#these are Mostly low effort but of course drawing something for the first time is going to be higher effort by default

[peach-sea]

Cringetober Day 4. Angel X Demon

#Finallyyy this took ages #these are Mostly low effort but of course drawing something for the first time is going to be higher effort by default #I was stumped trying to think of who to draw for this one and then all at once I was like I Know What I'm Going To Do #everybody watch all saints street eps are 5 minutes it's subbed on youtube the character designs are so good and tianyi sings the theme #all saints street #lynn angel #nick hoult #lynn x nick #lynnick #cringetober 2023 #october 2023

[sneepseverus]

cw: toxic relationships, mentions of abuse

As much as I love reading fluffy young!Snape fics about him being in a cute romantic relationship, I can’t help but also feel sad.

I think he’d definitely experience the honeymoon phase like most couples do but for longer than the person he’s dating. He didn’t have many friends, so the fact that someone actually likes him is not a regular occurrence. Of course he’d want to cherish it! But I think as a result, he’d become too clingy for their liking, and if he were told to back off a bit, he’d take it a bit too far and stop showing affection all together, at least for a little bit.

I also think he’d let a lot of toxic behaviors slide because 1) he was abused throughout his childhood and adolescence, so that’s more or leas all he knew and 2) he’d blame himself for making them upset, angry, etc. For example, if they wanted to date him in secret because they didn’t want their friends finding out, he’d agree to it because he’d be grateful that someone wanted to date him in the first place. He wouldn’t break up with them himself because it wouldn’t even cross his mind that they’d be in the wrong.

On one hand, I don’t think they’d have sex, at least not for a long time, because of his insecurities and fear of not doing well. On the other hand, if his partner’s sex drive were really high and demanded it, he’d agree to it even if he weren’t in the mood :(

But all that aside, I think he would be a good boyfriend. Not perfect, but good. He’d make homemade gifts for them and remember all special occasions (birthdays, anniversaries, etc.) He’d help them prepare for exams if they were struggling. He would give them his coat, scarf, and gloves in the winter. He’d apologize sincerely if he did something wrong or mean. He’d want to kiss them between classes and in semi-private locations in the castle. He’d write them cute poems and draw them together (don’t know how good the drawings would be, but O for effort at least).

The relationship would realistically end after they left Hogwarts if not sooner unless his partner were his soulmate. But assuming it did end, that relationship combined with his other experiences from school would be enough reasons for him to never date again as an adult. He’d go through a long phase of hating couples who display PDA. Even hearing people who talk sweetly about their partners would make him want to vomit. He’d reluctantly attend weddings if he were even invited, but he’d mostly be seen standing in the corner drinking.

I don’t know if he’d have casual sex with people. I can see him as someone who wanted/needed sex and therefore did it with people (but no more than three times per person), but I can also see him avoiding it. He might have had a low sex drive due to depression, anxiety, etc. or thought he was too gross for anyone to want to have sex with him even for just a night. I also think him being asexual is pretty fitting. But what do you think?

The only way he’d consider dating someone as an adult is if he fell in love with them. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea unless the feelings were strong. And I imagine he’d think he hated that person initially before realizing he loved them. In that case, he’d be overly cautious about revealing his feelings and entering a relationship with that person, even if the feelings were mutual and they confessed first. Like all relationships, it wouldn’t be perfect, but I think he’d learn from his experiences as a teenager.

#snape #snape headcanons #snape love #pro snape #young snape #severus snape #severus snape headcanons #pro severus snape

[everlastiingiimmortals]

When it comes to Ratio's appearance, the first thing one might notice about him will probably be his bicep (hard not to. he just has it out there like nothing), but really I think the more striking thing about his appearance is his eyes. Though not as obviously feline in appearance as Jing Yuan's, there's something that seems distinctly, if vaguely, cat-like about them all the same. Perhaps it's the way the rings of pale gold in his inner irises pierce through the dark, or the shape of his pupils, or perhaps his stare -- regardless, there's something distinctly unsettling, even intimidating about them.

While I don't think Ratio is necessarily adverse to eye contact, I do imagine it's rather hard to get a good look at his eyes because. well. gestures to the headpiece. That, and the fact that he very much favors his personal space. But if anyone were to be fortunate enough for him to allow them to study his face, they'd find he has beautiful long lashes, and in certain lightings the maroon of his eyes seems more purple than red, and vice versa -- yet the yellow of his inner irises never changes. Somewhat in contrast to the rest of his form, the angle of his jaw, cheekbones, and the tall shape of his nose give him a rather slim face, rather than the sturdier, squarer face shape that I give Jing Yuan. His lips are also a little on the thinner side, usually set in a frown.

I somehow have a penchant for fluffy haired muses -- Jing Yuan is not my first, Ratio will definitely not be my last -- but I'm sure you all can tell from the way I draw him that his hair falls in waves; though not as curled as Jing Yuan's, without proper care and with too much humidity his hair definitely starts to curl in a more unruly, frizzy manner (common in the summer of his home) and he hates it. Mullet. Wolfcut? Whatever. Yes. Moving on.

Ratio definitely has an athletic build, with a low body fat percentage mostly due to his pickiness and aversion to heavy foods. That being said, he is very conscious about how he eats, and is as diligent in exercise as he is any of his fields of mastery. A healthy body begets a healthy mind, he'd say, and I do imagine when particularly stressed he has a bit of a tendency to be excessive in his exercise, despite his acute awareness of moderation, if only to sweat out all his agitation and have an even more rewarding bath -- another overindulgence of his. Well defined trapezius muscles, side shoulders, and strong arms, of course, both due to carrying heavy things all the time and working with stone. Otherwise, he has something of a swimmer's body; swimming is one of his preferred means of exercise, though he'll also go on runs, and yes, discus and javelin are things that he can and will indulge in on occasion, as he does appreciate traditional sports. Powerful legs! Good for swimming and walking with stone! He doesn't train so much with weights, as marble is enough of a weight on its own. Don't ask him to do boxing. Don't ask him if he does παγκράτιον (pankration) either. Those are too brutish for him. (And before you ask, no he's not very flexible. Yes, he stretches to warm up before exercising but he is also SO stressed ALL the time because of PEOPLE so his muscles tend to be quite tense. Tension headaches are, as much as he does his best to care for himself, unfortunately common)

The efforts of his labor show in his hands-- though deft (he twirls a piece of chalk between his fingers in his trailer), he does have callouses on his palms and the sides of his fingers from his chisel, hammer, and pen. I'd say his hands are slightly rough due to stonework, too, but it's not like woah, your hands are rough levels. He keeps his nails short and neat, because the buildup of chalk and marble dust underneath gets easier to manage and clean that way. No manicures/pedicures that aren't his own care, though, because he doesn't want other people touching him.

Due to how much time he spends outside, though, he's definitely got a warmer skin tone than in canon, also because I like it that way. He is a man of the coast and you can pry mediterranean Ratio from my cold dead hands.

#//about; (DOCTOR OF TRUTH) #the ratioposting continues #ratio: i dont engage in /brutish/ behaviors or activities #also ratio: would absolutely throw hands if someone pissed him off enough without hesitation and is soooo not proud to admit it #reading this over i realize it sounds like the descriptions in a bad fanfic but fuck it we ball

[cryptidcalling]

Making another post about Vesper's awful childhood. Is anyone surprised?

This one's mostly about how his experiences as a child impacted his emotional state as an adult. CW for child abuse, physical and emotional neglect, and intentional self-injury.

I'm going to try and summarize the backstory bits as much as I can, but Vesper (as we all know) did not grow up in a loving environment. He has Venus for a good chunk of his childhood, but she could only do so much before she was taken away from him. With Venus gone, Vesper started seeking that familial love and care from the researchers.

When he was younger they gave him a lot of attention. It wasn't loving attention of course, it was them swarming around him doing tests and medical trials and taking his blood, but with Vesper feeling as lonely as he did he didn't really remember how unpleasant their attention was. He just needed anything. But as Vesper got older, the Stardust-derivative chemical content of his blood lowered and lowered. By around age 12 or 13 it hit a low plateau where it still sits now. As his usefulness dwindled, the researchers turned their attention towards new projects, essentially abandoning him besides providing the essentials to keep him alive.

Vesper tried everything to get their attention. First he begged and pleaded and promised to be good, then he threw tantrums and screamed and broke things, and then he had the idea to try and injure himself. Particularly, he knew he needed to draw blood. When he was young, any tiny cut would cause researchers to flock to him in order to collect what he lost and stop the bleeding. He didn't want to get hurt, and he knew the attention would be fleeting, but it was the only idea he had left. It took some effort, they didn't exactly leave him with access to sharp objects, but eventually he was able to make a pretty big cut right on his cheek (somewhere prominent, impossible not to see). It hurt, and he cried, but internally he was hopeful.

Nobody came. He tried for hours, first calling out that he was hurt and needed help, then that he sure was losing lots of blood, then kicked the door and screamed about how much he hated everyone and everything and he'd just bleed and bleed until he died then, and for a long time he just sat on the floor and cried. He cried and cried until everything just went numb. Like he'd cried out everything he'd ever felt and now there wasn't anything left.

~ Vesper still remembers doing that, vaguely. He remembers it as an embarrassing childhood tantrum. Really, he was way too old at that point to pitch such a massive fit. 12 years old is too old to be crafting petty schemes for parental attention. If people ask him now how he got that scar he tells them he "got it on the job," because he finds the true story too shameful to recount. He remembers it as a day where he was taught a valuable lesson about dealing with his own problems.

Vesper prides himself on being difficult to get a rise out of. He's cold, he's serious, he's logical, all very valuable things for a General to be. When people insult him he gives them no reaction, and in the face of fear and danger he presses forward with an unshakeable bravery. As long as he can phsycally deal with his problem, whether that be through fighting or working or simply walking away, he can handle it no matter how many strong emotions are twisting around in his gut and chewing at his insides. But that changes when he's presented with a problem he has no way to fix. When he's stuck in a conversation he doesn't know how to navigate, or when he's worrying about how others feel about him, everything just keeps twisting and chewing into an inescapable anxiety. How that anxiety manifests can change depending on what's causing it, but either way it can cause some rather childish reactions. Sometimes he'll just hide away from everyone, refusing to talk or let them help him until the anxiety calms down or he finds something to occupy himself with. Other times it manifests as irritation and crabbiness, causing him to snap at people and have a very short temper. He feels guilty about that, but he can barely ever bring himself to apologize.

Vesper hides and downplays his injuries and illnesses. Partially because even the risk of getting medical treatment makes his blood run cold, and partially because he just can't see them as anyone's problem but his own. It's a frequent argument between him and Pansa, and he just doesn't get it. Why does Pansa think he can't take care of his own problems? Why is he so level-headed about everything else, but starts making mountains from molehills when he gets hurt? It's his job to get hurt. Why won't Pansa just let him do what he needs to do? The same tends to go for his hunger or tiredness. They're his own problems, and as much as he enjoys Pansa's attention and pampering, he can't help but feel a little ashamed when Pansa scolds him for not eating or sleeping properly. Those are his problems, ones Pansa shouldn't have to be worrying about, and yet time and time again Pansa ends up remotely clocking him out and putting in an order with the kitchens to make him dinner. So much of what Vesper does is driven by an unconscious need to be valuable, because he's convinced having value is the only way people will still care for him.

#My poor boy has issues <3 Particularly abandonment issues </3</3 #Vesper's 'people need to be valuable' thing does apply to everyone else as well. He just allows them to be valuable differently. #He has no respect for someone who he perceives as lazy #But he does respect that being valuable comes in many different forms. All that matters is you provide something to others. #Simply making others happy is enough for other people to be valuable in his eyes. Because clearly if they're making people happy #then they're valuable in some way he just can't see. #It's smth Pansa's working on. Trying to prove to Vesper that his love doesn't go away when Vesper's not being useful. #Vesper has a hard time with it though. #Vesper tag

[bridges-to-ashes]

💭 + A memory that Henry would prefer to keep buried for Edwin!

From Henry, visible to Edwin of @serpentsurgency.

Warnings: murder, implied and explicit, injuries/gore, hunting of a person, repetition as a stylistic device

Word count: ~1.200

They know something is there, something is after them and closing in, even if their panicked glances backwards won't reveal any such thing; there are a few cracks of wood here and there, just enough snapping sticks to keep them alert, keep them running, keep things interesting. They trip a few times, mostly when they do check behind them, but there is always enough time for them to recover, to run further, to be hunted for a little while longer.

They know the thing that is after them enjoys this, their labored gasps for air and the scratches they collect from thorns and low-hanging branches, their blood smelling just as sweetly as their panic.

There had been a dozen of them in the beginning, a dozen that had planned to get away, having been promised safety as soon as they could get to a certain meeting spot; when the first shot fell, and the first of the dozen with it, that spot was instantly forgotten, however. All they could do was run, even if only half of them even made it out of the Site, falling one after the other as they were chased into the woods nearby, being separated soon enough into pairs, then singular pieces of prey.

They can hear them, the ones after them, who have made no secret of their presence until now and won't start doing so anytime soon either. There have been more shots, though they haven't been as targeted since they ran past the tree line; they have been guiding them, much rather, a shot past the left side of their face being used to scare them into running right.

And the ones after them enjoy every bit of it.

This one is young, possibly the youngest of the group - but who actually cares for such details? - with their fiery hair having turned into a tangled mess at this point. A few strands have been ripped out during the chase already, leaving a pretty trail of red to follow if their hunter ever were to lose track of them - not that this would happen, of course, least of all on any official documents.

They turn to glance back once more, and they are rewarded with another warning shot from an unseen attacker for it, forcing them to make another unwanted turn towards the right. The forest around them has fallen silent by now, there are no more shots or cracking branches or screams; who knows if this is a sign of the others being gone, or simply of them being led further and further away from the group.

It's a combination of both, though they won't have to worry their pretty head over ever having to find out, of course.

One more warning shot and one more glance back, then they find themself tripping, exhausted, over some rocks, though the effort it takes to push themself back up is only met with the sight of a high stone wall curving around them. Their eyes, already wide with fear, grow even wider as they glance up at the sharp rocks, then at the forest around them, the trees they had just stumbled out of and into this little clearing. There is a crack of a branch to their left, and they briefly flinch to run right in return, only to be met with another noise from that direction as well.

They are exhausted, and they are crying now.

They are aware of the ones after them, even though they don't know how many there are anymore by now, lurking in the shadows of the trees; they are watching, and the prey knows it, their eyes darting around the treeline in an attempt to find them.

What follows almost draws a laugh from you; only almost, of course, as the begging and the tears are far too endearing to be interrupted by another noise.

Their face is puffy and red, from tears and fear and exhaustion, and there is a cut running across their forehead, bleeding all over their pretty face, and their lips twist in an upset sob. It's not often that they beg, mostly because they rarely get the opportunity to, but it's always the same when they do.

They will be good, they will be sweet, they won't be a problem, oh, please, they just want to live, can't you see?

Maybe getting a little more creative with it would actually save one of them, one of these days.

The pretty thing screams in horror as you do attack, throwing your entire body's weight against their fragile frame; something cracks as their back hits the sharp rock wall behind them, and their begs for mercy grow more high-pitched, even as the shiny metal buries itself in their stomach, ripping upwards, upwards, letting the sweet red and their organs spill out onto the forest floor.

They don't scream for much longer after this, and their silver eyes go dull soon enough, staring into yours, a last plea dying on their lips with their breath.

The people move out of the way, some wearing an expression of fear, others one of disgust, others again don't care all that much as a whole. They aren't quite used to the sight of a bloody creature wandering amongst them, not at a Site like this, all posh and pretty, away from the reality of this organization, away from the reality of how ‘unfortunate situations’ are dealt with.

Normally, they would have to do something about such a sight, raise alarm or at the very least say something, ask for the rank and designation that the dark leather uniform makes sure to hide. But they know Mikhail’s hounds well enough, and if they don't, they know to keep their concerns to themselves, based on the reactions of the people around them.

The door to his office opens heavily, a dark wood that is stained a little darker after it falls back into its lock; some poor soul will have to deal with it, wondering whether the brown's tint is just red enough to cause further concern. It will be brought up to some superior, who will then talk to another superior, who will then decide that it isn't worth the hassle. Nobody died, after all.

At least nobody noteworthy.

Mikhail looks up as the door opens, looking on until it is shut again, before raising an eyebrow at the sight infront of him. He is dressed casually, a half-empty glass of whiskey in one hand and the pen he has been using to sign some forms in the other, and his eyes sparkle with a vague amusement as you hold out your hand, letting the set of a dozen dog tags click against another for a moment before dropping them in the middle of his desk, scratched up, muddy, bloody.

In the shiny surface of his whiskey bottle, you catch a brief glimpse of your eyes, dark green and wide open and bearing the madness of a rabid dog.

The name he gave you and yours had always been rather literal, after all.

#ember in the ashes #the other side of the coin • [ writings ] #tw murder #tw injury #tw gore #tw repetition #tw hunting

[sofreddie]

Gotta Get You Into My Life

Summary: Sam catches you smoking, and decides to join.

