#AND THEN IT WASN'T JUST A FEW LETTERS!

[hythlodaeus-mynewoldfriend]

Day 5: Stamp no warnings. word count 855

“Thank you, Katla,” Lady Akagane says, flipping through the various letters and missives, finding many of them for her husband. “Has any other news come in about her?” 

The older caretaker shakes her head, “No, my lady, I’m afraid the last thing we know for sure is that she was in Ishgard.”

“And that was over a year ago,” Lady Akagane sighs, waving Katla away, “I will see these to my husband, and see to it that lunch will be suitable to have outdoors.”

“Yes, my lady.” 

Katla gives a bow, leaving Lady Akagane alone in the sitting area, tears starting to form in her eyes, “Where could you possibly be my little Siberite?” The coarse envelope pulls her from visions of what could have befell her daughter, thicker and more crude than the rest of the letters with its grey envelope. While there’s no return address the Kugane ink stamp is undeniable as it sits above a pasted on stamp from the Thavnair embassy. Lady Akagane gasps, fingers rushing to open it, shaking hands pulling out paper with handwriting she knows all too well. “Honey!” She cries out running to her husband’s office, “Honey, my love, take a look at this.” She hands the letter and envelope to her husband, “Tell me I’m not dreaming, that you too recognize the handwriting.”

Lord Akagane exhales as eyes scan to the signature at the bottom, “It’s from her. There is no denying our Siberite’s signature.”

Lady Akagane takes the letter back quickly, hugging it to her chest, spinning around, “She’s alive! My baby girl is alive!”

“What does she say, darling?”

“Hm? Oh yes.” Lady Akagane clears her throat, and sits in an effort to steady her shaking hands.

Dear Mother and Father,

I shall start this off by saying that I am alive and well. I am also no longer in Ishgard, if you could not tell by the post markings, and by the time you get this I will no longer be in Kugane. So there is no point in sending Khutula after me.

I will keep what I have been up to brief. After I spent time in Ishgard, I went to Ala Mhigo to help with the resistance effort. It didn’t go quite as planned so I soon found myself in the Far East! It’s been liberated now, and I got to meet Lord Hien. 

Oh I should tell you I have befriended many a leader in my travels. From the Sultana to Ser Aymeric and to obviously Lord Hien. Which, if I am being honest mother, I can understand the reason for why he was a top choice for you. However we are just friends and I prefer it that way. 

Now that Doma has been liberated, along with Ala Mhigo, I don’t know exactly what comes next. For now I think father will be happy to know that I am finally putting my political studies to proof, as the aftermath is….something. 

I hope you both are doing well. I love you. And please don’t go looking for me. I will return home when I am ready or needed. 

Sincerely,

Siberite

P.S. Please also take care of the invoice I sent. It would be much appreciated. You can even take it out of my inheritance if you would like. Thank you!

“Oh did you hear that honey! She’s befriended Lord Hien and is alive and well!” Lady Akagane squeals, holding the letter to her chest. “Where’s Khutula? He must hear this, he has been as worried as I am. And I now have a lead on her whereabouts.”

Lord Akagane looks down at the handwritten invoice from a pawn shop, shaking his head and groaning, “She spent five million gil on a sword, dear.”

Lady Akagane looks over at the invoice, “No, it was only three. The rest is taxes and fees she has no control over.”

“That’s still three million for a single item. At a pawn shop no less.”

“Oh what does that matter. Our daughter is alive and well, and has befriended Lord Hien most of all!” The woman spins with a smile, “Happy news! Happy news indeed! And should the man truly be opposed to marriage then she has the Lord Commander Aymeric as a friend.”

“I believe he’s the Lord Speaker now that the Dragonsong War came to a close.”

“Hm? Oh right, yes. She has befriended the Lord Speaker Aymeric which is a close second.” She waltzes around the room, “Yes, I shall foster these friendships and encourage them to pursue her, and before you know it she will be safe and married and we will never have to worry about her again, my dear!” Lady Akagane gives her husband a kiss on the cheek, making her way out of his office. “My Siberite has befriended suitable matches, thank the Sisters!”

Siberite’s father begins to write out the withdrawal from their accounts, calling out to his blissful humming wife, “Please refrain from excessive letter writing, dear. We wouldn’t want to scare them off.”

“I won’t! I only mean to pen a few letters!”

[queercherrypie]

I feel like I'm going crazy, because if I put the pieces of the puzzle together I can say that Damon and Bonnie are canonically in love. And I could write an entire essay about it pointing out scenes and parallels and lines and what they mean starting with Damon's letter to Bonnie. I kept thinking about this because I was rewatching this scene here.

