#I've taken its beauty for granted for so long

[metamorphesque]

In Armenian the word for "monster" is "hresh" and the word for "angel" is "hreshtak". How much love must these three letters possess to metamorphose a creature from monstrous to heavenly!

[flowers-and-pollen]

Sometimes i forget how beautiful the place i live in really is. A few days ago i was walking back home through the shaded path and i looked back at the path and went 'wow' bc i was suddenly hit with realization that the place i live in is fucking beautiful and i never want to forget that

(You can see a bit of my house's green fence on the right side of the photo)

honestly the human brain is so small that you *will* forget how much beauty there is out there to experience unless you leave your house every three days. ik its fucked up but i promise its true

[biteofcherry]

Gasoline

dark biker!Ari Levinson x female reader x dark biker!Curtis Everett

summary: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. It sure was true for you. An attempt at saving someone led to you being taken into the pits of darkness. And the devils own you now.

warnings: dub-con; power imbalance; possessiveness; threats; sex in public; unprotected sex; cockwarming; oral (m receiving); mention of oral (f receiving); fingering; pussy spanking; spit kink; forced tattoo; dark!Ari; dark!Curtis;

word count: 4.5k

Author's Note: So this is a result of a few factors ruining me - @buckets-and-trees tattoo artists Curtis and Ari story making me think of those two combining forces; musings about masked dark biker Curtis with @stargazingfangirl18 ; as well my horny brain creating a very naughty dream 🫣 It's not a story I've been working on for long. I wrote it all today, because I needed to get it out of my head.

Be ready at 9PM. Max will drive you.

The message is blunt and direct. Like most of their commands. 

The upside is that at least you don’t have to figure out what they want, there are no games to be played. Still, you love when they turn a bit more playful - marginally so. When there’s a whisper of softness and fondness in their eyes as they let you tease and poke a bit.

You think it’s because you’ve learned when to do that and how to keep it just a small, acceptable dose. 

You’ve learned quickly that acting a full on brat wouldn’t be tolerated. 

Well, at the very beginning they shouldn’t have been surprised you lashed out. After all, they’ve taken you without your consent, stealing you away from your steady life as a punishment for daring to defend someone who crossed them.

With your fierce, empathetic heart you couldn’t just stand down and watch as they flayed someone open. But that act of humanity cost you your freedom. 

Swept away on a beast of a motorbike, its roar barely covering the thudding of your panicked heart; taken into the depths of the city’s darkness and into the tower that became your new life. 

Because nobody crossed Ari Levinson and Curtis Everett, without facing severe punishment.

It was your luck, or perhaps doom, they sanctioned you with life instead of death. But that life was now theirs. 

You were all theirs. 

So of course you fought at the beginning, which didn’t seem to surprise or faze them much. Your screams and throwing things against the beautiful walls of the two story penthouse were ignored for the most part. So were your tears. They merely wiped them away in an almost tender gesture, then coldly told you to accept that this was your life now. 

“You can make yourself miserable living it, or you can let yourself accept it and find enjoyment in it.” 

The way Ari's thumb brushed along your bottom lip told you exactly what kind of enjoyment they were offering you. Your traitorous body reacted, despite your mind detesting it.

They took away your clothes and when you asked for some Ari simply told you no. So you ripped down the gauzy window curtains and draped them over yourself in a makeshift dress. 

You were very smug about that little victory.

Until Ari ripped them off of you and fucked the rebellion out of you. 

Fucked you hard and long, ‘till you sobbed and begged for mercy. Which was granted only after you promised to follow the rules. 

You were still sore and oversensitive when Curtis slipped into your bed the next morning, waking you up with his mouth devouring you. Pinning you down after wrecking two orgasms out of you, he fed you the mixture of your cum and his spit, ordering you to swallow. 

“Good girls get rewarded,” he left you with that direction. And with a pile of new clothes on the chair. 

Over the next weeks, through trials and tribulations, you’ve learned that as long as you followed the rules and expectations, most of your requests were met. Often they went beyond and before you even asked for something. 

The only thing you would never be granted was your freedom. 

You weren’t allowed outside, unless you were with them. The steel and glass tower they owned was swarmed with guards and all sorts of alarms and traps. The only time you were out without either Ari or Curtis at your side (usually the both of them) was when an appointed guard was taking you to them. 

Just like now. 

