#{ writing spirit blossom.... this is fun lmao }

[ionianwanderer]

☂ any verse!

AFFECTIONATE SYMBOL MEME | ☂ - Your muse shares an umbrella with mine on a rainy day

Interacting with some of the other spirits that resided in the realm alongside him felt so-- forced. But during times of celebration, it usually made it easier-- who didn’t love the spirit blossom festivals? And with the wandering souls filtering through both to the land of living and the dead there were many to choose from: from the most outlandish of fools to the more relaxed gentle souls.. 

Yasuo had decided to cross the barrier this time, the pathway before him shone as brightly as always beckoning the Spirit of Heroism forward as he stepped foot into Navori. Over the hundreds of years the festival had been practiced, the province had grown and changed-- but the people, the soul were still as strong as ever. Still the same. There was something he always cherished during these times: droplets cascading down through the decorated canopy above him-- the rain beginning to fall all around him. 

At first he stops his stroll, allowing for the rain to slowly soak through him. It’s a brief respite, a memory pulled from eons ago of him and his brother to look back fondly on. Yasuo allows his eyes to slip close, taking in the feeling fully and of the respite it alone gave him. It was rare to experience something like this in the spirit realm or rather not to this extent of the downpour tumbling through the leaves above-- he wanted to enjoy it.

Until the droplets that had been falling onto him abruptly pause, completely waking him from his own meditative trance. As his eyes flutter back open he’s greeted by the Spirit of Love holding an umbrella above his head, or at least attempting to. Taken aback by the gesture briefly, he eventually offers her a kind smile.

“Oh there wasn’t a need for that--” he begins, voice carrying the smallest bit of sadness to them. But he is given a knowing look, as if she had figured out the memory that had been plucked and placed into the forefront of his mind. 

She beckons him and, for once, Yasuo follows.

[voidcat]

— fool’s bloom

characters: spirit blossom thresh (spirit of obsession) x gn!reader

a/n: idek what this is- months of silence and I decided to write a quick league of legends thingy LMAO in favor of ignoring neurology uhuh owo anywyas enjoy slight undertones of a thresh growing jealous and possessive but turning a blind eye to/ignoring these emotions

For all the years he has roamed Runaterra, Thresh thinks he has figured people out pretty much by now.

Foolish little creatures, driven by their fears and impulses, desires and selfishness, it all becomes the same after a while for the grim wraith himself.

Takes one to know one, one of the souls once dared speak up, he hadn’t even noticed he was thinking out loud until then; with a not so gentle shake of his lantern, signaling what shall await them later that night, he shuts the damned soul up in no time.

Foolish little creatures, but not as dull as he has come to find them as of late, Thresh thinks as he spots the figure his eyes have grown familiar with.

Wraith or not, he is not one to succumb so easily to violence and the satisfaction born from others sufferings.

Thresh is a collector first and foremost; of people, souls, memories, their agonies and fading selves, all the emotions that make them people, brimming to the fullest yet unaware they’ll never reach the surface again.

The dark waves of the sea with its harsh waves, he keeps them underwater forever and ever.

He sees some souls unfit for his reaping, and some, he decides to wait. To let them mature, or for your case, allow them a glimpse at him, glowing mist of bad news and horns above his head, letting the seeds of fear spread into your chest, for the next time you will shake with terror like none other.

Except; you prove an exception to that.

He finds you odd, and a little off putting if he were still a mere human. Instead of running away, it almost feels as him you’re seeking him out, intentionally.

A fool, no matter the feeling underneath the actions.

Ah, but that lack of fear takes the fun out of him and by now you seem to know it too. Going as far as to call out to him and wave a hand, as if he can mistake your voice for anyone else in that deserted forest— “Hey mister warden! Fancy joining me for a cozy afternoon tea?”

A fool, he murmurs the words again and disappears before you can catch up to him. Yet it doesn’t go unnoticed by him how your shoulders drop once he is out of your sight. Surely you’re not as stupid enough to actually mean your offer now?

It’s not so bad per see, he decides. You make the most exceptional distraction for him to collect more souls, even if you notice or not. With the presence of someone else in the same place as them, people feel safe, let their guards down; not expecting his scythe to land, nor the glowing lantern to become their new homes.

Maybe he will allow you to roam a little longer, until you grow old, or witness him in action and begin to fear— another miscalculation on his part, he will soon find out, as he did with any matter relating to you.

Souls ripped apart from their once-hosts, sucked into the lantern like petite flowers in bloom, his scythe still warm and swaying in the air slightly, Thresh catches your eyes on him, watching from afar. He thinks, at last, the moment of fear has come, until he sees your mouth agape, pupils dilated, with fascination in your eyes; a fool or an oddity? He once more finds himself lacking to describe as to what you are.

Accepting that your increasing offers will not end any time soon, nor the time to reap your soul will come any sooner, he lets out a sigh and carries on like he always did, ignoring you majority of the time. At this point he is unsure himself whether he wants your soul to be with him for an eternity, he doubts even death can part you with that fascination in your eyes and admiration written all over your face— what is it about him that has you so impressed, he wonders from time to time.

Even though it is still a mystery as to why you’re so attached to him, in the process Thresh hasn’t realized his attachment to you in return.

Only with your sudden lack of presence one day he realizes, and wonders where you are. You were watching him with those doe eyes from the side just a moment ago; what is it that kept you from following him? He finds himself hurrying, reaping the soul at hand not so elegantly, as if he ever cared about such things, and halts when he hears your voice raised.

Your singsong melody has become such a constant for him that he has forgotten you don’t speak with anyone like this. You sound worried, he notices, until an unfamiliar voice hushes you, ordering you to keep quiet and few other things he fails to recognize as he hurries.

A quick sway and throw of his scythe and the man is stunned, then pulled towards him, right into the lantern as he raises it in the intruder’s direction.

A rash action on his part, he realizes, only after this sound of quick and rhythmic beating stops ringing in his ears and he feels the velocity of something warm thrown into his direction, not strong enough to cause a shake in his posture— his arms faltering, he looks down to be met with your body pressed into his, arms wrapped around him, tightly, that he realizes the shake is happening somewhere deep down, not on any levels physical but something entirely different.

A new unfamiliarity he would like to think, but he knows better, he has been aware of this unknown brewing inside him for a while, allowing it to bloom with each passing interaction.

Only when he feels the drop of a weight, Thresh realizes he has let go of his scythe, the now vacant hand finding its way to your back; at the contact, he feels you tighten your hold, burying your head further to his chest— clearing his mind of his arising thoughts, he leaves it for another time to wonder what this will bring for the two of you now; for now, he allows himself to feel your hold on him, your warmth soon blending into his; your calm, even breaths and fast beating heart the only things he hears.

[mappingthesky]

btw i have read ur recent update... immaculate chapter as usual 😩 and while it is a given that i love seeing planymphia's relationship blossom in this fic, i can't help but also really love how pj's relationship with the other queens are getting some spotlight too especially the plasma part bec i honestly adored that interaction in that episode. pj really knows to give credit where it is due and she KNOWS that the part is for plasma. excited to see how every episode plays (writes? idk lmao) out in the future ❤️

this is so so kind of you to say, thank you anon!! i love writing the s16 girlies!! the plasma part was super fun because i loved what we got on the show (peej correctly thinking the part was made for plasma & plasma admittedly trying the plane jane approach….and finding that it works), and based off those canon interactions i could just imagine jane quietly encouraging plasma to buck up n fight for it. and then plasma being a little confused as to what evil spirit had overtaken her body & how was it somehow a good thing?

[kopivie]

ZUUU i dont knlw how i forgot this, but THE REASON WHY SHE KILLED HER FAM IS NOT THAT— i changed it a while back okok.

so the reason why is bc of her BROTHER

so basically, her brother is like her family’s golden boy. he’s the heir, their prodigal child. he can’t see curses (since theyre jjk ocs now) bc he doesn’t have any cursed energy and isnt a sorcerer, right? which is another reason why she was gonna be sacrificed, since she CAN see curses, which means that she has cursed energy and not only that but her power is basically mind control and manipulation so she’s a “born sinner”. in short, she’s ‘evil’ and hence is the perfect offering to the cursed spirits her family wards off.

but her brother stops them from offering her and has them offer him instead, because she’s already married to the first son of another family and it wouldn’t look good if they get found out. but she learns of everything and is pissed, at her family and brother. she alr hated her family bc of how corrupt the elders and her parents are, pretending to be saints— ‘sacred guardians’ who ‘risk’ their lives for the safety of japan, when in reality they can’t even see the cursed spirits they’re ‘fighting’, all they do is chuck some poor person out the massive doors at the back of the house every 3 months. so she kills them when her brother is out for some diplomatic reasons and cuts down their house in the process (bc i imagine she has those swords the heart, love hashira has from demon slayer bc those are so cool?????). come daybreak, she’s arrested and sorcerers come in a rush to prevent a bunch of innocent people from dying from the flood of cursed spirits rushing out after the fall of her household.

her husband is one of those sorcerers who come and he has to watch her get taken away to prison.

the thing is, she didn’t kill any of tye cursed spirits that spilled out and kinda just.. stood there. like she was in another world. anw, she gets taken to sorcerer jail and has her mouth stitched shut and is placed in a soundproof room bc of her abilities. but she escapes (figuring this out, my daydreams havent started yet today😔) and now this is when he (her husband) is told to kill her by the elders because they worry that she’s gonna create some team or wreak(??? reek?? idk) havoc with her cursed abilities and her mastery of the sword.

-🦫 and then she dies and angst angst angst. oh, and they’re doomed soulmates so ofc they’ll always be in the same world, same universe as the other.

they have names too :))) irrc, the girl was ume (for plum blossoms) and uh idk what his was😔 i lost my notes</3 but i take suggestions‼️ i think my og idea was that his name be smth correlated with autumn and fall, to symbolize their futile love. plum blossoms (in japan) bloom in like spring and a bit of summer, i think, and well autumn is in autumn. and by the time fall rolls around, spring is already long gone.

i think in one daydream i gave them a kid :D but like, that’s diff universe stuff.

OH! and she doesn’t die at 30/31, she dies at like 23-25

(fun fact: they, or specifically she, started out as a dc young justice oc bc i had just finished watching young justice. her brother came a bit later, also as a dc oc, and HE was supposed to be the one who killed her, but then j gave her a husband. then they jumped to jjk lol)

anw, time to write my chem lab report‼️ enjoy the lore🥰 (and, if you’re curious, yes, they do have birthdays. just say if you don’t mind me dropping that lmao :D👍 and i do kinda have their personalities)

OUUUUU OKAY MORE OC LORE I LOVE IT

it's actually funny, one of my gojo sibling ocs was alsp named ume! but my goodness, to have her kill the whole family and then have her husband witness the consequences of it all HAVE YOU NO SHAME?? NO DIGNITY?? WHERE'S THE HUMANITY?? (/lh /j)

[triggerhappyimagines]

How about the V3 boys, (the ones who died) with a s/o whos the Ultimate Spirit Medium/Necromancer and they call the spirit of the dead character? I just wanna see some scenarios/hc's of that, if u could do it that'd be gr8! If not thats okay, i understand ^^

hey everyone, long time no see! sorry for sort of vanishing for a while, i’ve been super busy with school and my job and kind of lost interest in danganronpa for a little bit,,,, but i’m back and i’m gonna try my best to get through the requests in our inbox and maybe even try and finish a few more of the october prompts (if you guys would still be interested in seeing those!!).

anyways, sorry for the long wait on your request, anon! this was one i had started a few months ago back when i was writing regularly and i finally buckled down and finished it!! i decided to do all the v3 boys (except kiibo because uhhh hes a robot) instead of just the ones who died in canon to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t finished the game yet!! i apologize if some of these seem repetitive i sorta started running out of ideas by the end lmao. i hope you enjoy, anon!

warnings: mentions of death/dying (obviously), general angst

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Shuichi Saihara

— to say the least, Shuichi is a little shaken up now that he’s gone and you’re... well, not.

— he always told you he’d stay by your side forever, and he feels guilty. he feels like he broke a promise

— but... you talk to him again that first night. you say his name and look straight at him. can you see him? no, it couldn’t be... right?

— of course, once he puts all the pieces together, it all makes sense

— you’re the ultimate spirit medium, for goodness sakes! of course you can see him and speak to him the same way you would any other living person

— after a while, Shuichi stops feeling so guilty for leaving you. partially because it doesn’t feel quite like he’s abandoned you, and also because you reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong by dying

— i mean, come on, it’s not his fault he got killed! how could you ever hold that against him?

— still, it takes him some time to come to terms with everything.

— though he loves you, he still finds it sad that he can never speak to anyone else ever again. at least, not without your aid.

— but as long as he has you by his side to help him cope... he knows he’ll be alright

— after all, he loves you, and you love him. and that’s enough to give him the strength he needs to keep from falling apart.

Rantaro Amami

— he's still very protective of you, despite the fact he’s merely a spirit now

— he’s always right by your side, no matter what.

— even when you aren’t able to take a moment to talk to him, or even look in his direction, Rantaro is right there

— if he were still alive, the way he now follows you around all the time may seem obsessive and creepy, but you actually appreciate it

— nobody else can see or speak to him but you, which makes his constant presence comforting, in a way

— Rantaro isn’t able to touch you in the same way he could when he was alive, but nonetheless, he still tries

— he’ll try to place his hand atop yours, or wrap his arms around your figure, but he always just passes straight through you

— you find the chill that blossoms on your skin where he touched you comforting; it’s a reminder that even though he’s gone, he’s still there with you

— it breaks his heart that he can’t truly be with you, but he tries not to focus on his own problems too much

— after all, your happiness is much more important to him than his own; you are his priority

— you’ll have to remind him that it’s okay for him to be sad, and that he shouldn’t bottle up his own emotions to be there for you

— he’ll want to keep being the person to take care of you, and watch out for you, but he needs you to be that person for him

Kokichi Ouma

— you didn’t really think Kokichi would start behaving himself just because he’s dead, did you?

— honestly he uses the fact only you can see and speak to him to his advantage

— good luck trying to keep your cool around other people while he’s off being a clown right in front of you

— but of course, he’s not all fun and games

— i mean... he’s dead. and that sucks

— he probably won’t show it, at least not right away, but he doesn’t like the feeling of separation between you two

— sure, he’s still around, but not like before. before, he could surprise you with a kiss or a suffocating hug, but he just can’t do that anymore

— it hurts. really bad.

— but he knows he’ll be okay. he know’s he’ll get used to it someday, as long as he has you with him to cheer him up when he gets especially sad

— you’re his sunshine, and he may not show it, but he needs you. so don’t leave him all alone, okay?

Gonta Gokuhara

— lets be honest... Gonta has the hardest time of the bunch adjusting to being nothing more than a spirit

— you’ll likely have to give him a lot of comfort. he’s confused, and he misses being able to be with you for real :(

— the hardest part for him is no longer being able to touch you

— he longs to feel your lips press gently against his cheek, to lay in your lap as your hands comb through his hair... he’d give anything to hold you in his arms again...

