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pepprs · 9 months

Note

dont worry abt responding to my messages!! they can be little trinkets for u to keep forever if u wanna :)))

dear anon… how could i not respond to THESE!!!!!!!!!! 😭💗💗💗💗💗💗💗 you are the sweetest kindest most WONDERFUL soul. it is an honor to receive these beautiful letters and i hope you know how much i cherish each and every one. not just the words but the adventures you take me on and write up for the two of us!!! and the beauty and magic you help me to see in the world around me and the peace and love and love and love you conjure for me in moments when i cant find it or feel it so easy!!!! like idk i know i have no idea who you are outside of being dear anon and i only answer asks once in a blue moon but it truly means the world to me. TRULY.

your writing feels like all the best things, all the things i love most. like leaf piles in the fall and the pikmin bloom soundtrack (btw if you dont play that already i HIGHLY recommend it to you specifically, i think u would really like it and tbh you sending me these letters has the same vibe as my pikmin bringing me postcards from their adventures :"~DDDD!!! if you ever do join it please lmk i would LOVE to be friends and send you postcards and do adventures together!!!!) and frosting on cupcakes and twinkly dust motes in the sunlight and cumulus clouds and dogwood flowers and the way things made of glass refract rainbows and SUNLIGHT SUNLIGHT SUNLIGHT. and even that isnt cutting it. how magical it all is. like i wish i wasnt so exhausted so i could express it better but it truly is so... idk. NOSTALGIC! COZY! HOME!!!!!

so... in order to try to articulate it (and also show my thanks / return the favor / etc.), i am sending this letter along with a care package knitted with word and song and magic and light. enclosed please find:

wind chimes that sing like the sun hitting the lake (also i REALLY want to get a butterfly hair clip!!! i cant wear hair clips or anything else fancy in my hair bc of my mask headbands but id love to have one in case im ever able to wear it in the future 🥹)

a heart-shaped pebble from brighton, to add to your collection (btw i LOVE the part about how you lost them a long time ago but you love them so you remember what they look like. WAUGH. gut punch GUT PUNCH IN THE BEST WAY!!!!)

a mug for hot chocolate, so we can share some together when it gets cold again -- decorated with hand-painted stars in all colors!

a tiny needle to knit your sundust satchels -- like the kind youd find in pixie hollow or the tale of desperaux or something (also both things that have dear anon vibes to me and are also DEEPLY nostalgic for me!)

a recipe for starfait, with illustrations!! (also i LOVE that idea for a replacement for "tesscore"!! but i may end up using that for my personal tag on my undertale / deltarune blog instead bc its so perfect (and also im HONORED that u associate that with me 😭😭😭😭))

a crown and wand for you to wear to match the fairy queen mouse while you write the same kind of magic and comfort she brings!

a packet of magical flower seeds that sprout the most whimsical sweet-smelling flowers, with petals that are soft to the touch!

a hand-woven scarf in your favorite color threaded with shiny silver strands, like comets streaming through the sky (also i am SO late to say this but UNO REVERSE CARD re: your new years wish to me which is genuinely making me lumpthroated and teary eyed reading it again in AUGUST. you are the sweetest EVER. and also ive never played journey before but ive been interested in it for years!!! i'll have to check it out and/or watch a playthrough!)

a hummingbird sculpture on a long stick for you to plant in your garden among the flowers, to sing to them and to you! (also RE: your question about your vocal range -- it just means that you can cover a little over two octaves (the number after the letter is the octave it's in, and each octave is a span of c-d-e-f-g-a-b-c -- so your range starts at about halfway through the third octave and goes to halfway through the fifth!) i think your range is about the same as mine iirc so we can hum along with the hummingbird and all three follow each other's notes :"~D <3)

a golden acorn on a thread for you to wear as a necklace when we go to the bird tea party! (by the way, have you ever read the book ""until the last acorn "when the last acorn is found?" it's a BEAUTIFUL book and it made me cry reading it! i think you and the acorn people would get along very, very well!!)

a lantern made of jelly moonlight and silver foil stars (see: ilomilo chapter 4 :"~D) for you to carry on your walks through the dim nights (you can hang the stars in the sky, and they'll brighten the world and light at your touch!)

a copy of one of my favorite books of all time, "the ten thousand doors of january," which is so much about wedging cracks open into other worlds, and something i think you might like very much / resonate with too!!

a big, big hug.

dear anon: THANK YOU. for all these words and for being you. i dont know how i got so lucky to have you sending me these little trinkets but i will most CERTAINLY keep them forever. i hope you experience all the peace and love and love and love to infinity. may you always know and shine with the light you bring and the light you are.

#purrs #asks #dear anon #<- im making you a tag now!!! i can’t believe i didn’t have one already!!#tess answers asks 2023 #(i had to take screenshots of some of these bc they werent showing up in my desktop inbox for some reason? but... this officially #concludes my ask-answering spree for today! tysm to everyone who sent me an ask i love u all so so much <3 <3 <3 i may rb stuff a little #more before going to bed but... (preemptively) goodnight and sweet dreams 🫂💗💗💗💗#save #comfort #tesscore #(ALSO BTW: i completely forgot abt adding alt text to the posts where i put screenshots of asks (like this one) so i'll try to go back and #do that tmrrw after work!!)

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vcrnons · 11 months

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you have me intrigued about the dino dream

WHEJDJDHDH HELLO😭 ALL RIGHT SO HERE’S THE NIGHT DINO RUINED MY LIFE🫠🫠🫠

(i remember this entirely too vividly and that’s because sometimes i randomly think about it and it sends my entire day into a spiral, so im rly sorry for how long this is lmao) (writing this out has made me feel so incredibly delusional) (under the cut for length & also to prevent anyone who doesn’t want to be subjected to my dumb dream bs)

chan & i worked together and we were at some kind of a training day? type? thing? and i guess we must’ve been like passively flirty colleagues or something because when he came into the big training room (which we were all sat ON THE FLOOR IN??? where were the TABLES AND CHAIRS what even is my subconscious) he came and sat RIGHT next to me and we had this cute little small-talk moment before the actual training stuff started

so we’re sat on the ground and we’re being lectured about information governance and data protection and shit, and lmty i am NOT listening because i can’t stop staring at him??? fr my guy looked HEAVENLY you can’t blame me for this. N E way i’m sat like. knees bent & pulled up to my chest, he’s got one leg bent up, both his fuckin. strong ass arms wrapped around it. and one leg out flat because he’s insane and wanted me to suffer, probably. and i’m just trailing a finger up and down his arm the entire time, feeling his muscles, giggling to myself quietly and he keeps looking back at me and smiling and I WAS LIKE HELP. because. it was BLINDING and his eyes were so soft and i’m getting palpitations remembering it wait—

so we break for lunch, it’s a dumb little buffet style thing of just sandwiches and chips and that’s literally it. and we eat and everyone’s like “well this is shit” but it’s free food so we’re still going for it yk. good to know dream j takes food as seriously as awake j does. moving on!

a few minutes into this lunch he pulls me to one side and asks if we can talk so we went out into a corridor and apparently ig we’re in this big high-rise building with floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out over a city??? bro the view is INSANE. so. he gives me one of his AirPods, puts on a song, we’re just looking out over this city together and listening to the music. he turns the volume down and we start talking just quietly about fuck-knows-what, obviously it starts getting a little Juicy. we’re super close, basically in each others faces, noses TOUCHING. (what in the wattpad was i inhaling this day—) and HE TILTS HIS HEAD TO THE SIDE SO HES LIKE AN I N C H AWAY FROM KISSING ME AND HE SAYS “you know, if you wanted something more, all you had to do was ask”

SO OBVIOUSLY DREAM ME LOSES HER DAMN MIND AND NEARLY CRUMBLES TO THE FLOOR. LIKE. WHOOOO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT. WHO ALLOWED HIM TO BE SO SLICK WITH IT

and HE WENT IN FOR A KISS. BUT BECAUSE I WAS SO FKN NERVOUS AND THINKING “there’s no way this is happening rn—“, I SWERVED IT AND HE LIKE FREAKED OUT THINKING HE’D DONE SOMETHING WRONG SO HE RAN AWAY. I TRIED TO SHOUT AFTER HIM LIKE NO WAIT COME BACK BUT BRO WAS GONEEEEEEE

and then we had to go back into the training room so i went in and sat down where i was before but he SAT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM LOOKING ALL UPSET. and im trying to make eyes at him like babe come back im sorry let me explain BUT HE WOULDNT LOOK AT ME. and then fuckin. seungkwan comes over, crouches down, and is like

