#flow shelving systems

[ethics-infinity]

#HEAVY DUTY RACKING SYSTEM #Pallet Flow Racking #Slotted Angle Shelving #Sliding Shelving Rack

[readychilledwine]

Dying thinking about rhys literally pining and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just. completely clueless about it 💀 and she thinks it's just rhys being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!"

Subtle

Summary - Rhys is ready to lay it all onto the table when he gets home from his time in captivity. He just hopes you're as ready as he is.

Warnings - fighting, drinking, inner circle board game night, implied smut

A/N - Cassian would absolutely dominate Risk. I almost felt guilty using it as my inspiration for the game night piece. This was fun to write. Definitely going to have to do some more in terms of family game night with the Inner Circle and my readers/ocs

Ps - gif is how I imagine Cassian and Azriel.

He promised himself when he came home from the mountain, he would court you. Truly court you. Gifts, dates, everything. 

The bond had snapped for him a few years before Amarantha took them all hostage, but you had just recently been saved from a temple, and he wanted to give you time to heal before he advanced. 

In the time you two spent together, he discovered you enjoyed similar things. During your time at the temple, you had begun to study the stars, the solar system, theories on the galaxy. He used that to his advantage, claiming he just wanted to meet with someone who shared his passion and hobby. 

You were welcomed into the Inner Circle as his head scholar within a year. There wasn't a single thing in that library you could not transcribe or find, and it proved to be quite helpful for the Shadowsinger and his studies of old court alliances and traditions and for Cassian as he began to study ancient warfare. 

You all sat at your first family dinner in 50 years, enjoying the free flowing wine, the light conversation. You were watching Rhys subtly, and he you. After dessert, he stood, walking over to you and offering you his hand before leaving to his office with you.

"About fucking time," Cassian mumbled under his breath, and the table nodded.

Rhysand sat you down in his office. "I missed you," he said gently. "I missed my time alone with you. Forgive me for pulling you away from our friends."

You shook your head, a smile settling on your face. "There's nothing to forgive. What did you want to talk about?"

It was too soon for him to say what he wanted, too soon to be this forward, so he decided to gently introduce you to his affections. "It doesn't matter what we talk about, y/n. I just want to be around you."

Over the next month, he took his time with you. He showered you with gifts ranging from jewelry to new books on the stars, to clothing. His touches when you two were alone became more intimate and lingering. 

You wrote it off as him introducing himself to touch with someone he trusted again, not believing Rhysand, the most attractive male fae in existence, would ever want you or find you beautiful.

He began dropping all subtleties two months into his new behavior. In front of the Inner Circle, an arm would go behind your shoulders. He'd play with your hair. He'd rest a hand on your knee or lower thigh. 

For tonight's family game night, you were in charge of picking the board game, and Rhys stood behind you as you looked over the countless shelves. "Azriel is off tomorrow," you recounted softly. "Amren is actually interested in playing." He watched your delicate finger move over to more complicated games. "But if I pick something too difficult Mor and Cassian will leave." Rhys admired you in affectionate silence still. "And you and I will bicker no matter what we play because," you turned him, one of the Inner Circles absolute favorite battle mapping and strategy games in hand. You deepened your voice, raising a perfect brow at him. "My name is Rhysand, I am the most intelligent high lord, and I can never be wrong." 

He smirked, almost truly purring like a pleased cat, as he replied. "Well, if you believe so, darling, and I believe so, it must be true." You could help but giggle, holding the game out to him. "We haven't played this in years, y/n." 

They had purchased it to teach you battle planning and rationing, not realizing it would soon become a game that your teams 3 would enjoy so much and become so passionate about that arguments would ensue over who was the most capable. 

You were always teamed with Cassian and Amren. Your two friends took you under their wings, for Cassian quite literally, and would use the game and your turns as education moments. 

"Amren said if I picked well enough, she'd stay and play." You smiled up at him. "Maybe you could switch her and Mor so she isn't dealing with such a handicap?"

Rhys made a face of confusion at you. "You are not a handicap, darling," he tilted your face up to his with two fingers under your chin. "I never want to hear those words fall from your mouth again. Now, to the game room."

The two of you went up the stairs, several bottles of alcohol and the board game in hand, and the room went silence when they saw that familiar painted terrain box. 

Cassian was the first to jump up, immediately clearing more space on the table. "I'm fucking you up this time, Az."

The shadowsinger shook his head, rearranging the chairs and staring his brother down. "Over my dead body, Cassian."

Amren immediately took her spot, one one that'd normally be on your right, and Cassian the one on the left. The two of them patted the chair eagerly staring at you despite knowing they were about to lose. 

Azriel and Rhys were making eye contact. A smile ghosting the face of the shadowsinger. Rhys began slowly, setting the bottles down. "I was thinking we could change the teams a little. Mor with you two, and y/n with Azriel and I."

Cassian covered a laugh with a cough and Amren's face turned into that of a feral cat. Mor also wore a shameless smirk as she took your seat. 

Azriel ushered you to the table, setting you in the middle chair. He was near your ear and said softly. "Just follow our lead, study what we're doing, and remember all the books we read, okay? You will do fine." Rhysand and him sat next to you. 

This was not a fair team. You had expected him to switch Amren and Mor, leaving still fairly even odds, but now Cassian's side was stacked. 

The commander of the Illyrian and Night Court's army who mapped battles out for fun.

An ancient being who studied bloodshed and battles for fun, openly commenting on where armies and nations mess up.

And Mor. Mor who lead battalions as a female. Mor who was Rhysand's last resort.

You bit your lip, immediately feeling insecure. Stop it, Rhysand said gently into your head. We have an advantage here, remember?

You kept a neutral face, feeling something being built into your mind. This is cheating, Azriel's deep voice then said. We should do this to beat Cassian more often. You heard soft flows of whispers in your mind, almost causing you to drop the calm face. You get used to them, the two males said together. They're very, very helpful. Rhysand purred. 

You leaned back taking a deep breath and studying the map of the eastern and western contenants and countries. "Y/n," Cassian said per tradition and rules, "you go first as the most traveled fae." 

Take the western isles, Azriel said. Steal where Cassian trained you to go and throw him off. It is exactly where you should start to win, you just typically make small enough errors we could pull everything apart. You took the legion figures in your hand. "I only know one start for this game, Cass." The general's face fell as you placed your allotted start pieces. 

"You-" His jaw tightened. "I see how this is going to be." 

You heard that whisper as Mor began. Night Court. It was ghostly and snake like, predicting her move exactly. Made mistake. No air legions.

A hand found yours under the table, lacing your fingers into calloused longer ones. "Shall we begin?" 

The game turned into what it traditionally turns into quickly. Azriel and Cassian were stood, noses touching as they talked shit about each other battle planning. 

Your team had managed to take 80% of the board through methods you weren't proud of. Amren and Mor were also quietly arguing, the blonde accusing the ancient being of purposely sabotaging them when it was Mor who made the initial mistake that had handicapped them the rest of the game.

Rhysand's hand had moved from holding yours to your mid thigh, tracing small circles into the skin as you two drank wine and watched the fighting with matching cat like grins. He inclined his head to the balcony and you two stood to walk outside as Cassian threw a last straw insult Azriel's way, resulting in the traditional fist fight that came with this game. 

You and Rhysand leaned against the balcony, looking up at the twinkling stars. He had closed the link the three of you were sharing, allowing you to focus on just him. "I can see why Azriel struggles with headaches now," you confessed. "I can't imagine constantly hearing that input of information."

Rhys nodded. "I block it for him when he sleeps. Unless it's urgent. Then I allow them to communicate." 

"That makes sense." 

Comfortable silence fell between you two. At least silence until Rhys accidentally blurted out the words he'd wanted to for years now. "I love you."

"I love you too, Rhysand." You leaned into his arm and watched as his head fell in defeat. 

"No, y/n Darling. I don't think you understood that."

You blinked at his slightly panicked and desperate face. "Rhys, I love all of you, you're my friends and family."

Rhys shut his eyes, turning you so you two were looking at each other face to face, heart to heart. His two large hands came to your cheeks, cupping yout face as a serious expression fell over his. "Darling, I'm in love with you. I have been for a very very long time." Your mouth parted slightly, breath stilling as you blinked at him. 

It all made sense now. The countless gifts. The "dates". The moments spent completely alone where he'd have his hands on you. 

"Rhysand," you watched him nod, taking your silence as rejection. "No." You pulled him back to you, "I. I love you too." 

His eyes searched your face as he searched your mind. "You thought?" You nodded, not needing him to finish questioning your insecurities. "Oh darling." You felt something pull in your ribcage, eyes growing wide as you stared at him. Tears began to form in both of your eyes as he moved to hold you close again. "I could never and would never do that to you, y/n. I have loved you since the time you helped me adjust my Starmap. Our time apart just helped make it more apparent." 

He crashed his lips on yours in a hard passionate kiss. Snaking his arms around your waist as yours went to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

It was fire.

It was the richest of wines you'd ever had.

The coolest water in the desert.

Kissing Rhysand wasn't just an action. It was an experience. You almost melted into his body, allowing him to hold you as closely as possible. 

You two finally pulled apart, his forehead finding yours instantly as you both smiled and laughed softly. 

"HAND OVER MY FUCKING MONEY AZRIEL!" You both jumped at the loud boom of Cassian's voice.

"It's midnight," a cool reply came. You both moved inside just in time to hear Azriel's explanation. "It's a new month now, Cassian. You said two months. I said three. How about you hand over MY MONEY?"

Rhysand made an appalled face, his jaw dropping. "You two placed a bet on this?"

Amren rolled her eyes as Mor was growling and handing over three jewelry boxes. "We all did. Thank you, girl. It was a pleasure doing business with you. Shadowsinger, we make a wonderful team." 

Azriel sat with his hand out, sipping his whiskey casually as Cassian groaned and counted out pieces of gold. "Yes we do, little fire drake, yes we do."

Rhys rolled his eyes, pulling you by your hand to the stairs. "Goodnight," he called over his shoulder. A chorus of Goodnights came in reply before arguing ensued again. 

Rhysand led you to his room, opening the door and leading inside of the luxurious chamber by the small of your back. He pulled you to his bed, laying you back on it gently as he began to kiss you again. Relax, darling. I only want a few kisses.

It was much, much more than just a few kisses. 

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #inner circle #inner circle x reader

[kaixserzz]

The Fox, the Crow, and the Bunny.

ੈ♡˳ Il Dottore and Gn!Child!Reader *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ 2.4k words ┊ Fluff *ೃ༄

ੈ♡˳ Masterlist | JLM Masterlist *ೃ༄

author's note ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

something sweet. dedicated to @idyllic-affections thanks for writing my kaveh rq n this series is inspired by ur acc.. realized i strayed from the real purpose of this fic and made it too long, so just think of it as a 2 in 1 special lol,, (also hi sorry for using dottore he's like my muse and i love writing him) also i hope yall get the meaning of this shit lmao (ref to the scara quest tale)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cw: strictly platonic/familial, reader is 8 years old, basic dottore warnings, mentions of death, dissecting animals and injuries, implied dottolone (barely), a little ooc but it's canon to me

Dottore's office was once a sacred chamber inside the Fatui headquarters.

While not relatively as pristine as his laboratory, amidst the chaos, there was order. Everything was in its designated place, even though his desk was a nightmare to whoever laid eyes on it (spilled coffee too busy to clean, now dried onto the wood of his table, piles, and piles of documents and papers stacked haphazardly on one another, a disarray of pens and pencils occupying every available niche, and vials filled with who-knows-what dangerously teetering on the edge).

Hazards lurked at every turn within his office, presenting a far-from-presentable façade that seemingly clashed with his position as the 2nd of the 11th Fatui Harbingers. Yet, one might ponder, does the doctor truly concern himself with such matters?

No, not at all. He doesn't have the time to clean everything or keep them in such an organized state. He simply knows everything is in place, and the mess scarcely holds him back (he hires maids once in a while, when the mess gets too much, and in 1 out of 5 maids he hires only makes it out alive).

Yet, what truly imbued this room with a sense of sanctity? For within these walls, he unearthed his genuine solace and tranquility.

In this space, silence reigned supreme. Isolation was his companion, a cherished serenity he embraced. Here, his thoughts danced, inventions took form, and ideas flowed onto paper alongside intricate equations. Occasionally, he'd pass out on his desk and drool all over his papers. This room stood as a shelter inviolable, reserved solely for those few instances of urgency or the presence of a fellow Harbinger.

All other members of the Fatui instinctively bid their time, patiently awaiting his emergence from the sanctum of his office before venturing to approach him. For within its confines, the Doctor was impervious to disruption. No one disturbs the Doctor.

That was before you came along, of course.

The office, ill-suited for a child of your tender years, harbored a minefield of hazards. Within its walls lay various artifacts, concoctions, and intricate machinery, a perilous realm unfit for the innocent curiosity of youth. Regrettably, your presence inadvertently disrupted the serene harmony that had long enveloped this space, unsettling the Doctor who, by nature, dislikes abrupt shifts and deviations from what he was used to.

When you first arrived in his office (he didn't want you inside of it, after all, he wasn't exactly fond of children, but he had no choice) you were immediately injured after stepping onto a shard of glass that Dottore has completely ignored. You tried your very best not to cry for the sake of not irritating Dottore further, but he wasn't very gentle with your wound either.

He took note of keeping his vials away from the edge of his table.

Then a bunch of books topples over you. He puts them into the shelves now, and you helped him organize by using the Dewey Decimal System, to which you had read from a book.

Then, while he was explaining his recent idea (rather enthusiastically) to you, his hand accidentally slammed against his files and flew straight to your face. You also helped him organize his papers.

And then it was cleaning his desk, offering him DIY pencil holders you've made just for him. You've also invented a mug that prevents the liquid inside from spilling (he thinks it was a rather brilliant invention, he no longer has to worry about spilling on his desk).

And then it was putting his rather precarious possessions somewhere else, outside the vicinity of his office and far away from your grasp.

You were very eager to help him in any way possible, and for a child, you quite enjoyed receiving chores. Yet, your contentment was uncomplicated, drawn from the privilege of being granted entry to his treasure trove of knowledge, replete with a limitless collection of books, materials, and tools.

Dottore always thought that you'd be such a nuisance to him once you entered his office and sully the peace he has always known within his office's enclosed haven.

