#meadows writes

[ohmeadows]

this is a meandering post as i'm slowly trying to pin down my feelings on how healing is used as a sledgehammer in fandom yet never manages to say anything; but... demanding that others write and re-write to cater to your healing needs is exhausting. the idea that healing is always soft and tender flattens the process too, which in my experience is often ugly as hell and demanding beyond compare. it takes strength and it takes delving into ugly things and sometimes it's extremely unfulfilling when you realize there's nothing left that you can do except throw dirt on it and move on.

steamrolling all healing into some tenderness and softness is... it's not to say that isn't a good part of it, but i don't think it is everything there should be. there's so much to healing, such as what is keeping the healing from happening right now to this character? is it their environment, is it who they are with, is it their loneliness, is it repressed pasts? is it themselves? if you escape the immediate zone of danger, how does your body react? what bubbles up?

one form of media critique that i keep seeing is the... "it didn't heal me personally therefore bad therefore this must happen instead" and the person is just describing a fanfic idea! that they should be writing!

in the fandoms i'm active in, healing is this... amorphous blob people keep saying they want but they can't name it or conceptualize how it'd work for those characters. "i want them happy :(" great. what is happiness to them? what would be required to get there? is being with another person truly the solution? and so on, and so on.

and beyond that, there's the reader's own process of going through the story, of finding catharsis in whichever particular genre they feel drawn to: for me, that's tragedy and doomed narratives and crawling through the trenches while having everything you believe in ripped away and questioned to the pits. that, also, isn't for everyone. i don't think everyone finds the healing i write healing in their definition, and that's fine.

i'm overthinking this from a writing perspective, in the end, thinking about the mechanics and motions necessary to get such a journey instigated and moving, if it's even one the character has interest in going on or has to be dragged through.

anyway. cents thrown into a well. there's doubtless more to say on healing but not every conflict written about in a story will be healed. there's room to sit with what that means and what the story is trying to say with that, what rooms it allows you to enter into.

[norry-yippee]

“He would never do that” oh you mean in the fan fiction that I wrote, in my own time, for free.

[marauders-bs]

It's that Potter-Black thing

"Hol-y shit," Marlene said, stifling a laugh. "You really are your father's son, aren't you?"

"Don't make fun of the kid, Mar," Sirius said, nudging her ghostly arm with his.

"But he's in love with a Slytherin boy, Sirius. Your nephew."

"Fleamont, James, Harry," Lily said, ticking the names off on her finger. "Alphard, Reg, this Draco boy. The Potters and their Black boys, I guess."

Harry looked around. The ghost of his parents and their friends had shown up not long after his fifteenth birthday and had never left. Now he was sixteen, and Sirius had joined them.

"Wait," Harry said, Lily's words sinking in. "You were in love with Regulus?"

James put his head in his hands as the others laughed. "Ask McGonagal about us at some point, Haz," Dorcas said, a slight smile on her face. "Madam Pompfrey, too. I'm sure you'll get some great stories.'

"Especially Remus," Mary said.

"That fourth-year transition when he got so hot?"

"Ew, Marlene, don't be straight."

Harry smiled a little as his parents' friends laughed and joked together. Sure, they were all dead, and he was a little over five years away from being older than some of them, but that was okay.

[addsalwayssick]

@rosekillermicrofic || prompt: domestic || word count: 665

Barty collapsed onto the floor from Evan’s bed, fake sobbing onto the ground. “What do you mean you won’t go to Hogsmeade with me?” He gasped in between over exaggerated sobs.

Evan gave him a look from where he was sat at the desk in the corner. “You know why,” he told Barty. “I’ve got a date with that one bird.”

Barty immediately sobered up. “So she’s more important than your best friend now?” Barty asked sarcastically.

Evan sighed. “Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what?” Barty grumbled.

Evan side eyed him, turning back to his homework. “I’ll go with you next weekend,” He murmured as he wrote on his paper.

“That’s what you said last weekend,” Barty reminded him, packing his things.

“Well it just came up, Bee. She wanted to go and I couldn’t refuse,” Evan said as he pondered the next question.

“Yeah sure, break your promises to your best friend so that you can make your little girlfriend happy. Whatever, Evan,” Barty said, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Evan asked, turning around to look at Barty.

“To go get your girlfriend to keep you company since you obviously don’t need me anymore.” Barty said in a false cheery tone.

“Don’t say things you know aren’t true.” Evan glowered.

Barty shrugged. “You’ve shown what I mean to you as soon as you get someone you love more than me,” He smiled casually, though it was fake.

“I don’t love her more than you,” Evan said before he can stop himself.

Barty scoffed. “Whatever. See you later.” Barty started to walk towards the door.

“Barty,” Evan tried, getting up.

Barty just shook his head and stepped out of the dorm room.

Evan sat on the place where he had been, where the warmth was still there. He looks to his side, where the hoodie that Barty left was still there. Evan pulled the hoodie over his head and smelled it.

