#[reminder for followers on this one: tooth gap :)]

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 Free Fall 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven's daughter)

Rating: T (there are mentions to Kraven's abuse toward his children, but nothing described.)

Prompt: It was strange to touch each other without one of them dying, but maybe touch was also something for the living.

This is a drabble for the enemies-to-lovers fic that I haven’t written (and idk if I will write it). This takes place after the events of Spider-Man 2.

tags: angst, pov second person, no use of Y/N, no hurt/some comfort, unhinged fmc lmao

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

New York City :: 4:25AM

Your legs dangle from the edge of the building, but the height doesn’t terrify you—never has, never could—not with Kraven as your father. Your necklace emanates a soft click-click-clack as the wind knocks its animal teeth together. For each kill, your father once said, take a trophy with you. Their coat, their teeth, their claws and wear it with pride, Huntress. You press your thumb into the tip of the largest canine tooth.

You think, what’s the point of collecting a trophy when I have no one to share the victory with?

Lower Manhattan sleeps fitfully below you. Three police cars, one ambulance, and groups of tiny black dots like fleas jumping on the back of a tremendous gray-skinned beast. You wonder where the fleas are going. Home? Work? To their lovers and friends? Something akin to loneliness bites at your heels and you stubbornly kick it away.

How can you be lonely in a city of millions? You twirl the canine tooth in your grip. Snow flurries drift through the sky like dandruff and the crystallized air scraping through your nasal cavities reminds you of home. Or whatever you could call a ‘home’. Kraven had home-bases, with all the luxury and technology money could afford, but they forever lacked warmth.

I should leave this city, the traffic lights below switch to red and a car screeches to a stop, I should leave…

An influx of cold air hits your spine followed by the sound of someone’s feet touching the rooftop.

“Hey, this doesn’t look like Barcelona,” Spider-Man says casually.

He’s referring to your last conversation---“there’s nothing left for me here. I’m relocating.” When Spider-Man asked where, you said “Barcelona, obviously.”Granted, your tone wasn’t as cauterizing as you wanted. You were bleeding out thanks to the Symbiote that speared you through the collarbone and it’s difficult to be snarky when your vision is doubled and your brain is on fire.

“Plane’s delayed,” you toss the words over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of him. The sun hasn’t risen and all the artificial light reflecting from skyscraper windows paints Spider-Man in an interesting arrangement of shadowy grays and muted red. You recall the not-so-distant time when you hunted him. All the tricks you played, all the injuries you gave each other, and you have nothing to show for it.

You release the tooth from between your fingers and it knocks against the others. What trophy would I take from the spider anyway? You return your focus to the fleas and machines between the gap in your feet. A piece of his suit, perhaps. You search within for the rage, the anger that typically fueled you, the desire to hunt that Kraven taught you—instilled in you—through his cruel voice and crueler hands.

Yet, no rage comes to greet you with its fiery white-hot grip. You find stark emptiness akin to the featureless skyscrapers that cage around you.

“Seriously,” he leaps onto the ledge beside you, “there is a place for you in New York, I mean, you’ve met Tombstone, and Martin Li, you could help at FEAST or--” he makes a plaintive gesture with his hand, “there’s other places for you.”

You clench your jaw and create a low ‘hmm’ sound with the back of your throat. His eyes burn into your cheek. Why haven’t I left yet? You could’ve at any moment after Kraven’s death.

You had a complicated relationship with your father. On the one hand, you wanted him to find a worthy opponent and achieve his ‘warrior’s death’, but on the other hand—you wanted to be that warrior. You stayed in New York to kill Venom because he killed Kraven before you could. But then...well...that didn’t work out, now did it? Venom was dead. Kraven was dead. The vultures and crows were circling, circling, circling, and if you were smart then you’d get out before they started plucking out your eyes.

“You know anyone in need of a big game hunter?”

“You’re more than that.”

Your gaze slices toward Spider-Man. His lenses widen. You don’t say anything and let him stew in the uncomfortable silence. How dare he presume to know you? The gall of these heroes. You are what Kraven made you to be. A hunter. A killer. A panther stalking through humid forests, a polar bear staining its white fur red, a sharpened blade sinking between the ribs and puncturing a lung.

You recall the wheezing, rattled breath leaving Spider-Man’s lips. His blood on your hands, staining your palms crimson, drying rusty on your wrists. ‘Gotcha’ you had said before he kicked you in the chest with both feet and sent you into the wall. He was flexible and fast, you’d give him that. An almost worthy opponent.

A true worthy opponent would’ve killed you, you think.

“I saw your notes in Kraven’s study,” he says it quietly, like it’s a secret, and your shoulders bristle close to your ears.

“What about it?” You snap, annoyance corrodes your tone and hides the soft and vulnerable parts of you. My worthless notes. Saving no one. Healing nothing.

“Oncology isn’t an easy field of study,” if he’s trying to convince you of your goodness then he is destined to fail. Your motivations for studying tumors and cancer were inherently selfish. You were trying to save your father—as cruel, and mean, and abusive as he was—you tried to save him. That wasn’t virtue at work. It was fear.

You were afraid of a world without Kraven. A world without purpose, without something to prove, without something to overcome. Kraven never loved you—never could. But he gave you a reason to live, to fight, to thrive against all odds.

You wanted to kill him with your own hands and you wanted him alive. A paradox, you know, but your relationship to your parent’s was an unsolved Rubik's cube, a labyrinth of missed opportunities. You grew up in a home made of kerosene and lit matches. What do you say to a child who grew up breathing smoke? And how can you expect them to live in the clean, fresh-air? You catch a snowflake on your thumb.

“Those notes could help someone,” he continues, gesturing, his voice growing more animated the more he spoke, “I glanced at them and I’m not saying I’m an expert, but they were thorough and they were--”

you cut in, “useless.”

“I know a guy--”

“I’m sure you do, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man continues, unperturbed by your interruptions, “he’s continuing the Emily-May foundation on a much, much smaller scale. Maybe he could use the notes. Maybe it could help someone.”

“Or maybe it winds up in a drawer, or in a box somewhere, and is eaten by rats.”

Spider-Man huffs, “he doesn’t have rats!” A thoughtful pause, “at least, I don’t think so.”

“It’s New York,” you roll your eyes, “there are rats everywhere.”

The silence slips into the space between you, but it’s not uncomfortable or cold. It’s just there. Like the dusting of snowflakes coating the ledge. This is the longest you’ve ever spoken to him without trying to maul him. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, waiting for an attack, but his body language is relaxed. His elbows rest on his knees, his sinewy yet lanky arms, and supplicant bowed spine. You trace the curve of his throat with your eyes.

Kraven would tell you to strike. He’d say to take a tooth hanging from your necklace and ram it into his jugular. But Kraven is gone.

Why am I here?

Spider-Man stands, “can I show you something?” he extends his hand toward you and his long fingers curl slightly as they await your hand.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears; loud, and hot, and claustrophobic and begging you to say ‘no’. Toss the spider from the ledge. Reassert your status as his enemy. Remind him of the blood you’ve spilled from his body. Reignite the animosity between you. It would be so simple. Like lighting a match in a house of gasoline.

But, you’re so tired of inhaling smoke.

Your hand slides into his. It’s solid and warm. His fingers encase yours and bring you close.

It’s strange to touch each other without one of you dying, but maybe touch is also something for the living.

“Hang on,” he mutters before the space between your bodies vanishes.

You dig your fingertips into the strong sinew of his shoulder as cold wind whistles through your ears. The skyscrapers and snowfall dim into smears of chrome and white, the noise of the city deafens, and you feel Spider-Man’s heartbeat against your own.

Your feet hit solid ground. The air tastes colder, thinner.

“Just in time,” Spider-Man says.

You open your eyes. You’re standing in a sea of roiling clouds. You look below, seeking the maze of streets and honking taxi cabs, but fluffy, blue-gray cotton greets you instead. You’re above it all. Above the constant noise, the mesmerizing traffic lights, and warm bagel shops, and kitschy tourist stalls. It’s dizzying.

A spark hits the horizon. An orange light, a tiny flame, and illuminates the clouds into a pastel landscape of pink hues. Your breath catches. Your fingertips tighten on his shoulders. The sun pushes from the clouds like a seed emerging from soil and the clouds ignite. You can’t feel the warmth of the sun, but you see it in every stroke of color, against every bulbous mound of cloud.

Spider-Man’s arm hasn’t left your waist.

Maybe touch isn’t meant to always be sharp and serrated and bloody.

“Give me your friend’s number,” you don’t turn your face away from the sunrise.

“Sure, yeah, of course,” his voice is warm, “no problem.”

A gentle orange and pink hue bleeds out; like sliced grape fruit, or a flock of flamingo feathers, or a painting done by a child with an enthusiasm for warm-tones.

“Does that – I mean – are you staying?”

“Hmm,” you step out of his embrace, “catch me and I’ll stay.”

His lenses widen, “w-what?”

You drop sideways into the cotton-candy colored clouds with laughter bubbling up from your throat.

You place one hand on the grappling hook at your waist—just in case.

He catches you.

And you stay.

#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #insomniac spider man #insomniac peter parker x reader #insomniac peter parker x you #reader insert #fanfic #spiderman x reader #spiderman x you #my fics #peter parker x fem!reader

[loganlermanstanaccount]

sand beyond the sea (I know you're waiting there for me)

(AO3 Mirror) (Main Masterlist) (Event Masterlist) (Event Info)

Tape 1 // Side A Track 08: Seaforth - King Krule Finnick Odair x childhood lost love

warnings: mild angst, fluff, happy ending.

a/n: first drabble for my 6k followers event! i had fun writing this one :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our love dissolves this universe (Our love dissolves the universe)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finnick can't sleep. 

He won't, actually; out of principle. There was a time in his life where he was terrified of the dark, a fear that seeped well into adulthood. He'd ask for the light of gas lamps, keep his window open to let moonlight spill in, or crawl into his mother's bed for comfort. It wasn't the dark, per se, but the nightmares: creatures creeping in the dark, shadows with a bony hand around his neck. And when those nightmares turned into pseudo-memories: of heads hacked off and the sharp prongs of a trident in his chest – well, those ones still keep him up at night. 

This time, though, it's nothing like that. It's all the more surprising when he drifts off into sleep, and instead of nightmares; he dreams. Hazy, wispy ones of sand and salt in the air: of laughter, of love, of you. 

So he doesn't sleep, for a while. Instead, he lies awake in a crisp white room, a thousand miles away from wherever you really are. District 4, probably; still living by a half-hearted cliff's edge, a stone's throw from his parent's house. That's what he sees, sometimes: feels the sand underfoot as you run ragged around rock pools and fall asleep in the sun. Dreams, governed by feeling; touch, taste, smell; of your hands tying loose braids into his hair, and fried fish by the water's edge. He doesn' t need to see you, dreaming or otherwise, to know how much he loves you. 

And so, it doesn't matter how hard he fights it - Finnick always wakes up in the morning with the feeling of your hand on his cheek, warmth rising to the surface of his chest. You'd swirl a stick into sand and explain what you'd learnt at school, that day, a class above him. 

Cold air sinks, Finn; warm air rises. 

And he'd give you a gap-toothed smile, grinning like an idiot even then. 

So you'd float to heaven, he'd say, head spinning as you laugh. And Snow would kick rocks in hell.

Oh my God… what does that even mean, Finnick? 

He'd clarify. Just think you're warm. Somethin' about you. 

Your smile is something etched onto his heart like the carvings you'd make into driftwood, all the way back then. Scratchy hearts, and the both of your initials in bark. 

You're full of hot air, Finn. 

It makes him smile, curled up against the sheets like you're pressed against him. Sometimes, he thinks you were made for one another; spines slotting together like puzzle pieces, two halves of one whole. 

It's stupid, probably, to think of a childhood love like that. To hold onto something he let die, after the Games. His knuckles are white from holding on too long, he thinks. Too tight. 

So he can't sleep, barely does; counting down the days, seconds, hours, until he's back home. Dreams of a beach where you're still there, where your footsteps dance around one another; and aren't washed away by the sea. 

"Finn?" You still live in that old house, grown into your features, and he's grown into gangly limbs. 

He's worn his best trousers, tried to smooth that rogue curl at the crown of his head. He'd brought flowers that remind him of you, sweet and crisp and fresh. You're pretty. So, so pretty; it makes his chest heave and creak. And your hands are cradling his face, his hands are on your waist: they fit, just right. 

