#arran writes things

[wizisbored]

Hello. Yes I do want to see the weird version. So much.

fuck yea weird time

When he manages to steel himself to look down, Charles is met by the sight of that tiny version of his dead wife’s face scrunched up in discomfort. The creature cringes, and twists, and tries to hide its face. Cowering against him.

“Oh- Oh good Lord, um- Hold on-”

He moves his hand, finds the crook of its knees, and braces himself to lift, managing to get his shirt quite wet in the short time it takes to turn and set the homunculus down on the towel he’s laid out. It’s shivering now. Or trembling? Is it cold or scared? He has no idea how to tell.

“Alright, it’s okay, just a minute-”

He scrambles to grab the pruning shears again, wanting to cut the rest of the plants off before he wraps it up. It’s whimpering again, eyes still shut tight, scared or uncomfortable or hurt or a great number of other bad things, and though logically Charles knows it’s probably something akin to a baby crying at its birth he can’t keep feeling he’s messed up already. His hands shake as he snips at the vines.

Something large moves behind Charles, something that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Betelgeuse, in the shape of a pale lioness now, pads around him to the little creature’s side. He (or she? Charles had never been quite sure how to interpret Betelgeuse shifting outside of the usual male forms, and the demon only ever laughed when he asked about it) lays down, forelegs either side of the homunculus. And as Charles watches in confused silence, he lowers his head and begins running his tongue through its tangled hair.

“I know, buddy,” the lioness rumbles between the licks. “I would be a bit pissed off if I got birthed into a squishy mortal body too.”

He tries to move on to its shoulder, and it whines, squirming a little. Betelgeuse pauses, sniffs at its shoulder, and then experimentally licks his own leg.

“Fuck. Why is my mouth made of sandpaper?”

“I- I don’t know. Is this what you’re supposed to do, licking it?”

Betelgeuse rolls his eyes, “No, I’m doing it for fun.” He holds his head up for a moment, cheeks puffed out, before he licks at this leg again. “Better. C’mere, kid.”

He nudges the homunculus closer with his chin, and goes back to lapping at it. Soon enough it’s quieting down, curling up against Betelgeuse’s chest despite being buffeted by his cleaning efforts and having worryingly sharp lion teeth rip away the vines still coiled around it. It’s an especially fragile looking thing, maybe a little more than four feet long, skin almost deathly white and wrinkled around its hands and feet from the months-long soak, and patterned with stretch marks just about everywhere. But rather than silvery or purplish skin, the stripes are bridged by what looks like plant fibres. It would make sense, Charles reasons, given all the vines.

“Should you really be being so rough with it?” he asks as the demon licks at its shin with enough force to lift its foot off the ground.. “It’s so thin…”

“I’m tryin’a wake the damn thing up a bit,” the demon grumbles. He nudges the creature’s head away from his leg, barely letting it get out a whine before he smacks his tongue into its eyelid. It grimaces and cringes, But he doesn’t let up until finally, for the first time, it’s opening its eyes to look around itself in confusion. Eyes that Charles thinks are an especially dark brown, at first, but as it blinks up at him he realises that there are in fact big blank spots of black where irises and pupils would be.

“Jood job, kid,” Betelgeuse says. He doesn’t hide his relief well. Charles says nothing. For a moment he holds the homunculus’ gaze, paralysed by it, but then Betelgeuse puts his jaw around the back of its neck in a way that makes Charles cringe. With the creature lifted half off the floor by the scruff he shifts onto his side, before dragging it around beside his ribs. It dutifully curls up against his side instead. Betelgeuse nudges its head with his nose again. “Alright, buddy, just gotta- there ya go.”

With that, he lays his head down with a long, tired breath. It takes Charles a moment, but when he spies the subtle movement of the homunculus’ jaw it’s suddenly obvious why Betelgeuse chose a lioness. The little creature is nursing.

For a few moments, they sit in silence. Charles isn’t sure what the protocol is, here. Does he even still need to be in the room? Should he leave them to themselves? He feels, very much, like he’s intruding on something not meant for him. The way he often felt in this workshop, but far greater. It was always Emily and Betelgeuse, in these matters. In most matters, actually, but this one in particular. Emily and Betelgeuse. And now, he supposes, it will be Betelgeuse and this strange little clone of hers. Her legacy, entirely separate to Charles, already bonded to the demon in a way that he doubts he could ever hope to understand.

“You, uh… You weren’t joking about the food being for you, then?” he asks, needing to say something.

“When would I ever?”

“Right…” He sees the meaningful way the lioness is looking at the bread he brought from the kitchen, and moves it closer. It’s gone in one gulp. And then Charles watches as the crass, irreverent demon he’s come to know reaches down and ever-so-gently, even curiously paws at the homunculus’ hair as it nurses, snuffling against his side.

“How did Emily talk you into wetnursing?” Charles can’t help but ask.

“What, you don’t think I’m the very image of an ideal mother?”

Something must have changed in Charles’ face, because  Betelgeuse snorts, and shakes his head.

“She was Emily. That’s all there is to it.”

“Of course.”

There’s no elaboration needed. Looking to the supplies he gathered, desperate for some contribution to make, he reaches for a towel. As Betelgeuse watches on he wraps the homunculus up as best he can, careful not to interrupt its feed as he tucks the towel around its scrawny frame. And then he sits back, and takes a breath.

“It’s… it’s a girl?” he asks quietly, not entirely sure if there’s some nuance in homunculus anatomy he’s missing.

“Probably,” Betelgeuse half-agrees.

“Does she have a name?”

“Dunno. Em was trying to decide, heard her callin’ it Tadpole a couple times.”

“Right.” It’s a very… Emily nickname, if nothing else, and it makes something twinge in Charles’ chest. He looks down at the girl’s face again, pressed into Betelgeuse’s ribs like she’s trying to hide in them.

“Betelgeuse, is… is she going to live?”

“I dunno. But I fuckin’ hope so.”

#arran writes things

[timepasswallah]

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[throneofsapphics]

i LOVE your angsty poly!rowaelin x reader fics

can i request more? i will gobble up anything you write not even kidding 💕

some questions are better left alone

Rowaelin x f!Reader

(part two) (part three)

Summary: He shoved a plate of sweets at me. “For both of our sakes,” he said carefully, “I’m going to pretend those words never came out of your mouth. Do you understand?” 

Warnings: Angst, drinking, nightmares, small injury, rowan is mean

Word Count: ~5k 

A/N: You are so sweet! I swear, angst is my love language. Reader is from a foreign court/country, has magic, and is able to mindspeak - I kept it a bit vague!

I scribbled the note, leaving it on my desk in my room. Going out. Not very descriptive, but I was in a rush, I’d forgotten what night it was, and I’d promised a friend I’d meet them - some bard was coming through. 

My mates weren’t opposed to me having friends. They knew I did, I just kept them separated, tried to keep a life separate from the castle. 

Maybe I should’ve left a better note, because a certain Wolf showed up halfway through. I caught a whiff of his scent - fresh too, and I knew he was in the damn tavern. But - I didn’t know if he’d come alone or come after me. 

“I’ll be right back.” I leaned in, whispering to my friend, and keeping my voice low. I slid through the crowd with ease. I spotted him in a shadowy corner, leaning up against the wall. I dropped the glamor after I got within a few feet of him. His eyes glinted, a smirk crossing his face. He had come here after me, and waited for me to track him down. I let out a long breath, but stood next to him. His eyes were constantly scanning the crowd. 

“Why are you here?” I kept my voice low enough that only he could hear me. 

“Enjoying the songs, of course.” His voice was honeyed with false innocence, and I could tell he was messing with me. 

“You missed the one about you.” 

“Shame. Which one?” 

I groaned. “I’m not playing into your ego.” 

“Pity, maybe I should’ve let them see your note.” 

“What’s wrong with my note?” My voice went taut. “And why were you in my rooms?” 

“Two words.” He tutted. 

“I was in a rush.” I hissed, then he handed me the paper. He took it. “You bastard.” I snarled. 

“Calm your tits.” He laughed, “I left a better one - ‘taking Y/N out to have fun for once.’” 

“Thank you.” I said, begrudgingly. He did save me some grief. A lot of grief now that I think about it. 

“I am a bit hurt you left without me. Now, are you going to introduce me to your friends?” A shark-like grin appeared on his face. 

“Are you going to play nice?” I countered, crossing my arms. 

“Me? I’m always nice.” He scoffed. “Besides, I’m your best friend in this world. I have a right to know your other ones.” I rolled my eyes, even though the statement warmed my heart - just a bit. 

“Alright. Best friend.” I teased, “Are you going to scare them off?” 

“Do your mates know about them?” 

“Yes.” I sighed. 

“And who your mates are?” 

“Indeed.” I fought back my annoyance. 

“They’re not scared?” He raised his eyebrows. Any sane person would be intimidated by the Queen and King of Terrasen. 

“I won’t let their majesties anywhere near them.” He chuckled, but I could tell he understood. I wasn’t ashamed of my friends, not by any means, but if either of my mates somehow thought they were a threat … it would make things very difficult. I pushed off the wall, and led him back through the crowd. I reached our booth, about halfway down the wall and with a good view of the stage, and dropped it. Instead of two benches, it was rounded, one long bench around a circular table. Cian, Isla, Effie, and Arran. To their credit, they only gaped for a few seconds, before shuffling around to make room for both of us. I scooched in, and let Fenrys sit next to me. 

I gestured towards each of them, “Effie, Arran, Isla, Cian,” And then towards Fenrys. I was halfway tempted to introduce him as ‘pain in my ass,’ or ‘bastard’, but I went for something that would piss him off more. “Lord Moonbeam.” I bit my lip as he stomped on my foot.

“Please don’t call me that. It’s Fenrys.” 

“Pleased to meet you.” Isla squeaked, her face bright red. The others echoed the sentiment, but thankfully not looking at him like he’s a God. I saw the way he was eyeing her, 

Are you really going to bed my friends? I said in his mind, a bit louder than necessary. 

Why would you deny them a good time? 

I swear to the Gods Fenrys. 

Calm your tits. 

That’s twice you’ve mentioned my tits. Should Aelin be worried? 

Don’t you dare. He growled, but didn’t use that phrase again. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he got along well with them. He charmed them easily - none of the bitter bastard I’m used to. He and Isla, to my chagrin, got along very well. I didn’t move to interrupt or interfere, even though I wanted to keep them as far away from each other as possible. They could be cute together, but I had a feeling Fenrys was toying with her - flirting for fun. Maybe she was doing the same. I didn’t know her that well, after all, only meeting her a few weeks ago. 

A few hours later, and after several drinking contests, I was feeling very tipsy. Maybe even drunk. Definitely drunk based on how the room spun. But, with a glamor firmly in place, I’d managed to drink a group of soldiers under the table. Where are they from? I have no idea. But every time one started to eye me in a more-than-friendly way, they seemed to pale, and look away very quickly. It took me a few times to figure out Fenrys was glaring daggers at them. I stomped on his foot. 

“Leave them alone.” I whispered. He gave me an incredulous look. “They don’t deserve you looking like you’ll murder them.” 

“You’re not doing anything.” He countered. 

“I am ignoring them.” I emphasized. “And that works well enough.” 

Effie returned, sliding a goblet across the table towards me. Fenrys snatched it before I could, and took a sip. He nearly spit it out, his face turning red, and shoved it back at me. “What is that?” He coughed. 

“Apparently something too strong for your delicate sensibilities.” I took a large sip, enjoying the warmth it provided as the liquid burned, sliding down my throat. 

He gaped at me - but I kept drinking it anyway. 

“It’s a homemade liquor.” Effie replied instead. He grimaced, staring at my glass like it might jump out and attack him. “It grows on you.” She added, biting back a laugh at his expression. 

I finished it, and stood to bring it back up to the bar, but swayed slightly on my feet. Before I could grip the table, Fenrys’s arm shot out to steady me. 

“We’re going home.” He stood. 

