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kisses4kaia · 2 months

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god college!luke makes my emotions go haywire 😡😩 i’d honestly start dating someone else to spite him

you know what anon. ima need you to claim an emoji bc ur thoughts are TOO GOOD (also thank u sm for 1.5k💋)

so we’ve discussed previously that luke castellan does not get jealous easily.

however.

he never thought you would go this far. sure, you had danced on other guys at parties to get a rise out of him, maybe flirted here and there in front of him, but never this.

getting into a relationship—a serious relationship—with his frat brother? that was a new low. so what if he’d purposefully lead other girls into gross bathrooms at bar outings so you would see? this was uncalled for. how dare you?

so naturally, at your new boyfriend’s birthday party, when you’re sitting on his lap, helping him unwrap your present of a jean-paul gaultier cologne he’d wanted, luke—in classic luke fashion—thought this would be his chance. your sorority sister, drunk off of her wits—bless her heart—came up to you and whispered some slurred imperative about how you needed to get to ‘the square’.

your eyebrows furrowed at her as her eyebrows raised, questioning the significance of ‘the square’ and why the man who prompted her to ask chose there. you said no words, excusing yourself after finding her a water and alka seltzer.

“you really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” are the first words you say to luke, button up shirt open and lying on his back on the false grass. “me? you’re one to talk, sweetheart,” you rolled your eyes at his use of the nickname, crossing your arms as you stand over him.

beneath the twilight, your exposed shoulder skin glistened like the moon, just a sliver of it visible in the northern night sky. luke had obviously had something to drink or smoke, or both, because he slurred his words as he patted the turf next to him. “sit down. c’mon, like the good ol’ days,”

‘the square’ was a small patch of land in the middle area between his frat’s and your sorority’s backyards. it was insignificant to most everybody else, but you and luke had claimed it as yours on drizzly nights like these, when the owl called and adolescence snored. it didn’t even hold sexual reminiscences, for each night you spent on the square was spent just talking. he would gloat about some things he did over the summer, interrogate you on your sex life, laugh at your offense and crack bad jokes. he was the worst person to spend valuable time with, but you returned every night, nonetheless.

“i’m surprised, castellan. been here a full sixty seconds and you haven’t tried to fuck me,” you remained standing over his lax body, crossing your arms over your chest. “do you want me to try to fuck you? because i’m down,” he looks up at you with that smile of his. that toothy, million dollar, smile that reassures whomever it is on the receiving end that everything is okay and there’s not a thing to worry about.

you snort, giving in and sitting down. luke pulls you into his lap before your butt can even hit the cool grass, eliciting a yelp from you. his lips press against your shoulder, strong, warm arms wrap around your waist and you can’t help but melt into the body beneath you. “luke,” your voice is meant to be a warning, supposed to remind him and yourself that you belong to another and this was not right, but he did nothing except for hold you tighter and smile against your skin.

“he doesn’t make you feel like i do.” he spoke the words out of your mind, the voice of truth you swallowed down with a knowing conscience that it would rise to the surface eventually. this wasn’t what you wanted. your single goal wasn’t to make luke jealous, it wasn’t even to show him what he was missing. you just wanted it to be different. you wanted somebody to take you seriously enough to call you theirs.

but anybody who did wasn’t him.

“luke,” this time, you weren’t trying to ward off anything. this time, you were welcoming him and all his invasive, rude, luke-like, traits and the pain you knew would come with letting him in once more. “i know, baby, i know.” he said no further words before flipping the pair of you over and letting your back onto the ground. you focused on none else other than the feeling of his lips finally landing on yours, the trace of his fingers across your denim skirt’s hem. “can i?” luke’s fingers dipped past the fabric, drawing swirls on your skin. “mhm, yeah,” your smile is audible and spreads to luke’s lips.

if there was one thing luke always did, it was worship you. this time was no different. his lips were everywhere, and when they weren’t pecking kisses all over you, he was breathing praises like you were a mortal saint against your skin. and when he entered you, he fucked you like he couldn’t believe he got the chance to feel you again. but he knew what the outcome of this would be; of course he did.

you didn’t know him as a particularly selfish lover, but the way he chased his high, rutting his hips against yours to the point of overwhelmed stuttering suggested that to be true.

and when it was all said and done and the past hung in the air like a wonder of the world, luke stood and looked down at you like you previously did him.

“break up with him.”

“why?”

“you know why.”

there was no denying that, so you did none else than nod.

“yeah. i do.”

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#kaia writes luke #1.5k celebration #lukesie bb 🐛.#luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #kai's got mail <3📑#angelnon 🤍#this was fun☺️#also toxic!luke just gets me every time #🍦 angel

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dirt-cup-draco · 3 years

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Twins x Friend!Reader- Two Stars and The Sky

Hello!! Could u do stargazing with the twins? Just pure fluff. One where they sneak out of their own bday party with y/n and stargaze with them? Thank you

There was no doubt in your mind that Katie Bell could throw a party. Streamers were everywhere, the iconic red and gold of your best friends’ house were present but so were oranges and yellows, and you even think you saw a corner full of pink. You giggled as you watched Lee poke a balloon until it popped, the inebriated boy falling from the couch he was standing on with the shock of his toy self destructing before his eyes.

Fred helped him up with a dazzling grin and a “Watch yourself mate, next time you topple over like that you might turn my birthday into your deathday,”

You let their conversation bleed into the background noise of all the cheerful fifth years who were dancing about and mingling. You sipped at your drink and wrinkled your nose at it. You hadn’t even finished your first cup of firewhisky and you doubted you would.

Drinking was a part of every party in Gryffindor, and you didn’t mind the way it made you feel warm, didn’t hate the way it made your shoulders sag in relaxation. But you absolutely detested the taste. It was worse than drinking any potion Madam Pomfrey shoved down your throat after a nasty fall during a quidditch game or a prank gone terribly wrong.

“Not enjoying yourself?” Angie teased as you scowled into your cup.

“This is amazing, Katie should be proud of herself,” You said instead, handing her your half filled drink which she happily took and knocked back. Angelina beamed at you, her eyes sparkling and bright. No one loved a party like she did.

“She’d be proud if she wasn’t already asleep with her head in the toilet,”

“No! Is she really?” You giggled, going to follow Angie and see for yourself the state your friend was in but two sets of hands grabbed one arm each and you were pulled back.

“Sorry Ang-” Fred apologized.

“We need to borrow her,” George explained.

Angelina just rolled her eyes as the corner of her lips tugged up, grabbing Lee by the arm to show him Katie and maybe get some help in dragging her up to her dorm room.

“Where are we headed?” You whispered as you ducked your head through the hole in the wall, the Fat Lady muttering sleepy protests and you apologized gently to her- knowing it was well past midnight.

“Outside-”

“-want some air,”

You tsked at them but linked your arms with theirs as George took the lead in your chain, moving you all towards the passage that would lead you out of the castle and near the black lake. “Leaving your own party boys? For shame,” You teased a bit louder as you took the last few steps from the cold stone passage and into the chill night air.

Fred just shrugged but grinned, plopping down into the dewed grass, a content smile on his face and a flush to his cheeks from a long night of drinking, smiling, and laughing with his friends and much of the gryffindors in your year.

“Just want to spend some time with our favorite person,” George answered more honestly, squeezing your hand and tugging you down into the grass too so you were shoulder to shoulder between each boy, hands linked. Fred was soon to follow in interlacing his fingers with yours.

You found in the passing years that the twins were affectionate with everyone, they loved being near the ones they loved and you found it only more endearing as time went on. You also discovered that when they found something they truly liked, or someone in your case, you couldn’t be separated from them.

Lee had started the joke that you were their triplet and sitting there with them in the grass, stars twinkling above you, you thought he might be right. You were closer to them than you’d ever intended to be but you were immensely grateful for the boys. You were a found family even if you weren’t connected by blood.

“Penny for ‘em?” George asked, nudging his thigh against yours and it was only then you realized your skin had become ice and you had been outside, eyes glued to the stars, for much longer than you thought.

A misconception that many had of Fred and George was that they always had to be speaking, moving, clowning around. You got to see them in quiet moments that they used to only share with each other. Another misconception that had begun to circulate was that you were romantically involved with one or both (depending on which gossip you asked) of the twins.

However, you felt nothing but kinship and contentment as you sat between them. They were your dearest friends, not to discount the great love you felt for Katie, Angelina, and Lee. Growing up with your friends just meant that you were most often together rather than apart and it was something you never wanted to end and no romantic relationship could compare in your eyes, if anything you felt as if a romantic relationship with anyone in your friend group would dampen what you had now and you were more than content to stargaze with the twins and feel the familial and familiar weight of their hands in yours.

“Just happy I’ve got you two in my life,” You smiled at each twin, taking note of your favorite freckle on George’s nose and the funny cowlick that made Fred’s hair stick up in an odd spot on his head. “The universe planned you two very carefully I think, and no matter what anyone says you are both perfect to me and I couldn’t ask for better friends,”

“Can I have my penny back?”

“A little sappy Y/N, I feel I need to wash my hands now lest I feel sticky later,”

“Oh bugger off,” You snorted, trying to sit up in retaliation, as if you would actually leave, before Fred was pulling you back down and pressing a caring kiss to your temple.

“Nobody could be as perfect as us, but you come pretty close I suppose,” George played and Fred looked mock-thoughtful.

“If we are the stars, you’d be the sky that makes us shine brighter,” Fred tried to tease but as the words fell from his lips he realized with stark clarity that it was true and he felt his chest swell with appreciation for you.

George seemed to agree, swallowing a lump in his throat and tearing his eyes away from you. You were sat comfortably in the grass, hands now cold with the lack of shared heat but now folded over your stomach. You looked completely at peace and George was glad to see it. He never wanted he or his brother to drive you away.

“You two do that all on your own, now settle down and watch the stars with me,” You commanded with a bright smile that rivaled the gleaming full moon in radiance.

With an in sync, “Yes ma’am,” The boys were back to laying beside you, all three of you watching the stars blink against the inky veil of night that was slowly growing lighter as the time passed you by.

The three of you didn’t leave until the sun made her presence known, a sliver of gold on the horizon.

Tag List: @stuckysdaughter @thehumanistsdiary **I’m sorry I’ve forgotten all that were previously on my tag list, if you wish to be added/taken off just send me a dm and I’ll get that fixed!**

#george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #george x reader #fred x reader #fluff #friend!reader #thank you anon! <3 a very cute request

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powerosewaterpuff · 4 years

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this idea for a fic/short fic came completely from a tiktok from @ fixation_or_infatuation on tiktok who has such awesome content so P L E A S E go check them out!! and thank u so much for the idea bc legit this made me so happy hehe

(also soft dad Bruce rights ok? oK I CLOSE MY EYES AND EARS TO CANON AND SAY FUCK THAT NOISE BRUCE IS A GOOD DAD FIGHT ME ON THIS HE IS A GOOD DAD WHO IF HIS SON CRIED FOR SOMETHING HE WOULD TURN THE EARTH OVER ON ITS ASS TO FIND IT FOR HIM PERIOD POINT BLANK. HE LOVES HIS CHILDREN OK A Y?? OH ALSO U CAN RIP DICK BEING AN ESL KID OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS OK? OK :) )

“-uce. Bruce? Bruce! Bru-uce! Bruce, I adopted a chihuahua and named her Georgina, what’d you think of that?”

“Hn?”

Bruce shot his head up, realizing he had made the foolish mistake of zoning out through an infamous Dick Grayson tale, that always required every form of attention necessary at all times. He could feel himself chuckle inwardly, as he saw his ward’s little pout as he chewed away at his tortellini, directing a solid stare of expectation at Bruce.

“You really need to sleep more, do you know that?” Dick hummed, raising a little eyebrow at Bruce, which was a facial expression that looked far too adult on his baby cheeked face, and it looked far to Bruce-esque for his own liking.

“Even if I didn’t know that, I’d always have you to remind me, don’t I?” Bruce teased, stirring up a bright giggle from Dick that simply filled his chest with a rush of warmth that he had never really felt before. He loved hearing his laughter, no matter where or when and whether it was a rarity or not, but it always felt just a little bit more special when Bruce had been the one to cause it.

“At this point, I would consider myself your own personal alarm cloc-Bruce, can I please wake you up singing Christmas carols tomor-Why? I have a beautfiul and spec-tac-u-lar voice, thank you very much!”

Bruce didn’t bother suppressing a teasing eye roll, as Dick’s voice sounded like glass being rubbed against a cheese grater when he tried to hit all of Mariah Carey’s notes. He did, however, nod slightly at Dick to congratulate him on his proper pronounciation of ‘spectacular’, which was a word that Dick usually had a hint of trouble with. It was a small action, but one he hoped Dick would understand.

“Anyways, can I ask you a question?” Bruce’s eyebrows curved upwards in question, just a smidge, as he pushed his plate of food aside and leaned closer across the table to give Dick his complete focus.

“You already did,” Dick rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort but Bruce cut him off, “However, what’d you need?”

Then, there was something Bruce never really thought he would see for as long as he would live. It was Dick Grayson, the beam of passionate sunshine himself, squirming shyly in his seat and chewing on his bottom lip. If Bruce wasn’t the master of supressing emotions then he would’ve been throughly surprised by this display.

Dick Grayson was simply not shy, not in the very slightest. He was bolsterous and bold with just a hint of cunningness behind it, but he certainly was not shy. This, of course, caused Bruce to begin categorizing all the possible problems there could be. He ran through them over and over in his head, trying to suppress an inexplicable feeling of dread and fear that was coursing through his chest only slightly, but still present.

Dick took a deep breath, and Bruce could feel himself holding his almost inadvertently.

“When Superman comes today, d-do you think I could get an autograph,” Dick spluttered out, saying it almost too fast that Bruce barely understood what had been uttered. He did feel himself take a massive sigh of relief, even though what replaced the dread in his heart was just a prick of bitterness. Dick had never asked for Batman’s autograph.

“If Clark’s alright with it, then I don’t see why not, chum.”

Then, like a burst of light on a cloudy evening, Dick jumped out of his seat and went around the table straight into Bruce’s arms for a full koala hug.

Bruce, who still wasn’t fully accustomed to such open and loving acts of affection, froze for just a slip of a moment but then melted into Dick’s hold, as he usually did. There was just something magical, dare he say, about his wards (sons) hugs.

Dick then propped his head onto Bruce’s chest, and beamed up at him with stars glittering in his eyes, “Thank you, B!”

Bruce yearned to say something, to say anything along the lines of; Of course, I would bring the moon down if you asked me too or I love you so much that your very laugh eases this knot in my chest that has never been able to budge.

Bruce only managed a meager, “No need to thank me, chum.”

Dick, who had been completely content with the answer given even though he shouldn’t have been, placed his hands onto Bruce’s shoulders and flipped into a handstand position. He then curved his body around enough to sit onto Bruce’s broad shoulders, which in full honesty, didn’t surprise Bruce at this point. He had become labelled as the ‘jungle gym man,’ which was a nickname graciously given to him by Dick himself.

“Now, ride my steed! To Alfie!”

Bruce prayed inwardly that Clark wouldn’t have to be a witness to this mayhem, because it really would lessen his fearsome status in the Justice League.

•••••••••••

Bruce was not jealous.

He simply was not and it didn’t matter how many side eyed stares Alfred shot his way, Bruce was a perfectly fine without a sliver of jealously.

It’s hero-worship, it’s just complete and utter hero-worship.

From the moment Clark Kent had stepped through the Cave’s doors, Dick had been unable to contain his sheer excitement as he bounced on the balls of his feet. The two had hit it off better then anyone Bruce had ever seen before, gabbering on about nothing and everything all at the same time. Now, Bruce was not upset about this, because Dick deserved someone who could give every inch of love he so generously gave back to him. Clark was just that person, as the Boy Scout himself matched wits with Dick far easier then Bruce had ever been able to do.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less.

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce swiveled his chair to face Alfred, as he sorted out the rest of his paperwork.

“Have you seen Master Dick since our guest left? I’ve been unable to locate him since then.”

