#my beloved sunbeam

[willowalmondstar]

“It’s not awkward for you to live there?”

At the end of the day, it was a free house, but you did not think Alex would accept that answer gracefully. She was right, after all, even if awkward did not fully capture it. Elizabeth helped raise Alex, whereas the druid was just a wise friend to you. The hours you spent together were in pursuit of knowledge and magic to save the world; it slipped your mind to ask her favorite color, or how she grew up. Those were details you learned after her end. (She liked green, and was shy as a child.)

It did not feel right to share the real answer with Alex; that sometimes you stared at the walls for hours, because you still had not redecorated, and never intended to, because she had filled every space on her walls with photos and trinkets. Everyone still referred to it as Elizabeth’s house, not yours, and you thought of it the same way. The house was spacious for one person, but you barely spent time in it. You were only there to sleep, when Linda had enough research to do that she did not let you stay over, or when Avalon was in one of his moods and locked you out for the night, or when even Ydris found you too boring or on-edge to play with. 

Last week, Anne had asked you how long you had been on Jorvik, and was unsettled by how you stared at her blankly, unable to answer. A summer. It was only ever supposed to be a summer. It was funny, really, that when she described how time felt on Pandoria, you could almost relate—another thing you would never admit to.

After her release, you and Anne spent a lot of time together. As expected of two young adult girls, you were often found chatting over coffee at the Firgrove cafe, or giggling over hair choices in the Goldenleaf salon. You both raised Concorde, though some days Anne had to take a break and remind herself that she really was retraining her horse as a foal, and this was not another Pandoric time-loop nightmare. In the beginning, Concorde stared at you, and reminded you that Elizabeth bonded with another incarnation of him. You told him you were sorry. He refused to listen to you for the rest of the day.

Anne once confided in you that she felt like the odd woman out in the Soul Riders, and after you understood her better, you told her the same. It was the first secret you let off your chest. There were only supposed to be four Soul Riders, but there you were—a poor replacement for Anne when you first started training, and now no longer a stand-in at all, but something else undefined. The druids did not know what to do with you. They kept you close, in Elizabeth’s house, trained you at the northern paddock, and gave you the missions any one of them could have handled in an afternoon. Alex, Lisa, and Linda treated Anne like she had never left, and you like you had always been part of them. Neither you nor Anne felt comfortable with it, but you could not blame them. They did not even notice they were doing it, and was that not beautiful? They saw the five of you as unbroken sisters, like you were invariably meant to end up this way. Neither you nor Anne would shatter that image. They drew strength from it, and with the ever-looming Garnok threat, with shadows around every corner, every bit of magic you could sap from one another was priceless.

Living in Elizabeth’s old house was a blessing. The druids did not exactly pay a wage for Soul Riding, but they did not make you pay rent to live in a poor dead woman’s house on their homeland, either. You could pay for food by helping out Farah, and anything extra you did around the island helped buy research books for Linda or even some new guitar strings for Lisa.

You did not need Elizabeth’s ghost to keep you company. Your horse was everything you needed, in the end, and you had your Soul Sisters to fill in the gaps. The druids supported you, and the grass in Jorvik grew only to carry your feet. Surely, any doubts you felt were spurred on by Garnok alone, Aideen curse him.

Yet, everything kept her alive. Concorde did not speak of it, but his eyes lingered on things that bled with her memory. The Soul Riders knew that when Alex could not be found anywhere else, she would be by Elizabeth’s grave in Doyle’s Abbey; often with Maya, usually practicing her lightning magic. She asserted that her mentor’s criticisms always made her better. The roses bloomed with the scent of her perfume. Your neighbor crocheted on a bench in Valedale using the yarn you gave them from Elizabeth’s extensive collection. The house creaked with the memory of her footsteps. You asked Fripp, hesitantly, if her spirit could still be around; you had to free lost souls often enough that it was a valid concern. He told you not to worry, but when you next came to her cabin, it smelled strangely of herbs and your fingers tensed with the presence of ancient magic. He did not bring it up again.

“No, it’s not awkward. I couldn’t imagine a stranger living in her home; could you?”

Alex smiled at that. “You’re right. I’m glad it’s you. You keep her alive.”

And that was the best you could’ve asked for, all things considered.

