#this set growing mold in the drafts. BE FREE

[peachsayshi]

🦇{S E V E N  S I N S}🦇

{kinktober with peach 🍑}

╰⊰✿´ 🖤 lust - the sin of unbridled sexual desire  

1: BREEDING - (Choso x Female Reader) 

TAGS:  {minors & ageless blogs do not interact}  - sex without protection; sensual smut, mentions: baby making, oral (female receiving), mention: cum, creampie, fluff

WC: 1,914

A/N: Happy Kinktober, everyone! I’m currently sick at the moment and was hoping to post this yesterday but wasn’t feeling so great. I finally finished and edited up the first request from @coffeehashira​ 🧡 I hope you enjoy it and as always, reblog and comments are always appreciate xo 

“What’s with you tonight?”

A sigh follows your question, your arms lazily stretching above your head while you watch your boyfriend play with the fabric of your loose, cotton top. A teasing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he shyly tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he slowly rolls the material over your chest.

“Nothing,” he lies, but his eyes darken watching your breasts spill out and he hums at the sight of two taut buds poking against the air.

He pinches your nipples between his fingers, grinning sheepishly by how easily you reacted to his touch. “A little sensitive, hmm?” he teases, cupping your chest in his hands before leaning forward and circling his mouth over your nipple to suck on it.

You giggle, “this isn’t nothing, you usually aren’t so…eager-ah!”

Your fingers thread through his dark hair, and you gently push back the shorter layers to avoid having them fall over his handsome face. Your free hand moves to graze the shell of his left ear, counting the silver of his piercings - three along the helix, and two on his lobes…

He squeezes you in the palm of his hands, his mouth trailing up your neck as he leaves a path of tender kisses along the way. Your touch lands on his broad shoulders, digging your fingers into his muscles when he finally lingers his lips above yours before leaning into a kiss. Despite his calm demeanor, his mouth was telling you something completely different.

There is a hunger in this kiss, a sense of urgency that has you melting into the mattress. He draws out a moan only to swallow the pretty sound you make, before moving to hold you by the waist.

He takes a second to look into your eyes, insisting to himself that paradise was lost in those lovely irises. How did he ever get lucky enough to be one person who got to see it up close?

He couldn’t really explain what’s been going on with him these last few weeks. How his body suddenly yearns for yours in a possessive demand. His love for you was constant, but lately it’s as if the dial turned up a few notches and it left him completely frenzied.

A draft runs over you both, a reminder of the changing weather outside. The sun was starting to set on the horizon and the room was gradually growing darker with each passing second. He could feel you shake a little underneath him, your exposed frame seeking his own affectionately for some heat.

You kiss him on his neck before whispering quietly, “it’s getting cold…”

He holds back a groan, the blood rushing between his legs as his erection tents his boxers.

“I’ll have you warm in just a second…” he replies.

His mouth meets yours again and you're trapped underneath his weight. Your legs twine themselves around him, while your arms curl over each other as they circle his neck and you feel your body molding into his own like butter. Your heart beats a little faster, the uncertainty washing over you by your lover’s needy behavior. He tweaks your nipples once more, before tracing his hands down your torso and hooking his index fingers around the waistband of your underwear.

“I’m so in love with you,” he confesses, as he slowly tugs down the fabric.

“I love you too…” you sigh with a wiggle of your hips, watching your boyfriend slip the garment off before tossing over the side of the bed.

Choso just hums to himself while admiring you with the softest eyes. You were so beautiful like this, naked and vulnerable at his mercy, when it was usually the other way around. He spreads your thighs, wishing that you could read his own thoughts just to understand the true weight of the emotion laced through his confession.

When he goes down on you, his mouth presses sweet kisses on your pussy and he spreads your lips slightly apart before allowing his tongue to swipe up along the slit. He hears you cry a gentle “oh…”, and smiles against your sex before working his tongue along the path to meet your clit. He eats you out slowly, and your hands grip onto the sheets as your body grows hot in increasing degrees. You can tell that he isn’t doing this with the intention of making you cum, but he still slurps and smacks his lips all over your cunt like he’s expecting your orgasm.

“C-Cho…” you hiccup, but can barely say his full name when you feel the stretch of two fingers deep inside you.

“Not yet,” he pleads, curving his digits upward and your lower belly flutters from the sensation of his touch. “Hold on f’me…”

Your thighs shake, “I-I don’t think I can…I’m too..”

You squeeze your eyes, your words leaving you once again feeling the roll of his tongue around your clit.

He didn’t understand just how receptive you were tonight - how every touch sent shivers up your spine and prickled your skin. You needed him to stop just to give you a moment to breathe before you lost what little control you had over your own body.

“M’always so good for you,” he murmurs, “now it’s your turn…”

You were reduced to winded pants and gentle whimpers, with your hips bucking lightly every now and then desperately crying out for him to do more. Tears pricked your eyes and you expressed your frustration by tugging at the locks of his obsidian hair when he refused to submit to you.

When he finally pulled away, he looked at you with ravenous eyes. You shifted your position to sit upright on your forearms, your gaze following his hands moving downward to his boxers, and you licked your lips watching him pull out his dick from underneath the fabric.

Your jaw went slack as your mouth went dry while he stroked his thick length, his thumb lightly tracing over the prominent veins before swiping over the purple head leaking with cum. Your arousal glossed his lips when he smiled, looking down at you with approval seeing you in an equally hot-blooded state that he was in.

He saw you spreading your legs a little further, inviting him inside you.

Choso usually would reach for the condom at this moment, but instead he found himself taking in the contours of your figure. Your plush thighs, the circle of your hips, the valley of your torso and the peak of your breasts…and it made him feverish enough to disregard the need for safety.

He grunts as he boldly slaps the weight of his dick against your bare cunt, hearing you whine before dragging it up and down between the petals of your lips.

“How does this feel?” he asks cheekily, but there is a mysterious change in his tone of voice that excites you.

“So good…”

He slides the tip of his cock to tease at your entrance, “it’ll probably feel even better when I’m fucking you, hmm?”

You don’t stop or question what comes next, your mind's judgment clouded by an unbridled desire to have him. The both of you focus on the points where your bodies meet, and your mouth circles into a sphere while he moans with relief as he buries his cock deep in you.

“F-Fuck…” you gulp, your arms caving as you drop your head back onto the mattress. The stretch feels so good that it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and as he curves his body forward you find your grabby hands reaching to pull him as close to you as possible.

His thrusts are steady at first as he takes in the feeling of your gummy walls around him - but when he your lips meet his, he starts to fucking you with even more conviction that you feel like you’re about to split in two.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, and one of his hands reaches for your own as he holds it tightly against his fingers before resting it above your head. His other hand compresses into your thigh, a roughness replacing the kind touches that you were receiving earlier and you knew for a fact that he was imprinting himself onto your skin.

Choso’s dominance over you had nothing to do with control but everything to do with him showering you with his love. This was the part of himself that needed you like the air that he breaths, that didn’t want any barriers separating you both.

The thought travel through his mind and he moan into another kiss, before burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You feel s’fucking warm, you’re perfect…” he rasps, and your whole body grows limp under his minstrations. He sucks on your skin, his hand on your thigh gliding back up your body to the space of your lower belly instead. “I want to cum just like this…”

You’re crying out to the heavens again and he can only smile feeling you soaking all over him. He presses another kiss to your neck, and with a snap of his hips he continues his seduction with more passionate words. “I’d fill you up to the brim, watch you take it all in…”  

“God,” he moans, and there’s an ache in his cry that nearly has you falling apart before him, “just want to put a baby inside you…”

He pulls away from you with slight exasperation, repositioning himself once again as his hands meet your hips to root you in place. His intentions were now out in the open, but you still haven’t denied him from giving you exactly what he wants.

He holds you there as he plunges back and forth, and your breasts mimic the movements with every thrust. One of your hands trails down your torso for your fingers to meet your swollen clit. You start massaging the tender bud, and you can barely formulate the words crossing on your mind with any coherence.

Instead you start mewling: “please, please, please…”

Your toes curl as the muscles in your leg tighten, feeling the heaviness of his balls smacking against your skin and your back arches further away from the mattress with every roll of your hips. He pays attention to the ring of white circling his dick, but your boyfriend’s thrusts grow sloppier the closer he gets to his release. Your vision goes blank when your walls tighten around him only noting the squelching sound echoing around the bedroom. When Choso finally cums, it’s so hard that it makes his voice break. There’s so much of it that it leaks out, and he tries to find some composure to steady his movement to make good on his promise of keeping it all in.

Minutes pass as you both find clearance through the heavy fog of lust. Your hands subconsciously seek out his, and he holds you as he collapses gently on top of you. You’re still pulsing around him but did not want to have him leave you just yet. You cup his face in the palm of your hand, kissing the tip of his nose before moving to his right cheek, and then placing another on his jaw.

When your foreheads finally touch, when you both finally take a minute to lose yourself into each other’s gaze there is a new truth that sends a reverberation to your hearts.

A promise of forever that can never be unbroken.

TAGS: @damn-geto @pensivespecter @ekaterinatepes @jelly-jellx @lollipopd @shuxjodie @mikasackrmann @alreadyblondenow @nanamikentcs @aizumie @mrsmorgenstern @artemisthestar @velvetlight333 @sluttoru @smoothy-ve @bisexualwomanofcolour @bloombb 

#choso x reader #choso x female reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction #choso smut

[askthefuturegleeks]

Thank you for joining the campaign to bring the arts to future generations, DAVID KAROFSKY, we’re happy to have you! If you want a refresher on what to do next, feel free to look at the WELCOME CHECKLIST. Please send your account in within the next 48 hours so that you can get started.

ooc information 

NAME: C AGE: 28+ PRONOUNS:she/her SHIPS: I’m really not set on anything, I’m open and don’t mind what people do with their characters ANTI-SHIPS: None, I’m open either way and don’t mind what people do with their characters

basic ic information 

NAME/AGE: Dave Karofsky/31 BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC: September 8, Virgo CURRENT OCCUPATION: High School Biology Teacher and Football Coach CURRENT LOCATION: Lima, Ohio RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single Pringle FC: Max Adler

twitter post 

@COACHKAROFSKY: (It’s a beautiful morning for some coffee and a bagel. Too bad I’m fresh out of coffee, and I don’t like bagels. Oh well, it’s still a beautiful morning) #cestlavie #stillsmiling #findyourreason

in character questions 

Answer these in character, and feel free to add gifs into your answers.

1.) What did you want to do with your life when you were younger? What would the child version of yourself think about the path you paved for yourself?

When I was younger, I really wanted to be a pro ball player. Football, more specifically. I always thought I’d play through college, and then get drafted into the NFL. Obviously, things didn’t happen like that, and that’s totally fine. It wasn’t for me. I think a younger version of me would be proud of myself. And, I’m not just saying that either. Even though I didn’t go pro, I’m doing something I love. I’m learning, I’m growing, and I’m appreciating myself more than I ever have.

2.) What is your proudest accomplishment? Don’t be afraid to talk about what it took to achieve it and how you feel about it as well.

My proudest accomplishment was honestly graduating college. Getting through school- primarily middle and high school- was a challenge I wasn’t prepared for on any level. I made a lot of mistakes, and I did a lot of stuff I’m really not proud of. But, I pushed through. I made it. I survived.

3.) If you could do anything you wanted for one whole day, what would it be and why?

I would start the day off with a nice cup of coffee on my porch, enjoying the sunrise, and just listening to the birds as they sing. Then, I would magically appear at a Bears game, one that would go into overtime, and would be a nail biter to the very end (until they won, of course). I’d have dinner at my favorite cafe in town, and then I’d close the day by reading one of my favorite books.

where are they now?

Dave Ean Karofsky was raised in a loving home, by accepting parents. His father, James, was a salesman with a good career, making more than decent money, though not enough to classify the family as traditionally wealthy. His mother, Kathy, was an art teacher for the majority of his life. Everything seemed happy, healthy, and wholesome within the Karofsky family, though things with Dave often seemed just a *little* bit off. Well-adjusted wasn’t how the majority of people would have ever described Dave as a child. It seemed as though he was always searching for something different, something more, something outside of the traditional Karofsky days.

Moving into middle and high school was tough for Dave, and once he fully realized how truly cutthroat those age groups could be, he knew he had to do something. So, he altered himself. Similar to the color-changing chameleon, Dave began to do whatever he had to in order to fit in. He took up football, changed his personality, and launched himself into popularity. However, once again, no matter what he did or how hard he tried, something just didn’t quite seem to fit. It was that knowledge, that feeling, which began to fuel Dave’s anger. He’d worked so hard to force himself into a mold, he began to feel a sense of anger towards those who simply couldn’t be bothered to care.

Moving into high school, he began to realize exactly what those feelings were, and where they stemmed from. The realization that he was gay was a slow one, and when it finally shifted into a realization, Dave was absolutely lost. His anger grew, as did his discomfort, and his desperation to be what he’d always thought he wanted to be- just like everyone else. Once things came to light, and after all was said and done, Dave was so completely ostracized for who he was, he couldn’t take the pressure. One heartbreaking attempt later, and he began to realize that no matter what the opinions of others were, at the end of the day, they simply didn’t matter.

Once he had that realization, everything changed. Dave became something he couldn’t ever truly remember being- happy. He continued playing football, and passed each of his classes with flying colors. He’d always been intelligent, though allowing himself to fall fully into who he truly was lead him to the top of his class, where he graduated as Salutatorian. College was even better. He continued playing football, though he decided to major in Biology Education, wanting to have an impact on lives during a time that had been so important to him.

During college, Dave met his first boyfriend, and lost his virginity. Things didn’t work out, and that relationship was followed with a string of several others that didn’t work out, though he saw each of them as a lesson, and held no hard feelings. It was no secret that one of his exs, Blaine Anderson, was someone he fell deeply for, though it was another which simply didn’t work out. After college graduation, Dave returned to Lima. Though he hadn’t originally planned to do so, however his mother, Kathy, had fallen ill and his father desperately needed his help. He took a job at McKinley High, and moved in with his parents. After a few years, he bought his own place on the outskirts of town- a peaceful home in the woods, not too close to town but not too far from his mother. Though his mother is still going, she is very ill, and Dave still does what he can to take care of her, and to help his father with anything the pair needs.

#glee rp #atfg admin #accepted

[rigged]

131220 ‘NOW’ — GIRL’S DAY + VIXX

#mgroupsedit #femaleidolsedit #goldeneraedit #girl's day #vixx #sojin #yura #hyeri #minah #leo #hakyeon #hongbin #ken #cgifs #this set growing mold in the drafts. BE FREE

[waywardrose13]

Crimson Leaves- Chapter Seven: Calm Before the Storm

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Crimson Leaves- Zombie Apocalypse AU series

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The dead have risen. Amid a global pandemic that causes the dead to prowl the Earth, a leader of a small camp in North Carolina fights for survival. Y/N Y/L/N was certain of three things: One, only a bite would turn you. Two, the brain must be destroyed in order to completely kill the thing. Three, trust no one. When a stranger is brought to her camp half alive, Y/N must make the decision to throw him to the walkers, or let the mystery man heal within the gates. As Dean Winchester recovers from a zombie attack, he worms his way into the camp, and eventually into Y/N’s heart. Love is a dangerous game, especially when it’s played with the dead.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, language, some fluff, *Graphic depictions of gore and murder*, implied cannibalism, death

Bingo squares: None for this chapter​

A/N- This chapter was commissioned! Thank you to the beautiful individual who motivated me to write this chapter. This one is for you:)

<<Chapter Six

“Seriously?”

