#man hes. so slow.

[autism-corner]

i love taking a sparkling beverage to school its like having a bomb

[mohntilyet]

still i think the one of the more fun differences drawn between illario and lucanis that was lost would be illario's ability to endear himself to others but serious lack of empathy, vs. lucanis' (self perceived) inability to be charming but how much he cares. it's interesting that the game has gone with the "lucanis' ability vs illario's lack thereof" because i think illario being the dellamorte 'best in show dog' vs. lucanis' attack dog would have made me so unwell.

lucanis is... awkward. he's not unlikable, because he is usually very polite, but he doesn't speak much and only seems to care about the other dellamortes. he once sent viago de riva a knife with no note (who knows what he could have meant by this). he does what caterina asks of him, and by his own admission, cannot say no to her. he is a dramatic and prolific killer, and that makes how untouchable he is even worse.

and the crows like illario, sure, AND he's a good assassin! he's even a good crow! he's so good that he can make lucanis smile, and so he is the charming, sociable one. he's the one that stays in treviso and can be relied upon to care, illario's even the one people prefer over caterina and lucanis!

but illario is decoration. he's the prize poodle, and even if poodles were bred to be working dogs, nobody will ever pick him to protect the house over the german shepherd that regularly mauls intruders. anyways the analogy is getting away from me. the point i'm trying to make is that i want illario to have a different kind of jealousy/hatred that's not just over 'being bad at killing' but also an arrogant loathing for everyone around him that is getting harder to hide, because they've forgotten he can bite and is just itching to rip someone's jugular out. illario is very good at hiding his family resemblance to caterina, while lucanis suffers under his grandmother's, and his own, reputation.

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[fisherrprince]

Instead of writing a fanfic like a normal person this oneshot turned into two separate, contextless things,

[cubbihue]

Question ...if fairies rely on desire to feed,would Dev be a GOOD food source or a terrible food source? Does desire come from wishing or wanting more, essentially. Because dev like.. Has all he can want except his dad's approval ,so how does that work?

Fairies' food comes from the innate emotion a person has while Wishes are just the only way Fairies can pull the emotions (food) out!!!

The more the desire is out of reach, the more delicious it is, and the longer the fairy can go without needing another meal. It's simply easier to harvest from children because they have big emotions, and weak minds and impulses. A child can say "I wish" more openly than an adult does, making it easier for Fairies to cultivate.

Dev's one of the best food sources there is. In fact, he's able to feed a family of 5 for at least 8 months! However, he's also one of the worse sources to collect from because his desire is noncollectable by magic.

Which means you'll need an expert high-class, high-ranking Fairy Godparent who can siphon out his Desires into smaller parts via multiple smaller wishes!

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[luminique]

Lighter when reader is sick/has a cold/etc he has to be a hot fucking mess

OH HES ALL OVER YOU WHEN YOURE SICK !! the moment you’ve got a cold, he’s immediately telling the girls that he is out of commission. he wants to take care of you but like lowkey. he’s buying medicine, he’s getting food, he’s making sure that you’re not overexerting yourself.

but he’s also getting bothered by the fact that you’re calling out to him with a red flush on your face due to the sickness. you’d think he would be pushed away by how rough your voice sounds but no, it’s actually a little conflicting to him. something deep within him wants to be all cuddly with you but he’d tell himself that he’ll catch a cold and who will take care of you if he’s sick too?

you’re more than capable to take care of yourself but having you depend on him like this, even if its only for a short moment, has him melting completely. he’d pretend to be a little distant (because he can’t show that he’s worried) but he’s always looking out for you. coughing ? he’s getting water. sniffling ? he’s grabbing tissues. too hot ? he’s ready with a wet towel.

once he’s done taking care of you for the day, the girls are definitely there to tease him about it and all he does is push his shades up a bit more. he cares so so much but that’s not a good look for his cool and mysterious personality. either way, he promised to take care of you until you get better, so he’ll be back in the morning to check on you again as usual. it’s all too obvious when in the next few days, he’s the one sniffling and sneezing instead.

[quirkle2]

it's nice to feel childlike wonder again

[starry-bi-sky]

blood blossom danny except i briefly talk about his version of the accident

It all happened so fast that Danny doesn't really remember dying at all. It was like, one moment he was alive, the next he's dead. He remembers hitting the button, and the lights coming on, and then a great big flash.

Then he was outside of the portal.

He thinks he may have been screaming, but that's not true at all. The only sound he made was a split-second, startled gasp as the portal turned on, that was cut-off before he could finish the noise. The only ones who were screaming were Sam and Tucker; Danny was dead before he could feel anything.

The most vivid thing to him was the terror before the light. The blood rushing moment of mind-numbing fear and cold revelation that he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. A weird sort of resignation, desperation, horror, and static calm that hit him all at once.

He was extremely disoriented when he woke up. Like waking up from a long nap and struggling to comprehend what the day or time was, but knowing instinctively that time has passed. He didn't stay in his ghost form for that long either, further cementing his confusion.

From the moment he hit the button to the few minutes after he woke up is an unsolved jigsaw puzzle to him.

It took him about a day and a half to fully remember what happened beyond 'went into the portal, then suddenly i was out of it and everyone was freaking out', and then a week to process.

Sam and Tucker remember his accident better than he does. They say he was in a daze after he woke up, before he recognized where he was. And he kinda just... squinted at them like he didn't know who they were, and said something in a language they couldn't understand. He was terrifyingly calm and passive, and still smoking.

(They later find out its ghostspeak. He was asking them where he was.)

It was only the moment he realized where he was that he transformed back into human. That's the moment where Danny's memory officially cuts back in for him. His first time as a ghost, and he doesn't really remember it that well.

[thinwhitedoc]

SHERLOCK | Martin Freeman as John Watson

[fauvester]

[sporeclan]

< Previous | First | Next >

First moon(s) of 2024!!! WOOO!!!

[scoupssolo]

S.Coups ✧ 손오공

[repsolhonda]

#MIRQUEZ: let's work it out on the remix.

[hr-twink]

who wore it better freak enemy boyfriends edition

[cubbihue]

Hm. Could've sworn his name was different. Did it ever have one?

[outsidersheadcanons]

Ponyboy has an unhealthy obsession with carrots (he LOVES carrots so much that they’re the only vegetables he’ll eat) and the whole gang bullies him mercilessly for it.