Characters: Stoner!Sam x Female!Stoner!Reader

Warnings: Marijuana Use, Minor Angst, Fluff, Implied Smut

Sam Winchester Bingo: Stoner!Sam (@samwinchesterbingo)

WC: 1746

A/N: I chose the title, based on the Beatles song, because I was reading a Rolling Stones article and Paul McCartney said he wrote the song after having tried weed the first time. And while it sounds like a love song to a woman, it's actually a love song to weed. A little bit of trivia there for ya. Anywho, on to the stoner fic!

Sam burst out the main Bunker door, his head poking out first to look around. His eyes landed on Y/N, who stood in the corner of the door’s alcove, hiding beneath the brick wall and railings.

“There you are,” he smiled, letting the door gently close behind him as he approached Y/N. She jumped in alarm at seeing him, quickly hiding something behind her back. Sam frowned before the smell hit him. He smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“What?” Y/N choked out in a strangled voice as she held her breath.

“Just waiting for you to choke on that toke,” Sam grinned.

As if on cue, she began coughing, the smoke in her lungs burning from being held in for so long. After a drawn-out coughing fit, she finally took in a deep breath.

“Well, I guess you caught me,” she grinned, pulling the mostly-smoked joint from its hiding place behind her back and taking a small hit to ensure it was still lit before passing it to Sam.

He accepted it, examining it before taking a long, smooth hit. He let the smoke roll around in his mouth, the smell and flavor lingering for his enjoyment. He breathed deep, sucking the smoke into his lungs and gracefully blowing it out with a contented sigh.

“You need to work on your rolling,” he laughed, passing it back to her.

“Yeah, well, I usually smoke blunts. You only had papers in your stash.”

She smirked at him as she took another drag. Sam laughed, shaking his head.

“Of course, you found my stash.”

“You always have a stash, Sam,” Y/N laughed. “You’re the one that got me started if you remember.”

“And now you’re a stoner,” Sam teased, hitting the joint and fending off Y/N’s feeble attack with his other hand.

“Says the stoner,” she rolled her eyes at him, making him laugh and choke hard, which made her laugh heartily in turn.

Sam suddenly wanted another, the one he'd taken from her thin and smoked down low already, as he spotted his stash tin beside her and snatched it up quickly. They chuckled together, as Sam opened the tin and began separating out the items he needed.

Y/N became entranced by Sam’s actions, admiring his hands as his long, nimble fingers began to hand-pick the bud, the callouses on his fingers acting as a grinder, reducing the dense plant to near powder under his effort. His hands were so large and strong, yet somehow gentle and precise all at once. His long, capable fingers made her bite her lip as she imagined just how skillful he could be.

As he rolled the paper and brought it to his lips, her eyes drifted along his arm, up to his neck, and froze on his lips. His tongue peeked out, dragging along the length of the paper to moisten it ever-so-slightly, his fingers rolling it sealed with practiced ease.

Y/N clenched her thighs. Seeing his tongue - wet and dexterous - made her ache. She’d always found Sam attractive, dorky nerd that he was. They always had a good time hanging out, laughing, and swapping stories of their time on the road. They all tried to meet up often, as much as hunting allowed. She cherished quiet moments alone with Sam like this.

Sam’s lips were slightly damp, parting the slightest to allow room for the end of the joint. Y/N watched with rapt attention as he took a long draw. Her eyes focused on the lines of his jaw and mouth as he opened, allowing a stream of smoke to trickle forth, before releasing a plume in a huge breath.

That should not have been as hot as it was.

Sam grinned, dimples popping once more, as he passed the joint to Y/N. She quietly accepted, taking a long drag and locking eyes with Sam as he watched her intently. She was suddenly aware of every movement she made as she blew out the smoke, their eyes still locked in some silent trance.

Sam was suddenly struck by her natural beauty. It’s not as if he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d always had a thing for Y/N, maybe more than a thing. But the timing never seemed right. Looking at her now - her smile bright, eyes glassy, lips wet with a light sheen from her licking and biting absentmindedly - Sam thought maybe now would be a good time.

“Y/N?” Sam asked, swallowing hard as he came to stand in front of where she leaned against the wall.

She looked up at him with those eyes, her body relaxed, showing her comfort with him. It had always been easy and fun, with no judgment as they talked and hung out.

“Are you finally gonna kiss me, Winchester?” she chuckled, finding his bashfulness endearing.

“You been waitin’?” he inquired, stamping out the half-smoked joint before his hands slid to her waist, letting him press himself against her.

“Been hopin',” she admitted with a nod, her arms wrapped behind his neck, her fingers playing in the stands of his hair as she met his gaze.

In the next heartbeat, Sam leaned in as he brought their mouths together. Her heart fluttered, the kiss firm but chaste. Their eyes met again as Sam barely pulled apart from her, watching for her reaction. She took in a shuddering breath before leaning forward to press her lips to his once more.

Sam returned the kiss as they both sighed and relaxed into it, giving back in kind, running the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, just as he had when moistening the paper.

As it grew with a little more heat, Sam pressed Y/N into the brickwork behind her, his mouth sampling her as if they had all the time in the world. His hands found the curves of her sides, squeezing the soft flesh, introducing her body to his touch.

Sam forced himself to stop as the kiss -and their roaming hands- grew hungry. He’d wanted this forever, but he didn't want to rush it. He wanted to have sex with her -so much that he almost couldn't stand it- but he didn't want it to be just about sex, or to have her think that's all it was supposed to be.

"Y/N, wait," Sam whispered, not wanting to break whatever was happening between them, but needing her to understand how he felt.

He faltered a bit as she tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. Maybe it would be easier if he smoked some more, and was more comfortable.

"Let's go back to my room," he instead offered, holding one of her hands in his as he gathered the stash and supplies with the other.

“To sample more of your stash?” she smirked, hoping maybe they'd pick back up on that kissing 'cause damn.

“And other things,” he insinuated with a filthy smirk, capturing her lips once more.

It was giggles and shushes and pauses to kiss against walls and archways, neither of them even thinking about Dean. They crashed through Sam's door, their laughter bouncing in the small space as he closed it behind him, sealing them into their own little world.

Sam rushed to his nightstand, setting down the stash. As he turned around, Y/N was there, reaching out for him. Her hands found his pecks, smoothing up his shirt, and passed his collar.

Her hands continued their upwards path, fingers spreading out into his hair, then lightly scratching and tugging as they slowly came back down. Sam's eyes fluttered shut, a shaky breath leaving his parted lips.

When he opened his eyes she was smiling at him, biting her bottom lip. He hadn't realized his hands wrapped around her on their own at some point, holding her close.

The high from the weed mixed with the high from Y/N combined to make him feel absolutely blissful. He couldn't help it, he had to kiss her again, and again.

Y/N giggled into the kisses, Sam giggling back but still kissing. She gently nudged him back, her hands on his chest, her smile still warm. One of her hands drifted down his torso as she held his gaze. He swallowed hard, wondering if she was going where he thought she was going, not that he'd stop her.

Her hand suddenly left him and then she took a couple of large steps backward, confusing Sam completely, his now empty arms dropping to his sides. She held up the half-smoked joint that she swiped from the nightstand with a triumphant grin.

"You're such a tease," Sam groaned, watching as she climbed on the bed, making herself comfortable against the headboard as she lit the joint.

"Tease implies that I am withholding something you want," Y/N spoke as Sam relented and took up the space beside her. She blew out the smoke, smiling as she held it out to him, "Do I have something you want, Sam?"

Sam accepted the smokable, taking his fair share of hits as he mulled over her words. He below out the smoke, handing it back to her as he looked at her.

"You," he finally spoke. Her eyes widened and he shook his head, looking down at his lap. "Everything I want, everything I think about, it all comes back to you."

Y/N's heart jumped into her throat, nearly choking her. The sight of Sam, hunched and not looking at her, told her all she needed to know.

He'd finally kissed her. She'd wanted it for so long, not wanting to push him. He'd been through so much, lost so many people. She needed to let him come to her. Now, the dam had broken as the moment she'd wished for was finally happening.

She dropped the joint in the ashtray -not wanting to cause a fire but not caring if it burned itself out in the tray- before crawling into Sam's lap. Her actions forced him to sit straighter, his back against the headboard as she crowded herself into him as close as possible.

"Been waiting for you, Sam," she breathed, his only warning before she kissed him deeply.

He moaned, his hands wrapping around her once more. He briefly wondered if they would always automatically find their way around her now before her kisses started moving down his neck, distracting him from his thoughts. When her hips ground down against him, his thoughts were obliterated, the woman in his arms his only concern.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@fangirlxwritesx67

@jarpad24

@flamencodiva

@donnaintx

@writercole

@waynes-multiverse

Sam Winchester:

@charred-angelwings

@b3autyfuldisast3r

#gotta get you into my life #samwinchesterbingo #sam winchester x reader #stoner!sam x stoner!reader #sam x reader #reader insert #supernatural #spn

[tehuti88-art]

9/16/22: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." Two portraits today.

This week's (first) character from my anthro WWII storyline is Corporal Gold Rat. Hm, can't think of much to say about him here, there'll be some stuff about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

TUMBLR EDIT: Ratdog already has an entry, albeit not nearly as detailed as I've been getting into them lately, but I don't feel like rehashing things; that will end up on Toyhou.se sometime. So, Gold Rat. His story's not nearly as dramatic or developed as some of the others, but here it is anyway.

Gold's real name is Arthur! He's one of the very few codenamed characters whose actual name I bothered to find out. (The other one I can think of is, incidentally, Ratdog, whose first name is Adel, though he frustratingly never gives his last name--Klemper is the one who asks his real name, and Ratdog replies, "Doesn't matter. I'm the last, it dies with me"--indicating that it's an unusual/very rare surname, so I'll probably never know what it is. Ironically, he's here making reference to his deceased son, and assuming he'll never have any other children, because he's unmarried and mostly interested in men rather than women (yep, his son was a drunken oopsie)...when in fact he does end up fathering two more children by Didrika. So, his name doesn't die with him after all. Anyway, after he refuses to give his surname, Klemper asks for his first name, and Ratdog tells him it's Adel. Klemper refers to him by his real name throughout the rest of the story, and is the only one to consistently do so.)

Gold's mother must die when he's relatively young because his childhood is spent in just his father's company (I guess divorce is possible, though unlikely). His father isn't really father material, in fact he has a lot in common with Klemper's dad. He's frequently drunk, and when he's drunk, he gets mean. Klemper's father targeted him for being rather effeminate and for kissing a boy; Gold's father targets him because he's angry about Gold being "stupid." No, Gold isn't "stupid" the way Kolten Himmel is, but there's definitely something wrong. He's bright and friendly and sociable, but the grades he gets in school are just miserable. No matter how hard he tries to study, he keeps failing lessons and tests. Teachers express concern. Maybe he needs to see a doctor. Gold's father is just pissed. He has a low-paying job (Gold is basically a latchkey kid and sees him only in the evenings, when he's usually busy getting drunk) and so of course he can't afford any frivolities like taking his stupid kid to a fancy doctor. (He'd also never be caught dead using a word like "frivolities.") So he does the only other thing he can think of to fix the problem: beats his son to convince him to try harder.

Gold does try harder. But it doesn't help. In fact his grades slip even further, and not only that, but he slowly becomes more withdrawn, isolated, and anxious, too. Not so chatty and sociable anymore, he keeps to himself, and goes out of his way to avoid connecting with others lest they see just how stupid he is. Because his father has yelled the words at him so many times--stupid--slow--dumb--lazy--idiot--that by now he fully believes himself to be so. Surely he should be getting good grades if only he wasn't so stupid. And surely he's lazy for his efforts to try harder to not be working. It can't be anyone's fault but his own. His father's voice is the only one he has to listen to on a daily basis; none of the teachers bother to take him aside and really talk to him (he would lie to them by now anyway, and say everything is fine), and he has no more friends. Of course he'd take these words--stupid--lazy--idiot--to heart; there's nobody else in his life to contradict them.

A terrible incident is actually what leads to a silver lining. Gold's father gets especially infuriated one night and forgets, or doesn't care, to beat him and leave bruises only where nobody can see. Gold shows up at school with his eyes blackened. He insists everything is fine, but the school calls the authorities, and Gold is removed from his father's custody. It would probably be easy, considering the time period (children had very few rights) and the fact that Gold has no other family, for his father to merely raise a fuss and be given him back; but he doesn't. The way he sees it it's one less mouth to feed, one less hassle to deal with; he effectively abandons Gold to the custody of the state. Gold ends up in a sort of group home; he's not beaten anymore (maybe just a smack or a paddling now and then), but knowing that the father he tried so hard to appease no longer wants him doesn't encourage him any. He withdraws even more, becoming nearly mute. His grades don't improve, either, so now he KNOWS he's just an idiot.

He barely ever notices the affluent, smart-dressed woman who often visits the home, looking over the kids and their work with great interest. Takes her a while to notice him as well, he keeps to himself so effectively. When she finally sees him, she approaches and asks what he's making; he'd been writing and doodling on a piece of paper, but he covers it with his hands when she tries to look. She wheedles him into showing it to her and his ears burn with shame as she examines it because he knows it isn't good. Perplexingly, the woman asks if she can have it. He nudges the paper toward her and she takes it and puts it carefully in her purse. Asks him his name, then says, "I'll be stopping by again the day after tomorrow. Do you think you could make another little story and drawing especially for me, Arthur? Pretty please?" He's mystified by the request, but whispers, okay. She offers a big bright smile and thanks and says, "It's been a pleasure, Arthur. I'll see you soon," and departs. He can't quite get over being called by his name rather than being called "stupid," but it sure is a nice feeling.

He works extra hard to write the rich lady with the wide-brimmed hat and fur stole an especially good story and make good drawings to go with it. Just looking at his own work, though, he feels crushed inside. He knows it's awful because when he makes similar things in school, the teachers cluck and shake their heads disapprovingly. He tears it up and hides it away. When the lady visits again, though, she insists on seeing it, so he pulls out the torn pieces and meekly hands them over. She pieces it back together to look it over. He waits, head down, for her to criticize it. Instead, she smiles at him and says, "Oh, I love your little story SO much, Arthur. It's exactly what I hoped for. Could I keep it? Do you think?" Again he agrees and she takes the torn pieces. She won't be visiting again for a little while, but in the meantime, "I do hope you keep making these lovely little stories! I look forward to seeing some more when I return."

Although Gold knows something is wrong with all the work he produces--the teachers always react with disapproval to the same sort of things the woman praises--he keeps at it. Because her words are just so kind, and it's the only sort of encouragement, positivity, and acceptance he's gotten...ever, really. He doesn't want to let her down. She's equally delighted with the new work he shows her, then says in a confidential tone, "Arthur, can I tell you a secret...?" He nods. She tells him that she showed his work to a friend; he cringes, but she hurriedly reassures him it's all right. She then explains what she's been doing.

She noticed something in Gold's work that was familiar to her, had him make a few more pieces to be sure, then took them to her friend, a specialist. The long story short is that he isn't stupid or lazy, he just sees the words differently from other people. She can help him learn to adapt, but he'll have to come stay at her place to do so. Of course he agrees. This woman is well known for fostering "problem children" and works wonders with them, plus she has lots of money to donate, so the process for taking Gold in is significantly smoothed out. He's given various tests to rule out visual and memory problems before the specialist tells him what the woman did, that he isn't slow--he's actually quite smart, with non-reading-related tasks--he merely sees words a way others don't. No, he can't be cured or fixed. But yes, he can be taught how to deal with it and cope better. Gold still isn't convinced he isn't an idiot but he's desperate to do better, so he settles in to an entirely different mode of teaching. It isn't long before his marks on the mock tests they give him start to improve, and then his grades in school begin to go up, as well. The teachers in school are impressed because they don't know or understand these progressive teaching techniques Gold's tutor is using but it hardly matters--they work, and he gradually realizes that no, he isn't stupid after all. He finds his voice again, though it's a bit of a struggle. And when the woman asks if he'd like to stay with her, permanently, he again agrees.

(Unknown to him, she'd asked the authorities if Gold hadn't any other family who might want to take him in. Nope, there was only his father, who liked to beat him--they were willing to return the child to him despite this, which she finds horrifying, but he never came asking for him. She decides to double-check that he's genuinely relinquished custody of his son to the state, and pays him a visit. Suspicion toward this well-off woman quickly turns to outright hostility as Gold's father believes she's criticizing and looking down on him. He doubles down on Gold being a "stupid little ingrate" he'd never even wanted. When she outright asks if he's truly abandoned Gold and won't be coming back for him, he says, "You know what, lady? F**k you," and slams the door in her face. So...that answers that question.)

Well, long story short, this lady officially takes Gold in and raises him. He grows up socializing with the other children she fosters (most of whom go on to other family after she's worked her magic), and regains his former chatty, outgoing attitude, though he can never quite eliminate the thread of intense insecurity that winds through his interactions with others; as a result he tends to overcompensate at times, coming across as a little TOO chatty and friendly. He's especially sensitive to the word "stupid" being used as a casual insult, even if no malice is intended; it's like a mental slap in the face and he always has to pause and recover himself whenever and in whatever context he hears it. He makes sure to never, ever refer to anyone else by any derogatory or minimizing terms, because he knows just how small that can make a person feel. And he does still struggle occasionally with writing and especially reading, but he manages, and has his other skills to fall back on as well.