Watery laughter, but it sounds exactly how he remembers. Everything else falls away. He sleeps with his head on your chest, that night. It's warm. 

Somethin' about you, he thinks. 

_

_

_

Finnick taglist: @amonett, @neithriddle

#finnick x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #thg #the hunger games #thg x reader #the hunger games fic #finnick odair fanfic #angst #fluff #angst with a happy ending #Spotify

[di-writes-stuff]

You Are In Love

John Price x Reader

One Shot

TW: Mentions of weapons, bl00d, injuries.

Three instances in which John realizes he’s in love with you. Thank Miss Swift for this one.

“You can hear it in the silence.”

You wince as John lifts up your shirt, blood crusted onto your skin around the wound on your abdomen. Attempts at convincing him you didn’t need him to patch you up himself were quickly ignored by him with a small hush and gentle hands leading you to the chair you’re sitting on now.

Exhaustion was evident on both your faces, drooping eyelids and all. No words are exchanged as a rag wet with warm water is pressed to your wound, cleaning the blood around where the knife broke skin. A small hiss slips through your lips at the sting of water meeting the wound. It’d stopped bleeding quiet so much after the stitches you got in the field, but small gaps still allowed water to slip through.

John mutters out his apologies, but it sounds more like a grumble. Any thoughts of making conversation are quickly abandoned, fatigue stripping both of your abilities to form coherent sentences.

It doesn’t seem to matter much as he presses a bandage to the wound, gentle hands and concerned glances at any noise you make saying everything they need to.

The mission was awful. Sure, you came out successful, but God was it grueling. The kind John doubted everybody would come out from alive.

They did, by some miracle.

Still, he can’t seem to shake the panic that coursed through his veins when he saw you go down after the stab. That moment before you got back up, before he reached you, it was the slowest of his life. The only thought coursing through his mind that the moment he’d been fighting tooth and nail to avoid was finally coming.

That you weren’t gonna be by his side on the ride back to base.

That you wouldn’t greet him in the morning with that smile that turns any coherent thought in his brain to mush.

That he wouldn’t have you anymore.

Thoughts of all the things that could have happened run through his mind as he wraps gauze around your waist, the sudden shakiness of his hands going unnoticed to him.

The only thing he can seem to focus on is that the second he wasn’t by your side, this happened. And if you hadn’t gotten treated as soon as you did, if John hadn’t dropped everything and dragged you to medical waiting on the EVAC boat, he wouldn’t be watching the slow rise and fall of your chest now.

He’s snapped out of his slow spiral as your hand settles on his, stilling the tremors running through it. Dulled blue eyes slide up to meet yours, softening as you squeeze his hand softly.

A reminder. A fact in the ocean of worries, of possibilities in his head.

You’re alive.

You’re alive.

You’re alive.

He finds himself repeating it like a mantra in his mind. A reason might be more accurate. If you’re here, he can be too. If you’re alive, he has a reason to keep going. It’s terrifying for a moment. To think that you’ve become the very thing his world orbits around.

And then, it just feels natural. Right, that the cards have fallen the way they did. John was never a man who believed in fate, in something determining the direction of his life. He was in control, he was the captain steering his own ship.

It sounded like bullshit now as he looked up at you. You, who fit him like a glove. You, who seemed too perfect to be here by happenstance. You, who had him wrapped around your finger. A blessing, maybe, in a life void of them.

He finishes quickly, managing to do the rest of the work with one hand. He can’t bring himself to pull the other away from your soft hold. Muscles ache as he stands, your eyes following his every movement.

Slowly, he leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head, the tiniest of smiles on his face as he feels you lean into his touch. Later John will find that he can’t decipher if that was a moment of weakness or humanity.

Although, he’s beginning to think they may be one and the same.

But, the only thing he can’t bring himself to feel about it is regret.

“You can feel it on the way home.”

The mission had been easy. Just gathering some intel from a friend in London.

So, it seemed a bit odd when John had you come with him. You weren’t complaining, of course. Any opportunity to spend time with him away from prying eyes cracking jokes about how close you seem to be was welcome.

Cold air bites at the both of you as you step outside of the building, snow falling onto the cobblestone streets. It’s almost too picturesque, street lamps glowing softly, providing just enough light for you to see on the walk back to the car.

Shivers run through your body, cold seeping through the jacket your wearing. John quickly starts to take off his sweater before you stop him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“I’m fine, John.” You assure him, your voices the only sounds besides the wind whistling in your ears.

He sighs, tugging his sweater back on, knowing you wouldn’t take it either way. “You’re shaking.” He comments, voice softer than usual. The gruffness that almost always accompanies his tone has vanished, the only thing coming through clearly is affection.

You merely smile, shaking your head and looking down at your feet. His blatant concern leaves you feeling like a giddy teenager, blushing softly under the glow of moonlight.

John shoves down the nerves coursing through his body as he steps closer, an apprehensive arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to the warmth radiating from his body.

Relief floods his body as you look up at him, a soft smile ghosting your lips reflected on his. And with his arm wrapped around your waist, with your head resting on his shoulder, it’d be so easy for him to imagine for a moment that you and him are normal people.

That rather than an intel grab, he’s walking you back from a date. That rather than a base, he’s taking you home. That rather than a fleeting moment, this could just be his life, day in, and day out.

But of course, reality sets in sooner or later. That this is just a taste of a life he can never have with you, and one he’d never want with anybody else.

Still, the city does look awfully pretty like this, snow glittering like thousands of tiny diamonds under the amber glow of the gas lamps, no cars or people to disrupt. Just you, and him. Holding onto each other like it’s the last chance you’ll ever get.

With your jobs, it just might be.

Steps slow as both of you realize you’re getting closer to the car, and the eventual end of a night that feels so blissfully normal. You take the time to lean over the edge of the small bridge you’re crossing, watching the moonlight glint off the thin layer of ice covering the water underneath. John’s arm eventually slips away from your waist, only for his hand to land atop of yours on the railing.

Your eyes are focused on the sight before you, snow falling steadily, little pieces landing on your eyelashes.

John’s gaze doesn’t leave you the whole time, a love sick smile on his face that only you seem to be able to conjure up. Slowly you lean up, your eyes meeting his, and in that moment he knows he’s done for, for tonight at least.

He can’t exactly tell who started it, but he supposes it doesn’t matter now. It was soft, at first, lips barely brushing. Then, it wasn’t. Then it was everything he’d been holding back, everything he’d been trying so hard to pretend wasn’t real for so long.

Later the both of you will act as if it didn’t happen, and for the longest time it won’t again. It will go back to longing looks, hands brushing in hallways, and the adamant refusals to admit that you could be anything more than close friends.

But for now, the snow is falling, you’re in his arms, and John has everything he needs.

“You can see it with the lights out.”

It wasn’t unusual for 141 to head to the pub after a job well done. The mission wasn’t too hard, but you all came back with your fair share of cuts and bruises from some rough terrain. Gaz and Soap were already putting their new scars to work with the ladies.

The stories they told were exaggerated, of course. Gaz apparently had been grazed by a machine gun bullet.

A rusty gate tore through his shirt and nicked his arm.

In Soap’s story he went toe to toe with death, the deep purple bruise and cut on his eyebrow coming from an explosion.

He fell off a rocky hill and ate shit on a boulder.

Either way, John wasn’t paying them much mind, you serving as a distraction from their antics. The bars lighting is even dimmer than usual, a couple bulbs having gone out.

The bartender won’t notice until the pub closes. John wishes he could see your face better at first, but when liquor leads to drunken flirting, he’ll be grateful you can’t see the light blush dusting his face.

As you return from the restroom you find John watching the soccer game playing on the small TV. Reclaiming your spot next to him, your voice sounds next to his ear, any interest in the game vanishing at your return.

“Who’s winning the soccer game?” It’s become a running gag between you. At first it actually did annoy him, but at this point he just pretends to get wound up.

Really, he just likes to see the humored smile on your face when he grumbles out his response. “It’s football, love.” He responds, chest filling with boyish pride when you blush at the pet-name. He can hardly make it out under the cover of darkness, but the way you duck your head away is as clear a sign as anything of his affect on you.

He’d tried to be professional at first, but it didn’t last long. You were intoxicating like nothing else. Your laughter, your spirit, everything about you sent him falling faster than he could try to stop it.

Ignoring it never worked, he would catch himself doing little things for you either way. Holding doors open even if he wasn’t walking that way himself. Grabbing things for you that you couldn’t reach, even though a footstool was sitting in the closet collecting dust.

He just liked the excuse to stand that close to you, even if it was just for a moment, cause the way you smiled up at him every time was enough to keep him happy for the rest of the day. Fingers would brush as he handed you whatever it was, and the look in both your eyes was far too recognizable to everybody around.

Either way, he’d given up on pretending there wasn’t something between you two. For tonight, at least.

John will tell himself later that it was an accident, that the rest of the night was the product of a coincidence. It’s not true, of course, but he doesn’t have to admit that to himself.

His hand slides across the bar top, supposedly to reach for a napkin.

He didn’t need one.

As his fingers brush yours he looks over, trying to confirm in the darkness that the smile on your face really was there.

It was.

His hand slowly wraps around yours, warmth seeping from his calloused palm. It’s so intimate despite the environment. The music suddenly seems to quiet, the air stilling, the commotion behind you slowing. As your eyes meet, bright spots in the dim lighting of the bar, everything just…fades away.

It’s just you, and him. And you are not a sergeant under his command, and he is not a captain controlling you. You’re a pretty woman, and he’s a flirtatious man, and for the night John Price gets to be human.

And for the night, John Price gets to love you openly. Because in a darkened bar full of boisterous drunks, nobody notices the two fools holding hands, whispering sweet nothings, hushed laughter bubbling up from you as yet another clever quip leaves his mouth.

For the night, John Price gets to pretend this can last beyond flirting at a bar.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writer #fanfiction writer #john price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #captain john price x reader #captain john price x y/n #captain john price x you #COD #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #john price call of duty #cod mw19 #cod mw2 #cod mw #cod mw3

[basilone]

Hiya friend, could I please request #2 "honey" forrrrr....Darlene? <3 — @shoshiwrites

Of course, of course! 💙 Here she is, finally truly at home in her natural habitat, and who else would she meet......

honey

He has heard her whole story before he’s had a chance to meet her.

It’s the sort of thing that rankles him these days. Word traveling so fast on base you’d think it’d taken flight from one end to the other in record time. Opinions being spouted off until they’re fact, facts being retold so often that one needs a flashlight to find anything true by the end of it, and judgment coming hard and fierce between it all.

She’d been subject to enough of that. Don’t need a lady mechanic round these parts, or so the base had buzzed. Don’t need that sort of bad luck. He’d archly reminded some that they’re not on a boat and no woman – alive or dead – should be treated like some ill omen. A harbinger, if Curt’s many sordid nearly Irish tales are to be believed. (They aren’t. Gale knows this. Curt does, too. They’re told anyway.)

As far as stories go, hers contains nothing Gale hasn’t heard before. She’s hardly the only one hailing from Georgia – the many Dorrance-Joneses on base alone provide a veritable invasion from that state – and she’s nothing special with the down-on-my-luck-making-my-own-way patchwork history of odd jobs and family quarrels. Nothing to write home about.

“You all right there, honey?”

Gale blinks. Stares at the riot of red curls perched precariously atop a very, very freckled head. There’s a dark grease stain on her cheek that travels streak-like into her hair, just above her ear, as if she’s tried and failed to wipe it off with her sleeve. She’s a little gap-toothed, if the flash of a quick grin is anything to go by, which might be the first real thing he learns about her without there being a known story attached.

“Ah asked,” she repeats, sing-songing her words back to him, “you all right there, Major?”

“Just fine, Sergeant.” He nods at her. “How is she?”

“She’s a beauty.” There it is again, that little flash of a gap between her front teeth as she smiles. “Should be up and purrin’ in your ears again by tomorrow, sir. Wasn’t a whole lot wrong with her, but ah liked workin’ on her. Sorry to say them feathers took a beatin’, though.”

He eyes the wing she indicates with a wave of her hand. “Walk me through?”

“Sure thing, honey.” Teeth worrying at her lower lip. A look in her eye that’s almost contrite. “Sorry. Major. Right this way, sir.”