Y/n’s heart nearly leaped from her chest. She cursed under her breath and turned slowly to face him. Smiling sheepishly, she tried to ignore the flutters of butterflies in her chest at the sight of Dean: arms crossed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Why was an angry Dean turning her on? And why was she letting it?

“Hey, Dean,” she said. She sent him her most innocent smile, which was not reciprocated in the slightest. “Why are you up so early?”

“Because I’m a light sleeper and I heard you leave,” he replied. “Haven’t you learned from last time? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I have a list,” she said, shrugging. “People need these items and the runners can’t get them.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re personal items that people trust me with,” she said. “I have to go.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m amazing.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I’m endearing.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples. “Okay, well I’m coming with you.”

“Dean-”

“Not up for discussion. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if you were alone last time. I’m coming with you.” Dean gripped her chin and planted a quick kiss on her lips before stepping around her to open the gate. “Come on, you.”

Y/n’s lip quirked into a small smile. She slipped through the gate, Dean right behind her. “Ladies first” he had said the first time they left on a run together. She hadn’t taken it, of course. He had sauntered through the gates when she scowled at him. But now, she brushed a hand over his bicep as she passed, giving him a sly grin that he sent right back as she walked through the gates. He latched it back up and followed Y/n down the marked path before he reached out silently to intertwine his fingers with hers. She sent him a shy smile and squeezed his hand.

The sun hadn’t risen quite yet. The hints of a rosy pink bled through the trees from atop the mountain. The sunrise over the mountain-top was gorgeous. A perk of being on the east coast.

The two settled into a comfortable silence. The birds began to wake, their melodious songs echoing off the trees, creating a calming morning atmosphere. It wasn’t very humid, and the temperature wasn’t too high, so the air was comfortable, a soft wind blowing atop the mountain. With mornings like these, it’s hard to think of the death and destruction happening on Earth right now. These moments of tranquility were cherished by Y/n. She knew it couldn’t last, but she liked to pretend. 

They arrived at the Jeep in no time. Dean offered to drive, and Y/n reluctantly let him. She knew the roads better, but she was still tired, so she conceded.

“We aren’t going into Brevard today,” she said. “When you get to the fork, take a left instead.”

“Copy that,” Dean said. 

They drove in silence for the most part, one of Dean’s hands still laced with one of Y/n’s. Y/n huffed a small laugh at the thought of the last time they were outside the walls of the camp on a run. How she had been so annoyed and pissy with him. How he had called her a grade-A bitch.

Now, their hands were laced and her skin was abuzz with the feel of him. That attraction and that feeling had been there, hidden beneath denial and anger and self hatred. But Dean had set that feeling free. He had nudged open the door to her heart and let those feelings loose.

And it scared the fuck out of her.

She knew she wasn’t easy to be around. She knew she wasn’t easy to love. She knew that before the apocalypse. She had always had a temper. She was always a bit odd. She had been through some shit in her life that molded her into someone who locked away her trust and lashed out when she was hurt. 

It’s not like she wanted to be this way. A build up of unresolved trauma, the dismissal of her own feelings, and not knowing how to express her emotions in a healthy way led to it. 

So, no. She wasn’t easy to be around. It’s why most people in her life left. Even her own family had a hard time dealing with her sometimes.

“You make us all miserable.” 

It was so long ago, she couldn’t remember if it was one of her siblings or parents, but those words had stuck with her for a long time. And it stung, even after all these years. She wished she could fix it. She had always wanted to be loved despite her flaws.

She knew Dean didn’t love her. She knew the capability of someone loving her was low. But he cared for her. And he shared her affections.

She just hoped she didn’t scare him off.

The general store was nestled in yet another small town at the bottom of the mountain. The runners didn’t know about it. They traveled mostly west or to Brevard. But Y/n had come to the small town on a few occasions. It was one of the last untouched towns. Long abandoned, it wasn’t on many maps, and the general store still had many valuables to spare.

“What are we looking for?” Dean asked as they stepped inside. He closed the door softly behind him and locked it. The store was dark and full of cobwebs, dust, and leaves, but the shelves were still intact and covered in items. They weren’t full, but they had enough.

Y/n read over her list for the tenth time. “Some enemas, condoms, and hemorrhoid cream.”

Dean stared at her. “Personal. Right.”

“Told you,” she said, setting off into the isles. “Not everyone trusts all the runners. As their leader, most people entrust the more personal items with me. I think they know if they asked the runners for stuff like this, stuff that doesn’t benefit the camp as a whole, the runners would ignore it.”

“You’re a good leader, Y/n.”

Her skin warmed at his pride. “Thank you.”

They searched the store for the items, finding them all as well as a few more packs of batteries, lighter fluid, and a half empty tank of gas in the back. They poured the gas into the Jeep’s tank, stuffed all of the items into Y/n’s backpack, and climbed back into the car.

***

“That went by much more smoothly than our last outing.”

Y/n whistled and nodded, slumping down onto her couch when they got back to her cabin. They had dropped the items off at the respectable tents, dumped the batteries off at the nerve center, passed the lighter fluid off to the kitchens, and returned to Y/n’s cabin before their daily duties.

“I would say so,” she said, reaching a hand up for Dean to grab. He grinned and took it, sinking down onto the couch beside her and lifting her up into his lap. She laid her head in the crook of his neck, his hands resting on her waist and knee. 

“What do you have planned today, Lord Commander?” Dean asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’m stuck at the nerve center today. I have some role change requests and Luke and I are drafting a plan for some cabin construction.”

“Really?” Dean asked. 

“Yep. We’re growing rapidly. We’re thinking about some bunk houses, that way people don’t always have to stay in tents. There’s a man who worked construction who’s currently over in security, but he said he’d direct the building efforts.”

“That would be a lot of work,” Dean said. He peered down at her. “Where would the materials come from?”

“It would be mostly wood. Maybe some clay to help keep the logs together. But if we build a sturdy enough structure and use some of the tarps over the roofs to keep the rain from pouring in, I think we could build decent log houses. They wouldn’t be perfect, but the tents are filling up and we’re running out.”

Dean nodded at her words and squeezed her hip. “Not a bad idea.”

“Of course it isn’t. I came up with it.”

Dean chuckled. “So modest.” 

She looked up at him, their eyes locking for a moment before Dean bent down to plant a chaste kiss to her lips. 

Y/n didn’t think she would ever get used to Dean kissing her. Every time he did, she felt as if she was swept up into a new dance amongst the stars, or as if she was soaring up into the sky. Every touch sent her skin aflame and every kiss left her breathless in the best way. He was her drug, and the more of him she got, the more of him she craved.

He lifted her and laid her back on the couch, his hands warm on her hips as he held her down, skimming them up her sides. She arched into his touch and kissed him feverishly, wrapping her legs around his waist to rub against him. Groaning, he broke away from her to duck into her neck, kissing the skin there.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped as she grinded against him.

“Yes?” She asked sweetly.

“Keep doing that, and I won’t be able to hold back,” he said. She knew that wasn’t true. If she told him to leave and never come back, he’d respect her wishes. But his words still sent heat slithering to her core.

“Who’s asking you to?” 

Dean growled and nipped her earlobe. “I don’t want your first time to be us rutting against each other on your couch like a couple teenagers.” He bucked his hips into hers, though, making her gasp. “When we fuck, we’re going to do it right.”

When.

“So sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She asked. 

Dean pulled back to look her straight in the eye. “Very.”

And he kissed her again. 

This time, he pulled her up to his chest, keeping her legs locked around his, and stood. How he did that so gracefully with her wrapped around him like a koala, she didn’t know. But he carried her across the room and to her bed, where he broke apart and set her down gently.

And took a step back.

Dean laughed as Y/n sagged with a pout. She looked up at him through her lashes and reached for him again.

“You’re cruel. Come here.”

“I told you, I won't do this now.”

“You said not on the couch,” she pointed out. She snapped her fingers. “Come back now.”

Dean grinned and clasped the sides of her head, bending to give her one last gentle kiss.

“I thought you weren’t ready.”

Y/n thought for a moment. Twenty-three years of sexual frustration had built, and he was right in front of her, willing to be her outlet. And in the moment, she was definitely ready. But taking a step back…

“We don’t have to do it now. Just come lie with me.”

“I need to shower,” Dean said. He shifted uncomfortably and Y/n’s eyes flashed down to where his jeans were definitely straining against his crotch. She smirked and looked up at him again.

“Naughty boy.”

“It’s your fault, Lord Commander.” He pointed at her and shot her a wink. “Your fault.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and Y/n laughed. A warmth had spread over her chest and seeped into the deepest parts of her heart. That hole that had formed inside her, the one that had concaved in on itself when she lost her family and sunk into a survival mode that changed her and tore her very being apart, had begun to fill.

And she had Dean to thank for that.

She wasn’t in love. Of course, she wasn’t sure what love really was. But she felt herself falling. She knew she was falling. Which was ridiculous, right? It wasn’t as if she knew him very long. Not even two months had passed since she met him. Yet he was nestling into the depths of her heart and mind, rooting himself there.

Fuck was it terryfiying.

He was helping fill that empty void she always felt. But what if she lost him? What if she lost him like she lost her family? The ones who mattered most to her? She didn’t think she would be able to handle losing someone she loved again. 

And while she could easily lose herself in love, in a romance that she had wanted for so long, it wasn’t what was important. The camp was the most important thing in her life right now. She wouldn’t let feelings get in the way of protecting the camp or its people. 

Perhaps throwing herself into her work would help stow those feelings away. They would be kept at bay so she could focus, so that maybe she wouldn’t inevitably become hurt by his leaving. Because everyone in her life left. What would make him so different? He could say he wouldn’t leave, say he wouldn’t do the same thing as everyone else had. 

But every one of those people who left said the same thing, yet they still turned their backs on her.

Sighing, Y/n slumped further onto her bed, burrowing into the blankets and pressing her head into the pillow. She had been up so early that morning and exhaustion was weighing down on her. She had been working throughout the day and into the night before waking up before the sun the next day. She was beat.

As her eyes began to droop, Dean emerged from her bathroom. She peeked and eyes open and watched as he toweled off his wet hair, dressed in simple jeans and a henley. Hanging the towel on the rack before he sauntered over to the bed where Y/n was laying. He gently reached down to run a hand along the back of her head.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers lightly caressing her head, worry etched into his face.

“Yes. Why?” 

“You seem sad,” he told her. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and rested a hand on her back. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” she promised. She sat up and locked eyes with him. “That’s kind of the problem.”

He cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know how to keep myself from falling for you,” she said honestly. May as well speak the truth in the apocalypse, no beating around the bush when you could die at any moment. “I don’t know how to keep myself from getting hurt.”

Dean frowned. “Is that what’s happening here?”

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know.”

Dean hesitated but nodded briefly and looked away. “You might want to figure that out.”

“I know.”

He sighed and squeezed her hip affectionately. “I thought I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.” He still didn’t make eye contact when he added despondently, “don’t you trust me?”

Y/n’s heart thumped roughly in her chest. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do you still question my motives? Why don’t you believe anyone could love you?”

Suddenly her heart was in her throat. Love her? He couldn’t love her. This couldn't be love with him. Not yet. Maybe infatuation or attraction, but he couldn’t possibly love her. He seemed to catch what he said because his face turned red and he stiffened. 

“Because everyone always says that. They never plan to leave in the beginning.”

“Well sorry, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me,” Dean said.

“For now.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up, beckoning her to the door. “I don’t want to argue with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense if it’s true,” Y/n muttered, taking his hand. He scowled.

“That in of itself is nonsense,” he said. “But come on, let’s get some work done before we say something we regret.”

Before the two could reach the door, it crashed open, Luke’s frantic face stepping into view as he nearly fell inside with the force he used to open the door. Y/n jumped and Dean crouched into a defensive stance automatically.

“Jesus, Luke!” Y/n said. “What the hell?”

“It’s… you have to look… I don't even…” Luke sucked in breaths rapidly, his face turning ashy pale as he hyperventilated. Y/n wasted no time in moving in front of her closest friend and second-in-command, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe, Luke,” she said. “Like me. In, hold, out, good. Again.”

He did his best to match her breathing, the terror still written on his face and glowing in his eyes, body trembling. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

“The barbarians. The runners left this morning for a hunt. They hadn’t come back in time-”

“Wait, they didn’t? Why wasn’t I informed?” Y/n asked, fingers tightening on Luke’s shoulders.

“Well… Mikela thought it best if we didn’t tell you. You’re finally back to health, well for the most part. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you stare into space sometimes or forget something right after it happened. Your head is still healing and-”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” She let go of him roughly, moving to the door. “I’m still the fucking leader.”

“We need a leader who is well enough to lead. She came to me and-”

Y/n spun around to face him. He stumbled back on the look on her face. She was furious, feeling betrayed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m second in command. I didn’t think it was right so I came to you and-”

“I’m not some fucking weakling,” she snarled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, and that’s okay. You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine in a long time,” Luke said. She nearly vibrated with rage.

“I’m fine enough to lead this camp. I’m fine enough to fulfill the duties I promised to fulfill when I took this position. You are second in command, not first. Which means I am the one they come to. Not you.”

“I know,” he said quietly. He looked down at his shoes. 

“Now. What the hell happened?”

“Runners two and six went hunting this morning.”

“Sophie and Gary. I wrote the schedule,” she said flatly. Luke nodded.

“They didn’t come back. So Mikela went out with runner three, Matthew, and-and they came back but we need you. Just… come with me. I have to show you.”

Glancing at Dean for a moment, who looked back at her with equal confusion, Y/n followed Luke outside. Some people were gathered by the front gate, but the guards were holding their line firmly. The small crowd of people parted to let Y/n through.

“What happened?”

“Where’s Gary?”

“If they’re dead, I blame you!”

Y/n stepped through the gate that the guards opened for her, ignoring the shouts from the crowd. Mikela was there, face as stony as ever, with Matthew and Richard at her sides. Y/n cocked her head.

“What happened? Luke was very vague.”

Mikela jerked her head behind her and led Y/n through the trees. Clouds covered the sky, but slivers of sunlight cut through the curtain of gray and down into the breaks of the leaves. They were on alert as they walked, Matthew, Dean, and Luke trailing behind the two women as they went.

“Why is he here?” Luke asked.

Y/n glanced back at them. Dean had turned his head to glare at Luke, who tried not to look in his direction. Y/n shrugged.

“He’s going to be a guard. He needs some field experience.”

Luke scoffed. “You’re only letting him trail you like a puppy because you’re fucking him.”

Everyone stopped walking collectively. Luke had paled and taken a step back, knowing he had gone too far. Dean’s face hardened as he gripped Luke’s shirt collar and dragged him within inches of his face.

“Watch your damn mouth,” he snarled. Luke shoved against Dean’s chest hard and stumbled back as the man let go.

“Luke,” Y/n spoke calmly. He turned to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“If I hear one more word from your mouth, Dean won’t be the one you have to worry about. Speak to me or any other woman like that and I’ll boot you from your role here, and then contemplate your stay here at the camp. Is that understood?”

Luke nodded and swallowed hard. 

“Good,” Y/n said. “You’ve tested my patience enough today. Go back to the camp and stay there.”

