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#kindled
holy-puckslibrary · 1 month
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just a lil firefighter!sid fluff for y'all :)
gif from @ehghtysevenarchive + per this ask and others
Surely, the chief of Canada's oldest fire department has more important things to do on a crisp morning, the last one preceding a fresh week, than this. He most definitely does. And, yes, Chief Crosby is known for his pragmatic approach to, well, everything.
But neither carries weight here—not when she calls.
Leaky faucet, dead car battery, unreachable spider... It doesn't matter. One ring, and he's rushing home. He can't pin-point when the pattern began, likely sometime shortly between the day you moved into town and his first off-day, but it's a routine he's come to enjoy despite the extra strain on both his schedule and his body; Sidney never thought sharing a property line could be so tedious or time-consuming.
He knows he shouldn't enjoy the distraction as much as he does. You aren't together, Sidney doesn't ever allow his imagination wander that far, but he can't help it. He can't help but help. He rarely turns down anyone in need, which has done wonders for his reputation within the community, but with you... With you, it's different, and embarrassingly so.
He doesn't have the words to explain it. Not that he needs to, it's written plainly across his face.
There's a reason you're regular fixtures in the town's gossip column.
When he arrives on scene—not ten minutes after his F-Series crawled down the gravel drive—Sidney shakes his head and laughs. Collecting his cell and his radio, he slips out of the truck, watching as you fret like a mother hen.
Still in your slippers, you're stood at the base of a decently-sized red spruce wedged between his yard and yours, your crumpled face angled up into the yellow-green needles. You're the very picture of worry, wringing your trembling hands and muttering to yourself.
A stray kitten caught in a tree, that's what's got you in a such a state.
"Well, this is a new one," he bellows in lieu of a greeting, slamming the door shut as his boots hit the ground.
Briefly, your glassy eyes dart in his direction. You're midway through your customary apology when he arrives at your side and quiets you, just as he always does.
"They're more than capable of holding down the fort for however long it takes to rescue our new friend, okay?"
"I know, but what if—"
"But nothing," Sidney huffs, and he dares to take you by the shoulders. And, externally, he ignores the way you shiver under his palms. "If I didn't think it was safe for me to step out for a couple of minutes, I wouldn't. You believe me, right?"
You nod, bottom lip pinched between your teeth.
"Good. Now, how 'bout you keep an ear on this," Sidney sets the clunky satellite radio in your hand, "—and I'll grab the ladder from the shed?"
He doesn't really need your help monitoring the channel, but he knows you'll feel better if you feel like you're doing something. Like him, you find comfort in your utility.
In less than a minute, Sidney re-emerges, rounding the corner with a ladder in hand. You're in the same spot, now fidgeting with the radio, anxiously dumping it from one palm to the other and back again. He follows your gaze to line up the simple equipment necessary for the rescue operation.
Sidney's heart swells as you quietly step forward to spot him.
Lucky for everyone, the ball of orange fur is on the branch nearest to the ground. Sidney needs only to step up onto the first wrung to safetly coax the frightened creature into his waiting hands, he's back on the ground not long after.
He gives the kitten a gentle parting scratch under the chin, then transfers the purring fluff to you. The soft bundle takes to you immediately, nuzzling into your chest like that's where it wanted to be all along.
"I think he likes you," Sidney observes with a cheek-numbing grin.
Your lips are tipped up at the end and there's fan of happiness rooting itself around your eyes. Your mouth opens to reply, but before the words come—
"Well, would you look at this?"
Across the quiet street and a few houses to the left sits an audience of two. Both of which are now cooing as loudly as two ladies in their sixties can manage. Coffee cups in one hand and their cellphones propped up in the other, they fawn over the two of you as if it's live theater.
Sidney curses their sons, who he'd completed the explorer program with as teens, for enabling this technological torture.
"Smile, you two! Oh, Denise is just going to eat this up," one of them, a spitfire in a 4'11 frame by the name of Mrs. Bouchard, exclaims to her co-conspirator, Ms. Johnston.
Then, to no one's surprise and Sid's chagrin, they giddily type out their respective messages to the local paper's equally-nosy editor-in-chief.
"Looks like we're front-page news again," you hum bashfully.
The tabby mewls in your arms. You curl into the little bundle of fur, lips landing between its delicate ears.
Sid studies you in his periphery as he slips in and out of heady contemplation, ultimately deciding he doesn't mind as much as he once did. "That we are..."
eek! wait, why do i luv them already 🥹
as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!
READ MORE OF THEM HERE!
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patchworkmelody · 3 months
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Some vessels o mine! Though not that lower left later instar Kindled. I'm not happy with that one, I'll keep working on him
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moldwood · 3 months
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You're making a game??? Where can I find it? Do you have a tag for it? I love your art!!