He enlists in the military, and when rumors of war in Europe start rumbling, he prepares to ship out. An experimental battalion called the Trench Rats has recently suffered devastating losses and is recruiting new members; Gold obtains the position of corporal, or second in command. (This is a rather weird battalion composed of low-ranking NCOs and enlisted men, I'm assuming because the people in charge originally assumed they'd all end up as cannon fodder. They weren't entirely wrong. This is the retcon I'm going with to explain away my ongoing difficulty understanding military ranks and duties. *shrug*) He decides to pay his father a visit before he leaves. He runs into him on the street before he can reach his old home, which means he doesn't have to knock and introduce himself. The two haven't seen or communicated with each other since Gold was taken out of his custody; it's obvious his father doesn't recognize him, and Gold decides not to inform him. They share a few words of smalltalk (something Gold has gotten skilled at). Gold realizes just how small and empty and miserable his father is, and rather than the anger or anxiety or hurt he'd expected to feel, he just feels sad. They part ways and he returns to his foster mother to tell her how the meeting went and wish her farewell. She makes him promise to write her (he rolls his eyes and gives an exaggerated sigh), and he heads out.

(Gold's father, BTW, belatedly realizes who was the young soldier he was talking to. And like Gold, all he has left in him is to feel sad.)

Gold receives his new nickname and an odd Prussian-style uniform (this has been explained in previous entries). He's introduced to Sergeant Black Rat, who'll be in charge. Like the previous sergeant and corporal, the two are quite different, with Black being introverted, serious, and taciturn, meaning the two of them often disagree over how to do things, yet this also means they often compromise and agree on a middle road which is more suitable. The main difficulty they have to deal with is the distrust of the "first generation" Trench Rats who survived the German attack on Headquarters; they're used to the previous sergeant and corporal. Plus there's remaining resentment on the part of one of their more well-known members, Lance Corporal Silver; when the Trench Rats originally formed, Silver and LC Indigo were the two with the combined highest rank and time served in the military, meaning they felt they should be in charge rather than newcomers. Indigo was satisfied taking a medic position, but Silver is still rankled, especially when ANOTHER two newcomers assume the lead ranks. So while he grudgingly tolerates and obeys Black, he never really gets along with Gold, especially since he, like Black, isn't the terribly chatty sort.

One odd task Gold acquires is "coaching" his sergeant on how to properly interact with others, since something about Black strikes him as being "off." Though Black isn't malicious or outright rude, he does occasionally come across as inappropriately unconcerned or disinterested during situations that require the opposite, and as distrustful and borderline hostile during situations that shouldn't elicit such a response. (One example is when he draws his gun on a target who turns out to be a young child, yet even after this is revealed, he keeps his weapon drawn. Gold coaxes the child out and picks him up, then says to Black, "What're you doing?--he's just a kid." "They let kids fight for them, you should know," Black says, to which Gold replies, "Yeah, well, obviously that's not the case here, so cool off.") He's good at giving orders and commanding obedience, but he's not good at the whole camaraderie and inspiration thing. Gold knows diplomacy and mentally disarming people is a far more effective approach than accusatory confrontation, so he manages to gradually figure out that Black's odd behavior isn't him just being an a-hole, like 2nd Lt. Burgundy (the surgeon) often is. Black genuinely seems to not know how to act toward others. Gold usually ends up taking charge of such things in the hopes that Black will pick up some pointers, and it seems to help somewhat, as well as leaving the sergeant more opportunity to act behind the scenes, something he's MUCH better equipped for. So Gold effectively becomes the public face of the Trench Rats and engages in most of the diplomatic measures they need to secure the assistance of the various resistance groups.

(What exactly is going on with Black? He's a high-functioning sociopath. He literally doesn't "get" most of the emotions and experiences of other people because he can't put himself in their shoes. His lack of empathy is why he often comes across as unconcerned or reacts with unwarranted distrust. Unlike the common stereotype of sociopaths, he's not interested in taking advantage of others--not out of any innate sense of decency, but because he's just not interested--though he does get easily bored and lacks the ability to experience most strong emotions, including fear. He knows he needs to blend in with others, especially in his role as sergeant, so he learns how to fake emotional responses by observing others, such as Gold, though he never quite masters this skill. So he's content to let Gold deal with this business.)

I already mentioned Gold's tendency to overcompensate. One aspect of this is being overly flirty with women, in a manner that nowadays would at least border on sexual harassment. The only female Trench Rat, a relatively new recruit, is a British nurse named Lyndsey Skye. She works alongside Burgundy, and the two secretly crush on each other, but since she's the only woman, she bears the brunt of Gold's obnoxious attention. Fortunately for him, she puts up with it and knows how to put him in his place without offending him (Gold has a thick skin for any insults other than being insinuated to be stupid or slow), but hers is a rare case. He oversteps his bounds with other women a few times, though he does know how to back off, even if it takes him a bit to figure it out. For example, he flirts with Mirela, a rescued Roma woman, which she REALLY despises; he pushes his luck one too many times until she explodes at him and then he lets her be, genuinely sorry for making her uncomfortable. He also tries bantering with Didrika, the Roma leader of a resistance group; this is especially awkward, as Didrika has a habit of "testing" the men she comes into contact with by propositioning them. Men who accept, she may follow through or not, but she regards them as weak willed and loses respect for them. Men who decline, she treats respectfully. When Gold flirts with her, and she actually flirts back...he has NO IDEA what to do. He's literally struck dumb for a moment, before hemming and hawing and REALLY backing off. The truth is, he's not that interested in actually hooking up with any of these poor women he hassles, he's just overdoing the whole friendly thing. So of course when one of them takes him up on it, it just confuses the hell out of him. (Didrika can read men pretty well, and she'd already quickly figured this out about Gold. So her flirting back was more of a prank than anything.)

Gold makes a few efforts to get along with Silver, but is constantly rebuffed; Silver's attitude rubs him the wrong way, so he decides to mostly avoid him. Burgundy grudgingly tolerates him though Gold's chattiness and tendency toward jokes exasperate him. He ends up working alongside LC Mahogany Rat more than once; Mahogany is rather socially awkward, tending to think of people more as names or numbers, which sometimes doesn't sit well with the rescued prisoners and refugees who pass through Trench Rat custody, since the Nazis tend to think of them as numbers, too. Mahogany means no harm by this, and often misses social cues expressing disapproval, so he feels awful sometimes; Gold takes it upon himself to "translate" Mahogany's tone-deaf actions and others' offended reactions to try to help him minimize his embarrassment, since he knows how it feels. They don't exactly become fast friends, but they get along pretty well.

The Trench Rats' primary function is to gather intel on the Nazis' "Project Doomsday," a medical experiment focused on increasing the subjects' intelligence, strength, stamina, and endurance, in hopes of creating a race of super soldiers. The Trench Rat Doomsday, or D-Day, underwent this treatment and displays various signs of the serum having worked, but it's successful on only a very rare blood type, and the people it's worked on can literally be counted on the fingers of one hand with room to spare. The Trench Rats succeed in capturing another test subject, Kolten, who is greatly feared even by the Nazis for his hulking size and hair-trigger temper, not even mentioning what the serum has done to him. The circumstances of his capture, however, are odd. D-Day was involved in keeping watch over him, as it was thought he might be the only one who could subdue him if need be; when the Nazis arrived, they showed signs of wanting to kill Kolten themselves. D-Day threw himself in front of Kolten just as they fired their guns and was grievously wounded. Kolten reacted...by turning on the Nazis, hurling them around like toys and bellowing in a fury. The other Trench Rats returned to the alarming scene and aimed their own guns at Kolten, who was standing in an old trench with the unconscious D-Day at his feet; when they started discussing how best to retrieve D-Day for medical treatment, Kolten picked him up and handed him to them. He didn't protest being put in restraints, even though they broke--twice--when placed on him, and placidly followed the Rats back to Headquarters, where he was placed in a cell and kept under strict watch since the Rats weren't sure if the bars would hold. Anyway, Burgundy informs Black that he can't do much to help D-Day without a blood transfusion--and D-Day has like the rarest blood type there is. They reason that Kolten should be a match, so Black goes to ask him if he'll help. Kolten speaks simple, stilted English; when Black starts to mention D-Day, he asks if the "little Rat" is all right, seeming genuinely concerned about him. Black explains that D-Day needs blood in order to live, at which Kolten sticks his arms through the bars and announces that his "magic blood" can help. He's brought to the medical ward and hooked up to an IV along with D-Day for a direct transfusion. (Oh neat, I Googled to see what this is called and it turns out it's called direct blood transfusion, haha. Well then.) D-Day begins to recover, and after a while Kolten is returned to his cell.

Gold goes to visit him there. He'd been quite wary of Kolten when he was first brought in, even expressing alarm when Black decided to speak with him. Something about Kolten's oddly passive demeanor has piqued his interest, especially considering how fearsome he was believed to be, that even the Nazis would rather kill him than bring him back with them. And there's what he did to the Nazis themselves--obviously, the stories about his massive strength haven't been exaggerated, but he's directing it at the wrong people. Gold finds him huddled back in the corner of his cell; he asks if the little Rat is doing better, and Gold says yes. He doesn't say anything more, so Gold rolls an apple into the cell, repeating what Black had done when visiting earlier; Kolten grabs it and eats it in two bites, core and all. Gold introduces himself--Kolten slowly repeats his name as if to remember it, offers his own, and Gold repeats it in return. He then notices the prisoner ID badge Kolten has sewn onto his striped shirt, which Burgundy had attempted to remove earlier, only for Kolten to protest so stridently--"Nein! Mein Winkel!--mein!"--he had to give up. (Holy Jeez you wouldn't believe the twists and turns I just had to take to figure out what the Germans called those things. Thanks, German Wikipedia...and Google Translate.) He asks what it is and Kolten says, "It tells what I am." "What are you?" Gold asks, and Kolten points out the word on the badge, Blöd, sounding it out a few times until Gold gets it. "What's it mean?" Gold asks, to which Kolten proudly replies, "It means I am stupid."

This hits Gold like a slap in the face, and he actually cringes back a little. Not just the word itself, or the fact that Kolten is being made to wear it like it's a crime just to be stupid (to the Nazis, it is), but Kolten's own reaction when announcing the meaning of the word, like it's something to be proud of. He's obviously had it instilled in him so deeply that by now he doesn't even question it, it's just a fact that he's stupid, it's literally his identity. All of this is just a little too familiar. After attempting to convince Kolten he doesn't have to believe that he's stupid, Gold goes to Skye and asks for a favor. ("Not THAT kind of favor," he grouses when she raises an eyebrow.) He returns to Kolten with a new embroidered patch and offers to trade it for Kolten's triangle. "What does it say?" Kolten asks curiously, and realizing that he can't read, Gold points to and sounds out the letters: "K-O-L-T-E-N." "It says what you are," he explains. "Now how about you give me your 'stupid' badge and I give you this? Even trade?" Kolten mulls this over a moment before tearing the triangle off his shirt and handing it through the bars, taking the KOLTEN patch in return. Gold leaves him looking over the little piece of cloth admiringly while quietly sounding out his name, and stashes the STUPID badge away out of sight. (Much later, he gives this patch to Kolten's father.)

After Kolten is determined to not be the threat to the Allies that they'd assumed he was--Burgundy estimates that, despite his savantlike abilities and the influence of the serum, he basically has the intelligence and mentality of a child around five or seven years of age, and far from being a killing machine, he just wants to make drawings, look at picture books, and build things with blocks--the Trench Rats arrange for him to live with a couple out in the country for the time being. Gold is glad he won't be in a cage anymore. Not long after, however, while attempting to confiscate documents from Project Doomsday headquarters, Silver Rat is captured and tortured for information (which he doesn't provide). Another subject of Project Doomsday (though the Rats don't know this yet), Jakob Wolfstein, assists in Silver's escape, and they miraculously make it out of the city and into the countryside, where Didrika's men come across them and take them back to their camp. The Trench Rats are contacted and send a small contingent to retrieve Silver. Despite being allies, relations between the different groups are always strained and fraught with suspicion, so the Rats try to be on their best behavior to avoid triggering any unpleasant reactions. (There IS one awkward moment, when LC Skye warns Didrika not to dare hit on Burgundy when he arrives; not used to being warned, Didrika makes a risqué quip, and Skye responds by slapping her across the face. EVERYONE freezes, eyes wide; even Didrika's right-hand man, a hulking Red Army deserter named Boris (who really dislikes the Rats, and is involved with Didrika), doesn't dare say a word. Skye and Didrika stare each other down for a moment before Didrika storms off (Boris quickly steps out of her way).) Didrika refuses to let Silver leave with them until he's well enough to get around on his own; Burgundy (whom no one ever informs of the incident between Didrika and Skye) arrives and confirms Silver is in pretty rough shape and shouldn't be moved just yet. Gold walks on eggshells to keep on good terms with Didrika. Silver finally insists on leaving himself, and Wolfstein insists on accompanying them. Gold attempts to express concern for the other Trench Rat's wellbeing, but as usual Silver brushes him off; he can't really take offense this time, as it's obvious Silver is preoccupied with what just happened. Everyone heads back to HQ.

(Sort of an aside, this is described in an out-of-date adult scene I wrote--the exact circumstances will be changed but this detail still holds, I believe. Gold accidentally learns that Silver has gotten involved in a relationship with another Trench Rat in his company, LC Reseda--a male Rat, of course. Gold finds this weird but decides not to out the two.)

Well, I'm sure there are various incidents I will remember later. (For example, I just remembered an EARLIER incident, how Black Rat loses his eye to General Schavitz and sustains other injuries. In an older version of the story, it was basically Gold who was to blame for Black losing his eye, getting his ear torn up, and being partially crippled in one leg (um, yeah...I kinda overdid it on beating the crap out of poor Black); I think Schavitz did still shoot out his eye, but the rest of it was from Gold recklessly driving his motorcycle and sidecar into a pile of wood which weirdly exploded (hahaha, yeah, I had fun pretending this scene by the brushpile behind our garage when I was a kid), and Gold felt immense guilt over this. This has since been modified; I think Gold bears no responsibility for Black losing his eye, though I'm unsure. Black still ends up with at least one slash to one ear (this is in his artwork, though recall the ear markings in my art are conjectural in most cases); he does NOT suffer permanent injury to his leg, though he might still suffer a temporary injury, and I think in fact Gold is connected to this, again, possibly a motorcycle accident. Gold is torn up (metaphorically) over it but Black shrugs it off. Oh, regarding this motorcycle--which Gold jokingly calls a Goldsmobile, mwaha, mwaha, mwahahaha--it plays an indirect role in endangering the Trench Rats, so maybe this is how Black gets injured and Gold feels responsible. It turns out German sniper Lt. Ratdog has been informed--i. e., lied to--by Gen. Schavitz (actually his chauffeur/fixer, Sgt. Eisen, but Schavitz makes great use of the lie) that a pair of Trench Rats in a motorcycle with sidecar were responsible for running down and killing his toddler son, when in truth it was Schavitz and Eisen themselves who did this. Whenever Gold and Black go out with this particular vehicle, they're effectively wearing a giant target on their backs, and Ratdog fires at them whenever he sees them. So it's safe to say this is how they get into an accident. Takes them a while to figure out why Ratdog holds such a grudge against them.) But let's get going.

Further along in the storyline, Black and Schavitz confront each other, and after Black ends up disarmed, Schavitz shoots him in the forehead at point-blank range. (In a possibly related incident, Gold is injured and loses sight in his eye--similar to both Black and Schavitz.) Gold witnesses this from too far away to help; he attempts to chase Schavitz, but Schavitz escapes. Black is brought to the medical ward but Burgundy can do nothing for him, and he dies soon after. Gold is racked with guilt but doesn't have any time to process what happened; as the former second in command, he's promoted to sergeant and abruptly thrust into a position of authority for which he's not entirely prepared, and it almost overwhelms him. (Mahogany prods him along a few times.) He has to drop his former cheery, chatty attitude--and at the same time, shove down his grief and desire to withdraw--and become responsible for some very important tactical decisions, since by now the war is coming to a head. He's asked to appoint a new corporal and after a little thought he names Silver. Silver is especially caught offguard by this, he's so used to being overlooked for promotion and figures by now that Gold hates him, but accordingly steps up. Not long after, Gold, Ratdog, and Schavitz confront each other atop a train (don't ask me why, I haven't figured it out yet); Ratdog aims at Gold, but Gold deliberately drops his rifle--the Rats have figured out that (to Schavitz's annoyance) he has a particular code of honor and follows certain self-imposed rules that include not shooting unarmed people. "Pick it up," Ratdog orders, then yells, "Pick it up! Pick it up!" Gold refuses, saying, "We didn't have anything to do with that (his son's death)." Ratdog refuses to believe him until something (maybe a noise from the train) jars his memory: Although he never saw the motorcycle and sidecar that ran down his son, he did hear the distinctive sputter of its engine as it sped past. He's seen (and heard) the "Goldsmobile" and it has a relatively smooth-sounding engine. A bit earlier in the story, he'd heard Eisen start up Schavitz's motorcycle, and it had let out a distinctive sputter--Ratdog had a startle response, glancing at it but not quite able to figure out why the sound had that effect on him, or why Eisen reacted by widening his eyes and hurrying off. Now, he remembers. He looks at Schavitz. Schavitz gets fed up and snaps, "Oh, move on! What sort of father lets his stupid kid run around in the road, unless he doesn't want him? I probably did you a favor getting rid of the brat." He then abruptly kicks Gold's rifle out of his reach and takes aim at Ratdog right as Ratdog takes aim at him. After a tense moment Schavitz smirks and lowers his gun, holding up his hands and saying, "You won't even shoot an unarmed man, will you?" Ratdog hesitates, when a shot suddenly strikes Schavitz through the head; he topples and Gold, who had managed to pull out his pistol unnoticed, says, "I would...stupid." He and Ratdog shove Schavitz's body from the train and Ratdog returns Gold's rifle. They disembark the train to go their separate ways but one thing is obvious now, Ratdog will no longer be taking potshots at the Trench Rats.