“You don’t get to make my decisions.” 

Effie grabbed the glass from my hands. “It’s almost closing anyways.” 

“Traitor.” I mumbled. The others had left ten minutes ago. 

Effie lived above the bar - how we met in the first place. “Go home.” She ordered instead, giving Fenrys a look. One that said - get her home safe, like I needed a minder. 

He only laughed and looped an arm through mine, half-dragging me out the door. 

“You’re not nearly as drunk as me.” I complained, disentangling my arm once we’d left the building. I watched my feet carefully on the cobblestones. 

“I didn’t beat half of the Bane in a drinking contest.”

“So that’s who they were.” I mumbled, and apparently wasn’t paying attention, because I walked right into a column. 

“Fuck.” I muttered, stumbling backwards and pressing a hand against my face. My cheekbone will be bruised. Fenrys grabbed me under my arms before I could fall, and howled. 

“Asshole.” I muttered, shaking off his grip. He looped his arm through mine, and didn’t let me wiggle out this time. Thankfully, we were almost to the gates and Fenrys quit singing. I tugged my hood up as we got closer to the castle. Nobody needs to know just how drunk I am. 

“They’ll see you stumbling.” He drawled. 

“They’ll know to mind their business.” I snipped back at him. 

“Oooh. Someone’s not looking forward to seeing their mates.” He teased me, his voice a sing-song. I sent a vulgar gesture his way, and he just snorted, dragging me through the halls and depositing me at their door. I waited until he’d walked away before heading to my rooms instead, no sense in waking them up. Besides, on the nights I go out I usually sleep in my own rooms anyways, wanting to wash the alcohol off - and Aelin and Rowan need time alone. They don’t say it, but they were a couple long before me. Maybe I’m assuming things. I’m too drunk to think too much. 

-

Normally Y/N stays in her rooms if she’s gone out, and they won’t argue or try to drag her into their rooms. If she needs space, they’ll let her have it. 

But, tonight, Rowan had a feeling. A feeling he needed to be there. To see her. Like something might be wrong. He slipped out of bed, looking at the clock. Three hours past midnight. She should be back by now. 

“Rowan?” Aelin mumbled sleepily, her eyes opening. 

“I’m going to check on Y/N.” 

Those turquoise eyes opened further. “I’ll come with you.” She yawned. He didn’t fight his wife as she climbed out of bed, grabbing a robe and wrapping it around herself. They moved quickly and silently, through the passage that connects both of their rooms. 

He slowly pushed the door open. Asleep, sprawled out on her side, on the couch. 

Safe - but a giant blue bruise blooming on her cheek. And absolutely reeking of alcohol. Did she get into some sort of brawl? He’d kill Fenrys. Slowly. Aelin placed a hand on his arm, but he could tell she was just as angry. 

-

“Y/N.” A voice murmured, and I felt a hand running down my arm. A mumbled, some intelligible noise. 

“Y/N. Wake up.” The voice, feminine, was more insistent. Aelin. Why was Aelin in here?. 

-

Her eyes opened, glassy, pupils slightly dilated. Drunk. And very drunk. How fucking much did she drink? Y/N could almost drink Aelin under the table. 

“Petal.” His mate's voice was low. “Did you get in a fight?” 

“A what?” She was confused. 

“Did you get in a rutting brawl?” I said from the door, not bothering to keep my voice low. Aelin turned and glared at me. 

“What?” 

My eyes narrowed. “Don’t play dumb.” 

Her hand went up to her cheek, wincing, and she threw her head back in laughter, nearly howling. “I walked into a pillar.” She said in between laughs.” 

Aelin was biting back a laugh, but I was just getting more pissed. Maybe it was a bit funny - but she was drunk enough she got herself hurt. 

“Where was Fenrys?” My sharp tone had Aelin cutting a look at me. Don’t start.  

“Caught me before I could hit the ground.” Her words slurred together. 

“Come on.” Aelin tugged at her arm, pulling her up. “I’m not going to let you choke on your own vomit.” 

She looked offended. “I am not throwing up.” The words came out very insistent. Aelin gave her a bemused smile, but pulled her up anyway, leading her towards her bathroom. “You reek.” She told her.

“That is rude.” Y/N stuck her tongue out. 

I rolled my eyes, but followed them, grabbing a nightgown for Y/N to put on. 

“What do I smell like?” She asked Aelin, stumbling next to her. Aelin’s arm wrapped around her waist holding her closely. 

“Right now? Alcohol.” 

Y/n let out an over dramatic sigh. “No, what’s my scent? You’re jasmine and lemon verbena, and he’s pine and snow.” 

“Nutmeg and honey.” I answered from behind her, and her head turned, giving me a goofy smile. 

“That’s nice.” She mumbled. I fought the smile threatening to form on my face.  

-

Aelin was very sweet, helping me get in the tub, even washing me. I tried to stop her, but she cut me a glare. A nasty one. After that I let her. 

“Who did you go see?” She asked, scrubbing my shoulders. 

“Some Bard came into town.” I said, before sighing. Her touch feels incredible. “You have magic fingers.” I told her. 

Her eyes crinkled, “and you’re drunk.” 

“Maybe a bit. Fenrys told me I beat half of the Bane in a drinking contest.” 

“The Bane?” Rowan’s voice came from the door. Low. And deadly low. 

“That’s what he said.” I confirmed, looking at Aelin instead, who pressed her lips in a tight line. “What’s wrong with the bane?” 

“They have a reputation.” 

“I have a reputation.” I exclaimed. 

“Excuse me?” Her voice grew a bit shrill. 

“I drank half of them under the table.” 

“Right.” She breathed out. 

-

She thought Rowan was going to explode when he heard her say she has a reputation. He relaxed - barely. He needed something to do or he might blow up. 

“Rowan get a towel.” I ordered without looking, and heard him moving around, before the soft fabric was pressed in my hands. “Help her out.” 

“I don’t nee-” I pressed my finger to her lips. It’ll help him. I told her, speaking mind to mind. 

Okay. Her sweet voice floated through my mind. 

Even though anger rolled from him in waves, his hands were gentle as he lifted her out, holding her steady. I wordlessly handed him the towel, and gave him the chance to fuss, slipping a nightgown over her - one he’d already picked out. He went far enough to make her clean her mouth, and dried her hair for her. That brought a smile to my lips. 

“Thank you.” She told him after, and me. 

She tried to wobble off towards her bed, her legs shaky under her. I cut her off before she could reach the door. “You’re coming with us.” 

“But it’s your-” 

“No buts.” But … What was she going to say? Before ‘it’s your-’ 

“It’s our what?” Rowan asked for me. 

She frowned. “Your night. For the two of you.” 

I frowned, looking at Rowan. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.” When she’s more likely to remember it. He added to me. 

“Nothing to talk about.” She mumbled, but let him pick her up, carrying her back to our room. 

-

I groaned as the morning light hit me, streaming through the windows. My head started absolutely pounding. “Gods.” I groaned, pressing my palms into my eyes - like I might shove the headache away. A rough hand tugged one of mine away, pressing a glass vial into it. I peeked the free eye open, squinting to see Rowan. 

“I’m surprised.” I murmured. A pain tonic. “Thank you.” 

“We need to talk.” He grunted. “And I don’t want to deal with your whining.” Several months ago, I might’ve been hurt by the comment, but I was used to it by now, and ignored the second part, swigging the slightly vile liquid down. Fighting back the urge to make a face. 

“One day I’ll figure out how to make those taste better.” I glared at the offending piece of glass. Rowan snatched it out of my hands. 

“Lets go.” He jerked his head. 

“Alright alright.” That’s when I felt the heat on my face. I looked across in the mirror. A large purple bruise bloomed across my feet. “What did I do?” My eyes were wide. 

“You don’t remember?” He snorted, and left the room. 

“Bastard.” I muttered under my breath, low enough he wouldn’t hear, and grabbed a robe before following him. “What did I do last night?” I repeated, walking into the sitting room and digging through my mind for what the hell might’ve happened. 

He didn’t answer, pouring tea instead. “Where’s Aelin?” I tried. 

“Training.” He said curtly. 

“Rowan.” I said quietly. “What happened?” My memories cut off right before leaving the Tavern. 

He shoved the cup in my hands, watching and waiting for me to take a sip. I did, and waited for him to respond. 

“What do you remember?” He questioned, his voice was cold - usually meaning I’m about to be extensively lectured or punished for something. 

“Up until leaving, with Fenrys.” He can almost always tell when I’m lying. 

“You hurt yourself. Walking into a pillar.” 

I sucked my lips in, fighting the urge to laugh. “Of course I did.” I choked out. 

His eyes narrowed. “It’s not funny. What if Fenrys wasn’t with you?” 

“I have other friends.” I countered, crossing my arms. 

“Who we’ve never met.” His words came out flat. Emotionless. 

“Would you like to meet them?” I said, feeling a bit on edge. “Do you not trust me to be a good judge of character?” That wasn’t exactly fair … but I didn’t and don’t need them to approve of my friends. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” He growled. “Are you embarrassed by us? Do you not want them to know you’re with us?” 

Cruel. He was playing dirty. “Of course not. They know” I kept my voice calm. 

“Then why?” 

“You never asked.” I countered. It’s true. 

“You never asked to meet our friends, and we introduced you.” 

My breaths got heavier. This wasn’t fair, that’s not the same thing. “When you introduced me, I was just a member of a foreign court, a delegate.” 

He stalked up to me, standing so close that if I took a deep breath, my breasts would brush against him. “Was? Aren’t you still just a member of that court?” His voice was taunting, and cruel. Absolutely cruel. He meant for his words to hurt, and I could feel the slight satisfaction running through him when it did, but it was quickly pushed out by regret. 

“Maybe I am, and maybe it’s time I go home for a bit.” Silver might’ve lined my eyes, but I hit right back. I turned sharply on my heel, walking silently towards my rooms, out the main door. I didn’t look back as I closed it softly, a slight click. 

He didn’t follow, and maybe that’s what hurt the most. 

I collapsed on my bed, my knees pressing into my elbows, my head held in my hands, trying to figure out what about last night set him off. Made him so angry he’d say those things. Not that I acted much better. 

I wanted him to follow me. To tell me not to go - or to yell at me. Something. I paced for the better part of an hour, before deciding to go back. Porting off back home wouldn’t do anything, it would just make things worse. 

I took the direct passage this time, hearing another door creak open at the same time as mine. Rowan looked directly at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be gone?” The same cruel tone as earlier. Maybe I imagined that regret. I couldn’t say anything, or my voice might’ve broken. I took a step back, closing the door. 

I heard Aelin’s voice, “gone where?” But I’d already turned, heading back. “Rowan. What did you do?” 

Is this what the rest of my life will be like? Cruel barbs, hurtful words from both sides. A traitorous thought ran through my mind, why couldn’t it just be Aelin? But I dismissed that immediately. I couldn’t imagine not having both of them, not having two mates. It would be wrong, it wouldn’t feel complete. But for them - they could imagine it, they’ve lived it, and likely were perfectly fine before I came along. The two of them fit. Balanced each other perfectly. 

Am I some kind of wrench thrown in? A piece being forced into a puzzle, one that doesn’t quite fit? I’ve heard of mating bonds being rejected before. Ours is already sealed but … Even thinking about it brings a sharp pain in my chest. Gods they’re already a part of me, dug in so deep it would take something horrible and cataclysmic to drive me away from them. 

I hadn’t told them I loved them. They hadn’t told me. A final barrier that hasn’t been crossed. 

-

I sought out Fenrys around lunch, convincing him to come eat with me in my rooms. He seemed wary, considering this is definitely out-of-character for me.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, shoving a tart in his mouth. 

“What were Rowan and Aelin like before me?” 

He choked slightly, coughing into his hand, but finishing the food. I watched him intently. I needed to know. Had to know. 

“Fine. They were fine, at least it seemed that way.” He stared back at me. “What are you thinking?” 