You stare at the message on your phone. Which isn’t your connection to the outside world at all. The only contacts in it are to Ari, Curtis and two most trusted men from their inner circle. It’s tracked at all times and you’re sure they are monitoring your browsing history, as well. 

Clubbing is not my thing. You dare to type back.

The fact they told you where they were going when they left the penthouse isn’t much comforting, because it’s a way to force you to have information for which they could easily kill you, if you used it in any way. It’s also a manipulation to make it feel like what the three of you have is some sort of a relationship. 

But isn’t it?

Fucking aside, they spend time with you. If they aren’t away doing bloody business, they always eat breakfast with you. Other meals depending on their workload. They aren’t very talkative, but they engage in conversations with you. Curtis taught you how to properly use the few machines at the home gym, when you were restless and searching for something to do while locked in. Ari will keep you in his lap, playing with your hair and watching movies on the ridiculously huge screen. 

Glimpses of softness, really. You never fool yourself to think of them as truly soft, because even as they provide a certain tenderness, there’s always that brutal darkness lurking behind. 

It shows in the way they fuck you. As well in the way Ari’s gaze glints a murderous warning when you come close to crossing the line, or how Curtis doesn’t bother wiping away enemy’s blood from his face before coming to you. 

Wear a red dress - comes the reply and you know tonight they’re not in the mood to give you room for some brattiness. 

You huff in annoyance, but still get up and go into the bathroom to take a shower and shave. 

Sometimes, when they’re more relaxed and content, they entertain your pushing. Usually it leads to a sinfully hot chuckle, a few spanks and a lot of orgasms. But if they’re in one of their darker moods, you don’t dare to rebel. It doesn’t end well. 

Yes, there’s merciless fucking that leaves you shattered into pieces, but there’s always a higher price to pay too. Like having your childhood friend and her family threatened with death, when you reached out to her via social media. 

Hair and makeup done, clad in a tight, short red dress, you’re ready five minutes before 9PM. Max waits for you in the elevator, greeting you curtly, but not looking up at you. 

No one ever looks directly at you. No one beside Curtis or Ari. 

As you’re being driven through the city, you wistfully watch streets buzzing with life - people freely walking around, friends meeting and going out for drinks, workaholics leaving companies and trailing home. You were never a partying girl and you know you’re being summoned to the club only for Curtis and Ari’s entertainment, but at least you will be out of your beautiful prison for a few hours. 

The club is pulsing with a sensual, enticing beat. There’s enough people filling the space to make it obvious how popular this place is, but there’s also a street long line at the front, because getting in isn’t that easy. 

You don’t know if Ari and Curtis own this place, but you doubt they’d take you anywhere that wasn’t under their strict command. 

Besides, they have their fingers wrapped tightly around so many establishments and people in this city, that it may belong to them whole. 

Many would never assume that their power extended so greatly. They’re nothing like the polished, suit-wearing mafia men, or politicians that people imagine to be at the top. Not with their less classy attire of jeans and leather, their heavy biker boots, tattoos covering their bodies. And yet it’s them who hold the reins and carve up anyone daring to step out of line. 

Max points toward the staircase, leading to the upper floor. VIP section undoubtedly, considering two heavily tatted bouncers guarding the entrance. 

They nod their heads in greeting, but drop their gazes. One of them unhooks the red rope and lets you onto the stairs.

There's a middle floor, filled with velvet couches and chrome accessories, shiny tables set with buckets filled with ice and champagne bottles in each. You notice a few faces you know from the tv screen and social media. 

Ah, so it's a floor for the celebrity kind of VIPs. 

But the real important people are on the top floor. Guarded by another set of bouncers. 

Unlike the lower levels, this one is instantly recognizable as belonging to bikers. Chrome details are kept in darker tones, velvet replaced by leather, a tattoo-style painted skull takes most of the black wall. 

Members of the gang mingle around. Not many of them, just the inner circle, or closest to it. Brutal enforcers, sneaky assassins, remorseless bunch. 

You pass them without glancing at anyone, your gaze searching and settling on the only people you're allowed to give your attention to.

Ari and Curtis are sprawled on the central, U-shaped sofa. Arms braced on the back of it, legs spread wide. Masters of the dark universe. Of your universe, too. 

There's no one beside them, but in front of them, separated by the steel chrome coffee table, is a man. A battered, bleeding man. On his knees. 

