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#i wrote that from my bed
rinneverse · 2 months
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cw a little suggestive towards the end, mdni please and ty :)
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alhaitham is the type to seethe quietly in his jealousy.
he’s not outwardly possessive—no, because he lets the stranger talk to you—his pretty girlfriend—about his thesis plans, about his academic feats, and you sit there with a smile plastered on your face, nodding your head as you listen to him prattle on and on and on.
alhaitham nearly bends the book in his hand into pieces with what he claims is annoyance. not possessiveness, no, that was out of character. he was just… annoyed, that this random man had the gall to interrupt his reading session with you.
that’s what he tells himself, at least.
of course, how was he supposed to know you were dating the akademiya scribe, when alhaitham was possibly the most low-key person ever? the two of you were quiet about your relationship, content to share it between yourselves. only your close friends really knew the extent of how deep your “friendship” with the scribe went.
as soon as the man leaves (not without leaving his number for you, of course), and the two of you are blanketed in the quiet murmurs of the akademiya library, alhaitham sets his book down. he turns to you.
he finds you staring at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. alhaitham tilts his head, all feline grace, his eyes narrowing into slits as he asks, “what?”
you shake your head mirthfully, crumpling up the slip of paper in your hand and tossing it into the nearest bin. alhaitham feels his shoulders un-tense just a fraction at the sight.
“nothing,” you say, but alhaitham knows you’re lying.
so he leans closer to you, grasping your chin in his hand as he tilts your head back and forces your gaze to meet his.
“liar. what is it?”
you smile. wide and wider it grows, and you reach a hand up to brush alhaitham’s cheek. he barely suppresses a shudder at the gentle touch.
“i didn’t think you to be the jealous type.”
“i’m not.”
“then what was that all about?” you hum. you’re… amused by this. amused by him grappling with his emotions. alhaitham feels his lips twitch downward.
if you didn’t know any better, he would appear to just be frowning. but you did… and it was like he was pouting. you giggle.
“i am annoyed,” alhaitham says, stressing the last word, “that we were interrupted by a stranger. nothing more.”
“nothing more?” you parrot, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “sure. and i’m the grand sage.”
alhaitham bites his tongue, pulling his hand away from your chin. his fingers flex—he has to stamp down on his self-control. being found in a compromising position in the library would surely wreck the both of your social statuses.
but the thrill of it… seeing you bent over the table, utterly wrecked under the careful ministrations of his hands—getting to mark his claim on you...
he quickly shakes the dangerous train of thought away.
“do you want to go home?” you suddenly ask, a coy smile dancing on your lips. he must have been obvious where his line of thinking was going, if you managed to catch on that quickly. the grin on your face tells him that you did.
alhaitham pretends to ponder it. grabs the book he set down, turns it over in his hands, then shrugs.
“sure. kaveh shouldn’t be home for another few hours.”
his voice was bedroom-soft, and the tone in which he said it—nearly purring—has heat pooling in your core.
“alright. let’s go?”
he wordlessly rises, holding out his hand for you. there’s a small part of him that feels a maddening satisfaction when you let out a pleased hum, followed by a surprised yelp as he gracefully slides an arm around you.
someone nearby makes a “shh” noise, and he completely ignores it. you giggle out an apology.
it was utterly unlike him, he thinks, as he guides you through the library with his arm wrapped around your waist, slowly moving to rest his hand on the small of your back when the two of you exit the library.
maybe he’ll try being more public in his attention to you. that would most certainly keep this from happening again.
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padawansuggest · 6 days
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Helix: *goes to help pull a halfway melted part of Cody’s blacks up so he could cut it off, and get smacked on the hand for it* hmmm…
Cody: *did not mean to do that just got startled while he was trying to do the same thing to his left ankle, isn’t actually hurt just annoyed because melted blacks apparently stick to your body hair* …!!!
Helix: You know. I once had a dream where you drank so much coffee your body started to shut down.
Cody: …???
Helix: Yeah. I guess it starts with paranoia, huh?
Cody: -_- I think it has more to do with the shinies that tried to wax me with my own melted blacks.
Helix: Keep telling yourself that.
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doodlerh · 10 months
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DREADNAUT!!!
