#musings on the nature of my assumptions

[punsandposes]

my permanent issue is that i automatically assume everyone around me is bi if not proven otherwise so I automatically bestow the honor onto any character I like

Participation bisexual award

[sssarrrra]

Dying to stay alive. Why does Fyodor Dostoevsky enjoy being killed on purpose? Bsd analysis

Why Dostoevsky looks so young despite living for centuries? I think it's because he often gets killed. He literally has no time to age.

His skin care routine is being murdered every year or so. Maybe, even more often.

Fyodor CAN age, he isn't immune to it. He isn't immortal. He's ability isn't about eternal youth. He can get gray hair and wrinkles. But he doesn't. Dostoevsky looks almost identical to how he's been when he's met Bram centuries ago (minus a scar and an outfit). So why is it?

Let's assume that the physical "age" Fyodor naturally gains can be transferred to the new body he enters. And the only things that get "erased" are traces of harm left by someone else (bruises, cuts, scars, etc.)

Let's pretend that we know Fyodor's "biological" age. And it's 20. (That's just an assumption for this example!)

It would go like this: Fyodor's biologically 20. He lives until his 22, than gets killed. His "new" body will have the age of 22. Then he lives until he's 26 and dies unnaturally. He's biological age in the new body is gonna be 26.

And so on and so on. It means both his appearance and physic will gradually change. But we see NONE OF THAT. Present Fyodor is almost a twin copy of Fyodor from the past.

It means that Dostoevsky has never lived longer than a couple of years max without dying and respawning into a new body. He probably dies quit often and can't even get old enough because he simply doesn't have time.

Maybe, he has some mark on his calendar: "Need to die every year to keep my body young and relative healthy". And it's a strategy and nothing else. But I feel like there is more to that.

Dostoevsky probably enjoys the thrill of death (or near death) experience for various reasons.

People sometimes describe Dazai as a "suicide-addict", but THIS is a new level of it. These two share a hobby of trying to die often. But Dostoevsky not just tries. He dies. Fyodor's way of getting a rid of his stress is being brutally murdered by someone else. I wounder, if Dazai knew it how it would make him feel? To find out that Fyodor is drawn to death in the same way that he is? We'll find out eventually.

Dostoevsky meticulously got himself killed probably more than 300+ times or so. And, yes, sometimes it was work related incidents due to his plans. But he didn't HAVE to die so often, did he?

It honestly seems, that for Fyodor "dying" is just an extracurricular activity he does to pass the time. Some ppl go their friend's house to play video games. And Fyodor goes to someone's place -> dies there.

Maybe, Dostoy tries to connect with people by "dying" by their hands? When he transfers his mind into a new body, it makes him feel less lonely, somehow?

For example, Fyodor didn't have to break into Bram's castle and chat him up about demons. He didn't have to put his life on a line just to see how Bram would react to his musings about world-politics. He knew he would die, obviously. But he went anyway. Just to "catch a glimpse" of Bram (in his own words). And then, of course to get murdered. Did he hope that Bram would be the one to deliver a final blow? Did Fyodor secretly want to "posses" Bram's body from that long, long time ago?

You know how ppl joked about Fyodor's hobby being captured on purpose? Add "dying" to this list, asap.

He's reasons for overusing his ability to "reincarnate" are probably complicated.

A part of it is a need to escape/ease his guilt. Dostoy wants to feel like a martyr that has a right to commit sin. Maybe, it's his own self-punishment, a form of self-harm. He believes these short or long moments of agony "erase" the harm he does to others or, at least, balance it out.

On the other hand, Fyodor is still a human who wants to belong. But he spent decades in paranoia and isolation that affected him immensely. So now the only "true" connection Dostoevsky can create with someone is when he inserts his consciousness into their body. The flow of new feelings/goals keeps him distracted from himself and his bleak view of the reality. So he does it over and over.

Or is it just a boredom thing? Like living is such a drug he can't help but try to die?

Dostoy is too afraid/guilty to go to heaven right away so he passes time by adding bits of different personalities to himself. He has this semi-free subscription to people's agendas, he only has to die to access them. It keeps him entertained. Like a Netflix but he has to die to watch a "movie" from someone's POV, with their goals/emotions intact still.

Dostoy wants to pick up a new passion/hobby? No problem. He just needs to find someone who likes that particular interest, and than get murdered by that person. Then Fyodor can gain their insights into the topic (possibly).

I wish I could see the way Dostoevsky envisions humanity. It seems like he's both enmeshed with it to the point of losing himself and at the same time he's discarded by humanity and isolated from it.

It's such a mixed-up experience. No wounder Fyodor's mind is so… Bizarre.

[cece693]

You're Edward?! Pt. 2 (Edward Cullen x Male Reader)

Here's the first part of this pic, but if you haven't read it, basically male reader goes to Forks to confront Edward for making Bella uncomfortable, yet didn't know Edward was a total hottie. And very much single.

Edward Cullen was a hottie and m/n was intimidated. It always happened whenever he encountered pretty boys, but this was on a whole other level. "Bella, my love, why didn't you disclose that your bully was handsome?!" M/n exclaimed in disbelief after Edward stopped and began talking with equally gorgeous students, presumably his brothers and sisters.

"Did it matter?"

"Yes," M/n quickly replied, his eyes darting between Edward and Bella. "I needed to mentally prepare myself to handle such hotness... Do you think he's all-natural?"

"M/n!" Bella exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"What? I'm just being honest. Anyone with sight can agree he looks delectable." M/n defended himself, ignoring the playful slap on his shoulder from Bella. "So, before I confront him, can you pretty please tell me all about him? For research purposes." He added, flashing a grin when Bella raised her eyebrow in a questioning manner.

"Fine. You already know Edward Cullen: standoffish, rude, and an ass to everyone, especially me. The people he's talking to are his adopted siblings. Rosalie—" Bella pointed at the blonde girl who looked like she could kill anyone and not give a fuck. "is dating Emmett, the big, muscular guy."

She paused, noticing M/n's slightly creeped-out expression, and nodded in agreement. "I know, weird, but apparently it's legal."

"Let me guess, the other two are also dating, right?" He mused, looking at the female short stack and blonde guy who looked a mix of pain and constipation.

Bella nodded, confirming M/n's assumption. "Yeah, that's Alice and Jasper. Out of all the siblings, she's the most social and friendly."

Taking in the information, M/n looked out the window once more and noticed that Edward was looking directly at them. However, no smile nor wave was thrown their way. Instead, his features were set in a frown, eyes narrowed in frustration and anger.

"I take back everything I said. Edward's an ass," M/n remarked, his tone laced with irritation. The retort confused Bella, who hadn't noticed Edward's staring. "Just look out the window. He's glaring at us, and I haven't done anything…yet."

It took a few seconds for the realization to sink in, but when it did, it was already too late. "Don't—" Bella hurried out, yet her friend was already out of the truck and walking toward the Cullens. "M/n, hold up," she exclaimed, also getting out of the truck and attempting to match his long strides.

"M/n, please," Bella begged. "Let's not make a scene." Yet all she received was an eye roll.

"I'm simply going over there to have a nice chat. No fighting; I pinky promise." M/n reassured, his tone determined as he continued his stride toward the Cullens. Thankfully, most of the students had already left school; perfect, one less thing to worry about.

"Hey." M/n called out, capturing the attention of all Cullens and causing Bella to fold into herself. "We need to talk." Not even bothering to ask, m/n grabbed Edward and pulled him toward the woods.

"M/n!" Bella yelled, about to step in between her friend and Edward, when Alice let out a laugh. Looking weirdly at the girl, Bella didn't know what she found funny: wasn't she worried about her brother?

"No, not really." She replied, alarming Bella. "You spoke out loud." Alice explained, causing the rest of the Cullens to hide their chuckles. Oh, humans and their stupidity. "Besides, Edward can handle himself."