[themelodyofspring]

JOMP Book Photo Challenge

July 11, 2023 - Non-binary Character

[dawn-sunlight]

Pride month art from 2023

[sundryd]

can i be a hater for a sec. i despise those polls with the wheel. i hate the wheel site so much i hate the noise the mute button never works it interrupts my music its SO slow and tedious just use a randomizer where you click a button the wheel is so fucking stupid. but also WHY IS THIS A POLL. it makes NO sense to make these things polls. because theyll expire in 7 days or whatever, and nobody else will be able to participate, but the post will still be passed around forever w people tagging their answers/results. because the poll part never mattered. just make it a tag game. make it a regular fucking post. enough with the polls that arent actually communicating any information & have the vaguest possible answers when all the interesting stuff is literally just in the tags. Enough

[arb0k]

sweater weather <3

[furballfaggot]

subneam

[luc1ferian]

IM SO ONCRSDIBLY LATE TO THIS BUT HTTJB IS ON SPOTIFY FINALLY YAYY

NOT ONLY IS IT CONFIRMED BY NEIL TO BE OFFICIAL BUT I THINK WE'RE ALSO GETTING DAMN SKIPPY SOON??

FUCK UEAH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR EVERYTHING TO FALL INTO PLACE /ref

[even-a-hero-needs-some-hope]

@curtmega

A portrait of Sir John Herschel because I‘m normal about Pulp Musicals

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ʟᴇɢᴏ ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀꜱ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘰

fluff, mutual pining (subtle), best friends to something almost, silly teenagers in love, nerd!matt supremacy, legos and longing, inner child healing via plastic bricks, slow burn, quiet affection, he's building her flowers (that's it that's the tag), matt is down so bad, he hopes she never finds his journal, not quite a love confession

inspired by my dear dear friend @snoopychris's nerd!matt au. my beloved, my first au love, may he forever rest in peace.

word count - 600ish

By the time she gets to Matt’s place, he already has the box open, the bags spread out on the floor in neat piles like he’s been waiting for her. Which—he has.

“You’re late,” he says, barely glancing up from the instruction booklet. Not annoyed. Just... saying it.

She shrugs off her backpack and sits beside him, cross-legged, knees bumping gently. “Sorry. I saw your neighbour’s cat and had to pet him.”

“It’s okay,” he says, chuckling slightly.

He hands her bag two without asking. She always does the even numbers.

The build is a LEGO flower bouquet this time… one of the pretty, intricate ones with tiny petals and layered colors that take longer than you’d think. Wildflowers. They both like those kinds. Calm. Delicate. They feel like something secret and special, just for them.

“I think this one’s my favorite,” she says after a quiet minute, holding up a petal piece in a pale, rosy pink. “It looks like candy.”

Matt glances at it, then at her. “You say that every time.”

“Because they do look like candy.”

He hides a smile behind his hand and keeps building.

They both fall into rhythm. She sorts the pieces, handing them to him carefully. He clicks them together, slowly, gently, like he’s afraid of doing it wrong. Neither of them talk much, but it’s not awkward. It never is. The silence between them is always soft. Safe. Something kind.

“I like this one too,” he says after a while, holding up a stem. “It’s a daisy, I think.”

“Like the ones from your backyard?”

He nods. She remembers.

She smiles a little, then shifts so her shoulder brushes his just barely. He doesn’t pull away.

The room smells like dust and pumpkin from the candle his mom left burning downstairs. The music’s playing low on his speaker—Clairo again, like always—and the LEGO petals are starting to stack up in a little pile between them, soft pinks and yellows and greens.

“You’re better at the tiny parts,” Matt says eventually. “I mess them up.”

“No, you don’t.”

He shrugs, but doesn’t argue. Just lets her take the next one and press it in place, her head bent close to his, her breath soft near his cheek.

When the bouquet is almost finished, she sits back on her hands and looks at it like it’s something alive.

“It’s really pretty.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, but he’s not looking at the flowers. He’s looking at her.

She blinks up at him. “Hm?”

Matt looks away fast, down at the build. “Nothing. Just, it turned out nice.”

She nods, smiling softly. “It always does when we do it together.”

That makes him freeze for just a second. Like she’s said something heavier than she realises. She doesn’t notice—she’s already unwrapping the last bag, careful not to tear it too much.

Matt watches his best friend, his heart slow and full and aching in a way he hasn’t figured out how to name yet.

He thinks about how this is the third, or maybe the fourth, time she’s come over to build with him this month. No one else really does that. Not like this. Not without needing to fill the space with noise or jokes or something bigger.

Just her. Just this.

She falls asleep not long after… on his floor, curled under one of his old hoodies like a cat in a sunbeam, while he finishes the last little flower and tucks it into the vase without waking her.

He thinks about changing the music. Thinks about how he’s spending almost all his money on new lego sets just to have an excuse to invite her over. Thinks about which one to buy next.

He places the bouquet on his desk, carefully so as not to break them so that she can take them home with her. Lego flowers never die after all.