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i actually am making a game and i was extremely surprised to get this ask because i didn't remember posting anything about it, so it's very funny and such a great coincidence that you asked anyway!! my friend @geopvnk and i are working on this project together. unfortunately exethanter is not in it :']
here's the characters who are though!
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these six make up the party, and we're very excited for people to get to know them!
there isn't much more that we're ready to share at the moment as we've only just started revisiting this story after some time away, but we'll be posting about it under the tag "kindled." it will be a long time until we have more official updates, but we hope you look forward to it!
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panda-paco · 10 months
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Stars are also on Earth
Birthday gift for Kindled from Sebastian. Happy birthday, Kindled!
A whole left-hand painting. Video of the process on the comment of this submission of my Telegram channel: https://t.me/panda_paco
I'm getting better of my arm/wrist problem, not at 100% yet but at least and I'm resuming little by little my right-hand drawings, but I need to go very slow on it, plus I will keep practicing left-hand drawings from time to time.
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sillysylle · 12 days
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youtube
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bea-lele-carmen · 4 months
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✨️Kindled ✨️
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destaquei · 7 months
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ytixrus3us5uey · 1 year
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a-kind-of-merry-war · 7 months
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when you're camping in the forest but you need wood to keep warm 😏
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ellierenae · 9 months
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ay kid, you like readin? then keep your eye on the birdie cause all you need for this card trick is a US address, a phone number, the date your folks popped you out, and a first and last name
you put those figures in this form right here
then theyre gonna give you a little somethin under the table, pro bono
take that card number and pin and bring it over to this site right over here
badabing badaBOOM you now got access to every ebook, audiobook, and magazine under the sun PLUS those ebooks can go straight to kindle. yeah. a real soft on your eyes type
now scram
and dont say i never did nothin for ya
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holy-puckslibrary · 1 month
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sid to a furry friend's rescue!
florist!reader gets flustered during sid's calendar shoot
parents mentors for the day
chief crosby's got a date... and its not with florist!reader
... was in a bit of a silly goofy mood, forgive me (and be sure to read the endnotes!)
gif from @littlemessyjessi
This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.
His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.
"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"
Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.
"I-I didn't, I just—"
"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."
Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.
If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.
In the opposite direction.
The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.
Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.
Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.
But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.
"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.
(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)
Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.
The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.
All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.
"Well, it looks like my work here is done."
At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.
"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.
As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.
"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.
"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.
He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.
Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.
"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"
The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.
"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"
The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.
Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.
gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓
***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****
as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!
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hedgehog-moss · 12 days
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In my neverending quest to keep Pampérigouste from achieving her dreams, I have launched a formal investigation into her last escape, which I had no explanations for at the time.
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I figured it out! At the far far end of her pasture, near the road, a few fence posts have become more or less horizontal (the ground is quite wet / muddy there so they've never been very stable, especially with Pirlouit using them to scratch his forehead)—so instead of a high jump + long jump combo to get to the road, Pampe just had to clear the long jump over the ditch. Which is still impressive.
I also suspect that she chose to escape from this place near the road on a snowy morning as a deliberate strategy, knowing the snow plough would erase any traces of her jump, thus preventing me from discovering where the weak spot in the fence was. Well done.
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You need 2 people to fix these fence posts so in the meantime I decided to kill two birds with one stone: cut all the broom and thorny bushes in this corner of the pasture and use them to form a discouraging barrier. I set to work earlier this week, and here's the same place as above, mid-process:
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When I texted my mum to tell her about my new thorn-based anti-Pampe plan of action, she said "Like the Maasai who make fences with thorny acacia branches to keep out lions!" and it made me feel even more confident. I mean, I have neither acacia nor Maasai fencing techniques but my thorny shrubs are pretty aggressive, they pricked my fingers even through my thick work gloves—which felt satisfying in an anticipatory way. Excellent! prick Pampe's nose exactly like this. How could a llama not be deterred by a fence material that deters apex predators?
Vexingly enough, she seemed quite supportive of my efforts. At one point she breathed some warm air against my shoulder in a gentle, patronising way.
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We were engaged in psychological warfare all afternoon—every time I stepped away from my vegetal fence, feeling like it was now good enough, Pampe would immediately come to inspect it, cheerful and impatient, which sapped my confidence so I would go and add a few more shrubs. (Note that I sort of plaited the first / biggest shrubs with the pre-existing fence so they don't go flying on the road, and so Pampe can't just push them aside.)
On the right: Poldine, looking for little fresh leaves to eat amidst the chaos. On the left: Pampérigouste, thinking.
