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#way longer than usual lol
cardo-de-comer · 3 months
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The Sanctum🐝
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teruel-a-witch · 1 year
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ever since I saw the conversation between steve and aunt deb in 5x08 it's been on my mind. there are some definite parallels between steve and his aunt, like the fact that they have musical talent but weren't able to pursue it, they never had children of their own but they both have children they help raise that they love like their own, and they spent a long time not having that special person to call their own but once they did find that person they immediately wanted to spend the rest of their lives with them. but this bit is the one that caught my attention
aunt deb: the one thing I never gave up on was love. And I guess it never gave up on me either because HERE HE IS at long last.
steve:
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i think we all have a pretty good idea which HE steve is thinking about, he even lets out a wistful frustrated long 'Eeh' sigh which is like the verbal equivalent of throwing in the towel.
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his patented danny-smile makes a brief appearance, the very same one he bestowed on him just earlier today. even if the pronouns didn't conveniently match, there's only one person who makes him smile like that so I don't doubt that's whom he's thinking about in that moment. danny is, to use deb's words, steve's 'most profound and life altering' relationship, that's as good as canon.
here comes the saddest part
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let the records show that up until this point cath's name does not come up at all and obviously she's not in the episode (unlike danny who is steve's date to the wedding), aunt deb is the one who brings her up because she assumes, like many people in steve's life.
just like the writers want us to think his wistfulness is about cath but steve is never the one to bring her up, other people do it, he just lets them assume in that way closeted queer people do so we aren't technically lying. he never lied he just doesn't correct people. besides it's pretty obvious he doesn't miss cath when danny is around, even she knew he would be okay without her because he has danny.
for steve it's less embarrassing to let it seem like he's pining after the one that got away rather than admit he's been in love with his best friend for years with no hope of anything coming out of that situation. he was hopeful once and we know how that turned out. 'i did' with the subtext of 'never again'.
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guardian-angle22 · 10 months
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Your TK whump recs are spot on!! Personal is a recent favorite of mine and You Keep Coming Back With a Bird In Your Teeth is the WIP I most look forward to updates on!! Love your taste 💕💕💕!!
So since you've inadvertently become the fic idea person might I suggest some double whump (heavily inspired by fics from another ship)? Basically Carlos gets himself in some trouble/injured and TK with some assistance (preferably Paul) manages to save him and stabilize his condition. However during the getaway it becomes clear TK has sustained a life threatening injury during the rescue. So now Carlos has no choice but to drive the car, fly a plane, etc. to get him to safety while only being able to listen to Paul (the more medically qualified of the two) try desperately to keep TK alive.
[response to this post]
Oh I’ve got fic recs for days, guys. Here have a couple more TK whump fic recs since it's the current topic:
Rumble and Sway & Catch Me If You Can by Mari_Marie (all of their fics are amazing - some really creative AUs.)
I can't breathe until you're resting here with me by @tkstrrand
Guilt will destroy your heart if you let it by @sapphire11
I do love your fic prompt! Especially with the addition of Paul.
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You know how to get straight to my heart with that 😂 I desperately need more Paul in 911LS fic ngl. Even if it's just featuring in a Tarlos-centric fic. I would eat it up.
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whumpflash · 1 year
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(continuation of this. this part will hopefully not be too confusing devoid of context but I'm sorry if it is 😶)
cw: pet whump, slavery, mentioned violence
Afternoon tea with a fairy queen sounds like something I would've daydreamt up as a kid. A really young kid. It sounds whimsical. Fanciful. Definitely not stressful. Because when you play pretend as a kid, you're probably not thinking about the political aspects, and you're probably not worried about accidentally screwing the whole thing up and getting yourself and your partner killed.
Funny how the real world works like that.
It was easy enough to get an invitation. Humans are apparently all the rage these days in the mirrored lands, and a human who's promising dirt on an old rival is even better. 
The spread set out for the guests is immaculate. China so fine you can practically see through it, and glassware as delicate and intricate as a butterfly's wing. Not to mention the meticulously arranged trays of food. Tiny fruits that look too bright to be real, pastries baked in the shape of flowers with honey dripping from their crusts, little sandwiches and tartlets with fillings that look delicious, though I can't identify them. Even if it weren't for Rhodes and his secret quest for vengeance, I'd probably try and crash one of these parties anyway, if only for the meal.
"All rise for the Queen of the Garden Court!" 
