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writemekpop · 4 years

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Love the Way You Lie (Part 1) | Kim Doyoung

Pairing: Kim Doyoung x Reader

Summary: One night, you confront Doyoung about your failing relationship and beg to work things out. But in an unexpected fit of rage, Doyoung does something unforgivable.

Genre: Angst

Warning: Mentions of domestic violence, Swearing

Word count: 1.1k

Part 1 ⭐️ | Part 2

It just turned 1AM. You’re pacing back and forth in your living room, waiting up for your boyfriend Doyoung.

Tonight is the night you finally confront him.

You’re fed up with the distance that’s developed between you, as well as the non-stop fighting. If you don’t work out how to save your relationship, soon there won’t be any relationship left to save.

Doyoung trudges into the living room, his dishevelled black hair hanging over deep eyebags.

You walk up to him and lightly touch his arm. “Doyoung… can we talk?”

Shrugging your hand off, Doyoung walks into the bedroom. “Not now Y/n, I’m tired.”

“You always say that though… Please, baby, we haven’t talked in ages.”

Doyoung shoots you a stern look as he sits down on the bed.

Your body aches with tiredness, and you consider just dropping it. But you can’t keep being this weak shadow of your former self. So, you muster up your firmest voice.

“No, we’re talking about this now.”

You take a deep breath. “Let me start by saying, I love you. But lately, I’ve been so alone. You stay out all night with your friends when you say you’re working. Why don’t you have time for me anymore?”

Now the floodgates of your heart are open, the words won’t stop pouring out. “I must be the biggest moron on the planet because I thought we were happy!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/n. I’m not the only one at fault here,” Doyoung growls, his jaw tightening.

“Oh yeah? Enlighten me! I’m the one who never forgets our anniversary. I’m the one who rubs your back when you come home exhausted from practice. I’m the one who stays up with you when you’re writing lyrics.”

Your voice gets louder, your frustration running away from you. “Doyoung, when was the last time you asked me how I am? Or even touched me? You don’t give a damn about me anymore!”

Doyoung jumps to his feet, nostrils flaring. “You need to watch your mouth, Y/n. I’m so goddamn tired of your constant nagging!” he snarls.

“You have a pretty good deal, don’t you? You get to go out and be an idol, whilst I sit here and kill myself looking after your house and your needs.”

“Y/n, stop this. Now.” Doyoung’s face is turning a nasty shade of red.

“No! What about my needs, huh? Don’t they matter?” You’re shouting now - you can’t help it.

Doyoung moves closer, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Why are you being such a bitch?”

“I’m not going to just sit here and take it. Doyoung, I love you. But I am not a doormat. I am your girlfriend!”

Doyoung clenches his fists and takes another thundering step towards you. “I’m warning you…”

“Are you fucking someone else, Doyoung? Is that what this is about? I am sick and t-”

THWACK!

You hear Doyoung’s hand hitting your cheek before you feel it. Then the pain comes. You stagger backwards, clutching your face in shock.

Tears spring to your eyes. Doyoung just hit you.

You look up at Doyoung. He is staring at you, frozen, as if he can’t believe what happened either. His mouth hangs open and his eyes glisten with tears.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me!” The words rush out of Doyoung’s mouth in one jumbled string.

He places his hand on your shoulder, but you flinch.

“Don’t touch me!” You scream, the tears streaming freely down your face.

“Please forgive me, Y/n,” Doyoung reaches for you again, but you shove his arm away. You duck past him and sprint towards the bathroom.

Doyoung is hot on your heels, but you slam the bathroom door shut before he can get in. You turn the lock with trembling fingers.

Doyoung’s fist bangs on the door, and your heart leaps into your mouth. “Let me in, please! We can work this out.” His voice is desperate.

You don’t say a word.

“Open the fucking door, Y/n!” Glass smashes against the wood, making you jump out of your skin.

You stand frozen in shock. “Leave me alone, Doyoung.” Your voice is hoarse from shouting.

“I’m sorry baby. I love you too,” Doyoung’s voice cracks, and all of a sudden he bursts into tears.

You lean back against the door, feeling his sobs echo through it.

After a while, Doyoung’s sobs fade into silence. You both sit there, on either side of the locked door. How did you end up like this?

---

The morning sunlight hits your face as you awaken. You stand up slowly and take in your surroundings. You must have fallen asleep on the bathroom floor.

When you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you flinch. A violent purple bruise blooms on your cheek, and your smudged eyeliner frames your eyes with dark circles. You wash your face gently, wincing as the cold water hits the bruise.

You press your ear against the bathroom door. The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Has Doyoung left for work already?

You need to get out of here. As much as you love Doyoung, you can’t stay with a man who hit you.

Taking a deep breath, you crack the door open and peer out.

You gasp at what’s beneath you.

Doyoung is curled up in front of the door, fast asleep. Tear tracks streak his blotchy face. The hand he hit you with is splayed on the floor like a warning. It makes the bruise on your face tingle. The mug you got Doyoung for his birthday lies shattered on the floor.

As you step over Doyoung, your breath catches in your throat. You’re not a religious person, but you pray to anyone who will listen that he doesn’t wake up.

Doyoung is thankfully still. You pick up your handbag and tiptoe to the bedside table. You stuff your phone into your bag, then pick up your keys.

Before you can get them in the bag, they keys slip out of your fingers and smack onto the floor. Ice floods down your spine.

You snap your head in Doyoung’s direction, but by some miracle, he’s still asleep. You let out a shaky breath.

Before you leave, you take one last look at your boyfriend.

Then, you open the door, and walk out of his life.

---

Three months have passed since the day that Doyoung hit you. You changed the locks to your apartment and have cut him out completely.

One morning, you walk into a small café. You stand in the queue, eyes glued to your phone.

The person in front of you coughs, and you freeze. You know that sound. You lift your eyes slowly from your phone, heart racing.

And then you see him…

Doyoung.

Read Part 2 here.

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weshallc · 3 years

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Happy St. Andrew’s Day. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading Bonfire Night! I haven’t put it on the usual fic sites as I knew I would mess about, and Tumblr folk are a patient bunch. I am going to rejig it so it stretches from Bonfire Night to Christmas (probably New Year at this rate) looking back over 2020.

Thank you for the lovely comments and support from @h4t08 @fourteen-teacups @thatginchygal @bbcshipper @roguesnitch @lovetheturners and new regular @aimee-jessica and @olafur-neal

I really don’t know what I have been doing with my time apart from washing my hands, measuring distances of 2 metres, sewing masks, swearing at the news, collecting Scotch egg and pasty recipes and building a pantry to hoard all my Brexshit preparation supplies.

Enough about me, so as it’s St. Andrew’s Day I thought I might give this another spin.

BERNS NIGHT (Revisited, just for fun)

Call the Midwife AU (Crown Jewels/Paddy and Bernie/Poplar-on-Tweaven)

CHAPTER ONE: FAIR FA’ YOUR HONEST, SONSIE FACE

“Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm : Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang's my arm.” Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns 1786.

“Will You Reconize me? Call My Name or Walk On By.” Don’t You (Forget About Me). Simple Minds 1985.

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich!”

The room was swept in darkness apart from the light of the wolf moon and the north star penetrating the cold window panes. All eyes were facing towards a wooden table and the elderly man stood behind it. He was in his 60s and wiry, small for a man, but with a silver mess of what once must have been a bonnie head of fire red hair. The body may have looked weak, but the intensity in his bright blue eyes cut through the dimly lit surroundings.

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cutting through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one as the incision was violently made. No one daring to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then, Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now, do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet, the ceremony is over. It’s time for eating and drinking, something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The kilted clergyman winked at an auburn-haired girl in the crowd and tipped his whisky tumbler toward her. She raised her own glass and winked back. Her companion at her table was much taller with dark hair styled in a tidy no-nonsense bob.

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. ”Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the sort of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior, and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

She knew her friend well and sensed more queries would follow. Not sure as a Scot brought up on Tweavenside and now living in London she could provide satisfying answers. Picking up their empty glasses and heading to the bar was a strange sort of refuge for a vicar's daughter and inner-city missionary.

There was a queue, well sort of a queue. In London a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored, Anyone who called the barmaid by name was bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars, but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those words.

All her life she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But, she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea, he had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah in your dreams, pal.”

She was starting to feel uncomfortable she hadn’t meant to jump the queue. Maybe she should go back to the table and let Peter get the drinks. A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts, it was quieter than Al’s but held an authority. It wasn’t a Tweavenside accent, but it had a northern softness.

“You serve our impatient friend Valerie, I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter,

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash and a pint of Buckles Best and for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar.

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights, or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner, most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well, I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double it’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when the wife and I took over she was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now, all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence, causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one, and now there was just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way. Under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present. Her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I've met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don't mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair, we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More's the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a...”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can't imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realizing the stranger was still watching her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks. She suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realizing her arse was in the air and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar, she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

Shelagh Bernadette Mannion don’t you dare look back and see if he is watching you he is recently widowed with a son, Da said. He is, what do they call them now, a bloomer or something like that. God has shown you his path for you and it certainly does not include the Crown Inn, Poplar-on-Tweaven.

He is still watching me, I can feel it.

#call the midwife #wee reblog #berns night #chapter one #more to follow llater #as in llama #not alpaca #desk top doesn't do flag emoji #found a saltire #and remembered to add extra song

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lannister-slings-and-arrows · 4 years

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would you write me something sweet and nice? i'm really really depressed and i had a panic attack on the way to class today. (don't worry. i see my therapist wednesday.)