“We’ve got to break up,” Evan said, cringing internally. “It’s not working anymore.”

“What do you mean?” His girlfriend asked, her voice breaking.

“Look, you’re just not-“

“Barty. Yeah I know. I should’ve fucking seen it.” She said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Evan asked, grimacing.

“Why shouldn’t I?” She asked, cocking her head to the side.

“I haven’t told him,” Evan said softly.

She just rolled her eyes and stormed away, leaving Evan in the halls.

The rumor spread fast, like the plague. Speaking of the plague, Barty was avoiding him like it.

Or at least he was until Barty came into his dorm with red eyes. “Is it true?” He choked out.

“Is what true?” Evan asked, already fearing what’s to come.

“You know what,” Barty hissed.

“I didn’t know you were like your father,” Evan spat, fight or flight kicking in. “Constantly assuming things,”

Barty’s face hardened. “So it was a joke. Knew you were as bad as the rest of them. Tease the fucking gay kid,” Barty choked on his own bile as tears spilled down his face. “I thought you accepted me?”

Evan’s face softened. “Bee what are you talking about?”

Barty’s face sported a confused expression. “You pretending to like me?”

“Why would that make you sad?” Evan asked.

Barty furrowed his eyebrows. “Because I like you? And you’re pretending,” Barty laughed humorously. “Man I thought you were smarter than that.”

“You like me?” Evan inquired, his eyebrows shooting up. “Fuck, Barty i’m not pretending.”

“What?”

“I’m not pretending.” Evan said, getting up.

“You’re not? You like me? You’re gay? What?” Barty breathed.

Evan took him by his tie and pulled him in, pressing his lips to Barty’s. Barty immediately put his hands under Evan’s shirt.

They heard the door open and a few scoffs. They heard Pandora whisper “Gotcha,” And Dorcas say, “Fuck,” With a few coins clattering.

But the thing that made them laugh the most was, “God, you guys need to be domesticated” from Regulus.

[myers-meadow]

Chance meetings: Tommy Shelby x reader

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader.

Summary: As you attend a wedding of the family, you meet an interesting man. He keeps popping up in your life. Maybe there's something there, something between you? AKA You share a kiss in the stables. This is firmly set in season 1.

Part two here.

Warnings: none. Safe for work.

Word count: over 2k

This is my first time writing for Tommy and the Peaky Blinders! English is not my native language, I hope I did ok! Feedback, comments and reblogs are very welcome <3. Dividers by @saradika-graphics (thank u for all u do for fandom <3)

You may not have known who John Shelby was, but when you were invited for the wedding through your best friend, you didn't hesitate to go. A wedding was a wedding, after all, and you loved them. The getting pretty, the dress, the vows, the ceremony of the mingling blood, the food, the dancing... Oh, the dancing!

You were more jaded than your sisters by far, as you were the oldest, and still unwed in your twenties, but that didn't deter you from the topic of love. When you saw the looks the couple gave each other during the ceremony, and the tension in the air was tight-strung, it was easy to deduce this wasn't a marriage of love. But it could be, you told yourself. There is all the time in the world for love to blossom. Weddings were so beautiful, and you watched as the ceremony turned into the party. Helping the other women with serving drinks and food, the time flew by.

"I just love weddings," sighed one of the Shelby's to you, a young woman, as you handed her a drink.

"Me too," you responded, politely, not expecting further conversation. The way she looked at you made you halt.

"Are you married? I see no ring." Before you could answer, she downed the drink in one go, and continued. "I am. We got married in secret. He said I looked like an angel..."

"He's lucky to have you, in secret or not," you responded.

A worried frown crossed her face. "My brothers hate him. Or; they'd rather have him not be part of the family."

"Why is that?"

She shook her head, refilled her own glass and took a good drink. "And now they're marrying John off to solve some political dispute I'm sure. They never tell us women anything, do they?"

She needed to vent, you let her speak.

"I wore the most beautiful dress... Matching white lacquered shoes... It was-" She interrupted herself to finish her drink.

As she went for the bottle, you stopped her. "Love, not so quick. Maybe have a dance, first. If your love ain't here, there's a dozen handsome men willing to stand in, I'm sure."

Her eyes turned fierce as you held onto the bottle, not handing it over to her. "You can't refuse me. Do you know who I am? I'm a Shelby."

A man stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "I thought you were a Thorne, now."

That was how you met Thomas Shelby.

Just like Ada, her brother Thomas was used to getting what he wanted. A little later on in the evening, the sun had set, you topped off his glass. He stopped you from moving on to the next empty glass, with the flick of his fingers, gesturing to the empty seat next to him. The smoke from his cigarette curled upwards, to the bare night sky.

"Sit. Join me." His words were spoken softly, but with an authoritative edge that made you do as he said, more curious than anything.

"Mr. Shelby, right?" you asked, with an eyebrow raised.