The voice booms across the marble hall from somewhere unseen, and those around me—lords and envoys, dukes and wannabes, all here to kiss up to the Queen—hurry to their feet.
Everyone here is after something; power, favor, a chance to climb the social ladder. I'm no exception, but my goals are a little less direct.
Hey, I call mentally to Rhodes. She's here. You should be in the clear for now.
Atta girl, just keep her busy while I figure out where she put the list, he replies.
I have to physically stop myself from nodding, putting on a smile as a woman enters the hall. Contrary to her title, the Garden Queen isn't clad in anything resembling flowers, wearing instead a simple but elegant dress that looks like it's made of melted chocolate. She's smaller than I expected, with tanned skin and a serious expression. In one hand she holds a silver chain, which trails upwards and attaches to a collar around the neck of…
Aaron.
I feel my breath catch in my throat as he moves closer, head bowed, led along by the Queen. He's thinner. Disheveled, even in the fine attire he's been dressed in, but it's unmistakably him.
I remember Armitage's words with a start. The mention of a deal to placate a flower queen. Was this it? Give her a human servant?
"Please be seated," the Garden Queen says, and I sit along with the rest of the court. She takes her place at the head of the table, Aaron kneeling on the floor beside her.
Is this a trick? Is he trying to con her? There's no way the Aaron I know would act so subservient. It almost makes me want to laugh, picturing it as an act. Prideful asshole like him ordered to pretend he's a fae queen's plaything. I wonder how hard it was to convince him?
Servants cart out a sizable teapot, and with a snap of the Queen's fingers, Aaron is standing to pour it. He's got four other guests before he reaches me, and I'm spending that time trying to come up with the best biting remark I can.
But as he gets closer, as tends to happen, I get a closer look. His expression is dull, like he's numb to the world around him, and there are dark circles under his eyes that weren't there last time we were face to face. His hands shake, almost imperceptibly, as he pours the tea. 
Time passes differently in the mirrored lands. It's only been a few weeks since his fight with Nick, but how long has it been for him?
I'm still staring when he reaches me. We meet eyes for all of a second before he looks away, but I see the flash of recognition. He nearly spills my tea as he pours it, then makes his way around the table, returning to kneel by the Queen once his task is complete.
It takes a minute for me to realize that everyone else has started to eat, selecting treats from the tiered trays before them. I take a pastry and some fruit, if only to avoid drawing attention to myself.
I've lost my appetite.
How's it going? comes Rhodes' voice.
Looks like she'll be busy for a while, I reply. But…
But?
I grab one of the little fruits—one that looks like a tiny cluster of bright orange grapes—and chew it robotically. It tastes weirdly like bananas.
But there's been a small hiccup, I continue. Someone here knows me.
Dammit. Is this gonna blow everything?
I sip at the tea. No, I… I don't think so. He's not a guest. He's… I don't know, he's some kind of servant to the Queen. Some kind of pet.
He's human then, Rhodes says. It's been known to happen. A human gets in too deep with fae business and funds there's no coming back.
I glance over at Aaron. Very still, eyes glued to the floor. Like a stranger is wearing his skin.
Is there no coming back? I ask.
We can't help him, comes the reply. Not now. Not without getting caught.
I don't know why his words make my stomach twist. No matter how pitiful he looks now, it's still Aaron, and he's still a violent asshole. The world is no doubt a safer place with him bound to the Queen's will.
The afternoon rolls on, and I do my best to enjoy it despite the presence of my enthralled ex-coworker. I try to listen to the babble of the lord's around me to take my mind off it, but even in fantasyland, politics are super boring.
"Louisa?"
It takes me a second to remember the false name I gave to the court, and I look up to find the Queen staring pointedly at me.
"My Queen?" I manage to say.
"I've heard rumors that you have a story or two about an old schoolmate of mine," she says. "A man going by the name of Armitage?"
Ah yes. Gossip time. I straighten my shoulders and pretend I don't notice the slight shift on Aaron's face.
"I do indeed, your majesty," I say. "I have stories to entertain the whole of your court, and—" I lean in with a cartoonishly mischievous look. "---a few stories that may be too saucy for any ears but the Queen's," I say in a theatrical whisper. Rhodes would be proud.
The Queen herself looks sufficiently intrigued, and I think I can say with confidence that I've bought plenty of time. I stand up, aware of dozens of pairs of eyes on me.