— unlike Rantaro, he’s not content with merely passing through your body when he makes contact with you

— it just... upsets him. it’s a cruel reminder that his life ended, and that he will never get to hold you, kiss you, and just love you the way he could before his life ended

— be patient with him, please... he’ll adapt eventually... but it could take a while

— just make sure to remind him how much you love him, he’ll need a lot of reassurance and comfort from you

Kaito Momota

— surprisingly, Kaito adapts to the situation pretty well

— if he is struggling with any sort of major emotions, he’s doing a stellar job of hiding it from you. and you hate that

— you don’t totally believe him when he says he’s okay, or when he tells you not to worry about him

— you know him better than that. it doesn’t make sense to you. he just died for crying out loud! he can never follow his dreams, never have the future he always wanted with you

— and you don’t understand how he can just shrug all that off and continue being your boyfriend like normal

— you confront him about it one night. he’s laying on his back, hovering beside you as you read (Kaito loves being able to float around in midair. perks of being a ghost, right?)

— "how can you be okay?" you blurt out suddenly. he looks at you, confused.

— you continue, asking all the questions that had been gnawing at you for days, and when you finally finish, he just laughs

— "of course i’m upset. but it’s a man’s job to protect the ones he loves! and being there for you is much more important than staying upset about this." he explains

— you can’t help but feel a little stupid. he’d always put you first, always prioritized your needs over anyone else’s, even his own. and he wasn’t about to stop just because he died

— fortunately for you, he isn’t upset with you sort of asking him why the hell he wasn’t a huge, depressed mess.

— in fact, he thinks it’s really sweet that, despite the fact you should be worried about yourself so you don’t end up joining him in the afterlife, you spent your energy fussing over him

Korekiyo Shinguji

— with Kiyo, not much changes. at least, not on his end.

— he’s very fascinated by the mere notion of being a spirit and has the time of his life unlife getting used to his new body

— at first you’re happy for him. i mean, it’s good that he’s not struggling, right? shouldn’t you want him to feel okay? you wouldn’t want him to suffer in sadness like you, right?

— but he’s so enthralled with his new state of being he... almost forgets to check up on you

— and even when he does spend time with you, it almost feels like all he does is talk about himself and the new things he’s discovered about being a spirit

— it’s frustrating, to say the least. you know you didn’t truly lose him, but it feels like you did

— when you finally tell him that you feel like he’s changed, he’s confused

— when Kiyo hears you say how much you miss him, how you feel like he’s so different now, he’s kinda just like ???????

— how could he be different? it’s still him, don’t you know that?

— after a long night of reflecting while you sleep (not needing rest is one of the many perks of being a spirit), Kiyo realizes what he’s been doing wrong

— you used to love when he’d talk to you endlessly about his work, his research, etc.

— but now, when he’d ramble on for hours about new things he’d learned thanks to being a mere spirit, it was just another painful reminder to you that he was dead. that he was gone.

— the moment he gets a chance, he apologizes to you. it’s a bit of an emotional moment for both of you, being the first time either of you have confronted the end of Kiyo’s life head on

— he tries to hold you, but all you feel is an icy chill where his flesh would have met yours, but oddly enough... it doesn’t make you feel worse

— you’d anticipated another tsunami of your own tears after Kiyo’s body passed through yours, but it’s comforting, albeit in a morbid way

— he’s gone, but you haven’t lost him. and you’ll never lose him; he’ll remind you of that every day if he has to

Ryoma Hoshi

— man, if you thought ryoma’s attitude and general outlook on life was depressing before, you’ve got a big storm coming

— for a long time after his death, he’s very... cold. to everyone and everything

— he’s upset. but not because he’s dead, but because he can’t protect you anymore

— being there for you, to defend you and keep you safe, had become his raison d’être, so to speak

— he knows you can still see him and talk to him. he’s not stupid. but he pretends he doesn’t hear you at first. part of him thinks that if he shuts you out long enough, you’ll come to your senses and realize you should be upset with him

— but you never do. despite what he thinks he deserves, you never turn on him, never give up on him, never stop loving him

— with time, he’ll come around and start learning to cope with his own death, and the fact you outlived him

— and you’ll be there with him every step of the way (whether he likes it or not)

[galaxofmuses]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

NAME: Astra

PRONOUNS: They/Them Xe/Xem

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: I don’t mind ims, but if you want full conversation I prefer Discord

NAME OF MUSE(S):  Sonic”Sky/Skyler”, Miles “Tails” Prower, Knuckles, Ace Cooper

EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): Oh boy uhhh for a very long time like since early 2000s??  19 years....dang man.

PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: AOL Ims, Livejournal, Gaia Online, Tumblr, Discord. I’ve been through everywhere! :D

BEST EXPERIENCE: Already said this before, Meeting my whole MMX rp group crew! I honestly don’t regret nothing!  

RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: Gosh uhhh honestly passive aggressive ooc posts like that’s just gaslit bullying and that just leads to either lack of communication, or something is a miss. Communication is heckin important and especially when it comes to this collaborative hobby.

FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT:  lmao smut is rare for me and uhhh I don’t do it cuz I’m horrible at it and i’m heckin selective on who. Fluff and Angst are my absolute jam! I always love sad moments that blossom into fluff or other way around! It’s always so fun for me!

PLOTS OR MEMES: Why not both? Both of them are great ice breakers for me! 

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Depends on my mood honestly, unless if i’m really passionate about a reply, but heck sometimes I write too fast that I notice my mistakes too late lmao, but I don’t mind either. 

BEST TIME TO WRITE: Morning and sometimes Night! 

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): Sonic? Man I wish I was free-spirited with no worries, but competitive side? maybe slightly on that? Compassion side? oh yes absolutely I can vibe with that! Dunno about being short tempered like Knuckles tho yet ahfjksd.  Tails? Oh my glob absolutely! I connected with Tails since I was a kid in the 90s and his personality is quite close to home for me. I just wish Sega would stop going backwards about his development, but hopefully Frontiers would make up for it. I’m still working on the game on my streams! 

tagged by: I got tagged from the lovely @earthssprout​! Please do check her out! If you love nature and a cute wholesome muse! <3

tagging: ANYONE!!

[capsized-heart]

l’ incendie

Pairing: Hal x Reader

Summary: You grew up as witness to the atrocities committed under the British crown. Lord Grey is your father and newly pledged councilman of the royal court. Now, England has a new boy king, one who is set on keeping peace in Europe. You are determined to see England burn, even if it means corrupting the lionhearted boy of Eastcheap.

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: explicit smut, strong violence, sacrilegious imagery a blowjob in a chapel lmao

A/N: l’ incendie ; French translation for fire

..so..I watched The King back in November and have had this idea in my brain for the past 2 months now?? It literally consumed me. All throughout my last few weeks of classes and final papers, this is honestly all I could think about, like I’ve been bumping the soundtrack and rewatching the film to plan this, I looked at Lord Grey’s true lineage (he aint Scottish btw I made that up..but he really was related to King Edward lol).......I’ve just had to get this out of me for so. long. and I’m so happy that I finally have! It feels like this huge weight is gone, but I’ve enjoyed this creative process so much, like it’s so exciting when you hyper-fixate find a new piece of media that you enjoy so much that you dive completely and utterly into everything about it that you can get your hands on, and this is my piece for this!

And my boy Timmy?? Had no fucking clue who this guy was before I saw the film, now I’m writing fics about him a;sdkfjskj but you’re here reading this so. we’re both guilty.

I love story arcs like this where you see a character’s slow descent into corruption and having it revealed that someone was talking in their ear the whole time....i eat that shit right up. Reader’s character is heavily inspired by Lady Macbeth. Using wiles, using sex, etc. Ooh baby. I had fun with this. 

gif credit to @michonnegrimes​ 

Scotland was once your true home. Moors, lochs, rugged mountains, biting cold, all. You remember the endless mist and gloom, the wet winters of your childhood that made the creaking wood of your cottage whistle and moan. Summers were warm and mild and the highlands bursting with rich green and sunlight, running through fragrant fields of heathers, bluebells, myrtle with your skirts damp with dew, shrieking and choking on laughter as your older brother, Callum, chased you all throughout your little village of Kirkcaldy. Laughing himself, grabbing at you and wrestling you down into the mud, blossoms, and river water.

“Yield! Yield to the English crown or perish, wretched witch!” Callum would boom in mock play, tickling your sides until you’re gasping for air and tears stung your eyes.

“Aye! I yield!”

“What? You mad girl! Take it back! We are Scots!”

And then Callum would descend on you with all the wrath of England and you’d be howling with giggles and screams.

Returning home at nightfall smelling of wind and rain with vibrant wildflowers tangled in your hair and dirt streaking the skin of your cheeks, still plump with baby fat. Scarce food, but stomach full of adventure and blissful naivete. You were happy. 

Your father would scold you promptly before his voice would soften a touch, smoothing back your hair from your face. Round, curious eyes and missing teeth. A feral, untamed child. 

Daughter of Lord Thomas Grey. His precious girl. So much of your mother in you, the same fight, the same spark and love for life. Until you had ripped her body from the inside out and she had lost too much blood, the wet nurses unable to stop the bleeding and she had given her last breath cradling you lovingly against her naked chest.

You had killed your own mother. 

In your early years, Callum and your father gave you nothing but warmth and protection, the sole surviving daughter of Grey lineage. But a child can only be sheltered for so long. Your world is a man’s world. Your country is no stranger to bloodshed. 

The Anglo-Scottish Wars have endured for as long as you can remember, rebel leaders beaten down by English captains and more Christian blood staining the lush lowlands with every day. Robert the Bruce. Percy Hotspur. Blood all the same.   

You are bleak, wild, uncivilized in the eyes of the English. 

It’s all your people have ever known. Weary, resilient Scotland. 

You have no memory of your mother, your earliest memory being the image of William Wallace’s torso strung up in the village square and the ensuing riots that had truly put the fear of God in you, mounted soldiers and civilians clashing in a fury of slick, gory steel, longswords and blacksmith daggers, a fear so raw and primal it struck you frozen and you’d soiled yourself in the midst of chaos. Callum had grabbed you and raced the four miles home as you bellowed atop his back with great, ugly heaves, snot and tears dribbling down your chin. 

You didn’t need to understand the politics of rebellion or Wallace’s stake in it all to understand a massacre. 

You have no memory of your mother, only murder in the name of the English king. 

But you’ve learned to nurture that little glowing kernel of survival, of the fighting spirit and grit inside you that had evidently cost your mother her life. You’ve kindled it, watched it ignite with every passing year of war, your body flourishing into the figure of a young woman with embers in her soul. A stable simmering of flushed coals beneath your skin, glistening in the pools of your irises, ready to flare up and burn all you touch should you choose to. 

You feel it now as a jostling carriage takes you to Northumberland, England. You sit quietly, watching the hills of Scotland tremble by, eyes hungrily drinking up as much of its strong landscape as you can.

Your father and brother have already gone ahead to England to make arrangements for Callum’s recent engagement to Isabel, Countess of Essex and only daughter of the Earl of Cambridge. You are reuniting after a lonely week, perhaps your last, to ever see your homeland. 

Callum’s betrothal didn’t come as much of a surprise, rather, you’ve been counting down the days until your village lifestyle was doomed for inevitable change; for years, your father has been preparing the two of you for noble life outside of Scotland. Son and daughter subjected to the arts of chivalry, proper etiquette, gentility. The best that your little village could accommodate.

Your father and his maternal ancestry have interestingly long influenced the English courts, as his title of Lord would suggest. Through his grandmother’s side, you are distant descendants of Margaret, Duchess of Norfolk. 

King Edward himself. Now cold and buried in London’s Westminster Abbey. 

The coals jump, flames twisting at the idea of relatives long dead sitting idly on the opportunity and resources for a coup d'etat, instead choosing to line their own pockets and watch your country crumble from the comfort of their English estates. 

The carnage and murder of monarchy feel that much more personal to you. 

With your brother’s new marriage, Callum will acquire lordship and be gifted property in Essex. Your father will be secured a seat in the king’s council. You will be given rooms and hospitality in the castle as a noblewoman available for marriage. As Lady Grey. 

A lick of fire coils up your throat. 

God save the king. 

**

The switch cracks so hard against the skin of your knuckles that your lip draws blood when you bite back a scream. Pain diffuses up your arm in fractured, ringing jolts and your eyes flood with hot tears. You hazard a look at where an angry welt has already started to flush, red and pulsing on the back of your hand. 

“Again.” Says Miss Hunt.

Your gaze falls to the open manuscript in front of you, to the passage that you’ve rehearsed aloud for the past two hours. Your tongue works nervously in your mouth, swallowing. Sweat glistens your brow. You think you may even be trembling. 

You draw in a quick breath and begin again:

“Time and tide wait for no man.

The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.

People can die of mere imagination.

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche-”

Another crack and this time you can’t restrain the cry that leaves you. You blink back the heat blurring your vision, set your jaw when Miss Hunt clasps her hands coldly behind her back and looks down at you over her hooked nose. 

“Your voiced consonants are absolutely horrid, girl. Don’t close up your mouth. If you are to perfect the King’s English, you are to completely forget that savage dialect before I cut out your tongue. Am I understood?”

Miss Hunt gives you a smart swat to your cheek.

You nod quickly. 

Another stinging swat.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Miss Hunt.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel, granting you a few precious moments of quiet, of rest. Afternoon light filters into the chamber in dusty, silvered shafts, hueing the book’s pages in a drab of diluted grey. The inked words of Chaucer bleed back up at you as you settle your breathing. 

This English sits like gravel in your mouth, low and rough and choking up your throat. Sharply iambic, as if everyone is talking down to the other. 

England’s English sounds slow and stupid.

You wonder if Callum had this much trouble mastering the accent. You wonder if Callum, as a Lord, has ever been slashed with a switch.  

Since your arrival to England and for the better part of a year, Miss Hunt has dissected every syllable of your speech through bodily punishment and repetition, ripped out any trace of Gaelic, any remaining trace of Scotland on your tongue and sutured it back together with mouthfuls of Chaucer and pompous, exaggerated vowels. 

But pain, degradation, and humiliation are wonderful motivators. And to your horror, it has worked.

Your father recently introduced you to a few councilmen out of courtesy and as the sister of the soon to be Lord Grey of Essex. You politely discussed politics, entertained banter and jests of marriage proposals. None questioned your status as an English noblewoman. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. 

But that hasn’t stopped your secret, unseen resistance. 

Miss Hunt may have taken your language and cadence, but her practices have only shown you the true powers of speech, knowledge, shown you just how intimidated and afraid all of England is of the bold north, of any European empire threatening its legitimacy. 

A cowering dog with raised hackles and snapping teeth, but only so out of mad fear. 

The harder Miss Hunt pushes, the deeper you dig into your own studies. By day, you are her sole pupil. By night, by candlelight, you are the pupil of Cicero, studying rhetoric and the power of spoken influence. You’ve also begun to study French as a means to bolster your wiles and mental arsenal. 

You are already a so-called savage by blood. Learning the language of England’s arch rival will do nothing to hurt your reputation. 

You feel a bead of sweat slide down the base of your spine as the switch swishes impatiently in Miss Hunt’s clutches. Oral recitation and the simultaneous reduction of your accent demands every ounce of your concentration. You know already that if you are hit again, the skin will break and you’ll only be reprimanded harder. Miss Hunt is sadistic and cold with her beady eyes and that ugly high starched collar.

