#those classic floorboards

[irondefficientenchantress]

Syd Barrett photographed in his Earls Court London flat, 1969, photographed by the legendary Mick Rock. Rock would go on to quote: "My experience with Syd was that his legendary withdrawal from daily human intercourse was a matter of choice, not necessity."

#syd barrett #pink floyd #the madcap laughs #mick rock #photography #60s icons #those classic floorboards #piper at the gates of dawn #60s psychedelia #psychedelic rock #woodstock

[anghraine]

Sometimes I entertain myself by mentally categorizing tiers of headcanon. It has nothing to do with quality, just:

1- Wait, This is Headcanon?

The source material doesn't explicitly say that the headcanon is true, but it really strongly implies it, to the point that a lot of people don't even realize it's not explicit canon. I'm not talking ships so much as just really obvious details that aren't quite spelled out.

2- Interpretative Headcanon

The headcanon is based on something in the source material, and it's a valid interpretation, but there are a lot of ways to interpret the thing in the source, and it could easily and justifiably be read quite differently. This is also often mistaken for explicit canon.

3- Borderline Headcanon

The headcanon is spun off from something in the source material and doesn't contradict anything in it, but the basis is ephemeral enough that it's mostly something you/someone else/the fandom made up and ran with.

4- Classic Headcanon

The headcanon is not directly based on canon details. It's made up to fill those fun blank spaces in canons, and to connect things we do know. So it works with what's established in canon and can lead to really fun and interesting spins on canon, but it definitely leans more towards invention.

5- This Headcanon Has Creaky Floorboards

The headcanon is not only stuff you/I/fandom made up to go with canon details, it can actually be fairly difficult to reconcile with those details. It's technically possible to make them fit if you squint and interpret in some specific and improbable ways, but it's an obvious stretch. (This sounds negative, but sometimes canon details suck.)

6- HeadCANNON

Creaky? LOL. This headcanon definitely cannot be reconciled to its source material and does not wish to be. It gives no fucks about canon except insofar as these headcanons often go out of their way to defy the canon details of the source and blast holes straight through its structure.

#i was going to add examples but i feel this is long enough :P #anghraine babbles #headcanon #general fanwank #fandom #long post

[dear-mrs-otome]

Chapter One - Ansare

Pairing: Silvio Ricci x Emma...eventually Word Count: 2.1k+/??? Author's Note: If Cybird won't give me a proper Beauty and the Beast story, I'll write it myself. This is a slowburn fairytale AU that hews closely to canon, but veers when needed.

Summary: A curse, of sorts. A rose, of sorts. And one prince's long, tangled journey to answer an eternal question...What separates man from beast?

It all began, as so many things do, with a love poem.

Emma lifted the top off of a crate, and was greeted by the rich waft of old books. Leather and glue and that indescribable patina that only the echo of many long years could leave behind. Wisdom crowning wisdom.

“There’s so many,” she said with amazement as she dug through the first layer of packing straw and pulled a title free. Running careful hands and a practiced eye over the condition of the bindings and the gilt lettering that traipsed up their spines, she began sorting them into loose categories. Histories, the classics, poetry and novels, geography and the sciences. She paused long enough to linger over a detailed map of the continent in one of the gorgeously illustrated atlases, a wistful sigh escaping her.

The bookstore was her life - she knew every nook and cranny of this shop like the back of her hand. Had skinned her knees tripping over the single uneven floorboard in its stacks as a coltish child, had stained the pages of more than one romance with tears while nursing the first tender bruises of young love curled up in the nearby battered armchair. She’d scrimped and saved and squirreled away every penny she could pinch, ever since Akatsuki had handed her the first of her wages, determined to buy it from him one day when he retired. She knew that would make her the happiest woman in the world.

But some days, it was hard not to wonder what was over the jagged rooftops of town, crowded and gnashing the skyline like snaggled teeth. What mysteries might lay just beyond the hills that cradled their city so gently, rolling away towards the horizon as she imagined waves upon the sea must. In her dreams some nights she tasted the salt spray of the ocean, only to awaken, baffled to find it was tears on her tongue.

Some days, it was hard not to wonder if she was settling her future comfortably…or merely settling.

Putting the atlas and those maudlin thoughts aside, a delighted grin stole over her face as she plucked the next book from the box, a slim volume of poetry with an aging, cracked cover and worn edges. The obscure missing volume in her exhaustive collection of Benitoitian sonnets. She flipped eagerly through the pages, her gaze devouring the metered lines upon them, lingering over one poem in particular that was redolent with the bittersweetness of longing. “You found it! You actually found it! Is that what took you so long this time?”

“Partly. I didn’t want to disappoint you, not when you’ve been looking to round out that collection for so long.” Akatsuki’s ever-stoic face thawed with the first hint of a smile as he wove a far defter path through the piles she was creating than one would expect from a man of his years. But then again, the passing of time never seemed to touch him, she’d noticed, beyond kissing a few more strands of silver into his dark head of hair. He still moved as spryly as men a third his age, and had never in all of her years of working for him ever taken a single day off ill. “And partly I was busy with business meetings.”

“Business meetings?” She slipped a bookmark at the page with the poem that had caught her eye and looked up, wrinkling her nose at the implications of that. “Oh, no. No. Don’t tell me that means-”

The rest of her sentence was robbed by a resounding crash, the deafening clatter of a door thrown open - or rather, kicked open, as she knew better than to believe otherwise of the man who sauntered in. The violence of his entrance setting one of her nearby newly built towers of books swaying precariously. 

“-Him,” she finished flatly, before plastering on a smile even more obviously fake than the forgotten vase of forlorn silk orchids gathering dust in a nearby corner. “Welcome in, Your Highness. Thank you for testing the resilience of our hinges. Again.”

His Highness in question - Silvio Ricci, the crown prince of Benitoite - drew to a halt and spared her a scathing look, shaking his fur-lined cloak back imperiously. “I’d start charging for the service, but there’s no way in hell this dump could afford me.”

“Strange. For being such a ‘dump’, it sure seems to keep you coming back,” she returned fire, cloyingly sweet, before forcing herself to take a deep breath. She would not let this goblin masquerading as royalty get under her skin and ruin the high of a delivery day. Not this time.

He snorted. “It’s the impeccable customer service, clearly.”

She ground her teeth together and shot Akatsuki a pleading look, noticing the amusement that clung to the wrinkles fanned around his eyes as his attention bounced between the two of them. Spectating his favorite sport. 

“Prince Silvio,” Akatsuki said at last, wading into the fray.

Dismissing her, the prince turned a dauntless, charming grin on the man who owned the shop, and she did her best to ignore the nip of envy that inspired. 

He’d never smiled once at her like that. But then, why did she possibly care?

“Signore.” Prince Silvio inclined his head ever-so-slightly in the older man’s direction. “I trust you found the details of the documents I had couriered to you acceptable?”

“Well, yes. But I…” He broke off, and his gaze bounced off Emma before landing back on Silvio. “Wasn’t expecting you quite this soon. I had hoped for a bit more time to explain things.”

“Explain what?” Emma interjected, unease a cool hand curling fingers around her stomach.

Akatsuki seemed at a loss a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Circumstances being what they are and all…”

 Silvio made an exasperated sound that bordered on rude. “This bookstore is the second-most profitable one in the city. I could make it number one.” He paused a moment, and lifted his chin imperiously. “I will make it number one.”

Emma shook her head. “We don’t need any advice from the likes of you. I’m certain.”

“You may not want it, but you’re getting it. And it won’t be advice…it’ll be orders.”

“Says who?” she countered, eyes narrowed in challenge.

“Me. The soon-to-be owner of this enormous heap of paper.”

She’d heard the words, but they rang hollow, refusing to make sense. She whirled towards Akatsuki as if he might somehow be able to translate. 

He had the good grace to wince. “Emma, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out. But I’m not getting any younger, and the traveling of a merchant’s life gets harder and harder every year.”

“So you sold the store to Prince Silvio? Of all people, him? But…” She’d never felt betrayal before, but this nausea that clawed acrid at the back of her throat couldn’t be anything else. “I was going to buy it.” 

The forlorn admission slipped free before she had time to snatch it back, falling helplessly to the ground. A fledgling taken to wing too soon.

Silvio blinked, and chortled. “You? You were going to buy the shop?" 

Her cheeks stung pink at the slap of his incredulous laugh. “Yes, me.”

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business like this,” he scoffed.

She shook her head fiercely. “No, you wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business like this. Could you recognize an incunable if you saw one? Do you have the faintest idea what an octavo is? Or who Madame Rochefort’s favorite author is? What genre you can sell Monsieur Martin on without fail when he comes by every Tuesday afternoon? All you see is coin to be made. Numbers in a ledger. Profit and loss. Not people. And certainly not their stories.”

“This ain’t a library, lady. It’s right there in the name - bookstore.” He paused, as if considering something. “Although, if you’re so eager to make sure things are done in a certain way, I suppose I could let you keep your job.”

“Let me…” A logjam of words crowded her throat for a moment, indignities all clamoring for space at once until one finally jostled free. “You want me to work for you?”

A petty smile slanted his lips. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it.”

That expression of his was like a door being thrown open on a smoldering fire. Rage exploded through her in a backdraft, a mindless wave of fire and fury that vaporized the calm logic she prided herself on. “Listen to me, you tacky, tasteless, tawdry, tinsel-clad affront to the eyes. I wouldn’t work for you if you were the last thing standing between me and utter destitution.”

Answering sparks flew from a blue gaze turned flinty, as the blood drained from his face. “That could be arranged. One word from me, and I could make it so that you never work in this city again.”

Her mouth fell open, eyes stinging from the salt he had just rubbed into every last one of her open wounds. “And now you think you can threaten me into keeping the job that I already have? All while you buy the shop I already planned to?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can.” His grin was more a macabre baring of teeth than any thing of mirth. The snarl of a hound treeing its quarry. “I know I can.”