But he didn't expect to welcome your presence at all, on such short notice, too. (Deep inside, he felt a strange warmth in his chest whenever you'd tug on his coat, asking if he needed any assistance with organizing his office. He wonders what it was, though.)

So, here you were, amidst the symphony of pen strokes etching against paper, a solitary melody resonating within the confines of his office.

Contrary to his expectations, the calmness he believed would dissipate upon your arrival had, in fact, been amplified by leaps and bounds. As he observed from the corner of his eye, you reclined on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, immersed in a world of creativity. Strewn across the floor, an assortment of crayons bore testament to your artistic endeavors, while he diligently attended to the papers handed by the Fatui.

Then, as if hesitant to break the comfortable silence, you tried to catch his attention with a soft 'psst!', then covered your mouth with your tiny hand to suppress your childish giggles.

The corners of his lips twitch in irritance amusement as he turns his head toward you, his pen on the desk. You broke into a much bigger grin and held your drawing close to your chest, not wanting to expose it just yet. "Hey, Dotdot!" You whispered to him, and he can't help but roll his eyes smile at the nickname you've given him. "Can I show you what I drew?"

Dottore emitted a contemplative hum as if grappling with the decision of whether to engage or remain absorbed in his thoughts. Your evident impatience manifested in a pout, prompting his response. "Well, fine," He yielded, beckoning you forth. You beamed brightly as you swiftly rose to your feet and bounded toward him, your landing generating a muted grunt from him. A steadying hand rested on the desk, enabling him to regain his composure, after which he settled your giggling form comfortably within the space between his legs. "Now then," He put his hands on your shoulder, "What is it you wished to share?"

With another giggle from your ceaseless childish amusement, you gave him the piece of paper. Big, round eyes sparkling against the light of the room looked up at him expectantly. Dottore received the drawing from you, his gaze lingering over its details, drawn into a moment of shared curiosity and wonder.

It was him, and you, holding hands, depicted with earnest effort and the imaginative touch of your youthful artistry. Around you were a bunch of other versions of him, his segments, though you've only drawn five (since they were the only ones who have interacted with you so far). Each had their names labeled beneath them, but Dottore absolutely adores that you've labeled him as 'Dotdot' instead (you've also drawn Pantalone holding your other hand and labeled him as 'Pants', adorned both figures with encircling hearts).

"Truly remarkable artwork," He stated with a smile, his words accompanied by the sound of your jubilant cheers, "This masterpiece deserves a place of honor, a spot where all can admire it. I can already imagine the joy it will bring to the other segments once they lay eyes on it."

"Really!?"

"Of course, I do believe they enjoy your company, little bunny."

As he carefully set the drawing on his table, your inquisitive gaze caught his attention. With a tilt of your head, a gesture he knew all too well, you asked him a question, "Why do you call me that?"

"Hm? Call you what?" Dottore grabbed you gently and settled you onto his desk. Positioned face to face, at eye level, his intent was clear—to engage with you as both an adult and a child, a balance you seemed to relish.

"Bunny! You call me bunny lots,"

"Oh? Do you not like it?"

You vigorously shook your head, "No no, I love it! I get called nicknames, but they're all mean." You furrow your brow as you reminisced, pouting at the awful memories. But then you broke into a big smile again, "But yours is new and cute! So, why do you call me that?"

Dottore's grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth, a sight that enthralled you. Your hands instinctively moved to his cheeks, your eyes filled with wonder, and he welcomed the touch wholeheartedly. "Ahh, ever so curious, aren't you, little bun?" He teased playfully, giving your nose a gentle boop! with his finger, and your giggles were a delightful response. "You see, I call you bunny because you embody its spirit—small, swift, and an endless source of vibrant energy.

You also love to hop onto people a lot."

"I love giving surprise hugs! I'm too small, so a jump, so I can wrap my arms around them a bit higher!" You huffed as he chuckled at your explanation. "What are you, then? What animal?"

"Oh? I've never thought about what kind of animal I'd be... Hmmm..." Dottore mused for a while, his expression thoughtful. Eventually, he arrived at a decision. "A fox, I think. Crafty, shrewd, and sly. A creature that prowls with a purpose and possesses those distinct, sharp teeth." As he said that, he grins once more to show his sharp teeth, then lunges for your finger, mimicking a bite, prompting you to gasp and pull back with a joyful squeal.

"And speaking of bunnies..." His tone took on a mischievous edge, causing your eyes to widen in anticipation. Suddenly, he swooped in, grabbing your legs and lifting you high into the air. "I might just gobble you up!" Dottore's playful pretense of chomping down on you elicited a cascade of laughter from you. You pushed at his head, trying to escape his 'gobbling' jaws, your legs kicking playfully as you enjoyed the moment.

"I don't think you're a fox, Dotdot!" You quipped, retaking your seat on his desk. Playfully swinging your legs, you mused aloud, a soft humming accompanying your contemplation.

Dottore raised an intrigued eyebrow, "Oh? And what am I in the eyes of my little bunny? Perhaps something more fearsome?" He inquired, looming over you in an effort to intimidate you.

Instead, your eyes lit up brightly, and you joyfully clapped your hands together. "Oh, I've got it! A crow!" You exclaimed with a triumphant smile.

A bemused frown replaced his grin as he processed your unexpected response. "...A crow?" He echoed, clearly puzzled by your choice. "Of all animals?"

And you merely smile at him, giggling at his confused reaction, "Mhm! Yeah! A crow that talks on and on and on." Your hands followed your words, almost hitting him in the face, "A crow that is death and prey over rotting corpses, but a crow that saved me! I thought Dotdot was an angel, but angels don't have black feathers, scary smiles, or red eyes."

Your words painted a vivid picture of your perception, a whimsical and deeply personal perspective on his nature. Dottore nods along, intrigued, as you rambled your thoughts to him, not even chastising you for grabbing the beak of his mask and playing with it.

"You're a crow! You're very smart, and clever, and creative! You're scary to other people, but not to me! I love corvids, I used to feed them bits of animal after I dissect them, and they always bring me something shiny. They were my only friends, and now you're my friend too!"

He doesn't understand the gentle warmth that began to unfurl within his chest as he remained attentive to your words. While unfamiliar, this sensation wasn't entirely unwelcome... "I beg to differ, my dear bunny. I am unmistakably a fox,"

"Then you're a crow pretending to be a fox!" You pout, stubbornly crossing your arms. "I think crows are way cooler than foxes. They can fly! Plus, you can't call yourself a fox when you resemble a crow more than a fox!" You pointed out, a triumphant smirk on your lips.

Well, you do have a point. He does wear a beaked mask, coupled with a bird-like shoulder embellishment bedecked in exquisite black feathers.

"Should I then consider donning attire that better befits a fox?"

At the notion, you fixed him with a mock glare, your cheeks puffing out in an adorable display of discontent. "Nooooo! I prefer Mr. Crow!" you protested with a playful whine, punctuating your words by delivering gentle punches to his shoulders with your tiny hands.

He chuckles at your small tantrum, and he swiftly gathers you into his embrace. Your arms naturally encircled his neck as he rose from his seat, carrying you toward the door, your precious drawing clutched in your hands. "Very well, very well, my dear Mr. Crow it shall remain," He conceded with a playful tone, his steps filled with an easy camaraderie.

Victoriously, you shot him a smug grin, to which he rolled his eyes at.

"Do you wanna know something, Mr. Crow?" You mutter in his ear as he walks past one of his segments.

"Hm? What is it?"

You made sure to whisper it very quietly, hoping the other segments won't hear you. "Between you and me, I think that your younger segments are like rats!"

He didn't know what came over him, he released a hearty, resounding laugh, its volume surprising not just you but also the other segments who happened to be present, each momentarily taken aback by their own affairs. Such an outpouring of mirth was rare for him (only when he was inside his dark, cool lab, alone with experiments).

A sense of pride swelled in your chest as you grinned widely, his laughter infectious as you burst into a fit of giggles. It was a scary laugh, maybe it was just naturally like that, but to you, it sounded very happy. "They bit me once! I was just poking their face."

"Perhaps give them a treat before you approach them," He says, calming down as he continues his trek toward your room. "This gesture might just soften their demeanor."

"What, like cheese?"

"Oh, little bun, that'll drive them even more mad once they found out you called them rats."

You share another grin with him, finding a cozy spot to rest your chin upon his shoulder in contentment, "Good! I think they're funny when their faces turn red."

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I’ll appreciate it very very much! Don’t repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

#favoniuslibrary #˚₊໒🔪꒱kai writes₊˚ #˚₊໒🩹꒱kai's series:JLM.₊˚ #╰┈➤ il dottore #dottore x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #il dottore x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #this is my form of mega copium #uhghghg RGAHGHH #i have so many ideas #make it angst #i wanna take care of dottore too tho :( #i want to give dottore an adult figure that cares about him #protip: if ur sad just think of your fav character as your family relative and it doesn't matter if they're older or younger #:)

[twola]

you mentioned wanting some smutty prompts; how about the opposite of Seven Deadly Sins?

what about Seven Heavenly Virtues with a high honor!Arthur and an F!reader getting into all kinds of NSFW shenanigans, except filled with turmoil and drama as i imagine a high honor Arthur wouldn't want to impose at first... 👀

Oh! I have thought about this in the past - this isn’t going to be anywhere near as ambitious as that, but here is a drabble post with the seven capital virtues.

Virtuous

High-honor Arthur Morgan x Younger F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

At least with you, he will try to be a good man. It doesn't come naturally, of course.

Chastity: the state or practice of refraining from extramarital, or especially from all, sexual intercourse.

You’re drunk. Rip-roaring drunk. Stumbling drunk. But on a night like tonight, you blend in. Tonight liquor is flowing and the mood is jovial: little Jack is back in his mother’s arms and for once in the past several months, everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

You aren’t as drunk as Karen, god, that’s a good thing, her drinking is getting a bit out of control.  But you’re drunk enough to be troublesome.

You’re drunk enough to sneak away and climb into Arthur Morgan’s bed. He’s important enough that he’s gotten his own room, and as Javier belts out another refrain in Spanish, you sneak away and creep upstairs in the old plantation house, into Arthur’s room. The oil lantern casts shadows in the room, over shelves of ammunition, knives, and a map stretched out on a table. 

You sway slightly, moving toward the bed. You’re not sure you’ve ever been this drunk before. 

What you do know is how you’ve been watching him for months, probably since you joined this gang, nursing an infatuation for Dutch’s top gun. You know he’s older - you’re not much past twenty yourself, but it is him you see when you shut your eyes and touch yourself on lonely nights.

Kicking off your shoes, you crawl into his bed, pulling the sheet over yourself. Somehow, the whiskey in your belly burns in a smoldering frustration - you want him, you want him, and damnit, you’re going to do something about it.

Arthur returns to his room much later in the night, smelling like cigars and whiskey.  He pauses, for a moment, seeing a huddled form in his bed, but quickly relaxes, taking his hat from his head and placing it on the shelf atop a box of rifle cartridges.

“What are you doin’ up here, little lady?” He asks in a patient tone, unwinding his gunbelt from his hips, spreading it over the map on the table.

“Waitin’ fer you, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, “What could you possibly be waitin’ for me for?”

You push yourself to sit up on your elbows. “How come you don’t have a lady, Arthur?”

He snorts, smirking slightly and shaking his head while pulling one of his boots off, “None would have me, Miss.”

“I would.”

Arthur stops, turning around and looking at you.

“Little lady, you’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight. Talkin’ all sorts of silliness.” 

You shake your head, your hair falling out of its messy braid, you reach over toward his arm, placing your small hand upon it, “I- I know I’m young, Arthur, but I could make y’so happy- ‘nd -”

A hiccup interrupts your confession. Arthur’s confidence is not inspired, as he turns back toward his other boot, sliding it off as it tumbles to the floor.

“ -’ nd, - and I know I could keep y’satisfied.” You punctuate the last word by running your hand from his forearm up his bicep to his shoulder, gently rubbing at it.

The liquor in your system has removed any sense of propriety from your mind. Every tawdry fantasy of Arthur Morgan you’ve had in the past months runs through your head, and now here you are, in his bed, practically propositioning him.

“Darlin’, this ain’t a good idea.”

You pull your hand back like you’ve touched a hot stove. “D’ya… d’ya not want me?”

He turns again, moving one of his legs onto the bed, and faces you fully as he takes a deep breath. “Sweetheart - I…that’s not…”

“I can go, I’m sorry, I’ll not bother-” You stumble over your words, trying to crawl out of bed.

His large hand on your thigh stops your forward motion. It also stops all coherent thought in your head.

“I ain’t gonna take advantage of you with you near fallin’ over drunk, little lady. But ‘course, course I want you - I don’t know why a pretty young thing like you would want an old man like me for.”

“Arthur-” You whine, and he blinks as seemingly all of his blood rushes to his groin at the needy sound of your voice.

“Y’need to get some sleep, then we can talk about this.”

“In the morning?” You ask, and he gently takes both of your shoulders and guides you down to lie in his bed.

“We can talk about it in the mornin’. After you’ve slept this off, alrigh’?” 

“Promise?”

“Yes, darlin’. I promise.”

You take that to be enough and settle down in his bed to sleep. Arthur sighs, watching as you quickly drift off, and stands up, pulling an old chair next to the bed and sitting down in it. He runs his hand down his beard and stares at the cracked and stained ceiling of the room.

Christ, the girl in his bed was close to fifteen years younger than him. He shouldn’t be entertaining this at all, for her sake. Dirty old man…

But still, he did have a soft spot for the smiles you give him. The sway of your narrow hips as you walk in camp, the shine of your long hair, the freckles that have developed on your face, and decolletage under the Lemoyne sun…

And here you were, in his bed, pleading with him to sleep together.

Arthur crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair, knowing that for your sake, he had to be a better man.

Temperance: the quality of moderation or self-restraint.

The sunlight on your eyelids makes you scrounge your nose, and your eyes slowly flutter open. Your head pounds, but you blink yourself into self-awareness, realizing everything you said and did last night was not, indeed, a dream.

Arthur is sleeping in the chair next to the bed and nods awake when he hears you moving.

“How’re you feeling, little lady? Seems like you had quite a bit to drink last night.”

You rub your forehead, avoiding eye contact with him, a vibrant blush settling on your cheeks as you sit up. 