“Again.” Her voice clips evenly.

So, you inhale a strong, supportive breath and begin again, pushing down the smolder in your chest.

**

The day of the wedding is cloudless and full of sunshine, a rarity for England. Callum has been bustling about the chapel’s back rooms in nervous energy all morning, fixing his hair and dress shirt over and over. You send your father to go and calm him down as you tend to Isabel, shooing him away quickly so your father’s mirrored jitters won’t affect her before the start of the ceremony. She gives you a small smile of thanks.

Isabel looks beautiful sitting in front of the mirror as her maids finish arranging her hair. Back straight as a board, plump lips and cheeks the color of a rosy, coral pink. You help to pull the veil over her face and the thin fabric does nothing to mute her radiance.

You see the flickering range of emotions in her eyes as she sees her own reflection. The life that all women are fated to live. Her last moments of true freedom, uncertainty for the future, and that small, significant trickle of vanity at having a perfect day of her own. 

You see it all. After all, you are a woman. 

She relaxes a bit when you lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her gaze finds yours in the mirror. 

“You and I will soon be sisters,” she laughs softly. You give her a pleasant smile.

“I would want nothing more.” 

Her throat works as she swallows tears, gives you another radiant laugh. “Someday, you will be sitting here, too.”      

The truth of her words causes your smile to weaken, but you quickly hide it by busying yourself with her skirts and lace. Your world is a man’s world, even outside of war-torn Scotland. One man’s world, to be exact. 

King Henry IV.     

“And I expect you, my dear Isabel, to be at my side when that day comes.” You say to her. She nods kindly. 

Your brother and Isabel are married a few hours later beneath the rainbowed, iridescent wash of stained glass and chiming church bells. And as the newly wed couple beam at you and their close company of friends and family, as you see Callum hold his wife proudly on his arm, you think that the bride and groom may truly love each other despite their arranged marriage. The possibility of such a happiness makes you grin wide and the familiar coals to simmer down ever so slightly.     

The reception then moves to the chapel’s outdoor gardens. Ornately trimmed hedges, chirping birdsong, bubbling marble fountains, and the sweet fragrance of daisies and roses perfume the budding spring air. 

The sun is warm on your skin, the air brisk and comfortable. You keep your fur lined mantle draped around your shoulders, your embroidered sleeves catching hints of daylight, the jeweled metalwork glittering about your waist. And with your hair twisted with ribbon and pinned back with a light linen caul, even Isabel herself murmurs that you look as refreshing and incandescent as the flowers surrounding you. You smile back teasingly, whisper that no one could possibly compare to the blushing bride. 

As sister of the groom, you mingle politely, accepting congratulations and kind regards.  

You see familiar faces, lords and fellow council members alike, and some of those not yet well acquainted. You meet Cambridge, Isabel’s father and a bird of a man. Gangly limbs and a flittering that accompanies his quick movements, but cordial and gentle. He tells you the union of your families will be prosperous, benign. You agree.  

Then, Cambridge is pulled aside by a young man. Cambridge seems to recognize him instantly and clasps him into an embrace, chuckling heartily.

“Hal! You made it!” he exclaims. The two talk together briefly before the young man turns to you. 

He’s tall and lean, broad chested with sloping shoulders. The angular planes of his face are undeniably handsome, a strong nose, full dark lashes and brows that frame his bold complexion. Black, unkempt curls and soft, hooded green eyes that hold an undertone of vigor, like his very gaze has commanded attention his entire life. They flicker over you quickly, as if you’d imagined it yourself, a trick of the light. 

You don’t miss the way they linger at the exposed dip of your neckline, however.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He then asks of Cambridge, his voice a soft murmur and his eyes never leave you. 

Cambridge looks quickly between the two of you, as if acknowledging your presence again for the first time since this young man’s interruption. He burns bright red, stammering, then gestures to the stranger beside him.

“Of course. My lady, may I present my cousin, Henry. Prince of Wales.”  

The suddenness and sheer absurdity of it all almost makes you burst out in laughter.

Cousin? King Henry IV’s eldest son is the cousin of your father-in-law? 

With this marriage, you realize your family is now tied to the most powerful family in all of Britain. Yet, no one in the wedding party seems to have even acknowledged the presence of the boy prince dressed simply in dark cloak and tunic.

And then you remember. Prince Hal is a drunk, a dangerous playboy from Eastcheap. His claim to the throne is as illegitimate as the probable dozens of children from his bedded girls. 

And asking for a formal introduction from his cousin? It’s utterly laughable, pathetic even.

Hal’s gaze is unwanted, skin prickling from where his eyes trace the curve of your chest in a way that makes you feel vile. 

So, you wet your lips, pretend to wordlessly accept his flirtations and give him a slow flutter of your lashes. The reaction he so craves from you as his chin tilts back in delight, hungry to see more. 

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Your words drip with venom. Flowery girl with a serpent’s sharp tongue. 

The barb makes Hal’s features tick in surprise, shock before settling back into a cool demeanor. 

“Then you’ve heard of me.”

Your mask of amour stays firmly in place.  

“It is hard to be deaf against such defamatory gossip.”

Hal hums softly with a hint of a smile, breaking his gaze to look out over the reception, ego obviously bruised. Cambridge goes pale as a sheet.

Isabel suddenly swoops in with the apology of wanting to introduce her father to a newly arrived guest and excuses him, hauling him away by the arm. Cambridge looks relieved to go.

And then it’s just the two of you beneath the halo of rose-tinted light. 

“Beautiful ceremony.” He says simply. Hal is incredibly soft spoken for a prince and you find yourself unconsciously leaning in to hear him speak. Part of the intimate charm that makes him so alluring to women, you think. A whispered promise only for you.   

“I thank you, sire.” 

He takes a step forward. It startles you, enough for him to crowd you against the garden trellis wall. Ivy and lavender press into your back, dancing in the same breeze that peppers goosebumps down your spine. You shiver softly. Hal steps closer.

“I pray this is not the last of today’s festivities?” His words ghost over your throat, tickling the shell of your ear. 

“No, sire. There will be a dinner tonight,” you reply just as quietly. You understand the game perfectly because it is the same one you have been playing your whole life. You indulge him, fire sparkling behind your fluttering eyelashes. “Surely your cousin will be expecting your attendance.”

Hal leans over you, hair tickling your face, green eyes glimmering. Up close, you see that freckles and beauty marks dot his skin. “I’m sure he will.”  

You think you see him incline his head as though to kiss you. For a moment, you’re frozen, entranced. 

You turn your cheek and his lips brush your temple. He hesitates with a low chuckle, keeping his close proximity.

“Then, I will see you tonight, my lord.” You whisper. Your fingers graze his arms as you sidle out of his reach. You can feel his eyes on you as you go and rejoin the other guests. 

You leave him burning. 

**

The tavern teems with merriment and the sound of fiddle, fife, and drum. You feast on broiled meats, roasted potatoes, greens, sweet breads and cakes until your stomach is full to bursting. 

 The glow of candlelight is lush and sensual, throwing shadows over the faces that only hours before you had shared with in prayer and communion in the church of God. Now, every attendant indulges in debauchery.

You’re drunk, blood pounding with mulled wine and spiced ale and cider. Pleasantly warm and head swimming, watching Callum and Isabel and friends and family dance about the room as if possessed, twirling in swirls of colored fabric that make you laugh and clap along in breathless euphoria. 

You catch a glance of a figure standing in the doorway. You see the motion of a glass moving to lips, throat working to swallow drink. When the glass falls, you lock eyes with Hal.

You beckon him forth with a crooked finger. He grins wickedly and sets down his cup. 

Despite the obvious wine in him, his steps towards you are sure and true and his hands feel good against you when they caress your waist, pull you against him.

You play coy and twist out of his arms. He groans. 

He follows you like a dog until you’re in the midst of spinning bodies and then you turn to him. Giving him the permission to finally touch you.

His eyes ignite. He splays a hand on the middle of your back, perfect pressure, authoritative, the other gripping you tight and then you’re both cackling with drunken mischief as he guides the two of you across the creaking wooden floor. 

You let him support you, lean against his chest, enjoying the sensation of being held so close. The thrill of feeling wanted. 

Even if it is all a charade. 

The strings and beat of thumping drums careen to a crescendo that has the entire tavern whooping and hollering in delight. You break apart from Hal to join in as the music flows through your limbs, absolutely enchanted, throwing back your head like that feral child from girlhood.      

Hal looks just as wild, the rumored wayward prince. Long, dark locks falling in his eyes, tunic unbuttoned and disheveled. Light and shadow dancing across his face in a manner that makes him look devilish.  

He pushes a glittering goblet into your hands, eases his strong fingers around your own to help bring it to your lips. You see the unmistakable red slosh of wine and wordlessly drink. He watches you tip back the goblet, watches rubied jewels of crimson spill down the sides of your mouth and down the skin of your throat.   

“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He cooes. 

The flames feel desperately hot, flushing your skin and cheeks, burning bright behind your lips. Or perhaps it's the alcohol? Or the prince’s wandering touch that now seems to be cupping your breast, tongue lapping at the trails of wine…

The heat is suddenly too much and you push away to a secluded corner filled with empty tables to catch your breath. Hal slumps beside you. His head lolls, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw and his weight feels comfortable against your side.

You don’t know what comes over you. Perhaps you truly are possessed.

You turn into him and then your hand is reaching between his thighs. 

Hal exhales sharply in your ear. You harden your touch, feel him widen his stance to accommodate you. He braces an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the space of the wooden bench as your fingers slip below the waistband of his trousers. 

He gives a strangled sigh when you grip him tight and begin to coil your hand. His head lolls once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat. You feel your own breath quicken, feel yourself getting excited.

You mesh your other hand into his curls and pull him closer, press your body flush against his. Hal moans, keening, his arm now around your waist. You shush him quietly, tightening the hold in his hair.   

To any patron, you look as though you’re only consoling a drunken boy, simply talking in the muted light. The shadows hide you both but the flames shine in your eyes.     

“Enjoying the festivities, my lord?” You sigh into his cheek. 

“Please don’t stop..” Hal whimpers. 

You chuckle through a half-lidded gaze and work him harder. It’s delicious, erotic. 

You hold all power, all of England in your delicate grip. 

You watch his mouth fall open, dark brows furrowing, feel him tense against you before the eldest son to the crown spills himself onto your fevered palm with a sharp gasp, chest heaving.  

“Good boy..” you murmur with a cheshire smile, running your fingers soothingly down the line of his jaw. Hal shudders with aftershocks, eyes closed, forehead glistening with sweat. 

Before he can attempt to try and reciprocate the favor, you wipe your hand on his cloak and stand to fetch another drink. 

**

You avoid Hal afterwards and don’t see him again for the remainder of the night. You think he must have gone home with another girl to satisfy himself and it makes you smile knowing you are responsible for laying that trap, for letting him taste pleasure, driving his desperation and taking it all away just as easily. 

Your brother and Isabel spend their honeymoon in London before returning to her home in Essex. They write to you, informing of their safe arrival at the new estate and that you will have to come visit in the very near future. It warms your heart. You already miss them terribly. 

Soon after, your father is awarded the scarlet, fur-trimmed peerage robes of the House of Lords and with your new rank, you experience the privilege of wealth for the first time. 

Rich foods, dresses and flowing silk skirts, cosmetics, more books and manuscripts than you can imagine. You glow with health, beauty, pride, and sharpened wit.

But you have not forgotten your burning flame. Aided by money and status, your little light only grows stronger.

**

King Henry IV dies of sickness on a warm March morning. It had only been a matter of time, the stubborn man had been calling your father and the other lords to his bedside for the past several months to continue to discuss the politics of his own wars. In his dying breath, Henry IV saw that his empire had fallen to civil strife. 

Court and kingdom are called to witness the coronation procession and as you stand with the lords and ladies of the crown inside Westminster Abbey, inside the church containing the tomb of your distant descendant King Edward and the generations of his forefathers, the same Gothic abbey where British monarchs have turned men into rulers and tyrants, you watch the archbishop anoint Prince Henry of Wales with holy oil. 

His curls have been trimmed clean, his bare skin and body presented to be blessed with the sign of the cross. All old ritual, old prayer and Latin incantations that have been performed for over a thousand years.

So what is a new boy to wear the crown?

Beneath the arched stone cloisters, baptized in the sunlit streams of stained glass, you watch that same ceremony unfold again with burning heart. And harmonized by the tolling of bells, Hal is dressed in royal robes, regalia, scepter and all, shedding the title of prince as you all pledge homage to your new King of England.

“All hail King Henry.” The archbishop calls out to clergy, God, and country.  

“King Henry!”

**

Neither you nor Hal feel the heat of embarrassment when the court is ushered into the dining chamber and you meet again in candle and firelight. The feast is an intimate setting, shared by the company of Hal’s new council, clergymen, and close family. Your father is seated alongside Cambridge, Chief Justice William Gascoigne, and the archbishop; even his sister, Queen Phillipa of Denmark, is in attendance.

Hal’s appearance and demeanor is surprising to you.  

He looks striking, handsome as ever in his new robes and you can sense that familiar aire of charisma and confidence you remember from the wedding as Lord Chamberlain presents gifts from the monarchs of the world. A jeweled vase from King Wenceslas of Bohemia, a trinket of a mechanical bird from the Doge of Venice. Hal is jovial, good humored and merry. 

The presence of his cousin and sister seems to comfort him greatly. And rightfully so, considering he now sits on the throne of his dead father. Dead as well is the alter ego of the delinquent prince.

Like a spoilt child opening wrapped packages at Christmas. The privilege of royal blood. 

When the final trunk is presented, a gift from the Dauphin, you quite nearly let out a low snicker. 

A ball for the boy king.   

You see Hal hesitate before picking it up and the silence throughout the chamber is long, uncomfortable. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. Yet, you know there is an aspect of truth to the Dauphin’s gesture. 

A boy indeed. You recall Hal’s touch and him gasping into your neck, his muffled begging, how quickly he had finished in your hand…

Then, the cool magnetism returns to his features. He locks eyes with you and you wonder if he is thinking of the same moment. You are both proud challengers, wielders of personal charm. 

You wonder how long it will take to break him completely.    

There’s a glimmer in his gaze you think to be from the blazing hearth as he tosses the ball once against the chamber’s stone wall, then catches it deftly with youthful poise. 

**

After the coronation dinner, the court is dismissed and you find yourself to be one of the last remaining patrons as guests trickle out into the adjacent hallways and disperse through the rest of the castle. You deliberately hang back, watching your father, Cambridge, Phillipa, and William slip through the doors, slowing your step so that Hal can catch sight of you.  

“Lady Grey,” you hear. His voice is galant, hushed with that same temptation of seductive promise. With your back still facing him, you can’t help but smirk. 

You feign surprise and turn.     

“Yes, my lord?”

Hal beckons to where he stands by the fireside. You gather your skirts and join him in the welcoming nimbus of light and warmth. When you bend to curtesy, his fingers find your chin, tilting your eyes to his own and forcing you to rise to your feet.

“None of that is necessary, my dear,” he whispers. He keeps your face cradled between thumb and forefinger, a delicate pressure, one that makes you feel precious as he holds you close. “Tell me, did you enjoy tonight?”