THERE'S GENUINELY SO MUCH LORE BUT I. suuuuper abridged version:
the sea terror, a carrier snail, is getting a bit too heavy. it's collected too many shells, but it's eyes are too sucky to decide which ones it wants to remove :') it's like ok god i'll just make a human shell and goes to the shore to do so, but wht's this? it finds a perfectly good body that just drowned in a tide pool a couple yards away! convenient!
it leaves its shell and takes over the body, stands up and gets ready to go find its shell again, but. WHAT! this body is blind. just its luck. well ok guess i'll get another one
BUT WHAT'S THIS? the kid's parents appear outta nowhere (they saw their child's body in the tide pool and ran down from their cottage overlooking the sea as fast as they could), and they see the dreadnaut traits and know that their kid has died and they cry and cry and cry it's really sad and all the while the really bad eyesight snail (who is looking through the ear mimics) is like bruh what's going on
though dreadnauts are usually reported, the parents come to the kid's dreadnaut (who can talk and probably sounds like a very mean and sarcastic robin williams) and they agree to keep the dreadnaut's secret, as it means that in some sad way their child can live just a little longer. they gift it a satchel with which it can carry all its beloved shells; they'd been saving it for the kid's 6th birthday bc they loved to collect seashells too, and they find it kinda sweet that the sea terror that chose their kid is a carrier snail bc they have smth in common
so yea the dreadnaut hangs out at the tide pools n finds super cool shells n has a good time, n the kid's parents keep it safe n out of sight and occasionally come visit. the dreadnaut wants a body that yknow, has working eyes, but it begins to feel sorry for this family that didn't even have a chance to grieve bc it like instantly took over their five year old's body. it can control the body's vocal cords and mouth but it decides to just speak out of their ears so the kid's voice won't cause the parents any more grief :'(
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atsume was a 5 yr old child who was born blind, to the seascape painter umi and the fisherman aoi. they reaaaally loved atsume they were umi and aoi's world :') umi was sad they'd never get to see her paintings or the sea at all, but they still found joy in everything n made joy everywhere they went. aoi isn't the most vocally affectionate he's a bit awkward in that aspect so he expresses everything in actions, so he is often found holding atsume's hand and doing stuff with them. umi is vocally very affectionate and she likes to admire things from a distance (hence her love for the sea) so she sings to atsume while she works.
atsume's parents (usually aoi) always take em down to the tide pools to collect seashells. atsume can't see them but they love them bc they can hear the sea in them :') however, one day, atsume goes down to the tide pools alone, and the tide sweeps in much stronger than usual and atsume falls into a pool. they never learned how to swim given their parents were too nervous to even let em swim in the ocean so they unfortunately drowned. :(
umi and aoi are devastated, they cry together for probably weeks. they avoid the tide pools as much as they can (aside from making sure the dreadnaut that looks like their precious child isn't wandering too far) until aoi has to go down to fish so they can eat. he goes down and doesn't talk to the dreadnaut, but the sea terror can sense that this dad was a really affectionate one and it still kinda feels bad abt yknow the whole possessing their kid thing, so it walks atsume over to aoi and they stand next to him, and aoi takes their hand and they stand there in silence together :'( eventually aoi catches a couple fish and says till next time, and then he goes
in other instances, umi comes down (with aoi's encouragement) with some of her favorite paintings and she sits with the dreadnaut and talks with it about the sea and atsume. it's easier for her to talk, though it's still really hard obviously speaking to her child's yknow. body with a snail in it..but it gets easier for her as she befriends the sea terror, who truly does appreciate atsume despite their blindness.
eventually umi and aoi get closer to the dreadnaut, bringing gifts n offering to keep safe shells that the dreadnaut is getting tired of carrying but can't let go. soon their house is filled with amazing seashells (and some that, aren't that amazing but they're not gonna tell the snail that), and they even convince it to come visit. it only comes once but the house is like nothing it's ever seen (understandable given it's lived in the ocean for 600 yrs), and it really appreciates umi, aoi, and atsume for all its new experiences.
one day, atsume's body begins to decay. it's very slow due to idk sea terror properties, but the snail doesn't want umi and aoi to have to see this. it does go to the house doorstep one more time to be like i don't want u guys to have to see ur child die again, and it might be time for me to return to the sea. i've racked up all these baller shells and i've seen so much; perhaps i'll return with a body of my own one day. umi and aoi understand and thank it, thank it for both respecting their child's body and also giving them another year or so of life. they've accepted atsume's death and want to give them a proper burial, maybe start anew.. the sea terror leaves atsume in a patch of spongy seagrass and, having chosen an all new set of exquisite shells from the tide pools (it's definitely keeping the conch ears though), it returns to the ocean depths once more :) umi and aoi say goodbye, and they bury atsume by the sea and continue w their lives, waiting for the day a conch-eared dreadnaut returns to their doorstep with good tidings and new tales from the sea.