“I’m an outsider.” I started. He gave me a look that said, no shit. “I don’t … I don’t know if I belong here.” 

“I was an outsider.” Fenrys leaned back. “You know I’m from Doranelle. It was difficult at first, but I found my place.” He spit out the country’s name, like it was poison. 

“You rejected Doranelle.” 

“I did.” He nodded, his tone cautious, like he knew where I was headed. 

“I don’t reject my home.” 

“You can belong to more than one place.” He argued. 

“But me being here is causing an issue.” 

“Rowan and Aelin fought. Still fight sometimes. Does that mean they don’t belong together?” Fenrys is more perceptive than people give him credit for.

“They’re different.” 

“How?” He sounded a bit exasperated. 

“Because they share bonds together I never will.” That truth finally came out. “And if there was a situation they had to …” My voice broke. 

He shoved a plate of sweets at me. “For both of our sakes,” he said carefully, “I’m going to pretend those words never came out of your mouth. Do you understand?” 

I nodded. A warning - if those questions were brought up … the results that come out might cause irreparable damage. Sometimes those things are better left swallowed. At the same time, I want to know my place with them. We ate in silence for a few minutes before the door breezed open. Aelin, I’d know the jasmine and lemon verbena anywhere. 

“Really?” She sighed, “Choosing that dog over me?” 

“I wasn’t aware there was a choice.” She raised an eyebrow, but sat next to me, grabbing some sweets. 

“You always have the best sweets.” She popped a truffle in her mouth, moaning. 

“And you always raid my collection.” 

“They’re bought on Crown gold.” She winked. Fenrys winced across from me, the action thankfully going unnoticed by Aelin, who had her eyes closed. 

I didn’t reply, but drank some water instead, the chocolates suddenly seemed unappetizing. “I do keep them just for you.” I covered smoothly. She placed a grateful kiss on my cheek, before turning, throwing her legs over my lap and lounging on the couch. I absentmindedly rubbed circles into her calves. 

“I heard you beat half of the Bane in a drinking contest. Aedion is ashamed. I’m quite proud.” She grinned. 

“Are you complimenting someone else's drinking prowess?” Fenrys looked amused, leaning back and crossing an ankle over his knee. 

“I’m giving credit where credit is due.” 

“Very kind of you.” I kept a smile. A forced one, and kept rubbing circles into her legs. Where credit is due. Drinker, bed warmer, what else? Aelin seemed to notice the shift, because she kicked Fenrys out, he left with a tight glance between the two of us, but no complaints. 

“What’s wrong with you?” She nudged my thigh with her toe. 

I flinched slightly. “A bit homesick.” Close enough. 

“Rowan told me about that.” I could see the bored expression on her face from the corner of my eyes. She’s keeping a tight lid on her emotions. 

“I sometimes say things I regret.” Regretting something doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. 

“We all do.” I could hear the same echo, doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.

Ask the damn question Y/N. I chided myself, I can’t put words into her mouth. “Did he mean it?” The words came out quickly. 

“Isn’t that a question you should ask him?” 

She has a point, so I countered with something I should ask her. “How do you feel about it? Both things.” Please don’t make me repeat them. I pleaded to her silently. She took some pity on me. 

“I wouldn’t mind meeting your friends, but I understand we can be … intimidating. But I don’t know if you’re keeping them from us because of that, or if you’re scared we’ll drive one of them off.” I waited for her to continue. There wasn’t technically a question there. “Do you want to be a member of this court? Would that mean you’re choosing?” 

Choosing. Right. Absolute loyalty - something I can’t promise. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

“You’re our mate.” She said softly. “And you have your place here.” 

“Are you telling me to know my place?” Maybe that wasn’t fair. 

“I didn’t say that.” She said sharply. But you didn’t not say it. Gods I wanted to hear all of the things that weren’t said, but I wanted them to soothe me. I don’t want the truth right now. I want sweet things meant to make me feel better. I’d even take little lies over these tiny cracks I’m feeling. The faltering, the hesitation. “Are you having trouble adjusting?” 

“Aelin it’s been nearly two years.” 

“And we’re immortal.” 

“I’ve found a life here.” We’re both skilled at non-answers. I still hadn’t looked at her, couldn’t meet her gaze. Around her, and him, my eyes tend to show everything. A wall I can’t seem to put up. 

“Look at me.” Kind, but unyielding. I do. 

-

Tears are threatening to flood down her face, I can see it. I can’t help but think maybe she’s being a bit oversensitive. I’ve seen her in her own court .. well, the one she doesn’t really claim. Tough love? Or soft? 

“Was it better without me?” 

Oh Gods I did not expect that. I moved fast, tugging her to straddle my lap. “Don’t ever say that.” My voice was harsh, my hand gripping her chin, making sure she looked directly at me. “Did we make you feel that way?” 

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, I just noticed it was bloodied and bruised - like she’d been biting on it all day. “I don’t know how much of it is just in my head.” So we did make her feel like that, at least partially. 

“We can’t reassure you or fix ridiculous notions if you don’t tell us.” 

She laughed darkly, pushing my hand away from her face, and turning her head. “That’s part of the problem. They’re ridiculous to you.” I wrenched her head back to face me. 

“Don’t look away from me.” I snarled, holding her even when she flinched. “They are ridiculous, even if you believe them. We weren’t better off without you. You’re a wonderful part of us, part of us we didn’t know was there. Just like we’re a part of you. You belong with us.” I emphasized. “Come to us when you feel this way. Let us fix it.” 

“There isn’t anything to fix.” Her eyes kept steady on mine, although I could see her temptation to look away. 

“Then tell me exactly what’s been running through your head.” She swallowed harshly. “You either know it’s wrong, or you’re scared to bring it up.” Her eyes gave it away. Both. 

“Can we talk about this later?” She pleaded, breaking eye contact, her bottom lip quivering.

“Look at me.” I gritted my teeth, and she did. The vulnerability in her eyes made me sigh. “Promise you’ll actually talk about it.” 

I watched her hesitate, but she did promise. 

-

Falling asleep was uncomfortable. There was a tension drifting between the three of us, but I didn’t feel like talking about it yet, and they respected that. Barely, I could see both of them aching to have the conversation - to get it out of the way, but I needed time to gather my thoughts. A night to sleep on it. 

Eventually we did drift off to sleep. 

“Leave.” Rowan said harshly, his face set in a nasty look. One I’d only seen him give to people who were rude to Aelin or I. What did I do? 

“Leave.” Aelin repeated his words with that same look. It was unnatural, it wasn’t them. 

“But-” 

“Now.” He growled, taking a menacing step towards me. 

Another voice came from behind me. “I lied, they were better without you.” I whirled around. Fenrys. The look, they all had the same one.

“I can be better.” I stuttered through the words. 

“You don’t get it.” Aelin laughed harshly. “We don’t want you.” 

Rowan shoved me through the gates, just a bag in my hands. “Step foot in Terrasen again, and you’re dead.” 

They slammed shut in front of me. 

“No, no, no, no.” I whispered, tears running down my face, my entire body shaking.

“Y/N.” A disembodied voice said, repeatedly. 

“It’s a dream.” My eyes flew open, I felt magic flooding around me. A hand rubbed my back. “Breathe, breathe darling.” Aelin’s voice, but I couldn’t see her. A dream, it was a nightmare. 

I heard Rowan, his voice strained. “Bring your magic back in. Call it back to you.” 

I did, and it came back joyfully, swirling against the shield of wind holding it in, with teasing pokes, before flying back into me, and the room was encased in moonlight. 

“Gods, I’m sorry.” I sighed. “Please, don’t be. I’ve burned several bed sheets before.” Her voice was light, a smile on her face. “Besides, your magic isn’t scary, it’s quite beautiful actually.” I could feel her magic bubbling, wanting out to play, mine reacted in kind. 

“Tomorrow.” Rowan said, and we turned in sync to glare at him. The serious look on his face remained, and Aelin huffed before tugging me into her arms - pointedly leaving him out. 

#rowaelin x reader #throne of glass fic #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin #poly!rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x reader #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader #aelin x y/n #aelin x reader #rowan whitethorn x reader #rowan whitethorn x y/n #angst

[whinlatter]

Also how do you think ginny and Harry's marital life was? Did they get married early?Did Ginny sometimes resent her husband's profession? As a couple do you think they fought often?

Thanks so much for always replying to all the asks so wonderfully! You're so amazing!!!

I think Harry and Ginny's marital life was happy, of course! I think their marriage was a singular source of stability and renewing joy throughout their adult lives. (can you imagine if I was like... nah, it was garbage, divorce)

Without further ado... here's too many words and thoughts on Harry and Ginny's married life and careers, and some fic recs that have helped shape how I think about it dotted throughout. Come for the twee house descriptions, stay for the rant about neoliberal feminism at the end I guess!

On married life and the Potter household:

I love the idea of the Potters presiding over this ramshackle chaos household in big house near the sea, with a great big garden and treehouse for their kids and the cousins and various pets to maraud about all over the place. I actually think quite a lot about the house they'd be in. I love the idea of them building it from scratch, a big house with modern comforts but rustic, cosy, English country features, more horizontal than vertical (kind of farm/barn conversion vibes). In my mind, their house has lots of light, lots of beams and soft wood furnishings, and then a few quirky features and colours that are all Ginny's idea (Luna paints beautiful murals on each of the kids' walls). I imagine their house has lots of big windows with window seats so the adults can sit out and watch the kids play outside. I think the kitchen/dining room would be the heart of the house. Harry's doing the cooking, Ginny's writing at the table, kids are streaming in and out, it's just a real thoroughfare of teenagers and family friends and grandparents streaming through with the wireless on.

On marrying and having kids young:

I do really think Harry and Ginny got married early and had kids young. As I get older I only get more ok with that as a timescale for them. I think the intensity of their wartime experiences, their very involved role as godparents to Teddy (especially thinking maybe it might be nice for Teddy to have younger god-siblings), and their family reference points (both being from families where marrying young is quite normal, and where babies and toddlers are increasingly around a lot) are all factors that lend themselves to these two locking in in their early twenties. The pieces I love most on their marriage/babies etc are all ones that have a lot of humour and spontaneity and walk this gorgeous line between flippancy and total certainty - acesofdiamond's version of their wedding in Arran, Scotland, is canon to me, and also quickfire by flagpoles, on them having a shotgun wedding, is just so so so good and so them.

On Harry's career:

I think Ginny would understand why Harry chose the career he did, but I think it would be a source of tension for them. I'm thinking a lot about this at the minute for some writing (👀), but I think Harry as an adult would have to confront the fact that he intends to keep choosing to get back in the arena and fight Dark magic, this thing he does it to keep the people he loves safe but that also asks so much of the same loved ones who have to watch him do it. I think Ginny would try to push him to see that, but I don't think those would be easy conversations, and I do think it would be one of the things they argue most about on the occasions when they do, properly, fight. On the day to day, things they bicker over include: whose fault it is that the house is a mess (obviously it's both of them, plus the three messy children those two messy kids created); whose fault it is that the Potters are literally always late to everything (Harry blames Ginny, Ginny says the only reason he was ever on time before was because of Hermione, and he chose not to marry the punctual one so he just has to lump it); and Ginny losing her wand around the house/not keeping her wand on her (it takes Harry a long time to say it, but he's always just thinking of James on the sofa the night he died).

On Ginny's career:

I know this is a bit controversial, but I'm honestly happy with the idea of Ginny quitting playing professional Quidditch young. I think she quits after she has James, or maybe between Albus and Lily, so by the time she's about twenty four, twenty five. This is a bit of a soapbox one for me, and maybe one day I'll write about it in some form, but I think there's quite a lot to be said for freeing yourself from being accountable to career decisions and dreams you once had for yourself when you were seventeen, especially career plans that served as escape hatches from traumatic teen years (for the same reason, I like the idea of Ron quitting the Aurors after a few years). I think, as teenagers, we imagine futures for versions of ourselves we haven't met yet. Renegotiating your hopes and aspirations for yourself can be a real sign of growth; holding yourself hostage to who you thought you'd be can make you very miserable.