Gale stuffs his hands in his pockets as he follows in her footsteps. Observes her repairs done to the wing with the same critical eye he would Lemmons’s repairs – cursory in some places, nuts-and-bolts details in other places – and isn’t surprised to find she knows precisely what she’s doing. She’s worked on fighter planes. Bombers. Jeeps, even, if John’s to be believed. Her work’s not a mystery. Nothing to pluck an ill omen out of thin air over, either.

“Question,” he says, then, and it’s only practice that keeps a smile off his face, “how does one get honey from Major?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “You ask nicely. Sir.”

“And you don’t apologize about that from now on, either,” he hums, nodding at the wing more than at her. “Understood?”

Her low, warm chuckle is answer enough. “Ain’t even shown you her new iron belly yet, sir. Would reserve judgment on me until then.”

No, Gale almost says, observing the stubborn set of her shoulders and the flicker of determination in her dark eyes, I think I have the measure of you just right, Mayfair. “As long as she flies, Sergeant,” he says instead, “I will be the last to judge.”

#masters of the air #gale cleven #oc: darlene #mota oc #basilonefic #I'm really liking the little smiles here

[cursedonyx]

Okay so I just read your Professor Sharp and Garlick fic and I honestly can’t tell you how much I loved it. So I was wondering if you’d be interesting in writing any additional Professor Sharp smut.

It could be with Garlick again or perhaps someone outside of Hogwarts (like someone who works at Hogsmeade or the Ministry) or even a muggle if you wanted to go that route. Obviously I’m terrible at making decisions so feel free to pick whatever scenario intrigues you the most!

As far as the details of their relationship I guess it depends on the scenario but I wouldn’t mind something sort of similar to your last fic where they’ve at least known each other for a while and can call themselves friends who are in love with each other (I also wouldn’t mind a tiny bit of jealousy being sprinkled in somehow if that’s not too many things all in one🙈).

Also please don’t feel pressured to write this if it’s not particularly igniting anything for you! I love your writing so much so thank you for even just reading this!💕

Thank you for the request, and sorry it took longer than I thought it would, life can be a real sod sometimes!

I decided to use this as an excuse to continue the Sharp/Garlick fic of before, because why the hell not? Hope it’s what you wanted 💚

Word Count – 2.7k

Warnings – Smut (MDNI 🔞) Jealousy, PiV, Fingering, On the Desk

It had been almost a week since Aesop had allowed himself a single night of indulgence with the fire-haired enchantress that had captured his mind, body and soul with a single look. He could almost pinpoint when he had first become truly entranced with the young and beautiful Mirabel Garlick, the moment she had returned to Hogwarts as no longer a student, but a professor, and his curiosity with her bloomed into obsession.

The years of secret, seemingly mutual pining had paid off, for they had finally ended up tangled in the sheets together after a night of drinking with their colleagues, and everything about it had been perfect. Well, it would have been, were it not for the fact she’d been gone by the time he woke up, leaving nothing but single, long red hair on his pillow and an ache in his cock to convince him it hadn’t all been a dream.

The following days meandering through the quiet halls of Hogwarts reminded him somewhat of a Confundus Charm. When he saw her in the corridors or at meals, she was as cordial and polite and pleasant as she’d ever been, offering wide, warm smiles and engaging him in spirited talk, just as she did with the other professors. Aesop frowned. Surely there would have been some change? Had he really disappointed her so severely she wished to pretend nothing had happened between them?

He elected to remain silent on the matter. If Mirabel wanted to act like they hadn’t done utterly sinful things to each other, then that was fine. He had the memories, at least. She was half his age, and deserved better than a crippled, scarred former Auror. He would be cordial to her, and hope his infatuation didn’t drive him to do something stupid.

He made his way to Hogsmeade, his boots crunching in fresh snow, hoping his order of rare potion ingredients had arrived at J. Pippin’s at last. An afternoon of sorting out his stores would hopefully keep his mind off the shape Mirabel’s breasts made when he slammed his cock into her.

Unfortunately, Mirabel and her breasts remained firmly at the forefront of his mind, to the point where the thoughts of her actually seemed to summon her into being as Aesop rounded the corner and saw her in the flesh just outside of Spintwitches, holding a small, wicker basket, smiling and laughing and stroking her plaits and talking to another man.

Aesop froze, the cold air nipping his cheeks as a searing fury rushed through his torso. He knew that man, the gangly little fuckwit barely four years out of Hogwarts, and if the rumours were anything to go by, firmly in the pocket of Rookwood’s notorious little gang. And he was simpering at Mirabel, his gap-toothed grin wide, his weak attempt at flirting so painfully obvious it made Aesop want to cringe.

Or curse him into oblivion.

His ingredients could wait. Aesop strode through the crowd, coming up behind Mirabel, his glower searing over her shoulder and landing directly on the pimply-faced youth, watching with satisfaction as his gawky smile faded, his wandering eyes growing wide as he stumbled back a step.

“Professor Sharp!” he gasped, and Mirabel turned, fluttering her eyelashes as she saw how close he was. “H-how nice to see you-“

“Hop it,” Aesop advised. The aspiring Ashwinder bolted almost before the second word was out of his mouth. With a satisfied huff, he glanced down at Mirabel, and his breath caught when he realised just how close they were. Neither moved away.

“I see you still strike fear into the hearts of your former students,” she said, softly, ducking her head and fiddling with her basket.

“I expect that is because that particular former student is well on his way to becoming a Dark Wizard,” Aesop muttered. He’d have to notify his former colleagues in the Auror office, especially if the little gyp was sniffing around Mirabel. He raised a hand, hesitated, then laid it on her shoulder. “Allow me to escort you back to the castle.”

“I’d like that,” Mirabel said, with a shy smile. She rested a hand on his arm, allowing him to lead the way, his scowl clearing a path through the crowd more effectively than Bombarda.

Walking the path back to the castle, he was acutely aware of the gentle weight of her hand on his forearm, sliding around to rest in the crook of his elbow, their breath misting before them. He kept his silence, longing to say something to turn the steadily solidifying air between them into something light and jovial, but he’d never been any good at that. And besides, her stalwart refusal to mention their drunken escapade made it clear to him she’d thought it a mistake.

It irritated him. This was the problem with obsessing over someone so young. They never said what was on their mind. He should move on, and stop thinking about the way her skin was a gentle peach, the way the shape of her legs showed even through her robes as she walked, the way her breasts bounced with each step…

And she’d been talking to another man. Not a professor, not even a friend, just some oik she used to know. He glowered as they entered the castle, her hand sliding off his arm as he gave her a curt nod and moved off in the direction of his office.

She followed.

Mirabel followed him all the way to his office, her light footsteps scuffing over the stone floor. Merlin, even the sound of her footsteps was enchanting to him, reminding him how light she was, how easy it was to pick her up to manhandle her, to throw her down to the bed and-

Aesop clenched his jaw. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, not at all!

But then… she wasn’t fragile. She was stronger than she looked, if the strength of her grip on his cock was anything to go by…

He cursed under his breath, shouldering into his office. He swore again when he realised he’d completely forgotten to pick up his rare ingredients. He lowered himself to sit behind his desk, wondering if Pippin would be kind enough to send them to the castle by urgent owl.

“Aesop?”

Mirabel hovered before the desk, the basket held before her legs, the V her arms made emphasising the swell of her breasts, pushing them together. “Is something wrong?”

He almost laughed. Yes, a great many things were wrong, chief of which was her bloody refusal to even acknowledge they’d slept together! But he couldn’t tell her that. If he was to have any chance of lying with her again, like he craved, he couldn’t afford to frighten her away.

But he was still pissed off.

“You should know better,” he said, firmly. “Rookwood’s little gang are notorious, and it’s not safe to associate with any of them.”

Mirabel raised her brows.

“Aesop, I’m not a student anymore,” she said, defensively. “I knew him from when we were both pupils here, he just wanted to say hello. We used to study together in the library on Wednesdays.”

“Yes, I’m sure a hello was the only thing on his mind,” Aesop clenched his jaw as Mirabel placed her basket on the desk and put her hands on her hips, emphasising their curves and pulling the material of her robes taut across her belly. He tried very hard not to look. “As a teacher of this school, it’s even more important that you’re not seen to be… fraternising with dangerous criminals.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t fraternising,” she said. “I was just being friendly. I hope you don’t think you have to watch my back all the time, I’m quite capable of making my own decisions and dealing with whatever consequences stem from them.”

A chill shivered over his shoulders, and he rose, striding to her and taking her face in his hands. Her skin was soft and warm and smooth, nothing like the rough stubble that coated his coarse skin.

“I won’t allow it,” he rumbled. “Mirabel, you must be more careful. If something happened to you…”

“I don’t need you looking out for me,” she whispered, her hands rising to his.

Aesop took a breath. Another denial, another refusal. It hurt more than he cared to admit, more than a single night of passion warranted. He had to hear her say it properly, to move on.

“I want to look out for you,” he said, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks. “Mirabel… I understand if you don’t want me, that night in Hogsmeade was… well. But I understand if you feel it was a mistake.”

Her slender brows drew together. “Mistake? Aesop, I don’t think that at all.”

He paused. A mixed signal. He didn’t like mixed signals. “You haven’t said a word about it,” he said. “You’ve been acting like nothing changed.”

“I didn’t think anything had,” she said, taking his hands from her face and slowly lowering them, his fingers drifting along her neck. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, why should my behaviour? I rather thought you believed it was a mistake, you’ve barely said three words to me since.”

He blinked. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I still want you,” she whispered, lowering his hands to her breasts, small and firm under her winter robes. “I still want to be with you. You’ve cast a spell on me, Professor, and I have no desire to escape its bonds.”

Her words sent a bolt of electricity through him, stiffening his spine and cock simultaneously. Hearing her call him Professor in that soft voice of hers, the mention of bonds conjuring the image of silken ropes around her velvety wrists in a candlelit chamber, the fact that she still wanted him, despite his fears. There was no butterbeer to smooth the way this time, no, they were both stone cold sober, and by the flush blooming over her throat as he cupped her breasts, she was as invested in what was to come next as he was.

He tucked a hand around her waist, the other winding under her plaits to cup the back of her neck, drawing her close to him. Her lips were an inch away from his own, and he hesitated, the old fears bounding through his mind. Relationships between the staff was frowned upon, and if Phineas caught wind of any affiliation other than one that was strictly professional… besides, she was too young, he was too old, she was too beautiful, he was too gruff, she was lithe and supple and perfect and deserving of more, he was in his forties and crippled and scarred and…

Mirabel closed the distance, sealing her plump lips to his with a gentle sigh. Aesop responded without thought, kissing her fiercely as she wound her arms around his neck, relishing the softness of her lips, the gentle, rose-scented breath that rushed over his tongue. He gripped the back of her robes, his hand flattening against the small of her back, and the temptation to tear them from her form was almost overwhelming, each of her soft moans slipping between her lips, into his ears and straight down to his cock, throbbing against his leg.

He pushed her back against the desk, her tongue flicking out to run over his as he lifted her onto it, her legs parting for him, rising to wrap around his waist and tugging him against her. He repressed a growl with difficulty, but a low sound rumbled in his chest all the same, and Mirabel sighed, sinking against him.

“I love it when you do that, Aesop,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him, a wicked smirk on her lips. “You have no idea what it does to me.”

He did growl this time, and he didn’t think he could have held it in if he tried. He groped for her robes as her hands slid over the buttons of his waistcoat, the cold air of his office nipping at his skin as his waistcoat and then shirt came undone under her nimble fingers. He slid her robes up over her slender thighs as she brushed her fingers over his chest, tracing the dark hair spread over his torso. Aesop returned the favour, prying apart the buttons at the top of her robes, revealing the small peaks of her marbled breasts, ducking his head to take one of the rosebuds into his mouth.

Mirabel moaned, the sound music to his ears as he wound his tongue around her nipple, savouring the sweetness of her flesh. Her hands gripped his hair, encouraging him, and with a wicked grin, he denied her, raising his head to kiss her again, his hand sliding along her slender thigh to dance over the tight curls hidden between them. She whimpered, tilting her hips up to his hand.

“Aesop…” she whined, writhing. “Please touch me.”

The keening words cut through him, flaying his desire open and leaving nothing but hunger for her. It was all he could do to restrain himself from the sinful sounds she made as he sank his fingers into her, pressing his thumb to her most sensitive parts. Mirabel whined, grasping handfuls of his coat as she rutted herself against his hand, each drawn breath expulsed in a sharp gasp.