“hey, please don’t mess around with chan. he really, really likes you. never shuts up about you. if you don’t like him like that, it’s okay, but please just be gentle with him”

AND HE WAS SO SWEET BUT I WAS LIKE BRO DONT FUCKIN— I LIKE HIM I JUST GOT SCARED TELL HIM TO COME OVER HERE RN

but HE DIDNT. so at the end of the thing I just went over and dragged that man by his shirt out of the room and threw myself at him and explained everything and THEN WE FINALLY GOT THE SMOOCH. AND IT WAS JUST REALLY FUCKIN. IT WAS A LOT. IT WAS VERY A LOT. AND IM STILL NOT OKAY OVER IT. IF YOU WONDERED 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

#💌 - mailbox.#mistarover #what the fuck do I even tag this as #I was absolutely wrecked when I woke up from this I need you to know #it was the night before pink dino in Japan. I woke up in distress AND THEN THERE WAS PINK DINO #AND IT WAS NOT OKAY #I lost all sight of who I was as a person for about 3 days #I think it was the final straw for accepting that I am a Bit in love w him #this is after I’d already had the ice-skating date dream btw. which. oof #that genuinely sends me into disrepair #I hardly remember most of the details but any time I think about it I get butterflies lmao #I’ve had a lot of dreams about these boys but for some reason Dino’s are always the most heart-stopping #he’s unbelievable 😭#shut up j #I need to go re-rb that post and tell u about the Vernon & Woozi stingray prophecy dream too #cant believe I forgot about that one #that was genuinely a covid fever dream so it’s. something else entirely

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nonstoplover · 9 months

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sleep without you ~ charles leclerc (cl16)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

song inspiration: sleep without you ~ brett young

summary: charles struggles to function properly without her by his side, or a story of a night without his girlfriend.

words: 2.1K

warnings: nothing, just fluff and a slightly clingy charles baby <3

a/n: idk why but this song honestly screams charles to me whenever i hear it, so i just had to make it happen. also this was supposed to be posted on my one year f1-aversary as celebration (well technically it should be more if counting my childhood f1 years but anyway), but i was so caught up in another wip that i couldn't do it. so happy anniversary to me and f1 (two weeks late) with this lil ficlet <3 thankful for all that f1 gave me.

big thanks to the amazing lovely silverstonesainz for helping me make this better and to the equally awesome monzabee for making me much less anxious with her words. love you sm queens!!

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

Charles spends a whole afternoon trying to convince her to have a night out with her friends. Just because they're in a relationship doesn't mean they can't have fun without the other as well from time to time. There are still a couple of weeks left of winter break, plenty of opportunity to spend time just the two of them before the season starts again. So the usual point of view, the usual reasoning doesn't stand a chance – that they should spend as much time together as they can, before he's back to travelling all around the world.

"Go to a club, grab some drinks, dance and laugh the night away", he tells her. The usual bestie coffee dates or walks in the park that she usually raises as argument are not the same as a night out, and she hasn't done that for so long now. Definitely not since he's been back home, and he knows just how much she enjoys dancing her heart out.

(y/n) agrees after a short while, accepting his reasons, knowing full well that he's right, and after a few phone calls she starts getting ready, soon walking out the front door, dressed all pretty and dolled up.

Doesn't take long before Charles realises what he's done. A feeling tingles in his chest, one he recognises swiftly. He's miserable. Solely because she's not there by his side, as he makes dinner, eats it – all by himself –, before settling on the couch to occupy himself with a movie. It doesn't matter though, he doesn't pay any attention to it. He doesn't even know what's going on, he hasn't heard a single line, too busy thinking about her.

When the credits start to roll, he switches the TV off with a surprised look in his eyes – how did it already end? He doesn't even remember the first scene ending. Then he moves into the bathroom to do his night routine, from taking a shower to putting on some skincare products, all the while wondering how long she will be out for? Will she come home soon? Hope tingles in his chest that the answer to his question is yes.

Having finished with everything, Charles lies down in bed, trying to read a book, then scrolling on social media, doing anything to keep his mind from straying over and over again back to her. He knows this is stupid, he was the one telling her to go out, why is he like this now? Lying awake on his side of the bed, the fingers on his right hand tracing figures onto the sheet where her body usually rests.

This is pathetic, Charles thinks. He never thought he would be like this, so miserable and impatient just because she's not at home, with him. He's tossing around, unable to find a comfortable position for himself – it seems like he forgot how to sleep without her. No matter how many times he's had to do just that, in hotel rooms all around the world. The past few weeks erased all those nights from his mind.

The delicious scent of her shampoo fills his lungs when his face lands just a bit too close to her pillow, and all of a sudden it's like he's burying his nose in her hair. It only makes him miss her more. Sleeping is impossible, he knows it now. He's only daydreaming, not actually dreaming, of her arriving home and being in his arms again.

Charles imagines the way she dances in the middle of the floor, her hands in the air, shouting the lyrics loudly to the song currently playing – most probably something she knows and loves –, and he can't help but smile fondly. Just the thought of her having fun is enough to make him happier, even in his misery.

He pictures a scene where a random guy tries to get too close to her, as it has happened so many times, whenever he leaves her alone for a few minutes at any club they've been to. It doesn't matter where they are, doesn't matter if they spent the night so far together, all over each other, someone comes into the picture immediately when he leaves, either to grab a drink for the two of them, or to go to the restrooms.

It's not like he doesn't understand those guys. She's simply gorgeous, and radiates such a vibrant aura that everyone is drawn to her. He honestly just finds it funny at this point. Nothing makes these men back off more effectively than her. Oh, the amount of times he bit back laughter watching the scene unfold from a distance. Seeing men crumble and disappear looking all ashamed, what a sight that is. And he doesn't have to do anything.

He wonders how many times she's had to fight off guys so far tonight, with him not even in the club, and he finds he can't wait to hear all her stories of the newest victims. Pierre never understood why Charles found it so amusing, he didn't seem to get it. The trust they have in each other. Knowing that it's him she'll come home to at the end of the night is enough to make him only feel entertained by each instance, and not irritated at the slightest bit.

But thinking about (y/n) fighting off men is only good enough entertainment for a limited amount of time, and soon the smile fades back into a miserable pout on his lips, as his thoughts turn back into ones of impatience, trying to make time move faster with short little prayers falling as mumbles from his lips.

With a sigh, he eventually sits up, looking around to find something he can do. At last he decides on grabbing a drink himself, maybe it will help stop the flow of thoughts racing in his head. A little welcomed dullness.

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, sipping on the liquid in his glass, enjoying the feeling of the light alcohol gently burning his throat on the way down, numbing his tongue along the way. His fingers stay restless, now drumming on the wooden surface. A few minutes later he realises they play a song, soundless except the soft thud of his fingertips with the occasional louder tap or little scratch of his nails when a finger finds a different angle to hit the table with.

A melody appears in his mind as he watches his fingers move, imagining how it would sound if it was his piano instead of the kitchen table. He would go sit at the beautiful, white instrument and try it, but he doesn't want to be so loud at such a late hour. And anyway, he's way too comfortable sitting where he is to stand up and go somewhere else.

He looks out the window, catching sight of the moon – almost full, just a tiny bit of it missing, and Charles examines the craters that are visible to the naked eye, though only as spots of a darker shade on the round shape.

Maybe he'll name this new musical piece that's being born in his head right now after her – well, if he ever finishes it. He'll keep the usual format, three letters of a city name and a date, only this time putting the time and place of when they first met. Or should it be the time and place of when he first asked her out? Or their first date? Or when she agreed to move in with him? God, there are way too many options to choose from. He decides to put this problem aside for now, he's not in a rush to name a song not even written yet.

As the clock on the oven changes all four numbers to display 2am, the action rouses his attention and makes him tear his eyes away from the moon and look at the numbers instead.

He would've never ever thought that he'd be like this.

Raising his glass he notices that there's only a small sip left in it, which he downs in a short moment. His tongue darts out to gather all the minuscule drops that might rest on his lips still, not wanting to waste even that much of the delicious drink. Then he stands up, placing the glass down into the sink, making a mental note to clean it in the morning before (y/n) wakes up.

Just as he ponders putting another movie on, maybe only as background noise if nothing else, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his pants. Taking his time, Charles pulls the device out, expecting nothing more than a useless notification from a social media app he shouldn't spend so much time on anyway.