“Immensely.” You smile. Indeed, you have. The Dauphin might as well have spoken on your own behalf.  

Hal hums, pleased. His thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, then eases in between the petals of your pink lips. You purse them ever so slightly and watch his self-control start to simmer. The candles burn low around the two of you, the only source of light emanating from the hearth itself. You are reminded of how the shadows flickered on the planes of his face the night of the wedding. Now, you see the same shadows again, but as king.  

“I want you to have something.” He says finally.

He looks reluctant to break his touch from you, but you see his hand disappear within the folds of his robes. He then produces a glittering pendant with a golden chain, a necklace that looks ablaze.

Amber, you realize. 

The surprise that crosses your features is genuine. Baltic amber set into teardrop sterling silver and gold, a gift from Rupert of the Palatinate and the kingdom of Germany. An extraordinary piece.

Hal’s hand finds your waist and you turn to offer him your bare neck, pulse pounding. You have no say, no power to even deny this token of affection. 

His caresses against your skin as he fastens the chain are soft and featherlike and you can feel his breath on the top of your spine. The pendant is heavy, rich with precious stone and gilded metal, settling between the valley of your breasts. It feels cold, but shines like an inferno. 

He lingers, tracing your shoulders when his mouth presses to your ear. 

“Turn. Let me look at you properly.”

When you do, the weight of Germany itself, of foreign and fallen kingdoms and countries, conquered and pillaged and burned, simultaneously settles between the tender skin of your sternum. 

Hal’s eyes cloud with dark delight when he sees the flaming amber. He takes your chin back in hand, angling your face every which way, studying how the firelight glints off the pendant with a sensual curiosity. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. 

Your body begins to react on its own accord, chest rising and falling with faster breaths, your cheeks blooming. 

“I thank you, my lord.” 

Still cradling your jaw, he brings himself closer with only a whisper between the two of you. His crimson robes seem to swallow you completely, like the gaping maw of Britain’s lion, a mantle of blood. He speaks into the gap between your mouths, yet you feel every word upon your lips.

“With this gift, I expect to see you more around my court, Lady Grey. Am I understood?” 

The tension he commands is unbearable. He watches you carefully, dark eyelashes fluttering. Trapped like a pinned butterfly. Then, you understand he’s waiting for a verbal response. 

“Yes, my lord.”

He releases you.

The pendant suddenly feels more like a collar. 

You’ve underestimated Hal. He is just as much the player as you.

**

You keep your promise. You see Hal daily in passing, often dressed in full regal attire as he comes from the council chambers, your father, William, and the rest of his train tailing close behind. The twinkle in his eye when he sees you is discreet, reserved only for you. The amber pendant remains fastened around your neck at all hours of the day, even while you sleep and bathe, like fire and ice between your breasts. A piece of Hal always with you. 

The two of you are a queer, twisted pair of sweethearts. You’ve yet to be fully intimate since that wedding night, but the pressure that ripples with every fleeting glance, every grazing touch of lips and skin is enough to prove your attraction for each other. Or rather, the attraction to the game. 

You keep Hal on his toes, never fully give in even when he invites you out for evening strolls in the palace gardens and the safety of darkness envelops you both. It is your nightly ritual to walk the grounds together amongst hushed breezes and chirping crickets, you as a means to unwind before bed, and a way for Hal to clear his mind of the day’s tolling demands. 

And tolling they are. Despite his bravado, he is easily irritable, tense. You listen when he speaks to you plainly about his frustrations for the court and archbishop, how they all expect from him the same swift retaliation of his father. 

You find Hal’s consciousness of this want to break tyranny quite curious. Sons are typical to idolize their fathers and see past faults. It is why you know how cruel kingship has endured in Britain for generations; learned behaviors become expected and change more difficult. You’ve even seen that same behavior in your own brother.

And Hal’s trust in disclosing even this to you is telling. The thread to unravel the boy king.

Tonight, you dare to pull at it, heighten your girlish wiles and offer him a lingering kiss and soft words. You tell him that Christendom is damned and tease that it’s his own fault his council is made up entirely of old, graying men, your father included, when he could have anyone else.   

Hal’s spirits seem to lift a little with a ghost of a smile, understanding you perfectly as his arm snakes around your waist. He pulls you into a secluded labyrinth and settles into the stone seat of a fountain, pulls you atop his lap. The kiss he returns is fierce. 

Without the burn of alcohol to subdue your senses, every touch is intensified tenfold. Hal feels it too, his breath coming ragged as he breaks the kiss to mouth down the skin of your neck, the dip of your collarbone, your chest. His hands wander beneath your skirts.

“It is only polite that I return the favor..” You hear him say.

Your mind is reeling. You knew this moment would eventually come, yet you feel ill-prepared when his fingers brush your core, his other hand gripping the back of your neck. You gasp, finding his lips in another tangled kiss, straddle him completely. 

It’s strange, exhilarating to be on the receiving end of your little game. 

If you are to truly break Hal, you are to first make him believe that he holds any sort of power over you, to reverse that dynamic you had set the night of your brother’s wedding. 

You are to let him touch you. 

And like the flaming sword of Raphael, Hal’s pendant, it is time to finally draw upon your fire. 

You hate how good Hal is at this. He knows just where to caress inside you, the right amount of pressure, the weak spots at your throat and just below your ear. Your competitiveness takes over and you push him back against the fountain, start to circle your hips, grind yourself down on his hand and grip at the rich fabric of his tunic to better anchor yourself. 

His eyes pool with lust with every sigh from your lips, watching you closely. He rolls his thumb, picks up the tempo of his fingers, relishing the sight of you slowly falling apart on top of him.  

But it isn’t enough. You lean in and wrap your arms around his neck. He responds in tandem, gathering you close as you rock against him, the friction of his thighs sending you closer and closer to that threshold of pleasure. 

“Please..I need t-to…” you whisper into his neck, into his mouth. 

Words of magic. Hal’s expression flares with masculine pride, the delight of pleasing a woman. 

The last of the day’s golden hour spills over you both in glowing, peached splendor and with the sound of the fountain’s rushing water as your only witness, you muffle your final moan with a desperate kiss, bliss pulsing behind your eyelids. Hal keeps his fingers where they are, coaxing the last waves of your orgasm out of you, cradling your chin with his other hand as his lips part yours, slipping tongue as you come floating back down to earth.

You’re dazed, flushed, lazily kissing when he removes his fingers. Slick when you suck them into your mouth and taste yourself. The velvet of your tongue makes him shiver.

“Now, what ever are we going to do about your council, my lord?” You murmur once you catch your breath. You gently kiss his fingertips.

Hal only smirks and pulls you to him.

**

Your plan begins to take motion. With each passing month, you worm your way deeper into Hal’s heart with honeyed words and empty promises. He confides in you more and more as he grows wary of his councilmen, trusting only the pretty face he sees in the privacy of his bedchamber each night. Graced against silk pillows. 

You sense the crushing pressure upon him, his own doubts and fears. You slowly leech away his magnetism, his charisma, and take it for yourself. His eyes dim, harden with resolve. Gone is the assurance for peace. Hal instead grows cold, timid, questioning his every move. 

You only burn brighter.  

**

There is talk that a French assassin has breached the castle.

You hear the conversation for yourself when your father and William are called down to the dungeons, hear Hal speaking directly to this assassin as you linger at the top of the stone staircase. 

“Qui êtes vous?”

“J'ai été envoyé par le roi de France pour vous assassiner.”

Hal’s voice is cool, calm as he pries for details. The assassin’s responses are noticeably vague. You infer it to be out of his own self interest. 

Then, nothing. Days go by with no direct action from Hal.

You grind your teeth. War with France would be the perfect fruition of your schemes, the final act in a tragedy deemed to be an epic of British monarchy. War with France would show Europe and the rest of the world the extortion and murder of the English crown; not that these neighboring countries needed such a reminder. But England and her king have been blind for too long.

Previous attempts at quelling war had caused Percy Hotspur to rebel, Prince Thomas of Lancaster to push on and die alone on foreign soil. 

Is Hal not trying to prove himself in this same way? Proving he is not like his father? Just as Thomas had wished for his peers to see him as a commander and better equipped to bear the crown despite being the youngest son, is Hal not guilty of this same charge of public approval? 

And having the privilege to sit idly atop a throne amidst all this makes your blood boil. Idleness is instability, you’ve learned this years ago. 

You will be the one to push Hal to war.

**

You are sewing one afternoon in an empty chamber when the strained voices of your father, Cambridge, and William reach your ears. Hushed and argumentative, it draws you to your feet, possesses you to lean against the frame of the door and just out of sight.

You hear the disgust in your father’s tone when he speaks of the king. The weakness in forgiving France, the lunacy of Hal’s ascension. It amazes you, grips you tight at hearing such passion and loathing; you’ve never heard your father speak this way about anyone, let alone the head of England’s monarchy. Slander and defamation carry swift punishment. 

You learn that he and Cambridge have been approached by French agents. The three men debate quietly as you stand against the door, nearly panting. A coup d'etat? The idea excites you more than it should. But you perish the thought quickly before you can get ahead of yourself.

Why only approach the two of them? Surely to turn England’s people against their ruler, a greater number of conspirators would prove to be more efficient? You know distrust is not uncommon among Hal’s council, so possible traitors would not be hard to find.  

This approach means your father and Cambridge have been judged weak in character by the French. Insecure, lacking, most likely to bend at the knee for candied prospects in exchange for loyalty.

And now as you eavesdrop on your own father, you know Lord Grey does not have faith behind his king and is too afraid to do anything with it. You know that if you had not gathered this knowledge for yourself, you would never have been told so, unseen as all women are expected to be.

These French agents and councilmen think they hold all power with their debates and their meetings in private, oblivious to the fact that it is women who move the world. Women like you, wielding their very sex to push these men as pawns. 

Are men not born into this world by women? Do men not seek a woman’s tender embrace for love and comfort and to carry on long, unbroken lineages of royal blood?

Your own father, as all his peers, are blind to the influence you bear over Hal. Even Hal himself. 

**

You find yourself in the king’s private quarters one cold night, sitting in front of the hearth and watching the crackling, shimmering flames that warm the room. The soft silence is comforting to you as you sit bathed in orange glow, wrapped in furs and waiting for Hal’s return. 

Your mind wanders. You think of the French assassin still held captive in the dungeons beneath your feet, how the man had been granted asylum in exchange for a confession. 

“Quel était le l'ordre?”

“Que je devrais tuer le roi d'Angleterre.”

And with the French approaching Cambridge and your father, it is certain, undeniable that tension is thick and stakes high for all of England. 

You are standing on the very brink of war, standing flush at the edge of a swallowing cliffside with dragging winds and dark, inky waters swirling beneath you down below. Waiting to embrace you, like the jagged shores of St Kilda, the northern shores of Scotland. Calling you home like a siren’s song. 

And Hal only needs one final pull before you both fall together. 

The chamber door opens and the king steps inside. His presence is stormy, like a cold wind blowing into the room. 

He’s dressed handsomely in a navy tunic and dress shirt, a mantle that drapes over his burdened shoulders. Yet, his hair is mussed and disheveled and you can see the tightness around his eyes. His once youthful glow now gone, but a sharpness to him that you think resembles a pike; diligent, wary, and still capable of hurting you if you’re not careful.

You pretend to quickly wipe away tears before you stand to greet him. Hal sees this and his brows draw together in concern, further contorting his expression into one of pain. He comes to the fireside.

“Good evening, my king,” you say as he takes your hands.

“What upsets you so?” he asks you directly. His voice is strained, sets your pulse aflutter more than it should. You give a small, breathless smile, a shake of your head.

“Nothing of your concern, just innocuous thoughts, my lord. Let us go to bed.” 

But you do not move in the direction of the luxurious canopied bed, one you have grown intimately familiar with. You stay exactly where you are and let Hal’s mind race.

His fingers grip your chin and when you meet his eyes, they’re bold and smoldering, the first touch of life in them you’ve seen for sometime. His grasp is strong and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“Speak freely to me. Please,” he whispers. “Of all people. My dear, speak true.” The last word falls like a plea from his lips. You suppose it is one as he pulls you closer. A boy desperate for truth, constricted and poisoned by a council of vipers.

Unknowingly turning to the girl with the pretty mouth as she pours poison into his ear. 

At this, you bite your lips and summon tears that spill forth, pool your vision. You let the familiar sensations take over, the shortness of breath, the depleted posture, and pretty soon you’re trembling, weeping in Hal’s arms.  

“This assassin. It frightens me,” you say finally, broken. “If he had fulfilled his order and taken you from me, left me here all alone…oh, Hal. I’m so afraid.” 

His thumb circles your cheek, silent. You sense that dangerous cocktail of anger and darkness simmering just beneath his skin. Anger at the world, anger reserved for his dead father.

“France means to have you killed, Hal. Then what of us?”

Us? England?

Tears drip down your neck and onto your rising chest. Where you’ve left the first clasp of your blouse carefully unbuttoned. You press yourself to him ever so slightly, look up through tear-soaked eyelashes and embered iresis. 

“Then what of me?” you whisper.

Hal’s lips are crushing against yours. You feel every ounce of his anguish, every bit of tension wound tight in his frame, every doubt, every fear. You feel the restraint as he cradles the back of your neck, his other hand finding your waist as he pushes you flush against him. The dichotomy to feel love, to feel comfort and safety and to relieve and dispel just a hint of the pressure building inside him. The dichotomy to conquer, the urge to channel this animosity in a way he must be familiar, to ravish you completely. 

With your bosom rising and falling so sweetly, eyes glittering with tears, looking almost divine with firelight circling the shine of your hair in a golden halo, you watch Hal’s walls collapse. You let him succumb to that mirage of safety and warmth, to ease his conscience. You will both get what you want, eventually. 

You break apart to kiss the line of his throat, his pulsepoint, where you know he’s weakest. Hal gasps as you thread your fingers through his curls, bring your lips to his ear in a soft lull.

“May I have you tonight, my king? Completely?”

His response is immediate, yet wordless when he tilts back his head and feels your mouth against his jugular, the hand at your waist tightening. 

At last, you lead him to the bed with the intent of christening it. 

He pulls you atop him, helps you unthread the bodice of your nightgown. Despite the blazing fire behind you, the air chills your shoulders, your chest as you slowly expose more and more skin, finally letting the thin fabric pool around your waist. The feel of his bare hands cupping your body fuels you, act as your catalyst. Soft, firm. 

The amber necklace swings like a golden pendulum when you stoop to kiss him again, his fingers ghosting over the skin of your back. Hal’s desires are plainly stated as you feel him harden against your inner thigh.

There is no time for coy deception tonight. You make quick work of his tunic, leave his trousers and instead unfasten and pull him through, positioning where he wants you most. Hal is already nearly panting.

You arch as he settles inside you, a biting stretch that has both of you sighing when you bury yourself into the crook of his neck. Something long-awaited. You stomach the discomforting pressure and set a rhythm, one that has Hal cursing into your hair.

“You must protect the women of England, my lord,” you whisper. “Who will do so if you are gone?” You punctuate your point with a well-timed swivel of your hips and Hal moans low and guttural. “Your wives and children. Can you protect me?”