It was a struggle to keep his focus as she whimpered and wailed against his movements, his fingers curling up to rub over the most sensitive parts of her, buried deep in the core of her being. Her hands slid down to his belt, fumbling with the fastening as he attended to her, her face pressed to his shoulder, her luscious hair coming undone from its plaits as she drew his cock out, her slender fingers gliding along him and making him shudder.

With a yelp, Mirabel pushed his hands away, the force of it enough to make him stagger back a pace. A frown crossed his brow as she gazed up at him, her expression wild. She leaned back on the desk, parting her legs further and gracing him with a full view of her sex, her parted lips and glimmering green eyes failing to draw his gaze away.

“Come on in,” she purred.

He launched forward and slammed into her, the force of it pushing her back onto the desk. She let out a cry of passion, her hands grasping at his back as she hooked her legs around him, muffling her voice against his shoulder. Aesop’s mind scattered as he was enveloped in fire, gasping some himself as she tightened her walls around him. He gripped the desk, a hand braced against her back as she writhed, a heat condensing in his abdomen as his hips flexed faster of their own accord.

Shit, not yet, not yet!

With a low growl, he drew back from her, his cock drenched, ignoring her whine of protest. He tugged her forward and turned her around, bending her over the desk, yanking her robes up to expose the perfect peach of her arse. He slid back into her, her high-pitched whimper music to his ears, pressing his chest to her back as he thrust into her repeatedly, his teeth at her neck, one hand rising to wrap gently around her throat. His other hand found hers as she began to gasp and cry out in earnest, her legs taut against his, her arse shaking with each merciless pound of his cock.

Aesop’s release was sudden and breathtaking, pitching him forward to crash against her back with an almost startled yelp as she clenched around him, draining him dry. He took a moment to catch his breath, each ragged inhale taking in the scent and taste of her luxurious hair, dishevelled and coming loose from its plaits. He raised his head, seeing her cheek pressed to his desk, her eyes half-lidded and clouded with bliss, a line of drool sliding from her lips to pool on his paperwork.

“Aesop…” she murmured. “I-if this is what it’s going to be like all the time…”

He managed a low laugh. “I hope so, Mirabel.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, unwilling to withdraw from her just yet. “But next time, let’s find somewhere a bit more comfortable.”

#hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #aesop sharp smut #mirabel garlick smut #mirabel garlick #aesop x mirabel

[journey-to-the-attic]

Dragon Hybrid Ik:

Hi! So i had a thought but it may be inconsistent with Chinese dragon lore so early apologies. What if, Ik has a hoarding habit? Like she hoards the main casts stuff because they remind her of them, her family! (I feel like Mammon also has the same habit here so i imagine him helping her as well) Do i think she’s aware of this habit? Maybe? Like i can see her probably aware of it but kinda dont care and still do it but it would be cute if she doesnt as she’s just following her dragon instinct. Also what if the others notice this habit and just subtly let stuff they dont mind gone for her to hoard?

(Sorry for not being around much, life has gotten busy but thankfully i got some time rn, how’s you day btw?)

- 🐧 Anon

hello 🐧 anon!! no worries at all, it's great to hear from you again ^^

i don't think there's any need to stick strictly to chinese dragon lore, and anyway this is very very cute so yes!! i think she's aware of the instinct to take things and stow them away for safekeeping, but she never actually registers herself doing it (she'll tell herself 'no' and then do it anyway without noticing)

in the beginning she puts everything in her room, but then brothers assume they left their stuff there and take it back, so she starts just. stuffing things into whatever gaps she can find around the house

lucifer goes to sit down and finds a bunch of borrowed pens shoved into the gap behind the cushion, and it's at that point that he decides they should probably get her a proper space to keep all her trinkets

i imagine she does weird stuff to 'safekeep' her things... like sometimes she'll just leave it all in the bath and submerge it in water for some reason, other times she'll spend an afternoon burying it all in the garden only to dig it all up and start meticulously washing everything

no one really gets it, but mammon thinks it's the cutest thing ever and Will fight you tooth and nail if you attempt to mess with ik's little collection (at this point everyone has accepted that if they give ik something and don't clarify they want it back, she's going to keep it)

#ooh on the subject of dragon ik i had a thought as well #so there's a thing in genshin where 'it rains when the hydro dragon cries' #and chinese dragons have strong links to weather and water especially #so what i'm saying is that absolutely everyone can tell when ik is down because it immediately starts raining #she'll be hanging out with satan and he'll suddenly hear an absolute downpour start outside because the book they were reading got sad #answering asks #anon asks #🐧 anon #dragon hybrid ik #jtta aus

[hopefullyitsextensivebule]

Time With U (J.M.K x Reader)

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Reader

Summary: You spend a day with Josh before you head back home. He wants to make sure you have the best last day in Nashville. Warning(s): Slight mentions of prior sexual activity, a little bit of recreational activity, angst.

You wish you could replay this weeks events.

You wished that time would run back and experience the feeling of seeing your love Joshua Kiszka holding a paper sign with your name and having flowers ready to be delivered to you. You wanted to feel again the emotions of joy and happiness to be hugged by your little goofy boy.

To be kissed on at the threshold of his home door, where you both left a trail of clothing behind you and got down to the nitty-gritty. Being kissed and ravished and handled with such power but care right after. It was all too much. And afterward, you'd both hit a nice bowl with each other and professed how much you were in love with one another to the point of tears.

It was a week you enjoyed.

But today was a day to regroup and get back to real life. You had obtained everything: from makeup and clothes to electronics and cords. You packed accordingly and did a full sweep; all you did was leave your clothes for the following day to return home.

That was when a knock on your hotel door startled you from your imperative task. You halt your operations and jog to the door and looked through the peephole.

It was your Joshua, showing off his little tooth gap as he stood close to the peephole. You had opened the door and had smiled. "Baby, what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to say hi to my favorite girl," Josh stated, leaning in and kissing your lips. You succumb easily, not giving it a moment's thought. His arms wrap around you, rocking you back and forth and pulling away, "how's my good girl?"

You loved it when he called you his good girl. You loved it even more when you two were doing the horizontal tango. "I'm good... just packing the rest of my things," you tell him as you have your suitcase done and your backpack sitting at the foot of the bed.

"Well, that's good because I want to take you out again," Joshua stated, kissing your hand, a giggle escaping your lips.

"Josh, you've already done that three times this week," you remind him, the curly hair male, kissing away at your arm now.

"Don't worry, it's at a different location," he told you and took your hand, "you're gonna like this a lot."

"But I still have things to pack," you told him, your hand on his chest.

He soon gave you those precious brown eyes you've fallen deeply in love with, his plush bottom lip poking out childishly. You stared at him, his face progressively getting more needy. “My face is starting to hurt,” he slurred, his bottom lip sticking out more.

“Okay okay fine,” you told him, his face returning with a smile in his eyes.

“Drop everything and come as you are,” he told you, kissing you quickly. You sighed and got your key card, and headed out with Josh. He had placed his bandana over your eyes, to which you nearly protested, but he convinced you otherwise. He led you away from the hotel, the cold air causing goosebumps across your skin.

"Josh, where are we going?" you asked. He soon ripped off the bandana. You gasped softly at what he showed you. A plush blanket was laid on the ground, some pillows around you, and candles to set the mood. You look at him with awe, Joshua smiling at you and taking your hand, "You planned this?"

"Yeah... I just wanted to make this last night special," he told you.

"What could be more special than the week we've had?" you asked him, wondering what it was all for at the end of the day.

“Lay down with me and find out," he told you, kissing your forehead. You followed behind him, lying down and waiting for Josh. He laid down and looked at you with sweetened eyes and spoke, "I am madly in love with you, y/n," he told you.

"And I am madly in love with you, Joshua Michael Kiszka," you told him, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box, "here..." he told you, your eyebrow raised as you were confused.

He gives you the box without any context of what this was supposed to be. You open the box to see a key, "what's this?"

"It's the key to my apartment... so if you ever want to crash at my place... or live with me, you have access to it," he told you. You look at him, eyes filled with tears, and pounce on him and shower him with a barrage of kisses with Joshua laughing at your affection, "So is that a yes?"

"Yes, you fool!" you say and kiss him more, the night filled with giggles, laughter, and a little romance.

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fic #greta van fanfic #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka fic #fanfic #fanfiction

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

A New Era (1)

Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony, but everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Avatar, master of all four elements, could stop them, but when the world needed him most, he turned against it. A hundred years passed, and the war ended, but a new Avatar has yet to be found. The Earth Kingdom waits, ready, for any stirrings of power expected to rise in their lands. The Fire Nation works to rebuild relations with the rest of the world, sending its trusted envoy Skulduggery Pleasant to keep watch over Nefarian Serpine. The Water Tribes strengthen themselves, and the last scattered descendents of Air Nomads hide, not yet ready to believe they are safe. Their newest member, Stephanie Edgley, starts to stretch her wings. The pieces are in place. A transplant of the Skulduggery Pleasant characters and plot into the Avatar world, to see what would change.

Chapter 1: The Stage is Set

AO3 1 2 3 4 5 6

P1 P2 P3 P4

‘Story time! Story time!’

The little girl ran upstairs, never having looked so eager to be put to bed. Gordon followed, casting a helpless glance back at his brother and sister-in-law, who laughed heartlessly in his face and returned to their conversation by the fireside.

Sighing, Gordon left the warm embrace of Desmond and Melissa’s rather small (cosy, he corrected himself) living room and followed the five-year-old up the rickety staircase.

She was waiting in bed, practically vibrating with anticipation. Gordon took the seat she mandated by her bedside.

‘Story!’ she demanded again.

‘Alright, alright,’ Gordon said grumpily. ‘Spirits, you’re bossy tonight.’

‘Please,’ she corrected herself, giving an adorable gap-toothed grin that mercilessly eliminated all his defences. If Gordon hadn’t been so impressed by its effectiveness, he would have been irritated.

Who was he kidding, this kid had stolen his heart with her first words.

Fortunately, he reassured himself, no one besides himself knew that, so he would not be susceptible to any teasing from her parents. Ignoring the little voice reminding him that all his niece had to do was enthusiastically exclaim “Story time!” in order to get him to abandon intelligent adult conversation and obey her wishes, he made himself as comfortable as he could.

‘What story would you like tonight? The one about the valkyries?’

‘I’m Valkyrie,’ she told him.

‘Yes, your mum and dad were just telling me. Do you feel braver with your new name?’

‘Yes!’

‘No more bad dreams?’

‘Uh uh. No more bad spirit. He leaves me alone now.’

‘Well that’s very good to hear. You can raise all kinds of Cain for him now.’

Valkyrie laughed, even though Gordon didn’t think she knew what he meant.

‘So, what kind of story would you like? We’ll have to make it a good one, I’m going back to Omashu tomorrow.’

‘I wanna know about the airbenders!’ Valkyrie bounced in place, ruffling her covers.

Smoothing them back over, Gordon said, ‘Ah, yes. Now this one is a true story, so we have to be very respectful. Are you going to be good and listen quietly?’

Valkyrie nodded eagerly.

‘Alright then.

‘Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony, but everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. The evil Unnamed Fire Lord wanted to rule the world, so he secretly made machines that could climb cliff faces, and ships that could sail as fast as the waterbenders, and trained an army to overpower anyone who would dare stand in his way.’

‘Except the Avatar,’ breathed Valkyrie, eyes wide and entranced.

‘That’s right. Now the Avatar was only young- a little older than you. He was still being trained by the monks at the Air Temples, and was far from ready to face the Fire Lord. And the Fire Lord was coming. He knew he had to kill the Avatar if he wanted to rule the world, so the monks came up with a clever plan: they would trick the Fire Lord by hiding the Avatar at the Northern Air Temple, so that when the Fire Lord came to the Southern Air Temple, he wouldn’t find what he wanted, and the airbenders could trap him.

‘But something went wrong. The monks underestimated the Unnamed’s desire for power. Instead of just attacking the Southern Air Temple, all four temples around the world were invaded. The Unnamed had decreed that not only the Avatar, but all the airbenders must die. So the Fire Nation stormed the air temples and killed everyone they found, and if they heard whispers of airbenders who had escaped anywhere in the world, they would hunt them down and kill them too.’

