#they are a mystery of a time gone by here

[invisible-lint]

Everything Could Be Okay: Chapter 3

Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Summary: The mating bond reveals itself

Warnings: brief allusion to pregnancy loss again, nothing explicitly mentioned though!

Word Count: 2.8k

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You run down the hallway, ducking through a random door and shutting it behind you. You lean back against it, knocking your head against the wood. What is wrong with you? You cringe. Rhysand is probably thinking the same thing about you. For some inexplicable reason, you care what he thinks of you, and you’ve gone and made a fool of yourself. 

You look around the mystery room and smile. You seem to have found yourself in a music room. One side of the room is occupied by a large piano, while the other side is a seating area where people must gather to listen. You walk over to the piano, running your hand along the glossy wood of the instrument, breathing in its scent. You pull the bench out, sitting in front of the instrument. You gently press a few keys, happy to find out that it’s well maintained. You had spent much of your life in the music room in your own home, losing yourself in music. Your brothers had often joked that they always knew where you were, because if you weren’t out wandering the gardens, you were hidden away playing the piano. 

You stand, heading for a plush armchair and curling up in it. It was good to know this was here if you’d be spending so much time here. Perhaps you could get Feyre to sit in here with you so you could keep an eye on her. You yawn, exhaustion suddenly coming over you. You’re not sure you can remember where the room you were shown to is, and even less sure you want to try to find it, worried about seeing Rhysand again. So you stay curled up in the arm chair, comforted by the scent of the piano and let sleep claim you there.

When you awake, you’re covered by a blanket. You rub your eyes, wondering who had done it. You briefly wonder if it had been Rhysand, thinking about what he had done for you Under the Mountain. Even now, months later, you still thought about it. He had used his powers to give you pleasant dreams. It was so at odds with what you knew about him. A cruel male who was cruel just because he could be.

You stand and stretch, joints stiff from sleeping in the armchair. You glance out the window and determine you’ve probably missed most of breakfast. You might as well stay here for a little bit longer before going to find Feyre. You sit down at the piano, running a featherlight hand across the keys. You had no sheet music, but you’d been playing for so long you had plenty of your repertoire memorized. You close your eyes, launching into the song, muscle memory allowing you to find the right keys with no issue. You lose yourself in the music, playing song after song, time becoming meaningless. 

When you finally finish, someone claps in the doorway. You jump up, startled, knocking the piano bench over. 

“I thought when I found you in here that you had just found a random room to hide away in. I didn’t realize you were such a talented pianist. Although, I do believe I brought you here because you insisted on keeping Feyre company. Or was that just an excuse to get away from your brother?”

You take a deep breath, getting your temper under control before answering. “When I woke I figured breakfast was nearly over. So I thought I’d play a little bit and then find Feyre.”

“And why didn’t you want to come to breakfast? Are you avoiding me?”

“No.” Yes.

“Liar.”

“Am not!” 

He chuckles. “If you say so.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Well I do.” 

“Feyre is in the library, practicing her letters. While the two of you are here, she is going to learn how to read. You know, I’m surprised. I know you helped Feyre Under the Mountain, so why stop helping her now?”

“You know nothing.” You take another deep  breath, not wanting to have a repeat of last night.

“No? Enlighten me then.”

“I tried. I suggested to Tamlin that I help her learn to read and he shut me down. I thought she’d be more receptive if the idea came from him. But he didn’t think she was ready. So I dropped it. And then he proposed and Ianthe had her wedding planning. If you can even call it that. It was more like Feyre sits in the room while Ianthe makes all the decisions,” now that you’ve started, it's like you can’t stop. “How am I the only one in that damned court that can see she doesn’t want to marry him? I tried to get her out of it, told her that if she had changed her mind I would come up with some sort of excuse so she didn’t have to marry him. I was actually relieved when you showed up because then she wouldn’t be stuck with him and I could have more time to try to figure out a way to help her! She is so miserable there and she is going to end up trapped!”

“Just like you are?” It startles you out of your rant, and you start to bolt, embarrassed that you’ve overshared again, but Rhysand is faster, carefully catching you as you run by. He looks at you for a moment, frowning. 

“Why do you do that?”

“Run away when I’m embarrassed? I believe it’s actually quite a common response, actually.”

He looks up, as if asking the Mother to grant him the patience to deal with you. 

“That’s not what I meant. You lose your temper, say more than you mean to and run away.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m simply curious.”

“Liar.”

He chuckles. “Are you avoiding my question?”

“I don’t understand you, Rhysand. You act like this cruel, careless male, but then I catch glimpses of someone else.” You tilt your head to the side, examining him. “I don’t think you’re as cruel as you make people believe you are.”

“I still think you’re avoiding my question.”

You sigh, giving in, not entirely sure why. “Fine. If you’ll answer one for me.” He nods.

“Tamlin and I are both quick tempered. But while I’m more prone to verbal outbursts…” You fidget, not quite sure how to finish the sentence. Rhys tenses, rage filtering across his face for the briefest of moments. He looks over you as if looking for signs of injury.

“He’s never hurt me. Or Feyre. It’s usually taken out on the furniture.” You wince, thinking about it. “I can only think of what he may be doing right now…” He wants to ask more, but there’ll be time for that later. His instincts are screaming at him to reveal the bond so he can keep you in Night and protect you, but he ignores it, shoving it down. 

“Now I believe you get to ask me a question.”

“Why did you use your powers on me Under the Mountain?” If he’s surprised by your question, it doesn’t show.

“You seemed to need the rest. I could see the pain you were in, some of it my fault, and there was something I could do about it.” 

“But why?”

“Does there have to be a reason? Perhaps I had gotten tired of seeing so much cruelty in the 50 years I had been down there.” You chew your lip. There he is again, that male behind the mask of cruelty.

“May I ask you another question, or do I have to worry about you trying to run away again if you share too much?”

 You give a breathy laugh. “You may, but perhaps you could let go of me?” He lets go of you, taking several steps back.

“Last night you said you’re trapped and miserable in Spring.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a statement, not a question.”

He narrowly resists the urge to roll his eyes. One thing’s for sure Mor would love you if he ever got to introduce you to her.

“My question is was that always the case?”

You blow out a breath, fidgeting with the ring on your necklace. “It’s… Complicated. Yes and then no and then yes. Before I had Andras, my husband, I was. And then when I had him… That time was incredible. And far too short. And then after… I lost so much that it would have been hard not to be miserable, even if I didn’t hate it there.” Your free hand brushes over your stomach and you see as understanding, and for the briefest moment, pity shows on his face. It makes your temper flare. You are so tired of people looking at you like that.

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

You scoff. “You know the look. The look that everyone gives me when they realize everything that  I’ve lost!” You stalk towards him. He just watches you, surprised by this outburst. “I am so sick of that look! People find out and then they give me that stupid look! And then they know so they may not give me the look, but I can still see it there, just barely hidden.” You’re nearly chest to chest with him now, looking up into his face. “So don’t you dare start too.” 

He whispers your name, staring into your eyes. You’re not sure why you do it. If you’ve well and truly lost your mind, or if something about the way he’s looking at you, the way he said your name, reminds you of Andras, but you kiss him. He hesitates for a moment, knowing he should pull away, that whatever reason you're kissing him has nothing to do with him, but your lips are as soft as they look, and suddenly he’s kissing you back, one hand in your hair, the other on the small of your back.

 Just as suddenly as you had kissed him, you stop, backing away as if his touch burnt you. 

That’s the moment when the mating bond makes itself known to you, snapping into place. You sink to your knees, a hand over your chest, tears burning your eyes. He crosses over to you, slowly, eyes never leaving your face. He takes your hand in his, brushing his thumb over the back of it. You sit there together for what may be moments or hours. "You don't have to accept it. The bond. I understand it may be... You’re not ready to move on." You can hear the pain in his voice, see it in his eyes. You shake your head.

"It's not that it's unwelcome. Just... Unexpected. Andras... I thought he was my mate. I felt it when he died. So I thought.... I'll need time. I don't know how much, but I don't want to reject it. At least not outright."

"I can do that. I can give you time. I've waited for this, waited for  you, for nearly 500 years. And I'd wait 500 more if that's what you need." He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"I'm not sure I'll need quite that long." You smile at him, giving an experimental tug on the bond, nearly gasping at the stars that light up in his eyes, knowing that you'd do nearly anything to get him to look at you like that again. You look away, stomach churning with guilt. 

“Don’t go back to Spring. Stay here.”

“I can’t. I can’t abandon Feyre.” He tucks loose hair behind your ear, and you resist the urge to lean into the gentle touch. 

“I understand… I don’t like it. But I understand. Just promise me something?” 

“Hmm… It’ll depend on what you’re asking of me.”

He smiles. “Promise that if anything happens you’ll reach out down the bond. And either I or someone else will come to get you. And then we’ll figure something out for Feyre.”

“Counter promise, because I can winnow myself. If anything happens and I feel the need to leave I’ll come here with Feyre and reach out down the bond to let you know.” 

“Counter promise accepted.”

“Good. Now I think I should go find Feyre.”

He nods. “Perhaps you should at least change first.”

“Is there something wrong with how I look?”

“No, you’re absolutely stunning. But you are wearing yesterday’s dress. And you slept in a chair.”

“I suppose you do have a point.” He stands, helping you to your feet.

“I am known to have one of those from time to time.”

“Rhysand?” 

“Call me Rhys.”

“Rhys?”

For a brief moment he swears he could die a happy male, just listening to you say his name. “Yes?”

“I forgot where my room is.” He chuckles, leading the way. You follow him, chewing your lip as you think. 

“I can practically hear you thinking, despite the fact that you have surprisingly good walls up. Would you like to share?” 

“Surprisingly good?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to decide if you should be offended. 

“Not a reflection on you, I'm surprised you were taught.” 

“Tamlin decided I should be after the night you killed our brothers and father.” He grimaces, not because he regrets killing them, but because of any pain it may have caused you. You stop, putting a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I know what they did. I saw the wings. I understand. As much as we butt heads, I have been better off with Tamlin as High Lord. My father was not a kind male and I hate to think of the kind of marriage I would have been forced into. I have never held any ill will towards you for their deaths.” Rhys lets out a breath he hadn't even realized he had started holding. 

“What about the garden?” 

“I was angry about it for a long time. What I said to you Under the Mountain… I was being consumed by my grief. I had just lost so much and it felt like it was for nothing because we had all ended up there anyway. But I had stopped being angry at you for it a long time ago.” He nods.

“My mother and sister. Their wings…”

“My father had hung them in the study as trophies. When Tamlin became High Lord, he burnt them.” 

He nods again, blowing out a breath through his teeth.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How I'm going to tell Feyre.”

