#I can NOT get over the shading it is IMMACULATE

[todayisafridaynight]

Your brain is massive and your opinions are correct. I fucking LOVE SA2 and Shadow bro 😭 Last time I revisited my Sonic era I was trying to unlock training mode in Shadow by A-ranking all the missions and bosses. SA2/Shadow/Sonic Heroes/Sonic Riders were the ones I replayed (and still do every couple of years) the most :)

my god PLEAAASSE THE TRAINING/EXPERT MODE IN SHADOW i love how the hints just fuck off and are replaced by the cast chattin with shadow.... like black doom the fuck are you doin talkin to me you are dead.... leave me alone.....

as a part of my All-326-Routes playthrough of shadow im SO stoked to unlock that mode again for the first time in like. A Decade... i've just been clearing out all the routes from the very top all the way down but i might just A-rank all the levels and routes first just to get the mode..

the adventure games + shadow are my faves to play honestly like as much as i still do like sonic games nowadays i just really enjoyed that 3d free-roaming aspect of the gamecube era games (and even 06: just wish it wasnt such a glitchy mess and i was more of a fan of the models/art style)

PLUS WITH THE ADVENTURE GAMES YOU HAVE THE CHAOS LIKE WHY DID THEY GET RID OF THEM BRING THEM BACK !!!!! THEY WERE SO CUTE

[tsunodaradio]

change me at all costs ⛐ 𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 the three times carlos proposes and the one time you say yes.

♫ starring: carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader. ♫ word count: 2.8k. ♫ includes: fluff, romance, suggestive. mentions of alcohol consumption. established relationship, so much love :(, some spanish. @binisainz requested mitski's cover of bleachers' let's get married. ♫ commentary box: inclined to pack tf up because i don't think i'm ever going to top this. i cannot stress this enough: loop the song while reading. man. what a time. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Did you not get the memo?” 

Before you even turn around, you can already imagine the look on Carlos’ face. A raised eyebrow, maybe. A hint of a smile. Sure enough, he’s sporting that very expression when you glance over your shoulder. 

Fiddling with his cufflinks, Carlos mumbles, “I’ve switched to Williams blue, corazón.”

Your dress for the night is closer to his previous team. It’s not the same shade of red and the highlights are more gold than yellow, but you can certainly see where he’s coming from. This is the outfit of a Ferrari tifosi. 

Ignoring his jab, you hold out the jewelry set that has been giving you grief. “Help me put this on,” you say.

Carlos is already crossing the room before the full sentence is over. He takes the necklace first, and you gather your hair to one side as he fiddles with the clasp. 

“Seriously,” he doubles down. There’s that familiar edge of petulance in his tone, the one you know is mostly joking. Mostly. “I’m sure I’ve bought you at least one blue dress. They’re going to say you hate my new team.” 

Your shoulders shake as you laugh; Carlos pauses to admire the sound. He recovers quickly, now reaching out for your earrings. 

“No one is going to say that,” you argue for the sake of arguing. 

“Everybody is going to say that,” he shoots back. “Betrayed by my own girlfriend. I can already see the headlines.” 

Your earrings now firmly in place, you turn around fully to shoot Carlos a half-hearted glare. He’s dressed to the nines for tonight’s charity gala. His suit, immaculately pressed; his tie, a gift you had gotten him three or so years ago.

You rest your palm against his chest. Instinctively, he places his own hand on top of yours, even as he maintains that slight frown at your alleged betrayal. 

“It’s not Ferrari colors, cariño,” you say patiently.

“Oh?” He cocks his eyebrows a little higher, as if challenging you to debate what he considers to be obvious. “What is it, then?” 

“Think.” 

“Think?” 

“What else is red and yellow?” 

Carlos indulges you. He always does. “There’s red and yellow on a traffic light,” he offers. 

You shake your head. He lets out a small sound— one caught between amusement and frustration.  “Are you ketchup and mustard?” he grumbles, and you gently bump your knee against his in retaliation. 

“You’re overthinking it,” you say. “It’s right here.” 

“Right where?” 

You reach up to tug at the lapel of his suit jacket. That’s when it seems to hit Carlos. The pin resting right over his left breast, given to him over a decade ago by family who always wanted him to remember who he was. A miniature golden flag featuring three horizontal stripes of red and yellow. 

“Spain,” he says, a little bit dazed. 

You reward him by tilting upward to kiss him. Only on the corner of his mouth this time, but a sweet kiss all the same. The teams might change—

“Not Ferrari. Not Williams,” you murmur in the low light of your en suite bathroom. “Just you. Just you.” 

— But Carlos will always be Carlos. 

He’s contemplative as you pull away. He doesn’t let you go that far, his hand still keeping yours firmly pinned over his chest. It’s why you feel the slight stutter in his heartbeat. Before you can deliver some jab about it, he pulls the rug out from underneath your feet. 

“I could marry you, you know?” he says. 

It’s not something entirely out of the left field. The two of you are mutual in the thought that you’ve passed the age of dating for experience. Anything, now, involves future-proofing. Building a life to be shared together. 

You haven’t talked about it a lot, though. For the most part, it’s enough that you’re on the same page. And so you’ve joked about cradles after a couple of glasses of wine; you’ve used the fantasies for ammunition during one or two instances of lovemaking. 

But to hear it, now, completely sober and without a hint of a tease—

Your tone is quiet, almost shy. “It’s just a dress, cariño.” 

It’s not just a dress. You know that. He knows that. He says it out loud, too, as his hand tightens its hold of yours. “It’s not,” he whispers, partly to himself.

You don’t know what to say. 

Gracefully, Carlos recovers faster than you. He blinks once, twice. And then he’s putting his smile back on, like he’s entertained at how effortlessly the two of you fell into something so tender. 

“Well?” he quips. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“What?” you sputter. 

“I asked you,” he says slowly, enunciating each word, “to marry me. What do you say?” 

It’s a little easier, now, when you can clock the mirth in Carlos’ tone. You give him a low, derisive groan in response, using your hand on his chest to push him back. He detaches with a laugh, his eyes glinting in that mischievous way you’re used to. 

“I say— we are going to be late,” you snipe. “Go fix your hair already.” 

He clutches his chest, feigning offense. “It’s already fixed! Are you saying it looks bad?” 

The impromptu proposal is forgotten, folded in between petty squabbles over hair products and a hasty makeout session in the entryway. But you should know better than to think Carlos would ever let this— let you— go. 

It happens next after a win.

The details are hazy; the mad dash for points always did feel like a whirlwind to you. There’s one too many safety cars, a hint of rain mid-race, a brush with the wall and an ironclad strategy.

It’s all so fast. One moment, Carlos is stealing a kiss from you. (For good luck, he claims, his lips pressed to your temple.) 

The next, he’s first to shuttle past the checkered flag.

“Carlos Sainz has won Yas Marina!” the commentators screech.

You catch words like in a Williams and ahead of Verstappen and legendary, but you’re too busy exchanging bone-crushing hugs with the ecstatic Williams team. A podium finish at the last race of the year is always cause for celebration. 

It’s a glorious finish, fitting of someone who had to crawl his way through hell and back. You’re convinced you’ll remember this your whole life— the way he thrusts his trophy over his head, the way the fireworks go off like technicolor prophecies. 

There are cameras on you, of course. Close-ups of your tear-stained cheeks; photographs of your hands wrung together. His happiness, his safety, is your answered prayer. 

Carlos has some prayers of his own. 

The worst of the media obligations are done. He’s given the cursory reunion, the vouchsafed five minutes with those who love him most. 

There’s his parents, of course, who whisper mi campeón so much that the words feel like Carlos’ second name. There’s the team principal. His co-driver. 

And then. And then. 

It’s in his eyes. You see it, there, when he finally looks towards you. You know Carlos so well that you can predict that look, that you know what’s already on the tip of his tongue. 

“No, no,” you say hastily, the words splintered between your laughs and sobs. “Don’t even think about it!”

He is thinking about it, though. It’s probably the moment in his head. Carlos is a greedy man; he could use another win. Preferably one you’ll grant when he’s down on one knee. 

But he knows you’re right, too. This is not the time. Not when there are dozens of cameras trained on him. Not when everybody is probably thinking it, expecting it, anticipating a velvet box hidden somewhere in his tracksuit. 

And so he settles for something second best. He throws his arm around your shoulders, precariously dangling the trophy in his other hand. You respond by wrapping your arms around his middle. 

The two of you click into place like magnets. Carlos seals it with a kiss, ducking his head low in a futile bid to hide you two with the brim of his cap. 

It doesn’t work. The kiss is front-page news the next day, subject to dozens of videos and articles questioning Where’s the ring? 

But that’s for tomorrow. For now, Carlos tastes like cheap champagne and the drugstore lip gloss you’d given him before the race. 

For now, Carlos is simply yours. 

The evening shimmers like a promise of something yet to come.

You’ve never been more grateful that most important events in your life fall during the off-season. Tonight, it’s your parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary and Carlos is your enthusiastic plus one. 

He’s well-loved by your family and friends. They’ve since gotten over the myth and the legend of him being a renown race car driver. To them, now, he is merely the love of your life, and vice versa. 

Your younger cousins race past the two of you, shrieking as they play their little game. Your aunts and uncles swap stories of their own marriage, giving you and Carlos unsolicited advice. 

Never go to sleep angry. Your wife is always right. Don’t stop holding hands. 

The last one, Carlos takes to heart. 

For majority of the party, he keeps his touch on you. A casual arm over the back of your chair. His fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of your dress. His shoulder pressed against yours all throughout dinner. 

He’s in a mood, you can tell. He spends the evening leaning into your personal space so he can whisper one thing or another. Little nothings of this dress will look good on the bedroom floor and I know something sweeter than this dessert. 

You rebuff him at each turn, grumbling about keeping things PG-13. He’s amused— maybe a little tipsy— as he giggles and keeps on going. At one point, he slips into his mother tongue, emboldened by the fact that nobody will understand the filth. Not even you. 

Me vuelves loco, he says after you coo at a baby cousin.

¿Por qué no lo hacemos aquí?, he says as the two of you wander around the garden for a bit. 

Quiero que me montes con ese vestido puesto, he says with a playful tug of your outfit. 

“Stop,” you hiss, the tips of your ears burning red. “Behave, Carlos.” 

The lack of his usual pet name has Carlos letting up, though barely. Your parents are readying to give a toast and he’s back to pretending like he’s innocent, his palm flat on the small of your back. 

The toast is a good one. A reminder of love that endures. There’s not a single dry eye in attendance by the time your parents are setting up for their tradition— a slow dance to the very first song they waltzed to. 

As the small crowd watches on, you feel Carlos’ hand twitch at your back. You glance at him. He’s not looking at your parents. 

He’s looking at you.

His next words are soft. Spoken like a secret, shared like a destiny.

“��Cásate conmigo?”

There’s no need for a translation. You know this question, know the look on his face. 

Marry me? 

You want to believe it’s the Chardonnay talking. The overwhelming feeling of seeing love endure and persist. But there’s something serious underneath all of it, something just below the surface. 

Carlos isn’t smirking, isn’t joking. He’s asking, and he’s waiting for your answer. 

But, again, again, again— 

This is not yours. Not your evening. Not when there’s a haze of alcohol over the two of you; not when it’s your parents that are meant to be the center of attention.

You give Carlos’ knee a gentle squeeze. It’s enough to pull him out of his head. His face breaks into a sheepish smile and he mumbles an apology; your heart seizes up. You don’t want him to be sorry, don’t want him to think he owes you anything of consequence.

Aiming for levity, you ask, “Where’s the ring?”

He stares at you like you’re the crazy one. You press on, tone playfully chiding.

“Where’s the ring?” you insist. “You can’t be proposing without a ring, cariño.”

Carlos laughs, then. It’s a forgiving sound. “You’re right,” he concedes as he reaches across the table.

He hesitates to pull his touch away from you, but what he plans to do requires both hands. His fingers are a bit clumsy in their movements; once or twice, he has to start over, and you can do nothing but watch with growing fascination.

He gets there eventually. Gently, ever so gently, he takes your hand in his. (He shakes like it’s the real thing.)

The tissue paper ring is slid onto your finger.

It’s a crude imitation of what he truly hopes to give you one day, but at this very point in time, it’s better than any cut of diamond in the world. 

“Mrs. Carlos Sainz,” he says reverently, his gaze flitting to your face to check your reaction.

He finds nothing but your smile, giddy and wide. 

On a day where everything seems to be going wrong, Carlos sets things right. 

The kitchen faucet breaks. He watches a fifteen-minute YouTube video and declares he is now an expert plumber. He succeeds in getting the faucet back into shape, but not without flooding the floor in the process.

You order takeout for lunch; they neglect your special instructions on the pizza. Carlos issues them a strongly-worded review before painstakingly picking out the olives you dislike so much, setting them as far away from you as possible.

Even the shower is not spared by your supposed bad luck. There’s some issue with the apartment’s storage tanks. Carlos lets you bitch and moan, and then, again— that self-assured, reassuring commitment of I’ll fix it. 