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(At this point the barrier was only 20% thorns, and 80% broom—the fact that she waded through it without a care and didn't prick her belly made me go and add more thorny shrubs, and pack them more densely)
It's kind of fun watching Pampe think, honestly. Can I jump over this? Do I have enough visibility? Can I eat my way to freedom (again)? But these shrubs are disgusting. Am I above exploiting my daughter's lack of culinary discernment to achieve my goals? Maybe I should go back to my calculations re: probability of wild boar destruction. I may have pincushions for hands after handling prickly bushes for two hours but I'm helping stimulate my llama's intellect and creativity and that's so important.
I tried to alternate broom and thorny branches so that the non-thorny broom became tangled up with thorns and brambles to form an impenetrable and incomprehensible wall. I will call it this method the salmagundi-fence.
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Poldine is in awe of my vegetal installation.
Can I just say, compared to Pampérigouste who constantly has a devilish glint in her eye, Pampelune's face exudes wholesome politeness and moral goodness. It's still hard to believe they're mother and daughter.
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I went home once my fence started looking like Maleficent's forest of thorns and Pampe had long stopped trying to wade through it, but I still felt antsy and ended up coming back one hour later to have my apéritif with the llamas so I could keep an eye on Pampe until nightfall.
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... where is Pampe?
Oh. Here. No worries!
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Still staring at the road. Still thinking.
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...
With all that said, please admire my beautifully delirious Forest of Thorns-fence and let me know what you think.
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moldwood · 3 months
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you'll have to excuse the quality, but geo was going through really old photos and found this drawing from i think ~2016 of emma and max :']
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comatosebunny09 · 10 months
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kindle | leon k.
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genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, modern au
warning(s): language, mutual pining, soft boi leon, stream of consciousness
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Leon does these things that confuse the hell out of you while you’re on missions or around the office. You’re his partner—work partner—but sometimes you feel like a little more. More than the younger sibling caught beneath the shadow of an overbearing brother. 
You don’t really know where things are going because he’s made it glaringly obvious in the past that he doesn't mix work with pleasure. However, something’s clearly shifted in your relationship as of late. Yet, you can’t, for the life of you, pinpoint what it is or when it happened. 
Oftentimes, you catch him gazing at you in your peripheral, a fondness inhabiting his eyes like you’ve never seen with the slightest quirk to his lips. That softness remains when a battle-worn thumb swipes blood from your cheek or rubs grime from your jaw. 
Sometimes, he holds your chin between his fingers and tilts your head this way and that—much to your chagrin—to make sure you’re devoid of injuries. Though, you never miss how his irises glitter like the sunset against sea waves, and his lips part a little as he relinquishes the softest, most relieved sigh to the air. And sometimes, you stand like this for eons, confused yet enamored, until the wet garble of a zombie springs you two apart. 
You never miss how a cautious hand finds the small of your back while you’re hunched over paperwork at your desk. How it burns through the thickness of your blazer, causing your heart to work overtime. And Leon beams so boyishly, bowing over to swaddle you in his warmth and cologne as he quips how “you’ve got your work cut out for you.” Yet, as much as he hates filling out reports himself, he stays until the moon sits high in the sky to help you finish. 
He always walks you to your car afterwards, arguing that, shit yeah, you can handle yourself. You suplex the undead for a living. But he’d fling himself off a cliff if his dear partner got snatched up in the parking garage. And he always lingers around a little longer after you pull off, a tender smile cresting across his lips in your rearview mirror. 
But he’s your partner. He’s supposed to do things like that, right? 
Like, he’s supposed to bring you food when you forget to eat—which is quite often. He’s supposed to show up to your apartment to check on you on your days off, promising his company, booze, and terrible romcoms. Supposed to hold you in your bed until you surrender your consciousness to the pretty little girls of slumber. And maybe, just maybe, it’s standard for your partner to kiss you quietly behind your ear and embrace you tighter when you squirm and chuckle and sigh wistfully in your sleep.
Through the wispy haze and the grogginess and the darkness inhabiting your bedroom, you shift to gather his cheeks in your palms—maybe you’re awake. Perhaps you’re still lurking below the shadowy depths of sleep. Who knows—and you kiss him. Cautious, but you kiss him. And though he’s initially thrown off kilter by the suddenness of it all, he relaxes against the suppleness of your lips. And his brows furrow as if he’s waited millennia for this moment. And his throat crackles with a quieted, hoarse sound as his hands perch on your hips, drawing you ever closer until your wrists cross behind his neck, and—
And…
Well, this is totally normal. Right?
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part 2 >>
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emiko-matsui · 9 months
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the funniest thing about the bad kids meeting ayda is she took one look at the right side of the table and didn't give a shit about any of them and then became absolutely obsessed with every single person on the left side of the table
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destaquei · 5 months
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