“Forget it. You can own this shop, you can own this city. You can own this whole damn country. But you will never, ever own me.” The world had gone strange around her, red and wavering, like water spilled through wet paint. It took her three tries to see through it well enough to snatch up her book of poems from the top of the pile. “I quit.”

It occurred to her, as she took her first wobbly step towards the door, that it might have hurt less to have simply driven her paper-knife into her own heart. She clutched the book tightly to her chest, as if it could staunch the blood she swore poured from some wretched wound, though her blouse remained as pristine as ever.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His snarl stopped her in her tracks, but she didn’t do him the courtesy of turning around to reply. Etiquette when dealing with royalty be damned.

“I’m leaving. Like I said, I quit. Have a nice life, Your Highness.”

He lunged forward, snatching at the book she held. “You can’t just walk out. That’s store property. Which means it’s my property now.” They tussled over the tome, wrestling, neither willing to back down - until finally it fumbled from their grasp and fell to the ground, open to the page she’d slipped her bookmark in.

They both dove for it at the same time, the childish squabble continuing until they were brought up short by the harsh sound of tearing paper, freezing where they stood.

Emma forced herself to look down, dread a swallowed lump of lead sitting queasy in her stomach. Gaze shifting from the book in her hands to the page now crumpled in Silvio’s fist, a forlorn flap of ragged paper still standing accusatory in the spine she held. 

“Look what you’ve done,” she managed, through lips gone stiff and numb.

“What I’ve done? You started this. If you’d just handed over the book - or better yet, not thrown a tantrum and tried storming out - this wouldn’t have happened at all,” he retorted fiercely. But when she found herself at a loss for any sort of response, and the silence drew out long and stilted and awful, he thrust the rumpled page at her abruptly. Refusing to meet her eyes. “Here.”

She glanced down at it, and let out a humorless laugh. It was the only reaction she could muster when she saw familiar words of poetry between his fingers. The exact one that had warranted a bookmark from her in the first place.

Would I could come, O lovely one, to you just in a thief’s disguise, unknown to all!

It figured that he'd manage to ruin even this for her, too.

“I bought this book. It belongs to me. Akatsuki’s been looking for it for me for almost five years now. But you know what? Keep the page, and the poem. My parting gift to you,” she told him, no longer trying to keep the bitterness coating her tongue from seeping into her words. She was too sick with it, choking on the wretched feast as she ever-so-carefully closed the book. Ever-so-carefully tucked it under her arm, before flinging a razor edged glare at him like a flechette. “It’s the closest to love you’ll ever get, Your Highness.”

He flinched, as if struck, but made no reply. Made no other movement at all, as she left him holding those words and walked out.

If you’d like to be tagged for future chapters, let me know!

(Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune, header image commissioned from @/sbeep)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #ikepri emma #ikepri fanfic #my writing

[hatkuu]

Your Secret - Kylar x reader

gn! hidden omega reader x alpha kylar

cw: omegaverse, obsessive behavior, male kylar, gender-neutral reader, classic kylar behaviour.

"I know your secret."

He's overly invasive. Pinning you against the grubby alleyway wall; heavy, panted breaths slip from his parted lips as his clammy, sweat covered hands restrain your own.

You seethe as you speak to him. It's your final line of defence, after all.

"What are you even talking about? You creep!"

'He's all talk', you assure yourself, hugging your arms to your chest with a bitterly sour expression on your face as Kylar looks over you. His scent is overpowering. It coats the inside of your nose and mouth; thick and viscous in the air.

You aren't sure if he knows-- because, well, he can't know-- your secret. But with the way he's staring into the soul of your very being, looming over you like he knows you inside and out; like he knows the red of your innards and the instrusive thoughts swirling in your head. You swallow. There's no way he knows.

He croons the words like they're something you'd be blushing over. Like those words are the answer you've been looking for, for so, so, so long. The Omega inside you swoons, so happy that a viable mate has finally noticed you! But it's Kylar. The creep from your English class; not a mate-- not an Alpha.

"That's no w-way to talk to your Alpha, Omega."

You hiss, retching yourself away from his grip-- you want to make him bleed-- you want him to get away! Kylar only smiles down at you, unaffected by your aggressive behaviour. Coated in a thick, heavy blush, Kylar's face couldn't be more unnerving to you. You'd prefer if he held a knife to your throat rather than this.

"M-My poor Omega... S-So unsure of what t-they need!"

He pauses, then snatches the scarf you wear so diligently around your neck, revealing your swollen, angry scent gland.

His voice is thick with conviction, triumphant that he's finally caught you. The supposed 'Beta' that avoided him like the plague no matter how many times he tried to catch you alone. He knew something was wrong; something was off about you.

"Don't try and hide your true self n-now--"

...

Your scent; too crowded, like a stack of papers suffocating a paper weight rather than sitting neatly underneath it.

Your demeanour; you didn't hang around with anyone. Not typical of a Beta. At all.

You were hiding some dirty, horrible secret-- and Kylar needed to know what it was.

Not covered up by layers upon layers of clothes, cheap deodorants and perfumes, just pure you.

So he slipped through your bedroom window-- landing softly, knowing which floorboards to avoid and which to step on-- like he's done this a hundred times. Your room was clean-- far too neat and tidy for someone to be living in-- But Kylar can smell it in the air, and it sends him reeling.

Your real scent.

He pants, his heart thumping against his ribcage as his fingers twitch at his sides.

Prying upward, Kylar discovers all of the parts of yourself you tried to hide.

This is it-- This is why he's been so drawn to you. You're his. His Alpha knows it. He knows it. No stupid pairing rules or guidelines are relevant-- you smell far too good to not be his. His knees buckle beneath him as he crumples to the ground, too overwhelmed by everything around him. As his body hits the floor, a board comes loose.

...

He rattles your missing suppressants in his hand, relishing how you cry out in confusion.

"You know... only Omegas use these. I-I was r-rather confused when I f-found these in your room, (Name)."

"You fucking stalker--"

"It all made sense, y-you know. All the layers you wore in summer, the perfumes and the other s-shit."

He snatches your wrist, your skin buzzes and hums at the touch of an Alpha. You whimper, so desperately trying to pull away from him even if he smells so good.

He smiles, pulling your body close to him so that you're chest to chest.

"I-I need to take those suppressants!" You sob, struggling against Kylar's grip, attempting to snatch back what was rightfully yours-- the one thing that kept your secret hidden.

"Y-You can't hide from me anymore..."

"I know you're mine--"

You yell out, sobbing louder as Kylar clamps a hand over your mouth to shush you.

"--You try and hide it but I know the truth..."

He smells the air, breathing you in like an aphrodisiac-- like you're the best thing he's ever smelt in his whole life.

"I would've had you even if you weren't an Omega!"

The walls of the filthy alleyway shrink in on you, the outside world is silent-- the only sound you hear is Kylar's heavy, haunting breathing. His eyes are fluorescent, a bright sickening green that makes your insides shrivel up and close in on themselves as he ogles you.

"But you are," He purrs, crooning sweetly at you.

"you are, and you're--"

Kylar smiles. It's all teeth and nauseatingly unbridled joy.

"...You're all mine."

The secret's out.

#kylar #kylar the loner #dol kylar #degrees of lewdity #kuuskylarposting

[jahiera]

this isn't really coherent, I might turn it into an actual structured.. something something later, so don't take this as anything but my brain notes getting jotted down, especially since the nature of discussions on class, wealth, capitalism, vampire symbolism, gothic themes, etc. are all a lot to get into casually here. but I'm. endlessly fascinated by cazador's reputation as a socialite in baldur's gate, the rat motif, astarion's obscured history as a magistrate, and how the game fucks around with classic gothic vampire aesthetics to an almost egregious degree. zero trying to pretend they're not calling back to what the "vampire" imagination evokes here.

the ostentatious yet dilapidated state of the mansion. the egregious wealth but the floorboards are moldy and bloody and miasma fogs the hallways. the rooms are dark yet opulent... the corridors loom over you and are strewn with many fine paintings you can barely see for the lighting, the floors are plush and carpeted and red. but the whole place at the same time is disgusting. bloody. thick with rot and feels almost rundown. I cant remember the exact line in the companion dialogue with shadowheart and astarion where shadowheart asks what to expect of vampire lairs, but it ends with him describing them in a way that's almost--fetid. cazador's wealth is on display and yet the whole place is rotten to the core, meaty and disgusting and full of horrors.

and this works in conjunction with the way astarion plays at class, elitism, and wealth. he plays the part of it quite well; he sniffs and turns his nose up, offers to take karlach to the upper city, his introduction is him telling the player that they "move in different circles," (the implication that astarion moves in elite circles, when in fact in act 3 he reveals he mostly spent time in lower city taverns). I'm not sure how to elaborate what I'm trying to get at here with the play between the rotten wealth & astarion's "playing" nobility; astarion's mortal life is only gestured to, as a magistrate, but you can feel the bones of it in astarion's character still. he plays the role shallowly well, when everything we learn about him directly counters any notion he was ever the social elite he plays at in the beginning. how astarion interacts with the others through his still distinctly elitist + wealth-centric lens despite quite literally being enslaved for the last 200 yrs (my life was bad but at least I'm not you. that mindset is rife for unpacking in terms of how he places himself above others so often, and recoils + is aghast when he sees himself especially paralleled with those he sees as lesser or weaker). if he came close to touching high society, it would have only been through cazador's own social parties with the upper nobility of baldur's gate (and even then, we don't know if he attended, if he was expected to play a role there, or if he was sequestered away). like the mansion's finery, astarion's own display of elitism is hollowed out, rotten when you actually see it, down to the worn out hems of his finery.

astarion, whose most often reoccurring animal motif is a rat; vermin, unfit for consumption; the symbolism there is RIFE. rats play double; coward, vermin, unfit for the finery of the house; rats as symbolism for disease, decay, infestation. vampires infest and feed on baldur's gate. astarion is, in many ways, a rat himself; a schemer and fearful. the game doesn't really try to comment intricately on social structures, classism, or vampires as symbols for the parasitically wealthy; in act 3 the focus is much more on the fucked up family dynamic, the social hierarchy between cazador and the spawn (and that's an entire thing in of itself; astarion weaponizes the cycle of abuse over the spawn as quickly as he expresses sympathy for them). or if it's trying to do a real critique of wealth & using vampire tropes to do it, there's nothing necessarily.... intentionally placed there as critique. but it's still very much in line with the gothic horror symbolism that oftentimes does utilize the vampire as a way of cracking a bit at the Horrors of the Rich. intentional or not, it's very interesting. rats! the way the rich are parasites on the land! the way the cycles of power rotate between the spawn as they all claw for favor and security and power in the house but ALSO hold themselves higher than the human servants or the werewolves!