He says that supposedly he has everything, but he has nothing. Bonnie is dying and he is desperately trying to save her life even if it means she wakes up and kills him. He's going to extremes because Bonnie just wanted to die. He manages to wake her up by talking about his relationship with Elena; teases her to the level that she rips his heart out. He literally gave his heart to Bonnie in the same place he gave his heart to Elena.

DUDE!!! WHAT?! I'm hallucinating all this and my brain has been corroded with fanfiction? Or am I really seeing this? Was Damon willing to die to save her life and basically saying he's in love with her? I'm going crazy, please someone from the TVD fandom tell me I'm not going crazy. 

He's in love with both of them and the last conversation Elena had with him was about how he can have both and I'm going to die on this hill!!!

The season 7 is basically Bonnie being teased by Enzo every 5 minutes about the fact that she's in love with Damon before he left her behind. He seems to be absolutely sure of that, you know why? He was spending time with Lilly who helped Kai with the plan. She had very open ears in that house and what I'm saying makes perfect sense when I think about it. Kai made Damon make a choice. What the hell happened in that Prison World?! Damon has thought a lot about this piece of advice he's been giving Stefan I wonder why...

[arendaes]

TFW you arrive in a new country to search for your errant mother and are immediately greeted with the sight of a man being executed.

[soubiapologist]

wait okay if yun mentioned mimuro on fanbox then logically speaking that means one of two things;

she read my scary weird fanbox fanletter and has put two and two together that the weirdo requesting mimuro art on skeb is probably also the person who mentioned being a fan of his on fanbox and is thusly subscribed to her fanbox and wants to throw this poor lunatic a treat (or that just based on the skeb request) or

she's really just out there thinking about him and wants to let people know regardless if they're That Weirdo or not

because there's literally zero reason for her to mention him since he's like a tiny bit character and she hasn't even mentioned him in (checks calendar and throws up) over a decade so either she did that for/because of me #MYIMPACT or she's literally thinking about my little freak boy for like. fun.

[sysig]

Tainted batch (Patreon)

[schnaf]

.

[pinkfey]

i getcha but shane’s an alcoholic not an addict i think there’s a diff yk

hmmmmm well first of all those things aren’t mutually exclusive so jot that down, SECOND effectively divorcing alcoholism from addiction is soooooo damaging unless ur goal is to minimize the seriousness of alcohol dependency, and THIRD !! shane is an addict. there is literally no denying this. alcoholism is many things !! it's a mental illness, it's a compulsion, it's a form of substance abuse, it's a chronic disease, it's a dependency, and it is an addiction. sorry that media has warped this and watered it down, but i quite literally cannot stress this enough. now,,,,,

i’m about to simplify and redact a LOT about living with addiction to get my point across (bc it’s such an intensely complex, all-encompassing thing to discuss; it touches every aspect of ur life!!) but as someone who has been living with an alcohol addict who does not want to get better for the better part of my life and watched his alcoholism turn from dependency to addiction, watched his skin turn yellow and his limbs bloat, watched him go through every stage of liver failure, had to clean up his urine and vomit and shit stains, watched him collapse and injure himself in his stupors, had to wade through the filth of his bedroom, had to endure the smell of this man who had not bathed in weeks sweating alcohol, had to witness dozens upon dozens of cyclical interventions and arguments and threats and violent outbursts and broken relationships and manipulation tactics and cycles and lies and lies and lies and lies to keep drinking because alcoholism cognitively impairs you permanently……… i can say this: love does not cure addiction. love does not cure alcoholism. there is no "cure", only treatment, and only if it’s wanted.

if stardew valley wanted to create a character with alcoholism, simple as their characters may be, it was their job to handle it with care and they failed at it tremendously. not to mention his savior complex romancers who play off his addiction as a joke?? loving someone with an addiction is not to be romanticized. it is a constant trial. it requires immense empathy while balancing your own boundaries. it is not a romantic hurdle, it is a permanent part of your relationship. like sorry i know sdv is not that deep but if that were truly the case they shouldn’t have tried to incorporate such a serious topic into one of their romance options 🤷🏻‍♀️ it’s irresponsible and uncomfortable

[dutybcrne]

Okay, I had more thinkings abt Hidden Strife. And lemme tell you, the timeline of Diluc’s departure of the Knights, his fight with Kae and him leaving Mond is WILD to me cuz it goes like:

On Diluc birthday, he and Crepus face Ursa the Drake and Crepus dies, due to, by Kaeya's thoughts in the manga & Vision Story, having been mercy killed by Luc himself

Luc resigns from the Knights after they try to defame Crepus and deny him the proper recognition of what transpired. According to the manga, this is where Diluc also abandons his Vision. Which MEANS

When Kaeya admits to Diluc that he was left in Mond as an agent of Khaenri’ah and they fight, Diluc’s flames that night were in fact the Delusion’s fire, not Vision based

Implied by a staff member of Winery’s letters (see number 14) Kaeya chose to stay at Knights HQ barracks/elsewhere of the Winery after this. At this time, he writes a private letter abt how he supposes he deserved Diluc’s wrath and that doesn’t blame him for anything.