He hopes she keeps them somewhere she can see.

thank you to rose for the dividers <33 @bernardsbendystraws

a/n: yes very much please yes yes yes! also i can never decide whether to write fics in third or second person like AAAAHHH SDHBFSJ

taglist: @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturns-mermaid @shortnsweetsturnz  @cowboylikenat @camzeecorner @courta13 @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @shadowthesim237 @emely9274 @sturnberries @bluestriips @lovergirl4gracieabrams @chrisslut04 @tezzzzzzzz @strnilolover @vanteguccir @chrislova @riasturns @sturnsblogs @darksturnz @httpssturns @mi-co-uk @ribbonlovergirl @lovesturni0l0s @grace-sturnz

till next time!!!! much love and take care

[midnight-mourning]

Roses are Red

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 2💘💘

I was feeling, something, when I wrote this, and by that i mean lots of flirting and such ajsldkfjklsjdf

Prompt: Gardeners Sun and Moon preparing a special bunch of roses for their dear Y/N and hiding an engagement ring in a single special rose. Y/N happily saying yes and giving the boys a smooch!

Word Count: 2403

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

You stand by the kitchen door, hand on your hip and brow raised. 

"This again?" You ask the moon-themed bot in front of you, as he leans one elbow on the counter. Awkwardly, mind you, with his height. 

He shrugs, despite very clearly blocking the door to outside. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Sweet."

You cross your arms, nodding to behind him. "Okay, then may I get past you to go outside?"

"Why bother?" He tsks. "Dreadful weather today, wouldn't you rather stay inside?"

You wrinkle your nose. "No. I think it's a lovely morning actually, based on how sunny it is, and the nice breeze coming in through the window. I'd like to read my book on the swing." 

You'd gotten up extra early for exactly this reason. You were hoping if you woke up just a bit sooner, you could sneak out and enjoy the garden as you'd so been hoping to. It was a bit frustrating that you had to put it that way. 'Sneaking out' of your own home. But that's what it had come to at this point. 

Loved them as you did, but your gardeners had been exceedingly... difficult over the course of the last month or so. Despite the spring months finally being upon you, the prime time to truly enjoy the garden and appreciate their hard work, you'd been banned from the space entirely. 

Keep in mind, they were always bashful when it came to their work, and would sometimes not let you see their handiwork in the early days of spring since it wasn't 'complete' until all the flowers bloomed. This was different however, as you hadn't been barred from seeing the castle gardens just mere yards from your residence, nor the plants being tended to in the greenhouse.

No, it was specifically what they were working on in your garden—the walls far too high for you to peek over, unfortunately—where the source of your woes lied. Apparently. They were being incredibly secretive about the whole affair, going so far as to deny outright that you were banned from your own space.

Or in this case, making excuses. 

"Ah, but the weather could change at any time. Surely you'd rather not take the risk and spend your time doing something else?"

You lean back on the kitchen counter. "Like?"

"Reading your book inside, of course." Moon nods, straightening and walking over to you. "Even better, you can read it to me, out on the parlor couch, perhaps. I could hold you, or better yet, you could hold me. I've a terrible crink in my neck that only resting in your lap can resolve I fear. What do you say?"

You tilt your chin up as he now stands in front of you, towering over you even when he sets his hands on the counter on either side of you. Not so subtly blocking you in. 

You hum. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Sun can handle himself for a bit, and really I think I've more than earned a morning's rest." He leans down so your faces are only a few inches apart. "You wouldn't deny your poor Beloved a break, Star. Right?"

You huff, though the temptation to take him up on his offer—and more—was at an all time high. "Beloved is a bit of a stretch at the moment."

"Is it now—" Just as the gap was about to close between you, Moon is gone. He makes a strangled noise of surprise as he's yanked back by a half-gloved yellow hand.

Sun releases him after a moment, cheery as can be. "More than earned a morning's rest, hm? Last I recall you didn't spend six hours potting pansies without a break, did you?"

Moon grumbles, but doesn't retaliate further than that. 

Before you can say anything, Sun turns to you, seeming to know what you were going to say. "The garden is off limits for the time being, Sunbeam. I might suggest the castle grounds for a good location instead. Once we've finished up here this morning I'd be happy to join you. I'll even bring lunch if you'd like." He finally finishes putting on his glove, adjusting his work apron. 

"And just where do I fit into that scenario?" His counterpart asks, searching around for his own outerwear.

Sun's grin widens further, eyes upturned crescents. "Why, you'll be busy trimming the hedges that you've been putting off all week, of course."

"That all sounds lovely, though I do feel bad for Moon." You step closer to the sunny animatronic, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. "But I do have to press you on the reason for why I can't access part of my own home. Which you live in, mind you."

He sadly doesn't buy into your scheme, hand cupping your cheek as his rays click. "You'll find out soon enough. No need to go spoiling the surprise at this time. Go enjoy your morning, Love." He presses a kiss to your forehead and you scoff lightly, despite the heat rising to your cheeks. 

"Fine. But no more putting mud on the windows, while I'm gone. Makes me feel like I'm living in a cave." You hadn't expected them to go to such lengths, though knowing them you weren't surprised either. 