Panic attacks are the actual worst friend, I’m sorry you had to go through one today :( Here’s a little something that I hope helps a little bit:

“So what are we watching tonight?” You ask, throwing yourself half onto the couch and half onto the man who had already sprawled over more than his fair share of it. Air left his lungs with an “oof” and he shoved your elbows away from some of his more vital organs with feigned irritation. He inhaled deeply and shrugged.

“What’s in your queue that we haven’t seen yet?” You stare at the TV and it’s warning that no devices were being detected.

“I don’t know and I can’t reach the remote to find out.” You turn your stare onto him and stick your bottom lip out a bit. He looks at you, unimpressed, and rolls his eyes with a tiny smile before stretching his arm out and grabbing your Xbox controller from the coffee, handing it to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you further on top of him. You settle in, back against his chest, sitting between his legs and navigate the console’s menu to pull up Netflix.

“Okay, looks like we’ve got V Wars, Longmire, Spinning Out, and,” you pause, grinning before tilting your head back so you can catch his eyes. “We’re watching Narcos.” He looks away from his phone that he had been checking, first at the tv screen where his face was now prominently and dramatically displayed and then down at your grinning face looking up at him. He raises his eyebrow at you and you can see the deep crease begin to form on his forehead that only happens when you have well and truly annoyed him.

“No we aren’t, I’ll watch that idiotic cowboy cop show you love so much again before I watch myself on tv.” You struggle out of his hold and sit up, turning to face him, still grinning.

“Oh come on, babe, I’ve heard so much about these supposedly really steamy sex scenes, I want to check them out, see if I can pick up any tips!” His ears turned a violent shade of red and he leaned forward to try and snatch the controller out of your hand. You laughed and held it away from him.

“Come on, why do you even have that in your list?” He mumbled, still trying to get it out of your hand. You held him off, controller behind your back, other hand braced against his chest, a smile on your face.

“How about this, we’ll play for it. You win, you get to choose what we watch, I win, I choose.” He stopped trying to reach around you.

“What do you want to play,” he asked suspiciously, brown eyes staring into yours, trying to figure out your angle. You shrug.

“I don’t care, anything. You pick. Just hurry up, I want to see your bare ass on my flatscreen.” You cackle at him as he huffs at you and shoves you backwards on the couch. He sits over your now prone body and traces his fingers across your collarbone.

“And I can pick anything?” He clarifies, fingers edging towards your side, where the black plastic controller now rested loosely in your hand. You snapped your arm and it’s prize away from his grasping, cheating fingers and tweaked his hooked nose with your other hand.

“Yes, you cheater, you can, now pick something so I can watch you get naked,” you tell him with a laugh. He smolders down at you.

“Well if that’s all you want, I can certainly-“

“Pedro!” You interrupt, laughing. “Just pick something!” He holds your empty hand to his cheek and thinks for a second before smiling deviously.

“Thumb war.”

“What?”

He grins down at you and holds your own hand in front of your frowning face, shaking it slightly, before poking you in the nose with your own finger.

“Thumb war. You said anything, and that’s what I’m choosing!” You sit up and stare at your joined hands. Yours is comically small compared to his, his thumb much thicker and longer. You never thought that you would have cause to regret how huge his hands were before now.

“Sure you don’t want to play never have I ever or truth or dare or something?” You ask slowly, looking at him from beneath your lashes. He shakes his head, still grinning, and holds out his hand for you to take.

“Nope, this is good, come on, don’t sulk.” You place your hand in his and lock your fingers together, and he rests the pad of his thumb against yours. “Who knows? Miracles happen, you might win!” You glare at him and grumble under your breath as he performs the necessary pre-war ritual.

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war.” He immediately starts to move his thumb and you let go of his hand.

“Hey! No cheating, butthead!” You exclaim, shoving his hand away.

“I wasn’t cheating, you let go!” You toss the controller onto the coffee table again and cross your arms. “Did you just call me a butthead?” He asked, nose furrowed, smile creeping back over his lips.

“You didn’t finish the beginning part!” He furrowed his brow at you, still smiling, eyes doing that crinkle thing they did that melted your insides.

“What are you talking about, yes we did.” You roll your eyes and grab at his hand again. He lets you maneuver his fingers into the proper position and you start the chant again.

“One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war. Five, six, seven, eight, try to keep your thumb straight.” You intone, before moving to try and quickly pin his thumb to your joined fingers.

“Adding extra words won't save you, you know,” he informs you, easily escaping your attempt at a sneak attack, still grinning. You stick your tongue out at him, your own eyes never leaving your hands.

His stupid giant mutant thumbs win a few seconds after that and you agree to watch Moana again. Which is fine, you’ve already watched Narcos a few times through on your phone, and plan on using your birthday request to get him to reenact that one scene from the second season with you.

#ask and ye shall recieve #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

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sickiebangtan · 5 years

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♡ hobi repeating a mantra in his head every time he has to get on another damn rollercoaster. hold it in, just hold it in--keep it down--at least until we finish recording. he must really love these boys, otherwise he’d just tell them hell no and sit his bottom down.

♡ the first coaster sends his stomach in his throat with the first steep drop. this is why he hates these things. how can a human voluntarily put themselves through this? it’s a real fight and an honest miracle that he doesn’t vomit as he’s jerked left and right and pulled up and dropped down. unfortunately, he’s sure the staff member filming right next to him has caught the nausea plastered all over his face the whole time, the hard swallows and all. but the adrenaline distracts his nausea enough to keep his breakfast in his stomach where it belongs, for the time being.

♡ hobi standing by the railing to wait for the others, looking like his soul has left him, a lot paler and unsteady on his usually light dancer feet. the other members are too wrapped up in the excitement of the next ride as they skip down the ramp, passing hobi with a clap on his back, but taehyung loops an arm around his neck and walks more his pace. hobi pats tae’s hand and tries to make it comical that he has to sit down and take a breather when really he’s praying a moment at the nearby bench will stop his world from spinning for a second.

♡ “you don’t have to do it, hope-ah,” yoongi mutters in his ear while they wait in line for the next one. getting the ‘okay’ from yoongi is like getting the decision from the law itself. he’s concerned. he can practically hear hoseok’s mind willing himself to ignore his motion sickness, and it isn’t working, clearly. he hasn’t quite recovered from the first ride and yoongi honestly would like for hoseok not to give into the peer pressure this time around. he rubs at the back of his dongsaeng’s neck and hoseok closes his eyes, leans back against the pressure of yoongi’s fingers. “you braved your first coaster. i won’t call you a coward anymore. just sit this one out.” he says softly. but hoseok just shakes his head. he’s sat out one too many times in the past. he thinks how his actions of pushing along can inspire his fans. he gives yoongi a smile even though he’s still green in the face. “i’m fine, really.”

♡ hoseok being particularly stubborn each time the others suggest he stay behind as they reach the queue for the next thrilling ride. his stomach is starting to gurgle audibly in a defiant state of upset, but he’s saddled himself up into 3 more rides before namjoon suggests they go find a place to eat lunch. really, he’s just looking for a reason to get hobi to rest for a while longer than ten minutes.

♡ hobi sipping on water and trying not to gag as taehyung’s pretzel and cheese dipping sauce keeps wafting up his nostrils. jimin rubbing his back and telling him it’s okay to admit the rides are making him sick. hoseok wearily waving him off and blowing out a shaky exhale. “don’t worry about me,” his voice is thin behind his fist. the day at the theme park is almost over. he can do this.

♡ the gentlest ride sends him over the edge. the boys had chosen it for their last one for the day, one that was more hoseok’s speed, but hoseok ends up begging for someone to stop the ride before he’s scrambling out of the contraption to heave violently over the railing. the cameras have been thankfully put away for the day.

♡ jungkook holding hoseok still as his stomach squeezes acid and breakfast over some bushes below, because he’s so freaking dizzy. he’s been dizzy for hours, and his body’s loudly protesting through long-winded retches and vile gurgles up his throat. jin, namjoon, and yoongi shield the scene with their bodies, surrounding hoseok and jungkook while jimin and taehyung go get water bottles and paper towels to help clean hobi up. it’s horrible and embarrassing for this to be happening in public, but at least his members are worried for him, not laughing at him. he should know better--his brothers will always have his back.

#sickfics for bangtan #prompt material #sickfic snippets #bts emeto #hobi was such a trooper on that run episode #he's always a trooper strong baby #this might be a dailyish thing #in all it's free formy off the top of the dome glory #bts sickfics #i dont know what to call these things #raw imagination drabbles?

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stetervault · 5 years

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Hi there could you possibly recommend your personal fave steter (or stetopher) fics from this year? :) Appreciate your blog!

This is so late, sorry. I haven’t been on to do more than queue a few posts lately. But recent faves, I can do that. Here are some off the top of my head:

Call Me, Call Me Any, Anytime by Triangulum

In which Stiles is a phone sex operator, Peter is searching for his soulmate, and Erica has a telephonic ding dong ditcher.

Rewriting the future by Synesthetic (this one finished recently but started like three years ago, it’s very good if you’re into abo verse with plot)

Two days before their planned bonding, alpha Derek Hale runs away with his secret beta girlfriend, leaving Stiles heartbroken. With the demands of his omega physiology forcing him to bond with someone before his first heat, Derek’s uncle Peter steps in and offers a solution.

Keep You (Safe) Within my Shadow by lavenderlotion

Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends.

Pin Feathers and Primaries by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) (wing fic + fluffy hurt/comfort + sexy times, what more do you need ;))

Peter’s wings remained sensitive after his resurrection.