#bg3 meta #stuck in fucking ACT 1 when I want to REPLAY THE CAZADOR MISSION RIGHT NOW. I'm SICK. #does this make sense to anyone. do you see the dots being connected here. #it needs something structured & I'd want to collect screencaps + quotes to make it all work but #woe the horrors of parasites and the wealthy and the way that power + wealth + social image still clearly play a role in #how the spawn interact with each other and also with cazador and also how they view their victims -- #or well. at least how astarion does #bg3 spoilers

[2-lines-and-a-circle]

Someone you can test time with.

Notes: Morning bliss, established relationship, time skip. Character x reader, Ace and Jack! Long read. Gender neutral reader.

Ace Trappola ver.

“There it is… I missed seeing that face.”

In the early glow of morning light was a peaceful beauty as they slept soundly in the gold light. What joy was it to wake up to no one other than ______’s face knowing this was the new normal. Everything had been so calm that Ace nearly went back to sleep next to you. Although he quickly shook that feeling off, the blushing man then reluctantly left the bed. Heading towards the bathroom ever so careful, so as not to wake you up, Ace halted midway in his tracks. Rushing back to your side our card soldier softly placed a kiss to your temple as a good morning kiss. Without missing a beat, a soft pink flowed across his face till it faded into a bright red ocean.

For some strange reason it didn’t matter how many times Ace kissed you, he still felt giddy every time. Perhaps the reason he felt such a way had been due to his overflowing love for you. After all the man took pride in being your lover as it meant he was yours and you were his. Together the two of you would test time as the love between you would grow deeper and deeper.

Looking into the mirror Ace was embarrassed to see how the red tint lingered on his pale skin. Wondering to himself the redhead thought of ways to surprise you on a relaxing morning. This was a special day to him as the two of you failed to align your schedule, despite living together.

The first few ideas had been a bunch of tricks, such as pouring coffee into a teacup out of a flowerpot. Or maybe he could make a muffin explode with confetti to wake you up. No, none of those could work. If anything, he knew all of this would cause you to be grumpy for the rest of the day.

Walking out the bathroom Ace once again took a sneak peek into the bedroom. Still in the golden sunlight was a sleeping ______. As the cold wood floorboards hit his feet Ace reached over to the kitchen. Ace as incapable of anything fancy, instead he started working on a very classic breakfast. Two sunny side up eggs, toast (one with jam and one with butter), and finally a pile of pancakes topped with berries.

The smell of golden bliss wafted around the house as Ace prepared everything as best to his abilities. None of it was top class, but Ace knew how to follow a recipe to make it taste good. Presentation wise, well, he had gotten everything to look almost as if it came from a fancy cafe. Those presentation skills from working under Riddle had really paid off.

Just as Ace made his way to plate the food you sleepily entered the kitchen. With slightly blurry vision you happily smelled the delicious breakfast before you. Yet, before you made any comments you wrapped your arms around Ace. A small laugh fell from your lips as you chuckled from seeing Ace’s appearance. Along his torso all the way down to his thighs was your handmade apron. The apron was similar to one's maids wore, but it had pink and red ruffles. On the middle of the apron were five hedgehogs in the colors of red, pink, orange, blue, and green.

What luck did you have to see such a precious thing when you had just woken up. Turning around to face you, Ace tried to cover your eyes using his hand, though it was deemed unsuccessful. Taking a better look at Ace you saw his face turn almost the same shade as his hair. In an attempt to shut you up he told you to clean yourself up, saying your breath stank. Laughing away to the bathroom you wished you had taken this chance to capture a photo. Now, this memory would only last as long as you could recall it.

Jack Howl:

The glow of the orange sky filled the cracks of the bedroom as a broad back reached out in front of you. The light touched your eyes causing you to wake up from the peaceful night. Staring at Jack’s back made you feel a little lonely, it felt like he was out of reach to you. Which you knew was ridiculous as the two of you were mates, but you also knew the bond you shared was stronger than anything you felt before.

Extending your arms to Jack you hugged his back to feel his warm body press against yours. Feeling your hands wrapped around you Jack immediately turned to face you and without missing a beat he held you. Although he had still been half asleep you knew he sensed you. This time you pressed a kiss to his cheek, before closing your eyes once more.

Such a sweet moment ended all too soon as after sleeping for a good five minutes, Jack’s alarm went off. Jumping out of bed Jack swiftly turned off his alarm clock to start getting ready for the day. Meanwhile you woke up due to the sound of disturbed sleep, not that it was a huge problem for you. If anything, you had grown used to the sound of his alarm clock every morning.

Patting your head Jack whispered to you to sleep a little longer, which to his suggestion you did. Jack knew how hard you were working for the past few days and earnestly wanted you to sleep longer. After all, if you couldn’t rest well then you wouldn’t be able to work well. Feeling the glow of the early morning fade away you went back to dreamland.

Making his way to the bathroom Jack efficiently ran through his morning routine just as he did any other day. Then, he kissed you on the forehead before he left for a morning jog. Or so he originally planned, instead Jack wanted to do a little something extra for you. So, before you could wake up, he planned to get you your favorite flowers and breakfast. While Jack could have made everything from scratching, he was far too afraid to wake up from the noise.

Feeling the morning air brush along his skin Jack ran along the morning shops heading for your favorite cafe. Saying the list back to himself as he ran, he made sure he memorized the right order. As soon as he headed into the shop Jack smoothly ordered everything perfectly just as he had imagined. On his way out he even got some freshly baked bread loafs to restock at home.

Home, that’s right. The two of you were living together. Such a normal thing to his life, yet it made him incredibly happy. Jack’s tail even started to wave back and forth from his excitement. Shaking his head from side to side he cleared his mind as if to remind him of what’s next.

Hearing the ring of the bell the gleeful wolf made his way to the shop owner. There he was guided to his flower order. In Jack's hands were a bouquet full of flowers which reflected the early morning. Thanking the owner one last time Jack walked out of the shop envisioning your face as he presented everything to you. A face so full of smiles he couldn’t wait to go home to see.

Entering through the front door he was shocked to hear the sound of the bathroom. Quickly setting everything up Jack placed the bouquet in a vase with water and the food onto a clean plate for two. Without any hesitation he greeted you the moment you walked out of the bathroom door. Placing a kiss to your lips he eagerly showed you his surprise harvest. Smiling to yourself you couldn’t help but melt in Jack’s smile as he shyly displayed his love to you.

Really, you couldn’t have wished for a more beautiful partner than Jack. Turning to face him you held his face in your hands and placed a good morning kiss onto his lips. Then, as you left his face you felt his lips trace yours over and over again. The moment the two of you left each other’s lips you sat down to enjoy your morning surprise with Jack. It was truly a blissful morning where you two had been bound to each other.

#twst #twisted wonderland #jack x reader #ace x reader #ace #jack #ace trappola #jack howl #savanaclaw #morning bliss #heartslabyul #timeskip

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Oh Ive been waiting to ask (but mostly just ramble tbh) how do you think Andrew would react to a flirt reader in the graveyard pre manor who writes poems for him since he's their muse, I think he would be very moved but also extremely shy and kind of lost on how to react.

They geniunly see a unique type of beauty in him and honestly who WOULDNT, because when youre looking for inspiration and something catches your eyes, theres no stopping. With his red eyes similar to roses or rubies, his skin as pale and shiny as the moon above the skies that sometimes wants to shy away behind coouds just like him, his blonde hair resembeling the ones in the paintings of angels and so on.... They would love to smother him in compliments since the poems never stop coming to him and they get more creative every single time, finding a new detail about him but also disclosing information about them, to let Andrew know that their feelings are sincere and hopefully reciprocated....

Andrew my love I am coming for you

Ngl i love that pls show him body worship!

I love the idea of falling in love in the most unlikely of places or times. In this case, the classic how Morticia and Gomez met lol both going to funeral.

Andrew, from wht i learned is like five layers deep in ground trying to protect himself from the world. He probably thinks this is just another attempt to mock him or berate him.

It will take time but also he is wondering why you hangout at the graveyard. Always at a funerals, you are very strange yet instead of being closed off or hateful, you are /you/. A strange you, a you who keeps their head up despite the whispers or the attempts to outcast you.

The next time he sees you, you at a grave he buried not to long ago, month or two ago. Wiping the grave, cleaning it as you talk to whoever is buried there. Fresh flowers. They call you strange but he is learning you pay respect to the dead. This belief of "those who pass on truly die when they are forgotten" is what you tell him. Andrew stands by claiming he is just supervising, it not safe here all alone.

Slowly, there is a bond between you both. He still gets flustered when you flirt or compliment him. The letters you sent are hidden in the floorboards to be read again over and over when alone. He can smell the perfume/cologne on those letters.

#idv #asks #reader insert #andrew kreiss x reader #andrew kreiss #identity v andrew #identity v grave keeper #grave keeper x reader #grave keeper x you #andrew kreiss x you

[whataboutmyfries]

✩THE BEDTIME STORY PROJECT✩

Noot Special!

Hello hello hello! Welcome to a very special edition of the Bedtime story project!!! this could be read a love letter to all my beloved noot friends (it absolutely is btw) but also as a collection of some truly incredible fics by some equally incredible people. For those of you seeing this for the first time, this is not-quite regular post wherein i rec shorter, usually fluffy, fics in the hopes that you too find something to make your bedtime that little bit sweeter!