“Yes, Lord Commander,” he said, trying to lift the spirits with her nickname. But it didn’t work, and he turned to slink back through the trees.

“Come on, we don’t have much time,” Mikela said lowly, gripping Y/n’s elbow to tug her along. They only walked for about a minute before she stopped and turned away. “Look.”

Mikela lifted her hand to point a few yards away. Y/n followed her finger and gasped in shock before she almost cried out in horror. She slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle the sounds. 

There, strung up by his neck, Gary hung from a thick branch of a tree. His eyes had been ripped from his head- dark, bloody sockets remaining. His throat had been hacked at, his clothes had been stolen, and his body had been utterly disfigured. Chunks of thigh had been cut away, one of his arms was missing.

The only way she knew it was Gary was by the tattoo on his chest, a family crest that sat over his heart. It had been cut into with a knife, an X marking it.

Y/n thought she may faint. Her knees wobbled at the sight and she quickly turned away, forcing the vomit that threatened to come up down. 

“Oh my God.”

“We haven’t found Sophie. We think it was the barbarians.”

“You’re sure?” Y/n asked. Mikela nodded and held out a piece of paper. It was crumpled and bloody. 

“This was nailed to his foot when we found him.”

Y/n took the paper tentatively, clenching her jaw as she read it.

“Thanks for the meal and for the fun. They’ll have to do until I get you back, Y/n.  -R.”

Y/n looked up at Dean, fear gripping her heart. Rick. He was still alive. 

“Why?” Was all she could say. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It has to be them, right?” Mikela asked. “R. He’s one of the guys who we fought last year. One of the guys who took you?”

Y/n nodded and folded the letter before shoving into her pocket. She cleared her throat and loosed a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, this was the barbarians. Rick. He uh… he’s threatened me on more than one occasion. He’s pissed that I got away from him again.”

“So what do we do?” Matthew asked. Y/n looked between the three of them, chewing on her lip as she thought. Sighing, she turned to the body hanging in the tree and winced.

“We have to give him a proper burial.” She took her switchblade from her pocket and put it in her mouth to hold it as she hauled herself up the tree, climbing it enough by the branches to reach the rope that held Gary hanging. She suppressed a gag at the smell of blood and decay and flicked the knife open. She sawed at the rope a few times until it gave away and Gary fell to the ground. “We’ll bury him in the cemetery with the others.”

“I’ll run back and grab a sheet or something,” Matthew said. He broke out into a run, desperate to get far away from their mutilated friend.

“Poor Gary,” Mikela said softly. “He was always so nice.”

“And what about the other one? Sophie, was it?” Dean asked. “You think they… they took her?”

“I hope not,” Y/n said. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “God, I hope not.”

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#crimson leaves #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #fanfiction #supernatural #spn #cl #zombie apocolypse au #commission

[aphroditestummyrolls]

i wrote a fairytale au moment

my country has reached a terrifying level of disarray and i am scared. so i wrote some escapism (literally) for Joe and Nicky. i was even inspired by this to write a whole fairytale au fic!!! it is long-- like, my star wars fics level of long, and im very excited about it. it feels good to be excited about something lol. 

Folks that wanted to be tagggged: @ilostmyothersock, @littlerosetrove, @antukini, @sunriseseance, and @polarcell <3333 i hope you enjoy it! let me know if you do. 

His heart pounded in his chest, the nighttime’s dewy grass sending him slipping and sliding as he darted between the trees. He didn’t dare take his usual, well-trodden path. Not tonight— not if his father had sent anyone after him. 

The gardener’s cottage was on the edge of the palace grounds, where the lush, even lawns, sculpted shrubs and elaborate floral displays gave way to the foothills of the mountains. The ancient groves of chestnut trees were wilder, monuments to the artistry of a natural, unpruned life. Silver blue moonlight shone on their trunks, guiding Yusuf’s frantic steps as he dove deeper into the woods. He had slipped out of his chamber window without a sound that night— just as he had many nights before. There were no guards stationed out this far. He’d left the last of them blissfully ignorant,  back by the last of the rose trellises— he knew it, but the urgency of tonight was twisting him into knots. He had to be sure. He had to take all precautions. 

He couldn’t live with himself if he accidentally exposed this secret. 

Finally, the endless shadowy forest gave way to a familiar clearing. The iron fist clenched around his heart loosened some, and he heaved a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

The cottage was small. The roof leaked when it stormed, and the front door had gone crooked with age, providing a gale-force draft that rattled the windows on windy nights. The stones used to build it were near as old as the trees around it, starting to crack after weathering centuries of snowy winters and sun-baked summers. 

It was small, yes. But he knew that the bed was warm, that the verdant rows of growing vegetables smelled like earth and honey under the sun’s heat, and that he felt relaxed there. It felt more like a home than the Palace of Genoa, where he was all but trapped under the constant gaze of gossiping strangers. It was even more comforting than the silks and spices of home, across the sea where his family and his people ruled. 

His father had told him that he was accompanying him to Genoa to discuss trade imports between their kingdoms. He had said that they were to spend the year solidifying their connections with the Genoese royal family, drawing up important contracts— it's time you learned a thing or two about compromise, Yusuf. 

That was what he said. 

Yusuf rapped desperately at the door, a ragged half a sob punching out of his throat when he realized that he was finally there, on the flagstone threshold of someplace warm and safe, and— 

“What’s happened? Yusuf?” The door opened to the smoldering orange light of the hearth, the brightest lantern hastily lit by the sleep-ruffled man blinking owlishly at him. “You said it would be too dangerous to meet tonight, while you met with your father…” 

Yusuf would have laughed at his sweet face, if he weren’t about to cry from relief. 

“He means to marry me to her.” He said, shaping the words outside of his panicked head for the first time. They felt too loud in the quiet night, too starkly horrible against the pristine haven of the trees. “The Princess, she—“ Yusuf choked. 

Only now did he notice how his hands trembled, the way his vision was going steadily blurrier— he blinked against the heat building behind his eyes. The summer night was cool, but not cold, yet he still shivered. He shivered until a work-rough hand took pity on him. Nicolo reached out and pulled Yusuf into him, like he had all those months ago, back when everything changed. 

He pulled him through the threshold into the cottage, the floorboards creaking and the door swinging shut behind them as Yusuf spun around to immediately throw his arms around his love’s shoulders. The fog of sleep was gone when Nico’s pale eyes locked on his, suddenly and horribly awake. A hot tear broke ranks and burned a track down Yusuf’s cheek. 

Nico made a sad little noise. It rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, a hum and a moan, the quiet syllable of no hidden in behind his teeth— like mourning. He cradled Yusuf’s face, his thumb brushing the wetness away. 

“When are you to be betrothed?” He asked, his voice hoarse, like the sentence had to be yanked out of him. 

Yusuf just shook his head, the thought of it flipping his stomach. “They intend to announce the engagement by the end of the summer.” 

Something broke behind Nicolò’s eyes, and Yusuf knew what he was thinking. They had barely a fortnight left. The arm around his waist squeezed tighter, pressing their chests flush. 

He could feel their hearts, pounding in time with each other. Usually it was a comfort, but it was a ticking clock between the two of them now. Their moments together were numbered. 

Nicolo shuffled them around after a few tender seconds— breathing each other’s air, stroking over each other’s backs, existing in shared space— and maneuvered Yusuf to sit on the edge of his bed. It was still warm, the covers rumpled. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. I just… I had to see you.” 

Nico shook his head, “No apologies, Tesoro.” He puttered around the room, stoking the fire from embers to flames before setting the kettle over the highest heat. He settled on his knees, knelt at Yusuf’s feet to study him face to face. 

He brushed Yusuf’s tousled curls off his forehead, and gazed into his eyes. His love’s eyes were a pale, silvery green, but tonight, they looked darker. In the dim glow of the cottage at night, they were bluer than usual, contrasted with the amber firelight. Yusuf leaned into his palm as it traced his hairline, down over his beard and jaw. Nico sat in silence, watching him with the gentleness of someone patient enough to watch the flowers grow. He was waiting. 

“I…” he didn’t know where to start, what to say, “She’s so… She’s so old.” 

Nico’s smile was unmistakably sad, little more than a quirk of lips, but his nod of agreement spurred Yusuf on. 

“It has nothing to do with her looks, really. She’s just so old, and so wasteful, and her gaze on me is so… I just… I understand that I’ve put off marriage as long as my father can take. But she’s 25 years my senior. Her children are my age, Nicolo!” 

He had told these things to his father— he had begged him not to go through with the arrangement, not to agree to the Genoese king’s proposal for his daughter’s hand. It’s already done, he’d said, it was arranged months ago. 

Yusuf had no choice in the matter. 

“I suppose it’s stupid that I was surprised.” He groused, his throat feeling tight and his voice thick. “It’s been so long since any of his children were more than bargaining chips to him— I’m not his son, I’m a new trade route.” 

The kettle on the fire began to whistle, but Nico was sure to take his hands and kiss his knuckles before standing up to fix their tea. 

Left to drift in his mind, Yusuf chewed his lip and floated through his memories, mentally listing the siblings that he’d lost to distant royal families. Only his eldest brother, Farouk, would never leave home. The throne was his, but what about the rest of them? What was the point of having children, of lovingly raising a family, if only to scatter them to the four winds in exchange for trade routes, dowries, and peace treaties? 

It would be different if Mama was alive, he thought with a despairing little whimper. She wouldn’t let him do this…

“Yusuf, breathe.” His love’s voice broke into his thoughts, calling him back from the tangle of his mind. A steaming mug of rosehips, mint and honey was pressed into his palm, and Nico took it on himself to mold his hand around the warm pottery. “D’you have it?” 

“If I say no, will you keep holding my hand like that?” Will you never let me go? he added silently, sure that his eyes were saying it all for him. Nico’s grip was warm and solid, and the calluses felt rough against him. It tethered him to reality, right there on his love’s bed. His pale gaze was soft and glimmering a little. Like he was going to cry. Like he couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Yusuf anymore than Yusuf could bear the idea of letting Nicolo go. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, reaching out his free hand to card into his long hair. “Don’t let them take me, Nicolo— come away with me.” 

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He didn’t mean to spring this half formed, half delirious, half perfect plan on him so soon after waking him up in the middle of the night. The words fell from his lips, unwarranted and chaotic, but suddenly he was desperate to go, run, and be free. 

Before he knew what was happening, the hot mug was lifted from his hand and Nico’s were on him, cupping his cheeks to slam their lips together. His waist was wedged between Yusuf’s thighs, his arms slipping down to wrap around him and tug his hips closer while Yusuf twined both of his hands into his love’s hair,  desperate and trembling with the need to have him as close as he could be. 

He nearly gasped with the need for air by the time they dared to pull away, but he missed his love’s lips the second they weren’t on his. Nico pressed their foreheads together, drinking in deep gulps of air, tear tracks wet on his cheeks and clumping his lashes as he fisted his hands in Yusuf’s tunic. 

Yusuf’s hands in his hair slid down to stroke gently along his cheeks, feeling the wetness and studying how it gleamed in the glow of the hearth. 

He held tight to Yusuf, fingers flexing in the fine fabric of his sleeping clothes. His jaw worked, jumping the way it did when he was holding his tongue. Everything about him was grim and elegant, as still as a statue. 

He was so beautiful, and so sad. 

“Why d’you look at me like that, Hayati?” He sighed, his own heart gripped in a terrible vice. 

Nico swallowed, lips twisted with concern for a moment before he finally sighed and said, “I cannot ask you to leave your life, Yusuf. You are of such importance—“ 

“I am the sixth child of the Tunisian King. Farouk is his heir, and he already has three children of his own. I am nothing more than a mountain pass into the north to my father. My people barely know a thing about me— to them I’m simply the handsome, unmarried oddity of the royal family. My love, you know the wealthy trappings of royal life have never been something I need— but I need a life where I am appreciated and loved for who I am! I need simple comforts and a partner to walk hand and hand with through life. I need you, Nicolo.” 

The fire crackled, and the cottage was quiet. Yusuf’s chest heaved, and tears streamed down Nicolò’s face. His bright eyes shone with a reverent light, like he had in the early days of falling in love— like he still did, in the pale morning hours when Yusuf was still half asleep by his side. It was as if he was falling in love all over again. Awestruck and grateful, his eyes looking like glimmering, full moons as he beheld Yusuf like a fallen star. 

It took a long moment for Nico to find the words. Yusuf stroked his hair, hands still trembling from the adrenaline, even as the knots in his gut began to loosen. 

“Yusuf, you…” he trailed off, rose back up on his knees and kissed him like an act of worship— firm, tender, salty with tears and trembling just as much as Yusuf was. Nico pulled slowly back, just far enough to nuzzle their noses and look him in the eyes. “I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”  

“Will you come with me?” 

“To the ends of the earth. Yes, Tesoro.” He sucked in a breath and let it out long, in a sigh that seemed to clear out all the corners of Yusuf’s cluttered mind. And then, he smiled. 

Nicolo was a man of intricate reactions. There was beauty in each and every one, but it was a private, special thing to see that broad, happy grin. 

“Drink this while it’s still hot— it’ll help your heart calm itself.” He fussed, pressing the mug back into Yusuf’s palm, and this time, he took it gladly. Nico stood to his full height, standing over him where he sat for a brief moment while Yusuf didn’t dare take his eyes off of him. Looking back down at him with the glow of something divine in his eyes, Nico bent himself down to press a soft kiss to Yusuf’s brow. 

“Well, my Prince— where shall we go?” 

Yusuf grinned back, something bright and hopeful growing in his chest. 

They had planning to do. 

********

Yusuf gazed up from where he laid in the glen, soft grass and wildflowers under his feet. The sun dappled the forest floor, streaming down into the parting of the trees where the cottage sat. Nico flickered his lips into one of his barely-there smiles as he gazed down at him where Yusuf had pillowed his head on his thigh. 

Summer was nearly done. The full, green leaves were burnished gold around the edges by the hot sunlight; the garden smelled heavy with ripe harvests and vibrant flowers; and— on the far side of the palace grounds, beyond chestnut groves and manicured lawns, and terraces— the home of the King was glittering with silk flags and banners for the harvest ball. The last days leading up to the festival were certain to be wildly busy— there wouldn’t be a single moment where Yusuf could slip by unnoticed. Nicolo would be fussing about in the palace gardens with last minute preparations from dawn to dusk. 

Usually, Yusuf would be tearing his hair out from the stress. He couldn’t stand the pomp and circumstance, the endless preparations of a ball. He spent hours per day, standing stock still and poked with pins while he was fitted for another itchy, Genoese costume. King Vincenzo was seeking out any opportunity to discipline the palace staff, and the courtiers got particularly insufferable as the long awaited date came to peacock around at the height of their finery. Even back at home, festivals were terrible, but in Genoa, Yusuf’s father had become even more strict. You are representing our kingdom! Act like it! was the most common phrase, hissed into Yusuf’s ear for the most minor infractions. He was constantly watching him, his shrewd eyes looking for any moment to say stand like royalty, Yusuf— shoulders back. 

He hated standing on ceremony and the never-ending scrutiny— but, this time was the last time. His escape was in sight. He didn’t complain a single time about the drapes of scratchy, heavy fabric piled on his shoulders, or the way standing with such rigid posture made his back ache. He took each new indignity with a smile so gracious that even his father was smiling back. 