Instead what he finds is a text. From her.

in a cab, be home soon <3

Charles lets out a relieved sigh, his lips involuntarily curving into a smile, one that you could almost call giddy. It's not just the thought that she's going to be here soon, but the fact that she remembered to text him to let him know. He's in her mind, just like she's in his, even though she's been out with friends, having fun, drinking, while he's only been at home, all alone with his misery.

Now he can move back to bed happily, knowing that shortly she will join him.

It truly doesn't take long until Charles hears the front door creak as it opens, then the familiar jingle of her keys hitting the drawer in the hall, and his heart flutters with happiness. Finally. The high heels she chose to wear hit the floor with a soft thud as she presumably removes them, and the growing anticipation in his body seems to eat him whole.

Her steps grow louder and louder as she moves closer to the bedroom, and time slows for Charles. He watches in slow motion as she appears in the doorframe, being propped up on his elbows to have a better view, a lazy smile curling onto his face, and his eyes lidded with drowsiness.

"You're still awake?" (y/n) giggles, pausing in her steps for a second as her eyes take in the view he provides lying there. His lack of reply to her text made her think he's already fallen asleep.

"Of course," he mumbles. "Come to bed."

His voice is whiny and he behaves like an actual child, he knows, but he can't help it. He wants to sleep, and he wants to sleep beside her, feeling her warmth against his skin. That's the only way he can.

"Let me get changed first," she starts towards the closet, when a grunt of pure displeasure sounds from him along with the thump of his back as he falls into a lying position once more, making her glance back at her boyfriend. "What, can't wait a single minute?"

"No," he protests, pouting . "I've been waiting for hours."

His accent comes forth stronger when he's sleepy, and she can't help but smile adoringly upon hearing it. He's just so cute.

"Okay, fine, you'll get one kiss," she gives in. Charles resembles a lost puppy and she's sure he knows that's her weakness. She can't ever say no to anything when he looks like that.

So that's how she finds herself crawling into bed, trying to get as close as possible to the boy without causing damage to her dress. He grins, as much as his tired facial muscles allow, awaiting her lips touching his own. His pout becomes even more apparent, right until the moment he finally gets what he wants. His goodnight kiss. It's soft, slow and just so full of love it makes both their hearts flutter.

Then she caresses his cheek gently, whispering a barely audible good night, sleep tight to him, before moving back off the bed to disappear in the closet, leaving Charles to think about how he'd happily convince her again of going out if it means she'll come home to him, looking so radiant, properly buzzing with energy, eyes shining, hair messy but still looking so breathtaking. It's obvious how much it meant to her that she had this night out. He made her happy with telling her to go out with her friends, and he didn't regret it, despite all the miserable hours.

By the time she finishes her night routine and walks back into the bedroom once more, he's fast asleep, quiet snores filling the silence of the room. She bites into her bottom lip to keep in the giggle threatening to burst out, and with a heart full of adoration and a head slightly dizzy from the drinks she's had, she gets in bed beside him, snuggling up close to him, revelling in the feeling of his arms instinctively finding their way around her body even when he's sleeping.

He truly only waited for her to come home and give him a goodnight kiss to finally be able to fall asleep.

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bubble-dream-inc · 2 years

Text

Lemniscate (the place between sleeping and awake)

a chance encounter with your superior during a very lonely holiday season leads to an interesting conversation and an insight on yours and Ghost’s relationship.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 4,8k

a/n: i had to repost this bc tumblr was being fussy and hiding it oops. also i was listening to so handsome hello by woodkid while writing this so there’s my song rec for the day. i am down bad for this man someone help me! thank u loml @deafeningcat for being the best beta reader ever, always <3

warnings: explicit talk about death, war, trauma and violence, suggestive, profanity, ghost being ooc, sex as a coping mechanism for ptsd, heavy antimilitarism, angst to fluff, slight prey and size kink if you squint, non intentional liverpool slander, reader is part of 141, soap calls you "bonnie" once but otherwise no gender especified for reader, reader thinks they can fix him and is sorta emotionally dependent so its kinda toxic idk, intentional repeating of words, christmas/holidays ambience. MDNI

The puddles rippled under your boots, and right there under the faint street light which reflected the light drizzle of rain darkening the already pitch black night sky, you remembered how much you hate the holidays. Sure, it felt nice not having to worry that much about being ambushed or shot or killed for once, but you’d be lying if you said you looked forward to having time off from work. Having spent the last few years constantly living on edge, running solely on the primal instinct of survival for weeks on end had you addicted to the adrenaline, and you forgot what it’s like to be completely at ease a long time ago.

You felt your skin dampen under your clothes in the humid air. You haven’t bothered with an umbrella; you have been through worse. Liverpool was never your cup of tea, the sky was too gray and the wind felt like tiny needles attacking your skin on the rare occasion it wasn’t raining, and in moments like these you missed the scorching summer sun from your hometown. But again, could you really call it home? That thought had been lingering in the back of your head as an ugly reminder of one of the shittiest parts of your job ever since a few days ago when the base you were stationed in was filled with the sound of rambunctious laughter and the smell of cheap cigarettes and beer, all of it a reflect of a mission well done. The intel was useful, the danger was dealt with, and your teammates could not be more grateful the timing was just right so that they could go spend some time off with their families for the holidays. You weren’t really thinking too hard about it, too absorbed in your teasing banter with Gaz, until Soap turned to you.

“What about you, bonnie? Where ya spendin’ your holidays at? Going home?”

You had shaken your head no with a chuckle, swallowing the bad taste the word home left in your mouth and masking your discomfort. Having all their attention on you as your team mates waited for your answer wasn’t inherently bad, but you did have to ignore Simon’s piercing stare from across the group, focusing only on Soap and trying to not give in to your instinct of looking back at your Lieutenant. As the years went by, you’d found out that was just the way that he was, and you had to learn how to differentiate when he actually wanted for someone to be scared by his constant, terrifying eye contact, and when to know he was simply looking in your general vicinity. Not that it worked that well, of course, since just his massive presence and the low timbre of his voice could make anyone’s fight or flight instinct blare sirens in their head, and yet, at some point you realized you liked it. You felt like a prey under his gaze, and the fact that it both terrified and excited you was intoxicating.

“Nah. I’m heading to Liverpool, i think, as usual”

Being in Liverpool for you was far from pleasant, but a few years before you decided to go there for your time off just because it was closer to the base you were stationed in and you had nowhere else to go, and it became a tradition, even if it sometimes felt like self punishment. It certainly seemed like it, you thought as you wandered aimlessly through a quieter part of the city, occasionally passing through a group of tipsy barely-of-age kids, or a happy looking family going back to the comfort of their cozy homes together. It made your chest ache, but the loneliness got duller after so much time being surrounded only by the 141 members and having to watch so many people you knew die on the front lines.

“Do you regret it? Joining the military?”

You had asked Ghost one day after you two had to get holed up in a dingy safe house, trying to pass the time while waiting for exfil. He had stared at you for a few seconds, silently, and you wondered if you had crossed a line by asking something way too personal, but in a moment he was back to staring at the worn out coffee table in front of the couch you were in.

“No. I did what had to be done at the time.”

While somewhat cryptic, you accepted his answer without prying for more, but after a few seconds he looked back at you, not going unnoticed how his eyes looked a bit more tired than usual.

“Do you?”

You remember sighing.

“Everyday. War is hell.”

He only hummed in response, putting an end to the conversation that had barely been started, but your mind dwelled on your answer. It seemed like ages ago when you were a starry-eyed private, having been fooled by the military propaganda promising you’d be a hero, but that resolve quickly broke a few months later in your first mission, and you certainly didn’t feel like a hero after taking someone else’s life for the first time.

Lost in thought as you walked, you almost paid no mind to the man in your path that was leaning towards a lamp post and having a cigarette, if not for the fact that even from a distance you could see he was massive. There was only one person you knew that seemed as tall as that, and that was your-

“Lieutenant?” You squinted, being pretty sure you couldn’t mistake your towering 6’4 masked superior over someone else, and he acknowledged you with a look. If he was surprised to see you, he didn't show it. “Liverpool sure is tiny, huh? I thought you were from Manchester.”

“I am.”

His answers were rarely something other than short and dry, and he knew you knew better than to pry into his own personal reasonings, even because you also had no real reason to stick around that city and yet there you were. Still, the laidback-ish atmosphere of being between missions made it easier for you to act a little more daring than usual, treading lightly as you questioned him, unable to hold back your curiosity. Alas, you found yourself hypnotized by the way Simon’s full lips wrapped around his cigarette as he took a slow drag, waiting for you to say something.