They were perfect again; perfect white coverts with perfect black primaries. Perfectly glossy feathers, perfectly oiled and perfectly clean. No more twisted flesh. No more mangled plumage. No more broken blood feathers, jaggedly screaming for relief.

His wings were perfect.

The were perfect, and it chafed him that he had to remind himself of that now rather than simply know.

Wind Chimes by wynnebat (SO GOOD, i want like 50k more ugh)

“Why are you here?” Peter asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I can understand curiosity, but Stiles, you have visited me nearly every day for years. It can’t be that simple.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s both simple and not. For him, who grew up with the wind, who is inseparable from it in the best of ways, it is absurdly simple. For Peter, who doesn’t trust the wind as Stiles does, it may not be. “The wind says you’re mine. That’s all I need.”

A Love for Millennia (a story never told) by OneSmartChicken

Stiles had to go into the woods that night. It didn’t make sense. She was lured by the sense of adventure, but there was a more that dragged at her.

Or: Stiles is the only one to realize she and Peter are soulmates. She doesn’t mention it.

Signal on the Mountain by bellefire (this is a wip but i really like this one, the train station realm in the Ghost Riders arc had so much potential for worldbuilding/development, I have like half a dozen ideas based on that myself lmao and one of these days maybe i’ll even finish one fml. anyway, definitely check this one out, idk what Archive 81 is but i understood everything fine.)

In which Peter and Stiles find a way out of the station on their own and the two end up somewhere else. Somewhere familiar and altogether different. A place in between, where time is different, strange creatures roam and all the while the world outside moves on, unstoppable as a train.

Robber Foxes (Have No Fears) by RayShippouUchiha (wip but another big fave, i am eagerly waiting for the next chapter)

In the end all Stiles really has left is his dad, a lonely house, the key and deed to the loft, and a chest filled up with emptiness.

A void, yawning right behind his sternum.

That and the laughter of a fox trapped right beneath his skin, echoing in the hollows of his skull, whispering behind his teeth.

Stiles should have known it wasn’t over.

Magic stains everything it touches after all.

From Ashes Rebuilt by ambersagen (murderbaby!stiles)

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Stiles finally admitted. He sounded sorry, smelled like anxiety and hunched in on himself as he fell back from Peter to land in the dented chair. “I heard the doctors telling your niece. She wasn’t quiet about it, and no one cares if I’m around anyway so I heard the whole thing, about your burns. I snuck in to see you.”

“Like a sideshow freak,” Peter sneered, starting to understand.

“Like a miracle,” Stiles corrected.

You Are A Call To Motion by neglectedtuesday

Here at Hale Industries ® we don’t believe in limiting one’s pleasure. That’s why we’re dedicated to bringing our clientele the best in Jackbot technology. Whether you’re a busy dom in need of a service sub or a baby boy desperate for an Alien Daddy, Hale Industries ® has the perfect bot for you. Built to your specifications, our customer service team is devoted to building a bot that will never fail to meet your needs. And if you discover something new you want to try, you can subscribe to our monthly upgrade packages in order to add or remove kinks at your leisure.

Hale Industries ® - The Only Limits Are The Ones We Place On Ourselves.

Here Begins the Land of Phantoms by Triangulum

Stiles is four and scared of the dark. There are things in the shadows of his room, whispering to him, showing him terrible, violent things.

There’s something in the basement, too. He can feel it while he’s sitting on the old, worn sofa, its presence curling around the edges of the room. He thinks he can see something sometimes, a mass shimmering in the corner, but he always looks away. He doesn’t want to know.

Peter is a demon that lives in the Stilinskis’ basement.

Where I Want to Be by Tahlruil

Peter wasn’t exactly surprised when he ‘woke up’ in hell.

He’d known his wounds were fatal as soon as he’d gotten them. In truth he’d never expected to still be standing after his quest for revenge had been completed. What mattered was taking the Argent family down with him and making sure they died before he did. Peter had saved Kate and Gerard for last; they had looked into his eyes as they bled out. They had known that he was the instrument of their family’s doom and he couldn’t ask for more than that.

On Edge by Bunnywest

“What do you mean, Stiles is missing?” Peter demands, scowling at the phone.“Missing, Hale! Can you help find him or not?” The sheriff’s voice cracks, and Peter can tell he’s out of his mind with worry. Peter doesn’t blame him.

In which Stiles gets bitten by a rogue alpha and bolts into the preserve, terrified and out of control.Peter’s the one best qualified to find him, because Stiles is Peter’s mate.Peter maybe hasn’t quite gotten around to telling him that part yet, but Stiles is his, and he’s damned if he’s going to lose him to some feral alpha.He’s going to find his boy, bring him home, and as for the rest? Well, Peter has a plan.It’s Peter. He always has a plan.

Kissing Air by Ragga

“Listen, I’m going to be straight with you. Just before I arrived, I—figured out some very alarming things that I feel you should know.”

Peter tilted his head. His eyes roamed over Chris’ face before flicking over to his steadily beating chest.

“What is it?”

“You should stay away from Stilinski.”

Roots of Silver by Werif_esteria

Peter stalks through the narrow confines of his kitchen three times before the Alpha madness clears from his mind and he can finally figure out what it is that’s changed the air in his home.

He’s not alone.

And from the newest batch of Steter fics that just came out for Steter Reverse Bang, I’ve only had time to read these two:

Into Eden by GracieBirdie

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he’d hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn’t turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Something Powerful Between Your Thighs by Bunnywest

Someone’s actually replied.Fuck.

I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir.

The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile.

#teen wolf #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #fanfic rec #ask #anonymous

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kkotseo · 4 years

Text

— in response to @akm0ng

A long tiring day just ended. Just like any others who worked the typical 9 to 5 schedule. Though Seoah wasn’t an office employee nor a worker with a morning shift. She just so happened to end a meeting earlier with nothing filling the rest of her agenda. An unfortunate miracle to say the least. Blonde hair did not go unnoticed among a sea of dark hues. Hood cast over her head, she stood in line for the bus to come by. An issue with the engine, her manager mentioned amidst his flurry of apologies for Seoah must head home by her own means.

It wasn’t a bother unlike how the other worded on the phone. Perhaps a small inevitable predicament, but definitely not the end of the world. Instead, it was an unexpected opportunity to the singer, a walk down in memory lane at the present tense. When was her last time she took public transportation? It felt so far away. Her younger self seemed to lose grasp of how the experience was. Always in a rush, tackling school during daytime and trainee practices during nighttime. Yet, back then, things were a lot easier than she made it sound in her head.

Each on their own, tending to their bubble, thickening invisible barriers with Bluetooth earphones. Everyone’s similar behaviour facilitated her task to blend in. A few rebellious strands shone under the sunlight only to be tucked deeper within the hooded shadow. And no sight of the proper numbered bus among the busy lanes. The slightest impression of a vehicle bigger than the cars made her head tilt slightly, only to be left in disappointment.

Usually, Seoah was a lady of patience. However jaded, standing still was already an undesired supplementary task. Her makeup weighed on her face yet concealed any signs of fatigue. If only her thin rosy lips could curl a bit so she wouldn’t appear peevish.

A smile finally tugged on them as the bus approached with a forced halt and its passengers holding its pivotal handles and vertical bars tight. The scene didn’t raise a reaction from the outsiders whose sole desires were to head home. The queue shortened faster than the singer thought it would and once inside, she wandered to the back.

That’s how she met eyes with the foreigner who happened to address her in a language she was the least knowledgeable of. At first, a light tilt of confusion accompanied her widened eyes. ❝ Oh no, no! ❞ The alarmed singer exclaims the first English words that crossed her mind, both agitated hands in rejection. ❝ You sit. You sit! ❞ She gestures where the empty seat is. ❝ Please si--! ❞ Her chance to employ better words in a decent sentence vanishes in a flash, slammed against the window due to the violent curve the bus driver manoeuvred. She turns on her heels and loses balance. Eyes closed shut for the imminent embarrassment and pain, her stupor further grows when the suffering does not occur.

And she finds herself seated at the spot the stranger gestured earlier. Cheeks now flushed red from the situation, Seoah manages to bow curtly in his direction.

❝ ... ... Thank you. ❞

#akm0ng #.paragraphs #akm0ng. yingjie #( cue internally panicky seoah with limited english )#( must say that i adore your way of writing )#( ; ~ ; )

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nerdofmanytalents · 5 years

Text

Long Time No See!

So its been a while. XD

A lot has been going on. I’ll tuck all the crazy crappy stuff under a cut so if you’re interested in it all, click through (minding the tags of course), but first, please enjoy my children! In a nutshell, miss you all! Will be loading up the queue for a few days and will try to start making it on more often.

[As a note, the TW tags do not apply to me directly!! I am fine! Just dealing with a lot with people I love.]

My son will be turning 5 in November, and my daughter just had her first birthday in August. Con and Miri challenge me every day but they are worth every second and me and their dad adore them to pieces. They get along great and its so much fun. LET ME SHOW YOU MY CUTE OFFSPRING.