~

Oknutzy

✩Suburbia by @fruitcoops (T: rated by me)

Starting off so so so strong with Eve's wonderful writing. This fic feels like a big hug and I love it to bits oh gosh <333 Anyone that knows sweater weather knows Eve is an absolute GOD in this fandom and the fact that I get to interact with her on the daily and call her my friend still feels a wee bit like a fever dream. she's out here writing utter magic like countermoves and Land of light both of which have me climbing the walls and chewing at the floorboards cause holy SHIT (whoops, back to the fic) I'm not going to lie, it was so hard to pic just a few fics to rec, but I went with the one I'd read this week for the wee oneshot because oh GOSH it is so somft and lovely and adorable, i love it.

✩Frosted windowpanes by @heyitssmiller (G | 13.8K)

Piercing, bitter cold greeted Logan as he stepped outside for the first time that day. The kind of cold that made the entire body tense up and the breath hitch. It was a quiet early morning, with a stillness that only freshly-fallen snow could bring. Logan took a second to pull his toque further down over his head as he grabbed the chainsaw by the door before heading out to the truck, passing the sign with red, clean lettering that read Tremblay’s Christmas Trees.

Now anyone that's been on this blog for a while knows just how much I ADORE mills and her writing (hello my lovely E-fiancee!!) And this FIC oh GOSH!!!! Frosted wondowpanes recently had its two year anniversary (!!!) which is when it was published on Ao3. I won't lie, this au still lives in my head RENT FREE along with clandestine and also Rendezvous with destiny (both of which I am definitely NOT reccing in this list no sir, not AT ALL nuh uh please dont have the links to them (they're on the names) and also whatever you do DONT go and yell in milo's comments about how MAGNIFICENT her writing is, no sir, definitely not suggesting that) Because of just how adorable it is, so much blushy flirting and idiots in love, 100/10

✩Leo's plant corner by @we-are-swearwolves (G)

Finn/Leo/Logan: plants and domesticity and social media mishaps 

Oh lord, oh jesus. Anyone that's ever interacted with me for any amount of time on the SW discord know I am absolutely FERAL for Em's writing. This is one of her shorter fics but you should absolutely definitely decidedly NOT go read her other works which I am NOT rec-ing because they definitely did NOT make me cry sob eat my heart out and feel shrimp emotions like Québécois and also "Smile, Soleil." nuh uh, not at ALL ;)

✩I've got my love to keep me warm by @arrowofcarnations (M | 1.7K)

Okay so, most people know Kim as the incredible author behind the fandom classic Inked but oh my GOSH the way kim writes makes me so EMOSH it is unreal, her characters are so fleshed out and tangible and so so gorgeous and also i get to watch her to her magic word thing on the discord??? like hello??? little old me witness to this absolute SORCERY??? genuinely insane, i adore it so much. Alsooooo cute little fun fact: Kim and Em worked together to write the masterpiece that absolutely BROKE me Like Real People Do just flipping INCREDIBLE. absolutely showstopping. I love Kim and her writing so so much.

✩Regency AU by @peggyrose19 (E: rated by me)

oh my god oh my god oh my GOD. Audrey's writing is so fucking *chef's kiss* and watching this magic story come to life in the SW discord was an absolute DELIGHT. utterly filthy, completely delightful and wonderful in every single way. Of course, Auds is also our local St.Tweedle whisperer with fics like this one and also hold me closer. oh my GOD audrey's brain is so so big, i honestly have no idea how she comes up with all these incredible aus and fic ideas, such a cool human i love her &lt;3

Coops/ wolfstar

✩Christmas is home by ithilielthechosenone (T | 1.5K)

Remus gives him a mock shove with a shake of his head. “You are hopeless.” No, Sirius thinks. I was. I thought I had to be. I wrestled it down until I myself could no longer see it. You took my hand and gave it back to me. You all did. My hope lives within each and every smile of yours.

- Sirius and Remus enjoy the snow

Oh good gosh, oh jesus, oh boy, it's Ami's writing, my KRYPTONITE. The way Ami writes is like music. there's no other way I can think of to describe it. It flows so beautifully and the way her writing reads like lyrical prose and poetic storytelling has me weak in the knees EVERY single time. This fic was part of the SW discord winter fic exchange and it had me looking at my phone like 🥺🥰the whole time. Ami's writing is just INCREDIBLE and she blows me away with the way she words everytime she blesses us with her writing :)

✩First Burn by @fruitcoops

Okay folks, we've already established how much I ADORE Eve's writing but also oh my GOD I just had to bring up this au, which left me completely shooketh right from the moment the idea came up in the discord to the finished product of Eve's wonderful fic. I LOVE it so so much and I still reread it on a semi regular basis (but shhhh) bottom line, everyone needs to read this.

✩Washcloths and Wishes (A Sweater Weather Fanfic) by @veryspacecowboy (E | 1K)

oh goodness M's writing (and M themself) Is so flipping wonderful and this was one of her first fic's I've ever read (I think it might've actually been their first published fic I read) the way she writes is so flipping incredible and the way they weave all the character's stories together is so magical to witness, and to watch them do this wizardry on the discord (parkouring through allll the threads, so many of which are her brainchild because M is big brain and they are so so cool) has me making heart eyes at my phone/laptop. This fic is somft and also hot (which they are a MASTER at, the duality of M(tm)) and every SW fan HAS to read it, I promise you'll love it.

✩Sirius gets Re to communicate by the wonderful @tetedump/@arewelonely

LAUREL WRITING LAUREL WRITING OH MY LORDY. Laurel is such an incredible human oh my gosh my HEART!!! we haven't spoken very much but she's such a bright, kind, and comforting presence on the discord and I always have a little !!! moment when I see her in my notifications :')) This fic oh my GOSH this fic is EXACTLY what it says on the bottle, Sirius gets Re to communicate because he's a sexi sexi gentleman (Laurel's world not mine) She's such a lovely, caring human and honestly, you can really see that come through in her writing and it makes me so so 🥺🥹 I adore every single inch of it &lt;3

✩Neon moon podfic, written by @fruitcoops and read by @itsaash

So we all know that Ash is our resident podcast GOD, who's read and orchestrated the wonderful Sweater weather podfic along with a bunch of other noots (which everyone collectively lost their minds over) and also the podfic of the system which was originally written by @heyitssmiller (ahahahah triple noot whammy hehehe) but oh my GOSH Ash is so so cool, and such a delightful person to talk to and interact with, I adore her to bits, she's always so nice and kind whenever you interact with her and she's so wonderful about raising peeps up with her podfics, it makes me very very 🥺🥰

~

Thank you so so much to the lovely noots for putting all their wonderful works out there into the world and letting me rec their works in this silly little list :) I love you all so so so much, and AHHHH thank you so much!  Thank you, lovely reader for going through my first ever reclist! feel free to come yell about these lovely works with/at me, and you can send in your recs on the comments of this post, or my inbox!

Happy reading!

#the bedtime story project #noot special! #wolfstar #oknutzy #coops #lumosinlove ocs #sweater weather lumosinlove #coast to coast lumosinlove #AHHHHHHHH I LOVE THE NOOTS SO MUCH YALL THIS IS UNREAL #fries recs fics

[the-baschet]

#28 - Blunt

There he stood before the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, eyes cold as the frost clinging to the stone surveying the broken structures of his memories before his legs carried him forth inside and to the Second-in-Command. The moment his request spilled from his lips, a hushed surprise filled the old hall. Whispers echoed, chattering here and there while the rattling of metal and chain gathered closer. Before long, a curious crowd formed hoping to see with their own eyes who decided to show.

Mattisaux could hear most of what they wondered.

‘Where was he all this time?’

‘Was he not dead along with his fallen comrades?’

‘Did he not run with his tail between his legs?’

It did not bother him though; those who muttered beneath their timid breaths rather than speak his atrocities to his face were never worth his time. Until someone shouted his name.

Leaden steps pursed the wooden floorboard, relaxed in gait. “So the rat decides to show his face at last! Ser Baschet, a displeasure in seeing you here again.” A large Elezen, perhaps taller than Mattisaux’s six fulms and ten ilms, made way to stand directly in front of him, offering a contemptuous glare.

“Evrard,” Mattisaux’s voice lulled casually, bored at best to the swarthier Ishgardian. Nothing else remarkable came from his mouth, already finding Evrard to be a rather unremarkable man to begin with.

The selfsame man waited, expected more than just recognition of his name, and when he did not get exactly what he wanted, his teeth grit. “I will make sure to be the one to kill you. For everything you have done, I will enjoy making you suffer about as slowly as you tend to enjoy yourself. It would only be just.”

While some anger was expected, even as forthright as it was, it coming from this particular man had Mattisaux rolling his eyes for everyone to see. “Spoken like a true coward. Seeing how you still show your face here proudly, I take it no one knows exactly what you have done.” His eyes slide from one side of the attentive audience to the other, a curt smirk tugging a corner of his mouth. “That charming wife of yours must already accept your provocative interests. Mayhap your daughter of eight summers already understands how vulgar her father is. Now, unless you will truly be part of my trial, off with you.”

No sooner did Mattisaux turn his back to the frothing man was he nearly tackled to the ground. Evrard’s retaliation was far too telegraphed; veins bulged beneath the surface of his neck, his sword hand reached for his waist. Once his shoulder collided with Mattisaux’s back, the familiar sound of steel freeing itself from leather sliced the air. He need only answer in return.

“Blood will not pour over these floors!” Before either of them could indulge in the classic sensation of a tavern brawl, screeches called over the knights. An inquisitor, one of many that came at the behest of a linkpearl, cut through the bodies to snatch Mattisaux by the upper arm and stare daggers at Evrard. “We will pass judgment by the grace of the Fury. Now, come.”

A sudden silence pressed the lips of every soldier in their presence. Only the shuffling of their march and the soft billow of their robes were heard until they removed Mattisaux from the Congregation.

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #ffxivwrite2023 #Mattisaux Baschet #Ishgardian #Elezen #Writing #Her Watchful Embrace #The beginning of his return to Ishgard

[hrokkall]

Leshy for the ask game?