Relatedly, I do think Ginny in her mid-twenties might have a different relationship to her playing Quidditch than she has a teen. I think lot of her wanting to play professionally is about her having something to prove (I have also totally adopted the headcanon from this fantastic piece on Ginny wanting to be outdoors and in the air as a rejection of the chamber). It feels right to me that Ginny might reconsider her attitude to physical risk and injury by her mid-twenties, particularly if her children are watching her play an extremely dangerous sport week-in week out. I also think she might reconsider how much time she wants to spend away from her family. I wonder if Ginny would also develop a different relationship to the sport outside of a school context, especially the press scrutiny and the big business of sport on the outside. We know that when she quits playing, it's not the end of her professional life, and I think her writing about the sport, and being a voice in the culture of the sport but also in the Wizarding World at large, makes a ton of sense for her. But I think it's good to change jobs because what you want for yourself changes, and I really think it's not a feminist failing to want to spend time with your family and to look for jobs that are interesting and help give your life meaning but that also let you have a family life. It's boardroom girlboss neoliberal nonsense feminism that says wanting to spend time with your friends and family is less of a route to happiness than climbing up some horrendous hyper-individualist career ladder in pursuit of success (especially, in Ginny's case, in professional sport, where careers only ever end on a downturn).

Thank you anon for wanting to hear me bang on about all of this!

Fics mentioned here include:

dancing on to your heartbeat by aceofdiamonds - H/G wedding fic

quick-fire by flagpoles - H/G proposal and pregnancy fic

Little Sugar Men by dopeythedwarf - H/G, on Ginny and flying

#harry and ginny's house is a beautiful mess because so are its occupants #sorry for the soapbox but i will rant about ginny's career choices until the cows come home #hinny #headcanons #fic rec #thank you anon! #harry x ginny #ginny weasley #harry potter #meta

[rwateringcan03]

Hello! Could you write me a ler!carl lee!Reader fic when Arran and Eric bring reader back and they are quite shy and reserved but Carl try’s to become friends with them? Thank you?

Hello! Sorry for the late reply! Here's your fic, I hope you enjoy!

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

Aaron and Eric had been out on a supply run, scavenging for food and other essentials. They had been gone for a few days, and the rest of the group at Alexandria was eagerly awaiting their return with the much-needed supplies. As the gates opened and the two men entered, there was a collective sigh of relief and excitement from the residents.

As the two entered, they revealed a companion they had with them. This person was you. Aaron and Eric had been watching you for a while, making sure you were safe to approach, and Aaron had convinced you to come to Alexandria.

You had been standing nervously beside them, watching as Aaron and Eric unloaded the supplies from their truck. You felt a pang of jealousy as you saw how easily the others interacted with each other, while you struggled to find your place. As Eric kept unloading things from the truck, Aaron approached you and explained you'd need to see Deanna. You were stripped of your weapons, and had no way to defend yourself if this "safe zone" was apparently un-safe.

Days went by, and you started to get more comfortable in Alexandria. You were very quiet and reserved, not willing to open up or really communicate with the others.

One day, as you sat on the porch of your "new home", fiddling with your pocket knife, you heard someone approach you. You flinch a little. It was a boy, around the same age as you. He wore a soft smile.

"Hey, I'm Carl," he said, extending his hand to you with a warm smile.

You hesitated for a moment, before shaking his hand tentatively, feeling your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. "Uh, hi, I'm Y/N," you replied softly.

Carl seemed to sense your shyness and hesitance, and he made it his goal to befriend you. Over the next few days, he made a point of including you in group activities and frequently stopping by to chat with you. Slowly but surely, you began to open up to him and the other Alexandrians.

One sunny day, you found yourself hanging out with Carl, enjoying the rare moments of peace and quiet. You both sat on the grass, relaxing in the sunshine, softly chatting. You had noticed the sherrif hat he always wore, and decided to ask about it.

"It's my dad's hat. He let me have it." He replied, taking it off his head.

With a teasing grin, he placed the hat ontop of your head. It was a little big for you, making you both giggle. He then went to take it off, but somehow, his fingers grazed your ears. You let out a giggle. Carl paused.

"What was that? Are you ticklish?" He asked straight up, catching you off guard.

"N-no, I'm not," you stammered, feeling blush rise in your cheeks.

Without warning, Carl tossed his hat aside and began tickling your sides.

"Ca-ARL STAHAHAP!" You squeal, trying to grab his wrists. But he was too fast. He teased your sides and ribs, making you throw your head back with laughter.

"NOHOHOHO STAHAHAP!" you gasped between fits of laughter, trying to push Carl's hands away from your sides.

As carl tickled you, he noticed you weren't making much of an effort to squirm away. This made him smirk.

"Not making much of an effort to get away, are you, y/n?" He teased, a smug grin on his face as he began to spider his fingers across your belly.

"SHUT UHUHUHP!" You laughed, giving up on trying to push his hands away. Your face was red, and your stomach was starting to ache. Carl let up, giving you a playful nudge.

Catching your breath, you mock glare at him. Carl chuckles.

"You're so grumpy. Maybe I should do this more often." He taunted, poking your ribs.

You let out a small giggle, wrapping your arms around your torso. "Not fair." You say, a small smile on your face.

"I thought maybe a good tickle would bring you out of your shell," Carl teased, relaxing back into the grass.

You snort and squeeze his side in return. To your surprise, carl let out a small squeak.

He was also ticklish.

This would be fun.

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

Thanks for your request!!

#the walking dead #ticklefics #twd #carl grimes #reader insert

[noodleblade]

Here's a shattered glass simpatico fic no one asked for. I wrote this at work after looking up if and what Brainstorm and Perceptor's Shattered Glass looks are and seeing they are barely there which means I have a sandbox to play in. I just wanted to write "evil" Brainstorm and Perceptor with no real plot:3 (it should also be noted I have not actually read Shattered Glass so take all of this with a grain of salt)

ANYWAY, enjoy! AO3Link

The thundering of a turbine engine signaled the arrival of his very late… associate . Perceptor glared up at the darkened sky to see a flash of sleek metal circling above. It circled thrice, dipping and rising through its own updrafts as it slowly made its descent. A cutesy loop was thrown in as lights flickered along its body in a teasing taunt. 

Perceptor scoffed, turning his gaze away with a shake of his helm. Whether the jet was aware his audience was no longer paying attention was unclear but Perceptor didn’t need to feed that ego any further. It was already unbearable in its current state. 

Instead, the microscope surveyed his current location with an ever-growing frustration. As far as meeting places went, this had to be one of their worst. Dank, moist, a slick with a green organic matter that looked like it'd be scrap to get out of transformation seams. Of course, this time it has been Brainstorm's pick of location. The merc always had a unique processor. Glitched to the Pits and back but unique either way. 

The tell tale sounds of transformation erupted behind him. Perceptor turned his helm slightly to see the eagerly fluttering wings of the jet, not at all looking guilty in being thirty kliks late. Horrendous yellow and white plating practically glowed in the dim light, too bright for the dank little cave they were meeting in. Red optics shined brightly at Perceptor, overjoyed in seeing the other mech. 

“Sorry for the wait!” Brainstorm raced to Perceptor, frame still warm from his flight. Perceptor could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. “Did you miss me?” His optics were shuttered as wide as they could go to portray cutesy innocence. 

Perceptor only saw it as mad and crazed and ignored the way his processor recorded the image adoringly. 

Crossing his arms over the glass panel of his chassis, Perceptor glared. “ You requested this meeting.”

Brainstorm shrugged his shoulders, the careless gesture meaning nothing with optics so bright and so fond. “Missing each other can be mutual.” 

Dangerous words . Perceptor sneered to cover up the fluttering in his spark. Dangerous feelings.

“What do you want?”

“Always to the point,” Brainstorm’s optics glinted with mirth as he pressed closer, their faces a scant few inches apart. Perceptor took a step back to maintain distance but the scavenger before him only took it as a show of submission. “You act like you don’t enjoy our meetings.”

Whether he did or didn’t, Perceptor knows better than saying either aloud. Brainstorm was extra energetic today, far too willing to cross lines that could end things terribly for both of them. 

“Brainstorm.” Perceptor’s tone was sharp, a cutting warning. 

The jet simply waved him off, mood unaffected as he continued to eat up the distance between them to stay in Perceptor’s bubble. “Whatever, just know that I missed you. I even named my newest toy after you.” 

Perceptor processor stalled as it replayed the words, his fans clicking on embarassingly loud as warmth crawled across his plating. 

“ What ?”

“Processor out of the gutters, Perce,” Brainstorm tutted, waggingly a white digit in his face. “Gotta take me out for dinner before you get to know that kind of information.” Before Perceptor could retort, Brainstorm pressed a still too warm servo on Perceptor’s chassis. Perceptor immediately backed away but every set back he took, Brainstorm greedily took forward. “Don’t be shy. You’ll like it.”

Perceptor was not shy. He was, however, not comfortable with how close Brainstorm insisted on being. Not when this arrangement of theirs needed to stay professional, remain as business only. He made a noise of disapproval as Brainstorm reached for his subspaced, pulling out a gun and displaying it proudly. 

“I call him ‘Percy.’ Really, his name is ‘The Piercer’- get it ? But you know, he is inspired by you .”

“I can see that.” Perceptor commented dryly. Sure enough, the gun followed his colorscheme- black with accented white and an acrylic glass housing in a deep red -all the way down to the blinking yellow scope. It even had dials, though their function in the weapon was not apparent. It was a small detail that shouldn’t make Perceptor feel any fondness for the mad mech before him, and yet- “Why?”

Brainstorm rolled his optics. “Because it’s one of a kind. A work of art. An angel of destruction and death. It’s precise, sharp and pinpoint accurate, balanced to perfection,” Brainstorm praised, field awash with adoration that wrapped around Perceptor. “He does it all. Long range, short range, bludgeoning, piercing. I’m even adding an explosives mod to really make this thing boom.”

Perceptor, for a moment, was lost in Brainstorm’s rambling. The scavenger mech always had a special knack of weaponry, making deadly modification and horrific, monstrous inventions out of nightmares. In their meetings, the jet was quick to show them off, eager for Perceptor’s attention and desperate to show off his ingenuity. And try as he might, Perceptor found himself in awe each and every time. 

“Do you like it?” Brainstorm’s optics were burning as they bored into Perceptor. The fragile line between brilliant and crazed was ever-so clear.

In truth, his processor had already scanned and analyzed the weapon, his diagnostics pinging all the various weapon systems attached to it. Held together by bloodshed and violence, the rifle was primed for optimal destruction. In the right servos, it could lay waste to an entire army with a single pull of the trigger. The very thought of Brainstorm’s clever digits crafting such a hellish weapon brought a slight charge through his systems. The very notion that Brainstorm had designed such a weapon in Perceptor’s image was almost too much for his spark to take.

“It’s acceptable,” Perceptor dismissed, swallowing the building static climbing his intake. 

“One day you’ll change your mind and let me modify your rifle,” Brainstorm pressed in. “I’ll make you a gun so powerful not even Optimus could take you down.”

Horrible, terrible, tempting words. In this isolated cave, the two of them alone just inches from each other, it was almost easy to indulge in such a fantasy. He was quick to shake it away. He was not here to play with Brainstorm or follow his crackpot ideas. In truth, the jet had managed to stall for too long.

It was easy to find the true reason for their meeting, his optics darted to the quarrelsome briefcase dangling from Brainstorm’s servo. Innocuous but in truth deadlier than anything else the mech had created. Energon was leaking out of the seam, a steady drip down the side and leaving a glowing trail in its wake.

“Your message said you had something for me.”

“A gift,” Brainstorm purred, his turbine engine rumbling as he subspaced the gun to present the case. “My briefcase has a mass displaced but it only can carry so much, so I hope you don’t mind that I got started on the dismembering. Don’t worry, they're still online, just a bit lighter than originally forged.” 