You can hear him moving around in the bathroom, can hear the water sloshing in the tub as he tries to get it to the temperature you want. He rightfully assumes you’re still stewing in your misfortune, so he pitches his voice just loud enough for you to hear him singing offkey. 

“I know it's bad when we look out, but bad, bad people, they don’t live in our house,” he belts. “So, I'm gonna get right for you honey! Take all of my medicine, spend you all my money, yeah!”

It chips right through your foul mood. 

By the time you’re getting into the tub with Carlos— the water exactly how you like it— there is no doubt in your mind that this is the person you want to spend all of your days with. The good, the bad. All of it. 

Nothing matters after that. 

Not the dinner plans that have to be canceled due to some double booking by the restaurant. Not the load shedding that plunges your apartment into darkness. Not the stickiness of your sweat as the two of you crawl into bed for an early night. 

The sheets are abandoned, but cuddling is non-negotiable. Despite the heat, he pulls you to him until your foreheads are pressed against each other. 

The conditions are arguably less than ideal.

But if you spend your whole life waiting for the perfect moment, then that will be all it is. Your whole life, waiting.

Your voice is small but certain.

“Let’s get married.” 

Carlos, half-awake, hums a hushed, questioning “hm?”  

“Let’s get married,” you repeat, your breath warm over his face. “I want to marry you, Carlos Sainz.” 

He tilts forward just so, his eyelashes fluttering over yours. When he kisses you, it’s unhurried. Like he knows he’s going to have a hundred more kisses like this— at the altar, in your old age, on your wedding anniversary decades down the line. 

When he pulls away, he murmurs his next words against your mouth. “I heard you the first time,” he rasps. “I just wanted to hear it again.” 

You laugh, and you laugh, and you laugh, feeling an entire lifetime worth of love swell in your very being. You can barely make out his face in the darkness, but you like to think he’s smiling. 

“But I want to be the one who asks,” he says once you’ve settled down. 

“Ask, then.” 

“How impatient, corazón. I should make you wait.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

“No,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t.” 

A beat.

“The ring is in the bedside table,” he reveals, and your heart lurches in your chest. “Underneath my underwear.” 

“Really?” 

“I could get it right now.” 

“No.” Your arms tighten around Carlos. You’re not having second thoughts; you want that much to be clear. You just don’t want any distance between the two of you. 

Not now. Not ever. 

“Just ask,” you tell him gently. “We can do everything else later. Just— just ask. One more time. One last time.” 

There’s a moment of silence. It stretches, long and suspenseful, and you know it’s Carlos’ way of finding the courage he needs. “Okay,” he says, the word exhaled. “Okay.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

[ivy-elle]

In Shades Of Gray In Candlelight

Synopsis: With his old life left behind Wanderer has established somewhat of a new home in Sumeru. But the wind decided to rekindle lost days of the past…

Wanderer x gn! reader

“I really don’t have the time for this…”

The burning candle illuminates its light upon his downcast face while the fire carries along the faint smell of jasmine and something sweeter he can’t quite place yet. The fragrance dances on the tip of his tongue, deriding him in a mocking, taunting manner.

He scoffs. How irrelevant.

Yet somehow it still tags on his heartstrings.

His pestering thoughts get disturbed by a cough belonging to an overly excited man rushing closer, eyes fixed pointedly on him. With apprehension, Wanderer realises he hasn’t moved in time and is now stuck to the dooming consultation.

“Sir, I can give you a great deal if you buy the candle as a pair! Let’s say… “ The vendor pretends to ponder for a moment as if the script in his mind hasn’t been written yet. “Thirty per cent off! Perhaps even five per cent on top for that immaculate hat of yours, my dear Sir.”

The Wanderer’s eyes fall back down on the candle, that holds the power to open a pit in his stomach and a familiar feeling of anger rushes into him. He almost welcomes it. “Already bargaining offers without stating the price. Sounds quite questionable.”

His unrefined tone doesn’t seem to dampen the vendor’s enthusiasm at all – even the opposite – the grin on the man’s face widens even more. “My dear Sir,” he says, a fond glint adorning his dark eyes, “this is Sumeru, I assume you must be new. Well, then let me allow you to introduce you-”

But Wanderer turns a deaf ear to the jabbering as his thoughts’ increasing weight suddenly threatens to crush him beneath. Why hasn’t he just moved past like he usually does? He has places to be.

And he is definitely in no mood, nor state of mind to endure Nahida’s disciplinary and integrational lessons. He longs to return to his confinements near the library, where he’s hidden most of the time recently, not disturbed, not to be talked to, preferably for the next couple of days.

Yet, he is still not moving away from the booth. Perhaps he isn’t ready to part yet.

“I take the candle,” he suddenly states more harshly than he intends to. The vendor halts and Wanderer adds with a stern expression. “Just one.”

He pays the full price and it’s not long before he is back striding through the market, the box with the new candle in one hand, as if he expects it to light up on its own and burn down his skin.

What has gotten into him?

He clenches his teeth as the strange anger rises up again, and his feet keep carrying him faster along the paths, just wanting to get away from here as soon as possible. Suddenly he has half the mind to toss the candle box over the cliffs, along with the gut-wrenching sensation of utter yearning annexed to it. As anger threatens to turn into fury he tosses his arm up, about to follow through, to let the wind take his emotional tumult, when he is suddenly knocked down to the ground.

“What-“

“Oh Archons, I am so sorry!”

Wanderer’s face scrunches up in irritation as the voice of apologies sounds through. Normally he’d brush it off. Accidents happen. But today his frustrations got the better of him.

“Are you unhurt?”

He brushes away the dust and rises back up, just as you are about to reach for him. Glaring at you his mouth opens-

But then closes again as the wind carries the fragrance along.

Sakura.

How could he forget?

Jasmine and Sakura.

The unknown and yet familiar smell of your perfume pierces like ice-cold needles into his chest, his gut. Somewhere deep inside his mind the sombre wall fractures a little.

“No harm’s done,” he hears the sound of his own voice answering. For a moment he is taken aback at how raw his voice sounds.

And when he sees your relieved smile the anger in his stomach dissolves into agony.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

You shake your head, the vision on your clothes jingling along gently. “No. At least unless you’re from Inazuma too?”

Wanderer’s throat has gone dry at this point. “No," he replies, his hand clenches onto the box of the candle, which he still clings to like a lifeline.

“I’m just a wanderer.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Depths 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The water crashes onto the coast. The sound is dulled by the distance of your perch. The sky melds into the lake's surface as the sun hides behind a swathe of clouds.

You lean in to squint at the strokes on the canvas, sweeping your brush in repetition of the rippled horizon. You use the wnd of the brush to scratch your cheek.

Almost...

You peek above the easel and watch the small speck growing larger as it moves across the water. The fishing boat is there so often that you've added its silhouette to the acrylic tides. A stalwart to your early mornings and listless afternoons.

Day after day is layered before you in shades of cerulean, slate, and lavender. The grey sky with a tinge of golden sunlight, the waters stirring in sparkling shades of aquamarine and pearl, the coast rippled in fawn and umber. Another eye might see it and deem it finished but not you.

You step back to let the paint dry and rinse your brushes in the jar. Hmm. You're out of clean water.

You close up the easel and hook the canvas on the backside, carrying it like a briefcase as you pick up your canvas bag with your roll of brushes and pots of paint, your palette around your index finger.

You make a slow descent down the cliffside and curl around towards the shore. You veer away from the dock and head down into the silt. You put your stuff on a flat rock. You take the used brushes and palette to rinse in the shallows.

The water laps over your sandals as you linger in the soothing cool foam. The approach of evening skews the water with emerald and jade. You shake it all off and step back to dry it with a paint-blotted cloth.

You rearrange the bag so it all fits and hook it over your shoulder. You look down at the your linen apron. You can recall where every splotch and streak came from.

You take your easel and canvas and head back up along the dock. As you reach the post, the fishing boat knocks against the other end. You peer over at the man that lays a board across the spanse between.

You see him every night. You couldn't forget a man with snow white hair and golden eyes. His age is less than his locks might suggest and his eyes seem to look through you, not at you.

You smile, like you do every night. He doesn't react. Just like every other time.

The smell of fish wafts in the boat as he drags his net across the wooden ramp. You turn and press on. He's much to busy for you. It doesn't bother you. You came out here to get away from people.

Your feet leave divets in the dirt as the rock of the boat knocks in a rhythm against the dock. The man's toil adds to thunks and thuds and they fade behind you. The peace here is immaculate, you wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone else.

Past the seaside houses left vacant in the colder seasons and the smaller basins of the lake, between the rocky ridges and grassy knolls, you return to your little house.The cornflower paint chips from the wooden siding and the stairs are worn in the middle from the tramp of feet. A bench stands on the other side of the white railing between a plinthed flowerpot and folding table with a book forgotten on its slats. Home.

The spindly wreath on the front door rattles as you push through and the screen door snaps behind you. The evening breezs drifts in through the mesh as you set your easel down and rest the canvas on crate just beside the mat. You put your bag in front of the wooden stand and bask in the calm.

You hang your wicker hat and untie your apron. Your hands are covered in paint. You'll wash them before you eat. You leave your wet sandals at the door.

You pull out the pot of chowder you made two nights past from the fridge. You put it over a burner and wait for it to warm. The fare lasts you near a week when you take the time to put it together. Every ingredient must be used to its last, especially when it is so far to market. And expensive.

You scoop out a bowl and eat it on the front porch. Your eyes are too tired to read. When you finish, you recline on the bench and yawn. You lay in the dimming hue of the evening as the stars wink down at you.

A whistle carries on the wind. You sit up and look for the culprit. They are close enough to hear but that could still be far. It could even be a bird.

You take the empty bowl inside and rinse it. You retreat to the bedroom and change

You open the window to let the night in. Around here, you can do that. Not like the city and its grated windows.

You laze in the dusk shade and drift slowly into yourself. Sleep enshrines you atop the cushy bed, the water stirring from afar, the loons calling into the dark. Tomorrow you'll figure out the exact right colour for the undertow.

You're more than due to sell a new piece. You need to if you want to stay in paradise.

[dilatorywriting]

Oh, 4k? Hold up then, looks like you dropped this 👑👑👑

CONGRATS TO YOU, ONE OF THE BEST WRITERS HERE!! If I could partake in the event, I'd love something with Riddle and prompt 17; love my short red angry king and alice in wonderland in its entirety tbh. If the Reader could be a bit of a rule breaker too and have known Riddle since childhood that'd be awesome as well. Again tho CONGRATULATIONS!! HOPE NOTHING BUT THE GOOD STUFF FOR YOU!

Gender Neutral Reader x Riddle Rosehearts Word Count: 2.3k

Prompt 17: "I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You were annoying.

At least, that was the kindest way his mother described it. And Riddle would have to agree. Always hanging over his shoulder like some overeager parrot and rattling off nonsense into his ear just as loudly. He was hardly allowed out to the park—mother said his studies were far too important, and even as a child Riddle certainly agreed. Mostly, at least. Enough to never argue—but when he did get time to sit out in the sun under the shade of the grand, painted trees, you were always there.

A bother, a nuisance. Sticky fingered with the remnants of swiped tarts and chattering on, and on, and on.

“I tried to follow a rabbit,” you said, rolling around in the dirt like a heathen. Weren’t you worried your parents would scold you for mucking up the smooth, blue fabric of your jacket? “But it ran too fast and I fell. Do you think I could catch it with a net, maybe?”

“Hopped,” Riddle correctly, stiffly. “Rabbits hop.”

“Well this one ran,” you argued back. “Faster than a car. Faster than a cheetah.”

“Cars are faster than cheetahs,” he said, turning to the next page of his book. “So grammatically you should have put that part second.”

You flopped back onto your stomach and pulled yourself to your knees, before scuttling behind his back and peering over his shoulder.

“How can you pay attention to a book with no pictures in it?”

He hunched up his shoulders and you dropped your chin down with a bonk. Refusing to budge.

“Some of us don’t have the attention span of goldfish,” he sneered, turning his nose up at you.

“Well, if I could only think as much as a goldfish, I wouldn’t want to waste it on that,” you snipped back. “Doing homework in a park. What are you, a robot?”

“I’m efficient!” he snapped. “Mother says I shouldn’t waste time on frivolities.” On things like you, he doesn’t say. A part of him wants to. The part that sounds like biting words and a sharp, firm voice demanding he get to bed by 7pm unless he wants to rot his brain. Another part is… is worried that you might not like that. And then you’d just get even more annoying.

You reached around and snagged the textbook out of his hands with an audible ‘yoink!’ and immediately ran off at full speed. Which is never fair! Because you’re used to climbing up trees, and sprinting through mud, and scaling boulders like a wild beast. And Riddle is—Riddle isn’t! He would never! So it takes him an age to catch up to you. By the time he does, he’s huffing, and puffing, and as red as his hair.

“Don’t do that!” he snapped, livid. “Ever again!”