“Heading somewhere?” Your voice sounded foreign even to yourself, and you didn’t know whether to blame the cold, the awkwardness of feeling like you were bothering your superior on his time off, or the way just being by his general vicinity made your chest ache with a feeling you hadn’t quite been able to name yet, but you shrugged all of it off and focused on trying to act as normally as possible.

“Not really. Are you?”

“Not really” You mimicked his words, smiling faintly and wanting to imagine that you actually saw mirth in his eyes. “Lookin’ for a pub that’s still open, but I'm not having too much luck with it.” You paused, unable to stop the next words that came out of your mouth. “Care to join me?”

Ghost pondered your bold request for a moment before putting out his cigarette by stepping on it and nodding with his head for you to lead the way. His way of communicating with so little words made you uneasy at first, but nowadays you’d find it endearing.

And that’s how you ended up in a beaten up looking pub near the port, sitting side by side with Simon by the bar, acutely aware of the bartender eyeing you two warily. You weren’t sure if he was angry for the fact that the bar actually had customers, which meant he couldn’t go enjoy time off at home, or if he was intimidated by Ghost. Maybe both. It was an otherwise cozy little pub, the warm lighting and the low ceiling made you feel slightly comforted by your surroundings, even if there were only three other customers around and the air smelled of burnt oil and deep fried food. You tapped your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar while waiting for the grumpy bartender to bring your beer, comfortable with the silence between you and Simon. When it arrived, you watched with a side eye, trying to be discreet, as he raised his mask slightly to take a sip of his bourbon, even if you knew he had noticed you.

Ghost’s face was somewhat familiar to you. Less than his body, admittedly.

There were a handful of times you had seen him without his mask, but you had barely committed its features to memory since it had mostly been in the dark confines of his quarters - which made you think how nice it must be to have a rank high enough to have your own room - and in times where staring at his face was not the first thing on your mind. It didn’t matter anyway, knowing he really was handsome after all under the balaclava didn’t change how your chest would tighten at the sight of him way before you dreamt of seeing his whole face.

Being alone with your superior was hardly foreign at this point, after so many years and everything you had been through together, and while you had never said it directly to him, his company was enjoyable. You remember clearly; It had happened the first time during mid summer after a mission gone particularly wrong in Somalia. One hour in the shower later, scrubbing your skin raw, you still felt dirty and grimy, as if you believed you could let go along with the blood-dirtied water the screams of all the civilians you had heard and the image ingrained into your brain of all the innocent people lying dead on the streets, massacred without a second thought. You tried showering, smoking, drinking, going for a walk, talking to your fellow team mates - all of them who looked just about as shaken as you were - but nothing could get your mind off of it. Mid walk, you had rounded a corner inside the base and locked eyes with Ghost, who was coming from the opposite direction, and, for reasons unknown, something instantly changed in the air between you. Sure, you had flirted a bit and perhaps given some indication of your attraction towards him before, but at that moment maybe you looked more distraught than you thought, and in only a split second after the very sudden eye contact, a non-verbal agreement was set, and quickly you found yourself glued to his broad chest, his hand lifting his mask just enough so you could connect your lips in a messy and aggressive kiss as he guided you to the door of his room. There’s no way to tell how long you were there for, but as you felt him blindly in the dark to hug his neck while he was inside you for the nth time, you were grateful he didn’t comment on your sobs that you now allowed to flow as freely as your tears, and, in turn, you didn’t comment on how tender your huge, scary superior could be, holding your face gently and whispering praises, comforting you the best he could.

It became something akin of a habit. At first it was just fucking to destress or to not have to deal in a proper way with all the trauma that came with your line of work, but then you started to linger. His touches became gentler, his big hands would stroke your skin instead of just gripping it hard enough to bruise, and you found yourself staring at his strong and scarred back one morning as he slept somewhat soundly beside you. Your hands itched to trace them, and at the moment you decided you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, literally, with your superior more often, it was when you also realized you were fucked. To the others, surely it looked just like a very unethical and paperwork-worthy sexual tension, but you weren’t stupid, and not a teenager anymore, so you couldn’t find any excuses for the lingering glances and touches, how you started worrying more for him in battlefield, and you didn’t know if it was comforting or terrifying for you to think that he probably realized what was going on inside your head whenever he looked back at you, even if his hardened and unreadable gaze never faltered. Some nights, you’d find yourself alone in your cot wondering if you were imagining it all or if the longing you felt for his reciprocity was too delusional, and the thought made your throat ache in the worst way possible. You knew it was a bad idea, but you were unable to restrain yourself from finding your way back to his bed more often than not - and whenever he’d open the door for you when the base was already dead silent, realizing he also seemed glad to see you made all of your rational thoughts go out the window.

“Quit the starin’.”

Oh. Right. You were still looking at him. You muttered out a low sorry and looked down at your cup, well aware of Simon’s gaze burning holes into your face. So much for not staring.

“Why don’t you ever go home?”

There’s that word again. You wondered if your experience with feeling so stateless after fleeing from the place you used to call your own such a long time ago was that uncommon between soldiers, and suddenly the beer in your tongue didn’t taste that bitter anymore.

“It was just a place like any other. I’m afraid there hasn’t been anythin’ for me there in a while, so i guess i don’t really got one anymore.”

But again, you did wonder why Simon was all the way over to Liverpool and not Manchester, and a part of you selfishly hoped you weren’t alone with the gut wrenching feeling of not belonging anywhere but your base. Not that he’d ever admit to something like that. Simon was not the kind of man to say his thoughts clearly, or with words, for that matter.

“No family? Friends?”

Chuckling dryly, you’d let yourself linger a bit longer on Ghost’s sudden interest in actually knowing you more than physically if his bluntness didn’t amuse you in a bitter way.

“People realize really quickly how hard it is to keep relationships with someone who’s gone for months on end, and could very well be dead in a ditch the next time you try to call. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

Simon said nothing in response, but his gaze on you seemed to soften a bit. Experiencing him outside of the battlefield was the kind of thing that would surely give you whiplash, years of military experience and living through horrors beyond comprehension would, of course, make him have a dangerous and reserved aura 24/7, but watching him let loose just a little bit and allow himself to be minimally vulnerable through his gaze and casually, softer spoken words were a new sort of fascinating. He was never the kind of person to ask things out of politeness, no, he was brazen and direct, so his genuine curiosity in you made it difficult to calm your already palpitating heartbeat.

Under the lights of a very dimly lit pub in East Liverpool, you were seeing not Ghost, not your Lieutenant, but only Simon Riley. You came to the conclusion you really liked this side of him. So, you decided to take your chances and prod a little bit more.

“What about you, Lieutenant? Where is home for you?”

“Classified.”

You chuckled, and a tiny, barely-there smirk formed on his lips before he hid it with the rim of his bourbon glass. It was worth a try.

You lost track of how long you were sitting there, in silence, just listening to the static-ish audio of the shitty television on the corner of the bar or the idle chat of other patrons, occasionally muttering something to Ghost, but it all felt superficial. You wanted to jump him, to strip him bare, not of his clothes, but of all of him that was a façade, and lay down every word left unsaid. Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted him to let you care for him the way he cared for you. For every time he’d wordlessly patch up your wounds in a dirty alleyway, push you out of a sniper’s line of sight or bark orders for you to get to fucking safety, you wanted to help him through each nightmare (that he thought you didn’t notice it plagued his nights more often than not, leaving him restless the next day), and hold him close when the throes of carrying a whole team and an entire life of trauma on his back became too much to bear on his own. You felt like a fool, pining over a man who made no effort to hide how little he trusted people.

Soon enough, the pub grew quieter and more devoid of people, and at some point you and Ghost decided the bartender’s gaze was way too unwelcoming, as he clearly wanted to go home, so you wordlessly decided to go back to your aimless wandering. A few of your old army colleagues wouldn’t hesitate to pull off their military card to get what they wanted, whenever and however they wanted, but just the thought made your stomach turn in disgust. Your blood stained hands didn’t feel like the ones of a hero that deserved to be pampered.

“Why are you still here anyway?”

He had asked you a few days after your conversation in that dingy safehouse. You had found yourself brushing shoulders side by side together after you went out for a smoke in the base, running into him leaned against a parked truck, lost in thought. For some reason, the question made you feel ashamed to meet his eyes, even if his tone wasn’t accusatory; just curious.

“I feel like it’s too late for me. I’ve seen too much. There’s nothing else I know how to do at this point.”