“I c’n go get you some coffee.” Arthur stands up, moving toward the bed to put his boots on. At that moment, you decide to go for broke, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, turning toward you. Your eyes flit from his, down to his lips, and you unconsciously lick your own. With the newfound courage of a woman with nothing to lose, you surge forward and press your lips against his. He is surprised and doesn’t respond for a moment, but after recollecting his wits, he turns fully toward you and wraps one of his arms around you.

You pull back, your eyes still looking downward. “I think we agreed that we was gonna talk.”

“We did,” Arthur says, but he leans in to press his lips against yours, his tongue brushing along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You sigh, leaning into him and allowing him so. His lips are chapped, but still soft, as his large arm winds around you.

It’s several moments like this, mouths moving against each other, until you maneuver yourself nearly into his lap, clutching at him desperately.

You pant into his mouth, reaching toward the button on his trousers. His hand catches yours, however, and a groan rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Arthur -” You whine, you feel your bloomers wet against your skin, and you’re sure that he’s hard in his trousers. 

“C’mon now, sweetheart.” He grits out, pressing you away from him in the bed.

You pout, “You said we would talk about this in the morning.”

“I reckon we better start talkin’ then. Don’t think we were doin’ much talkin’ there.” 

Patience: the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

Arthur was a busy man. As the lead enforcer of the gang, he was one of the men who brought in the most money - he could be very convincing at the end of a shotgun.

You knew Arthur did what he had to do: it kept you fed, clothed, cared for. 

You were also annoyed that you’d barely seen him for a week: frankly, since that morning after Jack’s return, he’s been in and out of camp at Dutch’s beck and call. Only around to give you sweet kisses behind crumbling columns or trees draped with Spanish moss. 

When you do get the chance, you clutch at him as if you could make him stay, pressing your tongue into his mouth, trying to pull him downward. It is really somewhat laughable, as he could toss you over his shoulder one-handed should he choose.

But he doesn’t choose.

He does pull you away after several moments, usually after the soft moan has escaped your mouth and you’ve pressed yourself against him.

“Patience, little lady. Ain’t no one ever tell you the best things come to those who wait?”

You pout back at him, deciding not to tell him how you’ve snuck into his room and touched yourself in his bed at night.

Diligence: having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties.

The afternoon heat hung low, sweat breaking out on the back of your neck as you rushed toward the back of the old plantation house, hiking up your skirts as you bound down the stairs of the back porch while no one is around. Bolting toward the old dockhouse, you grin as you see Arthur’s horse grazing in the fields at the back of the property.

He’s standing there, whisps of smoke drifting upward from the cigarette hanging from his lips. Leaning against a cypress tree eyes out on the horizon over the waters of the Lanaheechee.

He hears you coming, why wouldn’t he, you’re bowling through like a bull in a china shop. Arthur turns right as you come up to him, nearly launching yourself at him in delight.

“Whoa there, gonna run straight into the water now.” Arthur smiles, his hands on your shoulders.

You press forward into his embrace. “I knew you’d catch me.”

He snorts lightly, his arms moving to wrap around your small waist.

“Y’ready to get away for a bit?”

You look up at him, a head and a half taller than you, beaming, “Really?”

“Reckon I’ve done enough jobs to earn an afternoon off. C’mon, let's get out of here.”

He winds his arm around your shoulder and starts walking the two of you toward his horse. 

“Where we goin’?” You ask as you reach the mare, and Arthur swings you up to sit on the horse’s rump. He taps your leg lightly.

“You’ll see, little lady.”

Charity: aid given to those in need

The picnic in the meadow outside Bolger Glade did not last long. A few canned peaches were consumed before you crawled into Arthur’s lap and drew him into a kiss.

This time, finally, he does not push you away as you press against him. Indeed, he does the exact opposite. He rolls you beneath him, flat out on the blanket, and moves his lips from yours down your neck, suckling gently at the skin there, before his hand ducks downward to gather your skirts up, fingers trailing up your legs underneath the cotton.

“Y’want this?” He pants in your ear as his rough fingers press against your bloomers, and all you can do is whine needily in acquiescence. 

He pulls your bloomers down, down your thighs, down past your knees, and tosses them to the side before sliding his hand up your skirts again. You cling to his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as a high moan as he touches your skin. 

Arthur rubs in gentle circles against your folds, and your breath loudly hitches as one of his fingers pauses near your opening for but a moment before sliding inside. 

Hopefully, you’re far enough from the road not to bring attention to the two of you, because you’re having an increasingly hard time keeping quiet, thrusting your face against his shoulder to muffle your sounds, especially when he slides another finger into your wet warmth.

It's only a few moments more before you keen, mewling into the linen of his shirt as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear: good girl, that’s it.

“Let me… let me make you feel good,” You pant, reaching for the buckle of his pants as you regain some of your wherewithal.

He gently swats your hand away.

“Hush, I ain’t done with you yet.”

You want to scream aloud when his head disappears under your skirts and you feel his tongue press against your cunt.

Humility:  a modest or low view of one's own importance; humbleness.

You moan into his neck as you roll your hips in his lap, his hands spread wide over the globes of your rear and he pants in return, grinding you against the hardness in his pants.

“Fuck,”  he swears, and lays you down on the blanket, looming over you, hands reaching to undo the buttons of his trousers. “Y’ready?”

“Y-yes.” You shiver, opening your legs for him and starting to pull your skirts up, uncovering inch by inch of your inner thighs up to the thatch of dark hair shrouding your cunt.

Your breath hitches as he fully opens his pants, about to pull his length from them.

Arthur stops, looking at you, studying your eyes, your face, before frowning. “You’ve never done this before.”

He leans back up onto his knees, shaking his head. You rocket up in concern, afraid he’s going to leave, god, that would break your damn heart.

“Tell me the truth.” He asks, his tone firm.

You shake your head and Arthur sighs, staring down at his hands in his lap, the swollen tenting of his half-opened trousers, his cock still steel hard.

“I - I ain’t worthy of this honor, darlin’. Y- you should have a far better person than me bein’ your first.” Arthur says, one hand moving to redo the buttons of his pants.

“No,” You cry out forcefully, grabbing his hand, “I want it to be you, Arthur.”

“Little lady-”

You interrupt, grasping his hand in your own and interlacing your fingers. “You’re kind, and you’re wonderful, and I know you ain’t gonna hurt me.”

You lay back on the blanket, your hair fanning out, and still holding his hand, you pull him toward you. Arthur closes his eyes, visibly struggling with himself.

“I-”

He trails off, and after several moments, his eyes flutter open again. You’re spread out beneath him, his knees framed by your open legs, your face flushed, your cunt wet and needy and ready for him.

“Arthur. I want it to be you.” You say, with more force behind your voice.

He breaks.

“Alright, sweetheart… Alright.”

Kindness: the quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.

Arthur pulls his cock from his pants, stroking himself several times, and as you watch him, your hand moves down between your legs, touching your glistening folds as he grunts in approval. After several moments, he looks back at you, a serious heaviness in his eyes.

“You tell me if it hurts - you hear that?” “Yes,” you whine, gasping as he moves over you, placing his elbows on either side of your head, capturing your lips as he presses his length against your core, parting your folds, gently jutting his hips back and forth, covering himself with your slick. 

The head of his cock hits that bundle of nerves and you moan loudly into his mouth, and he jolts against you, pressing his length even harder against the seam of your body.

He curses against your lips, pressing himself up with one arm, balancing on his other forearm, as he reaches down between you to grasp the base of his cock. He slowly pulls it down, down the seam of you until the head catches at your weeping opening. He presses in slightly, enough so that he can move his hand, and immediately moves up to cradle your cheek. His thumb traces your jawline for a moment, his blue eyes flutter as he begins to press forward.

Your breath escapes you as you throw your arms around his neck, his flesh splitting you open - it does hurt, but god, if he were to stop, your heart might hurt even more. He’s about halfway in when he starts peppering kisses over your brow, his thumb drawing gentle circles over your cheek.

“Y’okay?” He asks, his voice not more than a whisper.

“Yes, please… please.” You plead, unable to articulate any further.

Arthur groans, pressing completely inside you, his girthy cock fully seated, and he remains still as your fingers dig into his shoulders, his work shirt saving his skin from your nails.

After a few moments, you unclench your hands, one moving up his neck to grasp the ends of his short hair. “Arthur,” you moan, in a high, flighty voice that gives him permission to move.

He slowly, gently, retracts his hips from yours, and then presses back forward, intently watching your face for any twinge of pain. When he sees none, he repeats the process a little faster. And again, a little faster.

You gasp and whine in tune with his thrusts, and finally, he lets out a groaning whimper after he’s sure you’re enjoying it. “God, you’re so tight, squeezin’ me like this-”

You mewl as he lowers himself completely over you, your ankles crossing over his lower back. The sounds coming from your mouth edge on obscene, as Arthur thrusts into your accepting body over and over again.

“That’s it, that’s it, c’mon, darlin’, let go.” He grunts into your ear, nuzzling against the side of your head.

You cry out, your back arching up as you convulse around him, crying his name in absolute adoration.

Arthur presses his forehead against yours, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as he thrusts a handful of more times before pulling himself from you, reaching down and stroking his cock as he finishes, his spend coating his fingers and dripping to the blanket beneath you.

He pants, leaning on his side as he lowers his hip to lay beside you, your legs falling open. He kisses your forehead, one of his large hands pulling your skirts down over your knees and thighs as you catch your own breath.

“Good for ya?” He rumbles, his hand finding purchase on your soft belly.

You open your eyes, smiling up at him. The sunlight pours through the tree you rest under on the warm afternoon.

“You’re so good for me, Arthur.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 #twolafic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #red dead smut #tumblr prompt #voluptatem

[commodorez]

If the Commodore 64 is great, where is the Commodore 65?

It sits in the pile with the rest of history's pre-production computers that never made it. It's been awhile since I went on a Commodore 65 rant...

The successor to the C64 is the C128, arguably the pinnacle of 8-bit computers. It has 3 modes: native C128 mode with 2MHz 8502, backwards compatible C64 mode, and CP/M mode using a 4MHz Z80. Dual video output in 40-column mode with sprites plus a second output in 80-column mode. Feature-rich BASIC, built in ROM monitor, numpad, 128K of RAM, and of course a SID chip. For 1985, it was one of the last hurrahs of 8-bit computing that wasn't meant to be a budget/bargain bin option.

For the Amiga was taking center stage at Commodore -- the 16-bit age is here! And its initial market performance wasn't great, they were having a hard time selling its advanced capabilities. The Amiga platform took time to really build up momentum square in the face of the rising dominance of the IBM PC compatible. And the Amiga lost (don't tell the hardcore Amiga fanboys, they're still in denial).

However, before Commodore went bankrupt in '94, someone planned and designed another successor to the C64. It was supposed to be backwards compatible with C64, while also evolving on that lineage, moving to a CSG 4510 R3 at 3.54MHz (a fancy CMOS 6502 variant based on a subprocessor out of an Amiga serial port card). 128K of RAM (again) supposedly expandable to 1MB, 256X more colors, higher resolution, integrated 3½" floppy not unlike the 1581. Bitplane modes, DAT modes, Blitter modes -- all stuff that at one time was a big deal for rapid graphics operations, but nothing that an Amiga couldn't already do (if you're a C65 expert who isn't mad at me yet, feel free to correct me here).

The problem is that nobody wanted this.

Sure, Apple had released the IIgs in 1986, but that had both the backwards compatibility of an Apple II and a 16-bit 65C816 processor -- not some half-baked 6502 on gas station pills. Plus, by the time the C65 was in heavy development it was 1991. Way too late for the rapidly evolving landscape of the consumer computer market. It would be cancelled later that same year.

I realize that Commodore was also still selling the C64 well into 1994 when they closed up shop, but that was more of a desperation measure to keep cash flowing, even if it was way behind the curve by that point (remember, when the C64 was new it was a powerful, affordable machine for 1982). It was free money on an established product that was cheap to make, whereas the C65 would have been this new and expensive machine to produce and sell that would have been obsolete from the first day it hit store shelves. Never mind the dismal state of Commodore's marketing team post-Tramiel.

Internally, the guy working on the C65 was someone off in the corner who didn't work well with others while 3rd generation Amiga development was underway. The other engineers didn't have much faith in the idea.

The C65 has acquired a hype of "the machine that totally would have saved Commodore, guise!!!!1!11!!!111" -- saved nothing. If you want better what-if's from Commodore, you need to look to the C900 series UNIX machine, or the CLCD. Unlike those machines which only have a handful of surviving examples (like 3 or 4 CLCDs?), the C65 had several hundred, possibly as many as 2000 pre-production units made and sent out to software development houses. However many got out there, no software appears to have surfaced, and only a handful of complete examples of a C65 have entered the hands of collectors. Meaning if you have one, it's probably buggy and you have no software to run on it. Thus, what experience are you recapturing? Vaporware?

The myth of the C65 and what could have been persists nonetheless. I'm aware of 3 modern projects that have tried to take the throne from the Commodore 64, doing many things that sound similar to the Commodore 65.

The Foenix Retro Systems F256K:

The 8-Bit Guy's Commander X16

The MEGA65 (not my picture)

The last of which is an incredibly faithful open-source visual copy of the C65, where as the other projects are one-off's by dedicated individuals (and when referring to the X16, I don't mean David Murray as he's not the one doing the major design work).

I don't mean to belittle the effort people have put forth into such complicated projects, it's just not what I would have built. In 2019, I had the opportunity to meet the 8-Bit Guy and see the early X16 prototype. I didn't really see the appeal, and neither did David see the appeal of my homebrew, the Cactus.

Build your own computer, build a replica computer. I encourage you to build what you want, it can be a rewarding experience. Just remember that the C65 was probably never going to dig Commodore out of the financial hole they had dug for themselves.

#commodore #c65 #commodore 65

[tower-of-hana]

The Magic System in Harry Potter Is Kinda Dumb an Essay

The Killing Curse Was a Bad Idea

I took this one from a youtube video but it's true and I don't see it talked about a lot. The killing curse was a bad idea because it disincentivises the villains from ever attacking the heroes in an interesting way. Instead of using any type of dark magic that is interesting and cool they'll just reach for the instant death spell because it's easier.

It Doesn't Have Any Meaningful Rules:

Rules in a magic system are important because they allow the characters to establish strategies and for the audience to understand what those strategies are. Harry Potter doesn't do this which is why almost all of the magic fights are dumb and boring (it doesn't help that the main character knows like three spells but that isn't really a problem with the worldbuilding). Pretty much all the limits on the magic system in Harry Potter are used to stop the author from having to worldbuild.