Soon after, Kaeya writes his first letter to Diluc, telling him he doesn’t have to answer back, but even knowing Diluc wouldn’t want to receive anything from him, he still wants Luc to know Eroch ( guy who covered up the Ursa incident to ‘protect’ the Knights’ reputation, stole credit for slaying Ursa, and angered Luc enough to quit the Knights ) is being investigated by Varka’s inner circle. Which is INSANE, giving away such confidential information to an outsider of the knights, even if it IS Diluc, ESP via letter. No answer back from Diluc ( though for good reason in addition to his emotional turmoil/potential resentment, considering the former thought ).

Diluc decides to leave Mondstadt to pursue leads on the Fatui and the Delusion ( maybe prompted to get to the root of the problem? ).

Kaeya writes a second letter detailing that both he and Jean found out his plans. While Jean wanted to write to him to stay, Kaeya encouraged her to not do so and actively encouraged Luc to leave. No one else knows Diluc is leaving otherwise, because Kaeya tells Luc to leave at night and the soonest he can to avoid having to make anyone else sad over him leaving with goodbyes he’d have make. No answer back.

Diluc heckin leaves

Another letter from Kaeya following up tells Diluc Varka gave Jean the power to investigate AND punish Eroch for what he’s done, but he thinks the matter won’t be so simple even after he’s caught. But tells Diluc to wait for the good news. No answer back.

Varka at this time is, implied by his letter to Diluc, already away from Mond, so he wasn't present for Crepus' death nor Kaeya and Diluc's fight. But he is aware of what’s happened thanks to Jean’s letter, and gives his condolences. He reiterates what Kaeya said abt giving Jean authority over this case ( so no one else knows Kaeya is one-sidedly corresponding to Diluc at this point? 🤔 ) and adds he wants Diluc to stay with the Knights.

Diluc replies he has no intentions to stay with them ( if nothing goes wrong, so he MIGHT rejoin if it is extremely needed? 🤔 ), but thanks Varka for the letter anyway and wishes him well.

Alice gets involved bc Klee remarked to her that it’s been ages since she saw Luc, Alice tells Luc to travel aaaall over Teyvat and that she’s sorry what what happened to Crepus. She also reaffirms she believes Diluc is still kind and gentle, in spite of appearances.

Luc says he planned to travel more and tells her Klee is welcome at the Winery while he’s gone.

Implied to be Elzer states Kaeya just came back to Winery after taking leave for a few days and is currently staying in his old bedroom. It is remarked they Know Diluc would have never turned away Kaeya if he were there, and that Kaeya's presence livened up the place for them ( they missed him ;-; ).

Kaeya sends Diluc a letter saying he’s noticed a particular group of men whose employees seem to hang around Angels Share and dangerous places outside Mond’s main city. Tells Luc he thinks they’re associated with Diluc and claims the notes they dropped written in code were hard to see with a blinded eye.

Diluc’s first recorded reply to one of Kae’s letters. Acknowledges Kaeya’s observations and chides him for bringing up his eyes in his letters bc he’s not actually blinded in That eye ( implying not only are those men Indeed keeping an eye on things for him in Mondstadt, but also many MORE cases where Kaeya’s sent letters to Diluc regarding his eyes? )

Kaeya replies he didn’t intentionally mean for Luc to think so, though it WAS scarred ( Notably, Kaeya remarked previously that he was completely okay with Luc thinking he was left blinded by his attack in his private box/see 4 ). Kaeya closes this letter by saying Eroch was punished, and he's going to celebrate for himself and Diluc, bc he knows Diluc isn't the sort to do such things.

The Return of the King ( Diluc comes back to Mond sometime after reading Kae's letter )

[yours-the-author]

If you receive this, you make somebody happy! Go on anon and send this to 10 of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get one back, even better! 🌷🌷🌷

Well, shucks, that's awful sweet of you!