Everyone around acts as if there was nothing there to see. As if the man didn't exist at all. You feel that compassionate sadness squeeze your heart. The same instinct that made you act that fatal night and sealed your fate. Now you know not to show it, not to act on it, or it would lead to the man's immediate death. 

Instead, you stand before them. Just a few steps away from the trembling man. 

Ari and Curtis’ eyes instantly move to you. Both slowly drag their gazes up your form.

One thing that you gained from their attention is the huge boost in body confidence. Each pound, each curve, each roll - they desire you all the same.

You made sure to wear a dress that's short enough to leave your thighs exposed. They always like when their marks of ownership are visible. 

Getting them was painful. Also against your will. But you stayed in place, gritting your teeth and clenching your fingers into fists. Ari held you down to prevent any squirming as Curtis personally tattooed your skin. 

One thigh presents a scary black&white skull, shrouded in darkness. With a bleeding red rose crunched between its teeth. Drops of blood are painted as dripping into scratched out letters below, forming his name - Curtis.

On your other thigh is a female's head - your portrait. All dark stencil, no color. Two skeleton hands gripping you. One is wrapped around your throat, letters of Ari's name written on each bony knuckle. Two fingers of the other hand are pushed in your tattooed version's mouth.

Ari bounces one of his legs and you know that it's a sign for you. You slip between the table and the couch and sit down in Ari's lap. 

His arm moves from the backrest to curl around your back. You lean into him, resting your side against his chest. With your fingers you play with the chain around his neck, distracting yourself from the scene unfolding.

They ask the man something. Their voices are steady, but deadly serious. The man sounds pitched, stuttering. Others would laugh at him for such “unmanly” reaction, but you understand that core-deep terror and how the scrutiny of the two bikers turns you into a pathetic mess.

You tune out whatever they're saying. You don't want to hear the begging for mercy, because you know it won't come. 

Ari and Curtis share a look. A silent agreement passing between them. 

Some people make the mistake of assuming that Ari is the leader and Curtis his main enforcer. That couldn't be farther from the truth. 

They both rule. Equally. Each decision is unanimous. 

It just so happens that Ari often takes the talking part and Curtis the executioner’s. 

It’s Curtis who moves now, too. Extremely fast for his massive body. His hand curls around the man's throat, squeezing it hard. Not just in warning. He drags the flailing man away, just by holding him by the neck.  

You don't watch where he's being taken, nor who takes over. You don't want to see. Besides, Ari commands your attention.

He grips your hips and in a swift move has you straddling him. One hand moves up, to cup your chin, while he slides the other hand over his tattoo of ownership and under your dress.

He brings your face closer, with a swipe of his tongue coaxing your lips to part wider. When he kisses you, you melt into him all pliant. Your own tongue gives a little kitten lick, which you know Ari really likes. 

He probes further between your thighs, tattooed fingers touching your bare folds.

“No panties, little lamb?” Ari’s breath tickles your lips. His voice is sweet and tempting like molasses, but also deceptive and suffocating like a tar. 

“Is it because you’re a good girl, or a bad girl?” he chuckles, spreading you at the seam.

A moan rolls out on your tongue as his fingers expertly draw out your wetness. It was your doom from the very beginning, how easily both of them played your body, despite your emotional state being far from turned on. But they taught you to crave it. Got you addicted to their touch, to the teasing, as well to the merciless fucking. 

“Both,” you roll your hips against Ari’s hand. 

“Duality of a woman,” he chuckles, nipping your chin. The hand cupping your face drifts lower, his tattooed fingers curling around the front of your neck. “But you’re going to take the good girl route, lamb,” Ari hisses, clenching his fingers tighter.

With his grip around your throat, he pushes you backwards. Your back rests on his legs, head bowed backwards, almost touching the coffee table. 

His fingers keep circling your clit, then dipping lower to gather your slick and rub it all over your folds. When he pushes a single digit in, your walls resist at first. But Ari’s an unyielding beast, forcing you open and making you keen. 

There are people around, you’re aware of them. No protests, however, would stop either Ari or Curtis from taking what they want. When they want. Wherever they want. Humiliation simmers beneath your skin, but it’s buried deeper than arousal that Ari ignites. 

There’s also a certain comfort, because while he displays your body publicly, it’s for his and Curtis’ eyes only. Nobody would dare watch you.  