It Also Doesn't Do Anything with the Lack of Rules:

That being said, anime fights where characters throw the sun at each other are dumb fun but Harry Potter doesn't do that either. Harry Potter doesn't really have any spells that are overpowered in an interesting way. As a result all fights are just characters throwing the same three spells at each other and older characters using undefined, more interesting spells to create the illusion of a better magic system.

Transfiguration Is Implemented Badly:

Transfiguration isn't a bad idea but the way it works in the books makes it completely useless. Why the fuck would anyone use a spell to turn a hyper specific thing into another hyper specific thing. That's just not all that helpful.

We Don't Know What Magic IS:

In Harry Potter pretty much everything about how magic works is badly defined. But I think most of this problem stems from the more fundamental problem that Harry Potter never establishes what magic is. In a lot of stories the author mentions at some point what their magic system fundamentally is: the force is some type of magic force that exists throughout the universe, chakra is magic energy that flows through your body etc. This is not necessary but it helps both you and the audience know what the rules and limits to magic are. Harry Potter doesn't do this so magic can just do random bullshit.

Good Guy Magic and Bad Guy Magic Operates on Twisted Morality:

Some pieces of media give the bad guys evil magic so you know that they are evil. Harry Potter tries to do this but utterly fails. Take the unforgivable curses for instance. The first is the cruciatus curse, it causes pain. This is fine, most people agree that pain is bad. The second one is the imperious curse, it allows you to control people. This would be fine because mental manipulation is generally considered to be bad. Or it would be, if the story hadn't already established that the "good guys" go around erasing people's memories all the time. In fact they constantly invade and manipulate the minds of muggles to the point where they genuinely do it more than the racist bad guys. In fact the wizarding world is basically an apartheid state enforced by the literal thought police and the main characters we're supposed to sympathize get positions of power in it (mostly) but I digress. The third is the killing curse and this one makes sense on the surface but when you think about it it's really baffling. Sure killing people with no other side effects or other purpose sounds evil until you realize that the good guys in Harry Potter try to kill people by: blowing them up, setting them on fire, crushing them with shelves of shitty plot devices, disintegrating them, defenestrating them (movie), freeing a dragon in a crowded area, setting unquestionably evil beings loose around children, suffocating them with magic plants, magic plant Havana Syndrome, crushing them with giants, burning them with the power of love, supposedly slicing them to pieces with transfigured knight statues, being eaten by magic bushes, poison murder trees, trampling them, and fucking yeeting them across the room. I dunno mate I would rather painlessly die tbh.

✨The Powa of Wuv✨

You know how the power of love is a thing we all joke about because it's such a trite and overplayed stand-in for an actual solution to a problem? Well the author decided to make it a part of the magic system. Now for the low low price of your mom you, yes you, can be immune to the plot. I would praise this as great satire if it wasn't taken 100% seriously the entire series.

#magic #anti jk rowling #anti jkr #anti harry potter #anti hp #worldbuilding

[celestialspecial]

Blood Rush (Pt.2)

Read Part 1 Here

After being alive for far longer than any man should be, Billy is convinced he's seen it all. Until his path crosses with a mysterious girl and the game changes-for both of them. In ways neither could have ever imagined.

Warnings for Series: Mentions and descriptions of blood/grisly scenes, 18+themes and spice, use your own judgement.

One second you were in a dark alleyway, the musty smell infiltrated your nostrils. The dank heaviness that hung in the air.

Then you could smell the man holding onto you- a musky scent, punctuated with a spice you couldn’t place. It wafted from his skin, from his hair that hung in your face.

The dull ache between your legs, a pressure from his knee pressing where you needed it but it wasn’t enough. You never needed anything quite so bad before. 

An unhinged desire seemed to crash against you in waves. Then you felt it. A sharp prick against your neck, searing pain then bliss.

Like all the blood in your body was replaced with warm honey. Flowing through your veins, every major artery pulsed in pleasure. 

If this was deaths warm embrace perhaps you could stomach it. A slow decent into darkness.

Billy fed and fed until he could feel a wobble in your pulse. Pulling back and staunching the flow with a pin prick of his own blood. 

You’d slowly slipped into unconsciousness, held in place by his arms. The buzzing in his head reached a fever pitch.

You tasted so good but it wasn’t what he’d experienced before. Some peoples blood just tasted better, gave off an undeniable fragrance that tantalized the intense sense of a vamp.

This wasn’t that.

He felt a prickling sensation creep across his skin and heat rose to his cheeks. THe usual blood rush would streak through his system in a matter of minutes.

This built slowly. The poor girl in his arms shifted and Billy knew he needed to get her home and off the streets. God forbid another vamp came back with friends looking to end her for good.

Her wallet had an ID and address on the other side of town. Resting her against his chest as he thumbed through the other contents of her purse to verify this information.

Something stopped him cold in his process. His fingers. They looked…pink.

The pale flesh he had grown accustomed to was replaced with a soft tinge of a flush. The pads a deeper hue of the tone. 

His heart sunk. He’d drunk too much. He’d killed her, for the blood to overtake him so powerfully. 

Pushing aside your hair, fingers skimming against the revealed skin. He felt a pulse. It wasn’t weak or fading. She truly was just passed out. 

Shaking his head, Billy adjusted the wallet back into her purse and tossed her into a carry that allowed him to move more easily. 

What would take a normal person hours to traverse, it only took Billy less than 15 minutes. Moving quickly and staying out of sight, carrying this girl in his arms with ease.

He could feel the blood settling into his system. Strength and speed picking up, it was as if his joints crackled with newfound power and dexterity.

Muscles tensing and releasing in powerful synchronicity.

It was a familiar rush that happened after every feeding.Go too far and an inexperienced vampire could go drunk with that power. Become lost in it. 

Losing sense of time and space itself. Some would go crazy. Killing and killing until another vampire took them out for risk of being caught and their species being exposed.

The door to your apartment popped open, key swinging inward as Billy carried you over the threshold carefully so as not to wake any prying neighbors.

It was a small place he noticed. A tiny kitchen table strewn with all matter of paper. The dark screen of a laptop stared back at him. 

A couch in a makeshift living room, bookshelves from floor to ceiling completely enveloped in books on every subject. He didn’t miss the few shelves dedicated to romance novels.

If he didn’t know better he’d say he felt the telltale whisper of a blush on his cheeks. What did you like to read about? What naughty ideas popped into your head when reading them?

Did you touch yourself-

No.

He needed to get you to your bed then leave. And probably never see you again. The thought turned his stomach in a way he didn’t want to think about.

A small bedroom stood off to the side, a queen bed consumed almost the entire room. Soft purple sheets and a crumpled duvet lay off to the side.

Setting you down gently, adjusting the pillow so your hair splayed across it, he took a step back.

You looked so small and innocent lying here before him. Grabbing the corner of the duvet he pulled it up to your shoulders. Being sure not to make it look too staged that you were tucked in.

Denying himself the urge to reach out and caress the skin of your cheek. How had you not been killed by another vampire smelling the delicious scent that you carried?

The thought would most likely consume him in the high hours of the day when he’d be trying to sleep. 

Along with thoughts of your face. 

The undeniable tightness at the front of his pants reminded him he needed to go. Making sure the key was back on your table with your purse as he climbed out the window onto the nearby fire escape.

Billy didn’t remember the last time he prayed. Maybe it was as he lay in the street bleeding out. How he’d foolishly believed his prayer was being answered at the sight of a beautiful face above him.

How stupid he’d been. 

But tonight he’d pray. For your safety, that for however long you had seemed to fly under the radar of the vampires in the city, that it would continue. 

And with that, he pushed off from the wrought iron railing, jumping to the alleyway below and taking off back in the opposite direction of your home. 

“Damn you look like shit.” Cassie lovingly noted through your FaceTime call in the morning. 

“Gee thanks. I feel great.” The sarcasm leeches into your words as you tossed your hair into a messy updo, grabbing the nearby spoon coated in peanut butter.

“Sorry, I just didn’t realize you’d partied so hard. You didn’t even text me you got home!” 

To be honest you didn’t remember getting home. All you remembered were deep red eyes and a flourish of pleasure coursing through your veins before passing out. 

Somewhere in there you must’ve got your shit together and called a cab. How else would you have got home?

You did not plan on mentioning the fact that bloodsucking vampires existed and you almost became one’s meal last night. 

Your body tensed at the thought of the large bald man with razor sharp fangs. 

But then the other man…the handsome one who had been watching you from the club. 

How he’d found you after you’d taken off, how he’d saved your life.

“Earth to bestie?”

“Sorry. I’m just really tired. I passed out and totally forgot to text, but as you can see I am home. I am safe. I am dead tired.” 

Your response seemed to assuage your friend as she visibly relaxed on her end of the phone screen. 

“Im just glad you’re ok. I could tell you were feeling…itchy to leave.” She delicately danced around the subject of you feeling you had been watched.

You had been right.

“Yeah I’m just going to veg out and catch up on some tv shows before work tomorrow.” You took the peanut butter covered spoon into your mouth as you navigated your pathetically small kitchen.

Work. Right.

Sex and the city had made writing in New York seem like a dream gig. You’d have a penthouse somewhere in the upper east side, glamorous outfits to don to extravagant parties. 

Instead you were behind a month in rent for a flat the size of a matchbox. You owned exactly three button up shirts that were work appropriate and the rest of your wardrobe consisted of T-shirts with various wolves and dragons on them. 

Cleaning the last of the peanut butter off the spoon and tossing it into the sink with a metallic clang you turned back to Cassie, taking a deep inhale, forefingers and thumbs touching in a mock gesture if inner peace.

“Aaaaaand I’m going to prepare for my interview tomorrow.”

“That’s right!! Who was it with again?” 

Tugging at the hem of your sleep shorts, ripping a loose thread before you set the phone down, sticking your head in the fridge to see what food you had. Food that was still edible and not having expired months ago.

You frowned as you picked up an old yogurt container that was slowly evolving into a living breathing animal. Tossing the mold ridden thing into the trash.

“Some big shot CEO. Founded Anvil, a personal security service or something. I don’t know, he’s probably one of those high and mighty types.” 

“Why’d they give you that interview? It seems like a big deal and you seem….blasé about it.”

The sigh, slash groan that dramatically left your lips as you slammed the fridge door shut, collapsing into a seat at your very tiny kitchen table.

“Because Maura is out on maternity leave, Ross is out of the country on vacation and Jeremy is covering fashion week. The dream team is occupied so they’re stuck with me.” 

Cassie frowned, brows furrowed on her semi pixelated brow. 

“I don’t like this kinda attitude. YOU are an amazing writer and deserve to be considered a top tier “dream team” occupant as well as any of those others.”

You wanted to believe her, you really did. But writing was your passion and honestly all the projects you’d been put on as of late fell short. No stories had enthralled you, and your lack of enthusiasm clearly showed.

“Cas, I’m tired. I don’t know if I have another droll business-y interview left in me. I try, I really do, but I don’t care about the latest vegan restaurant opening in soho or the new wearable garbage that vogue is printing. How am I supposed to stoke a fire with my words when I’m given the scraps?” 

What started as boredom had turned into a blood pumping anger fueled vent session. 

“I don’t want to interview a ceo. What am I supposed to ask? Did you always dream of being a millionaire? How do you feel about the stock market right now? Are your suits custom or store bought at Saks?”

“I’m gonna cut you off right there-“ Cassie interjected. “You got a piss poor attitude about this. I know it’s not your dream gig. I know you’re tired, but a high ranking business owner who runs a company making a small fortune that HELLO, people know about.”

She took a long deep breath before continuing.

“People, maybe not you…or me…but people, know about this company and want to hear about its owner. Think of them, write it for them. People who look up to this guy and want to be inspired. Inspire them. Paint one of those lovely pictures with your words.”

Damn her. Cassie was right. Just because you didn’t care about this company didn’t mean other people didn’t.

And this could be the chance for you to impress your boss. Really create a passion piece that blows your readers away. 

“Damn you, Cas.”

Your friend grinned brightly on her end. Knowing she had gotten through to you, in the way only she could.

“Go, Go and shine on for both of us my little star!” She exclaimed blowing a kiss to the phone screen. “Now me and my handsome fiancé are going to go get dinner. Make me proud mama.” 

With newfound fervor you turned on your laptop, the screen flickering to life as you placed an order for Chinese food. Extra lo mein and crab Rangoon to assist with your brain storming.

Fingers zoomed across your opened word document, typing up juicy question after question. This time would be different, you could feel it.

Billy groaned into his pillow, running his fingers through his mussed locks. Convinced that sleep would evade him but instead he had passed out and slept better than he had in years. 

Turning over in his large bed, the image of the girl from the club seared into his mind. The smell of her skin, the way her hair lay framing her face, how those wide eyes had watched his every move.

The way her blood tasted.

The mid-afternoon light shone in his eyes, forcing him to cover his face with his hand to block the…sun.

Sunlight.

The closest thing to fear he could experience shot through his body. Pushing off to the complete other side of the bed, sheets tangling up around his legs.

Holding his hand up to his face and inspecting it carefully. No burns. Not even a red mark marring the pale skin. Allowing his fingertips to poke and prod along his face where the light had hit, coming up empty.

Not a scratch on him. Impossible.

Pushing off the covers and coming to stand on the razor edge of his blackout curtains. The menacing blade of sunlight danced across the carpet, to anyone else it appeared to be a bright clear day outside.

To a vampire that meant certain death. To be caught in the sunlight and burned alive before you even had a chance to escape to the shadows. 

Vampires experienced fear less and less as they aged. Soon the only fear that remained was the sun. 

Thankfully Billy ran a company and when you’re in charge you get to make meetings and social events whenever you damn well pleased. 

Swallowing the anxiety rising like bile in the back of his throat, Billy stuck his hand out tentatively. Inch by inch moving towards the ray of light.

Then he watched as his fingers touched the beam. It flickered over his skin harmlessly. His palm turned this way and that, marveling at this new quandary.

It had been over fifty years since sunlight had touched his skin. Feeling a bit braver he stuck his arm into the light. Then the front of his chest. 

Nothing.

Curiosity conquered the fear and he tore open the curtains, letting them fall wide and drenching the room in bright yellow light.

And for the first time in just under a century Billy stood in the light of day. Looking out at the city. His city. 