Right. The fun part. The part where everyone stares at me and I have to hold their attention without messing up. No pressure.
I clear my throat, gearing up for one of the stories Rhodes told me.
"Well," I start. "It began on a windy day."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My nerves are straight shot by the time I've finished the first tale, and thankfully it seems everyone's attention has wavered enough that they aren't wanting another. The Queen is a different story. Once the tea service is cleared away, she motions for me to come closer.
"That was quite an entertaining story," she says, giving me such a look that it feels like she's trying to read my mind. "But I'm more interested in the… what did you call them? Saucy tales. Do you have the information I think you have?"
Shoot. Do I?
"It may be so, my Queen," I say quickly. "However, if I am to divulge such things, it should be somewhere more…" I make a point to glance around. "Secluded."
Maybe that will at least buy me some time.
Are you done yet? I call out to Rhodes. We have a situation.
I swear I'm close.
You said that an hour ago, I complain.
For real this time. What's the situation?
It's probably fine.
What's the worst that could happen? All I have to do is lie well enough to get her off my back, then me and Rhodes can book it.
"You are correct," the Queen says after a moment. "I will receive you in my chambers shortly. Please wait here, and I'll send someone to fetch you."
With that, she rises, giving a snap of her fingers. Aaron, who'd been stacking the remaining plates, flinches at the sharp little sound. As he turns toward us, his arm catches the edge of the stack, sending it to the ground with a loud crash as the plates explode into a million tiny shards.
I jump at the sound, looking at him like he's gone crazy. Behind me, the Queen scoffs.
"Clean it up," she says flatly, a disgusted look on her face. And then she's gone, footsteps echoing on the marble.
I fall into a chair with a sigh, watching Aaron fall to his knees and get to work.
"You did that on purpose," I say in a low voice.
"I-I wanted to talk to you," he says, not looking up. His voice is hoarse, like someone with a sore throat.
"Well here I am," I say, shifting to face away. I can't get distracted with this right now. 
Either hurry up or give me some actual dirt on Armitage, I tell Rhodes. The Queen is after some kind of secret.
"Please," Aaron calls in a soft voice. "Armitage… Armitage betrayed me. I'm her… her pet now. I haven't taken any oaths, but they're trying to make me, and if they do, I'll never leave." His voice breaks, and it takes all my willpower to not turn around. It's Aaron. Not some helpless innocent. It's Aaron.
"They're hurting me, Clara. Help me, please—"
"You want me to risk my own freedom— maybe my life— for you?" I cut him off. "You tried to kill Nick. You put me in the hospital."
"I'm sorry."
"Only because you're trying to save your own neck," I spit out. And it's the truth, isn't it? If it was Nick in his position, or even me, I know he'd leave us behind without a second thought.
"So y-you think I deserve this then?" Aaron says, and his voice comes out small. Broken.
"I think–" I shake my head, then at last turn back around. See him kneeling, hands on his knees, looking defeated. 
"No. Yes. No. You deserve some kind of comeuppance but… not this."
His eyes brighten, just the tiniest bit. "Will you help me then? Please, I j-just want to go home–"
"Sh." I can hear footfall on marble, somewhere down the hall. Probably the Queen's messenger coming for me. I could really use those secrets, Rhodes.
 "I'll do what I can," I say quietly. "But I'm not making any promises."
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keii · 1 year
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JoRo WIP. Their faces are so cute— also feet details.
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poirot · 6 months
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some book recs: the haunting of hill house, dr jekyll and mr hyde, the phantom of the opera, the turn of the screw, the yellow wallpaper, sharp objects, the girl on the train
thank you so much for the recommendations, anon <3 it‘s funny because I put ‚the haunting of hill house‘ on my ebook just a few days ago ahsjs haven’t started it yet though because I wasn‘t sure if it‘s too scary for me lol but I think I might read it next!! the phantom of the opera, sharp objects and the girl on the train are on my tbr list since forever, so I definitely should get to them! the other ones I already read (actually just read the yellow wallpaper last week ahsje) but again THANK you sm for the recommendations 💗
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shecomesincolors · 8 months
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Tagged by @britneyshakespeare nearly a month ago! Thank you, my dear, and apologies, as usual, for both the delay and the positively deranged length of my replies.
1. Are you named after anyone? Yes, I am! My namesake was my father’s granny, who raised him as a little boy while his parents finished medical school. The senior Helena lived to be 90 and I met her many times when I was a little girl. My other paternal great-grandmother never took it very well that she didn’t get a baby named after her, but I thank my lucky stars for that, because her name is… rather anachronistic and unflattering.