He set his glass down on the table, took the bottle of whiskey from him, plucked an empty glass from the table, and poured it neatly half full. He handed it to you. The drink was cold against your palm. "A toast. To the newlyweds." He didn't even really smile, but you clinked your glass against his and took a sip.

"To the newlyweds, may their union be one blessed with joy and laughter."

Thomas brought the cigarette to his lips, and the two of you simply sat, staring at the other. It felt like he noticed a great deal about you, from the way you wore your hair, how you fidgeted with your lace cardigan, to how you suppressed your wince at the sharpness of the drink. He was breathtaking in the flickering light of the campfire nearby, it danced over his face, highlighting the sharpness of his features. Yet his lips were plump, and you tore your eyes away before you could get any ideas.

"Cigarette?" he asked, already finding the case in his jacket pocket. He lit your cigarette for you like a gentleman and the drag you took was perhaps the first time you breathed properly in his company. "You're not a Lee I know. Are you a friend of the family? Recently married into it?"

"A friend, as of yet unmarried," you say, eyes dancing over his handsome face. Laughter sounds as the music takes a more upbeat turn. "If I'm no longer doing the whiskey rounds, I'd like to dance. It's a wedding after all. Will you join me, Mr. Shelby?"

He laughed softly, rubbing his face with his free hand. "Well, why don't we, hm?" And he stood up to follow after you.

You hadn't expected to see Thomas again, not at all. It felt like a magical night, one of few in your life. One you had to make count, somehow. That's why you dared press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, before making off to your wagon at the edge of the Lees territory. Yet you did, as you followed your brother into an unsuspecting pub in Birmingham. It was by a street with factories, and workers did their work. It smelt of burnt coal and ashes.

The pub was a welcome change in temperature, as it was cold outside. Your brother, Edwin, was here on some business or the other, and you came with him purely to have a change of scenery. Or rather, that is what you'd tell anyone who asked. Rather, as the oldest, you felt you needed to keep an eye on him, to make sure he didn't get in any trouble he couldn't handle. He was rather prone to that after dad died, but it was no matter to consider, as the two of you entered the pub. It smelled of smoke, stale drink, and of wood varnish. It was after dinner, so the pub was gradually filling up with patrons, their chatter a comforting sound.

"Thank you for coming. In here," said the man you were meeting, Arthur, and he lead you to a room to the side, shutting the door behind you. Another younger man was already seated, a toothpick pressed between his lips. Another man stood to the side, leaning against the wall, and you startled as recognition hit you.

"Mr. Shelby," you greeted, nodding. "Pleasure to run into you again."

Edwin sent you a look, one that meant 'we will discuss this later', so you immediately straightened your attitude to betray no memory of that night. Thomas sent you a fond nod, and you quickly averted your eyes to avoid staring. Yet your heart leapt in your chest - what a chance to see the intruiging man from the wedding again!

"Have a seat," Arthur said, as he sat down himself. Edwin and you took a booth seat. You nodded politely to the younger one. A barmaid, blonde, came in and set down glasses in front of each of you, and left a bottle on the table. Arthur rubbed his hands. "Let's talk business, then. About those prize horses..."

Their talk and their deal went well, but you found your mind wandering off, your gaze drawn by Thomas' chiselled features. He looked harsher today, in this light, more serious. Perhaps he was softened by the wedding, by being off the clock, last time. Yet, the weight of his gaze bore down on you as the meeting went on.

When the hands were shaken, and the deal was made, his smooth voice shook you from your thoughts.

"Let me get you a drink," he mumbled, too low for your brother who was still talking with Arthur, to hear. He lead you to the bar, where a barman with a white tea towel over his shoulder was wiping glasses clean. The young women from before tended tables. "Whiskey?"

At this point, you'd agree to anything, so you nod. He ordered for you, and he clinked his glass against yours much like that first time.

"What are we toasting to?" you asked.

He looked around, leading you to a quieter corner of the pub with a hand on the small of your back, half a smile tugging at his lips. "Those beautiful racing horses you're selling to us."

"Family business," you grimace as the whiskey burns its way down your throat. Tommy nodded, deft fingers finding the cigarette case in his jacket pocket, he offered you one, before pressing one between his own lips. The flame from the match sizzles as he struck it, and you inhale sharply.

"So, this is Birmingham." you concluded, a bit of a tease. "The factories seem busy, is it like that every day?"

He nodded, regarding you with the patience of a large cat. "Every day. I like the noise, keeps the mind silent. And you, what do you do? Sell horses?"

"I take care of the horses. Edwin sells them." You fiddled with the cigarette, tapping off the ashes. "Sometimes he lets me come along to vet if the people will take good care of them. Just based on feeling, though. I'll only see the stables when we bring them over."

Tommy put the matchbox back in his pocket, leaning forward. "You wanna see the stables? Come on, I'll show you."