You're not entirely sure how you might describe the look on his face, but it's clear that wasn't the answer he was expecting. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” 

“No. In fact it's probably a terrible idea. But nobody else tells her anything. And I'm not about to start keeping secrets from her. Plus if we may have to suddenly leave and come here, it's better for her to know why instead of having to explain it after.” 

“I… suppose you have a point.”

You grin, teasing him with his earlier words. “I am known to have one of those from time to time.” 

He laughs, the sound making your heart soar. 

The two of you start walking again and he stops once you've reached the door to your room. You linger in the hall, not quite ready to leave him yet.

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. I couldn't let you sleep in the music room all week.” You laugh. 

“No, I suppose not. Although now that I know it's far enough away from the bedrooms that I won't wake anyone, I may be spending quite a bit of time there.” 

“I could leave some sheet music in there for you. If you'd like.” You smile, eyes lighting up, and he already wants to be the reason you smile like that again.

“I would love that.” 

“I'll put it on the piano bench then. I have an idea of a piece I think you might like.” 

“I look forward to learning it.” 

“I'll have someone bring you food while you get yourself ready to speak with Feyre.” 

“Thank you, Rhys.” Once again, he appreciates the way his name sounds coming from your lips. 

“Of course.” He hesitates for a moment, uncertain what to do, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles. 

You open the door as he walks away, stepping in and taking a deep breath. “Cauldron boil me…” You walk over to the deep bathing pool and turn the taps, allowing it to fill up, taking your hair out of the slept on hairdo from the day before. Once the tub is full of steaming water, you turn the tap off and strip, stepping down, settling into the water. Mother above… How were you going to tell Feyre that Rhys is your mate? And worse. How are you going to tell your brother?

A/N: And there it is! Chapter 3! I'm already working on chapter 4, so that one will probably be out later this week as well as hopefully a few other things! As always, requests are open, so feel free to send those on in if there's anything you'd like to see! I noticed that some of my taglist didn't work last time and I've hopefully fixed it this time!

Divider is by @tsunami-of-tears

taglist: @lilah-asteria @readingislife2006 @acourtofimagines @mistymoocow @irelanrose @darker-december @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loving-and-dreaming @bravo-delta-eccho @sidthedollface2 @oucereeng @jesskidding3 @panther-girl-124 @jiarkives

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #maasverse #fanfiction #imagine

[persona1lies]

Mystery Girl

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x F! Painter

Warnings: None!

A/N: Ok so my last post was much better received than I expected! Thank you all for that btw, but it was a huge confidence boost to post this one-shot!! I was thinking of a part 2 to this if anyone was interested.

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠂⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

“Has anyone ever painted you before?” 

Charles laughed, it was an odd question for this stranger to ask him. But yet the look in her eyes and the tilt of her head implied a deeper meaning. 

“Not that I know of, why?” The Monegasques driver was curious, he saw the way she looked at him as if he was a problem not yet to be solved.

“I want to paint you,”  

Charles could feel the heat creep up his face and paint him red. Her bluntness made her offer more and more interesting, he felt compelled to agree right now, to leave this club and go wherever she goes.

Before he could reply she grabbed a nearby napkin and scribbled down something and handed it to him. Charles looked down at the napkin and then back up at her and she was gone. The driver's head whipped around looking for his mystery girl, with no avail he returned to the paper.

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠂⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Charles had been to Marseille before, he knew the city was beautiful but this time and the circumstances that brought him here made it even better. He had spent weeks debating whether or not to follow his heart and see what his mystery girl had in store for him. He ended up sharing what happened with Carlos, who was dumbfounded that he hadn't gone yet.

Finally when the off season rolled around he made the drive to Marseille and ended up in front of his mystery girl’s art studio. Gently he knocked on the door, hoping that maybe she wouldn't hear it, or that she would know it is him and not answer-

“I knew you would come, eventually at least,”

“You intrigued me,” Charles said honestly, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. Silently she walked in with Charles in tow, he couldn't help and feel ridiculous. He had been thinking of her constantly since they met and she seems so- indifferent to the whole matter.

“You are as beautiful as I remember,”

Beautiful. Not handsome, nor sexy, goodlooking, attractive, or even hot, she called him beautiful. Charles had never been called beautiful before, it was something he could get used to.

From his seat Charles could only get glimpses of her at work, the occasional glance towards him made his heart flutter. In all of their time knowing each other they had barely spoken to each other, but they didn't need to. They could convey their emotions through art, glances, and the unspoken.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x female oc #carlos sainz #charles leclerc imagine #persona1lies

[aziraphales-library]

hi! i don't know if this ask has been done before but do you have any comedy fic recs? i've had enough of angst for a bit and i just want to read aziracrow bicker and laugh out loud :))

Hey. We have #humour, #humor, #crack, and #bickering tags, for all your laughing needs. Here are more to add...

Seamstress of Soho by GayDemonicDisaster (M)

Season 2 spoilers! When Mrs. Sandwich spots a suspicious new guy apparently lurking on her turf, the misunderstanding leads to an unlikely friendship between the ‘seamstress’ and a demon. So in episode 6 we see that Mrs. Sandwich is clearly at ease with Crowley and he with her, enough to share a joke together. Combine that with the curious sign on her door which might just be referring to Crowley, and we have a little buddy comedy in the making. I decided to explore the backstory of how they came to know one another between season 1 and the beginning of season 2. While this little comedy is about sex workers, there is NO sex in it, and rated M solely for oblique references to things like contraceptive devices and so on - honestly it could get away with a “teen and up” rating but I like to err on the side of caution.

Pass the Remote, Angel by Mrs_Cake_Is_Here (M)

Aziraphale has returned to Heaven, leaving Crowley a tv binge-watching wreck. However, healing can come from the most unlikeliest of places. While Muriel has been instructed to provide daily reports of the demon’s emotional state, they find that sharing time together, even by watching a scary show, can be the catalyst that builds friendships. And they’d probably both be couch potatoes by now if the Supreme Archangel hadn’t just gone missing.

Christmas Lights by FuzzyGoblin (T)

Christmas Lights is on the agenda at the monthly meeting of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association, but it's not the only thing on Mr Brown's, of Brown's World of Carpets, mind. As he pines for the mysterious bookseller, his efforts are thwarted by the tall ginger goth.

The Book Thieves by ThingsJustHappenSometimes (T)

“Did they steal it? Professional book thieves, probably going around in their car stealing books.” Be careful what you tell an adolescent antichrist who has the ability to warp reality, he might just make things real. - - - Featuring: A confused ineffable duo in ridiculous costumes, a presumed relationship, overpowered magical books, meddling humans, multiple chase scenes, and a generally all around silly action-packed time. - - - [If you like 1920s Costumes, Indiana Jones, Isekai Vibes, and/or That-One-Auction-Heist-Scene from Uncharted 4, you’ll like this story.]

Rattle Those Pots & Pans by Mackaley (M)

“My instructions…” He parted his mouth as he searched for a word. “Instruct that I just get right into it. You all have been brought here tonight because you have one thing in common: you’re all being blackmailed.” A tense hush fell through the room. “You’re all paying what you can afford - in some cases I’m sure more than you can afford - to prevent your secrets from being exposed. And none of you know who is currently blackmailing you.” Gabriel scoffed. “This is ridiculous. I’m an upstanding member of the international finance community - what could I possibly have done to be blackmailed about?” “You’re a member of the international finance community,” Crowley drawled. ----- A Good Omens Clue (1985) AU

through the tides by viperinz (T)

With that thought, Aziraphale takes to asking experts if his feelings are something more or just love for his dearest, most sweetest friend. If he wasn’t sure himself, then surely the experts on the internet will have something for him. Which brings him to the front of his computer, ready to search something up on the search engine he has pulled up. He’s not one to ask too many questions, but he supposes it won’t hurt. He starts typing, and is satisfied with his search of "Am I in love with my best friend?" Straight to the point, and very concise. Aziraphale has no doubt he’ll find what he’s looking for. He presses enter on the keyboard, and a bunch of results flood in. “Oh, dear,” he gasps at the mass amount of answers. Where is he supposed to start?

Aziraphale discovers the wonderful world of online love quizzes and WikiHow, all in the process of wooing and confessing his love to Crowley.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #humour #mod d

[lisenberry]

Blend In

Suggestive/Explicit Language, Mystery 141 x F!Reader.

MDNI!

1111k words (heavy on the -ish)

For @the-californicationist Nameless Challenge!

Congrats on 500K words, Cali!!

Put your guess in the comments as to who you think it is!

You had no idea why you’d been chosen for this assignment, but you were not going to argue.  Certainly not with him.

Keeping any doubts to yourself, you checked the mirror in the bathroom one last time before exiting into the hotel room you shared with your teammate.  Well, not your teammate yet, but if all went well, your fingers were crossed for a spot on his elite task force. 

“What do you think, sir?”

As a mere corporal, just about everyone had a higher rank than you.  There was the distinguished Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Garrick and Sergeant MacTavish.  Big (huge) shoes to fill, but you were ready to prove yourself.

“It’ll…do,” he muttered, turning his head quickly towards the surveillance equipment set up on the nearby desk.  “And don’t call me that.  We’re undercover, remember?” 

“Do I get a code name or something?  You all have badass nicknames, and I’m just...the new girl.”  You shrugged your shoulders and tried not to fuss over the plunging depth of your neckline that barely covered your pushed-up boobs, or the uncomfortable way the fabric hugged your hips.

“No, New Girl is the new girl.  You’re—Ah, fuck.  Here we go.  Time to get out there.”  He picked up something on the camera feed of the hotel’s ballroom and pointed to it with his finger.  “Target’s moving.”

“Who picked this dress?  I thought I was supposed to blend in.  It’s obscene for a wedding.”

“Not for an oligarch’s wedding.  Tits up, back straight, and do your job.”  He gave you one last look over, dragging his gaze up to meet yours, finally, before giving you an encouraging nod.

“Aye, aye.  Sir.”  You couldn’t help but add the last with a bold smirk.  Maybe it was the dress, or the mission, or the unexpected glint in his eye, but you had a good feeling about this.

********

You’d been gone for only ten minutes, and he was already doubting every aspect of this assignment.  As the only fluent Russian speaker who didn’t scream special forces in the ranks, you’d been the easy choice.  But you were also soft around the edges, and sweet as hell, with a smile and an inner kindness that would lower anyone’s defenses. 

What the fuck you were doing in the military, or how you’d made it this far, he had yet to figure out.

He’d only agreed to this at all because the stakes were low, as was the risk of danger.  All you needed was a cigarette butt or a discarded champagne glass.   A piece of cutlery left behind on a tray.  Even just a partial fingerprint would be enough for Laswell to make a positive ID.