The briefcase was held out for him and Perceptor was itching to snatch it. He had a long hit list of mech, any of which could have had the horrible misfortune of running into Brainstorm’s little rabid squad of hunters. It was almost touching when Brainstorm brought whomever it was to Perceptor’s pedes, like a good little turbopup. Eager to please and willing to do whatever it took. Perceptor had no doubt in his mind that Brainstorm had managed to curate his list and was seeking out Perceptor hits just so they could arrange such a meeting time and time again. He was hardly subtle but Perceptor found himself caring about that less each time.

He gingerly took the briefcase, unclipping it from Brainstorm and set it aside. He knew better than to leave Brainstorm unattended for too long and would prefer to see the mech he had been brought privately in the safety of his lab with all his necessary equipment. 

“Anything else?” Perceptor asked, optics cutting and sharp. 

“Percy,” Brainstorm whined, undoubtedly if Perceptor were to rip the blast mask away, there'd be a pout on his lip plates. He knew better than to trust this act though. Brainstorm loved to lull a mech with the childish act, only to attack. “Where’s my thank you?”

“What are you? A Decepticon?” Perceptor taunted, though it felt less like a warning and more exasperated fondness. They’ve done this act a few too many times.

“I’m not the one that plays hard to get when I’ve been so nice. I want my reward for my hard work.”

Perceptor let out a heavy exvent, though it was mostly for show. His spark pulse anxiously as he beckoned Brainstorm closer, finally allowing the jet to close the remaining distance between them. 

There should be no feelings in this, it was purely transactional. Anything more was dangerous, too soft, too fond, too trusting and Autobots don’t trust . Yet there was an undeniably fondness for the homicidal maniac clipping off his face mask to lean close. Yet there was an unquestionable softness in letting their lip plates press together, arms wrapped around each other to hold close. There was trust in knowing Perceptor wouldn’t rip out the jet’s spark and Brainstorm wouldn’t use one of the many horrible weapons to destroy him. 

There was a trust in knowing in a month, Brainstorm would leave him a new cryptic comm to meet in some secretive location to give him a gift.

#simpatico #brainstorm #perceptor #maccadam #mtmte #shattered glass #transformers #my fics #sg simpatico au

[fullmetalscullyy]

free pass to share/ramble/intellectually discuss/lecture/brainrot about your original fantasy work 👀 bc i would loveeee to hear it and we’re reviving ask culture and tumblr’s unique discussion mechanism babe ❤️

MEG MY BELOVED my love my darling tytyty for indulging me hehehe ilu and any excuse to talk about my new besties 😌🩷

OKAY SO. we have our main character, ailsa, my beloved, who lives w her sister, eilidh, and through various reasons and occurrences (still in the hand wavey stage) they end up travelling w ruaraidh (pronounced roo-ray), a stranger to them but who they get to know. and we have also have arran who ailsa and eilidh have know since they were kids and who is heart eyes, head over heels, in love w eilidh and who has big golden retriever energy. those two are too cute. i love this wee trio

OKAY. MAGIC TIME.

bc ofc i had to include magic

ailsa has a keen eye type magic which allows all her projectiles/weapons/etc hit their targets without fail. but tbh she's good enough on her own without it 😌 owls are my fave birds ever so i was thinking about them and how it might tie in (and maybe..... just maybe..... when i'm finally on holiday next week and get time and recharge, a little owl buddy might become her friend at some point...... 👀 if i'm gonna write a book i'm gonna live out my dreams, lbr 🦉)

eilidh has magic tied to fate~, but it's misunderstood in the world. ppl think she can alter things and shit (IF YOU HAD THE CHANCE TO CHANGE YER FATE. WOULD YE??) but she can't. just sees flashes and visions and gets vague feelings about what might happen. so they keep it quiet and on the down low. saves people bothering them about it and demanding more of her and her magic than is possible

arran, my bby boy, he's a healer. helps out everyone. he's like the go to "doctor" in their wee town. he's good vibes all round, bless his wee cotton socks

ruaraidh's magic is undecided as of yet but i have Ideas 👀👀👀 but he's looking to save his sister who has been taken prisoner, so through an incident and encounter, and prompt from eilidh who feels from her magic it's the right thing to do.... 👀 they all end up travelling together

ruaraidh is like. so in love w ailsa tho btw (HE FALLS FIRST STORIES omg 😩😩) and doesn't Realise that's what it is and then doesn't know how to deal which disconcerts him and he's not the warmest and she's like wtf is his problem. side eye.(AAAAAAH)

but... 😌 but.

aaaand...... i'm just gonna....leave this here.... 👀

so yeah. i've been going through it. now i just need to. sit down and write. story of my life lmao but hopefully next week inspo will hit!! and i'll get inspired to expand. manifesting it 🙏✨

#ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO ASK ME MORE ABOUT THIS ONE #and it's been a hot minute since i got an ask about my work this made my day!!! what a delight to wake up to :) #thank u my love MWAH #🩷🩷🩷 #ask #megthemighty #novel 2023

[lodilowdown]

Update Number 7

For my last day in Glasgow, I attempted to get the Botanic Gardens but managed to get myself on the right number bus but in the wrong direction - whoops. Took an impromptu adventure to the other side of town where I stumbled upon an adorable little park with a small zoo! It was super fun. Got to see some neat animals and also traverse the more suburban, lived-in part of Glasgow. Great fun off of an oops!

That night was the best night in Glasgow. Once again, got myself a little lost (directions aren’t my strongest suit) but managed to find a Nando’s. Nando’s was my intended destination, I just wound up getting to a different one. For those who don’t know, Nando’s is kind of a fast food restaurant but you do usually sit down to eat it. They sell piri-piri style chicken (I think South African style of cooking) with all kinds of fun sides. Joe and I loved Nando’s when we studied abroad, to the point of ordering giant bottles of their hot sauces on Amazon for an unfortunate sum of money… worth it.

A benefit of getting lost and needing to meander around town is I stumbled upon the Glasgow Christmas Market! It was super cute and I got to eat my first dessert crepe of the season (my favorite).

I am now on the Isle of Arran experiencing my magical glamping escape. This glamping pod is luxurious to the highest. As I write this, I am looking out over the ocean with not a human being in sight. The pod is also super high tech - the blinds all opened and the lights came on when I walked in for the first time and then the google home thing started saying hello to me. I’ve never lived around a Google home or Alexa situation so that was shocking to experience. The hosts also left me a welcome basket full of all kinds of yummy, locally crafted snacks which I have been feasting on since my arrival. This has overall been the most relaxing part of this trip so far. I left the pod for all of one hour yesterday and that was only because Joe begged me to go get a meat pie from the local bakery (it was amazing).

I’m heading back to Glasgow tomorrow to meet up with my mom for a few days. More adventuring to come :)

#isle of arran #update #glasgow

[melodyofthevoid]

hmmmm, 9 and 15 for the oc asks :D

What is your OC's creative outlet?

For Felix, he is a big music person, he's apt to pluck at his guitar at any time when he wants to express himself. He loves to write songs too.

Alexander is a writer of a lot of things. He writes poetry, journals, sometimes does little essays/narrative work. He also plays the violin but isn't much of a composer. Can sew but it's not his favorite

Diana does needlepoint/embroidery. It's cathartic for her to stab something and also make stuff. It gives her focus, plus she can repair her own garb if stuff tears. Yes she's a princess who has people for that but still.

Arran gardens! He likes to bring life.

Name something done for your OC that made them feel loved.

Oh man... For this one I'll do my heroes

For Siren, before it was her parents' support and her partner who supported her and helped her do good. Now, it's Simon helping to patch her up when she's at her lowest.

When Atlas had a surprise birthday, it was something that most people had forgotten before. It was one of the only ones he'd had that he didn't have to plan himself.

Seine and Ampere when Atlas had costumes made for them, and as they figured out their system together. It's nice to have someone watching your back.

#melody rambles

[wizisbored]

was gripped with the urge to write a flashback scene for the dragon au without any idea wether i will actually use it in the fic. so i have no idea if this is a sneak peek or a bonus scene but here, have charles meeting dragon lydia for the first time

Charles gets home on his wife’s day off to immediately meet her in the hallway - on her way to the living room, from the kitchen. There’s a huge smile on her face, a small shallow dish of something reddish-brown in her hands. Before he can ask, she puts a finger to her lips, still smiling, before pointing towards the living room doorway. Perplexed, Charles quickly toes off his shoes and follows her into the room, where she makes a beeline for the little pen set up in the corner. Charles pauses.

“It’s hatched?” he asks quietly.

Knelt on the floor now, Emily nods, her expression suddenly making a lot more sense. “Do you want to say hello?”

Charles approaches the enclosure carefully, as Emily sets the dish down beside a little wicker hide. He crouches beside his wife, behind the short fence, and peers into the hide.

Nestled inside, surrounded by blankets and little heat pads Emily has told him are to replace the body heat of clutch mates, is a ball of pure white fluff that looks small enough for him to hold in one hand. He can just about make out the vague shape of a head, and a lump that could be a wing, but any other detail is consumed entirely by snowy down. A tiny, sleeping dragon.

“I’m going to ask someone at the stable to double-check for me,” Emily says as she reaches in to very carefully stroke the hatchling’s forehead, “but I’m ninety percent sure she’s a little girl. So, Charles, meet Lydia.”

As he watches, Lydia opens her eyes; pupils as white as the rest of her, so big the red around them is barely visible. Emily pulls back her hand to let her clamber unsteadily to her feet, a tiny tail stuck straight out for balance.

“She can already walk?” Charles asks, watching the baby dragon slowly but surely make her way over to her dish on stubby little legs, tripping herself up as often as she takes a successful step, eyes fixed determinedly on her goal.

“More or less. She managed a whole three feet away from the nest earlier, and then sat down and started crying. I think she was lost.”

Charles chuckles at that. The hatchling has reached her dish now, and appears to be half-drinking, half-eating the contents.

“Dragon parents regurgitate food for the babies,” Emily explains. “So what she's got there is the finest artificial vomit.”

“Lovely.”

Lydia raises her head, forked pink tongue flicking out to lick at the food now coating her short snout, before opening her tiny mouth to let out a surprisingly loud “meep!”

“That- that’s what she sounds like?”

“Yep. You’re probably gonna be hearing that a lot.”

“Meep!”

“And I’m not going to apologise, because it’s adorable.”

“Meep! Meeh!”

“I didn’t know dragons squeak.”

“Little ones do.”

“MEEP!”

“Alright, alright, yes, I know, baby wants attention,” Emily says, reaching out to scoop Lydia up. “I’m sorry.”

She brings Lydia onto her lap, holding her in place with one hand while she takes a baby wipe from the pack sitting beside the pen. The hatchling shuts her eyes tight, pawing at Emily’s hand as she wipes the food from around her mouth.

“There we go, nice and clean. Good girl.”

Once the wipe is out of her face Lydia quickly settles down, closing her eyes contently as Emily lightly strokes her back. Charles can see, clearly, the love in his wife’s eyes as she looks down at the newborn. Smitten already.

“It’s… how you hoped it would be, then?”

“Better,” Emily nods. “Already, she’s so much better than I expected. I mean, just look at her, she’s gorgeous.”

Charles can’t pretend to be an expert on dragon aesthetics, but it isn’t hard to see that the hatchling is cute.

“And she’s so funny,” Emily continues. “It’ll be a bit until her personality really starts to come out, but she’s already made me laugh so much. I think she’s started imprinting on me too. Been squeaking at me a lot, haven’t you? Oh, and speaking of, do you want to hold her?”

“I- me?”

“No, the ghost sitting behind you. Yes, you! It’s helpful to introduce her to her whole household when she’s still little. And I want her to like you.”

“Okay, well, what do I-?”

“Just cup your hands in your lap.”

