought.

Her body moved across to the cash register and started ringing up all his items as his large hands wrapped around his reusable coffee mug. That reminded her that she needed to put the one-dollar discount that they ran for not using a disposable cup. Save the environment and all that jazz.

“That’ll be twenty-two dollars,” Lila said, feeling more comfortable speaking English than French. The customer’s lips curled into a smile as he reached into his jacket pocket to collect his wallet and bringing out a credit card. He tapped it on the reader before wishing Lila well and waving before he went back outside into the Montreal weather.

That was one customer that Lila wouldn’t mind seeing again.

[sillyromance]

Some Knockout headcanons?

Greetings, dear anonymous!

Sure, here you go!

Hope you'll enjoy!

💥Knockout

I think his attitude to a prey depends on if there is anything between the 'con and the little one. For instance, you're a prisoner who is not happy to be on board of "Nemesis" at all (and, consequently, not a polite one); then he won't miss a chance to be as intimidating as he can. Although, considering his steely claws, unorthodox medical tools and piercing gaze, being scary is not a big deal for the 'con. Psychological torture and cruelty are included in communication. However, if he is your friend or a lover, or you showed kindness and understanding to him while staying under his guard, his spark will melt like ice cream. The mech will be always gracious and caring with his little human; if he swallows them, he won't forget to ask if they're comfortable inside him, keeping a servo on his middle to be even closer to his sweetheart. Of course, there are going to be some teasing (endless amount, actually) and praising of your shape and taste, cute nicknames given to make you flustered, role-playing (if the prey doesn't mind)... As for the latter, sometimes he can get into character too much (he REALLY enjoys being dominant) which is able to make even fearless ones tremble; in order to that, it's better to discuss maximum limits with the 'con long before everything started.

Knockout is a medic, so he works A LOT during a week; obviously, his duties often don't allow him to refuel properly which causes lose of concentration, exhaustion, moodiness and... Quite strong tankaches. Many of us are used to see him complaining most of the time (particularly, if someone tries to ruin his paint), however, this mech is definitely not a weak cry baby - and he hates being considered as one. This way, at first he will try to hide his pain behind a typical charming grin and feigned chilliness (which still hardly conceal unnatural clumsiness in his body language). Nevertheless, in spite of his sincere wish to solve the problem alone, at such moments he undoubtedly requires some help; and sooner or later, he will give up and accept his worried prey's support after listening to their points, or go forward himself asking a permission to gulp them down - both lead Knockout to getting a nice living snack rounding his waist and feeling a sweet human flavour on his glossa. I suppose, usually his fueltank is "talkative" enough - as well as it's owner: it eagerly announces about its complete emptiness - and fullness too. Sometimes it starts growling capriciously when the prey appears around the mech, shamelessly insisting on being satisfied with them tucked away inside! Generally, such incidents end up with small but witty arguments between the friends and a silent "Gulk!" coming from the med bay, accompanied by delighted hums purring in a chest of a giant carmine robot.

Knockout is a good comforting pred; regardless, he doesn't like the ones who get upset about literally any reason - this sort of individuals makes him just roll his optics in annoyance. But if there is something truly serious, he turns into a gentle Teddy bear whose "inner world" is always open for his hurt friend. As I have said, the mech is more than glad to chat; so the prey won't feel lonely while being curled in warm, dim space of his tank, slowly getting lulled to sleep by his soft, mellifluous voice and light rubbing of a large hand drawing circles on the platings above... Meanwhile, the mech doesn't mind some fondling from the inside too. He blushes slightly, feeling lovely tickling sensation spreading around his "stomach", and always thanks his dearest for such a beautiful gift.

The 'con is reticent when it comes to revealing the information where his human partner is after they snuggled up in his abdomen. The only living soul who is allowed to know about it is Breakdown - at least, because the blue mech is an exceptional one who can show more or less adequate reaction on this. Other decepticons are kinda cringy about humans in common, so they would be rather disgusted discovering that one of their army lets a "fleshy thing" enter his internal organs. The red medic is bound to keep his special relationships with the prey in secret for their own good... And, naturally, alongside here comes protectiveness: Knockout will never let anything bad happen to someone he loves, no matter what; that's why I consider him as a pred who often uses vore as a way to defend his little partner.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Ferrari Rossa by Pinifarina 

There have been a lot of special Ferraris throughout the years, some more interesting than others, but basically all extremely valuable among collectors. The one-of-one Rossa wasn’t entirely built by Ferrari as it started out in life as a 550 Maranello before Pininfarina worked its magic to turn it into a retro-flavoured speedster.Created to celebrate the design house’s 70th anniversary, the Rossa is technically a concept car and as such, it can’t be legally driven on public roads, but bear in mind it’s entirely functional. Pininfarina kept the car up until 2007 and then eventually sold it and now it’s in a private collection among other amazing prancing horses, including the legendary F40. Pininfarina not only changed the shape and styling of the 550 Maranello, but it also modified the interior to harken back to the old days. I are not particularly fond of the screen mounted on the centre console, but perhaps I are just nitpicking. Like the donor car, the one-off Rossa has kept the lovely gated shifter of the manual gearbox while replacing the dials and steering wheels with something a bit more retro. The styling might not be for everyone, although there’s no doubt it’s an interesting concept. As you may recall, the folks from Maranello launched a special car similar in philosophy with Pininfarina’s Rossa, the Monza SP2 speedster set to go into limited production. Together with the single-seater Monza SP1, these two are part of a Icona series, so you can rest assured there are going to be more prancing horses that’ll look back at the company’s illustrious past.