Thinking of Nicolo made every pinprick more bearable. Lying there in the sun, eyes closed to bask in the warmth, he thought about the expertly packed saddlebags under his love’s bed. He listened to his soft humming— a tune Yusuf had only heard when he was rearing his most delicate seedlings, or on their quietest, gentlest mornings together— and the way it blended into the sounds of the birds. 

Yusuf had never felt so certain of his path. 

He was so content that he didn’t notice that the fingers twining their way through his curls had gone until they must have been missing from him for quite a while. He cracked open one eye, peering up at his love with mild accusation. Nico wasn’t paying attention to his pouting lips, though. 

Sitting up to get a better look at him, Yusuf found Nico’s deft hands full of colorful flowers. He weaved their stems back and forth, his steady gaze flicking over to Yusuf with a sparkle in them. 

“If I didn’t know you like I do, I’d have thought you’d fallen asleep.” He chuckled. 

Yusuf sat close to his side, able to look over his shoulder and study the intricate bouquet. “What a beautiful braid.” He murmured, awe in his voice. 

Some of the blooms were the small, wild ones that grew in the glen, poking out between the wide circles of bright blue coneflowers and puffs of golden orange chrysanthemums that Nico must’ve pulled up from the garden bed beside them. 

“Let me show you how?” Nico replied, phrased as a question even as he handed over his work for Yusuf’s inspection. “It’s not as hard as it looks, I promise.” He said, tiny smile tilting his lips again. 

Perhaps it was his imagination, or his own excitement, but it seemed as if Nicolò’s smiles had gotten wider, his eyes gone softer. The rod of nervous tension that always clung to his spine in the days before a ball wasn’t as unyielding and stiff. 

Nico was more at peace. He weaved the stems of his beloved flowers in, out and under each other, dutifully guiding Yusuf’s hands as he collected his own flowers. He was right— it wasn’t as difficult as it had looked. The rhythm was steady and relaxing, a balm on the last of his nerves as he tucked flower after precious flower into his braid of grass. The crickets chirped, the birds sang, and the sun fed the earth— Yusuf sat side by side with his love, and it felt right. 

“You know, I have been thinking.” Nico murmured, his rich accent nothing more than a purr into the summer breeze. 

Yusuf chuckled, knocking their shoulders together, “Dangerous.” 

Nico huffed an indignant sound, but his eyes rolled playfully when he met his gaze, “Of course, of course— thinking is only for those supremely educated, princely philosophers. How dare I—“ 

“No, no no no!” Yusuf shook out his curls, letting out a full, genuine laugh, “Tell me every thought that has ever passed through your head, Hayati— it is my privilege to be your audience.” He was grinning, laughing, cupping Nico’s sunkissed cheek and basking in the light of his eyes. “What were you thinking about?” 

Nico licked his lips, swallowing like his throat had gone dry as he maneuvered himself to face Yusuf, sitting on his knees like he had not so long ago. Something about it squeezed at Yusuf’s heart, his smile fading into seriousness as he waited. 

He carefully took and set down their braided flowers on the grass, scooping Yusuf’s hands up into his own. 

“If we are to truly leave this place, I want to do this properly.” He said, eyes clear and trained on him with an unwavering focus. “I love you, Yusuf, but I can’t promise any royal comforts, or an easy life. I have no ring or dagger to give,” his breath came out long and slow, intentionally calm even while his fingers squeezed around Yusuf’s hands. He let go, then, picking up his circlet of braided flowers to hold in his lap. “I can only promise you the kinds of beauty I can make grow. Would you…” 

His voice stuttered, his gaze dropping down to his lap and the blue flowers there, as if Yusuf was too blinding to look at. He could feel his smile splitting his cheeks, bright and unabashed, the cry of yes on the tip of his tongue, nearly jumping from his lips.

But he waited, patiently holding space for his love. He reached out and cupped his hand over his wrist, feeling his pulse race under the delicate skin, just to make Nico meet his gaze again. 

“Would you marry me, my Prince?” 

Yes. “Yes, my Gardener. I will marry you.” He replied, whispered like a secret, but more resonant and proud than anything he’d ever said. He was grinning, “Though, I’m not sure how much of a Prince I’ll be by the time we wed.” 

Nico huffed one of his little laughs, meeting Yusuf with one of his rare, open smiles as he lifted the circlet of blue and orange and braided white to rest gently on top of his curls. 

“No, but you will always be mine.” He said, swiping a tear from Yusuf’s cheek, not unlike he had done so recently, for such different reasons. It was more breath than sound, matching Yusuf’s hush. 

I’ve never been so proud to wear a crown, he thought. 

With his chest feeling expansive and warm, his cheeks hot with a pink flush, Yusuf hastily reached out for his own circlet of flowers. Their wide, fragrant petals and little sun-yellow centers felt silky under his fingers as he lifted it to Nico’s brow. 

“If I maintain such royalty, then, my husband must, too.” He replied, voice nearly lost in the birdsong. “King of my heart, my true love.” 

Nico’s face had gone soft and slack with a familiar expression— as if Yusuf was the sun itself, as if his warmth and light had singlehandedly brought him to life. 

Yusuf let himself be held as Nicolo took his face in his hands and leaned in close. He pressed his lips to his tear-stained cheek, and then the other. He peppered the smallest, gentlest kisses across the freckles on his nose, and Yusuf wrapped his hands around his love’s wrists to keep him close. The last kiss was softly, loving left on the crest of his brow bone, tender enough to bring the forest to a standstill. 

#joe x nicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #yusuf x nicolo #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #the old guard #the old guard fanfic #fairytale au #escapism for the struggling #schmoopy schmoopy sappy fluff and some tears (cuz i always make joe cry-- not sorry)

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.

#Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura #birkastan2018 #asks #my writing #WIP #sorry for talking so much #I'm sure I've mentioned it before #but I'm just an enormous nerd #who loves talking about my nerdy interests #thank you for this ask!

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

Hi! I just started reading your fan-fiction, "Adrenaline Rush" and I have to say it is VERY good. I have a question if you don't mind answering it. I am writing fan-fiction of my own and I have been pushing it off for months because I don't know where to start. For this, what was your writing process? Example: Did you write your plot first or did you write as you went to each chapter?

Hi, anon! Thanks for your very kind note and interest in Adrenaline Rush! The story has its issues/tangles, but it’s definitely been a fun and personally meaningful project for me to try writing. It means a lot to hear that you’re enjoying it! And that’s very exciting that you want to start writing as well. :)

Each writer will be different in terms of their creative process, so a part of your question involves learning more about yourself as a creator too! It’s good to know how your brain likes to work and what environment helps it hum along, which may or may not align with what works for me.

Honestly, AR’s design and development has been haphazard. For me, AR all started because I was unable to attend a nearby drag racing competition in 2018, and those races had been a pretty big staple in my life. At the same time, my head was full of Voltron shenanigans because I’d just recently joined the fandom. I was walking the family puppy when it hit me that Blue Lion, Red Lion, etc. would be good names for Top Fuel machines. I was so excited at the concept of exploring drag racing in a fic. It gave me a “race” to look forward to, along with all the drama and adrenaline that came with it. In that moment, I had enough excitement in my brain to convert the Potential Energy of my idea into the real Kinetic Energy of writing/typing.

If you have the energy but are not sure how to “start” your story, then you might consider what it means to set aside the opening or even the assumed first chapter for now. What scene/image/dialogue in your head do you really want to write right now? What happens if you just…start there, and then work backwards or forwards? Sometimes you have to get a feel for the medium you’re working with before you can really start molding the scenes and imagery into something fully formed. My first “scene” I wrote for AR was definitely not the opening one. The first story lines I wrote involved Lotor smoking a cigarette on a pro stock motorcycle, lol. I built around that image, as well as the image of a determined Allura sitting in Blue Lion, preparing to race. The desire to bring these characters and their racing machines to life really helped me hammer out that first chapter in a blur of a few days, where I puzzle-pieced scenes together. 

Other activities that can help you start a story is to look at how other authors start their stories. For example, do they start with a question, or a conversation, or a description of scenery? Do they start at the very beginning of a plot, or in the middle of action and catch you up on the details later? What kind of opening in other people’s stories most engages you? What happens to your story if you start with one element over another? What kinds of plots and story structures make you feel most engaged when you read them? What happens when you try to emulate those things? (Just questions to munch on here.)

I think it also helps to ask yourself why you want to write this story. Do you just want to explore an aesthetic that makes you feel good? Do you have a deep need to explore a certain kind of character or world? Are you hoping to get a catharsis of some kind? Is it a couple of things at once? Are you wanting to write a massive epic or just a short drabble to convey a moment in time? If you know “why” you are doing something, that can help you to know what kind of scenes to write—and what the story’s goal or vibe should be. Silly plot holes and clunky dialogue and some OOCness can be forgiven, especially in fanfic, which is a labor of love anyway—but if your story radically changes its tune or plot and no longer addresses the “why” that made you so excited in the first place, then that can alienate even you from it. Once you know what you want out of your story, then you can start plotting out all the different ways you could potentially achieve that goal. This feeds directly into the types of scenes that appear in a first chapter.

Before I started writing any actual scenes for AR, I did try to feel out more of the story by writing a promotional blurb. Like, if this were a book jacket or a Goodreads summary, what would that enticing blurb potentially look like? What was this story going to be about, aside from Lotor and Allura being pretty while they race machines, lol? I had some people in a discord who were kind enough to let me “pitch” a blurb at them to see if it would be of interest. This was my original pitch, which isn’t terribly different from the story summary as it appears on AO3 today:

The discord members were very encouraging, and so that gave me the push I needed to start writing story content, beginning with the images of Lotor smoking on his bike and Allura preparing to qualify. This tactic might not be for everyone just starting out, but writing a short promotional blurb/story summary can help you identify some initial parameters in terms of characters/conflict/setting. Having those basic parameters can then further target the types of images, dialogue, and scenes that make logical sense for introducing your story.  

If you need more structure than just free-form writing or building off an image in your head, you can definitely use an outline to help you identify scenes or images that you’d like to try working on. While AR did not start off with an outline, it does have a plot outline now to help ensure I don’t drop something important. So I started bulleting ideas, trying to stretch out the story summary to its natural/logical end point.

An outline can help you write linearly if clear, concrete structure resonates with your brain. It can give you an opportunity to “preview” how a chapter opening can affect future events before you even write them, if you’re worried about where free-form-writing can take you. If you want to use an outline, it doesn’t even have to be all that elaborate. It can just be bullet points or explanatory sentences, or pieces of dialogue. It can be notes on a poster arranged in a spider web design. It can be a collection of gifs on your computer that signify the emotions you want to simulate in the story—it can be literally anything, and it can evolve too.

Paradoxically, writing an outline has also helped me move away from having to write individual chapters in a linear fashion, which is sometimes hard for me to do over a long course of time. So readers on AO3 might experience AR as a linear story, but I have dozens of pages of future scenes or bits of dialogue that I felt inspired to write over the last few years. Like, one major scene appearing in the most recent chapter 9, which published here in January 2021—it’s been written since July of 2019, lol. Using an outline to tackle a story can empower you to follow your bliss in a nonlinear fashion. For example, sometimes I’m more in a mood to write racing, and other times, I’m more emotionally invested in writing AR’s background drama or romance. If I halfway know where I’m going based on my outline, I can switch gears to write what I immediately want to write, and then I can later sew scenes and dialogue together later in a fairly smooth fashion.The concept of writing a chapter straight from start to finish just doesn’t have to constrain me with this method, and that’s critical for me. I understand having to trudge through writer’s block for a particular scene, but I like to minimize that pain as much as possible. And sometimes moving beyond that point can remove the writer’s block entirely.

Admittedly, the original outline I wrote for AR doesn’t match 1:1 to what’s currently written. As I started actually writing out scenes correlating to those bullet points on my outline, things changed. The space between bullet point 1 and bullet point 2 expanded with additional scenes, and those additions changed the details in the original bullet point 2. So my outline has gone through several tweaks as well.

This is the “organic” slop that can occur between your true written product and your initial assumptions for where the story should go. There are going to be plot milestones that you likely have to hit in order to achieve your end-goal/correct vibe with the story, but it’s totally okay to let your characters have a voice in how they get there. You might start an outline or a story assuming Road Trip A through the city is the best way to get to the end or achieve a certain vibe, but as your characters grow in your head, they might decide for themselves that Road Trip B through the mountains is the best way to the end. Once you set a story in motion, it’s no longer just you driving it. Your characters should drive the story too. Allowing them to do that will keep you emotionally invested and interested in the story. Sometimes, your characters will even write for you if you don’t know what to write. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure I’m in control of AR—I suppose I’m the navigator with a map sitting in the passenger seat, but I know I’m not the one holding the wheel, LOL.

And while we all do hope to create something quality that we’re immensely proud of, I do think it’s important to keep G.K. Chesterton’s thought in mind: “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” In other words, the desire to create something immediately perfect with minimal effort can keep you from doing anything at all. It’s better to accept a messy first draft and to know you may have to revise later, than to sit in fear and end up writing nothing. And sometimes, your brain needs physical content to react to before you feel you’ve found the best option. Like, just getting content down to start with can change your whole perspective. You can revise and mold things as you get a better feel for what you want to convey. There’s always draft 2 for structural changes. Or draft 3 or 4 for polishing and getting a satisfying first sentence down. There’s no pressure to crank out a Pulitzer Prize Winner on a first draft or even after you publish something to a fanfic archive. This is fanfic. It’s supposed to be fun, at the end of the day. Let yourself enjoy the process of messy creation. Let your characters help you out. Don’t be afraid to revise or try out a few different things get to the vibe/end you really want. To do is to know.

If you’re still not confident in yourself or your abilities to make a critical design decision, you can always engage a beta reader or have someone listen to your ideas. Talking things out loud or reading your work out loud to yourself can help you process creative decisions in a new way! There’s also a significant difference between typing on a computer or writing things down on paper. Typing on a computer can take away the fear of permanence, while writing things down on paper can slow you down and make you experience each word more fully.

So I guess to wrap all of this up: I have a pretty fluid process, and I’m more worried about not creating at all than I am about screwing it up. Even a screwed-up work can teach you something and help you get somewhere better next time. And if you had fun making it, then maybe it wasn’t a screw-up at all! I really encourage you to soul-search on what gives you joy or excitement regarding this fic idea you have, and to hold on tight to that joy as you begin translating images in your head or outlining plot points, or something in between.

I hope something from this response helps you! <3

#Voltron #VLD #Adrenaline Rush #Fanfiction #Fanfiction writing #writing #writers of tumblr #writeblr #lightning rambles #it's hard to know how to start something #but it can be rewarding to jump into the challenge #I believe you can do it! #Best of luck on your first steps with writing fic!

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

I just thought of this what would your characters be doing in lockdown? what kind of stuff would they do to answer the time? who would be isolating with who?:and what kind of face masks would they wear? :)

APPARENTLY I have been really great lately at just leaving asks in my drafts?? I’m so sorry I’m so late on this!