-
ok now some misc notes to cheer everyone up!! atsume is a carrier snail mimicking a caracal, with four of the snail's eye stalks acting as the caracal ear tufts. the snail has three sets of eyes but one brain that sorta travels around the body to be with whichever set of eyes needs it, so when one becomes smart n talks, the others are like durr
atsume liked to listen to conches, but now the sea terror will lift conches to atsume's "ears" so it can examine it with its horrible horrible vision. to umi and aoi, it looks like atsume is listening to the sea again (screaming crying)
atsume's name means "diligent/sincere," which suited the living atsume's earnest personality. however, the word atsume can also mean "collector" (i.e. neko atsume, crazy). in a way, it was kind of meant to be...
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darubyprincx · 5 months
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A 33-year-old woman walks into the forest near midnight during autumn. She is clutching a lantern and covered basket tightly and her poise is tense, but she walks steadily and with clear purpose.
Squinting ahead into a clearing lit by a half-moon, she steps over a log, walks into the deathly quiet clearing, kneels and carefully sets down her lantern outside of a ring of perfectly preserved stumps, and uncovers her basket. From within, she takes out a small slip of paper and a child's toy and places it in the center. On the second finger of her right hand is a ring of some sort of silvery metal which appears unremarkable in the moonlight, but the way in which she takes a deep breath and hesitates before taking it off her finger and adding it to the objects within the ring of stumps indicates that it has clear value to her. She bows her head. She waits.
A gust of wind buffets her short-cropped hair and her cloak. From in front of her, or perhaps behind her, she can hear the rustle of fabric, but she does not look up.
"You come on the night when the souls of the dead are closest to the world of the living," says a husky and raspy voice, deep but still androgynous in a markedly nonhuman way. It is not a question. It is a statement.
The woman nods, still not taking her eyes from the grass crushed underneath her folded legs. "Yes."
"I cannot bring the dead back from their graves, no matter what offerings you give up as payment," says the voice. "And I cannot bring their souls back either for any period of time, mortal."
"I know," says the woman in a low undertone.
"Then why are you here?"
The woman opens her mouth as if to speak, then closes it and glances slightly up. A white cloak, not stirred by the wind blowing around it, meets her. Beside her, her lantern has gone out. Hearing no rebuke, she looks up.
The entity's face is obscured by a deep shadow cast by their hood, which she is glad of. She thinks she can make out the glint of eyes, but she's not sure, and she knows well enough to not pry. She opens her mouth to try again. "Because there is a life that I would like to put to death," she says.
The entity does not move, but it tone shifts to being maybe confused, maybe condescending. "I am not a mercenary. I do not preside over the dead. Your own kind is best for this sort of work. If you are... mourning," it forms the word slowly, as if it's unnatural to its mouth, if it even has a mouth, "then I cannot help you. Our kind do not know death, nor do we touch Her realm."
"Not someone else's life," the woman says, somewhat hastily. "My own." She pauses. "Not wholly, but- you are in the business of acquiring names, yes?"
The entity is silent a moment before responding. "It is not our specialty. We have... cousins who are more closely aligned to that line of work, but it may be done for a price."
"Then I humbly ask a favour of you," says the woman. "My payment is in the circle. Is it enough to have my name replaced?"
The entity turns and kneels, one long, bony arm reaching out to take and inspect the items placed. The hood turns towards her. "Yes, although it is a bit strange."
The woman nods. "Strange, yes, but all very dear to me. The toy belonged to me when I was young. The paper is my proof of birth, and has my given name inscribed on it. The ring..." She chokes up a little, but continues. "The ring is proof of my marriage to my wife of many years."
The entity hums. "Does she know that you are here?"
"She does not."
The entity stands, and beckons the woman to stand as well. She leaves her lantern and the basket on the ground.
"Those who come to replace their names, mortal, and it is very few who end up here on purpose, are often running from their pasts. Has your wife been disloyal to you? Have you been disloyal to her?"
"She has been nothing but loving and faithful my entire life," the woman says, ducking her head to wipe a tear from her eye. "Our child- he is currently asleep in his bed. I do not wish any harm to come to them. But I have been lying to them for years and I cannot face them anymore. My love thought that she married a man. My son knows me only as his father. If I disappear now, they will be hurt and betrayed, but less than if they knew."
The entity considers this for a moment. "What is your given name?"
"Joseph."
"And what do you wish your new name to be?"
"Esmeralda."