Your back arches as Ari thrusts a second finger along with his middle one. You stretch your arms above your head, fingers gripping the edge of the coffee table. His hand slides from your throat across your chest and down your belly, until it settles on your hip to help hold you in place. 

He fucks you with his fingers long enough to have you dripping onto his lap, your core clenching as he rubs your swollen nub with his thumb. 

But then he withdraws with an obscene squelch, which thankfully gets lots in the sexy beat filling the club. 

Ari unzips his jeans, giving his thick cock a few strokes, smearing your slick all over. Both hands gripping your hips, he yanks you closer and spears your cunt in one stroke. 

Your scream of his name makes him grin. Lips curling in a triumphant, sinister smirk, Ari moves your body to meet his thrusts. He loves the way your body just gives in to whatever he wants to do to you. And the remnants of resistance taste so delicious when he breaks through them. 

“That’s it, lamb.” He taunts when your pussy tightens around him. 

With you bowed back, your hips arched, his cock gets to ram into that sweet spot that turns you into a messy slut. Over and over again. 

Your nipples poke through the fabric of your dress, your mouth falls open, spluttering incoherent sounds and mewls. You make a beautiful, ruined view. Though no, not yet ruined enough. But they will work on that. 

Ari’s gaze travels from your bouncing breasts, nearly spilling out of your dress, down to where your puffy folds hug his cock. Glistening, pink tightness that stretches around his intrusion. 

Their perfect pussy.

“Go on. Come all over my cock, like a good girl,” he speeds up his pace slightly, thumbs rubbing back and forth along the junctures of your thighs. 

You fall over the edge with a helpless cry, pleasure rolling through you in heated waves. And it goes on as Ari continues to fuck you through it. He starts pulling you to him harder. Hungrier. Burying his cock to the hilt, your wetness smearing over his jeans. Rough edge of the zipper bites into your skin each time your buttocks press into his pelvis.

A silhouette appears above you. A dark, threatening shape against the strobe lights.

Curtis’ head tilts to the side as he looks down at you. He holds a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, which he brings to his lips. He takes a sip, watching you writhe in pleasure. 

He dips two of his fingers in the amber liquid before bending down to slide them between your parted lips. Spicy flavor trickles down your throat. Your tongue struggles against the pressure of digits, which Curtis keeps pressing against it. 

He feels your saliva pooling around his fingers. Though the music in the club drowns out the sound, he feels your gurgling as you’re kept on that edge between choking and freedom. 

After a beat he pulls back and sits on the sofa beside Ari. A part of you wants to look his way and assess what torment he’s brewing for you, but you fear to know. Also the pleasure Ari keeps stoking is too distracting to focus on anything else. 

Until calloused fingers circle your swollen clit with purpose. 

You’re not so out of it yet to not know it’s Curtis' hand. Ari’s are clamped on your hips, moving you like a ragdoll. 

He draws tight circles. Slow ones, then a few faster, then slow again. You whine, jerking in Ari’s iron grip. His low laugh indicates he won’t be coming to your aid; not when your sensitive nub being played with provides him so much pleasure, because your cunt tightens anew. 

Curtis’ touch disappears for a second. Only to come back with heavy torment.

His palm lands a smack on your clit, causing you to cry out. 

Your thighs tremble, muscles tensing as instinct urges you to close them and protect yourself from the torment. But you’re spread open, Ari’s body nestled between your thighs and holding them open. 

Curtis slaps your clit again and your body bows. One of your arms reaches down, trying to shield yourself. Strong fingers cage your wrist. 

“Don’t even try it, lamb.” Curtis leans forward and growls; he clenches his fingers on your wrist. “Keep your hands away from our pussy.” 

With a whine, you stretch your arm above your head. Your wrist pulses with pain. 

Curtis’ palm pats your mound. His fingers dive back to your clit, drawing wicked eights that contrast with the steady, rough pounding Ari continues. 

“You may squirm and cry, lamb,” Curtis teases, “but you’re going to cum from having your clit spanked. And you’re going to cream all over Ari’s cock, like a good little slut.”

Five more swats deliver his prediction. 

Your whole body seems to lock in a spasm, your very fingertips turn numb. Ari groans a curse as your pussy tightens like a vise, your silky walls clinging to him desperately. Despite the tightness, there’s so much wetness leaking around his cock and onto his lap. 