"No promises~"

Later on in the day you do in fact, enjoy a picnic with Sun, Moon nearby as he begrudgingly trims hedges. Though, another week goes by, and you still can't enter the garden. Not to mention, the flirty banter you typically so easily exchange has dropped to practically nothing. 

Your advances are avoided, to the point you can hardly even get a goodnight or good morning kiss. Which, given that you were used to being overwhelmed with affection, being underwhelmed is, incredibly deflating. So, you decide to change your tactic. 

You wait until one of them is alone, in this case Sun, to strike. While he may act very blunt and avoidant with Moon around, alone you think you can get him to slip up and finally tell you what they're up to. 

You find him on a quiet rainy afternoon hard at work in the greenhouse. The rain pitter-patters softly against the glass far above, the space cast in a bit of shadow from the grey sky and plants that are all encompassing throughout. 

He's at a workbench, tending to a group of sickly looking hydrangeas when you find him. He jumps a fraction when your arms wrap around him, head resting on his shoulder as you watch him work. 

"Oh, hello, Starlight. What brings you here in these conditions?" Despite the evenness of his tone you can hear a tinge of anxiety underneath. 

Your hands shift to slide across his arms, causing him to freeze at your touch. "Was curious about you. Wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Well, as you can see, I'm simply just—" He hesitates as you turn to kiss one of his rays. "B-busy. Would hate for these hydrangeas to wither away because of a lack of care."

You chuckle, kissing him again. "I suppose so. What a pity." Just as he turns to face you, you pull back from him, moving to sit on the workbench instead. 

"Something else you need, Sweetpea?" Sun chuckles nervously, you can see the smallest hint of steam arising from him.

You have to smother your smirk to keep your own composure. "Nope, just want to watch you work is all. Don't mind me."

"Ah, of course."

For several minutes there's nothing but muted clinking and such as Sun works, posture stiff as you keep your eyes—and hands—on him. Just simple little touches, traces patterns on his forearms or handing him things every so often. It only spurs you further as you notice your plan is working, the flustered avoidance you'd been experiencing is now just fluster, and you see your chance. 

"You know. There is something else I'm thinking you could help with." You reach out and cup his chin. "If you're willing, that is."

You see his rays flutter just a tad. "That so?" 

"Mhm. It'd be really easy for you to do too. And if you do, I might have something for you in return." You lean in, just hovering your lips above his smile. 

He chuckles, eyes-lidded. "A trade then? I'm certainly not opposed."

"I was hoping you wouldn't be. Now, close your eyes—hey!" You're suddenly plucked off the bench and hauled over a shoulder by blue and white hands. Quickly marched away from a startled and utterly confused Sun, as you see when you glance back. 

Moon sets you down by the door to the greenhouse, displeased grin on his features. "Dirty tricks like that belong in the garden, Moonflower."

"Well, I'm not allowed in the garden, so I had to resort to other locations." You huff, brushing off your clothes. "Was that really necessary?"

He bends to your level, eye to eye and inches apart. "It was."

"You're not on my kiss list now, I hope you know that." 

Moon's hands cup your cheeks, faceplate spinning once. "What a shame then, that you're on mine."

He kisses you once, then steps back. 

"Tomorrow, if the weather clears up, tomorrow you can go in the garden as you choose. I promise." His thumb rubs against your cheek, troubled look in his eyes before he shakes his head. 

You keep your frown, despite the heat on your face, and nod. "Tomorrow, then."

You stomp out of the greenhouse and into the rain in the hopes of making it clear your resolve is temporary. In reality you think it just makes you cold, and wet. 

But, the next morning the sun peeks through the clouds and after a brief and somewhat quiet breakfast, your gardeners finally relent. 

While you're beaming with excitement, they both seem nervous as can be. You're so caught up in all the activities you wish to do that you're only half catching the anxious looks and fidgeted movements they share between each other. 

Sun's hands are clasped in front of him as he speaks. "We're sorry it's taken so long, Love. We had several setbacks—" He sends a glare to Moon, who shrugs. "But, we hope you like it."

"And if you don't, just keep it to yourself." Moon's hand rests on your shoulder with a snicker, though there's still that nervous hint to his tone. 

You scoff at the two of them. "I always love what the two of you create. Regardless of whether it's for me or anyone else." 

With a final sigh, Sun steps out of your way and you all but skip over to and out the door, the warm morning light hitting your skin like an embrace. The garden sparkles from the dew and the day prior's rain. All across—

"Roses?" You ask, in awe at the sheer abundance of them. 

Several varieties and colors cover the expanse of the garden, from the edges to the center. Every flower bed is filled to the brim with them. Yes, there's the typical flowers and bushes they plant as well, sprinkled in here and there. Primarily, however, are the roses. 