Hal’s arms wrap around you, nearly choking on pleasure. “I will. Anything for you. Please...” 

Unseen by him, you grin. You can practically hear the crashing ocean waves, to feel the quench of water at long last! You think you could make him do anything in this moment with how enthralled he is in bliss. 

You sit back and Hal’s hands glide over the smooth expanse of your stomach, watching his eyes grow dark, the amber pendant swinging between the two of you. The discomfort in your belly is gone and you start to mirror Hal’s pleasure, head falling back, sighs growing louder. 

And as the two of you finally fall from the cliffside and towards the waiting waters, Hal gives a soft cry, vision rolling and you feel his heat spill onto your inner thigh. You kiss him until the strength drains from his body, a true succubus as Hal at last descends into sleep, relaxed. 

You have the king’s word. 

**

You awaken the next morning to find the bed empty and cold. Surprised, you dress alone and return to your chambers to call for your breakfast. When you send for your father to share his company, the servant returns and tells you Lord Grey is currently engaged and his presence cannot be requested.

“A meeting, you mean?” You ask the servant rather crossly. Why must everyone speak to you in riddles? You obviously did not sleep much the night before and had trouble long after Hal had finished, like a slumbering babe beside you. Typical.

Your mood sours further in that you won’t be able to share this meal with your father. You despise spending mornings in solitude. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other in private, with no councilmen lurking about.

“No, my lady,” the servant stammers slightly, the words stumbling out of his mouth. “Lord Grey is condemned and is forbidden from taking meals before tomorrow morning.”

“What?” You growl at his vagueness. Your anger and irritation rise hot and fast and you’re tempted to hurl the glass cup of strawberries at this blubbering young fool. 

“Lord Grey and Cambridge await execution tomorrow morning for treason, by order of the king.” 

Your world stops. You send the servant away with a ghost of a whisper.

When the door snaps shut, you laugh mournfully. So the gossip had come to naught. Hal had indeed kept his word. Your stomach turns in nausea. Food is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You rush to your writing desk, overturning bottles of ink, hands shaking when you retrieve quill and parchment, attempt to pen a desperate letter to Callum with a fevered hand. But before you can draft a single sentence, your blood turns cold.

You have not heard from your brother, from Isabelle in weeks. Have your worst fears already come true?

Glass and fruit explode against the far wall.

You tear out of the room like a bloodied banshee in search of Hal, fingers tinted crimson from cut glass and mashed berries. 

And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and

cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee

that one of thy members should perish, and not

that thy whole body should be cast into hell.

One of Miss Hunt’s chosen passages from the book of Matthew comes crashing into your mind. You are like Eve, you think. Bearing the burden of Original Sin with lust and curiosity. You have tasted the fruit and have seen the evils of mankind. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined your plan backfiring so horribly. 

Now, hellfire awaits your father, for you when you draw your final breath your last day on this earth. Suddenly seeming to loom that much closer. 

You approach Hal like Samuel’s ghost did to King Saul on the eve of war, the Philistines instead of the French. Interchangeable, cycles of warfare that have dawned for milenia and will continue until the end of time.  

He looks terrifying, colder and more severe than you’ve ever seen, outfitted in those horrible blood red robes that one coronation dinner long ago you had once thought he looked becoming. 

You know with one wrong word you could be joining the two men to die at first light. Your mind races. 

“My lord, to think my own father had been plotting against you sickens me,” you speak slowly. The sentence stings like venom in your mouth, damning your father. Hellfire burns brighter. But it is the only way you can protect yourself. Your grisly appearance, your quick breaths, it is all to sell your story. “May I accompany you tomorrow morning as witness?”

Hal’s lips twist into a hint of a smile, the shadow of his former self. “Of course, my dear. Lord Grey may have failed his fatherly duties as protector, but I will not.” 

**

And so, with your hands wrapped in fresh bandages and stitchings, you stand in a courtyard with wind whipping around you, the only Christian woman among councilmen and knights as you watch your father lay his head upon the chopping block. His hair has been shaved off to ensure the killing blow will be swift and true. Shivering, pale, and damp with sweat, he looks like a ghost. Soon, he will be one. You want him to see you in these final moments, for him to know that you will utterly destroy this king, but you cannot risk the danger. 

Like the coronation, Latin prayers are recited, only this time they are prayers for your father and father-in-law to find peace in the afterlife. The last time you, Hal, Cambridge, and your father had shared company like this had been at the wedding. You know now that Callum and Isabel are truly dead. In the blink of an eye, Hal has slaughtered your entire family.

Weary, resilient Scotland.

You do not cry. You must show your loyalty.

“Requiescat in pace.”

Weak, fragile as Lord Grey starts to whimper aloud. No daughter should see their father, their protector through girlhood, like this. 

The axe glimmers in the sunlight and is brought down with deadly precision. Your father’s head rolls grotesquely off of his shoulders in a wet gurgle. His body is shoved aside and Cambridge is pushed onto the block next, now slick with fresh blood. 

Neither you nor Hal flinch.

**

You are now fatherless, Hal, kinless when you enter the neighboring chapel alone. You sit in the first pew respectfully, head bowed as Hal crosses himself and kneels before the altar. With his back to you, you study the firm line of his spine, his clasped hands with the beaded rosary held firmly between. Unmoving, statuesque. He prays for a long time.

Thou shalt not kill. 

You wonder if God is so forgiving.

The images of angels, of Mary and Joseph and flawless purity are what drive you to march up to Hal and kiss him hard. He hums in surprise, brows furrowed, the pressure behind his mouth mirroring yours when you grip the back of his head.

You want to kill him the same way he had murdered your father. But you settle with digging your fingers into the back of his neck and relishing in the way he hisses against your lips. You fumble blindly with the fastening of his trousers.

“What are you doing?” he growls.

“Shut up.” You bite back.

You’ve never been afraid of Hal before today, you’ve had no reason to be. You’ve been so careful to build the reputation and the facade he sees, using words and sex to push him like the chesspiece you had thought him to be. And he’d pushed right back.

You want to hurt him in the only way you can.

He cries out when you suck him into your mouth with teeth and harsh pressure. You’re anything but gentle, taking him as far as you can so that you’re choking and Hal is grunting and pulling at your hair and the lewd sounds of your lips and tongue echo to the tops of the vaulted ceiling. 

You’ve both lost family today. You are both selfish and full of quiet rage. The consequence of Hal’s choice is evident in how hard and wet you mold your mouth around him, how his hand tightens and pushes you farther down, wordlessly ordering you to finish him off in this holy church.

Like Christ Himself with bandaged hands, you twist and work at whatever you cannot fit between your lips. His hips snap forward, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes with burning throat, your scalp stinging from where he yanks back your hair, your linen caul disheveled. Saliva dribbles out of your mouth.

When his moans grow high and desperate, you take him out of your mouth and Hal’s release splatters white on the skin of your cheek, mouth still agape. He slumps forward on his knees, panting, as if still in prayer. The rosary dangles between his fingers. 

Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

The cross looms before you, silhouetted by candlelight. It is too much and you turn away.

**

If the change in Hal’s nature had not already been felt by all, it is seen in his dress. No longer does he donn the regalia of red cape and sceptre, but dark tunics and jackets that fit snug over the expanse of his chest. No more are the billowing robes, now replaced with tight military clothing and jackboots. A captain preparing for battle.

Hal recruits John Falstaff and countless other marshals for his campaign. It’s truly happening, you think. France will soon feel the wrath of England as your homeland and countless other countries have. 

The amber necklace sparkles.

Tomorrow, Hal sets sail across the English Channel. Another crusade to add to the Hundred Years’ War. You wonder if French women are just as lustrous as the rumors suggest. 

This is the last night you will be together like this for some time. The thought of Hal with another woman makes you quicken the hand you have around him and he gasps into your chest, spilling onto your thigh like that wedding night centuries ago. You’ve already made love countless times tonight, your bodies fitting together because it is only natural for two corrupt souls to find solace in the other. 

Masquerading with voice and poise. A boy from Eastcheap and a Scottish girl. 

As Hal shudders against you, kissing your throat and twining his fingers into your hair, he tells you he loves you.

You think you may love him too, in that twisted way of how fire craves oxygen. You need each other to fuel chaos. 

You understand better than anyone the burden of a child forced to grow up, the weight of decisions and the toll it takes. Only the strong can endure such hardship, only the strong can triumph and come out on top. It has been so forever, a law as old as the world. 

 The speed at which Hal is already hard again makes you chuckle darkly. He pins you to the bed, hovering, eyes bearing into you before he enters you just the same.

“You were made to be beneath me,” he rasps, gripping your face with a single hand. His eyes glitter in the low light. The double entendre of his words make you rake your fingernails down his back in angry lines of red. He sucks a bite into the skin of your collarbone. 

 You know that when Hal returns from France, he will no longer be yours. He will be changed, most likely to marry a foreign princess to ensure peace. You think of Isabel and how she had evidently been the one to put you in this position of status, how a marriage is a man’s means to gain power. A law as old as the world. 

Do you want him to be yours? The same way the English crown has raped and pillaged for the thrill of conquering the barbaric? A trophy? A prized kill? Still, the thought makes you bitter.

You say you love him back when he finds the spot below your ear, pushes your legs apart to drive into you that much harder.

There’s a bit of you that prays he will be victorious, that he will return to England and be yours again. But even if your paths do not cross in the future, you know you will see him again where the flames grow hot. Be that in his chambers or down below. 

[nicknellie]

@sunnysbright requested: something flarrie pls, maybe like a cute date or something, also pls include 🍓

Anonymous requested: flarrie first date pls!!!!

Seeing as both of these requests were for a flarrie date I decided to combine them into one prompt. I included strawberries, but I’m not gonna lie, I’m no expert on how strawberries grow and stuff like that so you might have to suspend your disbelief lmao. Anyway, these prompts were really cute and I love writing for flarrie, so this was a lot of fun. Thank you so much for your requests!

Like Summer

As far as first dates went, Flynn thought she had outdone herself. She had picked the right day, with the sun streaking through the canopy to bathe her and Carrie in its warm summer light, the slightest breeze and the shelter from the trees keeping them just cool enough. The activity couldn’t have been better either – it was Flynn’s opinion that Carrie needed to get out more, so she had packed them each a rucksack and brought Carrie hiking through the forest.

Though judging by all the grumbling, Carrie wasn’t quite enjoying it as much as Flynn.

“You could have at least told me we’d be doing this,” she groused, not fifteen minutes in. “That way I might have been prepared.”

A dozen or so paces ahead of Carrie, Flynn grinned to herself. She had purposely been secretive about what she had planned for their date, fully aware that if Carrie knew she’d be walking through a forest for three hours she would be less than excited. But still, Flynn knew their destination would lift Carrie’s spirits and that all the complaining she was about to receive would be completely worth it.

“If I had told you what we were doing you wouldn’t have come,” Flynn called over her shoulder.

“You know me so well,” Carrie deadpanned. “I’m not even wearing proper shoes for this.”

Flynn briefly turned back to glimpse Carrie’s dainty slip-ons already caked in mud. The rest of Carrie was looking a little worse for wear too; she had pulled her hair into a ponytail that was starting to look like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards, the sleeves of her cardigan were rolled up to the elbow, and the hem of her dress was grass stained. Flynn couldn’t help but feel a little bad, but equally she was probably one of the few people to ever see Carrie Wilson looking less than perfect, so in a way her state of utter disarray was endearing.

“You’re not wearing proper anything for this,” Flynn corrected. “But you let me choose what we were doing. You should have been prepared for anything.”

Carrie rolled her eyes and stormed ahead of Flynn, nose in the air, clearly displeased. Flynn was sure that Carrie wasn’t as moody as she was making it out to be. This had always been their dynamic – quick wit, insults, and snide remarks hiding that little flame of affection that had gradually blossomed into a roaring fire. Now that they were finally on an official date, they still kept that sense of rivalry, but it was diluted by the fact that they had finally admitted to one another how they felt. So Flynn wasn’t worried about Carrie’s mood, and even if she was really grumpy Flynn knew she would be able to cheer her up one way or another.

Plus her bad mood might have been more intimidating if she hadn’t fallen into a bush fifteen seconds later. Flynn was laughing so hard as she tried to tug her out that she dropped her back in several times.

Not long later (although with Carrie’s complaints it felt much longer) they came to a break in the treeline that exposed a hill, the grass coloured a summery bright green. Over the hill Flynn saw the sky for the first time since they’d entered the forest – pure blue, no trace of any clouds, the sun high in the sky. It was inviting and warm and she couldn’t help but feel happy. She glanced at Carrie and felt her breath hitch in her throat.

The thing was, Carrie shouldn’t have looked so good at that moment. She was covered in mud, her hair was a mess, there were ladders in her tights and an enormous rip in the shoulder of her cardigan, and she had been scowling so much on their hike that there were lines on her face Flynn was sure hadn’t been there before. But the sun gleaming down on her lit her hair like a halo and made her skin glow, and for the first time in hours she really let herself smile, an unhidden release of joy that reassured Flynn that she really was enjoying herself. She looked like a painting, so gorgeous that she couldn’t possibly have been real. She blew her hair away from her face and then flipped it over her shoulder, seeming like she moved in slow motion.

“Flynn!”

Flynn was snapped out of her thoughts by Carrie’s voice. Judging by her face, she had called Flynn’s name more than once. Flynn smiled pleasantly, trying to act as if she hadn’t just been worshipping Carrie like a goddess.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s up? That hill.” Carrie pointed up the slope.

“Oh, that. Didn’t see that there.”

“Are you seriously going to make me climb that?” Carrie said, glaring daggers at Flynn.

Flynn wasn’t fazed. She slipped her hand into Carrie’s, delighted with the blush it elicited from her and the tiny quirk of her lips as she suppressed a smile. Flynn knew better than anyone that Carrie was all talk – she could pretend to be as angry as she wanted, but it was easy to tear down those walls with something as simple as holding her hand.

“Yes,” Flynn said brightly as Carrie regained her composure. “It’s not that steep and you can literally see the top from here. Plus, when we get up there I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Carrie pouted. “My legs ache. This better be somewhere we can sit down.”

“I could carry you up the hill if you’d like,” Flynn half-joked, winking at Carrie. Again, Carrie flushed pink, easily ruffled.

“I can walk myself, thank you very much,” she said, and set off up the hill ahead of Flynn.

It was, truthfully, a very small hill, so it took them barely two minutes to reach the top. It was hotter at the top of the hill, free of the shade the forest had provided, but Flynn wasn’t bothered with the heat – she was looking at Carrie to make certain that this had all been worth it.

Thankfully, Carrie was smiling. No, she was positively beaming, a glimmer in her eye that made her look happier than Flynn thought she had ever seen.

“You like the view?” Flynn asked. Carrie nodded mutely, wonder plain as day on her face. Flynn inwardly breathed a sigh of relief – she had been sure Carrie would like it up here, but to have it go down well in reality was a whole different feeling.