2. When was the last time you cried? I… don’t remember? It was definitely a long time ago. Not only have I been quite happy lately, but also one might say I’m rather stunted; by which I mean, whenever something upsets me, I’m more likely to be catatonic, or spend the night awake, than to cry about it. I don’t know what that says about me, but I’ve always been like this, lol
3. Do you have kids? Goodness, no! Sometimes I imagine I might when I’m a proper grown-up, but I am far too young for that now.
4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? I tend to modulate my speech according to my interlocutor, so I guess that depends on whom I’m talking to; I think I’m more likely to use deadpan, dry humor than sarcasm per se, though.
5. What sports do you play, or have played? Tennis, on doctor’s orders (this sounds like a ludicrously old-timey thing to say out of context, but when I was in my early teens my physician insisted I get some exercise, and tennis was the sport I hated the least; I am not athletic in the slightest and I still suck at it, but I do play it).
6. What’s the first thing you notice about people? I had to ponder this question for a while. I suppose I’m always inclined to look for something to like in anybody I ever meet; usually something that we have in common (it needn’t be something big; even a converging taste in shoes is enough for starting a conversation). This may be a bit narcissistic of me, but isn’t it easier to build a positive rapport with someone when you recognize something of yourself in them?
7. What’s your eye color? Dark brown, on the verge of black.
8. Scary movies or happy endings? When it comes to movies, I always prefer a comedy. That being said, I’ve been getting a taste for horror lately. I blame Rosemary’s Baby for pulling me into that rabbit hole.
9. Any special talents? I’m often told I can be very eloquent and persuasive, which is a useful skill to have as a law student. I also have a great affinity, and an above average facility, for learning languages (I am fluent in three, pretty decent at an additional two, and know a little bit of many others). Oh, and, not that anyone cares, but I’ve also got a good memory for literary quotes (this may be the worst party trick ever, but I can recite entire stanzas from Les Fleurs du Mal and Byron’s Don Juan)!
10. Where were you born? Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
11. What are your hobbies? As I said, I enjoy learning languages (I’ve been teaching myself Russian and Yiddish since the pandemic; I can already form complete sentences and read simple texts, but I wouldn’t say I can actually speak them yet). I also read a lot of literature, some culture history and biographies and a bit of history, political economy, and philosophy. I like keeping up with current events, too (is “like” the right word for that? It may be more accurate to say that I feel obligated to do so). I watch some TV and movies, especially classics, and I’m always listening to music on my air pods when I’m out and on my headphones when I’m home (I own a record player, too, but that is for special occasions). Besides all that, I also really enjoy singing, but I only get instrumental accompaniment when I have guests over, or during choir practice (I wish I could play the guitar, or the piano, but I’ve always been too woefully uncoordinated for that).
12. Do you have any pets? Three rescue cats, the youngest of whom we rescued ourselves!
13. How tall are you? An embarrassing 1,6 meter (about 5’4’’ in Fahrenheit, or whatever the strange measurement unit it is you use in the USA), made worse by the fact I can’t stand to wear uncomfortable shoes that might make me taller.
14. Favorite subject in school? I attended Catholic school despite growing up in a very secular family (long story, lol) and I hated most of it. But my parents were mindful of making up for gaps in my and my sister’s education by enrolling us in several extracurriculars and getting us some private tutors, including a young English teacher I absolutely adored. She’s still one of my closest friends nowadays, even though she moved abroad almost five years ago.
15. Dream job? Heiress. Socialite. Queen consort. Patron of the arts.
Thanks again, Diana, I had a lot of fun with these! I’m tagging @fancycolours, @sneez, @bbbrianjones, @bilbao-song, @david-watts, @chaoticdesertdweller, and anyone else who wants to do this.
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milkyberryjsk · 9 months
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i know muse's (literal) death was unceremonious and underwhelming but there is something thematically satisfying about the villain that made spectacles of his killings die in such a.. bland way
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clotpolesonly · 1 year
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In The Stacks
for @sunflowerqueen for the Stiles Shipping Central discord server's monthly ficlet exchange, the prompt for which was "libraries/bookstores"! this one probably only qualifies as pre-slash 😅 but i hope it satisfies anyway, haha | Stoyd | 1.5k | Gen | Libraries | Pre-Slash | Anxiety | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | (also on AO3)
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Stiles didn’t go to the library very often. It was a quiet place, and Stiles was not a quiet person. He was also more adept at internet searches than he was at navigating the Dewey Decimal System, and he didn’t have the patience for poring through book after book after book looking for something that he could’ve just control+F searched for if it had been digital.