“Alright,” you shrugged, a loose grin on your mouth as you returned your pilfered treasure. You’ve barely even broken a sweat. “I won’t bother you during homework, Riddle.”

Which is… That’s certainly what he wanted Of course it was. But it made something in his stomach drop nonetheless. Probably because you’d just find new ways to be irritating. Yes. That’s certainly why.

The first time he felt it was on his twelfth birthday.

He’d tried so hard. And he’d done so well. His exams had all come back with perfect scores, his projects and papers immaculately graded. He’d been going to bed on time every night, combing his hair exactly how his mother liked, even folding his clothes into perfectly pressed little squares. She’d seen it in one of her cleanliness magazines and had lamented how nice the style looked for something so tedious. But Riddle had learned. And now his closet looked as tidy as a militia.

“Can I go? Trey’s whole family will be there. And it’s just dinner. Fully monitored!” he reassured, fighting the urge to twist his hands behind his back. “Please?”

“Of course not,” his mother droned, not even looking up from her laptop. “You’ve been doing well, but we don’t want you slipping up, now do we?”

“But—” he started, and her eyes cut up to him like daggers. A warning. “…of course, mother.”

“Good boy,” she smiled, with that smile that was never really a smile. “Now go up to your room. You can have an extra half hour of free time today,” she said, like it was something worth celebrating. “For my special birthday boy.”

Riddle had sat in his bed wishing he’d never known what a birthday was at all. And then there was a tapping at his window.

He opened it in shock, to see you hanging off the edge like a particularly determined cockroach. Which was—! No! It wasn’t safe! And you were going to get him in trouble, and—

But instead of opening that stupid, fat mouth of yours and letting of your siren call of a laugh—summoning every sensible adult in a five-mile radius to come checking for delinquents—you simply swung around a bit to reach back into your jacket pocket. Riddle almost lurched forward when he saw your fingers scrabble a bit along the ledge. Ready to fall. But then you righted yourself and gently deposited a little, paper-wrapped parcel atop of the smooth surface.

And then you shot him a wink and disappeared from view, no doubt scuttling back down the siding like the demon you were.

He approached it hesitantly, like one would an active bomb. He carefully peeled back the sticky tape and smoothed out the edges of the sloppily wrapped package. Inside was a small, round strawberry tart. Freshly baked, by the smell of it. And the waft of warm, soft steam curling up from the flaking crust. With a little note tucked beside it in your chicken scratch. A lopsided smiley face doodled at the corner, beaming up at a hastily scrawled ‘Happy Birthday, Riddle!’

He took a small bite of the little, perfect treat and his eyes burned. Something in his chest gave a worrying thump-thump.

‘Oh my god,’ he thought in a panic. ‘The idiot poisoned me.’

But aside from the horribly loud ticking of his heart, nothing else seemed to go awry. He ate the rest of the tart in silence, feeling lightheaded and far too warm. He wondered if maybe his mother was right about sugar and myocardial infarction after all.

Riddle didn’t see much of you the next few years. His mother doubled down on his study times, and he wasn’t even allowed to spend time with someone as responsible as Trey anymore. Let alone the person his parent had deemed ‘a menace upon polite society.’ The next time he saw you—really saw you. Not just your hurried waves from across the street or the trace ends of your bubbling laugh from around a corner—was when the Royal Sword Academy’s students had descended upon Night Raven for the VDC.

You were chattering away with Che’nya, the pair of you looking equally as mused and ridiculous. All splashes of raucous color and uniforms so out of place that one would hardly be able tell what institution you were meant to be a part of at all. For a moment he thought you’d walk right past. It’d been years, after all. And certainly you’d moved on to bothering some new stick in the mud.

But then you saw him and your eyes lit up. His chest gave another of those terrible thump-thumps.

“Riddle!” you all but screamed. And launched yourself at him like a feral cat. “How are you! Your hair is so neat! Did you grow out your bangs? Oh! Look at your cape! So cool! Did you know that we don’t get capes? I think that’s a crime. Especially with how yours looks,” you rambled on. And despite that lingering thread of him that demanded that you must be annoying, because that’s what you were. Loud, and uncouth, and everything he’d been raised to not be. The rest of him was… Warm. And happy, to hear the familiar chatter back in his ear.

He scoffed, hoping it would cover the noise of his pounding heart. “No one in their right mind would trust you with a cape. You’d get caught on every door in existence.”

“Oh, that’s fair,” you agreed on a nod. “But surely a top hat, at least?”

And then you were back in his life like you’d never left to begin with. Or, well, like he’d never left you.

Showing up at Unbirthday Parties with the tackiest serving plates and even worse outfits. Telling him all about the rabbit you finally managed to catch, and how it does run, Riddle. I swear. Bringing him trinkets you’d found in small shops that had no practical purpose to speak of. Breaking every rule in the Queen’s Book and smacking yourself on the forehead each time he shouted a stern reminder. You even bought a little notepad to jot down his instructions. But all it ended up being good for was an ever growing pile of doodles and little, folded, origami animals that he’d find tucked all around his room like secrets.  

And amidst all of this, that thumping, bumping pressure in his chest just kept getting worse.

It was a warm day, not unlike the one all those years ago where you’d plunked yourself on his shoulder and stolen the textbook right out of his hands. Now you had your own book to read, some monstrosity on analyzing ravens and writing desks, with your head precariously close to his lap but not there. He didn’t even know why that bothered him.

“This book is too complicated,” you complained. And Riddle fought the urge to point out you were holding it upside down. “Both have quills. Is that so hard to understand?”

“That makes no sense,” he argued back.

“Of course it does,” you said, perfectly pleasant and sure of yourself. “But you know everything, so you really ought to know that too.”

He snorted. “I do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“What’s fifteen times thirty-four.”

“That’s not knowing. That’s just math,” he argued. “And it’s five-hundred and ten.”

“See,” you poked. “I knew you’d know it.” You rolled over to stretch out on your stomach—reaching forward to twist a long blade of grass between your fingers. “You always know what to do.”

Something in his stomach turned unpleasantly at that. Had he known what to do when he’d cowed to his mother’s commands and cut you from his life? Had he known best when he’d turned away from your warm greetings and friendly overtures to hide away behind the unsurmountable walls of expectation? Worse over, did you think that he thought all those things were… for the best? That he’d wanted to push you aside like all your cheerful banter and sweet attempts to brighten his dull, miserable life had been worth nothing.  

“That’s not true,” he finally said, stilted and near whisper quiet.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him with a curious tilt of the head.

“Of course it is,” you blinked, guileless and genuine. Smiling up at him from your place in the grass with that familiar, twisty little grin on your mouth and a brightness in your eyes that never seemed to dim.

“It’s not,” he said, a bit firmer. And his gaze flickered off away from yours. “I think I’m in love with you, and I don’t know what to do about it at all.”

Riddle wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Silence, maybe. The horrible, awkward, biting sort that ate away at his soul like a rat gnawing through his bones. Maybe you’d laugh at him, in that bubbling, carefree way of yours, and tell him that you thought one of those rules of his was never to lie on a Thursday afternoon. That would hurt worse than the silence, he thought.

But instead you just rolled back over with a flick of your wrist, like you were gossiping about the weather.

“Then love me,” you said, simple. “I love you. It only seems fair.”

“…oh,” he spluttered, face lighting up crimson and warm.

You hummed, as if in agreement. But to what he wasn’t sure. You looked him over for a minute, like you were searching for something. And then you reached for his sweaty hand with your own and twined your fingers there in the grass.

“If everything always made sense, nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't,” you said, like that was supposed to make any sense at all. “And contrariwise, what it is, it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

“What on earth are you on about?” he gaped.

You burst into delighted giggles and tucked your nose against his hip. “Silly, silly. Stop trying to analyze everything, yes? It will only make things more confusing.”

You sighed and stretched, a contented smile on your lips. You reached up to tap a finger against his nose.

“Things don’t always have to make sense. That’s what makes it fun. And, well, if you’re really that determined to be able to figure out how things are supposed to go, we can do that later, yes?”

“…Right,” he managed to eek out after a long moment. Feeling far too light and far too… too something. “Later. There will be a later.”

And as much as that would have felt like a lie all those years ago—had been a lie even—when he said it now you looked up at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky. And he couldn’t help but hope for all the tomorrows in the world.

.

.

[tleeaves]

Rule(heart)breaker

Tokyo Debunker | Ritsu Shinjo x reader/MC Warnings: none Description: the girls (business partners) are fightingggg, minor angst if you tilt your head to the side, potentially ooc maybe idk Author's note: this is my first TDB fic so, um, try not to judge me too harshly maybe if it's totally crap. This is sort of just a snippet of an idea I've been having around a potentially longer/multi-chapter Ritsu fic? Tbh I don't even like this guy that much but something about his character compels me, so, here we are. - T. Lee 🍃

Ritsu Shinjo prided himself on being perfect; efficient and effective in every way humanly possible until he reached ghoul status and could pursue levels beyond any human alive or dead. So, imagine his surprise when his morning cup of coffee—black, no milk or sugar to ruin the raw taste—went flying out of his hand and spilling over his shirtfront and lap, immediately painting his immaculate uniform shades of brown before he could even utter acimo.

Swiftly, one of six handkerchiefs on his person found itself in his hand and dabbing at the hot mess. If he were anything less than a ghoul and if the cup had not already been cooling for four minutes and twenty seconds, this would probably be hurting a great deal more than it already was.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” a voice squeaked, sounding mortified.

Face as blank as ever, Ritsu glanced up with only the slightest hint of distaste in his tone when he said, “You are late. And I will be charging you for the time wasted and now for my uniform’s dry-cleaning.”

“Are you okay?” the Darkwick inspector asked him, hands hovering awkwardly as he continued pressing the handkerchief against his clothes, attempt to draw out what he could. The handkerchief, he realised dismally, would need cleaning too.

“Wet,” he commented tersely, “And now behind schedule, but fine. Where were you that your time was so occupied at nine AM? The very time, incidentally, I informed you our meeting was to occur here at the Mystery Diner. Twenty minutes ago. You confirmed yesterday during business hours that you would attend this meeting.”

Ritsu watched as your eye twitched. Intriguing… and worrisome. You were his business partner; clumsiness could be forgiven through the correct procedure of reparations, but if you were tired and no longer at your sharpest, that would be a problem for him too. How could he rely on a sleep deprived partner to bring Sinostra enough prestige to win the laurel crown at the Gala?

His gaze never left you as you tentatively sat down across the table from him. An opponent’s position. A business partner would typically sit next to him. He took mental note of that to add in with his voice recordings later when he was transcribing.

As you tugged on your sleeves, Ritsu noticed that your attire was in disarray. Buttons missing, small tears, untucked, upturned collar on one side, and a loose tie that appeared suspiciously like it was cut in half—and not intentionally for style. He started listing these items aloud into his recording, completely missing the flush on your face and the odd glint in your eyes where you usually looked so vacant.

“A mission,” you declared suddenly.

Ritsu paused. Gathered his thoughts and offered the recorder out. “Can you elaborate? You were on a mission?”

“I have been on a mission since the closing of business hours yesterday,” you drawled. Ritsu blinked, a dozen thoughts on workers’ rights, Darkwick policies and rules, and legal procedure running through his mind before anything could leave his mouth. He did not get the chance though, as you continued. “I have been on a mission since yesterday and I just got back from being off campus this morning. I have not slept a goddamn wink, I have not changed, I have not showered, and I have not eaten. Another anomaly was killed instead of being caught for study. So, thank you for waiting patiently for me.”

Ritsu was indignant. “You should not have accepted the mission, you have every right to refuse according to—”

“You don’t get it,” you snapped. He watched as the flush on your face deepened, not with shame but anger. “Nearly four months have passed since I was cursed. I don’t care about being overworked; I care about finding the fucker that’s turning me into its clone. So, I accept every mission Darkwick puts my way and I’ll keep doing it until I find a cure. Yes, that might mean I’m not on time to meetings. But don’t pretend like you aren’t just using me the same way Darkwick and all the other ghouls do.”

Ritsu remained silent, the recording still rolling. You took that as an opportunity to stand from the booth’s table and plant a hand on its surface. His empty coffee cup rattled.

“Or do you deny it? We’re spending more time elevating Sinostra so you can continue your little glory quest than we are investigating anything related to my curse.” Your eyes were steely and a small part of Ritsu wavered under that stare. It seemed ridiculous because he was not one to be intimidated, ever. So, what else was the feeling?

Ritsu took a breath, readjusting his blazer, though he stayed seated. “You have adequately addressed your concerns. I make no such admissions or denials at this time on the matter.” He sighed shortly. “We are business partners. It is natural we should not get along and agree on everything, but there is no matter I cannot resolve with enough time.” He checked his gleaming watch. “We should resume this matter at four—”

“Hell no.” Moving around the table to loom beside him, you said, “Let it go on record that Darkwick’s inspector resigns from the business partnership with Ritsu Shinjo, starting now. We have different priorities.”