His jaw clenched slightly, as he racked his brain around everytime he had seen Dick between the forty minutes since Clark had left and that moment. He felt his heart sink when he realized he hadn’t seen a trace of Dick since the Kryptonian had left.

Fuck.

Bruce hurried up to the third floor of the Manor, and felt his heart that had sunk into his gut shatter at the sound of a faint whimper slithering up to his ear from the bathroom across the hall. He gently walked towards it, slowly but surely turning the knob only to peer his head in, as not to startle Dick.

Dick was curled up into a ball across from the sink, small sobs heaving from his little chest as he desperately tried to push the oncoming flow of tears away with his palm. His cheeks were marred with fresh tear stains and his eyes were a leaning towards the pinker side as fresh tears began to bubble to the surface.

Bruce wasted absolutely no time as he skidded to the floor in front of Dick, gripping his wards shoulders tightly. Dick raised his head slightly, looking all the more ashamed for being caught crying which weighed down on Bruce like the weight of the ocean.

“Dick, what’s wrong?” Bruce whispered, wishing he could erase every inch of sadness off his face, “Please tell me what’s wrong, chum.”

Dick bit his lip, chewing on it for a bit, which Bruce recognized as one of Dick’s nervous habits. He made a note of that, just in case.

“I-Bruce, it’s stupid, alright? I-I’ll get up, I’m sorry for sitting on the bathroom flo-.”

“Dick,” Bruce huffed, firmly pushing Dick back onto the ground as he moved his hands to cup Dick’s cheeks, still filled with baby fat, “Nothing you say is going to be stupid. I want to know what’s wrong, alright?”

Bruce was not one to plead nor grovel, no matter how much life pressed its dirty heels into his back he never swayed. However, seeing Dick crying was such a weak point to him that it unnerved and horrified him. (It was probably why his nightmares had all had one consistent theme of Dick being in some sort of danger that Bruce could not save him from.)

Dick practically melted into Bruce’s hold, and nuzzled his face into his palm as Bruce wiped away stray tears. Fuck. Bruce needed to hug Dick more, or just show any shred of affection. He just wasn’t used to having to show an abundance of physical affection to someone, and had forgotten how much he had craved for it when he was younger, starving and hungry for shreds of affection he wasn’t expecting to receive, until he simply became numb to it. Dick really deserved someone better, and Bruce knew this more than anyone else.

After taking a shaky breath, Dick peered up at Bruce as he blinked away tears, “Promise you won’t think it’s stupid?”

“I promise,” Bruce vowed as he rubbed his thumb across Dick’s cheeks comfortingly.

“Do you remember how I wanted Superman’s autograph?” Dick mumbled softly, sniffling slightly. Bruce nodded but mentality cursed himself a thousand times for not realizing that Dick hadn’t asked a single time for an autograph from Clark.

“I-I really wanted to ask him! I kept waiting and waiting but I just couldn’t do it, b-because I thought he might find me annoying. I really, really wanted him to like me, Bruce! I thought he might get upset or get annoyed by me because I talk so much, so I just couldn’t do it and I don’t even know why I’m crying! He was so nice to me but I just really got scared a-and my tongue got tied like-like a knot! Does that make sense? My tongue was like this big heavy knot and it was stuck to my mout-Why am I crying!”

Dick tried to suppress a rising sob, as he covered in his eyes in shame. Bruce gently let go of his cheeks and spread his arms out gently, with the offer standing clear. Dick flung himself into Bruce’s waiting arms and buried his face in the crook of his neck, as he continued to try to mumble out a few words and hiccup. God, it was enough to make Bruce’s chest ache, as he rubbed soothing circles into Dick’s back softly.

“Clark would never find you annoying, not in a million years. Dick, can you look at me for a second? Clark would never find you annoying, and I don’t know a single person who would,” Bruce stated firmly, as he cradled Dick in his arms and shifted him so he would be facing him, “Dick, Clark would give you a thousand autographs if you asked, and do you want to know something? There’s nothing wrong with being a little shy, and you have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all.”

Dick sniffled a bit, as he snuggled closer to Bruce but he stayed quiet, which worried Bruce more so then it should’ve.

“You know, I get shy sometimes too,” Bruce confided quietly, as if it would provide some sort of comfort to Dick. It proved to work as Dick sat up with a start, glancing up at Bruce wirh furrowed brows.

“It’s never this emotional, but you know what? I think it’s better you let it all out, then trying to bottle it up inside,” Bruce murmured, pushing Dick’s fringe back. He saw a pensive look set into Dick’s features, and was met with another soft hug.

Dick was going to being the reason Bruce’s heart burst, he was sure of it.

“You’re the best, Bruce.”

Oh well, Bruce didn’t need a heart anyway. Not if he had Dick with him.

•••••

Bruce leaned over his phone, dialing a number into it as he kept his ears open to the sound of the tap shutting.

He had gotten Dick to wash his face a bit, with Alfred stepping in to look after him while Bruce made some executive calls.

The phone beeped for a bit. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Hello? Bruce?”

“I’m going to say this one singular time, are we clear? You are going to fly over here and give Dick the best goddamned autograph you have given a person but you are going to let him ask for it first, then you’ll be on your merry way unless he asks you to stay for dinner, clear?”

“I-.”

Bruce ended the call, satisfied with the answer he was given. It still stung just a bit that Dick wasn’t demanding a Batman autograph, but he would make sure his ward (son) was as happy as can be, even if it meant letting the Boy Scout take his place as Dicks, ‘Favourite Adult.’

It was worth it, if he could make sure that brilliant smile was always there.

Fin

(P.S. Later that night, when Bruce was tucking Dick into bed after shutting The Vevlveteen Rabbit and setting it onto the nightstand, he noticed Dick was happily gripping the signed Superman card tightly in his hand. He shoved back his exasperation, but couldn’t help but give a raise of the brow when Dick asked if he could buy a Superman backpack.

“You already sleep in Superman pajamas, I think the commodities can stop at that,” Bruce suggested, ignoring the fact that Dick probably had no idea what that word even meant, “Would you not want any other hero?”

“Nope, he’s my favourite. Oh-Besides you, of course!” Dick hummed, as he used his other arm to grab Zitka from behind him, as casual as could be.

Bruce, on the other hand, had just had a bombshell dropped on him. A happy bombshell. A pleasant bombshell. A bombshell nonetheless, though.

“I wouldn’t get your merch, though. I have the real thing, and he’s my bestest friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Wally that though!” Dick exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Bruce like the most important part of that sentence was the warning of not to tell Kid Flash, and not that Bruce was his ‘bestest friend in the whole wide world.’

(Not father. Never his father.)

Bruce was silent, but leaned over to give Dick a peck on the forehead and a rare but soft smile. One he really only reserved for Dick and Alfred. He couldn’t afford to be selfish, this was enough for him. This was absolutely enough for him.

Dick returned his smile with one that shone brighter then all the suns Bruce had seen in his life.

Bruce really adored this kid.)

AND THATS IT HEHE PLEASE EXCUSE WELL EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS FIC I WROTE IT AT 2AM AND WHILE I CONSIDERED POSTING IT ON AO3 (my account is ordinarilyspeaking btw :) ) I DECIDED TUMBLR IS WHERE IS POST MY 2AM THOUGHTS ANYWAY SO WHY THE FUCK NOT SO YEAH IM GOING TO GO PROCRASINATE MY ASSINGMENTS SOME MORE SO THANK U SO MUCH FOR READING HEHE!

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yelenasdog · 4 years

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visions (warren worthington iii x fem reader)

genre: angst

summary: why must visions become reality?

words: 1.1k

warnings: ANGSTY PURR ✨🗣, x-men apocalypse spoilers, mentions of physical fighting and death, just some sad stuff. in terms of fluff, this is a decrescendo.

a/n: hi! reader is a mutant and has a strand of very very light hair that has a bluish tint and sparkles, as well as extremely light eyes and sharp canines! other than that there is no predetermined factor of appearance! also, y/n was not used so if u wanted to read this an x an oc or x another fem character, that should work well!

⚔⚔⚔

"Move over!"

"No way, your wings take up the whole bed anyway!"

"That's mutantphobic!"

A loud laugh sounded from the smaller girl resting in Warren's arms, her cheeks growing sore from all the smiling she had (and always was around him) been doing.

"I'm a mutant too, y'know, so I don't quite see how that could work."

He shuffled about for a moment, moving so that one of his beautiful wings would rest over her top half, bringing her an unprecedented level of calm.

She looked over from where she lay on her back, stretching one of her hands to lightly run her fingers over the sharpened tip of his wing.

Warren watched from his position on his stomach, a fond look coming across his angelic features, one that seemed to creep its way onto his face whenever he was in her presence.

Pale moonlight streamed in from the cracked window just above their heads, Illuminating the strand of her hair that appeared as a sparkling sliver of the Arctic Ocean.

Warren would oftentimes find himself twirling it whenever he would snuggle up to the girl on nights like these, the contrast of the soft texture feeling pleasant on his calloused fingertips. It also shined light on her glorious eyes of the same color, that he could (and has) get lost in for hours, drowning.

A chilly breeze found its way through the glass panel as well, Warren's immediate response to pull her closer, which he did.

His wing that previously was on top of her suddenly curled under her to the best of its ability, pulling her close enough to him to where he could take grip of her with his own strong arms.

She smiled, her sharpened canines glistening faintly in the white hue of the moon's glow.

Then it was quiet for a bit, just some rock song playing softly in the back, accompanied by the howling of the wind. It lulled the pair into a serene state, an implacable emotion filling them up from their tippy toes to the tops of their heads.

And in that moment, with his golden curls all astray, and wings so ethereally spread, she wondered what she was experiencing?

It was love, she had decided. And she could only hope he felt it too.

She, for one, had felt it many times.

Like when she washed his wings for the first time, an incredibly intimate memory she held. She had softly washed away all the dirt and grime, and he had felt comforted to the fullest extent. He had never had someone to help him with that before, and the extra assistance had embarrassed him at first, but now it had become second nature to the pair.

Or perhaps the times that fights in the ring had become too personal for Warren's seemingly stone cold heart to handle alone. The gravity of those he had killed, and the guilt that came from surviving off of it would routinely threaten to crack his confident exterior.

She would spend her time on those days (or more regularly, nights) allowing him to cry to her, to let his emotions break free.

She would never know how much it meant to him.

"Angel?"

He let out a grunt, his emerald eyes staying shut as he shook around his head on the pillow, trying to find a cold spot (as even with the open window, he never could seem to shake the burning sensation that dug deep through the fibers of his body down to his heart and soul).

"Don't ever let anyone touch your wings, alright?"

His eyes opened at that, curiosity getting the best of his sleepy brain that was begging him to just ask what she meant in the morning. But nonetheless he persisted.

"W'dya mean, sweet girl?"

She looked anywhere but his eyes, running fingers across the top of his left wing. He resisted the urge to giggle at the tickly feeling left behind, though she wouldn't have minded if he had let one of his musical laughs slip.

"I'm not quite sure, honestly."

He laughed, her heart fluttering at the sight of his smile.

"I guess," she took a pause, trying to better articulate what she had such a hard time putting into words.

"That mutants still aren't safe. And I don't want you to ever lose your wings. Y'know, have to hide them..." her voice wavered, and it was fairly obvious that not only what she said held more meaning, but that she still had more to say.

"And?" He asked, now fully awake with concern lacing his features. His head was tilted, eyes slanted, while hers was hung, looking to her fumbling hands.

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Warren."

At those words, his expression softened and his wings instinctively spread out to cover the both of them with a loud swoosh.

He pulled her to his bare chest, cradling her head in his arms.

"You have another vision?"

She nodded, her cries muffled, but her tears very much evident as they wet his ivory skin, leaving a shimmery sheen in their wake. “Warren, it was horrible," she cried, turmoil the only thing on her mind.

"Y-your wings were gone and replaced with, with some horrible metal."

"Well, did I at least look bad ass?" He smiles boyishly, and she only frowned and burrowed her head into his chest. His expression became neutral, an unreadable expression plastered on.

"Who did it?"

"I didn't get a name." She sniffles, sitting up and placing her hands on either side of herself. She closed her eyes and turned to the wall, beginning to recall all she could, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.

"There's 4 other people-"

"Are you one of them?"

A beat passed, tensions in the cool air began to rise.

"No."

Then there was a sigh from Warren, and he wasn't sure if it was of relief or of a despicable anguish.

"That's him."

Her eyes flew open, her pupils dilating. He said her name, taking hold of both of her hands tightly as if his life depended on it. Which in all honesty, it felt like it did.

"Who is he?"

A single tear slipped down her cheek for her lover, for the world.

She was frozen, fear had infiltrated her completely, every cell, every vein, every muscle.

And thereupon, even Warren's wings couldn't make her feel safe from what was to soon come rain havoc on their lives.

Her voice was only a frightful whisper as she spoke, the usual captivating power it held totally absent. Despite that, there was no room for mistaking what she said, the word remaining completely clear as it fell past her lips.

"Apocalypse."

⚔⚔⚔

ok miss girl! i see u! i did that! i hope u enjoyed that v short angstyness lol. ok now go take an electronics break and drink some water and eat some protein!!!

luv u bye!! xx hj

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normiewrites · 4 years

Note

m-may i request a stressed out kageyama, unable to sleep before a big game and reader helps him ~destress~ if u know what i mean 😳

this is so bad n rushed but its hard writing rn so thisll do for now

warning(s): blow job

“nervous?” - tobio kageyama x (g/n)reader

it was a hot summer night. the toads outside were creaking and the atmosphere in the bedroom was restless and frantic, but not as bad as the boy behind you. you had not caught a wink of sleep all night, and this time it wasn’t your fault. needless to say, if you had gotten money for the amount of times that your husband had changed his positions, you’d be earning much more money than he does. but you couldn’t blame him, for he had his first match as a Schweiden Adlers setter the next day. even though it was his first match, he was going to be the main setter, which was huge, considering that he just made his debut with the team a few months back. so much was sitting on the result of the game tomorrow, his whole career to be exact.

as much as you weren’t enjoying missing out on sleep and worrying about your husband’s nerves, tobio wasn’t enjoying it as much either. it was a new feeling for him to be nervous and the fact that it’s a match alongside a completely different team which he had most of his life made it worse. he hated the feeling of the tightening in his stomach and the need to hold back imaginary puke in his mouth. to take it to the next level, he started worrying about not getting enough sleep, which was ironic because the very thought pushed him to fall deeper into it, minutes flying by with no remedy.

or so he thought.

in midst of all his worrying, discovering what it feels like when hinata needed to constantly use the bathroom before a game, he had forgotten that there was someone besides him who could easily help him out. he was reminded as you turned to face him, getting up and leaning on your right forearm as you looked down at him, catching his eyes despite the darkness.

“nervous?” you asked, chuckling softly at the way he let out a soft groan, covering his face with his hands.

“hey, it’s okay, there’s a big game tomorrow, it’s fine to be nervous” you said, now moving to straddle him as you moved his hands from his face, marvelling at the desperate boy beneath you. “but it’s not like you’ve never been nervous for a game before” you continued, cupping his sweaty face in your palms.

“actually” a hoarse voice came out before clearing up and continuing, “I used to barely get nervous, I never had a reason to. this is kind of like my first time.”

you couldn’t help but to be shocked. how had he never been nervous before? he must have been some kind of freak during high school.

“wait, I was extremely nervous once, and it was when I asked you out.”

you smirked, thinking ‘nevermind’ as you proceeded to lace your hands with his as they rested on his pillow, the cold of the metal band on his finger bringing a pleasant and welcomed cold sting.

“well, how’d you get rid of that?” you asked, rubbing your thumbs over the knuckles of his fingers, eyes darting over his features and how they seemed to shine differently in the sliver of moon light that entered the room.

“I didn’t. you said yes and it just went away.”

you could see the tiredness in his face, and the twitching of his eyes told you that the solution needed to be immediate and the most effective. and you had one, a perfect one.