[worseforwords]

The Strawberry Song - Part 1 (Alessia Russo x Reader)

Valentines day. The day you had been looking forward to for two weeks, but you were now dreading. You stared at the door that you had had thrown in your face exactly fourteen days ago, practically paralysed, trying to recall the words you thought you had memorised perfectly, but now you were drawing a blank. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe you shouldn’t have come here, given her more space. A deep, disappointed, sigh exited your mouth as you sat back into your car. You warm breath made a fog appear on the front window, forming what you could only see as the shape of a strawberry. Making you smile softly as you remembered the first time you met Alessia.

You were in a bar with your band members, celebrating finally finishing your first album, when you spotted the breathtakingly beautiful blonde at the other end of the bar. A mixture of the triumphant feeling of completing the huge, months-long project with a result you were all incredibly proud of, and the alcohol coursing through your veins caused by the many celebratory shots you all took earlier, gave you the perfect boost in confidence and you decided to walk up to her. “Hi,” you said, holding out your hand and not breaking eye contact once she met your gaze, “my name is Y/N.” “Hi, Y/N, I’m Alessia.” She answered, looking rather flustered. Clearly, your newfound cocky attitude worked its magic on this girl. “So, Alessia,” you held your breath for a noticeably long pause, “can I buy you a drink?”

The rest of the night was a blur as the previously taken shots started to kick in even more, so the next day you woke up with a pounding headache and a very limited recollection of the night before. However, you remembered one thing very vividly: the taste of her lips. You even recalled asking her about the sweet flavour, which turned out to be strawberry. You woke up alone, both of you being classy women (you really weren’t, but something told you this girl would be worth the wait), but you had exchanged numbers. At some point during the night, a fairly intoxicated friend of Alessia’s, named Ella, provided you with some much appreciated advice on charming her best friend. Apparently she was quite the romantic, passionate and longing for big romantic gestures, to which you were usually the opposite, so you knew you had to step up your game.

You didn’t wait long to make your next move, as you called her the same day, stating you hoped you weren’t coming on too strong, but you’d love to see her stunning blue eyes again. In hindsight you must’ve still had some alcohol in your blood, being that bold, but it worked. At your first date you were far less suave, constantly stuttering and getting flustered, but you made sure to bring your A-game, picking her up with flowers and holding the door open for her whenever you could.

The romantic gestures didn’t end there, as the next few weeks you kept outdoing yourself with dates, gifts, and even a custom made playlist. You quickly grew close together and you loved every minute of it. Apparently so did she, as she eventually asked you to be her girlfriend: you did it, you won her over.

Dating a footballer wasn’t easy, especially trying to make a career as a musician at the same time, you had to work hard to make time for each other. You both supported each other through and through, as you were frequently in the stands at her matches, and she brought her teammates to your gigs. When one day one of your bands songs suddenly hit the charts as a result of it being used on some TikTok trend, Alessia couldn’t be more proud. She even surprised you, showing up to your next gig with her whole team wearing your merchandise, screaming “That’s my girl!” throughout the whole concert.

Even though it was you dream, the breakthrough of your band was nothing like you thought it would be. Your schedule rapidly filled up with gigs, parties, media events and you were not prepared for the insanity of it all. Being new to all this, at first you said yes to everything, and you felt high on all the attention you were getting. You were living that rock and roll lifestyle you had always dreamed of, but the late night parties and gigs and the afternoons spent in dim-lit studios definitely took a toll on your body. Your usual morning workouts turned into sleeping off hangovers, and your balanced home cooked meals became microwave meals of take-away fast food. 

Alessia, being an athlete, quickly started to get worried about your newfound lifestyle. For a while she just observed how it changed you. She took note of the daily bags under your eyes and the sluggish movements of your once fairly athletic body, and when she noticed your sunken cheeks she couldn’t help but interfere, as she confronted you about your health. You were quick to dismiss her concerns, stating it was all part of being a successful musician and you just needed some time to adjust. 

The opportunities for Alessia to check up on you were becoming increasingly rare, as the two of you seemed to live in different timezones. You were still asleep when she left in the morning and when she came back you had usually left, either to spend the night working in the studio, or to perform or party. You started forgetting about dates you planned with her, and short texts with the occasional heart emoji were all that was left of your previous romantic gestures. At this point, you rarely even made an effort to sleep over at her place or invite her to yours, and even though you were too busy to even be bothered by it, she was getting more frustrated about it by the second. For you it felt like a few days had past since your band hit the charts, but in reality it had been weeks, and for Alessia, it felt like months.

Eventually, she decided to confront you about it. She sat you down for what felt like an intervention and she read you a letter she wrote, expressing how alone she had felt and how concerned she was for you, whilst sniffling softly in between sentences, sending shivers down your spine. She ended the letter with some sort of ultimatum: you had to change, or she’d leave. You completely broke down at her words, promising to be better from then on. 

You knew you had to prove your promise, and you decided to take her on a trip the next weekend, as she happened to have the weekend off. You asked for time off from your band duties, which your manager wasn’t happy about, but you insisted you needed the time. 