Ritsu stood. “Sinostra has missions.”

“Sinostra can barely go a week without any warnings from the academy,” you seethed.

“That is why we are working together to preserve its reputation,” he argued.

You gave him a cool smile. “Exactly. Different priorities.” Striding past a bored-looking Ren Shiranami, you said, “Nice knowing you, Thesaurus.” The door shut heavily behind you.

Ritsu watched your retreating figure out the diner’s windows before you disappeared from view around the corner. He sighed through his nose. This was not good. One way or another, he needed to get his business partner back, or better yet, find a suitable replacement.

[jhuzen]

old and new [gn/m.reader]

good lord i have been gone for a long time. i am so sorry, i am recovering from bloccus writicus. also i may have been… getting in touch with my thirst for strong women. women are so beautiful. i love them. to all my requesters (? how to english), please excuse my tardiness. allow me to rev my engine before delivering them once again. i’m gonna warm up with a few posts (including this). ALSO THIS STORY IS JDIADMC IDK.

𖦹 big on genshin lore because i am nerding out, creator reader but not sagau reader, like i’m talking you are a character in the story, ooh look at me diverting from my agenda of overseer reader (i blame skirk’s master).

The mere ability to create is something so vast and so elaborate, placed upon the pedestal for all to see. If one is gifted with the passion and talent to create, they are the envy of all — to craft the most divine pieces, create something so intricate that it is nothing short of impressive.

And through it all, an artist hones one’s skills until they have reached the peak — until they’ve viewed every perspective, until they’ve used every shade, until they’ve done every stroke, all of it comes down to their prized creation;

Their Magnum Opus.

That… was Teyvat to you.

It was your pièce de résistance. If the myriad of heavenly bodies that lay before your trail were thought-provoking and terrifyingly beautiful to a fault, then Teyvat was your inexplicable masterpiece, one that took trial and error as your gentle hands shaped and carved every landscape, as your breath that blew into it became the protecting breeze, and as the tears that you wept from joy became the primordial seas of the world that birthed new life forms that you managed to call a mere happy accident.

It was yours. Many worlds before it were mere prototypes, but something you’ve cherished nonetheless. To you, Teyvat was the product that will possibly never get any better and a creation that will never be bested by anything else.

You granted it laws that were akin to the past worlds you’ve crafted with your own hands, you gave it life through the creatures that crawled around the earth. It thrived and you gave it autonomy once you thought it could work on its own course with your given gifts to let it thrive.

Teyvat was your cherished creation.

And the same rings true until now upon your quiet descent. Your immaculate robes that were woven with stardusts suddenly turning into a soft silk. You walked the earth in your bare feet, the blades of grass a mere tickle underneath you as you journeyed through the world.

The breeze blew by your hair and you felt the sheer invigoration, forcing a tiny titter out of you. You embraced the fruits of your hard labor, recalling the eons you nearly wept in agony as you continued to sculpt everything down to its tiniest detail.

And out of all of that, you birthed your pride and joy, this world that could never measure up to anything else.

Your eyes which held the countless stars and worlds you’ve created soon found itself gazing across the vast lands of this realm of light you’ve created, finding the realm of void opposing the one you were on.

Countless times you’ve heard your fellow artisans question you for creating such an unconventional place to be. But you sought balance in this perfect world of yours, where every creature can walk on their own respective realms. And if you can create pure beings of light, who’s to say that you can’t create the creatures that lurk within the void?

Your feet pattered against the grass that rustled as you hoped to approach and visit the opposing realm when you felt the ground beneath your rumble and shake. You stilled yourself with ease as you looked over your shoulder.

And your eyes had never known such beauty until now.

For the first time, a creature of divinity such as yourself was gobsmacked at the sight of a huge Vishap that stood before you.

It was a beautiful one — its blue scales that blended with the water from your tears of joy that you’ve shed upon your creation, its eyes holding the purest intentions that matched its pure being. You can feel the waters surge within its very form, like a fresh cold spring on a hot summer day.

Your eyes suddenly filled with tears as you felt your heart constrict with so much love as you watched it approach you. You have never seen such beauty that it truly nearly knocked you off your feet. Your chest ached with so much want as you continued to marvel the creature that you only hoped of succeeding in creating several eons ago.

“Oh… look at you…”

Your voice, honeyed and smooth as a silk, tinkled across the lands — waking up the creations that you gave life to upon your very own creation of Teyvat. Your voice, filled with so much love and tenderness, directed to the Vishap that towered over your tiny mortal form with ease, rang out, as if to call for it to come closer.

And it does.

The earth shakes with every weighted step that it took and you followed, contrasting the loudness with the silence of your own steps. You met it halfway until the very concept of distance no longer exists between you and the Vishap.

“…Such a beautiful one you are,” you whispered, your voice emitting a lilt of care and intense joy that you managed to suppress for a good measure before it overwhelmed you.

You lent a hand and its gaze directs towards it.

The Vishap leans into your touch and you can feel the waves of the primordial sea flow through you. With it, you can feel the joy you’ve felt once you’ve reached the end of your creation. You’ve felt the nostalgic satisfaction that kept you fulfilled even until now. You’ve felt the overwhelming love and excitement that you had when you took a step back and got a good look on Teyvat’s finality.

“You, who cradled our lives in your hands,” it spoke with a bellowing voice, making it seem like your own was but a mere squeak. “…Why do you pursue a creation as grand as this?”

You took a second as you pondered its question.

“…For the love in me is much too big not to share.”

“We have anticipated your descent. Nibelung has prophesied the return of the tearful artisan.”

You felt yourself flush at the title that was given to you unceremoniously, “Are my tears so ineffably embarrassing that I deserve such a name from my beloved creations?”

It huffed at your light jest, “It is nothing more but a praise. Your tears brought life in this barren world. Your tears gave birth to a new life that not one could hope to achieve—

“Your tears are my waters, to which I have complete sovereign on. Your tears are my will, to which I am eternally thankful for.”

You felt the inevitable warmth flow through your tiny body from the Vishap’s words alone. While it was satisfying to finish Teyvat on its own, you suddenly found a level beyond that feeling after receiving gratitude from your own creation firsthand. It melted your lonely soul and you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the feeling of it alone.

Such a simple gesture it was — to thank you — and yet the feeling it gave transcends every other emotion you’ve felt throughout the course of your long and eternal life.

“May you continue to prosper with the gift I’ve given you.” You blessed it with your small voice, barely above a mere whisper.

Your palm that shaped many worlds emitted the kind of warmth from a starting kiln and the Vishap relished in the feeling, a pleased growl echoing through the empty vast land of the light realm.

“The life that I owe to you will be cherished and used to its fullest. And should I perish, I will return with memories of you, no matter how faint.” It promised in one breath.

Your silken robes billowed against the breeze that blew by again. You can only feel your thoughts and feelings mingle with the Vishap’s. For once, you are able to see how it and its fellow Vishaps came to be, how each of them walked through the light realm and claimed its own homes where they ruled with incredible prosperity and indomitable ambition.

You were able to appreciate the further creation of life on this world that you deemed perfect, and was able to see how it went when you slept to rest for a good few centuries.

It was a feeling so invigorating, that you could feel your heart swell with so much love and pride for these dragons that walked the haven you’ve created. It mattered not to you how they came to be, only that they were able to live in peace and free from cumbersome bothers. It eased your heart, knowing that they are able to propagate their kind with so much freedom under the autonomous law that you gave to Teyvat.

You were feeling genuine satisfaction.

And it feels your jovial heart, with the way it continued to nestle its luminous scaled body into your touch.

“Protect this world with all your might. And you… you that holds my tears, will be given the authority to bring judgment of all life that makes a home on this world for centuries to come.”

Among the array of emotions that flowed through you, you felt its grateful pride surge through you.

A draconic pride that will leave its mark on you.

You had hoped it was a bad dream — a childish nightmare, no matter how unheard of it was among the divinity like you.

You hoped that the constriction in your loving heart was a jest in poor taste, that it was just a passing act of scare that you will laugh at. But as your eyes gazed at your magnum opus, your heart nearly shattered into a million little pieces.

The waters that were intimately connected to your essence, your very being, was tainted with anguish and anger. You can feel the hardships that started to brew from a few tiny nicks of pain in your heart. Teyvat was quite literally anchored to you through the primordial waters that flowed through it.

And as it continued to suffer contamination from something foreign, your heart further corroded into something that inflicted pain. You can feel the blood that soaked into the waters cry for desperation, you can feel the way it boiled with so much thirst for vengeance against whatever caused the first tragedy on Teyvat in the first place.

You placed full faith on the seven sovereigns, you had given them blessings that will aid them to guard your precious creation, but you could feel the tinge of betrayal flow through your veins when you threw a quick glance and saw Nibelung seeking something far more dangerous to defend their realm.

Something not from Teyvat. Something you know the laws that you placed which granted autonomy would reject and inflict sorrow upon those that were affected by it.

You fell into a state of unrest, pained with the grief of betrayal and longing for those that fought to protect your very own creation. A part of your mind condemns you for placing such a burden on your creations that cannot be better than outworld creatures that transcend them. But another part of you screams genuine belief to those you have tasked, that they will prevail and honor your simple wish.

Normally a couple of decades was nothing to you — as it could pass as quick as a mere minute, but to experience excruciating pain that throbbed like a vile tumor on your heavenly being was not something to sneeze at. Your heart ached for so many decades as you watched the sovereigns fall before those that intruded in your lovely creation.

And as it stole the authorities of the sovereigns, like a widow bereft its lover, you were forced into a state of slumber, lasting for centuries to come.

The new world thrives with lush life, creatures alike living as though its lives weren’t owed to the slumbering deity that was consumed with so much grief after all the tragic events that happened since its arrival on your world.

Perhaps it was the gentle mercy granted upon you that you stayed asleep when it parted a new realm for humanity’s arrival. When it was challenged by someone of the same nature, resulting to more catastrophic devastation that marred your heart with more fresh scars while you slept.

Perhaps it was best that you were unconscious as your closed eyes poured out tears endlessly that would sure tire you out for years as it happened.

And perhaps it was its atonement for the damage it caused you when you woke up and saw your Teyvat as something entirely new. Something that you didn’t create, something… completely alien.

Your pride as a divine creator was shaken, but you were quick to brush it off, wanting to see just how much your precious world was defiled and turned into something you know would never pass up as befitting into your standards. It was admittedly unbecoming of you, to turn your nose up against a creation, you always held some form of admiration and appreciation towards anything. You loved — and loved so much that you had to create to share it with your creations.

But Teyvat was once your magnum opus, it was… yours. It bathed in your heavenly tears, it felt every caress of your hands as you molded it into something you called your greatest masterpiece eons ago. You broke into a sweat, slaved away for the sake of your satisfaction upon completion, and when you finished it, you cried from happiness alone.

You descended, the flurry of stardust in your divine robes coagulating into the familiar silken robes that you wore whenever you would visit the seven sovereigns.

How many years have you been asleep? Dreaming up a reality where you shared a meal with the humongous and serpentine Dragon of Verdure, where you watched the Dragon King roar with pride, and where you exchanged the most insightful and heartfelt conversations with the Dragon of Water — the one that held your tears.

The grass underneath your bare feet feels as though it had a million stories to tell you, that among those years you’ve been forced into a slumber, you had missed a good chunk of what made Teyvat into this.

But the familiarity of the empty landscape was enough to urge you to keep going forth.

And that same familiarity ended the moment your eyes landed on fallen structures — ones you’ve never seen before. You can decipher that it once stood at a towering height, just from pillars that could squash your tiny mortal form with ease should it fall at the slightest disturbance.

You could feel a sense of tyranny from these structures, a tyranny broken by a hope from perhaps the creatures that felt trapped by it. You may have been asleep when it happened, but you can almost see how the tyranny of the past ruler of this place fell against the unity of those who longed freedom.

“Freedom… huh…” You murmured softly and a breeze rustled the grass beneath you. A lone leaf from the many trees landed on your hair, prompting you to take it and look at it.

You wondered how the Dragon of Verdure was fairing. If it had the same authority over the luscious life of Dendro as it did before.

Your feet continued to take you somewhere else, as though it had a sense of where to go. You never questioned it — as alien as Teyvat was to you now, it was still your world. And as long as the primordial waters are around, it stays anchored with you.

It didn’t take long before you ended up before a civilization — one you have never seen before when you descended before it came to challenge the seven sovereigns. Your eyes widened at the sight, pupils dilating as you watched humanity flourish and thrive within that patch of rock where a city sat.

Never had you expected to wake up to the sight of humans thriving in your world where there was once none.

Your sense of cautiousness dropped in a quick second and you took yourself towards it, foot against the hard cobblestone bridge as you walked towards the walls of this… civilization.

If you looked odd approaching this city in such a state, then you were certain they brushed it off as the guards welcomed you with a smile.

“Weary traveler, welcome to Mondstadt, the City of Freedom, blessed by our beloved Anemo Archon, Barbatos himself!”