In hindsight, you weren't sure what made you follow him unquestioningly - out of the pub, with as little as a wave to Edwin. Your brother grabbed your arm.

"Where d'you think you're headed, girl?"

Tommy answered for you. "I'm showing 'er the horses, so she can rest easy knowing we take good care of 'em."

A short silence fell, the authoritative stare Tommy gave Edwin hung like tension in the air. It felt like he was challenging him, and Edwin didn't protest again when Tommy led you out of the pub.

It was a bit of a walk, and Tommy kept a steady pace. You two chatted idly, about the city, about growing up Roma, about how John and his new wife were doing. Then, you arrived just outside the city, where the stables were, right next to the train tracks.

"Do the trains not startle the horses?" you question, as you look around the place. It all seemed pretty good. The smell of hay and of horse hits your nose, a familiar and comforting smell. Stepping inside of the stables, a large black horse (a Frisian?) greeted the pair of you. "What a beauty," you say breathlessly.

"Trains're only in twice a day. Horses get used to it fast. They're smart beasts." He reached out to pet the nose of the animal. "This one is Monaghan Boy. Quite the race winner."

He seemed proud and something swelled in your chest. "He's so big."

"Wanna ride him?" 

You shook your head. "Not today," you laughed, and he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m not winning any races today,” you joke. As you reached out your hand to let the horse smell you, another man entered the barn.

"Tommy, what are you doin' out here?" He said gruffly, before he noticed you. His voice softened. "Oh, and a young lady, hello."

"Uncle Charlie," Tommy said, jovially, "This is y/n, her and her brother are selling us some horses. She wanted to make sure they'll be well taken care off. Y/n, this is the man who takes care of the horses for us."

Charlie smiled. His face was drawn by years of hard work in the open air, and perhaps by war, you thought as you shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Charlie. I look forward to a good partnership from now on."

"Then I'll leave you two it," he said, with another look between the two of you. Monaghan Boy neighed in agreement. He left, leaving the two of you alone again.

"What are you thinking? Up to your standards?" Tommy asked, teasing undertone resting in his deep voice. He walks closer, until he's next to you, next to the big beast. His cologne smells delightful.

You nodded. "Better than I expected, especially for the city. I mean, look at this one," you say full of awe, as Monoghan Boy allows you to slide your hand over his mane. Thomas mimicked your movement, letting his hand rest on yours, intertwining your fingers. 

You turned to him, finding him caging you in against Monaghan Boy's flank.

"Perhaps there's something else you'd rather do than ride a horse, out here?" he whispered, just before his lips touch yours.

“I can think of a thing or two,” and you wrap your arms around his neck.

[gabriels-golden-kazoo]

There was no doubt about it that Evan Rosier was beautiful. Girls whispered as he passed in the halls, boys winked at him at parties, beckoning him to the dark corners of the common rooms where they could remain undiscovered.

Yes, there was no doubt that Evan was beautiful, but he didn’t feel pretty.

He wasn’t sure when the word had become significant, it was as if the word beautiful was superficial, as if he was superficial. He supposed the meaning had started to sound different when he listened to them come from Dorcas’ mouth. The way she described Marlene, as if words could only pale in comparison, Shakespeare himself would be threatened by the pure emotion that dripped from Dorcas’ words, so much so that the word pretty made Marlene sound like the greatest treasure ever to grace the earth.

Fucking lesbians.

Evan had never felt like a treasure, as an heir he was worth something, but that was a job, his birthright.

He had never once believed that there were soulmates, someone who could mirror even the darkest most broken parts of his soul, someone who would accept every flaw, every scar, every wall that his mind put up. But watching his friends with their partners?

Watching them made him believe that someone could truly love him unconditionally, like they needed him like air, as if the sun couldn’t rise without him. He believed there was a chance, but that didn’t mean he was deserving of it. He could hope, maybe even pray, but at the end of the day he couldn’t imagine even a soul as broken as his could have once come in a matching pair.

That was until, of course, he met Barty Crouch Jr.

And by Merlin and Morgana alike did that boy make his soul sing.

[petiteredthinker]

Feeling a little better today, better than yesterday.

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[hyperfocuscentre]

Lily Evans is..

strawberry themed picnics under the sun, a light breeze brushing through auburn curls.

autumn walks in the park, swaddled in scarves, hats and gloves. Picking conkers up from the grass and shoving them into already bulging pockets.

reading under dim lights, manicured fingers tracing the pages of books and knitted blankets piled over shoulders.

cuddles with cats, soft fur tickling the palms of your hands.