The night before you were supposed to leave, your manager called you all into the studio with some news. He had booked you several new gigs, multiple of which were at venues bigger than you had ever played at before. You all cheered at the news, and your drummer stated that this called for a celebration. You politely declined, making everyones head turn to you in surprise. Your manager added that he could get you a private table at one of Manchesters most exquisite clubs, so you had to join for one drink at least. As it turned out your neglect towards your body also took a toll on your self control, so you agreed on having just one drink, which unsurprisingly turned into two, then three, and then another blur in your memory. 

You woke up the next day feeling like your brain was about to explode. You picked up your phone to check the time, and audibly gasped when you saw the many missed calls and texts, the last one from an hour ago being “Never mind, I’m going home. We’re done Y/N”. Fuck. Your heart broke as you envisioned her waiting for you at the airport, with her suitcase all packed, slowly losing faith in you showing up. You swiftly got out of bed, ignoring the pounding headache and nausea it caused, grabbed some paracetamol and a coffee and got into your car.

You knocked on Alessia’s front door as you nervously fiddled with the bracelet around your wrist. When there was no answer, you knocked again, or pounded, really. The door finally flew open but you weren’t met with the disappointed blue eyes you were expecting, instead a rather angry Ella stood in front of you. “Piss off.” She said. “Can I please just talk to her?” You pleaded. “I said, piss off!” Her yelling made your pounding head hurt even more. You looked at your shoes, contemplating how to change her mind, when a soft voice from inside the house came to your rescue. “Let her in Tooney.” You looked up, slowly stepping forward to get into the house, before a hand on your shoulder stopped you. “You know, I can’t believe I actually thought you were worthy of her. You’re dead to me now.” Her words hit you like a brick, but your focus was still on the other girl in the apartment, so when Ella let go of your shoulder, you swiftly moved into the living room, being met with the devastating sight of Alessia’s tearstained face. 

“Hi, Less, I am so s-” “Explain yourself.” She interrupted. “I- I can’t, I-” You stopped your stuttering when she suddenly looked up to you, eying your messy hair and the bags under your eyes. “Oh my god, you’re hungover again aren’t you?” “Well, yes. I am so sorry Less, I know I fucked up. Please let me make it up to you, we can still go on that trip, I will book us new tickets and everything, please.” You rambled desperately. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?” She said, sounding awfully bitter. “What?” You asked, your voice cracking. “Your apologies and promises. They mean nothing to me anymore. It’s all empty now.” You thought about what she said for a while as you sat yourself down. 

“You don’t trust me anymore, do you?” You asked softly “Well how can I, Y/N?” She sounded desperate. “Well if you can’t trust me anymore then what are we doing? Do you want to end this?” You blurted out, immediately regretting it, hoping she would jump in. She didn’t however, and the silence that followed terrified you. “Listen, Less, I love you, I don’t want to lose you. All I can do now is promise you I will try to be better, not just for you but for me too. I’m not being healthy and it’s draining me both physically and mentally, which you fell victim to and that isn’t fair. All I ask for is one more chance to prove myself. I won’t promise perfection, but I can promise to give it my all.” Your sudden revelation caused a silence as Alessia contemplated your words. “Please, Less, say something.” You pleaded, when the tension became too much for you. “I- I don’t know Y/N, I just need some space and time to think about all this.” “Yeah, okay, I’ll leave.” You said, getting up from the couch. You cautiously put a hand on her shoulder. “I am really sorry, Less.”

The next day, you didn’t call or text her, respecting her request for space and time. You waited until the next evening to go up to her house once more, stopping on the way for some flowers. “Hi.” You said as she opened the door, holding up the bouquet. She didn’t take it from your hands, which made your stomach drop. “Y/N what are you doing here?” She asked. “I told you I needed space.” She looked exhausted. “Yeah, you had all of yesterday and today to think right?” You said, confused. “You don’t get it, Y/N, I need some actual time and space.” She explained. “Oh, right erm, how much are we talking here?” You asked carefully. “I don’t want to see you or talk to you for at least 2 weeks. No calls, no texts.” She said before loudly closing the door in your face.

Waiting for two weeks doesn’t seem that long, however, in this case, it felt like forever. The agony of waiting for the woman you loved to decide whether she can forgive you after everything you did wrong really got to you, resulting in many sleepless nights, but you were adamant on using the time to both work on yourself and plan the perfect apology. Coincidentally, the first day you’d be allowed to see her again, would be on valentines day, and since you had neglected the romantic side of Alessia for way too long this was the perfect time to change that.

So here you were, sitting in your car reminiscing all of your mistakes, when a noise from the house you stood in front of earlier suddenly woke you up: Alessia. As she was locking her front door, you contemplated your next move. You had two options: leave quickly, with a chance of getting caught chickening out and thereby most likely ruining any chance you had left with her, or finally facing your fears and hoping for the best: getting your girl back.

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I hope to have part 2 out tomorrow, as it is the part that takes place mostly on valentines day. And maybe, just maybe it will have the actual Strawberry Song in it, that I wrote in a spur of the moment yesterday, but only if I gather the courage to actually post it, oops. We'll see I guess.

Update: Part 2 is out now (including the song I wrote!!)