Then comes the Trench Rats' raid on Project Doomsday headquarters. This time, they're armed with knowledge of the layout of the complex, gleaned from Kolten, Wolfstein, and Silver, and the assault is successful, the Trench Rats taking over command of the complex, capturing its lead doctor (Kammler) and the SS officer overseeing the project (Capt. Himmel), and freeing the remaining test subjects, which include PFC Teal Rat and the Trench Rat whose place Gold had taken, Corporal Drake Rat. Dr. Kammler doesn't last long--while he, Himmel, and Teal are waiting in a study for the raid to complete, Teal stabs him to death in a rage. Himmel is brought back to Trench Rat Headquarters and placed in a cell like Kolten had once been while Drake and Teal--Teal's striped shirt still covered in Kammler's blood--are taken to the medical ward. Teal himself doesn't last long, either; he's had the Trench Rats' suspicion on him for years, as the possible leak which revealed the location of HQ to the Nazis (leading to the raid which killed a third of their number and got Sgt. Camo and Cpl. Drake captured), but he insists he wasn't responsible for this. He DOES, however, assume blame for Silver's capture (his reasoning for ratting out Silver, no pun intended, to the Nazis is simply "Better him than me," hinting that he'd undergone much the same sort of torture Silver did), asking Burgundy to give an apology on his behalf before jamming a scalpel in his neck. He bleeds out before Burgundy and Skye can save him; Drake, who witnessed this from the neighboring bed, has to promise the rattled surgeon that he won't attempt the same thing himself.

While Gold and Mahogany are transporting Teal's body through the woods to find him a resting place, a mysterious figure in a gas mask and German uniform--whom they've come across earlier, and despite his appearance seems to be assisting the Allies--confronts them, looks at Teal, then leads them to a suitable location. He reveals that he's Camo Rat, who escaped the Nazis not long after his capture and has been aiding the resistance effort since. He returns with them to Trench Rat Headquarters. They go to question Himmel about the project. After it becomes clear he's long had a hand in attempting to sabotage the project from the inside, Himmel promises to tell them everything he knows, but only if they let him see Kolten, first; they reluctantly agree and take him to where Kolten has been staying. They're startled to learn that Kolten and Himmel are very familiar with each other, not just from the project--Kolten is Himmel's son, whom Himmel's been attempting to protect from the other Nazis, who often kill off the mentally disabled. Once he's sure Kolten is safe and well cared for, Himmel bids him goodbye and returns with the Rats to Headquarters. Here he explains not only the project but his role in it and how it stalled after Kammler was unable to modify the serum for use on more blood types (a direct result of Himmel's sabotage); the Trench Rats' raid, and the approach of the Allied forces, will surely spell the complete demise of the project. He claims his own work is done and all that's left is for him to stand trial and accept his sentence.

Gold and Camo effectively assume joint command of the battalion in the war's final days and afterward. As the camps are being liberated Gold comes across a familiar face--Mirela. She'd joined Didrika's partisans for training and is by now quite skilled at defending herself, but she never had any luck locating her missing father, who was captured by the Nazis while both of them were attempting to flee, and she's more desperate than ever to find him. Mirela, remembering Gold's overly flirtatious attitude, isn't thrilled to see him again, but he's changed quite a lot--new rank, new uniform, new appearance (his blinded eye), and especially a new, much more subdued personality. He's glad to see her again but he doesn't flirt, doesn't joke around or banter (even when Mirela herself makes a slight sarcastic comment that leaves the door wide open for a joke response, his reply is quite toned down). She's rather surprised by all the changes. When he finds out she's still looking for her father Nikolas, he offers to help. He and Mahogany do a little sleuthing and manage to track down Nikolas's last location to the nearest camp, which has just recently been liberated, most of the SS guards having fled; the commandant, however, is in the Trench Rats' custody, in rather rough shape but alive. Wolfstein, who earlier spent time in his camp, informs them that he has a tendency to make bargains when it suits him, so he may be willing to help them locate Nikolas.

Gold visits the commandant, Maj. Konstantin Klaus, in the cell where they're keeping him. His eyes are blackened and swollen, a rib broken, and his knee smashed--his inmates beat the s**t out of him before the Americans intervened--but he listens attentively when Gold outlines the situation; the guards took most of the camp records with them when they fled, so the Allies have no way to determine who passed through or even still is in the camp, without it possibly taking a very long time, and many of the inmates remaining aren't physically well off, themselves. Gold promises to help Klaus avoid execution and serve a prison sentence instead if he helps them. Klaus has a wife and two little boys, so he agrees to help. It turns out he has a lot in common with Mahogany and while he's no good at remembering his "sticks" (prisoners) by their names (a note, I know I read somewhere that the Nazis sometimes referred to the Jews as sticks or bundles of wood--as in something nonhuman, which you stack up and burn--morbid I know, sorry--but after a quick Google search I can't locate this at the moment), he's VERY good at remembering numbers, dates, and locations, and he manages to narrow things down to Nikolas's most likely location still within the camp. As Gold turns to go, though, Klaus advises him to hurry, as his Zigeuner (Roma and Sinti) inmates weren't in very good shape last he saw of them; he adds that killing them off would have probably been for the best. Gold bites down his anger at this callous comment and leaves.

Klaus's flagrant racism notwithstanding, his memory is flawless, and Gold, Mahogany, and Mirela manage to quickly locate her father in the camp, very ill with tuberculosis and infected feet but overjoyed to be reunited with his daughter, whom he'd feared was dead. Gold and Mahogany force an opening through the fence to get at him more easily, and Gold orders a stretcher to be brought to transport him to their medical ward for treatment. As Burgundy gives him antibiotics and prepares to work on his feet (one needs to be amputated), Nikolas notices the way Mirela keeps looking at Gold, immense gratitude--and something else--in her eyes. He hints to Mirela that he doesn't mind if she's interested in a gadjo (non-Roma); Mirela denies it at first, but it's true, Gold's interest in her in the past piqued her own interest a little and now that he's gone to such lengths to help her and her father, she finds that she's developed feelings for him. She assumes he isn't interested anymore, though. She decides to directly confront him about it, asking him if he likes her. Gold is caught offguard; he hasn't thought about it much, assuming as well that it wouldn't be reciprocated, but he realizes he feels the same way. When Mirela accuses him of never saying anything about this, Gold exclaims, "You never asked!"

Gold decides, along with a handful of other Trench Rats, to remain in Germany following the war and help with sorting out the records the Nazis left behind. He's dismayed to learn that several of them are still alive and free, apparently continuing work on Project Doomsday under a new name, Ultima Thule. He and Camo call for those still remaining in the area to report in to discuss the matter. Himmel, who was stripped of his military rank at trial but then set free to go live near Kolten, identifies one of the missing Nazis as his former boss, Maj. Jäger, to whom he reported on Project Doomsday; although Jäger was good to him, despised the camps, and even called for the punishment of an Einsatzgruppen unit which committed an unauthorized massacre in his jurisdiction, Himmel believes that, being slavishly devoted to the SS, he's the one most likely to have stolen Project Doomsday records to use in the rebooted project. The Allies determine the project has been relocated to the Alpine Fortress, which was supposedly just a creation of the Propaganda Minister but turns out to be genuine. Camo and the women remain behind to man the radios and keep in touch with Gold, Himmel, Ratdog, D-Day, and the others who go up into the mountains; they find that the focus of the project has shifted from creating a super soldier to conferring immortality, with Jäger himself having taken the serum and now taking up the mantle of project leader. The Allies again manage to crush the project and miraculously reclaim one of their own (Lance Corporal Indigo Rat, who had been killed by shrapnel near the end of the war and his body then confiscated by the Nazis, was resurrected by the project, yet then rehabilitated by the Rats), though at great cost: After Jäger's likely death ("immortality" lasts only so long as the brain remains intact, and Jäger is presumed crushed to death in an ice collapse), his wife Magda, devoted to the last, murders their nine children and then kills herself (she's pregnant at the time, making this eleven deaths in addition to Jäger's). Himmel, who had been fond of the Jäger children, is particularly devastated--"Why did they do this?" he weeps at the sight of the dead family, "I would have taken them."

Everyone heads back down out of the mountains, victorious yet heart heavy, and returns to their respective homes, though most of them do keep in touch. Gold and Mirela live together and help care for Nikolas, often going to visit Himmel and the Wolfsteins (along with Kolten and the various children Himmel has adopted), and Ratdog and Didrika, at Himmel's home; they have no children of their own, but are content.

[Gold Rat 2022 [Friday, ‎September ‎16, ‎2022, ‏‎4:00:08 AM]]

#artists on tumblr #ibisPaint x #SketchDaily #original characters

[tortricidae]

Land

Meteor Lake was something of an enigma to the ill-informed. Far above it lay the ruins of the Compendium, a library that had been partially destroyed in an event that spread across Skire once the dust had settled, and while rebuilding efforts so far had been mostly unsuccessful, rumor had it that they were building something that would be just as useful, but more fitted for the modern age.

Of course, this was not why droves of Skireans were making their way down to Meteor Lake. This time of year was the perfect time to get some beach shenanigans going, however, there was a new visitor. Or rather, there were new faces surging from the surf. With hardened shells and long tentacles and unusual origins.

That wasn’t exactly why Bertrand was here. No. He’d just had the opportunity to speak with another Crook for the first time in a while, and it was causing him to become introspective. That was a bother because introspection wasn’t his thing. So he sat on the beaches of Meteor Lake, staring up at the glow of Stonewing, its Outer Ring looking more like the pairing to a planet than a city.

“Hey!”

Bertrand was broken out of his stupor to a pair of dark forearms with delicate green scar markings. He’d been drawing in the sand and thinking about his next course of action. The ocean was foreign to him. And while this lake was not an ocean in the traditional sense, he had never seen such a large body of water before.

You couldn’t see it from Outer Stonewing. The buildings were constructed in a way to prevent vertigo for those less accustomed to being at such a high altitude. Bertrand had been so preoccupied with not falling off his hoverbike, that he hadn’t really taken in the view. All he knew was that if you couldn’t fly in Stonewing, you better not fall.

When he finally looked up at his visitor, he was equally surprised and dismayed to see a CCCat standing beside him. Ugh, he hated CCCats for a variety of reasons, but usually kept that to himself because it made life more complicated for him. Many a CCCat would want to fight about his ideals, but he knew where his loyalties were. And they were not with them.

Their common origin be damned.

“Can I help you?” Bertrand’s voice was low and gravelly. Not quite threatening, but teetering on that edge.

“Oh! Oh. Oh. Yes. We were being rude. Sorry. Er, I’m sorry.”

Bertrand already didn’t like this guy. The way he spoke with his big mouth and clacking teeth. There was no eye slotted in, likely because he needed it for speaking their common language. Though the way he spoke was slow and grating and overcompensating for the lack of telepathic ability.

Bertrand stood up, a towering eight feet tall and the CCCat, a funny little fellow named Malachai, snorted.

“I’m trying to enjoy my time on the lake, cat.”

Bertrand’s vocal folds vibrated. He considered shrieking so loud that the visitors’ eardrums burst, but he had learned fairly recently that manners got him farther in the areas in and around Stonewing. Malachai shrank back, though that didn’t exactly help. He was a beast of a CCCat, so even lowering his head did precious little to help his situation.

“I, er, I don’t mean to bother you. It’s just that you look familiar. That is all.”

Bertrand didn’t buy it for a second. He only saw CCCats on his patrols as a hired community guard, mainly because he spent most of his time in the backstreets and in his favorite little bar. And this CCCat sort of smelled like the tail end of a bad day at Cross The Road.

“And where do you know me from?”

Malachai hesitated. Bertrand seemed to be genuinely surprised to see him. Surely, he would have known how important this meeting was. He had been there. In Israfil’s house. Sitting on his couches, in his hot tub, eating his food, drinking his drinks. And nobody had known who he was. The mysterious purple Crook appearing in the background.

But Malachai knew.

Or at least, had found him. And during a historical event like this? Incredible. The waves of Meteor Lake lapped at the slightly raised shoreline and off in the distance were small shapes peeking from the water. Some with glowing eyespots, some with mystical spiral-shaped shells. Some with long tentacles, and others not so much.

And there were other CCCats and Crooks helping the new creatures along. Rumor had it that they had come from the moon.

“I saw you,” Malachai said sluggishly. “In the after stream.”

Bertrand must have looked shocked because Malachai took a few steps away. He didn’t grovel or beg, but he wanted to. A Crook as powerful as this one. The stories that Malachai had picked up in Stonewing were numerous. It was easy to hear the latest gossip when CCCats could broadcast their thoughts like this.

And when he spoke, Bertrand got the distinct image of a particularly fat slug gargling saltwater and sea stones. Malachai sounded disgusting. He looked disgusting. In fact, the only reason Bertrand hadn’t crushed Malachai and flung him out into the lake was because it was important to not draw aggressive attention to himself. The place was crawling with reporters.

“What are you talking about?” Bertrand asked, knowing full well that he had been a part of a stream relatively recently.

And even though he didn’t understand how it worked fully, he did understand the concept of fame and the concept of not letting random fans appear in person. He chalked it up to the woes of being well-known in this world. And Bertrand wasn’t going to jeopardize a relationship with the only other Crook he’d been able to find in a while. This was a rarity. One that he cherished.

Malachai stared at Bertrand. Though his eye stayed firmly in his throat, Malachai’s slightly open mouth signaled to Bertrand that he was being stared at. And he felt a slimy wetness crawl up his leg. “Did you need something?” Bertrand added, looking down at the strange creature wrapping tentacles around his leg. They were pale in color and were attached to a blue marbled shell.

The creature sputtered, struggling to get up on shore. Malachai watched it passively, still way more focused on Bertrand, but Bertrand was a little skeeved. He peeled the thing off and its freed tentacles then allowed it to speak more freely.

“I was told that this is Skire. I’m new here.”

The voice was surprisingly deep, easily belonging to a much larger creature. Bertrand dropped it in disgust. And the Nautipod flopped pathetically on the beach. Bertrand then pushed it back into the water.

Malachai took his chance as Bertrand was distracted by the new additions to Skire’s landscape. “How?”

“How what?” Bertrand replied, feeling that annoyance and disgust creep back up.

“How did you get into Israfil’s house? You are new.”

Bertrand held up a hand as he felt the tentacles grab onto his leg again. Now was not the time for this drivel. He scooped up the Nautipod once more and then threw it back into the water. It wasn’t a hard throw, but there was a satisfying splash as the invasive creature was returned to the safety of the water.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave me alone.” And Bertrand departed.

Malachai wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“You are new,” he said softer this time. Meaner. “You are new…”

#cccat #cccats #Crooks #crook #skire #closed species #Malachai #bertrand #writing tag

[antimonarchy]

How to Create Image Descriptions

So I’ve been creating image descriptions on tumblr for about a month, and I wanted to share some helpful guides I’ve found on how to create them as well as my own tips that I’ve picked up. Video descriptions and transcripts are also necessary, but since I mostly focus on image descriptions that’s what this guide is about. This might get a bit long, so fair warning. 

What are image descriptions?

Image descriptions are a textual depiction of what is going on in an image, as shown with the image below. 

[Image ID: A picture of a person with short black hair working on a computer. They are sitting at a wooden table with a large blue pot of pink flowers in front of a grey brick wall. A guitar is propped up against the wall in the background, and there is a string of lights near the ceiling. /.End ID]

Why create image descriptions?

The primary reason for creating image descriptions is to allow people who are blind/have limited vision to experience visual content. Many people who are blind/have low vision use screenreaders, which read text out loud when it is clicked or hovered over with a mouse. A large amount of online content, such as pictures, graphics, or drawings, is visual and so possibly cannot be experienced by someone with vision problems. As a general rule of thumb, anything that can be dragged or dropped most probably requires a description. In addition, if someone has partial vision and attempts to zoom in on an image, sometimes it can become pixelated and impossible to understand. 

Some neurodivergent people might need a description to understand the tone of an image, such as the meaning of facial expressions of a person to understand what emotion the artist is trying to depict

Some people might not have high speed internet or have low computer memory, meaning that they turn off images in order to save space. This means that they as well might require descriptions of visual content

Are image descriptions the same as alt text?

no, alt text and image descriptions serve the same purpose, but they are different in how they are presented. Alt text, short for alternative text, is included in the html of an image and can be read by a screen reader. However, there are many reasons why many prefer image descriptions over alt text. 

There is a limit of 200 words in alt text on tumblr specifically (and not in other contexts, which makes this information only applicable here), which means that detailed images or graphics are unable to be described fully without possibly cutting out important information. 

People who require descriptions, but who do not use a screenreader, must right-click and search through the html of an image in order to find alt text, but with an image description they are saved that work. 

Who should create image descriptions?