That and Alice had seen that m/n and Edward's meeting would turn into a makeout session; there were just things that she couldn't handle, but Alice was glad Edward had found his mate. Even Rosalie, who had made her distaste known, came around to the idea after listening to the large impact m/n would have on their family. M/n Cullen sounded perfect, after all.

[catboxcoffin]

Battler/Kinzo/Projection

Battler’s narrative assault & sexualization is pretty interesting to me as an inversion of sexed roles, so I’ve decided to refine and paste some of my thoughts on it, beginning with Yasu-trice. Battler repeatedly has Kinzo’s (amatory) role projected onto him, both by Piece-Beatrice directly and Yasu’s authorial insinuations. (I won’t incorporate Meta-Beatrice into this analysis for a few reasons, the main being that I don’t think she is Yasu in the same sense as the others; secondarily that she is so gratuitous in her assaults and references that it would be nonsensical to lend any nuance to it. Plus, her indiscriminate performance in the earlier episodes is what sets up such a divergence later on)

I. Episode 4

Gameboard events are a requisite to understanding the skeleton of the stories that we’re actually being shown. Given the nebulous nature of the Meta and what it represents, a tale created and decorated in-universe in an attempt to communicate is generally more useful in viewing its subjects. On that note, the end of Episode 4 is a scarce instance where we are given a physical interaction between Piece-Beatrice and Battler. As Battler stands before the balcony denying her riddles and threatening her, Beatrice doubles down on her stern insistence regarding ‘testing’ him as the Successor, yet engages in innuendo the second he attempts to physically approach her. This presents a noticeable incongruence between Beatrice’s projected mythos and Piece-Beatrice as played by Yasu. She is physically distant, reading as almost shy. She’s stepped down from being an active harasser, instead functioning passively and reactively, ungracefully shifting between goals for the conversation. She is clearly very alienated from an autonomous sense of eroticism, which is why she instead endeavors to lure it out of him (despite her performative disdain). Her drunken sexuality is framed in relation to what she thinks hides ‘within’ Battler; her musings are based on the assumptions regarding <The Head>. She arrogantly asserts that her superficial form is his type, making sure to paint it as a shallow preference she’s pinpointed. (However even this is something she already knows as a fact, erasing any chance of the ‘unpredictable roulette’ she seems to exalt. She has little real confidence in her desirability, and even less in her ability to make him remember his sin)

She continues her attempt at testing his resolve, presenting herself for her ‘new master’ to own her flesh and soul as furniture, victimize her into surrender, and, crucially, remind her of Kinzo. Because that’s what Battler is to her: a reincarnation of Kinzo, carrying his spirit and blood most strongly. And how could he be anything else? Yasu is ‘Beatrice’ incarnate, her predecessors being both swept away and brutally betrayed by Kinzo, and by virtue of Battler’s failed promise, he has done the same. Her conflict arises here: her love for Battler meshing with her repulsion towards Kinzo, and her inability to reconcile them as full people. The same assumptions about Kinzo’s relationship to preceding Beatrices that traumatize her into hatred are simultaneously twisted into a romanticized ideal, and she is continually unable to conceive of her relationships without paralleling these identities and dynamics she’s latched onto. She is an ancestral fatalist, resigning not only autonomy within her own life but puppeting her relatives’ souls as her own. They cannot sleep peacefully as themselves, and neither can an unadulterated Battler. Beatrice indirectly castigates Battler (or her idea of him blurred into Kinzo) through her earlier ramblings on the nature of love-as-lust and the cage of flesh, but later turns around and flirts with the ideas, even going as far as writing her piece to romance Kinzo directly, despite knowing she’s caricaturing her own mother’s harrowing circumstances.

II. Message-Bottle Furniture

Lovelessly—or, perhaps, in a twisted abundance of love—Yasu’s message bottles distort Battler’s entire character into something alien in his six-year absence. This is what it means for new truths to triumph over old truths. Battler, the boy who left his own family due to his indignation over infidelity and who sought the heart in every story, is suddenly a perverted beast. He is a vapid womanizer like his father and an exploiter of status and naïveté like his grandfather. Beyond his will, parodied projections of his profanity are exposed within the message bottles, existing to cement his sin as irredeemable. I believe this is both a semi-conscious self-justification on Yasu’s part (cutting out the moral ambiguity of him simply forgetting) and a way to cope with her own undesirability (by manufacturing a more ‘active’ sin, one that would require Battler to care in the first place).

(…Side Note: I like how the attempted grope of Shannon in EP1 encompasses both this hostile projection and a dance around the desire to be discovered… [Fake breasts]. It adds another layer of selfish assumption to her narrative: he was always a piece. He doesn’t solve the epitaph and he doesn’t remember her because he never had the chance.)

To reiterate, his character is degraded and he is manipulated as a plot device within the message bottles. The narrative hinges on his existence, yet he has little room to move—In fact, his actual presence is hardly necessary. He committed a sin that permanently scarred someone, and he cannot apologize. The victim no longer exists. Battler, as a concept, constitutes a motive for murder. In his absence, he is a myth.

Remind you of anyone else?

III. Kuwatrice-Kinzo / Chick Beatrice-BATTLER

This parallel creates an interesting issue. The line of descendant/reincarnation is blurred and there’s an explicitly incestuous tone, but it quickly becomes more of a foil than a mirror. Kinzo’s idea of reincarnation is pure delusion, Battler rejects it despite it being true; Kinzo is affectionately dominating, Battler is cold; Kinzo rejects his status as a father, Battler grows to accept it.

So, Kinzo’s role is subverted. This should be a good thing, right?

It isn’t. At least, not to the judge of sin.

Chick-Beatrice is not a new creation; this is a glimpse of the Beatrice that first adopted Shannon’s bud of love for Battler six years prior. At this point, ‘Beatrice’ was still individuated. She wasn’t yet mutated by the legend of the witch, the solving of the epitaph, or, arguably, her Battler-desirability complex. This, I assert, is the closest we see to a pure ‘Yasu’ in later years, as the remainder of her true self that resided in Shannon had already been compartmentalized by that point. This is why Dawn is so tragic. Battler has allegedly solved her heart, yet even in his ‘enlightenment’ he is dismissive of her. To the first-time viewer, this rejection is bittersweet: he is waiting for the ‘real’ her to return. Issue is, that is the real her. This is the ‘Shannon’ he knew, before she was twisted into a sadistic amalgam of escapist fantasies dressed up with his desires. By all rights, Chick should align much more with the ‘Shannon’ that loved Battler. The dutiful “blindness of a girl in love,” willing to wait a century to be noticed. But he doesn’t understand that, bemoaning being too late while literally being thrusted another chance to do it right. Of course this chance doesn’t apply to reality, but it never did. He was already facing a postmortem trial for his failure in life, and the end of Meta-Beatrice marks his failure in death.

Battler is fated to only ever have a paternalistic, sympathetic affection towards Chick. Even after learning the truth, it will always be Beatrice that he loves. As much is clear in his Twilight gameboard. He recognizes Yasu as a vessel, but she’s virtually indistinguishable from Piece-Beato, an actor serving as the means for the illusion and providing a sympathetic backstory. Ange was right—there’s no point in having someone love in your place.

Regardless, Battler is himself. If he’d only inherited enough of Kinzo’s blood, maybe he could have loved all ‘iterations’ passionately and indiscriminately. Kinzo fabricated connections out of nothing, he ‘understood’ the reincarnated soul, and he was willing to die before he let her escape. His overbearing, cloying affection had a certainty that I believe Yasu envied, in a way. To be kidnapped and caged forever would be morbidly romantic, to her at least. How tragically ironic that the fatalist who desired to be carried away ended up having to orchestrate the game of love&communication herself…

IV. The Head

Aside from what I’ve mentioned, Yasu has a final, strikingly obvious reason to project Kinzo onto Battler: deflection.