[codenameredkrystalmatrix]

Another Life

Perhaps parts of us die, but revival is all the more fulfilling for it.

A shape bounded across the crags in superhuman leaps. His roar startled the local wildlife out of their hiding places. Pants for air mingled with the early morning mist. It was brisk out, as chilling as his aura. The minimal light brought to bear hints of his rigidity in feature. His eyes burned with the hue of all the suns that had never smiled on him.

He was hated.

He was feared.

In trying to take a step forward, his body locked. Savage, after 5 hours of training (or rather, trying to pound the ghosts in his mind with his fists), had reached his limit. His legs buckled. Now on the ground and slumped against a tree, he stared at bloodied hands.

He was nauseated.

Just as that very first day under Count Dookou, he felt his frame crumble. Without the resentment driving him forward, he was no longer sure why he trained. Still moving in that way without the purpose behind it was to live as the undead.

His breath condensed, translucent tendrils rising and becoming lost among an invisible, infinite sea of particles. The world had a lighter tint, blue-grey and so very cold. The silhouette of the forest canopy drifted slightly in the breeze. The damp of the forest floor reached under his skin.

Stillness....

...but for the wind rustling the leaves...

...and the occasional caw among the trees....

The rage faded to a soul-sucking numbness. He would end things for the moment.

Walk.

To hands and knees. Then he staggered to his feet, and took a deep breath. One foot at a time.

Walk.

His body grudgingly obeyed.

Thump.

Another breath, another step.

Thump.

Boots dragged, heaved, stumbled past tree trunks, logs and scampering creatures, past wide-eyed faces to a little hut at the edge of the town. His fingers fumbled around the door's handle and guided it open.

The scent of caf and roasting meat permeated his senses. The hissing of the Dark Side, the biting air and the lingering resentment had no place within those walls. That old, painful skin they formed around his being began to slip. A breath left his lungs, and he stepped beyond the threshold.

Warmth. Quiet. Darker than the outside.

You moved about at the dining table, wearing an apron while setting the table. From the moment you looked up, you could guess at what kind of morning it had been. He still looked a little wild. You kept your voice low for a soothing effect.

"Take a shower, and we'll have breakfast, ok?"

You were not a threat. You weren't ordering him. Crossing the room in three strides, he stood behind and embraced you, the pads of his fingers pressing into your waist.

"Thank you."

He nuzzled your neck to remember your scent. Citrus, muted with something mild and fresh. You were soft. The arm reaching up to caress his jaw reminded him you were kind. His pulses, finally, slowed down. You wouldn't hurt him. You never did.

"Thank you." He breathed, a low, continuous rumble starting from his chest.

"Of course, my love. Now you..."

You turned, lifted his face with both hands, and looked into slightly-glazed eyes. "...should go freshen up. I'll be here."

Pecking his lips elicited a small sigh from him. "Promise me."

Longing, a dash of humour, and...fear. You wondered if, sometimes, he felt like he was walking in a dream.

"I promise."

After a few more moments, he left for his quarters. The hot water soaked him and refreshed his body. His mind could wander to lighter things. He remembered spending hours inside the fresher when he'd first arrived, in shock that he could just...stand there without urgency- and that he could be truly clean. Flying around the galaxy did not afford such pleasures.

After he dried himself and changed, he joined you in the dining room. As you said you would, you'd laid food out for you and him. The tension in his body loosened, and he could savour each flavour of the meal. He took the dishes and washed up once the both of you were finished.

His glances outside looked weary. Maybe he'd like something different. "Do you want to stay i-woah!"

You laughed as you found yourself slung over his shoulder and on the way to his room. Unbeknownst to you, a soft smile was dawning on his face at the fact that you weren't resisting.

Laying you on the bed, he rested his face on your stomach and wound his arms around your middle. (He wouldn't confess it, but that was one of the reasons he'd filed his horns low.)

You moved your hands along his shoulders, kneaded his neck, then moved to his upper back. On the golden and inky canvas, scars lurked. Long since having learned their contours, your hand traced gashes, puncture wounds and burns alike

The warmth permeating your little hut had finally found a hold inside him, welcoming him home. Being lulled by your touch, Savage closed his eyes. In this new world- this new life...

He was cuddled.

He was kissed.

He was held.

He was loved.

[thbstvrdthmtlbndndntn]

Sometimes I wonder about the taste of my own cooking and how it’s completely undetectable to me. Especially after cooking for someone else for so long and then cooking for just myself we would notice the culinary ruts we would get stuck in and occasionally rag on each other for it and I was always so defensive about it but then I remember how no matter the dish growing up there was an undefinable but distinct essence to any of my relatives cooking. Like no matter what aunt Sandra or grandma or my mum was making it always tasted like them and I think especially once you become a more confident cook and stop following recipes that becomes the case because you know what you like. Like I know my food will taste similar when I’m cooking for myself because I like things sour and spicy and savoury and i have a limited number of ingredients so I add the same things to get those flavours. I use a lot of rice and apple cider vinegar, lime juice, Cajun seasoning (slap ya mama), cilantro, chili flakes, hot sauce and herbes salees. Even when I’m cooking from a recipe I typically add one or more of those things because that’s what I want out of my food. And I was thinking about this today because I got home from walking all over town and the farmers market and needed an easy dinner — but I also was craving vegetables and had stuff to use up. I was originally going to do canned tomato soup and a grilled cheese but as I look at my fridge it evolves into an abomination I know will be delicious to me and probably brutal to anyone else.