[capricornlevi]

nanami x reader - w.c 3k, marraige of convenience, mentions of societal pressure but everything is consensual!, nsfw, mdni!

without even meeting him, you agreed to marry nanami kento without any expectations of future love, romantic or otherwise.

the pairing is advantageous for the both of you; you get access to the impressive nanami family fortune that has grown substantially now that kento is managing it, while he gets to enjoy a close association with your prestigious family and the subsequent educational opportunities that your children will benefit from. it's sensible and by far the best option you'd been presented with.

you've exchanged letters with him, polite and concise. you can read between the lines and see that he shares a disillusioned view of jujutsu society, but is more than willing to step up for the good of his family.

you weren't coerced by anyone. far from it -- your mother and father had sat you down and asked if you were sure, that they would understand if you wanted to take more time or to choose a different path for yourself altogether.

but you know the rest of society would not be so kind or understanding. marriage between two sorcerers, as antiquated as it seems, is how you survive amongst all of these competitive, power-hungry families.

from what you've read and heard about him, nanami will provide stability. he's progressive in his thinking, and so wont expect anything from you that he wouldn't be willing to do as well. you've learned that he's a teacher at tokyo tech, and has received glowing reviews; he'll be a good father.

and so on this misty thursday morning, you lay eyes on your fiancé for the first time as he slips a ring on your finger and promises to stay by your side forever.

the ceremony is as bare-bones as your reputation will allow. the guest list doesn't hit the triple digits, a huge departure from society norms, but representatives from the major houses sit in floral-clad wooden chairs to watch you repeat the words that the officiant speaks in your direction.

nanami takes your hands in his. they're warm, which is nice. this dress isn't designed for November weather, but it's an heirloom -- and truthfully, you're glad to be wearing it. you'd never given much thought to a wedding, but it makes your mother and grandmother very happy.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't relieved to discover how handsome nanami is. you were previously shown a few polaroids of him -- staff pictures, mostly, but some with the rest of his family -- and had known he wasn't bad-looking, but the pictures weren't clear enough to give you a proper understanding of his looks.

his blond hair is styled neatly, not a hair out of place. he has nice features, strong jawline and cheekbones, and soft eyes, a good combination. you know his gaze can be piercing when he wants it to be, but now, he looks at you gently.

you know you made the right decision.

more vows, a kiss, and you're married.

___

the reception goes mercifully smoothly. the mix of guests -- powerful sorcerer family heads, rich businesspeople, and just a few of your personal friends -- didn't appear to gel too well on paper, but they mostly stick to their own factions. you greet them all until your vocal cords grow tired.

a meal is served on plates so ornate it makes you feel awkward eating off them. you nurse a glass of wine for most of the evening and nanami does the same, politely waving off the servers who approach to refill his glass.

a promising sign that he doesn't feel the need to drown his sorrows. this is a marriage of convenience, yes, but you'd like to be able to get along reasonably well with your spouse.

and, to his credit, he's been making light conversation with you all evening. he doesn't dip into deep or uncomfortable topics like your marriage or future plans, figuring that's best saved for later, but he asks you questions about yourself. by the end of the evening, you feel safe enough to allude to your desire for a future somewhat outside society's norms -- "I've always wanted to travel, honestly. maybe ... spend a few years abroad" -- and, to your pleasant surprise, he doesn't rebuff them. if anything, he seems somewhat pleased.

you have another glass of wine and before you know it, it's the early hours of the morning. you're nowhere near tipsy but feel ready for bed, ready to wipe off this makeup and slip into something more comfortable; thankfully, guests have started to slip out one by one, with only immediate family remaining.

your unpleasant and friendless older cousin makes a joke about you needing to say your goodbyes to 'go please your husband', and nanami's face sours for the first time all evening. your cousin notices and sheepishly takes a drink, mumbling something about it being his time to leave too.

with some final hugs to your respective families, it's time to leave with ...

... with your husband.

in his last letter before the wedding, nanami agreed that your city-centre apartment would be the best place to live in the first few weeks of your marriage, until you find somewhere more permanent that suits you both, and so that's where you go.

you show him around each room, including some storage space where his luggage had been delivered this morning. interspersed with some more small talk, you explain that although it's small, it's well placed for both of you to get to work. he smiles and nods, thanking you with a warmth that doesn't feel forced.

you offer him some tea or whiskey; he says he's fine.

you yawn. he loosens his tie, clearly exhausted himself.

the last room you show him is your bedroom, and it becomes harder and harder not to address the elephant in the room. there's very clearly no second bed, no room for him to stay that wouldn't necessitate a lot of closeness between the two of you.

the silence hangs heavy and loaded, both of you waiting for the other to speak.

well. this is one issue you hadn't covered before the ceremony.

you have no issue with a sexual relationship -- in fact, you're somewhat looking forward to it, having spent the evening admiring the way nanami's shirt hugs his strong arms and chest. but you're not sure if tonight, the first night you've ever met, is the best night to start.

sure, the concept of the wedding night speaks for itself, but it's not as black-and-white in your situation. he might want to spend some time settling in, first. he might not even be that interested in you.