You walk through the grass with a sense of curiosity at the scenery around you. It's breathtaking, but not the least bit suffocating. Brimming with life, but not crowded. It was, in a way, perfect. 

Though, you don't understand why they tried so hard to hide this from you. Yes, it was stunning, but the secrecy you just couldn't—

As you turn around again, you see the two of them standing there, together, with a large bouquet in their hands. It consists of bright yellow and deep purple—near black—roses. 

"These are for you, if you hadn't already guessed." Moon's gaze is elsewhere as he holds the flowers out with his counterpart. 

Sun's rays are spinning quickly as you flick your gaze to him, he coughs and also looks away. "We, we hope it's to your taste. We got what we thought would suit you best."

You're too stunned to really think on the words. "Oh, these are, incredible." You say, gently taking the neatly wrapped bouquet from them. "For me, really? You didn't need to—"

Inspecting the flowers closer, you realize that in the center of the cluster, there's something shimmering in the middle of a rose. This one is different from all the others. Its center is yellow, but the outer petals expand out into that deep violet, with speckles of contrast all throughout. Lying in the very center however, is a ring. 

It clicks then for you. 

"This needed to be special, to show how much you mean to us, hence all the preparation." Sun states. 

Moon continues. "An ordinary flower wouldn't do you justice, nor would an ordinary proposal. The garden served as the best place to refine both."

You nod slowly, feeling a little more than just choked up. 

"Is, are you, will you—" Sun stops himself. 

"Would you do these two humble fools the honor of having your hand?" Moon asks. 

"Yes, that."

You nod again, quicker now, face on fire and tears pricking your eyes. "Yes, yes, absolutely yes!"

Before either can react you shift the bouquet so you can grab them both by their shirts, planting a kiss to each of their smiles several times. 

Breathless, you pull back to hug them both. "I would have taken just a simple stroll by the lake, you didn't have to go through all this trouble just for me. But know I appreciate it more than anything. Thank you, I love you. So, so much."

Based on the clicks and whirls that emit from the two of them, and the bits of steam, you think they're as overwhelmed as you in that moment. Sun's lop-sided grin and Moon's half-lidded daze makes you chuckle. 

"Duly noted." Sun states. 

Moon nods. "Don't spend four years seeding, growing, and experimenting with roses next time. Understood."

"Four years?" Your brows shoot up. "But we met just roughly four years ago."

"We know. We started on this about a week in."

At this you shake your head, laughing outright. You give them another kiss, and revel in that moment. 

It's going to be one you cherish for years to come.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you for the lovely request @amarynthian-chronicles!! I love how you always write the boys with a sense of whismy and charisma so I tried to channel that for this hehe ^^

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Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful

[cruel-hiraeth]

You first stir to the sound of birdsong. Gentle sunbeams kiss your eyelids, beckoning you: awaken.

Turning to your lover with sleep-crusted eyes, you realize that Jing Yuan is nowhere to be found; the curtains are open, and the verdant boughs of a ginkgo tree sway on the other side of the window. The soft, bamboo sheets are suddenly chilly now that you’re all alone.

Deciding that there’s nothing to do but get out of bed, you pull yourself to your feet with a wince, sore from the general’s special attention last night. Still half-asleep, mind adrift, you don’t so much as pull a pair of panties on, and search for him instead.

Like a homing device, your legs carry you right to him. The kitchen is sun-drenched and golden, and Jing Yuan is in your favorite robe of his—an amber silk that matches his keen, feline eyes—his back to you as he brews tea.

“You’re just in time,” he says as you collide with his strong back, your arms encircling his waist.

“Was I that loud that you heard me approaching?” you mumble into the fabric. “Mmmhn, you’re so warm.”

“Is my beloved cold?” he inquires as he finally faces you.

His mane is down and messy, silvery strands aglow like starlight. Ever the scoundrel, his eyes soak in your nude form, and he muses, “Well this is certainly the most glorious gift. What did I do to deserve it?”

You pull back with a scowl. “Your ‘gift’ requests that you share some of your body heat.”

“I couldn’t possibly refuse.”

He unties his robe. Before you can huff at his brazenness—his half-hard cock not at all hidden by his underwear—he pulls you into his chest and wraps the garment tightly around you both. In spite of yourself, you rub your cheek against his hairy pecs with a contented hum.

“Oh, is my kitty happy?” he coos, broad palm rubbing the back of your head.

“Call me that again and I’ll claw your eyes out.”

Jing Yuan chuckles, the vibrations rumbling though your body, sending pleasant shivers all the way down to your toes. “Understood.” He drops his head and presses a kiss to your crown. “I do so love that tongue of yours.”

[roygbivsystem]

YES ELLIOT MY BELOVED I LOVE YOU

-Jam

i believe i have acquired a new blorbo

[sillyandsensibleheart]

I am a writer.