Everyone who is able to should create image descriptions. A content creator is best able to communicate the message of their work through text, as they are the one who created it and thus understand its message the best. While of course it takes practice when starting out, over time image descriptions become second nature when posting visual content. Always check the notes of a tumblr post for an ID rather than reblogging without one. 

What should be included in image descriptions?

There is no simple answer to this question, there are a variety of resources and guides on how to create one, and you should not accept my advice as the ultimate authority, as I am by no means a professional, and only create descriptions in my spare time as part of the effort to make Tumblr more accessible. However, here is my information for those starting out. 

First, consider what type of visual content it is. Is it fanart of a tv show, a screenshot of a tweet, or an informational graphic meant to educate people on a particular issue? 

Then, consider what information is most important in the image. If the visual content is an image of a famous building, then in writing the description the focus should be on the building, rather than describing for instance the color of the sky, surrounding buildings, or the clothing of the people walking by, as they are not the information that is being presented. 

Perkins ELearning has an excellent list of things that should generally be included, which I will include here. In my experience, these are the most important elements to describe

The people and animals in an image

The background or setting of an image

Elements that relate to the context specifically, so if it was an image of a congested highway on a news website, the description would mention the packed cars

The colors of an image (don’t overdo it however, a simple ‘light blue’ will suffice, no need to say something like ‘a color blue that is similar to the color of a robin’s egg’ unless it is crucial to the viewer’s comprehension of an image)

Context for an image. For instance, imagine if someone had drawn a version of the Bernie Sanders ‘I am once again asking’ meme, with Eleanor Shellstrop from the Good Place saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place.” Rather than provide a description to the example such as:                                          [Image ID: A drawing of Eleanor Shellstrop saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place.” /.End ID] you would instead say                                                                                                [Image ID: A redraw of the Bernie Sanders ‘I am once again asking’ meme with Eleanor Shellstrop from The Good Place saying “I am once again asking for there to be a Medium Place. /.End ID]

If the image is of a social media post, include the username/handle of the creator as well as the reactions (likes/reblogs) if they are visible in the image, as they may be cut off by the original screenshotter. 

If it is a drawing or piece of art, always look for the artist’s signature when writing a description

How do I write an image description?

To start off, here is an example description written for a piece of art I made myself. 

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Suki from Avatar: The Last Airbender over a gold background.  She is shown from the shoulders up facing the viewer, and has a neutral expression. She is wearing metal armor over a light green tunic, and is wearing her Kyoshi Warriors facepaint and headdress. The artist’s signature ‘Astra’ is written in the lower right of the image. /.End ID]

In this description:

I made clear where the description begins and ends, so that someone with a screenreader is not confused. I usually use brackets ([ ]), write the words ‘Image ID’ (or video/gif/other) and finish with a slash, period, and the words End ID. (/.End ID)

I emphasized the type of image, in this case a digital drawing

I said the character’s name (obviously this may not be known if describing a photo or something you are not familiar with)

I described the background and the character’s clothing

I described her expression

I included the description of my signature.

This is my basic process for writing a description

I first say what the content is, such as a drawing, photo, or screenshot of a tweet.

I then use what is called Object-Action-Context for the most part, which UXDesign has a long article on https://uxdesign.cc/how-to-write-an-image-description-2f30d3bf5546. For example, [Image ID: A photo of a person standing in a crowd waving to someone out of view in front of a river. /.End ID] While obviously I would usually provide more information than that, Person = object, standing + waving to someone out of view = action, and ‘in a crowd’ = context. 

I describe the clothing that might be worn

I talk about the position that people in an image might be in, such as leaning against one another on a couch, or standing with their fingers intertwined

I talk about the expressions on their faces, if shown

I talk about their general appearance (if important to the description) such as hair color/length

As said before, I talk about the context of an image if necessary

If the background is a simple color, I usually include it in the first sentence of the description. However if it is more complicated, such as a river winding through a dense forest, I include that at the end of the description after describing the important elements. 

Typically if I am reblogging an image, I do not add on any commentary after creating an image description, as this allows others to reblog my description without my personal reaction. If I want to add on to an image, I usually reblog my description post. 

In general, it is best to remain objective when writing a description, meaning not including your opinion of the content. However especially in an informal setting, say for instance you were describing an adorable cow, I would see it as fine to say [Image ID: A small drawing of an adorable cow. /.End ID] because the emphasis is on the appearance. There isn’t a clearcut answer, and it really depends on the context. 

What are some tips for writing descriptions/common pitfalls?

If there is an element of an image like a line that represents an emotion, or a sound effect like ‘clang’ if something falls, include that in the description. For instance, [Image ID: ...beside the mug that has fallen on the floor, there are the words ‘sploosh’ indicating the sound of the water that has spilled out. /.End ID]

Put image descriptions first. Don’t hide them under readmores or any other text. If you have something with multiple images and you are the creator, place the description under each image in succession rather than all at the end. Readmores are ableist, as they require someone who has vision problems/one of the conditions described above to do more work to access the message of visual content. 

If you are mentioning the skin color and/or race of someone in an image, make sure you describe it for anyone else who might be in an image. Don’t just describe the race of someone who appears to not be white. This doesn’t mean that you have to describe race, such as if the character is one whose race is commonly known, just that if you do, make sure you do it for all characters/people in an image. 

In order to write IDs effectively, I’ve found it useful to download a screen reader. I use NVDA, which is entirely free and easy to use and can be downloaded here: https://www.nvaccess.org/download/. 

Insert + Q turns it off

While my guide has focused mostly on image descriptions, video descriptions are also necessary. However they are not my area of expertise, and differ slightly, so I would recommend anyone interested in them to check out this website https://www.washington.edu/accessibility/videos/

Transcripts, for those who are d/Deaf/Hard of Hearing, are also necessary for making content accessible, and might be required for content that also has a visual format, such as a Tiktok. I would recommend this website https://www.w3.org/WAI/media/av/transcripts/ for anyone interested in writing transcripts

What are some more resources I can check out?

Here are a series of websites that I have found while researching how to write descriptions

UX Design -  I mentioned UX Design earlier when talking about Object - Action - Context, this article is very useful and examines how to structure a description and provides very useful examples for beginners

Perkins E-Learning - This article is very useful in helping someone what to include in a description, such as clothing or background information, as well as providing some additional information on alt text if you are interested

Meloukhianet - This blog post by s. e. smith goes into detail on the elements of an image to emphasize depending on its context, using the example of a picture of their cat sunning himself. 

SOAP - This article by the Stanford Online Accessibility Program (SOAP) provides a large amount of information on the purpose of image descriptions and what content requires them

HubPages - This article by SOTD and Zera discusses the difference between sparse, lush, and overdone descriptions, which is the amount of information included, and if/when each should be used. 

I hope you found this information helpful, I encourage everyone to check out these websites, and my inbox is always open for questions!

#has id #please feel free to send me any questions you might have! #while I am not a professional by any definition of the term #accessibility is a large interest of mine and so I am more than happy to help #image descriptions #accessibility

[insomniamamma]

Safe: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: What can I say? I'm hormonal and all my shit hurts and if I cannot get snuggles IRL then I will write something super soft and self-indulgent to make myself feel better. Part of the Prickle AU. Set sometime after Sacellum.

Warnings: Oh no! There's only one bed. Soft!Ezra. Language. Cee's best friend on The Pug is non-binary and also named after my little boy's favorite stuffy. Maybe the slightest bit of angst. But mostly super soft.

         "You did this on purpose."         "Right hand to Kevva, I did not. I asked for double occupancy and they must have misunderstood and--"         "You don't have a right hand,"         "Let's go back to the reception desk," says Ezra, "We may be able to negotiate more appropriate accommodations."         "Errgh," you groan. Reception had been a nightmare, three freighters worth of traffic trying to secure berths all at once. It was a lot of people. Too many for your liking. Cee was staying with Kit and their family. Kit and Cee had practically tackled each other right there on the dock, everyone else forgotten, walked away arm in arm.         "We shove off in three cycles," Ezra hollered at her retreating back, and she flapped a dismissive hand at him. You had to smile. For three cycles Cee gets to be a normal teenager hanging out with her best friend without worrying about points and pulls and overhead costs and fuel margins.         "I don't wanna go back down there," you say, "Too many people. I think twice the population of Falnost was waiting in that fucking line." You brush past him and into the suite. The ceilings are low and slightly curved and it feels strange to be under this much grav. The outer rings of Puggart Bench have something close to terra-normal gravity, but after so much time spent on little moons and worldlets, this much G feels weird and you have no desire to trudge back down to reception.         "You sure?" Asks Ezra.         "Yeah," you drop your day bag and press a hand to the mattress. "Look at the size of this thing. It's, like, five crash-couches wide. This seems above our pay grade."         "They're overbooked," says Ezra, "We're paying the same points for the berth we should have gotten. I made sure of it. I can sleep in that recliner if--"         "No."         "No?"         "Kevva, Ez, we're both adults," you say, "I think we can share a bed for a night without exploding."

        Your suite has a real, honest-to-Goddess shower with a generous 15 minute timer. You scrub as fast as you can and then just let the water hit you, let the pressure pound on your tense back muscles until the chime sounds and the water cuts off. You towel off and dress, soft clothes you sleep in, and pad out into the main room. Ezra is reading, face far off and serious, and you just look at him for a minute, illuminated in the warm lamp-light, absorbed in his book, little furrow between his brows and then he looks up, all knowing smirk and dancing eyes, he's caught you staring.         "Your turn, Ez," You say and turn your face away. Kevva. This man. You've been trying to keep things professional, but it's a losing battle. His flirtations make you flush, but he's never tried to push you, never tried to leverage the fact that it's his name on the ship's title, that you signed a contract, that you are junior-most crew. You feel safe with him. And, from your limited experience in the fringe, that is a miracle in itself.

        Ezra sets his book aside and heads for the bathroom. You peel the sheets from the other side of the bed and settle in. There's a media player bolted to the wall, but you just want quiet. You switch off the lamp on your nightstand (we both have lamps, we both have a nightstand, how weird is that?) The sheets feel deliciously cool against your skin. To be clean and sleeping in clean sheets...if Heaven isn't like this Kevva's got some answering to do.         Ezra sings in the shower. You're barely awake and you smile. Ezra can't carry a tune in a bucket, singing fringeling songs and reels, stories of mercs and pirates and ghosts and you drift off to the sound of him, the sound of the water running.

        He sees you soft and loose and asleep. No rail-gun, no body armor, no thrower under your pillow. Your face slack, snoring slightly. You've kicked out of the blankets and lay curled as if chilled.         "Hey Artichoke," he murmurs, pulls the blankets up and tucks them around you, "Let's get you warm, yeah?"

        Ezra wakes. Bleared red numbers of the clock saying that this is still the deepest ditch of local night. Ezra is warm and confused. He feels you pressed against him, your chest to his back, an arm hooked around his middle, your legs entwined with his. You've sought him out in your sleep and folded yourself around him, your breath slow and steady against his nape. Ezra's eyes prick with tears. He can't remember the last time he's been held like this. He's had lovers. He has payed for sex on the less reputable Benches of the Great Arm, but for someone to hold him? For someone to touch him without payment, without trying to press some advantage, gain some kind of leverage, without priming him for the inevitable backstab?  He is overwhelmed. He tries to wriggle away from you, but your arm just tightens around him.         "...fixed the transponder," you mutter against his neck, "told you we didn't need...told you..." He pats your arm and relaxes against you.         "Okay, Artichoke, okay, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

        You wake enfolded, Ezra's good arm wrapped around you. You feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the slow sussurration of his breath, the snores that catch in his throat and turn to murmurs, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You've tucked yourself against him in your sleep. Your hand rests on his sternum. Oh Kevva. What are you doing? You go rigid.         Your first impulse is to wrestle out of his hold, take one of the blankets and install yourself in the recliner that you wouldn't let Ezra take, but part of you wants to stay right here in the combined warmth of your bodies, feeling his breath, his heart, his calloused palm spread against your shoulder. You shift, making the smallest effort to pull yourself away and his arm tightens further, a low, sleepy chuckle reverberates through his chest.         "Hi Ez,"         "Hi." He strokes the pad of his thumb along the exposed curve of your shoulder.         "I'll get up," you say, even as he shifts and cups the back of your head in his palm, tucking you closer.         "You don't have to," he says, voice rough with sleep. This gesture pricks at your heart. Coming up on Falnost has made you hard, guarded, there has been precious little gentleness in your life, pulling rocks out of the parched ground since you were big enough to lift a shovel. Learned to fight and shoot to chase water-thieves from the homestead. He strokes the back of your head like one might pet a skittish cat and your heart squeezes.         "Ezra?" You hate how small your voice sounds, you hate the uncertainty you hear there, "Are we okay?"         "Of course we are," he says, "Why wouldn't we be?"         "I wrapped around you like a Bueller's world python and I did it in my sleep-"         "The wrapping was mutual-"         "You're not mad or uncomfortable or anything?" He laughs again, gentle huff of breath against the crown of your head.         "Mad about waking with you in my arms? The day I'm mad about that you can just shoot me in the head and send me to Kevva because I will surely have lost my ever-loving mind." You smile against his skin and relax some, your hand unfists and you curl your arm around his soft belly, feel his breath hitch.         "Tickles."         "Sorry." You feel yourself drift, skirting the edge of sleep. He is warm and solid and you let yourself relax against him.         “This feels...safe..." you say, so close to sleep that you're not sure if you've said it aloud or if you've just thought it. And you're not sure if you hear his response or dream it, one word. Always.

        "She's late," says Ezra.         "We still got a sixteenth to button up and board,"         "Still," says Ezra, "Yon freighter will leave with our pod wether we're strapped in it or not." You see Cee and Kit, trailed by Kit's parents, weaving through the crowd. Cee is beaming, her blonde hair has a brilliant streak of blue, and Kit has a matching streak in their hair.         "Hey guys!" Cee hugs Ezra and then hugs you.         "How was your shore leave, Little Bird? I like the fancy hair."         "Isn't that cool? We've got matching streaks," says Cee.         "It's semi-permanent," says Kit, "We'll pick a different color next time!" You have to smile. Cee looks revitalized. Three cycles spent with her friend, just doing normal kid things has been good for her.         "Check this out!" says Cee and pushes a laminated drawing towards the two of you. Ezra makes a show of looking carefully.         "I recognize you and Kit," he says, "I am not familiar with these other people, though."         "They're from The Streamer Girl, dumbass," says Cee, "Here's Clo and Reive and Lily and Auri. See? Kit put us right in the story." Ezra gives Kit his best smile.         “You drew this? You are very talented." Kit smiles big.         "Thanks!" says Kit, "I'll put you guys in the next one! Maybe you could be professors at Bowsun Academy or something."         "I look forward to it," says Ezra.         "Time to go, Cee," you say and Cee and Kit exchange one more enthusiastic hug.         "Later fringeling!" Calls Kit.         "Piss off, stationer!" Cee calls back. Ezra curls his fingers around yours and squeezes. Cee tells you all about her three cycles with Kit, the movies they watched, the Real Food they ate. How Kit's little brother wanted a blue streak in his hair too and Kit's parents said no and how mad he got. I wanna be cool like Kit and Cee.         "I told him he's got plenty of time to be cool," says Cee, "And he told me that I don't understand how the world works. He's like, four." Ezra laughs.         "Wise for his years." Says Ezra. And the three of you fall quiet. You find the pod much as you left it, towed to the Polly Jean and clipped in, transferred by the station's tugs. You settle in and do a full systems check. Calling out the checklists and making sure everything is good for transit.         "What are you guys so happy about?" asks Cee.         "Whatever do you mean?" asks Ezra.         "You been all smiles since I hit the dock," says Cee, "Both of you. Did we score a really good job? Did we win the Puggart Bench lottery or something? What aren't you telling me?"         "That," says Ezra, "Is for us to know and you to endlessly speculate about."         "Hmph," says Cee.

Tagging: @oonajaeadira, @grogusmum , @honestly-shite, @writeforfandoms, @ladyvengeancesposts, @the-blind-assassin-12

#ezra x f!reader w/cee #ezra prospect x f!reader w/cee #ezra and cee #soft!ezra needs his own warning #don't look at me #this is so soft

[miyalove]

➳˚｡⋆ MUTUAL CONNECTION.