But sometimes, unfortunately, professors wanted you to prove you actually knew how to read. Thus, here Stiles was, entering the Beacon Hills Community College library for the first time, seven months into his journey of higher education. He’d been hoping to hold out the whole first year, just for kicks. He tried not to resent his Violence and Social Conflict in American History professor for requiring he break his streak and began scanning the stacks for whatever arbitrary shelf number corresponded with social conflict.
He’d found naturalism and related systems, Aristotelian philosophy, and general statistics of Europe when something drew him up short. The shelves weren’t exactly packed full—it was mid-afternoon on a Friday, the sun was shining, and the library was nobody’s first choice in those circumstances—but Stiles had passed his fair share of other students so far, none of the slightest bit familiar. But here, in the public finances aisle, was a very familiar face.
Stiles had entirely forgotten that Boyd went to this school too. He hadn’t seen him on campus all year. He’d barely seen him anywhere else either, only in passing when Scott was back in town from UC Davis and needed to do werewolf stuff, tucked into the backseat of Derek’s car or hovering impatiently at the edge of the woods. As much as Stiles had tried—and he'd really tried—he had never managed to get Boyd to look at him twice, much less be friends with him.
Him and Scott. Stiles had wanted Boyd to be friends with them, not just him. To be part of the pack and stuff. Hadn’t Boyd gotten the bite so he could have friends? Stiles had offered to be that friend! Collectively, with other people!
The specifics weren’t important. Obviously, it hadn’t worked.
Stiles was just opening his mouth to comment on how unlikely and fortuitous it was for them to run into each other like this and maybe it was a sign that they should try the whole “friend” thing again when he heard the wheezing. He stopped to actually take in what he was seeing.
Boyd had folded his considerable height onto the floor. His back was pressed up against the lowest shelf, head tipped back into a space absent of books, eyes closed tightly. His hands were clenched into fists on his knees. His breathing was strained enough for Stiles to hear it from the end of the row, sounding tight and pained and also, unfortunately, familiar.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Boyd’s eyes snapped open, flashing yellow. Stiles glanced around hastily to make sure there was no one to see, but this particular patch of the library was blessedly empty. By the time he looked back, Boyd’s eyes were brown again and his face was slack with relief.
“Stiles,” he said. “What are you—”
He didn’t finish the question, distracted by the need to breathe. Stiles approached with caution. Not because he thought Boyd might lose control or hurt him, but because he’d had panic and anxiety attacks than he could shake a stick at and company didn’t always help the situation.
He half-expected Boyd to snap at him. That’s what he’d done most of the time in high school, whenever Stiles had tried to ingratiate himself. He’d gotten a little more chill about it over the course of senior year, even going so far as to tolerate Stiles’ presence at the same lunch table, but Stiles’ presence had never been his favorite thing.
He didn’t snap this time. In fact, the closer Stiles got to him, the less tense he seemed to become. The fists on his knees loosened to reveal splotches of red where his hidden claws had dug into his palms, cuts already healed. His shoulders slumped, bit by bit, from where they’d been hiked up around his ears. He wasn’t wheezing anymore.
Gingerly, Stiles eased himself to the floor, leaving a good few inches between them. Somehow, against every natural inclination, he managed to not say anything. He just pulled a random book off the shelf across from him and started skimming.
It was a few minutes before Boyd shifted beside him. “What are you doing here, Stilinski?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Stiles shrugged. “I go here too.”
He wasn’t looking, but he was almost certain Boyd rolled his eyes. “Not on campus. I mean…”
Stiles shrugged again, his nonchalance a little less genuine this time. He didn’t look up from his book. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. I can leave, if you want.”
He waited for Boyd to tell him to fuck off. He’d skimmed another four pages before he realized that he wasn’t going to. Tentatively, Stiles glanced over at him. He found Boyd already looking at him, a frown on his face that, for once, didn’t look annoyed.
“I hate living on campus,” Boyd told him, unprompted. “There’s too many people. Too many strangers.” He looked away, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. “Apparently, being kidnapped twice gives you trust issues where strangers are concerned.”