She tore her eyes away from Carrie and looked out across the scenery for herself. Right in front of them was a large field, uncut grass swaying in the gentle breeze, the whole area lined with row upon row of strawberry plants, ripe and ready to eat. Spanning out below them was a splendid view of the ocean, the sea glittering with dashed sunlight, boats framed by gold as they floated on the horizon. It was a sight Flynn had seen many a time before when she had walked this same route with her family and after she had discovered Carrie’s love of strawberries she had known she had to share it with her.

“The walk was worth it?” she checked, sliding her hand back into Carrie’s.

“The walk was worth it,” she confirmed, gripping Flynn’s hand tight as she raised it to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Flynn felt her heart flutter, getting a little hot, and not because of the sun. “I did know you had something amazing planned – you know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Flynn replied, leading Carrie to the hedgerows. “I knew that your whining all the way up here wasn’t you not enjoying yourself, it was just your personality.”

“The same way I knew how you being so stubborn and refusing to tell me what we were doing wasn’t you being a complete control freak, it was just you trying to surprise me,” Carrie quipped.

Flynn grinned, ready to rise to her challenge, but as soon as she opened her mouth Carrie silenced her by sticking a strawberry in there. Surprised, Flynn had no choice but to bite into it – luckily, Carrie had picked a ripe one, and the flavour danced over her tongue, tasting like summer.

“These are safe to eat, right?” Carrie asked, picking up another strawberry and inspecting it closely.

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “You’re only saying that after you put one in my mouth? Should I be worried?”

“Yes,” Carrie said. Flynn rolled her eyes fondly. “But they are safe to eat, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if you couldn’t eat as many strawberries as your heart desires,” Flynn said wistfully. Carrie beamed again, that smile as bright as the sun, and popped the strawberry into her mouth. She sighed contentedly, all of her earlier gripes seeming to be completely forgotten.

“Good?” Flynn said.

“So good,” Carrie replied.

Flynn lost track of how long they stayed there together, feasting on strawberries, feeding them to one another, basking in the sun, laughing and joking and talking, doing nothing more than simply enjoying each other’s company. As far as first dates went, Flynn was pretty certain this one couldn’t have gone any better. It felt like they had been on a thousand dates just like this before: comfortable, familiar, utterly perfect. With the sun on her skin and Carrie’s hand in hers, Flynn couldn’t imagine anywhere she would rather be.

They shared a few tentative, slightly nervous kisses. They tasted of the strawberries they had been eating. Flynn had never kissed anyone before, but she was certain that there was only one person she ever wanted to kiss from then on, and it was Carrie Wilson. The feeling of Carrie’s lips on hers sent shivers down her spine despite the hot weather. It was thrilling and calming at the same time, a sensation like no other, but Flynn was drunk on it.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun drifted slowly across the sky, and Flynn realised they needed to start heading back before it got too dark.

“I wish I could bring some of these strawberries back,” Carrie thought aloud.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Flynn announced. She had known Carrie would say that, and she was prepared for it. She dug around in her backpack for a while and eventually pulled out another bag, this one empty. She handed it to a bemused Carrie, smiling proudly at her own predictive skills. “So you can collect some and take them with you. I knew you’d want to.”

There was a small, soft smile on Carrie’s face, something in it that Flynn couldn’t quite name. She watched as Carrie practically bounced back to the hedges, giddy in a way that Flynn had hardly ever seen her before, and followed after her to give her a hand.

When the bag was nearly full, Carrie zipped it up and shouldered it, reaching for Flynn’s hand and leading the two of them back down the hill towards the forest, back the way they had come.

“I can carry the bag if you like,” Flynn offered, trying to be a good date.

“I’ve got it,” Carrie insisted.

“I thought you’d be eating them as we walked back,” Flynn said.

Carrie just smiled. “These aren’t for me. They’re for you.”

“Me?”

Carrie nodded briskly. “I’m going to make you a pie.”

Flynn almost laughed. “What for?”

“As a thank-you,” Carrie said like it should have been obvious. “You organised this entire amazing day and all I did was tag along. So, to show how much I care about you and how great today was, I’m making you a pie.”

“I– thank you.” Flynn tried to keep the tremor from her voice, trying not to show how touched she was. She liked this aspect of what they had – they were always equal, it was never one of them putting in more effort than the other. It showed how much they cared, how much they respected each other. It made Flynn feel loved.

But it was too early for love, she knew that. It was only their first date after all.

Carrie rolled her eyes again, but there was a blush on her cheeks. She squeezed Flynn’s hand affectionately and they walked the rest of the way back through the forest in comfortable silence.

*

The next day, Flynn’s legs were killing her. She texted Carrie as soon as she woke up, but other than that she allowed herself to sleep in until late, resting her aching joints. She just laid in bed and spoke to Carrie, remembering how perfect the day before had been and becoming ever more eager to go on another date.

She had almost forgotten Carrie’s promise until the text came: I’m outside your house by the way.

Flynn leapt out of bed and peaked out of her bedroom window. Sure enough, Carrie was stepping out of her dad’s car and walking up Flynn’s driveway. In her hands she held a large dish, mostly covered by tinfoil.

Ignoring the fact that she was still wearing her pyjamas even though it was nearing one o’clock, Flynn ran as fast as her tired legs would carry her from her bedroom to the front door. She opened it before Carrie even had time to knock.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. Carrie looked a lot less haggard than she had on their walk yesterday, beautiful even without the gleam of the sun on her face. The smell of the pie gently wafted out from underneath its covering.

“Hey,” Carrie replied, smiling sheepishly. She held the dish out and Flynn took it carefully. “I told you I’d make you a pie.”

Gently, Flynn pulled back the tinfoil and saw perfect pastry filled with bright red strawberries, covered with careful latticing and lots of tiny pastry hearts. Carrie was blushing the same shade as the strawberries and Flynn didn’t remember ever feeling so touched.

“It looks great,” she said, smiling up at her girlfriend. “Do you want to come in for a bit and have some?”

“I’d love to,” Carrie returned.

Flynn led her to the kitchen, cut them both a slice of pie each, and completed it with whipped cream. They sat at the table together, quietly eating their pie, the strawberries just as sweet as they had been the day before, the mood just as bright and comfortable. Flynn thought that if being with Carrie was so easy, there would definitely be a lot more dates and a lot more shared strawberry pies in the future. And she was more than alright with that.

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh 

[that-house]

Hey so I hit 100 followers today!

Buckle up, this is gonna be a LOOOONG post.

I quite honestly expected it (while my ego is a little smaller than my jokes make it out to be it is definitely present), I didn’t expect it to happen so fast.

It’s not an insane milestone, plenty of people have 100 followers. A hefty portion of my followers are bigger than me. But it’s still important to me. Knowing that there’s 100 people out there who enjoy my shit makes me happy.

First and foremost the credit quite honestly has to go to ahegao George Washington. No, I’m not joking. Until I posted on r/tumblr about my desire to draw that, I had 0 followers. I jumped to like 10 overnight, which was awesome. And then those new followers helped me spread my posts and get more attention.

Secondly I’d like to shoutout @imaverysadgirl and @themeaninglessjumble. You two were my first real tumblr frens. You were the first of my followers to really interact with me. Ember, I’m super happy you’re alive to see me hit 100 followers. Jumble (I don’t know your name unless I forgot it), your art and creations are great and you deserve way more attention.

To all the rest of you, you guys are great, too. Every new follower makes me happy. I’d say I don’t deserve you all, but my colossal ego says I do. Regardless, being nemesi and getting called out for being horny on main and sending and receiving asks has made this last month or so great.

Finally, for all the shit it gets, and for all the shit it pulls, [tumblr] really is pretty dope. I got to meet you all, and it’s actively making me a better person by exposing me to groups of people I’d rarely interact with in real life.

Why does it feel like I’m saying goodbye? I’m not, don’t worry. I plan to stay, and neither death nor pain shall drive me from this hellsite. I’m just saying thanks.

Now with the thanks out of the way, I want to talk about myself a little. Just the stuff that I’ve always wanted to say and never quite gathered my thoughts and found the time to talk about.

You’re gonna get to know me so well! This is like a mini autobiography!

First off, my mental health. This is something I don’t talk about much on this blog, mostly because it doesn’t need much talking about. I’m doing pretty well, to be honest. I have a smattering of anxiety and I’m maybe a little too introverted for my own good, but I’m not suffering from depression and the only time I ever even remotely considered suicide was when I just really really didn’t want to go to French class. COVID has been great for me, since I don’t have to see people. I suppose I’m not a great person to talk to if you’re struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, seeing as I can’t personally relate, but I’m still always here for you guys if you need me. Just because I haven’t lived through your experiences doesn’t mean I can’t try to help.

Next up I want to talk about my sexuality. This one’s a bit of a mystery. For the past 16 years of my life I’ve considered myself 100% straight. But lately (let’s be honest, following the release of Spirit Blossom Thresh) I’ve been wondering if I might be bi. How many times can I joke about wanting to smash sexy boys before it’s not really a joke anymore? And if I am, a lot of things would suddenly make a lot of sense. But every time I think I have it figured out it suddenly feels like I have no clue what’s going on. Regardless, my sexuality has honestly never been a massive part of my identity (though I’m definitely not asexual, my friends can attest I’m far too horny for that). I have no clue if I’m bi and for now it’s kind of a fun little adventure!

I guess I’ll talk about school and stuff now. Believe it or not, I’m kinda smart. I’m taking a shitton of AP courses this year. But I simultaneously feel like it’s too much and not enough. I’m smart, but I’m not a great student. Compared to my dad, who graduated college with a 3.98 GPA (and his only B being in History of Canada as an American) and now has a super well-paying government STEM job that he loves, I feel like even if I work my ass off I’ll never quite measure up. And my parents have had super high expectations of me, and it’s only recently that they’ve started to accept that I might get some B’s here and there. I’m worried about all the homework this year. I’m a year ahead in Math but I don’t feel good enough at math to be taking AP calculus junior year. I’m worried I’m going to get like a C. But for the most part school is alright, too. That’s sort of the trend in my life. Everything’s alright.

Time to talk about my love life! I have no love life! I’ve been single for 17 years and probably stand no chance of changing that until at least college! Haha I’m so alone! But I can live with it. Growing up an only child with a few friends means that I’m pretty good at functioning without a ton of social interaction, and, while I’d like a partner someday, I’m not desperate. I can wait until I find someone. Pretty much my goal is not to die alone.

Onto sports maybe? I played soccer for most of my life, and was always the worst player on the select team. I was too good for the normal team and not good enough for the select team (kinda like math). Soccer was really toxic, especially when you’re the worst player on a team of high school jock drug addict boys. So I quit, and started playing frisbee! It’s a lot better. The people are nicer! But my first season never happened because of COVID and now I’m in my Junior year and haven’t played much frisbee! So I kinda suck! But I’m physically fit and that’s good enough for me! On my own time I bike and run to stay in shape.

Are you still with me? Now I’m gonna talk about my hobbies and things!

I’ve been playing video games for a long time. I kinda suck at them to be totally honest. I probably have below-average reaction time, and my parents only let me play 15 minutes a day for most of my childhood, so I have a lot less practice than most of my friends. I’m pretty slick with Swain in LoL tho.

This next part is borderline shameless self-promotion, but since the Kickstarter isn’t live yet I guess it doesn’t count. I’m making a tabletop role playing game! I’ve been working on it for the past few years. My goal is to launch the Kickstarter prior to my college applications, because that’ll look sexy as fuck to potential colleges. It’s a post-apocalyptic sci-fi game where you play as supersoldiers trying to reconquer the wastelands of Earth for humanity. I’ll do a big post on it when I launch the Kickstarter, and I guess that’ll also be a full name reveal (kinda spooky since my full name is ENTIRELY unique and one-of-a-kind. More ego boost lmao).

And finally I want to talk about my art and writing. I’ll start with my drawing, and finish off with my writing, since that’s what I’d most like to be known for on here (but that’ll never happen because my caveman brain shitposts are too funny).

So I’ve been doodling for a long time. I briefly got formal art training but sacrificing my Saturday mornings to draw what someone else wanted me to make so that I could make better stuff in the future didn’t appeal to my 8-year-old brain. I draw in the margins of worksheets. I draw on random sheets of paper. Recently my parents bought me a drawing tablet, and I’ve been trying to improve at digital art. I’d say I’m getting better, but I don’t practice nearly enough. All in all my art serves its purpose. It makes people laugh and can sometimes creep people out. It’ll never go in a museum, and I’ll never make money off of it but whatever.

And finally, my writing.

How can I talk about writing without talking about reading? I’ve likely read more books than both my parents combined, and if not, it’s close (and my mom is a prolific reader too). I have three bookshelves in my room and books on every surface. You can’t follow me for long without seeing a post ranting about my latest read. I love to read and I read incredibly fast. Reading spurred my love of English class, which in turn helped me write.

And finally, we get to writing in and of itself. I’ve been writing stories since I was a little kid. I’d like to think I’ve improved a fair bit. I’m still no novelist, but I consider myself a fairly adept short story writer.

But I suppose where my writing really stems from is my bed. Every night while I’m lying in bed, I tell myself stories until I fall asleep. I work on a story until it’s done or until I get bored of it. Along the way, in the shower, on my bike, I build the world of the story, crafting the plot. Sometimes the stories are elaborate fanfictions of my latest reads. That’s probably how they started. Often, they’re unique worlds all of their own. My current writing posts are about the City of Mammon, but my current story in my head is about some vampires who hunt other vampires in Victorian England.

And now we get into the process of writing. It’s fun! I sit myself down with an idea in my head, and use all the fancy words I picked up from my books to convey the vibes I want. I honestly wouldn’t be a great writing teacher. It’s just a skill that comes naturally to me as a result of what I’ve been doing with my free time my whole life. And it’s beautiful. And every time someone compliments my writing or reblogs it, I love writing just a little bit more.

Well I guess this is it. The 100 follower special. I wonder how many of you guys will take the time out of your day to read this. Hopefully a lot!

James (or That House) signing off for the night!

<3 thanks guys

[0-plankton]

Ohmywellhellothere!!! I felt called to do a wee general reading, so here we are. Please, let me know if it resonates!! (This is my first time doing a general reading, so feedback would be so, so appreciated 🥺😖🌹)

You know how the mossy stone rolls -- pick your group. You will know how.

From left to right: Group 1, Group 2, Group 3. Descriptions under the cut.

Group 1:

Before I pulled cards, I saw the holding of a rose quartz. Are you working on opening yourself to universal love right now? Is your heart center receptive, or do you need to gently coax ribbons from your heart? 💓 I also saw tourmaline, for a few of you. 

The biggest message I see here is to open yourself to the gift of giving. Perhaps you feel as though you don't have much to give, or that it may go unappreciated. Be creative in your generosity, for it returns tenfold - and often in ways that we don't recognize at first - but within happenstance and hindsight, we see that we become truly blessed. Clarity through your gifts of generosity pave the road to the bits of love you chase. Soon, you will no longer give chase. Allow the waves to wash you.

-------

Group 2:

Before I pulled, I saw a snake moving amongst the rocks. Is there a toxic family situation, perhaps?