Here’s what I did and why it would up taking 30 minutes instead of 10: sautéed green onions, Chiles, Napa cabbage, and fresh tomato in a pot, added frozen broccoli, a cooked tandoori chicken burger (chopped), a can of tomato soup and two and a half cans of water. Brought to a boil and added a box of the KFC-branded Kraft dinner (Mac and cheese for non-Canadians). Cooked five minutes, then took off the heat and added milk, lots of pepper, some thawed frozen peas, and the flavour pouch. Served with air fried cheese toast on quinoa bread from t&t. It tasted very much like a childhood meal in some ways but also like a classic “me” meal… taking two convent products and making them so complicated it probably would’ve had the same result just to make it from scratch. But I liked it and I was happy with it and I will have the leftovers for lunch tomorrow and those will make me happy as well.

I don’t know why I wanted to write so much tonight but I guess being alone in a new place again just a year after I moved out from my life with the ex that shaped my entire twenties I am having a lot of thoughts about how I build my life and how I become who I am as a person. I was supposed to go see the mountain goats next weekend but my boyfriend’s grandma died and I decided to fly to Newfoundland instead. Sometimes doing the right thing is the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile I’ll lose my mind over sending a simple non-confrontational email. Things are hard, and they’re good.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Vampire!Amarantha drabble

Warnings: blood drinking :)

Word Count: 998

———————————————————————

In the blurry depths of your vision, a splotchy patch or orchid purple glides forward, coming into focus as the doors thud heavily behind her, robes whispering upon the cool tiled floor.

“Awake, pet?” The soft, silky voice calls, bleary eyes peeking open against the low lights, the room lit solely by candle and flame, great braziers set either side the double doors. The hewn rock of the mountain practically gobbles up any warmth or light, a chill running down your spine as you wake wearily, aches blossoming up your neck and wrists. A whimper pulls from dry and chapped lips, desperately in need of a drink after having been drained so thoroughly from her last visit.

She coos at your fear, watching as you clumsily scramble back on the rich purple bed sheets, crisp and clean beneath fresh skin, rasping beneath your touch as you press to the headboard.

Ever since she first sampled you, your life has been turned upside down, and not entirely for worse.

The humans are kept in tight chains far below the mountain, no flame or light to guide or warm them, many going blind or starving from maltreatment. They’re regularly bled to fill bottles so nobility can have a taste, then purchase whoever satisfies them to take home and feed off as often as they like, with no care for how much humans can take—generally not taking into account the slower healing paces. The first taste the High Queen had drank, she’d known she’d have you all to herself, and one she’d have to take care of if she wanted to take advantage of your unique flavours.

“Would you like to be put back in irons?” She asks, tone icing over habitually, unaccustomed to having to ask at all for what she wants. You shake your head, freshly cleaned hair warm and soft upon the nape of your neck, cut short to remain as manageable as possible. Trembling upon the pillows, you shake your head, wrists aching where the skin is still raw.

Deep amber eyes spark in the limited light, dark red lips curving sharply. “Then come here,” she orders, in a tone that warns you not to deny her. Like a freshly birthed doe, you crawl forward, terror turning your muscles useless, shaking with fear as you near her.

Compared to the exquisite clothing she adorns herself in, you’re like a stray rag—covered in a plain white gown with no noticeable patterns or shaping save for the slight frills at the neckline and hem. It’s better than anything you were ever given while kept in those dungeons. Often times left bare against jagged rock. Having clothes still surprises your skin from time to time, no longer fresh and soft but roughened and calloused to match the cave you were kept in.

She wastes no time once you’re within easy reach, nail-tipped fingers grasping your jaw, pulling you to her front. Dark eyes roll leisurely across your body, lips twisting onto a frown when she notices your drained features.

“Have you not been taking the meals served for you?” She hisses, displeasure carving her expression into pure thunder. Her grip bites into your scalp as she tugs on your hair, “you aren’t going to get out of this by starving yourself.” Gleaming white incisors slice from her upper lip, cold metal of her ring biting into your cheek, a reminder of the magical knowledge she possesses.

You manage to shake your head, body bending beneath her touch, curving and shifting at her inhuman strength. “I haven’t been served anything,” you gasp heavily, fighting the urge to claw at her icy cold hands, as though frost is feathering across your skin. “I swear it,” you breathe, promises your accustomed trading method down below. “Nothing’s been brought in.”

She snarls at that, irritation and anger rippling through her expression as she tosses you back onto the bed. Hungry eyes rake over your weak figure, starving for a taste. The need to feed thrums through her like a pulse, the urge to bite down swarming her senses. She knows she shouldn’t—you’re struggling to remain upright—but that need is riding her senses, canines aching with the urge to bite. To have your blood on her tongue, briefly burning her throat with a rich, spicy tang.

A small whimper draws her attention, and she comes out of her inner thoughts, watching as you weakly try to move away, the cotton of the plain nightgown settling thinly over your breasts, caressing the supple skin of your sides, highlighting the tantalising outline of your edible body.

It sets off an innate instinct—one to chase and hunt and pin.