HELL YEAH I got requests for all four Scrybes let’s go.

Favorite thing about them: I absolutely love his character as a whole. He’s a villain (and remains that way for most—if not all—of the game) but he’s still so likable just because everyone can see his genuine passion for the game he’s created. Everything he did, everything he created, every puzzle box and squeaking floorboard and hidden secret was all for the player. Inscryption the game loves the player so much—it loves them enough to trawl through the blight it’s built upon just to have even the slightest chance of looking them in the eyes and Leshy is such a good representation of that theme.

Least favorite thing about them: Again not going to say anything related to torturing the other Scrybes (even if he thought that they would eventually come around and see that it was an honor). Instead I’ll say I wish he had a full 3D model. I know it’s because he’s too damn tall but all of the other Scrybes have one (including Grimora, who is nearly the same height and has to clip through the floor to fit in that scene) but I would love to actually know what his legs look like instead of speculating based on the unclear 2D sprite. Granted I’d probably draw him with hooves anyway because it’s fun but still I’d love if he had a full body that I could import into blender to just rotate around for fun.

Favorite line: I’m not going to pick any bits from the finale because every single one of those lines hit hard, instead I’ll pick this segment

brOTP: I already talked about Leshy and Kaycee on the Kaycee post and I’m going to try and not repeat myself too much here. So instead I’ll say I like the relationship Leshy has with his subordinates just because it’s so different from the other Scrybes’ interactions with their own underlings. Magnificus and P03’s underlings both revere their Scrybe above all else, Grimora’s all live under the same roof and are therefore likely pretty close with her, but Leshy? All of his woodsmen seem like they were just… people who lived in his forest who he decided to converse with. They’re loyal to him, sure—everyone but the Woodcarver (who isn’t one of his underlings) is 100% okay with him using their visage and controlling them for the boss fights—but in a very different way. Loyal in a way of “I live in the forest with you and the forest decided to extend a hand to me in return” rather than loyal in a “put me in the torture chamber, boss!” way. I don’t know it’s just like they’re casual friends with any reverence (or lack thereof, in the Woodcarver’s case) formed organically rather than vehemently feeling like they owe anything, intentionally or not.

OTP: Trying not to repeat myself too much so I WON’T put all four Scrybes as the world’s worst polycule here. I’m pretty sure everyone here already knows that’s my #1 favorite Inscryption ship (and probably the only one tbh because I’m not really into shipping). Instead I’ll talk about Leshy and the other three Scrybes individually (keeping it short because otherwise, like usual, we’d be here a while)

Leshy x Grimora: Classic life and death motif combo. You can’t really go wrong here. Plus, if you go by sheer quantity (and quality imo) in act 1, Insect cards are by far the most abundant, implying they may be Leshy’s favorites (plus the insect that crawls across the table that Leshy occasionally stops to observe). So making Grimora into an insect card seems to show a certain level of fondness—or respect, at very least. We already know from canon that a combined blood/bones system works very well, as do beast and death cards in act 2. Plus the mental image of Grimora bringing back animals that Leshy had gotten particularly attached to by lovingly carving their epitaphs and watching as the now-skeletal rat excitedly greets his friend again is cute.

Leshy x Magnificus: This one is a little bit funny to me just because they have no hybrid cards together and Leshy goes out of his way to gouge Magnificus’s eye out. So needless to say the divorce was messy. But in a pre-old_data sense, their dynamic would probably center around their mutual love of creation. Though their own preferences clash, they’re both huge fans of having a single unified aesthetic. They don’t want each other’s card systems near the other, but the storycrafting would be fantastic. Similarly, I don’t think a magic/blood campaign would work very well without a ton of shoehorning (it would have to be something similar to the red hart wherein the # of sacrifices made that turn power up a ruby mox card) but the visuals would be nice.

Leshy x P03: This one is equally funny to me because they’re opposites in every way possible and yet they really have a lot more in common than either of them would appreciate in canon proper. I’m personally a fan of the “overgrown technology” type aesthetic (see: co-op) so from that level I can appreciate it, but also the level of hilarity that these two would bring is incredible. Learning about the semi-canonical divorce between the robot and the forest deity was a punch in the face, but the semi-canonical marriage that it implies? The two of them going in dates in either the middle of the woods (wherein P03 complains the whole time until it spots a bird mimicking the whirring of its fans) or at the factory (wherein Leshy spends the whole time asking if they can go down to the shore because he’d love to capture that thing he swore he saw poke its head out above the waves). It would be a disaster and yet the fact that they made it work speaks volumes. I’ve already talked about a blood-energy system with co-op so I’ll skip over that part but yeah I like these two.

So anyway the four of them together are a lethal combo needless to say. It doesn’t work and yet it does and then the moment it starts to work they realize they can play god and then start fistfighting each other about it. So that’s fun.

nOTP: Again, not a fan of Leshy and Kaycee in a romantic context.

Random headcanon: I didn’t get to show it in my last drawing of him (partially because it got covered up with fur) but he has tarsal spurs on the back of his leg like an insect would. What these are used for? Good question… Seeing as in insects they’re usually on the forelegs for digging or cleaning, they’re probably just vestigial on Leshy.

Unpopular opinion: Act 1 isn’t my favorite. It’s good, for sure, but I hate when people reduce Inscryption to just act 1 and then ignore the rest of the game. Maybe that’s just because I’ve been drawing art for this game and picking apart the lore for around a year now but the other acts deserve more of a spotlight too.

Song I associate with them: Can I put Lord Huron’s entire Strange Trails album here? I won’t, I’ll narrow it down to Meet Me in the Woods (though you should listen to the whole album if you want a whole album of Leshy songs. Just saying). Other than that, Dear Dictator by Saint Motel and Solar Waltz by Cosmo Sheldrake are both pretty good options.

As a bonus, I’ll put Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce—the song he references in the Finale as he plays his last game.

Favorite picture of them: It only appears for a couple of seconds but I really like his “Deathcard”

#Re: Inbox #Re: Anon #Ask meme #OKAY this is the last one back to drawing now #Oh also #Cw animal death #Just in case

[d4rkhold]

the quietest crescendo (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader) - Chapter 2

CHAPTER OVERVIEW: Your feelings for your new piano tutor are becoming more intense, and the tension between the two of you starts to grow. You have your first lesson with her today.  

WORD COUNT: 4.6k 

WARNINGS: None in this chapter.

A/N: I deeply apologise for taking many months to post this chapter... I was stressed with exams and other uni stuff - it was not a fun time. I hope you all enjoy this chapter (and I assure you it won't take 500 years for me to put out Chapter 3). Many thanks to the two new people that beta-read some parts of this chapter. Lots of love for those guys!! 

[Also my musical knowledge is not super good, so please excuse any parts that don't make sense...]

“Oh, I enjoyed that one.” You said with a polite smile as you placed the receipt on top of the book. “I think it’s one of my favourite books I’ve read this year.” The customer — a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties with sandy-brown hair, thanked you gratefully and said that he was looking forward to reading his new purchase before leaving the store. 

It was usually quiet like this on a Saturday morning; Friday night party-goers were probably hungover, and sleep-deprived students were catching up on all the few precious hours of sleep they could get. The bookstore you’ve worked at for the past year and a half was a ten-minute walk from your apartment and wasn’t too far from campus either. It looked sorely out of place compared to its neighbouring stores of fluorescent lights and bright colours that grabbed one’s attention from afar. Whereas the bookstore stood humble on the street with its ivy-coloured paint on senile bricks and a display window showing a handful of novels under this month’s theme, which was murder mysteries. If one entered the store, they would suddenly be subjected to the chorus of the brown hues of the wooden floorboards and shelves that reached the ceiling — stacked with an abundance of books of countless genres. 

You enjoyed your job — apart from the fact that you had to start early on some days when you would’ve very much preferred to be sleeping in. And unfortunately, today was one of those days.

“Y/N, are you able to do me a favour?” John Collins, your boss, called out from across the store. He appeared to be restocking the classical literature shelves. You walked over to him, rubbing your eyes as you saw the boxes of books by his feet. The word “CLASSICAL” was scribbled in big red letters on all of them. 

“Of course. What’s up?” You watched as he opened a box which revealed a dozen books neatly packed together. 

“Are you able to close up on Monday evening? I know it’s not your usual shift, but Sam says his parents are visiting from overseas for a few days and wants to know if someone could cover his shift.”

You told him that you would be more than happy to close up on Monday. The bookstore was one of your favourite places. When you first got the job, you weren’t surprised at how quickly you fell in love with it, and you knew you would never get sick of being surrounded by the copious amount of colourful spines on wooden shelves. Mr Collins was also a cordial boss, which you were incredibly grateful for, as in the past you did have a few bosses that would make you slightly dread going to work. Mr Collins gave his employees an awfully generous discount that made you question if he was actually allowed to do that. Well, you couldn’t complain as it encouraged you to bring home a new book with you every week.

---

The weekend had gone by quite quickly, and it was already Monday, and you were back in the bookstore after finishing your lectures for the day. Monday evenings were your shortest shift, but today you had to work until closing time. This evening, you were placing price tags on some new books that the store had received earlier today.

The sun was starting to go down, hurrying to trade places with the moon, afraid it would be left behind in the night sky. You found it quite lovely that Mr Collins allowed the shop to stay open until late into the evening. It added a nice touch to the atmosphere, making the whole book-shopping experience more serene.  

Cross-legged on the floor, you ran a hand over the cover of the book in your hands before placing a price tag on it and adding it to the stack next to you. The shop door opened; however, you looked up just a beat too late, only catching the fabric of a dark-coloured coat drifting behind a bookshelf near the front of the store. Maybe you might ask if they needed any help finding a particular book.

You were just about to place the price tag on the last novel you had to do for the horror shelf and find whoever had entered the store when you suddenly heard a low hum from behind you. 