‘How did the Avatar get away?’ Valkyrie asked in a hushed voice.

‘A very clever airbender protected him through the chaos of the battle. He helped hide him and trained him, taking him from nation to nation so he could master earthbending, and waterbending, and firebending too. They spent years hiding and biding their time, growing stronger and inspiring resistance and freedom fighters across the world! They became known as the Air Avatar and his master, the Last Airbender. And the Last Airbender was your great-grandfather.’

Valkyrie clearly already knew this, back to bouncing in place with a huge grin.

‘But we don’t talk about that to others, do we?’ prompted Gordon.

Valkyrie shook her head soberly. ‘It’s a secret.’

‘Yes it is.’

Before Gordon could continue with the story, Valkyrie asked, ‘Uncle Gordon, why is it a secret? There’s no more airbenders anywhere anymore, not even Mum or Daddy or you or me or Uncle Fergus or Aunty Beryl or Carol’n’Crystal.’

‘Well, the bad people who were around back then didn’t care if you were really an airbender or not. If you were related to an airbender, or friends with an airbender, or helped hide an airbender, that was good enough for them. So we just keep this little secret to ourselves, because even though it’s not that dangerous anymore, there’s still bad people like that out there somewhere.’

‘Okay.’ A troubled frown worked its way across Valkyrie’s face. ‘That’s scary.’

Gordon winced, then hastily backtracked, sitting on the bed beside Valkyrie and putting his arm around her, making sure not to squash the threadbare brown badgermole toy nestled in there with her. She snuggled into his side.

‘It’s okay, we’re just being careful. The bad people are all locked away now, and they’re not going to hurt us. You don’t have to be scared, we’re all perfectly safe. It’s just in case, you understand? Your mum and dad are never going to let anything happen to you.’

Looking slightly more reassured, Valkyrie nodded, and Gordon hurriedly continued with the story, hoping she’d forget about the warning.

‘So, once the Avatar was all grown up and had learnt how to bend all four elements, he went to fight the Fire Lord. And they had a great battle! Fire flew, and rocks smashed, and the wind howled and the ocean roared. It was incredible! But then the Avatar got hurt, and the Fire Lord was winning. He closed in, ready to strike- and out of nowhere, who came to rescue the Avatar but his old master and friend, the Last Airbender!’

‘The Last Airbender fought with everything he had! The Unnamed had killed his people, his family, his friends, and he would not let him take anyone else! He wanted to make the Unnamed pay for all he had done.’

‘That’s bad,’ Valkyrie piped up. Gordon glanced down at her in surprise.

‘Is it?’ he said with interest. He hadn’t thought she’d pick up on that particular moral deliberation.

‘Yeah. Daddy said the Air Nomads wanted peace, and wanted to be nice to other people, so that’s what we should do. Great-granddad forgot that.’

‘Yes. He did. Good girl for remembering.’ Personally, Gordon was on his grandfather’s side there, but he doubted Melissa would appreciate him lecturing her five-year-old daughter on the subtleties of war and justice.

‘Like you say, the Last Airbender forgot about what he’d been taught in his youth, and wanted revenge. He fought like he was possessed by a dark spirit! Some say he was, and that the blood of the Spirit World will forever flow in our veins.’ Valkyrie shrieked as he tickled her, giggling until she calmed down.

‘Really?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Gordon. ‘He just fought really well.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘But in the end, the Unnamed won. The Last Airbender hurt the Fire Lord so much that he had to retreat, but was fatally wounded in return. With the last of his strength, he made sure the Avatar was safe, and would continue to fight back against the Fire Nation. And then he died, at peace and knowing he had done his part so that the world might one day be saved.

‘Reinvigorated, the Avatar might have gone right after the Unnamed and challenged him again! But something was happening in the Fire Nation. The Unnamed was old, and though he was powerful, he was growing weaker. One of his younger generals decided that he wanted the throne for himself, and before the Avatar could finish the job, he assassinated the Unnamed and crowned himself Fire Lord Mevolent.

‘Fire Lord Mevolent was no less evil than his predecessor, and the Fire Nation became stronger under his reign. For sixty more years, the war raged, and the Fire Nation was clever. They knew the Air Avatar wanted to defeat the Fire Lord, and made sure that he never got another opportunity. And so, in the end, it came down to the sheer will of the people.

‘After one hundred years of war, the world was desperate. It was no longer the Avatar’s job to save everyone- it was up to everyone to save each other. So the Earth Kingdom gathered the last of its soldiers, and the Water Tribes the last of their warriors, and even the people in the Fire Nation who didn’t agree with the war and didn’t like Fire Lord Mevolent all rose up! And together, they planned, and they were clever, and they became strong and quick and braver than they had ever been before! Fire Lord Mevolent was a very evil man, and he was bad to many, many people, even his own family. Eventually, he made so many enemies that the bad Fire Nation soldiers were overwhelmed, and Mevolent himself was defeated by his own son. The war was finally over.

‘Fire Lord Caisson put the bad Fire Nation generals in prison, and the ones who were willing to learn how to be good again were given a second chance. Then, he and everyone who had helped him began rebuilding cities and villages and farms, but most importantly, they began to rebuild trust. And in the end, the world became much safer, and much, much happier. Just in time too,’ Gordon added, ‘because you, little missy, were born not long after the Hundred Year War ended. We needed to make sure everything was ready for you, after all.’

Valkyrie giggled, but her smile faded sooner than Gordon would have liked, and she cast worried eyes up at him. ‘But Uncle Gordon, you said all the bad people got locked away, but just now you said some of them got a second chance. What if they go back to being bad?’

Well, Gordon couldn’t say he wasn’t worried about that too. It had taken Gordon longer than he cared to admit to relax around any firebenders; he was still learning, to be honest. After generations of knowing that the lives of himself and his family rested on one stray rumour about their heritage, deconstructing that mentality was going to take some time. Especially as more than a few of the firebenders loyal to Mevolent had escaped capture and were still out in the world somewhere.

Fortunately, most of the really crazy fanatics had been jailed in various top-secret locations around the world that Skulduggery wouldn’t divulge no matter how much Gordon pestered him. But Serpine now, Serpine was a worry. Apparently the Dai Li had him under strict observation in Ba Sing Se. Not strict enough, if Gordon’s sources were to be believed, and Gordon was inclined to do so; after all, there had to be a reason Skulduggery had gotten the Fire Lord to make him a Special Envoy and send him over to the Earth Kingdom. If that reason wasn’t something to do with keeping an eye on Serpine, Gordon would eat a whole sack of fireflakes.

‘They’re not going to do that,’ Gordon told his niece reassuringly. ‘Have you heard of the Earth King? The one in Ba Sing Se?’

‘Eechan-Mary Torteyus.’

Gordon laughed. ‘Yes, him.’

‘Mummy says he wouldn’t know what we want if we bit him on the bum.’

‘Er, right. Him. Well, after the war King Eachan put a lot of rules in place to make sure that the people who were bad during the war could never do what they did again. So you don’t have to worry, because all the Dai Li agents and Earth Kingdom soldiers are ready for anything bad to happen.’

‘Uncle Gordon?’

‘Yes?’

‘What happened to the Avatar? He never defeated the Fire Lord. You said Caisson did instead.’

‘Well, that’s a bit of a sad story. You see, he never got another chance to end the war, and one day, after he’d done a lot of good things and helped lots and lots of people, he died.’

‘But there’s always an Avatar. He gets re-in-car-nat-ed,’ Valkyrie sounded out carefully. ‘That means he gets born again into another body.’

Gordon huffed dramatically. ‘Why don’t you tell the story then, since you seem to know everything, Little Miss Smartypants?’

Once she finished giggling, he said, ‘Yes, the Avatar was born again, into one of the Water Tribes this time. No one ever found out who he was though. Eventually he came out of hiding, but instead of helping, he joined Fire Lord Mevolent.’

‘A bad Avatar?’

‘A very bad one.’ Gordon had only ever heard stories, but they’d chilled him nevertheless. He was definitely planning on including some of them in a book one day. ‘People think he died at the end of the war, but the next Avatar hasn’t been found yet.’

‘What happens when they are?’

‘Well, you remember those rules I told you the Earth King made? Some of them mean that when the Earth Avatar is found, all their training and schooling will take place under the Earth King’s supervision. He doesn’t want the Avatar to become bad again, and he’s going to make sure it doesn’t happen.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘Now, do you think I’ve given you enough dreams for tonight?’

‘But I want more stories!’

‘Ah ah ah, you’ve coerced too many out of me tonight as it is. Time for bed now, or your mum and dad aren’t going to be very happy with me.’

With much whining and extortion (on Valkyrie’s part) for more stories to come, Gordon was eventually able to tuck her and her badgermole into bed. As he blew out the candle, he heard one last sleepy, ‘Uncle Gordon?’

‘Yes Valkyrie?’

‘Why did the Water Avatar go bad?’

‘No one really knows. Sometimes people just make bad choices.’

‘That’s sad.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Okay. G’night Uncle Gordon.’

‘Good night, little miss troublemaker.’

Shutting the wooden door quietly, Gordon reflected on that. For his writing, he’d researched the Avatar Cycle quite a bit. He’d heard that the spirit of the Avatar, Raava, was one of light and peace. It fundamentally shouldn’t be possible for an avatar to wreak as much harm as the last Water Avatar did; to do so would cut them off from the very core of their being… it must have torn him apart inside.

Although, the general consensus was, if there was ever anyone capable of cleaving their own soul in half, it was Avatar Vile.

#see ao3 tags #avatar au #fusion #avatar vile was my brainwave #cuz the egocentricity #inherited superpowers #and life tragedies #make skug destined for avatarship #skulduggery pleasant

[doodle-pops]

adorable idea I’ve been thinking about; so you know how little kids not only have little to no filter, but also say the funniest things?

I was thinking about by some chance either the mortal mother & her child are for some reason in one of the elven kingdoms or some of the elves were going through one of the mortal kingdoms. Little y/n getting to see the elves for the first time ever is just completely enamored with them, right, cause how can you not be with elves? I mean look at them lol

So it’d go something kinda like this:

( f/e: favorite elf • m/n: mothers name • f/i: favorite item )

little y/n after a week or so of getting to be around these literal giants & after following their f/e around they get the brilliant idea on how to confess their feelings.

with their f/i in their hands they boldly stroll up to f/e a wide tooth gapped smile on their lips as they try ti gain their f/e’s attention. once getting it little y/n offers them their f/i practically beaming when the item is taken from their small hands.

little y/n just absolutely giddy no hesitation: “ f/e when I get bigger, im going to marry you~!”

cue m/n dropping something they were holding, come running up to their child with the most embarrassed face you’ve ever seen: “ y/n! we do not say that to people— f/e im so sorry for my child—“

f/e trying their damnedest not to start laughing because this is extremely comical to them much to m/n embarrassment.

little y/n cutting in gazing up at their mother with a defiant look: “ nuh-uh momma i meant it! when I get to be a grown up I’m gonna marry f/e— right f/e!?”

f/e totally not doing that little choke laugh when you get caught off guard but also about to laugh either due to nerves or just to an amusing situation: “ * totally something your f/e would say I’m running out of brain juice I’m sorry *”

Ofc little y/n takes their f/e’s words to heart & let’s the matter be. Years down the line y/n is now a full grown adult & they’ve managed to run into the elves again an can you guess who they see ????

Their beloved f/e :D the years have past & i imagine y/n would look different enough that f/e wouldn’t quite put two to together— over the course they become friends then lovers one night while they’re together y/n will laugh making their lover question what’s so funny.

Y/n giggling lightly while wrapped in f/e’s arms: “ I told you I would marry you when I was older~”

Then the rest you can imagine how it goes I dunno this was adorable & very funny to me 😂 there was several a time I either said this to someone or had another kid day this to me. Like “Salem your my husband now” & kid me was like “ oh sick! cool I got a wife now :)) “

THIS WAS JUST SO CUTE!!!!!😍😍😍 it reminded me of that 'Some girl say she was gonna marry me' tik tok but with a good ending.

Majority of the time, our favourite elf is going to be squealing over the cuteness that's telling them they're gonna get married later in life.

#🦚{dofmtl} #favourite character x y/n #doodlepops responds

[damrlova]

Falling Chapter Three: Ice

This one is more lighthearted than the previous chapters. There are a few references to parental death. 