He was not prepared for you to strike up a conversation with the third most lethal psychopath on the watch list, or let him put his hand on your ass and squeeze you close to his hips as he whispered suggestively in your ear. 

“Careful, sweetling,” your commanding officer gritted low into his radio.  The comms device in your ear was undetectable, but he didn’t want to startle you or alert the target that you were in contact with someone.

It could also pick up your conversation, not that he understood any of what you were saying.   It seemed to be mostly flirty banter and coy laughter.  The man was obviously trying to get in you back to his room.

He didn’t know much Russian, but he knew enough about men’s appetites to get the idea.  He’d had his own thoughts, just the good sense not to say them out loud.

And he could not believe what he was seeing on the camera.  A sudden, sinking flood of anxiety made him jump in his chair and clench his fists at the stress.  You were going with the man, following him as he escorted you out somewhere beyond the surveillance feed.

“Do not leave that ballroom.  I can’t track you out there.  Get back.  Abort!”

He knew you could hear him, but you weren’t following orders.  Being ignored was most certainly the root of his blinding rage, not his concern for your safety.  Or the hungry way the bastard had looked at you in the dress he’d handpicked himself for the way the color made your skin practically glow. 

The cut and size may have been a miscalculation, he admitted to himself, as he checked the clip in his handgun and hurried toward the door.   

“Fucking hell.  You’re going to get yourself killed, and if you don’t, then I’ll do it myself.  When I get my bloody hands on you, Cupcake, I swear—”

“Cupcake?  That’s the best you can do?”  You stood on the other side of the door, with your hands on your hips as he pulled it open, with a fierceness you’d only heard about from other recruits.

Suddenly directed at you, it was worse than you’d imagined.  He looked ready for war as his words caught in his throat. 

“There you are.  You’re alright?”

“I got his prints on my purse, his DNA on my tits, and a retina scan on my phone.  And his phone, for shits and giggles.”  You quickly held up your loot for his inspection, before he could catch his breath long enough to lecture you on your recklessness.

He swiped a big hand along his mouth for composure, but he still looked like he wanted to kill something.  Mostly you.

“DNA?”  His eyes darkened quickly, somehow even more than before, as he looked from your face to your aforementioned tits.

“Saliva, big guy.  I’m committed, but not that committed.  Calm down.”  But he didn’t of course, because you’d never actually seen him relaxed.  At least not around you. 

You’d heard stories that he was a generally likable bloke once you got to know him.  Earned his trust.  Maybe someday you would get to see that side of him.  From the looks of it, this wasn’t it.

“Your country thanks you for your service.”  He deadpanned, not appreciating your snark.  

“What about you, sir?  Did I make the team?”  You shifted on your heels hopefully, still brimming with energy from knocking out a man twice your size, watching him piss himself, and staging the scene to look like he’d passed out on his own.

“I’ll put in a request to my commanding officer as soon as we get back.” 

“Really?”  You stifled the urge to hug him in your excitement.

“No.  You’re never allowed to leave the base again.”

You weren’t deterred as you rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue behind his back.  You’d wear him down.  One way or another.

#cali’s nameless challenge #call of duty #141 x reader #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price

[mylittleredgirl]

when that post went around about inherited junk (rags, etc) i didn’t mention:

1. this scrap of cardboard that used to be part of a kleenex box that my mother wrote “for bugs!” on and kept near a tiny glass, which i use to remove insects from the house to this day

i have an esoteric belief that we leave a little trail of love in our handwriting, so i usually keep things with her writing on them until they’re no longer usable. which brings us to:

2. the methuselah gloves. i don’t know what kind of strange sorcery magic is going on here, but i feel like it’s important for this story to know that my mother has been dead for 9 years and this is not the result of a last wish or blessing from beyond the grave, because the glove mystery was already in action before then.

the brand name isn’t visible but my best guess based on comparing it to current versions in stores is that they are mr. clean non-latex gloves, purchases no later than 2011. i use that date because i moved home in 2013, at which point my mom was already like “hey, funny thing happening here. check out these bleach gloves that somehow haven’t worn out in a really long time. let’s run an experiment to see how long they last!”

in this house, rubber gloves start as dish gloves, then as they get grody, they become general cleaning gloves, then bathroom cleaning/“bleach gloves.” at that point my mom would write on them in sharpie something like:

so that we wouldn’t make a very gross mistake. and then they would wear out pretty fast, because of the bleach.

but the experiment continues! my mom used them to clean weekly. i INHERITED them. i have used them to clean with hot water and bleach for almost a decade. i have gone through DOZENS of dish gloves in that time and they usually break before they can even graduate to using any chemicals stronger than dish soap. the methuselah gloves are too big so not that enjoyable to use (them not being skin-tight i’m sure helps with longevity), but i can’t replace them because they’re accidentally an heirloom now.

#yes i’m procrastinating something #that’s when these posts occur

[thebrickinbrick]

The Dead Are in the Right and the Living Are Not in the Wrong

The death agony of the barricade was about to begin.

Everything contributed to its tragic majesty at that supreme moment; a thousand mysterious crashes in the air, the breath of armed masses set in movement in the streets which were not visible, the intermittent gallop of cavalry, the heavy shock of artillery on the march, the firing by squads, and the cannonades crossing each other in the labyrinth of Paris, the smokes of battle mounting all gilded above the roofs, indescribable and vaguely terrible cries, lightnings of menace everywhere, the tocsin of Saint-Merry, which now had the accents of a sob, the mildness of the weather, the splendor of the sky filled with sun and clouds, the beauty of the day, and the alarming silence of the houses.

For, since the preceding evening, the two rows of houses in the Rue de la Chanvrerie had become two walls; ferocious walls, doors closed, windows closed, shutters closed.

In those days, so different from those in which we live, when the hour was come, when the people wished to put an end to a situation, which had lasted too long, with a charter granted or with a legal country, when universal wrath was diffused in the atmosphere, when the city consented to the tearing up of the pavements, when insurrection made the bourgeoisie smile by whispering its password in its ear, then the inhabitant, thoroughly penetrated with the revolt, so to speak, was the auxiliary of the combatant, and the house fraternized with the improvised fortress which rested on it. When the situation was not ripe, when the insurrection was not decidedly admitted, when the masses disowned the movement, all was over with the combatants, the city was changed into a desert around the revolt, souls grew chilled, refuges were nailed up, and the street turned into a defile to help the army to take the barricade.

A people cannot be forced, through surprise, to walk more quickly than it chooses. Woe to whomsoever tries to force its hand! A people does not let itself go at random. Then it abandons the insurrection to itself. The insurgents become noxious, infected with the plague. A house is an escarpment, a door is a refusal, a façade is a wall. This wall hears, sees and will not. It might open and save you. No. This wall is a judge. It gazes at you and condemns you. What dismal things are closed houses. They seem dead, they are living. Life which is, as it were, suspended there, persists there. No one has gone out of them for four and twenty hours, but no one is missing from them. In the interior of that rock, people go and come, go to bed and rise again; they are a family party there; there they eat and drink; they are afraid, a terrible thing! Fear excuses this fearful lack of hospitality; terror is mixed with it, an extenuating circumstance. Sometimes, even, and this has been actually seen, fear turns to passion; fright may change into fury, as prudence does into rage; hence this wise saying: “The enraged moderates.” There are outbursts of supreme terror, whence springs wrath like a mournful smoke.—“What do these people want? What have they come there to do? Let them get out of the scrape. So much the worse for them. It is their fault. They are only getting what they deserve. It does not concern us. Here is our poor street all riddled with balls. They are a pack of rascals. Above all things, don’t open the door.”—And the house assumes the air of a tomb. The insurgent is in the death-throes in front of that house; he sees the grape-shot and naked swords drawing near; if he cries, he knows that they are listening to him, and that no one will come; there stand walls which might protect him, there are men who might save him; and these walls have ears of flesh, and these men have bowels of stone.

Whom shall he reproach?

No one and every one.

The incomplete times in which we live.

It is always at its own risk and peril that Utopia is converted into revolution, and from philosophical protest becomes an armed protest, and from Minerva turns to Pallas.

The Utopia which grows impatient and becomes revolt knows what awaits it; it almost always comes too soon. Then it becomes resigned, and stoically accepts catastrophe in lieu of triumph. It serves those who deny it without complaint, even excusing them, and even disculpates them, and its magnanimity consists in consenting to abandonment. It is indomitable in the face of obstacles and gentle towards ingratitude.

Is this ingratitude, however?

Yes, from the point of view of the human race.

No, from the point of view of the individual.

Progress is man’s mode of existence. The general life of the human race is called Progress, the collective stride of the human race is called Progress. Progress advances; it makes the great human and terrestrial journey towards the celestial and the divine; it has its halting places where it rallies the laggard troop, it has its stations where it meditates, in the presence of some splendid Canaan suddenly unveiled on its horizon, it has its nights when it sleeps; and it is one of the poignant anxieties of the thinker that he sees the shadow resting on the human soul, and that he gropes in darkness without being able to awaken that slumbering Progress.

“God is dead, perhaps,” said Gerard de Nerval one day to the writer of these lines, confounding progress with God, and taking the interruption of movement for the death of Being.

He who despairs is in the wrong. Progress infallibly awakes, and, in short, we may say that it marches on, even when it is asleep, for it has increased in size. When we behold it erect once more, we find it taller. To be always peaceful does not depend on progress any more than it does on the stream; erect no barriers, cast in no boulders; obstacles make water froth and humanity boil. Hence arise troubles; but after these troubles, we recognize the fact that ground has been gained. Until order, which is nothing else than universal peace, has been established, until harmony and unity reign, progress will have revolutions as its halting-places.

What, then, is progress? We have just enunciated it; the permanent life of the peoples.

Now, it sometimes happens, that the momentary life of individuals offers resistance to the eternal life of the human race.

Let us admit without bitterness, that the individual has his distinct interests, and can, without forfeiture, stipulate for his interest, and defend it; the present has its pardonable dose of egotism; momentary life has its rights, and is not bound to sacrifice itself constantly to the future. The generation which is passing in its turn over the earth, is not forced to abridge it for the sake of the generations, its equal, after all, who will have their turn later on.—“I exist,” murmurs that some one whose name is All. “I am young and in love, I am old and I wish to repose, I am the father of a family, I toil, I prosper, I am successful in business, I have houses to lease, I have money in the government funds, I am happy, I have a wife and children, I have all this, I desire to live, leave me in peace.”—Hence, at certain hours, a profound cold broods over the magnanimous vanguard of the human race.