For the first time since you had woken up, you felt the same overwhelming sense of love and tenderness as you were welcomed with living mortals, living in your creation like it was a normal occurrence for them.

Never had you known that humanity, no matter how it came upon your world, could be so beautiful.

And just like the day you met that beloved Vishap of yours, you wept.

“You sure know a lot of things about this place! Paimon could even say that you’re far more knowledgeable than Zhongli could be!”

Your laugh rang through the streets of Fontaine, angelic and seeming like a song from the heavens itself.

It had been so many years — dare you say centuries even, since you first descended after sleeping for so long with all the catastrophic events that has happened. You had traveled far and wide, discovered every single hidden civilization from the time you were asleep, learned every little conflict that happened.

You had to do the hard part of reading through every ancient tome that had a different language with each ancient civilization, but filling in the gaps was much easier. Despite it being your creation, the mere fact that you gave it autonomy only meant it wasn’t always subservient to you. It had its own laws even if you were the very being that gave those laws.

It was a refreshing change, quite frankly. Teyvat treated you like any other mortal and you could see and experience how humanity managed to adapt to the laws of your creation. It was honestly tear-jerking. You may not be the one that introduced humanity — rather it was the one that caused devastation to you and your dragons, but it was nonetheless still an endearing sight that you cherished.

You had to relearn Teyvat’s new history as it began embarking on a journey as a new world, where humans thrived and dominated, where beings in a mortal body but with a higher threshold, power, and purpose called gods were the ones to govern instead of the elemental sovereigns.

Somehow throughout it all, it felt as though your world was no longer yours.

But the waters ring familiarity, as it held your feelings from all those years ago. And now it’s far more potent in the Land of Hydro that you were currently on as you accompanied the blonde traveler that gained infamy across the nations you too journeyed in the past.

You felt for them, much like you before, they had to learn the secrets of this world. Only that they had to do it blind, while you managed to fill in the blanks of the tragic past of this world. And as much as you’d like to play the hero, since your descent after your sleep, you have learned to let everything play out on its own.

“I’m not one to claim superiority over Mister Zhongli’s prowess. Surely he knows far more than I do,” you deny with a genuine conviction. You learned he was the oldest of all archons, and have a better grasp of the world than you do when you were asleep.

“Mm. Let’s just call it quits and say you and him are even!” The tiny floating guide chirped, clapping in satisfaction after her own little conclusion.

You only nodded, conceding to her whims before finding the traveler walking up to you and giving you a serving of fish and chips and a double of serving for Paimon. You thanked them kindly and they only offered you a polite smile and a nod.

“Oh! Right! We should be heading off to pick up some bounty for more mora! Are you coming, [Name]?” Paimon asked, looking at you.

You caught their gaze and shook your head, “I think I’d like to take a walk around for a moment. I’ll see you two in awhile.” You said with the same unwavering smile that offered nothing but fondness for either of the two.

With a nod from them, off they went to Euphrasie to hound her for more bounty and its fruitful rewards.

You walked through the streets, basking in the noise of every call from every vendor within the side of the street, indulging the bustling nature of the busybodies in Fontaine, and savoring the air of nostalgia that perhaps only you can understand and feel.

Your feet halted at the remote parts of Palais Mermonia, admiring the flowers while you embraced the sense of familiarity that coursed through your veins. It was a welcome feeling above all, as it was the same feeling when you first truly experienced happiness.

And what luck it was when the Iudex himself was passing by for a quick break, to take a tiny breather from the suffocating throes of workload that was hurled on him as one of his many responsibilities.

You perked up when you heard a pair of footsteps echo within the cavernous structure of the Palais Mermonia and you looked over your shoulder.

Suddenly, that nostalgic feeling increased and your heart throbbed and ached with so much longing.

Suddenly, the breeze felt like it did centuries ago.

Suddenly, the hard concrete floor felt like the gentle grass beneath you.

And suddenly, the man behind you felt like the bearer of your tears.

You took a moment before facing him and found a smidgen of confusion and surprise that broke through his otherwise stoic expression. You had heard his impartiality and people reveled in him, word of the mouth was that the great Iudex, Mister Neuvillette himself, was the very symbol of Justice in Fontaine.

You didn’t know whether or not it was a wasted chance, but it never occurred to you to even ask if he kept his promise.

To come back with the faintest memories of you.

Instead, you smiled, bowed so gracefully and respectfully to him like any other mortal who have heard of his achievements would.

But you had to give him a few words yourself; just for old time’s sake.

“Look at you now…”

Your voice, much like millions of years ago, held the same sweetness and fondness, honeyed to perfection that it can lull anyone within earshot to a sense of comfort and warmth. Your voice beckoned him to come closer.

And he does.

“You’re thriving so beautifully… living among humanity…”

You could see the way his breath hitch in his throat, and you stifle a tiny laugh and suppressed the nostalgic fondness and love in your heart that was close to bursting at the seams.

“You did well.”

And you left him then and there, like a soft breeze in passing, in search of the traveler and their tiny emergency sustenance, without you knowing, that for once, it wasn’t you who cried.

It’s true, the new Teyvat felt alien to you.

It is no longer your world, but theirs — they, the humanity that staked its claim and lived for generations, they, the creatures that survived every catastrophic event that struck this world, and they… the beings that claim dominion over it.

And as this world’s creator, you would do well to enact the safety of the life it nurtured, even if you were overshadowed by the very being that devastated you.

After all, with all the love in you, it would be hard not to share it with the world you once knew.

[shadowqueenjude]

Azriel is jealous of Lucien

Azriel is 100% jealous of Lucien and here is, in my opinion, why: 1. There's the obvious factor: he has a mate and Azriel does not (or so he thinks). He's jealous of Rhysand and Cassian for this but he still manages to be happy for them because they're his closest friends. But he perceives Lucien as this "outsider," yet he got a mate while Azriel did not. 2. Truthfully? Lucien and Azriel have many similarities, particularly when you consider their backstories. Both grew up in abusive households and have difficulty getting over females that are not their mates despite their conviction that they are (Jesminda and Mor). Both feel like outsiders, although it's wild that Azriel feels that way considering he has Rhys and Cass but whatever. They even both have scars as a result of unbearable cruelty. But while Azriel came out of that situation with unresolved anger issues and a tendency towards violence (as demonstrated during the High Lord's meeting) and a darkness to him, Lucien came out of that situation a gentleman, still managing to be kind and with an incredible amount of self-restraint and lightness to him (and typically opting for nonviolence). Azriel sees himself as a bad person and he resents the fact that Lucien still maintains himself as a good person despite it all. 3. Lucien was easily accepted as a part of the group as his true self (or that's what Azriel sees) while Azriel still feels like he can't be his true self. He admitted in the bonus chapter that he only lets Rhys see the full extent of his anger because Rhysand is the only one who can match it. So, he doesn't even show his full anger to Cassian or Feyre. And look at them during the solstice in ACOSF: Rhys sprawled in an armchair, and Cassian occupied a second armchair with Lucien leaning against it, arguing with them about something that seemed related to a sporting event.

vs Azriel: Azriel lingered near the door, quiet enough that when Feyre and Mor began talking about some of her paintings, Nesta went over to him.

Lucien, with his ability to talk with people, worked his magic on Rhysand and Cassian easily. Lucien, despite having to deal with the strain of the mating bond, is still managing to converse with them while their own best friend of centuries cannot bear the scent of Lucien's bond, even though the person most affected by it isn't him. 4. Azriel feels replaced by Lucien. He is the Inner Circle's spy, mainly, but he isn't good for much else if we're being honest. Lucien, on the other hand, can ALSO spy. Evidence: Lucien took a steadying breath, and I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

Apart from that, he has exceptional abilities with people. He was instantly seen working his magic when the IC was having difficulty working out a time and place for the High Lord meeting. He helped create the antidote for the faebane as well. Then there's Azriel's other use: being a warrior. Lucien is a warrior too. And he is so powerful that he was able to venture into the continent by himself where even Rhysand with all his power feared to tread and come back with a large army which was essential for their victory. And post-war, he is the one keeping Prythian together, along with his beloved older brother Eris. He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately. Then there is this from Azriel: “No. But we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit. Elriels take this to be about Elain, but I actually believe this is further evidence of his complete and utter jealousy. It pains him to admit that the IC needs Lucien even more than they already did. With Lucien's increased role, Azriel's role further diminishes in Az's eyes. So when Azriel says he thinks "Lucien will never be good enough for her?" He is projecting his own feelings onto Lucien. Deep down he knows that he is completely and utterly wrong for Elain and that Lucien is 100% right for her. When he says that he'd "Defeat Lucien with little effort?" In his mind, it's a chance to regain some of his worth. He perceives that his only value to the IC is his spying and warrior abilities. He wants to prove that Lucien can't replace him because Azriel is better at these things. But in reality, he can't possibly believe he'd defeat the male who dominated Cassian with one word with little effort. Because even if he wasn't there for that moment, he knows Lucien survived the continent. He knows everything Lucien has been through and has definitely sparred with the guy. And we know Rhys agreed with him to keep him from getting any angrier or more frustrated. The beef between Azriel and Lucien is soooo one-sided. Lucien thinks of him as a decent dude! These two could be best friends if Azriel got over his dumb jealousy. But I don't care; I'm a Lucien stan for life and you'd better start treating my man right. Going through trauma is NOT an excuse to choke people or challenge them to blood duels. Lucien has gone through plenty and he hasn't even lashed out at anyone, even though he'd be completely valid for doing so. Learn from Lulu, Az.

[cutietrait]

SIMTUBE VIDEO: “MY 5AM PRE-SCHOOL WORKOUT ROUTINE! 🏋️‍♀️💪 #FitWithCitra”

The video opens with a soft chime of upbeat music, the camera cutting to Citra Gunawan’s bedroom mirror, where she stands adjusting her matching SulSulMelon workout set—a sculpting sports bra and high-waisted leggings in a trendy burgundy shade that flatter her effortlessly.

Her sleek ponytail is immaculate, her skin still fresh from the previous night’s skincare routine. With a knowing smile, she hits record on her phone.

“Okay, you guys have been flooding my comments asking for my workout routine, so here it is—my 5AM pre-school workout! Yes, I wake up at five. No, it never gets easier.”

She lets out a dramatic sigh, then grins at the camera.

“But let’s get into it!”

The screen cuts to a montage of her rolling out her yoga mat in her home gym, tying her sneakers, and stretching out her arms. A soft caption appears on screen:

“Rule #1: We do NOT pull a muscle before first period.”

“I like to start with a quick warm-up because, let’s be real, I am NOT about to pull something before my 8 AM econ class. We’re talking:”

✔️ Jumping jacks (2 minutes)

✔️ High knees (1 minute)

✔️ Arm circles (because we need to be graceful while suffering, duh)

A sped-up clip of Citra mid-jumping jacks plays next—her breath slightly uneven but still radiating main-character energy.

She pauses mid-exercise, placing a hand on her hip. “Okay, now we’re warmed up, let’s get into the real workout. I like to keep it simple but effective—cardio + functional strength training, because I need endurance for swim practice and definition for, you know, looking cute.”

She winks.

The screen cuts to a sped-up montage of her moving through each exercise, with bright, aesthetic on-screen text breaking it down.

🏃‍♀️ Cardio Burst:

🔥 Bicycle Crunches (3 sets of 10—yes, they suck, but it is what it is)

🔥 Mountain climbers (3 sets of 30 seconds—feel the burn, besties!)

🔥 Jump squats (3 sets of 15—pretend you’re jumping for joy, even if you’re dying inside)

💪 Functional Strength:

✅ Bodyweight squats (3 sets of 20—booty goals, trust the process)

✅ Push-ups (3 sets of 15—yes, we do them on our knees sometimes, no shame!)

✅ Plank hold (1 minute—crying is optional but encouraged)

The camera jumps to a shot of Citra sprawled dramatically across her yoga mat, fake gasping for air.

“And that’s my morning torture—uh, I mean, workout.” She laughs, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow.

She sits up, grinning at the camera, before walking over to her full-length mirror. Picking up a SulSulMelon water bottle, she adjusts her leggings with an effortless flick of her hand.

*“Also, can we take a moment for this SulSulMelon fit? It’s giving snatched; it’s giving effortlessly chic; it’s giving ‘I totally woke up like this.’”

A quick cut highlights the fabric of the leggings, the high waistband, the way everything stays perfectly in place.

“Their leggings are buttery-soft and stay in place no matter how many burpees I cry through, so 10/10 recommend. You can use my code CITRAFIT20 for 20% off your next order! #sponsored #butIreallydoLovethem”

The screen flashes with a cute animated promo code, before cutting back to Citra taking a sip from her branded water bottle.

She checks the time on her phone, eyes widening in faux panic.

“Okay, I have like 15 minutes to shower and make it to class, so wish me luck. Let me know in the comments if you guys want a post-workout stretch routine next! Byeee!”

She waves at the camera, her signature bright smile locking in the perfect final frame.