If you’d rather not hear about the crappy stuff, here’s a closer for you and ingore the cut. All in all, I am struggling, but things are seeming to balance out finally, and I have set some goals and want to do more things I enjoy and miss doing. I’m turning 30 on the 30th so isn’t that like a golden birthday or something? I have no idea. XD Anyway, feel free to say hi, I’ll love to hear from you! I intend to post some Arrow fic that I’ve put out in the past year so, keep an eye out for that. In the meantime, enjoy the queue. Its made up of drafts I’ve had sitting in there for ages. XD

Its also been a rough year. In January, my best friend of 15 years was diagnosed with a tumor on her brain stem. In March, it reacted violently to a biopsy and knocked out most of her physical motor functions. They gave her weeks, but she has hung on a long while; however, it’s anticipated she will pass soon since she is really slowing down. I am really really struggling with losing her. She has been my writing buddy, my sounding board, my cheerleader, whenever I write, and in everything in my life since we started our friendship. She was the first person I told that I thought I could marry my now-husband, she was the first non-family visitor to meet my children in the hospital, and she has helped shape me into who I am today. The last few years she let me drag her into video games and it was so fun watching her get into Uncharted and Dragon Age for the first time. In the days leading up to her biopsy she was telling me about her latest Inquisitor she was coming up with for a new play through to set up some stories to write; she says that’s the hardest part in the lingering, she can’t do the things she loves to do, like writing, so I think someday I will write that for her. In the meantime, I am trying to come to terms with losing her, and accepting that according to the religion we both share, we will see each other again someday.

Last year, my youngest sister who is autistic and underage was lured by a trafficker to leave her home and was nearly abducted. By some incredible miracle, the person let her go and she was returned to her home, though unfortunately, it has caused a lot of struggles with her mental health that have affected and drained our whole family, especially myself as I am very close with her. The most frustrating part is that despite the fact that she was underage and there are documented conversations of this person grooming and threatening her, the county DA chose not to pursue it because it felt the case wasn’t strong enough because my sister had lied about her age, and because of this we have all been denied closure. We suspect that there could be more done but our hands are tied. Its been particularly rough the last few months, but she has started to really bounce back in the last few weeks, and we are hoping for continued improvement.

All of this tied on top of the regular day to day stress and untreated anxiety and probable postpartum depression/anxiety has led to a lot of hermiting as a way to cope, which unfortunately means I’ve missed out on doing a lot of things I enjoy.

All in all, I am struggling, but things are seeming to balance out finally, and I have set some goals and want to do more things I enjoy and miss doing. I’m turning 30 on the 30th so isn’t that like a golden birthday or something? I have no idea. XD Anyway, feel free to say hi, I’ll love to hear from you! I intend to post some Arrow fic that I’ve put out in the past year so, keep an eye out for that. In the meantime, enjoy the queue. Its made up of drafts I’ve had sitting in there for ages. XD

#hi yes I am alive #sorry i disappeared #TW: cancer #TW: trafficking #parenting #this business of raising a small human #not for reblogging

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alaingiorgetti · 5 years

Text

Aino

Des troncs d’arbres lumineux montaient vers le ciel, formant une harpe colorée qui ondulait lentement au gré des vents, des nuages et des yeux. Toutes les bêtes se taisaient. Les chaumières avaient étouffé leurs feux. Des chants magiques avaient envahi l’étendue jusqu’au coeur élémentaire des choses. Deux hordes contraires se répondant l’une l’autre dans une bataille aussi sonore que cinglante. L’air en était gavé à coeur, tout le monde respirait des harmoniques violentes, ressentant les pires vibrations parmi les méandres du corps et de l’esprit. Aino aimait son frère plus que tout. Plus que la terre, la mer et le vent réunis. Plus que ses parents et plus qu’elle-même. Elle l’aimait et le vivait dans chacun de ses gestes valeureux, dans chacune de ses aventures, chaque carreau tiré de son arbalète. Elle aurait fait n’importe quoi pour lui. Mais, pour une bataille perdue, se livrer corps et âme au joug de leur plus vif ennemi ? Ce vieillard vindicatif et tout puissant chevauchant des miracles infâmes ça, jamais ! Et quoi, épouser son quotidien, faire ses repas, laver son linge sale, partager sa couche... Une telle exigence lui sembla plus basse que l’enfer. La recette de la miche au miel n’a pas à être connue des frelons, des rapaces ni des bourreaux. Ce temps et cet espace n’avaient pas d’avenir. Ni cet air vicié par la défaite. L’horizon noir d’un tel mariage était couvert d’une croûte immonde faite de sacrifices et de deuils accumulés comme les neiges. Tout espoir était désormais crépuscule. Aino comprit du même coup que les Hommes portent tous, au revers du cou et dissimulé par leur tresse aux beaux reflets, le même sceau de la déception tatoué sur la peau. Il lui fallait disparaître, se faufiler vers l’ailleurs avec l’agilité de l’eau, avec l’infinitude de son cours et le trouble de ses reflets. Il lui fallait se faire plus petite et plus fuyante encore. Être de plus en plus fine et subtile, jusqu’à la transparence des glaces que seuls les ciels bleuissent et où se reflètent, parfois, le visage transfiguré des dieux malheureux. Elle serait donc ce modeste poisson, que le pécheur rejette avec mépris dans l’onde agitée d’une queue rieuse. Une nymphe anonyme, plate, triste et fière ayant refusé l’abus. Est-elle libre, qui depuis lors nage dans le labyrinthe silencieux et infini des banquises ? Sa bouche est close, ses yeux sont serrés qui, au fond du coeur, portera toujours une si lourde pierre.

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wowheadquarters · 6 years

Note

I have a little idea for the 1k followers. As I followed this blog recently, I was wondering about his history. If you feel like it, could do a summary? Like, why did you start it? Your first joy/disappointment. Any thing that we haven't see that you might want to share. Absolutely anything about the blog and you. (If you're comfortable with it of course)

This is a very good idea, lovable anon, I’ll try.

History:

It was 17th November 2015, somewhen in Tuesday afternoon. I don’t remember what exactly sparked the idea of starting this blog, but I can say for certain that it was heavily inspired by the @bleachlists (which is, if you ask me, better humor than canon Bleach). And thus the first list was born.

(I never expected this blog to get famous. Or followers besides bots for that matter. I hoped, maybe, for a little circle of, like, 5 actual readers. I certainly didn’t think I would keep this blog for longer than 4 months. That’s how it is with me usually, I have bursts of inspiration but lack long-term dedication. The fact that this blog is still going is a miracle.)

At first the lists were written in the “chat” style. I had to make up my own prompts, because the two followers or so only hearted the posts but didn’t interact with me at all otherwise. That’s why the activity was very irregular at the time, I was writing when I was inspired and thus a month could pass without a word from me and then boom, three posts in a week. Additionally, I wasn’t writing only lists, but also short stuff, kind of like “Slice of life from Azeroth.” Of these the most famous is Chromie and Dragons and in my opinion the best one and not enough appreciated one is Kel’thuzad’s Heard Of Sylvanas’ Plans.

The first breakthrough came in January 2016 when an anon, who made me happy so much that I called them “lovable” in the list and kept on doing so for all following anons, requested the very first requested list, the Care of Babies list. For a long time this has been the list with the most notes. Now there are too many lists to keep count and Tumblr doesn’t do “the best of your posts,” but still it is one of the most popular posts I have and along with the Chromie and Dragons it still pops up in my notifications. Around April 2016 I had stable enough queue of requested lists to stop making up my own prompts, thus I could completely rely on prompts from followers, most of them from anons.

Another important milestone was August of the same year: First of all, I came up with a posting schedule (Fridays and Mondays, but two months later I understood that was too fast - It ate the prompts faster than they were prompted, and I wasn’t managing it). Then Taedal was added to the lists, at first he was meant as a joke, as I keep reminding him and everyone else, and somehow it happened he stayed here. Additionally, Varian and Vol’jin’s deaths were acknowledged, putting Anduin on the list. Soon after, Garrosh joined in from beyond the veil to annoy Vol’jin in his afterlife.

About this time the blog began to create it’s own lore (and not only the L.O.R.E.), and I even had the (short-spanned) will to mystify people that Taedal is going to get his own expansion. I even had a sideblog dedicated to Taedal (in fact, it was Taedal’s own blog, intentioned as a RP blog but somehow it never…got much traffic) and even a wiki. The wiki still exists! I like to think of this as the Golden Age of HeadQuarters verse, when I even got fanfics on AO3 and a dozen of drawings for this blog even. This blog lives in an alternate universe where there is a new isle west of Pandaria and Garrosh adopted 37 dead children in the afterlife and learned to be a better person (not necessarily the same as good person, but let’s not lose hope).

I don’t remember exactly on what occasion in the 2017 the Interviews were added, but they were the first not-list which were requestable (that is, they weren’t the short filler stuff I used to make before). I think it was to celebrate the first 100 followers but I might be wrong. The first Interview was held with Taedal, by my decision, and ever since then the Interviews went by request every twenty days, moved to every other Wednesday, later as of not-so-recently, every other Tuesday. In the history of the Interviews, there happened to be only one which wasn’t published, because nobody asked any questions. (It was Interview with Kel’thuzad, pt. 3, and I jokingly said that “ when we met, the Archlich thought I used the Interview as an excuse to go out for a date with him and things went awkward” which resulted in this Top N list).

From there things went rather fast. To here actually. As a celebration for 600 followers (or was it 500? Memory fails me) I began writing Top N, sort of as of a filler in between the Interviews, so actually now this blog has moved back to the biweekly posting scheme very close to the one from 2016. Earlier this year (2018), there was a list about attack on not-Theramore, where I made up a character especially for my timeline speculations - because timeline shenanigans, it is a bronze dragon, and because it is representing me, the character is called Authormi. That is a very poor play on the word “author” (because I am the author of this blog) and the “-ormu/ormi” suffix characteristic for the Bronze dragonflight. Coincidentally, it was also the first time I have referred to myself with any sort of name here on this blog (besides the FAQ where is a link to my main blog) and I am using it since.