And watching you try to get away from her…

She’s on top of you in an instant, sharpened claws pinning your shoulders to the plush mattress, dipping beneath your weight as she goes for your throat. There’s a flash of pain on your end, before pleasurable warmth tingles across your chest, numbing and soothing you into paralysis as the venom sinks deeper into your system.

A low groan spills from her blood-painted lips, hot tongue sealing the neat puncture marks before you can bleed out. She licks up the droplets of blood that managed to escape her ravenous mouth, eagerly drinking down any and every trace of your flavour.

Beneath her you’ve gone limp, lips parted on weak breaths, lids weighed shut. She curses her hunger, still desperate for more but managing to tear herself away.

Whoever’s responsible for not having her meal full and fed is going to be flayed alive then served up to the hounds, and she’ll enjoy watching every second.

Every moment she’s left wanting more of your blood will be whipped into their skin for daring to come between her and her food.

A lesson that will be broadcast to the rest of her court—you’re hers, and she will allow no one to interfere with that.

———————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

[usmsgutterson]

THE HALLOWEEK OF HURT: DAY SEVEN

Heartbeat- K.B x gn! Heartrender! reader

all right! Last day of this event and the goal with this one was to make myself cry. I'll be rereading and editing it the day it comes out, too, so this fic is for anyone who needs a good cry and doesn't mind crying on Halloween.

Fic type- this is angst.

Warnings- a lot of mentions of matthias' death, mentions of blood, drowning, stabbing

The final day of October in Ketterdam was shaping up to be at a minimum, decent. The pumpkin-flavoured drinks still dominated the bars and would hold their rightful place until around the 15th of the next month, at which point the winter season would take full hold five-ish weeks in advance and you would not be able to escape the sight of sugar cookies and various ceramic ornaments or the smell of fresh pine, eucalyptus, gingerbread and cinnamon.

You were working behind the bar, making yourself a shift drink--a pumpkin spice martini because you, too, were a fiend for the fall drinks and your shift was nearly done with anyway--when Kaz approached.

"Drinking during a shift, are you?" He asked, sitting down at one of the barstools. You'd been working more and more shifts at the bar lately, one near the University of Ketterdam. You were a part-timer with the Dregs, one who Kaz considered apart of his inner circle, and when you weren't in the Slat or at the bar, you were at uni, studying to get a degree in library science.

"Drinking at the end of it," you said. "Two minutes to go. You'll probably have me at the end of my shift when this conversation is done. What do you want?"

Kaz grinned, and you took a sip of your martini before setting it on the counter, grabbing a glass and pouring rum into it. You slid it across the counter, and Kaz took it with one gloved hand.

"Heist," he said. "Tonight. Can you manage?"

"Where?" You asked. "How many days of my study fortnight are you asking me to miss?"

Kaz grinned. "A fortnight is fourteen days," he said. "Five days on the boat, five days back the way we came. We're due for a heist in the Wandering Isle, but thanks to the heist we pulled for the Ravkan royalty over the summer, Nikolai added one of his speed boats to the limited sum they were able to offer. The likes of the Wandering Isle would take three weeks, normally, so thank your saints for Ravka, your royals, and their limited available funds."

"Just because I am Ravkan does not mean I like the royals, nor that I claim them in any respect," you said. "Zoya Nazyalensky is quite admirable indeed, but the Lantsovs have run the country into the ground since the first in their line sat his pathetic ass on the throne. I have no respect for the Lantsov line, even as handsome as Nikolai turned out in spite of the previous men of his lineage."

Kaz took a sip of his rum. "Ten days of travelling in total," he said. "Two days in the Wandering Isle to get the jewelry we need. You can study for your finals on the boat, if you need to, and then you can study for the remaining two days before your break ends and we're home. Are you in?"

You scoffed. "I joined the Dregs when we were sixteen. I've been in on every major job we've done since--unless this isn't major?"

"Sixty million kruge."

"Level of risk?"

"Trapdoors in the tiles on the floor that take you to a windowless and relatively inescapable lower level, a security system that defaults to flooding the building and leaving no survivors. Without Jesper, the windows would be lined with unrelenting Grisha steel and glass, so they would be unbreakable and effectively leave us to drown."

"And with him?"

"He can manipulate it enough so that it can be broken, and he's agreed to," Kaz said. "The risk amounts to the reward, I think."

"Last time we got money in the high end of the millions, we lost someone," you said. "I love the heists, and I love you enough to consider it, but the risk might just be too high. I can't stand the thought of losing the likes of any of the rest of us."

"You paid off your college debts," Kaz said. "You own a home in the financial district, even if you don't live in it. With this kind of money, you wouldn't have to work a day."

"You used your portion to renovate the Slat and buy out Pekkas buildings," you said. "What you've done with the rest of it, I don't know. This money could just mean more expansions, and if you keep going like that you'll be the king of the Barrel one of these days."

You took a sip of your martini and Kaz shrugged.

"So, you're in?"

"Obviously," you said. "I'll even wear my amplifier. If I can slow our heartrates before we drown and then liven them up once the water has drained, we'll be set to go."

Kaz laughed, a rare but true sound, and your heart gave a flip.

"Your shift?"

"Finished about half a minute ago now. Walk me back to the Slat?"

Kaz finished off his brandy, and you finished off your martini, and the two of you left the bar. You walked home in relative silence, occasionally talking about the heist as you went.