The video fades out, the on-screen text appearing:

“Like & follow for more! 💕 #LAIS #WorkoutRoutine #MorningMotivation”

The comment section immediately explodes.

🔥 “HOW DO YOU LOOK THIS GOOD AT 5AM??”

🔥 “Not me watching this from my bed.”

🔥 “Ordering SulSulMelon now. You’re an influencer, babe, admit it.”

🔥 “Yes please for the post-workout stretch, my legs hate me.”

Citra smiles, scrolling through the responses. Another successful morning.

[ ← PREVIOUS ] [ NEXT → ]

[star-dust78]

Old Godzilla was hopping around Tokyo City like a big playground When suddenly Batman burst from the shade And hit Godzilla with a Batgrenade Godzilla got pissed and began to attack But didn't expect to be blocked by Shaq Who proceeded to open up a can of Shaq-Fu When Aaron Carter came out of the blue

And he started beating up Shaquille O'Neal Then they both got flattened by the Batmobile But before it could make it back to the Batcave Abraham Lincoln popped out of his grave And took an AK-47 out from under his hat And blew Batman away with a rat-a-tat-tat But he ran out of bullets and he ran away Because Optimus Prime came to save the day

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Godzilla took a bite out of Optimus Prime Like Scruff McGruff took a bite out of crime And then Shaq came back covered in a tire track But Jackie Chan jumped out and landed on his back And Batman was injured, and trying to get steady When Abraham Lincoln came back with a machete But suddenly something caught his leg and he tripped Indiana Jones took him out with his whip

Then he saw Godzilla sneaking up from behind And he reached for his gun which he just couldn't find 'Cause Batman stole it and he shot and he missed And Jackie Chan deflected it with his fist Then he jumped in the air and did a somersault While Abraham Lincoln tried to pole vault Onto Optimus Prime, but they collided in the air Then they both got hit by a Care Bear stare

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be This is the ultimate showdown

Angels sang out an immaculate chorus Down from the heavens descended Chuck Norris Who delivered a kick which could shatter bones Into the crotch of Indiana Jones Who fell over on the ground, writhing in pain As Batman changed back into Bruce Wayne But Chuck saw through his clever disguise And he crushed Batman's head in between his thighs

Then Gandalf the Grey and Gandalf the White And Monty Python and the Holy Grail's black knight And Benito Mussolini and the Blue Meanie And Cowboy Curtis and Jambi the Genie Robocop, The Terminator, Captain Kirk, and Darth Vader Lo-pan, Superman, every single Power Ranger Bill S. Preston and Theodore Logan Spock, The Rock, Doc Ock, and Hulk Hogan All came out of nowhere lightning fast And they kicked Chuck Norris in his cowboy ass It was the bloodiest battle that the world ever saw With civilians looking on in total awe

The fight raged on for a century Many lives were claimed, but eventually The champion stood, the rest saw their better Mr. Rogers in a bloodstained sweater

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be This is the ultimate showdown (The ultimate showdown) This is the ultimate showdown (The ultimate showdown) This is the ultimate showdown Of ultimate destiny

[vancruejovi]

Artist Shoutout!! 🎨

As an artist I always get so excited seeing everyone’s art, so I wanted to share some of the incredibly talented artists that I’ve found over the couple years I’ve been here in no particular order (and feel free to add your own favourite artists to the list) and as always sorry if I forget anyone! I have a memory like a siv

@midnight-in-santa-carla (Unbelievable Lost Boys and Kiefer Sutherland digital paintings and fanart, I love their shading and the way they draw hair)

@wardenmop (I fell in love with their Wiseguy fanart but their OC stuff is also terrific!)

@contact-guy (UNREAL Sherlock Holmes comics, so much so they’re making a whole artbook!!)

@noodleshook (i adore their Knockout Grooves series, but also their LOTR art is amazing!!)

@forecast0ctopus (I love their almost blocky artstyle, they capture the Star Trek characters perfectly!!)

@rainfynite (Gorgeous Motley Crue fanart, they have so much range!!)

@hollis-art (their Star Trek fanart is always so colourful and lively. I really love their Superman art too, so cute!)

@apfel-strudelz (I absolutely adore their Star Trek fanart, their style in general is just so distinct and groovy)

@snottiesnot (GORGEOUS painted portraits from all sorts of different fandoms)

@hippano (BEAUTIFUL buffy fanart but also has so much range from cute Kirby stuff to LOTR)

@colloquial-kayak (absolutely adorable Knight Rider fanart, the way they draw kitt is immaculate)

@x-0rion-x (AMAZING IHNMAIMS art and band fanart, amazing lighting)

@otonokis (beautiful lost boys and gothic art, has so much range too!)

@guadalajarawontdonow (some STUNNING Star Wars fanart, amazing lighting and shading!)

@bryn-not-brian (some absolutely groovy beatles and monkees fanart, love their colours)

@hammettsulrich (Amazing Metallica fanart, love how they draw hair!)

@acewykkyd (has some AMAZING Jem and the Holograms fanart as well as some beautiful Monster High fanart)

@xwayka (UNREAL Metallica fanart, very cool stuff!!)

@razberry-cookie (I fell in love with their Rambo fanart but they’ve got some beautiful oc art too!!)

@colinarcartperson (Just AMAZING art all around, I love their Yeehawgust series)

Please check out everyone’s art is you can, they totally deserve it!! And please feel free to add some of your favourite artists too!! 🎨✨

[ixekizumab]

Someone asked for forest ranger Remus?

Code Black Season 2 is being written, but here's a snippet from something completely different:

---

Sirius swerves around them, hoping they heard him cursing under his breath, and inadvertently finds a familiar pair of warm brown eyes and a kind smile. Marisol gives him a little wave from behind her desk. There’s no line. Sirius could walk right up to the counter if he wanted to. 

And then what? Walk right up to the counter, exchange a few kind words with this nice-seeming stranger, tell her all about his idiot friends making him face the nightmare that he went out into the real world and got a job and changed… But he won’t do that. Because it isn’t true. Even if Regulus wants to make snide little comments about how Sirius would never—wait. His eyes dart away from the Delta desk and scan the giant digital Departures list right beside it. Maybe James had meant it as a joke, but who’s laughing now? There’s literally nothing stopping Sirius from going anywhere he wants to for the rest of the weekend. He’s got his phone, wallet, keys, and AirPods. And enough funds to buy anything else he needs once he gets there.

Only… where is there?

“Hi, Marisol.”

“Hi, drunk newlyweds babysitter.” She gives him a playful wink.

“Most of my friends just call me Sirius,” he fires back, flashing his most charming smile. 

“Well, how can I help you, Sirius?”

“I’d like to buy a ticket.” Who’s not adventurous now, Reggie?

“Okay,” Marisol raises an immaculately shaded eyebrow. “And where will you be traveling to?”

“I… um. I don’t know. Somewhere fun. And as far away from Miami as possible.”

“Oh,” she looks a little startled, but her smile only widens. “Well, you’re in luck! There’s one seat left on this flight here. Oh, but it’s first class.”

“Not a problem.”

“Subtle flex,” she mutters under her breath, and Sirius snorts a laugh. “Okay, it’s heading to Bangkok. Departure in just over an hour.”

Fucking yes. He imagines the look on James and Regulus’ faces when he sends them a picture from freaking Thailand. Then he imagines finding some hot local dude to hook up with just so he can accidentally “butt dial” Barty and let him know how adventurous he really—“Oh. But wait. I don’t have my passport.” Damn it.

“Well… yes. You’d need a passport.”

He stares back at her, trying to scrap all those promising images from the hypothetical Thai nightclub, before regrouping. “Okay. So what’s the farthest away I can go without leaving the U.S.? Any flights to like… Honolulu or something?”

“Um. Hm. Okay… no, that one’s all full. That one too.” She keeps scrolling, and Sirius is just starting to have second thoughts about this whole thing, when she says, “Aha! Here’s a flight with an open coach seat. A few, actually. It’s leaving for Portland in forty-five minutes.” 

“Like Maine?” Okay, it’s not quite what he was envisioning, but it’s been a while since he had a good lobster roll, and he wouldn’t mind a weekend getaway to a cute New England B&B…

“Like Oregon.” 

Oregon? What’s even in Oregon? Sirius genuinely has no idea. 

But, fuck it, he’s about to find out. 

[w3r1d0]

Old Godzilla was hopping around

Tokyo City like a big playground

When suddenly Batman burst from the shade

And hit Godzilla with a Batgrenade

Godzilla got pissed and began to attack

But didn't expect to be blocked by Shaq

Who proceeded to open up a can of Shaq-Fu

When Aaron Carter came out of the blue

And he started beating up Shaquille O'Neal

Then they both got flattened by the Batmobile

But before it could make it back to the Batcave

Abraham Lincoln popped out of his grave

And took an AK-47 out from under his hat

And blew Batman away with a rat-a-tat-tat

But he ran out of bullets and he ran away

Because Optimus Prime came to save the day

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Godzilla took a bite out of Optimus Prime

Like Scruff McGruff took a bite out of crime

And then Shaq came back covered in a tire track

But Jackie Chan jumped out and landed on his back

And Batman was injured, and trying to get steady

When Abraham Lincoln came back with a machete

But suddenly something caught his leg and he tripped

Indiana Jones took him out with his whip

Then he saw Godzilla sneaking up from behind

And he reached for his gun which he just couldn't find

'Cause Batman stole it and he shot and he missed

And Jackie Chan deflected it with his fist

Then he jumped in the air and did a somersault

While Abraham Lincoln tried to pole vault

Onto Optimus Prime, but they collided in the air

Then they both got hit by a Care Bear stare

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown

Angels sang out an immaculate chorus

Down from the heavens descended Chuck Norris

Who delivered a kick which could shatter bones

Into the crotch of Indiana Jones

Who fell over on the ground, writhing in pain

As Batman changed back into Bruce Wayne

But Chuck saw through his clever disguise

And he crushed Batman's head in between his thighs

Then Gandalf the Grey and Gandalf the White

And Monty Python and the Holy Grail's black knight

And Benito Mussolini and the Blue Meanie

And Cowboy Curtis and Jambi the Genie

Robocop, The Terminator, Captain Kirk, and Darth Vader

Lo-pan, Superman, every single Power Ranger

Bill S. Preston and Theodore Logan

Spock, The Rock, Doc Ock, and Hulk Hogan

All came out of nowhere lightning fast

And they kicked Chuck Norris in his cowboy ass

It was the bloodiest battle that the world ever saw

With civilians looking on in total awe

The fight raged on for a century

Many lives were claimed, but eventually

The champion stood, the rest saw their better

Mr. Rogers in a bloodstained sweater

This is the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny

Good guys, bad guys, and explosions as far as the eye can see

And only one will survive, I wonder who it will be

This is the ultimate showdown

(The ultimate showdown)

This is the ultimate showdown

(The ultimate showdown)

This is the ultimate showdown

Of ultimate destiny

[nestastits]

I NEED the bat boys and vanserra boys (lulu and eris only) to be besties. They can get over past mistakes and be the ultimate friend group, I’m telling yall. Despite fanbase’s hatred for one or the other, I love all of these boys. They just need love (from their mates obviously). Like I’m imagining all of them going out as a group and getting shitfaced. Cassian and Lucien some how managed to end up in jail and it’s up to Rhys and Eris to break them out while Azriel stands guard. You’re telling me yall don’t want this?

Azriel and Eris paint their nails the same color. It’s canon. They both emo. They both start throwing shade at Mor too for what happened in the past and for being the diverge that kept them from being besties this long.

Rhys and Lucien always dress immaculately. But we all know Cassian is the fashion expert (he always told someone off when they were wearing something that wasn’t right 😭😭😭 I’m sorry Elain but you know black ain’t your color. Cassian knows too.)

Cassian has a fifty step hair care routine and Eris bullies him for it but secretly wrote every step down for the next time he does his hair.

Lucien and Azriel always tie in a game of cards.

Rhysand is the mommy of the group. Eris is the daddy of the group.

Cassian decides to have a sleep over in the house of wind when Nesta is off on official Valkyrie spa getaway, but she comes home early to find all of them wearing matching boxers and cuddling on the living room floor in a pillow fort. She sends a mental image to Feyre for her to paint and the boys never live it down. It hangs in the river house for the whole family to see.

I could go on with the eventful life of these precious boys but I think this is enough for now😌

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

❝ ʙɪɢ ꜰᴀɴ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 3.8k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, public displays of affection

↣ notes :: welcome to the first chapter! 💕 I hope you guys already for the rollercoaster between these two.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you see my thick thighs, lost when you look into my brown eyes, see my little waist can make you switch sides. you've never seen the devil in disguise."

- be honest, jorja smith-

ｗｉｎｔｅｒ

A low hum of people chatting over the Lo-Fi beats filled the area. Glasses clinking, some munching, all sounds that Kiara Smith grew familiar with. Though the crowd was more significant than the last exhibition she attended, it was starting to become all the same. 