Your temples are wet, too; tears streaming along with your smudged mascara. 

As your orgasm continues to roll, your cunt finally eases some of the tension. But the aftershocks have your walls rhythmically pulsing, which turns out to be enough to stimulate Ari’s cock. 

It twitches inside of you and your pussy clenches in response. Ari moans, digging his fingers into your skin and jerking his hips. Hot, thick ropes of cum fill you. 

They keep you tipped back until the last drop of his spend pours into you. When they finally pull you up and Ari’s cock slips out, you know to clench as hard as you can, to spill as little of his cum as possible. 

Ari swallows your ragged breath, taking your mouth in gentler possession than he’s taken your body. Your clasped hands rest against his chest and you lean in sweetly, with a little needy mewl. He gives you that softer kiss you’re pleading for. 

They arrange you, spreading you on both of their laps. Your lower half rests on Ari’s thighs, his big hands slowly rubbing warmth into your calves and up your thighs. Your upper body rests in Curtis’ lap, head tipped on his thigh. 

You look up at him; his cold, blue eyes holding your gaze.

Once again he dips his fingers into whiskey and brings them to your lips. You suckle obediently. 

On the third pass, Curtis presses his fingers deeper and holds them. On the fourth, he not only pushes them against your tongue, but hooks down so that your jaw opens wider. 

He spits into your mouth. 

When he withdraws his fingers, you swallow without prompting. Some responses they have conditioned into you. 

Ari’s hand slides between your thighs and up. His fingers dip into the sticky mess pooling between your folds, despite your attempts at holding it in. You can’t stifle the moan that spills as he pushes two fingers into your aching hole. But that sound cuts short when Curtis’ whiskey-soaked fingers fill your mouth again. 

Three this time. Forced to the back of your throat, making you gag. 

Curtis holds them in, until your eyes tear up. Then starts fucking your mouth slowly, but always deep, always making you choke. 

Ari curls his fingers, but doesn’t move. Just wiggles them slightly, driving you mad with the teasing so close to your g-spot. 

Your saliva coats Curtis’ fingers, strings of spit smearing on your chin each time he withdraws before forcing his hand back in. He pries your mouth open, tugging your tongue out. Rubbing the pads of his fingers against your tongue, he spits into your mouth again. 

You keep your mouth open, tongue sticking out, when Curtis moves his hand away. He didn’t tell you to close your lips and the jangle of the belt buckle suggests he’d be ordering to open it again, anyway. Tip of his cock brushes your cheek when Curtis takes it out. He grips the base in one hand; his other slips to the back of your head. 

You turn your head as he guides you, tongue flicking against the veiny underside of cock that fills your mouth. 

It’s more difficult to take a lot of him in this position, on your side, with your cheek pressed against the harsh fabric of his black jeans. Curtis forces it anyway, careless of the choking sounds you make. 

Using his hold on your hair, he starts moving your head. Steady, but always uncomfortably far; causing your body to tense as gag reflex kicks in too hard.

“Want her to come, while she’s sucking you?” Ari asks, wiggling his fingers in your tight channel. They both laugh when you moan at the stimulation. 

“Not yet.” Curtis shakes his head. His gaze drifts down to you as he holds your head in place. “She’s going to warm my cock while I make some calls. And wait for her reward like a good girl. Right lamb?” He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.

Everything is pulsing - from the changing beat reverberating through the walls of the club; the buzz of the gang members going across the VIP floor this and that way; the throbbing of Curtis cock in your mouth; to your clit demanding attention. 

Like he said, Curtis holds two phone calls. Each long and detailed, though you’re sure it’s not because he needed all that information. He wanted you to suffer. Ari’s fingers keep moving. Constantly. But too light, too slow, not deep enough. Yet he has you dripping all over his hand; which he keeps angled in a way that deprives your clit of any stimulation. 

Your whole body rouses to attention, almost giddy, when Curtis finally ends the call and tosses his phone to the side. 

He looks down at you and grins; as beautiful as sinister looking. 

He traces his fingers along your cheek, with deceiving tenderness. It’s gone in a blink of an eye. He fists your hair and pulls you down on him, at the same time thrusting his hips up. 

Along with him, Ari starts fucking you with his fingers. 