"You have clearly put much thought into this, mortal," says the entity. "But know this. When your family means to speak your old name, your new one will drop from their mouth instead, and this will go for everyone who has ever known you. They will know, but they will not know what happened. Are you sure?"
The woman hesitates, then nods. "I love them enough to do this," she says. "I do not want to hurt them."
"You say you love them," says the entity thoughtfully, "and you say they are faithful to you, and yet you are sure that when you receive your new name they will shun you."
"It just is not done," says the woman, slightly desperately. "I'm not sure they'll understand."
The entity tilts its head at her. "If your son came up to you tomorrow and told you that he wanted to change his name as well, would you love him still?"
"Yes," says the woman immediately. "I promised when he was born to love and protect him no matter what, as did my wife. If he were to turn into a mindless monster, I would harbor him still."
The entity nods sagely and bends to take all three items in its hands. It hands the woman's wedding ring back to her. "Then have faith," it says. "Are you sure?"
Joseph nods, tears streaming down her face. "I am terrified. But yes."
The entity looks down at the paper and snaps its fingers over it. The children's toy turns to dust, and the woman chokes back a sob. For a moment, everything is utterly, inexorably still, and then the world breathes again.
"It has been done," says the entity, holding the paper out.
"Thank you," whispers Esmeralda. She takes the paper, notes almost detachedly that her name on it has been changed, almost appearing seared into the paper, and folds it and puts it into her pocket.
"My business is done," says the entity. "Go back to your home."
"What will I tell my wife?" asks the woman.
"I do not know," says the entity. "I cannot predict the future. But you are braver than most. I believe that whatever you say will be right."
The woman nods and bows. When she stands up again, the entity is gone, her lantern is lit again, and there is no indication that any foot has ever touched the grass within the circle. Outside the ring, the imprints where she knelt still lingers.
-<|>-
The next morning, the woman's wife wakes to find herself alone in the bed. She walks into the kitchen, where her wife sits alone at the table, staring into the grain, hands folded as if she is deep in thought.
"You're up early, Esmeralda," she says, then pauses. Esmeralda looks up, face stricken, and the wife sighs and walks over to take her lover's hands. "I am not angry," she says gently. "I would just like to know why, and how."
"I went to the woods last night," says Esmeralda in a low, almost shattered voice. "I made a deal with some... thing to change my name. I gave my birth paper, my wedding ring, my favorite childhood toy, and my old name as payment. It was changed, and I came back here. Alia, I am sorry."
"How long ago did you make up your mind?" asks Alia in a gentle voice.
Esmeralda looks down. "Years ago. I've been lying to you and David this whole time. I- I have been an unfaithful partner." She takes off her ring and places it on the table between her and her wife. "If you want me to leave-"
"No," says Alia gently but firmly, gently sliding the wedding ring back onto Esmeralda's hand. "I promised you when we married that I would love you no matter what you were, and if what you are is a woman, then I will love you like that also."
"How will we tell David?" asks Esmeralda in a low, worried tone.
"I will tell him," says Alia. "You go back to bed. You've been up late, and you look like the rear end of a fireworks cart."
Esmeralda hesitates but smiles, looking up with hope in her eyes. Alia returns the smile and kisses her gently, helping her up. "I'm not kidding. Go."
"Before I go," says Esmeralda, hesitating.
"Do I have to poke you into bed?" asks Alia with an exasperated sigh.
"No, no," says Esmeralda quickly. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you."
Alia smiles and leans over to give her wife a peck on the mouth. "I love you too. Now go before I beat you into there with a broom."
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annierosaart · 5 months
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 明日方舟 | Arknights (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Exusiai/Fiammetta (Arknights), Fiammetta & Exusiai (Arknights) Characters: Exusiai (Arknights), Fiammetta (Arknights) Additional Tags: Religious Discussion, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Exusiai is Not Okay Summary:
Fiammetta asks Exusiai about her faith.
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writerfae · 1 year
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Actually some of us don’t have the time or energy to write thousands (or hundreds or whatever) of words a day and that’s okay and that’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up about it. There will be better times. Save your energy for those instead of beating yourself up about not writing recently. In your heart you’re still a writer.
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becca-e-barnes · 2 years
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this for subby!bucky 😵‍💫
There’s nothing hotter than a man moaning his way through a make out session and grinding his hard-on against your body, idgaf. Men moaning in general fucking floors me 😵‍💫
But I really like the thought of him starting off thinking he's in control of himself. Not necessarily in control of you, he just thinks he's pretty composed, all things considered. The featherlight kisses have his heart beating just a little faster than normal but it's manageable.