-

You'd packed everything necessary for the journey and were on the Lantsov-gifted speed boat at midnight, sharing a brownie with Nina in a common area belowdecks as you registered Kaz's heartbeat from where he stood upstairs, looking on at an empty horizon while standing at the centre of the boat.

"You do that a lot," Nina noticed as you popped a piece of the brownie into your mouth. "I used to do it, too, before the parem hit."

"Do what?" You asked, one of your hands going to the bear claw necklace you only tended to wear in dire situations. It amplified your abilities as a Heartrender, allowed you to sense the differences in peoples heartbeats and choose who to keep standing on their feet.

"That," Nina gestured. "And when you wear your amplifier, you go seeking for heartbeats. Gives you something to listen to."

"I do not," you said, part of you still focused on the rhythmic beat of Kaz's heart in his chest. "And besides, how could I need something to listen to when I have the sound of the waves?"

"You don't like the waves much," Nina observed. "One of the things you and Kaz have bonded over since you started dating three years ago, I would assume. Is it his heartbeat you're listening to?"

You flushed, shook your head. "I'm not listening to anyones," you denied. "I don't do that."

"Yes you do," Nina said with a laugh. "All Heartrenders who're strong enough to do it do it. During the Ice Court, I did it with Matthias'--had I not taken the parem, I would've been able to listen to his heart when it stopped."

"If you hadn't taken the parem, we'd all be dead," you said. "I am grateful for your sacrifice, and Matthias', but I think that if you could've heard his heart as it stopped you never would've stopped grieving--you still grieve him."

"I'm learning the art of moving on," Nina said with a grin. "I wanted to hold onto him forever, and I know that it's not feasible. He's buried in Fjerda to connect with Djel, and I am here. I am helping Kaz Brekker on a heist and I am sharing a brownie with the person who is probably the love of his life, and everything is okay."

You grinned at her, let go of Kaz's heart and instead absorbed the sound of the silence in the room.

"You are not the person you were when we did the Ice Court," Nina said. "You are not the person who came to Ketterdam to escape the war--you've changed, and it's for the better. Matthias would like the person I am now, and as much as I take solace in that, I do not need to know that to keep functioning as a person."

You sighed, looked around the room in search of a bottle of brandy.

The lounge area was simple--a couch pressed against one wall, a window just a foot or two above it that looked out onto the upper level, and a small drawer with a couple of bottles of various liqours and cups to drink them from. A table was in front of the two of you and would probably be used when Jesper came in, seeking something entertaining like a game of rummy or war without making any bets.

You grabbed yourself a brandy, grabbed Nina one and clinked your glass against hers.

"To not being the people we once were," you said. She grinned.

"To listening to the heartbeats of those we love the most."

You both sipped your brandy, and you let yourself be content, not quite aware of the storm that would make landfall in the Wandering Isle at the same time you did.

-

The water had already risen to your kneecaps by the time you registered just how wrong things had gone. Everyone else had rushed out while you, Jesper, and Kaz stayed behind to fight--it meant that Inej, Wylan, and Nina were safe. That was all that really mattered as you fought the guards, some part of you having tuned into Kaz's heartbeat as you fought them off.

They were coming at you in droves, nearly impossible to fight as the water continued to rise, and when you looked at Kaz, he looked half dead as it were. You livened up his heart, forced the sound of it to thrum in his ears.

You are still alive, you thought. You are still here. Stay with me. Don't give in. I can't lose you.

"I've weakened the windows!" Jesper shouted. "Get near them! We can punch our way through the glass and then hope the water cushions our fall!"

You began to move that way, watching as Kaz did the same. "We can't keep fighting them like this!"

You clutched a hand to your amplifier. "I can't take them all on at once--there were a thousand when we started, there are five hundred now!"

The water had risen from your knees to your shoulders in a matter of minutes, and soon it would rise past your head. You would have to hold your breath as you punched through the weakened windows and fell out of the windows, onto the pavement.

You were still listening to Kaz's heart as the water rose, though. You'd been rendered a bit useless in the water, having to use your arms to keep yourself from sinking rather than swimming.

The water reached your neck. You glanced at Kaz as his heart slowed, saw him in a fight with one of the guards.

It was because of the fact that you were listening to the thrum of his heart in his chest that you heard the very moment it stopped beating.

You glanced at Kaz again. A knife had been jabbed into his chest fatally. You wished you'd chosen to be a healer instead.

Jesper lurched forward, nodded at you as the water took you even further, rising past your head and plunging you beneath the surface. You swam to a window, punched it open wide enough and punched the walls still, letting Jesper take Kaz's corpse out first, falling out of the window thereafter and landing in the puddle that'd formed on the ground.

You started crying when you looked at him. Kaz was gone.

Jesper was crying, too. "We need--he has to--"

"The boat," you said. "Take him to the boat--I need a second, Jes. I need a thousand."

Jesper nodded at you. "I'm sorry this happened. I know how much you cared."

You watched Jesper walk away, carrying your beloveds corpse bridal style, and curled in on yourself.

He was gone. Kaz Brekker was gone.

He'd died by being stabbed--a painful death indeed, but not more painful than the fate you wished to deliver to his killer.

-

"Did you--you weren't--" Nina started as she came into your quarters on the ship. "Oh, Y/N."