It had been four years since I saw Carole. Four years since the funeral and it still feels like yesterday. I watch as Carole pulls up to my house. Lips pursed as Bradley runs straight for the door. I always have an open door policy for spouses of those who have passed. “Tom?” I can hear Sarah yell from the kitchen followed by Emily’s loud giggles. “I’m coming, honey!” I get up from my desk, moving to open the door for Carole and Bradley. Bradley zooms past me to greet Emily and Sarah. I stop Carole before she can go past me, pulling her in for a hug. 

Her body slumps against mine as her grip tightens. “Thank you.” She whispered. I nod, rubbing her back. “Pete will be over for dinner. I know he wanted to see you and Bradley before we got shipped out again.” I murmur, pulling back. “You’re welcome to stay here until we get back. I know that Sarah could use some help with our little rascal.” I chuckle, feeling the two tornadoes run past me into the backyard. No matter how long it had been since they last saw each other, they played as if they were neighbors their whole life. I see Emily clamber up onto the swing, the words want to come out, to tell her to “be careful”, but I stop myself. A little risk is always healthy when it comes to these things. I promise to remind her later. I see the gap-toothed grin as she gets pushed around by Bradley. My little rascal.

Later that night as we sit around the dinner table, I look from Emily to Pete to Carole, glad for the family that I had made. All I know is that I’m never letting them go. Pete sits between the two kids and it’s a sight to see. He’s so gentle with them. The way he nods as Emily rambles to him about her new school project, how Bradley tries to roughhouse with him… It gives me an idea. “Carole-” I cleared my throat, looking at her. “Move back to San Diego. You have us and I’m sure so many other aviators will help if you need it.” Her face contorts as she sips her water. “Oh, I don’t know, Tom. Bradley’s got friends out in Tennessee. My parents are out there.” She considers, Bradley tugging at her sleeve. I should’ve brought it up when the little ears were out of the room. I wave it off as if it was nothing. I hear Emily mumble that Bradley should stay and I don’t have it in me to chide her. Sarah ushers her and Bradley into the living room, keeping an eye on them while Pete and I talk to Carole. 

“I don’t need babysitting, you two.” She began to reassure us. Pete was the first to put a stop to it. “Carole, we’re not saying that you need babysitting. We’re saying that coming back means you have the whole squadron behind you. It means that Bradley won’t be alone. You won’t be alone.” She begins to pick at her skin, mouth becoming a thin lipped expression. I can’t tell if she’s about to scream or cry, then I see the tell-tale sign of tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. “Boys,” She whispers. “I can’t be back here without him.” My heart breaks as I realize how tough this must be for her, even after four years. Pete barrels past me, pulling her into his arms. “It’ll be okay. Just let us help you.” He whispered, rubbing her back. “We want to help. You and Bradley deserve the best.” 

Pete nods as he moves back. “Listen, we’ll support whatever decision you make, okay?” Emily and Bradley zoom into the room, chasing each other around with toy planes. “Dad!” I hear her shriek, followed by Bradley’s laughter. “He hit me!” I shake my head with a lopsided grin as I follow Carole to the kids.

#falling series #rooster x oc #tgm fandom #tgm fic #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #emily kazansky

[pumpkincentaur]

Find the Word Tag 9

Saw an open tag from @winterandwords and decided to participate. Once again all of this is from The Lady Dressed in Blood.

High

From where Sevka sat, the stars looked so very small. Like naught but pinpricks, little needle-holes in the fabric of Niirsin’s holy body. At times like this, Sevka wondered how a god so far away had any hope of hearing anyone’s prayers—her own unwanted whispers notwithstanding. Even if every star was one of the Star-Mother’s eyes, could She truly see everything, from her place so high above the world? Did She know what Sevka was?

Low

The door was not locked. Still cradling her in his arms, Dimir bent low to open the door, then stepped down into the hut’s front room. It was here where Sevka slept, made her meals, and kept her hearth. The back room was where she worked.

“You’ve not been here for hours, have you?” Dimir asked.

Sevka did not answer. His voice still sounded distant, as though he was speaking from behind the other side of a wall. 

“Of course you haven’t. Star-Mother save me.”

Near

The boy’s face split into a wide, gap-toothed grin. “I’m from Jilos. Have you heard of it? It’s in the Dragonback Mountains, too. We could be cousins.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But probably not.” Sevka forced herself to smile again, even as thoughts of Jilos led her back to Koros, which led her back to Dimir, which led her back to the emptiness she now carried with her everywhere she went. It wasn’t this young lad’s fault, where he was born, or that he didn’t know what had happened to her in the village near his hometown. Given the way the Sanctums worked, he’d probably been taken from Jilos as a young boy, and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the town or his family since.

Far

Sevka remained on the other side of the shrine of Niirsin for a long time—far longer than the usual prayers would dictate. Even after he finished his own prayer, Nessian dared not move for fear that Sevka would see him. He did not want to speak to her. Or see her. Or even be seen by her. Any of the three would only serve to remind him of the way she went so ghastly pale before she collapsed in the training pit, followed by Miri prodding her in the ribs with the pointed toe of a Wolf-Knight’s polished steel greaves. While Esendel looked on in disgust and disappointment, of course, like he always did. As if Nessian was supposed to convince Sevka to perform an act of barbarity she was dead set against.

I’ll be doing an open tag of my own, for anyone who sees this and wants to participate. Your words are heart, soul, rain, sun, knife, and board.

#tag games #writeblr #writerblr #writblr #my writing

[whump-ghoul]

Whump Month #18: Homesick

For @cirrus-ghoulette’s Whump month!

Summary: Marlowe (OC) watches the ghouls play and begins to miss his siblings. Cirrus comforts him.

Warnings: Grief/Sibling Loss /Death

WC: 2178

Marlowe couldn’t help but observe from the edges like a secret bystander indulging in everyday, domestic life.

They reminded him of his siblings, perhaps a little too much.

It was a beautiful late-spring day, the temperatures already on the rise and the flora in full bloom. Duties had ceased for the early evening, many siblings finding themselves outside to enjoy the sun just as the ghouls did. Naturally, the humans and ghouls kept to themselves, but as always Marlowe found himself pulled towards them.

In a grass clearing, close to the greenhouse, most of the ghouls were engaged in an intense game of catch. Noticeably, Cumulus and Cirrus weren’t present, though the Bishop supposed this was due to their keyboard practice running late. He should know, as an assistant to the Clergy despite his title, he was always neck-deep in scheduling.

As he watched, Marlowe realized they had spun the rules to suit themselves, which ended with Dew tactfully sliding between Mountain's legs in order to pass the ball to Rain. Rain was preparing to move towards Aether but was ultimately tackled by Sunshine, their uniform grass-stained and a gap-toothed smile breaking their face in two.

They looked so much like his sister - short, curled hair included.

She was a carefree child, always with a tooth missing and a cheeky smile that meant he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. Unlike their brother, she was always covered in dirt or dust from whatever she had been up to, and Marlowe remembered the nights he spent trying to scrub paint out of her robes while listening to his brother recite the texts for an upcoming test.

Incidentally, like Marlowe’s brother, Mountain wasn’t quite aware of his own height or strength, therefore Marlowe’s heart stopped when he accidentally sent Dewdrop flying.

The fire ghoul recovered quickly however, as though it were nothing, and it was Rain who was first at his side, before Mountain was there spurting apologies. Dewdrop shrugged them off however, the ball somehow in his hands again as he cackled and struck the back of the earth ghouls knee and made a break for it. Laughter echoed across the clearing as the pack of ghouls charged after him.

Marlowe’s heart ached as he watched them go, rounding the ministry walls as Dewdrop had enacted a full-on chase, Siblings had to dive out of the way of the ghouls or risk getting plowed into. The Bishop considered following them, to see where they went from the fear of missing out, though his feet remained cemented to the green grass beneath his dress shoes. His chest felt tight; a familiar twinge in his throat.

“Come on Marlowe, you never want to play!”

“You have enough people on your team already, Val. I’ll be watching, I promise.”

Maybe he should have followed; joined in when he had the chance.

“Keep up, Marlowe!”

“Please be careful, Leo, I don’t want you to fall.”

A loud cackle of laughter caught his attention, and his head snapped towards the source. Along the treeline, a small cluster of siblings of sin were intrigued by an older sibling reading to them. The sight of the warn book and dog eared pages brought forth a wave of longing. The echoes of past fairy tales resounded in his mind, as though his siblings were still there, waiting for him to read the next chapter to them.

“Please, Marlowe, one more chapter, I promise I’ll go to sleep after!”

Without the company of others, he found himself lost in thought, withdrawn into his own world. The laughter and banter of the siblings and ghouls surrounding him was both a comfort and a reminder of what he had lost, and Marlowe couldn't help but wonder how life would have unfolded had his sibling still been by his side - what adventures they would have embarked on, and what secrets they would have shared.

To Marlowe, grief had become an ever-present companion, ebbing and flowing with each passing day. It manifested as a weight upon his hollow chest; a constant ache in his heart. But amidst the pain, he clung fiercely to the memories that bound them together. In moments of solitude, he sought solace in his memories - the last remnants he had of them as physical momentos were lost in the fire that claimed their lives. He often wondered what they would look like now, several years later. He wondered what his family would look like, if it were complete.

Behind him, a ghoulette approached.

Two hands snaked around his waist, coming to rest just above his stomach as he was pulled into a taller frame. He let his head drop back against the beating heart that had come to rescue him from his thoughts. He had recognised her in an instant.

“What’s on your mind, Bishop?” Cirrus asked into his hair, her long fingers toying with the sash of his cassock.

“Home.” He murmured. Because wherever his siblings were, that's where he considered home. He’d moved enough in his lifetime, therefore designating a person as a place was his best chance at feeling grounded; feeling whole.

“How so?” She pressed, inviting him to sit in the grass with her. He complied, and began picking at the blades, just as the ghouls came charging round the opposite corner. This time, Aether and Mountain were using their height advantage to pass the ball between them, as the shorter ghouls pouted and launched themselves to intercept it as they moved. They settled back to play in the clearing they began in, Marlowe and Cirrus situated near the paving stones that led to the greenhouse.

“My siblings were much like this. Always fighting but always inseparable… always driving me insane.”

“What are they like?” Cirrus asked, reclining to bask in the sunshine.

Marlowe paused. She hadn’t caught the past-tense and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to-

“Your siblings.” Cirrus prompted softly. Marlowe closed his eyes, claiming the action to be because of the sun. He supposed he needed this.

“What would you like to know?” His voice was a rasp, his heart stuttering.

“Their names would be a good start.”

Marlowe huffed a small laugh, a smile barely gracing his lips as their names sat on the tip of his tongue, just as they remained at the forefront of his mind.

“Valdes and Cornelius.” Marlowe admitted with a slight flourish. Cirrus snorted, though slammed a hand over her mouth, catching her flesh with her fangs as she did. Marlowe craned his head towards her, eyeing the ghoulette with a smirk on his lips.

“What’s so funny?” He asked playfully.

“Nothing.” She said, but the tightness to her voice revealed otherwise.

“You can laugh at their names, I do.” He snorted. “It’s Val and Leo for short.”

“It’s just… many humans have such funny names.” She thought for a moment. “Stephen, Amelia, Craig.”

“Laugh all you want, but you and Cumulus are literally named after clouds.” Marlowe said, as though it were well-known.

“What?”

Marlowe lifted his head again.

“No one told you?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Apparently it wasn’t common knowledge, then.

Marlowe dropped his head, adding under his breath:. “If it helps, they are very pretty clouds. Powerful, but beautiful.”

He saw Cirrus blush despite herself.

“What are you named after?” She asked.

He thought of all the ways he could tell her; explain his story to her. But his words caught on the back of his throat, refusing to budge no matter how much he yearned to explain himself. His name meant explaining his family, as discussing his siblings was more draining than he’d like to admit. Under his gloves, his scars pulsed in phantom pain.

“It’s sort of long story.” He settled on, mentally trying to produce the too-long-didn’t-read version for when she inevitably pressed.

Cirrus leaned closer, her eyes full of curiosity and a gentle understanding.

"I have time." she said softly, her voice a soothing melody that wrapped around Marlowe's troubled heart. "I want to hear your story, Marlowe. I want to know everything about you."