“What a pleasant surprise this is….” A familiar voice caused you to cease your actions, causing a sticker reading “£12” to linger on the tip of your forefinger, frozen in time just like you were at that moment. When you turned around and looked up, you were suddenly reminded of the weight those cerulean-blue eyes held as they gazed down at you.

Agatha Harkness was there, and she loomed over you like a lamp post that flickered in its luminescence during the ungodly hours of the night. You crouched there on the ground in silence for what felt like ages — like a worshipper at the altar of God, gathering and preparing their thoughts before a prayer. But you knew a follower of God would most likely feel a sense of serenity as they prayed to a holy being — whereas you, on the other hand, felt an unruly knot of fire starting to coil in the pit of your stomach at the very sight of the woman who you had consecrated in the back of your mind.

Oh, how oblivious you were to the Devil as he shuffled his deck of cards, observing the game with a smug look plastered on his face. It seemed that he had nothing better to do these days.

Today, Agatha was wearing a dark purple coat and a cream-coloured scarf which was draped around her neck several times. You contemplated how good the colour purple looked on her and noted the traces of sweet lavender essence that filled your senses when she was near.

“Professor Harkness… What brings you here?” A small curve formed on her lips at your formalness. 

Perhaps you had forgotten how to stand up at that moment — or that your nervousness had tied you to the ground below your feet, relentless in not letting you go. This is how you felt around the woman — entrapped and enticed by her being; a prison where you would willingly stay, a key you were happy to lock the door with and swallow it whole afterwards. She fuelled a strange feeling in you — a cryptic ache in your stomach you could not decipher every time she looked at you. 

“I had finished work for the day a little bit earlier than I had anticipated and decided to take a stroll through the city.” She turned her head towards the front of the store, and you watched as the remaining fragments of sunlight trickled onto her face and cascading brown hair. The older woman then turned her attention back onto you. “I then happened to stumble upon a bookstore that was still open during this time of the day.”

You chuckled nervously, meeting her gaze. “Yeah, it is a bit strange that we’re still open at a time like this. But I think it’s really nice to be in a bookstore while the sun goes down in the background. It’s really beautiful.”

She hummed in agreement, her eyes never leaving yours.

You looked away and found yourself checking your watch for the time in an attempt to escape being subjected to Agatha’s fiery blue-eyed gaze any longer, despite craving it so much. You feared that the longer her eyes were set on you, the faster she would scratch the surface of your composed façade and read your mind of the thoughts you had of her.

“What time do you finish tonight, dear?” You embarrassingly realised that the price tag was still on your fingertip, which caused you to quickly place it on the book's cover and settle it onto the pile near your side. You rechecked your watch as if you hadn’t just checked it a minute ago. “In about 15 minutes.”

As you rose to your feet, you looked at the ground as if it was so interesting all of a sudden. “And it looks like I have to start closing up.”

“Do you mind if I keep you company?” Your eyes shot up to meet hers, and you felt the beating pace of your heart quicken. She quirked an eyebrow, waiting for a response from you. 

“Oh, not at all.”

You cleaned the shop: dusted the shelves, vacuumed the floor and counted the till. It was greatly appreciated that the remaining customers had started to leave the store on their own and that you didn’t have to awkwardly remind them that it was near closing time. Agatha was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you finished up for the day. You offered to give her a chair, but she declined, saying she had already been sitting down all day. 

You didn’t notice that your nervousness temporarily subsided as you and your new piano tutor talked — mostly her taking the lead in the conversation (which you were grateful for). You learnt that she used to compete professionally but had stopped a few years ago to lead ensembles and teach students, which reminded you of your former tutor. 

Agatha spoke about the most ordinary things, such as how dramatic the weather was in this city and that she desperately needed a glass of wine when she got home. However, that didn’t stop you from trying to cling onto every word that left her mouth. You could not understand why you felt this way.

And when she asked you about why you chose to play the piano, you gave her your little ramble about how your mother used to play and how she wanted you to follow in her footsteps. Agatha did not reply, for all you earned was a slight hum and an indecipherable expression from the older woman.

The night started to settle down; its blackness oozed across the skyline, painting it the darkest of colours and scattered pin-pricks of stars across its canvas. The city's buzzing atmosphere from earlier today had finally died down as most people had finished work by now, and nobody really went out to the city on a Monday night.

Once you made sure that you had done everything you needed to do, you told Agatha that you could now lock up the store. You made your way to the front, holding the door open for her and smelling her faint saccharine scent as she walked past you. With a flick, the lights inside the shop went off, and you fished out a key from your back pocket and proceeded to lock the door. 

“Well… Goodnight Professor. I’ll see you on Friday.” You bid her a shy smile. “Thank you for keeping me company.” 

“No worries, dear. It was my pleasure.” Heat rose to your collarbones at the pet name, and you were thankful for the darkness of the night, as you probably were starting to become crimson all over. “Now, how are you getting home?” The older woman asked as she pulled out something from her coat pockets. 

“Oh, I don’t live too far from here, so I normally just walk. It’s just a few blocks away.” 

She tsked at you. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk home alone in the dark.” 

“It’s no problem; I’ve never had any trouble walking home from work.” You shrugged.

“Well, if you want to be like that….” You squinted and saw that she was putting on her signature black gloves, and not long after, you felt her gloved-hand tug at your bare one. “Darling, where’s your place? I am going to walk you home.” You opened your mouth to protest but were interrupted by the older woman. 

“Do not argue with me.” She replied sternly and gently pulled you onto the sidewalk where lamp posts dimly lit the now-empty streets. You could see a few buildings draped in the glows of neon lights from shop signs and trees that stood along the sidewalk, casting silhouettes of outstretched arms of branches onto the road below.

When she let go of your hand, you found yourself missing the momentary contact between skin and glove — a superimposition of fire and ice. A heart was set ablaze — which was yours, and her cold enticing demeanour somehow was like lighter fluid that started to provoke the sporadic flame that caressed the edges of your heart within you. You wondered how she would react if she discovered that most of your thoughts had her name plastered all over them these days.

The walk back to your apartment was a silent one. The only loudness was when Agatha looked at you once in a while as the two of you walked side by side. You would notice her looking at you, and when you tried to catch her gaze, you would always be a second too late and miss it. 

“What?” You turned to look at her, searching for answers in her indecipherable expression. 

A soft upwards curve formed on her lips. “Nothing.”

You enjoyed the comfortable silence. However, you wondered what she was thinking about when she kept turning her head to look at you. Maybe she was still baffled that you were fine with walking back home alone at night, or maybe she was thinking about something piano related, and how proficient you were at playing — or perhaps she was just contemplating what bottle of wine she would drink when she got home.

A dog barked in the night, and the sound of autumn leaves scuttled on the pavement, lightly rustling in their path as the two of you turned a corner. As you approached your place, you searched your bag for your apartment key. 

“How are you getting home?” She only chuckled at your question. You didn’t think what you said was funny. 

“Darling, you don’t need to worry about me.”

---

Only a handful of days had passed since your encounter with your new piano tutor. Everything from that evening had never left your mind, causing all your thoughts to fumble around the place, distracting you from your everyday activities, which now seemed to be more mundane than usual. 

You tried to push the thought of her to the back of your mind, but somehow you always found your thoughts drifting towards the older woman who was so mysterious and alluring. Along with those minor distractions, you had not told any of your friends yet — but you wouldn’t be surprised until someone like Darcy figured out that something was up with you. It would only be a matter of time until you would have to come clean.

Darcy and Bucky were over at your place today. It was a Thursday afternoon, and you three had decided to grab a few pizzas and do some studying together at yours after lectures had finished for the day.

“What!? Nah… I’m pretty sure that assignment was only worth 10%.” Bucky scoffed as he took another slice of pizza from the box that was laid on the coffee table.

Darcy sighed, clearly unamused at his uncertainty. “Are you serious? The professor literally said multiple times before the due date that it was worth 20%.” 

Your eyes were fixated on the view outside of your apartment window, deep in thought. Your friends were sitting around the table on the floor, debating about assignments and tests. However, at that moment, the world around you started to melt away, your mind wandering back to the woman with eyes as blue, cold and captivating as the Antarctic Ocean.

You thought about Agatha walking you to your apartment that night and how her gloved hand ran down the length of your arm as she bid you goodnight — her mouth terribly close to the shell of your ear. You could smell the lavender scent that she usually wore, but this time, you were so close to its source, swearing that the perfume particles had her name written all over them. 

And you stood there on the front porch of your place, watching her as she drifted away into the night, her hands in her pockets and her silhouette trailing after her. The streets were so unusually quiet that you were even able to hear the faint clicking of her boots against the concrete, fading away with each step. 

And you had waited. 

Waited for her to look back at you. 

Even just once. 

Oh, but she never did.

Soon you couldn't hear the bickering of academia between your two friends, only then realising that they had stopped talking as all eyes were on you. 

“Earth to Y/N? Hellooooo, are you there?” A waving hand in front of your face abruptly pulled you out of your daydream. 

Darcy squinted in your direction, crossing her arms with a suspecting look on her face. “Is there something you would like to share with the class? Because I really think there is something distracting you.”

You rolled your eyes and elbowed her side. “Oh, shut up, Darcy. I’m fine.” You shifted awkwardly in your seat. “It’s just been a busy week, that’s all, and I’m just stressed about all the assignments coming up.”

She continued to stare you down, slightly unconvinced at your response, but she decided not to push further. You knew that later she would attempt to pry something out of you. “As I was saying before….” Darcy blinked a few times before continuing. “I even asked someone last week, and they said that it was worth 20%. Y/N, what do you think?” 

You nodded and hummed half-attentively, still partially lost in your thoughts. “Yeah, 20% sounds right.” You heard Bucky groan next to you as Darcy playfully shoved his side in supposed triumph. 

---

In your peripheral vision, you could see that she was standing by the window as her back faced you. Your fingers lightly danced on piano keys as you played Für Elise for the fourth time during today’s lesson. Annoyingly, you still hadn’t grasped the piece's second section, and at this point, you were almost convinced that Beethoven had cursed you. However, Agatha reprimanded you, saying that it takes hours and hours of practice for pianists even to play a single piece half-decently. 