Basking in the warmth on his skin. Admiring how the skyscrapers glowed and glittered in the brightness. Looking down at himself. Bare, save for a pair of black boxers, looking at his form in daylight.

A knock at his bedroom door was the only thing that broke his concentration on the skyline around him. 

“Yes?” 

“Mr. Russo?” His assistant, Marcus.

“Come in.” He’d never usually say that, but today, today was different.

Marcus walked in, a towering stack of folders balanced in his hands. Two cell phones in his pocket, a lanyard hung around his neck, and a laptop case draped over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry sir, I know you never want to be bothered at this time…I wasn’t gonna knock, but your secretary said some of these documents needed looked at immediately.”

The young man continued on musing about some meetings he had scheduled that night, intermittently apologizing for the intrusion. Billy couldn’t help but realize that Marcus barely registered that Billy was standing in the sun before him.

Because of course he wouldn’t understand. No one knew what he was. Why would it be weird to see your boss standing before the open window in the light?

The man prattled on about something else but Billy only turned back to gaze at the city. Why was he unharmed? Why was he able to do this?

He examined his hand once more, watching the illuminated dust fall around it before asking,

“Will that be all?”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus hoisted the pile back into his arms, giving a somewhat silly bow type move as he backed out of the room. He was a good kid. Very green, but good.

He had a certain affection for the younger man. Maybe he reminded Billy of what he’d been like before he became so jaded in his years.

Not wanting to move from where he stood, but eventually strolling over to the table with his itinerary for the day…well night rather, on it.

All the usual things and an interview that evening at 9 pm. Wonderful. He hated interviews.

It took exactly 4 hours before whatever magical protection had fallen over Billy to disappear. It was then that he’d felt the tell tale burning and searing pain wrap around his body from the sunlight.

Hissing and pulling back, nearly knocking the table over with him. His coffee cup spilled onto the ground, coating a few documents that would need printed again.

He had pulled his table over in front of the windows to work, tying back the curtains for the first time ever and letting the vibrant yellows and oranges coat the room as he worked.

Typing away in his laptop, answering phone calls, he even had a brief meeting on zoom so people could see his face in the light. Maybe these last years had been a horrible hallucination and he was still human after all?

Maybe the sleepless days and endless nights, the death and destruction of all he knew or cared about wasn’t real. He had been asleep and dreaming awful vivid dreams of needing blood to sustain himself.

Toppling backwards and landing on his rear in the shadowed area of his room. Bringing a hand to his face and seeing red blisters, already beginning to heal but prevalent nonetheless.

His time in the sun had ended. Why did he feel so…terrible? Anguish. That was the word. A longing for something he swore he’d forgotten. 

To feel the heat on his cheeks and savor the warmth that had begun to feel like a far off dream.

He sat dumbfounded for another minute, hearing a buzzing coming from his phone. A reminder for his next appointment.

The stupid device still lay on the table completely covered in daylight,

Well almost. The sun was setting.

Billy watched from the side, hidden safely in the darkness as the sun slowly fell below the skyline and his room was once again cloaked in darkness.

Safely walking over to his phone and typing in his passcode. Pausing to look out over New York once more.

This was the sight he had become so familiar with. The buildings no longer glimmered, but fell muted.

They shine in their own way at night, the moon and stars could be dazzling and bright but it would never be day. 

His phone beeped again. Right. His interview. Deciding to ignore the spilled coffee and messed papers, choosing to attend to those things later and get this stupid thing over with.

Adjusting his suit collar and tightening his tie in the elevator, watching the numbers light up as he ascended to the floor where his office resided. With a delicate ping the metal doors opened and he was greeted by his secretary, Jess.

“Your 9pm is already in the conference room.” She noted, passing a notebook to him and another stack of papers.

There was always something.

“Thank you. This will be quick.” He strode off down the hall and turned right pushing the frosted glass door open.

Only to come face to face with the girl from the club. 

#billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher au #frank castle #shadow and bone #vampire au #the punisher billy russo #billy russo the punisher #billy russo smut #billy russo x you #billy russo imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #vampire!billyrusso #vampire!billy #human!reader

[stevesbipanic]

Boy For All Seasons

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Ao3

By the time the first snow began to fall upon Hawkins Eddie knew he was falling in love with one Steve Harrington. Most nights the boys shared a bed feigning exhaustion or cold weather as an excuse to be close to each other. Eddie was weak to Steve's wishes and selfishly wanted to keep the younger boy in his orbit for as long as possible.

Christmas break had just started and Eddie was helping Steve hang up lights on the roof of Family Video.

"Ya know Stevie, usually when I help you with work it's to steal corporate America's heating system not freeze my balls off."

"I told you to wear I sweater when we left this morning."

Eddie's cheeks flushed and it wasn't from the cold, he mumbled a response.

"What was that?" Steve asked as he climbed back down and they headed inside.

"I said you're wearing my only sweater." Eddie was at least feeling warm now under Steve's gaze.

"Eds why didn't you say something, I could've survived!"

"I didn't want you to get cold, besides you look cute in my clothes."

Steve smiled softly, "Oh yeah? Trying to get me all dressed up a metalhead Munson?"

Eddie leaned in, a smirk dancing over his face, "Well you would look pretty h-."

"Oi! Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee! A little help would be nice!" Robin called, startling the boys apart.

"Sorry Robs."

"We helped with the lights little Birdie!"

"Mhm, Steve did the lights, you enjoyed the show, Munson," Robin muttered under her breath. It hadn't been long ago that the two had done the questioning gaze at each other revealing they had more in common than they thought. It made Eddie happy that it was unlikely Steve would punch him if he found out but even with all the flirting Eddie wasn't willing to risk it.

"What time are we supposed to be there on Tuesday, Steve-o?"

"Five, 'cause you know the kids are gonna want presents before dinner. Is Nance still picking you up?"

"Yeah she said she's got room, Joyce says she's gonna borrow Ms. Sinclair's car while they're here so she's got the rest of the kids handled."

Steve smiled and continued stacking the shelves.

"You guys having a little Christmas Eve party with the sheepies?" Eddie asked trying not to feel a little hurt that he'd been excluded.

"Hm? Oh shit! Eddie yeah everyone's coming over that day, you should bring Wayne too if he's not working."

"Dingus, did you forget to invite him?"

"Maybe," Steve said sheepishly, "In my defense, I assumed we'd be hanging out that day anyway."

Something warm bloomed in Eddie's chest at the assumption, at the inference that Steve would want to be around Eddie all the time.

"Wayne's working sadly, but you're right, we should probs sleep at yours Tuesday then so you have time to get everything set up." If Eddie hadn't been hiding his own blush behind his hair, he may have caught the light dusting across Steve's cheek at the word "we".

It wasn't long before Christmas Eve had rolled around. The Harrington house looked warmer when it was bathed in soft yellow Christmas lights. Steve had spent all day moving around the kitchen getting the feast ready, Eddie a dutiful taster and switcher of vinyls.

Before long the doorbell rang and a stampede of noise and laughter filled the home. Steve had been correct, the kids wanted to do presents first, and a mess of wrapping paper and cheers flowed through the living room. Eddie in typical Eddie fashion had dressed up as Santa Claus and helped pass around the gifts.

"This is for you, Eds," Steve said shyly passing a small gift to Eddie.

"Thanks, sweetheart." Eddie unwrapped the gift to find a chain with a black and red guitar pick attached.

"You've got so many rings, thought you needed something a little different, plus it matches your guitar."

"It's awesome, thank you, Stevie." Before Eddie could stop his own actions he'd leaned into Steve's space and pecked his cheek.

Steve immediately flushed, his hand reaching up to softly touch his cheek before standing quickly and telling the group that it was time for dinner. Briefly, Eddie thought he'd ruined everything but at the table, Steve still smiled and sat beside him.

Later, when everyone else had been taken home leaving Eddie and Steve warm and safe in Steve's bed Eddie thought about mentioning it. He thought about mentioning everything, all the flirting, the jokes, the costumes, the smiles, the stares, the fact that they slept together almost every night. But he didn't, instead, he whispered softly as they both softly drifted to sleep.

"Merry Christmas, Stevie."

"Merry Christmas, Eds."

Tags: @zerokrox-blog @smallfrogpleasedtomeetyou @eboyawstenn @sharingisntkaren @goodolefashionedloverboi @the-redthread @steddie-there @questionablequeeries @liorereshkigal @mightbeasleep @carlyv @my2amgaythoughts @gregre369 @space-invading-pigeon @bisexualdisastersworld @epiclazershark @sherrylyn628 @raisedbylibrarians @swaghettoni

#merry christmas #sorry this update took a quick sec uni has been hectic #only two more parts to go! #christmas #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fluff #there may be angst next chapter tho....

[shimmerbeasts]

Her pulsing, fuchsia eyes did little to hide her displeasure at the interruption. As boring as updating books was, that did not justify someone barging into her office. Renata Glasc made a mental note to fire that greenhorn, who had let that person come through. You couldn't rely on human personnel these days, could you? Her decanter, hovering behind her, was ten times more reliable. Of course, he was. Renata had programmed him herself!

Her office clawed itself into the side of the Promenade Level, overlooking the river like an eagle nest in the mountains. Thickly toned glass ensured that for any onlooker, it was more like they were being watched by a pair of impartial eyes than grant any insight into her workings. Business secrets must be guarded well after all.

Renata Glasc's office was lavishly equipped for a Chem-Baron, easily showcasing how she owned half of the Undercity by now. From the thick, tightly woven carpets, imported directly from Ionia, to the Noxian, red pitcher plants, standing in the corners of her rooms, to the shelves, loaded with books, and the very same, seemingly immovable, black desk, she was sitting behind right now.

However, the most outstanding and strangest element of decor, outside of Renata's very own decanter, was the polar bear's skull, which had been glued towards a pole in the room next to her bookshelf. The skull was adorned with glass marbles and a complex system of glass tubes, going through copper rings, and forming almost a muscular exterior around the bear's skeleton head. Burgundy liquid flowed through it. The same fuchsia colour, which could be found in Renata Glasc's arm, eyes and the side windows of her mask.

The CEO of Glasc Industries rolled her white fingers over the surface of her desk as she spoke: "I hope, you realise how lucky you got. Normally, I do not take kindly to being disrupted in my work like this, but apparently, you wouldn't take No for an answer. So go on, darling, impress me!"

#our timeline has moved up: open starter #welcome to the lanes: test muse

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day One point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C word count: 3.4k summary: Din Djarin eats bread. warnings: Mando'a and English cursing, gluten

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

As Din stepped into Marathel’s home, he took the opportunity to examine the structure while her back was turned.  It wasn’t so much a house as it was a raised platform with an open framework of posts and long slim beams supporting a flat roof.  The roof was heavily thatched with layers of braided leaves and flat grasses.   One corner was supported by a large tree, which had branches that reached under the roof.  Under this tree was a tall wooden upright frame that was heavily laced with string and fiber – some kind of loom, he supposed.  There was a long table with benches.  Opposite the loom was a sleeping pad that was partially surrounded by panels of hanging fabric.  Another corner of the structure was built out over a stream that partially flowed underneath the platform, and there was a simple pulley system for Marathel to collect water.  The back of the structure was dominated by a large clay box that was constructed around a fire, which contained a large metal grate that held cooking pots.  On either side of the fireplace were long counters with shelves, tightly packed with a variety of baskets.  Din’s eyes grazed along the top of the counter, littered with open jars and small clay pots, and there, next to the dry sink, lay a large round loaf of crusty bread.  

Bread.  Osik, bread.  Bread was hard to come by when criss-crossing the galaxy, eating travel rations on the run.  Bread that he had managed to get a hold of was hard and dry or too mealy to enjoy.  Never, ever had he had bread right out of an oven, and proper bread was so rare to him that he could count on one hand how many times he had eaten any.  Food at the covert was institutional and practical. Food was for strength, for energy.  Since becoming an adult, Din had discovered that that was not always precisely so.  His helmet only allowed the slightest of aromas to get through, but the hints of herbs that he could get were tantalizing.  

Marathel had dished up a bowl of the stew that stood on the hob, and she mashed the contents into a puree with a spoon.  She then picked up the loaf of bread, tore off a hunk, exposing the fluffy center that made Din’s mouth water.  She spread a soft cheese on the bread, deftly tore it into child-sized chunks, and placed the food on the table.  “Sit,” she said.  Din sat. Grogu immediately reached for the bowl, but Din moved it into a better position, set Grogu on his thigh, and began spoon-feeding the stew into the ungrateful maw. Marathel had her back turned again, putting herbs into mugs and filling the mugs with hot water from the reservoir, and Din briefly wondered if he’d have enough time to slip a bit of bread under his helmet before she turned around again.  Before he could, though, Marathel sat opposite him, sliding a steaming mug over to him.  “Does he approve?”  

“He does.”  

“Good.” She sipped her tea.  “He is a charming creature.”  

“He does have that effect on people.”  Din was about to let Grogu sip from the mug of tea when Marathel said, “Oh no, the tea is for you.  The tea is … a …. digestive?  Good for stomachs.  Too strong for little ones, unless they are ill.”  

Din slid the mug out of reach.  “Grogu needs no help in that department.”  

Marathel chuckled.  “I understand.  I helped with the little ones at the Hold.”  

“The Hold?”  

She gestured vaguely.  “Up there, where the others are.”  

“Why is it that you’re down here, all alone?”  

Marathel hid her face for a moment in her mug.  “The Dahlrhddwhyrs – the Dahls – of course.”  

“Why are they so important?”  

She shrugged and kept her eyes on the tabletop. “I don’t know.  Status, maybe?  The Ancient Ones had use for them, but I don't know what that was.  There are things known in the Oldtalk, but girls don’t learn those things.  The men and the boys who have changed learn that in the Round Building.  The girls only learn what Oldtalk and Newtalk is needed from the Diwhyns.” 

“Diwhyns?” 

“The … older women.  The mothers.  I’m sorry, you speak Newtalk …I will try to keep up.”  Marathel took another long sip of her tea. “But you were asking about the Dahls.  The Elders want them, but you can’t just take a Dahl.  You have to care for them while still in the egg.  When they hatch, you have to be there … that way …” She scowled, looking for the right words.  “They become yours, you become theirs?” 

“They bond?” 

“Yes!  Bond.  That is the word. I take them the eggs each season, but they will not bond with The Elders.”  Marathel slipped her hands into her sleeves and swallowed while she stared at the tabletop. She finally lifted her eyes to look at Din’s helmet. It was then that she noticed that he was not looking at her but seemed to be focused on something just behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes fell on the bread.  “You are hungry, then?” 