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

dorlene fic recs!!!

all on ao3

there's beauty in the tragedy - badhotdog03

scar tissue - twiggyisnotdead

invisible string - a1phab3tsoup

no strings attached - allthedeadgays

ever the loved - mytinyoceans

miss americana and the heartbreak princess - moonsandcrying

the hand that feeds - rollercoasterwords

underground gladiators - bizarrestars

seasons in desire - dykesiriusblack

fairy-tale sweets - thebibutterfly

honey honey - aeoneskova

lavender haze - marlenemckinnonss

sweet nothing - rabidlittlestrawberry

be mine - missamericanbi

bumblebees in the fall - thelizbian

thank you for the venom - arakhnee

like a secret in your throat (can you stake my heart)

[ohmeadows]

28 kafhime?

kafhime, kiss as a lie.

//

A warm breath nestles against Himeko's neck, stirring her from a deep sleep. She burrows deeper in the plush hotel pillow without opening her eyes, recognizing the perfume immediately.

"You've been sleeping in for hours," Kafka murmurs against her skin. "Dreams too good?"

"Something like that." Himeko sighs, letting Kafka's mouth stray down her back, brushing away her mussed hair as she goes. "Why are you here?"

"Couldn't let you have all the fun alone."

Himeko sighs, rolling over in bed to glare up at Kafka. The power of it wilts a little. It's so easy to cling on to the anger and frustration of her when she's light-years away, when the stops between their paths crossing rack up, when the edges of her face begins fading. It's harder when she is above Himeko, her eyes softer than she likes to remember.

Space between them has this impossible quality, expanding and contracting in the blink of an eye, fast enough to make her dizzy.

"I know you don't have to be here," she says, stroking Kafka's cheek. "So what is the reason, really?"

"Firefly sent out a distress signal. I felt... Compelled." She shrugs. "Arrived just in the nick of time, so really, did you want me to stay away? Come now, I know what you want even when you don't want to say it."

Himeko hooks a finger in Kafka's leather harness, testing the strap. "If you know me so well, why don't you tell me?" It's getting harder to meet Kafka's gaze.

Kafka smiles. "You know, Elio's given me a break while he's working on some script changes. Why don't we work out what it is you want while I travel with you for a stop or two?"

"Sounds perfect." Himeko tugs at the harness, pulling Kafka down on top of her. So perfect. Too perfect.

She wants to treasure the moment, at least a little. It's all false, she knows as much, has known in her gut since she woke up. Stealing a kiss in a dream, what harm can it do, even when it's nothing but a lie?

Their lips meet and it feels so real it makes Himeko ache, wrapping her arms around Kafka to pull her closer and hold her there until she's breathless. The dream must break. The illusion must die. And she has to leave.

"I can't stay," she whispers between kisses, feeling the distant rumble of a collapsing dream fast approaching. "I can't stay... I can't..."

She screws her eyes shut tight, savoring the taste of Kafka for the precious few moments she has left before waking up.

[norry-yippee]

With all the Olympic talk I think it’s time for me to give my opinions on the marauders and their sports and countries

Remus- Basketball, Great Britain

Sirius- Fencing(?) Waterpolo(?), France

James- Football, Spain

Regulus- Gymnastics, France

Peter- Weightlifting, Great Britain

Barty- Boxing, Italy

Evan- Skateboarding, Canada

Pandora- Volleyball, Canada

Lily- Equestrian, Ireland

Marlene- Rugby, Great Britain

Dorcas- Breaking, Jamaica

Mary- Sand Volleyball, Germany

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Meadow

beautiful words with "meadow" for your next poem/story

Meadowbrook - a dark to grayish green that is bluer and slightly lighter than marine green

Meadowed - having meadows; consisting of meadowland

Meadowfoam - any of a genus (Limnanthes) of annual herbs of the Pacific coast of North America having white or yellow flowers and including some grown for their seeds which yield an oil used chiefly as an industrial lubricant and in cosmetics

Meadowing - meadowland

Meadowland - land that is or is used for meadow

Meadowlark - any of several American songbirds (genus Sturnella) that are streaked brown above and in northernmost forms have a yellow breast marked with a black crescent

Meadowless - lacking meadows or meadowland

Meadowsweet - any of several spireas i.e., any of a genus (Spiraea) of deciduous shrubs of the rose family with small usually white or pink flowers in dense racemes, corymbs, cymes, or panicles

Meadowwink - bobolink i.e., an American migratory songbird (Dolichonyx oryzivorus) with the breeding male chiefly black

If any of these words inspire your writing, do tag me or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists

[meadowziplines]

chronically ill dream wingfic snippet

which had 10 whole votes and thus at least 10 sentences needed, as per the poll I ran a bit ago ~

_ _ _ _ _

Dream wakes pressed against a warm body, face on Hob's shoulder. Dimly he remembers Hob carrying his bag, one hand on Dream's shoulder, to Hob's car. He blinks. Last night, he was in agony, took pain meds, and fatigue crashed. He struggles to remember whose place they went to. 

"Hullo, dove," Hob says, and Dream blinks, then winces at the soft light. "how are you feeling?" 

Dream spreads his wings, knowing he will have to stretch them before binding them against his back. 

Wait.