"I was," you said. "I heard his heart when it stopped. I wanted to save him but I couldn't."

Nina sighed, walked into the room, lied down next to you. "He has found his peace."

You didn't believe that. You weren't sure if you believed anything.

"I know," you said anyway.

He was gone, and you were incomplete, but there was nothing more that could be done--if he had found his peace, you too would find yours in time.

[pixelsangel]

Cg smoker hcs?

CAPTIAN SMOKER CG HEADCANONS!

CW FOR: Cigarettes/Smoking. WARNING: THIS MAY NOT BE 100% ACCURATE! IM ONLY INTO S2 OF ONE PIECE ATM!

Limits smoking around you when you're regressed

Buys you ice-cream on request. Any flavour, any amount of scoops.

Tries to avoid conflict and serious topics around you when regressed.

Even though he's rarely enthusiastic and harshly spoken, he will play games with you and try to be as enthusiastic as possible

Great with you! He's great with kids in general and you being regressed is no different.

Takes you out for food on occasion.

He tries to get Tashigi to help babysit you if he's busy doing something serious.

When he does smoke around you, he attempts to make shapes with the smoke if possible.

[veilantares]

Red Render

Metal Masked Machines, tread lightly as they go, they first tend to the seeds, then rend when they reap and sow

Something from earlier in January. I sometimes get told that everything I make looks the same, which is a bit unfortunate, I like to think I put a lot of effort into keeping each piece its own flavour even if that flavour has the same underlying stylistic rules and limitations.

One of the ways that manifests is that if I’ve used a specific colour combination before, like blue and purple with gold highlights, sometimes I wait months until I use it again, like some sort of maniac. When it comes to shapes language it doesn’t feel like it happens as often... but its still there...

To try and break out of that, when I made this piece I deliberately tried to make it look like another piece I made, if the combo works it feels somewhat silly to restrict myself from reusing it (but sometimes irrational artist brain refuses to let me just do things). In any case for my last few pieces I’ve just not even had backgrounds in them, just using black and white with one accent colour, no gradients or anything. 

I’m certain I wont stay with that for long, it was a nice break but somehow doesnt feel like an evolution of the style quite yet, although maybe I just haven’t pushed it far enough.  

Hoping that as I think through this perhaps I’ll find an idea for something to make and share by the end of the weekend, it feels like I’ve fallen into a sort of funk ... and I feel some small guilt any time I let free time pass by without making something new.

[11cleyvaart]

Quimby headcanons maybe?😘😘

These are just my headcanons of Quimby, and some of them are also observed from the shows as well that keep his character in canon. And I'm sure I missed something too.

To be clear this is for my Inspector Gadget Au, where it's more gritty and more like the futuristic aspect rather than the 1980-2015 world of Gadget. 

His full name is Frank Mitchel Quimby. 

He's also 41 years old. He's been married to a woman for 20 years, and has been divorced just recently. 

He's a closeted homosexual, but feels more at ease and comfortable with Gadget than anyone else. He's known Augustin for years on the force and later turned into a romantic relationship between them. Their relationship slightly boarders on a rebound relationship.

His father was a military veteran and amputee, so he had years of understanding for those who have lost parts of them. Which allows him to understand Gadget on that level as well. 

Years of smoking a pipe gives him a permanent scent of peaches. He likes his flavoured tobacco for his pipe and will always have a faint peach fruit to his clothes. Yet on most days he doesn't smoke his pipe, mostly just to have something in his mouth. All his pencils have bite marks so he opted to just holding his wooden pipe in his mouth instead. 

He's an undercover agent himself, usually the one who gets the information on MAD and their plans. Making him the most sought after man in the entire department to be killed. He uses his stealth and many disguises to hide in plain sight.

So he lives a life of stress, and picks at his tie causing it to be loose and crumbled. He goes through them but it is too cheap to buy new ones. His stress also contributes to his weight gain as he rarely lives at his own home anymore in fear of MAD finding him, so he eats fast-food alot. He's a big meat guy, likes burgers and sausages with little on the veggies. 

He's also a skilled shooter, his shape may not show it but he's very capable of moves after years of service to the force. 

His favourite weapon of choice is the S&W Model 39, a small gun that takes much longer to learn to shoot but it serves its purpose. Even if it's defunct at this point he loves the feel of it and wouldn't want to replace it. 

Now after all that's said and done, he's also a masochist. He loves a good bite here and there getting his head shoved down on Gadget's ‘gadget’. He lives to be subject to pain within his limits. In his first marriage, it was a dead and loveless time. But with Augustin, he's more free to be the person who was hiding in him all along. He's a complete bottom and doesn't mind it as long as his top is his Inspector. Yet due to Gadget's sheer weight from his machinery, Quimby rides cowgirl. With missionary position a limited event that is used to hit their sweet spots, especially Quimby's. 

To everyone else he is mean and quick to anger but with Augustin he's a soft and gentle man. He also has a caring spot for Penny, especially little Penny. He feels more motherly towards her and will do anything in his power to be sure her uncle comes home alive everyday. 

A firm advocate for Inspector Gadget and his ability to solve crimes, when sometimes he is just blinded in his infatuation for the man he believes Augustin can do anything. So he automatically congratulates him even when Augustin knows he didn't do anything.