You’re gagging each time Curtis makes your nose press against the fabric of his jeans. Sloppy, gurgling noises of your mouth moving along dick match the lewd sound of squelching as Ari’s fingers push in and out of your pussy. 

Though there’s relentless build-up, your orgasm hits unexpectedly, as if forced by one particular thrust. Your body tensens like a string, toes curling. You twist to the side as much as they’ll allow you, digging your fingers into Curtis’ ribs. Your moans vibrate around his cock, making his hips jerk into you sharply. 

He slides even deeper and your lungs constrict from lack of air. Tears stream down your cheeks. Your throat closes around intrusion, causing Curtis to grunt in peak pleasure. 

When salty warmth spills suddenly down your throat, your vision goes black for a few seconds. 

Your breath returns in a sharp intake, a small coughing fit following when Curtis mercifully rolls your head away. His cock is still throbbing, spurting ropes of cum into your mouth and across your face. 

He slides the tip into your mouth again and you close your lips around it, hollow your cheeks and suck the last drops. 

Ari’s hand retreats from between your thighs. He licks his fingers clean, savoring the flavor of your combined spend. When he reaches for his own glass of whiskey it’s not to chase away the taste. 

Curtis downs the rest of his drink, too, before tucking himself back into his pants. He unties the skull-printed bandana from around his neck and uses it to clean your face. 

They help you up into a sitting position, keeping you between them. Ari brings his glass to your lips, giving you a sip. You grimace. You were never a fan of whiskey, but what’s worse is that spicy booze doesn’t help the burning in your mouth and throat. But then Ari’s scooping a half-melted ice cube from the tumbler and slips it between your lips. You hum appreciatively as the cold water soothes your used throat. 

You stay curled between them for a few more minutes. They’re not touchy, definitely not cuddlers; but they remain close to you. Their warmth keeps you anchored. When they put you on your feet some time later, you stumble slightly. It wasn’t the hardest fucking they ever subjected you to, but you’re tired nonetheless. 

You slide your arms into the sleeves of Curtis’ black leather jacket when he offers it to you. It’s soaked in his scent and so warm. 

You bury your nose in the collar of the jacket as you sit in the backseat of the car when Max takes you back to the penthouse. The city may be shiny with lights and neons, but the darkness holding it in its grasp is undeniable. And the grim reapers behind that darkness are gliding the streets with a roar. 

On their motorcycles, Ari and Curtis flank the car you’re in. Escorting you back to your forever prison. 

[theguyinthemathexamples]

Guns and... Aeons?

May Aventurine grant his luck upon everyone's Boothill pulls!!!

— C/W : spoilers?, set at the end of the 2.2 quest, boothill is boothill ft. argenti, i forgot what his lore is so take anything i say with a grain of salt, LOTS of yapping, guns and roses sneak, very self-indulgent :3

Boothill never really had much faith in Aeons, much less worshipped any. He already lost it all when he gained the information, that darned rain of fire that destroyed everything, was deployed by a zealot.

Don't get him wrong, he still knew they existed. But he internally wished that maybe, if any Aeon took pity on him on that day, maybe he could have changed the outcome of it all.

Well, that was all in the past now. He'd be a rusted out piece of metal by now if he let himself wallow in bygone events.

A low sigh didn't fail to make itself known, inadvertently catching the attention of the knight just at the other end of the room. Boothill even forgot he was there due to how quiet he was.

"A rose for your thoughts, friend?" The knight inquired, sitting at the other end of the couch. He nearly jumped at the sudden question but was just as quick to regain his composure.

"Nothin' much, just thinkin' and all," he replied, only tilting his head to look at this eccentric friend of his.

Ironic that Argenti was a man quite devoted to an Aeon, especially to a long deceased one, when Boothill was borderline detesting a good amount of them.

"This dadgum pull I've been feelin'... D'you know somethin' about it, knight?"

It was something he'd been feeling for a while now but it's been getting stronger as of late. And the voices... He'll leave those out till Argenti mentions something about it.

To put it frankly, he was worried. Quite more so if nothing else.

"Does it make you feel like wanting to visit the Astral Express, friend?" Argenti inquired shortly after,

Boothill simply nodded, curious as to how this Knight of Beauty knew of such. Sensing his curiosity, said knight certainly wouldn't mind going into the further details.

In fact, he was more than enthusiastic to do so.