“No.  I will eat later.” 

“If you want bread, you may have bread.  Or stew.  I have plenty.”  She got up and pulled another bowl from the shelf.   

“I cannot.” 

“You cannot?” 

“I may not eat before others.” 

Marathel’s brow furrowed.  “I don’t understand.” 

“I may not remove my helmet before any other living thing.” 

She contemplated this for a moment.  “You require … privacy, then?”  Din did not answer.  “This is easily fixed.”  She pulled out another one of her ubiquitous baskets and removed a stack of folded dark-colored fabric. 

Din stood.  “I do not wish you any trouble.” 

“It is no trouble.  You are hungry but may not eat before me.  I understand.  Let me fix something.  In the meantime, I expect Grogu will need the necessary?” 

“The necessary?” 

“Babies fill, babies must empty, yes?”  Marathel pointed towards the corner just past her sleeping pad.  “Hop down there and go about ten meters around that rock outcrop.  Look to your left, you will find it.  Go on, then.” 

Grogu was indeed squirming, so Din followed her directions and found a latrine just as she said.  It was little more than a wooden box with a hole in it, but the rock outcrop gave some privacy, along with a weatherproof curtain that was tied to an adjacent tree.  There was even a covered bucket of clean cloths.  All the comforts of home.  Din took care of Grogu, took a constitutional himself, and then headed back to Marathels’ hut.  On the way, he washed his hands and Grogu’s in the cold stream that flowed under the platform.  Upon climbing back up into her home, he saw that Marathel had constructed a fabric cubicle opposite her sleeping pad.  The fabric seemed opaque enough to serve the purpose.  Marathel was standing on her loom stool, stretched tall to clip the panel at the top, when she overreached and began to lose her balance.  Din quickly crossed the platform and put a hand on her waist to balance her, but Marathel yelped with surprise and overcorrected, causing Din to wrap his arm around her waist to keep her from falling.  She looked down at him with wide eyes, eyes that Din finally saw were the same liquid silver color as her hair, framed by pale lashes.  Marathel jumped down and smoothed her tunic where he had touched her.  Gesturing to the curtained area, she said, “This will work?” 

Din nodded.  “Yes.  It will suffice.” 

“Good.  Wash your hands, I will fix you a plate.” 

Din again followed her directions; it seemed that she would brook no quarter if he protested that he ate with his gloves on. He turned his shoulders away from her to remove his gloves, and he began to pour out warm water from the reservoir when she slid an open jar towards him.  “Soap,” she said simply while she filled a larger bowl with the stew and slathered an enormous hunk of bread with the soft cheese.   She placed the food on the stool and carried it into the fabric cubicle.  Din quickly washed both his hands and Grogu’s for good measure.  Marathel turned to him and said, “Please eat.  If it pleases you, I could take Grogu out with me.  We will leave you alone, but we will stay in the yard, so you can see us.  He could help me gather.” 

“That is fine.” 

 Grogu was already reaching for her, so she plucked him out of Din’s arms with a smile and settled him on her hip with practiced ease.  She grabbed a large woven bag and walked down the steps of the platform.  “Come Grogu, you are a strapping lad!  Let’s see what we can find.” 

Din entered the curtained space.  The fabric seemed opaque enough, but he could still see both Marathel and Grogu in the sunlit yard.  He picked up the food and sat on the stool.  He lifted the helmet from his head, closing his eyes, breathing in the clean air of this planet.  All at once he was pleasantly assaulted with smells: the aroma of the meat stew, the cleanliness of the fabric panels, the herbs in the cheese.  Taking a bit of the stew, the meat melted in his mouth, the vegetables were flavorful.  Din had intended to eat all the stew before biting into the bread, but he couldn’t wait anymore.  His teeth bit through the crunchy, flaky crust into the soft center that had the perfect texture of porgsdown, and the sharpness of the cheese and the headiness of the herbs made him wonder what in blue fuck he had been eating his entire life if he had to travel beyond the edge of nowhere and meet possibly the strangest person in his life in order to find this, and as he chewed all these marvelous things together he believed that he would gladly face off against a Krayt Dragon armed with nothing but his middle finger if he could be eating this bread while he did so.  He opened his eyes, breathing deeply though his nose, and the wind brought a fragrance that was sea salt and the wildflowers that blossomed in this woman’s yard.  She kept her back to him – as she promised – as she knelt with Grogu in front of a bunch of berry bushes, showing him what to pick.  He happily started pulling berries off for her and placing them carefully in her sack.  He ate a few, of course, but spit them out.  Din heard her laugh as she said, “Yes, dream berries taste bad to children, which is a good thing.  Show me how many you can pick!”  Grogu did pick for a while, but then he was distracted by a flying insect, which he chased around the yard.  Marathel continued with her picking but kept Grogu in her sights at all times.  As Grogu contemplated some sort of crawly critter on the ground, she came over and they both poked at it for a while until it rolled up and rolled away.  Laughing, they began to play some sort of chasing game, while Din ate the best bread he had ever tasted, and – though he would never admit it — quietly laughed too as he watched the tall woman and the tiny green creature gambol about the yard. 

The shadows in the yard were beginning to deepen by the time Din actually finished his meal. He had chewed each morsel of bread until they were liquified, and he had even picked up crumbs from the floor and ate them too, before he would admit that he was actually finished eating. By this time the running game had ended between Marathel and Grogu, and they sat on the steps with a bowl between them. Marathel was snapping beans into pieces and tossing them into the bowl; Grogu snapped the beans with much less skill and was preferring to chew on the pieces instead of putting them in the bowl. “Stop it, Grogu,” said Marathel, with a mock-stern look on her face. Noticing that Din had moved outside the cubicle, she smiled and asked, “All done?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“It is no bother.” She stood and collected the bowl and plate from him, moving back to the kitchen to place them in the dry sink. Din moved off the steps and began to strap the jet pack back onto his back. Marathel came forward to the top of the steps, directly above him. “Are you leaving?”  

“Yes. We are thankful for your hospitality.” 

Marathel looked dismayed. “But …. why leave?” 

Din clicked the strap that held his blaster. “We are here for a bounty, and it would appear … we are not here at the right time. The bounty calls for you to deliver eggs. I take it there are no eggs at the moment?” 

 Marathel nodded, her eyes downcast. She slid her hands back into her sleeves. “It is not quite the season. But it is soon.” 

“How long?” 

Marathel's hands were so deep into her sleeves that they were almost rubbing her shoulders. Biting her lip, she walked back to her loom and pulled out a long chain of yarn through which she had woven short lengths of colored yarn in a complicated pattern. She counted out sections of patterns, and then looked out over the landscape for a long while. Her mouth moved silently for a moment, and then she moved back to the yard, looking into the sky. The moon was rising. She contemplated the moon. Finally, she moved closer to Din, with her eyes still downcast. Her hands went back into her sleeves – some sort of nervous gesture, he thought – and she finally said, “There will be eggs in four or five days. You will not have long to wait, Bounty Hunter.” 

Din nodded. “Four or five days.” 

Marathel shrugged. “Perhaps a bit more, perhaps a bit less.”  

Din went back to replacing his vambraces. “Come, Grogu, we will return to the ship.” 

Marathel quickly turned away to grab the bowl off the step. “Or you could stay here.” 

Din looked up. “Here?” 

Still back-to, Marathel gestured to the curtains she had hung. “You will have privacy. You will have meals. Would that not …. be all right?” 

Din tilted his head and considered her spine. She obviously was not a flight risk, which was why he contemplated just staying on the ship for the next few days. It would cost him too much in fuel to leave and come back. He was concerned about trying to take the bounty without contacting this Bishop person, whoever he was, but Din was also concerned that The Bishop and the Hold would continue to be closed off to him. This was all a mystery, a puzzle, an enigma …. an enigma wrapped in a mystery who kept her hands covered and her head down and her back to him while she held a bowl of beans. Din looked down to see Grogu wrap his arms around her ankle and look back at him with his huge eyes, pleading. Din took a breath and softly muttered, “Haar’chak.” Louder, he said, “If we will not be trouble, we will stay.” 

Marathel turned, Grogu still wrapped around her ankle, with a look that was somehow both relief and dread. “There is no trouble.” She tried to move back to the kitchen, but Grogu hampered her. She looked down at her ankle and chuckled. “I appear to have grown a Grogu. Let go, child, let’s get you and your father settled.” She pulled out yet another basket and unfurled another sleeping pad and collected blankets. She then lightly kicked the empty basket towards Din. “For your weapons. You may keep them in there. You may not wear them in my house. But you may keep the basket where you will sleep.” Marathel then set up the sleeping pad with blankets with her usual efficiency. Din removed his weapons again, placing them in the large basket, wondering what in Dha'tra he was getting himself into. She crossed the room and pulled the curtains around her sleeping pad so they were also closed. She turned back to Din. “My space, your space, yes? Privacy for both.” Din nodded. She clasped her hands together. “Very good. Now I will make us more tea, we will sit, and I will tell Grogu the story of Luad Dycwnigen.” 

Within minutes, Din found himself sitting on Marathel’s front steps, a mug of tea at his hip. She knew he obviously wasn’t going to drink any in front of her, which was why she had graciously placed a saucer on top of the mug to keep it warm. Meanwhile, she was pointing at the moon, which now had fully risen, telling Grogu how the Luad Dycwingen had left the ground to live in the sky, where the Dahlrhddwhyrs could not catch him. Unfortunately, he had to live on the moon upside down because he had jumped too far. Din gazed at the moon as well, and asked, “What am I supposed to be seeing?” 

“His shape. It’s that long, dark section there.” 

“It would help if I knew what a Luad Dycwingen was.” 

Marathel's brow furrowed. “He was a small, furry animal. Long strong legs, fluffy tail. Long ears that stand up and are almost transparent.” 

“That sounds like a rabbit.” 

Marathel shrugged. “Could be.” 

Din considered the moon again. “I guess. If I squint.” 

Marathel chuckled. “If your rabbits are the same as my dycwingens, they are good eating as well.” At this point, Grogu yawned hugely. “Ah yes, the wings of sleep are finally wrapping around the little one.” She pushed herself up and picked up her empty mug. Din stood as well. Marathel deftly handed off the child to Din and said, “My bed is calling for me as well. Have a good sleep, Bounty Hunter.” She went to the kitchen, quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, and stepped into her curtained room. Looking over her shoulder, she realized that Din was watching her. She stared for a moment and disappeared behind the fabric. 

Din stood where he was for a short while, listening. He finally heard the rustle of her laying down and then all was silence. He sat back down, Grogu nestled in his arms, asleep. Din reached for the mug of tea, slightly lifted his helmet, and sipped. It was still warm. It tasted different than the digestive tea she had given him earlier. It was a lighter flavor with a more calming effect – something sleepier, perhaps. He quietly sighed and stared into the stars, thinking about the oddity of a mark who welcomed him into her home and fed him before he turned her in. 

Marathel, meanwhile, had curled onto her side and pressed her clasped fists into her mouth to keep from screaming. The Bishop, The Bishop was going to drag her back into that Hold, all for those damned Dahls and their damned eggs, but it wasn’t about them at all, it was about how The Bishop was never denied, NEVER, and now The Bishop had sent this man who wore more metal than she had ever seen in one place, who wore a helmet covering his eyes, to drag her back into that Hold and through the doors of the Round Building, and she was so, so, afraid.  

Tears escaped her shut eyes, and she bit her thumb to keep her from breathing too loud because she knew that the metal man could hear her, the metal man was here to end her days away from the pain of the Hold, so she tried to shift her thoughts away from her fear and thought about the child, the little green child who made the metal man soft somehow.  

She didn’t have the words, she was dumb, she knew hardly anything, but she knew what was coming in the next few days and she knew she couldn’t escape it ... and yet, there was always a kernel of a dream in the deepest part of her soul, and she let the sweetness of the little green child be part of that dream. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars smut #mandalorian smut #star wars fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin series #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian angst #the mandalorian fluff

[nightshadereaper66]

Ethanol and Mothballs

Word Count: 2.1k This short story is inspired by the museum collections that I visited during my January paleontology class. All of the pictures used are mine and were taken at the various museums we visited. I'm super excited to share this story with y'all, and hope you love it as much as I do!

The halls of the museum are quiet. The day has ended, night plunging the rooms into eerie darkness. Gone are the copious beams of sunlight flowing through the windows. They now show only the gray haze of the city's night sky, plunging the marble halls into obscurity. It's the end of the hustle and bustle of tourists, of the cheerful shouts and giggles of children, and more subdued conversations of adults. The darkness is broken only by the flashlight beams of security guards working the graveyard shift. 

Occasionally, their light settles on the bones of long-dead animals resting peacefully in their wire armatures, casting odd, distorted shadows across the walls. The umbral forms of prehistoric fossils dance with the shadows of the guards, brought halfway to life only briefly by their light. 

The silence is broken only by footsteps on carpet, the whirring of the climate systems, and the building's occasional creak and groan. All is still as it should be; quietly resting after the long day. It would seem that the museum dies at night.

I open my eyes, hearing the slosh of fluid around me as I shakily stretch, limbs hitting the hard edges of my tub. I groan, my voice gravelly from disuse. Finally, it's time to wake up. I sit up, my poorly adjusted eyes only seeing the occasional glint of light reflecting off the trails of ethanol crisscrossing the floor. My muscles are cramped; I barely see my pale limbs tremoring in front of me. I shake, struggling to find a grip on the sterile stainless steel until I manage to grab the edge of the tub. Slowly my eyes adjust to the welcoming darkness, a wonderful reprieve from bright fluorescent lights. The air is thick with the smell of ethanol. Always ethanol here, it clings to everything and everyone, a constant reminder of the place where we reside.

As my vision improves, I can make out the shapes of the shelves in the darkness. They stand in a puddle of ethanol, trails and prints radiating in all directions from it. My tremors slowly subside as my body fights the vestiges of the cold sleep.

I watch a snake slither out of its jar, landing in the ethanol puddle with a quiet plash. It's quickly followed by its jar-mates, then the frogs from the jar next door. 

The soft sloshes are interrupted by a loud series of splashes and thrashes coming from a large tub on the far side of the wet lab. The smell of ethanol intensifies as the massive alligator snapping turtle inside sends liquid everywhere in his energetic bid for freedom. I climb out of my tub, walking off the stiffness and the last of the tremors before pulling the turtle out by the back of his shell.