It all just gets away from him though. The tiny pecks turn into tender, deeper kisses and your hands start to wander. Those kisses inevitably develop into a kind of frantic passion that he has difficulty keeping up with. His brain goes a little foggy and nothing else matters except getting more of you and getting it now.
He loses himself in the feeling of you so entirely that he hardly notices he's been trying to ease the throbbing need in his own cock. "O-oh fuck." He groans, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, lips slick and dick twitching in his pants.
"We can go slower if this is too much for you, baby." You whisper softly, keeping your face close to his. God, he's beautiful like this and you know he'd whimper if you told him that.
"No, God. I don't need you to go slower. I need more." There's no shame in those blown out pupils when his eyes flutter open. He's not embarrassed by his own need. Instead, there's a complete trust that you'll take care of him because you always do. There's no judgement or reservation between you both because there simply doesn't need to be.
"I can do that." You laugh quietly, tugging him towards you so your lips can crash together with the exact same intensity as before and it never fails to amaze you that he melts into your touch so entirely.
You feel how hard he is and in truth, it would be difficult not to given how he's grinding it against your body with more purpose than before. His mouth is so hungry, never managing to taste enough of you and in no time, it's trailed down your neck, sucking at your skin while his frantic grind continues.
"Good boy, Buck. That's it, rub yourself silly on me." You encourage, drinking in his pathetic groan. That permission almost makes him wish he could cum in his pants.
"You're like a puppy, aren't you? So eager. You just can't help yourself." Your hand drifts downwards, rubbing over the bulge in the front of his sweatpants and you feel him absentmindedly thrusting into your touch. He's a moaning mess, babbling and begging, lost the lust that's now making the fingertips of his flesh hand tingle and his head spin.
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oatbugs · 3 months
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Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship
#saw carnation lily lily rose by john singer seargent irl today. it was basically at my doorstep all along idk why i never went to see it#it was placed at a corner in the gallery. me and my friend sat down and sketched the paintings of beautiful naked people quite badly. paper#provided by tate britain. she told me about how she couldnt look her boyfriend in the face after a harrowing film about war. when i say the#interview was informal i mean the person who was supposed to be my boss told me let me get you a cider and then he said after#50 years of life he knows people are inherently good and it only takes a little bit of kindness to save this world. he said he tricked#his wife into keeping the baby and then he said he quit his job at a US bank to help people find meaning and in it#he would have liked to find meaning. instead he started climbing with his friends. he said he chews his cigarettes because its a habit from#when he had to hide things from people. the entire time i felt uncomfortable and incredibly enlightened. this is my friends mentor. she has#his pattern of pauses and expletive and penchant for ends-justify-means attitude. i do think im not very clever#but maybe one day i will love you enough to make up for it. i wrote code i dont understand staring at the final error i thought about how#we both thought of how when we're too old to remember the voices of our friends we would like to stand in the pathway of the LHC beam pipe#cut it open and eat light in the freezing cold vacuum (kills you long before radiation will) the invisible puncture wound unfolding dna#back to the start larger than you ever were. you go to heaven once youve been to hell. my friend is in my bed#practicing calculations of eigenvectors by hand and she is uninterested in a visual proof you are uninterested in incompetence#we catch a train this is your kind of burden you tragic hero wincing at that word you only do this because you have to. im the only one#who can. i am a coward in this for the fucking poetry. the visual proofs. the pretty numbers. an architect who was horrible at maths wanted#to be a philosopher and accidentally ended up neck in deep in 70th Error On Visual Studio Code i want to kiss your eyes before we say#goodbye we both know there is no love in the way there should be. I still have your dress in my wardrobe. i hope you make art.#you think im alright head-wise i think you fucking hate me i think ill never be so clever you want me to tell you my idea?#if you wanted more of this world i would have liked to kiss you harder. we cant both be like this. im sorry i cant be with you the whole wa#the love is gone if you have to ask it. his breath catches his eyes feel stiff it is -1.9 kelvin he is near the beam pipe i miss holding#his hand i miss her singing voice i miss his hair and i found the antonym of pain thank you for carrying me home.