Charles does as instructed, watching nervously as Emily scoops Lydia up again and carefully places her into his hands. She barely weighs anything. He doesn’t dare move - she’s so teeny and structurally unsound, he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt her. Her eyes have gone wide, head whipping back and forth, tail sticking straight out again.

“Meep?!” she squeaks, clearly confused. “Me?”

“Give her a little scratch between the ears,” Emily suggests. Charles carefully slides one hand out from under the hatchling, and sticks out a pinkie to lightly stroke her head. She squeaks again, but quieter, and soon has her eyes shut once more. He can feel her pushing up against his finger, clearly enjoying the attention.

“She’s so tiny,” he remarks.

“Don’t sound so surprised, you saw the size of the egg.”

“I know I did, but- She’s really going to be big enough to ride one day?”

“Not for a good few years yet, but yes.” She reaches over to stroke Lydia’s back again, then looks up at him. “You should learn. We could go out together, I’m sure Klara would let you ride her royal grey.”

“Granted the dragons keep all four feet on the ground.”

“They need to pick up their feet to walk, Charles.”

“Yes, well. You know what I mean. But… Maybe I will.”

Emily smiles, and Lydia yawns, and gives her quietest squeak yet.

“Aw, I think she wants to go back to bed,” Emily says quietly. Charles lets her scoop the hatching back out of his hand and carefully return her to her little whicker hide, where she curls back into a ball of while fluff.

“Tuckered herself out already?”

“She’s only five hours old and she just met a giant. I’d be tired too.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Emily chuckles, then picks up the baby wipe she used to clean the hatchling’s face. “I’m going to go bin this.”

Charles nods, and Emily gets to her feet. As she leaves the room Charles moves to stand, but pauses when he hears another quiet “meep?” from the pen. Lydia is looking up at him again, eyes half closed.

“It’s alright, Lydia,” he tells her quietly. “Emily’s going to be back in a second.”

She blinks hard. Charles hesitates for a moment, before reaching in to scratch her head with one finger again.

“You’re a lucky girl, y’know?” he says as she shuts her eyes, poking her tongue out. “She’s a very special lady, and she’s wanted this for a long time”

“Meep.”

“I reckon you’re going to be the best-loved dragon in the world, Lydia.”

#dragon au #arran writes things

[oraclekleo]

Black Velvet Ribbon [Seventeen Fanfic]

Nothing special, just a short thing I felt inspired to write today. I might delete it from here later on.

It's only about 2.5 k words.

Including Seventeen members, especially Mingyu, and about 3 original characters.

It's more like a comedy and fluff, so don't get too excited. 😂

Black Velvet Ribbon

Godiva insisted on the horse ride, even when Freya warned her that the guests would arrive soon.

“So what? You have a housekeeper here. Mrs. Watkins knows what to do and she will give them a proper welcome and show them around even if you can’t be there.” Godiva smiled and pulled her sister’s arm.

Freya reluctantly followed her to the stables. Ever since Godiva married, she became more laidback and carefree. It was as if she grew younger. Which was a paradox because her husband was actually 16 years older than Godiva. And yet she blossomed in this marriage. Freya would never guess it could happen to her eldest sister out of all people. Godiva used to be overly strict and uptight, she had to be. Now she laughed often, her eyes sparkled with joy and it was clear to see she was in love with her husband. Freya was happy for Godiva and her happiness. However, sometimes she felt a little envious about it. Freya knew she wasn’t destined for anything like this ever happening to her for various reasons.

Freya pulled herself up to the saddle of her black mare she named Lucrecia and looked at the sky. “It’s about to rain, Godiva.” She noticed the heavy grey clouds above.

“And you are worried because you are made of sugar and could melt in the rain?” Godiva asked sarcastically when she got seated in the saddle of her pearly white stallion Lancelot, the gift from her husband.

Freya rolled her eyes. Godiva would be the first one to concern about appearance in the past. She wouldn’t go for a horse ride before the visit and especially not in stormy weather. That day she challenged Freya for a race.

Wonwoo was naturally picked as a driver of the second car due to him having an international driving licence. He was humming as he was watching the road and occasionally checking the GPS. It wasn’t necessary, though. He only needed to follow the mini van in front of him. He assumed that the manager driving knew where they were heading. It was supposed to be some old creepy mansion at the end of the world, or better say a small island in the far north of Scotland. The company picked the place as a perfect setting for their new music video but Wonwoo would prefer something closer to home.

Joshua was sitting on the passenger seat next to Wonwoo and he looked outside the window reading the road sign. He nodded and opened up a brochure all members of Seventeen were given but Wonwoo doubted anybody actually read it.

“Crowcall Hall was built in 1678 by Lady Sybil Marion Arran,” Joshua started reading out loud. “It’s situated on a Crow Isle in the North Sea, in between Orkney Isles and Shetlands. Currently the entire population of the island lives in the Crowcall Hall, which is the only house suitable for whole year inhabitation. The village Hollow Crow was abandoned in 1922 after the local population of sheep stock suffered from disease and was slaughtered completely. Locals had no other source of income and they left the island and moved away. The Crow Isle was completely abandoned until 2020 when the heiress of the estate and current owner of the entire Crow Isle, came to the estate and started with renovations.”

Joshua looked outside and noticed they were closing to the abandoned village of Hollow Crow. It looked rather bleak and scary. “What exactly is supposed to be the concept of this comeback? World after some disaster?” Joshua whispered as if the ghosts of people who left this place could hear him.

“Don’t panic,” Mingyu spoke from the backseat. “I assume the company wouldn’t let us sleep in a ruin. Does it say anything about the house and its current state?”

Joshua looked into his materials and turned a few pages, skipping the grim history of the island. “Here it is. It says that Crowcall Hall was completely renovated and it’s planned to serve as a hotel for prominent guests.”

“That’s us!” Mingyu called happily.

“I think we are the first guests after the renovation was completed. Maybe we are supposed to be the guinea pigs and test it.” Minghao noticed and opened the roof window of the car. He watched the heavy clouds getting darker and inhaled cold air mixed with the scent of wet soil and salty sea. It felt refreshing and he already liked this place. Maybe it didn’t look pretty but the wild and uncivilised beauty of nature appealed to him more.

“Here goes my hairstyle.” Mingyu growled when the wind filled the car. He opened the window on his side as it was already late to save anything and looked around. They were going through a wasteland of moors.

“We are going to arrive at the house soon,” Wonwoo announced.

Mingyu ignored him as he spotted a peculiar thing on the moors. Two horses were running fast in the distance, their riders encouraging them to run even faster. Mingyu squinted to see better. The riders were two women. One riding a white horse, wearing white clothes and her golden hair in two long braids flowing behind her. The other was her complete opposite - black horse carried a woman dressed in black with her dark hair loosely tied up. Mingyu unfastened the seatbelt and stood up on the seat to look out through the roof window.

“Hey, hey! Be seated, mate! We are still moving.” Wonwoo called.

Mingyu couldn’t hear him as his ears were full of wind blowing fast and he stared at the two girls on horses riding towards the storm. He noticed a stone wall standing ahead of them and the next second he watched both the horses flying above it as if they had wings. They easily jumped over the stone wall and galloped towards a large noble mansion. Mingyu assumed it was the Crowcall Hall and his heart skipped realising they have to live there as the rest of the island is not inhabited. He will meet them there!

Freya and Godiva arrived back to the stables laughing. They jumped down onto the ground and the stable groom took horses from them. Freya had to bend, she was hardly catching her breath after such a ride.

“You need to practise more.” Godiva laughed. She seemed utterly fine with such a tempo and her cheeks grew only slightly pink, while Freya felt as if hers were catching on fire and she felt sweat streaming down her spine underneath her thick black clothes.

“I was wondering where you two disappeared.” The deep and calm voice belonged to Simon Archer, Duke of Yewbow, Godiva’s handsome husband and the head of the UK’s Secret Intelligence Service. He could hardly become any more perfect. Freya didn’t like him at first as he seemed cold and reserved at first sight. It was his professional mask and once he felt comfortable enough to drop it, it turned out that Simon was actually a bright and fun companion.

“I needed to move!” Godiva smiled at her husband and draped her arms around his neck offering him her lips for a kiss.

Simon instinctively placed his hands on her hips and smiled at her. “I should be concerned that horse rides make you feel horny.” He whispered against Godiva’s lips before kissing her. He lifted his head with his chest heaving. “I’m not concerned enough to say no to you.”

Godiva giggled, grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

“Your guests arrived!” Simon called Freya over his shoulder. “They are settling in, there were no problems.” He managed to say before Godiva dragged him into the house.

Freya nodded and decided not to imagine what Godiva and Simon are going to do for the upcoming hour or two. She reached her hair to fix them with the black ribbon she put in this morning. “Oh no!” Freya realised she had to lose the ribbon while riding. It was her favourite one. It was black velvet ribbon decorated with silver embroidery and rimmed with black lace and white pearls. It was a gift from her sister Grace and Freya was deeply attached to it. She should go welcome the guests but she’s already late, nothing will change if she looks for the ribbon first now.

Freya started to go back her tracks and hoped the ribbon fell off somewhere near. She was searching on the pavement around the stables but there was not a trace of it. Freya moved to the garden through which they rode back. Searching in the grass was a bit more difficult. She bent down and brushed through the wet grass with her fingers but she found nothing. “Where are you, you blasted thing?” She moaned for herself. If she lost it somewhere on the moors, she will never find it. Why did she even agree to race with Godiva?

“Are you looking for this?”

Freya turned quickly to the unfamiliar voice and stood in front of a handsome, tall, dark stranger. He was holding her black ribbon in between his long slender fingers and swaying with it temptingly.

“Ah! Yes!” Freya tried to grab the ribbon but he lifted up above his head. She couldn’t reach there. Freya wasn’t exactly short but he was still taller. “It is mine.” She said and looked into his dark gleaming eyes.

“How can I be sure? Close your eyes and describe it in detail to me. If your description fits, I will trust you it’s yours.” He said with a slight cheeky smile.

Freya frowned. What kind of game is he playing here? She would start to argue with him but something in his eyes told her that it would be quicker to play by his rules than to try to put him in his place. At least for now. Freya rolled her eyes before closing them. “It’s a black velvet ribbon,” she started with the description and tried to recall all the tiniest details.

Mingyu smirked and started circling her. He was checking her thoroughly while she was describing the piece of hair accessories. She was relatively tall, Mingyu would guess her to be over 170 cm tall, she was slender, maybe too much for his taste. Her cheeks were still burning from the horse ride and her dark brown hair was falling down her back like a dark chocolate waterfall. She was wearing a thick black turtleneck, black tight riding trousers and black riding boots. She was clearly nervous because Mingyu noticed her fingers shaking a little. He stopped behind her back and started to divide her hair into three streams. He nearly chuckled when she twitched and gasped. “Carry on, don’t stop.” He told her, the black ribbon hanging on his neck while he started to braid her hair.

“And I don’t know how to put this more clearly but it’s a black velvet ribbon and it’s mine.” She finished at the same time Mingyu was done braiding. He fixed the end of the braid with her black ribbon and then put it on her chest so she could see her ribbon back in her hair. “You convinced me,” Mingyu whispered to her ear, fanning it with his hot breath.

She stepped away from him and turned to face him. “But you didn’t convince me, sir.”

“We just met,” Mingyu said calmly and stepped closer to her again, “give me a bit more time.”

“Please, be a gentleman!” Freya took a step back again.

“Make me!” He dared her while walking towards her again.

Freya kept on walking backwards but then she hit a tree trunk and couldn’t escape. “You shouldn’t do this.” She said.

“What exactly am I doing? We are just talking, aren’t we?” Mingyu put his hands on the tree around her head and caged her there.

“I won’t talk to a man who’s not a gentleman, sir.” Freya replied and pressed her lips.

Mingyu looked into her baby blue eyes. Then he stepped away from her. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. Please allow me to escort you back to the house. The weather in the garden is too cold today.” He declared, half serious, half sarcastic. He offered her his arm so she could hook into it.