She could remember the very first exhibit she went to and all the nerves it brought. She was a bumbling mess—sweaty palms constantly being wiped on her dress that she may have also used as her prom dress while her stomach frequently threatened to release her breakfast all over the floor—as she watched the few people who also attended like hawks. So insecure about the words those people chose not to share. So insecure about their lips pressed into taught smiles. Were they being genuine or just keeping up appearances? Was her art worth anything, or was she going to flop and end up having to get a shitty job just to make ends meet? Those same nerves would never fade, holding onto her like some clingy child desperately needing attention. But they became less apparent whenever her boyfriend was around. The heaven-sent angel would always know the right thing to say and make the world melt away. Though he would never miss an event, it was very seldom that he was on time. She never stressed his whereabouts, knowing he'd arrive eventually.

The 24-year-old continued to walk around, partially eavesdropping as she passed couples and groups of people. Occasionally, she would take a sip of the bubbly gold in her glass to appease that child named Nerves tugging on her leg. She slowed to a stop once a particular piece caught her eye. It was two separate canvases placed at equal heights. One canvas had a bright figure colored in hues of pink and blue, while the other was dark. Shades of black and grey bled from one canvas to the other as if it was trying to overcome the figure itself. The darkness had enough space on their canvas, though, at least a third remaining untouched, but it wanted the colors. It wanted to possess them, spread its darkness to them.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" blurted a voice near her. Despite the voice being calm and inviting, it startled her. She quickly turned to the side, not realizing a man joined her. His side profile was magnificent — features that were immaculately sculpted from his eyebrows, down his straight nose bridge leading to a button tip, to where his rose-shaded lips took center stage, frozen in a pout. His light blonde hair with dark roots made his olive skin stand out. It looked natural on him. The man was attractive, and Kiara couldn't deny that. His aura alone was almost as intoxicating as the drink in her hand. It pulled her in and wrapped around her like a warm embrace. She nodded, humming in agreement with his question. She faced ahead again.

The man stole another glance at her, eyes slowly glazing over her features. "It's so rare nowadays to find someone who could capture so much without saying a word. It's almost godly."

The more he talked, the nicer his voice sounded. It had an excellent depth, low and appealing even in his hushed tone. Kiara was into what he was saying, continuing to nod until the last comment. She had to sip her drink to subdue the urge to giggle.

"But you know what you and this painting have in common?"

She turned to look at the man, their eyes meeting for the first time tonight. And boy, how he could get lost in those pools of amber. She raised an eyebrow curiously, her glass still resting on her lips as she silently urged him to continue.

"You both were crafted with the same care, holding a beauty one could only dream of containing."

Kiara almost spat out her drink, startling the man before her. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, holding back the remainder of the liquid behind her taut lips. The man's eyebrows drew together and his lips pursed slightly. His expression then dropped to a neutral state once he realized she was chuckling at what he said.

Once she swallowed the liquid, she turned to face him completely. She took a moment to graze over his appearance fully. He was well dressed, wearing a black blazer, white crew neck underneath, and dark-wash skinny jeans. Silver earrings dangled from his earlobes to match the silver chain around his neck and the wristwatch. 

"Damn," she commented, a grin growing on her full glossed lips, "you're really laying it on thick for someone you don't know." Her voice was nothing he expected. She seemed like one of those Hamptons girls, playing in New York City with daddy's money. Her voice was light and smooth like silk fabric, but her accent was hard like a concrete wall. She was either from Queens or Brooklyn, syllables being dropped or stretched at a whim. Something about the way her words blended was incredibly sexy. 

The man quirked a brow, intrigued as the corner of his lips pulled into a half smile. "You tryna say I'm out of practice?"

"Precisely." She answered quickly and confidently as she gazed up at him. "I expect that kind of line from someone twice your age."

"Well, ouch." He chuckled, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as his eyes glanced downward at the girl. "My job requires me to be blunt, so I call it like I see it."

"And you're saying I'm as beautiful as this painting?"

He grabbed a glass off the tray of a passing waiter. "Your beauty surpasses it." It was true. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her golden honey skin practically glowed under the cool white fluorescent lights. Her hair was dark brown and long, pulled back into a sleek high ponytail with two strands framing her face. Her black satin dress hugged every curve in her body with grace, and there were plenty of them. The material looked soft to the touch, gently reflecting the light. He'd be lying if he said her looks weren't the reason why he approached. And on top of all the looks, she smelled phenomenal—warm and sweet, like a freshly baked sugar cookie with a dash of cinnamon on top, making him want to relive through the holiday season that just passed.

Kiara let out a soft scoff. "Thank you, but that's not as much of a compliment as you may think." She suddenly spun on her stiletto heels, turning her back to the man as she walked away.

He quickly followed, catching up in a few steps to join her by her side. "Do explain."

"Beauty has, and always will be, skin deep." She circled the champagne in her glass while looking out into the crowd. "Looks fade over time. Trends come and go faster than the seasons. So if you really wanna wow a girl…." She stopped at another painting that grabbed her attention before looking at him. "Compliment the things you can't see." The two stopped to gaze at the artwork in front of them. The man thought over her words while admiring the piece. The canvas before them had various hues of green splashed about, but shades of purple peeked through upon closer inspection. It mimicked little flowers blooming through a field of wild grass. She managed to lead him to the only painting that mirrored their conversation.

He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "You're completely right. And to think I almost missed out on how intelligent you are."

She smiled, soft and genuine. "Thank you."

The man stayed by her side as Kiara floated, offering his opinions on whichever piece they stopped in front of. She really appreciated being able to receive unbiased feedback on her work. He didn't know he was chatting with the artist. No one in the room knew. The name signed at the bottom of each canvas was Luna, a faceless painter. It's been that way since the beginning, and she intended it to stay that way. Only her close friends, family, and people she hired knew of her secret.

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to lunch tomorrow." The man asked at their fourth or so painting.

"I see you don't waste any time."

"Correct. Time is limited, after all."

She looked up at him, his perfect lips pulled into a soft smile. Maybe in another lifetime, she thought as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Flattered, but I can't."

His brows furrowed. He thought that the conversation they were having was great, so what was with the rejection? "May I ask why?"

"I have a boyfriend," she said with a wide smile.

He suddenly scoffed, causing her to tilt her head to the side slightly. "I haven't seen anyone on your arm the whole night." The first thing the man hated the most was being lied to.

Her brows then lowered while her eyes narrowed. "He's just late."

The second thing was excuses.

"Tsk," he shook his head before downing his drink. "Committed to a man with no time management? Red flag."

"And somehow that's better than a man who can't take rejection?" She shot back as she quickly matched his energy. They had a peaceful conversation only moments before, and now the energy between them had grown negative.

"Oh, I can take rejection," he stated with a chuckle as he put his glass down. "But only when I'm being told the truth."

"It is—"

"Hey, darling." And finally, the deep and butter-smooth voice appeared, melting away the anger that was bubbling inside Kiara. As he approached her side, he placed his large hand on the small of her back and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry I'm late."

The blonde in front of them eyed the man from his tan skin and wavy ebony hair to his solid-colored turtle neck and long coat. Something about the dark-haired man seemed familiar to the blonde. Then it hit him like a freight train. "Well, isn't it Mr. Kim Taehyung?" He smiled widely, glancing up at the slightly taller man.

Taehyung's brows furrowed momentarily before grinning. "Holy shit, Park Jimin!" He stepped forward, leaving Kiara's side to wrap his arms around the blonde. "What are you doing here?" He asked as he pulled away from the man. "I never would've thought that you'd be into art."

He chuckled softly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's just a little appreciation I picked up from Spain." He shrugged casually.

Taehyung's jaw clenched briefly, his smile slipping for a moment. For as long as he's known Jimin, he always had to slip in a way to brag about his accomplishments. It was sad that he still hasn't grown out of that trait yet. "Ah yeah," he responded, playing cool, "I forgot you traveled there. How was it?"

Jimin shrugged again. "It was Spain," he said, glazing over the topic. "But me and—shit, I'm sorry." His attention shifted from Taehyung to the woman. "I never asked for your name."

"I'm Kiara," she said softly. Her arms folded over her chest as she watched the two men converse. She didn't mind a bit since Taehyung was the most extroverted of the two.

"Kiara," Jimin repeated to himself, his eyes trailing down her appearance briefly. He tried to pin the name to the face, especially if she was Taehyung's. His eyes finally returned to the other man. "Kiara and I were discussing some of the pieces earlier. I've been a huge fan of Luna for years now." He tried to be calm about the subject of Luna, but it made excitement course through his veins. He was among the first few to learn about the mysterious artist who abruptly appeared on the scene. Everyone wanted one of their pieces overnight, and Jimin was obviously at the very top of that list. Every brushstroke left was a paragraph, speaking a language only artists could understand. 

"I don't even wanna talk about how hard it was to get in here," he chuckled, a faint flush spreading over his cheeks. A Luna Eclipse had a longer wait list than some Michelin-star restaurants. Luckily for him, he was able to pull a few strings. A few phone calls here, some embarrassing promises there, and he was in.

Kiara couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she eyed the man. The smirk on Taehyung's lips was full of pride, almost conceited, as he tilted his head slightly to the side. "Oh, you don't say?" For once in the pair's life, it felt like Taehyung had a one-up on Jimin. "How does it feel to—"

"My love," Kiara interjected, voice just as sweet, yet bitter, like honey as she placed her hand on Taehyung's chest. She looked up at him, and Jimin could see her pupils dilated, swirling with love. He chewed on his lower lip gently. He barely knew this woman, but why did he want her to look at him like that? "I have to talk to you about something."

Taehyung stared at his partner with furrowed brows before looking at Jimin. "Um, alright. I'll catch up with you later then."

She looked at Jimin, and that love dissipated instantly. Such a look was only reserved for Taehyung, making a heaviness grow in his abdomen. "If you would excuse us."

The blonde couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from Kiara. "Of course," he finally said, grinning at the man. "Don't be a stranger!"

The two waved at each other before Kiara led him away. Her arm wrapped around his, holding him close to her. She glanced back at Jimin one last time before pulling Taehyung to a quiet section of the event. He leaned against the pillar while Kiara stood before him, gazing up at him.

"Why did you cut me off?" Taehyung asked, keeping his voice calm.

"Because you almost name-dropped me," she said, her arms folding over her chest. 

The 26-year-old's lips turned into a small o shape before forming a sheepish smile. "You're right. I'm sorry. I completely forgot for a second. It's just so hard not to brag about you when you always look so good." He reached out and touched her waist, pulling her into him.

She couldn't stop her lips from forming a smile as he buried his face into her neck. She giggled quietly, her hands placed on his chest. "Stop it," she whined, not wanting him to do such a thing.

Taehyung inhaled deeply, the notes of her sweet perfume entering his nostrils. "Mm, and you're wearing my favorite perfume too?" He mumbled against her skin, placing gentle kisses randomly. "You just wanted me to be on you."

The girl laughed before gasping when she felt his large hand fully palm her ass. She pulled away from him just enough to slap him in the chest playfully. "We're in public!"

His eyes locked with hers, with a smirk playing on his lips. "So?" He questioned as he pulled her close again, resuming to litter her neck with kisses. "No one's looking anyway. They're too distracted by your beautiful art." 

He continued until he reached her favorite spot, a moan parting from her smiling lips. His hands couldn't get enough of her, feeling her up as if it was the first time. Kiara's eyes fluttered shut, biting back moans that wanted to escape her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Taehyung," she whined again, partially out of want. It started to feel so good that the world began to melt away. "Someone will see."

Someone cleared their throat. "That's true."

Kiara's eyes shot open, quickly pushing the man in the midst of giving her a hickey off of her. He groaned as his back hit the pillar wall while she turned around. Her cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassment promptly replacing the arousal. She saw familiar ice-blue eyes playfully glaring at her. The petite woman pushed her long, ginger hair off her shoulders as she cocked an eyebrow at the two—disapproval flooding her features.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Hello, Aimee," he said, greeting the woman for both of them.

Aimee huffed, glancing at the man. "Taehyung."

He stood up from the wall, kissing Kiara's temple. "Lemme get us something to drink." He shot one last glare to Aimee before walking off.

Aimee shook her head. "I don't know how you put up with him and all the PDA." She grumbled, her heavy New Jersey accent ringing through Kiara's ears while she glared a hole into the back of Taehyung's head.

Kiara straightened out the smooth material of her dress. "You get used to it," she smiled softly to herself. "Plus, I kinda like it."

"Ugh," Aimee rolled her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest. "Seems like he'd fuck ya right there with an audience." The girl pointed her index finger to her open mouth, making a gagging sound while Kiara laughed.

"You're so dramatic," Kiara smiled while shaking her head. "But what's up? Is everything going OK?" Aimee was at every event Kiara held. She was her art dealer, providing guests with the information needed to purchase a piece. She would only come up to the artist if something were awry.

"Oh! Everything is fucking fantastic, honestly." Her eyes lit up with excitement as she bounced on the balls of her heels. "I think this might be your best collection yet."