This is interesting! Let’s answer for the Feeding Habits gang. Harrison and Lonan would certainly be isolating with each other, and if they were ~smart, probably also Suzanna in her apartment lol because she cooks and is v cool <3 I wrote a paragraph that was me literally projecting quarantine onto my characters just to make them suffer a bit and this really outlines their hobbies I think:

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves on the stove while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna molds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically, becoming a person only in brief casts of night. Conversing with his limbs only: wrists to another set of wrist, knees to another set of knees, the only time he is not alone when another body joins him, their movements like writhing mackerel. Otherwise he lies alone. So it should not be a surprise when on the morning he finally rises for more than a moment to care for the dog, Suzanna and Lonan do something together. This is expected.

as for what kind of face masks if we’re talking like mask coverings (idk why my first instinct here is beauty face mask ha) Harrison would use disposables idk why but he gives me those vibes (did I just call Harrison disposable OOPS), Lonan would wear black masks ONLY as your local emo boi, and Suzanna would go all out with the patterns. She is making STATEMENTS.

#asks

[fmdjaewonarchive]

► run away.

date(s): december 2020 mentions of: n/a word count: +/- 1.7k words (+/- 1k words w/ lyrics on songwriting, +/- 700 words on the composition) warnings: mentions of anxiety and general mental health problems details: full lyrics and full composition verification for run away, 2/3 verifications for jaewon’s upcoming album escapism. jaewon tries to prove he’s capable of writing music that’s worthy of the titletrack status and in doing so tries to branch out from what he’s used to, blending together what he knows works for him uncharted territory. all in all, things could have gone worse (a/n: i don’t know shit about composing pls take all of this with a grain of salt.)

by default, park jaewon is a creature of habit, prefers to find one set way to do things that works for him and deviate as little as possible from that. he likes certainty and avoiding unnecessary risk, anything to leave as little room for error as possible. making mistake might be a learning experience but not with how dead terrified jaewon is of doing things wrong, how he doesn’t know how to face failure without it determining his entire sense of selfworth. 

songwriting is no different from that. most of the time jaewon writes, it’s structurally planned, deadlines and expectations to be met firmly in place, his work method like clockwork, almost mechanical. it doesn’t sound very profound, it definitely doesn’t suit the mental image most people have of the turbulent, disordered creative process of a real artist. not like jaewon can bring himself to care about whether or not his songwriting methods are deemed deep or profound enough in the eyes of other people, he had better things to care about.

like the album dimensions wanted him to write on short notice.

not that jaewon is complaining, everything but, getting his creative freedom back, it has been a long grueling process to get to this point but he is on a bit of a time crunch here. ‘our songs’ has only ended a mere couple of days ago but with a tentative release date of late winter to early spring, jaewon has his work cut out for him.

in such a time crunch, it makes sense to stick to his usual routine, go with what he is used to.

except jaewon doesn’t.

maybe ‘our songs’ has him feeling experimental for once, maybe he doesn’t want to risk falling victim to not only old habits but also old pitfalls, he’s not really sure what it is but for once, he starts with the lyrics.

that shouldn’t be very remarkable, not for most artists, but jaewon has already religiously stuck to his order of first creating an instrumental and then fitting his lyrical content to it rather than the other way around, starting from zero on that is quite the step, for him at least.

this song, it’s supposed to be title track material, to set the tone for the entire album straight away. if he gets this right by both his own standards and dimensions’, he gets to more or less free range on crafting this album to his liking. and to jaewon, lyrical content has always outweighed sound, as nice as a good beat is, it’s the content of a song that he identifies with, that he feels proudest of.

so writing a song about a breakup doesn’t seem evident.

run away, back off from me run away, far away from me

because that’s what it seems to shape up to be at first glance when he starts writing, themes of heartache, putting distance between yourself and your lover because as much as it might hurt on short notice, it will be the better option long term. and maybe it’s about that too, life isn’t clear cut one thing or the other so why should music be.

but it isn’t primarily that. 

because the urge to run away isn’t an unfamiliar sensation to jaewon, it’s the thrum of anxiety under his skin, the voice in the back of his mind keeping him hyper aware of how awful of a person he is, how he fails those around him. 

at the end of the day, that’s what he wants to run away from most.

if there is anyone he wants to take as much distance from as possible, it’s himself.

go away so you get out of my sight let me forget everything from your name to your face so that when I’m looking for you while i’m drunk i can’t recognize you even when you are right up close i will give up while i am looking

so maybe it is a break-up song. it’s undoubtedly a break-up song. but not about breaking off from other people.

it’s cutting ties with his past self, who he has been, with the years bitterness that have culminated in hurtful habits and patterns. 

i will run away first along the torn shapes before sadness will take place and harden up i’ll run away

he’s not broken away from them completely yet. park jaewon would never have to gal to call himself a good person, it would be a bald-faced lie. but even he has to admit that there has been progress.

he might not be there yet but it’s something. that gets to be said as well right? it’s been a gruelling process so far, he gets to celebrate the small victories.

it reminds him of when he wrote ‘rebirth’ for his first album, almost two years ago at this point. back then, ‘rebirth’ had been a starting point, the turn around to doing better. sure, he wasn’t at the finish yet but he had moved forward, that was something.

something is good, a lot better than he has gotten a lot of previous years.

that in itself made it worthy of its own song really.

you’ve gone a long way into thin air the sun has gone down without looking back even once

finishing the first draft feels like a burden relieved, a weight taken off his shoulder as he has gained the perspective to reflect back on what has been.

his flaws are still plenty, he could never deny that. jaewon doubts he’ll ever grow out of all of them, some parts carved into his personality that he doubts he’ll ever be able to take them out. 

but for now he’s still moving forward, still growing and everyone past scar healed over is one, one step closer to finding some semblance of peace within himself, within his own person.

all he has to do is keep running.

---------------

with a rough draft of the lyrics done, he still needs an instrumental and for that, he trades the comfort of his home studio for one of the more richly equipped ones in the dimensions headquarters. it feels a bit silly to make a distinction but jaewon always prefered writing from home and composing from within the company building, both surroundings better tailored to a different part of the creative process. or well in his experience at least.

it takes some fumbling, the kind of awkward stumble that comes with deviating from old habits and making up a plan as one goes. matching melody to lyrics rather than words to melody are most definitely not the same thing but just reversed, jaewon quickly learns the hard way, especially not in a rap track where really, the flow can make or break the whole thing.

so it’s a bit of a struggle, the first few hours fiddling around with sounds and beats that ultimately lead to nothing, that turns out he doesn’t know how to mold to his lyrics in a way that leaves him satisfied.

but like with most things in life, there is a learning curve. with every bit he scraps, he comes closer to the sound he’s actually searching for. 

and jaewon makes a genuine effort to branch out, try something new for a change. much like his lyrics, his usual composing also falls victim to sticking too closely to what he’s familiar with, deep, muted sounds to convey the somber undertone of his lyrics, a slow drawl to instrumental, mainly focussing on drums and bass lines, moody and dark.

so this time, his instruments of choice are synths. different types of synths at different points, trying his best to branch out, create an instrumental that’s fun and surprisingly at all turns but in essence, when one dumbs it down, the main theme is truly just… synths.

that’s not a bad thing, it is breaching out of his comfort zone for sure. funnily enough, the more he works on it, the more the instrumental reminds him of something that could have been on his previous album. ironic, considering jaewon spent the better part of the year loathing ‘love language’ with every fiber of his being. 

looking back on it with a fresh perspective, jaewon has to admit that while he didn’t like the music for himself, far too flashy and corny. but in terms of playing around with the composition and production, whoever had worked on that album (jaewon doesn’t know, it sure wasn’t him) was a lot more creative than he was.

surely he can do something like that on his own devices as well right? surely he can branch out from his typical song structure and prove he’s grown as a composer.

the bounce of the synths and the bass has a cosmic feel to it, the flow of the song twisting at every turn where sections bleed into another with bells and trinkets attached to the transitions. 

for added effect, jaewon records the whistling curling around the edges of the verses that ties them to an end before shifting into the chorus himself, by the time he’s done putting them through editing it doesn’t sound all that human anymore, morphed into something more surreal sounding, blending into that not-quite terrestrial vibe that seems to arch over the song. 

the drop in the chorus is hardly creative, jaewon doubts a beat drop can still be at this point but it does add to the immersion of the song, like getting your head dunked in a bath of ice water, stripping down on the whimsical rhythm patterns laced through the verses and stripping down to raw desperation of the song, the harrowing undertone of running for your life.

he adds bits and pieces like that, layer by layer, until the song itself sounds just as meticulously thought out as the lyrics rather than just a bare structure built underneath them.

when he gives the draft a final reason before sending it off to the creative department, jaewon can’t help but think he never created something that sounds so complete before.

#fmdverification #*:･ﾟ♛– «filled with all these empty moments» // solos. #//only one left thank the fucking heavens #anxiety tw #mental health tw #«escapism // era.»

[writemoment]

Failing Flirt

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: She wasn’t used to growing affections, Jaskier wasn’t inexperienced but he was rather untalented at showing his feelings, and Geralt was tired of it all.

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Mostly fluff, maybe second hand embarrassment if you squint.

Word Count: 2,163

A/N: With everything going on with the virus, I figured I might as well post some of my drafts that have already been finished. I’m working on more! Hopefully I can get a few series finished over the next two weeks. Thanks for being patient! xx

( Reader ) P.O.V.

When I had agreed to travel with the Witcher and the bard, Jaskier had played off their need for a healer with much exaggeration. “I mean- you can tag along but Geralt can take care of himself.” That’s what he had said.

Since then, I have used chaos to heal not only Geralt but also Jaskier many times. The more they played off their need for assistance, the more they seemed to need it. Though, I was not one to brag about this. I was more than content to be a part of something bigger than the life I had been scraping by.

However, as the days turned into weeks, I had fallen into a rhythm of friendship, or mutual acceptance according to the Witcher, with my colleagues. These types of dynamics were something I hadn’t much skill or experience in.

How was I to know the difference between friendly banter and awful flirting?

Jaskier and I got along the best. Though Geralt and I could have decent and meaningful conversations underneath the fall of the night. Jaskier was the delightful opposite of your everyday Witcher. He was loud, obnoxious, didn’t know how to take a breath in between talking and, man, did he love to get smack dab in the middle of where he doesn’t belong.

It was a stark contrast to your quiet, all-brooding Witcher whom of which spent most of his free time complaining to Roach. That or yelling at the bard to shut the hell up. Yet, this somehow made up a family-like scenario for me. I could even get Geralt to crack a smirk at my lame jokes on occasion.

But the closer I got to Jaskier, the more flustered I became around him. I know of his past dalliances with court women and others-alike, but I was very inexperienced and unprepared in this territory. Romance had no place in the life of someone who had to use every moment to survive. Finding this unlikely pair had been the first breath of fresh air I had in a long while.

One night as we were eating at our camp, the fire blazing to chase the chill away, Jaskier said from beside me, “Y/n, you are like the flames in which set in front of me. I can’t stand to look at you for too long.”

Geralt huffed and, almost as if being just as exhausted at us, Roach snorted derisively. My brows furrowed at the bard as he looked uncomfortably at the ground. “Uh, I’m sorry to hear that, Jaskier.” I replied, but my tone set it up as more of a question.

A moment lingered before I had bid them both goodnight, retracting to my tent. As I settled in to rest, I heard a groan followed by Geralt’s gruff voice saying, “Nice going, bard.”

Ever since then, Jaskier has been saying things of a similar nature. All of them easy to misconstrue one way or another. Despite his odd behavior, I continued to seek out his company any chance that I could. I felt pulled to him, like a bond between our destinies, as if his soul were meant to be melded with mine. 

Finally reaching the village, we pad behind Geralt into the streets. Jaskier the ‘dandelion’ bard was almost as recognizable as the ‘white wolf’ Witcher of Rivia. His ballads painted the tales of awe and woe, of adventures and horrors alike. The valley’s rang with the people singing his work from far and wide.

We quickly spot a tavern for us to rest in for the next few days while Geralt finds work. The sound of clanking pints and drunken jeers are familiar as we slither in past the occupants. Taverns all tend to have the same musty aroma mixed in with the scent of earth and stale sweat. It’s a common occurrence to travelers like us. Not that it makes it any better.

While getting our rooms, a man fidgets over to the Witcher with hushed words. I get the gist of it; another monster in need to be reckoned with. Jaskier floats about as if he just received the gift of a lifetime, “Let us go and slay thy beast!”

“Us? Would you like me to let you take care of this one?”

Jaskier backpedals, hard. “Oh, I- You wouldn’t let your most best friend in the whole wide world get hurt, now would you, Geralt?” But he’s only met with a grunt of a hum from the Witcher. “Geralt?”

With a light chuckle, I grasp Jaskier by the arm and drag him along to follow. Being in contact with him like this causes my pulse to race. I hardly want to let go. He grabs my hand that has a fist-full of his garment bunched up in it and loosens my hold. Slowly, my fingers fall against his own and together they fold over each other.

The tips of his fingers are hard and calloused, obvious traits of being a musician. What’s unexpected is how soft and warm his palm is as it’s pressed up against mine. It molds with my own in a way that I could never explain in it’s complexities of perfection. The feeling draws a shiver down my spine.

Jaskier doesn’t let go of my hand, he just continues to hold it. Nervously, I attempt to look anywhere but at the man beside me. That’s how I spot Geralt glancing back at us with a raised brow. Embarrassment strikes me and I yank my hand away, coiling it into my abdomen as if to quell the eruption of butterflies.

Instant regret tugs at me as the cold replaces the warmth of his embrace. I feel so bad about it, I can’t even bring myself to look at him. So we walk in Jaskier-esque silence. Which translates to an occasional ramble as the opportunity presents itself but not as much talking as you would normally get out of the bard.

Geralt pauses outside the location he was given, telling us to wait for him here. There’s nothing much more to do, really. One thing I’ve come to really admire over these past months is Jaskier’s blind faith in the Witcher’s ability to be to stubborn to die. Time and time again I’ve been proven that it’s a fairly reasonable belief. Besides the handful of times one of them have almost died due to that faith. But I suppose destiny has continued to side with them.

Being left alone with Jaskier feels different now. On the verge of uncomfortable. My ache to be near him is combated with the pure horror of making another mistake. It was a conundrum.

“Did I burn you?”

My eyes jump up to meet his pale blue orbs, “What?” I question. We were surrounded by nothing but earth and a mild heat from the sun. Nothing to cause any, if much, damage.

His jaw clenches in, what I can only assume is, frustration. “You sure whipped your hand away fast enough. You either got hurt or I’m about to be.” He purses his lips, brows furrowing. “So which is it, Y/n?”

The words tumble in my head, knocking into my ability to form coherent sentences that portray what I want to say; how I feel. Inhaling, I try to gather my courage to bare my soul to him. 

“Life as a mage has ingrained in me many things. All these years, I’ve learned the art of give and take. Everything has a price in my world, Jaskier. If I were to be painfully honest, I’m afraid that if I give a part of me to someone... I don’t know how much they will take.”

I stare into his eyes and I see my own vulnerable reflection staring back. “I can’t afford to lose.” It’s the truth. My entirety is built upon giving only enough to survive. To give my heart, my whole self, to someone would be a risk. It’s a luxury that can’t be had to people like me.

I hate the pity that swirls behind his expression, hate the way I care about how he thinks of me. It hurts to be so close to him and yet, feel so far. The unknown is a dangerous lover to destiny. You can never be too sure that one won’t hold the other.

“Y/n, I-”

Geralt returns, effectively cutting off Jaskier’s sentence. The Witcher is covered in a thin layer of blood and heavily coated in his signature irritation. He grunts at us as he obviously couldn’t care less about the conversation he interrupted. Silently, we follow his trek back to the tavern where he will collect what he’s owed and we can rest for the night.