Yasu is a disastrous parallel to Kinzo. They share the disturbing quality of willpower exceeding their body, a flippancy regarding life and death, living in spite of frailty. They are born with and die with nothing. She too dances with the magic of the roulette, staking fate on a miracle. She too ‘met’ Beatrice as an attempt at severing her regrets in life; she too summoned the Golden Witch and received a fortune at the cost of her soul; she too felt blessed and mocked by the myth of Beatrice, after wandering half-dead in a life that was not her own. A life in which she had been suddenly given power as a prank of fate, with the included (mis)fortune of polydactyly. They were each forced to endure Endlessness, awaiting the revival of love that may never come, desperately discarding their dignity for the sake of resurrection. The epitaph chooses both Kinzo’s and Beatrice’s successor. To ‘see’ is to answer the riddle. Just as Kinzo did to ‘Beatrice,’ Yasu has sewn the Ushiromiyas’ souls onto the island with magic, allowing them neither power nor form. Both are vulnerable kings protected by their own castles, refusing to speak the truth. Their massive wealth will be distributed, but the secret tales die with them.

Yasu was afforded unbelievable power by solving the epitaph, but it ended up destroying her with knowledge she did not want. She was given the reasoning that kills love. Upon the horrific discovery that her romantic feelings not only couldn’t be consummated but were incestuous as well, it is almost certain that she would feel the same repulsion towards herself as Kinzo. From that moment, she too was lying about the true nature of her relationships with the ones she loved. She too could not curb her affection or fear in time to tell the truth. There is no path she can make for herself, as she cannot live independently of projected roles. Incapable of individuating herself from Kinzo with self-identity, the logical conclusion is to invert the roles and make herself Beatrice, and more importantly, Battler Kinzo. Then, she must pray for the miracle that someone would come and solve the epitaph, taking back the role she was so haunted by and carrying her to a better life…

[sydneys-adamu]

puzzlepuppy fic masterlist :) 

organized by series! gif by @chefkids

stay with me wherever you go: carmen (emotionally balanced) and sydney (also emotionally balanced) are well equipped for long distance and handle it very very well and very very normally.

not.

travel lightly, but keep me in your back pocket, okay?: sydney gets an offer and carmy almost fumbles his chances. again.

write me like it’s your last time, I’ll read it like it’s my first: carmy and sydney are an ocean apart. naturally they start exchanging love letters.

heal me when I’m hurt, I don’t care how far you are: sydney’s injured while away, all the while wishing her damn boyfriend was still with her at the very least.

tell me my love is enough, yours is etched on my heart all the same: sydney finally comes back home, and carmen makes a choice (for him, a no brainer.)

in another world it’s still you: a montage of sydney and carmen choosing each other again, and again, and again. (AUs in no particular order!)

forever alive, forever forward: sydney needs someone, and carmy is the one who tries to save her. (sheridan road au)

the singing of a body (electric): carmy and sydney are linked, for better and for worse. (soulmate au)

burn down the disco: syd and carmy want each other, even when the world tells them they're not supposed to. (black mirror hang the dj au)

this heart, with all its changing hues: rewind in time, sydney and carmen meet at CIA. it's not an instant friendship. (culinary school au)

wind and water; cloud and fire (meet me where the roads connect): sydney and carmy meet. sydney sees carmy. carmy sees sydney. not particularly in that order. (soulmate au)

the last five years: carmy, sydney, and a love story told in reverse. (divorce au)

the law of threefold return: bored and unassuming, sydney accidentally casts a love spell on her business partner. (love spell au)

a yellow blue countenance: in which carmy's desperate and sydney can't die with a perpetual witness by her side. right?

it starts with a swipe: boy meets girl, girl hates boy, boy is colossally screwed. (dating app au)

if that would save you: sydney meets carmen not knowing what they share. nothing is easy from there. (heart transplant au)

there we two, content: carmy and sydney get a cat. he’s the love of their life. send tweet.

maybe this is just the next step: carmy, sydney and the adventures of cat parenting.

time with you is time well spent: a holiday montage with sydney, carmy, and their cat by their side.

miscellaneous: canon compliant silliness

time nor place, distance avails not: it's not sydney's *first* choice to take her ex to get his wisdom teeth taken out, but so is the irony of life. at least carmy makes it easy (nope).

ceaseless musing (my soul is where you stand): sydney's dad makes an assumption, so she asks her very good friend carmen for a small favor.

a curious token (would the talkers be talking?): sydney and carmy's lover's quarrel through richie's eyes. maybe he helps, maybe he doesn't.

of cities fill’d with the foolish: mom and dad (sydney and carmy) aren't on the same page. at all. naturally this leads to an appointment with a couple's counselor.

an unknown want (the word of the sweetest song): the ever ambitious sydney asks carmy if he can teach her to draw.

concluded, dropt in the night: a night between sydney and carmen turns into several they can't let go. she sleep talks, he sleep walks.

without a friend, a lover’s near: the first february at the bear rolls around and carmy has a question for sydney. that is, if he can get the words out.

as I ebb’d with the ocean of life: two airheads figure out what they are to each other. (post s3 tales to be told)

the long calm, the darkness, the swell: outside ever, carmy and sydney have the conversation they've both been avoiding. one conversation paves the path for more. and more. (post s3 fix it of sorts)

late in the autumn day: time passes. sydney and carmen have shit to figure out. and moves to make.

[jjkamochoso]

Flufftober Day 5: Acorn, Chestnut, Pinecone

@flufftober

Fluff

Noritoshi Kamo x gn!reader

Warnings: none

You closed your eyes and sighed contentedly, leaning back against the large tree. The sun shined high in the afternoon sky, its light filtered through the large gray clouds looming overhead. You shivered when a chilly autumn breeze flew through the air and you crossed your arms across your chest in an attempt for warmth.

“Are you cold?”

“Was I being that obvious about it?” you replied as you opened your eyes. Noritoshi extended a hand to help you up and you gratefully accepted it. He quickly took off his jacket, his concerned eyes never leaving yours.

“Here, please take this. I don’t want you catching a cold,” he said, draping his jacket on your shoulders.

You cozied up into the fabric that smelled just like your chivalrous boyfriend. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he responded, taking your hand in his. “Let’s go for a walk. You’ll stay warmer that way.”

You and Noritoshi walked together, silently appreciating the beauty of fall all around you. The crunch of leaves could be heard with every step you each took, the vibrant yellows and oranges creating a volcanic-like explosion underfoot.

“You know, my mother used to ground these up and use them in breads and other dishes this time of year,” Noritoshi observed thoughtfully, picking a few acorns off of the tree in front of you. He slid them into his pocket and resumed your walk.

“Look! A chestnut tree!” you pointed out a few minutes later, excitedly walking toward it. “My mom used to roast these all the time!”

“Isn’t that more of a Christmas tradition?” he asked.

“It is, but they’re so yummy I used to ask for them as often as I could,” you murmured, the happy memories flooding your brain while you collected the nuts. Continuing on, you kept your eyes trained on the different trees you passed by to see what else was interesting enough to catch your attention. Without hesitation, both you and Noritoshi leaned down at the same time.

“Pinecones!” you exclaimed simultaneously, letting out happy giggles at your childlike wonder.

“The beauty of nature never fails to surprise me,” he mused, inspecting the pinecone he picked up. You did the same, taking note of all the fine details offered in its brown, prickly body.

“Should we take some back with us?”

“Do you eat these too?” he asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

“No,” you laughed, “but they’d make for perfect fall decor.”

“I see.”

His face was tinged pink with embarrassment at his assumption but you paid no mind to it, giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek that caused his blush to deepen a few shades darker.

[mrsnancywheeler]

Imagine Billy meeting muses dad…omg

ughhhhh don't get me started bc obviously on the worst of times, it could not be brought up to him, that makes the relationship too official, makes it feel to real, yet in the good times he somehow let's it happen anyways

you're laying with billy on his bed, smoking a cigarette, enjoying the warmth of his chest as the rays of sunlight shine on you both when his phone rings, and it's so natural for you to answer it.

"hello?" billy has followed you sitting up, rubbing your arm, making sure you're still to his chest.