An important part of the blog is post maintenance when I try to at least twice a month (but if I’m very responsible, then every Friday evening) go thorough the blog, update the Interview, Top N, and L.O.R.E. pages, delete old request asks and so on. However, over the years a good number of not-request asks had piled up in here. They were…not filtered here and the blog seemed messy with them. Which is why Authormi vs. Inbox tag was created and from time to time when too many not-request asks pile here, I dump them into these post as a sort of archive. I admit that it is not, uh… ideal in case you are looking for something specific, but it keeps the blog clean. Well, cleaner.

The most recent new development of the blog was the addition of the Allied Races leaders - Alleria Windrunner for the Void Elves/Ral’dorei, High Exarch Turalyon for the Lightforged, Jaina Proudmoore for Kul Tiras, First Arcanist Thalyssra for the Nightborne Elves/Shal’dorei, Mayla Highmountain for the Highmountain Tauren Tribes, Overlord Geya’rah for the Mag’har Orcs, and Princess Talanji for the Zandalari. The choice of the leaders is taken from the information on the Allied Races from Wowpedia.

Speaking of Wowpedia, it is my primal source, besides personal experience, when it comes to writing the lists. I used to rely on WoWWiki, but, uh… that one turned a bit messy a couple of years ago and I never get around to check on it now. When I don’t know something, I look it up on Wowpedia. If it’s not on Wowpedia, I consider it a Free Real Estate lore wildcard, which means I can bullshit it out as long as it is lore/character consistent. I pride myself on giving the characters (leaders) some actual character, because, now correct me if I am wrong, Blizzard writers confuse character personality for that wind flapping pole. I am not saying that I am writing “good” or “pure” characters. They have faults, they are prejudiced, foolhardy, depressed (in not romantic ways), mean, holding grudges. Some, like Garrosh, Genn or Gallywix, are more straightforward in their flaws than others, but I am pouring a cup of sour traits to everyone here. (What I am saying here is: Be critical when you read your favorite leader’s opinion. They might not be right and/or honest.)

Overview, as of today, Monday 19th November 2018:

Published 174 lists, 24 more in the queue + bunch of requests hanging in the asks among the posts. (Somebody needs to do their maintenance)

Published 25 Interviews, 9 more in the queue + some in the asks too, I think I saw one request or two.

Published 21 Top N lists (most favoured number for N is 10), 0 in the queue.

1009 followers, woooo! I love you all. Except the 1009th one who is a porn bot, you can go fuck yourself. ‘Xcuse me. 1008 followers now!

The blog is 3 years and 2 days old. Happy birthday!

Authormi’s pick of lists to read (besides the one linked):

What they say far too often: Vintage one, so you see what the old style was like.

What do the think of the heroes: Meta one!

Their pick for a movie night: There were no guesses on what movie is a Ayeroth-verse of what Earth-verse. I am proud of some of those titles.

No Orc Invasion: The first timeline speculation, which I really lvoed. If somebody was to write that AU, I’d read it actually.

If they could erase one person from existence: Another timeline speculation. I like making those!

Draw the squad: Maybe you could draw the squad?

Watching Les Misérables: This one was an especially important journey for me, because this list is why I saw the musical in the first place. Later I read the book too (I love the book), got into some Les Mis RP, made some very good friends out of that… Yeah, I owe this one lovable anon who requested it a lot. (More or less, now I am also a professional Valjean RPer, except I don’t get paid for it. Whenever somebody who knows me joins a new RP server and they haven’t got Valjean, they usually ask me. Like… what? How? Why? Why do you all think I am a good Valjean? Why- Never mind, this is a Warcraft blog. Moving on.)

Spell of the Violent Tongue: The first time it has been brought to my attention that I think about the characters in a way a lot fo other people doesn’t, because this list surprised a lot of readers, and by surprised I mean hit into feels so hard they complained to me. I talked about it with my mum later (family support is an important thing for me and mum is fan of Warcraft), and I’ve been told that “I treat the characters maybe a bit too realistically.” PSA for everybody: Warcraft is a story about broken people and violent racism.

Their God Tier: For the people who are fan of Homestuck too. (Homestuck itself is good. The fandom is weird)

Garrosh’s 37 ghost children: By which they became more or less canon on this blog, a regular stuff which is to be counted with.

How do they insult people: The most recent popular post.

Interview with Azshara: My personally favorite thing I have ever written for this blog, as in, I don’t think I am going to peak it.

Interview with Luxien: Because I want to press Taedal’s story and “expansion” to everybody, read the interview with his older evil sister.

Top 10 favorite characters: I suppose you are a bit curious who my faves are, so here you go.

Top 10 changes to the story I would do: By heart I am a storywriter. I give such things a lot of thoughts. But as I’ve mentioned earlier, lack of dedication is… making things hard.

Other cool stuff to check out (maybe?):

Taedal’s expansion wiki, of course. I have a lot of thoughts about that world and story and… I would love to went about it a bit, too.

This very cool fanfic on AO3.

The official portrait of Taedal.

The official portrait of Authormi.

The description of this blog, as taken from my personal blog:

wowheadquarters (WoW HeadQuarters, World of Warcraft Headquarters, WoWHQ) is by far my most popular blog, despite being younger than SNTS. I add new content twice a week, on Tuesday and Friday. I never thought I’d make more than 10 posts in total, but there we go. I admit that the original idea comes from bleachlists, but it has sort of evolved since then. I am trying to keep the blog not contradicting the canon, but some things in the HeadQuartersverse might not always agree with the official lore

Final words from Authormi:

Oh my fucking god, this is really unbelieveable that this thing is still going on. I never expected this blog to live beyond a month. I never thought I’d get more than 20 followers. I have 1000 now? That’s… is that Tumblr-famous? I’ve never had this many followers. Do you all read this? All the stuff? Am I shaping your view on the Warcraft universe? This is too much power for one person to have.

You want to know what’s actually my happiest memory connected to this blog? It was actually some time back (because my memory is a mess, I can’t tell you how far back), I had a really, really stuffed couple of weeks. A lot of to do, but also mentally exhausted, I was in a bad place for a bit there. Usually I am able to kick myself in the ass, sit down and make up the list on the go, even if it is bound to be miserable wreck of text, I write it. Sometimes when I am super done and tired, I write it on Saturday evening and pretend it’s Friday and so far everyone’s been so kind and there’s been no comment to that. But in those two or three weeks I just… couldn’t. Even clinging to this self-made structure was too exhausting. I wasn’t on Tumblr for basically the whole time (my main blog was fuelled by the queue). Sometimes when I am in a good place, I write lists in advance and schedule them, but at that time no such a thing took place, so this blog went silent without announcement and I couldn’t care less. When I finally found it in me to come online, my inbox greeted me with various people who were asking me if I was okay and whether or not I am still alive written in a very worried manner. And you know… reading that helped me a lot at the moment. It was a reminder that somebody here cares for me and cares for what I do and… Yeah, it was a damn motivation to get myself together a bit and write stuff and do some stuff. Since then I’m trying to announce in advance if I think I am not going to make it, and even then I am still trying to write the list as soon as possible when I am fit to.

A story for your amusement on this “write it when possible” note. This summer I was with my 4 younger siblings (my oldest sister, still younger than I, turned 18 last Thursday, the youngest sibling who also happens to be a sister is 4, but I don’t live with all the siblings, blah blah divorced parents blah blah, not related) and dad and grandfather in the beautiful village (or town?) of Au in Austria. I took my old laptop with me (I’ve got a new one recently) which had battery that could live on it’s own for, like 10 minutes. The house we were living in had no wi-fi, but there was a village-wide public wi-fi… which din’t reach the house. The nearest was at the bus stop, but that one was shaky, and the good reliable hotspot was at the park, 10 minutes of walk away from the house. Now, it was nearly Friday and I needed to post the list. So I wrote it int he laptop’s notepad, then turned off its life support, took it and dashed across all of Au to the wi-fi hotspot, formatted the document into a list, and hit post. About 2 minutes later, the laptop died.

I am thinking about making another blog directly meant for the asks, request or not, and those would stay there. What do you all think? Maybe I would lose things there, I am quite capable of it.

I’d love to talk about Taedal and his demons and his entire story a bit more. But I haven’t got, like, a reason to do so. I am sort of insecure in this matter, I sort of have the feeling that nobody really cares for Taedal here. “What are you thinking, a ‘good demon’ OC?” (Ask me about Taedal and his faction and the Broken and Distant Worlds expansion. I have an expansion and half planned in my head.)

There is some kind of an expectation or anticipation in me to have someone from Blizz discovering this blog and some big consequences happening. I am not sure whether I want it to happen or not. I mean, I am a bit… too-critical of their work in attempt to please the crowd here. (It’s easy to search for flaws when you take the good stuff as the norm. You are actually doing a good job, Blizzard, in the terms of game developing and marketing. But there is that one post going around which says that Warcraft lore/story is written by 9 people who cannot talk to each other. In this spirit, I am sure that there are 4 people writing charcter psychological profiles who don’t know of each other’s existence. Your animation is a snack, though.)

Wow. I suck at summaries. This is as brief as it gets.

#long post #even by my standards

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disco-asphodel · 7 months

Text

hey was anybody going to tell me about And this is the way the world ends. because what the fuck

#disco elysium #was not expecting the uh. glorious and existential horror of this fan comic #my brain has decided this is canon. i don’t want it to be. but it fits so well with the themes of DE it just kind of is now.#fanfic #queue are a violent miracle #my posts

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samiafarah-art · 2 years

Text

SAMIA FARAH

Samia Farah Art, words, craft

mai 22, 2020

A MON SEUL DESIR (NOUVELLE D'ANTICIPATION)

A MON SEUL DESIR.