Your tongue felt like lead inside your mouth. A part of you longed for an early retirement so you could live a quiet and monotonous life somewhere in the countryside, but you also knew most people with your lifestyle wouldn’t live enough to see retirement. Alas, deep inside you felt like it was impossible to not grow restless if you were to live a life free of the adrenaline you embraced as a vice. It felt hypocritical, suffering over the consequences of your own choices, but God knows you’d leave in a heartbeat if you weren’t already too far deep in. You’d suppose becoming a soldier had its good sides, though, even if just the idea of finding any comfort in your work made you uneasy. Surely you’d never have met the 141 otherwise and, consequently, made them your little dysfunctional found family. You’d hold onto that for the sake of your sanity. On your side, Ghost hummed, acknowledging what you were saying, and maybe you’d find he could relate to your feelings, somehow.

“It’s difficult to let go of a whole life of violence.”

His words had stuck with you, as wise and cryptic in a way only he managed to pull it off.

Outside, the drizzle seemed to have gotten a bit stronger in the last few hours, but neither of you cared enough for it. It didn’t feel that bad compared to the storms that rained over you in open fields or the mud you’d have to crawl across to stay hidden sometimes. You’d feel pretty stupid if this little rain actually got you sick, but that was a worry for future you. It didn’t even cross your mind to ask Ghost if you were heading somewhere, you just followed him blindly, analyzing him in silence and noticing he looked good in civilian clothes, the plain black hoodie fitting him perfectly. From the little distance you walked besides him, you could notice he was smelling good, a mixture of cologne and his natural musk which you were already very well acquainted with.

The street was clearly in a commercial district, and it felt even quieter than the one you were before. All the stores were closed with only a faint night light illuminating a few of their interiors, and you appreciated the faint smell of the sea by being somewhat close to the port.

You enjoyed the stillness of it all and the lack of people to make you jealous with their normal, happy lives.

Subconsciously, you barely noticed that you ended up scooting even closer to Simon as you walked, happy he didn’t seem to mind it.

Suddenly, he stopped mid-walk, and you became hyper aware of how much you were staring at him. God, you felt like a creep. After a second, he spoke in a murmur, not turning to look at you.

“Since when?”

You waited for him to elaborate what he meant, but it never came. Chuckling nervously, you peered up at him, confused.

“Since when…what?”

Finally, he turned to look at you with something indescribable in his eyes. It made you feel small, like he wanted to devour you, but it also made your heart leap in your chest, like he wanted to devour you.

“I know how you feel about me. You’re not very subtle about it. I’m not bloody stupid, kid. ”

Your head snapped towards him at his harsh words, even if his low voice and gentle-ish tone didn’t quite reflect the true nature of them, but any witty reply you had died down once you saw how his eyes were downturned in unease.

Oh.

You realized what he’s talking about, and turns out your late night musings were right - at least part of them. Simon leaves no opening to figure out by his body language what the bringing up of the topic means to him. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he will reject you and reprimand you for being unprofessional (as if loving him was more unprofessional than fucking your superior). Maybe-

“I’m…not sure.” You admit, refusing to meet his steely gaze. “It just…happened. Stopped being just casual sex a while ago.”

His silence makes seconds feel like hours. You try to control your labored breathing by listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain that’s back to drizzling on the store awning you’re both under. A part of you wishes the rain would suddenly get so strong it would break the awning and drag you away with the current from Simon’s soul-crushing silence. You feel stupid, foolish.

Fool, fool, fool-

He closes the distance between your bodies. Having never paid much detailed attention to the rare occasions when gloves didn’t adorn his hands outside the bedroom, you suddenly notice how much his palms feel a pleasant kind of rough and calloused when they don’t carry the intent of ravaging you, so big against your face as he gently cradles you. Of course, he knows you’re a soldier, not some porcelain doll to be easily broken, but God knows how much seeing him hold you as if you’re something precious makes your once-labored breathing come to a halt altogether. His eyes are soft, half lidded, and uncertain on you as he murmurs out sorrowfully.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.”

For the first time ever, you feel like you’re the only person who’s ever seen Simon Riley look scared. You don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting you or the other way around.

Instinctively, your own hands gingerly go to the top of his in a light caress, and you fight against the urge to close your eyes and breathe in his musk as you lean into his touch. This up close he also smells faintly like cigarettes.

“Maybe not.” You admit, and you hope he can notice the way you look up at him with hearts in your eyes and willing to wear your own on your sleeve. “But I want to find out.”

He doesn’t really smile - he almost never does - , but his gaze holds a promise in it, a vow. One of his hands leaves your face to hike up his mask, and you expect it to stop just below his nose, as always, but he keeps going until it rests on top of his dirty blonde hair, making your breath hitch once again. You were wrong about him; you didn’t need to strip him bare, no, you realize he’d do it for you if you asked. A long time ago you decided you didn’t give a shit about how his face looked, but you made sure to take a good look at him, finally committing his features to memory, acknowledging his trust in you and also how much you really were a fool by underestimating it before. The stubble on his jaw feels coarse under your fingertips, and you indulge yourself by lightly tracing the scar on his lip the way you wanted to do with all of his marks ever since that morning. It occurs to you that even when the hookups turned into something more, you had never seen him so vulnerable, and it sets an equally giddy and unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, but you weren’t about to question his resolve. Taking the reins - as he always does - his lips are on yours in an instant, and you swear you’d die happily at that instant.

The way he kisses you is something new, slow and passionate, as if trying to savor every piece of you at his pace and communicate what he doesn’t know how to put into words. You’d kissed before, sure, but it was always animalistic, an aggressive dance filled with wanton growls deep from his throat and your involuntary whines whenever he would bite your lip - a gazelle in the jaws of a lion - and in the occasions sex was tender, it was most likely because something bad had happened, and you’d hide your face in the crook of his neck so he could pretend not to notice how much you needed it - him - to cope and how much his touch kept you grounded; you’d like to imagine yours made him feel something of the sorts as well. Simon Riley was not the type of man to engage in raw emotional affairs without getting something out of it. And yet, as you close your eyes to hug his neck, bringing his large body impossibly closer to yours, you feel like he is finally giving all of him to you in the rawest way he knows how to. Of course, you’re not teenagers, and with the way of life you lead, emotional attachment can make any soldier feel dreadful for their future, so it would be foolish to expect a full on love confession in the rain, but, if anything, you suddenly realize you can feel Simon’s heart beating fast on his chest through your own, and that is enough for you, making you smile against him.

When you separate, there’s still minimal distance between you two, the air around you feels lighter, and you surround yourself in affection by the way Simon looks down at you adoringly. Any outsider would be quick to say he has the look of a stone cold predator, and he is as unreadable as they come, but once you start dealing with the true man under the mask - even if only figuratively -, you realize that his eyes are truly the window of his soul, and any words left unspoken you’d die to uncover are visible in his dark hues the moment he looks at you. A few blocks away, a clock tower strikes midnight and you spare the building a look from where you can see it.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.” You murmur, knowing full well religious holidays are neither yours or Simon’s thing. The irony of it all is lost when he huffs out a small noise of amusement and distances himself just enough to extend his arm for you to take, his gaze never leaving your form. You could point out he hasn’t really lowered his mask yet but you enjoy the view too much so you might as well indulge in it while he doesn’t remember to do so. His bicep is thick and strong under your fingers as you grip him gently, and he nods forward beyond the awning.

“It stopped raining. Let's get going.”

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kanako-ketsukane111 · 4 months

Text

KANAKO’S BLOG!!!!!

(this blog is on HIATUS. i might respond to some asks still but they’ll be few and far between)

HI! i’m kanako!! welcome to my blog :3 my mom and dad both got one of these, so i figured i’d get one too. heelllloooo tumbler!!!!

[tag list + ooc under cut. this updates frequently so i recommend checking often!]

———🌷——🌸——🌺——🌷——🌸——🌺———

TAGS

#asks - answered asks!