Stiles couldn’t stop a snort from escaping. “Yeah, go figure. I’m not great at making new friends either. And I only got kidnapped the once.”
The huff of breath that Boyd let out, just short of a laugh, should not have made Stiles feel as accomplished as it did. In his defense, he had been trying to make Boyd laugh for literal years. When Boyd turned his face back, he was smiling. Just barely, but it was there. That felt even better.
“I was gonna get food,” he heard himself say. “I mean, I was gonna find some books, and then I was gonna get food, afterwards. If you maybe wanted to— I mean, you don’t have to, it’s fine, I just thought maybe—”
“Okay.”
Stiles blinked at him. “Wait, really? Like, actually? You’ve never been willing to be seen with me in public before. Or tolerated my presence out of either.”
Boyd definitely rolled his eyes this time, but the little smile stayed. He levered himself off the ground and said, “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Stiles saw, though, the way that he looked over his shoulder, eyes roving the stacks like he couldn’t help it. Still searching for threats. He also saw the flare of Boyd’s nostrils as he breathed in and the way his eyes were drawn back to Stiles. Empathy wasn’t Stiles’ strongest suit, and he’d never been accused of being particularly perceptive where other people’s feelings were concerned, but Stiles was almost certain of three things in that moment: firstly, that Boyd did not want to be alone right now and was choosing to allow Stiles to keep him company; secondly, that Boyd was deliberately seeking out his scent and getting comfort from it; and thirdly, that, friends or not, Boyd trusted him.
When Boyd held out a hand, Stiles took it and let himself be pulled off the floor with an ease that was, and had always been, downright distracting. Equally distracting was the knowledge that it would’ve been just that easy even without the werewolf strength—what did Boyd need werewolfiness for when he had biceps like that?
Stiles patted the bicep in question, which Boyd allowed with an unusual amount of patience, and said, “Books! Then food! I gotta find some books.”
He looked around them. They were, in fact, surrounded by books. So many books. Why did libraries have to have so many fucking books? How was anybody supposed to find anything in this place? He said as much out loud and, wonder of all wonders, Boyd laughed. A real one this time, complete with vocalization and dimples and everything. Fuck.
Boyd took pity on him, possibly mistaking his dazedness for simple library-related overwhelm. “What are you looking for? Unlike you, I actually know how to navigate a library like a normal person.”
Stiles told him, and Boyd led the way through the shelves with a confidence that was as attractive as everything else about him. He helped Stiles carry the dozen books he decided he needed down to check-out. He even let Stiles talk about them over lunch, something like fondness hanging around the upturned corner of his mouth, without a single complaint.
Maybe it was just gratitude for Stiles sitting with him, but that was okay. It was progress from where they’d started, and as Stiles drove Boyd back to his dorm, he thought that maybe he would be seeing that familiar face a little more often from now on.
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hmm... i dont want to lock myself in to super long chapters but the need to swap around the chapter breaks to up the drama is so strong
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lieu10nant · 1 year
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Modern/Showbiz AU
Verse tag: # you're still in the running towards becoming party city's next top model [ showbiz verse ]
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MUSE'S ID
Name: Matsumoto Rangiku Species: Human Sex: Cis-female Age: 28 years
Growing up at an orphanage, with some brief periods spent in foster care here and there, Rangiku’s longest-standing memory of her childhood revolves around a fellow parentless kid named Ichimaru Gin—who, despite his frequent, wordless disappearances throughout the years the two of them shared within each other's vicinity, had somehow become the one constant in the blonde’s life. Together, they fended off bullies and seeked revenge through mischiefs; intertwining their lanky digits in the waiting room outside the institution’s main office whenever the headmistress caught wind of their rowdy schemes.
That was the case, at least—until one day, his vanishing turned out to be more permanent than the girl had ever anticipated.
By the time they were separated for good, however, Rangiku herself was a mere couple months away from reaching the age at which she was no longer allowed to stay at her governmentally-assigned shelter as she was deemed old enough to make ends meet on her own. With barely any penny to keep a roof above her head as the day eventually came when she had to pack her bags and leave, the budding woman's option was limited—forcing her to ultimately depend her livelihood on the two aces she’d got left up her sleeve: her goddess-like appearance and alluring personality. For sure, smaller modeling gigs came her way quickly enough to afford her a room at a run-down flat and bring meals to the table regularly for a while.