"you know i tried calling your house phone and had to go through the phone book for this one" and it's shocking that you instantly recognize the voice of your dad

"dad? what's going on? is everything okay?"

he's laughing at your assumptions, "of course, sweetheart, just calling to let you know I'm back in town and wanted you to come over for dinner tonight."

honestly, you'd had no idea he even left, "oh, yeah, I can do that."

"bring that rock singer with you. what's his name again? the one in that band everyone is raving about."

"he'll probably be busy." you say quickly, that's not a conversation you feel like having that could potentially ruin your bliss.

"who?" billy is whispering, eyebrows furrowing, so damn nosey.

"you" you mouth back

your father hums in response, "we're all busy. but the industry keeps going regardless, bring him." he insists.

meanwhile billy is lightly pushing your face away from the phone to look at him, "when am I busy?"

"tonight." you sigh.

he looks around, confused, "no, I'm not."

you roll your eyes, moving the phone down, "I'm getting you out of dinner with my dad, genius."

"why would I want out of dinner with your dad?"

"I don't know!" you do know, "I just, if you want to go by all means, be my guest"

"of course I want to meet your dad, richest damn man in the tri-state area." billy leans back onto the mattress, lighting himself a cigarette.

you can't stop your eyes from rolling as you lift the phone back up again, "sorry about that daddy, yeah, we'll see you tonight."

"okay, button. see you at 7." and with that he's hanging up the phone and you can already hear billy snickering behind you.

"what?" you say, turning around.

"really? daddy?" he laughs and takes a drag off his cigarette.

"fuck you, asshole."

and even though you try to hide it, all day the idea of billy meeting your father eats away at you. because of course he should, you love him, you're devoted to him, and every tabloid has photos of you and every radio plays his songs about you. but at the same time you're so weary. billy won't even define what you are, but he'll gladly meet your father, it's so fucking weird.

and that night there you are sitting around the table with your father and billy fucking dunne while eating some multi course meal a private chef made, so so anxious.

but your father has always been a cool, suave man. he knows the ins and outs of the industry, every pr stunt to pull for every wanted outcome, how to make it big, how to tell if someone is going to flop, every person you could possibly network too. so really, the whole night is mostly him talking.

"this tour is gonna really cement your band, I can tell. when something is going a certain way, you can always tell." he drones on, and you're probably on your fifth glass of champagne, and he's having more whiskey, and you're just as bored as you usually are at home.

"well I sure hope so, sir." billy nods along.

"you know, button, I saw John and Yoko when I was in Manhattan, you should visit, meet Sean"

"have you talked with the Hearst's at all, daddy?"

your dad scoffs, sipping his drink, "no, but patty is going to prison mark my words. at least it's keeping them in the spotlight, no publicity is bad publicity if it keeps you selling."

later that night you're walking back to billy's car and he just starts laughing and let's out a, "wow"

"what?"

"nothing, nothing." he's shaking his head, smirking, "just expected him to be more, serious, and watch your image, keep it clean, that's all."

you're lighting up a cigarette, "he doesn't give a fuck what you're reputation is as long as you've got one, just keep your name in the pages."

when you're getting in the car he pauses for a second and you just look at him expectantly, "you know john lennon and yoko ono?"

"billy, the beatles played at my 14th birthday party, of course I know John and Yoko, I went to their Manhattan housewarming party."

and in future fights billy totally resents all the chances you've had, and that you come from a life of privilege and name dropping, even though he wants that life too.

[jackthepeeper]

English is not my first language, I have a very limited experience in writing

CWs: none

Zenyatta/GN!Reader

Summary: fluffy description of you painting Zenyatta's portrait (you love him) (nothing much really happens, I just wanted to be nice to him)

"Zenyatta," your soft voice cuts the silence with way less certainty than you have in your brush strokes, "are you meditating right now, as I draw you?"

"I find it to be the easiest way to pass time while being completely motionless. So yes... Why do you ask?" You heard the sharp wheeze of his vizors' shutters opening and, even though his stature remained still, you knew he was, in fact, startled awake. Joints locked to hold the pose perfectly, he was the best muse you could've hoped for.

"I just thought that would be very in-character," your eyes scan the thoughtful expression he's permanently frozen in, and you catch yourself reading way too much into the emotionless faceplate, denying the omnic a chance to actually express himself. Humans love their assumptions. "You can stop holding the pose so diligently, you know. It's a portrait, not a still life."

Your words hang heavy in the air, accidentally bearing more meaning than intended. No matter how hopeful Zenyatta might be towards humans, there's still a soft pleasure for him in knowing that to you he's never been a "thing", something that he's been considered one too many times in his life. You care enough for him to always be a person.

The monk imitates a cough, rubbing the scruff of his neck as his joints click free one by one. He stretches, and you recognize him moving in a deliberately animated way to ease the tension. "I suppose I misunderstood the nature of having a portrait painted," his voice is calm, soothing even, "But if I move, wouldn't that interrupt your drawing?"

"I just want you to be yourself," you stumble on your words, trying to pick the right meaning, the snowball of your thoughts growing more and more dangerous the lower your eyes crawl along the shapes of the omnic's body. He's incredibly pleasant to look at, a perfect amalgam of form and function, the golden ratio personified. He looked effortlessly divine in every pose he chose, and drawing him felt like breathing - a need, something you'd die without.

You have to chase the fleeting thought as you note the way he tightens the grip on his knee, a pang of strictness that brings you back to reality. "...Just be yourself. I know you don't usually meditate completely still, do you now?"

He chuckles, bringing his fingers up to cover the place his mouth would occupy. "That is truly unlike of me. If you insist..." You track the orb he effortlessly levitates out of place as it makes its way around his arm, coming to rest a few inches above the pool of his palm. He toys with it, spinning the ornate object in place without touching it as he tilts his head to the side. Looks deeper into the magic he possesses, tries desperately to connect to the energy hidden beyond the interaction that looks so simple under his command.

There's warmth in your chest, a fuzzy feeling that somehow feels akin to the way a ray of sunshine hugs Zenyatta's form with upmost care. The composition of the portrait finally falls into place: your muse has always been so much beyond the expressionless metal flesh that a mere thought of his true glory makes yor heart swell.

[another-supernova-girl]

Change of Plans - Wyatt Walker ("Ida Red" 2021) x Fem Reader

Based on the following request from @hibiskooks : For the (Halloween) prompts: How about babysitting your friend's / neighbor's kids together with Wyatt and going trick or treating with them 🥹 and/or getting a drink with Wyatt afterwards 👀 This is about 3% angst, 97% fluff, and hopefully posted in time to hit before Halloween is over where requester lives 💙🎃💙 Gif is mine.

(( word count : ~ 950 ))

The sound of giggling children coming from inside the the wrong front door of the duplex Wyatt stood outside of was the first indication that something was amiss. His knock at the front door had gone unanswered, but the curtains were only half-drawn to the side of it, and as he peered through the window from outside, his assumption was confirmed. He stood back up straight, perching his folded glasses over the junction of his button-up shirt as the door finally swung open, and his exasperated girlfriend finally appeared.

“Wyatt,” she managed, her eyes briefly squeezing closed at the sound of something toppling to the floor, deeper inside the dwelling, and out of sight. “Remember how we, uh...were gonna hang out tonight, and I was going to pretend to be scared by whatever horror movie you picked out, and...whatever that led to?”

More squealing and crashing from beyond the half-opened door sounded behind the young woman at the threshold, and a somewhat familiar child scampered by. “I do,” Wyatt stated simply, a warm smile forming on his lips as his gaze returned to the somewhat frazzled young adult in front of him. “Change of plans?”

“Uh, yeah,” she sighed, opening the door further to welcome him inside. “My neighbor got called in for a last minute shift, and I was foolish enough to answer the door.”

Wyatt sauntered in, his eyes following the twin six-year-olds as they chased each other with their respective props, a broom and a pitchfork. “So we're on chaperone duty?” he assumed aloud, wandering to the couch and plopping down, knees falling apart as he unwrapped a piece of candy, extracted from an overflowing bowl on the table.