Utopia, moreover, we must admit, quits its radiant sphere when it makes war. It, the truth of to-morrow, borrows its mode of procedure, battle, from the lie of yesterday. It, the future, behaves like the past. It, pure idea, becomes a deed of violence. It complicates its heroism with a violence for which it is just that it should be held to answer; a violence of occasion and expedient, contrary to principle, and for which it is fatally punished. The Utopia, insurrection, fights with the old military code in its fist; it shoots spies, it executes traitors; it suppresses living beings and flings them into unknown darkness. It makes use of death, a serious matter. It seems as though Utopia had no longer any faith in radiance, its irresistible and incorruptible force. It strikes with the sword. Now, no sword is simple. Every blade has two edges; he who wounds with the one is wounded with the other.

Having made this reservation, and made it with all severity, it is impossible for us not to admire, whether they succeed or not, those the glorious combatants of the future, the confessors of Utopia. Even when they miscarry, they are worthy of veneration; and it is, perhaps, in failure, that they possess the most majesty. Victory, when it is in accord with progress, merits the applause of the people; but a heroic defeat merits their tender compassion. The one is magnificent, the other sublime. For our own part, we prefer martyrdom to success. John Brown is greater than Washington, and Pisacane is greater than Garibaldi.

It certainly is necessary that some one should take the part of the vanquished.

We are unjust towards these great men who attempt the future, when they fail.

Revolutionists are accused of sowing fear abroad. Every barricade seems a crime. Their theories are incriminated, their aim suspected, their ulterior motive is feared, their conscience denounced. They are reproached with raising, erecting, and heaping up, against the reigning social state, a mass of miseries, of griefs, of iniquities, of wrongs, of despairs, and of tearing from the lowest depths blocks of shadow in order therein to embattle themselves and to combat. People shout to them: “You are tearing up the pavements of hell!” They might reply: “That is because our barricade is made of good intentions.”

The best thing, assuredly, is the pacific solution. In short, let us agree that when we behold the pavement, we think of the bear, and it is a good will which renders society uneasy. But it depends on society to save itself, it is to its own good will that we make our appeal. No violent remedy is necessary. To study evil amiably, to prove its existence, then to cure it. It is to this that we invite it.

However that may be, even when fallen, above all when fallen, these men, who at every point of the universe, with their eyes fixed on France, are striving for the grand work with the inflexible logic of the ideal, are august; they give their life a free offering to progress; they accomplish the will of Providence; they perform a religious act. At the appointed hour, with as much disinterestedness as an actor who answers to his cue, in obedience to the divine stage-manager, they enter the tomb. And this hopeless combat, this stoical disappearance they accept in order to bring about the supreme and universal consequences, the magnificent and irresistibly human movement begun on the 14th of July, 1789; these soldiers are priests. The French revolution is an act of God.

Moreover, there are, and it is proper to add this distinction to the distinctions already pointed out in another chapter,—there are accepted revolutions, revolutions which are called revolutions; there are refused revolutions, which are called riots.

An insurrection which breaks out, is an idea which is passing its examination before the people. If the people lets fall a black ball, the idea is dried fruit; the insurrection is a mere skirmish.

Waging war at every summons and every time that Utopia desires it, is not the thing for the peoples. Nations have not always and at every hour the temperament of heroes and martyrs.

They are positive. A priori, insurrection is repugnant to them, in the first place, because it often results in a catastrophe, in the second place, because it always has an abstraction as its point of departure.

Because, and this is a noble thing, it is always for the ideal, and for the ideal alone, that those who sacrifice themselves do thus sacrifice themselves. An insurrection is an enthusiasm. Enthusiasm may wax wroth; hence the appeal to arms. But every insurrection, which aims at a government or a régime, aims higher. Thus, for instance, and we insist upon it, what the chiefs of the insurrection of 1832, and, in particular, the young enthusiasts of the Rue de la Chanvrerie were combating, was not precisely Louis Philippe. The majority of them, when talking freely, did justice to this king who stood midway between monarchy and revolution; no one hated him. But they attacked the younger branch of the divine right in Louis Philippe as they had attacked its elder branch in Charles X.; and that which they wished to overturn in overturning royalty in France, was, as we have explained, the usurpation of man over man, and of privilege over right in the entire universe. Paris without a king has as result the world without despots. This is the manner in which they reasoned. Their aim was distant no doubt, vague perhaps, and it retreated in the face of their efforts; but it was great.

Thus it is. And we sacrifice ourselves for these visions, which are almost always illusions for the sacrificed, but illusions with which, after all, the whole of human certainty is mingled. We throw ourselves into these tragic affairs and become intoxicated with that which we are about to do. Who knows? We may succeed. We are few in number, we have a whole army arrayed against us; but we are defending right, the natural law, the sovereignty of each one over himself from which no abdication is possible, justice and truth, and in case of need, we die like the three hundred Spartans. We do not think of Don Quixote but of Leonidas. And we march straight before us, and once pledged, we do not draw back, and we rush onwards with head held low, cherishing as our hope an unprecedented victory, revolution completed, progress set free again, the aggrandizement of the human race, universal deliverance; and in the event of the worst, Thermopylæ.

These passages of arms for the sake of progress often suffer shipwreck, and we have just explained why. The crowd is restive in the presence of the impulses of paladins. Heavy masses, the multitudes which are fragile because of their very weight, fear adventures; and there is a touch of adventure in the ideal.

Moreover, and we must not forget this, interests which are not very friendly to the ideal and the sentimental are in the way. Sometimes the stomach paralyzes the heart.

The grandeur and beauty of France lies in this, that she takes less from the stomach than other nations: she more easily knots the rope about her loins. She is the first awake, the last asleep. She marches forwards. She is a seeker.

This arises from the fact that she is an artist.

The ideal is nothing but the culminating point of logic, the same as the beautiful is nothing but the summit of the true. Artistic peoples are also consistent peoples. To love beauty is to see the light. That is why the torch of Europe, that is to say of civilization, was first borne by Greece, who passed it on to Italy, who handed it on to France. Divine, illuminating nations of scouts! Vitælampada tradunt.

It is an admirable thing that the poetry of a people is the element of its progress. The amount of civilization is measured by the quantity of imagination. Only, a civilizing people should remain a manly people. Corinth, yes; Sybaris, no. Whoever becomes effeminate makes himself a bastard. He must be neither a dilettante nor a virtuoso: but he must be artistic. In the matter of civilization, he must not refine, but he must sublime. On this condition, one gives to the human race the pattern of the ideal.

The modern ideal has its type in art, and its means is science. It is through science that it will realize that august vision of the poets, the socially beautiful. Eden will be reconstructed by A+B. At the point which civilization has now reached, the exact is a necessary element of the splendid, and the artistic sentiment is not only served, but completed by the scientific organ; dreams must be calculated. Art, which is the conqueror, should have for support science, which is the walker; the solidity of the creature which is ridden is of importance. The modern spirit is the genius of Greece with the genius of India as its vehicle; Alexander on the elephant.

Races which are petrified in dogma or demoralized by lucre are unfit to guide civilization. Genuflection before the idol or before money wastes away the muscles which walk and the will which advances. Hieratic or mercantile absorption lessens a people’s power of radiance, lowers its horizon by lowering its level, and deprives it of that intelligence, at once both human and divine of the universal goal, which makes missionaries of nations. Babylon has no ideal; Carthage has no ideal. Athens and Rome have and keep, throughout all the nocturnal darkness of the centuries, halos of civilization.

France is in the same quality of race as Greece and Italy. She is Athenian in the matter of beauty, and Roman in her greatness. Moreover, she is good. She gives herself. Oftener than is the case with other races, is she in the humor for self-devotion and sacrifice. Only, this humor seizes upon her, and again abandons her. And therein lies the great peril for those who run when she desires only to walk, or who walk on when she desires to halt. France has her relapses into materialism, and, at certain instants, the ideas which obstruct that sublime brain have no longer anything which recalls French greatness and are of the dimensions of a Missouri or a South Carolina. What is to be done in such a case? The giantess plays at being a dwarf; immense France has her freaks of pettiness. That is all.

To this there is nothing to say. Peoples, like planets, possess the right to an eclipse. And all is well, provided that the light returns and that the eclipse does not degenerate into night. Dawn and resurrection are synonymous. The reappearance of the light is identical with the persistence of the I.

Let us state these facts calmly. Death on the barricade or the tomb in exile, is an acceptable occasion for devotion. The real name of devotion is disinterestedness. Let the abandoned allow themselves to be abandoned, let the exiled allow themselves to be exiled, and let us confine ourselves to entreating great nations not to retreat too far, when they do retreat. One must not push too far in descent under pretext of a return to reason.

Matter exists, the minute exists, interest exists, the stomach exists; but the stomach must not be the sole wisdom. The life of the moment has its rights, we admit, but permanent life has its rights also. Alas! the fact that one is mounted does not preclude a fall. This can be seen in history more frequently than is desirable: A nation is great, it tastes the ideal, then it bites the mire, and finds it good; and if it be asked how it happens that it has abandoned Socrates for Falstaff, it replies: “Because I love statesmen.”

One word more before returning to our subject, the conflict.

A battle like the one which we are engaged in describing is nothing else than a convulsion towards the ideal. Progress trammelled is sickly, and is subject to these tragic epilepsies. With that malady of progress, civil war, we have been obliged to come in contact in our passage. This is one of the fatal phases, at once act and entr’acte of that drama whose pivot is a social condemnation, and whose veritable title is Progress.

Progress!

The cry to which we frequently give utterance is our whole thought; and, at the point of this drama which we have now reached, the idea which it contains having still more than one trial to undergo, it is, perhaps, permitted to us, if not to lift the veil from it, to at least allow its light to shine through.

The book which the reader has under his eye at this moment is, from one end to the other, as a whole and in detail, whatever may be its intermittences, exceptions and faults, the march from evil to good, from the unjust to the just, from night to day, from appetite to conscience, from rottenness to life, from hell to heaven, from nothingness to God. Point of departure: matter; point of arrival: the soul. The hydra at the beginning, the angel at the end.

#lm 5.1.20 #the brick in brick #barricade day #les miserables #lego

[cyn-write]

The Little Cecelia - Chapter 3: A Change in Tides

Summary - Every 100 years, the spirits of the Great Seven and their Rivals return. Sometimes, they attempt to right the wrongs of the past, get revenge, or relive the same story, but it all is the same - only one spirit gets their Happily Ever After. Azul has always been fascinated with the human world, which only intensified once he met a human girl, Grace Trien. He desires to become a Great Mage of both Land and Sea and to explore the human world and all its wonders with the Tweels and Grace by his side, but Prince Rielle is willing to do whatever it takes to stop the little Cecelia from getting his Happy Ending.