“tobio, I’ll help you relax, you just sit back and enjoy, okay?” you asked before leaning down and planting a small kiss on his lips, loving the way that he tried to return it with his chapped lips as you moved away.

if it was any other night, you would’ve taken your time, kissing your way down his body, ravishing him as the beautiful creature he was, maybe even teasing and getting him to beg, but with the way he sighed softly at the contact of your hand against his crotch, you knew you had to get straight to the point. it was going to have be to be urgent but still satisfactory.

you now laid down between his thighs, the blanket pushed behind you as you slipped his boxers down with the help of him lifting his hips. they reached till his knees till his exhausted body collapsed onto the bed. your fingers worked up his thighs, brushing past the light hair he had before settling on his cock. it was semi-hard, but you could feel it slowly hardening as you got to work.

licking it from the base to the tip, your tongue drew patterns on it as you tried your best to make him hard in the slightly sleepy haze you were in. soft moans left his mouth as you flicked the underside of his tip, his eyes shutting and arm resting on his forehead. even in such a tired state of being, he could still look like a god.

you were quick to bring your mouth down to his balls, your hand jerking him off to compensate. you brought each ball into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you applied pressure with your tongue as it moved against it, your hand slowly tightening up around his member and jerking it off. the way that he had started flexing his arms in self control and how he moved his hips at particular sucks gave him away, letting you know that you were on the right path.

letting his balls go with a slight pop, you moved to his tip, taking it into your mouth as you pressed the tip of your tongue on the underside of it, eyeing the way that he let out heavy breaths and a few soft moans at your action.

not wasting anymore time, you slowly took his member into your mouth, welcoming the way that it filled your mouth up.

“fuck, y/n” he moaned slightly louder this time, his nose crinkling as his hips bucked up a bit, hitting the back of your throat but for not too long.

you added pressure by hollowing out your cheeks and pressing against his underside with your tongue, loving the way that you could feel a few veins against your soft muscle.

at first, tobio was never one for blow jobs, because he didn’t like how vulnerable he looked, especially because you could see him the whole time, but the way that he clenched his fists onto the sheets and let his mouth gape open with a few moans leaving it told you that he had gotten over than irrationality.

“y/n, I’m close” he whispered softly, his heavy panting not any louder than the frogs from outside, but much more captivating and motivational as you continued, helping him find that bliss.

your hands were warm against his balls as you kept bobbing your head on his cock, sometimes sucking especially hard on the tip or adding the tiniest bit of teeth to scrape against his skin the way he liked it. you could feel he was getting close by the way his balls tensed up and he lost track of his breathing, a final deep thrust into your mouth confirming your suspicions.

“o-oh, fuck, y-y/n” he moaned loudly, biting his lip as he thrusted a few more to ride out his high, one of his hands caressing your head.

you eyed the way that his chest rose up and down in heavy breathing and how his jaw clenched with the satisfaction of filling your mouth with his cum. but as soon as his relief came, so did sleep, slurring his movements.

“hmm, thank you, I feel better now” he mumbled softly, kissing your lips and scrunching up his face at the slight taste of him on your lips.

“anything for you, baby, now go win that match tomorrow.”

tags: @kingtamakimurder

#gonna give my bf a bj tmrw lmaoo #kageyama tobio #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio fanfic #tobio kageyama #tobio kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama fanfic #tobio #tobio x reader #kageyama #kageyama x reader #karasuno #haikyu!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #kageyama tobio smut

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utterlyinevitable · 3 years

Text

The Messy Route

@mvalentine CATCH UP WITH LOVE LAO HERE

Ch. 19

Working on Caroline’s case was EXHILARATING. The unknown was what MC signed up for when applying to Edenbrook and ‘winning’ the spot on the diagnostics team. No matter where she works in the world there will always be rare cases popping up. This excitement was exactly what she needed from the eerie quiet of the hospital’s last day.

One last case in the job of her dreams with her medical hero and fav person. The prickly man that means more to her than she’d could ever imagine. Her friend.

A friend (lover) she unwittingly betrayed that sent his mommy issues through the roof

Their small conversation in the hall turned deep and for a brief moment as they stared into the empty diagnostics room talking about futures he forgot why he was even mad at her in the first place. She’s always had an affect on him and Ethan’s going to miss her. He’d never tell her though. What’s the point in sharing his feelings now?

Then his father broke the illusion.

Ethan was meant to drive his dad home and they’re meant to talk about what to do with Louise and Ethan needed some advice.

Alan’s invitation surprised everyone.

Mc was curious about where Ethan grew up... she doesn’t really know why she said yes to attaching herself to Ethan’s hip for the next three hours but she did. It sounded like a fun adventure at the time. She even inquired about the good friendlys multiple times during the ride. So much so that Ethan did in fact stop to buy his dad and colleague a Sundae.

Ethan doesn’t want her there. This. His dad. Now his childhood home. It was all much too personal. Too insightful for a colleague. He had to keep reminding himself SHES just his colleague. Besides the romps they’ve shared once in a blue moon they never talked about what they meant to one another. And that’s on Ethan. If he just TOLD MC how he felt last year things could have been wildly different......

He doesn’t know she would have turned him down in favor of her career back then.

And today he needed advice from his father about how to live when the only woman you’ve ever loved chooses someone else.

From meeting both his parents, these modest houses were almost exactly what she pictured. The layout is different but the humble beginning was screaming at her. Wow if you told med school mc that she’d get to walk through Ethan Ramsey’s origin story she would have choked on her frapp.

Then again she’s not surprised by this neighbourhood. All superhero’s have some sort of tragic backstory. Some reason to strive for more at whatever cost.

She sees it. She identifies with it. She appreciates him all the more. It’s just another piece of the puzzle of the ever enigmatic and sexy Ethan Ramsey.

Alan’s stories. She could listen to them all day. Part of her wanted to send Ethan back to edenbrook so she can spend the day with Alan and coffee looking at photos and reminiscing.

And she wants this. Eventually she wants the domestic life. She wants to be a proud parent and tell anyone who will listen stories of youth.

Staring at little baby Ethan the words “Such a cute kid” slip out. Barely audible but the ramsey men are astute and heard as if she always meant to say it. She blushes and she’s grateful Ethan turned it into a joke. She didn’t want to revel in the fact she just realized she’s so fucking fond of this man. Like. More than colleagues and casual lovers fond.

Duck.

The car ride home was silent save for the aria playing through the speakers. They both had A LOT to think about.

Ethan never got a chance to ask his father’s advice.

Of course she solved the bloom case. She’s got a big girl brain that Ethan will forever be in awe of. That one hell of a woman will be one hell of a doctor.

As caroline and Leland leave the second time, MC unintentionally is thrown back to The Incident. Not being able to touch the person you care about most? Yeah. She knows the feeling.

But WHO does she care about most? If she had to pick just one person to spend forever with which would it be ?????

Even with everything and the uncertainty Ethan and Mc still stand close in the darkening atrium as the lights shut off one by one. Standing steps ahead of where they met and where they worked as a team for the very first time. It’s poetic. They realize that. Everything that’s gone on between them swirls around them like a tornado (actually more like the leafy wind scene in Pocahontas where she levitates but i guess u get the imagery).

They both feel immensely guilty in their own rights.

They reach for the other’s hand at the same time.

He walks her to the door but stops mid stride when he sees her friends just beyond the glass.

This is goodbye.

He lets go.

He stays behind to linger in all the memories.

She walks out the door with a solemn ‘thank you for everything’ called over her shoulder.

And for the first time Ethan doesn’t like being alone.

And then she sees her friends.

Things with Bryce have been awkward to say the least. He wouldn’t let it show - his signature confidence and stride of personality were still ever present. Except now it was like she was watching him through glass. There was something reserved about the way he acted in her presence now.

Raf was a little off too. He said something really concerning but she was too in her feelings about the closure to dive into his issues. They also hadn’t had time together in over two weeks. Strangely, she didn’t really mind. Maybe cooling off one another is what’s needed in times of uncertainty like this???

She pushed all things aside to enjoy Boston Bucketlist Bonanza with the people that mean the most to her!

Her bucket list option was a TOTAL cop out. She couldn’t think of something her friends could do with her on such short notice so she improvised. She kissed the absolute goddess known to mere mortals as Ms. Kyra Santana.

(Really curious to see how pb will use the data from the kiss choice. My gut says they won’t. My heart says don’t get invested. The little sliver of hope I have says MAYBE they’ll be wise and add aurora and or Kyra as LIs)

At the end of the night everyone went back to their respective homes feeling lighter. Mc didn’t dwell on the shambles that’s her love life *bah dum tss* she’s got enough time to figure that out now she’s unemployed.

#the messy route #love lao get your shit together 2020 challenge #dom replays oh #open heart #i know who she cares about most but shhh i'll never tell #xoxo #i'm also not releasing ch 20 until i've done the before chapters

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ghostmartyr · 5 years

Text

Pokémon Black 2 Randomized Nuzlocke Run [Part 10]

Elite Four grind time.

With some time spent pushing rocks into holes, just in case I need to go places in the future.

Team:

Caspet (Gengar)

Nessy (Milotic)

Diego (Gardevoir)

Stormy (Metagross)

Vertex (Luxray)

Photon (Rayquaza)

So here we are, leveling up our team before our chaotic last stand, and that means... we’re in a new route. One more for the road.

What will it be?

It’s a Fire type!

I’m a moron!

No, Diego, no.

...

FUCK I HAD A MASTER BALL I COULD HAVE USED.

WHY DOES MY BRAIN CONSISTENTLY GO TO THE “yeah there could be a type problem but I’m sure it’ll be fine,” ARENA WHEN I’M TRYING TO CATCH THINGS. YOUR OPTIMISM IS KILLING THIS TEAM. KILLING IT.

IT’S CAUGHT ANYWAY.

I GUESS THE LITTLE MURDERER WHO’S LIKELY TO BE PART OF THE TEAM GETS A NAME.

YOU’RE DAMIAN. IN ALL CAPS.

I’m so sorry my optimism killed you, Diego.

I have a Dawn Stone now.

Maybe things would have gone better if I had it earlier.

I might be sorrier I have to grind something else. But I’m mostly just sorry.

-sigh-

Rest well, friend.

Now then.

Hey there. You’re Serious and often doze off.

I guess I’ll train you now.

We’ll be back when the demon child is up to 60!

Or when I’m in his patch of grass again and cool, Sunflora and Manaphy. Mareep is in more common grass. As is Rhyhorn and Manectric. Ninjask in the water. Look, the wild one live longer. Braviary is occasionally here too, with Marill in the deep spots.

Heeeeey, DAMIAN made it to 60 without dying! Also without anyone else dying! Nifty! We’re throwing Caspet back in front, handing the Exp. Share to Photon for now, and just going to go through this Victory Road.

What I assume to be Victory Road. This part of the game blends together for me even worse than the rest.

...Well, now I’m on it, so no matter!

Wait. We had a planned thing?

N, this is why there’s so much fanfic written about you. Thank you, friend. Even if it’s only because I remind you of your boyfriend from the last cartridge set.

What do I teach it to, though? It’s a physical Water attack. A very good one, but I don’t think any of my physical attackers can learn it. I might have to take something out of a box for it... In that case, I might as well also get something that can learn Cut. There are trees about.

Photon and Nessy are the only ones that can learn Waterfall. I don’t think I want it for either of them. To the nearest box!

I don’t know if this is a way to a box, but this is really, really cool and I dig it.

Okay, do I have anything that can learn both Cut and Waterfall? Mayhaps? Or Fly?

No, this isn’t going to be that straightforward. Nessy and Caspet are in the box since they need exp least. Replacing them temporarily are Amuro the Charmander (Cut), and Winn the Whiscash (Waterfall and Surf).

Photon’s in the first slot, Exp. Share moves to Vertex for now.

There’s this maze of Cuttable trees and trainers out before Victory Road proper. I don’t really understand what this gen likes so much about random maze areas, but I think most Pokemon games are into that on some level. It’s just annoying right now because Sun and Moon spoiled me. HMs are obnoxious.

On a related note, Winn now knows Strength.

There are also now Kabutops everywhere.

Having gone through the maze, I’m going down Victory Road with Nessy back in the party and Amuro back in the box. Thanks for your service, bud. Where we’re going, we don’t need Cut. ...I hope.

This gen’s needless drama makes me happy.

And the first pokemon of Victory Road is...!

Hi there. You’re gen appropriate. What are you doing here.

Quick Ball for a quick catch, and your name’s Kansas now. Get in the box.

Other possibilities that can no longer be counted as such are Lickilicky, Psyduck, more Psyduck, Aggron, Spheal, Smeargle, Dragonite, Dewott, Starly, Zweilous, Trapinch, Marill, Swellow, Mismagius, Weavile, Genesect... there were a lot.

Throwing the Exp. Share at DAMIAN for the now.

We’re secretly the same person.

The number of trainers on Victory Road who have history with Team Plasma one way or another is really satisfying. In this sequel game, the events of the game preceding it had an impact on NPCs. Delightful.

Also, I repeat my desire for NPCs to not be allowed to have things that have Sturdy. I hate Sturdy. It makes me sad. So do caves that need Flash to see in. Instead of teaching anything Flash, I’m going to stumble around in the dark. The dark that says this is probably an optional section.

I made my way to an outside!

Hmmm.

Russell?

Russell!

Fuck. Rival fights just when I’m really wanting to see a Pokemon Center are not my favorite thing. They are even less of my favorite thing when I have a slot taken up by an HM slave.

!!!

Hey, this is the rival fight that starts with an Unfezant in this corridor!

It’s level 55, and Russell only has four pokemon, so this should be relatively okay. Bouffalant comes out as a result of Unfezant’s U-turn. Nessy deals with it, but is in the orange. Simisage is next, go DAMIAN. Samurott following, go Vertex. Samurott is level 57. Stormy goes in to finish the Unfezant since Stormy has a Quick Attack replacement.

And that’s the fight! Yay!

Pokemon Center?

Fine, I can take the Thunderbolt TM I guess.

Geez, what happened in the past two years, huh?

Oki doki, I’m going to go back through Victory Road and check out all the things I didn’t want to before finding the health point on the way out. When I’m done with that, I’ll look at the resting levels and decide what I think.

Stormy with the Exp. Share for the moment.

The heck.

Am I going to want to give something Flash?

Randomizer is fun.

Now then. What are you gonna do?

Nothing. Well great.

That kind of leaves with one thing to do, doesn’t it.

Yeah.

Soooo.

I think based on the levels I’ve been up against to get here, continuing to grind kind of defeats the spirit of the Nuzlocke. I also don’t have Fly, so I’m going to stick with what I have available here to construct team improvements.

To the TM page.

Nessy’s going to forget Twister for Ice Beam.

Photon’s going to... actually no.

DAMIAN’s ditching Crunch for Toxic just so someone knows it.

And that’s it for TMs that I could change up their movesets with.

Leftovers for Nessy, Magnet for Vertex, Wide Lens for Stormy, Charcoal for DAMIAN, Spell Tag for Caspet, and Razor Claw for Photon.

Going to spend most of my money on recovery items, and then. In we’ll go.

After giving Caspet all of my remaining Rare Candy. Caspet it level 69. Nice.

I think Fighting dude is to the far right. He’s been a problem in the past, so I’m going to go ahead and try to get that out of the way. Stormy up front because while Photon might have Air Slash and STAB, all these things are likely to have Stone Edge. The worst of everything. Next to Sturdy.

Yeehaw.

...Huh.

Well then.

So Marshal’s first pokemon is a level 56 Throh. At the risk of feeling very embarrassed in a few moments, I think I might be slightly overleveled for this. Uh. Stormy, use Zen Headbutt?

Bye Throh?

Mienshao is up next, and for that one I think I want to switch into Photon. Or do I. See, I can’t remember if Bug is super effective against Stormy or not. Steel clears up a lot of the Pyschic weaknesses, but I am not allowed to look things up, and gaaah.

Stormy can survive one hit of anything, probably. In Stormy stays.