Freya watched him with mixed feelings. It would look ridiculous if she refused and walked on her own to the house while he would go in the same direction. She took a deep breath and hooked her arm with his. They walked through the garden together and Freya could feel his eyes on her face. She made sure not to make eye contact with him again. His eyes were making her nervous in a completely new and unknown way. Her skin felt like buzzing with electricity and she felt her ears burning. It was foolish! There was no reason for her to have a dry mouth right now. Freya instinctively licked her lips and heard his breath getting stuck for a second. She made a promise to herself never ever to make eye contact with him and lick her lips again. Who is he, anyway? One of the guests, obviously. Why did she even agree to have some korean boy band here? She was doing a favour to her sister Victoria who married a Korean idol and actor and lived in Seoul with him, that was why. These family ties were causing her troubles lately. First Godiva made her lose her ribbon and now Victoria indirectly made Freya feel the entire zoo in her stomach because of this mysterious stranger on her arm.

They finally arrived in the house and Freya jumped away from him as if she was stung by a wasp. “I’m sorry! I haven’t introduced myself.”

“Neither did I.” He said. “My name is Mingyu. Nice to meet you.”

“Mingyu… Right! I’m doct… I’m lady Freya Arran. Welcome to Crowcall Hall. I hope you have a pleasant stay. Now excuse me. I have to check something in the kitchen.” Freya made a curtsey which was unnecessary and she felt like a complete fool afterwards.

Mingyu played along, though and bowed to her deeply and theatrically. She quickly left, nearly running to the kitchen.

“Here you are!” Joshua stepped to Mingyu. “We have wondered where you went. Now I see you were searching for chicks again. Who is it?”

“She said she was lady Freya Arran.” Mingyu replied and he reluctantly followed Joshua to reunite with his members.

“Seriously? You are on a hunt for 10 minutes and hit on the owner of this entire island? Man! I wish I knew your tricks!” Joshua laughed.

“I didn’t know that…” Mingyu said lost in his thoughts. So she was the owner of this place. Why would she go all the way to search for such a trinket when she could clearly afford to buy hundreds of ribbons? Was it a sentimental thing for her? Was it a gift? A gift from a man? A gift from someone she loved? And that someone wasn’t Mingyu. For some reason it felt like a truly bitter pill to swallow. Jealousy? Why should Mingyu be jealous? He barely knows the woman. He has no right to become jealous. And yet he felt the thorny spike of jealousy hurting him deep down.

#oracle kleo #kpop fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #mingyu

[68spidey]

Done got my ass tagged in a WIP game

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!)  I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!! I have a shitton of wips, it’s not even funny. This is all from one of three folders at least. They’re not fandom specific but a lot of them you can probably figure em out!

1. ramona she’s my collar

2. that awkward moment when your brother gets mutated into a gnarly beast

3. one man and one free can

4. ramona WELL..

5. cozy sniper redraw

6. leo and babies

7. leo ANIMAL INSIDE OF ME v edgy blueberry

8. untitled freemance affection

9. black thunder_keaton redraw

10. magic_stiles redraw again

11. spy vs bonesaw

12. sniper n scout redraw

13. slemnder is a giant stickbug

14. oh he angy

15. PAY ATTENTION

16. hard to be the one that survives

17. dance dance revolution bro

18. codywan redraw thing

19. cody and vix share coffee and trauma

20. slade is assigned himbo apparently

21. excited butt wiggles

22. tmnt doodles what the boys do in their spare time

23. i can’t stop seeing you SAINW REDRAW

24. alyx! dog! alyx! dog! i dont know how to draw dog! or alyx!

25. barney likes to give cheek kisses yes

26. bug dad scritchies uwu wuu

27. freemance snugglies and gordon stop chewing on your pencil

28. gorbon barmey alx lgbt pride

29. gordons a bad bitch u cant kill him

30. keep ur glasses on u moron

31. in the night

32. september 9th redraw again Tagging some peeps I suppose (thanks for tagging me in the first place @turtle-ika, now all of MY wips are haunting me!) @my buddy arran if he sees this @hamsterandturtlesoup @penzillathepup I really dont know a lot of other creators lol I’m p reclusive 

#wip tag #i'm being haunted by my procrastination it would seem #sheeeeesh #tag game

[adventurefinnwrites]

"Gone in the Night"

This is just a silly little writing piece that I did one day. Feel free to buy me a Ko-Fi (link in bio). Thank you! May be triggering as it features pregnancy and d*ath

Elira knew it was wrong, she knew the repercussions if she got caught, yet still, she found herself packing a sack with the basics in it. She had witnessed many things since she had come back home, things which she had wished she would be able to forget. Elira had always known she was different from the others in her family, her dragon egg had not hatched in its cradle when she was born. She had tried to claim three dragons to no avail. This had caused her father to not like her as much as her younger sister Rhaenyra, maybe that was why she had been able to see as much as she had. Elira had been there when her mother had been cut open to bring forth a boy who lived a few hours. She had been there when her father had left the tourney in a hurry, she had followed him silently as a shadow and lurked in the doorway as the maester spoke to her father. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything other than the absurdity that he had proposed. He was going to kill her mother and he did. Elira was frozen. She did nothing to stop it, this had been something she regretted more than anything. The memory made her stomach turn and she felt herself getting emotional, she shoved it down and resumed her mission for the moment. As she folded the last simple gown she had,  Elira thought about the babe growing in her stomach.         ​​​​​​​Nobody in her family had known about the babe. Nobody except for her dear mother who had taken her secret to her grave. Elira had been married to a man before she had come home to Kings Landing, Arran Mormont- a daring and cocky lad, but Elira had grown fond of him. There was one thing that nobody besides the Mormonts had known, Arran had a faint heart. It would flare up after he exerted himself. From the time that Elira had arrived, she had been taught how to soothe Arran when he was having one of his fits. The two spent a lot of time together as husband and wife, he never forced Elira to do anything with him and everything felt natural. She had loved him but not in a romantic way. When his heart finally gave out she had felt sad that she had not helped more and she spent many nights in mourning, but right before his death she had discovered she was with child. That child had changed the way that Elira viewed the world and her actions. This was how she had come to this decision, the only other person who knew of the babe was her sworn knight, Ser Orin.         ​​​​​​​Ser Orin had been the man who helped Elira see that things were unfair, although he had been loyal to her father, for some reason there was a pull to him that Elira could not explain. She had often found herself stating things which she wouldn't have told anyone before. She knew it was crazy, he could be killed for deserting his post and yet... one day as they walked through the garden, Elira found herself asking him what would he say if she wanted to leave. Orin pondered the question for a moment before stating it was his duty to protect her, that he would follow to ensure her safety. It was madness, but after her sister had been named the heir Elira gave him a fortnight to prepare for the journey. One which she had been questioning now, she rested a hand on her stomach and gently rubbed the small bump before she spoke softly, "This is the right thing... for both of us, I promise to keep you safe Little Bear. You will never know the sorrows which I have known." she swore, just as she lifted the sack to leave she let out a surprised yelp when she heard her uncle's voice

“Such a sweet thing to promise, I do hope you intend to keep that.”

        Elira whipped around, looking at Daemon with a distrusting gaze, but her eyes shifted down noticing the dragon egg resting in his hands. Immediately her mistrust turned to confusion, “Did my father send you?” she asked. She had known that spies were watching over her, making sure that she did as her father asked.  Daemon had always been there to support her, he told her that in some lights she had been like him- impulsive and emotional. These qualities others mistook for weakness, something to pity. It had been Daemon who had taken her to try and claim the wild dragons on Dragonstone each time, and each time he had been there to comfort her when she had not been able to claim one. Daemon shifted the bluish-grey egg in his hand as he spoke, “I heard you planning your leave with Ser Orin, I thought every Targaryen deserves an egg in their cradle,” Daemon said and stepped closer, setting the egg in her hands with an encouraging smile, “You better go Elira, time is not your ally”. Elira stared at her uncle is disbelief, he had stolen an egg for her... he knew about the babe. She wanted to ask him how he knew, who had told him, but she simply pulled the sack down and placed the egg inside with care before rushing forward and hugging Daemon briefly, "Thank you uncle..." she whispered in Valyrian. Daemon returned the hug before gently nudging her to the door, "I will keep my brother occupied for as long as I can. Hurry Elira, and do write me when you have gotten to where you are heading."         Elira walked out of her room in a hurry, the words of her uncle echoing in her mind, and soon a smile had formed on her face. She had support, someone who knew what she was going through. She owed a debt to her uncle. Elira hurried down the hall, pressing herself against the wall to allow others to pass her. She had spent the fortnight preparing, mapping out the routes and the staff's habits. When she made it to their meeting place, Elira felt relief seeing Orin waiting with his bag. When he caught sight of her, relief filled his features. "Princess I was worried you had changed your mind" Orin stated and set a hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her towards the secret tunnel which lead them out of the castle. Once they were inside and Elira's nerves had calmed she looked at him with a serious expression, "I know, my apologies... its just Elira now, from this day I am no longer a Targaryen." she told him. They walked in silence for a bit, as they came out of the tunnel and Elira saw the two horses she felt the jitters coming back, she went to the grey mare and started to mount her, but Orin came up beside her and helped her up... she wanted to tell him she could do it herself, but the words never left her throat. "You will always be a Princess to me... I wish it were you who was to be Queen. You would make a good one" Orin told her, her cheeks flushed and she quickly reined her horse into a gallop unsure of what to say. She didn't know how long had passed, they had taken a rode less traveled and soon her worries began to surface. Would the Mormont family be willing to help as she had hoped? Or would they turn her back to her father? What would happen to Daemon? He stole an egg, surely if he was discovered then he would be in trouble. As they made camp for the night, Elira found herself watching Orin chew on some dried meat, "Why would you help me? This can cause your death." she asked and the response she had received made her heart flutter. "If I die protecting you Princess, it will be an honorable death... I want to see you happy."

#commissions open #fiction #house of the dragon #oc x oc ship #oc x oc #not a commission #fanfiction #my otp

[arranjackson-a2-blog]

Peer Feedback

Aidan Metcalfe 21/4/23: It is clear throughout the blog that a lot of care and detail has been put in with a large amount of information in the blog, There is no real problems with the blog except for it being formatted in a way which makes it harder to look at where it starts also one of the mind maps has a scuffed circle drawn on which makes it look very unprofessional, other than that there is a lot of detail in the blog and it is clear that you have done enough research.

I understand where Aidan is coming from in terms of the layout it is difficult to navigate to the start, to remedy this I intend to add a contents post which will be pinned to the top of the post making it easier to navigate. I intend to fix the mind map at a different date

Julia Manders 2/5/23: overall your blog is very detailed the actual contents of it is really good and it's clear you wanted to go into extensive detail in your research but i feel like the blog looks a little plain, it might be good to at least get some urban photography scattered throughout to make it slightly more eye catching other than that the contents are really good everything's really detailed and organised and well thought out you've made everything very clear of what you want to do and how you want to do it very clear and well thought out to anyone looking.

I understand what Julia is talking about when it comes to the blog looking somewhat plain and have amended this by adding some images to some of the more bland slides. I am happy with the amount of research I have conducted and that it is paying off.

Aidan Metcalfe 16/5/23:

Idea generation and idea development brings you to the same page, the mind map in themes still looks unprofessional, location recce tab takes you to the production log and in alpha testing 1 the video cant be played. If you ignore those issues you have a great blog with lots of detail and explanation as well as examples for a lot of things to break up text and give readers better understanding of your points.

I did not notice that the contents page had these issues making it very helpful for someone to point it out so that I could fix the issues and still haven't had chance to fix the themes mindmap. It is very helpful that these issues have been pointed out so that I can fix them before submission.

1: Daniela Link back all of the research to how it will affect the final piece and how it will be undertaken. Arran, you have made a great start to this project. Your blog is looking aesthetic and you have conducted a range of research work. In order to maximise your work, ensure that you are linking all of your research back to your project and how it will influence what you decide to do.