➳ pairing. roommate!kuroo x fem!reader x (slight) terushima

➳ warnings. slight dubcon (kuroo listen’s to reader having sex), voyeurism, swearing, masturbation (male), pining

➳ notes. thank you for 500 followers! here’s a spicy fic to celebrate... if it gets enough love then maybe a part two will be out

2.4k | thinking you were going to be home alone, you decide to invite your favorite fling over to have a good time. surpisingly, you’re not alone and your roommate kuroo is torn between letting you know that or locking himself up in his room to torture himself.

he’s in some deep shit now. the playfully cocky man is grown enough to admit that. as much as he wanted to blame you for his trouble, he’s adult enough to admit that maybe… just maybe, this one is on him. you thought that he was out and with fair reason too. he did text you saying so; ‘late classes. don’t wait up’. only it turned out that his professor had a last minute change of plans because as he got to class, on the door was a note detailing how they were canceled.

it wasn’t much of a sweat for him though. he wouldn’t mind a day home alone with his thoughts. it would allow him to catch up (and even get ahead) in most of his classes so this was basically water under the bridge. instantly, his feelings of serenity changed when you arrived home and not alone either, but with your current prey— terushima.

he was a younger guy compared to kuroo, but not by much. fit, intelligent, a cosmetology major (so he never looked bad) and kuroo knows just how much of a good dude he is in bed too. courtesy of you, of course. every now and then, you’d get into tangents about your flings and terushima was the only one that you had only good things to say about. it wasn’t as if he was jealous though. please, kuroo feels all emotions but he prides himself on not feeling that on. him? jealous? nothing of the sort, really.

he thought you were hot and when the two of you meet for the first time, there was just something that clicked. you got along so well with him like puzzle pieces perfectly slotting together. you two got along so well that since then you were practically attached by the hip. that was nearly a year ago, when you meet. if the circumstances were different he might have made a move on you, but things are complicated now because even if he thinks about what you would look like underneath him; he can’t make a move.

you guys are roommates. he missed his opportunity to have something more once he asked you to move in with him. and you being a broke college student, just like him, happily said yes. it would become awkward if things didn’t work out because hell— he’d be living with his ex which could make a great plot to a cliche hallmark movie but not to his life.

for now, he’d have to keep things on the down low. even if you constantly came at him with flirty teasing. it happened mostly when you were drunk— everyone tends to have more courage when they’re 5 shots deep in tequila. however, there are some instances of ‘friendly’ flirting that happens especially when you’re sober. he doesn’t miss the vague compliments that, if either of you questioned, things would start spiraling. he doesn’t miss the stares that last a little too long or touches that linger for a split second longer than needed. the way you giggle a little too much to not be considered flirting.

but even at that, even with fate constantly pushing the two of you together be it through classes, parties, or running into each other on the street; he never made a move and neither did you. and at first, he was okay with that, but right now not so much because right fucking now, he’s stuck in his room wanting nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

he didn’t even know you were still seeing terushima. sure, you bragged about how great he is in bed but you were more of a one and done kind of girl (as you lovingly explained to him one drunken escapade). so to see the bleach blonde again (in his own house of all places) with you straddling his lap rubbed kuroo in a way that was anything but pleasant. he didn’t want to be subjected to this kind of torture so he figured running into his bedroom would be a good solution to his problem.

he anticipated just blasting music in his headphones. drown out whatever was happening just a few feet away from him. arriving at his destination, he gently shut the door to his room. throwing himself on his bed and reaching for his laptop, he’s glad that the noises haven’t started up yet. but when he searches his bag for his headphone and nothing comes up, it then dawns on him that he leaned his pair to a friend and now he is more fucked than you.

he panicking. a low whine of despair escaped his lips as he felt pity stir in his chest for himself. just his luck that his pretty roommate was fucking a completely different dude and he’d have to sit her and take it like some kind of incompetent loser. he contemplated going out there to stop whatever was happening. to just maybe knock on his door or yell out to you, to have you guys know that he’s in here and it’s not just you and terushima. yeah, just yell out to you guys would be easy, right? open the door, scream a simple “please don’t!” and done. he so sure that his plan is golden that he reaches for his door knob with a grin.

but then he hears you moan.

and his eyes widened at the sweet sound.

he can’t help but freeze up. how could something so lewd sound to pretty? his grip on the knob tightens. kuroo finds himself thinking hard to himself. this is so bad. even if he’s heard how pretty you sound, doesn't meant anything. as a good roommate, hell, as a good friend, he should go out there and tell you what’s up.

but then he hears your pleas again, however it’s not a moan this time. you let out a shakily sigh that was followed by some other words that he couldn’t really make out because of the distance. you sounded so needy, so desperate to have someone touch you to make you feel good. the mere thought of you desperately pleading with that pretty little mouth of yours made him dizzy.

with everything that’s happening, it makes sense that his dick starts to stiffen. he fumbled about his room. trying so damn hard to ignore the growing pain in his cock. he did some quiet jumping jacks, paced around his room, and tried to drawn everything out by screaming in his head.

it seemed that most things where to no effort. when he hears you let out a low groan followed by the succulent sound of wet lips kissing at your skin is when he finally lets go. desperately kuroo’s hand clutches his crotch over his shorts as he tried to control his thoughts and raging desires. he pleaded with himself to keep it cool, but no matter his attempts, it felt like his dick had a mind of it’s own— which it does.

no matter how hard he shut his eyes, or how loud he blasted super bass in his head, he couldn’t get the image of you naked out of his thoughts— you were probably fully nude by now, underwear (if you were even wearing any) scattered across the living room floor. he imagines that you’d wear something elegant yet contradicting sexy. lingerie that framed your body perfectly. kuroo would have to demand you to take them off or he’d rip into them himself. you’d be on full display just for him— terushima, he meant. not like him him. dear god, he felt sick but at the same time so fucking horny. it’s a weird combo that only you could ever invoke from him.

would you be weirded out if he jerked off to the idea of you having sex with someone else? of course, you would! it takes a special kind of crazy to think that you’d be okay with him just barging in on your private time. there’s no other way around it. you’d probably hate him for the rest of your life, if you were to find out what he was doing. but it’s not like he can do anything about it. it’s not like he can not not listen to you.

it’s far too late to interrupt now because he’ll look like some kind of perv that was actually enjoying listening in on his roommate fucking another guy. when his head start to finally clear, a deeper voice erupts from the intimate silence. it’s  terushima.

“you want me to fuck you right here, baby?” he breathed out. even with the distance, kuroo could hear the leather of the couch shift. he only can only imagine how you two are positioned right now. “what if your roommate sees?”

“then he can enjoy the show,” he knew you were just playing along. drawing out the teasing to further your play time with terushima but it’s startling really because— if only you knew.

at this point, kuroo thinks he’s about to explode. he could practically hear the smirk you had on. the way you were dripping with lust had him biting back a groan. the things you do to him when you’re not even doing him was insane. he tried to block his thoughts out, think about something that’ll kill his boner but nothing came to mind.

nothing could kill his intense wanting when all he could picture was that he was the one making you moaning right now. that it was his name that you were grunting as you ride his cock. the thoughts made his dick impossibly harder, the pressure building up so much that it felt like he had no choice but to rub it over the fabric of his shorts.

it was like his body was acting without thinking as he began panting quietly to himself. when the sound of your voice got louder, his pace over the fabric quickens. his cheeks flush at the scandalous act. there is no way he’s rubbing one out to the sound of you fucking another guy.

but then your voice gets more needy, pleading with a desperation that kuroo couldn’t help but wish was for him. something inside him snaps. then all at once he’s betraying his thoughts. he’s not thinking straight when he finally pulls his shorts down. sighing in relief as his dick springs up, slapping his abdomen.  

he waste no time wrapping his hand around his cock. eyes fluttering close when he gets a good rhythm going. slowly pumping when he hears you whining. then quickening his pace when he hears your moans getting faster. the slapping of skin on skin contact making his imagination grow wilder. he can’t help it really. picturing you all spread out, taking his cock like the good girl he hopes you are. your expression shifting to absolute bliss when he hits your sweet spot. he’s drowning in pure pleasure. his body completely laxed as he slumps over.

he slows when he hears your voice again, “god, fuck. just like that.”

it’s airy and pitched. begging and praising terushima as he fucks you perfectly. the image of you taking him— kuroo (not your other stupid fling), makes his breath hitch.

“f-fuck,” he mutters. his hand picks up speed. so many thoughts running through his head. mainly of you spiraled out in his favorite position, and so wet that his cock would just slide into your pussy easy. you’d be begging him to go harder and with such a sweet fucked out voice, how could he say no? he’d grab your hips and slam into you. you’d practically forget who the hell terushima was if, kuroo has his way with you.

hearing your moans pick up, his imagination gets the best of him. his hand pumps faster and faster. his body feels hot as he imagines your tight pussy swallowing his cock, sucking him in ever time he tries to pull out. he pictures you to be greedy in bed wanting every inch of him inside you and pounding so hard into you’d practically be seeing stars. he imagines running his hands gently through your pretty hair, petting you every once in a while and cooing about how much of a good girl you are. he’d be ready to pull at your roots if you even dare to tease him because he knows you’d try something as cunning as that. you’d do it with pleasure, a smirk plastered on your lips and nothing but trouble lining your hues.

“oh god– fuck.” he’s nearing the edge. he can feel the brink of his heat snapping. as if the gods are finally righting their wrongs. your melodious moaning reaches his ears.

“fuck. i’m– i’m gonna cum!” if this were any other circumstance, kuroo would say that it was romantic. the two of you finishing together. the blissful ride coming to an possibly wholesome end. silks of white hot pleasure filling you up and just when you think it’s over, he’d lean down one hand gripping your thigh while his long slender fingers go to work on stuffing all the leaking cum back into you. fuck. you’d be squirming under his touch caught between begging him to stop or wanting to go again and again and again…

opening his eyes, kuroo’s hues are meant with darkness. a stickiness all over his hands and tummy that he’s come to be all to familiar with at this point. he wishes he could finish how he imagined but he has to snap back into reality every once in a while. a bitter feeling fills his chest, a huge shift from his lust filled yearning a few seconds ago. things were certainly going to be a little weird from now on. kuroo considers himself quite the extrovert (sorta) but he’s kind of terrified to see how he’ll naturally react to you now that– that that has all went down.

taking one last look at the white strings that cover his body, he let’s out a way too loud (especially given the circumstance) groan. grabbing at a dirty towel he starts to clean himself off. when warm thoughts of you invade his memory again, he grimaces a fluttery feeling overcoming him.

“oh, i’m so fucked,” tossing the towel somewhere in his room. he falls asleep to the sound of your soft giggles as his soundtrack.

#dubcon #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #kuroo tetsuro smut #hq x reader

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 4

“What does it mean if a guy talks about your nipples?”

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> total words : 4.7k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity ; awkwardness

previous - next

The issue is that Jungkook -and you're not a bitch for thinking that- is a little bit of an idiot.

He can be very smart. He can be wise and present unsuspecting resources and knowledge. He can teach you things you don't know anything about, figure out others you struggle to -but not during stressful times like for say an escape game because during those, he turns absolutely, utterly useless. 

But he is an idiot too. An idiot that sometimes shapes situations and conclusions and ideas in a very peculiar way that is very singular to him.

That’s precisely what happens then. He plays his role right, to its full extent, with great dedication and commitment. Except he missed a memo, misread the script and ends up playing a role that's not the one you planned for him. He believes that he’s your new adult toy provider (as if there is such a thing).

When you think he’s coming over to share a meal or play some game or binge-watch a series you promised to wait for him to experience together, he has a box hidden in his pocket or carried under his arm. 

He has the decency to not comment on it the first time around. He just set it down on the coffee table, between the bowl of chips and the one filled with guacamole. You see the logo on top of it. You recognize the design, reffined, minimalist with the pretty pastel matte colour. 

He probably identifies the shame and the annoyance on your face, painting your cheeks and reshaping your eyebrows, and doesn’t say anything. Simply smiles to himself and starts talking about the series’ new episode that’s about to start. 

It takes a lot of efforts, coming from you, to ignore the conspicuous object sitting just in front and in between you. But eventually, probably because more than a decade of friendship with this guy have grown impressive mind muscles on you, you manage to make abstraction of it. 

It just stops existing for a while until he leaves and you’re curious to see what’s inside. And again you have the same old intentions as before. The same ones.

You won’t use it. 

It’s curiosity. And it's fine for you to be curious because he’s the one buying it and gifting it to you. Why should you be blamed?

Freshly hopped in bed, just done reading the notice hanging over your face, you’re yawning and sending your eyebrows high in interest. Again you won’t use it but it sounds very interesting. That’s when you get a text from him.

Guk

So about the toy!

As if you were waiting for his explanation. As if the conversation got cut short and you were expecting him to pick it back up whenever possible.

You won’t entertain him.

You

I said not to buy me this.

Guk

You never said that! You said something about me being crazy but never about buying one again

Because you're mostly made of petty bitch material, you scroll higher quickly, wishing to find something, any text that would corroborate what you’re saying.

You don’t find anything though. Because you never actually told him to not buy you other toys by text, and now that you come to think of it, you probably never did out loud either because you didn’t fucking know that he would even consider doing so.

It’s not even Christmas anymore. It’s not your birthday. There’s even less of a valid reason for him to get you this therefore, of course, you did not explicitly warn him not to, you didn’t think it would be necessary.

You

It’s not even my fucking bday why???

Guk

I told you the lady at the shop

But who the hell is that lady?

Guk

She talked about a lot of products and they all seemed cool and because you liked the other one I thought I’d get you this one too

You

Jungkook

This simple response says a lot, you hope he can read between the pixels of his screen the desperation, the irritation, the frustration, the silent insults. 

Guk

Listen it’s super cool it's supposed to mimic the touch of a finger

Jungkook then proceeds to explain to you how it works. The original idea being a system with a tiny ball rolling under a silicon skin, to place on your clitoris to have the illusion of a finger's touch. And it’s interesting and innovative surely and sounds intriguing as in, you wonder if it’s accurate, but you’re tired and it seems like you’re wading in some sort of swamp you can’t escape from. There’s a fire burning your skin from your cheeks to your chest. You’re both hating this conversation and unwilling to just draw a final period to it. This asshole.

You

I can read

Guk

So you opened it already??

There’s a bunch of excited emojis that follows his last message and fill up the empty space your lack of response leaves. 

Why and how can he be so eager?

Here comes the delusional part of your brain. It’s a very wide, very deep hallway covered in bookshelves filled to the brim with stupid interpretations and beliefs and sometimes even memories you’ve shared with him. Often next to the laters are pinned an article from a teenage magazine or the jacket of a romance movie, specifically there to validate that yes, indeed, it must have meant something. 

The door of that corridor just creaked opened. You can discern the sound, you can feel the particular atmosphere without even having to take a step through. 

Is it really that normal to be so excited about that? For him? As a friend?

It’s the most frustrating part: you are friends. Friends who supposedly can tell each other everything. Friends who can ask each other anything. 

You should be able to talk about it. Just ask him. If there’s anything behind this whole mess, if he means to tell you something, if it’s wholly mindless, if there’s no hidden agenda.

It should be fine. There’s only trust and affection in this friendship. 

You are still too scared, you are terrified that he’d start linking dots, ask himself some new questions, potentially answer them himself, and have you all found out.

You'd have your barely well-worn cover thrown completely away. 

You send the blank emoji. The one with even the eyes closed. It summarizes your actual state pretty well, speechless, relatively annoyed. 

Guk

She said you could try it on other parts of your body too

Guk

At first

Guk

Like on your lips or your nipples

You want to die.

Now.

No, better, you wish to have never been born. 

Why is he talking about your nipples? Why?

And through all that, you still feel like something is wrong with you, along with your feelings. 

Turns out you are so overwhelmed by his clueless inadequacy, you need a good half an hour and a random shot of tequila to get through it. When it’s gone and exhaustion of a long day and alcohol have knocked nervousness and panic out, you fall asleep, forgetting about answering his outrageous last texts. 

“What does it mean if a guy talks about your nipples?”

Min's finger stops midair, above the cash register she's been working on. She needs a good minute to get back to her senses and while you wait, anxiety invades you. Maybe you should never have brought it up. 

But this question, the torturous thing is slowly killing you.

Min finally turns her head to you, eyes squinted and eyebrows drawn low. She sucks in her pretty red lips before opening them to start formulating, with it seems a certain struggle, an answer. 

“I don’t think I quite understand.”

It’s a pretty straightforward, relatively easy question. That’s what you'd want to say but you’ve reached the state of bashful regret and decide not to press it. Some things are better just left alone. 

“Who talked about your nipples?” She ends up asking the one thing you wished she wouldn’t because there is no way you’re giving his name. 

“Doesn’t matter.” You mumble, turning around slightly, getting back to the task you were here, paid, to do -wipe the shelves clean and not talk about your “““love””” life. 

“I think it does. You wanna know if it means something? Like the guy's into you?”

“Something like that.” Your cheeks are aflame now. No doubt about it. You silently curse at your manager who refuses that you don’t wear the ugly hat that holds your hair back because having a curtain of hair to hold behind, as a help to keep some of your remained, sparse dignity would have been peachy. 

“What did he say exactly?”

Silence. You’re not elaborating. She sighs, defeated. 

“Well, I suppose... he’s considered the fact that you have boobs. If it’s a straight guy, that’s a good sign, I guess?” She shrugs.

You don’t like the answer. It’s exactly what the wrong, defective part of your brain, the one directly wired to your heart, wanted to hear. 

She doesn’t even have the context, anyway. It doesn’t mean much, doesn’t hold much power in your court of sensibility. 

She stares at the side of your face, clearly attempting to drill holes in your head to try and find some answers. You’re awfully silent, have said too much yet not enough and she’s dying to know the whole story. You won’t give in and she can tell. There’s no way you’re sharing the whole thing. The most, probably, probative point of the whole story: the sex toys. It’d turn her into a devastating tsunami of nonsense and misinterpretation and drown you in its wake and you can’t, when you’re already struggling to stay afloat, allow that.

Tag list: @fangirls94 @realswimshaddy @safi4x @pnkd @somewhereinthestarss @kpopfandomftw @kai-kai-bookshelf @pasteljoonie @ggukkieland

A/N: Don’t forget to click on the next button on top, two parts are being posted simultaneously :)

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #ggukienet #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #my writing

[ikeromantic]

In the Spotlight

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction, approx. 1700 words. This scene occurs after the events of the romantic epilogue and includes some of what happens in the part 2 introduction. Mostly fluff!