“Well, I am...you don't have to-”

“Nah, I like kids. I haven't got to take little ones around since Darla hit middle school, and decided she was too old for a Halloween escort,” Wyatt mused. “I ain't got a costume, though.”

🦇

The sun was just starting to disappear beyond the horizon as the quartet prepared to set out, the children donning faces covered in green and red grease paint makeup to match their witch and devil costumes. Wyatt had actually managed to surprise his girlfriend when he appeared from inside the bathroom with drawn on red stains dripping from the sides of his mouth, a ridiculous pair of plastic vampire teeth covering his natural, human ones.

“Well, damn...I hadn't exactly planned on a costume for myself,” she mumbled as she inspected his silly, fake fangs.

“Don't suppose you happened to spend any time on the cheer squad in school,” Wyatt mentioned, quiet enough for the children to not notice, as if they could hear anything over their own enthusiastic noises. Candy was the last thing their hyper little bodies needed.

“Um, ew...and no,” she answered, giving his chest a little shove, shaking her head, smiling still.

“Why ew?” he answered, and she rolled her eyes, stepping in the direction of the bathroom to gather up the last of the costume paint before they left, the far taller man at her back following her.

“I don't exactly want you thinking about teenagers when you look at me,” she mumbled, dropping the makeup into a zipper bag.

“Sweetheart, you know it ain't like that,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, the two of them glancing up to the mirror before them. Wyatt, a full head taller than her and then some, placed his chin lightly atop the crown of her head, his gaze traveling over her features, pausing at her neck. “I got an idea,” he whispered as he reached into the bag she had yet to seal, taking out a red paint stick and watching closely in the mirror as he drew a couple of red dots at the side of her throat. “There,” he stated simply.

The young woman before him stared at the red “bite marks”, shaking her head slightly, her gaze rising to the plastic fangs Wyatt bared in their reflections. “I guess low effort's better than no effort.”

🦇

Block by block, hour by hour, the evening finally turned to pitch black night, save for the occasional street lamp, and the front doors illuminated by electric lights indicating they were dispersing goodies to trick-or-treaters. By the time the quartet circled back to the duplex the majority of the group resided in, the tiny feet of the children were so sore and tired that they had given up walking, each being carried by one of the two adults, smears of red and green staining the shirts they wore.

“I really hope this isn't giving you ideas,” the young woman spoke up as she glanced over to her significantly older boyfriend, and the sleeping child, limp in his arms.

Wyatt's lips quirked up in a smile. “Well...maybe a little,” he confessed. “No serious ones, though-”

“Wyatt, we've been dating all of six months, and you've already spent a month of that in jail-”

“I know,” he huffed, quiet for a few moments before he glanced her way, reaching out to brush his fingertips over her shoulder, and her own fingers that clung to the child slumped against her chest. “Puttin' up with me is stress enough, darlin', I know.”

“I didn't say that-”

“Babydoll...I ain't ever gonna ask you to do nothin' you don't wanna do,” he assured, his steps coming to a pause when hers did the same. “Come 'ere,” he murmured, stepping closer, ignoring the protests of the waking children in both their arms as he smeared the fake blood drawn on his face in a tender kiss. “Now, lets get these kiddos home...just 'cause you don't want any of your own, don't mean we can't practice makin' 'em.”

🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇

tagging : @one-of-thewalkingdead , @gissellec1 , @rainingrabbits89-blog , @pinkflowerwombat , @sashimeep , @strangererotica , @the-butchers-baby , @callsign-fangirl , @hibiskooks , @jessy02 , @charliehoennam , @pinastrihaven , @amethystblackkchaos , @bleeding-heartz , @lucy-sky , @gt-rxn

If I forgot anyone, I apologize, and please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED. 💙

[awkwardgtace]

Warm Proposal

What's this? Day 9 Warmth, a little late but still on time. I had like 5 ideas none worked how I wanted so I mused a little. I hope you enjoy

Warm Proposal

It’s been years that I’ve known you. Since your world shattering steps threw me off my feet. Since the moment you saw me and crouched to see me better. You were a force of nature. I thought I'd made you up.

I’d been trapped by that blizzard. Lost and homeless, but you found me. Set me free. Took pity on my poor self and offered me your gloved hand as a place to go. I readily climbed on. Any fate you gave was better than dying in the cold.

You lifted me with two fingers. Dangled me over your hand. I thought you had regretted the kindness. Instead you pulled your glove off with your teeth. Set me on your bare palm. The warmth of your skin was a blessing on my frozen skin. A blessing I didn’t think I deserved, but accepted nonetheless.

The cloth of the glove was a shock when you pulled it over me. I almost asked you to put me down, but your fingers curled over me. Your gentle words offered safety. A place to call home. I cried. No one had been that kind in far too long.

Your steps rocked me. The pulse beneath your skin was a lullaby. I fell asleep quickly. You kept waking me up. I thought it was cruel at first. Once I realized you were keeping me alive, I thanked you. At least I did in my mind. If I never have, thank you for keeping me awake that night.

The warmth of your home bled through your glove. The door slammed behind you after you opened it. I realized I could still die. Some giants were cruel. I thought, at least I’d die warm.

You walked around with me in your hand. Water ran. A kettle screamed. Your clothes scrunched as you walked. Your steps had softened. I assumed your shoes were off.

It felt too soon when your fingers poked into the glove. Pulled me out of the warmth. The air felt cold without your skin. You promised it would be only for a few seconds. I whined.

I thought you lied to me. Until you put me back on your palm. The warmth had lessened. It was better than the air. I curled into your skin. You curled your fingers over me.

Before you, I thought I’d hate being held. It would be painful and cruel. I’d be nearly crushed or made sick. You were gentle and moved slowly. The opposite of my assumptions.

I yelped when you squeezed me a little. It made you laugh. I realized then that I liked your laugh. Your steps started again. It was the perfect thing to push me to sleep. You squeezed me periodically. I felt like a stress toy. With the warmth you offered I didn’t mind.

All this time, I’ve never known why you saved me that night. What made you curl up on your bed with a human whose name you didn’t even know. I’ve had my guesses, but a part of me knows it doesn’t matter. You saved me that night.

It’s been a mystery why you heard my story the next day. I couldn’t understand why you gave me a place to stay as I got back on my feet. The trust you placed in me shattered any part of me that could break it.

You gave me the chance I needed. The one no one else believed I deserved. That kindness did more than the warmth of your body that night. That kindness changed my life.

It’s why I’m here today, with you. I’ve known you for years. I’ve loved you for years. I’ll love you for all the years I have left. With that said, with the memories I’ll never let go of, would you do me the greatest honor of my life? Would you, my love, my darling, my savior, my best friend, my second chance, marry me?

“Yes!”

[universesweetheart]

Your Umbrella (Dazai x Reader)

I love him. My baby, my love, my sunshine is safe and happy in my bed.

Wrote this before watching today's new episode! This feels rushed because I was too excited for the new episode to wait to write it out. Sorry babes, Dazai is my top priority.

Post episode Mars: I giggled and kicked my feet like a little girl! That was some gay shit, but HELLO DAZAI IS ALIVE! My babyboo ahh.

(Also did you guys see the chapter236 JJK leaks?! I shall write for Gojo...I'm coping)

Writing is how I cope.

In which we talk with Dazai while we both overlook the setting sun (see what I did there hehe)

Bye now - Mars ♡

Together on a bench, onlooking the sunset, you and Dazai sat in silent. The rays of the warm sunlight pleasant on your skin and face. The clouds, a pretty colour of orange and yellow. The blue contrast of the sky blended nicely.

“Why are you a detective?” you asked Dazai, you were in a sulky mood today, you felt… drifty, for lack of a better word. It was one of those days where you wake up and question your existence. Why were you you? Why did you want to do this job? Why did your life turn this way?

Dazai shifted his gaze to you, his eyes looking at yours. He let out a silent sigh before giving you a smug smile.