At this point, feeling heavy with exhaustion and clouded with gloom, the idea of sinking into the stiff mattress of my room sounds inviting. That’s all I can focus on as we walk in true silence. Chaos is an element in which I’ve learned to control, though I sometimes wonder if that’s a cruel punishment from this world. What’s the point of being powerful if everything around me is spiraling?

When the tattered building is in view, I pick up my pace. I had been falling a ways behind the white wolf but now I’m almost stepping on his heel to get where we are going. Of course he’d take notice of this.

Holding the door open, Geralt allows me to sweep past him. It’s as if I’m on autopilot; marching up the stairs to my quarters, dressing for the night and sinking onto the edge of the bed.

I’m not one for self-pity. There’s nothing to be done but accept what you’ve been dealt. Though the cards I’ve been given have been nothing but rubbish. I wonder if Jaskier and I could work through this, if we could remain like we have been in the past. If not, then I’d have to revert back to the life I lead before.

Knock-knock-knock

Three taps. Three perfectly timed raps are placed upon my door. They’re so distinct and unexpected that they break me from my self-absorption. I’m up and opening the barrier in a flash, eyes searching for the cause to the interruption.

“Jaskier...”

He stands on the other side looking a bit sheepish. “May I?”

Standing aside, he waltzes into the room and I shut the door behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” There’s a lingering awkward that hangs between us and it makes my skin prick with unease. 

For a moment, I doubt the bard will say anything or if he’s even heard me. It all tumbles forth from his rosy lips so fast, I don’t have any time to prepare myself for what they mean. “I know you said that everything has a price and the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t deny that truth.

“You’re afraid of the price you’ll pay for loving someone, but you shouldn’t be afraid of loving...me.” With every breath he takes a step closer, “Because I can’t promise to know what the future will hold or that we won’t lose some along the way, but I can tell you that I believe destiny has us bonded. I can tell you, without a doubt, what you would gain if you allow me to have your heart.”

I can feel his breath on my lips, fanning over the curve of my cupids bow. “What would that be?” I insist.

“My heart.” Everything inside me lurches as his lips capture mine in the sweetest embrace. The taste pulls every cobwebbed emotion from my depths and I willingly surrender to him. Because this exchange, this give and take, is one that I would gladly partake in with confidence.

His name tumbles from my lips like a mantra. I can’t get close enough to him to satisfy this hunger that’s growing inside. My very breath seems a burden in this show of affection. “I love you, Jaskier.”

It’s a whisper. Those words float between us and I can only pray he’ll catch me as I fall. His lips stretch into a wide smile, eyes lighting up with giddiness. “I love you, too.”

Here in this room, our hearts pressed up against one another’s, I feel at peace. This bard has plucked at my heart strings for so long and finally, we are in tune.

The next morning, Jaskier and I walk out hand in hand. Geralt watches us with a vaguely amused expression. “Geralt of Rivia! What a fine morning it is!” Jaskier announces, prancing about and dragging me with him as I smile widely.

Geralt’s lips turns up into a smirk, “It’s about time you two figured it out.” 

Laughing, I shake my head at them. Destiny or not, venturing into the unknown with these two makes the risk seem all the more worth it. Besides, our fate is still to be made.

Masterlist Here

A/N: I love Jaskier. That is all. - Ellie-Mae

#jaskier x reader #dandelion #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fandom #jaskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #the white wolf #netflix #the bard and the witcher #fanfiction #fanfic #ellie-mae #jaskier fluff #jaskier fic #julian alfred pankratz #joey batey #reader insert #reader x jaskier #dandelion x reader #fandom #multi fandom #jaskier imagine #the witcher fic #covid 19 #coronavirus #a fic for isolation #fluff fic #slight angst #jaskier

[audiopilot]

Snippet: Remanence Chapter 5

Here is a small preview of the next chapter, which is still in the initial rough draft stage at the moment. I hope to get out the next update in a few weeks. I usually go through 20 drafts before I’m satisfied lol. 😅

This chapter will justify the explicit rating and also warrants a new tag that I’ve already added to the story. There will be more tags added as I update the following chapters... I don’t want to add them just yet since I don’t want to spoil anything. It’s not anything you wouldn’t see in game, but if you need to be warned please feel free to message me privately!

There was no gate and no campfire. Fog clouded the air around him, ambient with some unknown light and so thick he could barely make out his hand when he waved it in the air. It swirled around his extended arm only to settle back into a pale nothingness. However, he could see the faded pavement underfoot. It was the only sign that he had materialized to an actual place and, with nothing else to do, Jake picked a random direction and walked.

Though he had been healed by his exit from the trial, he absently rubbed at his chest where the knife had sunk deep. Underneath his jacket, there was solid muscle and bone, but he swore he could still feel where it had punctured through only to slice him apart when Myers had removed it.

He hoped Laurie had taken the chance to flee. Based on past trials together, she was adept at evading killers even when things were at their worst. It wasn't a strange choice to die to give another survivor the chance to escape, but it was the first time he had done it for her. From the accounts shared over the campfire, he knew she had gotten out of stickier situations.

Jake also couldn't help but wonder how his dying had translated through the bond for her brother. Myers was unaffected by the pain Jake experienced, but was he immune to even death?

When he pushed fingers under his returned scarf, the skin was still raised but no ache lingered. From touch alone, Jake could tell it had scarred over instead of disappearing. It was possible the second bite had allowed it to finally heal at the same time it turned shared senses into shared memories.

A heavy sensation oozed down into the pit of his stomach. What was next, shared thoughts? The boundary of where Jake ended, and Myers began was already eroded thin. Jake recalled the unseen hands on and under his skin.

How did Myers even know how to do any of this? Instinct or accident, he was able to do things with the bond that should have been impossible.

As he wandered without seeing anything for what seemed like hours, Jake switched directions enough times that he was likely going in circles without realizing it. If he had chalk, then he could have marked his path. Or even dropped toolbox scraps and tools like crumbs. Unfortunately, he had appeared as empty-handed as he'd been in the trial.

There was thin comfort in that the fog couldn’t go on forever—the entity would call him for a trial eventually. Unless he had gone straight into another. If it was then he should have run into the killer, a survivor, or at least a structure by now.

As if summoned by the very thought, a dark shape rose out of the mist. It was angular, growing bigger as Jake approached to take on the shape of a square house.

Jake’s steps faltered as he recognized the long front porch, then stopped entirely when he saw the familiar realty sign out front. The Strode house. He was in Lampkin Lane, though there were no sidewalk, trees, or any other houses. The wooden steps up to the porch were even missing, foundation bare like the entity had ripped the house from its street and forgotten the rest.

And there was a door.

Hopping up onto the porch, Jake examined it up close. It was a simple screen door and gave way to his touch easily despite the high whine from stiff hinges. A variation? But then it should have been locked. None of the trials had ever held working doors, only impassable decoys or vacant doorways.

Something was not right.

The inside was dark, light bulbs dead and the sparse furniture casting threatening outlines from the meager outside light. Jake considered wandering back into the fog, but, despite his unease, he felt no eyes on him.

His boots echoed slightly in the hallway. The screen door closed behind him with a loud bang. Jake listened intently for a reaction from within the house as his eyes adjusted. There was only silence. He was alone.

There was no basement behind the stairs, the small alcove almost black with its window boarded up. Figuring out the entity’s reasoning was sometimes a lost cause, but Jake had to be here for a reason. It wasn’t on the bottom floor, so Jake went to the stairs. Memories of the last time he had set foot in this house followed his every step. At the top, Jake noticed another thing changed: the hallway pictures held framed photos.

The first was from a wedding, the bride and groom embracing with warm, happy grins mirrored on their faces in black and white. The lace of the bride's veil was blown back from an apparent breeze and white confetti dotted the groom's suit. They were both dark-haired and he searched their faces for some hint of Laurie. The shape of the bride's forehead was similar, maybe.

The next picture was a faded school photo of who he recognized as Judith despite the blotches of mold creeping over it. As he watched, the dark spots seemed to deepen and grow. He quickly moved on to the last.

Five were posed together in a yellow-tinted family portrait. The parents were on the left with a baby held in the father's lap, face scrunched up as if in mid-laugh. She had to be Laurie though the chubby-cheeked baby held little resemblance to the solemn woman he knew. Judith stood on the right and in front of her was a blond boy. While the others all had varying smiles, his face was blank. He looked... too normal, staring out from the photograph with no hint of what waited beneath.

Michael.

With his gloved thumb, Jake rubbed away the fine dust to better study his face. He tried to imagine what he looked like grown. Was he still blond like Laurie or had his hair darkened to be like his parents' and Judith's? Did he look like his father or more like his mother?

He had brown eyes.

For too long he stayed there, trying to reconcile the little boy with a person who could murder his own sister. The revelation of what Myers looked like should have been startling yet Jake was only vaguely unsettled. After the shared memories he'd expected something else.

He moved on to the rooms. There was no generator, all empty save for one where the bare, dirty mattress lay. He could check the back porch…

Jake caught it as he turned: light flashed from the corner of the room.

Bending down, Jake realized it was a small mirror. His reflection was divided by a deep gouge across its center. All around it were the shattered pieces of another mirror and what looked like broken pieces of rock. The weird collection was spread carelessly across the ground, as if its owner had cast them in a pile without regard for their fragile nature. Or it was just random debris. One shard was bigger than the rest and its broken point looked sharp enough to cut. Its smooth surface vibrated between his fingers when he picked it up.

Maybe not garbage. Jake put in his pocket, careful not to cut himself or his jacket. Standing, Jake took one last glance to see if there was anything else useful before facing the door.

He blinked.

A dead rabbit was nailed to the wall, stomach split open from neck to tail to expose the empty hollow of its body.

“Okay then,” Jake whispered as he drew closer to examine it. As if the situation couldn’t be stranger. The only animals he’d seen were the entity’s crows and the cows hung on the hillbilly's farm that didn't look quite right, but the rabbit looked real enough despite being dead. Its mouth hung wide, exposed teeth dark with dried blood. There was no smell and no signs of decay on its grey fur. The cut was clean and even, organs missing though there were still bones and muscle underneath the fur; it had been gutted but not skinned.

Leaving the gruesome decoration where it was suspended, Jake left the room only to jerk to a stop by the inward wrench of the bond suddenly growing stronger.

Myers was here and he was close.

#fic #ferromagnetism series #dead by daylight #jayers #dbd fic

[mikenips]

Bob Dylan by Iggy and the Stooges

*zniffff*  “I always thought introductions were overrated.”  Pinch the bridge of my nose as I lift my head from the dirty mirror.  Jostle my nostrils between my chipped paint on cracked fingernails.  The ash falling from my half burnt Camel.  “It always seemed more real gettin’ to know somebody through observation.  Just bein’ there.  Ya know?”  The mass of half working guitar pedals blocking the gunked up view of myself in the mirror.  Recycled mass of vomit culture drippin’ in bell bottoms and Hawaiian shirts.  I never really asked Ig Byrd Brother and the Sweetheart of the Rodeo about themselves.  Just knew they moved up here from Florida.  But knew by the fuzz they reverberated in my bedroom during shows, they knew what I meant when I said this.

See.  I had worked myself into this delusion my senior year of high school, I had to write the next great American semi-autobiographical existential crisis.  I’ve written anthologies of half-baked drafts of this.  Whether they be spoken into a tape recorder in my living room.  Or scrawled on a pad of Tops rolling papers.  But never got more of an inkling of characters.  Characters facing this same dead end cliff hanger I’ve had waking nightmares of.  And maybe because I never took the time to get to know them.  Ask them about themselves.

But Keourac did that shit.  I figured it would only be a matter of time before one of us figured out how to write it down.  He saw what was happening before his very own glossy, bloodshot eyes.  He was able to scribble that feeling into the margins of a fuckin’ scroll.  And that was somebody’s kid.  As much they didn’t want it to be.  It could be anyone of us that immortalized this brief splice of life, exposose of space and time and the whole damn continuum.  Somebody just needed to be there to document it.

So that’s what I set out to do.  Document this shit.  Document the trees growing through the brick of mildew drenched basements we go into for the sake of tone.  Ballsy enough to walk up to an insect and smash it with our bare hands.  Document the struggles of rolling a piano down a pothole filled alley.  Document the rides home from a friend when we trip down the Lynchian rabbit holes of our psyches.  This is what we fuck up our sleep schedules for!  Cause all the pieces were there to jigsaw it back together.  The vague glimpses of beauty in each other's humanity.

Maybe I just never had the free time to sit at length with myself.  Just exist with myself.  And come to terms with the cliffhanger at the end of my own road.  Maybe it was just my own fear keeping me from doing it.  But maybe I just never got to know the character’s enough.  Never took the time to ask them about themselves.  And get to know them beyond the vague glimpse of beauty I saw in all their humanity.  How do you write a character’s ending when you haven’t even gotten to know them yet?  Or if they’ve even gotten to know themselves.  How do you write the ending when the story is still happening before your very own glossy, black hole pupils?

At the end of the day.  We’d all prefer not knowing the ending instead of being let down by the sudden cliffhanger at the dead end of the road.

How well can you really get to know someone when you only get the perspective from your window and not their eye view?

“I’m just merely observing.”  Baby Audobahn the Mad Organ Grinder says this setting down a glass of home brewed yerba.  Sparking a joint behind his synth dungeon.  The son of the professor that got me looking at the world through a different camera.  (And that joke only lands if you knew he was my film teacher. Because you don’t really know me yet.)  “I don’t know the answers.  I’m just observing.  Just like you are.”  The last of the scene not to be crippled by nicotine addiction.

Him and his roommate got me listenin’ to a lotta Neil Young records.  “Everybody knows this is nowhere...”  Neil’s voice warbles in my head as we smoke DMT on the beach.  Trespassing under a boardwalk with a smiley face painted on it.  During the pandemic of 2020.  The whole world currently on lockdown.  But we’ve been frozen at the border of nowhere and infinity for a while now.

We’re rippin’ molded wood from the roots of concrete trees to build our own isolation booth.  Lightnin’ bugs in the house, our only light to the outside world.  A room to be alone with the sounds and screams we make into the void.  Hoping someone replies.  Or there’s at least a slight echo.  That we aren’t the only ones observing we’re trapped.  No matter how many brilliant ideas we attempt to make this absurdity mean something.  Anything!  We don’t need an answer.  Just the observation there’s another isolation booth screaming in the void too.

“I don’t wanna know the answer to that…” the Guilty Undertaker ashes into the piano from 1943 while taping the entire experience on a Fostex.  A contraption I still wish was more than just a robot to me.  Anything made before 1990 was meant to double as an ashtray.  “Ignorance is bliss, yeah I like where I’m at.”  They sing this song behind a new pair of sunglasses after shattering the old lens with a drunken foot.  Shoelaces tied back together.  And hearing this vocal track is comforting.  It’s reassuring.

It doesn’t matter if anyone else ever hears that reel.  It doesn’t matter if it was documented or not.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a scroll of amphetamine folklore we taught ourselves.  A 4chan urban legend.  Or anything else.  It doesn’t matter if the cliffhanger is the end of the story.  Or if “On the Way There” is it’s own destination.  It doesn’t matter if we can even get the answers.  At least we know we’re not alone.  And there’s a couch to crash on nearby in case a closed bedroom starts to feel like an isolation chamber.  Freezing us in a moment of just merely existing.