Unfortunately, such a profession only served her the bucks when the season called for it.
In-between jobs, she had to find other means to keep her tummy fed. That wasn’t exactly the hardest part, though; for she was fast to land herself a part-time employment at a local diner—originally aiming for a vacant spot in the kitchen; until the owner figured early on that she would make a better front-lady manning their reception, instead of being allowed the chance to convert their cookery into a mad scientist’s lab with her “innovative” recipes.
The actual problem only arose when Rangiku began to consider expanding her wings in the fashion industry.
Coming from a place that was profoundly lacking in privilege proved to put the young lady at a disadvantage in her attempts to pave her way in her primary career, even with her strongest charm card at play. In order to gain the right amount of traction, she was expected to wear the right dresses, walk in the right shoes, carry the right bags, attend the right parties… Everything her bank account could hardly buy with the savings she did not have.
And that was when she decided to take on more daring projects.
From swimsuits to lingerie; from sheer clothing to body painting. Soon enough, the youthful bombshell’s face and figure were gracing adult magazines and tabloids all over the country. Soon enough, she became the talk of the nation—albeit mostly among the men; but more importantly, including the most powerful ones in the business. It wasn’t like she minded, anyway; she quite enjoyed the growing attention, in fact—all the compliments, in both praises and envies, addressed to her otherworldly features. The paycheck was definitely beyond satisfactory, as well—providing even some extra cash to help upgrade her residential situation; from her current swampy dwelling on the shadier end of the town, to a better-lit studio apartment that was closer to its heart.
Sadly, in this field of work, a rising star’s emerging fame did not exist without its very own bundle of drawbacks.
As a newcomer with nobody around to lend her a guiding hand, Rangiku was left to her own devices to pick the colleagues she’d surround herself with. A natural-born social butterfly with a hidden talent in alcohol-handling, it didn’t take that long for her to establish a circle. What she had yet to grasp at the time, however, was the urgency to have an eye that could recognize danger the second she saw it. One night, when she and her friends had a bottle too many of their booze, an impertinent invitee claiming himself as a “sworn fan”—who turned out to be nothing more than a straight-out pervert—tried to take advantage of the blossoming vixen’s moment of weakness. She was barely conscious as the guy laid her down in a nearby motel’s bed; gone too far astray in her land of dream.
That was when a mysterious shadow stepped out of his hiding in the dark corner of the room and to the damsel’s rescue.
The next thing she knew, Rangiku woke up the following morning, already safely tucked in the comfort of her duvet; to the mundane sight of the city across her window—and a memo on her night stand, hastily presenting the summary of the events that had gone down the night prior. Having barely any recollection of the incidents, she reckoned reinforcing her vigilance or maybe even taking a proper self-defense class—as advised by her so-called “guardian angel”—wouldn’t hurt. There was something else about the note that piqued her curiosity, though…
The handwriting… Why did it look so...familiar?
She felt her heart skipping one beat after another when she realized to whom that style in particular could possibly belong. She wasted no time making phone calls after phone calls upon the recognition; exhausting what little resources she’d got at her fingertip to track him down—all to no avail. Slowly, weeks turned into months; and months, into years. It had been a while since her last close encounter with who could've only been her long-lost comrade; but she was far from giving up. In the meantime, the universe did not stop for anybody—and neither did she.
So there it went, the story of Matsumoto Rangiku: the human who struck poses for a living by the weekdays; and the neighborhood’s beloved hostess at their favorite eatery by the weekend—embarking on her indeterminate journey in search for a dear old friend…
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todayisafridaynight · 5 months
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in retrospect i really dont get why i said id do the gaiden stream tomorrow instead of today
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gayspock · 6 months
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#inanebullshit today i walked to the other gym near me to check if i have access to it yet and i dont but they were like "ohh<3 come in tomorrow anyway we'll give yo u a free 3 day pass<3" despite the fact ive USED ONE for the other place and bro i needed a rest day tomorrow but they were so lovely i cant not now....