Marlowe took a deep breath, feeling a surge of vulnerability mixed with a glimmer of hope. He had carried the weight of his past for so long, and now he had someone willing to listen, to share in his burdens and his joys. He glanced at the ghouls playing in the clearing, their laughter and carefree spirits a reminder of the innocence he had lost.

"Well, you see," Marlowe began, his voice steady but tinged with nostalgia, "My nickname derived from an old English writer, of whom my parents were fans of. Us kids were all named after characters from his adaptation of the Faust legend. They were named after scholars and I… the demon from hell.”

He cringed. “Sometimes I wonder about changing it. But then it wouldn’t fit my job description, would it? Nominative determinism and all that.”

Cirrus nodded, her fingers still playing with the loose end of the sash of his cassock, her second-hand touch grounding him in the present moment.

"But my siblings liked to learn. They had to find meaning behind every word," he continued, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Valdes, my sister, researched our names. She didn’t want to be known as the kid with pretentious parents, no. Her name means 'brave'. She was always the fearless one, ready to take on any challenge with a mischievous glint in her eyes. And Cornelius, my brother, his name means 'steadfast.' He was the rock in our trio, the one who held us together with his unwavering loyalty and love but was stubborn as all hell. I won’t tell you how long it took me to train him out of nappies or do his homework. Val brought out the worst in him, but also the best.”

They didn’t need me. Even in the end they were brave and stubborn.

Cirrus listened intently, her gaze unwavering and full of warmth.

"You raised them?” She asked softly.

“I- yeah," Marlowe replied, his voice filled with both sadness and fondness. "Parents weren’t really around and there was an age gap. There were nine years between me and Leo and twelve between be and Val. They’re my kids.”

“Your parents… are they…”

He shrugged. They left just after Vals first birthday.

“It was just me and the kids. We were a team; a trio bound by blood. It was us against the world.”

Cirrus reached out and gently clasped Marlowe's gloved hand, her touch a comforting anchor in his stormy sea of emotions. He knew she knew, but admitting their deaths would never get easier. Instead, Marlowe nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It had been years since the fire, and even longer since his parents left, but the ache never truly disappeared. Sometimes, it felt like they were still with him, guiding him and egging him to keep going. But other times... it felt like they were slipping further and further away, fading into the depths of his memories.

And it terrified him.

Cirrus squeezed his hand, a silent gesture of support. "Tell me more about Val and Leo. What were they like?"

A tender smile bloomed on Marlowe's face, and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back to the memories that fueled his soul.

“Valdes had an infectious laugh. It could brighten the gloomiest of days and bring a smile to anyone's face. She was adventurous from the start, always seeking out new experiences and dragging us along with her. Well, mainly dragging Leo into trouble with the Clergy of our old Abbey. And Leo, well, he was incredibly intelligent, always studying and absorbing knowledge like a sponge. Always asking why.”

“Marlowe, where’s mum and dad?”

“They’ve… gone away.”

“Why?”

“They both had a terrifying mischievous streak. I’m reminded of it with Dew and Sunny’s pranks.”

It was painful to see so much of them in the ghouls...

Cirrus chuckled softly, her laughter a gentle breeze that danced around them. "They sound wonderful, Marlowe.”

…but at the same time, they kept their memories alive. They formed his new family in whom he could trust and love. Marlowe opened his eyes, gazing at Cirrus with gratitude and a newfound sense of connection.

"Thank you, Cirrus." I just wish they could’ve met you.

Cirrus leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on Marlowe's cheek.

"The packs here for you, always.”

Marlowe's heart swelled with a mix of emotion: grief, love, and a glimmer of hope. In that moment, surrounded by laughter and the warmth of Cirrus by his side, he realized that healing was not a far-fetched fantasy - and that even in the face of loss, there could be new beginnings. And together, they would create their own story, one that honored the past and embraced the future-

The ball hit the ground with a thud and rolled towards them, stopping inches from Marlowe’s feet. He looked to Cirrus, then to the ghouls stalking towards it like prey.

He grabbed the ball and stood.

It would be rude not to

#I know this is late! I’ve been sitting on it for a while #sorry for formatting errors I’m on mobile #whump #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #whump month #homesick #tw: sibling loss #tw: loss #tw: grief #tw: scars #cirrus ghoulette

[cophene]

003 | pretty boy server.

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : jojolion x gn reader summary : the heir to an limitless fortune goes on a vacation to morioh to find their true love. seems easy enough; only, if that they're unable to find their love, they'll lose not just their fortune, but their life. notes : multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.6k+

★ . . . IT WAS MORE THE TIMBRE of your server’s voice you listened to rather than any of the actual words he said. “Starting from the top down the parfait consists of cut melons, jelly and whipped cream, ice cream, melon granita, champagne sherbert, corn biscuit, another layer of jelly and whipped cream, and finally fresh melon juice. Please enjoy and let me know if I can help you with anything else.”

Your server gave a small bow before tucking his tray under his arm and walking briskly away. You watched his back as he moved, deftly picking up a few empty parfait glasses from a table and tapping the shoulder of a passing girl, laughing when she pouted at him. You felt faintly disappointed when he disappeared into the kitchens, taking his gap-toothed smile and cute pink kerchief with him.

“The longer that dopey smile stays on your face, the more dignity you lose.”

You barely heard Karera. In a daze, you stuck your spoon down as far down the glass as it would go before scooping it out and putting the dreamy mixture in your mouth. You closed your eyes with a sigh.

“Did he say his name was Josuke?”

Karera helped herself to her parfait, eyes growing wide before she shovelled another bite into her mouth. “Forget the server. What did they put into this? Is it really just fruit?”

Forget the server? You were willing to pay the fruit parlour a visit every day if it meant catching a glimpse of Josuke in that pink kerchief. He had the kind of face that made you smile whenever you thought of him. You were struck with the inexplicable urge to make him laugh. How would his mouth curve when a peal of laughter escaped him? And his eyes. Were they really two different colours? He should pass by again so you could check.

“He is pretty cute,” Karera said, already halfway through her parfait. “Kinda reminds me of a crush I used to have.”

There had to be a specific word for this, enjoying a deliciously sweet dessert while your mind conjured up rose-tinted thoughts of a pretty boy. You had been afraid coming to Morioh for a month wouldn’t be long enough to fulfill your task, but it couldn’t be that hard if you’d met someone like Josuke already?

You glanced at the back of your hand. The brand was still there, but maybe it was lighter than it had been a minute ago?

The exquisite parfaits were finished in a matter of minutes. Josuke swept by to pick up the empty glasses, although not nearly long enough for you to admire his smile again.

“You’re down bad,” Karera said with exasperated amusement. “You barely met the guy and you look like you’re planning the rest of your lives together.”

“That is why I’m here,” you said faintly. Karera was well aware, but that didn’t stop her from teasing you mercilessly.

If only it could be as easy as this, you thought. You would be done with your task and on your way home and no one would be the wiser.

But curses were never that easy, and the one suffocating your family was particularly complicated.

Eventually, customers began trickling out of the fruit parlour. After you explained that you were guests of Norisuke-san’s, the servers were nice enough to leave you both with cups of tea as they cleaned up and closed the parlour for the evening. You and Karera waved at everyone as they left, and you only perked up when you spotted Josuke trailing the lingering employees to the exit.

A thrill went through you as he headed to your table instead.

“You wouldn’t happen to be L/N Y/N and their friend, right? Norisuke mentioned something about spending the summer in Morioh.”

The smile that spread across your face was glorious. “That happens to be exactly who we are.”

Josuke grinned, sliding into the booth beside Karera. He had changed out of his uniform into a white sailor-reminiscent outfit with a cap to match.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Higashikata Josuke. I would’ve kept you company earlier but I had to finish my shift. Sorry about that.”

“Higashikata?” You felt your good mood deflating like a balloon. “Are you a relative of Norisuke?” And Joshu? you internally worried.

Josuke looked off to the side. “Not exactly. I was … Norisuke was kind enough to take me under his wing and give me a place to stay while I sorted some things out. He was also kind enough to lend me his last name since … things came up.”

You and Karera traded glances. You had a weakness for pretty boys with mysterious pasts.

“What a relief,” Karera said, leaning back. “We would’ve had to kick your ass if you were related to that dickwad Joshu.”

“What happened?” Josuke looked between you and Karera. “Ah, well, I suppose I can guess. Joshu’s not very personable even on his good days. I would’ve gone to pick you up myself if I had a license.”

If only he had, you lamented silently. 

With him sitting right across from you, you could see that Josuke’s eyes were indeed two different colours. His irises were split down the middle, one side a deep purple while the other was a sapphire blue. The effect would have been a little disquieting, if Josuke himself wasn’t so amiable.

All at once, you were aware of your bone dice in your pocket. You took them out, and began passing them from one hand to the other. 

“Say, Josuke. Would you like to play a game?”

In stark contrast to Joshu, Josuke perked up immediately. “Sure! What kind of game?”

You had to smile. “An easy one. I have two dice in my hand. If you roll under a seven, then …” you glanced around the parlour, thinking. 

“You owe me a day of sightseeing around Morioh.”

It was definitely one of your more benign tasks. Karera hid her surprised smirk behind her teacup.

“Alright,” Josuke said, tilting his head. “And if I roll over that?”

You placed the hand holding the bone dice palm-up on the table, the dice gleaming dully under the parlour lights. “Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Josuke’s eyebrows rose. “Anything? Seems like a lot when all I’m doing is showing you around town.”

You shrugged. “I’ll do whatever you want if you roll a seven or up. Do we have a deal?”

“Please excuse me,” Karera drawled, with all the subtlety of a dying whale. “I need to use the restroom.”

Josuke got out of the booth to let Karera pass. Karera had seen you use your bone dice enough times by now to know what would happen. Sometimes, she was better at guessing what numbers people would roll than you were. As she passed by you, you caught her mouthing, He’s going to win.

Huh. Was that so?

The interesting thing about your bone dice was that lower numbers corresponded to stronger compulsions by your Stand. If someone were unlucky enough to roll a two, they would have to do whatever task you’d given them immediately or probably die on the spot. You had to be careful with people you knew and trusted, because if you made a bet with them, the situation would be reversed, and the higher numbers would compel you to finish their task. You avoided this by refraining from putting forward a bet altogether, merely using the dice as a trust test the way you’d done with Karera.

Rolling a six was a sort of twilight zone. You couldn’t compel a person who rolled a six to do anything, but they weren’t entirely trustworthy, either. Over the years, you’d taken it to mean that they could swing either way and raised your guard around them until Dancing’s Done could decide definitively. People rarely rolled that number, however, since your Stand had gotten more adept at reading people.

As much as you liked Josuke, you didn’t think he’d roll over a seven. He was still a stranger. And you didn’t trust strangers.

Josuke was still considering the dice in your hand. The expression on his face hadn’t changed, but you had the feeling maybe he had caught on that this game wasn’t as innocuous as it sounded. 

“Fine, deal,” he said finally. He took the bone dice waiting on your palm and shook them gingerly in his fist. Your jade plate made an appearance on the table and you waited expectantly for Josuke to drop the dice.

“Oi, you ready to go? The old man finally finished bitching over his fruits—JOSUKE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

You and Josuke both flinched. Joshu stormed over to your table, furious.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting Josuke to play your stupid dice game!” he seethed. He reached for Josuke’s hand. “Give them to me, man. Don’t play their bullshit game.”

“Relax,” Josuke said, lifting his hand out of Joshu’s reach. “What’s wrong with a little game?”

“EVERYTHING!” Joshu screamed, leaping onto Josuke. He strained to pry the bone dice out of Josuke’s hand. “I’m trying to protect you, asshole! I didn’t think the game was shit either until they fucking twisted my hand off!”

“What are you talking about?” Josuke stood up and Joshu slid to the ground with a thud. “Would you leave me alone? I get you’re pissed that Norisuke made you come today but I’m trying to be nice.”

Joshu let out a frustrated noise. “Don’t fall for it! Those dice are rigged! You’ll roll a low number and then your limbs will start falling off until you do whatever task they gave you!” 

Josuke frowned down at Joshu, then looked over at you. You kept your face as serene as a lake, neither confirming nor denying it.

“I thought you said this was just a game,” he said slowly.

“It is. Just roll the dice, Josuke.”

“What did they make you bet?” Joshu shouted. He was clutching at Josuke’s shirt like a drowning cat. “Please tell me it was something small. You didn’t bet anything stupid, did you?” 