NOUVELLe, texte de SAMIA FARAH 2020 Paris

LIBERTE ET DANGER OU CONTROLE ET SECURITE?

Le détective Faridah Debeauvoir était déjà sur le coup et les lieux du crime, le vieux Briscard

Eddie Gramsci, bidî au bec, arrivait nonchalant avec son air crasseux qui le caractérisait si

bien. Ses cheveux lui arrivaient à la taille, longs et noirs. Miracle ! Ce jour-là il était sobre .

-«Hey Debauve ? Tu es aussi là à ce que je vois. » .

« Oh putain », dit-il en marchant sur la pointe des pieds, « c'est quoi cette merde?? ».

Les deux détectives, qui n'avaient pas l'air de s'apprécier, se trouvaient chez Artus Stern, un

trafiquant de tout et de n'importe quoi, connu surtout pour son n'importe quoi.

Son corps avait fondu, il avait certainement ingurgité un poison sans même le savoir, les

restaurants chinois et thaïlandais étaient spécialistes de la cuisine à particule, inoculant des

poisons violents. En échange, ils avaient le droit de cuisiner chez eux sans que la milice des

hygiénistes n'intervienne pour leur pourrir la vie .

Les tripes de Stern, ses intestins, gisaient à l'air, un ver gros comme un serpent avait doublé

de volume en un laps de temps assez court. Il se lovait autour de son cou au ralenti, puis

sortit par l'œil gauche.

Faridah Debauvoir se mit du baume du tigre sous le nez et continua les fouilles. Elle pulvérisa

sur le serpent un spray endormeur qui l'assoupit instantanément. Elle l'enferma dans une

boîte en verre, en attendant de le retourner au service de la brigade anti-gangs .

L'appartement avait un étage, un lit deux places qui n'avait pas encore été inséré en mode

plafond ; des cartons contenant des babioles que Stern recelait gisaient sur le sol made in

Japan, vestige des années 2030.

Faridah Debeauvoir était du genre solide, grande, taciturne et fallait pas trop blaguer avec

elle quand même.

Elle habitait Asia 3, ce qui englobait la partie la plus vivable et encore ''naturelle'' de la

planète bleue... Ils étaient bouddhistes en majorité et tenaient à le rester. C'est ce qui faisait

que les gens avaient survécu à tous les cataclysmes ou guerres mais plus encore, le

collectivisme abstrait avait sauvé nombre de gens, incluant les quelques Musulmans qui ne

désiraient pas s'installer à 'Islam Paradise', qui se trouvait plus au sud, bien plus au sud ,

dans l'ancienne péninsule arabique.

Ailleurs, se trouvait l'US ZONE. Le pays était devenu l'endroit des taulards, des voleurs, des

Trans-Formatés. Les démembrés par les multiples chirurgies esthétiques, rajouts de

prothèses électroniques (ou de mammifères) qui avaient raté. Des êtres aussi farfelus les uns

que les autres, qui étaient automatiquement parqués la bas. Des Etres-objets rapportés, mis à

la casse: autant dire une prison à ciel ouvert.

Il paraîtrait même que des quartiers entiers étaient infestés d'humains disloqués en tous

genres comme ''Dog street '', quartier où les hommes s'étaient fait greffer des museaux, des

queues de chiens et marchaient à quatre pattes. On leur avait fait des extensions des os de

leurs avant-bras; certains parce qu'ils le voulaient, d'autres parce qu'ils avaient perdu à des

jeux de hasard. Les dettes impayées les rendaient cobayes à vie, souvent.

Il y avait aussi '' Poison Ivy district'' où certains jeunes, durant les années 3000 s'y étaient

accouplés avec des plantes, pensant sauver la planète. Eux se sont tous installés dans la ville

qui se nommait « Detroit » dans les années 2000 mais qui changea de nom à cause des

protubérances sans fin qui n'arrêtaient pas de pousser de leurs corps difformes.

La prostitution battait son plein à «Bangkey Area», appelé aussi «Little Gisha». Les femmes

et certains hommes s'étaient fait greffer des vagins sur le front, à paillettes ou couleur chair.

Le troisième oeil se trouvait à cet endroit. Des sexes étaient aussi placés sur le ventre, en

connexion avec les intestins. L'opération était dangereuse mais offrait à celui qui possédait

l'extension sur le corps un plaisir indiscutable .

Les Transgenres étaient devenus les représentants de l'US ZONE.

Des hommes qui souhaitaient devenir des femmes ou qui se sentaient femmes étaient légion et

ce, depuis la nuit des temps. Les femmes qui devenaient hommes étaient tout aussi

nombreuses sur US ZONE.

Leur désir de changer de sexe, de «transitionner» comme ils appelaient ça, posait souvent

problème. Ils géraient très mal les transitions, principalement au niveau du mental. Ils

regrettaient souvent l'identité de substitution... D'ailleurs, ceux qui contrôlaient vraiment US

ZONE administrativement parlant étaient en majorité des psychiatres, psychologues et

quelques sociologues, qui ne restaient jamais longtemps à US ZONE.

Certains sociologues payaient des sommes astronomiques pour passer à Asia 3, il était

quasiment impossible d'avoir les passe-droits ''identités non-flexibles'' pour y habiter ou s'y

installer, même pour un temps de retraite de courte durée.

US ZONE avait des chaînes de télé plus dingues les unes que les autres, les intervenants

l'étaient tout autant.Le pays arrivait à subvenir a ses besoins grâce a ces détraqués .

Ils étaient quasiment tous tatoués ou altérés par la folie de vouloir être unique et pourtant, en

y regardant bien, ils se ressemblaient tous. US ZONE était un mélange obscur de moyens

énormes. Ses chaînes de télévision engrangeaient toute sortes de monnaies, essentiellement

grâce aux supermarchés virtuels via des écrans géants 'propulsants '. On pouvait y faire son

shopping en ayant l'illusion bien réelle de faire ses courses.

Les gens se demandaient comment ces putains de ''freaks'' faisaient pour survivre. La

consommation allait bon train via les télés et autres plateformes satellitaires , chaque quartier

puait la misère à tous les étages. Des images pornographiques entrecoupaient toutes les

publicités.

-''Ah ah oui oui encore!!''

-''Vous prendrez bien du thé Pinaut? la marque de thé qui rend sain et beau?? Rien de mieux

pour commencer la journée!''

- ''Ahahahaha, par derrière oui oui!''

Asia 3, Islam Paradise, Europe masquée, Urise, contribuaient grâce à des impôts obligatoires

à fournir en aliments ou en devises ''Freak Land'', comme ils l'appelaient.

Eddie Gramsci fut intrigué par des mots écrits au sang sur le sol juste derrière le crâne

explosé de Stern... ''A mon seul désir''...

-«Debauv ?! Viens voir.» lui dit-il.

Le détective Faridah Debauvoir descendit les marches, s'accroupit à ses côtés et constata elle

aussi ces étranges mots.

Elle jeta un regard vers Gramsci, qui leva les bras et les yeux au ciel en signe d'interrogation.

Gramsci et Debauvoir était ''identité non-flexible''. Il était d'orgine Navajo/Dineh et elle,

Berbère de Siwa. Les groupes ethniques non-mélangés n'étaient assignés qu'à certains types

d'emplois plutôt bien rémunérés mais ils avaient aussi des devoirs. Ils étaient considérés

comme humains souche et devaient le rester. Le détective Faridah Debauvoir était habitante

d' Asia 3, continent qui avait opté pour la liberté de mouvement, de croyances et d'idées.

Gramsci quant à lui habitait Urise, continent qui optait pour le contrôle, pour plus de 2

securité. Lorsqu'on les voyait, ils inspiraient plutôt le contraire. Elle était dans la rigueur et

lui dans un genre de laisser-aller...

Les identités non-flexibles pouvaient aller un peu partout mais avaient plus de chance que les

autres d'être kidnappés pour être démembrés (surtout pour leurs organes) ou être utilisés

comme esclaves . Ils s'aperçurent trop tard que les humains-souches étaient en voie

d'extinction. EuropCaché avait été envahie par l'Afrique, qui avait sombré sous les eaux en

3000, entraînant un mouvement de population incontrôlable.

Les Européens avaient quasiment disparu d'Europe. Pas tous: certains avaient migré ailleurs,

beaucoup à Islam Paradise à la suite de conversions massives advenues pour des raisons

politiques principalement. Certains éléments-souche migrèrent à Asia 3, d'autres à Urise .

L'appartement de Stern était sombre et froid. Des peintures abstraites en mouvement

perpétuel esquissaient des arabesques, ce qui agaça Gramsci , ça lui donnait des vertiges.

-«Qu'est-ce qui t'amène ici?», lui demanda Debauvoir.

-«Nous recherchons un tableau volé. Je suis envoyé par Urise-MALL CENTER» dit Eddie.

-«Comme celui-ci?» lui demanda Debeauvoir. De la tête, elle lui montra le tableau mouvant.

-«Nan» répondit Eddie , «Pas c'te merde sans âme, un tableau qui date du siècle dernier, un

statique de Romanoff Andre. Il peignait au jaune d'oeuf à c'qui paraît, une méthode

récupérée de la Renaissance, il créait aussi ses propres couleurs et poudres... une vieille croûte

volée».