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im-smart-i-swear · 10 months
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Would the funky guys like listening to music? I feel like Buddy would cry listening to Moon will Sing by the Crane Wives
I really like the idea of the funky guys, pre-rescue, using singing to pass time - maybe tashi makes up silly little songs to make everyday chores more exciting for the kids, or eenek theaches everyone some galran songs(nobody except pal and soup really understand the words.. maybe thats for the better since i imagine galran songs that appeal to grief stricken 13 year olds arent suitable for kids lol), or pal has a memory of one of shiros favourite songs and sings it to the others, or soup hums melodies she overheard while being a gladiator to help taka fall asleep - JUST. singing as a love language.. good shit
and a very importrant thing to understand here is that none of them, een included, are good singers - theyre mediocre, bordering on pretty bad - but it doesnt matter! its about the human urge to connect! through music!! they sing their dumb songs and do stupid little dances and its great<3
post-rescue, suddenly they get access to practically infinite amounts of music from thousands of distinct cultures! but i think they generally stick to more mainstream stuff, the kind of songs you can sing along to with your family when it comes on the radio. tho buddy and taks(and also pal maybe<3) would propably explore more! .... oh. and taka definetly goes through an edgy phase at some point. so.... theres a lot of potential there
buddy is a sappy emotional trainwreck, they ABSOLUTELY get emotional over songs, so behold this historically accurate interpretation of him listening to the moon will sing for the first time:
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also!
tashi and buddy are The Embarassing Older Sibling Duo, and they often start to (very badly)(and loudly) sing and dance in unison when they hear a song they both like- all the while taks is yelling at them to stop being annoying<3
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this post is all over the place but oh well! i love em<3
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Do you ever listen to someone speak and marvel at how smooth, free-flowing, and free of pauses it is?
Because I sure do. I can’t do that.
Maybe that’s why I feel like most people’s speech is insincere even when it isn’t… because it sounds like how I would recite or read a script. That explains why I view people who aren’t native English speakers, have a heavy accent, and take long pauses to think of the words they need to say as being more trustworthy… because my cadence is similar to theirs; and we both stumble over words.
#I feel like that little kid “If you ever had a dream where— you want— you wish— if you could— you want….”#I’m not that bad; but I come very close to sounding like that sometimes LOL#I feel like I spoke more smoothly as a little kid…#but that’s probably because my verbal communication is almost at the same level it was at when I was eight years old#Like those people who have a growth spurt but end up being on the short side as adults because they stop growing immediately after#I figuratively shot up to 5’0” in third grade and never grew past that point#(with regard to clarity and flow specifically; not vocabulary… my vocabulary has definitely grown a LOT#but that’s only because I get sick of writing or talking in the same way for longer than a year… which is why I currently sound#like a pretentious 20th century englishman whenever I write fiction)#I have no “real” vernacular because I don’t feel comfortable with having a personal vernacular…#because using the same patterns of words over and over again for the same situations counts as para-scripting and feels fake#(to me)#sometimes I hear someone use a new word I’ve never heard in conversation; and I say “Cool! I’ll use that word myself.” But I later realize#it’s not just a fun one-time usage of a word; but it’s a catchphrase they say all the time and forsake any common synonyms of the word#— I assume — solely for the purpose of sounding smart to others (their behavior usually justifies my assumption; because these people#act like they’re better than everyone else)#And sometimes I catch myself doing the same thing; and I switch to a different word or format than I’ve been using; out of nothing#but embarrassment and twisted perfectionism#Or sometimes I come off the high of using lofty words and want to speak in a more commonplace way#and after awhile of that I start thinking “Wait a minute wait a minute…. Now I’m just trying to sound cool and normal.#This isn’t how I talk.”#But the truth is I really feel spoken language is an insufficient medium for communication.#I want a language in which the speakers pry open each others’ chests#rip out each others’ hearts; and rub them together#But at the same time it kills me that I cannot do the same amount of tonal shapeshifting when speaking#especially when my default (socially-acceptable) speaking voice sounds extremely airheaded#I’ve been trying to use larger words and more archaic sentence structures in speech lately and it feels good#but also like I’m trying to show off (even though I’m not and that’s just how I’d prefer to speak)#even then… all my speech patterns are copied from somewhere#It’s been a years-long identity crisis and I want it to end
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izzy-b-hands · 8 months
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Day Nine is done
I have not yet slept, but it is done and I'm actually quite proud of it.
Sad, but sweet. Please mind the tags and read the summary before getting into this one to make sure you're up for it! (and no shame if it ain't your cup of tea. I didn't intend on it being a sadder one myself when I first started it, and I know I'm not always up for reading those fics either.) No major character death, but there is an injured child, animal death/euthanisation, and complex feelings bc despite parents doing their best, they fucked up and we wound up with the injured child as previously noted.
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