#thread: somewhere new

[pathfaring]

That's not magic, he thinks, as he watches her glass float through the air to willing fingers. He is attuned to magic, accustomed to it, even with its ever-changing nature in every world he's ever been to. What she did wasn't magic. But it was something, and clearly, he thinks, from what she's saying, something unusual.

People with magic or similar here are persecuted. Mistreated. Feared. At least that's what she implies. He doesn't know if Asmee is a reliable source or not.

But that's not unusual. People without magic tend to resent the power that they don't have, that they can't have. And people with power are often so ready to abuse it, that those fears are often not unreasonable. Every world has to strike its own balance.

Here and now, he has a different kind of problem to face.

She makes her demands in such a reasonable tone of voice. As if he's the one being difficult here, by not instantly revealing his secrets to her. As if he's in a position to give her information and know that what she gives him in exchange is of equal value.

He smiles again, a half-smile now, and nods slowly.

"Please don't misunderstand me, I am really very grateful for your help today. If you require payment for your hospitality, then be sure I will find a way of paying you back. But I did not ask you for information, so I do not feel obliged to provide you with it in return."

His voice stays soft spoken, even toned. There's absolutely no hint of a threat there, nothing to imply that he could back himself up. ( He has no idea if he could win in a fight here, if he wasn't poisoned, and he has no desire to find out. ) Just a solid, hopeful expectation of good intentions.

He does need information, of course. But he is not limited to finding it through them. It became clear on the way here that this city, at the very least, this strange city of smooth stone and glass, was densely populated. It had been a stroke of luck to run into someone as kind as Pippa when he was so out of it, but she can't be the only kind person in the city. There will be other ways of finding information. He's in no rush.

"And I understand that that gives you no reason to trust me. I am not asking you to trust me. Pippa offered to help me, and I accepted her offer. If I am causing you problems, perhaps we can discuss what those problems are."

The confidence in his delivery should be a balm. He seems so very sure that whatever had threatened him--and cursed him, from the sounds of it--are long gone now. But she is, as Pippa had pointed out, a cautious woman. And she is not entirely satisfied just yet.

How can she be, when he's given her so little to work with? When she knows so little of him as a person, and of his mysterious pursuer?

Pursuers, plural?

"Hmm."

An immaculately threaded eyebrow arches high, but she lets the moment pass without pressing any harder. Not yet. She just keeps listening; looking for anything she can grasp onto to help her put the picture together.

Pippa had mentioned his use of the word magic, and her theory about it being his term for a mutation, but Asmee isn't entirely certain that the other young woman is right. There's something sorely familiar about his tale that may very well be mutant-coded--something Pippa would immediately latch onto--but there are other beings in the world with overlapping experiences.

Asmee's brother, Ajay, is one of them. Even if its just easier for everyone to group him in with mutants when far fewer of his kind are around. Or known about at all.

"You have my sympathies for your mistreatment," she tells him, though her voice is not particularly soft, nor sweetened. It's matter-of-fact, and not meant to soothe or coddle. "People like Pippa and myself--"

A memory rolls in like a storm front, all grey and roiling and thunderous, and Asmee stills. Pippa had been in such rough shape when she and Tao and brought her in, and she'd been something of a reflection to Asmee's earlier state as well.

"We are not especially loved either. For our own type of magic."

Grounding herself in the here and now, Asmee closes her eyes and reacquaints herself with all the things in her cozy apartment that her mutation can touch. Every bit of glassware in her cupboards; every pane of glass that spills light in to feed her plants; the screen of her phone, the television, the camera lenses and her video editing computer in her little office; the little glass figurines and baubles decorating shelves and dangling from her ceiling; her self-made glass violin and bow displayed proudly over Ruskin's head.

It's an arsenal. A security blanket. A fond collection. Home.

Curious, and with a cool head, Asmee leans elegantly back in her seat and beckons her glass mug to float through the air and into her waiting hands. It moves so steadily that the liquid inside barely sloshes about.

"People tend to fear what they don't understand. And not everyone is so willing to try to understand as I am." She gives the stranger a pointed look. "We both need information here. I am happy to help you fill in the gaps, but this needs to be an equal exchange."

[ficyorick]

one of my biggest regrets about bad ending is that i didnt rly get into the Sexuality Talk in it cuz i loooove making characters confront their sexualities like i WILL put homophobia in my stories bc i love making them Grounded and Real.... im especially excited to discuss that with the context of HL being a celebrity. im itching !!! to put a scene like that somewhere, im already drafting some bits for the next multichapter project thats not BE

[lilamala]

my gay son

[laweyd]

Hi guys ! Friendly reminder that you can find me on Bluesky and Threads !

[more-than-a-princess]

Her second least favorite holiday is almost here.

The best part of Christmas are the last weeks of November and early weeks of December when she is able to bring holiday cheer and hope to her nation through various ceremonies, traditions, gifts, and initiatives.

The worst part of Christmas is Christmas Eve and Christmas: two days where the only royal duties are spending time with her family. She actually prefers attending midnight mass: it's the only time during it all that her family can't yell and scream at each other.

Never in front of the cameras, of course.

At least the liquor is in good supply: she needs it, every year.

[byanyan]

still alive but still struggling

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

would you guys be interested in if i crossposted my sekai characters as pmd2 songs thread from twt to here? its a super old thread (like two and a half years old) but i still think all the choices fit them...