One Zen Headbutt later, Stormy is also staying in to fight Conkeldurr. It’s level 58. It uses Bulk Up (yes, it lived. its berry even brought it back to orange!). Stormy uses Zen Headbutt. Conkeldurr is no more.

Next and last is Sawk. Let me guess. This is still the Sturdy version. It is. It uses Payback, which does a pathetic amount of damage. Stormy uses Bullet Punch to simplify the future, and Marshal Full Restores Sawk. Stormy uses Zen Headbutt.

Yay, I won.

...This is sincerely awkward. I thought they’d be in their 60s. And maybe they are for the second round, but I’ve spent so many hours in this gen that my plan is to call it after beating the Elite Four. So uh. This is my final battle.

To the Psychic room?

I like how two years later, the Elite Four has agreed to stairs instead of moving spiral stairs.

Caspet is up in front.

Caitlin sends out a level 56 Musharna. Caspet uses Shadow Ball. Musharna faints. Caitlin sends in a level 56 Reuniclus. Caspet uses Shadow Ball. Reuniclus faints. Caitlin sends in Sigilyph. Caspet uses Shadow Ball. Sigilyph faints. Caitlin sends in a level 58 Gothitelle. Caspet uses Shadow Ball.

And that’s Caitlin.

Ghost girl next because I already have Caspet up front.

Shauntal sends out a level 56 Cofagrigus. Caspet uses Shadow Ball. She’s about to send out a Golurk, and to keep from being too arrogant, I switch to Nessy. Nessy uses Surf. Bye Golurk. She sends out a Drifblim, I go back to Caspet. Caspet uses Shadow Ball. Nessy gets sent back in against a level 58 Chandelure. Nessy uses Surf.

Nessy’s level 67 now.

Three down.

Stormy, you can sit in front for this next one.

Grimsley sends out his level 56 Liepard. It uses Fake Out. Then it uses Night Slash. Stormy is at 156 HP out of 192. Stormy uses Hammer Arm. Liepard faints. Nessy comes out to handle the Krookodile. It uses Earthquake. Nessy uses Surf. One is left standing.

Scrafty is next.

I don’t have anything I’m super comfortable having out against it, so I think I’m going to go for an odder pick and have Vertex fight it. If nothing else, yay Intimidate.

Vertex uses Spark. Scrafty uses Rock Tomb. Vertex’s Speed is lowered, but Scrafty’s down to half health. Vertex uses Spark. Ugh, a sliver of health left. Scrafty uses Rock Tomb again and Speed is lowered again. Grimsely is going to use a Full Restore, so I’m going to use Charge.

Scrafty uses Crunch.

A moment of fear for Vertex. Yike.

Charged Spark takes out Scrafty, though.

Grimsley’s final pokemon is Bisharp. DAMIAN, this is your time.

DAMIAN uses Flamethrower. Bisharp faints.

4/4.

Yay.

The question now becomes what I want in front. If memory serves, Iris is now the Champion. I don’t know if her Dragon theme is changed up at all. I do know that her levels will be a bit higher than what these four fights have entailed.

I think I’ll put Caspet up front. She’s faster than anything, and does enough damage that unless something goes very wrong, she has an excellent chance of just nailing the first thing.

...On second thought, no.

Iris might have a Hydreigon. Likely not first, but I do not need to ever give a Hydreigon extra moves. So.

Stormy, I guess. Stormy’s reliable, and whatever happens, probably won’t die in one hit. Okay.

Hi I’m Iris and I’m extra af.

AF.

Oh, I don’t remember her theme music. Feels... prancy. I like it.

HEY WAIT LOOK I DID A SMART THING SHE DOES HAVE HYDREIGON FIRST.

STORMY USE HAMMER ARM AND PLEASE HIT.

(It’s level 57.)

Hydreigon uses Flamethrower. I figured there was a very good chance of that happening, but Stormy endures the hit in the green, and Hammer Arm hits.

Hydreigon down!

Stormy grows to level 65!

Aggron is next.

I don’t want to risk Earthquake, Nessy’s taking this.

Level 57 Aggron, Nessy uses Surf. No point wasting Hydro Pump on something likely to have Sturdy.

Okay so it doesn’t have Sturdy.

It’s also gone now.

Nessy’s level 68.

Iris sends out a Lapras, Vertex needs something to do. Vertex uses Charge as a safety measure/to see if I can one-shot the Lapras. Lapras uses... Ice Beam, I think, but I was typing in this window when the attack went off. Because this has my full attention.

Vertex uses Spark. Lapras faints.

Iris has a Haxorus. It is level 59.

Well, Nessy has Ice Beam.

Haxorus hits first with Earthquake. Nessy stays green.

IRIS WHY DOES YOUR HAXORUS HAVE A FUCKING FOCUS SASH COME ON I’M SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO LIKE YOU.

Siiiigh. Nessy gets to use another Ice Beam, likely after the inevitable Full Restore comes in.

Yes to both those things.

Haxorus faints.

Iris sends out Druddigon, Nessy stays in. Nessy uses Ice Beam. ...Druddigon survives with a sliver of red, but is frozen. Nessy uses Ice Beam again. Druddigon faints.

Last up is Archeops.

I am, at heart, a sentimental man.

Caspet. I believe in you. You, the closest thing to a starter this run had after the first hour.

Use Shadow Ball.

WE WIN.

That...

Geez, that certainly happened, didn’t it? I can’t say I’m disappointed, exactly, because I like winning too much, but. Outside of Vertex vs. Scrafty, there wasn’t much fear involved. Kind of anticlimactic.

And sad, to think that Diego could have been part of it if we hadn’t met DAMIAN first. He missed it by so little.

Iris.

Please.

Wait, where’s the shot of my entire team? Game!

No.

Here are our available living pokemon in the box. Hark and rejoice, my friends I will never play with again. The friends most of you never met are victorious.

Here lie Dreamor, Tagg, Sylarana, Sasuke, Itsy, Stella, Puff, Boruto, Cerberus, and Diego.

Thank you, and farewell.

Final team:

Nice job, guys.

Caspet, level 70.

Photon, level 65.

Nessy, level 68.

Vertex, level 64.

DAMIAN, level 65.

Stormy, level 65.

Phew.

So all of the tension went out of order for this one. My starter died early, I was massively overleveled for the Elite Four and didn’t even expect to be fighting them this round, then I was, and meaningful deaths weren’t that common or devastating.

But I had fun, and I hope the two of you who sometimes read these enjoyed the adventure. I’m done with this gen for like. at least a year, but I have decided to do a Nuzlocke of either Fire Red or Leaf Green. I don’t know which, but I’m not going to Randomize the run. I am going to have one very specific rule changing things up to make going back to the gen three version of gen one hopefully very worth it, but yeah.

I don’t know when that will be happening, but I seem to enjoy having one of these going. Plus, I think the rule changes I have in mind would make my posts less meandering.

Anyway, thanks for reading.

#Pokemon #Nuzlocke Challenge #Nuzlocke

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araliyaintheskywithdiamonds · 6 years

Text

Be My Sidekick - A CrissColfer Fic

Summary: Early!CC consisting of silly, oblivious boys.

For this prompt: OMGMG WRITE A FIC TO SIDEKICK FROM WALK THE MOON ASSFJKLSKSLALNSN PLEASEE LISTEN TO IT OMGMG IL LVOD U FOREVER AND EVER

Thank you for the song rec ahhhh! Hope you like it!

Word Count: 1547 AO3

*Title and lyrics from Walk The Moon’s Sidekick.

(I often wonder why the things that I want are so hard to find but-)

It’s midday and Darren’s at Chris’ trailer doorstep, lunch bagels and diet cokes in hand. The door is closed and the heat is sweltering, but just to be sure, Darren knocks. (Although Chris would have a million reasons to keep the door closed, he doesn’t really want to consider the one where someone else is in there with him.)

A cold (and irrational, completely irrational) flush of relief floods through him at Chris’ muffled voice, shouting, “You can come in!”

Darren pushes the handle down with his elbow, goods teetering in his hands like juggling balls, and tumbles into the trailer. He’s so focused on getting the food to the coffee table and not dropping anything that he completely misses Chris’ half naked body, radiating mirth on the other side of the trailer.

Well, almost completely misses. Darren looks up at the last moment to see Chris in a baggy grey t-shirt and apparently nothing else, eyeing him in amusement.

“I wasn’t dying of hunger, Dare,” he says, turning around to lay out a pair of terrifyingly skinny Kurt jeans. “You didn’t have to sprint.”

And Darren asks, “Are you wearing anything under that?”, because Chris is Chris, and in the short time they’ve known each other he’s never really worn anything that shows off his body too much, and Darren never thought he’d get to see so much of Chris’ smooth, pale skin in his life, and-

Chris quirks an eyebrow and lifts his shirt, revealing a pair of running shorts. Very short running shorts. “Um, yes?” he asks.

While Darren hasn’t known him long, he still knows him well, and right now there’s the slightest undercurrent of self-consciousness in his voice. Yet the only thing Darren is able to think is, fuck, and he must be imagining things because Chris’ eyes start to gleam a little. He pops open a diet coke and takes a long sip, holding his arm out to lick up a drop of condensation that’s dripped down his wrist.

The asshole actually seems to be basking in Darren’s momentary muteness.

Chris sets the can down, slowly and carefully and- how does anyone do something as unremarkable as drink soda and make it look like that? Darren forgets he hasn’t given Chris an answer until he picks up a pair of intimidatingly bondage-style suspenders, tossing them for him to catch.

“I’ll be needing help with these,” Chris says lightly, and Darren thinks, fuck.

***

(friendship up against the ropes)

Darren is… frustrating.

It’s not that he isn’t the sweetest, kindest, most infectiously happy person Chris has ever met, but he’s also-

frustrating.

He doesn’t want to perpetuate the stereotype of gay guy smitten with the hopelessly straight and utterly oblivious best friend, who sends messages so mixed it’s like sifting through sand, except there’s no hiding that it’s exactly what Chris is, and exactly what Darren does.

Chris would like to say his gaydar is accurate but it’s really not, and with Darren, he might as well be deaf and blind. If only the guy would stop touching so much; little brushes of fingertips down arms, a palm on his thigh as Darren leans over to talk to someone, grabby fingers playing with Chris’ hair like a child-

Actually, scratch that. Maybe Chris doesn’t mind that much. He thinks this right about the time Darren makes a shot for the basketball hoop, rising up on the balls of his feet, shirt riding up just enough and baring the slightest sliver of skin-

Yep, Chris is that cliche.

“Could you love him?”

It’s Diana from beside him, smiling softly.

“Darren and I aren’t a thing, Di.”

He realises too late what he’s said; Diana’s smile has gone from knowing to smug.

“I never said his name,” she says, holding her hands up in surrender. On the court, Harry grapples for the ball, tossing it to Heather who makes a graceful swoop for the basket, ball tumbling through the net in the effortless way only Heather can manage. Darren spots them at the deck chairs and waves, smiling brightly.

Chris groans, sliding his sunglasses down over his eyes, and Diana cackles.

***

(the one I need could be right by my side)

There’s a reason Darren doesn’t drink around Chris. His tongue is loose enough sober that it would be near disastrous with a couple of shots down, and god knows how Chris would react.

He won’t know any time soon though, Darren thinks peevishly, since there’s another guy out there with Chris, putting his hands all over him like he’s entitled to it- like he owns him.

“If looks could kill,” comes a voice from next to him, “they’d both spontaneously combust.”

It’s Kevin, sipping his drink, arm wrapped around his boyfriend as they watch the night unfold in amused interest.

“Just the one,” Darren replies blackly, chasing down the rest of his glass and shuddering a little.

“Woah,” Kevin says, following Darren’s eyeline to the platter of shots coming their way. He watches warily as Darren takes one, and then two. “Slow down, dude. I don’t think the way to impress Chris would be to throw up on his date.”

“That’s not his date,” Darren declares through gritted teeth. At least, he’s not is he? Chris hasn’t told him yet, and Chris tells Darren everything.

He expects Kevin to look unconvinced, but he’s not- instead he’s smiling at the olive in his drink.

“What?” Darren asks, tossing back another shot. This time it goes down easier, and now Darren’s not so sure whether or not it’s a good thing.

“Nothing,” Kevin says, sharing a glance with his boyfriend, who rolls his eyes exasperatedly. He’s Spanish and doesn’t say much, but when he does communicate, it’s through distracting hand gestures and emphatic eye movements. Darren envies them, just a little.

Darren looks back to the dance floor to see that Taller-Than-Five-Foot-Eight-McMuscle-Man appears to have vacated the premises, with Chris flushed and alone in the middle of the throng of bodies.

“Go get ‘im,” says Kevin.

“Tonto del culo,” says his boyfriend.

Darren takes a breath and weaves his way through the people on the dance floor. Now that he’s moving, everything is bright and blurred around the edges, and Chris soon comes into his vision. He looks surprised to see him.

“Hey!” Chris says, over the thumping bass. “I was expecting you to be James.”

“James?” Darren asks, although he’s pretty fucking sure he knows who James is.

Chris points to Taller-Than-Five-Foot-Eight standing at the bar, very obviously flirting with the bartender.

“He’s flirting with the bartender,” Darren states.

“It’s James,” replies Chris, “he flirts with anything that breathes.”

Darren is suddenly reminded why he’s there. “Will you dance with me?”

Chris eyes him beadily. “You want to dance with me.”

“That’s what I said?”

Another song comes on, some 2007 Nelly Furtado, and there are whoops as more people join the floor. Darren finds himself pressed up close to Chris, so close that he can see the shadow of his reflection in his pupils.

“Okay,” Chris agrees, smiling slightly. Darren hopes it’s an I’m agreeing because I’m into you smile and not an I’m agreeing with you because you’re drunk and also a sad idiot smile.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Chris, close to his ear. He’s slung his arms around Darren’s neck, loose and as easy as breathing. Darren holds tighter onto Chris’ waist.

“Nothing.”

Chris raises one perfect eyebrow. It’s another moment where Darren realises how polar they are: Chris is all smooth surfaces polished alabaster-fine, while Darren is rough around the edges like splintering wood.

“I just-” Darren tries again, and Chris’ eyes soften. Overhead, Nelly sings, you could mean everything to me, and Darren could laugh with the irony of it all, except he’s sort of mesmerised by the aquamarine blue of Chris’ irises.

Which are now so close, Darren could count his eyelashes.

He hears, “you’re a fucking idiot, Darren Criss,” before soft lips are on his, pressing close and drawing the breath from his lungs. Darren’s hand reaches up to card through Chris’ hair and Chris’ hand cups his jaw, and he can’t tell whether the drumming in his ears is the beat of the music or steady tattoo of his heart- pounding Chris Chris Chris.

At some indiscernible point, the music fades and cheers rise up at the intro of the next song, and they part dazedly. There’s a second of silence between them before they hear a very loud, heavily accented “fucking finally” from the bar. Chris and Darren look to see Kevin snorting into his drink, while the Spanish Boyfriend vigorously gestures at the two of them in an unmistakable keep going motion.

They turn back to each other, and suddenly he and Chris are laughing deliriously, tears gathering at the corners of their eyes. Chris clutches Darren and wheezes, and Darren can do nothing but relish the feeling of his body under his hands and the weight of his arms looped tight around his shoulders.

And then they wipe their eyes and steady their legs and lose their breaths once more.

(why don’t you stay at mine tonight?)

#CrissColfer #crisscolfer fanfiction #fluff fluff fluff

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flwrpotts · 6 years

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39 "how long have you been standing there" 1 "do you want me to leave?" For varchie!

sending u all my love and a kiss im sorry this took so long!! I hope u enjoy and thank u for the ask!!

1. “Do you want me to leave?”

39. “How long have you been standing there?”

Archie stumbles more than walks down the stairs, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing cheap jack and coke over his wrist in the process. Above him, the raucous sound of a post football game party is dulled down to the throbbing music of the base, occasionally pierced by shrieking voices, or the celebratory roar of a beer pong champion.