After finishing the section, along with making some small mistakes, your tutor finally turned around, hands intertwined behind her back. You waited for her to speak — to say anything. You inhaled, holding the air in your chest momentarily before exhaling a shallow breath. 

Did you play well? Was it okay? Or did you just completely slaughter one of Beethoven's profound pieces?

Today she was wearing a dark violet waistcoat with a beige shirt underneath and black trousers. You watched as she buried both hands into her pockets and made her way towards you in silence. You swallowed, realising she still had not commented on how you played just then. You looked back at your music book, where the corners of the pages were bent and crinkled from shoving it into your bag so many times. There were also tiny annotations in pencil; sections of notes were circled, and small reminders crawled on the margins of the page, reminding you to execute mezzo fortes and to adjust your pace at certain parts.

Something had undeniably shifted in the air — perhaps it was that invisible chord of palpable tension or the thick film of an enigma that surrounded a certain brunette finally being cut. Your suspicion was confirmed when suddenly you felt a thigh graze against yours; the unexpected contact almost made you jump in your seat. She had sat down next to you on the stool, and — good lord — the sheer proximity between you and the older woman suddenly made your entire body freeze.

Her gaze was set forward, ignoring the slightly flushed look she knew would probably be plastered all over your face. She straightened her back and hovered her hands over the keys for a moment before delving into the piece as if the most delectable meal was suddenly set out in front of her. You’ve heard that Agatha Harkness did not leave room for any sort of clemency when she played the piano.

You watched as pale, slender fingers started to move with grace, coaxing gentle melodies out of the piano. She was decisive with her movements and never once faltered or fell victim to silly mistakes as you usually did. Beethoven would have been in awe of the subtle aristocracy she poised as she flaunted her competence with the piano so effortlessly — dominating the piece so flawlessly. She was in her element, and you took in each of her manoeuvres, wishing you could embed the spectacle in front of you into the back of your mind to replay over and over endlessly.

It couldn’t be helped, but you were envious at that very moment of how that creature of wood and ivory received so much attention from the woman that was Agatha Harkness. The mere object being subjected to her physical craftsmanship and commanded by the pianist herself — it simply was not fair.

She altered between E’s and D-sharps, executing the diminuendo and taking her time with it. She did not rush; her tempo was perfectly steady. When she had to reach over to play a section of relatively low chords, her arm brushed against yours, causing the air to freeze in your chest momentarily. For all you knew, the corners of her mouth subtly quirked upwards, a small smirk playing on her face as she knew that the piano wasn’t the only thing in the room willing to give in to her.

You continued to watch her perform, focusing on how her hands moved so delicately and swiftly. The end of the song was approaching near, and you already started to wish that you could relive the moment once again. She was bizarre — one could not simply just continue with their day after witnessing a woman like Agatha Harkness thoroughly wring out the most refined melodies from the piano. They’d be entranced for what would feel like an eternity — not just from how she plays that beast made of ivory, but also from the timeless beauty and peculiar aura she carried with her wherever she went.

When she finished playing, there was a long silence before either of you spoke. Just as you were about to open your mouth to compliment her performance, she cleared a throat and began to get straight to the point about how you had played before her.

“You need to work on your crescendo, dear.” She turned to face you, observing the star-struck expression on your face. “I fear you play too monotonously. And at the end of the section, you play it too fast.”

Your brain had not properly processed her criticism, as you and your mind were preoccupied with attempting to play back her breathtaking performance that just happened a few minutes ago. “You play so beautifully, Professor Harkness.” The words that left your mouth sounded meek to your own ears. 

She only smiled at you. 

“Now, let’s try that section one more time, shall we?” 

---

You sailed through the first section smoothly, maintaining a steady pace as you approached the second section of Für Elise for what felt like the 50th time today. The first section of the piece was never a big struggle for you as it was quite repetitive and more gentle in a sense, compared to the other sections. 

You were coming up to the parts that contained crescendo where it mattered most — and this time, you reminded yourself to execute it more audibly and with more vigour. You needed to get this part right; you couldn’t mess it up this time. Raw focus ignited within you, causing your surroundings to ooze away until all you could think about was how you would redeem your attempts of homage to Beethoven. A puff of air escaped your lips as you momentarily flexed your fingers before diving into the second section, head and heart, in a wary combination: the former — a source of an adequate amount of determination and the latter being your internal metronome. 

Wrists dropped delicately, and your back straightened. You entered the section, treading carefully and caressing the keys as if it were one’s lover. However, you did not abandon the slight ferocity that was needed to ensure that there was a balance of both elegance and intensity in Für Elise. 

“Good girl. Keep going; you’re doing well.” The unexpected praise almost made you slip up on the current stave you were playing, but you forced yourself to remain composed in order to avoid humiliating yourself in front of your tutor, either by screwing up Beethoven's music or fainting right next to the older woman.

It seemed to you that your current playthrough of the current section was an improvement compared to your previous attempts. You hadn’t stumbled on any parts this time, and you managed to keep up with the tempo consistently throughout the piece. You heard the older woman beside you hum in seeming delight, causing a slight grin to form on your face as your silent speculations were confirmed. Your breath hitched in your throat as you suddenly felt a hand rest upon your knee, rubbing gentle circles encouragingly just as you started to near the end of the section. Time felt like it had slowed down; each passing second felt like aeons of lingering contact between her skin and the material of your jeans.

A few beats passed until you realised that you had finished the piece and that her hand wasn’t on you anymore; it was as if it had never been there in the first place. It could’ve been that your admiration for Agatha had caused your brain to conjure a cruel hallucination on you — a mockery to tease you of the fruits you could never reach from the tree. 

“Better than before. But there’s still more work to be done.” She got up abruptly and headed towards the window with her hands behind her back. “Other than that, you are progressing well with that second section.”

You swallowed. “Thank you, professor. I’m glad to hear that.” That stupid beating heart of yours was seriously going to be the death of you. It felt as if it was going to bore a hole through the layers of your chest and jump out the window right there and then. 

“You may go now.” Her back was now facing you as she looked through the panes of glass. “I’ll see you next week.”

You grabbed your bag, ignoring the incessant heat that was starting to simmer over your collarbones. God, you had to get out of that room immediately before something ridiculous could happen, such as spontaneously exploding or melting into a puddle of skin, bone and blood. It wouldn’t be very nice for the cleaners to have to clear that up, you thought to yourself. 

The Devil clasped his hands as he knew he had played his cards correctly. You — the mere doe-eyed deer — were finally caught in the hunter’s trap without knowing it. Agatha Harkness was a seductress for the eyes and ears; she could kill two birds with one stone if she wanted to. And you? You were taking damage but enjoyed every single blow she cast upon you.

During the heat of the moment, paired with a strong tendency to rush out of the music building, unbeknownst to you, you had forgotten your music book that was still sitting on the piano. It was only when you arrived home and emptied your belongings from your bag that you realised you had left it. You didn’t really feel like going back to fetch it, as you could manage without it for the rest of today. You figured that you would just pop in tomorrow morning to pick it up. It was no big deal.

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #wandavision #agatha x reader #coven of chaos #agatha coven of chaos #marvel #agatha harkness smut #agatha all along #agatha wandavision #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness imagine #marvel au #kathryn hahn

[jimsmovieworld]

NATIONAL LAMPOONS CHRISTMAS VACATION- 1989 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The best christmas movie of all time.

Clark Griswold (Chevy Chase) goes above and beyond to make sure his family have the best christmas ever. One thing after another goes wrong and he starts to lose his mind....

One of my favourite movies.

This film never gets old. So many funny lines and jokes. In addition to that, some of the funniest parts are phyiscal comedy at its best. Clark running around not knowing the squirrels on his back. Him standing on the floorboards and falling through the attic? Hilarious.

As far as Griswold movies go, its hard to pick a favourite definitively but its either this or the original Vacation which are both classics.

Clark Griswold is one of my favourite movie characters and reminds me of my dad.

Russ and Audrey are ofcourse always played by different actors in each movie. Christmas Vacation has an excellent pairing. Juliette Lewis and Leonard. Both play theyre part well.

Beverly D'Angelo returns as Ellen Griswold. Shes sweet, stunning and hilarious with very amusing facial expressions and eye movements.

Also one of my first childhood crushes.

For those reasons and more id like to formally induct Beverly D'Angelo into the jimsmovieworld hall of fame. Although ive hardly seen her in anything else other than Vacation films, her role as Ellen in these movies still makes her one of my favourite actresses.

Welcome aboard and merry christmas Bev!

#national lampoon #vacation #christmas vacation #movie #film #movie review #comedy #family movie #christmas movie #80s movie #cult movie #chevy chase #beverly d'angelo #juliette lewis #leonard #clark griswold #ellen griswold

[vulnicura]

im thinking abt the formation of modern linguistics as white, western discipline that begun with neoclassicism (most modern science did, everyone during the scientific revolution & age of enlightenment saw classical antiquity as the pillar of civilization) that originally only engaged with indo-european languages that held cultural capital, & only was concerned with other languages through a prescriptive lens or thru exoticism. & how all the important knowledge we have now is only due to the "desecration/butchering/dissection" of all those languages with less linguistic capital, those of the colonized & the vernacular masses, studying them & separating them from their own cultural context until they fit evenly into our linguistic categorization, & how all we know comes from this & it is our history, & how similar it is to the history of surgery in western medicine, & how all the suffering of ppl & literal medical lynching that was basically a hobby for white men in the 1700s & 1800s (just as linguistics was & biology was) is woven directly into all the important scientific knowledge we have today that saves lives. we cut things up as a form of unimaginable colonial violence to discover what lies beneath & then we say we're done with that its not like that anymore we're modern & we know all we need to know while hiding it allllll under the floorboards & pretending if we do things right than there is no more violence. categorization is a cleaver. a word parsed & a dead body on a cold table can be one in the same. u need to acknowledge that violence or else it continues.