Chapter 3- After Seven years, a lot of things have changed. Azul has become the "Merchant of the Deep" and Grace has become a Lady of High Society, and their feelings have grown as well. Upon Grace's return, Azul is determined to confess his feelings but his plans change when Grace shares troubling news with the trio.

Prev - Master List

Pairing - Azul Ashengrotto x F!Oc (Grace Trein)

Tags/Warning - Pinning, Scheming, and Childhood Friends to Lovers!

Notes - After a long (unplanned) break, I've finally returned! Thank you everyone for your patience! This chapter took a long time to write but I hope you enjoy it as things start to heat up. Just an FYI: Grace Trein is based on my Oc Grace Wilde so if you want to learn more about her click the link, but you can replace her name when reading if you want to read it as Yuu or another name. This is only the third chapter of 11, so if you enjoy this and want to be tagged or have questions, please let me know! This is also on Ao3 if you want to follow it over there. Comments, likes, and Reblogs are appreciated!

Seven summers come and go like the shifting tides.

Azul spent his days and nights perfecting himself and his magic. He swore to become a powerful Mage and that he did. Every waking moment was spent studying every book in the grotto. From potions to spells, he had mastered his craft. In the midst of the magic books were books on business and trade which he poured over every night. In a few short summers, Azul had become a master merchant, selling potions and restored treasures.

The twins became Azul’s partners in crime and aided in growing his business. They helped him gather information and ingredients to use to his advantage. They found mermaids, mermen, and some truly desperate humans who had no one else to turn to and led them to his doors. In seven years, Azul had gone from being a whimpering no one to the mysterious and powerful “Merchant of the Deep.”

Despite his growing business, he still set aside time each night to talk to Grace. It was the part of his day he treasured most as he would put down his work and simply talk to the person he treasured most. Her voice would take him out of his business guise and remind him why he was doing all of this. She also became a business asset as she had a good understanding of finance and trade due to her schooling and training under her father. Azul often found himself running his plans by Grace and she would provide honest feedback or return the next day with information that would aid him.

Beyond business, the two would talk about anything under the sea. From books they read to random musings, these simple moments brought both out of their heads and let them just be. For a few moments they were not “The Merchant of the Deep” or “Lady Trein of High Society,” they could simply be Azul and Grace, two teens dreaming of a better future.  

One conversation that would often lull them to sleep was the conversation of “what if…”

“I wish you could be here Azul,” Grace mused, “You would have loved it…”

“The more we talk the more I wish I was born human.” He would hum.

“Being human isn’t all its cracked up to be,” She would say, “If you’re born into the right station and gender, your fine. Honestly, I feel more like a bird than a person at times. All I’m supposed to do is sit pretty, speak when I’m spoken too… smile and nod as people talk about my worth... To be honest I wish I could have been born a mermaid, then I could swim away with you and the tweels.” She sounded like she was dreaming again, but they did that often.

“If you are born the right mer maybe… the sea is a dangerous place, and if you’re not the right kind of mer or swim into the wrong places… you could end up shark bait.” Azul had a dark tone to his voice, as much as he enjoyed picturing Grace as a Mer, he didn’t want her to face the monsters larking in the sea. “Besides, I think we can do better… We could run things. Create something that last centuries after we’re gone.”

“And what would that be? A potions business? Trade business?” Grace pondered, “I would love to create something, but sadly women of my status are not usually able to… We usually have to marry for wealth or diplomatic reasons and run our husband’s estate, birth heirs, and raise them to do the same… But I’m hoping to be different. Mama and Papa promised me when I was little that I would have a say in my hand and my future. They even promised that I would get the villa and part of the estate once he retires.”

“I hope so to…” Azul looked at the bracelet on his wrist and dream that the hand she would choose was his. “Do you ever wish you could just... run away from everything? Start somewhere new where no one knew who you were and could just…be?”

Grace was quiet for a moment. Azul thought he scared her away, but when she spoke again, it sent all three heart a flutter, “I would, if you would go with me.”

Ever since that conversation, Azul made it his mission to become human and be with her as more than a friend, but a partner.

Grace kept her promise and returned to the grotto each summer. The three short months she spent with them each year were filled with joy and fun. She showed them everything she learned at school and brought them a variety of land treasures (much to Floyd’s delight). She also taught them everything she could about life on land from human etiquette to fashion to food. By the time she left for her final year of schooling, the trio had a good grasp on the ins and outs of high land culture.

When the day came for Grace to finally return to the grotto, the three were anxious for her return for different reasons and Jade found it entertaining.

Floyd was impatiently waiting for Grace as he anticipated the gifts she promised to bring. How did he cope with the impatience and boredom? He messed with Azul who was a nervous wreck.

Azul was always a nervous wreck when Grace returned from boarding school, but this year it was amplified for a singular reason. Azul (after relentless Bullying from the Tweels) made a bet with the twins that was finally going to confess his feelings to Grace and present her with the human transformation potion he made. This “bet” amplified his nerves and the tweels found it entertaining to tease him about it.

By the time mid-day came around, Azul was pacing in the water and Floyd was trying to catch his tentacles as he passed. “Why isn’t she here yet?” Azul muttered, “She said she would be here by high noon. What if shes- AK! FLOYD!”

“hehehe~ I got Zuuul!” Floyd waved Azul’s captured tentacle around until Azul used that tentacle to slap him in the back of the head. “Owwie!”

“Azul you’re overthinking this, her Father is probably just keeping her.” Jade sat in the back corner of the cave re-reading one of the books Grace had given him years ago.

“I know. I know.” Azul muttered and returned to pacing, “But what if-“

“What if, What if, that’s all you’ve been saying for WEEKS.” Floyd dramatically flopped over Jade’s rock, “She’s a strong Shrimpy and any fish with eyes can see she’s liked you for YEARS!”

Jade nodded as he pushed his brother off his rock, “Besides, if you don’t tell her. We will. That’s the deal~”

Azul shook his head at the brothers’ antics. He knew they were right, but his hearts were still beating rapidly. Before Floyd could launch himself at Jade, the three heard the fast shifting of sand, shifting of fabric, and the signal whistle of their dear human.

Floyd shifted his launch towards the caves shore and bolted towards the entrance. Azul tried to calm his beating hearts as Grace entered the cave.

She certainly has grown over the years, but she has changed a lot over the last nine months. Her features had refined, her hair darkened to a golden hue, and her figure was no longer “boyish” (a term her brothers used to torment her) but full. She was even dressed differently from last summer. Instead of the flowing dresses and bows in her hair, she entered the cave in a structured summer dress, gloves, and woven sun hat.

“SHRIMPY!” Floyd launched himself onto the beach and into Grace’s outstretched arms.

“Floyd!” Grace kneeled so Floyd could give her his signature hug properly. “Oh, I’ve missed your squeezes!”

As she welcomed Floyd, Jade took his time crawling up the beach and was more gentlemanly in his greeting… until he pulled Floyd’s tail.

“Floyd, it’s rude to hog attention.” He reprimanded his brother with a teasing smile.

“Hey!” Floyd lost his balance and fell back, loosening his grip on Grace just in time for Jade to steal her.

“Ahh! Jade!” Grace laughed as she fell into his embrace. “I’ve missed you too!”

“Welcome Home, Grace,” Jade said, helping Grace steady herself as she stood up.

Azul never felt more self-conscious then when he made his way onto the shore to greet Grace. His arms felt weighted, his stomach felt bloated, he could feel all his imperfections highlighted on his body. The guppies in his stomach swam rapidly as she finally stood and looked his way. She set down her basket and walked over to Azul with arms open and bright smile.

Azul felt his lips turn up as he wrapped his arms around her and she returned his embrace, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” She gave him a quick squeeze before stepping back, hands in his. Her bright eyes scanned his figure and she looked at him in awe, “You’ve certainly changed though! Look at you!” She smiled so brightly. “You look wonderful, Azul, truly you hard work has paid off!”

Azul felt the guppies settle and his cheeks warm, “You’ve changed a lot yourself. This is certainly a new look.”

“Thank you,” Grace smiled. He lifted a hand for her to spin and she did with a laugh, “Ever since my birthday, Father has insisted I dress ‘properly.’ Honestly, I never thought I would say this but father has been exhausting.” She shook her head. “Actually, that’s why I’m late.”

Azul’s worry resurfaced and he squeezed her hand still in his. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” Grace’s smile returned, and she said, “We should get settled first before I get into that mess. Why don’t I give you your gifts first before Floyd tares my basket?”

“Too late,” Azul nodded over to Floyd and Jade already shuffling through her discarded basket. Her blanket, snacks, and some books were already spread around them with Jade placing the objects to the side before Floyd threw them in his search for the gifts.

Grace just shook her head at the two and chuckled, “What am I going to do with you two?”

Floyd’s head shot up from his search and said, “Hand over the shinnies!”

Azul let himself genuinely laugh for the first time in what felt like years. He followed Grace as she spread out her picnic blanket and settled on it. Floyd had all of her attention as she reached into her skirt pockets and brought out three wrapped items. “I guess, I guess.” Floyd reached for them but Grace quickly moved them out of reach. “Na-ah-ah! Patience Floyd! You’d think you would’ve learned after last year!”

“How many times do I have say sorry!” Floyd whined as Jade held his brother back.

“Once more as always.” Jade gave Floyd the stink eye. Last year Grace got Jade a terrarium with small figurines of woodland creatures and Floyd ended up breaking it in his search for his gift. She got Jade another and Floyd felt terrible, but Jade still holds it over his head whenever he can.

Grace handed the objects to them one at a time starting with Jade. She gave him a small jar shaped object which he delicately unwrapped to Floyd’s dismay, “There was a small shop in town that finds these, I described your fascinations to him and the shopkeep assured me you would like this!” Inside the package was a clear glass jar terrarium with rotting wood inside dotted with small white umbrellas, “He said since they are already growing, as long as you keep them in dark, moist places they should keep growing.”

Jade’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the jar. He looked like a child given a seabunny during Winterfest. He gingerly placed the jar down before giving Grace a hug. “Thank you.” He said softly, letting a few happy trills slip through. “It’s perfect.”

“Ya, ya, you got plants gimmie mine!!” Floyd pouted and his tail twitched in annoyance. Grace giggled at his childlike annoyance.

“Alright, hold your horses,” Grace said as she picked up a small rectangular object. The moment it grazed Floyd’s skin, he snatched it and shredded the wrapping paper. “I saw this in a traveling shop and had to get it for you!” The rectangular object was a case and inside the case was a small instrument, “It’s called a harmonica! You blow into this side and it makes music!”