He’s a little buzzed, not really drunk, awash in the warm, yellowish glow of high school victories and cheap beer, which is why he doesn’t notice Veronica at first, dimly lit by the chandelier that hangs stupidly in the Mantle’s basement.

She’s seated at the bench of the piano, a giant, gleaming thing, with an entire library of sheet music stacked up in mahogany cases beside her. Archie takes in the scene for a few seconds- the way her shoulder blades are skewered back with tension, exaggerating her already excellent posture. Her fingers hover over the keys, not quite touching the polished ivory.

As he watches, slumped in the doorway, she takes a deep breath and plays a chord, the sound ringing out clear and sharp in the empty room. Archie can feel the vibration of it in his teeth.

Once she starts playing she doesn’t stop, like the chord uncorked something within her, fingers moving across keys in a well practiced grace, old muscle memory winning out in the war against her rustiness. She starts one piece before sliding into another, and Archie only catches a few snatches of Moon River before the music changes again, something fearful and jubilant in the sound.

It’s mesmerizing to watch, the way Veronica takes nothing and turns it into something, the endless mysteries she seems to have tripping through her veins, her entire personality a game of two truths and a lie that never ends, only gets riskier.

She fucks up a chord, stumbling, and then slashes through the rest of them until she’s doing little more than just randomly hitting the keys, the sound a grating, discordant mess. Her breath catches in her chest, the sound of it audible, and she slides the piano bench back with an ear splitting scraping sound. The silence in the room is just as potent as the music was a moment before.

“Ronnie?” he asks, hesitant, forgetting the drink in his hand until he takes a step forward and it splashes outside the rim, staining the plush, expensive carpet.

“Was mir behagt, ist nur die muntre Jagd,” she murmurs. “What pleases me above all is the lively hunt.” It takes Archie a scared gap of a second to realize that she’s quoting the piece she was playing.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, and there’s a sliver of nerve in her voice, a faint vulnerability that no one else would ever be able to pick up on.

“Not long,” he replies. “Do you- do you want me to leave?” He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, uncertain. He’s a little fuzzy-brained, and there’s something strangely frail about her, perched birdlike with her hands empty and lipstick a little smudged. “Of course not,” she says quickly, without thinking about it. Archie sits next to her on the comically tiny piano bench, placing his cheap soda sticky red solo cup down on the glossy surface.

“I didn’t know you played,” he says, watching at the way she traces the keys with her index finger. “You’re really good, Ronnie. Like, amazing.”

She laughs a little, something sad and complicated in the sound. She crosses her legs primly. “I’m out of practice,” she explains, deflecting. “I used to have lessons, five days a week for an hour. I thought about going pro, for awhile.” Archie tries to conjure up an image of Veronica, playing concert piano for a crowd of well-dressed people, and the vision is clear, but has a sort of hollowness to it, too. It seems like someone else’s dream.

“I haven’t even played since I got to Riverdale,” she says, and the pieces start to click together for Archie, the shades and dimensions of Veronica Lodge coming together in his head. “I’m not sure why. I haven’t even thought about it.” “You still can, Ronnie,” he says. “If you want to.”

“I know that,” she says. “I just- Do you ever think about how far away we are from the people we used to be?”

“Of course,” he replies, and his brain flashes with everything that’s happened this past year- Geraldine and Jason and the Black Hood and every other improbable event that’s created chaos out of their lives. Sometimes he feels so far away from the kid who only wanted to play guitar that he doubts he was ever that person to begin with. He can’t imagine what it’s like for Veronica, who had her whole life flipped on its head before she even had a chance to understand what it was.

He laces his fingers through her own, and she squeezes too tightly.

“I had this whole picture of what my life was going to look like,” she continues, expression a little lost. “And now I am somewhere completely different- someone completely different than what I thought, and I haven’t played piano in a year.”

“We’ll never be those people again,” he says, and she exhales a shuddery breath, a tangled mix of emotion. “But, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It just means that we get to make up our future from scratch. And Veronica, I would have fallen in love with you, no matter the circumstances. Even if it took years. Even if we didn’t meet until we were old.”

She tips her head so it rests against his shoulder, and then turns, pressing a kiss to his cotton covered shoulder. “I love you, you know,” she says quietly, and the words have a certain weight in the soft blue dark of the room.

“I love you, too,” he says, and then leans on an ugly chord, all flats, to make her laugh.

“And here I thought you were the musician in the relationship,” she teases, and he bangs out a few notes, calling up the faint memories of the three lessons he had taken as a kid.

“Guess you’ll have to teach me, then,” he replies, and so they split the rest of his terrible drink like that, Veronica lining his hands up on the keys while he sings Springsteen to make her laugh.

#im rusty so pls be gentle #mine #prompt fill #varchie #archie x veronica

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lumosinlove · 6 years

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So u said your requests were open...... I kinda have an angsty Wolfstar ask..... Like, what would happen if Sirius somehow got bitten by some other werewolf (Greyback or some rando person) (let's say that for this full moon he can't be with Remus and the others cuz Order mission or something). How does Re react? What happens to the person that did it? (If you don't feel like writing this that's perfectly fine just ignore the ask)

ahhhh….angst, my old friend.

Sirius gets bit by a werewolf

Despite the disorientation that came with the morning after full moons, Remus always knew where he was and why he was there. The lycanthrope left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sour feeling in his veins. The sun filtering through the window felt unnatural against his skin, like either it was burning too hot or he was.

Remus cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the taste and clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, feeling the humanness of the way his muscles worked. He could feel the heat of a fresh gash across his lower jaw and sighed inwardly, clenching his teeth against the slight throb.

There were a few more moments of quiet in his mind, of sinking into the slowly familiarizing warmth of the sun, before his eyes opened, blinded by the light, and blinked. He looked around the room he was in. James and Lily’s guest room, which had more or less become his and Sirius’. Sirius’ clothes were falling out of the top drawers, while his were neatly folded within the bottom. His books lined the shelves, and Sirius’ old broomstick leaned against the wall in the corner, looking sad from lack of use against the blue paint. It was empty, but there was a chair next to his bed as if someone had been sitting there, and a glass of water charmed to keep cold. He sat up, forearms shaking for a second with the effort, and reached for the water. He cursed when his fingers nearly couldn’t hold tight enough and reached with the other hand to cup the bottom and bring it to his mouth for a few quick gulps.

Finally succeeding in pushing himself out of bed, he pulled on one of Sirius’ jumpers hanging out of his drawer, the thick sweatshirt material feeling cool and weighted against his skin. He gathered the ends of the sleeves into his palms, over his cold fingers, and pushed through the door into the hallway that overlooked the staircase. The house was quiet, a sort of calm that accompanied the morning, but he could hear the quick murmuring voices from the floor below. Remus trotted quietly down the carpeted stairs, balancing himself on the banister. He wandered into the kitchen first, seeking out the always heated kettle James had gotten Lily for her birthday. When he opened up one of the squeaking cupboard he heard the talking momentarily cease, listening to his presence, and then start up again, quieter this time. He frowned briefly over his shoulder, unease blooming in his chest, and went about the calming process of making tea. He took his time letting it steep as he fetched the milk and sugar, giving himself an extra spoonful in honor of a rather rough moon. He stirred, the spoon clinking against the ceramic mug, before depositing it in the sink and walking into the living room to join the others with his fingers wrapped around the warmth.

“Morning.” He stopped in the doorway, brows drawing together slightly, “What’s going on?”

The unease in his chest spread at the way they were all huddled around the couch, blocking it nearly entirely from his view. Lily turned around first, face pale and shadowed. It looked like she hadn’t slept. She had turned, but she hadn’t resigned her position in blocking the sofa. James too, now, was looking over his shoulder at him, glasses removed, hazel eyes looking dark and worried.

“What’s going on?” Remus said again, “Wh…”

His eyes flickered over them, counting. One, two, three, four, five, six. Red hair, brown hair, blonde hair.

The unease turned into cold dread, icing over whatever discomfort he’d been feeling. Remus’ fingers tightened around his mug. He wasn’t there. Sirius wasn’t there.

His eyes flickered to where they couldn’t see, to the hidden view of the couch. Around Marlene’s shoulder, he spotted it. A bit of black, curling hair sprawled across one of the cushions. He looked from it to their faces, their drawn, horrified faces.

The tea slipped from his fingers, and he stepped right through the steaming shards. He pushed through James’ hand on his shoulder, through Lily’s pleas, and dropped to his knees beside the couch, beside Sirius’ stretched out, limp body.

He heard himself make a sound in the back of his throat, a soft groan, as he took Sirius’ face in his hands. It was warm, almost alarmingly so. The veins in his temples stood out, and a sheen of sweat covered his neck and pooled in the dip between his collarbones. His usually tanned skin looked grayish except for a vivid flush spread in the hollows of his cheeks. His hair was curled from the heat of his own body, sticking to his forehead and temples.

“Remus—“

“What happened?” Remus pressed his fingers to Sirius’ cheeks, to his neck, his shoulders, feeling the heat of his body through his thin t-shirt, feeling for injuries. His own voice sounded strange in his ears, pitched low with panic, “What happened, what’s wrong with him?”

What was he doing?

James was beside him suddenly, hand firm on his shoulder, “Moony. Moony, I need you to look at me.”

“Tell me.” Remus’ hands were at Sirius’ ribs now, pushing his t-shirt up, “Why—“

Remus shut his mouth abruptly. His vision seemed to sharpen, painfully so, the drift out of focus only to sharpen again. He thought maybe he’d stopped breathing. He gripped Sirius’ t-shirt with one hand, the couch with the other, staring down at the bandaged wound that occupied the right side of Sirius’ upper chest, the shape of it outlined in the blood bleeding through the cotton. Remus clenched his jaw against the wave of nausea that threatened, the burning in his throat, at the familiarity of that shape.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, and it was still there, the crescent moon bite bleeding out of Sirius’ body, the blood nearly black with the poison it carried.

“Please—“ Remus’ voice came out no stronger than a whisper, shaking under the threat of tears, “Please, that’s not… That’s not…”

He heard James let out a breath from beside him, laced with tears, and felt his head drop to his shoulder.

Remus bowed his head too, breath coming in short, unbearable pants.

“Remus.” James’ voice in his ear, soft, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

But Remus shook his head, feeling his face start to break at the words. The next breath he took came out a sob, then another, until they were ripping at his chest. He leaned forward, taking Sirius sleeping face in his hands again. He put his palm to his neck, feeling the heated, uneven pulse there, while the other twisted into his hair. He pressed his lips to Sirius’ temple, nose in his hair, and his tears fell there too. Remus held him like that, his tears fallen silent except for the hitches in his breath, as if it would protect him, as if it would stop what was to come.

“I’m sorry.” Remus’ voice cracked, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He whispered the words into Sirius’ skin, “I’m sorry.”

It was Lily this time who spoke, breaking the silence with a gasp, “No, Remus. No, no—“ She dropped to her knees on Remus’ other side, glancing a panicked look at James, “No, Re, it wasn’t you. You didn’t bite him.” Her hand pressed to the back of his neck, “It wasn’t you, Remus.”

Remus froze, looking at her with hooded, terrified eyes, “I didn’t…”

James’ hand pressed to his back, thumb rubbing softly, “He wasn’t with us last night, mate. He had a mission, remember?”

Remus let out a breath, a small, sliver of relief cutting through the ice in his chest. He pressed another kiss to Sirius’ temple, holding his lips there for a moment, tasting the salt on his skin, “Who?” He whispered, looking back up at James, “Who?”

James just shook his head, eyes falling, “We don’t know. He showed up like this, passed out with the effort of apparating.”

Rage spiked through Remus’ blood as quickly and sharply as the relief had. James must have seen it light somewhere behind his eyes because he the hand on his back moved to grip his shoulder gently, “Remus. Not now. We will find them. You know we’ll find them. You know we will, just…you’re both weak right now. You need to take care.” James nodded towards Sirius, “Of each other.”

Remus nodded, clenching his teeth, jaw muscles jumping with the effort. He looked back to Sirius’ sleeping form. He looked restless, but not in pain. His brows were drawn together, lips parted slightly, “I’ll kill them.” Remus ran his thumb over the high of Sirius’ cheek softly. His voice shook, “I’ll kill them.”

The room was quiet, his words settling into the space.

“We—” James mumbled into the silence, “We could move him to the bed now that Re’s up.”

Remus nodded, reluctantly pulling his hands away from Sirius and allowing James to stoop over him, picking him up rather gingerly in his arms. When his head lulled back, Remus was there, tucking it gently against James’ shoulder.

“Thanks.” James offered him a tight smile, before turning for Remus to follow him up the stairs.

Remus waited for the others to leave the room, door closing with a soft snick before he let out the breath he was holding in shuttering, slow gasps. His entire body felt shaky as he laid down beside Sirius on the bed, cold fingers hooking around his arm, nose against his shoulder, not wanting to disturb or hurt him but needing the close contact. He smelled the same, Remus was glad about that. There was perhaps the slight tang of blood added into the mix, but that would fade as the wound healed. Remus lay there, barely breathing, watching as Sirius’ fever broke, sweat drying on his skin, and then sun set outside the window. He watched his eyes move beneath the thin lids, watched his chest rise and fall.

He’s alive, Remus tried to tell himself, He’s alive, that’s all that matters.

“Hm.” The sound Sirius’ made was soft and deep, sleep filled.

Remus’ eyes flashed back to Sirius’ face where he realized they had closed. Sirius’ eyes were still closed too, but he let out an uneven breath, the ease of sleep seeping from his body. Remus watched him swallow over his dry throat, and felt cold seeping into his veins. Would he have to tell him, or would he already know?

“Re.”

Sirius’ voice cracked around the nickname, but he raised his hand slowly, folding it across his body, his fingers finding Remus’ where they were curled around his arm.

Remus turned his hand upwards into Sirius’ palm, “‘m here.”

Sirius hummed again, eyes still closed, “Okay.” He swallowed again, brows furrowing with the effort, “‘m gonna open my eyes in a second.” His voice was rough, “Do you know what’s gonna happen when I do?”

Remus’ heart pounded against his ribs. He felt tears throb behind his eyes and he brushed his lips against the cotton covering Sirius’ shoulder and shook his head, voice a whisper, “No.” He had no idea.

Sirius turned towards him blindly, lips parted. Remus brushed their noses together and the corner of Sirius’ mouth turned up just a little. His fingers tightened around Remus’, “When I open my eyes, you’re going to stop worrying. You’re going to stop being sad.”

Remus blinked. So he knew, he remembered.

“That means you have a few more seconds,” The almost smile again, “get it out of your system, love.”

Remus exhaled a shaky breath, but stayed quiet. He counted, one, two, three, four, five, six…

And then Sirius opened his eyes. With the light yellow ring around the outer iris that the wolf brought, his eyes looked like lightning against a gray sky. Remus pulled his lip between his teeth, thumb reaching out to stroke just under his eye, the soft skin there.

“God.” Remus’ voices was rough too, “I hate that and love it at the same time.”

Sirius smiled, for real this time, and it felt so out of place from the rest of Remus’ day that it caught in his chest and lodged there uncomfortably until the warmth of it started melting all the ice away, “Well. I always liked it on you.”

Remus let out a soft laugh, a little watery, a little sad, but he was smiling all the same. “Pads—“ He moved his fingers up to Sirius’ hair, “Why weren’t you being careful, why didn’t—“

“Hey, my eyes are open.” Sirius shifted on to his side, wincing a little, to wrap an arm around Remus’ waist, pulling him against his chest. Their foreheads pressed together and Remus closed his eyes when Sirius did, “No more worrying. Everything’s fine, isn’t it?”

“I—“

“Really think about it, love. Everything’s okay, right? I’m here. You’re here.”

Remus tightened his fingers in Sirius’ dark strands, loving him immensely, “Yes.” He whispered, “Yes.”

Sirius leaned forward, chin tilting to press their lips together gently. Remus pressed harder into it, his body curving forward, “Don’t scare me like that, though.” Their lips brushed, “Promise.”

“Promise.” Sirius whispered back, before kissing him again in the moonlit room.