[poisonedfate]

literally in distress over my job rejecting my availability

[volfoss]

Literally so hyped to get miss yucky nasty... I am going to learn SO many skills

[savior-of-humanity]

45.  UNKNOWN :  for both muses to wake and find themselves in a strange place. // vash my friend vash :D

"Unnnhhh..."

Vash the Stampede groaned as he gradually slipped into the realm of consciousness, eyes fluttering open. Two things quickly came apparent to the blonde as he woke up - one, it felt like there was a miniature sandworm furiously trying to drill its way out the side of his skull. And two, he was upside down - specifically, somehow tangled up in some vines, not unlike when Meryl and Roberto came across him quite some time ago.

...Where was he, anyway? How did he get here? Even with his flipped perspective he could tell this place, wherever it was, was not Noman's Land.

Before Vash could ponder on his questions, though, gravity apparently decided to free him from his binds - the rope-like plants suddenly slackening, and with a yelp he promptly face-planted straight into the dirt.

Climbing to his feet, the Plant brushed himself off while taking in his surroundings - taking note of just how much greenery there was all around him. It was breath-taking, really, and he'd be tempted to just stand there in awe if it weren't for the fact that there was also a young girl lying unconscious only a couple feet away.

Naturally, his immediate response was to rush to her side despite not knowing her whatsoever - even with his tendency for people wanting his head for one reason or another. "Hey! Kid! You alright?!"

@rathalascendant

[farginen]

ofc i feel like writing replies when i have to get dressed and go to work. fuck my writing i guess !

[humanjarvis]

lonely millionaire

synopsis: sylus likes when you spend his money.

tags: suggestive (mdni), sylus sits you on his lap while you drain his bank account, it's for a cute reason though, dry humping, size difference, teasing, sylus is a scoundrel, use of "kitten" and "sweetie" cause we stick to the canon over here pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mc word count: 640

a/n: i don't really have anything to sa—omg this is my first non-caleb post! but yeah i've been thinking of this for a while. this is the most explicitly sexual thing i've written with worse to come

“Why don’t you get that one, too?” Sylus rumbles into your neck, pointing to a luxurious dress on your screen.

You’re seated on his lap in the bed you share, his legs caging your smaller frame while he peeks over your shoulder at the laptop in front of you. For the last 40 minutes, you’d been browsing the website of the most exclusive boutique in Linkon. It’d been Sylus’s idea—To get you something nice for being such a good hunter, he’d said—but as he urges you to keep adding opulent pieces to your cart—dresses, skirts, shoes, you name it—you start to suspect an ulterior motive. 

Restless, you turn around to face him. But before you can speak, he steals your lips in a lewd, wet kiss, his thumb holding your chin in place while he swipes his tongue through your mouth. 

“Hmm?” he hums when he releases you, expectantly peering into your eyes. 

Dumbfounded, you stare up at him before his slow smirk jolts you back into your right state of mind. “Sylus! Stop distracting me. You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” you accuse with a glare. 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being your distraction, kitten. I’d rather have all your attention in the first place,” he replies, wearing an infuriating look of triumph. 

“You know what I mean,” you whine, thwacking his shoulder in exasperation. “You have me in your lap while I spend enough to buy a house on things I don’t need. I don’t get it—are you enjoying this?” 

Sylus blinks lazily. Slowly, he chuckles before rolling his hips into the plush of your backside. “You’re well aware of how much I'm enjoying it, sweetie.” 

Startled, you jerk your hands to his thighs, the laptop landing onto the bed with a soft thud. “Sylus,” you breathe, a whimper escaping you as he grinds upwards again. “I-Is this really okay? You’ve been so tired lately, you can’t hide it from me. What if I spend too much and you have to work harder?”

Sighing, Sylus snakes one thick arm around your waist, pulling you further back into his chest. As he splays his large hand across your belly, you feel his body warming yours, making your core clench with need.

“Kitten,” he drawls, nuzzling your shoulder. “When I’m out there making Onychinus deals, putting my life on the line just to come home coated in someone else’s blood—it gets…tedious, sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if I should give it all up so we can start fresh somewhere new,” he confesses, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “But having you here with me, knowing I'm putting my life on the line for you? So you can spend what I earn for you, so I can give you all the pretty little things you could possibly ask for? It makes it worth it, kitten. It brings me…peace. Satisfaction.” 

Throughout his musings, he’s been rubbing you harder and harder against his rigid length. Feeling it pulse beneath you, you moan softly and reach your arm back, threading your fingers in his hair. “As long as…as long as you like it,” you pant. “Want you to be happy.”  

His deep chuckle hits your neck, sending shockwaves down your spine. “Won’t you help me relax, then? After all, I've been so tired lately,” he mocks, nipping your ear. 

“Now,” he starts again. “How about you look at the accessories page next, hmm? Let’s see the handbags.”

It’s an hour later when Sylus is finally satisfied with the subtotal of your shopping cart. 

He holds his card out in front of you while you type in the information, and once the order goes through, he captures your lips in a kiss, tender but claiming. 

“What’s your schedule for tomorrow look like, sweetie?” he rumbles, pressing you close. “I think I’d like to look at some jewelry.”

[sunchases]

thinking of making some tonal shifts to harper i'm excited about ... developing the lore a bit and everything ... i think when i have time i'll start on a new carrd (maybe include a short & sweet guide and then my usual longer version so people have Options) & start tweaking some things ... exciting stuff coming!!!!!

for now if anyone would like to plot or chat, maybe give this a like and i'll come find you!

[transholmes]

For those wondering, yes that actually did happen.

I feel like the only person not tempted to use ChatGPT like it doesn't even occur to me as an option

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[korattata]

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