Full stop.

I knew a lot about myself already, but until about a year ago, I did not know this critical aspect of my self. The most wonderful thing about being a writer, is that it needs no further qualification. I write, and therefore I AM a writer. A hard concept to grasp for someone who feels like an imposter in nearly everything they do.

Let me tell you how I got here:

Postpartum depression.

It is a strange thing. Hard to put into words if you haven't lived it, but so much changes when you have children. Even when you love them with all your heart, there is a part of you that has to be put aside for your children. I would do it a thousand times over , but it doesn't take away the grief and loneliness that comes along with it.

Those long, sleepless nights blended together as my son grew strong and happy, but still felt like such a shadow of who I was—active, adventurous and always on the move.

If you haven't had children, I can tell you that parenthood is slow. And I mean-- very slow. And most especially in the beginning.

Those first months, I felt so trapped. Bored and stale. I was colorless entity, slave to the wonderful sunbeam I had created.

Just a big, fat, bland mom.

Then, out of the blue a story hit me. A fan fiction idea, to be exact.

But I told the idea that I wasn't the right person. I wasn't a writer after all and I didn't know the first thing about how to craft a story.

But, the idea was persistent.

This stupid little thing didn't care that I was in shambles. It just kept showing up, and telling me about itself—as if I had the time, energy or patience to hear it.

"you're the only person who knows me." it whispered, as I rocked my baby in the middle of those long sleepless nights.

So at last, tired and messy as I was, I began to write.

Here and there, and on my phone at first as I was holding my fussing baby with my other hand-- but I wrote, nonetheless.

Some nine months later, Ive just crossed 100k words, and this idea is now 80% complete. I am prouder than I can even express because even if it is terrible, it is mine.

And I realized that In the end it was more than just an idea. It was that lost piece of me,trying desperately, to be seen.

To be me.

So, I'm just here to say-- you are always the right person to tell your story. And it really isn’t about how good it is, because the truth is, we write for us because—writing is us.

Anyway-- if you’re interested, here's a summary of that story:

After accidentally overhearing a conversation between Elizabeth Bennet and Charolette Lucas at the Netherfield ball, Darcy is forced to admit that he has made an embarrassing misjudgment. Elizabeth Bennet detests him. The trouble is, she might be the very person he needs most to help his sister out of her depression. Darcy must overcome his pride to ask a woman who does not even LIKE him to befriend his lonely sister, while Elizabeth must open her heart to a young woman in need.

Darcy and Elizabeth learn to know each other in broken pieces through letters sent to a mutually beloved girl.

Elizabeth Bennett and Georgiana Darcy become 'pen pals'.

Link to that story:

PC: Kilmit Sonian

[spookieloverslittlemind]

Petnames you call them…

includes: Michael Myers, Pinhead, Brahms Heelshire, Art the Clown, Sun and Moon (fnaf), Marta (Outlast 2)

Michael

He doesn’t tend to react differently to any petnames you call him, even for the very first time, but somehow he always knows you’re referring to him. Michael, Mike, Mickey, Mick- you called him Mickey Mouse once and he just stood there with his typical -_- and you laughed your way to an asthma attack. If you’re looking for a guaranteed head-tilt-to-the-side-like-a-puppy reaction, any variation of “pookie” will do it. Pookie, pooks, shmookums, the more sickly sweet and oddly fitting to The Shape, the better.

Pinhead

Does not tolerate being called “pincushion” when cuddling so stop doing it. Also does not tolerate being called “cheese” when he takes some of his pins out of his face and you can see the holes in his skin. Prefers the more casual petnames like “babe”, “love”, “handsome” because when compared to his more flowery and poetic language, Pinhead enjoys the simplicity of those terms coming from you.

Brahms

You KNOW this mf loves any petname that babies him, including “baby”. Anything sweet and endearing - including literally calling him “sweet” - like “beloved”, “angel”, “pretty boy”, “sweet boy”, and even “handsome man” because he will PREEN under your praise.

Art

Likes it when you call him silly but sweet things: your “favourite clown”, “court jester”, “silly boy” - he likes when you call him yours, especially. Because Art cant speak, he appreciates when you reciprocate his sign language and gestures just as much as he does your petnames, if not more; Art likes when you flick his nose after he’s flicked yours, when you beckon him over with a gesture like he does to you. Communications that are only understood between the two of you.

Sun and Moon

These two are pretty self-explanatory: they like petnames that are synonymous with them. Sun likes to be called “sundrop”, “sunshine”, “sunbeam”, “light of my life”, “rainbow”; Moon likes to be called “moondrop”, “moonlight”, “star”, “starlight”, “lucky star”, etc. The closer it is to their names and the more creative it is, the more they’ll enjoy the petname!