Spreads his wings?

"They're so lovely," Hob murmurs. 

Dream twists out of Hob's gasp, nearly falling off the bed. They're in Hob's flat, and Hob knows he has wings, and his mind spins more than when he falls while flying, or when he stands amid dizzy fog. Hob knows he has wings. Hob knows. And – hasn't done anything about it? Has not hurt them. Hasn't hurt Dream. If they're spread, he unbound them last night without remembering. Hob knows. And hasn't –

"Easy," Hob exclaims, grabbing Dream's shoulder to keep him on the bed. "Sorry, touchy subject?" 

Dream stares at him, tongue-tied.

"Um, as to why we're in the same bed, you got huggy, and it was nice, so I just let it happen," Hob continued. "Are you feeling okay?" 

"I. I do not…" Dream starts, and then stops. "I – it." 

His mind is still foggy and another person knows about his wings and hasn't tried to hurt or steal them (like Jessamy's her wings are gone he stole them she no that topic is not allowed no – ) and his worldview has tilted slightly and he's really not awake, to boot. If he could do so on command and it wouldn't freak Hob out, Dream thinks he might faint now, just to check out from the situation and overwhelm. 

Hob is just watching him, waiting for him to find words, fondness writ across his face and making it soft in the sunlight flowing through the window blind. He's really quite lovely like this, all gold and brown and umber, and Dream –

"I do not know how to answer that," he finally mumbles. 

[myers-meadow]

Wheat fields: Tommy x reader

Title: Wheat fields, or: Picnic date ✨🌻🌱 Part one here.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x f! reader

Summary: After running into Tommy and sharing a kiss or two, he finally asks you out. He takes you outside the city for a wonderful picnic, where you share more than those chaste kisses from before.

Word count: 2201

Warnings: none. fluff. They have a few glasses of wine. Soft Tommy.

This is a continuation of Chance Meetings, but I'm sure it's good as a standalone one-shot too. Thank you so much to @moxleyhorror for beta reading and giving me the encouragment I needed to get this done! <3 Dividers by @saradika-graphics. I'd love to hear what you think! Enjoy! <3

After those first few meetings, you couldn't stop thinking about him. 'It was just a kiss', you had to remind yourself, 'nothing more. And it certainly doesn't mean anything.' Yet, when you ran into him again when purchasing a newspaper, your heart surged, and you knew he'd break your heart if you let him.

"Fancy seeing you here," Tommy said, voice so soft only you could hear, leaning in as you went up to the counter to pay. "I'd almost suspect you were following me, with how often this keeps happening."

"You'd think so," you hummed, trying not to go weak in the knees as you remember the kiss and hushed words that were your last meeting. "It's coincidental for sure."

Before you could find a the right amount of pennies in your purse, Tommy already pressed two coins on the counter, and led you out of the small store with a firm hand on the small of your back. You looked back hesistantly but his voice drew your attention back to him.

"You don't believe in fate?"

"No. Do you?"

He shook his head. Even outside, he didn't let go of your waist. He glanced around from under his cap, letting the shadow fall over his eyes, as he surveyed the street. "Listen. This weekend, are you free on Sunday? Be it after church, if you need." His piercing blue eyes looked at you from under the rim of his cap. Seeing your confusion, he cleared his throat and said; "I'd like to take you out."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat, as the full weight of what he was asking slowly processed. He'd break your heart, for sure, it felt like. There's no other way for this to end. Another private moment with Tommy... He'd have it beat so fast, that just a look from him, a soft smile, soft spoken priase, would send your heart in a frenzy and there's nothing you could even think of to stop him from doing so. Yet, as your mind flared with worry, insecurity, better judgement - it was your heart that answered.

"Yes, after church, I'm free. What for?"

He smiled. The sight alone made you melt. "Good. I'll pick you up, then. Dress practical. For now, I have some business to take care of. See you Sunday, love."

With a final, lingering look at you, he left, crossing the street and disappearing into the crowd. Leaving you, standing there, to stare after him, feeling the heat in your cheeks slowly fade, replaying the way his deliciously gruff voice called you 'love'.

When Sunday came around, you didn't know what to expect, what he had planned. Was he really taking you out? Where to? 'Dress practical', alright, so what did that mean?

Regardless, you kept on what you wore to church, it was maybe a little formal, so you changed your shoes to your most comfortable pair. Your checked yourself once again, just to be sure. As for most of your kin, there wasn't a lot of money going around, but you still liked to dress nice.

The doorbell rang, and you ran down the stairs before steadying yourself for a second, before swining open the door. It was Tommy, perfectly on time. He smiled as he saw you. His car was parked behind him.

"You ready?" he asked, before gesturing to the car. You follow him, and he opens the door for you, before sliding in himself. What a shiny black thing, you thought, as you looked at the interior. It looked well taken care of. On the backseat was a basket, the contents covered by cloth.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Tommy mused, and started the car. Once out of the street, you reached for the cigarette case in your purse and gave him one too. He leant in so you could light his cigarette for him, and you smoke in silence. The road he took, lead you out of the city, past the industrial side of Birmingham, past the open country, following a bumpy dirt road.