"want me to take the couch?" he asks quietly, with no hint of resentment or offence in his voice. he makes the offer with a sincerity you haven't heard from a man in a long time.

you don't break your silence, but not because you're uncomfortable or anything of the sort -- you're just assessing your options.

"there's nothing i expect from you, just so you know," he continues, and you turn your head to face him, seeing his eyes scan your face for any sign of unease. "the last thing i want is for you to do ... this ... out of obligation or pressure. we have a lifetime to get to know each other, to reach that point -- i want you to be comfortable around me."

your upbringing has made you a sceptic, a pessimist at times, but for some reason, you believe him. maybe it's the look in his eyes, or the fact that he's taken your hand in his own, interlocking your fingers, but there's something about him that sets him aside from normal sorcerers.

he seems real. he seems as though, powers and fortunes and family names aside, he has some substance about him.

"do you want to?" you ask then, voice almost inaudible quiet from a day spent conversing with guests at your wedding.

he doesn't hear you, so he dips his head in your direction; you repeat yourself and wait, hoping you hadn't pressed the issue.

his composure doesn't crack, but something flashes in his eyes as he processes your question. he has such control over the movements of his features, over every expression in his body, except for his eyes, you think.

maybe you just happen to be good at reading him.

he mulls it over for a second, his grip on your hand never slacking.

"i want to," he finally admits. "i've wanted to for a while, truthfully. I've spent a lot of late nights picturing how it would feel to be inside you, to hear what my name sounds like when you say it. but i only want that if you want it too."

you smile without meaning to. "you imagined that from just reading a few letters?"

"yes, and it's a testament to my trust in my new wife that I'm telling you that," he replies, still polite but tinged with amusement.

it feels strange standing at your bedroom doorway, hand in hand with this almost-stranger, imagining what it would be like to indulge in these thoughts you've both been having, spending your first night together tangled up in the sheets and allowing some of the indulgence you've long denied yourself.

duty gets tiring. for a long time, you've been unsure what it feels like to genuinely want something.

now, you're pretty sure it feels something like this. it's organic and unforced, a natural desire that sends heat curling in the pit of your stomach.

wordlessly, you guide nanami into your room, closing the door behind you. there's a hint of a smile on his lips as you ask him for help to untie your wedding dress, the intricate pattern of buttons trailing up your spine proving too technical for your own hands. he's methodical in his work, careful to not damage the delicate clasps.

soon your dress is loose around your hips, your chest covered by the thin slip you wore underneath. you set the garment carefully aside before returning the favour and starting to undo nanami's shirt, avoiding eye contact as your hands expose more and more of his bare chest.

you want to do this, you know that for sure, but that doesn't mean you won't feel a bit of awkwardness at the start. you're not well practiced, having had too busy a life for romantic relationships until now. you hope that instinct will kick in sooner than later, but you've no doubt nanami will help you along the way.

when you finally build up the nerve to glance up at him as he shrugs off the shirt, he's looking at you as though you're the only person he ever wants touching him.

you hear the soft clink of metal and realise he's undoing his belt.

"are you sure?" he asks one more time.

that one question, and the earnestness with which he speaks, erases the last shred of doubt you had. you place your trust in him for the second time today.

you nod and reach across to his belt in the same breath, helping him pull it free from the loops to be tossed by the armchair near your desk.

you move as though controlled by something other than yourself, the decisions coming so naturally it feels as though you've been imagining it for weeks as well.

and maybe you have, you think to yourself, as you confidently guide him back slowly until he's sitting down on the plush armchair, his suit pants still on as you crawl onto his lap, pressing your chest against his. the thin fabric of your slip means you can feel the heat of his body against your skin, nipples hardening as they graze against his muscles.

you've just about balanced yourself, carefully perched on his lap when you feel his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that has you grinding against his thighs before you can even catch your breath.

you've never been kissed like this. the few kisses you've had before have been with partners who see you as a means to an end, be it for your family name, your reputation, or just for sex. you've never been kissed by someone who seems to get more from your pleasure than from his own.

you now know he meant it when he said he's been picturing this.

you kiss him for as long as you can, and you're not sure if it's for seconds, minutes, hours. you kiss him until there's a heat burning between your thighs you can no longer stand, that you need to have satiated by the visible, prominent bulge in the front of his suit pants.