#wolfstar #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #wolfstar angst #sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter #harry potter fic #wolfstar fic #the marauders era #the marauders era headcanons #the marauders era fic #wolfstar fluff #harry potter headcanons #writing #james potter #lily evans #the order of the pheonix

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artcanary · 6 years

Note

1-50

oh my god dude

im gonna put this under a cut bc this is a lot. this is a ride, have fun i guess

1. Your first OC ever?god. its got to be Super Kitty. when i was like … an incredibly small child I used to draw comic strips about this feline caped crusader, who was friends with everyone in the city, and the comics always involved him stopping an evil banana man from stealing money from the local bank. He was paid with donuts for his service to the city. i still remember how to draw him.

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?i’d get arrested if I didn’t answer this with Bronze, probably… but really, they’re very important to me

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?man, i cant remember! i really dont think i have… P:

4. A character you rarely talk about?there’s loads of characters ive never even posted a single picture of on tumblr, i wouldnt even know where to start asdf

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be? bronze is the easy answer, but… i guess that could also go to Servant or Westrin. Servant has a comic project in the works that basically stars him, sort of a series of one-shots about the things he’s experienced, i feel like that would be a good thing to take off and run with. Westrin’s just fun as hell, i love the guy.

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?real talk now… there’s at least five different characters that i refer to as a whole as “bronze-tangential”, who started out as, “what would bronze be like if they were in this world?” and then becoming their own thing within said world because i just get stupid attached

its an epidemic

7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?nearly all of them, actually. that’s the main reason i make characters, after all! too many to really go into specifics here, again P:

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!not often, but i think Bronze and Westrin are the most common ones. unless playing a character in dnd, or running an npc in dnd counts… then a whole lot more hahaha

9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?it depends on the circumstances. i don’t really like the idea, though.

10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design? Westrin’s old getup is a pain to draw, and there was one other design i did that I cant find anywhere… whichever way, i dont often tend to draw super complicated things often

a couple fakemon ive designed though… heheh those can get pretty finicky

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”? hmmmmmmmm my immediate thought was Eric Silverdale from a comic i was working on a few years ago. hes a darling, i want him to be my friend irl

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lothow could you do this to me i love each and every one of all my friends ocs GOD the first one who comes to mind is @d20-official‘s Smith, whos Bronze’s friend… everyone in that DND party actually

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs? Rated on a scale from “harmless” to “honestly somewhat frightening”: -Baromet (charming and quite friendly but definitely a kleptomaniac),-Westrin (demigod of bards and travelers), -XEN09 (a nonsense hacker), -Conny (needlessly contrarian and dumb as HELL), -Enza Colie (long fucking story but hes a good-for-nothing), -Hemlocke (mad scientist, chaotic evil), -Iris (AI and hacker, VERY bad), -The Terminus (glitch-in-the-matrix demon, chaotic evil), -and Sydd (the Queen of the Faeries, hopefully the danger there needs no explaining :’D)

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory Mmm… there’s a few of them, most obviously Lent (whose background I did a short comic about). Basically his entire town got eaten by ghosts and turned into zombies, he only barely survived with a sliver of his soul left.

15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?yes, i often discuss storylines and such with friends

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)? Probably Bronze’s dad! I don’t talk about him much, but his name’s Devon Reed, and he was a biotech developer specialising in android design.

I often describe him as being something of a reverse Arthur Weasley - a very fatherly scientist fascinated to the moon and back with the concept of magic.

17. Any OC OTPs? having trouble thinking of a lot of them right now, but there’s Eric + Lent & Naiadine + Tailias from Emerald Sigil, Avken + Baromet from my space campaign world, Sydd + Wyvv from my unnamed campaign world, and I’ve been considering Westrin + Servant as an interesting dynamic in Servant’s story

18. Any OC crackships? My character Bismuth and @autistictimeknight‘s oc Eros. Theyre so fucking in love, I love it. Its been awhile but I do still think about them sometimes.

As I recall, Eros is an empath, she can read other people’s emotions. But Bismuth is a robot, and Eros can’t read her. Because of this Eros can let go of her fear of unintentionally manipulating the emotions of her date, which would hold her back from most other relationships.

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)Hey, meet Bronze! I definitely do not talk about them every five minutes, why would you say that.

Bronze was with me through two of the hardest years of my life so far, and being a DND character they grew with me, both as a fighter and as a person. They were non-binary before I started using those pronouns, they were the first character or person or anything who I fought someone about using the right pronouns for, they make a great icebreaker for if I want to see how someone reacts to non-binary pronouns …

One funny anecdote about Bronze is that when I first made them, their “gimmick” was that they would sometimes glitch out and mess up their speech, mostly because I wanted an excuse not to engage in the roleplaying (which I was very bad at). The interesting thing is that as I got better at interacting with the group, we both grew out of needing it very quickly.

I’m very proud of Bronze.

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?Westrin is a bard! His singing voice sounds like Bill Wurtz and these are his theme songs.

21. Your most artistic OCProbably Westrin again, he writes a lot of songs… and Hallux is a game designer?

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how? I honestly dont know… no-one talks to me about them, haha!

people use all manner of pronouns for bronze, though.

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?I’m gonna go with Enza for this one. Enza Colie was originally written entirely because I wanted an antagonist for a short starring his sister, Jane Colie. But the more I fleshed out his reasonings for acting how he did and explored his character, the more I realised he’d make an even more interesting character if allowed to have a redemption arc, too.

I just want to state for the record that I was very reluctant to the idea, and he basically dragged his way out of the villain pit entirely of his own accord. I am dubiously proud of him, and also a bit scared.

24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?Probably either Eric (Big Man, Best Friend), Crocus (Mother figure), Reed (Father Figure), Westrin (hed just make a good friend u kno??), or Bismuth (she makes good conversation!)

25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)probably the homestuck fan-troll Hallux, but that’s mostly because they were based on a troll-sona I made awhile ago. They’re a hope/prospit game designer who is small and full of rage and love

oh, and there’s dave! dave’s a superhero speedster, existing in a modern-day superhero version of seattle. theyre idiot, just like me,

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will? this is an interesting one… i don’t think ive ever had something Bad in a design ive done called to my attention by someone, but I did create my character Servant at around the same time I was first really expanding the diversity of my casts. (since i don’t talk about him often, a little context: he’s a magic spirit creature bound to human form to serve the royal family of the land and follow their orders.)

somehow, younger-and-more-stupid me managed to have the revelation that making this “eternal slave” character literally anything other than a white man, especially as a white author, would be Pretty Not Good. im … thats really, really not something i should pat myself on the back for, but i do consider it one of the biggest bullets dodged in my artistic career so far that i realised that not all representation is good representation so quickly, before i could make that incredibly, incurably stupid mistake.

after that, trying to make sure my characters and their presentations don’t harm anyone pretty much has become a paranoia. i don’t seem to have stepped on any toes yet, but when it inevitably happens, please let me know - i didnt know, and i want to fix it!

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song? None that I can think of, actually! I don’t really do that often.

28. Your most dangerous OC? god damn it i have no idea!!! is it the terminus? glitch in the matrix god of chaos motherfucker?is it sarle? terrifying calculating scientist with the power of the soul at her fingertips ??? is it ares??? is it athena????? is it petra?????? the gatekeeper????

… actually, the gatekeeper might be it, if “dangerous” just refers to “the amount of raw power it can wield”. the Gatekeeper is a titanic entity that exists in interdimensional multiverse space, and its implied to have the ability to create and destroy entire universe bubbles at will. for what cosmic purpose, no-one knows.

at a more personal scale, though, literally all of the aforementioned characters are pretty bad to run into too.

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?god. Mina or Tawn. Tawn is the Indiana Jonesy type and probably dumb enough, but also competent enough not to get into too much trouble there. Mina would probably drag her friends along.

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection? XEN09. No-one knows, because no-one knows xir personal identity. Xe absolutely does, though. It’s less of a secret if you know xir in person, but good luck finding out about it otherwise.

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)dave just reblogs memes all the time tbh. they like to keep tabs on the ridiculous superhero news going on, and they show human jokes and cat videos to their alien gf. they dont really post or add to posts, but they talk in tags a lot.

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why? i want to say tawn because i literally just realised ive been imagining their voice as sounding like luigi this entire fucking time and i never realised until this exact instant

33. Your shyest OC?probably baromet. they prefer to keep to themself in their hideout, with their collection of shiny things. they don’t really enjoy trying to communicate much, mostly because they expect to get yelled at.

34. Do you have any twin characters?Yes! At least two sets;

- Crocus and Sarle. (x) (x) They don’t exactly have a very well-developed relationship, but they are both quite important to the plot of my campaign world, and they are both very interesting. Crocus is a motherly figure who just exudes friendliness, while Sarle is .. very much not that, a researcher studying very gruesome things and pushing the boundaries of reality.

- Jane and Enza Colie. I haven’t talked a whole lot about either of them here, but I’d rather leave their story to do the talking whenever I get around to it. Essentially, the both of them were intended to do the dirty work for their crime boss family, but Jane ditched to study medicine. Most of the conflict between the two of them comes out of Enza not understanding why she made the choice she did, and coming to understand how he’s been manipulated.

35. Any sibling characters? I can’t really think of any off the top of my head, I should … I should really work on that.

I can talk about Westrin, though. Westrin (a demigod of many things, but namely bards, travel, travelers, and people who are lost) often becomes close friends with mortals, sometimes practically adopting them. These people who consider him family, and people who have received his blessing, are able to use his surname, Brilanta, as their own if they choose. So I guess all of the Brilantas are siblings, at least in spirit.

Oh, and XEN09 has like, seven siblings. Xe is the second-oldest, and least remarkable.

36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)? I already talked about Eros and Bismuth up there a ways in question 18, but I’ll talk about another relationship here. @autistictimeknight‘s character, Nova the Alchemist, is mentor and adopted parental figure to my character Munna. Munna … Munna isn’t a very good apprentice. She tries very hard.

37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human That’s most of them, I’m not quite sure what to say here. Bronze is an android? Bronze again? Westrin? All the aliens ??

38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer? man. uh. westrin or jean. or perhaps valencia.

39. Introduce any character you want ??? uhhhHHHhhHHH Lord Brillium is the reigning deity of the Cloud Kingdoms in the other campaign setting I’m working on. They represent light and the quest for knowledge, and spend most of their days in the Cathedral Observatory watching the stars.

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!one time bronze flew a hover-bike through the stained glass window in a cathedral blaring all star by smash mouth on their iguana

also one time bronze rickrolled a rakshasa demon and then pulled updog on it like, two minutes later

another time bronze scared off an entire army by pretending to be an automated security system

41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)ive got a whole little folder on here from all you blessed people !!!! right now ive got a drawing quinn did of one o fmy characters as my lockscreen

but i think the one i’ll really never ever get over is this piece of Jane, by @rabendraws / @owoltron:

(i bet you thought i forgot about this, dude. dude. think again.)

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods? this is kind of a weird question, m, I feel like Bismuth would find learning about the mythos utterly fascinating, as would Tawn.

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confesshaha. uh. i might.

aside from the entire “bronze-tangential characters” thing i mentioned awhile back, I tend to really like designing characters with hair color lighter than their skin color. it just looks so cool man. i love drawing freckles but dont put them on enough characters. i like really curly hair, but also really long and flowy hair. i like drawing triangular body types, and pointy/prominent noses.

44. Something you like about your OCs in generaluhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this is a really vague question. m. m.

45. A character you no longer use?there’s old versions of characters, but a lot of my older ones have been somehow repurposed. I guess there’s Turien, my first-ever DND character, who’s just kind of sitting dead now. Haven’t really done anything with him other than a pretty recent tangential character.

46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?Not that I can think of.

47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child? Im certain it’s happened, but I can’t remember any specific instances.

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pureSpring. spring knows nothing of th dangers of the world who is letting them into fights someon eneeds to stop this

(spring roll, hehe.)

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memesim not sure what this question is asking since many of my ocs actively enjoy memes including but not limited to westrin, dave, bronze, xen09, iris, and doctor archersen

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you wanti think. i think im going to pass on this one. i gave you the good old oc talk. your damn turn, yall:

if you have any questions about any of these guys feel free to shoot one at me!

thats all from me im tired and its one am. techskylander you absolute madman

#yetanotherOCmeme #WHY #personal

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werewolfbeans · 6 years

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Werewolf Boyfriend 2/2

If you’ve seen the first part then run right over here! \(^◇^；)

Disclaimer: There is near death experiences and death in general mentioned in this ficlet, please don’t read if you’re sensitive to this material ;;

Sewing was not a form of artistry that you followed.

You can vaguely remember a visiting family member giving you a botchy quilt, the mixture of cloth being a variety of garish colors. Neon greens did not mix well with midnight blues and cherry reds, too chaotic on the eyes. If you stared too long your head would begin to ache from the overflow of pure excitement on a blanket.

Regardless, your younger self had cherished it, no matter how red you made your skin from the constant itching.

A reminder to not pick sandpaper as your base for a creation.

However, your partner was rather good at this talent of weaving. Whether it came to molding hair, manipulating string, or carefully guiding a pointed edge, he had surprisingly gentle hands when it came to the creation of comfort. It was shocking to observe what sees a sewing needle through it’s life in soft cotton cloth can tear apart a fully grown elk to leave on your doorstep. Isn’t that how predators have always been though? For most the sound of gnashing teeth is all that comes to thought with the sight of him. For very little is the lip tightly curled over silver crochet hooks, your skin in range of the risk with the thread you were made with.

So thin.

With where the both of you live, so far out from civilization, he worries when you wander the woods alone.

Autumn is coming to a slow end. You need to get the last of your browns before the snow drowns it. Red and green paint was never your strongest suit.

But he insists.

Finely crafted sweaters over your shoulders, an adroit made crown with the ingredients of dying leaves upon your head. It is soon replaced with a fuzzy hat, puff ball extra fluffed on the end. His anxieties lead him to only make more, one of the only activities that sooth his soul. And though you can tell that your warmth when you leave helps him calm, he only begins to fear something else.

It’s a natural response, really. Wolves never usually travelled without their loved ones, especially when their skin is fine silk.

You really shouldn’t have turned around when you headed for the door, supply bag thrown over your shoulder.

His whine, a malicious thing, unfortunately lead you to look back.

Tail wagging behavior wasn’t a common thing for your wolf, despite body language being a big part of your conversations. But you wouldn’t need to look at more than his eyes to tell what he wanted.

He’s got pins and needles over the flap of his muzzle. Big creatures like this shouldn’t cower when they tower over a being so weak.

And yet he heels.

Fidgeting with his claws, his large brown eyes just stare at you.

He looks too sad for you to leave him there.

Maybe you’ll even let him come more often. A wolf the size of a bear while crouching over, bending his ear to listen to your latest story. Sometimes he laughs, a loud, intimidating thing. Like a playful growl compared to his vicious one, burly and low toned. Your’s beside it makes the two of you sound like a chorus of bells.

Eventually you grow too cold when the sun’s heartbeat begins to slow, and the moon chaperones the sky for a short while until it can find the strength to reach up again. Your sweater can only do so much, and your eyes weren’t made for seeing at night. He doesn’t hesitate to take the chance of his fur getting all over you. The positive side of it is that your partner is a walking oven, and you don’t even realize that you’d fallen asleep in his arms until he’s laying you down underneath the covers of a cold bed.

Yes, perhaps you’ll take him with you more often.

The shedding stops being annoying when he curls up at your side, snuffling against your hair and rubbing his scent all over your shoulders. A wolf thing, you were told long ago.

Another morning to be spent scrubbing his musk off of you.

The arrival of snow has him rolling around like a dog outside, his brown coat looking like icing poured over rich chocolate cake.

He blatantly ignores your insistence that he not come in with wet paws. The cold water sinks into your fuzzy socks, reminding you that you should probably buy more. They tended to disappear slowly for one excuse or another. Add it to the list of groceries and things that need to be fixed.