Aside from some small talk, the ride was quiet, and after leaving the city, it barely took half an hour before Tommy stopped the car at the side of the road. A green landscape stretched before you. The air smelt clean, once the car engine was shut off. Some farms were visible in the distance, surrounded with yellow wheat fields swaying in the wind. You open the car door and step out, glad you wore something practical. Tommy followed you, grabbing the basked from the back seat.

"Where is this place?" you asked, as you step through the high grass next to the dirt road. There were some oak trees up ahead, and Tommy lead you there.

"It's peaceful, isn't it," he responded, "but it's no place in particular. Here, help me with the blanket."

He handed you one side of it and together, you spread it on the ground, landing softly in the grass. Nearby a bee buzzed from a dandelion to a small daisy that hides in the grass. Tommy set down the basket on the blanket and kneels down on it. You followed, kicking off your shoes to be more comfortable. 

"Are you hungry?" Reaching into the basket, he took out half a loaf of bread and a big knife to cut it with. "Or thirsty, rather?" A bottle of rosé wine followed, with two glasses.

"I didn't take you as someone fond of wine," you took the bottle from him and undid the cap. He continued unpacking the basket, some fruit followed; cherries, an apple for you each, and a few plums. 

"The exception is due to the occasion," was all he said, and took the glass you poured for him as you hold it out to him.

You smiled softly, leaning back on your hands, enjoying the sun on your face. "I didn't think you'd ask me out," you mused, without any accusation in your voice.

Tommy took off his cap, messing with his hair, before setting it aside. He takes in your content expression and tries a sip of wine. "Well, you're hard to forget."

You glanced at him, his confession was more than you'd expected in the first place. "It's lovely out here. So nice to be out of the city. I remember growing up, how all we did was travel, and we didn't deal with city folk as much as we do now."

He shifted his position to a more comfortable one, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. "Are you alright staying in Birmingham? You stay with the Lees, right?"

You nodded. "It's all good. Just glad to be away for now. Did you prepare all of this yourself?"

He chuckled, studying you some more. "Polly helped," he admitted. He pushed the bread and cheese towards you and you helped yourself. It was good, a nice, flavourful soft goat cheese. Luxury for you. You wondered if he got it just for the occasion, to show off, or whether it was a household staple for the Shelbys. You sipped the wine to wash it down. Instead of eating, Tommy went for a cigarette. As he took it out of the case, your hand instinctively found your matchbox and before he could reach for his own, you struck a match. With the mildest surprise in his expression, he leaned in and let you light it for him.

"I hope you don't expect me to eat by myself, Tommy."

He chuckled softly, taking the cigarette between two fingers. "I'll have some in a moment, I'm just... taking in the atmosphere."

So you sat together, and you shifted too, knees brushing together, and you looked around. Nothing. For miles. Just quiet. No machinery, nothing but birds chirping and wind rustling through leaves. With a deep sigh, you slowly relaxed. Soon, both your glasses were empty, and you poured them full again. The wine was warming up, and even though it didn't help the taste, it was vaguely romantic to share a bottle with him. Did he think you'd be the type for rosé, and is that why he brought it? No use in asking, you supposed, and instead you took the knife and cut a plum in half. It was so ripe that the juice dripped down your palm. The pit came away with ease. You offered half to Tommy, before taking your first bite.

"Ah, it's so ripe," you said, "I love plums."

With another look at you, he ate his half in two bites, chewing slowly. As you finished eating, you looked around for a handkerchief to wipe your sticky fingers with, but instead, Tommy took your hand in his. 

"Here, let me," he said, and brought your fingers to his lips. Astonished, you let him suck the juices off, his mouth warm and soft, a heated blush creeping up your neck. His sky blue eyes watched your every reaction as you shifted to accomodate the distance. His free hand cupped the back of your head, and you were more than eager to taste the plum on his lips. This kiss was nothing like the caste ones you shared before; openmouthed and hungry. Only a moment of connection passed, before you were in his lap, straddling his hips. You tried to steady yourself by gripping onto his lapels, pressing your body to his. His lips were warm and firm, tasting of tangy sweet plum and cigarettes. With the way his fingers treaded into the hair at the nape of your neck, there was no breaking the kiss. He took his time exploring your mouth, your lips, his tongue dancing with yours, before his lips moved to your ear, teeth tugging at the lobe.

"I rather like plums too," he chuckled sotfly, breath tickling your ear. His hands needed their way up your sides, feeling your body in ways that heated you all over. You kissed his neck, or; the small bit of it that his collar left exposed, and pushed his head back to follow the line of the jugular. He shivered and let you push him down into the grass. 