Floyd picked up the instrument and smiled wide, “A LAND SNARFLUCS!” He put it to his lips and blew a few notes, rolling his tail in glee. After sliding it across his lip a few times, Floyd put the harmonica down and wrapped Grace in a big squeeze. “THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU! Mom never let me keep these!”

“Ya. Thanks a lot.” Azul sighed knowing he will never know peace again.

“Don’t worry, I got you and Jade earplugs too.” Grace said, patting Floyds back as she returned the squeeze.

Once Floyd let Grace go so he could admire his new shiny, she finally turned to Azul. Azul way always the last to receive his gift, and he was fine with it. He liked to think it was because she was saving the best for last. Grace took out a slim case and handed it to him.

“I know you don’t need these, but when I saw them I couldn’t help but think of you.” Grace said as Azul took the wrapped case. He unwrapped it and felt the smooth leather of the case on his fingers, tracing the Bell logo imprinted lid. When he opened the case and saw a pair of round spectacles. The golden frames were decorated simply with a white chain connecting the two ends so the seer my put them down for a moment without losing them. They were a simple, sleek, ordinary pair of frames, but the fact that she thought of him when she saw them made his hearts beat faster.

“Go ahead, put them on! I want to see how you look!” Grace said as she reached into her pocket for her hand mirror.

Azul did as she asked and put on the spectacles. There were clear lenses so he could see his image in the mirror clearly. He looked… older, more sophisticated, like the merchants in stories. It felt odd to look at the reflection, his reflection. The person staring back looked like him, but with confidence and charm.

He looked up to ask her thoughts and Grace was blushing. Her mouth was slightly ajar and she was flush. When their eyes met, she held his gaze. That is one thing Azul always admired, she always looked him in the eyes.

“S-see. I knew they would look good on you,” She said softly as she put the mirror away.

Azul smirked at her remark, “You’ve always had impeccable taste.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Grace chuckled and shook her head, “that’s a rare opinion according to my brothers and their wives. They’ve criticized my every move since I’ve returned.”

“Speaking of, why don’t we return to the subject of your tardiness?” Azul said, settling beside Grace, spectacles still on. “What happened?”

She sighed and picked at her gloves, removing them as she spoke, “The short explanation is… a lot happened while I was gone leading to father pushing my debut.” Azul felt his hearts stop. Her Debut? Doesn’t that mean… no. Grace continued as she picked at her dress. “The Long of it is… complicated.”

Azul’s tentacle moved its way to her mid-back and his hand covered hers, “I can take complicated.”

Grace sighed and the tweels turned their attentions away from their gifts as she spoke. “While I was at school, apparently my brothers and their wives decided to squander their portion of the family fortune and their dowries. Against my advisement, Father has housebound them and limited their spending ability, but by that point they had already made a sizable dent in the coffers. He doesn’t want to strain our people more than he has to so Father has turned to other methods of regaining funds.” She squeezed Azul’s hand for reassurance as she continued, “He is holding my debut ball the Friday. The invitations were sent out already, and this morning while I was getting my gown tailored, Father gave me the rundown of the ‘most suitable candidates’ attending.  Apparently, I must choose a husband at this ball or else.”  She laced her fingers through his, holding it close as tears threatened her eyes, “When I reminded him of the promise, he said I did have a choice, but it must be made by the end of the ball or else its moot…” She started shaking.

There was a thick silence between the four. Azul’s tentacle wrapped around her midsection in a comforting hug. “So, you’ll be engaged by Saturday?”

She placed her free hand on top of the tentacle and rubbed her thumb along his skin, “According to father I should be… but it is still my choice. A-and who knows, I could meet the one. A plethora of fairytale romances happen that way…” She looked him in the eyes as she said this. She was looking for reassurance, to convince herself that everything will be okay. “Maybe… my Prince Charming will come sweep me off my feet.”

That’s when it hit him. A plan. A glorious, beautiful plan. His tentacles slithered as it formed and Grace caught on to him.

“What?” She asked, “I know that twinkle in your eye, you’re scheming.”

“I certainly am,” Azul ran the rudimentary plan in his mind and there were some kinks, but it should work. “It’s risky, but it just might work.”

“Ooooo! This is gonna be fun,” Floyd said chuckling.

“Mind sharing?” Jade asked slithering to the water.

Azul’s tentacle’s started drawing out a plan in the sand, “Your Father said you just had to chose a suitor correct? He never said it had to be from his list, correct?”

“Technically, yes. Where are you going with this?” Grace asked, curiosity twinkling in her eyes.

“Well, if you already had a suitor with wealth. You could hold off your father for a while until you decide to marry.” Azul offered up.

“That would be wonderful, except father would want to meet the mysterious suitor and know why it is being delayed.” Grace said.

Azul had to take a deep breath before he said the next part, “Didn’t you say you wanted us to meet him one day?”

“You mean-”

“Around 11 o’clock on the night of the party. You will introduce your father to me as your…Chosen Fiancé. I have enough gold and treasure to appease him for a long time. The excuse will be we are waiting till I finish a human transformation potion so I can be with you on land. If your father is the man you say he is, then that should hold him for at least a season. Enough time for you to truly chose someone to marry.” He took both her hands in his and squeezed them, “As I said, its risky, but it just might work. But I won’t do anything without your approval.”

Grace returned the squeeze and looked at him with those lovely green eyes, “Are you sure? This could put you and the tweels in so much danger. And I-”

“I-we care about you and your happiness. There is no need to worry about us. We can handle the danger.” Azul’s tentacle came up and caressed her cheek, “You mean the world to us, and we will do anything for your happiness.” Azul felt his face heat up and he turned away to look at the tweels smirking at him, “isn’t that right?”

Thankfully, the tweels played along. “Ya! We’d do anything for our shrimpy!”

“We are happy to help a dear friend~”

Grace looked at the tweels then turned back to Azul, “Promise me you’ll keep me in the loop, and stay safe?”

Azul nodded, “I promise.”

She sighed and a sly smile grew on her face, “Well then, I guess we should flesh out this plan then, shouldn’t we?”

The rest of the evening, Grace, Azul, Jade, and Floyd developed the plan down to the minute. Every move was plotted out and obstacles considered. By the time the sun touched the sea, they had a foolproof plan prepared for the ball.

After Grace left, Jade approached Azul whispered, “What are you truly planning Azul? I’ve never seen you make a one-sided deal like this before.”

“Oh, that’s where your wrong, Jade.” Azul smirked as one tentacle brought up a golden glowing potion to his eyes, “Once this deal is done, not only will I have won our bet, but I will have everything I’ve ever wanted in my grasp.” He turned to Floyd trying out his harmonica, “Floyd, I think its time we pay Sam a visit. I’m going to need a suit for Friday’s ball.”

“Hehehe, I knew this was gonna be fun~” Floyd’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“It certainly will,” Azul peaked around the cave and gazed at the manor lights. There his dearest pearl was having dinner with her family, unbeknownst to her that her Prince Charming would sweep her off her feet at the ball, and right into his tentacles.

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

Tag List: @twistedcece @thisisafish123 @coffee-or-hot-cocoa

Note: Please Like, Reblog, and Follow for more! If you are interested in seeing more or want to get tagged, please let me know! Comments, likes, and Reblogs are appreciated! (Do not Steal)

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst oc #twst fanfic #twst mc #cynwrites #cynwritesocs #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto x oc #azul ashengrotto x mc #azul ashengrotto x yuu #floyd leech #jade leech #mozus trein #twst rielle #twst original character #twst oc x canon #grace wilde #twst au #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland octavinelle

[stephiethewephie]

Blades Can do Much More than Hurt

This is for @boopshoops for her amazing artwork of mine and so many others' twst OCs! I TOLD YOU I WOULD WRITE SOMETHING!

I had the idea from your ask where you showed Jocia's love of figureskating to make the fic about Piper taking Jocia out to skate on a lake together!

I hope you like it you lovely human!

(Quick notes: This is going off of TCOAV AU, so Piper is 19 years old in this fic. She is now a Junior at NRC and has developed a lot during her two years there: growing thicker skin, more self-confidence, focusing on herself more, etc. Another note, feel free to take this as either romantic or platonic, I tried to make it so you can see it as either. Also, if I mischaracterize Jocia in some way or get TCOAV lore wrong, I apologize!)

Enjoy!

Two woman in a similar situation somehow found each other. Strange how fate can lead you to the person who understands you the most.

Just as Piper was leading Jocia, hand in hand, to a location undisclosed to her. Normally, Jocia would never willingly blindfold herself and be lead to a mysterious location. But, after knowing her for as long as she did, Piper was one of the only people she trusted to do it.

It was a cold, winter's day. It was winter break, so everyone else had gone home. With nowhere else to go, these two usually spent their days hanging out with each other. This day was no different.

Both ladies were bundled up in heavy jackets, hats, scarves, boots, gloves, and for Piper, earmuffs. Piper braided her hair into a low hanging upside down beehive shaped braid so that the wind would not blow it everywhere. In her other arm was her Pooh bear which she adorned with a knitted hat with two holes to stick out his ears. Jocia was carrying her bat in her other hand. Piper insisted she did not need it, but Jocia always wanted to be on the side of caution.

"When are we gonna get there?" Jocia asked. While she could go on for hours even in the snow, it was getting kind of boring just walking in snow for the past 10 minutes.

"We're almost there," Piper reassured. "We just need to get past this hill."

Once they made it past, Jocia heard the sloshing sound of Piper's footsteps in the snow halt, so she stopped in her tracks as well. Piper let go of Jocia's hand.

"We're here!" Piper said in her cheery voice.

When Jocia removed the blindfold, her eyes immediately grew wide and her mouth agape. What stood in front of her was a small lake covered completely in ice. It was something she hadn't seen in such a long time. It almost brought her to tears.

Jocia then noticed that Piper had gone off somewhere. She looked to see her on the side of the lake picking up some objects in the snow. Jocia's eyes widened again when she saw two pairs of ice skates in her hand. With her usual joyous demeanor, Piper ran back holding up the skates to Jocia.

"I recall that you have mentioned liking to ice skate," Piper said cheerfully. "Me and Jade encountered this lake on our walks a while back. I thought that you might like it since it's mostly secluded." She handed Jocia a pair of skates, she was still in too much of shock to say anything. "I tested the ice beforehand and it's thick enough to skate!" Piper proclaimed before going to put on her own skates.

Jocia looked down at the skates in her hand. Her eyes focused on the blades. Blades which she has not seen in years. The blades she usually saw were the blades used to hurt others. These blades, however, were made for something entirely different.

"Jocia?" Piper's voice called to her. She already put on her skates and was curious why Jocia had not put hers on yet. "Are you ok?"