You can’t really be angry at him, though. Not when the only reason he ran inside was because of the ‘overwhelming urge to give you kisses’, he signs. You snort in laughter through all the cowlicks and dog saliva, watching as his tongue sticks out in his confusion, pink sliver just showing underneath his nose.

Horrible.

You have a feeling Winter will be fun.

Your trees have gone completely nude, and the usual route you take to find reference for paintings is now more boring than ever. Another path will have to be made by your shoes over time, just as this one was. The weather suggested no big occurences happening including snow, so wandering aimlessly should be safe without getting too lost.

The wolf doesn’t worry as terribly as before, since the bears have decided to lay to rest for the season. Unfortunately, he still crochets another sweater for you to wear while he goes on his hunts. The colors are neutral and calm, but you know the ugly christmas one is coming. You can see yourself loving it already.

You paint a dark brown wolf that day, glazed over with flakes of snow like a donut.

He is flustered that you thought of him in your free time, and your kisses to his forehead only make his tail wag more.

And you thought wolf’s ears weren’t supposed to be floppy.

For anyone else, they aren't.

Decorations are much easier than any other year you'd put them up.

He's a big help when he isn't tracking mud into the carpet. You need to add pet wash to your grocery list.

The tree was real this year, something you never saw yourself getting into the hassle of doing. You're lucky to have partnered with someone who can wield their claws as an axe. It was a tight fit, but the house’s ceiling is thankfully tall, and can handle the pine’s branches reaching for it. It's definitely worth all the work, since the house smells so lovely afterwards. Nothing like those scented candles you always depended on for all these years.

Hanging the lights is a different story.

You'll need to take notes for the next Christmas. The only paper you have nearby is the calendar, but it'll do.

A situation:

A tall, burly wolf, teeth completely clamped around the wire to a set of lights. His body is tangled in Rudolph red noses, the bulbs winking in holiday spirit. They're laughing at him.

You aren't cruel, so of course you set the whining predator free.

After a few photos.

Despite the fact that only the two of you are there to appreciate the house, a more cozy feeling settles into your stomach. A first holiday season with your loved one. A new romance. The slate of the garden is clean, and full of new options of what to plant when trickles of Spring come by. Crocus was always his favorite. Perhaps your love will bloom along with the flower when you plant it.

The morning is cold and the air sweet when you head out with your supplies. The weather is expected to be mild in your area, so being bold isn’t as much a risky idea than usual.

The bigger question, is how long will it take to find something to paint? You hardly find much interest in the plain white backgrounds and scattered naked trees. Wild life is appreciated, but the fuzzy brown deer that you see occasionally aren’t too interested in holding still for your reference. Perhaps you’ll need to need to buy a book full of pictures of them. You haven’t been to the nearby town’s library for a while now.

There’s the peek of the sun behind stitched in clouds for a moment, but it quickly hides again when reminded of the season. Maybe it’s off schedule this year.

When your supplies are set up, it is in front of a very simple piece. The remnants of Fall, like a single survivor from your favorite time of year. Packing your browns and reds was certainly a smart idea.

A barely crumpled red and yellow leaf, at least the size of your palm, resting half frozen in the snow. The background is a cold white mixed with light shades of blue, only the middle of your painting refreshing the eyes with such a warm mixture of colors.

You can only guess that you’re a few miles from your usual trail when the wind picks up.

The weather is to be laid back. You had watched the weather channel like you do every morning today.

But when did nature ever listen to the cries of man?

The fur around your hood is following the air upstream, and you know when the frost begins to grow over your canvas that leaving home was a grave mistake.

You should never waste your watercolor. But this was a very big exception.

The bags of supplies where you were left behind, your small body was not dressed up enough for a snow storm. Your running in the basic direction of the trail was a foolish idea, and through the splattered white acrylic paints you could soon see nothing to remind you of how far out you truly were.

The wind screamed with you for a living being to aid.

And it was the only voice you heard back.

Your stumbling through cold, too cold, lead to your fall.

It reminded you of your short lived love of climbing. How some mountains were so large and plagued by snow that many died with their journeys. How they had that realization of death when they finally fell.

How many of them had accepted it.

You could feel the weight of nature’s storm halfway up your back before your eyes closed.

The first holiday season.

Was the wolf sitting beside the fire after playing in the paint?

You hope he dried them off before he came in.

He knows you hate it when your socks get wet right as you walk inside.

…

….

It’s warm.

The fire is cackling next to you, and rested upon your shoulders is that horrible uneven cut blanket. He made it right when you purchased his first book on crochet, looked so excited when he gave it to you.

Terrible.

You love it.

Everything is very fuzzy for a moment. You can remember what happened, but not how you arrived back in your house. Your living room. Warm colors for cool eyes.

It’s when you call his name that it begins to make sense.

Something crashes in the kitchen, something you’ll need to sweep up later, and he slams too hard into the wall leading to the family room you rest in. You faintly wonder if he was trying to cook again, and how much damage he did to the counters if so.

There’s barely the register of the thought of a hole in your wall before the big wolf hugs you.

He’s very good at sewing things up. You’re sure he can take care of this too.

Just add it to the grocery list and things that need to be fixed.

And through all the crying, the tail wagging, the tongue giving you puppy kisses on your cheeks, you can only laugh at the sudden affection.

Such a large creature with needles behind his lip, one with a head twice as large as your own, broad shoulders like arms curled around you already. There’s still a few flecks of snow on his fur.

Donut dog.

His shaking goes down a bit when you hug him back, speak to him.

“I’m okay, puppy.”

He adores you.

#;v;)#hope u did one whole enjoyment #monster boyfriend #werewolf boyfriend #a boofy boy im love

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puddingcatbeans · 7 years

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tagged by @matsinko like 2 months ago omg thank you though!!

rules: copy/paste and replace my answers with yours !!! and tag people :-)

a - age: 2 whole decades

b - biggest fear: hurting others to the point of no repair

c - current time: 7:41 pm

d - drink you last had: orange juice

e - every day starts with: turning on laptop to check social media tbh

f - favourite song: dokodemo door by mayday, the lyrics make me tear up every darn time

g - ghosts, are they real: yes

h - hometown: vancouver i guess

i - in love with: storytelling

j - jealous of: people with confidence

k - killed someone: in a metaphoric sense with my writing? haha nahhh

l - last time you cried: oh haha i cry every day but it’s ok

m - middle name: i don’t have one? unless you count my chinese name

n - number of siblings: one

o - one wish: i wish for everyone to be safe and never have to live in fear of being who you are

p - person you last called/texted: my mom

q - questions you’re always asked: are you japanese? (no, i am not in the least)

r - reasons to smile: today i saw people hanging out on the quad because the sun was out, someone was handing out free brownies, music was playing, a little kid was holding onto her father’s hand as they crossed the street, a little doggo trotted along after a lady in comfy jeans, i looked up to see blue blue blue and the tiny sliver of a moon like a fading stamp in the sky

s - song last sang: 葉子 by 阿桑

t - time you woke up: 7:34 am holy shit i made it to my 9am i’m so proud of myself

u - underwear colour: it’s like a silky light gray

v - vacation destination: somewhere sunny, i’m done with the rain

w - worst habit: hiding

x - x-rays you’ve had: teeeeth, chest because when i was five i had an infection and had to stay at the hospital for a while

y - your favourite food: everything tbh but i’m weak for asian foods, pasta, and dessert

z - zodiac sign: aquarius

idk who hasn’t done this yet so if you feel like sharing, pls @ me!! i’d love to get to know y’all a bit more

#milktea got tagged #thanks for tagging me!!#omg i have so many tagged stuff i bookmarked and never did sorry

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theburnishedopal · 6 years

Text

Metamorphosis, a police escort and the Midnight Fremont Summer Solstice Parade

I kneel down on the deck of the float, sun cloaking my shoulders in warmth. I am absorbed in the action of stitching blue thread through pale blue netting. The stitches are rough but regular. Slowly I make my way across the chassis floor, following the rough line Dave has cut in the shape of butterfly wings, occasionally making mistakes, breaking and tying off the thread, then rethreading and starting anew along the same line.

I am helping to make wings for ‘Metamorphosis’, a butterfly-inspired float. The float will house Dave and Jon’s long-running band, The Shamaniacs, while they play peculiar reggae-rap-psychedelic-rocknroll for two hours as they are pushed through Fremont with thousands of people lining the streets, under the Solstice sun. The float is human-powered, although a generator will project the band’s sound.

The float is pale green and flat, with a pull bar at the front and a push bar at the back that are wrapped in foam and duct tape for comfort. Dave and Jon will be relying on friends and family to push them along the length of the parade. A clear plastic U-shaped gazebo stretches over the float, and handmade paper flowers dangle and decorate all the support beams. I ziptie plastic cutout butterflies onto the front post. One of them is a Camberwell Beauty. It has a smear of free chocolate across the center – I think it’s been in the hands of Jon’s seven-year-old daughter.

We work through the evening, surrounded by bustle and creativity. Up the street, a gigantic Sasquatch is taking shape. His hand now waves slowly, just like a dull giant, but his flesh and eyes glow with colour and thought. Next to us people paint bright yellow and glitter on wood. People stick faces of police brutality victims onto a float which resembles a four-poster bed opposite us. Some kids practice their stilt walking. Outside the Powerhouse, the Art Studio which is vomiting all this creativity out into the street, guys with waxed mustaches and quizzical green eyes use power tools to build the centerpiece float. Designed by Pacific Northwest artist Carl Smool, it will have four giant gargoyle heads atop fabric skyscrapers – the ‘Corporate Gargoyles’. Yesterday evening, I spent hours stipple painting one of the heads to resemble stone. Carl creates papiér mâché pieces of art for activism. Somehow he is overseeing everything.

Jon’s daughter, Samantha, was the inspiration for Metamorphosis, as she flitted about the solstice last year in butterfly wings. She runs around in a black leotard, occasionally coming back to check on progress.

I am privileged to work on the float and get to know Dave and Jon a little. Jon plays me the Shamaniacs’ music. It is unashamedly exuberant and upbeat and I say so; Jon looks at me knowingly and nods. “I am joyful, I’m very joyful,” he says. He is. He talks constantly about life in Seattle, where he has ended up, things he considers achievements, ideas, channeling spirit energy. “I opened the first vegan restaurant – truly vegan restaurant –in Seattle. We didn’t even serve coffee ‘cause we thought it was bad for you.” I find comfort in his take on things. He is wildly positive with childish enthusiasm, but just a shade of self-reflection adds an edge. A girl needs an edge to know where to look. It’s like a horizon.

Dave is wild-haired and thoughtful. He has a quieter, focused energy. He talks of science and ideas too. “I think the next scientific revolution is that we are going to find we are all interconnected”. Wow. A girl likes a conversation to get her teeth into.

Dave and Jon’s old, old friendship is touching. Dave needs a box to sit on during the parade – his detached cruciate ligament won’t let him stand on shaky or wobbly things, like a solstice parade float! He looks around for Jon, and calls to him to make him a wooden box. Jon goes down to the Powerhouse, finds the right tools and pieces of wood, brings them back and makes him a wooden box. Is there any purer expression of friendship than making a friend a box to sit on?

The night gets darker and the wings are complete. We mount them onto the rods and hoist them. Other band members arrive, smoke, eat pizza, tell stories of busking. The floats surrounding us take shape – a rotating silver cone covered in inflatable sharks; a red robot with cake costumes; Sasquatch has hair. The preparation and frantic clean-up is so good natured. Jon and I agree that the community art process is the same fix, somehow, as spending time out in the hills or forests. Soul-making.

We gather outside the Powerhouse and the heads of the Fremont Arts Council explain to us with megaphones and cheering what happens now. It is Friday night, the night before the big Solstice Parade day. The floats are to be moved to the parade head location on Leary Way, in what is known as the Midnight Parade. This involves all the floats being drawn down through Fremont in the middle of the night with a police escort. There is palpable excitement. I hadn’t planned on being there so late, but I agree to stick around and help push Metamorphosis down through to the parade head.

Cops on motorbikes have arrived. Night has fallen and the flashing blue and red lights gleam off their white helmets and off the glittering floats.

As it turns out, to my joy and fortune, the Shamaniacs’ float is last in the main parade tomorrow, which means it is first out on the midnight parade. The safety vests check the Avenue up and down. The cops line up either side, Danny DeVitos in shades and uniforms straddling their bikes. Two organizers pull out a giant boombox on wheels, begin playing Motown, and we wheel out Metamorphosis onto the road. We go slowly down the hill, and each float comes out one by one behind us, with whoops and cheers. I look back when we are stopped at the traffic lights to see this ghostly parade of peculiarities which cannot really be made out in the night light. There are enough hands pulling/pushing Metamorphosis that Joe, a busker and band member, and I, sit on the front of the float, at the head of the parade, laugh and dangle our legs off the side, as we make our way through the late night neighbourhood streets. I couldn’t have stopped grinning if I’d wanted to.

People spill out of bars and cheer as we go by. The cops’ lights continue to flash. The organizers with the boombox at the head announce the parade will be taking place tomorrow. Joe pulls out a selection of small percussion instruments from his backpack and presses some into my hands. We make rhythmic noise in time with Stevie Wonder blasting out into the street and laugh at Jon’s mad dynamism. He and his wife Betsy are pulling the float and Jon is stamping, leaping, getting off on the energy. The whole experience is surreal. We pass by my office building, which has a large Saturn planet atop the roof. Tonight, the Saturn is lit up. We see the clear yellow sliver of moon straight ahead in the west.

We reach the parking lot that is the head of the parade and pull Metamorphosis in to her overnight resting place. The other floats follow suit and people toast with plastic cups. We gather and breathe. I try and express my gratitude for sharing the experience. Betsy nods knowingly too. I feel like I have found some of Fremont’s blood.

*******

The next day, I gather my housemates and friends, we dress in green, and make our way out into this sunny day to Fremont. The streets are now full of daygoers, children, street stalls, dogs, tents and free sunglasses. We stop at the Brouwer’s Café for pre-parade Dutch courage. Then I feel like we should head back up to the parade head, to join our parade crew.

I was asked if I’d like to be in the parade when up at the Powerhouse working on the floats, and thought, why not. I have roped my friends in to being green ‘money bunnies’. This is the crew that surrounds the Green Hat float. A giant green top hat turned upside down. The money bunnies wear green bunny ears, a white rabbit comes out of the hat, and we poke sparkling green hats on sticks into the crowd for donations to Fremont Arts Council. We have the boombox to explain to the crowd how the parade happens every year and ask for donations, and we also have our own ragtag marching band. A little apprehensive about getting my friends to fundraise – no-one likes asking strangers for money – they are wonderful, game, and it soon becomes apparent that it’s pretty fun. People are very generous. It’s fun to interact with the crowd. They clearly love the parade. Women put five dollar bills in my hat and blow kisses.

Lily dances and shimmies her way through the whole thing. Somehow Kristin hops up onto the boombox and dances as it is maneuvered down the open streets. I have no goddam idea how that happened because that thing was almost impossible to push in a straight line, so who knows how she managed to stand and dance on top of it in actual motion.

It is blazing hot and we are soon thirsty, but this energy keeps us going. For sure I have felt Solstice fever the whole weekend. I couldn’t concentrate on a thing on Friday. The fever gets channeled through a creative act, like stipple painting a gargoyle head or stitching a giant butterfly wing. This is the culmination, the celebration.

Around us are naked cyclists body-painted rainbow colours, samba dancers, marching bands, overtly sexual hoopists, musicians and photographers. It’s a colourful riot.

We finally get to Gasworks Park, the parade finale, and shore up the green hat, now full of dollar bills. We get free beer tickets and t-shirts. We go claim our beers and sit in the beer garden. Everyone is talking to everyone. Half the people outside the beer garden are half naked. I proudly show the housemates the Toilets sign I painted. We watch someone climb bare-handed up a pole on the gasworks tanks and then proceed to do parkour to the top of one of the giant silo ladders.

“I love that we can see a family and a baby in a stroller,” says Suz, “and then right behind them is a woman with painted gold tits.” What’s weird is how normal it is. Some dude is wearing nothing but sheep bones. Vertebrae down his front, and a ram’s skull slung around his waist cradling his penis.