#interactions - interactions with other (usually uty) blogs

#ooc - stuff tagged with this are me, the mod, not kanako. this is also shown with //

#ooc rbs - out of character reblogs, tags and stuff on these are usually me, the mod, not kanako

#not canon - stuff thats kanako, but not really within the canon of this blog. this will include asks from non-uty characters (with some exceptions), or asks about stuff kanako shouldn’t/wouldn’t know

#my dad! - asks that talk about kanako’s dad, chujin

#my mom! - same as the above, with ceroba

———🌷——🌸——🌺——🌷——🌸——🌺———

ASK INFO

asks are generally responded to within four hours, unless im busy/asleep (12 am to 10 am pst usually).

if i don’t respond to your ask, dont get too upset or anything; i probably just didn’t know what to say, or i forgot and i’ll respond later LMAO. please note i am not obligated to respond to anyone.

if you really want it answered, wait atleast 3 days before resending, and please don’t send the same ask more that 3 times

OTHER UTY CHAR BLOGS FEEL FREE TO INTERACT!!! please do, even! i get nervous so i probably won’t int first but i’d looove to do silly things. personally, i would prefer character blogs unrelated to uty don’t interact often, but they’re not completely banned.

i don’t know much about Japanese culture/kitsune symbolism/etc. i will try to research and portray things properly when it applies in asks but please let me know if i do/show something poorly. i would love to grow and learn more!

feel free to send ooc asks to the mod!

———🌷——🌸——🌺——🌷——🌸——🌺———

OTHER

on this account, kanako is likely a bit older than in canon! 12-14, probably

@mo-the-best-salesman is my friend so there’ll probably be a lot of interactions with it even though it doesnt make a ton of sense LMAO

———🌷——🌸——🌺——🌷——🌸——🌺———

i’d like to keep my main priv for now, but if we interact a lot i’ll probably be happy to share it with you! also, its not that hard to find because i like and follow from it GAHHAHAG

thanks for reading 👋

#kanako ketsukane #kanako uty #uty #undertale yellow #ask blog #sorting tags past here #ooc #interactions #asks #ooc rbs #not canon #my dad!#my mom!

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multi-lefaiye · 4 months

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the birth of a son - short story

oh my god i forgot to post this here. anyway this is the short story i wrote recently about my boy eden <3 this is a lil thing all about the first time he summons/creates his homunculus, eddie!

eddie is a physical manifestation of part of eden's soul, in the form of a little imp with sharp lil teeth. he's cute <3

this is based in the original campaign eden was created for and specifically mentions the other players towards the end!

anyway. uh. i feel a bit awkward tagging the whole art taglist for this one oops, so i'm just gonna tag some folks i think would be interested :'> (no pressure to any of you to read this <3) (if you'd rather i not tag you in stuff like this, pls let me know!)

@skitzo-kero @anexor @moonflowerrss @paradoxspir1t @albatris @invaderskoodge @vacantgodling @jezifster @kk7-rbs @corvus-rose

After slipping away from the rest of his ragtag little group at breakfast, it takes Eden around twenty minutes of searching before he finds a spot in the fairgrounds to practice his magic.

He’d thought it would be easier, but it seems that everywhere he turns, someone on the staff is there, taking up valuable space while they mingle and chatter. They all seem nice enough, sure, but the consistent lack of privacy has Eden’s skin prickling with unease.

Of course, in the back of Eden’s mind, he knows he hasn’t had true privacy in some time now. Perhaps he never will again.

(He absently flexes the fingers of his right hand at the thought, feeling white-hot sparks of energy crackle between them.)

But now is not the time to dwell on that.

Soon enough, Eden finds a place to hide, a small nook behind one of the larger tents. Separated from the outside by a thin, beaded curtain, it’s hardly much at first glance: just a low bench with red cushions, a single table, and a lantern bathing the space in a warm, flickering light.

This must be a place for performers to wait for their turn to go onstage. It’s decently comfortable-looking, after all, and just out of sight. Or perhaps it’s somewhere for crew members to take a break, sipping a drink away from the hot sun. Maybe it’s-

He’s getting off-track. Who fucking cares what it’s normally used for? It’ll do for his purposes, and that’s what matters.

Eden lets the curtain fall closed behind him and takes a seat on the bench, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knees as he sinks down. The cushion is thick and comfortable, sinking only slightly under his weight as he gets settled. It almost makes him uneasy for reasons he doesn’t know how to articulate, but he chooses to put that out of his mind. That’s not important.

What’s important is the gem hidden in his pocket, a glimmering black opal. It’s small, only a little bigger than a marble, but it’s worth more than its weight in gold. If he were so inclined, he could sell this marble and, presumably, live comfortably for decades to come.

(At least, that was what that ringmaster fuck had told him when Eden had explained what he needs for this spell. He isn’t sure how much he trusts that fucking freak’s assurances on anything, but that’s not the point. Like the room and the strangely disquieting bench, the marble will work for what Eden needs.)

Eden takes the marble out, staring down at it as he rubs it lightly with one clawed finger. At first glance, the gem’s surface is smooth and inky black, but as he stares closer he sees flecks of other colors hidden in the darkness. Shining yellows, vibrant greens, burning reds, icy blues, and dozens more all swirling together. It’s beautiful, Eden supposes, but he’s never been a particularly good judge of that sort of thing. It almost reminds him of-

The thought dies a swift death before it can finish forming. He needs to stop stalling and letting his mind wander. He has work to do.

With that in mind, Eden holds up the opal, allowing it to catch the light from the lantern, and closes his eyes. Then, in a low voice, he begins to speak, the long-forgotten words falling off his tongue with practiced ease.

“Ex hac gemmā, nāscere, homuncule.”

As he speaks, he feels the gem grow warm between his fingers, vibrating as each word washes over it. All at once, the air in the alcove seems to warm by several degrees, the air around Eden’s head swirling and churning with potential. Eden’s breath slows, and he opens his hand, allowing the opal to float slowly upward. He says the words again.

“Ex hac gemmā, nāscere, homuncule.”

There’s a loud crackle in the air, deafening in the otherwise silent space, and something deep inside Eden’s chest aches. His heart is pounding behind his ribs, a trapped bird desperately trying to escape its cage, and for one brief, hysterical moment, he fears it’s going to burst. But rather than frighten him, the knowledge only sends a thrill through him. And he says the words again, one more time.

“Ex hac gemmā, nāscere, homuncule!”

As he says the words one final time, his eyes fly open, glowing white, and watches as the gem pops. He feels a burst of agonizing, searing pain in his gut, strong enough to make him double over and bite back a shout, as the opal shatters in a shower of white and gold sparks. The flame in the lantern snuffs itself out, plunging the little nook in darkness, and all at once the air is still, silent, and cold.

Eden lets out a shaky breath. The pain is beginning to fade, but he rubs his abdomen for a moment nonetheless. It’s never hurt that much to perform this spell before, but he chalks that up to how long it’s been. After all, he last summoned the creature when he was still in university, finishing his doctorate.

“Doc?”

Eden lifts his head, eyes wide as he stares at the little creature sitting on the table before him. It’s small, just enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and looking up at him with its head tilted to the side. He can’t discern its features in the darkness, though, and that just won’t do. Almost unconsciously, Eden lifts a hand and snaps his fingers at the lantern, willing it to light again as he casts produce flame. It does so with a flash of gold, and once again the room is bathed in low, warm light. Despite that, it feels strangely cold.

He hardly notices, though, instead turning his attention to fully regard the creature looking up at him--his homunculus.

The homunculus looks different from how he remembers him, but at first it takes a moment for Eden to figure out what’s wrong. He looks mostly the same. Small, bipedal, with hind legs like a rat. Two nubby horns. Pointed ears. Mop of curly golden hair, hanging just past his tiny shoulders. Bat-like wings, connected to his forelimbs the same way. Sharp claws. Round, humanoid facial features. Short tail. Fluffy-

It’s then that it strikes Eden what’s wrong. The homunculus is covered in a fine layer of lavender fur, only broken up by patches of scales on his face and legs. That’s new.

The homunculus blinks at him, then smirks wryly as he tilts his head to the other side, like a puppy. “What’s wrong, Doc?” he asks, his voice just as high-pitched as Eden remembers. “You forget how to talk?”

He’s just as rude as Eden remembers, at least, and the realization is such a relief that he laughs, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“No,” he says, “I was just making sure you didn’t come out dangerously deformed this time. You’re no use to me if you die after five minutes.” The homunculus scoffs, offended.

“I’ll have you know, any problems in my physical form are your fault, as the alchemist in this situation,” he says matter-of-factly. “You should know that, Doc. That’s the first thing they teach you at that stupid magic college. Or did you lose your fuckin’ brain cells when you graduated?”

“I can send you right back,” Eden reminds him, reaching out to flick the little creature. “Don’t sass me, brat.” It’s an empty threat, and it seems they both know it, if the way the homunculus’ eyes light up are any indication.