We might all just be characters in our own semi-autobiographical existential crisis.  Inconsistent.  Incomplete.  Our own gunked up reflection in somebody else's dirty mirror.  But through the coke and fuzz pedals.  Seeing fractal trace visuals of our own beautifully fragmented glimpse of humanity.  The validation isn’t that somebody else reads our novel.  Hears our screams.  Or sees our mirror.  Just that they too, like us, are trapped in their own lens of unassuredness.  After all, it’s not our fault some fish decided to step outta water and now we’re all just vague inklings of characters to some nervous breakdown.  Struggling to pay rent and make sense of it all.  At the same damn time!  We’re all just waiting for Ashton Kutcher to wholesomely flashback us to the 2000s and yell “punk’d!” on the cruel prank of existence.

“I don’t know.”  *znifff*  “I think that’s all I’m tryin’ to say.  Or at least all I’ve ever wanted to try to say.”  Pinch the bridge of the nose.  Jostle the nostrils in the cracked paint on cracked fingernails.  “Maybe I’m just trippin’ too hard.”

#psychedelic vomit #intrusive thoughts #brief moments of clarity #vague glimpses of beauty #a vibe

[askthefuturegleeks]

Thank you for joining the campaign to bring the arts to future generations, DAVID KAROFSKY, we’re happy to have you! If you want a refresher on what to do next, feel free to look at the WELCOME CHECKLIST. Please send your account in within the next 48 hours so that you can get started.

ooc information 

NAME: C

AGE: 28+

PRONOUNS:she/her

SHIPS: I'm really not set on anything, I'm open and don't mind what people do with their characters

ANTI-SHIPS: None, I'm open either way and don't mind what people do with their characters

basic ic information 

NAME/AGE: Dave Karofsky/31

BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC: September 8, Virgo

CURRENT OCCUPATION: High School Biology Teacher and Football Coach

CURRENT LOCATION: Lima, Ohio

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single Pringle

FC: Max Adler

twitter post 

@COACHKAROFSKY: (It's a beautiful morning for some coffee and a bagel. Too bad I'm fresh out of coffee, and I don't like bagels. Oh well, it's still a beautiful morning) #cestlavie #stillsmiling #findyourreason

in character questions 

Answer these in character, and feel free to add gifs into your answers.

1.) What did you want to do with your life when you were younger? What would the child version of yourself think about the path you paved for yourself?

When I was younger, I really wanted to be a pro ball player. Football, more specifically. I always thought I'd play through college, and then get drafted into the NFL. Obviously, things didn't happen like that, and that's totally fine. It wasn't for me. I think a younger version of me would be proud of myself. And, I'm not just saying that either. Even though I didn't go pro, I'm doing something I love. I'm learning, I'm growing, and I'm appreciating myself more than I ever have.

2.) What is your proudest accomplishment? Don’t be afraid to talk about what it took to achieve it and how you feel about it as well.

My proudest accomplishment was honestly graduating college. Getting through school- primarily middle and high school- was a challenge I wasn't prepared for on any level. I made a lot of mistakes, and I did a lot of stuff I'm really not proud of. But, I pushed through. I made it. I survived.

3.) If you could do anything you wanted for one whole day, what would it be and why?

I would start the day off with a nice cup of coffee on my porch, enjoying the sunrise, and just listening to the birds as they sing. Then, I would magically appear at a Bears game, one that would go into overtime, and would be a nail biter to the very end (until they won, of course). I'd have dinner at my favorite cafe in town, and then I'd close the day by reading one of my favorite books.

where are they now?

Dave Ean Karofsky was raised in a loving home, by accepting parents. His father, James, was a salesman with a good career, making more than decent money, though not enough to classify the family as traditionally wealthy. His mother, Kathy, was an art teacher for the majority of his life. Everything seemed happy, healthy, and wholesome within the Karofsky family, though things with Dave often seemed just a *little* bit off. Well-adjusted wasn't how the majority of people would have ever described Dave as a child. It seemed as though he was always searching for something different, something more, something outside of the traditional Karofsky days.

Moving into middle and high school was tough for Dave, and once he fully realized how truly cutthroat those age groups could be, he knew he had to do something. So, he altered himself. Similar to the color-changing chameleon, Dave began to do whatever he had to in order to fit in. He took up football, changed his personality, and launched himself into popularity. However, once again, no matter what he did or how hard he tried, something just didn't quite seem to fit. It was that knowledge, that feeling, which began to fuel Dave's anger. He'd worked so hard to force himself into a mold, he began to feel a sense of anger towards those who simply couldn't be bothered to care.

Moving into high school, he began to realize exactly what those feelings were, and where they stemmed from. The realization that he was gay was a slow one, and when it finally shifted into a realization, Dave was absolutely lost. His anger grew, as did his discomfort, and his desperation to be what he'd always thought he wanted to be- just like everyone else. Once things came to light, and after all was said and done, Dave was so completely ostracized for who he was, he couldn't take the pressure. One heartbreaking attempt later, and he began to realize that no matter what the opinions of others were, at the end of the day, they simply didn't matter.

Once he had that realization, everything changed. Dave became something he couldn't ever truly remember being- happy. He continued playing football, and passed each of his classes with flying colors. He'd always been intelligent, though allowing himself to fall fully into who he truly was lead him to the top of his class, where he graduated as Salutatorian. College was even better. He continued playing football, though he decided to major in Biology Education, wanting to have an impact on lives during a time that had been so important to him.

During college, Dave met his first boyfriend, and lost his virginity. Things didn't work out, and that relationship was followed with a string of several others that didn't work out, though he saw each of them as a lesson, and held no hard feelings. It was no secret that one of his exs, Blaine Anderson, was someone he fell deeply for, though it was another which simply didn't work out. After college graduation, Dave returned to Lima. Though he hadn't originally planned to do so, however his mother, Kathy, had fallen ill and his father desperately needed his help. He took a job at McKinley High, and moved in with his parents. After a few years, he bought his own place on the outskirts of town- a peaceful home in the woods, not too close to town but not too far from his mother. Though his mother is still going, she is very ill, and Dave still does what he can to take care of her, and to help his father with anything the pair needs.

#glee rp #fandom rp #atfg admin #accepted

[magicalsalamander]

u always have such long in depth stories that are so well written. i've always wondered how you keep yourself motivated to write them and if you follow a schedule and if u have any tips to give to writers too

Thank you! I appreciate it!

An odd feeling fills my chest reading this because I don’t believe I’m in a position to be giving anyone advice. However, peer to peer, human to human, I’m more than happy to spare all the knowledge I got to you!

So, let’s break it down!

Let’s tackle the ever-pressing question: How to stay motivated and meth~od~ology. Again, this is just my input and methodology, so know this may not work for you or everyone, but maybe you can take bits and pieces of it and tailor it to yourself and find a better way to approach writing. Which is what I want you to do. My way of doing things is because...it works for me.

In regard to the product, I write long-winded stories because that’s how my mind works. Every author’s style is a “physical” manifestation of the way they process and emit information verbal, written, or symbolically. A writer’s style will match the author, so no style is wrong.

Sidestepping for a moment, but I’ll tie it in I promise. When I was younger I was painfully (I mean awkwardly painful that made others uncomfortable) shy. I even formed a stutter because I was terrified of speaking. Now, luckily, I can say that I have no issue with that and I’m totally fine public speaking or speaking intimately. I found my confidence by reading to pick up new vocab and mimicking people around me who were better speakers. I think by doing so I really formed the way I carry myself and write (i.e. going back to the point that a written is a manifestation of their personality). You can notice if you really look at a piece you can tell the state of mind a writer usually was in when they wrote this.

How does this tie into advice? Well, my “advice” is if you want to become a “better writer” work on yourself. Your perspective on life is unique. Mold your thoughts, ask yourself those questions that are hard, ask others questions, figure out different perspectives while you’re at it. This may be looking at things too seriously, but I want to give you a genuine answer. You know how politics can be divisionary? It’s usually them vs us? Well, both sides have their own reasons and to them, those are good reasons. Maybe not to you, but try understanding the opposite side, really look at their motives. You’ll be able to write antagonist better that way, and in turn, write a more solid protagonist.

So to bring it back, I write long stories because I found out I can’t do short fics (which I consider to be under anything basically under 5k) because it’s not how I process/imagine things. I’m huge on imagery, maybe because I’m also a traditional artist (drawing & painting) so I see the world with colors, shapes and relate those to emotions. I feel so unsatisfied if I write something that lacks a short background or gives the character a reason for something. I’m aware it’s possible to write short fics, because it’s the reader’s decision to interpret, but it’s not me. Know regardless of the way you write something the reader will have their own story.

This leads to my second point. I want you to answer these questions for yourself: why are you writing, who are you writing for, what are you writing about, when can you, where do you write? Simple questions, but they need solid answers. The simple things in life often need more attention than those that seem complex.

My answers to a few: I write for myself and no one else. I hope that this should be true all across the board. I find the biggest issue for writers on this platform (and maybe across other writing sites) is that individuals use it as a platform for validation. It’s not easy this day and age to go to a social media site and not be bombarded by likes, following, or any other feedback system that promotes that. However, I could care less if a post I put out has two, a hundred likes or a thousand.

Why you may ask?

Well, simply because—it doesn’t matter. This is for a number of reasons. A few of them are because people do click on the post but most often don’t leave a note or give feedback. This, I found to be true because people either forget, don’t bother to, or are too shy. This doesn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyed, you have no idea the impact your post could’ve made, that could’ve been the best post they’ve read. I want you to keep in mind that you don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. Keep yourself in check with this. Also, remember, people will come to your story, sometimes it’s not the right time for them. Maybe the message in that fic, whether it be neutral or purposeful, will come to someone when they most need it. The time you post may just not be that time. So, don’t feel discouraged if you’re not getting notes.

You want long term building, not short term.

Motivation:

Motivation is such a fickle little minx, right? I want to address that usually the lack of motivation is because of many reasons, but typically its stress, anxiety, insecurity, and procrastination. Procrastination, the biggest factor in my opinion, under a psychological definition, is an irrational delay. It’s been linked to the activity under avoidance being the cause of stress and anxiety. When your feeling too overwhelmed you probably don’t want to write, right? It takes too much thought and energy. So when your feeling like this I advise you to either rethink why you write if it does increase your anxiety. Or distract yourself until you feel that you can come back with a fresh mind. There is no “deadline”. No timeline.

On the contrary, though, it’s a good method to keep yourself accountable, so if you can accomplish something with a bit of pressure then set a deadline. It’s how I was able to complete Gold Embers Touch the Blue Veil. I was so unmotivated recently. I always came home tired and nothing creative would come to me. But I said, “Nope, we’re doing this.” Because I knew if I just wrote something (i.e. drafted to draft) then I would feel better later because I gave myself a foundation. With that foundation and when I’m feeling frivolous with my words, I can now accomplish so much more because I have something to work with.

I don’t have a schedule. I write based on when the ideas come to me. How can I fit writing into my existing schedule? I always write a storyboard, then I tackle it from there, so start to finish always varies. Often my stories can take weeks if not a month or two to write. I take a few days break sometimes so that way I’m not hypercritical of everything I’ve written. I never rush to put out something for the sake of putting it out there. Rushing never usually gives good results.

There is no bad idea either. Don’t go into a story you’re about to write already knocking it down. Remember, write for yourself, I swear to you, if you enjoy what your writing someone else will too. You think J.K Rowling wrote HP thinking, “Ahhh, I need to change all this because my mind is telling me someone may not like this.” Hell no. She wrote her story the way she saw it and it’s amazing because it’s her.  

Methodology:

Write a storyboard. Will you for sure remember the thing you told yourself to remember in the morning? Did you forget to write down that appointment? Did you remember that you have that assignment due if you didn’t write it down? The majority will say they don’t. That’s why I’m a huge believer in having a “story board”. What that means to me personally is mapping out how you want the story to go. I personally can’t use the write-and-go method. I need structure so I can reference back and tweak it later. So, I recommend opening up a doc or whatever you have to use and follow this set up. It’s concise, keeps things neat and easy to follow. It’s basically a flow chart but a bit more professional. I’m sure you can find other templates, but this is mine.

Write about something you want, not something you think would get notes. Write it because you see that niche isn’t being filled, or if you want to add to that genre. As an example, there are a million and one coffee shop AU's, but what can you add?

Other things to keep in mind is the hero’s journey doesn’t have to be linear, Try to teach, teach the readers and yourself something. That way you keep something fresh for yourself. Grow each time you finish something. Whether you know it or not, you grow a little bit each time. Your opinions will change and grow, so take it all in stride.

With all that knowledge you’ll become a better writer because you’ll be able to see a wider breadth of ideas and put in details that don’t always seem obvious and develop your own style.

I’m sorry that this post was long and that I got preachy. But from my writing style, I guess you could already have predicted I would’ve done this, huh? Haha. I hope this was helpful!! Feel free to send me an ask if you have any more questions.

[montagne-champagne]

The Tower Complexes (Draft 1, Pt 1)

Foreword. The below is the start of what I am currently titling the tower project. Consider these drafts as loose collections of thoughts defining items so that they can be critiqued by others before being polished. That could include just writing details better, or redoing entire sections of an idea as it is dubbed useless. Enjoy!

The Tower project is a mathematically based system of societal building. The towers are based with 2 main tenets, the first being sustainability, and the second being the ability to perform is 3rd world areas. The towers would each serve a function in a community, slowly growing to always provide what is required next for the residents. Tower groups may have a particular focus. This is to balance out the work required for each tower group as it is not as efficient to grow food in a desert as it is to provide power. Through a network of interchanges though, all towers may contribute and nurture a collective growth.

Towers themselves would be built through prefabrication. A tower in essence is a 3x3 grid. Each piece of the grid can be exchanged for another of the same type. For example a residential tower would have 4 housing zones, 1 zone for a shared kitchen, 1 zone for a communal shower, 1 zone for vertical changes (Elevator/stairs), and 2 free zones. To further break these up there are multiple types of housing zones, namely family based units and barrack based units, that are completely interchangeable in the planning phase. Free zones may also be used across layers. A theater may support 6 layers, where as a gym might only have room to support the population of 3 layers. Free zones would also need to balance maintenance needs and provide access to boilers, storage, and security. To choose which units go in which zones, and which grid layout is selected for a tower, and which towers are to be built in which order would be decided through formula and field experts. Experts would decide which formulas to use as no template could be universal, but the formula will keep a degree of efficiency that bureaucratic red tape would consistently hamper. These experts would follow guidelines to ensure that formulas could be used interchangeably, and would relay directions for programmers to develop new formulas.

To provide an example, a tower group would always start with a residential tower, but whether it is better for the tower grouping to develop an agriculture tower, or to develop a commercial tower would depend on its proximity to developed regions. Once decided upon as specific tower the tower would then need to have all of its grids examined and decided upon based upon what is available to the tower group. A tower group in indigenous lands with indigenous artists in its grouping would be best served having a production area for artists and a large showing zone for artists to display their wares. A tower group in an isolated region would be best served in developing agricultural systems and creating zones which can further produce items the group would otherwise be required to import. Experts would choose which path would be best, formula would provide the blocks to then be installed.

The actual construction of these towers would be based in 3D printing. Printing technology has developed already for housing in that a unit can create a mold and then fill that mold with concrete. These structures can then be shipped whole to a tower group and placed like Lego bricks into a tower. Each layer to a tower would require completion of the grid below, but would then have set instructions on how to set it up. Every layers base would be the same. This allows any piece to slot anywhere.