I wasn't surprised to see these cards come up in your spread. I don't like seeing the two 10s in reverse, especially so for the pentacles and cups. Are you doing alright, my love? I see a masculine figure in a position of authority railroading you at this time. Stay safe and remember your boundaries. I see no imminent harm, but this has the potential to take a mental toll on you. Care for yourself. Nurture your mind in whatever way you see fit. Death is here (figuratively!), and you are being called to end a situation. Now may not be the time, but prepare yourself for an inevitability. Look to younger siblings or friends for help. They will be your lifeline during this time, and also for when the inevitability comes. Not all is dire, dearest. As I was shuffling for your spread, the magician cheekily poked through. This is a reminder that you have the absolute power to not only overcome this, but to transmute it into a springboard for achieving your goals. I see blossoms. Pink, beautiful. Fragrant, sublime. I believe in you.

-------

Group 3:

Lmao, y'all are funny. I smell incense, are you burning something? A mercurial spirit. As I was shuffling, I got a bit tired. Someone said to keep going! Lollll ugh fine. I'm here. I gotchu. Though I feel as though things are going swimmingly for you. There isn't much you need to see, here. Or hear. This is why I got a bit tired, tbh. 

I pulled, and yup - you're good. You're so good my dude. Two of cups, queen of cups, ace of cups? Wowow omg so good. Love is all around you!! Don't resist it, ya lil buttmunch. Sorry to say, it really is that simple. Some of you are within a burgeoning and beautiful relationship. A warning: there is a chance that you could self sabotage and it would hurt the relationship also whoa holy shit deja vu I dreamed this scene before of me writing this out and I'm freewriting a bit omg sorry but also yes because that happened pay extra attention to not self sabotaging. Don't be afraid to take a time out if you need it! This is an enduring love; time outs are actually, quite necessary sometimes. Do what you need to do for yourself! For others of you, camaraderie with your circle is fun, strong, and filled with love! Enjoy this time, enjoy your loved ones, enjoy your friends. If you feel bits of doubt creep, your loved ones will be your net. Love them!

-------

WHEW BOI OK THATLL DUU, tysm for reading! And don't forget, these are meant for entertainment purposes and I am not liable for your choices ;)

[freewheelshippin]

30 utapri questions!

Thanks @dekiaibadchoices​ for the tag, this was an awesome way to wind down after a ton of nonstop busy busy busy!!! (and thanks for tagging this blog vs the general utapri one so i can REALLY gush LOL) Here’s the OG meme! 

1. Your best boy?

BANANAMAN RAN WHO ELSE  

2. Your least favorite boy?

“least favorite” implies dislike which...not true! truthfully it’s much of HEAVENS by nature of ‘I haven’t spent as much time getting to know these characters so I don’t really know who they are.’ (though I already know I love to go for drinks and snacks with Van hehe) i do like all of HEAVENS quite a bit from what i’ve seen so far but that affection has not had time to ripen! 

3. A character that you never thought you would love as much as you do now?

mnmnj ranran tbh 

4. A character you can relate to in any way?

I can’t answer everything with Ranmaru but like. His ambition, straightforwardness, and how the soul and spirit of music motivate him to move forward beyond a tough past are things I same hat so much ;; But HONESTLY I also relate a lot to Masa and Tokiya, especially in their moments of self-doubt and dramatic commitment to to their art? 

5. A character that you think deserves more love?

Oh, Cecil, without a doubt. He’s such a resilient, committed, and open-hearted cutie and gets really shafted by canon tbh. Which makes it harder for everyone to see what a great boy this sweetie is! But I appreciate how Shining Live has given him some room to have really cute and standout moments so everyone can love him more but okay like, give me more Ceci and Ran palling around I love him most when they’re up to shenanigans 

6. A character you would want as your partner?

well we’re posting this fuckin here so you all fuckin know (im very embarrass rn i can barely say it lmao) 

(for the record i would also very much like to be friends with reiji and syo, they are cool people i think i’d get along with! and i know myself, if i knew otoya or masato IRL i’d just be like ‘well. that’s my son now’ and basically appoint myself their tough big sis-type-friend lookin out for them lol) 

7. A character you would want as your mentor/senpai?

I would swallow a pinecone before I called him ‘onii-san’ but teach me how to network kotobuki-senpai 

(No, like, forreal, I suck so, so bad at a ton of stuff Reiji is aces at, and I respect the hell out of his *waves* general everything and skilll navigating the industry. Since I’m a goofy, jokey, overenthusiastic teacher for work a lot it’d be nice to be on the receiving end of all that energy! and be a fucking decent kouhai that isn’t so horribly unappreciative of all his hard work and good cheer ) 

8. Your favorite ship?

shut your whore mouth i dont have the marbles to write it out 

(tbh it’s also Haru/Tomo, I just feel so much more romantic chemistry between those two than Haru and any of the boys u___u  Friends’ selfship stuff goes without saying, haha, and ngl I’m kind of About a Ren/Van rivalry hatemance? can i call it a kismesis thing? it’s a kismesis thing.) 

(actually no I think I’m just a member of the “Ren Fucks and sometimes it’s Hatesex” club) 

9. A character that you want to cosplay/have already cosplayed?

I had plans to cosplay Ranmaru a couple months ago bc it’s really not much of a stretch for my wardrobe, haha, but I dunno about that anymore! Part of it was wanting the Euphoria of looking like a tough, twunky, princely anime character but tbqh I’m already that every day of my life so 

I suppose if you were to pull my leg I’d go for cosplaying Van, mostly because I wanna try that mullet on for myself. 

10. Favorite side character?

TOMO!! LOVE U BITCH WHEN WILL I HEAR U SINGGGGGG 

11. Your favorite solo song?

god this is horrible how can I decide??? so many good ones??? I think it’s a draw between Top Star Revolution, No. 1, Brand New Melody, Wild Soul, Seien Brave Heart, and Junketsu Nara Ai ~Aspiration~ ??? 

12. Your favorite duet song?

HMMMMM again too many good ones. Three-way tie between Haru Hana, NorthWind and SunShine, and Original Resonance! 

13. Your favorite trio song?

Ahhh Dream More than Love is really nostalgic bc it’s the first Utapri song I really loved, but i gotta be real. It’s just Egoistic. There’s just no getting better than Egoistic 

14. Your favorite group song?

mmmm i’m be basic. Poison Kiss 

15. Your least favorite song?

I love Ai and Shouta Aoi’s incredible voice but......I’m really not a fan of super slow, overly-saccharine songs. u__u so A.I. really, really doesn’t land with me, much less so than easygoing (like Knocking on the Mind) or somber (like Winter Blossom) songs. 

16. Your favorite singer?

ranran...it’s always ranran...

(I do also adore Natsuki’s and Camus’s voices! I tend to like deeper, richer vocal qualities, but you just can’t beat Ranmaru’s subtle growls and high-energy rock!!!! <3) 

17. Your favorite group/trio/duo?

god what combo of these idiots DONT i love? I could watch Reiji prank and tease Ranmaru all fuckin day, and I also really like it when Ran’s at his most ‘tuff big bro-y’ with, like, Ai, Otoya, and Cecil!!! but honestly I do like how the Ran/Masa/Ren trio isn’t so straightforward and is more or less held together by a thin string of professionalism, there’s something i appreciate about not forcing ppl to just bury the hatchet and be Perfect Friends but you all can still care about each other? (Ranmaru needs to be nicer to them still but...) 

i need to suggest one that isn’t ranmaru centric fjdsioafjsa i fuckin love Soccer Buds (otosyo) and I loooooove it when Otoya and Cecil are good to each other!!! 

18. Your favorite member of Starish?

they’re all my favorite but if you REALLY had to make me pick.....Masato, probably, haha. I just...if you take yourself too seriously and care so much about everything but still know how to be Nasty how can I not love you??? 

19. Your favorite member of Quartet Night?

what do you fuckin think, hoss 

20. Your favorite member of Heavens?

I mentioned earlier I don’t really know Heavens well, so ofc this is all liable to change! But off the bat I love what a conniving yet wholesome bastard Eiichi is and Van is just the kinda guy I would rib and pal around with IRL!! 

21. Your favorite seiyuu/voice actor?

Ahhh that’s tough! I love all these goofbags, and Tattsun really is just so cool and makes music I’m pretty about. But I think I gotta give it to Suwabe, his performances are always so him but still pretty varied, and how can you not adore a man who loves his chihuahuas that much??? 

(if i’m being 100% honest Tattsun lost points bc he voices my absolute least favorite character in granblue ffjsfjisda) 

22. Favorite Drama CD?

HMMMMMMM see as a certified Giant Tool for Everything Mecha and silly and extra, I enjoyed the hell out of Polaris, but it really suffers from a lack of Ranmaru in my humble fuckin opinion lmao. So even though I’m not one for pirate stuff most of the time, I gotta give it to Pirates of the Frontier!! I really loved Ranmaru and Otoya’s dynamic in that one, and Camus was juuuuust the right amount of shitheel, too. 

I haven’t heard the whole thing but that thing from Egoistic where Natsuki squeezes Ranmaru to death and Eiichi’s just like ‘WUAHAHAHAHAH’ is also the mcfuckin best. 

23. Your favorite shining live card?

CAN’T PICK 

HOW COULD I POSSIBLY PICK?????????? LIKE??? I love the fucking dumb, dumb, dumb ostentatiousness of Evil Villains, I LOVE a good heel, and I also worked so so hard to t1 that event and had a lot of fun doing it!! But also, I just love his big smile and all the energy and mixed prints from Fortune and Prosperity, and it was literally the first time I ever got the exact card I was rolling for in a gacha on the last pull I had left!! (He also came home during a time I was really going through some shit, and ngl it rescued me a little bit!) but AHHHH Soulful Bass also came out right around my birthday, I love all the textures in the outfit and it’s generally the most My Aesthetique thing Utapri has ever released!!! And god, I just love it when he’s so confident and in his element like this, it sets me on FIRE to see him light up the stage wurghjgfj ;___; They all make me just want to HUG SO MUCH ARGGHHHHH 

24. Your favorite song beatmap?

Ahhh I think Shining Live really has great beatmaps across the board so that’s a tough pick! Almost all of them are super fun in their own way, but I think I gotta hand it to Wild Soul, Top Star Revolution, and Innocent Wind! 

25. Your least favorite song beatmap?

A.I. u__u Sorry, Ai...it’s just not fun for me.

26. Black Deja Vu or White Gravity?

Actually I’m really glad for this question bc I’ve been so busy lately I hadn’t given myself the time to really check them out! checking ......... 

and yep. Black Deja Vu. (I mean...Ranmaru is on it, haha.) But I’m so about this. Love this heavier sound and all these harmonies, this is so juicy. (White Gravity also absolutely kicks ass though!! I’m really liking that voice group, it’s making especially good use of those higher registers!) 

27. Utapri merch that you own/want?

Honestly I don’t have much u__u Not a lot of Utapri merch is my thing...you know? I’m mostly shopping for Ran merch if I’m getting any, but I’m very picky about how he gets drawn? Keeping his toughness and a particular clothing style about him is so essential, haha, and barely anything hits that sweet spot for me. But I will say I adored the whole ‘My Favorite Things’ series, and if I had the budget and space atm I’d love to get some of the Ran goodies from that line! 

28. How did you get into Utapri?

I first heard about it through some acquaintances from cosplay before Quartet Night was a thing. It didn’t appeal enough to my heavy metal ass to make me drop everything and try it, but I did have an interest in it I couldn’t explain and I’d always intended on trying it out. (especially after I got into Love Live and idol anime for a bit.) But it was Shining Live that got me! And I really only downloaded Shining Live because I was super exhausted after a business trip, didn’t want to leave bed once I got back home, and just wanted to sink my teeth in something new I could enjoy for hours while lying down, haha.  

29. A set theme in shining live that you want to see in the future?

This will surprise nobody, but something tougher. More rock, more punk, more metal. I want all of them in studs and spikes and leather, and I want less polish. More rough! 

I’d also love a wrestler set complete with who’s-a-heel-who’s-a-face but that’s a pipe dream and a half, lmao. 

30. Why do you love your best boy?

Oh boy. 

I think he’s this powerhouse of a human bean who can face a ton of pain and meet it with a big middle finger. And that middle finger is chasing after ambitious dreams, of spreading the power and soul of the same music that made me who I am and influences so much of my work, but also being ... you know, smart about it? He’s an idol because like, sure, maybe it’s not the OG dream, but you can’t dream if you’re dead, and you also deserve to give yourself a life and platform to share some of who you are, and you can do a lot of good with that, too. (And I won’t lie, I respect the drama of a man who takes his hair that seriously and commits so hard to the aesthetic he wears fuckin mismatched contacts i just. charm point ) 

But at the same time....I don’t know, this might sound presumptuous, but. I think. I just think he’d think I’m as neat as I think he is. I’m an ambitious, passionate person, too, and I also furiously stick to my ideals, and I also love the same kind of soul of music he does. I lean a little more metal than I do rock, but I think that’s nice, like sharing it has that ‘alike but different’ kind of familiarity and novelty all at once. Sometimes it’s tough sharing just how deeply rock and metal have sculpted me and my artwork (and therefore my career), bc it’s so deeply personal to me, and sometimes there’s weird elitism/misogyny/racism to deal with, too. But. The way he talks about rock, the way he describes the passion and how it transcends identity and is just a pure rush of power and sharing your feelings..................it just feels like he Gets it the same way I do. Just that unspoken, burning passion and understanding. I know it sounds weird to feel that strongly over just a music genre, but I just vibe with how to him, it really isn’t ‘just’ a music genre. I feel more accepting of myself for it, and I’d like to think he’d be real proud of himself for that.  

And listen, like....I’m very sentimental, but I really don’t like saccharine, flowery, romantic kinds of affection to be lavished on me. Just be straightforward but also a little tsun about it fjdsjfas and ..... those are the kind of feelings I can accept. And that’s the way Ranmaru is, and it’s also grounded in the kind of reality that I don’t like to be swept away from. He’s just so cool and hardworking and unwavering in his passion, it makes it easier for me to do the same despite all the bumps in the road. This got real long but Ran’s a cool dude, haha, I got a lot of positives to say. 

Anyways, I never tag folks for these things, but I love seeing everyone’s answers! If you see this and wanna fill it, feel free to count this as a tag from me :) I know this got real long, but with 30 questions how could it not haha? Thanks for reading and sticking around! 

[sternenteile]

7 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER. rules:  fill this up and then tag 7 people you’d like to know better !

one / ( alias / name ):  nikki! that is... my alias and name. well, my middle name. fun fact. two / ( date of birth ):  april 4th! three / ( zodiac sign ):  aries the turdram four / ( height ):  5′3″.......... tinie five / ( hobbies ):  writing, reading, drawing, vidya gaming, aminuls, general just learning neat shit, binging stupid shit on youtube??? lamenting my lack of adequate chicken nugget???? yeah. six / ( favorite color ):  pink and sky blue are tied, but basically, any pastel is automatic love. seven / ( favorite books ):  it’s been too long since i read a gotdamn book. it’s sad, really. eight / ( last song listened to ):  what a bop, tho. when btfm kicks in, like... damn. chills. nine / ( last film or show watched ):  midnight diner, show’s bonkers. ten / ( story behind url ):  it’s funny as hell that the ut fandom coming together again is actually what lead to this... because geno’s url is actually inspired by undertale. sort of. ish. i was listening to bergentruckuung while i was making his blog, and i was like, “man, imagine if geno had a baller battle theme like this with like, some german-ass name like this. that’d be sick.” german for ‘star bits’ is ‘sternenteile’. rest is history. eleven / ( inspiration for muse ):  his sheer potential that square enix and nintendo let slip through their fingertips. does he have any more lore than any other character in the series? fuck no, but imagine what would have happened if he was. he has a huge foundation with star road, with being a wish-granter AND warrior, with the star spirits’ existence, with rosalina’s existence... and it made me really want to see how geno could blossom in the modern mario world. i know that’ll probably never happen For Real™, so i decided i’d give this a geno whirl. along with that, i saw the tiniest fragments of personality in him that i felt could be expanded on hugely, and i decided that i wanted to show the world just how amazing geno could be if in the right hands. whether i’m the right hands or not is up to the beholder, but i love writing my boy and hope to do him justice! he deserves better than being locked in SE’s fucking basement.