Kiara sighed in relief, placing her hand on her chest as it fell. "Thank you. If we can get everything sold tonight, I'll be set." Aimee looked at the girl, her brows furrowing momentarily before releasing. "Taehyung and I have been looking for a bigger place."

Aimee's lips turned down into a slight frown. "A bigger house? Has he even talked about getting a ring yet?"

Kiara's shoulders dropped, her hand pinching and rubbing at her fingers. She sounded just like her best friends and every other friend in Kiara's life. "I know," she sighed. She glanced down at her left hand, where her ring finger was aching to be adorned with something. "It's so backward, but a one-bedroom isn't enough. He needs an office space for work. So, I'm hoping the ring will come soon after once we settle into a new place."

She looked at the girl, a sad smile replacing her frown. "Well, it's only been four years, right?"

Only. That word ran circles in Kiara's head. 

It's only been for years. 

You've only just moved in with each other. 

You've only just started dating.

The word was growing tiresome, especially in the conversations about Taehyung. Everyone had an opinion about her and her relationship, but no one dared to say anything straightforward about it. She was sick of only.

Kiara nodded slowly, which only caused Aimee to sigh. "He'll come around, doll, don't stress it." She assured with a soft smile, gently patting the woman's shoulder. "Lemme get back to my job so you can get that house." After Kiara gave Aimee a small smile, she walked off. She almost bumped into Taehyung on the way out, the two quietly cursing at each other before continuing their path.

He returned to Kiara with a smile, handing her a glass of champagne. "All good news?"

She grinned at the man, feeling warm despite not sipping her drink yet. "Amazing news."

As the night continued, the two walked around together. They always had a hand on each other somehow, whether it was Taehyung's on the small of her back or Kiara's hand being swallowed by his. She adored this. It made her feel safe—feel wanted. He had to let everyone know she was off the market and was his. As if a shiny diamond ring resting upon her left finger wouldn't have done the same. Taehyung struck up conversations with random people, small-talking them like the extrovert he was. During each conversation, she would glance around, finding something to fill her attention while they spoke of things that didn't matter. Every time, her gaze would meet the blonde.

Their eyes lingered for longer than what was appropriate. Why was he looking at me? She thought while she fidgeted with her fingers. Or was he staring at Taehyung?

"Love," she said as she turned her gaze to Taehyung. He has just finished up a conversation with an elderly couple. "How long have you known Jimin?"

"We grew up together, and were best friends."

The girl's eyes went wide. Despite four years together, Taehyung rarely talked about anything before his college years. It was optional to dwell on past things, even though Kiara would've loved to know everything, from how he scraped his knees while learning to ride a bike to his first love.

"We even went to college together, out here," he continued. "But our crowds were completely different. He got along with the nepo babies since he basically is one, and I got along with the art kids. I remember us bumping heads quite a bit." He let out an amused chuckle.

"Oh," she frowned slightly.

"Like he didn't have to brag about going to Spain," he blurted out. "Not all of us can drop our responsibilities and take off on vacation for a year."

"A year?!" She repeated as her jaw dropped.

"Mhm, basically had his parents pay for the whole trip." There was a fire behind his words. He's been tight-lipped about his friendship with Jimin, and finally, it felt amazing to let it out. "I'm surprised he's not rotting from the inside out."

Kiara pouted a bit, never hearing Taehyung speak so harshly about another. "Well, maybe it was a birthday gift?" The blonde couldn't be that bad, even if she got a taste of that quick-witted mouth earlier. He could've just been having a bad day after all.

"He left in March, babe, and his birthday is in October."

Her mouth formed a small o before she chewed on her lower lip gently. "So you're not gonna catch up with him?"

He looked ahead before glancing down at the girl. "I am," he said with a shrug, "I would rather hang out with a nepo baby than my coworkers." Kiara let out a half-hearted snicker as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "It would be a good opportunity to get out of the house since someone says I need to make friends."

"You do!" She looked at him, brows furrowed and nose slightly scrunched. "I feel bad leaving you home every girls' night. I want to know you're having fun and not rewatching the same three movies."

"They're good movies!" He argued with a smile as the girl shot him a glare. "But I hear you," she stretched out the last syllable as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "So I will try for you, OK?"

The girl smiled, leaning up to touch their lips together briefly. "Thank you." She hoped they could work past their differences and become friends. She knew the man wanted to go out and experience things, but he longed for a set group to do that with. Sometimes, rekindling a relationship was more manageable than starting a new one.

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[gifti3]

hii im posting this old fic for asmo, it was for his bday but i put it off cause i wanted to keep editing it and before you know it its been over year of it just sitting untouched 〒▽〒 so i decided to just post it without a reading over it again its pretty light hearted and silly, its an AU where Asmo is literally a queen and reader is one of those passing merchants (probably) reader is gn here and yep thats it!

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Queen Asmodeus's Birthday

This was the first time you'd actually be present during Asmodeus's birthday. You heard about previous ones in passing during your travels, but now you'd get to experience all the hoopla in person.

You observe yourself in the mirror and smooth the front of your outfit down. It wasn't something you would usually wear on a day to day basis, but today….what the Queen says goes. Like any other day really, but now wasn’t the time to be contrarian. If any day needed to go smoothly, today was that day. So after one more look, you exit your room.

Making your way down the hallway you dodge several servants handling last minute preparations. You head downstairs and weave your way through mingling guests.

When you enter the grand banquet hall--not to be mistaken with the regular one--you whistle to yourself. It always looked nice but today it was at exorbitant levels of presentation. The long tables, the walls and even the ceiling seemed to be covered in the Queen's favorite shades and flowers. Everything was so flowery and pink.

Your eyes fall on the “Esteemed Guests” table and you make your way towards it.

"Hey guys." You greet the group of brothers. You nod at a few faces you weren’t quite familiar with, but they must be important to the Queen if they were at this table.

Before the brothers can say anything you interject. "No need to comment on the outfit. I know," you smile.

Several of them shut their mouths.

You take a seat at the head of the table, Asmodeus's spot. His chair was quite literally the center of attention. In the middle of the room it sat, the most immaculate and eye-catching. It was almost gaudy to be honest. And from here, you'd be able to see him from anywhere in the room.

“So…when does this start?” you ask.

“Hopefully he comes out within the hour,” Satan answers.

You’d think he was exaggerating if he wasn’t currently reading. In all this noise, you weren't sure how.

Lucifer sat back with his eyes closed, probably thinking of work, while Mammon and Levi talked (or maybe they were bickering) about something. Beelzebub frowned while rubbing at his stomach and Belphegor’s head was laid on the table.

Even though they seemed indifferent about being here, you knew they wanted to keep their brother happy. And anyways if they missed today they wouldn’t hear the end of it until his next birthday.

By the time his Majesty is formally introduced to the hall, an hour must have passed and Beel looks visibly famished. He gently nudges Belphie awake though. 

“Ah, the star finally appears,” Solomon says. You had met the sorcerer for the first time today but he seemed decent from the conversation you had. Mostly everyone at the table seemed a bit perturbed by his presence though.

Anyone standing around moves quickly to sit down so as not to be chewed out by other guests for blocking the view.

All attention turns to decorative stairs at the front of the room as the Queen appears. Slowly rose petals magically start falling from the ceiling. Everyone watches as Queen Asmodeus gracefully makes his way down, his (very expensive) skirts following down behind him. 

Mammon sits back crossing his arms and says under his breath. “He does this every year…” 

You wonder if anyone outside his brothers would ever grow tired of it though. You swear you could see tears glistening in some of these guests' eyes.

You manage to catch Asmo’s eye and he winks at you.

The whispers amongst the guests go silent once Asmodeus begins talking to his closest family, friends and allies.

"Thank you for gathering here to celebrate this special day--my birthday. Seeing everyone's lovely faces smiling for me makes me so happy!"

You hear a couple of dreamlike sighs among the crowd.

"I’m excited for the fun to start so please everyone enjoy the food. The festivities will start right after.”

There’s cheers and Beel’s face brightens as servants file in with various dishes.

Asmo makes his way towards his seat waving and talking to people along the way.

"How'd you like my entrance MC? Wasn’t it perfectly befitting for someone like me," Asmo asks by the time he finally makes it to the table.

Most of his brothers look exasperated but you grin. “It was very Asmodeus-like. You look really amazing by the way. Your dress is very beautiful.”

He smiles at the compliment. “Not as beautiful as me though, right?”

“Heh, of course.”

Satisfied with your answer, Asmo rests a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you all for coming. I hope you all brought presents ❤️"

Lucifer smiles, already prepared with his gift, "Happy Birthday Asmodeus."

“I didn’t skimp out this year so you better be grateful,” Mammon says.

All the brothers take their turns passing their presents for Asmo to open and gush over. And these were no simple gifts. These were items the average person could only dream of having but apparently this was nothing too hard for these brothers to acquire.

You watch Asmo brandish the beautiful sword Santa had given to him. You had never seen anything like it before. Where did he even find that? Maybe you should inquire with him about it later.

During the rest of the dinner, you see a shift in Asmo’s demeanor from fairly pleased to absolutely bored. Finally, he stands and clinks his glass with a fork to get the room's attention.

He takes a drink and raises his glass high. "Let's get this party started!"

-------

It had been 3 hours so far. The beginning of what would definitely be a way too long party.

You hadn't seen the Queen since dinner as he was mingling with the endless party guests.

How many people could one person remember off the top of their head?

Escaping the noise would be impossible even if you wanted to. You could hear Queen Asmo's subjects singing, dancing and lighting fireworks through your room window when you made a quick stop for the restroom.

You take a bite of your kebab, waving at someone you don’t remember the name of. Galavanting from room to room to keep yourself entertained in this overstimulation fest.

Maybe you'd go back to the 'bathing room'. It was always interesting there.

Suddenly, you find yourself wrapped in a warm embrace and surrounded by the scent of fruit and alcohol. 

“Darling I haven’t seen you in so long.” Asmo says dragging out the end of the statement.

“It’s only been a few hours though.”

“Might as well been years.” 

You roll your eyes but pat his arm soothingly. “But you’re enjoying yourself right?”

He hums. “Everyone is here for me, adorning me with gifts and praise. I’d say it’s within the top 3 best birthdays!”

“...Isn’t a good chunk of your usual days filled with that though?”

He rests his head on you. “It’s different though.”

Before you can ask more, several people approach you two to talk to the Queen. Asmodeus hooks his arms with yours before you can walk off though.

----

“Asmo, please let me go. Keeping up appearances for this long is killing me.”

“But I don't want you to disappear again!” He nuzzles into your arm and you let out a sigh.

“Can we at least take a break?”

“Are you trying to get special private time with the Queen?” Asmo gives you that stupid innocent smile that was rarely innocent.

“Er, I mean it would be nice…” You hadn’t been able to spend much time with him these last couple days since he was so busy.

“Okay since you’re one of my favorite guests I’ll give you special attention. But you owe me!”

And with that Asmo drags you away to his room.

As soon as you’re behind closed doors you flop on his soft bed. Even with the sounds of a party as background noise, you’d be able to rest your eyes.

“Wait, did you invite me here just to sleep?” You feel the bed dip beside you.

You mumble incoherently before turning your head to look at Asmo’s pouting face. You couldn’t help smiling at his expression though. 

How did he do it? You probably looked very disheveled right now but there sat your Queen completely perfect as always even though he’d been all over the castle today.

“Hmm, has my beauty stunned you~?” Asmo’s lithe fingers trace a pattern on your cheek.

“Maybe…” you sigh and get up from the bed. “That reminds me. You said I owed you and I haven’t given you your birthday present yet.”

You beacon him towards his dressing table and retrieve the small box. You planned to give it to him this morning but he wasn’t here. So you left in his room hoping he would find it on his vanity before the day ended but inwardly scolded yourself for the choice when he eyed you at the dinner being the only one closest to him who hadn’t given him anything.

“Happy Birthday!” You hold out the gift to him with a small smile.

Asmo’s eyes widened a bit. Was he actually surprised? His expression turns pleased as he takes and carefully opens it.

“It’s beautiful…” He carefully pulls out the silver necklace and holds it up. It was adorned with several small jewels but the main star was a deep red painite that sat in the middle.

“And it’s very unique.” The merchant in you was screaming for giving away something this rare for free. But making sure Asmo was pleased with his present was much more worth it. 

You help him put it on and watch as he admires himself in the mirror.

“So you like it right?”

“Of course I love it!” Asmo stands, grabs your hand and leans in to press a kiss to your lips. “I might have to show you how much I love it. You always know what to get me…” 

You lean in hoping for another kiss but Asmo places a finger on your chin to stop you.

“After the party. I want to take my time with you….” He gives you a quick squeeze and leads you out of the room before you can complain.

----

The next day when you wake up in Asmo’s arms to the sound of people being unusually loud through his window. That couldn’t be what you think it was.

You stare blearily at the ceiling. "When does everyone stop partying exactly?”

Asmo yawns and cuddles into you. “Hmm, usually in several days.”

“...How are you sleeping through this?”