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Uncomfortable Questions

Kyubei bowed low and held the position. It wasn’t his first time to report to Nobunaga, but it was his first time to do so without explicit instructions from his lord. He was nervous, but it didn’t show. Kyubei could hold an icy composure as well as Akechi.

“Report.” Nobunaga’s tone was flat, hiding his own frustration.

Hideyoshi and Masamune weren’t trying to hide theirs. The one-eyed dragon was pacing and Toyotomi’s scowl could have peeled paint.

“There is no evidence,” Kyubei cleared his throat, “that the forces at Kasugayama are involved in the attacks on Azuchi. However -” he paused. This was the part that made him sweat. “The disappearance of Lord Akechi and the lady chatelaine coincide with the vanishing of their ninja, Sarutobi Sasuke.”

“I don’t believe it.” Masamune stopped, one hand dropping to his sword hilt. “There’s no way that ninja got the drop on Mitsuhide.”

Hideyoshi nodded. “Agreed. My guess is that they are working together.”

Kyubei interrupted. “I find that unlikely, my lord. At least, in the manner you suggest. If I may?”

Nobunaga indicated he should continue.

“My sources tell me Shingen Takeda is ill, and between the loss of his ally and his ninja, Kenshin is unstable. Seeking conflict within his own forces as well as outside. It is unlikely he is aiding Kasugayama. Though he must have known Sarutobi's absence might . . .” He frowned, wondering how much he should imply, what he could suggest.

Ieyasu saved him the need. “Mitsuhide was making plans for an extended absence. I think we should consider that he has left, with Sasuke, to visit the chatelaine’s homeland.”

Mitsunari nodded. “This would make sense. There could be something about the events of the night he disappeared that forced them to leave sooner than he expected.”

“There’s more to it, and if I know that snake -” Hideyoshi’s rant was cut short by Nobunaga’s raised hand.

“Enough. I did not wish to bare Akechi’s secrets, but Ieyasu is correct. Mitsuhide sought my permission to take the chatelaine to her home. He was uncertain how long they would be gone.”

The room exploded with sound, warlords talking over one another. Hideyoshi was ranting about safety and plots; Masamune demanded permission to seek them out. Keiji was laughing. Ieyasu and Mitsunari were relatively silent, waiting for the excitement to die down.

Nobunaga’s carnelian eyes quieted each man in turn.

When he could be heard again, Kyubei continued. “I made contact with Ranmaru. He is seeking out the forces responsible for the attack on Azuchi, along with other spies in our network.”

“Ranmaru? That boy is afraid of his own shadow. Completely unreliable,” Hideyoshi muttered, not unkindly. “He should be here.”

Kyubei couldn’t help the slight smile at that. He didn’t approve of Ranmaru’s tangled loyalties, but one could not argue with his ability to act a part. “Of course, my lord. But Ranmaru insisted. And he does have many friends to rely on for information.”

Ieyasu stood. “This doesn’t answer my questions though. Where is the chatelaine? Is she safe? When will she return? We all know Akechi has his . . . plans. I’m not worried about him. He’ll turn up when and where he wants to. But she’s -”

“You’re worried about her!” Mitsunari beamed. “I knew you were just trying to hide it when you told me-”

“Shut up.” Ieyasu glared. “I’m just . . . the enemy could use her against us. We need to know where she is.”

“Agreed,” Masamune spoke up. “I will put together a team. We’ll find her.”

“My lords, I am afraid she and Mitsuhide are beyond any team.” Kyubei sighed. “The greater concern is what this impacts and how it will be used against us. The Ikko Ikki are moving. The Mouri clan have resumed pirating, and we know it was Kichou that executed the attack on Azuchi. In addition, we have rumors the shogun in exile is drawing a new following.”

Mitsunari frowned. “Yes, I reviewed several shipment records and troop movements from old loyalist daimyo. It appears we are not done with the shogun as of yet.”

Kyubei bit his lip. The scribe they’d installed should have been satisfied to live in luxurious exile, but it seemed the old shogun’s loyalist stirred his greed. Or maybe they were using him as a puppet. He had no way to know, as the spies in Ashitaka’s court had all fallen silent.

Nounaga spoke again. “Hideyoshi, you and Keiji will pursue the Mouri. Masamune, I want you to make contact with Kasugayama. Offer a truce. See what they can offer up about their missing ninja. They may be willing to hunt down our enemies with us, as it does them no benefit to see this land descend into chaos.” His gaze fell on Ieyasu. “You will join Kyubei’s efforts to track down Mitsuhide and the chatelaine. Your research and his current knowledge will yield results.”

“May I assist Lord Tokugawa?” Mitsunari’s innocent smile could have been worn by an angel. He was completely oblivious to the sudden grimace on his friend’s face.

“You may, in your spare time. I need your mind fixed on calculating provisions, troop movements, bridges, and roads. There will be fighting soon.”

Mitsunari acquiesced with a bow.

Kyubei delivered the rest of his report, and then was dismissed. He went straight to the Akechi mansion and opened a bottle of sake. Alcohol was a vice he rarely indulged in, but today he felt like he needed it. He’d exposed some of his lord’s business without permission. He had no idea how or if this would impact Akechi’s plans. And now . . . he’d be working with Ieyasu. It would be difficult to keep the secrets he needed to keep.

He kept drinking until the room spun and the lights all wore halos. Kyubei might have kept it up, but he ran out of bottles and couldn’t make the walk to fetch more. Instead, he fell asleep, sprawled out on the floor of his lord’s office.

***

Mitsuhide felt a mix of relief and distress when his little one explained the plastic stick on the bathroom counter. It meant they were not having a child together. Not yet, at any rate. And this was good. He was in no position here to father a child. But . . .

The image of himself holding a child. His. Hers. His heart felt too big for his chest, thinking of what such a child would be like. His very own son or daughter. One with his love’s sweetness. His eyes. Her nose. His perception. It made him ache, as if he had an old bruise, a wound that hadn’t healed. Which was completely irrational.

He looked out the train window at the rapidly passing countryside. Trees. Hills. Houses. Different and not so different from the world he knew. He should be spending this time planning the next few days, not moping. Kitsunes did not mope.

“Are you ok? Are you nervous?” His little mouse put her hand on his leg, comforting.

“Yes and yes.” Mitsuhide turned his head to give her a sideways smile. “I have never had to meet the parents of my betrothed.” He had expected Nobunaga to marry a woman to him for political purpose. Some well-bred woman who knew how to run a house and had courtly manners. A woman he would never love, but could put up with, at a distance. Yet here he was.

She laughed. “It will be ok, really. I talked to okaasan and she is excited to meet you. She’s happy for us.”

“And you father?” Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure he’ll get used to the idea. He’s just . . . to him, I’m still a little kid. But I’m sure once he sees us together, he’ll come around.”

Mitsuhide was less certain about that. He’d known several fathers and they fell into two categories, most of the time. There were the men who could care less about their children beyond their use to the clan. And there were the men that treated their children as things of wonder. Not that they coddled them - but they cared. About their education, their work, their friends. He was sure his lover’s otousan fell into that second group.

The train stop came sooner than he might have liked. The two of them disembarked. There were only a handful of people getting off the train here, so it was easy to spot her parents.

They were dressed conservatively. Her father was a little shorter than Mitsuhide, and a little thicker around the middle. His greying hair was thin on top, and he wore glasses. Her mother was small and wore a smile he would have known anywhere.

The parents caught sight of them at about the same time Mitsuhide’s study of them finished.

“Otou-chan! Okaasan!” His little mouse flung herself across the platform, and was swept up in a hug from both sides. Tears ran down her face, and her cheeks were stretched in a wide smile.

Mitsuhide felt out of place in this moment of familial warmth. He had no such experience himself, and did not want to intrude either way. He stood quietly, holding their bags. Waiting as they exchanged hugs, kisses, and stammered apologies and explanations. As if they could make up for half a year apart in a few minutes.

Her father finally looked up and met Mitsuhide’s eyes. His were dark and suspicious. Protective. “You.”

His little one smacked his arm. “Be nice, papa. This is my fiancé, Mitsuhide. Mitsuhide, this is my father, Minoru, and my mother, Youko.”

Mitsuhide bowed low. “I am pleased to meet you both.”

Her father didn’t reply, but her mother did. “We are so glad to meet you too! It was such a surprise . . . our little girl . . . disappearing and then -”

“And then coming back with a weird boyfriend,” her father interrupted.

Oh yes. This was already going very well. Just as expected. Mitsuhide straightened and put on his best ‘trust me’ smile. “If there were any way we could have done it differently, I promise we would have. I hope we’ll be able to lay any worries you have to rest.”

She stepped over to his side and took his arm. “Yes, I plan on explaining everything.” His little mouse was the one to look nervous now. And no wonder. After much discussion, they’d decided on telling her family a version of the truth.

In fact, Sasuke and Miyake were supposed to come out the following day to provide backup evidence for their story. But even with that, they were asking her parents to accept a lot all at once. Mitsuhide did not see their chances of success as being very high, but for her, he would try anything.

Next: Bonding

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #kyubei #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #hc

[minor-solemnity]

Curiosity pt.6

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

A month passes. You don’t talk in class, just keep your head bowed low, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. You ignore Tom in the hallways and in the lessons you share. You suppose that you should probably revert to calling him Riddle, but referring to a man you’ve had sex with by their last name, even in the comfort of your own head, makes you feel dirty.  

He tries to talk to you twice. He doesn’t try a third time.

You don’t tell Marie or Stephanie what’s transpired between you and Tom and eventually, they stop asking. You’re content to let them believe that whatever courtship or relationship they thought had been budding between the two of you had died. It’s easier to pretend that you’re just sad that you’ve missed your chance with Hogwarts’ most sought after bachelor. The truth is so much more complicated. 

The last of the bitter Scottish winter gives way into Spring and with it comes blue skies, crisp winds, and luscious greenery. Stephanie’s attention is fixed firmly on the final quidditch matches of the school year and Marie begins her yearly fretting over exams. You’re left in blessed peace to ruminate on and stew in your own misery. 

It’s far too early on a Saturday for you to be up, but the Great Hall is always empty until at least nine on the weekends and you’ve taken to avoiding large crowds lest you accidentally run into him. As expected, you’re alone save for the ghosts this morning. You’re stirring honey into your tea when a shadow falls over you. You don’t look up. The shadow coughs politely. You glower at your tea. The shadow sighs and there are footsteps and the sound of someone taking a seat opposite you. When you finally look up, Tom is watching you intently. Merlin, it’s so frustratingly easy to get distracted looking at him. The first thing you notice (and you hate that you do) is that he looks somewhat tense. His expression is a mask of polite indifference and his hands rest casually on the table in front of him but there is a tautness to his posture, as though he’s steeling himself for a fight. 

You think that that should please you. At one point, it definitely would have done, but right now you’re still too raw from the events of a month ago to feel anything other than resigned fatigue at his appearance. “You’ve been ignoring me.” He says, and though his tone is placid you can detect a hint of something hard lacing his consonants. 

“What good observational skills you have. Though that’s hardly a surprise, seeing as I’ve been on the receiving end of your interest for months at this point.” The anger at your own stupidity and his manipulation rears its head once more and you’re somewhat taken aback by how much venom has crept into your voice.

“Perhaps, if you’d let me explain-” 

“No.” You cut him off, gathering your things and shoving them into your bag with more force than is strictly necessary. “No, I will not let you explain. I think you made yourself perfectly clear the last time. You have what you want, your curiosity is sated. You have your own blackmail material on me, should you ever feel the need to use it, and all it took was-” You can’t finish the sentence. All it took was a little flattery and his clever tongue touching and playing with you until you’d… Really, it had taken nothing at all. “I don’t know what else you could possibly need to explain to me. I understand what I am to you and what this entire thing was about. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you just leave me alone.” You don’t hang around to see understanding dawn on Tom’s face, nor do you hang around to see resolve settle firmly on his shoulders.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat with your arms wrapped tightly around your knees underneath a yew tree by the lake, your bag thrown haphazardly a few feet away. You stare at the lake and determinedly blink back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks. A horrible mix of embarrassment and anger is bubbling in your stomach and your hands shake as you reach down and tug blindly at strands of grass as if they are what your ire is directed at. Merlin, you’ve been stupid. Incredibly, horrendously stupid. You’d known that Riddle was bad news. You hadn’t trusted him from the moment he’d smiled down at you that evening in the dining hall. Almost every meeting between the both of you since had been a constant push and pull, neither of you willing to back down or give way… And now…

Now he has the information that he wanted and the game is up. You’ve lost. And all because somewhere along the line you had forgotten exactly why it was that he’d been interested in you in the first place. You’d let your imagination get the best of you and for a moment you’d let yourself believe that it wasn’t about Mr Larkins anymore. That he was there because of you. Just you and not the secrets that you had tried so hard to keep.

Merlin, what was he going to do with you now that he knew. Blackmailing a teacher (and you have to admit to yourself now that that was exactly what you had been doing) was a serious offence. Enough to get you expelled for sure. Muggles went to prison for blackmail, didn’t they? Would you be sent the Wizengamot? Or would Tom just hold it over your head for eternity? Surely not. He had no use for you now, after all; you can’t keep kidding yourself that he liked or wanted you. You can’t keep kidding yourself that that was part of why this was so painful. 

Beyond the fear you feel for your future, rejection is a bitter pill lodged in the back of your throat. 

“You might appreciate it if I left you alone, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped running away from me.” Tom’s voice is conversational, cheerful almost. You let out a strangled scream of annoyance. He hums a soft little laugh in response. He settles himself down beside you, long legs stretching out in from him, crossed over at the ankle. You notice he’s holding the folder. “You honestly think I’d blackmail you?” He asks, still in that conversational toned and you feel your hackles rise.

“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to blackmail?” Which well, that maybe isn’t what you should be annoyed by.

“You seem intent on misunderstanding everything I have to say, I see.” He says and, at last, something approaching annoyance enters his voice. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s frowning slightly. As in the Great Hall, his posture suggests he’s at ease, he’s taken his tie off and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. But something is lurking beneath his relaxed exterior that suggests he’s nervous. “I have no intention of blackmailing you. At first, perhaps, but not any longer. And…” You drop the pretence of not looking at him entirely and turn full to face him. He doesn’t look at you and you get the impression that whatever he’s trying to say does not come easily. “I apologise if that’s the impression I gave you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise at the apology, which whilst stilted, appears genuine. Then, almost immediately after narrow in suspicion and indignation. “What other impression could you possibly have given me? Apart from, maybe, toying with me for your own amusement.” You ask acidly.

His jaw clenches and you notice dimly that he’s making hardly any effort to hide his emotions. He’s almost an open book. Which is… strange. You’re reminded of all the times that Tom’s treatment of you has left you feeling confused. Confused because he doesn’t act the same way around you as he does with the rest of your peers. He’ll put on a facade of politeness, sometimes, but it usually unravels within minutes. You’ve watched him charm and flatter the worst of your professors, that small careful smile never faltering until they’re putty in his hands.

He’s tried to intimidate, taunt, and seduce you but he’s never tried to charm you. The realisation hits you harder than you’d like. But so what that Tom doesn’t seem to think you’re worth the effort? Does it matter that he drops his perfect little persona around you? Yes, the quiet, treacherously hopeful voice in your mind whispers, yes it matters. Of course, it matters.

“That we were having fun, perhaps?” He says at last and he looks pained just saying it. As though telling you that some part of him had enjoyed your company and had assumed that you enjoyed his is physically uncomfortable to admit. Maybe it is. “That I believed you and I had some level of understanding regarding our relationship?” 

You ask incredulously, “Has this been your way of flirting with me, Tom?” At the sound of his name on your lips, he turns to face you and you can practically see him come undone. His throat constricts around a swallow and you can’t stop yourself from tracing the column of his neck to where his collarbones, surprisingly delicate and sharp protrude from the collar of his open shirt with your eyes. He follows your gaze intently. “You never tried to charm me.” You murmur, finally bring your gaze to meet his.

“I’ve only ever been honest with you,” He replies, his voice equally soft. An admission that his persona is mostly a lie, used to trick and manipulate everyone else. Maybe that should put you off, make you turn away from him for good. It doesn’t. “You can’t blame me for wanting to know you when the few things I did know were so interesting. You can’t blame me for liking you more when I found out the rest.” It’s strange, knowing that the parts of you that usually stop people from liking or trusting you are what draws him to you. Then again, maybe it isn’t strange at all. You’re remarkably similar in so many ways, after all. “I thought, perhaps, that you regretted it.” Regretted me, is what he means. Is what he won’t say. Is what you hear nonetheless. 

You’ll need to talk more later; you need to know what he intends to do with the knowledge of your blackmailing schemes but later. Right now… You lick your lower lip and you don’t miss the way he tracks the movement. “I don’t. Regret it.” He nods once, a short decisive shake of his head. You’ve made up your mind. “You should kiss me now.” And he does. He shifts and suddenly you’re being dragged to his side, one large hand curving around your waist and another cupping your jaw, his fingers tangling in your hair. 