TAGGED BY:  @mettatoniic​ !! friend........... ilu, TAGGING:  fuck idk i’m bad asf at tagging LMAO. if u wanna do it, just do it. ??

[thosch3i]

sunday six

found the idea on an ao3 tumblr blog? thought I might as well since my history has shown otherwise I might never post any writing, ever. fun fact: this google doc is called "shen sadness" lmao. follows shen san extra chapter, his reincarnation is called yue yifeng (岳忆风)

~~~

The growing sapling of a plum blossom tree he’d planted years ago still remains, swaying lightly,  flowers not yet in bloom, but the sight does little to soothe Yue Yifeng’s spirit. The frigidity of the night air settles onto his skin like cool silk weighed down by icy water, a gentle breeze bringing with it an early taste of a harsh winter. 

Yue Yifeng disregards all of this as he sets out, wandering, searching for somewhere, anywhere, that location which only his heart can be certain of. The cold glimmer of moonlight leads him on his journey to nowhere, and Yue Yifeng can’t be sure how long he wanders, fingers chilled by the biting breeze, heart chilled by the ghosts of memories that he can’t be certain are his, when an abandoned cottage crops up on the horizon.

He’s never been there before, he knows this, but his heart skips a beat, an intense rush of longing, of hope, swelling up in his chest, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s taking long strides towards the cottage, pausing only to press his hand briefly against a tall plum blossom tree in the yard. Thoughts buzz incoherently in his head, and he belatedly notes that his fingers tremble, not from the cold, but for another reason entirely, as he watches himself push open the worn, dusty cottage door, sensation muted to a strange dullness, as if he is observing himself act through a dusty cloth obscuring his vision.

~~~

why are my sentences so long rip

[boisheviks]

Do everything that you haven't already done

thanks owobiwan

angel; do you have a nickname? no not rly

awe; how old are you? 18 

baby; favorite color? either red or blue

bloop; spirit animal? red panda

blossom; favorite book/movie/song? havent read a book in years, into the spiderverse was a really good movie (just saw it yesterday, 11/10 would recommend PLEASE SEE IT IF YOU HAVENT), tbh idk what my favorite song is but my favorite band is p!atd 

blush; what was your stuffed animal as a child? hmmm i guess my first major stuffed animal was a bunny. i also had a lot of dogs

bright; mermaids or fairies? both??

bubbles; do you have a best friend? yea (:

buttercup; showers or baths? showers

butterfly; dream destination? japan

buttons; are you religious or spiritual? uhhhh?????? neither???? i guess spiritual if i had to pick

candlelight; what did you dream about last night? i dont remember most of my dreams unless something significant happened so idk

charming; have you ever been in love? nah

cozy; eye/hair color? brown and black respectively

cuddly; what’s your favorite time period? uhhh now i guess? although trump sucks so bad timeline

cupcake; favorite flower/plant? plants that grow fruit

cute; what did you get on your last birthday? iphone x

cutie pie; most precious item you own? my iphone x lol

cutsie; what makes you happy? talking to my friends

daisies; describe a moment when you felt free. when i came home from college for winter break lmao thank god no homework or studying i dont want to go back

daylight; favorite album of all time? oof uhhh i guess the wall by pink floyd 

dear; zodiac sign? aries

delightful; concerts or museums? concerts but museums can be cool

dimples; have you ever written a letter? ..yes? lmao

dobby; dream job? something in cybersecurity would be cool

doll; how do you like to dress? tshirt and jeans, with a jacket if its cold

dovey; any paranormal/magical experiences? nope

dreams; do you want or have any tattoos? no tattoos and currently not rly interested in getting any anytime soon

euphoric; talk about someone you love. i love my parents theyre great

fairy; do you have a pet? i have a fish!

forever; where do you feel time stop? where…??? idk 

froglet; are you a good plant owner? LMAO i was until i forgot about my plant for a solid week. but in my dorm my plant was one of the nicest looking ones so rip plant

garden; how many languages do you know? 2 if u count my horrible chinese that i learned in high school

giggles; what is your aesthetic of choice? sunsets and what the sky looks like

glittery; do you like anons? why/why not? sure. i mean i dont rly get any in the first place but lol

glow; list the top 5 things you like about yourself

1. I’m funny (i hope anyways)

2. I’m smart (kinda)

3. I’m strong

4. I’m understanding

5. I’m good at playing music (lol i literally could not think of anything else yikes)

heart; silk or lace? silk

honey; coffee or tea? how do you take it? coffee, only if its in the form of a frappuccino 

hugsy; do you enjoy people watching or bird watching more? why? people, mainly bc its funny to watch them sometimes

hunnybunch; what sounds help you sleep? no sounds in general

jewel; what’s your favorite kind of weather? sunny

jiggly; what do you usually like to do on weekends? sleep

joy; do you laugh loudly or giggle more? probably laugh loudly id say

kinky; do you blush easily? i dont think so

kisses; what romantic cliché do you wish for most? to have someone love me (wow i live a sad life)

ladybug; what’s your favorite artist to listen to when you’re sad? idk i will listen to the same music no matter how i feel

love; what is your favorite season and why? summer bc no school and its warm

lovey; what is your favorite flavor of macaron and ice cream? i dont eat macarons much but as for ice cream i guess smores

moonlight; do you prefer soft pastels, warm neutrals, or cool darks? hmm i guess i like looking at soft pastels but cool darks are also nice

paddywack; how would you describe a perfect date? actually going on one haha

pebbles; how do you spend free time by yourself? sleeping and talking to friends

precious; what is something valuable that you learned in your life? dont procrastinate for too long (i say as i procrastinate writing thank you cards whoops)

pretty; do you like to cook or bake more? bake

prince; how would you describe your handwriting? ugly but surprisingly legible

princess; do you play any instruments? if not, are there any you wish you could play? yup i play lots

prinky; how do you relieve stress? listening to music

pumpkin; what is your favourite kind of fruit/vegetable? mangoes 

rainbow; what was the last line of the last book you read? tbh i dont even remember the last book i read

roses; what is the most significant event in your life so far? this is sad but probably getting into college and going to college

smile; what is one thing that has greatly affected you? tbh probably getting an internship since i kinda (??) have a guaranteed job once i get out of college as long as i dont mess up so yea knocking on wood rn

shine; art or music? music but i love art as well

smitten; do you collect anything? not really although i used to collect state quarters (now theyre like presidents and important locations or something)

smoochies; how many pillows do you sleep with? 1 usually but i can also sleep without a pillow

snuggly; do you have a camera? if so, what kind? does my phone count 

sparkle; do you wear jewelry? yea usually ill wear a watch and a necklace

spooky; sunrise or sunset? sunset, i cant get up for the sunrise anyways

sprinkles; do you like to listen to music with headphones or no headphones? headphones

starlight; what was your favourite show as a child? funny story but i think barney was my favorite show when i was rly young. but then i guess when i got older (elementary school) probably the mythbusters

soft; describe your favourite spot in your house. my desk where my computer is. its often a mess but i spend the most time there

soothe; digital or vinyl? vinyl bc im such a hipster wow i dont even own any vinyl (my dad has a bunch of records tho)

squeezed; who do you miss right now? all my college pals :(

sugary; what traits do you value most in friends? people who will laugh at my awful jokes and will tolerate me and listen to me i guess

sunshine; do you prefer for things to be practical or aesthetically pleasing? aesthetically pleasing who needs things to be practical and useful anyways lol

sweet; do you find it easy to open up? nope lol it be like that sometimes

sweetie; do you like kids? if so, do you ever want to have any? eh kids are ok but can also be kinda annoying so idk if id ever want any/be fit to have any anyways lol. id probably adopt tho

thimble; is there somebody you look up to? who are they? yup and its the person who gave me all of these to answer smh

tootsie; what kind of friend are you? one who will probably make fun of u too much but will also listen to u when u need it

velvet; are you an early bird or a night owl? night owl for sure

whimsical; do you prefer doing stuff at home or going out? depends where “going out” is and with who

whiskers; do you usually wear makeup? nope ive never worn makeup

wiggly; are you a messy or tidy person? messy

wobbly; have you ever wished upon a star? no, but also i dont rly see shooting stars rip light pollution

[topazadine]

No one tagged me in the “list your five favorite fics” but I’m gonna do it anyway cos I’m a bitch like that.

1. Dreams Within Dreams I had a lot of fun coming up with the different formats to tell the story and piecing them together in a way that made sense, unfolding the story slowly from the perspectives of the key players. 

The best part for me to write was the subtle warming up of the Time Agency to the Saniwa, how they started to view Mikazuki and Tsurumaru not just as ID numbers but as real individuals who were suffering. I think all of us have had experiences with bureaucracies that just treat you like an object until you say or do something that makes them crack and see you as a fellow person.

Favorite part: “Dream of Stables,” where Tsurumaru’s head turns all the way around while he’s smiling and saying “It’s so damn cold.” I got the inspiration for that line from "My Dead Girlfriend Keeps Messaging Me On Facebook,” which is a creepypasta that still freaks me out to this day. Aagh! So creepy!

Favorite line:  "And a crane who loses its mate sometimes dies of a broken heart, so maybe we shouldn't take relationship advice from wild animals." Tsuru is sass incarnate as always.

2. The Blood of a Cherry Blossom The imagery of someone coughing up flowers is just so fantastic. 

Favorite part: Mikazuki and Uguisumaru sitting on the veranda with Tsurumaru. 

Favorite line:  "I've always wondered, Mikazuki Munechika: do you taste like moonbeams or blood?" Nikkari, you’re so goddamn creepy I love it

3. A New Power Viewing the historical facts from Tsurumaru’s perspective was interesting, and I enjoyed doing the research for that one. 

Favorite part: Tsurumaru’s dream about seeing himself kicking dirt on him while he lays in the coffin. 

Favorite line: “Is this the vengeance of the crane?” I may occasionally think that to myself when something goes wrong in my daily life lmao

4. The Red Ring of Fate I love coming up with fixits or explanations for things that aren’t ever explained in canon, and I love the concept that Nikkari can actually see ghosts with his red eye. I also enjoyed creating the subversion of the “red string of fate.” 

Favorite part: Nikkari’s eye getting fucking wasted by an incantation and then having a kitsune stick its paws in his eye to fix it. So gross, so weird! 

Favorite line: “Gods, this pain: surely his skull would crack open and so many evil spirits would rush out that they'd blot out the sun.” Bro that is a migraine, that’s just how a migraine feels.

5. A Thousand Years of Winter This one is the most explicit exploration of PTSD I’ve done to date, and it felt very real to me. How many of us wouldn’t give anything to get rid of our painful memories? But, just like Tsurumaru learned, those memories are what make us who we are, and the only thing we can do is make peace with them and let them go. 

Favorite part: Mikazuki literally stabbing Tsuru in the back. 

Favorite line: “All I want, all I have ever wanted, is to make you happy, and I'm sorry I couldn't give that dream to you.” That is love right there: wanting more than anything to make the person you care about feel better but knowing that, ultimately, it’s impossible, and that all you can do is be there to pick up the pieces. Everyone has to go through their pain alone and only they can make it better. Love isn’t a magic fix-it, but it can make fixing that shit yourself so much easier.

[deadlyredheartbreaker]

What made you decide to write this muse?

Munday Questions // accepting!!

{{ oh this is actually a LONG story lmao so strap in.

so first i got into soul eater when i was about 11 or 12, and just around then i had also first discovered tumblr ( the rules say you have to be 13 but it’s not like i listened ). i had actually been roleplaying for a few years on deviantart, but i was completely banned from there by my mom bc i was doing Naughty Things ( please kids dont smut if you’re under 18 ) so i had to find a new outlet for my blossoming creativity. probably like, literally THE DAY i finished soul eater, i made an rp blog with two soul eater ocs, a meister and weapon pair named gwen and hoshi ( they were...Bad )

but i was actually pretty well accepted into the community despite my awful ocs. i found myself a nice little group in with a few other oc blogs and a REALLY nice spirit blog ( shout out to bipolarclumsiness and redhotscythe hope yall lead good lives now ) and somehow, i think it was bc of a magic anon, i wrote as stein for a day bc he was My Fave Character. and my friends said i did really well as him? so i decided to start a stein blog! ( currently sitting covered in dust over at masteringmadness-archive )

i ran that for a long time, and through that blog is actually how i met my friend, who at the time ran an mlp oc blog ( interesting crossover i know ). we clicked very well and actually started to do a lot of private rp ( we still do!! sneak peak into our chat rn: stein is a mob boss and spirit is getting Fucked by axel from kingdom hearts ) 

anyway bc of us doing our private rps i ended up as spirit a lot of the time, and honestly? i clicked with him WAY more than i did with stein. i love stein to bits but i felt i could never do him justice bc i made him too serious or too silly and also i’m A Dumbass and he’s A Gotdam Genius. but spirit is silly and fun and loving and as much as i wanted more content from him, him being more of a supporting cast member gives me a lot more room to grow and interpret his character ( even tho i already ignore most of canon and just carve for juicy bits but that’s neither here nor there ). he’s also a GREAT canvas to project all of my issues with anxiety and relationships on to lmao

so then back in 2014 i decided to officially make a spirit blog! ( honestly i mostly did it so me and my friend could do more of our ultra rare pair spirit/axel but whatever ) i actually,,,didnt get as many interactions here as on my other blogs so that was a little bit disheartening, my only rp partner really was @young-golden-eyed-doctor whomst i still cherish. but around that time was when my depression REALLY kicked in, so keeping up the blog when not a lot of people seem interested ( while i was also suffering through high school ) was really hard so i ended up just...dropping itim honestly glad i didnt delete tho, bc obviously i came back!! i actually owe that a lot to a discord server i joined in late february ( another shout out to #ClubThirsty ) which was focused on selfshipping with borderlands characters. everyone is really nice there and honestly i’ve had the most fun writing my self insert there and collaborating with the admin on the overarching story. and i just thought about how much i missed roleplaying, and when a couple of others in the chat made rp blogs i decided to make the push and relaunch this blog!

im so glad i did, it’s been so much fun and im so grateful for all the new friends and rp partners i’ve made ( and i miraculously got back in touch with my old stein partner thru a different blog of theirs!! ). this past month has been the most fun i’ve had in the tumblr rpc and people are a lot more welcoming than back when i first started.

anyway sorry this is so fuckin long djskfhjdksk