when you finally break away, lips numb and kiss-slick, nanami's hair is touselled - you don't remember running your hands through them, but you must have at some point - and he reaches up to run his fingers under the straps of your slip, asking with his eyes if he can guide them off your shoulders.

you nod, and your chest is exposed to the cool night air for a split second before nanami's mouth is on one of your nipples, tongue circling the sensitive skin and making you cry out.

one of the words you moan must be his name, because you feel him smile as he turns his attention towards the other nipple, hands now at the small of your back to keep you close to him.

you can't take it much longer. you need to be touched so badly, you didn't even think you were capable of wanting it this much -- and you only want him to do it, now and maybe forever.

maybe he can read your mind or maybe you babbled out the request, but nanami finally takes pity on you, giving your nipple one final lick before resting his shoulders back against the cushion of the armrest and sliding his hands up your thighs, hooking your underwear with his fingers -- you lift your hips up to let him slip them off.

his composure slips further when he finally touches you between your legs, feeling how wet you've gotten for him, seeing how you react when he slips his index finger inside.

your head falls back and you hold a breath, focusing all of your attention on the sensation of him inside you, on the way he curls the digit ever-so-slightly before pulling it out and fucking you with two this time, almost -- almost -- tipping you over the edge.

"such a pretty wife," he mumbles almost under his breath, voice and gaze reverent as he watches you rock yourself against his hand. "my beautiful, perfect wife, aren't you?"

you want to answer him but can't, lungs feeling near-empty as you fumble with the buttons of his pants.

"i will never be able to think of anything else but you, i think," he muses, half-smiling. "you in my lap ... you making those pretty little noises ... i might be a ruined man, you know. and I'm glad of it."

he only stops speaking when you finally get your hand on his clothed cock, his breath catching in his throat as you trace it with your fingers.

you want tonight, the first of many times together, to start with you cumming on your husband's cock.

nanami just watches as you finally pull him out of his underwear, his length thick and hard in your hand as you give it a few messy strokes. it's all the both of you can manage before you need to have it inside you -- you shift your hips to sit on it, nanami's eyes fixed on the site of the head slipping inside.

it's a stretch, as you expected, but one you've been craving since you closed the bedroom door. you take him inch by inch, lowering yourself down as his breath quickens, clearly battling the urge to thrust up inside you.

but he's careful with you, and doesn't want to hurt you. his wife.

you lift yourself up too much and his cock slips out, slapping aginst his stomach and you nearly cry at the sudden emptiness, eager and clumsy as you guide him back inside you.

he kisses you when you sink down next, tongue massaging your own until the feeling of almost-too-full turns to a perfect, satisfying heat in your core.

eventually you're ready to quicken the pace, bouncing on his cock before long, your mind working too fast for you to keep up as you see nanami's cheekbones flush pink, his pupils dark as you ride him until your thighs ache.

you power through the sensation, nanami helping you along by meeting your hips with his, his thumb tracing uneven circles on your puffy clit. he calls you perfect and other beautiful words; you don't say anything besides more, more and, soon after, nearly there, nearly there, please, please, I'm so close --

your entire body lights up with the most wonderful sensation, hitting you like a wave and sweeping you away in its warm glow, with nanami's hands now on your hips, guiding your movements in exactly the way you need it -- not too hard, not too slow, not too fast.

you're still pulsing around him when you feel his body stiffen, his strong thighs tensing as he groans through gritted teeth. he pulls you in for a crushing kiss as he finishes, filling you up and thrusting as deep as he can until oversensitivity takes over.

the afterglow has you a contented and exhausted mess, muscles aching but satisfied in a way you'll spend forever seeking.

reluctantly, you slip off his cock to retake your place on his lap, marvelling at how undone you both have become, a far cry from your perfect wedding appearance.

you look perfect to him, though, you know as much from the kiss he presses to your sweaty forehead and the way his arm wraps around your shoulders.

"we didn't even make it to the bed," you observe, eyebrows raising as you finally return to your own body. "i ... wasn't expecting that."

"we have a lifetime to spend in bed," he replies, a smile in his voice.

and once again, for reasons you still don't understand, you believe him.

[fwoosheye]

Good grief if you're younger than Minecraft you shouldn't even have any social media yet. Y'all should be out there and develop social skills and learn how to interact with people irl and stuff. Internet manners ≠ irl manners

imagining a ten year old seeing this tweet and going “damn… i can’t retweet it” before walking away sadly and kicking a can

[bats-and-the-birds]

I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.

When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.

When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.

Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.

And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.

Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.

Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.

Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.

That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.

Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.

Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.

Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.

Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.