The sun fades from its sixteen hours on Seattle. The Solstice fever abates. Now we are into the lengthening and the ripening, with a harvest on the horizon.

#art #fremont #fremont arts council #solstice parade #seattle #ecology #creativity #gasworks #joy #art&experience

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lindoig · 7 years

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Days 78 to 85 (post Gibb River Road)

TICK!!! Been there and done that. I will fill in the past several days events, but I need to interject here to record that the famous/infamous Gibb River Road is behind us.

The north-west of Western Australia was always regarded as very remote when I was growing up in Perth – seemingly as remote as Melbourne or the Moon and the thought of visiting these places engendered the romance of impossibility. And here we are in Derby having driven the full length of the Gibb from Kununurra. I have always imagined some of Australia’s iconic road trip challenges to include the Gibb, along with adventures along the Birdsville Track, the Oodnadatta Track, the Strzelecki, the road to the Tip, the Nullarbor (before it was sealed and became Nullarbooooring), the Tanami, the Canning Stock Route, the Gunbarrel Highway and maybe a few more – but we have now achieved at least five of these adventures in our dotage and I still get a huge thrill ticking off another of these great experiences – totally unforgettable achievements – exploits to be savoured and recalled time and again.

Back to last Thursday……

We drove from Kununurra to Wyndham – another of the remote romances of my youth. We called in at The Grotto on the way up. It was dry, but it is obviously a huge waterfall dropping into a very deep narrow gorge in the Wet. We stayed at the top, but there is a zigzag set of incredibly steep steps cut into the side of a very dramatic cliff (with no handrail) that are enough to dissuade any sane person from going down for a swim – crocodiles or not! There must be a lot of non-sane people around!

Wyndham was a bit of a surprise. It was small, but quite a nice little town surrounded by huge areas of water and tidal flats. We drove up to the Five Rivers Lookout high above the town and you can see all 5 of the rivers that converge in the area. The tides can be very high there and the volume of water that flows into the estuary area during the Wet must be mind-boggling. Yet, it is an all-year port with the wharf and loading facilities built high and strong enough to allow operations to continue regardless of the water level. We went to the Rusty Shed for a toastie and milk-shake – served in a jam-jar. It was an experience, but not much more. We drove back the way we had come, very glad that we had taken the trip out to such an interesting and historic township.

Friday, we commenced our Odyssey on the Gibb. First, we had to get some repairs done on the van – a couple of minor leaks fixed to our water supply and some undercarriage adjustments because one of our tyres had scrubbed out badly. One of the U-bolts was a bit loose that may have allowed the wheel to slide back a fraction and damage the tyre, but they said it is almost impossible to do an alignment on our sort of suspension – and it would be cheaper to replace an occasional tyre than to rebuild the undercarriage anyway.

Rigged and ready, we hit the road at noon and rolled along the first 70-odd kilometres on blacktop. Then the fun started. We drove another 102km on moderately rough road that day before pulling into a disused gravel pit to camp a little after 4pm. The road was a little better than I expected, but speeds varied from under 5kph to close to 70, depending on conditions. At times, I actually had to stop the car completely – not easy when no wheels are on the road. On some of the bends, the corrugations were so bad that the car and van were crabbing sideways towards the scrub, but I soon learned to pick my line through the bends and slow down before reaching them. Cars coming towards us were also a problem. All of them drag a curtain of dust right across the track that reduces visibility to half a metre (from eye to windscreen) for 50 metres or so until it clears – and sometimes they came in pairs or mini-convoys so, with no vision at all, we had to hug the left-hand side of the road in case someone was trying to pass when we were level with the first rig in the line. Some of the approaching vehicles were a little more pernicious. Some drivers think that travelling at 120 or 130 (or more) avoids the corrugations. They simply bounce from crest to crest – but are also all over the road, swerving erratically to maintain momentum and a modicum of direction. These vehicles drag the usual curtain of dust, but it is accompanied by a wall of rock wider than the road and travelling at maybe 200kph – not good for oncoming vehicles, but who cares if they get where they want an hour or so earlier than more considerate drivers. I always slow down, stop sometimes, always hug the left, sometimes get right off the road, to avoid them, but we are still hit by flying rubble from time to time.

There were quite a few creek crossings, but nothing to worry about. Approach and departure angles were often quite steep (with or without water at the bottom) but the water was never more than about 300mm deep. We had been told by the guy who replaced the tyres on the car NOT to reduce the pressure on the Gibb, but we found the ride much too hard and a bit dangerous with so little rubber on the road, so we let some air out and driving (and safety) was MUCH improved after that. Letting the pressure down did, however, identify a problem. One tyre was incredibly hot – and over the next few days, we found it was losing about 10-12 PSI each day with a slow leak. (I had that repaired in Derby after we arrived – it took the repairman ages to find it. It was a sliver of wood that had entered at an angle through the tread and just pierced the tyre enough to allow air to escape – but just a tiny amount.)

Our camp was near Rollies Jump-Up and we had many square miles of the Gibb entirely to ourselves for about 12 hours or so. I found some interesting new birds and as night descended we lit a fire and had an extended Happy Hour (at least 150 minutes in that Hour) watching ‘not another bloody sunset’ and then a blaze of stars (no moon until around midnight). We shared a bottle of bubbles and toasted the Gibb River Road a few times before retreating to the caravan for dinner and a DVD. We decided we couldn’t allow the isolation to impinge on our routine – and we could have run the generator if we had wanted to anyway. It is incredibly liberating to be ‘out there’, miles from the nearest people, able to do anything you want, but still with all the comforts of home – except internet access.

We ticked off another 250 kilometres on Saturday and camped in another wonderful gravel pit near Adcock Gorge that night. Unfortunately, a tub of yoghurt split and even in retrospect, it seems hard to imagine how so much of the inside of the fridge and every item in it could be coated with sticky goo, all of which emanated from such a small tub. Heather spent ages washing EVERYTHING inside the fridge as well as the inside of the fridge itself. As these little trials happen, we learn new ways to secure things to avoid repeating the same mistakes. We have thick tape across the fridge and freezer, some of the drawers, holding the microwave in place and the bathroom door closed. We use tie-downs to lock the cupboard doors together so none can open and spill their contents around the van, the bed becomes the table on which other breakables, including the TV and our PCs, are stored. We pack insulation between numerous things in drawers and cupboards, we use stubby holders to stop bottles rattling against each other – and we decant the contents of many bottles into plastic containers wherever possible. Most things are now well secured or protected, but we still lose occasional things – lids unscrew from most of the jars in the fridge, trim falls off the cupboards, the freezer door almost came off (the bolt in the hinge simply unscrewed and fell out) and numerous other concerns of greater or lesser importance – but we simply glue them back in place a bit better than they were before and hope we don’t need to do it again too soon.

Of course, things also fall off the car. We almost lost the extended mirrors a few times on the Gibb – one of the bolts worked all the way out and fell off at one point, but I walked back a couple of hundred metres and actually found it – miracle of miracles! We also heard an awful noise in a wheel at one stage and I was under the car looking for the cause when another car pulled up and the driver suggested we drive a metre or so in reverse. We did so and the problem disappeared. The other guy had had similar problems and it was a small stone caught in the brakes – reversing threw it out again and off we headed, merrily on our way again. On the other hand, at one river crossing, we pulled off to have a drink and two other rigs pulled up near us, unaware that they had any problems. I pointed out the broken electric brake wiring hanging on the road on one trailer and the shreds of a 12-pin electrical plug dragging under the other one. On that occasion, we felt more fortunate than the other guys.

We reached the junction of the Gibb and Kalumburu roads and stopped for lunch in a rest area. We got chatting with some other people who persuaded us that going to Kalumbaru might be a worthwhile side-trip (we had previously decided against it) so we gave it a go. Unfortunately, after a few clicks, we decided that it was just too rough and with dire warnings about it getting even worse from rigs returning from the north, we turned back and resumed our journey west.

The roads can be quite a challenge. Corrugations can be up to about 10cm deep and at slow speeds, the front wheels can be going uphill while the back wheels are trying to run downhill in the opposite direction – and who knows what the tandems on the van might be doing? It is sometimes very hard to pick up a bit of speed in conditions like that. But sometimes it was easy and I got up to almost 90kph at one point – although 80 was much more comfortable. At those speeds, it is a matter of focussing on the road to find the best track of the 8 or 10 available across the road – and weaving back and forth to avoid the sharpest of the stones on your chosen track. It was certainly a lot of fun and despite the intensity of my focus, I still saw some amazing country, particularly the King Leopold Ranges – stark ridges, great slabs of red and orange rocks, cascades of black and grey boulders, with typical savannah country between the ranges – open grassland with scattered white-trunked trees and no middle storey. I tried to describe this sort of country when we were up in the north-east of the NT, but it is country that I really like. Some of the spear-grass is up to 5 metres tall, but a lot of the savannah country is simply metre tall grass as far as you can see – with the aforementioned uniformly scattered trees. Lovely!

The road itself is like a rainbow, frequently changing from almost black through a variety of greys to white, a dozen shades of rich reds, oranges and yellows, even some pale pink – and occasional short (mainly very short!) stretches of blue-metal hardtop in some of the steepest and more dangerous areas. It sometimes feels as if you are inside a kaleidoscope with all the changing colours on the road and the adjacent vegetation.

We drove more than a hundred kilometres with virtually no termite mounds, but they reappeared with a vengeance as we approached Derby, mainly thousands of the small conical ones, but with a good scattering of the great lumpy mounds – but no magnetic ones.

We endured another glorious sunset and another brilliant dark sky littered with crystal ice, but we refrained from lighting a fire in favour of the intensity of the night that magnified the beauty around us. I give up trying to describe the wondrous impact of the silence, the remoteness, the awesome beauty, the freedom, the space, the colours and sounds, even the odours of the bush…… Even the cattle around the van during the night add a little to the redolence and resonance we woke to in the mornings.

Our third day on the Gibb was Sunday with no prospect of going to church even had we wanted to. We stopped at the Imintji Aboriginal Roadhouse for fuel and a road condition report. We had thought we could go into one of the gorges, but everyone said the roads were so dreadful that we shied off them. And Imintji exacerbated our concerns. The road in to Silent Grove and Bell Gorge was supposedly in the worst possible condition and people were leaving their vans at the Roadhouse and even then having trouble getting in and out of the Gorge. We stopped at the turnoff to the Gorge and spoke to some people who were just coming out – and they said it was absolutely fine – plenty of caravans going in and out every day with only 3 short river crossings and no problems at all. Given this encouragement, we took the plunge and the road was certainly no worse, most of it better, than the Gibb River Road we had been on for almost the past 500 clicks. The river crossings were fine – two 300mm deep on a firm rocky bottom and one 400mm deep, totally surrounded by boggy mud. We just dropped the car into low ratio and ploughed through quite comfortably with no damage or leaks to either car or van. Easy-peasy!

We went all the way in to Bell Gorge at the end of the road and did the 3km walk to and from the falls. It was dramatic chasm – quite stunning. Heaps of people swimming in the huge pools both above and below the falls – we just wished we had worn our bathers. Bell Creek is obviously a lot more than a creek in the Wet – it was a lot more than a creek when we were there! The hard part was climbing the track back to the car – pity we couldn’t have done the uphill bit first and maybe had a cooling swim before strolling back for lunch in the shade, but water doesn’t run uphill, even in Western Australia.

We had lunch back at the carpark and stopped in at Silent Grove for a cuppa before returning to the Gibb for a couple more hours to another off-road campsite. It was interesting that the road after the Silent Grove turnoff was notably worse than the road in, and at least as bad as anything further east, so we concluded that the advice we received at Imintji was total bollocks. We drove to the bitumen that was supposed to start just over 100km from Derby and about 3 or 4 kilometres along, we found a place we could get about 150 metres off the road to a small clearing near a fence so we set up there for the night. Over the fence was a waterhole that was frequented by a lot of birds. I spent some time photographing a flock of red-tailed cockatoos that were in the trees squawking and squabbling, flying and settling, making a great display with their red and yellow tails flashing in the early evening light. Then it was time to drink and one by one, they flew down to the water and drank, over 50 of them, but always leaving a few sentries in the trees in case of any reason to alarm them. Then almost on dark, they all flew off to parts unknown where they presumably again squabbled about who was going to roost of which branch of the tree. Along with the cockatoos, a variety of smaller avian visitors came in to drink – or sometimes just cause a bit of a ruckus. It was another blazing sunset and we sat in the dark, enjoying a red or three and watching the stars. Damn, life can be good when you really work at it.

Next morning, we were woken by a pied butcherbird – one of the most eerily melodic bird-calls I know – along with a raft of other birds and a gecko or two. Heather made crepes suzette for brekky (we really have eaten well this trip!) and then we hauled our little home down the bitumen (and a few stretches of pretty ordinary gravel) to Derby. Just another place I never imagined I would see.

We arrived in time for lunch and after getting settled in, we cruised the town for an hour or two, exploring the port area and rolling back to camp just in time to start a very early Happy Hour. (There seems to be a bit of a recurring theme here. Enjoying our travels all day, Happy Hours, gourmet food and the occasional mild embrocation, early nights with entertainment of our choice – must get the dominos out again: we had so much fun playing them in Tassie – and more indulgence than we have enjoyed for many years. And long may it be so.)

Tuesday was largely a lay-day, catching up on email and paying bills and all the other business things that get in the way of total indulgence. A bit of blogging, some birding around the park, cooking, eating and all the other things that represent a lazy day around camp. I had to get the tyre with the slow leak repaired and the guy who did that managed to take 2 hours over it. He made a derogatory comment about our Victorian number-plates and I told him I was born a Waussie – and we became friends for life. He came from Boyanup, but knew Wagin and Perth pretty well so we chatted for ages while he avoided working on our tyre. His offsider worked pretty consistently, but the boss just wanted to yarn with me and it was quite fun.

Wednesday was also spent mainly in and around the van. Again, there were lots of things we needed to do, including writing up more of our recent travels. We did a couple of loads of washing and went out during the afternoon to see the wharf area when the tide was at its nadir. It was quite fascinating seeing thousands of fiddler crabs and really large mudskippers cavorting on the mud with a small flock of sacred kingfishers enjoying the opportunity too. There were great schools of pop-eyed mullet swimming around, scads of them, all crowded together with just their eyes out of the water – very strange looking fish. We visited the Visitors’ Centre (just made it before they closed the doors) and collected some information about the highlights of the Derby district and did some more shopping: a few odds and ends for the van and a pre-emptive strike at the supermarket and associated BWS.

And to compare the tides, we went down to the wharf this morning when the tide was at its zenith and there were no crabs, no mudskippers, no kingfishers, no reef egrets – and no mud. They have tides up to 11 metres here and today’s was about 8.5 according to one of the fishermen there. The sea was right up to the shore and into the trees – at least 150 metres further in than when we saw it yesterday. The mudbanks out to sea were all submerged today and it was a very different scene from late yesterday. I dropped Heather back at the van so she could start a mammoth cleaning job while I went to the sewerage farm to look at birds. (In fairness, she said she was going to write more of her blog, but cleaned instead.) On return from my expedition, I started cleaning the car – an equally mammoth job that knocked me out about a third of the way through. (I am returning to the fray as soon as I post this!)

An interesting sidelight to my birding today was that I added one species to our trip list that I have expected to see almost every one of the nearly 13000 km we have travelled. The grey teal is one of our most common duck species that we see everywhere – except anywhere along that particular 13000 km. They are relatively less common around here, but I saw 3 in the pond this morning – our first sighting since Tassie!

If anyone is interested, that brought our trip tally to 245 (336 for the calendar year so far) including 51 newies for us (74 for the year). Our total species since we started recording in about 2007 is 664 seen in Australia (or 907 including our NZ and Russian trips.) The 664 is significant because we were congratulated on reaching the 500 milestone when on Cocos Keeling Island two and a half years ago.

I will try to post some pics later today, but now, back to cleaning the car……

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