That concludes the first part of explaining what I have in mind on how to change the world, maybe in the second I will come up with a better name than towers.

[gg-astrology]

Shannon Williams: Overview

💕Hello! If you haven’t seen it yet, please check out ‘Hatred Farewell’ by Shannon! Today I’ll be doing a brief overview on her, she’s an absolutely incredible singer who’s so so underrated. One of my favourite soloist. She fought so damn hard to have her music heard. My favourite song from her was this one (I think there’s an english version?) and that was released a full year ago!

Anyways, it turns out I had to re-write this 3 times because the draft was faulty and wouldn’t save everything I wrote MULTIPLE TIMES. I am absolutely drained trying to get this post out. If it’s below the usual quality, it’s probably because of that. My sincerest apologies! 💕

💕disclaimer: i’m a novice on astrology but these are my interpretations of the signs and how they’re working based on my experiences with them. Everyone has different opinions and studies in astrology, all interpretation and experiences within the realm is valid. However feel free to make your own post or skip if you strongly disagree. There might be inaccuracy and difference in opinions. But the point of this post is to relate, entertain and have a fun time. I’m hoping to validate people with similar experiences and get people excited about the girls+ astrology. Also, since we don’t know most of their birth times, I’m using the standard 12.00pm💕

Shannon Arrum Williams Lees 26 May 1998 (London, United Kingdom)

Gemini Sun/ Gemini Moon (2nd Decan ruled by Venus/Libra)

Ahh with the double gemini placement she really is such a bright and lovely person!

With her Gemini/Gemini combo, there’s a emphasis on coming across as intelligent and direct. Often times they’re not one for playing mind games and prefers coming across as straight forward, loyal and open to communications (when they want to be!).

Now in Gemini, sometimes there’s a difference in the way they want to ‘come across’ and the way they ‘appear to be’ from other’s perspectives.

To Gemini Natives, the way they think is pretty streamlined. It’s common sense? If you want to be seen as nice then BE nice. And they do their best to ‘come across’ that way.

It’s so straight forward that other signs who relies on ‘depth of characters’  such as Scorpios, Capricorns or Pisces don’t tend to understand them. To a certain extent, they can be seen as ‘fake’ or ‘untrustworthy’ because of this.

Yes, sometimes they come across totally different than what they think they’re doing. But that’s also because they’re pretty contradictory within themselves anyways. Geminis are candid and pretty straight forward, yet at the same time they’re also non-confrontational, impatient and  often instantly try to strategize the best way to get out of an argument through whatever means possible.

Their flight or fight is pretty reactive, if anything. And as their defensive mechanism-- they do try their best to make up for all the vices they have when it comes to others perception of them. 

It’s similar to...how a method actor works? When you get a script, you work on it logically. Trying to implement new ‘method acting’ to embody a feeling or ‘come across a certain way’, even when they don’t necessarily know how to ‘feel’ where the others are coming from naturally. The harder/more complicated the role is to get into, the more ‘method acting’ is implemented to get to where they came from. 

With Geminis there’s optimism you know? They’re hard workers and they do the most for others even when they’re misunderstood themselves. If they don’t ‘get’ something (’you don’t feel sincere!’) they try to emulate the actions/feelings that they’ve observed to ‘help’ with that until they ‘get it’ -- fake it till you make it, is a constant Gemini Mood.

Geminis are easily hurt, but trust them that they often have good-intentions at their heart.

They’re also adept at acquiring information from people on topics that interest them. They learn best from other people, since Gemini can adapt and mold themselves into social groups and gain crucial information they need for their own self development.

There’s a nervous energy to Gemini that’s different from other signs, unlike Pisces or Virgo who’s based on productivity or a certain fear of something. Gemini’s nervous comes from how fast they’re constantly moving and being forced into some kind of stagnation feels like a whiplash to them.

Their natural ruling planet Mercury, is the closest to the Sun and moves at a rapid pace. Their natural energy also mimics that, and they are often restless when they’re not engaged in something (even to the point of losing sleep over it) -- social media, talking to a friend, taking in news or reading something interesting to talk about later helps them destress. Being connected to the world in some way, be it in a personal relationship or global issues, keeps them relaxed and busy.

They often try to ‘re-do’ themselves, but unlike Scorpios who wants to overturn and often uncontrollably ‘transform’ parts of themselves- Geminis are bored of routine and consistency. It’s stagnancy in a way, and switching up who they talk to or their overall routine can really help nourish and keep them on their feet. They like feeling fresh, alive and vibrant-- just like the same energy they give out to others, they need their external environment to reflect that for intake as well.  

With a Gemini Moon decan in Libra, the Gemini’s moodier traits comes out more often.

Their emotional response is reflective of how their sun feels, if the ego/self-esteem is hurt or feels a little worn down-- they’re much more in-tune with themselves and it would reflect by externalizing that factor much easier than most (Sun-Conjunct-Moon)

Sometimes this would result in a verbal lash out, or being quicker to respond to something emotionally. Their integrity and character is called into question, they can defend themselves no problem.

But with Venus/Libra influencing the Gemini Moon-- it might take a lot for the peace-loving, complacent Libra Decan to lash out.In a way, having a Libra influencing her Gemini Moon seriously helps her.

Libra makes her Gemini think more rationally, see things from all sides and perhaps be a little more thorough with dealing with her emotional outbursts.

It gives her a certain charm when she speaks that makes people sympathize and listen to her. Perhaps help her out of a sticky situation without being aggressive about it at all.

Gemini Moon in Libra decan are also much more playful and willing to engage in positive conversations than just the negative. There’s a keen sense of selecting subjects to talk about, since they’re not one for mindless topics at all. But if they’re willing to indulge you, it’s often when the topic is something they want to learn more, or feel like they could strongly advocate for in the future.

Shannon also has her Sun-conjunct- Mars in her chart making her really stand out in using her Gemini placement to get her point across.

Often times, with her Moon in Libra Decan, maintaining a harmonious relationship with others around her is a serious issue she considers a priority in life. Thus, whenever she sits down to talk to someone/actually deal out an issue, it’s done with great consideration and heavy emotional contemplation on her part.

She has a high endurance, and often very tolerant of other people (willing to let small things go, values friends and close associates to a degree)

She also has her Sun- Trine-Neptune (Aquarius) which shows progressive thinking and individualism. With her Sun being in Gemini and Neptune being in Aquarius, the way she approach things in life can be seen as pretty progressive and often times, feels frustrated by being subdued in a conservative environment.

Her Libra Decan Moon will save her from lashing out too harshly, but this negligence to be who she is, her voice and to completely ignoring her intersectionality can be trying for her to go through.

Another thing is her Moon (Gemini) in opposition to her Pluto (Sagittarius), she feels there’s conflict in her emotional growth that’s not growing fast enough or ‘deep’ enough, often her short temper/attention span (which really isn’t a problem, it’s actually really healthy) is holding her back.

Whenever she’s lost in a conversation that can be difficult to talk about she’s often frustrated with herself. Hanging out with Sagittarius can be for her since she can learn a lot from them (as long as she’s comfortable with the ones she surrounds herself with

Taurus Mercury (2nd Decan ruled by Mercury/Virgo)

Having a Taurus Mercury can be really beneficial for those who might be looking into vocal performances, since Taurus rules the throat and having it relate directly to one’s ability to verbalize, think would help them apply techniques to their skills can be good for the person in building technical/artistry for their  skillsets. 

Of course, you don’t need to have this placement (there are plenty others that talks about being a good singer) to succeed in the field. Since this might bring some complications in the person’s personal life as well.

Taurus Mercury are slow to make decisions, often stubborn-headed once they do but reliable and head-strong.  

It can take her a while to make choices, and with her Gemini placement she really can come across as indecisive to those around her. But once she sets her mind to it, there’s a perseverance to her that she comes through and fulfil her potential.

Once Taurus sets their minds to something they do it for a long time. In her career, she’s definitely looking for success through her skillsets. Seriously, nothing can deter her. Not even friends.

More so than that, they want to feel secure in their material possession and worldly success. Having a good home, tight knit groups of friends (Gemin Sun/Moon) and a support system close by really is crucial to her.

Since her Taurus Mercury is in the 2nd decan ruled by Mercury/Virgo-- when she sets her mind to something she’s really going for it. From the tiniest details, technicalities, learning from experts and professionals in the field to the bigger picture of overall success.

She has no patience for those who does half-assed job with their performances and voices, since she hustles so hard for hers. She makes sure her quality is top-notch, and she expects the same back from her competitors/associates. They better pray they know what the fuck they’re doing, otherwise she’ll ream them in for doing a sub-par job on her expense (people around her wise, be it her company, promotion, PR, production team etc.)  

She has her mercury sextile Jupiter (Pisces) -and god this talks about her voice and hopefully, the public opinion of her. It brings her good public recognition, often for her voice and talent (which feeds into her Sun). Her artistic vision and her ideas are aligned, and she has prosperous luck, often through her singing career/her decisions.

Perhaps she’s not as charming so she should watch out for that, since she can get pretty critical or argumentative to those around her (but aren’t willing to carry through).

There’s such a strong emphasis on her chart for communicating with those around her and verbalizing her thoughts (Sun-Mercury earlier), as long as she could develop her thinking/ideas further and learn how to control it to her benefit, it would seriously help her so much. Her Taurus Mercury might prove to be a little difficult since it can remain pretty stubborn and slow moving compared to the rest of her chart/signs. So her Gemini (Sun) might try to move her along, and often the stubborn Taurus (Mercury) would refuse to do so. This can cause inner-tension and frustration within herself-- AT herself.  

She also has her Mercury- square- Uranus - and ok this definitely talks about some some difficulties she might be having in trying to get new music out. Often times her thoughts and visions can be too outdated for the general population right now, which might lead to her music not being hyped up enough. Embracing changes, ideas and the fast moving pace of Gemini would help her in distinctively establishing a stronger impact on others. But with that, also try to regulate and look at all sides the Gemini might place on her that might hinder her as well.

As long as she develops her Gemini placement well and overcome it’s vices (be aware of it and work alongside it) she should be able to bring her other placements along to a better place as well. It would certainly help with making her aspects a little more bearable for her too.  

Aries Venus (3rd Decan ruled by Jupiter/Sagittarius)

With her Aries in Venus there can be a self-driven heat in jump starting her career, an emphasis on her playful nature and also an endearing charm to her overall charisma (Gemini Sun-Moon/Aries Venus in Sag Decan)

When she wants to pump out projects, she will. And she’ll do them all herself if she has to. Often instigative she’s probably the person at the company who’s always reading to work on her career and utilizer her assets even when others are taking too damn long to make up their minds.

To her, as long as she’s producing out work she’s being productive. It gives her Gemini placement something to do/work on, as well as externalize her Taurus Mercury trait outwards into the public.

She should watch out not to be too brash, but with time and experience she’ll grow to use her Aries Venus to her advantage.

Especially since it’s in an already great placement for her, with Sagittarius influencing her Aries Venus-- there’s nothing about her that won’t come off as charming.

With her stage persona or how she comes across overall, there’s a lovely charm to her. Her Gemini Moon in Libra/Venus decan amplifies this. And Sagittarius Decan in her Venus really brings her good luck and expansion when talking to others on her creative project.

She can seem enthusiastic, but also very willing to be more patience and considerate of other’s thoughts/will than the typical Aries.

She has to watch out that her actions can sometimes be unprecedented and take a spontaneous turn before she even thinks about it.

Make sure not to let it dictate the direction she’s going, since the juxtaposition between her Taurus Mercury might prove to be ‘too slow’ for her Gemini placement and resort to using her Aries Venus to getting things done instead. Balancing these placements and allowing them to interact or work with one another would help her a lot.  

She also has her Venus conjunct her Saturn - she plans on doing this for a long time, possibly build a very stable career and reputation over her skills. She has a huge potential for self-discipline and often listens well when she lets her Taurus Mercury takes control of her Venus. There’s potential for her Aries Venus to grow here, as long as she doesn’t give into wanting instant gratification on things that matters it should be fine. She’ll endure long term problems and challenges, and her vision/artistry will be respected because of how direct/energetic she is.

With her Venus square Neptune - sometimes her artistic vision and directions can often cause her frustration when it can be lost in just her dream and never a reality. Please don’t feel discouraged! Like I mentioned before, making sure her Aries Venus grows through her maturity and experience would help her loads.

Since it brings a calming more laid back nature of Aries out. This would help in focusing and prioritizing how to bring her dreams/visions into reality better, and overall help with how she comes across professionally as well.

Gemini Mars (1st Decan ruled by Mercury/Gemini)

With her Mars in Gemini, this can bring about even more restless energy to her Aries Venus to handle.

Since Mars in Gemini can be quick to assess a situation and do something about it, sometimes they may lash out verbally and realize that maybe it was a wrong decision sometimes.

Doesn’t mean they backtrack, but they’re prone to ‘swerving’ the other direction sometimes and redirecting their other placements to deal with the consequences instead.

Most of the time this probably means it falls on her Taurus Mercury (causing herself self-inflicted mental headaches) or Aries Venus -- thinking things through can be a vice for people with this placement.

Since her Mars (action, assertion) is in the sign/planet of Mercury (talking, verbalizing, expressing) she’s much more prone to verbal arguments than say a physical reaction or an emotional one.

In fact since she doesn’t have a single water placement in her chart, sometimes she might get frustrated with those who cry a lot or need a lot of emotional support since she can’t provide it for them through her own self-expression.

She’s empathetic, sure. But there’s a limit that she’s not going to overdo herself to please them.

Gemini Mars although can get verbally confrontational, but tends to avoid prolonged verbal arguments for long.

Like they’re OK with instigating and unleashing all the hell that they feel inside of them, but they’re NOT ok when that topic drags on for too long and they have to wait for a response from the other party.

Their feelings might be hurt and they might speak out about it, but if it’s a few hours later they’re anxious about keeping the same energy consistent if it doesn’t just ‘whoosh’ out in one go.

Therefore, they might just resort to passive aggressive lashing out in the longest, most torturous ways. Sarcastic comments are their specialties and they’re not afraid to snip someone.

They’re low maintenence, low energy people. Even on their own anger.

Her Mars opposition Pluto can point to ‘changes’ (internally or externally) becoming a challenge for her, since she might resort to acting brashly or without thinking.

Saying things she didn’t mean or hurting those around her. If she could try to utilize the best part of her Gemini placement into working for her should help a lot, as well as taking a deep breath and trying to relax her nervous energy should also benefit her in the long run.

Conclusion:

She has literally ZERO water placement, and has an emphasis on Gemini. Might feel the need to hang out with water signs (to make up for lack of) or fire signs depending on what she feels comfortable with right now.

Friends are a huge part of her life, and she needs true and honest friends about her as her support system since Gemini placements usually goes through their emotions through ‘venting’ a lot.

A very charming and charismatic individual overall?? I’m so proud of her on and off the stage, and the work she’s done shouldn’t ever be discredited through her astrological signs/placements/chart.

💕Anyways that’s it for Shannon! Thank you for listening it, I know I said this might be kind of longish but after losing everything I wrote for this post (THREE TIMES) I lost a little bit of excitement and got really drained OTL I hope you’ve enjoyed this nonetheless! Please appreciate her lots! 💕

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