[silvery-bluish]

5 8 12 for Ris, 38 and 44 Ars, and 49 for BB ? 👀👀

Asks from here!

Thanks for the ask Jazz <3

Ris

5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults?

No siblings to their knowledge! Their parents are separated and have been for the past ~25 years, they haven't seen their mom in just as long and haven't seen their dad in about 15 years, so. Maybe somewhere in the distance? But they think the no-siblings thing is maybe for the best for 'nobody should give those people another kid to be in charge of' reasons.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

Ris spent most of their teen years as a sailor on a merchant vessel that had a Grumpy Old Lady Cat named Missus. They fucking adored her and she tolerated them because they were warm and didn't mind being a nap spot. Arguably they currently have Scratch (a dog) and an owlbear cub trailing them around but they'd say those are companions not pets. They like animals in general, always up for a good Disney Princess moment talking to the locals via magic.

12. What is their favourite food?

Spicy whatever they can get their hands on. Spice good. Spicier the better, actually. Also, they've got a soft spot for fresh fruit.

Ars

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

Arsinoe finds it Very Easy to admire things in people they care about. Loyalty. Persistence. Clarity of purpose. Openness. Cleverness. Impulsivity, sometimes, when they're not getting stressed out by it. (cough ortega) Sometimes they wish they could fuckin. Have normal interactions with civilians and strangers instead of going all flat-drop-every-element-of-my-personhood-to-remain-unnoticed or actually being Themself and being, in their mind and a fair portion of the time in actuality, unpalatable or unlikeable or just Very Weird for the Average Person. Usually they don't give a damn, but it'd be-- convenient. Maybe kind of nice. to be able to have a middle ground.

44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most?

Classic Sidestep Buried In Layers answer of Winter LOL. Los Diablos might not be as hot as modern day LA but it sure is hotter than they want it to be when they're trying to wear a minimum of five layers, one of which is a dark colored hoodie. I also think they have a. Fondness for it getting darker earlier in the day? They like the evening, and when it’s dark in the morning. They like everything getting to be a little shadowy-er from a Darkness and Obscurity as Safety point of view. The liminality of it, if that makes sense.

BB

49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them?

He's a sort of-- guarded sentimental. Nothing that couldn't be hidden, or concealed, not things that could be taken. I think he'd get tattoos for people, abstracted out to imagery or reference. Memorize bits of music or poetry that remind him of them. Maybe a box with little bits of sentimentality, hidden under a floorboard— movie tickets, a stub of an eyeliner pencil. Napkin from a bar. Bits of ephemera that wouldn’t make a ton of sense if you weren’t there when he got them.

#polaris #arsinoe #bb #bookish.txt #BB is hard to answer for sometimes bc his place in present day is so. up in the air #what’s he doing. I sure don’t know

[setaflow]

Getting to know y’all

I got tagged by @beammeupbroadway and finally had a second to do this! Thank you or thinking of me, fren 🥰 ❤️

Nickname: Seta is honestly just fine. Y'all don't need to know my real name lolol. Sign: Sagittarius Last Google Search: Whether or not Bryan Adams speaks French. Don't ask me why, I'm a little too ashamed to admit it Song stuck in my head: Hearts Burst into Fire by Bullet For My Valentine. Listen y'all, I'm not a huge BFMV fan, but the guitarwork on this song slaps HARD and it makes me a little bonkers. Sleep: Usually 11:30 p.m. - 7:30 a.m. on the weekdays and whenever - whenever on the weekends, but it really depends on the time of year. I can only sleep in total darkness so if the sun rises early, I'm usually up the second it's up. Wearing: A pair of flannels and an Imagine Dragons concert t-shirt from 2014 (Smoke and Mirrors tour if you were curious). Favourite Song: God, that's such a loaded question because I genuinely have so many and I tend to categorize my love of music in two eras: 0-13 years old where I only listened to my dad's classic rock and 13-26 where I listen to my own shit. For now, I'm gonna offer Ventura Highway by America for the former and Unconsolable by X Ambassadors for the latter, if only as representatives for those two eras Favorite Instrument: Clarinet because it's what I played in middle school :D Aesthetic: Uhhhhhhhhh I don't really have an aesthetic but I guess if I had to pick one I'd go space/galaxies. I don't care if it's 2013's cringe deep purples and stars are cool y'all and I still kinda crave galaxy leggings. Favorite Authors: Professionally, I would say Tom Robbins, Stephan Graham Jones (who I'm reading currently!!!) and Fredrick Backman are pretty high rankers, but I have to also include the Erin Hunters with extreme reluctance for Warriors essentially pivoting my entire life, for better or worse. Fanfic-wise, y'all know I gotta give shoutouts to my peeps beammeupbroadway, heartofsnark, ruruie, emofthechoir, seraphfighter, and so many others for singlehandedly keeping me interested in the fandomside of CP2077, but I want to give shoutouts to my friends @holybatgirlz and @callmeguacamole, who write Bridgerton and Avatar: the Last Airbender respectively and are AMAZING and TALENTED and whose work makes me want to CHEW THROUGH THE FLOORBOARDS. Favorite Color: Sky blue and neon green Favorite animal sound: My roommate's dog whenever he makes a dumb "urp" sound. Every time he does it, my roommate and I will look at each other and just go "HE URPED???" back and forth until we lose our shit. Last Song: Carry On by CSNY Last Series: Since football and hockey seasons have picked up, I genuinely can't remember the last series I finished-- it might've been Seinfeld? But I'm currently watching The Last of Us, New Girl, and The Peripheral Random: Listen y'all I have been an ardent Daniel Jones defender since 2020 and I genuinely think the guy can do well in the league with the right build around him, but trying for a >$45 million a year contract??? Nah. Let the guy play another year out in this same system, let him get a feel for the ropes with a softer schedule and hopefully more weapons for him to throw to. I'm more than willing to sign him within the range of $35-$40 but at this rate if he and his agents are stubborn, I wouldn't be surprised if Schoen lets him walk. Idk. I don't think he deserved that fifth-year option but at the same time I acknowledge that a good chunk of the Giants offensive issues were not really his fault (looking at you, JASON). I just hope we can reach a reasonable deal, because he doesn't seem like an unreasonable guy

Too tired to tag so please feel free to fill out if you want!

#Personal #Thanks again for tagging me!!!!!!

[mawofthemagnetar]

“Are we all ready? Is everything good? Impulse, are you good?” The Director fluttered around nervously, their buglike eyes gleaming under the studio lighting.

Impulse chuckled, a deep rumbling that rattled the floorboards. He sat up from the splintered ruins of the chair he’d been using, and stood to his full height.

In his demon form, his seven horns scraped the ceiling, leaving gouges in the oak beams overhead. He towered over everyone else on the set, taking a step forward that shook the ground.

Impulse reached down and scooped up a giant red tie, throwing it over his neck and doing it up with a practiced motion. The breeze from the flapping fabric damn near knocked the tiny fae director out of the air, and Impulse pulled it through to complete the knot a second later.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He said, swallowing a glob of utterly toxic spit. If it had hit the ground, falling out of his messy maw of spiked teeth, everyone in the room would have gotten very, very sick.

“Excellent. Places, please! Everyone get into position!” The Director shouted, far louder than his small size would suggest.

Impulse shuffled his wings uncomfortably. He had four of them, poking through his neatly-tailored suit coat. The suit was just as massive as he was, covering up his coal-black scales and wrapping smartly around all fourteen of his arms.

He lolloped over to the desk in the middle of the plain white set, setting his four tails down on the floor behind it. There wasn’t a chair- more of a jumbo size steel stool. Then again, a regular chair would have posed issues what with the tails and all, so.

“Okay, are we ready? Places! Places! Impulse, are you good?”

Impulse scooped up the sheaf of papers on his desk. They, too, were scaled up- just like everything else on the studio set.

He glanced over his notes, and gave the director a thumbs-up with one of his many arms.

“Alright. And…ACTION!”

Impulse smiled down the camera lens, letting all fourteen of his blank yellow eyes fix on it.

“Hello, everyone! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood Plague Lord, back again with another public health PSA from our friends at Mojang.”

Impulse grinned and shuffled his papers again, more for effect than anything else.

“This month, we’re encouraging all at-risk players to head on down to the Hub Core Clinic and make sure they’re up to date on their rabies shot! What’s rabies, you might be asking yourself?”

Impulse grinned, revealing hundreds of hypodermic teeth arranged at all angles in his massive mouth. Yellow spit, laced with disease, started to drip from his gums, and he chuckled.

“Rabies is a disease unique to mammals. There’s no cure, and once symptoms present, the victim is effectively dead. I love it. One of the classics! If you get it, you can expect a period of soreness and flulike symptoms…followed by tremors, delirium, hallucinations, acute fear of water, coma, and death. If your dog gets it, you can expect foaming at the mouth, possible delusions, rabid behaviour, and THEN coma and death. Bats can carry it, too! Great, right? I think so. But you might not.”

Impulse leaned back in his chair.

“So, Plague Lord, you may be saying. I don’t want to get that. Am I at risk? Well, here’s a simple test: are you warm blooded and have you had or do you have nipples and a belly button? Does any member of your family have those features? If the answer is yes, you might be in an at-risk group! Make sure you get yourself down to the Core Clinic for a consult with one of our trained staff. There’s no waiting and it’s completely free.”

Impulse leaned forward in his chair, placing every one of his clawed hands on the desk. The wood creaked, and he spread his wings wide.

Hundreds of yellow pustules boiled up across his body, a bio hazardous ooze starting to seep out of some of them. He lleered at the camera.

“Or don’t. Go on, friends. Make my day.”

“CUT!” The director shouted, “Impulse, that was perfect. Spot on! I think that’s the take.”

“You want to do a few more?” Impulse offered, “I got time.”

“Yeah, just to be safe, I think we will. Alright, places, everyone! Take two!”

#magnetar writes #phone fic #plague demon impulse #i was bored #cw rabies #cw illness #cw death #please correct me if I goofed up the science but I was on a plane and had no internet #i also did no research on how filming things works sorry!