“Yes, yes, go ahead!” he squeaks, flapping his wings as he swats at Eden’s hand. He seems to be balancing well, not swaying even slightly as he bats at Eden. “Waste the precious resources you used to summon me!” Eden reaches around to poke at the homunculus’ back, grinning at the indignant squeal he receives in response.

“Motor skills look good so far,” Eden hums thoughtfully. “And, clearly, not existing for 634 years hasn’t done anything to your cognitive ability.”

“Why would it have?” the homunculus drawls. “You look like you’re doing fine.” If he’s surprised to hear how long it’s been since he was last summoned, it doesn’t show on his face.

“Fair point,” Eden agrees. He knows the homunculus is created from the essence of his very soul, so perhaps it isn’t too surprising that the little freak is doing just fine. After all, occasional aches and pains aside, Eden’s been remarkably unaffected by his own resurrection. Though… if the creature came from his soul, is that why it’s covered in fur this time?

Perhaps the curse has more of a grip on me than I thought.

It’s a disquieting realization, but Eden puts it to the side for now. He has more pressing concerns, like catching up with the homunculus.

“Things have changed since you were last here,” he begins, reaching out one hand. The homunculus has the audacity to look offended, rolling his eyes as he climbs onto Eden’s outstretched palm.

“No shit,” he says. “For one thing, you look--and smell--a lot more like a corpse than usual. When’s the last time you took a shower?” Despite his grumbling, the homunculus gladly clambers up Eden’s arm, digging in his tiny claws to keep his balance, before settling on the tiefling’s shoulder. “And when’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

“Fuck you, I’m perfectly fine.” Eden flicks the creature’s nose, smiling as the homunculus nips his fingers in response. The creature’s teeth are sharp, but far too small to cause any more pain than a slight prickling sensation. It reminds Eden of a teething puppy.

“Anyway,” Eden continues, “that’s not the point. I’ve been… traveling, let’s say, so you’re gonna have to get used to that while you’re sticking around.” He can’t imagine that’s going to be a problem--the homunculus is a notoriously adaptable creature. Really, all the creature needs is food to eat, a place to sleep, the chance to relieve himself on occasion, and the presence of his creator.

“Eh,” the homunculus says, “that’s okay. Didn’t think you were the adventuring type, but whatever.” He’s making himself comfortable on Eden’s shoulder, curling his tail around himself. “That why you smell bad?”

“I don’t smell bad,” Eden says. He moves on before the creature can protest, shifting his stature automatically to account for the additional weight on his shoulder. His joints ache at the movement, but he ignores them. “Anyway, I’ve also been doing a lot of fighting. There’s a lot of things that want me dead, turns out, and we both know that you aren’t built to handle a situation like that.”

“I could be,” the homunculus offers. “I could bite the shit out of someone. I could kill them. I could disembowel them with my powerful fangs-”

“You couldn’t bite through the skin of an apple without help,” Eden tells him. “Stop lying.” In response, the homunculus bites his neck, only serving to prove Eden’s point as the action prompts nothing more than a snort. “You’re not helping your case here.”

“I hate you,” the homunculus grumbles. “You’re the meanest alchemist alive, Doc.” He settles down on Eden’s shoulder, curling up like a little kitten. “You’re so mean to me, your only son.”

“That I am,” Eden agrees, ignoring the way something in his chest flutters at the homunculus referring to himself as Eden’s son. He’ll have to remind him not to do that. “Anyway, we’ll have to figure out a plan to keep you out of the fray the next time a fight happens, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” The homunculus hums in agreement. It seems the creature’s initial burst of energy is waning, and now it seems to be growing tired.

“Anything else, Doc?” the homunculus asks. “Or can I take a nap? Being born is very tiring, you know.” Eden hesitates briefly before he answers.

“Well,” he says, “I’m traveling with some new… friends. I should give you a primer on them before you meet them, so you don’t embarrass both of us.” The homunculus lifts his head to shoot Eden a dirty glare. Before the creature can protest, though, Eden continues. “Look, I can already tell some of them are going to adore you, you annoying shithead, but the other ones would probably gladly swat you like a fly if you get too close.” At that, the homunculus’ eyes widen in unease.

“You have bad taste in friends, if they’d kill a piece of you that quickly,” the homunculus tells him gravely. It’s Eden’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Stop being dramatic,” he warns the creature. “I just mean that you’re an annoying little gnat. If any of them wanted to smack you for it, I probably wouldn’t be able to stop them.” That doesn’t seem to offer the creature any comfort, but he nods.

“Okay,” the homunculus says. “Alright. Tell me about them. I need to know which ones to avoid.”

And so he does. He starts from the beginning, telling the homunculus about each new ally in order of meeting them.

Pevier, the gentle aasimar. Naive at times, sometimes frustratingly so, but full of a genuine desire to help and do good that Eden can’t help but admire. At times, Eden believes Pevier doesn’t deserve to be here, but he supposes that just speaks to the cruelty of the world they’re in. It may be impossible to do forever, considering the threats they face, but Eden wants to protect that naivete, if he can.

Hyndrol, the sharp-witted elf. Clever and quick on her feet and with her words, trading barbs with Eden with an ease that makes him feel remarkably at home just as much as it drives him up the wall. He can tell she has her secrets, but he can’t exactly begrudge her that, all things considered (after all, they’re all hiding one thing or another). She’s loyal to the end when it matters, for better or for worse, and he respects that.

Barley, the cursed tabaxi. Unlike anything Eden has ever seen in his life, with a charming smile and a ferocity boiling just beneath the surface that has him deeply curious. Eden genuinely cares about what Barley thinks of him, much more than he has with anyone in a long time, and the realization makes him deeply uncomfortable. He can’t quite escape the feeling that he’s not measuring up, no matter how hard he tries.

Strata, the powerful dragonborn. Tall and brutal, overwhelming in her strength and awe-inspiring to see in action, and remarkably intimidating even when relaxed. Eden normally wouldn’t put much thought into the feelings of someone he’s known for such a short amount of time, but he can only imagine how strange this all is for her, a literal fish out of water in a world that thinks her kind is extinct. He admires her strength, physically and otherwise, but he’s sure the feeling isn’t mutual. No matter. As long as Strata stays with the group, Eden can accept her disdain.

And, finally, James, the mysterious elf, the newcomer. Dark and intriguing, cloaked in shadow despite his generally friendly demeanor. Eden still isn’t completely sure what possessed him to approach the stranger with the offer of joining them at the circus, aside from sheer impulsiveness and a need for someone to want him around, but here he is nonetheless. He seems decent enough, but… well. Time will tell how poor that decision turns out to be, Eden supposes, but if nothing else, he seems like a good ally for now.

Predictably, most of the nuances of Eden’s relationships with his new friends go over the homunculus’ head. All the creature cares about, of course, is how easily he’ll be able to convince each of them to pat his head and give him apple slices.

“You’ll get to meet them soon enough,” Eden sighs. Absently, he lifts one hand to stroke the creature’s back, smiling despite himself at the ragged little purr he receives in response. “And you can get started on your diabolical scheming to kill me in my sleep and take my place.”

“Sounds like a plan!” the homunculus chirps, nuzzling his hand. “Give it a week! They’ll like me better in no time.” He then yawns. “But… wanna sleep right now. We can meet ‘em later.” He closes his eyes, making himself cozy, and then reconsiders after a moment, opening one eye to look at Eden curiously. “... No. Sleep now. Then food. Then friends. I haven’t eaten in 600 years.”

“You haven’t existed in 600 years,” Eden points out. “You haven’t had a stomach to feed.” The only response he receives is a quiet little snore, and he huffs a sigh, rolling his eyes fondly. Still, he settles back into the bench, letting the creature snooze on his shoulder.

He can find everyone again later. For now, he can just enjoy some peace and quiet with his creation.

#multi makes text posts #Multi's Writing #eden linnaeus #doesn't use eddie's name in here but trust me. that's who this is. lil guy of all time

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fyodorkitkat · 29 days

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Can I ask you about shipping? Do you ship every ship you rb to your blog? Is there a reason you don't tag ships? Are there any bsd ships you don't like?

Sure. No I don't. Yes there is. And yes.

Extended explanation (warning: long)

I will pretty much rb most fanart I find something I like about or looks nice irregardless of the ship or intention of the artist (whether it is ship art or not). I also don't care about a lot of ships (more in a "yeah sure whatever floats your boat" or "that could be fun, sure" type of way), or have such a casual attitude towards them it doesn't matter to me.