Marta

None of your typical petnames apply here, and you have to be careful what you call Marta if not her name. She does not like flowery petnames or cutesy ones, or flirty ones because those are sinful - if you call her “angel”, she might actually kill you - but she does like compliments, so it’s probably best you stick to those. Calling her “strong”, “righteous”, “God’s trusted and humble servant”, those will all go down well. You’re walking on eggshells testing out new petnames, too. Sometimes she will scoff but yield to you calling her “pretty”, because in her heart Marta is just a girl <3

[vilhelios]

— I THINK I LOVED YOU IN ANOTHER LIFE .

( WHERE I WAS THE SEA, & YOU WERE THE SHORE . ) ; general fluffy romantic headcanons for rafayel / qi yu from love and deepspace <3

CW: not beta read, general rafayel story/lore spoilers, may be slightly ooc, tooth-rotting fluff, very slight angst !!!

— RAFAYEL is a terribly sweet, loyal, and affectionate lover. sometimes, you think he is something like a lovesick puppy—always ready to greet you at the door with a warm hug when you return from a mission, always eagerly awaiting your phone calls and texts. always at your side. when he calls you darling and holds you close, burrows his head into the crook of your neck, you can't help but feel like your being has been warmed by a pleasant summer sunbeam.

despite this, sometimes he feels like he's drifting somewhere far away from you. a receeding ocean tide, sea foam dissolving from your fingertips as you dip your hands in the waves. he's somewhere you don't understand, when he looks into your eyes and searches for an iteration of you in the reflected image of his own eyes—perhaps he is 800 years away, a lifetime and more. and yet, when you gingerly cup his face in your palms, feel him lean into your touch, you know he returns to you.

— RAFAYEL'S art studio is admittedly, a mess. there are days where you'll enter that room spotless and leave with splatters of some new shade of red and his beloved blues all over your clothes and skin. some days, this happens purely on accident—a trip right into a canvas here, a palm pressed onto wet paint there—and on others, rafayel seems to delight in using you as a canvas.

— when RAFAYEL kisses you (in that gentle fashion, where he cups your cheek like if he doesn't you'll slip like seafoam from his hold), those soft lips of his taste of cherries and grapes and strawberries. and perhaps that best encapsulates what loving rafayel is like, this sweetest red, red, red: the way his cheeks and ears flush when you press a kiss to his cheek; the colour of his eyes when the morning's rose-gold sunlight hits the pink in them just right; the bleeding, beating heart he offers to your awaiting hands. eventually, he pulls away to let the both of you breathe, and when he presses his forehead against yours, glances at you with that charming smile of his, you're enveloped in warm crimson all over again.

"there." rafayel smiles, leans back to admire the flamulla he'd painted on your cheek and the pout that graces your lips. "a cute flamulla for the cutie that keeps distracting me."

"you weren't even painting anything when i came in!" you scoff, dabbing the paintbrush he'd given you into the paint upon the palette. while he painted moon jellies, flamulla, and blowfish on your skin, you'd busied yourself with painting seashells on his. some of the clamshells are too close together, the venus combs look a little too spiky, and some conches don't look quite right. when he looks like he's about to chuckle at the sight of them, you poke him with the other end of your brush; "hmph. you're just a meanie."

"how rude!" he feigns, hand to his heart. "this is how you treat me for making you look like one of my most precious paintings?"

— you notice, eventually, that RAFAYEL always gifts you red jewelry (if not pearls, of course). the little treasures glint in the sunlight; rings with a ruby or red spinel centerpiece, a necklace with a red coral pendant, fire opal earrings... they're beautiful and never gaudy, as to be expected from a man with an eye for aesthetics, but it still perplexes you.

you ask him why, while he helps you put on his most recently gifted necklace as you two get ready to attend his aunt's opera show. your painter answers with a thoughtful hum, deft fingers clasping the necklace for you: "red disappears the fastest in the deep sea, so i never got to see it much." rafayel presses a kiss to your cheek, then, before settling his chin on the crook of your neck. "what better way to appreciate a colour i missed out on for so long than seeing it on you, darling?"

— RAFAYEL'S smug and haughty countenance seems to crumble at the mere press of your lips against his skin, little pecks gracing each beauty mark. the first kiss is placed on his cheek, a little ways away from his eye, his head cradled in your palms; you feel how he heats up beneath your touch, a light blush dusting across his cheeks and a bright vermillion burning at the tips of his ears. the second is placed on his chest, your lips and gentle, roaming hands sparking the rapid thrumming of his heart.

— RAFAYEL sees you in everything. in the morning sunlight that filters into his kitchen, in the cherry blossoms that land on his hair, in the sea breeze that rushes past him as he walks along the shore. the mundane of daily life has become filled with so many traces of you that he cannot see them as anything other than beautiful. there's a piece of you in every one of his paintings now, a streak of your favourite colour intertwined with his reds and blues. he made the pigment himself, of course, extracted the colours he needed from your favourite things.