“Happy wake-up, Troy,” I say as he starts to wander around the room, leaving behind a broad, messy ethanol trail. He opens his mouth wide, looking straight at me. I’m never sure if that's his version of a smile or a death threat.

The shelves are alive, undocumented insects trundling among their more well-known friends. One jar spews hundreds of tiny snails as they crawl over each other and to the ground, trailing ethanol instead of mucus. I twist off the lid to another snail jar; this one is always particularly stubborn. As I pull off the lid, a giant African land snail creeps out onto my arm.

“Yeah, alright buddy, we can go for a walk. Stretch your, er, foot.”

Snail crawls up my torso and onto my shoulder. I gently pat them between their eyestalks and scratch their shell.

“Just give me a second to let the fish out,” I say, unscrewing the lids of the fish jars and letting them swim out into my large tub, “Have fun, guys. It's not much, but it's better than being stuck like sardines in a can. Or a jar, I guess.”

Troy the snapping turtle shuffles over to watch them schooling.

“You can't eat anymore, remember? None of us can. Don't try it, Troy.”

He opens his mouth, giving me another smile/death threat.

“Thank you.”

I slide Dr. MacMorgan's I.D. out from under a dusty, overlooked jar of rhino beetles on the top shelf. I'm grateful for the museum's leniency in issuing him a second I.D. after this one went missing. He claimed he lost the thing, after all, his eyes “aren't what they used to be,” and his memory “is full of cotton wool these days.” I think the curator also helped to fast-track the process. She definitely didn't ask many questions.

Anyway, I had a garden snail steal the I.D. so that I could walk around collections. What can I say, I got tired of only exploring when the man forgot it in the piles of paperwork on his desk. Feelings and federal laws don’t matter much when you’re dead. Besides, now I can go check out the new research posters they put on the walls. It's nice to know that they're still using us for something. 

I swipe the I.D. and step into the hall. The smell of ethanol fades as the door to the wet lab closes. Snail crawls onto my head for a better view as I step into the bathroom and look at our reflection. The light turns on automatically as I walk in, and I wince as my eyes struggle to adjust. I look at myself in the mirror; my cheeks are sallow, cloudy eyes sunk into yellowed skin. A little worse for wear, but not bad, I haven’t aged a day. I examine my arms, running my fingers over the relatively new needle-hole in one of them. It showed up a few months back, but it’ll never heal. Presumably, it was for a tissue sample; I wonder what they’re using it for. I have been dead and pickled in ethanol for a while, it was about time. Snail (who I seem to be wearing as a hat) looks a little better-preserved, but their body still has that yellowish color that all wet lab residents tend to get. My snail hat waves their eyestalks towards the door emphatically. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going!” I say, stepping back out of the bathroom and into the darkness of the halls. “Where to now?”

They crawl down to my forehead, waving their left eye stalk in front of my eye.

“Alright, fossils it is. I know you like the shark teeth.” They do a move resembling a one-snail wave in appreciation. I smile, heading through the maze of nearly identical corridors. I see the light of a flashlight ahead and duck into an empty office, narrowly avoiding someone. It's probably just a grad student returning from the vending machine with their energy drink. I wait until the light is gone and slip back into the halls.

“Hey look! They extracted my DNA and used it to do some stuff. That explains the needle hole in my arm,” I say, pointing out a poster on the wall. I step close so that Snail can read it. At least, I think they can read. Their eyestalks scan over the lines of text and appear to understand as they pull back. 

They settle back on my forehead and I set off once more, finally reaching the thick, heavy door to the fossil collections. I scan the I.D. and the light blinks green, letting me in beyond the large gray door. We are hit with the strong smell of mothballs and the crisp, strictly temperature and humidity-controlled air. The lights turn on automatically, illuminating the rows of open shelves and closed metal cabinets.

I walk down the aisles, waiting for Snail to stop me and gesture to whatever cabinet they find interesting. When they do, I open the door. All of the drawers are labeled “glyptodon,” so I pull out a random one. Snail crawls off of me and onto the cabinet, eye stalks investigating the giant armadillo fossils. Mostly osteoderms, the bony bits right under the skin, but some teeth and small bones. When they’re satisfied, I close the cabinet and open a nearby one. 

We proceed in a similar fashion for a while, opening whatever cabinets strike our fancy and stopping to admire the fossils inside. Snail crawls back onto my head and we look at the skulls that rest on the open shelves. There are plenty of mammoths and mastodons, recognizable by their massive teeth. The mammoth teeth are more flat, while mastodons’ are more pointy unless they’ve been worn down a lot.

I run my hand along the glossier fossilized enamel, wondering what the fossils would get up to if they could move around at night. They’re just rock-ified bones (the fancy descriptor is permineralized), so they’d fall apart, assuming that they hadn’t already. The Earth is a blender, or so I hear. 

Snail prefers the smaller fossils, so they’re content to stay on my head as I trace the contours of huge tusks, dino bones, and skulls. It’s crazy to think that some of this stuff is still closer in age to spaghetti than to the beginning of life. It sure seems like it’s been fossilized for ages. And then some paleontologist dug it up and encased it in plaster and a volunteer put in thousands of hours to clean it up. 

“Having a nice wander?”

I jump, snapping abruptly out of my thoughts. The voice comes from behind me. Snail retreats into their shell, still on top of my head. Act like a normal person. One who hasn’t been dead and preserved in ethanol for fifty years.

“Hi! I uh, have a really bad skincare routine!”

She laughs. I turn around. It’s the museum curator. She’s wearing a headlamp; it’s still turned on. She raises a hand to turn it off since it’s not needed in the automatic lighting of the fossil collections.

“That tends to happen when you’re a wet lab specimen.”

“You know about that?” I ask as Snail peeks out of their shell, eyestalks fixed on her. The curator’s gaze tracks up at them, then back to my cloudy eyes.

“Yes. How do you think MacMorgan got a new I.D. so quickly?” Seeing my look of concern, she adds, “I don’t mind if you leave the wet lab, as long as you don’t make a mess.”

“Uhh… okay…” I say, still trying to process the new turn of events.

“Some people think that this building is haunted. I see why they would say that. I passed you in the hall earlier, you look very sinister,” she says, smiling.

“That was you, with the light? I thought it was a grad student! Dammit, I need to be more careful,” I reply, looking perturbed.

“You could, or you could keep letting the world believe that this building is haunted.” The curator seems to be enjoying this conversation. She reaches out a hand to pet Snail’s shell. After a few moments, she speaks again, “It can be our little secret.”

“You’re not scared by me? I’m literally dead and pickled, how are you fine with this?”

She laughs again. “I used to work in a wet lab, I’m quite accustomed to seeing preserved organisms. And if you want to have a little fun at night, I suppose I can continue to turn a blind eye.”

I nod awkwardly, surprised by her casual demeanor. The curator holds out her phone, the screen showing a clock that reads 4:13 a.m. 

“For now, it’s time to go back to bed,” she says as the screen turns off. I stare into my reflection in the black glass.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll get back to wet lab,” I say, realizing that I’m starting to feel the sluggish feeling that heralds in the morning.

She smiles, turning her headlamp back on as we leave the fossil collections. The curator walks off, disappearing into the shadows of the halls as Snail and I hurry back home. I swipe the I.D. and duck inside, stopping for a moment as I’m hit with the strong smell of ethanol. I help Troy back into his tub, coax Snail into their jar, and gather up the fish swimming in my tub. We’re all much more sluggish as the morning starts to roll in, seeing the sky start to lighten through the window. At last, I collapse back into my tub, trying not to splash too much as I let the ethanol settle back around me.

I drift off into the long day, holding on to the memories of the night. My cloudy eyes don’t close as my muscles stiffen, ready to stay motionless for the next day in the bright lights of the lab. I could run these halls forever, reveling in the shadows of forgotten, forever preserved lives, permeated in the scent of ethanol and mothballs.

#writing #creative writing #short story #female writers #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers and poets #writeblr #writblr #paleontology #biology #ethanol #museum #museum photography #science #mothballs #museum collections #fossils #field museum #wet lab #laboratory #dinosaur #t rex #mammoth #prehistoric animals

[snappedsky]

Doctor Who- Creative Block

I have been binging a lot of Doctor Who lately and this fic was inspired by a dream I had. Self insert story in which I meet the Doctor when he lands in the backyard.

*Reblogs appreciated*

--

It was the most amazing night of my life.

It was about 10pm. I was pacing around the house, too restless and frustrated to sleep, when everything started shaking.

I lost my balance and dropped to my knees as paintings fell off the walls and things toppled over on the shelves and counters. It felt like the whole building was gonna collapse. Then I heard something outside pass overhead, like a plane flying by. I lurched to the back window to try and see it. Something bright fell from the sky and crashed into the backyard. As it did, the shaking subsided.

I quickly ran to the front door, throwing on my coat and shoes, and rushed outside. It was snowing heavily, like a waterfall of flurries. Only the front walk had been shovelled recently. I had to trudge through knee-high snow to get around the house. But the snow in the backyard had been all blown away.

What sat in the middle of the yard was a large, blue box with windows, the words ‘Police Box’ on each side, and a round light on the top that slowly faded out. I approached cautiously, in shock, when the door creaked open.

“Blimey! Not one of my better landings.”

A man stumbled out- white, tall, and skinny with styled-up brown hair, in a tight blue suit and a big, flow-y brown jacket. He noticed me almost immediately, staring at him with my mouth agape. “Oh. Hello there. Sorry, hope I didn’t startle you.”

“I um-ah-are you...alright?” I asked. I kind of surprised myself there. Of all the questions swirling around my head, that was the one that came out. But he seemed happy about it.

“Oh, quite alright, thanks,” he replied, smiling. “Just had some trouble landing. My navigation system malfunctioned.”

He looked around, properly taking in his surroundings. “Oh, real snow! Lovely! I hardly ever see real snow. Tell me, where am I?”

“Um about three hours from Jasper.”

“Jasper...Alberta...?”

I nodded.

“Canada! Wonderful!” he remarked. “And uh what year?”

“2030.”

“Good year,” he nodded approvingly and glanced around some more.

“Um do...do you need help?” I asked, again surprising myself.

He also looked surprised then smiled. “I could use some help, yes.”

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #tenth doctor #david tennant #self insert #myart

[hotwaterandmilk]

Very high pain day. Really wish I had enough money to invest in a rollator or at least the time/money to get someone to help me with an NDIS application as standing for more than a couple of minutes at a time is agony.

ANYWAY! While I'm in a cocoon of pain, here's my current book rec:

From Yen Press:

Nagi Yoroizuka, a twenty-seven-year old systems engineer at a software development company, is facing down her thirties with no sign of romance. She works hard at her job, but things never seem to go right. Then, when a series of mishaps leaves her at her lowest point yet, a childhood friend reappears to offer her a hand. Not only is this genius engineer warm hearted and good looking, but he also gets along great with her! There’s just one problem: She’s only ever seen him as a friend, while he’s been hiding his feelings for her their whole lives. But even if she’s willing to give him a chance, will trauma from her past prove too much to overcome?

I'm currently reading the digital version and it's quite enjoyable, the translation flows nicely and Nagi's POV helps draw you in. Her work situations feel extremely relatable and Keigo's attempts to get closer to her are quite endearing.

This novel is very much set in the "real world" and as such there are no easy solutions or quick solves for the leads (at least where I'm up to, I haven't finished it yet), rather they're slowly figuring things out in a frustrating yet sympathetic way.

There aren't a lot of novels in this vein being brought over by the usual English-language light novel localisers. Most novels that get picked up have some fantastic element because they're trying to appeal to the same broad audience they tend to target with their manga releases.

However, with isekai romances going gangbusters for publishers like Seven Seas and Coss Infinite World, here's hoping we get to see a few more of these dramatic romances with adult leads getting a translation abroad. Goodness knows Japan has a metric shitton of novels in this vein that would fit nicely on the shelves of the average shoujo or josei manga enjoyer.

If these types of stories interest you, I recommend checking out How to Win Her Heart on the Nth Try.

#personal #novel recommendation #novel rec #i'm full of painkillers #sorry if this doesn't make a lot of sense #book is solid though

[beardedmrbean]

People have worked for a century to make California’s Tulare Basin into a food grower’s paradise. That pastoral landscape now looks more like the Pacific Ocean in many areas.

Months of atmospheric river storms have pummeled the area and saturated the basin’s soil, which sits about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles, not far from Fresno. The rains have led to floods that damaged towns and deluged farms and have begun to refill what was once a sprawling lake.

The floods have pitted neighboring property owners against one another and raised tensions over how to manage the flows, which have damaged hundreds of structures. And more water is on the way.

Experts say a monthslong, slow-burning crisis will play out next: A historic snowpack looms in the mountains above the basin — as it melts, it is likely to put downstream communities through months of torment. The flooding, which follows several years of extreme drought, showcases the weather whiplash typical of California, which vacillates between too wet and too dry. The influence of climate change can make the state’s extremes more intense.

“This is a slowly unfolding natural disaster,” said Jeffrey Mount, a senior fellow at the Water Policy Center of the Public Policy Institute of California. “There’s no way to handle it with the existing infrastructure.”

The re-forming Tulare Lake — which was drained for farming a century ago — could remain on the landscape for years, disrupting growers in a region that produces a significant proportion of the nation’s supply of almonds, pistachios, milk and fruit. High-stakes decisions over where that water travels could resonate across the country’s grocery store shelves.

In the farming communities that dot the historic lake bed, accusations of sabotaged levees, frantic efforts to patch breached banks and feuds — common occurrences during flood fights in the area — have started already, said Matt Hurley, a former water manager for several water districts in the Tulare Basin.

n the nearby town of Allensworth last month, a dispute over a culvert caused anxiety and friction with the railroad that sends trains through town. Residents worked into the night to plug a culvert — a drain under Highway 43 — with plywood and sandbags in a desperate effort to keep floodwater out of town.

But later that night, workers with the Burlington Northern Santa Fe railroad unblocked the pipe, which left some Allensworth residents fuming as water flowed closer.

The residents had used BNSF materials without permission, said Lena Kent, a railroad spokesperson. Damming the culvert threatened the highway — the only access point to Allensworth at the time — and the rail tracks that run parallel to it.

Stress levels could remain high for months.