“Don’t I look like I belong here? Plus it’s quite interesting” He looked up at the pretty clouds and then muttered under his breath, “This job comes naturally to me”

“Brushing my teeth comes naturally to me but that’s because I’ve done it a million times” you stated, and you heard him chuckle.

“I suggest you don’t compare your little daily routine to my life darling” he snorted, eyes still on the sunset.

“Do you take pride in your job?”, you continued to probe. Your mind was curious, but your heart wasn’t. Your heart feared triggering him and making him angry, a product of your own troubled past. But you knew Dazai, you wanted to believe you did, and he wouldn’t snap like that. He was too much of an unserious person. But what if?

Dazai gave a small nod, confirming your assumption. He turns to look at you, “it’s because of my job that I’ve been able to accomplish many things” his smile smug, “Impressive, yes? Heh.”

“Many things like?” You seem to not take the hint to not go further but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Handling guns” he jokes and you chuckle, it wasn’t even funny. His voice just made everything sound giddy.

“Have you accomplished happiness?” you tilt your head and look back at him.

Dazai freezes up but quickly basks it with a little laugh and turns backed to face the sun. A desperate attempt to avoid your eyes. “Do I look unhappy?” he muses, his voice teasing.

“I’d rather not judge a book by its cover. You tell me.”

Dazai laughs, “What a curious thing you are, asking me such a thing” he smiles, it’s not pretty you think.

“Should I be irritated by your little question or find it funny how straightforward you are” He asks you with a little smirk. When you don’t answer and just stare at him, he adds “Happiness had abandoned me, I’ll say, a very long time ago.”

Abandonment? Was this the closest Dazai will ever allow you to be? Desperate and lovesick, you grabble at any piece of crumbs he gives. It’s pathetic. You attempt to keep your cool, but you’re sure he knows how you really feel. He seems to always know everything.

“Doesn’t that contradict the philosophy ‘Happiness is found inside of us’?”

Dazai glances at you for a moment, then back to the sun, he let out a small hum of interest. You really had a way of surprising him, not that he’d ever let you know that.

“I suppose so, however the happiness I’m searching for cannot be reached. I assure you that.”

You stole a glance at his face, he seems to be reminiscing on something. Or maybe that was just another façade to lead you astray from his true feelings.

“Why not?”

With a bit of hesitation, he smiles, eyes bright. A change that catches you off guard, Dazai shifts closer to you. The edge of his trench coat brushing up against your pants. He lowers his voice several octaves, almost in a forbidden whisper, “Because I am searching for one thing that cannot be obtained.”

Your eyebrows shot up, “And what’s that? Dinosaurs?”, a futile attempt to lighten up the conversation. You wanted so badly a shred of him, the real him, but now that you think you’re getting it, you’re not sure. You’re running away.

Dazai laughs amused by your response, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he closes them, letting the laughter overtake him. “Good observation, but no” he clicks his tongue playfully, “To put it simply. I am searching for one thing to fill…” he sighs out and shakes his head a little.

“Ah” he giggles, “I’m not sure what I’m searching for” he deflects. He doesn’t know if he should share, if he could bare to say it out loud. Because to say it out loud would mean to admit it. To acknowledge it.

Bullshit. You knew it was a lie. He was a liar. Damn your heart for falling for him.

Looks at him, “It’s okay” you said with a sigh, “I’m searching for myself in a way,” you decided to turn the conversation on you to avoid going to go down the road of awkwardness.

“The thing…I’m searching for doesn’t exist, love doesn’t exist.” He sounded like he was in pain. Like it pained him to say that. To tell you that. You find yourself feeling guilty, did you pressure him?

“Love isn’t limited, so again, why?” you continue.

Once again for the multiple time, Dazai laughs “Curious little thing indeed” he turns to look at you, “Think you have a chance, Bella?”

You find your face heating up and keeps your eye on the sun to avoid his gaze.

“Do you think you could meet my standards? They’re quite high” he teases and once again you think he’s deflecting. A big distraction to avert your eyes from peering at him.

He holds his head up high, his gaze on you unwavering. You aren’t looking at him, but the intensity of his eyes pins you to this old bench.

“Are they high to protect your heart?” you blurt you before you even knew what you were saying. “Sorry!” you instantly apologize.

Dazai was surprised by your statement, yes that was exactly what it was. He stayed silent for a moment, contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” he sighs, shall I take a chance? He questions himself, a battle between his brain. “I have set out expectations that I’m even unsure about myself.” He spoke and then stayed silent. He waited for your next words. His heart was pounding yet his face had a smug smile.

“Expectations are like umbrellas, they stop rain and sun from reaching us” you state, and then laughs.

“Indeed, but what’s your point?”

“Rain is like pain, yes your umbrella, your walls, protect you from it” you cross a leg over the next, eyes drinking in the sunlight. “But you miss out on the warm sun too.”

Dazai ponders to himself for a moment. It appears you’ve managed to grasp a greater sense of him. Did he underestimate you? No, he wouldn’t be so careless. “Quite the profound analogy you have there, it’s fascinating.” He smiles at you, “How did you come to this conclusion, might I ask?”

“You know, I like sun especially in the mornings and evenings, it’s like a warm hug” you fiddle with your shirt, “but I also like rain, though sometimes storms are too harsh for my umbrella.”

Dazai observed you for a while, the silence between you two comfortable. He noticed the light pink tinting your cheeks and the way you avoided his eyes. You had intrigued him, maybe he truly had a soft spot for you.

The silence was not comfortable for you, did you overstep? Did he find your analogy dumb? Your mouth acted on its own, “I always use my umbrella” you stated, “But one harsh storm broke it, and I was drenched with a skeleton of an umbrella” your eyes have this faraway look, he notes.

“And then the sun hit me and I wasn’t ready and I was scared” you breathe out, closing your eyes. Dazai thinks the sight is better than the setting sun, “But it dried up my wet clothes and wet skin and wet hair. It felt warm and…yellow” you laugh softly, “yellow is such a beautiful colour, yes?”

He hums, “Are you saying that you decided to get rid of your protection and walk and bask in the sunlight that you so adore” his voice is light and teasing. His eyes laser focused on you as if you’d burst open and come up with a new revelation.

“Yes, sun being metaphor for love. Rain for pain, umbrella for protective walls and wet for I guess, depression?” you break down your words, trying to make him understand. He already understands, he just loves your voice so much.

“To translate from my understanding, you’re saying you choose love regardless of the costs?” you nod.

“You fascinate me,” he admits boldly, “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Someone in mind?”

“For love, the person you choose will be a caliber of that, do you?” He shifts his eyes to the clouds. A blissful sight.

“When I say sun is love I don’t speak of lovers. I would say I’m my own sun. A lover would be a mirror, reflecting to me how bright my own sun shines.” Your lips presses together into a thin line.

“A mirror, I see” he chuckles. “Oh, you curious little thing” he smiles.

“Then can we test this?”

“Test what?”

“Let go of your umbrella and let me be your mirror,” he takes a hold of your hand, “Belladonna,”

“Osamu”

His heart stops when you whisper his given name. It sounded so beautiful falling from your lips. “Say it again” he leans in and connects your lips together.

[creatingblackcharacters]

hi! thanks so much for your hard work and effort. your resources have rly proved invaluable! if I may I'd like to ask a quick question about a specific Black character I've been developing.

her name is Kira, and she's a 13yo living in a large artist's loft/studio w her older sister, who is a well-known sculptor. (her mom and dad were test pilots who were lost in space, part of the narrative is her solving the mystery of what exactly happened.) I also understand that absent parents are a common trope and want to make it clear that their disappearance is due to foul play from a futuristic space exploration organization, and that they have been doing their best to make their way back to their daughters amidst weird aliens, a reunion that will take place in the middle of the story.