Certains tableaux se vendaient dans les supermarchés à Urise-MALL, l'art n'avait plus

aucune place exclusive, l'objet en lui-même était devenu un objet de déco. Une sculpture

abstraite pouvait se vendre à côté de côtelettes ou de pâtes arrabiata, ça ne dérangeait plus

personne.

-«Et toi?» lui dit-il.

- «Recel d'objets d'art dits ''racine et sacré'', notre ami Stern s'est fait doubler on dirait.''Des

objets à l'effigie de Bouddha sont sortis d'Asia 3, ce qui est puni par la loi... peine capitale.»

dit-elle en souriant. «Le roi Rama 18 a demandé personnellement à Asia 3 Atlantic de

retrouver les objets disparus... Je peux te dire que le roi Rama nous a donné, à Ozon et à

l'équipe d'Asia Atlantic, tous les moyens que nous désirons.''

Le capitaine OZON était un souche d'Europe, beau comme un Dieu. Il excitait les hommes

comme les femmes et les détraqués d'US ZONE n'en pouvaient plus dès qu'il apparaissait sur

les écrans. Les chaînes des transformés tafioles le faisaient tourner en boucle.

«A mon seul désir!!?? Qu'est ce que cela veut dire??», se demanda Faridah Debeauvoir.

Elle rentrait chez elle, mais avant elle alla déposer le serpent, qui entre-temps s'était

transformé en boa constrictor .

Elle demanda à son doppelganger, un robot qui lui ressemblait trait pour trait, le sens de

cette expression. Son doppelganger, un robot à l'apparence humaine qui lui servait de

factotum, lui répondit très rapidement sur ce qu il en était. Ce robot répondait au nom

d'Anna Magnani .

-«''A mon seul désir'' est une série de broderies mystique du XVe siècle. Les historiens ont

toujours avancé l'idée qu'il n y avait que six tentures mais sept serait le nombre reel... , ils se

sont accrochés à l'idée que les cinq premiers avaient à voir avec les cinq sens et le sixieme est

a mon seul desir mais 6 n'était pas un nombre ésotérique au Moyen-Age. Il semblerait qu'il

manque une tenture. Les broderies, magnifiques, n'existent hélas plus mais il reste des

répliques, des photos et des copies trouvables à US ZONE.

Nous présumons qu'il en existe sept. C'est un chiffre qui correspond plus à la logique

ésotérique ''A mon seul désir, celui de de la Dame à la licorne''.

7 peut être un chiffre porte-bonheur dans les religions monothéistes , symboliquement il

correspond à l'esprit, au désir de connaissance, de solitude aussi et peut-être de renoncement.

Le chiffre 7 marque aussi de son empreinte le chercheur de vérité, celui qui veux connaître,

savoir. Certains disent qu'il possède un esprit fin et se rapporte en conclusion à la sagesse , a

l'intuition», dit-elle en souriant à pleines dents.

Donc ''A mon seul désir'' ne peut pas être la dernière de 6 tentures ou si elle l'est, il en

manque une autre avant.

-''Et à quoi correspond le 6 alors ?'' rétorqua Faridah Debeauvoir.

«Le 6 , dit Anna Magnani, c'est la matière ou sa fin. L'argent, le pouvoir, les déclins. Il faut le

7 pour que le 6 prenne tous son sens . »

-«Et ''A mon seul désir''??».

Anna Magnani ne pouvait répondre à cette question... Elle sourit. C'est ce que font tous les

robots dès qu'ils buggent.

Elle était dépourvue de désir, les machines robotiques, même de pointe, n'en étaient pas

équipées. Elles imitaient ces moments de l'intime grâce à des algorithmes inspirés par les

acquis et innées de l'entité originelle. Mais cela s'arrêtait là .

Anna Magnani avait marqué un point, Faridah de Beauvoir regardait les tentures en

agrandissant les détails des broderies... Des écrivains du XXe siècle ne se référaient qu'à six

tentures, bien que l'écrivain qui les avait découvertes, Georges Sand, disait avoir trouvé une

tenture au sol servant de tapis, donc elle était abîmée.

Quant au désir, Debeauvoir ne savait pas trop comment l'expliquer à Anna. La physiologie

étudie le rôle, le fonctionnement et l'organisation mécanique, biochimique des organismes

vivants et des composants (organes, tissus, cellules ). Ce qu'elle ne possédait pas et ne

posséderait certainement jamais. Le désir est un souhait irrationnel, obsédant et qui porte

sur la possession de quelque chose. Lorsque des scientifiques essayèrent de transmettre le sens

du désir à des robots pourtant dociles, ils en firent des psychopathes.

Faridah écrivit un rapport et l'envoya à Eddie et à Ozon. Son hologramme leur récita le

document... En effet, plus personne ne lisait vraiment. C'etait considéré archaïque.

L'assassin semblait vouloir jouer avec les deux détectives, alimentant en énigmes leur

enquête. Faridah Debauvoir se doutait que l'assassin de Stern s'amusait avec des codes

artistiques et religieux, et que Stern ne valait rien dans l'échiquier du crime. Le message était

ailleurs.

Mais revenons à nos moutons. L'art n'était pas la tasse de thé de Debeauvoir. Les artistes?

Encore moins. Depuis les années 3000, des avocats et gros investisseurs avaient fait en sorte

que l'art devienne un passe-temps, tout le monde se disait artiste, seuls les vieilleries et autres

antiquités avaient pris en valeur. Depuis que l'Afrique n'existait plus, les masques africains,

perlages, bois étaient vendus à des prix exorbitants .

Les investisseurs avaient fait en sorte que le public, via des gouvernements corrompus,

investisse sur du conceptuel vide de sens. Quasiment toutes les œuvres avaient fini à la

poubelle en 2050. Le conceptuel fut ridiculisé, les artistes qui avaient exposé durant ces

années-là, des casques de moto sur des tables, des aspirateurs... finirent tous dans les

poubelles de l'art et de l'histoire . Les riches et très riches investisseurs, quant à eux,

continuaient à acheter de l'ancien en catimini. Le conceptuel, personne n'en voulait chez soi.

L'art n'existait plus, les corps étaient devenus des canevas, surtout à US ZONE... On achetait

leurs prestations pour des évenements, leurs présences attiraient. Leurs tatouages, extensions

à paillettes, ou d'os de dinosaures ou de bras de gorilles incrustés dans leur chairs, faisaient

d'eux des objets d'art vivants .Ils vendaient a prix fort des photos d'eux-mêmes, mais les vrais

artistes restaient néanmoins leurs avocats;qui faisaient la chasse aux répliques et autres

imitations, des milices privées faisaient des chasses à ''l'art''..... leurs grands tours de passe - passe. Om.

A suivre......

Libellés : Nouvelle anticipation

septembre 18, 2021

Enregistrer un commentaire

septembre 17, 2021

#SamiaFarah Nouvelle

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hullosweetpea · 2 years

Text

I posted 846 times in 2021

19 posts created (2%)

827 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 43.5 posts.

I added 1,648 tags in 2021

#hullo queue - 762 posts

#fanart - 265 posts

#supernatural - 249 posts

#destiel - 130 posts

#art - 64 posts

#important - 42 posts

#tua - 39 posts

#mood - 34 posts

#dean winchester - 33 posts

#castiel - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 109 characters

#claire and jack wearing sam and dean's clothes gives big stole it from dad's closet vibes and i'm here for it

My Top Posts in 2021

y'all, i shouldn't get it, but i really want to get it

9 notes • Posted 2021-04-03 00:51:41 GMT

Y’all, I didn’t think I’d get so emotional about the destiel wedding, but today my dash has been flooded with such good vibes I’m spiritually picking at the last of my pie with my tie undone while watching Dean and Cas sneak out of the reception, The Kids™ have stolen plastic spoons to violently play spoons (Claire swears she didn’t mean to stab Alex). Jo’s teaching Jack how to throw knives, Sam is cuddled between Eileen and Miracle, and eventually someone will notice the guests of honor have left, but I’m not telling. They deserve it 💕

11 notes • Posted 2021-02-15 04:02:12 GMT

seeing an impala on destiel confession anniversary is like seeing jesus on toast

12 notes • Posted 2021-11-06 01:37:03 GMT

in the middle of sex ed s3 ep6, but spoiler with no context

105 notes • Posted 2021-09-22 00:40:44 GMT

love getting to know major tumblr news through memes and jokes instead of staff. it's what god intended

231 notes • Posted 2021-07-21 23:40:47 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #it's on brand a tumblr post about tumblr is 1

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weshallc · 4 years

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Berns Night.

So we’ve had a lot of birthdays @thatginchygal @rahleeyah @wednesdaygilfillian (sorry I missed that one) @roguesnitch coming up and @ilovemushystuff is celebrating too! and @h4t08 finally joined Tumblr and @clonethemidwife has returned and there are lots of new folk. Sooo I felt like throwing a party and there ain’t nothing like a Crown Inn party!!!!

This was supposed to be a Crown Stoppy Back but had other ideas so I will post the first chapter tonight as people are still recovering from Burns Night. Don’t worry if you are not familiar with the Burns Night traditions they will be explained more in chapter two. Probably 3 in all. We shall see as they say!

As always, I would be lost without @lovetheturners endless patience and thanks to @roguesnitch for encoraging me. This is dedicated to the most bonniest of lads I hope you had a great birthday and Burns Night with the Bard himself this year😉😘🤗

CHAPTER ONE: FAIR FA’ YOUR HONEST, SONSIE FACE

Monday 25th January 2016

“His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich!”