“The problem this year is it’s just begun. We may have water running at or near our flood level — in all of our streams, through August or September,” Hurley said. “This impending monster — a 50-foot-plus deep snowpack that we haven’t seen in 75 years —  is sitting up there, and we just don’t know how fast it’s going to turn into water and come out of the mountains.”

The Tulare Basin is at the southern end of California’s San Joaquin Valley — and in essence, it’s a massive bowl. Before irrigators dug canals and rerouted water for farming in the late 1800s, Tulare Lake filled the bowl’s lower reaches. Shallow water stretched across the landscape, and the lake was the largest body of freshwater west of the Mississippi.

Several rivers — Kings, Tule, Kern and Kaweah — historically dead-ended at the lake and replenished its water levels every spring, but farmers have diverted and rerouted so much water that the lake bed is now usually dry. It’s among the most fertile farmland in the country.

Today, the irrigation system is designed to “use every single drop of water” that flows into the basin, Mount said.

In fact, through aggressive groundwater pumping, farmers collectively use more water than what would flow to the lake every year. Pumping has caused the land to sink dramatically — it has subsided in parts of the San Joaquin Valley by as much as 28 feet, according to the U.S. Geological Survey — deepening the bowl.

This season, far more water is flowing than can be used.

For about two weeks, farmers and emergency workers have been scrambling to plug levees and prevent the worst as the ground became saturated and rivers swelled after a seemingly endless series of atmospheric river storms battered California.

The flooding has breached dozens of levees, forced rescues, swamped construction sites at California’s high-speed rail project and seeped into several communities, including Allensworth, a historic community that in 1908 was the first settlement west of the Mississippi to be founded and governed by Black Americans.

“What you’re seeing now more than anything else is traditional flood problems,” Mount said. “All of that water is making its way into the bottom of the bowl and starting to fill the bowl.”

What could come next is more unusual — and worrisome.

The Sierra Nevada mountains, above the Tulare Basin, are storing two to three times as much water as snowpack as is normal. If the snow melts quickly, it will send floodwater churning toward the lake bottom.

Tulare Lake refilled in 1997 and 1983 during very wet seasons. The snowpack is larger this year.

“If we use 1983 as an example: They had more than 80,000 acres of land underwater. If it’s bigger than that, it could be as much as 100,000 acres underwater,” Mount said.

Tulare County ranked second in the country for agricultural market value, according to the 2017 Census of Agriculture. The region produces almonds, oranges, pistachios, wine grapes, milk and cheese.

“This has a ripple effect on the nation’s food supply,” Mount said.

California officials have geared up for a long fight against flooding. Nearly 700 people were assigned to help with the emergency response just in Tulare County, where floodwater has damaged more than 900 structures so far.

But sandbags and helicopter-delivered super sacks — bulk bags filled with rocks and other material — can do only so much.

“At some point, you know, we do realize that there’s too much water, there’s more water in the Sierra than these facilities can handle,” Karla Nemeth, the director of the California Department of Water Resources, said at a recent media briefing. The agency will do the best it could to help mitigate damages, Nemeth said.

Once water makes it to the historic lake bed, there will be few options to remove it, other than to wait for it to evaporate or to try to move it through canals and pump it away.

Pumps are expensive and inefficient over such sprawling terrain. Differing levels of subsidence along the lake bed have changed the geometry of canals, which could complicate efforts to move water away.

In 1983, remnants of Tulare Lake remained on the landscape for about two years, Mount said. Hurley estimated that if it floods again, the expense required to return the landscape to growing crops would be in the billions.

The flooding could also spell disaster for farmworkers and those who live in the rural communities that dot the Tulare Basin.

“This is a low-income community. People are not out here stocking up food. They go paycheck to paycheck in a lot of cases,” said Kayode Kadara, of Allensworth, a community organizer. “All we’ve heard so far is with this unprecedented snowfall, what we’ve seen so far is a baby flood.”

For now, the best everyone can hope for is a cool summer — with a steady, manageable melt — and as much cooperation as they can muster.

#nunyas news #mother nature found a way

[chyberriesss]

Alone together

Bill denbrough x reader

I was on my way home when i hear something come from the sewer. I slowly approach it when i saw a bunch of eyes suddenly open from the sewer!

I stumbled back when i hit something, or someone.

It was bill the guy from earlier. "A-a-r-re you ok?" He asks looking concerned. "Yeah im fine i just uh thought i saw something in there." I say pointing at the sewer. For a split second i saw horror in his eyes that quickly turned to concern. "What d-d-did you see..?" "Oh uh its nothing i just i you know what nevermind youre going to think im crazy any way!" I awkwardly laugh. He shot me a look. "Ok fine its gonna sound crazy but i swear i saw pairs of eyes coming from there." I say defeated.

He just stared at me. Why is he just staring at me jeez. "C-come with me." He pulled my hand! "Hey wait where are you taking me???? hello?!!?!"

We arrived at his house which i didn't realize was that close to mine. We were at his garage, i look around while he got rid of a white blanket covering some sort of thingy majiger.

"What the hell is that?" I ask, confused as to what that thing made out of pipes is. "I-its the sewer s-s-s-system, i was t-t-thinking, maybe what y-y-you saw there-" "can you maybe uh i dont know, get to the point?" I cut him off, getting impatient "maybe what you s-s-saw was the m-m-missing kids, you k-know, betty, my b-broth- i sound l-like the cr-crazy one now do i?" He cut himself off laughing awkwardly looking at me "yup definitely sound like the crazy one between us." I reply "and no i dont think its betty or your brother, if it was them they would have called out to me but they didn't, it didn't, its something else" i add.

He stares at me for a few seconds, studying my facial features as i inspect the sewer system copy he made. "Hey bud where does this all lead to anyway?" I ask making him snap back to reality. "O-o-h i-it leads to t-t-he creepy house at- wait let me s-sh-show you."

He gets an action figure, throwing it down the pipe, he then got the hose and turned it on making water flow down the pipes in turn, pushing the action figure through. I follow the action figure in awe, it looked cool but so scary at the same time. Just the thought of someone in these sewers gives me the chills.

The action figure then dropped into a box labelled "the barrons?" I ask him "yeah, t-the c-creepy looking house. I-i-it led there, i was thinking m-m-maybe all o-o-f them are there and i-i-if we c-can go we could h-help t-he-" "wanna go?" I ask, cutting him off. "I-i-i-f its ok with you sur-" suddenly something dropped off the shelves, i looked back and saw those eyes again, the only difference is it looks like its getting closer and closer and closer…

"RUN" i scream at bill running for the garage door. Both of us scream. We ran as fast as we could but the garage seem to get longer and longer, the seem to get far away more, it seemed to get closer and closer. Reaching the garage door, Bill was struggling to open the garage door. It wouldn't budge haha we're fucked. "OPEN IT WHAT THE FUCK" "I-I-IM T-TRYING" "TRY HARDER!"

as we frantically scream the pair of eyes suddenly turn into a clown slowly walking towards us, grinning and pushing anything on its way, even dropping the sewer system bill made. As it makes its way to us, i hit bill making it harder for him to open the door "FASTER WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?!??" I scream at him "SH-SHSHUT UP IM TRYING" he snapped back. But he was too late, it was already close, it ran straight to me. It looked horrifying, as it ran towards me, it opened its mouth wide. Revealing bloody sharp teeth, ready to chomp me up. Well this is it im dead goodbye world i love you all goodbye now. I close my eyes covering my face with my hands as it sprung towards me.

But i wasn't dead. Why wasn't i dead?? I was frozen but then i realize bill opened the garage door just in time, haha thank god.

"A-are you ok???!" Bill ran to me asking, shaking me by my shoulders. I turn to face him. Staring at his scared face. "Y-you saw that too right??? Or am i just going crazy…" "i s-saw that t-too dont w-w-worry." He said, he was frozen, we both were. We just stared at the garage for a few minutes trying to process what the hell just happened.

He helped me up, not letting go of my hand. He dragged me into his house to the living room so i could sit down and rest, He went to the kitchen to grab me a drink.

"Thanks" i say before drinking the glass of water. I gave it back to him and waited for him to get back.

There was awkward silence when he returned.

None of the both of us knew how to bring up what just happened. "So….are we both going crazy now or was that actually happening" i say trying to start a conversation. "Pr-pretty sure that a-actually happened. If it d-i-d-didn't then my sewer system would still b-b-be one piece." He shrugged. He looked terrified but was trying to hide it. "Whatever that was, im sure thats what took them, betty, your brother.." he stayed silent, trying to process the information. He then stood up and turn to me with ang earnest look "we sh-should really g-go and help them! I-i-" "go where?" His dad asked entering their house, making me stand up. "Going nowhere sir" i smile getting ready to leave.

"I should get going its getting late see you bye!" I ran out the door avoiding his dad's stares. I hear Bill scream "wait!" but i didn't look back, i wanted to go home and rest, heck i just almost got attacked by a killer clown! It felt so unreal, what i need is a good night sleep and my mom's fucking good adobo for dinner.

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"WOAH YOU CUT YOUR HAIR! YOU LOOK GOOD BEV!" i beamed at her when she opened her house door. She laughed at my reaction, "shall we go?" She asked smiling, handing me her arm. "We shall lady marsh" i say bowing then interlocking our hands together as we walked to her bike. I sat behind her bike as she peddled, my hair flowing with the wind. It felt nice, to have her with me. My very first friend.

We arrived at the quarry a few minutes later. We saw the losers, no offense intended, standing there in their underwear looking silly.

They were bickering about whose going to jump first.

"Pussys" i smile taking off my clothes and ran straight to them and jumped off. "WHAT THE FUCK!" i hear richie scream making me laugh, i few second later bev jumped in too. We played for a few seconds then screamed at the guys to jump too.

"COME ON DONT BE PUSSYS!" "we just got shown up by girls!" "Come on jump!" Bev added to my statement, and then they did.

We played and swam around, "HOLY SHIT THERES A TURTLE" i say "where?!" Richie looked "there!" I pointed at the water, when he dunked in, i gave stan a look, we then held Richie's head under the water making him struggle a little bit.

"WHAT THE HELL?!?!!??" richie screamed at us making us laugh "leave him alone guys" eddie mumbled "oh come on dont be such a killjoy eddie" i say splashing water on him "trying to protect your boyfriend now are we eddie?" Stan added "shut up" eddie rolled his eyes at us swimming away as we laughed at him and Richie's red ass face.

Ben, Bill and Bev seem to have a world of their own so we let them be, the B world as i like to call it. "Why the b world?" Stan asked "cause! Like their names start with b duh" i explain.

Suddenly, Bill swam right between me and Stan "h-h-hey [name] can we t-talk for a sec?"

He asked "sure" i reply as he held my hand under water leading me up to land, god the ground felt so hot i feel like my feet were burning.

"So…."

"So… how are you d-d-doing? I mean after what h-h-happened yesterday a-a-and-" i cut him off "im fine bill, how about you? I mean if i were you i would never step foot in my garage but im getting side tracked here i was actually wondering if maybe we could pretend that didnt happen?" He stared at me for a few seconds before asking "why? S-sh-shouldnt we do something about this?? W-w-we could save betty! G-georgie!" He said, he looked pissed and sad at the same time making me sad too. "I know but, we cant drag them into this"i say looking at the losers playing happily in the water. He thought for a second "fine" he pouted looking defeated. "Hey, if it makes you feel better i'll help you look for Georgie?" I awkwardly smile at him, trying to cheer him up. He just smiled and then talked about

A few minutes later the losers joined us. They all sat on the ground while bev sunbathe.

We were all staring at her. Admiring her even, when she suddenly looked at us making us all look away.

Richie went through ben's bag teasing him about how school ended but he still had his books. Pulling out some sort of folder.

"oohh~ who gave you this?" Richie asks ben teasingly as he grabs a note. "Now one" ben quickly grabbed it and put it back in the depths of his bag. "Whats with the history project?" Eddie asks "oh, well when i first moved here, i didn't really have anyone to hang out with" ben explains as we pass the folder full of newspapers about past derry events. "So i just started spending time in the library" he added. "You went to the library?" Richie asks "on purpose??" I added confused as to why he would want to hang out there.

"Oh, i wanna see" Bev says standing up and making her way next to bill. "Whats the black spot?" Stan asks "the balck spot was like a night club or something i dont knoe i dont read news papers" i answer "you dont read anything at all" Bev states "woah! Not true! I read like…uh…you know what maybe i dont read." I say making Bev chuckle. "Y-y-your hair-" i hear bill faintly try to compliment beverly before ben cuts him off "your hair's beautiful, Beverly" "oh, thanks" Bev says tucking her hair. "You see this right?" Richie whispers to me "see what? The obvious tension?" "So you do see sweetcakes" he says back at me, grinning.

"I have more stuff at my house….if you guys want to come and se-" "GREAT LETS GO!" I say excited to learn about nerdy stuff. Ignoring that somewhat jealous feeling im having right now.

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Thats it people sorry for the late post its exam week right now and im so tired from studying😭😭 hope you liked it tho. Might edit this in the future cause it feels rushed to me😘😘

#bill denbrough x reader #it 2017 #bill denbrough #stephen king it #beverly marsh #shut up richie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #stanley uris #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #anne with an e #mike hanlon x reader #taylor's version #little women

[smokingstar]

I cant write for shit anymore

No emotions flowing no more

Its all locked away so i dont break

Delicate hearts and brains

Shatterd pieces covering a bloody body

As always in the end

I fuck around and find out

In the end i scream loud

"what the fuck youre doin man"

Been going crazy since i was ten

Who cares about the end

something will happen by then

All i hear is laughter but i see

The hidden tears,enough to fill a sea

Drink it, snort it, smoke it, shoot it

In the end you will lose it

Cmon baby lets party, its nothing but fun

Learn to live, live to work and be

An other robot, you cant call me

Slavery to the system, the teenage dream

Choose to survive your faith is sealed

The freedom is slavery, theres no way out fool

We all lack of things that matter

Instead of sleeping, write a letter

To yourself in the morning

To the child youre mourning

The child that was murdered in front of your eyes

Tell the children to kill themselves

So they don't have to live on shelves

So they're not just items to buy or sell

So they are not locked away in a shell

Let them all die, so they wont grow up like you

Hold the gun to your head

One move and you're dead

But then you remember the eyes

Of the people who would survive

And your suicide attempt turns to homicide

#spilled thoughts #my mind #my thoughts #original poem #poetry #poem #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #spilled ink #writers and poets