A lot of her story is about finding her own muse and her own unique voice thru nontraditional art: she begins the story only assembling premade models (like trains, planes, Gundam models etc) and eventually, through maturing and gaining a better understanding of her family and herself, begins combining many different parts of various models with her keen understanding thanks to putting them together so often.

my question is this:

I would love for Kira's hair to help express this change, especially with its importance and the thematic reiteration of her finding her own style/expression. At the beginning, I was thinking it could start in simpler cornrows, as a protective hairstyle could show how she's protecting herself by keeping her creativity to herself. (This is in contrast to her sister's flashy, colorful, fun braids!)

Currently, I'm thinking she ends up with a more versatile natural haircut that allows for change depending on how she wants to appear.

I am nonblack, and I want to be as respectful as possible while creating a multilayered character, and while I have done some research, I would really appreciate your perspective on if her hairstyle changing like this would be a respectful option to show her growth, as I don't want to make assumptions or be accidentally insensitive especially considering the importance of hair in the Black community.

Thanks again for all you do, I really appreciate your taking the time to read this! (And if you have any other ideas or comments ,I would love to hear. She is a beloved OC and I am always working to improve her character! :)

She sounds good to me so far 👍🏾 best of luck with your story and character!

[xxlordalexanderxx]

💘Alexander's relationship guidelines 💘

I do believe I've never bothered to make a set of rules and how I typically go about with ships when they do happen, so here we go. I will be attaching this to Alexander's official shipping page here If any of my current partners need to discuss matters with me regarding our ship, please reach out. Communication regarding these things is important to me.

⚠️Age Requirement: Both mun and muse must be 21+ years or older to ship with Alexander. ⚠️Pronouns and Identity: Alexander uses he/him pronouns. He is a cisgender male and pansexual and AMAB.

🧪Chemistry-Based Ships: All ships with Alexander must develop organically through chemistry, similar to real relationships. Time in these ships may pass faster than usual. Pre-established ships are not preferred.

💕Multi-Ship Organization: Alexander is a multi-ship character, and I organize them into separate verses, including open ones.

🗣️Essential Communication: Open communication is crucial from the beginning when engaging in a new ship. We must establish whether the ship is open or closed and plan accordingly.

🫶Preference for Closed Ships: While I prefer closed ships, I am open to the idea of open ships as well. Just like in a real relationship, there should be healthy communication about the nature of the ship. Don’t make assumptions based on Alexander's ships with other players. Instead, reach out, ask questions, and communicate clearly.

🤝Boundary Respect: If I decide that I do not want Alexander involved in something, it is imperative to respect my boundaries. If not, I will remove Alexander from the situation entirely. Remember, Alexander is my muse.

💔No Ployships/Throuples/Toxic Ships: I do not entertain ployships, throuples, or toxic ships due to previous negative experiences. Alexander and I do not engage in toxic relationships at all. While, I might reconsider ployships and throuples in the future, they are a solid no for now. And absolutely no incest.

🤗Crack-Ships: I am not serious about crack-ships. If I entertain them, they are purely satirical and will not be cataloged on my shipping page.

🙏Platonic Ships: Platonic ships with Alexander are always welcome.

💍Marriage and Family: Marriage and starting a family with Alexander is a slow burn process that depends on chemistry and careful planning and my mood for it. Alexander is using a magical equivalent of birth control by default to avoid unplanned children. Your muse cannot get pregnant if my muse is negating that on his end. I know this is all fantasy but at some point things need to make some sense.

🍼Co-Planning Children: If our characters have children, it is important for both muns to plan the child together, including aspects such as gender, name, and looks. A 50/50 approach is fair. While it's possible to make it to this stage with Alex I'm very very more than likely not down to entertain them for personal reasons.

🔞Smut: Lastly, smut with Alexander is 100% fine with his partners when and if it ever comes to pass. He is also open to situational encounters with none partners as well but it depends and he has to at least know your character on some level. He will not always say yes either, respect that. Explicit ventures are entertained here on his sin blog.

If anyone has any questions or need additional clarification feel free to reach out and I will explain as best as I can!⭐

[poibynt]

Just finished HTTYD book 4 (I am relistening to the series completely out of order why not) & the Hysterics, specifically Norbert, clock Hiccup and Fishlegs as Hooligans pretty damn fast. This might just be assumption, seeing as Hooligans are the most likely people to be on the Island of Vilany since it neighbours Berk but that's not a total given. Not to fall into my forever habit of fleshing out and complicating fantasy settings to be more realistic but is there a possibility that different viking tribes have distinctive clothing which marks who they are, or maybe that they speak different dialects? Its been a while but I remember something about there being like 70 something words for rain 'in the Berk language' not Norse, in the first book (I think I could be wrong). Also, in 8 Hiccup says that Ugg runes are hard to read, thus meaning the Ugglythugs have a mildly different writing system to Hooligans (or...shit handwriting (carvewriting?) but also so does literally everyone in this series so). They have to all be speaking Norse since there's never any issues with communication throughout the series. Hiccup is shown to be a bit of a polyglot but other characters never seem to struggle to understand each other. However, it would make sense if different tribes have drifted away from the standard Norse that was likely spoken during the OG Wilderwest days enough to have distinctive accents or maybe mild dialects (like, tribes closer together who interact way more have kept in lingiustic lockstep so the Hooligans and Bogburglers have very similar vocab but just some different accents whereas the Hooligans and the Beserks would have less in common & their Norse would sound more dialectical to eachother) OR maybe the tribes have existed as distinct groups since before the Wilderwest unification/were created and maintained during that time period and to maintain a cohesive nation (what....the fuck did the OG Wilderwest look like actually? Like politically, how did it operate? That is a whole other post but I'm assuming there was some element of centralisation and unification seeing as how it's talked about in the series) standardised Norse grew in popularity but the original languages of the tribes still influenced speakers and fused with the standard Norse. Which would make sense with the 70+ Hooligan words for rain, since historically it seems like native names for flora, fauna and the natural world stick around since imposed or adopted languages often don't have replacement words for these things or don't need to rename all the birds or whatever. Idk, maybe Hooligans have really distinctive helmets! People who know more about linguistics than me feel free to muse, ponder and or contradict me.

[annaphoenix1994]

British Teddy

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

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Price entered Simon and Kiera's home with a warm smile, oblivious to their flushed tone of sex as Simon greeted him with a handshake, seeing a large gift bag in Price's free hand. "When'd you get a dog, mate?"

"That was Kiera's doing," He chuckled, glancing down to see Kimber sitting at the captain's feet. "She got a dog and a cat during the months I was gone." 

"She's adorable," Price chuckled, having no assumption that a dog had ever been in their house, not one bit surprised that their house was as clean as a whistle with their military habits and Kiera's natural housekeeping habits. He soon became comfortable with the warm and inviting smell of apple cider filling his senses. "How are the kids?" 

"Sleeping soundly, thankfully." Simon huffed. 

"I'd say they didn't like their check-up?" 

"No. It broke my heart more than it hurt them," He sighed. "Evie was restless for a few hours after we got home, but she finally went to sleep about an hour or so ago." 

"I hate to hear that," Price shook his head. "Good visit aside from their shots, eh?"

"Grew a couple of inches. Too fast for my liking, but I can't do anything about it."  

"Before you know it, they'll be running around the house driving you mad." 

"I doubt they will drive me mad, but in a way, I look forward to it - teaching Jacob how to hunt, taking Evie on her first ride on a horse, taking them on vacations..." 

Price smiled, setting the gift bag on the nearby table, "You? Taking a vacation? I'll believe that when I see it, mate." 

"Kiera was talking about a beach in the future, excited about how they'd react to sand and water," He mused. "Although I'm nervous at the thought as I've never been to a beach to relax." 

"That could be your honeymoon spot." He poked. 

"Maybe, but as much as I'd like to take the kids with me, I'd want to take her somewhere special where we can enjoy our time together after being married. I was thinking Spain or Italy." 

"Extravagant, Simon," Price chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Definitely didn't expect that." 

"I don't want to be cliche and take her to Florida or California for a honeymoon," Simon shrugged. "I want to take her somewhere we've never been before that wasn't a deployment." 