[starcchild]

((if my brain wasn't completely shut off right now I would love to ramble about how absolutely debilitating Carter's fear of abandonment is, but alas my brain is. not wanting to cooperate

[caurcaur]

Num 1. because it sounds the most sane out of three. (Although I was compelled to answer num 2 because its the only non-tumblr related one.)

I have consumed rubbing alcohol

My first fictional crush was from an object show

The fanfic that got me started reading fanfiction features mpreg

@sullendaydreamer @sayeonlee @msh7k @governmentmandatedryujinstan420 @fictional-women-are-everything

Two Truths and a Lie!

Rules: Share two truths and one lie about yourself, tag five people to guess your lie and to share their own, make sure to guess the lie of the person who tagged you!

and 🤔 mmm I wanna guess that 3, you never went to music festivals, is your lie? I’m real tempted to say 2, but even smart people can repeat grades for one reason or another. Ohh I love this game, though I’m pretty bad at guessing games. I got tagged by@de-sire-blog

Now mine, which I had a lot of trouble coming up with xD

1. I used to get into lots of trouble for fighting and what not in school because anger issues~

2. I was basically raised at renaissance fair for how often my parents and I attended from my birth until I was about 6-7.

3. I once had plans to become a musician and/or actor until I realized my social anxiety was way too terrible, so I settled for doing art instead.

Tagging, but no pressure ~ @thebattlehamster @miss-bibbles @jegulus-trash @clifford-thebigreddog

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

[vxnuslogy]

— pasalubong.

pairing: kinich x gn!reader

premise: kinich wasn't a sentimental person at heart, until you left to travel. neither was he easily upset, but here he was, undoubtedly upset that you didn't give him a gift with your recent package.

— warnings: ooc-kinich and ajaw (still havent done the new aq), he's a bit down bad, and misses you dearly.

— author's note: this is not angst despite the premise LMFAO. art credits to @.n429g on twt. | 1.6k words.

“delivery for kinich!” a mail man shouted, trying his best to not look down over the ledge the scions of the canopy is held. “delivery for ki—”

“i heard ya!” the small dragon yells, taking the sealed letter and small box from the man’s hands and throws a pouch of mora as thanks. 

the man sweat drops at the comical sight of the tiny dragonlord floating up to where kinich was. said man was dangling his legs over the ledge, hair swaying with the wind and an indifferent look on his face as he swats away his small companion and roughly takes the letter in his hands. he could only assume that the two had started another argument once again.

with a sigh, he cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, “thank you for your patronage!”

kinich looked in his direction and gave him a small nod. there were few postal workers here in natlan, so he made sure to at least pay the man generously—especially with how his legs shake and hand clutch the side of the mountain for dear life.

ajaw continued to punch and tug at his head but his attention had zeroed in on the envelope. it felt heavier than the last and you had sent a small package with it. ‘for my dearest, kinich & almighty dragon lord, ajaw.’ the small note said with your signature right below it as well as a wax seal at the corner. your penmanship makes kinich smile and before ajaw can open his mouth, he takes the grapple on his waist and zips away to find a secluded place to open your gifts. they were sacred to him and therefore had to be treated with utmost care.

when he lands on teticpac peak, he sits down by one of the rocks and gently peels away the seal. kinich makes a mental note to stop by a market to get a new container for all your letters, after all, his bedside drawer can only hold so much of you over the years. 

‘to my dearest, kinich,’

with just four words, you had him smiling like a fool. one hand propped behind his back to support his weight as he leisurely soaks in your stories like a sponge. ajaw sits by his shoulder, impatiently demanding him to open the box that came along with your letter. kinich was not even half way with reading before he relented—you always had a knack for making pages and pages of stories, but he didn’t mind. you have been away for nearly 7 years now and send only a letter or two every few years. kinich learned to appreciate the pages of your love every time they arrive.

“hurry up!” ajaw demanded, waiting with bated breath as kinich opened the box. “learn to be patient, ajaw.”

the dragon only huffed and turned around but it didn’t take long before he dove head first into the array of gifts. while his little companion drowned in material luxuries, kinich took out items in piles and made a mental note to give them to their respective owners.

kinich tucked the small pouch with xilonen’s name along with your letter for her at his side. he will deliver these to her first, he concludes. as he’s sifting through the items, kinich catches a glimpse of ajaw sitting on a toy fox’s head with a small note with kachina’s name. the final item that seemed important was a small box containing colorful seashells with mualani’s name on it.

his brows furrowed in confusion as he sets all the gifts down carefully and sifts through the package one more time. and again, and again, until his lower back felt sore. ajaw noticed his antsy behavior and decided to look at what all the fuss was about. kinich sat down, head lowered with his bangs covering his eyes—ajaw was beginning to worry (but he would rather die than verbally admit it).