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evakant · 1 year
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i know wei wuxian is first pick as god/personification of death etc. etc. (duh, perfect choice, so sexy) but i would like to propose jiang cheng for the part. in the same way elizabeth swann is death from that one post about her kisses damning the men she loves
in the way everything he touches and everything he loves seems to be doomed (sect, parents, sister, brother)
wei wuxian as life!!! as god of life!!! coming back, unkillable. life giving (core transfer, wen ning, etc.)*
jin ling doesn't die because at the end of the story, at the guanyin temple, wei wuxian is there too. to protect him the same way he protected jiang cheng
and this is why he (wei wuxian) has to go back to being yunmeng jiang's head disciple, in this essay i will—
*i'm not saying he lives well, but he lives! he fucking claws and crawls and fights his way out of the burial mounds, he just doesn't fucking quit** you know what i mean
**until he does, but that's a choice he makes.
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jade-of-mourning · 3 months
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been writing again. i miss writing for fun aha. pain why is this guy so repressed and fucked up.
this one's about lightning n plants n blah blah symbolism stuff and i stopped writing it over two years ago but now i'm back ig. mako is having a terrible time post-canon and it's great! (for me) i dumped out some stuff that i find unusable and am hoping the rest holds up to a reasonable extent
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sashimiyas · 5 days
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wore the corduroy skirt 2day
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ninadove · 1 month
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I'm honestly shocked that since Emotion/Representation aired I've yet to see anyone do anything at all with Felix and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein??? I think about it every day it's literally THE Felix piece of media. It's his entire character thesis. What are we doing guys
I KNOW I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT IT THE OTHER DAY
To be fair I have seen a few people headcanoning it as one of Felix’s favourite books (Which yes. Absolutely. 1,000,000%) but there hasn’t been any fics/art/edits/etc. about it yet to my knowledge. My copy is at my parents’ and in French but I am tempted to find an English PDF since it’s been public domain for a good while now. The web weave potential is insane.
I have many thoughts about Felix and literature in general… I have him quote Cyrano de Bergerac all the time in my fics, for example. I was thinking of starting a list of works of art and literature he’d enjoy, so I’ll take this as a sign to get writing! I can get my fandom friends to make some suggestions as well! 📝
Edit: @bittersweetresilience got us covered, our honour is safe 💜🦚
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youchangedmedestiel · 3 months
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Cas offers gifts to Sam and Dean, and their reaction is really different
Cas knows humans celebrate Christmas every year on December 25th. So now that he is human, maybe he should try it. He also knows that Sam and Dean never do that, at least not as often as the average human as far as he can say, but he wants to offer them gifts anyway. Because they welcomed him at the bunker since the angels fall and that's the least he can do to thank them.
He thought about what he could give them. The brothers are really different from one and other so he must find something that they like, something different for each one of them. He found an idea for Sam when he heard the brothers bickered about their fetishes one day in the war room while he was digging into a book in the library. He discovered Dean’s fetish is cowboys and Sam’s serial killers. He doesn't know much about either of those, but what he do know is that Sam likes to read.
He asked Dean to drive him to the library on December 23th, Dean complained about it. He asked him questions, Cas answers he was searching for a book for himself, Dean still complained, talking about the internet and how Cas could easily order it there but drove him to the library anyway. Cas got out of the little store, happy, because he found what he wanted for Sam. Dean didn’t complain more on their drive back to the bunker after seeing Cas’s smile.
For Dean's gift, the difficult part was to find which to choose, because Dean likes a lot of things, like movies, music, books, porn, burgers, and pies. But the last one Cas knows how special it is for him. He saw it in his eyes multiple times when he talked about it. He could swear the green of them was even more intense when the word 'pie' was pronounced. So he decided to buy Dean a whole pie for him to eat.
On Christmas morning, Cas enters the library where Sam is already searching into the lore about angels falling, the Scribe of God, Abaddon, or any of their current issues. He wrapped the book as best as he could and hides it behind his back as he approaches where Sam is sitting. He clears his throat to get his attention.
"Sam," he calls.
"Hey Cas, I didn't hear you coming." Sam startles but relaxes as soon as he realizes it’s just Cas.
"Here, I have a gift for you." Cas says, handing the gift toward Sam who looks surprised.
"What's that for?" Sam asks, frowning but smiling as well.
"Merry Christmas, Sam - I wanted to thank you for letting me stay at the bunker with you." Sam is still surprised but stands up and grabs the gift anyway.
"Cas, that wasn't necessary, but - huh - thanks, man." Sam smiles and hugs Cas, manly patting him on his back. "I'm sorry I've nothing for you." Sam apologizes, and adds, "Merry Christmas I guess." He didn't actually realized today was December 25th until Cas told him merry Christmas.
"Open it." Cas says, impatient, waving his hand towards the gift. And Sam does, he reads the title. "Oh, thanks, man. I can't wait to read it once I'm done with the lore." Sam is smiling, patting the book’s cover.