“I—” Josuke faltered. Doubt flickered across his face as he stared at the dice in his hand. You stifled a sigh. It was always harder to play when there was someone else nearby.

“Just put the dice down,” Joshu insisted. “You’ll thank me for it, trust me.”

“Hold on,” you said, just as Josuke was about to release the dice on the jade plate. “You’re aware that dropping the dice right at this moment will count as a play, right? Whatever number you happen to roll will settle our game.”

“What? No. I don’t want to play anymore. I’m calling it off.”

“There’s no such thing as calling this off. The moment you let go of the dice, the game is concluded.”

“I told you they were gonna fuck with you!” Joshu surged across the table, grabbing a fistful of your shirt. You sputtered in surprise when he yanked you forward, cutting into your windpipe. “Messing with me wasn’t enough? You have to get Josuke into this too? Call off the attack! This isn’t like my turn. He hasn’t rolled the dice yet!”

“This started the moment Josuke picked up the dice,” you choked out. “There’s nothing I can do. He already agreed to our deal.”

“Screw you! I knew it was suspicious how Dad announced you were coming out of nowhere! You’re just here to off my entire family, is that it? You want to take over my Dad’s business, right? You and your goddamn friend?” You couldn’t even get any words out. Nut King Call was in your face and you screamed as it wrapped its fingers around your neck. One moment, you were staring at Joshu’s face. The next, you were looking up at Josuke. For a second, you could only stare, wondering what the hell had happened. 

You couldn’t feel anything. You tried to turn your head but couldn’t. You heard something slump forward behind you. From your periphery, you thought you saw two bolts protruding from either side of your neck. 

The bastard. Joshu had unscrewed your head like you were a toy. You were just lucky you hadn’t felt anything.

“Joshu!” Josuke cried. He looked stricken, the bone dice still clenched in his hand.

“You are gonna drop the bullshit with the dice right now or you can live headless.” Joshu jabbed a finger into your forehead. It was disconcerting, seeing everything from table-level.

Where the hell was Karera? She sure was taking her sweet time in the restroom.

Black dots speckled across your vision. Breathe, you told yourself. As well as you can without your lungs. Just don’t panic.

“I told you there’s nothing I can do,” you said, as calmly as you could. “The moment Josuke picked up the dice, the game began. It is now his turn, and interfering in any way won’t change the outcome. The same way you can’t recall billiard balls after you’ve struck them with a cue or a soccer ball after you’ve kicked it. Because Josuke is already holding the dice, when he lets go of them, it will count as a roll. Whether he releases the dice or you pry it out from his hands, it will count as a roll. If you wanted to back out, you should’ve done that before you picked up the dice.”

Joshu’s eye twitched. Josuke sighed.

“It’s fine, Joshu. I’ll roll the dice.”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?! Your limbs are gonna twist off! It hurts like hell! They straight-up said you’d die if you didn’t complete their task!”

Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all to use Dancing’s Done on Joshu. Evidently, it had rattled him more than you’d expected.

Josuke met your gaze. His gaze hardened, and if you were still connected to your body, you would’ve felt a chill. “If I roll under a seven, I have to complete your task. But if I roll over that, you do whatever I want. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Josuke blew out a breath. He cupped the dice between both of his hands, giving them a decisive shake.

Joshu’s eyes bugged out of his skull. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not gonna win, I’m telling you! You and I should just use our Stands and beat the hell out of this asshole!”

“This person is Norisuke’s guest,” Josuke replied evenly. “If they were a threat, I doubt he would let them stay at the mansion.”

“My dad doesn’t know shit! Or did you miss the part where they almost killed me?”

Josuke ignored him. He lowered his head, his gaze hidden beneath his sailor’s cap. He opened his fingers over the jade plate, allowing the bone dice to clink around until they settled.

Your head wasn’t quite at the right angle to see the dice. Instead, you focused on the expressions in front of you. Outrage on Joshu’s face. Grim satisfaction on Josuke’s. An undercurrent of surprise from both. 

No. It wasn’t possible. No one had ever—not on the first try—

“Put their head back, Joshu,” said Josuke.

Joshu did so, grumbling all the while. You didn’t even think to check yourself for injuries. The minute your head was back on your shoulders, you leaned down to squint at the bone dice.

Four pips on one die and five on the other. Nine in total.

You felt a tug on your chest. It had been so long since you’d felt the sensation that you didn’t remember what it meant at first.

If someone rolled lower than six, they were forced to do whatever you’d asked of them. But if you misjudged, and they rolled over a seven when a task had been set in place—

“I win,” Josuke said tonelessly. When your gaze snapped up, you found you couldn’t read his eyes at all.

“You have to do whatever I want.”

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

#okoshijjl #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #jojolion #jojolion x reader #gender neutral reader

[rjalker]

this picrew for the first one, and this one for the others. Didn't realize until now they were made by the same person lol...

In order from left to right: The deadbeat dad, whose name I did not learn. Pretend the mark over his eye is a bruise. He has a black eye from not following the most basic safety protocols for dissecting literally anything, let alone an unknown dead alien.

Bethany Thomas, who was so fucking adorable words cannot suffice. Cutest character ever to appear in a dream. She was the main character who was stuck in a time loop, who gave herself two first names because she's bigender and wanted to represent her feminine and masculine sides at every introduction. Yellow seemed to be her Theme color.

Then Matt, her BFF who had the amazing shirt, and Shelly, the new (but not replacement! They all became BFFs!) BFF who hasn't actually met Bethany Thomas yet because the time loop just reset.

They were all trapped on an abandoned space station with a bunch of already-dead horse-shoe-crab looking aliens. Which Mr. Deadbeat Dad was dissecting without proper PPE which is why he got a black eye. An organ just came shooting out and smacked him right in the eye. A reverse chestburster lol.

All of the kids are Queer. The deadbeat dad is not happy about this, but he's the only one who thinks he has any authority over them, so it's fine. They mostly sit back and enjoy watching him hurt himself because he refuses to use the most basic caution or follow any kind of safety rules out of spite for being reminded to.

He's there just by absolute random chance, no one was planning for him to be on the same shuttle as his estranged dauson. He now thinks that as the adult he's the boss and they all have to listen to him and Respect™ him. Nope.

[ID: Four picrews, all with a watermark reading "Makowka" or "Makowwka". The first shows an angrily frowning man with white skin, unruly short brown hair, and stubble on his chin and cheeks. He is wearing round glasses, and has a red mark over his left eye. He's wearing a blue button-up jacket overa Star Trek shirt. The background is solid red-brown with a white circle behind his head. The second shows a young nonbinary Black person smiling at the camera happily, with dark freckles and a little speech bubble with a heart emoji in it. She has black hair that comes to just above her shoulders, with a yellow bow and gold heart-shaped earings. She's wearing silver glasses, and a white and blue tracksuit jacket. The background is the trans pride flag, with stripes of blue, pink, white, pink, and blue, with a cream circle behind her head. The third shows a young white boy with light brown hair and freckles smiling at the camera happily. He is wearing a white and blue tie-dye shirt, and the background is the Pride flag, with stripes of black, brown, red, orange, yellow, green blue, and purple, with a black circle behind his head. The fourth shows a young white girl with shoulder length blonde hair and a gap in her tooth as she smiles at the camera, blushing happily. There is a pattern of light scarring crossing her face. She's wearing a black choker necklace with a silver heart, and black crescent moon and star earrings, and a pastel shirt of blue, pink, and yellow. The background is the Ace pride flag, with stripes of black, grey, white, and purple. End ID.]

Anyways, the picrew art belongs to the creator, but the character concepts themselves are public domain because they were in my dream, and I say so.

#described images #dream art #it counts #Rjalker has weird dreams #Rjalker's OCs #not really. they don't feel like OCs. #Like they're just whole people who fell into my head. #I didn't make them lol. my brain did. #picrews #did I make a tag for characters from my dreams yet #Rjalker's dream characters #Rjalker's Dream OCs #eh #Dream art

[edienotsedgwick]

Delusional Words - a collection

Limerence

I wanna fall in love with you so hard that I stop chewing my lips. 

Maybe in another life, you were a princess and I was a hopeful peasant. 

~~

I thought that I could get over you, and that this was a little phase, and that I could forget your face.

But now you notice me it’s more than just politeness. 

The tarot says, wheel of fortune, just give it a chance. 

~~ 

If I wasn’t motivated then, I’m motivated now. 

If I can’t work for myself then I’ll work for...

Your smile

Your laugh

Dancing with you in public.

Red lipstick on my cheeks. 

And maybe your hand if you let me hold it while we run through the street. 

~~

When people fall in love they want to be better. 

They’ll try to be kinder or even prettier. 

But I as a glitchgirl when I look at you, I want to be better by being functional for you. 

~~

I’ll keep my room clean if you ever stay in it. 

I’ll meet all deadlines to make sure I have time. 

I’ll save a chunk of money from every paycheck I get - though I’ve got a thing for pan au chocolats. 

When I finally see your eyes up close, I wanna be functional for you. 

~~

I would jump through my life’s flaming hoops just to be the one for you. 

Even though you don’t know what you do to me.

And even if all my work on this goes to waste - I’ll at least be happy that I was productive.

I can channel, all that same energy just in reverse in the future. 

~~ 

Do you like girls or do you just kiss your friends for photos?

~~

Do you like girls or are you just liberal with compliments?

~~

Would you still love me if I lost my canine teeth, before we’d meet?

If I spat them into my hands revealing mazes in the cavities. 

~~

Maybe you’ll love me if I can’t bite and retreat. 

If I could only eat ice cream and mashed potatoes before I sleep. 

And you wouldn’t be afraid to kiss me without canine teeth.

The soft gums are what make me me, I’m not missing a piece. 

~~

Rubbing my tooth in that groove in my nail that I cut all jagged. 

I know in theory, you’d give me your time - but I don’t know in practice if you’d feel so inclined. 

But tonight is tonight, hope the stars are aligned. 

Coming down 

~~

We cackle and banter, and we push and we pull away. Push and we pull away. 

~~

Cup my face in your hands, you say

“I’ll kiss you once, and I’ll leave you wanting more.”

So I feel the earth spin. 

What’s left of your lipstick leaves a stain.

The opposite of pain. 

But you go as soon as you come in. 

You went on your word. 

I hit the hard marble floor and you laughed as you walked away like the femme fatales from films of yesterday. 

~~

You’d touch me with a 50 foot pole, but you’d never use your hands. 

~~

I said I’d show you a gap toothed smile, and you said it’d be okay

But when I reminded you of the day, suddenly you couldn’t stay. 

~~ 

I’ve jumped back in the ocean.

Looking for the right fish, wishing I didn’t give this whole thing up. 

~~

It’s funny how the day I learned that I liked girls, was when ribbons in my mouth unfurled when I saw this one with colored curls. 

We never truly met each other, I fumbled when I followed her. 

I truly regret it all, but I understand myself much more. 

Since I got those doctors’ orders. 

~~

All the times that love has won, it’s never been with who I thought. 

Every limerent object, I laugh at my own delusion in the future. 

There’s always been a friend who’s been waiting by my side, and when the time is right we’ve kissed in the moonlight. 

#edie TxT #this is a lil different but I love it #compilation of me being insane last year #and then coming down from it earlier this year. #song lyrics #poetry #my lyrics #my music #autistic musician #autistic writer

[steveskafte]

NEW GAS IN THE TANK It's been about four years now since you could last get gas in sleepy Caledonia, the most landlocked town in seabound Nova Scotia. This leaves a thirsty gap of 98 kilometres (if you stick to paved roads), from the Lequille Country Store southeast to Greenfield. Better not be running empty when you embark on that excursion down the depths of Highway 8. It's been sitting powerless and vacant for a while, rusty reminder or effigy on the roadside. But before you tell me, let me tell you – Jason and Samantha Robinson bought the station this January, with plans to open in May. If you've followed my work for any amount of time, you know how I love these smallest stops that keep you rolling down the road. Coming and going, or going and gone, I find just as much beauty in loss as a chance at new life. So it's good to see one pending revival; new gas in the tank, so to speak. I'll roll by this spring on my way to some adventure, poke my head in whether I need fuel or not. Maybe something to satisfy my salty tooth, and my taste for smalltown stories. The past works hard to catch the present. January 31, 2023 Caledonia, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5560 of my daily journal.