You feel like maybe, you’ve just won the best kind of game there is.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #minific

[inknopewetrust]

Hey, I was wondering if i could request either javier peña or din djarin ship/x reader oneshot type thing? Mostly just (one of) them comforting reader who has really low confidence and doesn't believe they are good at anything. x x

Little Miss Perfect

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Word Count:1.3k 

Warnings: language. Don’t doubt your abilities loves–you are more than capable of doing anything you set your mind to. 

A/N: thanks for the request Anon! Sorry for the long wait, these things just take a bit of time! Ah, how I missed writing for Javi. Did you know Javi was the first character that mustered up a following for me on here? Now, nearly 1000 followers later, here I am still writing for him. I felt this request would work best with him :)

“Shit!” 

It was either the loud yell or the slamming of the telephone that caught Javi’s attention, he wasn’t sure which had come first. At the desk across from him, Steve sat disengaged from your internal struggles that were beginning to bleed out into the small office you all shared and diagonal from him, you had your head being cradled by your hands in frustration. 

Javier kicked Steve’s shin from under the desk and with an audible “ow,” Steve gave Javier a look of disdain. The thumb pointed in your direction changed his demeanor from one of annoyance to one of concern. 

“You alright, L/n?” Steve set down the report he had been reading to focus his attention onto you, but you didn’t look him in the eyes to answer, just mumbled a barely heard: 

“No.” 

He didn’t push any further, but it had to have been something serious to have you react in a way that made Javier concerned. If there was anything to know about you, it was that everything you ever did–whether it be work, play, or what not, you always put in 100% effort. When the reactions to your work were less than spectacular, a depression-like slump followed because it wasn’t what you were hoping for. You strived to have your superiors and partners know that you were the best person for the job and when you failed on occasion, it stung like a sting from a hornet. 

“No... No, I’m not alright. I’m not fucking alright!” The burst came out of nowhere and startled the two men. It got even worse when you rose from the seat and practically ran out of the office with your jacket, the chair spinning rapidly in your wake. 

“What the fuck was that about!?” Steve asked Javier with an exasperated gaze, but Javier didn’t know the answer. He thought he could deduce the reaction to the problem, except he was never certain in his abilities to read your physical reactions. Neither man readied themselves to follow immediately. Though after a few minutes, it was Javier who made the effort to find you and get to the bottom of your obvious despair. 

Not in the courtyard and not in the smoking room. There was no sign of you in the file room, printing room, with the CIA guys and gals, or with Noonan. Based on Noonan’s dismissal of Javier, Javi was sure the conversation that was had between the two of you is what made you so upset. 

It wasn’t until he got down to the bottom floor and into storage that he smelt the distinct smell of camel cigarettes filled his senses and he followed it down the dimly lit aisles of boxes filled with completed files. Down the one labeled G-J, you were sat against the rack with a few burnt cigarettes on the ground. Javier’s footsteps were not quiet, so you knew he was there when he turned down the aisle. 

“Come to gloat for Carrillo? He fucked us all over.” 

“It’s not your fault we didn’t catch him alive.” Javi told you and sat down across from you. One of his legs bent up towards his body and the other stretched out just enough where it rested itself on the other side of your foot. You handed the cigarette out to him which he gladly took from you. 

“It’s always on my account. Noonan always thinks it’s my fault and I just can’t convince anyone that I’m good at this. Every time we get close to catching one of them, they die or go MIA or I don’t know... fly off to Mars.” 

“Mars? Shooting a little high there, don’t you think?” The smirk on his face was welcoming but you were still angry at that fact that everything you did was never good enough for the DEA. 

“Why don’t they get angry at you and Steve? Why is it always me?” 

“You think you’re the only person who gets chewed out around here?” You shrugged at him but the foot that had been resting beside yours tapped it harshly. You looked at Javi with a helpless face. 

“Noonan isn’t a field agent. She doesn’t understand why Carrillo made the call, but he shouldn’t have. That was your member to catch.” 

“And it’s my fault that he’s dead!?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Javier handed the cigarette back to you and you took a long, much needed drag before restarting the conversation. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be ridiculous about it.” 

“You’re not being ridiculous. Not many women would have the gall to even take up a field job here and let alone be good at it. Noonan’s position was handed to her... she doesn’t know what we’re dealing with out there.” 

“But it doesn’t mean that she isn’t right. Every time I got a lead something would happen to change the course. That isn’t what they look for in agents so what is keeping me here? Optics?” 

Javier shook his head and furrowed his brows. Since the moment you stepped off the plane in Colombia, you’ve been nothing but a valuable asset to their efforts in catching Escobar. Every piece of information that you provided was essential and that is why they had put you on Gustavo Gaviria’s case in the first place. If it weren’t for Carrillo, you would have had him in American handcuffs right now but operations weren’t easy when five different departments of justice are fighting the same fight. You were a brilliant co-worker, a great person, and more than capable to be here working with him and Steve. 

“Don’t say that...you are one of the best agents we have.” 

“Not everyone thinks that way, Javi.” 

“Well I do, and I know Steve does too. Plus, the CIA guys and the girls that work in the office, they know how hard you work. AND! I’ve never seen a woman kick as much ass as you do when we go out on the field. Anyone who doubts a woman who has no qualms about holding a gun to your head should be terrified in their assumption.” 

You scoffed but it was enough to draw a little smile at the corner of your mouth so Javier knew he was getting somewhere. He was cracking the façade even if some of those thoughts would return from time to time. It wasn’t often agents were praised for their good work, so he took the chance to do it for you in a moment of need. 

“Do you remember the night we had to survey the bar where there was that shootout?” You nodded in remembrance and he continued with a story that you could have predicted. 

“You were the only one to think of-” 

“I know, I know.” you shrugged off the surging compliment of a good days work but Javier shook his head and laughed. It was a laugh of sheer lack of understanding as to why you wouldn’t want to hear compliments. 

“You deserve to be recognized for your work. Noonan might not see it but we all do here. Here is where it matters and on the field and when you go home at night and see the positive impacts on the news. When this is all over and you return to the States, wherever you end up, those people are always going to remember you for the good deeds you’ve done here.” 

“You’re a good man, Javi. You know that right?” 

There was a shared, true smile between the two of you in that moment. 

“I think some people would disagree but if you say so, then I’ll think it.” 

“I’ll remember that mantra the next time I don’t think I belong here.” 

With that, Javier helped pick up the burnt nubs of cigarettes from the floor and together you returned to the office where you would help make a difference and remember that the two people who matter most to your job thought of you as essential to the process. For that, you would be forever thankful for. 

#Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x oc #pedro pascal x you #javier peña #javier peña one shot #javier peña imagine #javier peña x reader #javier peña pairing #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #narcos fanfic #Narcos Netflix #narcos

[amchara]

Baby Group - Jessa / Herongraystairs Family ficlet

Tessa, Jem and Kit all take turns taking Mina to the local baby group in Devon. Pure fluff (okay, tiny bit of angst in Tessa's section but it's mostly fluff!)

Tessa paused as she finished buckling Mina into her sling. The building in front of her was unassuming, a low white wood-sided structure, covered by a green roof. There were children’s handprints and rainbow decorations taped to the windows. She could feel Mina’s tiny, reassuring weight in front of her, as her daughter wiggled and let out a couple of happy baaa baa da’s as Tessa jiggled her, trying to weigh up whether she really wanted to go in.

‘Newton Abbey Surestart Centre’ read the colourful sign beside the wide path, leading up to sliding doors.

A couple of other women walked past her, chatting and pushing buggies that looked more like mini-cars, given all the bells and whistles attached. They didn’t pay any attention to her and Mina.

“First time?” A voice came from behind her. Tessa turned and saw a young, red-haired woman, who was smiling at her as she wrestled a chubby baby with similar hair into a smaller buggy.

“Yes,” Tessa said, and remembering her manners, gestured to herself and to a now-quiet Mina, who was taking it all in with wide, dark eyes. “I’m Tessa Carstairs and this is Mina.”

“Gemma Sampson and this is Charlee,” said the other woman cheerfully. “You have the right way of doing it,” she continued, pointing to Tessa’s sling. “I don’t know why I bother with all this baby shit,” she said, rolling her brown eyes and crinkling up her nose, as she pointed to her overflowing baby bag and packed buggy.

“I- uh, I tend to travel light,” Tessa said, but internally she cursed. Should she have brought more? Maybe she should go grab the extra nappy and wipes out of the backseat, just to show she was prepared? Mina was usually happy just observing the world, rather than being occupied by toys and Tessa was still breastfeeding her so they usually travelled with minimal supplies.

But Tessa had not done the baby thing in over a hundred years and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She wondered again, if this had been the best idea- but Jem had suggested if they were settling in at Cirenworth long-term they should probably try to integrate themselves into the community. Especially as they no longer had the monumental task of finding the lost Herondale, and they wanted to encourage Kit to find his own friends. It would be best to take their own advice, Jem had suggested, a small laugh erupting from him as Tessa had asked if he was about to join the local cricket team or the small village choir. “The choir, probably-” Jem had said, winking at her. “But maybe the local woodworking shop too.”

Gemma slid around Tessa with her buggy and gave a friendly nod. “Come on, love- they only let us in for the hour and then they kick us out. You want to get your money’s worth.”

“Isn’t it free?” Tessa muttered under her breath but she followed Gemma in, giving her name and Mina’s to the bored teenager at the door.

“She’s gorgeous,” the health visitor - who Tessa had been told was also a nurse - looked admiringly at Mina. Tessa relaxed fractionally. “Thank you. She takes after her dad,” she said, the smile growing on her face. Mina gurgled curiously and reached out for the rattle that the woman was holding out. She shook it happily.

“Is she your first?” the nurse asked, casually.

Tessa froze. She took a deep breath.

“No. I had two other children. James and Lucie. They… they’re not around,” she said and hated how her voice shook faintly. Normally it didn’t sting this much, the thought of her precious James and bubbly Lucie. But in this homely, warm place with the babble of babies’ voices and happy, smiling parents watching them, it hit her unexpectedly.

Tessa could see the nurse’s eyes sharply assess Tessa, taking in her youthful face but also, Tessa hoped, her smart denim skirt, yellow flowered collared shirt and the image that Tessa wanted her to see. “I see,” she said but noting the look on Tessa’s face she didn’t ask any further questions. She wrote some scribbles down on her pad, smiling politely and told Tessa to enjoy the centre.

As she walked away, Tessa cast a small spell to dislodge the note, which dropped to the floor beside her and Mina. She read: ‘children? x2 possible dec. or child servs?’ and her stomach dropped as she crumpled it in her hand. She followed up and cast a quick memory spell on the woman to also make her forget the last two minutes of their conversation. Maybe this had been a mistake… she thought, and when she looked up again, she could see Gemma had settled beside her and Mina, Charlee shaking a plastic tambourine in Gemma’s arms..

“They’re old busybodies,” Gemma announced, jerking her head at the health visitor. Tessa smiled wryly. The woman was maybe thirty at most.

“But also- you don’t have to engage with them to use the centre,” she said frankly. “It’s not a requirement.” She looked directly at Tessa and her look softened. “I’m sorry about your children though- it must be tough to be a warlock and have to watch them grow old.”

Tessa thought she was good at schooling her face to remain neutral, after so many years but Gemma just let out a small laugh and she let her eyes flash amber briefly. And Tessa relaxed, realising Gemma was a werewolf.

“We have a small group of Downworlders here at baby group,” Gemma said and she pointed to a small group off to the side. “Mostly werewolves, a couple Sighted women and one half-nixie. But we’ve never had a warlock before,” she said, her voice hopeful.

“Sounds delightful,” Tessa said, watching as Gemma’s smile widened. She picked up Mina, following her to the group.

--

“That’s it, clever Mina-mine,” Jem cooed, as Mina peeked her head out from the small, fabric enclosed tube that he had procured from the far corner. She smiled up at him, her cheeks squishing up into tiny peaks as she crawled further out. She rolled onto her back and then began chewing on her hands, tired from all the effort. Jem was so proud of her.

He looked around and was surprised at the large group of women and children that had gathered around him and Mina. It had been nearly empty in the baby area when he and Mina had arrived at the children’s centre, with only a couple other mums and babies around, likely due to the heavy rain they had had that morning, Jem mused.

But more must have showed up as he was playing with Mina and he hadn’t realised. Then Jem blushed and suddenly understood, as they all kept glancing over to him. “C’mon, Mina- we’re hogging the equipment! We need to let the other babies have a turn. Let’s go play with some other toys,” he said, lifting her up into his arms and made to move to another section of the room.

“Oh no- that’s fine,” said one woman, bouncing her baby on her knee, smiling at Jem. “We don’t mind waiting our turn.”

“She can play with these.” Another woman waved a couple of colourful scarves at him.

“Or this.” Jem found a couple of jingly bell-trees thrust into his lap, and the dark-haired woman held out a couple more, smiling at him. “My baby is finished with them.”

“Oh- that’s very kind of you,” Jem said, awkwardly trying to balance them and Mina in his arms.

He caught sight of a familiar figure coming towards them, and he grinned, dropping the toys to the side. He held Mina up so she could see. “It’s Mama!”

Tessa smiled her lovely, radiant smile as she approached them. As if by magic, the other woman and babies melted away as she bent down to give Mina a kiss on her forehead and Jem a quick peck on the lips. “Hello, my two darlings!” she said, settling herself on the floor beside them. “Did you miss me?”

“Always,” Jem said.

--

“We’re full for the session,” the older woman in a rumpled sweater gave Kit a bored look and turned away, to continue to talk to her taller, younger colleague.

Kit blinked. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” the woman said dryly, bending her head down to write in a log.

“Fine,” Kit muttered. Mina babbled and Kit could swear that he could hear the disappointment in her tone. “It’s okay, Min-Min, we’ll do something better than stupid baby group,” he said, hefting her further up on his shoulder and prepared to leave.

But then suddenly she was overbalancing on him and Kit struggled to hold onto her as she surged forward.

“BA BA NA!” she shouted excitedly at the dark-skinned woman with long braids walking past. She paused and turned towards the noise and her smile was infectious as she took in Mina. “Mina Carstairs!”

Ten seconds later, they were through the doors, the older woman scowling as the director of the centre told her to let them in. “Don’t tell anyone but she’s one of my favourite babies,” the director told Kit conspiratorially.

“She’s one of my favourite babies too,” Kit said, stifling a smile. Mina was smiling contentedly, or almost smugly, Kit thought, in the woman’s arms.

“And of course, your parents are also brilliant,” the woman said, handing Mina back to him. “Say hello to them from Sonya.”

“I will,” Kit said, as they headed further into the centre.

He plopped her down on a couple of cushions and stretched out beside her, taking in the scene. Kit idly wondered if his dad had ever taken him to a centre like this when he was young, before immediately scoffing and dismissing the possibility.

It did look like baby heaven, he thought, as Mina started crawling over to a rainbow-coloured arch. He watched the other babies and parents around, noting that he was likely the youngest one there or… actually, maybe not, he thought, as he saw a nervous, thin girl in the corner, playing with one of the chubbiest babies he had ever seen.

“Stay away from that baby, Mins,” he said. “He looks like he eats other babies for breakfast.” He looked down.

“I swear we’ve gone over this - we don’t eat socks,” Kit told her, an exasperated but fond manner. He grabbed a tiny bag out of his pocket and shook it at her. “I have much tastier snacks here.” He watched as Mina took her purple socked-toes out of her mouth and gestured in a familiar way. Kit handed her a couple of tiny baby puffs.

“No snacks on the play floor,” said the same, grumpy monitor as she walked past.

Kit rolled his eyes but put the bag away.

Kit didn’t rise to the bait when five minutes later she told him that he was being too loud with the xylophone.

He gritted his teeth when she snatched away the blocks that he had been planning to get Mina, informing him that it was almost the end of session and she was starting to tidy up.

And during the group singing time at the end of the session, when she told him to stop mumbling the words to the stupid nursery rhymes, Kit decided it had gotten personal.

“Oh, sorry,” Kit gave an angelic smile as he stepped away from the woman. She scowled at him, and turned away to button her coat up, her purse swinging in the air, unzipped.

Kit waited until they were out of the centre before looking down at his spoils. Sweet, he thought. A Cadbury’s Crunchie bar and two Twirls.

He shifted Mina in his arms, to one shoulder and holding the chocolate bar in the other hand, ripped off the wrapper of the Crunchie with his teeth.

“Don’t tell Mom and Dad,” he told Mina, after swallowing several bites.

She smiled placidly and reached for the Crunchie. “Not yet- in a couple of years,” Kit said. But then he reconsidered, and let her have a short gum at the stub. She giggled and burrowed her chocolate-smeared face into his shirt.

And then they got on the bus back to the village, heading back to Cirenworth.

(I don't know who to tag in my Herongraystairs family fics? @dontmindmyshadowhunting @sandersgrey @foxglove-airmid maybe? This is definitely the start of Kit bringing Mina into the pickpocketing life

Let me know if anyone else wants to be added in!

Previous Herongraystairs family fics:

Days Like These (day at the beach)

#tsc fanfiction #tessa gray #jem carstairs #kit herondale #jessa #jem carstairs faces the twenty first century with style #tessa gray is a legend #kit keeps his pickpocketing skills up to date #my fanfic #my fanfiction #i am stuck on writing smut or plot so you all get fluff right now #jem carstairs x tessa gray