As he spoke again, his voice filled the room, cut through the anticipating silence. It was a voice that could take a knife and slice right through a soul. The knife in his hand in turn sliced through the offering in front of its high priest. Years of performing the same action with such a passion resulted in precision. The faithful entranced by the spectacle all gasped as one as the incision was violently made. No one daring to speak. Suddenly the trance was lost as artificial light rudely brought everyone back to the present with a blast of the pipes.

“All done then Reverend Mannion? Can I serve the Haggis now? Don’t want it getting cold now do we, not at £15 a head.”

“Aye, Violet the ceremony is over, it’s time for eating and drinking something the bard would have approved of, rightly so.”

The tall one leaned toward the small one and asked, “If it’s already dead, why does he have to kill it?”

“What?”

“The Haggis if it’s already dead why does he have to kill it?”

Her friend opened her mouth to speak, but she saw a tender hand take hold of Chummy’s arm and explain it was all just ceremony, it was tradition.

“Like all that malarkey at our passing out parade, the day we got our badge. That wasn’t about police work, was it? It’s just tradition. It’s what the English do well.”

He had been doing really well up until then, but a golden raised eyebrow made him alter his stance. “It is what us Brits do best.”

The raised eyebrow whispered to the police constable. ”Peter, Chummy really doesn’t think a haggis is a real animal, does she?”

He was not the kind of man that would turn heads, but he had a kindness in his eyes and an openness in his face that she thought some would see as attractive. If only Camilla wasn’t his superior, and they didn’t work such long hours together, what might have been?

There was a queue well sort of a queue. In London a queue was made up of people standing in an orderly line and the person who had been stood the longest getting served first. In Poplar-on-Tweaven it resembled more of a rugby scrum and the person who shouted the loudest being ignored and anyone who called the barmaid by name being bunked up the order. She wasn’t familiar with busy bars but she was bright enough to work out the system.

“Val, when yer ready hen.” The request came from someone not sure that was their own voice they had just heard yelling those words.

All her life she had been immersed in the wonders of the Bible and was still amazed at how so many miracles had been performed. She had heard all the CPR arguments regarding resurrections and all that, and was still not convinced. But she now knew how Moses had parted the Red Sea, he had known the barmaid’s name was Valerie.

“What can I get you, chick?”

“Here! I was first.” A grumpy voice struck up.

“Oh Al, you are always first. Let me serve this lass and then I will sort you out”

“Promises, promises.”

“Yeah in your dreams, pal.”

“You serve our impatient friend Valerie, I will see to this young lady.” Then turning to his new customer, “What can I get you, pet”

“Erm a whisky and lemonade and erm a pint, please.”

“Which whisky and a pint of?”

She wasn’t sure; she nudged her bottom onto a vacant stool for security.

“Are you with the law?” The tall bartender nodded towards Chummy and Peter,

“Yes, yes I am.”

“OK, so that’s a Grouse and diet lemonade, just a dash and a pint of Buckles Best

and for you?”

He stepped back a minute. “Your Reverend Wilf’s daughter?”

“Yes, I am.” Bernie suddenly felt more sure of herself. She was never completely certain of who she was when back in Poplar

“Bernadette?” The stranger was grinning now, his brown eyes glinting under the harsh bar spotlights, or were they green?

“Well, that’s my Sunday name most people call me Bernie, even Dad.”

“Well, since I’ve never seen you in here on a Sunday or any other day. I will call you Bernie. I am Patrick Turner, most people call me Paddy, a few Doc.”

“Oh no, you won’t have seen me here on a Sunday or any other day. I live in London now and before that, well I am not a big drinker.”

“What can I get you then?” asked Paddy loitering near the coke and lemonade pumps.

“A gin and tonic please, better make it a double it’s quite busy, save me coming back.”

Paddy smiled. “Premium gin?”

“Yes.”

While the optic was emptying into the glass, he asked, “You must have known this old place when Evie ran it?”

“Yes, I know Evie and J..Jenny”

“Oh yes. Jen was here when me and the wife took over she was a great help. We get a text every now and again, doing well for herself now all loved up.” He winked at her as he ended the sentence causing her to panic slightly.

“I was sorry to hear about your loss.” She wished she hadn’t said it.

Val had seemed to deal with ten customers to Paddy’s one and now there was just the two of them alone at the bar. He looked at her in a sort of a non-direct, sort of direct way, under that infuriating fringe she wanted to reach out and push back.

“Loss is as much a part of love as is healing,” he replied with a hint of melancholy but without irony.

She was stunned and tried to find a corresponding Bible verse, but she drew a blank.

She focused on what was real and what was present, her dad had taught her to do that. What was in front of her at this precise moment was a glass of gin and ice and a twist of lime. He was now unscrewing a bottle of Mediterranean slimline tonic.

She yelped, “No!” as he lay the bottle alongside the glass.

“Sorry most people add the tonic to the gin and I cannae bear it drowned.”

“Wouldn't dream of it surely that would be very presumptuous of me.”

“Aye well, most people I've met are very presumptuous.”

“Maybe you have spent too much time in London. if you don't mind me saying, Bernie.”

“Well, to be fair we don’t spend a lot of time sitting on stools and propping up bars in my part of London.”

“More's the pity.”

“Can I bother you for a...”

Paddy popped a black straw into her tumbler.

“I will make sure when you come home next time none of my staff will be presumptuous.”

“Oh, I doubt you will remember me, Paddy. I only come up to see my Da. I can't imagine you will be seeing much of me in the future, hardly likely that I would ever be considered a regular.”

“Now who is being presumptuous?”

Bernie went to put the straw between her lips but paused, realizing the stranger was still watching her. She suddenly felt uncomfortable. As heat rose in her cheeks and she suddenly felt awkward on the stool, squirming to find some sort of comfortable position. The stranger smiled in a way she could not understand; it wasn’t smug or suggestive, but as if there were sharing a joke, but she wasn’t sure what the joke was.

She hopped off her seat, for a brief moment realizing her arse was in the air and prayed he had altered his gaze. Focusing anywhere but behind the bar she grabbed her glass and bottle in one hand, put the whisky against her elbow and waist, the pint in her other hand, turned and swiftly moved toward her thirsty friends.

He is still watching me, I can feel it.

#call the midwife #crown jewels #turnadette au #call the midwife au #paddy and bernie #and everyone else #al's fic

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astroellipse · 3 years

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preemptive ffxiv post as i wait to fight zenos :]

my NERVES are KILLING ME. these trials are so much fun but also. adrenaline. I don’t think I’ve quite come down from that last dungeon either, and I was flipping out for the entirety of that last scene with him... I love this dude he’s such a cool villain even if he’s simplistic, though I think that works in his favor. Like, he’s right about everything with the WoL being the same as him and I hope this sort of meta nod to the WoL enjoying this as a game doesn’t die with him (... assuming he dies here for good? idk). Just. I love him he’s so INTENSE. I was really surprised to see him at first, with the gross stringy long blonde hair and the frankly giant blue eyes, not quite pretty but certainly off putting, not to mention his armor (though the bulk in the back with the cape draped over it just makes it look like he has a HUMONGOUS ass. i cra- oh queue popped! here we go!!!!!!!

okay. okay the credits are rolling. there’s still stuff happening but god that was good. this entire expansion was like, three times better than Heavansward. That was actually a passable story. Of course it wasn’t perfect but it was still really enjoyable. I’m sad that Zenos is dead, and that last trial was almost a bit underwhelming compared to others the story’s had me do up to this point, I didn’t even die in this one! That trial with the snake beastmens’ goddess was waaay more difficult, at least with the group I was in (it’s a miracle we never wiped in that one... so many deaths... a healer had to pop a lb3 even.)

I’m not going to lie I am not knowledgeable enough to make real story critiques at this level. The pacing was good, I think, though traversing the overworld is getting more and more grueling as time goes on, as is tracking down aether currents. It doesn’t help that I liked maybe half of the new maps. The introduction of underwater segments was weird as hell they did like nothing with that concept, mostly added even more open barren places that nobody will ever visit.

but, story. again, it was passable. the visit to dragon mongolia was weird, and... sort of uncomfortable and boring? What’s this game’s deal with making so many tribal people with extremely violent/sexist norms. I did a side quest that explored the Seekers of the Suns’ dealings and. Why make them form harems? For what reason was that necessary? Their nocturnal counterparts don’t even do that. Anyways. Game continues to be racist as hell, surprise surprise.

Speaking of, as much as I love Lyse now and the development she’s gotten WHY is she white with blonde hair and blue eyes. Why choose her as the figurehead for this story arc.

story. I was talking about story. Actually there’s not much to say aside from it being passable. No twists, but that isn’t a bad thing... wait actually there was Estinien. That was sort of dumb. Showed up literally twice in the whole expansion, and only in the second appearance did he actually do anything.

wwwait make that three, the credits ended. why is estinien so ugly man I preferred him with the helmet on 😭

okay it’s done for real, and I got booted off of the server :(. what was I saying? oh, story. I didn’t care much for whoever that lady was in the far east part. hated her motivations.Gosetsu dying was foreshadowed really hard, though we never saw a body so I assume there’s a possibility he’ll come back in the future if the writers find a use for him. Hien and the others swooping in at Ala Mhigo was only natural but it still felt sort of uh. Out of place I guess? The tone between Ala Mhigo’s uprising and Doma’s feel so different.

I was going to say more, but I’m bored of this now and there’s more story to look at... seems as though they just brought back Gosetsu immediately, which. Yeah okay. Dunno what they’re going to do with him but, at least I like him.

#collecting my thoughts #mmorpg hell

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