“hey!” ajaw turned to kinich who had stiffly stood up. clutching at your letter as the sliver of expectancy in his eyes dimmed. “don't tell me they actually forgot about you?”

“let’s go back,” he says with a subtly sullen voice. “we have to deliver these to the others.”

ajaw makes no further comment and sits on his shoulder as they zip from one place to another. he doesn’t point out the way kinich’s eyes looked duller and the way a frown tugged at his lips—he was upset. 

“hmph! i'll be sure to show them a piece of my mind when they get back!" the dragon complains to him as they arrive back home. kinich beelined his way back to his residence, a bit more aggressive than he normally would.

he doesn’t want to admit that he was upset—it was stupid. so what if you didn’t get him a gift after not hearing from you for almost a year? but how come everyone else had one? hell even citlani and mavuika received one, so why didn’t he?

with a click of his tongue he pushed past all the people in his way, muttering half hearted apologies here and there as ajaw kept calling his name. kinich was not upset nor was he disappointed—he wasn’t a child chasing after the trail of gold you left behind anymore. he was an adult now, someone people look up to and admire. kinich was no longer the shy kid that always wondered if he could ever chase after you.

“kinich!”

with the shout of his name, he was taken back to memory lane. how you would call to him from the ground, a pair of wheels at your feet as you glided through the rocky terrain as if it were made of ice. the smile you flash him as you point to your finish line makes his heart skip a few beats, rendering him only to reply in a nod because his mind has turned into a mushy puddle. 

“kinich!”

you have always been golden in his eyes. smiles bright like the sun, kindness gentle like its morning rays, and hypnotizing in the starry trail you leave behind. kinich remembers the first time he tried his hands on rollerblades. he felt unwittingly afraid of standing on his own two feet, the possibility of his world turning upside down with one single step scared him. but you were always there to ward away his fears. it wasn’t long before he took them off and said with a dead expression that he will never try them again. the laugh that he managed to steal from your lungs made all his suffering worth it.

“kinich!”

he doesn’t like letting things go, not when you’ve taught him how to cherish every little thing. but he’d hate himself if he kept you from your dreams. so there he was, all those years ago, standing by natlan’s borders, unable to say goodbye as the rest bid theirs. you had to make him face you—gently cupping his jaw with both hands and flashing a small smile, giving him a tempting offer.

“let me stay,” you said. you were willing to give up your dreams if it meant making him happy. kinich didn’t want his happiness, he wanted yours.

“leave,” he said bluntly. it made you laugh because it sounded incredibly rude, but the way he held your hand in his shaking hold, lip bitten until it almost bled, everyone knew he was struggling the most.

“i’ll give you souvenirs,” you offered as consultation and it took every willpower he had to say he only wanted you. 

“i’ll keep them safe.” he replied and you smiled.

“kinich!”

urging you to travel has been the best and worst decision in his life—you were enjoying your life but he was stuck missing you. his longing for the sun in his life greatly outweighed his happiness for you. how can he be happy when happiness is spelled with your name? the way you smile, and the way you leave a golden trail?

“kinich.”

“ajaw, enou—” his sentence was cut off when he turned to look at the smiling faces of his tribe. brows furrowed in confusion as he searched the crowd for a certain green dragon, but all his eyes could see was gold.

the wind in his lungs was stolen as the images of smiling faces turn to fade, his attention solely on you in the distance, ajaw by your side as you both waved him over. as fast as the winds could take him, kinich ran straight in your arms—his home. your laugh ringed like morning birds and your hands felt warm like the afternoon heat. you were home; you were his gift.

“pasalubong, for kinich,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice. 

“pasalubong?” he repeats, hands coming to cradle your smiling face. “what does that mean?”

you smile wider and hold his hands with your own. “it means gifts given by homecomers. but,” you tuck away a stray piece of his hair behind his ear as you tempt him in another embrace. “it can also mean ‘to meet again.’”

kinich laughed—airy and bright, like the setting sun. this was so you, he thought, burying his head in your neck. trying to make up for all the lost physical contact he had missed. 

“thank you for the gift.” he said with a smile.

you pat him on the back and hummed in delight. “i came back just for you.”

“i’m honered,” he jests and takes a step back, not letting your hand go. “you should be! the trip back home is nothing short of tedious!”

he chuckles because kinich knows he’s a goner. no need for xilonen’s amused teasing, mualani’s persistence and kachina’s curiosity. everyone in his tribe and maybe even natlan knew, kinich would wait for you knowing you’ll eventually come home to him.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.