Jocia was at a loss of words. Piper had done something so thoughtful for her, but she could never come up with the words to express how much this meant to her.

"Yeah," she said in her usual nonchalant tone. "Thanks." It sounded like a thanks for checking in on her, but it was also a thanks for doing this all for her. Thankfully, Piper smiled back at her, so hopefully the message went through.

After the two placed their skates on, they stood and gained their balance on the edge of the lake. Piper laid Pooh in the snow so he could watch. They looked at the lake for a bit, mesmerized by the glisten of the ice below them, the sparkling snow around them, and the trees that covered the area, making it truly theirs and no one else's at the moment.

Jocia was the first one on the ice, as she took a deep breath before taking her first few glides. She feared that she had forgotten how to skate after these years away. But, as one is with a bike, it stayed with her. She moved flawlessly across the ice. With a surprising amount of grace matched with her usual fierceness.

For a moment, the world stilled except for her, and an all too familiar feeling washed over her; freedom, security, peace, home. At this moment, she didn't give a damn about school, what might be going on at home, anything. It was just her and the ice, where she always belonged.

Piper watched Jocia in awe, mesmerized by each turn and spin the bigger woman performed. She herself had not yet taken the ice yet, as she was too focused on Jocia's movements. Ever since they met, Piper could tell that there was more to Jocia than just the brute that everyone said she was. And this, along with the years they've know each other, proved it. And for Jocia, Piper was one of the only people she allowed to see this side of her.

Jocia stopped in her formation and struck a pose. Piper responded by clapping her hands and screaming cheers at her, which caused Jocia to leave her skate-filled trance. She smiled at the brunette before realizing she had not yet gotten on the ice.

"So, you gonna get on, or am I gonna have to drag you on the ice myself?" Jocia asked with a smirk.

Piper became a bit flustered in embarrassment as if she just remembered she had skates on as well. She looked down at her feet before slowly moving one foot forward... which slowly inched forward little by little until she was almost in a splits. She stopped herself with her hands and attempted to lift herself back up, only for her feet to switch and her to start shuffling to try to balance herself. The next thing she knew, she fell butt first on the ice.

"Oh bother," Piper said embarrassed. Jocia was trying her hardest not to laugh, but her smiled remained as she kneeled down to look at her.

"Are you alright?" Jocia said trying to sound as genuine as she possibly could.

"Oh! I'm chipper!" Piper said with a smile that Jocia could tell was semi fake. "No need to worry!" She tried to get back up, but kept landing on her butt at every attempt.

"Do you not know how to skate?" Jocia asked in a manner that sounded like she was making fun of Piper, but was actually genuinely curious.

"I-I can skate! Just... with the help of a handle bar..." she looked away from her in defeat before giving the semifake smile again. "But don't worry about me!"

Jocia frowned as she knew what was happening. Piper is one to sacrifice so much in favor of making others feel happy. Even if that means removing her own joy and involvement from the picture. Jocia could relate to that fondly, but she knew it wasn't the best. While she has seen Piper grow to be more self-focused over the years, old habits die hard she supposed. And she could tell that Piper wanted to join in.

While she was never able to provide the right words in situations like this, Jocia knew that sometimes, actions speak louder. She stood up and placed her hand out with her palm sticking up to Piper.

"Come on, I'll teach you how to skate!" Jocia said, trying to be as welcoming as she could be.

"W-what?" Piper got flustered at the surprise offer. "Y-you don't need to do that! You can just-"

"Either that or I'm going home." Jocia did not mean that to sound like a threat, and she did not want to force Piper to do something she was uncomfortable with. "I-if you want to," she added. But, it seemed to work as Piper took a hold of Jocia's hand, accepting the invitation.

Jocia, quite effortlessly, lifted Piper back on her feet. Piper started to slip again, but Jocia kept her hold on her so she didn't fall again.

"Try and bring your feet together," Jocia instructed. She could tell that Piper was getting a little anxious. So, she reassured her, "I'm not gonna let you fall." This gave Piper enough calm and confidence to finally gain her balance in the ice. Both her and Jocia smiled brightly at the small victory.

Jocia moved her body so that she was standing side by side to Piper. "Follow my lead," she said as she slowly slid her left skate in front of her. Piper did the same. She felt a little wobbly, but Jocia reassured her that she would not let her fall and that she was doing great. One slow glide after the other, the two were moving forward. Piper eyes sparkled and smile widened in delight at the fact that she was skating. Seeing Piper's joy made the other one warm and joyful as well. It reminded her of when she tried to teach her siblings how to skate. One of the more pleasant memories that they have. She hoped that they were doing well.

After a few more moves and teaching Piper how to turn, Jocia let go of Piper's hand to see how she could do on her own. Piper did not disappoint. She was moving straight and making turns all on her own. Jocia cheered for her and Piper jumped in the air in victory before falling on the ground again. This time, they both laughed as Jocia helped her back up again.

"Start moving again. I wanna try something," Jocia said when an idea hit her. "If that's ok with you."

Piper nodded her head. "I'd be delighted to try!"

"Let me know if I do anything to make you uncomfortable," Jocia said in consideration. Piper smiled and nodded before Jocia took hold of her hand and motioned her to move again. Before they could move more than a few feet, Jocia moved in front of Piper and started skating backwards with Piper's hand still in hers. Piper jolted in surprise as she felt Jocia's other hand move to her hip.

"Is this ok?" Jocia asked to make sure, and Piper quickly nodded her head. Jocia smiled as she began to lead Piper across the ice like they were dancing at a ball. Piper held onto Jocia's hip in turn as she tried to follow Jocia while keeping her balance. When she was able to gain her footing, Piper looked up at Jocia and gave her an enthusiastic grin. Jocia gave a warm one in return before spinning them 180 degrees.

Piper giggled as Jocia proceeded to show of her own skills as she skated around her. Backwards, forwards, sideways, Jocia gave Piper an up close and personal performance before going back to her hips.

"Would you mind if I lifted you up and spun you around?" Jocia asked.

Piper could not tell if it was her face trying to warm up from the cold, or Jocia making this sudden request, but her face was even redder than Riddle's angry face at the moment. But, she enthusiastically nodded her head, which gave Jocia all of the affirmation she needed to lift Piper up by her hips and spin her around. The giggles and happy stimming Piper did when Jocia put her back down made Jocia's stone heart melt. She held on to Piper's hand and spun her around in circles a few times by skating around her before letting go, spinning herself, and bowing. Piper was surprisingly able to keep her balance as she cheered for her.

Once Jocia opened her eyes, they widened in horror when they saw that the ice around Piper's feet was cracked and about to break. She hurriedly skated to her and exclaimed "LOOK OUT!" before jumping at her and tackling her to the snow on the edge of the lake. She made it just in time before the ice fully gave in.

Jocia got up to make sure the Piper was ok. Nerve struck as she saw Piper's eyes widen and her breath start to get heavy, like she was suffocating. While in kind of a panic herself, Jocia knew what to do when Piper was about to have a meltdown. She quickly grabbed Piper's Pooh bear and gave it to her, kept a good enough distance so she doesn't feel too close, but is also there if she needs her, and practiced deep breathing to have Piper follow along. Once Piper was able to ground herself with her breathing and the softness of the bear, she looked to see that Jocia had just saved her from the cracked ice.

"I'm sorry that I had to do that." Jocia said once she saw that Piper had come back to reality.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Piper said giving a soft smile to Jocia. "You saved my life, I should be thanking you!" Jocia smiled back before offering her hand once again to Piper, who immediately accepted. Piper opened her arms wide out to Jocia, who was hesitant at first, but accepted in great.

"Thank you for this," Jocia said as she held onto Piper.

"It was my pleasure," Piper said cheerfully back. They let go when they realized how cold they were. "How about we head back to ramshackle and I whip together some tea with honey!"

"Sounds good to me," Jocia said before joining Piper on their was back.

Two woman, both lost, scared, and trying to find a way back, somehow found each other. Though misunderstanding and unintended boundary crossing and rage threatened to split them, forgiveness, communication, and empathy kept them together. Though soon enough they will have to return to their worlds, they will treasure and savor the moments they have together. So is the tale of the woman who finally sharpened her blade, and the one who found a better use for hers.

BONUS:

Piper had just finished her second period class with Mr. Goldspire and was about to head to the courtyard to rest for a bit before she overheard a few students talking.

"Did you hear about the new student?" Student A asked Student B.

"Yeah, I heard he just came out of nowhere!" Student B replied. Piper sensed a bit of Deja Vu as she decided to ease drop on the conversation.

"I swear, if this is anything like that other magicless, otherworldly student fiasco, this school is going to the underworld for sure." Student A said.

"Here he comes!" Student B said. "Act like you didn't say anything."

Piper looked over to see who the student was. She was greeted with a tall man with braided black hair and golden eyes. He kind of looked like...

Wait... WHAT?!

"...Jocia?!"

(Final Note: That became so much longer than I thought it would be! I just got way too into it lol. Consider it an early birthday present as well since I saw it is your birthmonth (or I'll just write you something else for your birthday, I DO WHAT I WANT HAHAHAHAHA). Anyways, thank you so much again Shoopy and I hope you liked it!)

<3

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twst oc #oc #my ocs #twst mc #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst yuu #moot oc #moots #piper finch #twst writing

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Recently extinct species make me sad for all the usual and normal reasons (loss of life, biodiversity and unique life forms that experienced the world wholly uniquely and acted in it like no other, to name three), but a big thing that also makes me so sad is the forgetting that comes right after. Many endangered species are greatly ignored to begin with whilst alive of course, which is awful, but the way that extinction also causes us to forget. A species could’ve been so abundant a hundred years ago, people would’ve used a fish species or a tasty plant for food, or parents would’ve warned their children to not put a poisonous toadstool or insect in their mouth, a diver would exclaim, “Aha!” after emerging from the shallows holding an especially big bivalve, or someone making a species diary would sketch out a local bird or fasten a single flower to the page. But.. then the species goes extinct. It doesn’t exist anymore. None of these events, these actions happen anymore. Not with these species. The people who had these experiences dwindle out and they may not even realise that their experiences were among the last of their kind. And we forget.