"I could help you with the lore, like that you can take some time to read it." Cas is smiling back, happy that his gift is appreciated.
"Yeah," Sam answers and in a second Cas is leaving the library, heading toward the kitchen, where he knows Dean is, drinking his usual first coffee.
"Hello, Dean." Cas says as he enters the kitchen, his arms hidden behind his back.
"Morning, Cas." Dean answers, at the coffee machine, pouring coffee into his empty cup. He is wearing his grey robe like every morning.
"Did you eat yet?"
"No, why?" Dean asks, he turns around to face Cas and realizes he came closer and he is hiding something. "What's in your back?" Cas doesn't wait any longer, feeling too impatient to see Dean's reaction after his success with Sam. He hands the big pie to Dean.
"Merry Christmas, Dean." He says, smiling.
Then, Dean doesn't know if it's because of the exhaustion from endless research, the alcohol from last night he drank to help him finish his lore book, the fact that it is too early for him to think, or his joy to have a whole pie given to him, but the fact is that he takes it from Cas's hands and pecs his lips with his own before walking to the kitchen table to taste his gift, leaving a frozen Cas standing near the kitchen counter.
Dean is settled at the table, his cup of coffee near the pie and a fork in his hand, which he grabbed on his way to the table, ready to dig into it when he realizes what he just did. The fork falls from his hand on the table with a loud, clattering noise, releasing Cas from his frozen state.
Dean turns around and their eyes meet, but they remain speechless. It could be easy to just pretend that it never happened. Cas could walk away and Dean would just enjoy his pie silently. But it's impossible, because it happened and it felt so natural that it took Dean at least 2 minutes to realize what he just did.
"Cas, I'm sor -" Dean starts.
"No" Cas cuts him. "Just don't, don't apologize, please." He walks closer to the table, where Dean is still sitting but turned around to face him. Dean is surprised by Cas's reaction, because he thought – well, he doesn't know what he thought, but not that for sure. He didn’t expect to hear that tone in his voice, because Cas almost sounded like he was begging. Dean looks up at him as he approaches. Cas walks towards him carefully, like he would try to approach a scared little kitten without making him run away.
"Cas," Dean says, not moving his eyes away from him, and Cas understands so much with his name spoken alone, judging by Dean's voice and his eyes. He stops in front of him, and the hunter doesn't seem to want to run away, because his gaze is locked on the man standing in front of him. Cas reaches out carefully with his hand, brushing Dean's jaw before cupping it. Dean leans into it, closing his eyes. He looks so beautiful and vulnerable like that, and this is only for Cas to see.
"Dean," he lets out, "I'd like to try that again." Dean opens his eyes widely. "Only if you want to." Cas reassures, not wanting to force him.
"Yes." Dean answers and gets up, only then he realizes how close they are standing, even closer than usual. "I - yes." Cas craddles his face again and leans his own head closer. Dean closes his eyes and the gap between them, their lips only brushing against each other at first, as if it was their first kiss. It's not, but it's the first intentional one at least.
It's tender as they stroke each other's lips, Dean's fist holding on Cas's collar, pulling him in. His other hand comes to rest on Cas’s waist, pressing their bodies together. Cas’s hands bury themselves into the hunter’s hair, holding on to them, tugging at them to angle his head as he wishes to. Their kiss turns into something more passionate and desperate, their tongues stroking each other, exploring each other’s mouth. When they part away, both breathless and panting, Dean smirks and declares, “Thank you for the pie, Cas.”
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it-begins-with-rain · 6 months
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Halloween Recommendation: Stephen King's Rose Red
** This one can be tricky to find. It was originally released as a 3 night mini-series in 2002, but then re-released as a motion picture. Apparently Hulu has it?
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In 1906, oil barron John Rimbauer built a veritable palace overlooking Seattle. It was his young bride, Ellen, who would give the house it's name: Rose Red.
First blood was drawn before the foundation was even laid. A foreman, murdered over a simple argument. Bizarre deaths and mysterious disappearances plagued Rose Red, swallowing up the Rimbauer family, their servants, friends, and anyone who dared enter.
Eventually, the grand estate fell into disrepair. Paranormal investigators descended upon the property, but none were ever able to solve the mystery, nor stop the deaths.
Now, more than 90 years after the first deaths at Rose Red, Steven Rimbauer, the last living descendant of John and Ellen Rimbauer, has been offered massive sums of money to sell Rose Red. It will be totally leveled, the land used for condos.