I can see where they are coming from that I need to link all of my posts to the final piece which will allow me to achieve a higher grade I have linked back all of the research to the final piece and how I will use/be influenced by the information learned during the research phase

2: Tracey Make sure you continue to proof-read your script – looking for any errors in SPAG and consider getting a peer to read your script and give you some feedback. This will allow you the opportunity to develop your work.

It is important to proof read work so that it is as professional as possible I have proof read my script and continued to write it in a way to flow

3: Ben You are slightly behind on your task list, please be sure to use it. You’ve developed some high-quality storyboard but be sure to still use your original ones and write about how and why you improved them. Great to see you’ve wrote your script and found your locals. Consider refining your visual style though some experimentation.

Overall it is important to use old content to show the development of a piece and how I have furthered myself I have updated my task list to make sure that I am back on schedule and working effectively as well as have

4: Aaron: You have a good layout, Arran. Your work so far is looking quite strong. The layout of your blog can get a bit confusing and mixed up as the storyboard keeps appearing. Be careful to SPAG your work and remember capital letters. Your research is looking good, however remember to link it all back to your project. You have discussed colour theory for Urban, but how will you use this within your work. With other parts of research, try to include visual elements and remember to link it back to your project.

I need to get on producing and organising actors so that we can start to film. Which is proving more difficult than anticipated I have edited my research posts so that they link and also so that they are more engaging including pictures.

5: Emily: Well done, Arran. You have a production log, but do you have a production schedule that highlights what you plan to do each day? Your schedule would be extremely helpful for not only yourself but your crew if in industry.

I possibly need to upload a few documents that I may have forgotten to add to my blog but overall everything is there. I have updated my schedule and included all of my production documents

6 Andy: A good looking blog, Arran. Try to ensure you are using media appropriate terminology throughout. For example, you refer to a test shoot as an ‘alpha test’, this is something common in software development but not in media production. Keep your writing reflective, think about how techniques have developed and where they came from. It is important to reflect on what you have research and how it impacts your final product.

I understand where Andy is coming rom with the technical language and will correct this mistake asap Reflective writing is important as it shows an understanding as well as the development process. I have changed the titles as well as written in a more reflective manner both in the older posts as well as in my final evaluation.

[somelazyassartist]

1, 8, and 50 for the oc ask game with any oc!!

I'll go with Hallows just since she's the main one I post about!

From this ask game

Do they have any crafting hobbies?

I wouldn't necessarily call it crafting, but she does know how to make poison! Loves the mad scientist aesthetic even though she's *technically* not an Artificier lol. She knows how to paint pretty alright in some Waterdhavian people's opinion. But since the most valued art form in Arran Thalas is painting, and there are many Bard Schools that place an emphasis on the art, it's very clear to most people from Arran Thalas that Hallows is very much a beginner painter and hasn't had proper training. She also knows how to mend small tears in clothes (a skill sure sort of had to learn while she was a vagabond) but she's not very good at sewing in general.

Do they collect anything? If so what and why?

Answered this one here!

What is your favorite thing about them?

Autistic transgender swag. Okay but seriously she's been a huge help to me sorta figuring out my whole identity thing, and even though we're disabled in slightly different ways it's still really important to me that she is disabled, and so even if I didn't really enjoy drawing and writing about her she'd still be really important to me because of that.

#asks #hallows #worldbuilding

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Severed

Read on AO3

It always surprised Jamie Fraser, the things that made him think of Claire Beauchamp. Along with the usual triggers—the gut punch when he caught a whiff of someone wearing her signature perfume, the seizing of his heart when his eyes were automatically drawn to messy brown curls on a stranger walking down the high street, the ache in his chest when someone walked past who had the same cadence as her laugh—it was the small, unexpected ones that hurt the most.

He could be walking into the village and see her hair in the colours of the water as it ruffled over the rocks in the burn, so real to him that it felt as though he could reach out and tangle it through his fingers. His carefully curated playlist would end and Spotify would betray him, blasting a song that he had kept at bay, conjuring memories of the two of them dancing like fools on the nights that they laughed so loud that it seemed even the walls shook as they brushed their teeth in the cramped bathroom of their dorm.

It was torture. A delicious kind, but torture nonetheless. One that he had thought to turn into prose—at the recommendation of his therapist. It had been explained to him that grief and loss were themes that could be explored in ourselves if we attempted to write them from another’s perspective. And so here he was now, years after she had left him, sitting at his late father’s desk with a whisky in one hand and a pen in the other, trying to make sense of what had happened and how he had ever been stupid enough to watch silently as her light, his Sorcha, slipped from his life.

On yet another night spent in the same position—the room dark with only a lamp beside him to illuminate the black moleskin notebook—he reclined, the chair creaking under his weight. His father’s old office chair, with it’s worn leather and rusty hinges, wasn’t built to accommodate a man of his size but he’d found that it actually helped to coax the words from his brain, as though the physical discomfort made his emotional pain easier to access. He seemed to need a little nudge to allow himself to sink deeper into parts of his past that he had spent so long trying to keep locked away.

When the whisky finally made him brave enough to open the door, the memories flooded out onto the paper: the sight of her pink lips pouted in frustration as she struggled to lift her belongings from the boot of the taxi on the first day of university, the first time she laughed at one of his terrible jokes (why do the French only use one egg to make an omelette, Sassenach? Because one is an oeuf!), the first time he helped her into her coat and his fingertips brushed the skin behind her ear (their maiden voyage to the on campus coffee house, faces taut in disgust as they realised that their unrelenting back and forth had caused their coffees to go cold). He wrote about falling in love with his best friend and why he had wasted so much time worrying about how to tell her.

Jamie had spent hours, days, months, sitting in his father’s chair, consumed by the fruitless pursuit of trying to plot the points of their relationship. Although he could vividly picture the scenes, he didn’t recognise the people anymore. He had been young, too young by half to know what he wanted out of life and she had been more than he could have dreamed of. He had fallen in love with her instantly, as he was sure most people did at the sight of one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. But that was years ago and they had both changed, she was living her life in Boston as a brilliant surgeon while Jamie languished in Lallybroch, living in his old bedroom while his sister and her family had the run of the house.

The burn of the whisky slipping down his throat was a pleasant distraction but the batch still made his eyes water slightly and he made a mental note to tell Ian that the recipe could still do with some tweaking before it could be sold under the Mac Dubh name. He had made a modest success of himself, that was true, now the creator of the fourth highest selling whisky in Scotland. Broch Tuarach had changed from a small farming village that nobody really knew of to the home of one of Scotland’s largest and most successful distilleries, and Jamie was often credited with bringing jobs and tourists to the village in numbers that hadn’t been seen before. There had been a boom in the local economy allowing the village to thrive and he was seen as a pillar of the community, people jokingly referring to him as Laird, or the more familiar Himself, when he passed them in the street although the official title was held by some landowner that lived down south somewhere and had only stepped foot in the area once.

Still, he thought, this batch wasn’t ready for marketing just yet. Jamie put the glass down, rubbed his tired eyes with his even more tired fingers and decided to call it a night, making his way down the hall to his bedroom. His limbs felt heavy as he went through the motions of getting ready for bed. Finally stripping off his shirt and jeans and crawling under the covers, he cast a cursory glance at the phone he had left charging on the bedside table.

Sassenach

Missed call 23.02

He screwed his eyes shut before opening them again as if to knock some sense into them but the notification was still there. The rough pad of his thumb hovered over it, almost afraid that if he attempted to open it, it would cease to exist. He pressed the lock button once to blacken the screen, paused, and then pressed it again to bring it into view and still it remained.

It must have been an accident, a slip of the hand while she was trying to call someone else. He reminded himself of the time difference, it would be the early evening where she was and she could be tired after a long day or maybe even rushing between surgeries. She probably hadn’t even noticed that she had called him. He had to fight his inflating ego when he considered the fact that she still had his number, but blushed in shame as he recalled the frightened face of the poor spotty teenage lad in the phone shop who he had made swear that he wouldn’t lose any contacts or photos when he upgraded to his new handset.

Realising that he was now sat straight up in his bed, his heart beating a slightly faster staccato than usual, he opened the notification. Just seeing her name (or rather, his name for her) on his screen again did things to his body that he wasn’t in control of. His hands felt clammy while his mouth was dry. This was different than just scanning her Facebook page in the dark, looking at her perfectly posed pictures that she chose to share, and lamenting the absence of candids that he had so loved taking when they were friends. She found one of them once, one he had snapped of her the day that they had taken the ferry over to the Isle of Arran for a few nights. Knowing that she didn’t have any remaining family, he had insisted that she spend the summer break from university at Lallybroch with his family and she had happily accepted. However, after a few nights in Jamie’s massive ancestral home, filled with more Fraser bodies than they could count, he promised to take her away for a few days of peace and had driven her to the ferry terminal at Claonaig without divulging their destination. They had been blessed with a beautiful summer’s day for the crossing to Lochranza and he’d thanked God that he managed to keep his breakfast in his stomach. Or rather, that he almost had until they were in sight of the island. Jamie had burst from his seat and had made it to the toilet just in time for his stomach to erupt, sweat dampening his brow until his wame was empty. Shivering and definitely worse for wear but at least grateful in the knowledge that there was nothing else to come up, he had returned to the deck of the ferry to see Claire out in the sun, her forearms resting on the railing as she looked out over the water. The way that her hair whipped up in the wind made Jamie’s chest tighten and before he knew it, he had taken out his phone and snapped a picture.

Months later, Claire had snagged his phone from the table of the bar that they were sat in, too quick for Jamie. She quipped an eyebrow at him in victory, chastising him that he had yet to show her pictures of his latest niece when she stumbled across the photo. He watched as her throat bobbed, swallowing emotion that he wished he could taste before looking at him straight in the eye. Without being asked, he told her that he couldn’t help himself. And she smiled shyly before cooing about Jenny’s new daughter.

The memory flooded his senses and Jamie closed his eyes, filling his lungs with a deep breath for a count of four, holding it for a count of four and then letting it out for six in a vain attempt at calming his racing mind. His whole body felt as though it was vibrating, alive for the first time in what he could remember at the mere <em>thought</em> of Claire Beauchamp.

It took Jamie a second to realise that the vibration wasn’t coming from his body. Or rather, it was, but from a specific part of his body. His hand, the one that was holding his phone, was shaking rhythmically, the screen bright against the darkness of the rest of the room.

Sassenach calling…

The breath jittered from his lungs as he tried to take a steady breath. Watching, almost as though someone else was moving his body as he thumb accepted the call and he slowly raised the phone to his ear.

“Claire?”

On the other end of the phone, he heard her let out a heavy breath. His heart seized as he listened to her break, all too familiar with the sound of her crying.

“Claire, are ye hurt? Tell me what’s—“

“Frank is dead.”

Ice fell heavy in his chest at the sound of her voice before he even took stock of the words that she had uttered. To hear her voice again.

“Oh, lass… Mo chridhe, I am so sorry,” he whispered the words, truly meaning them as he wished for nothing but her happiness. Anything to bring her from the pain that she was feeling.

“He— oh God, he’s dead. He’s really dead.”

He knew in that moment that he would cross oceans for her simply to bring her peace. He had always known the truth of what they shared, how he responded to her call but nothing had prepared him for the tsunami of pure need that he would experience when he heard her cry down the phone about her dead husband.

“I’m sorry, mo chridhe, I’m so sorry,” he repeated at the sound of her hyperventilating, his shoulders creeping up around his ears as he wished he could bear the pain for her, “What do you need, Claire? Anything.”

“He’s in the ground,” she whispered as though saying it out loud would make it more true, “God, Jamie, I don’t know what to do.”

Hearing his name fall from her lips was a balm that he didn’t know his soul needed. The hairs on his arms stood to attention as a shiver rippled through him, clenching his jaw to steady himself and give her his full attention.

“Do ye have people around ye, Claire? Have ye folk in Boston?”

#light across the seas that severed #clandonnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au