"I understand. I took Alice to the Bahamas for our honeymoon." 

"Didn't expect that," Simon mocked, arching his brow. "Figured you would've taken her to Brazil so you can shop for expensive cigars." 

Price laughed, "Believe me, it was on my list. Didn't even pick up a cigar the entire time we were there." 

"I call rubbish on that, old man," Simon chuckled. "There's no way you didn't pick up a cigar your entire trip." 

"She said it leaves a weird taste in my beard. Couldn't risk fucking up my honeymoon without any festivities with a new wife. The cigar can wait."  

"Bloody hell, Price," Simon shook his head. "I could've gone the rest of my life without hearing that." 

Price nodded, arching his brow, "Just like I could've gone the rest of my life without hearing you two when I stood outside at the front door. I just got out of the shower and she's feeding Jacob my arse." 

He chuckled as he watched Simon's face flush and his gaze immediately darting to the floor. He gulped, then shrugged, "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"How stupid do you think I am?" 

"I don't think you're stupid at all." 

"Although I must say I'm quite surprised." 

"About what?" 

"When I came up to the front door, I heard you more than her," He poked, chuckling at Simon's embarrassment. "Don't worry mate. I'll never tell."

Price knew Simon was trying to cover up his embarrassment, chuckling at how he kept his gaze on the floor and immediately fidgeting with his fingers by pressing his thumb against his ring finger. "Why were you listening, old man?" 

"It wasn't by choice," He scoffed. "I stood at the front door and called after a few seconds. At least you two are comfortable given the circumstances." 

"I worry about it every day," Simon admitted, his tone low as he knew Kiera was still in their bedroom freshening up and ridding any evidence of lust before she appeared before Price. "I'm sometimes afraid to come up behind her and just hold her in fear of reminding her of that day. After I got back, we were distant romantically for a while, but I knew why and just wanted to be there when she'd cry or just need me - I got anxious about it." 

"I'm sorry, mate," Price nodded. "I'm sure it's been hard for the both of you-"

"-Especially her, but what constantly worries me is that she goes on like nothing happened. She still finds a way to smile and laugh. I can't wrap my head around that." 

"People handle trauma differently." 

"I know, but it makes its presence at night in her sleep." 

"Has she tried beta blockers?" 

Simon shrugged, "No."

"You should talk to her about it. Have you been having your terrors still?" 

"Not recently, but I ignore mine when I do have them." 

"I think you both should consider it."

"I'll mention it to her. Could they be addictive?" 

Price knew Simon had only asked this due to his paranoia of taking medication only to abuse it due to his substance abuse in his past, proud of Simon for being clean for years, but also knowing that it was also very easy to get back to in the wrong circumstances. "No, but they're also used for anxiety. I think they'll benefit you with your paranoia of large crowds and episodes you've had." 

He huffed, knowing Price was right about his concern. Simon hadn't experienced a post-traumatic stress episode in about a week, an episode being triggered by a stressful situation at his job that involved having to shoot down a teenager who was conducting a bank robbery in the middle of the night as well as threatening to disperse homemade bombs. He hadn't talked to Kiera about his experience as he didn't want to not only remind himself, but to keep her worry about him and his line of work at a minimum. "I'll think about it." 

"Will you?" Price arched his brow, subconsciously knowing that Simon was agreeing with him just to halt his conversation about it, knowing that Simon would not in fact think about it.

Simon nodded slowly after excusing his reply when he noticed Kiera entering the room, a soft and greeting smile on her face as Price stood to hug her, "Nice to see you, love." 

"You too, John," She smiled. "I'm sorry I don't have dinner ready yet-"

Price chuckled, knowing she'd give an excuse in hopes that he had no suspicion about the intimate encounter he had heard, Price chuckling softly as he glanced at Simon, arching his brow playfully as if he were saying: "You two can make excuses all you want, but I still won't say anything. Rascals." 

"Don't worry. Gives Simon and I some time to talk."

She nodded, "Okay. The kids are sleeping and I'm making steak tips. Is that alright or would you rather a regular steak?" 

Both Price and Simon knew that Kiera was babbling - babbling because she subconsciously knew that Price knew about their intimate affair when he had called to announce his arrival and was afraid that he would mention something about it.

But he didn't. 

And he never would. 

"Just fine with me, love." Price chuckled, sitting back in his chair and crossing his right ankle over his left knee. 

Kiera nodded, washing her hands at the sink before restarting the process of cooking dinner that was brought to a halt over an hour prior. 

"How are you liking your job?" Price asked Simon, changing the subject to give Simon the chance to hide his embarrassment from being confronted about his intimate encounter again.

"It pays the bills," Simon huffed. "I do enjoy it, though. Some days are better than others, but it's part of it I guess." 

"I understand. I feel it's a very fitting job for you. What's Soap doing now since he moved?" 

"He works on the ranch as a wrangler."

"That's surprising." 

Simon chuckled, "Yeah, I know, but I think it's how he can be close to Teeter throughout the day."

"Probably." 

"I brought something for your two little ones to grow up with," Price grinned, reaching for the gift bag that sat on the table and handing it to Simon. "All the way from London."

"What is it?" 

"It wouldn't be a gift if I told you, you bloke. Open it." 

Simon scoffed playfully, setting the bag in his lap before he opened it slowly, pulling out two stuffed teddy bears - each embroidered with a British flag on their left leg and personalized for Evie and Jacob. 

Evie's was a tan bear with a pink bow on its right ear while a pink sink dress decorated its body:

Jacob's was a tan bear dressed with a red plaid set of pajamas with an embroidered British flag on the breast pocket of the pajama shirt:

"Oh, wow. They're going to love them. Thank you, Price." 

"You're welcome, Simon. Gaz helped me pick them out," He admitted with a chuckle. "I was just going to get them a basic bear that way they wouldn't fight over them when they got older, but Gaz insisted that personalizing them would be better so they knew which one was theirs." 

Simon nodded, chuckling at Price's confession, "They're great. I already know that Evie will stare daggers at Jacob if he tries to take her bear." 

"Of course, she has your eyes. I'm sure she'll learn the death stare rather quickly." 

"Probably," Simon chuckled, looking towards Kiera in the kitchen. "Love?" 

"Yeah?" She chimed, her back turned to them as she washed potatoes in the sink.

"Come look at the gift Price brought." 

"Just a second!" 

Within a few moments, Kiera walked into the dining room with a genuine smile on her face, a sparkle appearing in her eye once her gaze fell on the stuffed bears - a sparkle that Simon loved so much about her. 

One of the many things he loved about her. 

"These are so beautiful! Thank you!"

"You're welcome, sweetheart." 

"Are these from Build-A-Bear?" 

"They are," Price grinned. "Squeeze its paw." 

She smiled, reaching across Simon's lap to squeeze one of the bear's paws:

"Hello, little one. Keep being good for your mum and dad. Sending much love, Uncle Price."

[alurlssrinbled]

@accultant spoke: ✿ ?

⚔︎ ▍ Pre-Established Relationship Meme ▍ ♪

(I'm just gonna answer these with the assumption that Neth ISN'T in a relationship with Puck and is just good friends with him....except for the familial section. let neth be their sister-in-law uwu~)

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ Iago ] is the good influence  /  [ Iago ] is the bad influence (maybe they’re not influencing Neth in any way but…Iago not in the best place atm…)  /  [ Faenethra ] is the good influence (I’d hope so at least XDD)  /  [ Faenethra ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other (:handshake: over “would do ANYTHING for my sibling” *nod nod*)

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers   /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward (yeah.)  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other 

FAMILIAL.     (you know. In the event of siblings-in-law XDD) siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse (i don't know who would give older sibling vibes to who but I'm down for either XDD Neth is naturally protective tho~)  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other (siblings-in-law that probably started wary of each other (at least from Neth's perspective) at first but then became good friends~)

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other (neth is just antagonistic at first XDD Though she's gotten Character Development by Act 2 so....maybe she starts nicer......?)