Before the house is destroyed, Steven agrees to let Dr. Joyce Reardon and a cobbled-together team of psychics, mediums, and other paranormal investigators do one final sweep of the house.
What evil lurks within Rose Red?
What horrors did John and Ellen Rimbauer summon in their palatial estate- or were they victims themselves?
Why does Rose Red kill the men, but swallow the souls of the women and force them to haunt it's halls?
How many of Dr. Joyce Reardon's team can escape with their lives?
*** Stephen King wrote the screenplay for this story, but there is no novel. Instead, as part of the publicity and hype leading up to the miniseries premiere, "The Diary of Ellen Rimbauer" was published, serving as a prequel. You can buy the novel on Kindle.
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businesstycoon27 · 3 months
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Happy new year (Maria)!
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
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zenaidamacrouras1 · 9 months
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Also, that being said, if you ever feel the urge to add snippets to the Backhoe universe please do 🫡🫡🫡🫡💖
I do have the urge to write some Backhoe snippets but I also need to manifest free time when I am not so deeply brain dead tired I fall asleep immediately which has been difficult as of late.
But I was just thinking today that I kinda want to write them on 4th July a year later after the first community fireworks show they attended together?
They're officially engaged now and last year everyone had kinda thought Steve was Becca's boyfriend but he's actually Bucky's fiance so how do they navigate that when half the town comes up to them and is like, "oh it's the guy from Brooklyn!" And then tell Bucky wedding bells are going to be in the air soon, is he ready for that?
And they look significantly at Becca and it's supposed to be a sorta low key sexist joke about how Becca is getting married to some guy from Brooklyn and Bucky's expected to be protective of his sister's virtue. And honestly it makes sense on paper that they'd assume that.
Becca is the one who lives in Boston for college and is more likely to have met some kind of skinny artist city boy to bring home, but anyone with eyes willing to really look could tell from a mile away while riding a bucking bronco that Bucky is the one who is running headlong and desperate to marry the guy from Brooklyn.
So Becca says, "he's ready, but I ain't so sure" and they laugh real hard because they think she's just made a joke like Bucky wants to marry her off to the first guy whose come calling so he has one less sister to take care of and the sassy way she rolls her eyes at Bucky makes everyone say something like, "you got your work cut out for you with all these sisters, Barnes!"
And Bucky says, "Lawwww don't I know it, cain't imagine it otherwise. Busy hands, full heart, as mom always said," which is what his mother always used to say when someone said something like that to her. And the random person walks off.
This interaction repeats itself in various iterations a dozen or more times over the evening. But every now and then someone wanders over to say hi to the Barnes conglomeration picnic blanket and immediately clocks Steve and Bucky for a young couple that's so in love they're about to burst.
Like Mrs. Wilson's pastor, who pulls Bucky up out of his chair and into a bear hug, whispering something into Bucky's ear that no one else can hear.
He let's Bucky go with a broad grin and a hearty slap on the back and a wink for Steve. "You got your work cut out for you with this one, Steven," Mrs. Wilson's pastor booms in his low voice with a wink. Bucky's eyes are glossy with a few tears from whatever the pastor whispered to him and Steve is overwhelmed with how beautiful his fiance (FIANCE!!) looks.
"Busy hands, full heart," Steve says, and Bucky's eyes get even shinier, and Steve really wants to kiss Bucky, but they are surrounded by Bucky's entire county so he doesn't.
It's the first year Poppy doesn't fall asleep at the fireworks show. Bucky almost cries realizing she's growing up, and he doesn't have to carry her to the van. But on the other hand she's 4 inches taller and a fair bit more than 4 pounds heavier than last year so he's kind of relieved he's not lugging her the half a mile back to the van. So it's complicated.
After they get home and get all the girls upstairs for bed, Bucky asks Steve if he wants to go on a walk.
They don't make it too far before Steve grabs Bucky and presses him hard against a tree, all strong hands and desperate lips. It's all a dream until they try and get too creative and fall in the creek.
Some time later they stumble back to the house laughing and giddy and exchanging lazy debauched kisses with wet hair and their shirts off and pants barely done back up (because the creek caused a pause but was not sufficient to cool them off).
Bucky stops up short and freezes because Hannah and Becca are sitting on the front porch, drinking ice tea and chatting in the dark out on the porch swing.
"It's after midnight, y'all should be in bed," Bucky says automatically.
Becca let's out a peal of laughter. "You are not in a position to lecture others about who should be in a bed for their evening's planned activities."
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