"You're a very good kisser," you mused, between nips, making your way back up to his ear. "Would you like something sweeter?" Seperating yourself from him with another kiss to his lips, you leant back up, enjoying the sight of him underneath you. As much as you tried to ignore the way your core pressed over his bulge, or what could be a revolver in his trousers - with Tommy there was no way to really tell - leaning back to grab another plum and the knife had you grind against it deliciously. He noticed your small whimper, and propped up his knees to have you move forward again, making you laugh sweetly at his teasing.

"Be careful, I'm holding a knife." Yet you both were still laughing. The second plum was just as ripe as the first. You threw the pit away in the grass, getting a small vision of a fully grown plum tree, branches heavy with fruit, all thanks to you and Tommy's little tryst outside the city many years prior. You took the first bite, not chewing yet, instead, leaning down to feed it to him, letting him take it from between your teeth.

"It's certainly sweeter this way," Tommy said, swallowing. "But perhaps there's something I'd rather have, instead..."

As he pulled you down to him again, you gladly joined him and let him roll you over, so you were on your back in the prickly grass. The knife left discarded on the blanket; the sounds of birds, crickets and a cow mooing in the distance soon overshadowed by the wet sounds of your kisses, soft moans and sweet nothings whispered in your ear. 

When he dropped you off at your home, he let you keep the basket with some leftover bread and fruits, and he kissed you by the door, his hand pressing you into his chest in a way that had you craving more. You mulled the question over, whether to invite him in or not. After all, you two hadn't slept together out there in the fields - you were too much a romantic at heart, but now that the moment was over, you still wanted him desperately. It would be devastating if this day was over, and you'd lie in bed to regret everything you didn't get to do, feel, experience... 

"Are you free on Tuesday evening?" he asked, voice still a bit hoarse from all the kissing. The way he looked at you from under his cap could only be described as hopeful, and it made your heart surge.

"For you, I'm free any time," you said with a playful smile. "Will you take me out again?"

He gave a curt nod, glancing over you briefly. Hopefully there weren't any noticable grass stains, this was your nicest dress. "But it's a surprise, all right?"

You looped your arm around his neck and kissed him again. "I can't wait." And from the way he returned your kiss, you knew he couldn't either.

[uhhlifeig]

Feast - October 16 - word count: 461 - @wolfstarmicrofic

"Doesn't this look amazing?" Lily said, looping her arms around both Mary and Pandora.

"Absolutely," Mary agreed, grinning at the sight of Pandora's mystified expression as a chocolate bat- courtesy of Sirius- flew nearby.

"It’s a masterpiece," the blonde said with a dreamy smile, leaning into both of them.

Remus couldn’t help but chuckle. “Only Hogwarts’ Halloween feasts get this elaborate.” 

He turned to his best friend- the boy he was trying not to stare at for too long- Sirius, who was looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Only the best for the school’s number one troublemakers,” Sirius said with a wink. He was hovering mid-air, standing on a chair precariously balanced on one leg, trying to hang a particularly large cobweb above the teacher’s table.

"Careful, Pads," the werewolf warned. "You’ll fall and break something.”

“Break something?” the dog animagus scoffed jokingly. “Moony, have a little faith. I am grace.”

Just as he said that, the chair wobbled. Sirius flailed and barely caught himself by grabbing onto a floating banner above him. 

"Uh-huh, grace, sure."

Across the room, James was working on some finishing touches with Regulus, who had been roped into helping despite his usual resistance. 

James leaned close to whisper something in Regulus's ear, making the younger Black roll his eyes but smile all the same.

Meanwhile, Marlene and Dorcas were across the room, transfiguring the pumpkins into more elaborate and increasingly terrifying forms. 

One of them sprouted a set of teeth and began chomping at everything nearby.

Marlene laughed as Dorcas waved her wand to tone down the pumpkin’s aggression, smirking while almost doubling over.

Benjy was sitting at the far end of the room, discussing something with Peter, who looked a little flustered but was grinning from ear to ear. 

Every now and then, Peter’s wand would flick toward one of the decorations, and something unexpected would happen- like a pumpkin turning into a frog.

Evan and Barty were lounging in one of the back corners, watching the chaos unfold. 

Barty leaned over and muttered something to Evan, causing the latter to snicker as they quietly plotted a prank of their own.

“Oi, Remus, catch!” James’s voice broke through the noise. The dirty blonde turned just in time to see James chuck a small, glittering object his way. 

Without thinking, Remus caught it. The moment his fingers touched the object, a burst of bright orange confetti exploded in his face.

Sirius burst out laughing, nearly falling again. “Oh, that’s brilliant!”

“You lot are incorrigible.”

James smirked. “Don’t pretend you didn’t love it, Moony.”

Sirius jumped down from his chair, walking over to Remus, who still had a bit of confetti clinging to his hair. 

“Here.”

Remus’s breath caught for a moment. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sirius replied.