For fic, if the tags match up with what I like or think would be interesting, don't include any of my hard no's, and the summary catches my attention I will read whatever if I feel like it. Though for mutuals or ppl I talk to sometimes I have tried to read things that I wouldn't usually, sometimes it has been a happy surprise, other times I can't really get into it or there is something about it I just can't fuck with even though their writing is good. With art it matters even less though.

I have also been "sold" on ships by other people through fic and art as well. Because I will consider *mostly* anything, at least for a moment.

I decided early on to not tag ships. This is for multiple reasons.

1. My tagging system is detailed and organized but tagging ships makes it more complicated.

2. I would have to determine if the art was intended to be ship art or not before tagging just because of how I am. This is an extra step which gets more complicated if I am rbing from someone else because it means I have to click through every time to see the OPs original tags assuming they exist.

3. I never have the desire to search my own blog by ship. Only by character.

There are bsd ships that don't exist to me, ones I don't like, and there are bsd ships I am completely indifferent to/don't get it. I'm not going to list everything, I don't know every pairing that exists, I am surely forgetting things, and you didn't ask for specifics. So I will keep this part shorter than I could but me not listing something doesn't mean I like it or actively ship it. It just might fall into the "doesn't exist to me" or "have never thought about/don't really give a shit/forgot it existed even" category.

Any ship involving underage characters (or underage versions of characters who are presently adults) do not exist to me. As in, I'm pretending it doesn't happen for my own peace, and if I have the misfortune of seeing it I block with the quickness.

I don't like Morizai or Dazaku (in any interation including Beast version).

I am not okay with Fukuran at all.

I am not a fan/don't understand Kunichuu or Kunichuuzai or Kunichuuwhatever Kunikida and Chuuya polyship of the hour is.

I'm really mid on Kousano though I will rb art of them because I am always happy to see art for bsd women. Would probably never read fic with them though specifically/intentionally as I don't understand the pairing much.

Odazai is not something I ship but when he dies he is 23 and Dazai is 18 so I don't understand ppl who give others serious flack for shipping them in dark era (when Dazai is an adult though), or shipping Beast Odazai or AUs where Oda lives and they are both adults.

I mention this because this one I have seen just get thrown around a lot with a bunch of moral outrage with it, and I personally don't get it.

#my filtered tags list is long and ever growing and sometimes it feels like i have half this website blocked so i mostly don't see what i #dont like. and i highly encourage everyone to do the same.#including blocking me if you read this and something about it bothered you or pissed you off #-Lue asks

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sainztander · 2 years

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Not to be a chirlie apologist but if you listen to the interviews (especially Italian ones) the team and Carlos do say that they've been working for months to adapt the car to him. I don't remember if it was in Monza or Singapore but Charles said the car has too much understeer now. More understeer is what Carlos prefers. If they've been working to adapt the car to him, of course that penalizes Charles a little bit. Ferrari can't produce two completely different cars, they have to be similar. They can change the set up a little bit, and they do so to adapt the car to every different circuit, but they can't produce two completely different car structures. So when the drivers have different driving styles, one of them gets penalized. In the beginning of the season it was Carlos (by his own admission, he couldn't find his footing with the car, and ended up off track while Charles flew by). So the team started working hard to suit the car to him. Charles's performance declined a bit because of that, but he's a very adaptable driver so at the end of the day wasn't penalized too much. The real problem is that after the break, with the new upgraded parts, the car started eating the tyres like never before. That decline coincided with Ferrari saying they've been working to help Carlos, so now in people's minds the cars' poor performance comprared to RB is because of him. Let's be honest the fact that Leclerc can keep up with the Red Bulls and even keep Perez behind (while he gained 1 second per lap!) is pretty incredible. I don't know what Ferrari have done to that car but it's a pity. I used to hope that once they fixed the engine reliability, it would all be all right...

hi! ok let's talk about it.

i'm no f1 engineer(!), but what i understand from reading all i could about what goes on with designing a car and upgrading it, what i have been explained from people who know a lot more about the technicalities than i do, and also what i can gather from my memory which luckily is still pretty unbiased is that:

1) when designing a f1 car the engineering teams devise a "philosophy" behind it: they're purposefully building a car with certain features, already theorizing how it will perform and which problems could arise and could be improved, mainly on sims. then, when they gather actual data from testing and races the work on upgrades can develop with back and forth between the factory and the team on track. the upgrades should improve the original idea, following its flow, which is a lot more complicated than it sounds, since every change they bring must not break what already works, and instead has to strengthen their weaker features. and since it already is a delicate job, do you see them scratching all of their knowledge of the car and their data just to go on another direction? when the car was already performing very well? they literally waited for the 6th race to finally bring some upgrades just because they wanted to gather as much data as possible and be sure they understood the car!!

2) (for this point i will quote parts of this italian article that sums up the upgrades on the f1-75 from barcelona till singapore) the thing is that ever since monza everyone kinda forgot that the upgrades ferrari brought worked... pretty well, actually? the first set where mainly about fixing porpoising and then aerodynamics, since the deficit with straightline speed was the main issue. and this is what they will keep working on for the entire season, changing floors to get more groundforce and (a lot of) rearwings to try and get at rbr's drs speed. and they hardly lost anything performance wise. instead i'd say these were the races where the f1-75 and the rb18 fought more closely, with the ferrari often being quicker. and, coincidence, these are also the weekends where carlos gets closer to charles.

3) “At first it comes from Carlos’ ability to analyse what the car does and what he needs from it,” said Mekies. “And then not only is he able to feel it, but he’s able to communicate it to the engineers and slowly we have been able to transform that into actions in terms of the way we set up the car, and in terms of the way that perhaps we tweak some of the developments and that’s how it happened." (MEKIES EXPANDS ON WHAT HAS CHANGED FOR SAINZ FOR HIS IMPROVEMENTS)

This interview dates 11.08.2022, a week into summer break, the last gp being hungary, where charles' p1 was (again) lost due to a strategy blunder. But not due the car's lack of performance.

up to then, the f1-75 was very much keeping up with the rb18. the difference was that carlos was also closing up to the top. he's been pretty quick since monaco, and in very good form in montreal, silverstone, austria and france. and charles' performance was still as great as ever when compared to the rivals, so no sign there to the growth being due to updates made just for carlos' benefit (tweaking is the key word). he could have benefitted from them but it's not like they made them just for him. the car got faster. and carlos finally got comfortable driving it, due to more practice but most importantly the job on the set-up and simulations (we also know that charles helped him as well, and they often exchanged notes and worked together).

a week ago i think(?) came out an italian interview with charles who, when asked where carlos is better than him, answered "the set-up on the car, and working on the sim" which was kinda ... met with laughz from the chirlies. which is what made me a little mean and prompted my lil post calling them out for not understanding cars. lmao. i'll just say, if you don't get how important the set-up is, i'll just remind you how it ended for charles in france for getting it wrong. there isn't a trace of mockery in charles' answer because knowing how to improve your car's performance is a critical ability for every single racing drivers, and it is very well known that it has always been one of carlos' strength. he studied, he trained, he conferred with his engineers, he got better. no mistery.

(also, i'll add my unpopular opinion here which is that...... carlos wasn't doing like, catastrophically badly like everyone made it look like. until monaco he only got 1 dnf out of his own fault, and his lowest result was a p4. he made mistakes and wasn't doing as good as charles, but that was far from a performance that needed an intervention from the engineers to "build the car around him." at least that's my opinion.)

4) now let's talk about beloved f1-75 flopping. what happened? summer break, then spa and! TD39. we already knew that spa (and monza) would be hard since the circuit didn't fit with the f1-75 main strengths. but zandvoort should have been easier to take, but still it wasn't. at all. ferrari came back from the summer with a BIG problem with tyre deg (which is actually something they've struggled with the entire season, on a more manageable scale) which could or could not be a result of the TD39. according to binotto, it's not that, but it's simply that redbull made more upgrades, so they've gained more while we stayed at the same point as before (since we're still ahead of every other team). i have an opinion on that which is...... that i don't agree with it lmao. but if i expanded on that it would lead on the theorical more than the factual, so i'll leave my opinion to myself. we also know that from singapore onwards they've been testing upgrades for the 2023 season, so i think that some of the loss of comfort is also due to that. (both of them said that it's a lot trickier to drive since the summer break)

5) last point which is a question to YOU but... i don't get what do you mean when you say that charles' performance declined because... i think i must have missed that?

SO that's it. i hope you don't hate me for all of this anon ahah. anyway thanks for the ask!

#asks #also this will probably be incoherent since it's a lot of hours past my bedtime . Sorry

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