#i was thinking about the new zealand greyling which was once abundant #the maori people used to fish it and use it for food #for generations upon generations this fish species was their normal #but now it is just gone #could they have guessed that this will happen? that their everyday food item would go extinct one day #i was also thinking about the atlantic sturgeon and how it went regionally extinct in the baltic #the old northern europe people knew sturgeons. heck we had them less than a hundred years ago still #it was a native fish just like any other. just like salmon and trout #now? no one talks about them #they are forgotten #we dont learn about them alongside the perch and the pike and the roach and the trout #they are a mystery of a time gone by here #and it makes me so sad… how quickly we forget. we shouldnt

[eddie4bat-president]

I can so perfectly picture Eddie as this doordasher wearing that shirt

He is. So So Tired, just to start off the day. Did not sleep at all the night before because first he was in the zone perfecting his latest campaign but then he went a little overboard with the villain's backstory; then he realized that if his party didn't question specific people and roll high enough persuasion to get this information, he wouldn't get to tell this story. So then he went on to craft an npc bard who would be singing about the villain and- wait he's a songwriter. Oh how sick would it be if he had his players in a tavern or something after they defeated the Big Bad and then Eddie, at the table, could take out his guitar and play that song to tell the villain's tragic backstory? Amazing, showstopping, incredible. Except he was almost done writing a song he could play on his acoustic that would sound kind of medieval-ly when he realized- wait this is good, actually. What the fuck. He should make a real song out of this for Corroded Coffin. And when he finally tries to go to sleep he keeps laying wide awake with ideas for a whole concept album from the viewpoint of the Bard and-

Point is he's borderline delirious when he gets dressed to dash to some doors - enough that when he looks at the “if she sits on your face, she legally owns you…. Squatters rights and all that” on the shirt Jeff got him for his birthday he giggles for a minute straight while getting dressed and then on and off again until he's in his van.

He loses some time in the routine of getting people their shit and driving until he rings a bell and a distracted pin-up angel from jock-heaven opens the door in some ratty green basketball shorts and nothing else unless you count the t-shirt he's decidedly not wearing but using to wipe... flour? And something else? From his face.

"Hi, sorry, give me a second - I don't care that you're old enough to drive, Henderson! You don't touch another thing in that kitchen until I'm back or I swear to God- give me a second, I want to give you the tip in cash, that's better for you, right?" "...Huh? Yeah, it's- yeah" Sue him, Eddie's distracted. There's hairy chest right in front of his sleep-deprived face and he's considering his conversion to becoming a tits man - except in that moment the (literally) dirty angel turns away and oh Jesus Christ. Yeah, no, still an ass man. Oh wow.

He loses some time again and when he's all there once more he's holding a marker and has just - in view of his future owner, fingers crossed - blacked out the "S" on his shirt so it says "if ■he sits on your face, ■he legally owns you" instead. He's still trying to figure out how this happened and if the surprised look on his doordashee's face is leaning good or bad when fucking Dustin Henderson walks around the corner.

#i ran out of steam here ngl - what happens next? who knows. maybe dustin asks ''eddie is that you?'' and eddie says ''no?'' #maybe eddie goes big! ''HENDERSON! i'm here to become your new stepmom! or whatever applies here - put in a good word for me will ya?'' #maybe he runs and gets a message from steve like ''? hey you uhh took my groceries with you?'' and he has tk walk of shame his way back #except this time henderson is mysteriously gone~ #steddie fic #idk if this counts as a fic lmao #steddie ficlet #steddie prompt #steddie #hey i'm talkin' here #modern steddie

[natjennie]

I already know I'm gonna be obsessed with falin's subversive version of haunting the narrative. as soon as I figure out what she has going on, I'm gonna be insane about it.

#because at least in the beginning she is the classic laura palmer haunting the narrative- the story is about her #the inciting action is in response to her death (almost. her eatening) and it sends the rest of the story on its way #marcille makes constant references to her and her influence and what she would think about things #but then also they find her and she is dead so they have to mourn for a minute and we get visceral closure with #the fact that they were hoping to find her alive the whole time and that's crushed now #and THEN she gets revived and comes back wrong #she is here but it's not right and there's a mystery #and now she's gone again- not in the narrative anymore- but it's still all about her #they have to find her they got her back but she's gone again. #it's so.... #i dont know youre deal yet but falin im gonna be insane about you i can tell #dungeon meshi #jennie reads dungeon meshi #dm spoilers

[ganondoodle]

got visually spoiled on the literally last thing i was still actively missing and working towards in totk but i dont think im gonna like it anyway ...

if it is what i think it is, and what it looks like to be, its just yet another nail in the coffin (or however you say that) as to why the lore sucks in this game even tho it had such good setup and so much potential

#ganondoodles talks #totk spoilers #tagging it as such bc im gonna say my current thoguhts about it here #again its just visually and i havent seen the text to it yet #so please dont say anythign about it #but #im 100% certain its the reward for all shrines which i dont have yet #and first of all it looks dumb as shit #and second of all its supposed to be the ancient hero in the tapestry isnt it #the zonau got their grimy hands on that too dont they #the thing that was such a cool mystery all this time got solved just like that isnt it #nintendo saw us theorizing about gan being the ancient hero and thought oh gods now we cant give him nuance quickly invent some zonau excus #however that makes sense since they were supposedly long gone by the time the first calamity happened #which still happened even with the time fuckery going on since the tapestry still exists and the last guardian remains #tho it doesnt look quite like a zonau but more like some creepy ass unholy mix of a lizard and gerudo #im gonna wait with my final judgement since i havent read the text yet #but it for sure isnt motivating me more to get all the last 50 or so shrines #i regret finishing the underground first so much man #all you get is a you did it sticker #literally #should have done the shrines first so at least i couldnt get spoiled on that still #im guessing its funney reference or whatever #some mysteries are better left unsolved #didnt want to rush and get all shrines in a hurry and isntead explore it on my own since the exploring part and world is what i love #aside from the music #but i guess i gotta do that now #actual shrine hutning stream incoming i guess #:/

[velvetjune]

Spoilers for Alan Wake/Control games and DLCs: one of the things I really like in Alan Wake 2 is the confirmation that, no, Alan can’t create something out of nothing. There were implications in-story that supported that, but it was good to have that be a big part in the sequel. The AWE control dlc easily made it seem like Alan himself had a role in the events of the game and the formation of the FBC, and, personally, seeing it through that lens cheapened a lot of the game and Jesse’s story. Instead, having his writing influence the Hiss and try to manipulate (even out of desperation) Jesse/the FBC to end Hartman and get help, fit right into plot and conflicts of Alan Wake 2, with Alan being sympathetic, but also an asshole for trying to change and control people’s lives in his writing.

#since the awe dlc dropped I was slightly worried that it was going the meta route of Alan writing everything in control #but since Alan wake 2 I’ve been. thank god that wasn’t the case 😭 #this way makes everything more complicated and mysterious. which I appreciate. makes everything creepier #will say. it’s still wild how much Alan can influence the narrative. #light spoilers for the final draft but—> makes me think of the writers room video where he doesn’t know what he’ll be at the spirals end #like I don’t think he’ll be Evil or anything. but it’s unnerving #might delete #Alan Wake 2 my beloved #so many times in that game it could’ve gone a direction that would’ve lessened or soured the story but somehow it didn’t lmao #more game spoilers but for ex: Alice coming back at the end instead of leaving it with her demise in the documentary #when I first saw that it was devastating. but also wasn’t sure what to feel if that’s how she’s gone from the story #having her actually manipulate her photos. become art to make Alan think she died. go to the dark place and help him and saga #that last video left me Speechless it was so good. #esp after how much I disliked Control (spoilers here) for quickly ending with Dylan in a coma and not much else. #could not be happier with how the AW2 ending played out and the clear love for all its characters #REALLY hope that Control 2 ends in a good or interesting place. give dylan some focus! #not tagging this bc I’m just yelling my thoughts. but knowing tumblr it will somehow be seen on every tag 😵‍💫

[unproduciblesmackdown]

oh hooray that this was reuploaded by the videographer

#posted it here some time ago upon realizing the original upload was gone. says this one was posted a year ago? mysteries #really thorough stuff going on in the video description. which is a compliment #will roland #Youtube

[salt-baby]

I think the take-away from my near death experience is that I am simply unkillable

#its either laugh or cry and i choose laugh #i have become extremely cautious since then #in case this post is concerning #i honestly never felt i was in that much danger #i wasnt able to check my skin at the time even though i knew i had hives #only once i had been admitted and set up in the ER did it start to feel severe #esp after i saw my vitals #and looking at it from the ERs point of view #patient walks in after driving three hours in anaphylaxis for two of them #epipen a foot away and unused #HR 144 BP 150/100 and PMH of uncontrolled severe asthma #and also reporting difficulty swallowing and asthma #yeah okay i get it #there was a moment i decided between going into my home after a long drive or restarting the car and driving five min to the ER #thats a crossroads #i had no clue i had a life threatening allergy disorder #i thought i had a nearly gone childhood peanut allergy #good call i suppose #i did get scolded for the epipen tho #heres the mystery to me tho: where did the hypertension come from? #im normally hypotensive #bp technique wasnt ideal but not enough to cause that kind of distortion #anaphylactic shock is supposed to cause hypotension #maybe one of the many medications im on #or a unique feature of mcas #ramble over #although I'll never be done treating my medical records like an interesting puzzle #disability #chronic illness #salt baby talks

[lavender---sunshine]

in all seriousness i 90% sure im going to quit my job tomorrow and for a while i will have just enough money to live on and will have to spruce up my resume and job hunt and stress but MY GOD i need to do something else because this is making me suicidal

#like actively suicidal. wanting to die in a way i have not since highschool. literally woke up and thought 'i dont want to be here anymore' #and then couldnt make myself get out of bed until like 10 minutes before i had to leave the house for job 2 #i know its unprofessional but i pretty much...quiet quit i guess. i worked from home for like a month straight without telling my boss #and she called yesterday wondering about it and the whole time the only thing i could think of was 'you didnt even know for a MONTH #thats how little people communicate around here #the office culture is toxic. the people are self absorbed and shut me out. ive gone through like 6 big life events and no one knows because #no one in that office cares enough to ask. and even if i volunteer the most i get is a 'wow that wild look at this tiktok yeah anyway' #im so burnt out. i have 1 day of rest and i dont get to do that at all. so no like im not going to get up get dressed sit in traffic park #on the street because a year later they still havent given me a clicker for the parking lot and sit in the back of a warehouse for hours #talking to no one. ive literally gone days without talking to anyone there. its so lonely. #theres only so many audiobooks and podcasts and albums you can listen to before you think 'i would be ok getting hit by a truck tomorrow' #im going to hate these next few months but i just need time #and the lord works in mysterious ways because my other boss just started talking about hiring for mon/tues which are the days i work bad jo #so i would at least get those hours until i find something else stable. im going to try very hard not to be mean about it but im like... #hey girl this place sucks ass and you know it. im not negotiating #but thanks for that raise 9 months late #im giving you three weeks for find a replacement and i dont care if you fire me in that time #il work from home or panera or starbucks or library but im not stepping in that office again unless its for my minifridge and heater