THE LOVERS ; Rafayel (20XX) ; Oil on canvas

This painting consists of only two colours, and depicts the view of a simple shoreline, with waves lapping at the shore. Although simple in essence, the two paints were handmade (as is the norm for pieces by Rafayel) with pigments extracted from materials that represented himself and his beloved. Upon closer inspection, one may notice the difference in brushstrokes between colours—where they start to blend, so do the strokes, perhaps one hand guiding the other. As per the words of the painter himself, this artwork is meant to represent a "marriage and a transfiguration; the way two souls are forever intertwined and changed by love."

a/n : pretty privilege is real because rafayel acts a lot like marius but i like him infinitely more than i do lu jinghe 😭👍 my love/obsession for this pretty little fish has made me rise from the grave of uni work and writer's block... please fill his tag i need to satisfy this itch in my brain that he gives me <\3 might write some more for him + him as abysswalker <3 (p.s. that final hc is perhaps the cutest thing i thought to do)

[fuctacles]

Eddie's Adventures in Waterland: Through the Mushroom Ring

I wanted to write something for my top supporter on ko-fi, @dreamercec (Thank you so much and I hope you like it <3) She sent me this post and I was aiming to write something short and silly but it developed lore, I'm past 2.5k now and the month is almost over. So here's a little prologue.

T/M | 538 | Steddie | transfem Steve, fae/nymph/rusalka Stevie, referenced canon character deaths, implied non-canon character deaths, it is not angst i swear, meet ugly ? | 1/? (will be a one-shot) | Ao3 @stmonstercalendar 's march monster rusalka I'm aiming to hit "goodbyes" from my Steddie bingo card, it may get sad but hopefully not too angsty Divider by @heavenlayt

Eddie walks into the clearing on a complete accident. However, once he spots the obvious trap in the middle of it, his steps take purpose, leading him to the middle of the mushroom circle. He holds his breath. 

But nothing happens.

"Excuse me?" He throws his arms to the sides. "Am I not worth kidnapping?"

A woodpecker drills into a distant tree. Nobody answers. 

"Helloooooo!" Eddie walks the inner edge of the circle, worried it will disappear if he steps out. He cups his hands around his mouth as he yells, "ANYONE HERE? IT WOULD SURE SUCK IF A FAE TOOK ME RIGHT NOW! FROM INSIDE THIS FUNGI CIRCLE! WHERE I'M COMPLETELY ALONE AND DEFENCELESS!"

His smoker lungs give out quickly though, and he has to greedily restore the oxygen in them.

"You're too loud."

Eddie chokes on air, whipping around to find a woman looking at him with displeasure. A completely naked woman. He instantly looks up into the tree crowns, but...

"What the fuck?" 

The sky above is now distorted, like he's looking at it through decorative glass. Sunlight dances on the invisible membrane that resembles... water. 

"What the fuck," he repeats slowly, observing the unnatural movement of leaves, registering the pressure in his eardrums, the fog that settles over all the sounds. Decency forgotten, he looks at the woman again. Her thick brown hair float gently in a non-existent breeze, as if they were underwater. A mosaic of light dances on her pale skin, sunbeams distorted by the surface above them.

"Where am I?" Eddie asks, dumbfounded and in awe. 

"In the forest?" the woman answers like it's obvious. Which, yeah, but...

"Are we underwater?" 

"Sort of." She shrugs. 

"What do you mean 'sort of'?" He frowns.

She doesn't seem to like his tone. Something flicks in her eyes, irises deep like the sudden loss of footing in a murky water. He can feel them pull at his stomach in the same way.

"Leave. You don't belong here." Her voice is more distant now, coming through the cotton that's filling his ears. He swallows a couple of times to get rid of it. 

"I'm... not sure how?" he offers, looking around. He's still in the middle of the shroom circle, but realizes she's outside of it. As he's searching, his eyes finally catch on something he's been trying to avoid with all his might. "Holy shit," he breathes, feeling his cheeks heat in a clear give-away that he's finally took her in fully. 

"Leave," she repeats, her cheeks now darkened too, but he can't say if in anger or embarrassment. 

"I don't—" he repeats in frustration but cuts himself off, realizing she probably doesn't care. So he looks around again, eyes fixed firmly on the ground this time. Remembers how Wayne would unplug and plug back in the TV when it would act up, resetting it. Maybe he could apply it to magic as well.

Under the watchful eye of the woman (fae?), he inches backwards, to the edge of the circle. When his foot leaves the ring of fungi, nothing happens, but as he sets it down, he collapses into soft, muddy surface. His lungs fill with water instantly, and he starts drowning. 

my beloveds: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94