"As Idrila's reason to have ascended into Aeonhood, it is only natural that I give high praises to the Aeon of Creation for such magnificence— that THEIR creations have inspired my Goddess to reach THEIR most pinnacle potential."

If this was how he talked about his Aeon and this... well, other Aeon, the two would be here till his batteries run out. And he was just about done recharging to full a few hours ago.

It wasn't till a good amount of minutes into the topic that Boothill kinda got a little impatient. No offense to Argenti, of course.

"And it wasn't till recently that their wondrous consciousness graced the unive—"

"Alright, alright, I get it, knight. Don't mean to offend ya, but can ya get straight to why I felt the pull earlier?" Boothill interjected, looking straight at his companion,

He swore that the way this man shone brightened up even more.

"My apologies if I overwhelmed you, dear friend," Argenti said, giving the cowboy an apologetic bow while he was sitting.

"Simply put, this pull you feel is but the manifestations of the Aeon of Creation! Perhaps your brilliant self captured THEIR attention when you were conversing with the Trailblazer," he continued, yapping up another storm as Boothill thought to himself.

"Seriously? This ol' hunk of metal? Catchin' an Aeon's attention? Colour me fudgin' surprised."

"Ah, this is certainly a moment worth celebrating, don't you think so, friend?" Argenti's voice spoke out, bringing his attention back to the knight.

Yet, before this interstellar cyborg cowboy could even agree or otherwise, a black envelope materialized in front of him, the edges lined with red and gold designs.

One surprise after another, huh?

The knight was quick to encourage him to open it up, taking out a letter opener from who knows where. Well now he's starting to get excited.

A golden Star Rail Pass was the first to get taken out of it, its colour shining in the midst of the room's lights. Next was a neatly folded paper that was probably penned by the Astral Express' Conductor. (Somehow; I mean, look at their itty bitty hands) It reads as follows:

—————————✧—————————

Hello, future Astral Express member, Boothill! This letter has been written by Pom-pom to formally invite you to join the Trailblaze.

By all means, this doesn't mean that you should abandon your faith for any Aeon(s) you may believe in, so long as it doesn't prohibit the other members of the Astral Express from going about their days.

As you may have guessed, yes, the golden ticket provided inside is a very formal way for Pom-pom to ask you to join us, as well as a sign that the Aeon of Creation has taken a liking to you!

To compensate for any forms of distress or trouble their consciousness has caused you, the Astral Express will be willing to offer a living space, electricity, wifi, food, water(gasoline?), as well as any other necessities and wants you may have.

Though if you truly want to seek trouble with the IPC, as the Aeon commented, please leave the Astral Express out of association for any crime you may commit in the future.

If you're ready to take on this journey with the Nameless, as well as many others, please use the ticket once the thought of doing so so much as suggests the notion.

• P.S. : Unfortunately, you don't have much time to mull it over, much less get another letter in this envelope to choose who to cover for you instead.

• The Aeon of Creation awaits your presence. •

—————————✧—————————

As Argenti finished reading the letter aloud, the expectant lilt on his face that he looks at Boothill with catches his attention the most.

"I nearly forgot to mention, dear friend, as a faithful believer of this Aeon, one can assure you that THEY don't mean any harm," he spoke, a smile gracing his lips as he continued. "The blessings THEY give to ones that they favour are quite abundant, and your captivating self truly made its impact on THEM."

"Even THEY couldn't help but praise you endlessly for your courage and demeanor!" Argenti proclaimed, almost making the cowboy in front of him want to tune him out again. ... That last part was a lie.

With a reluctant sigh, finally agreeing with the knight, the golden Star Rail Pass and the envelope in hand, Boothill stood up from his seat and went over to exit his friend's ship— to which Argenti quickly stopped him, hand outstretched for him.

"Need me to lead you there, friend?" He asks, head tilting to his left as his eyes brightened up with that usual glow.

"... Yeah, sure. Ya won't stop botherin' this ol' piece of metal to give ya updates if I said otherwise," Boothill laughed at the end of his reply, taking the knight's hand and letting him lead the way.

Maybe making a decision with a third party beside him won't be so bad.

Note : ong this took WAY TOO LONGGGGG TO MAKEEEEEEE 😭😭

My most sincere apologies to anyone whose patience ran out while waiting for this fic to come out 💔

BUT IT'S OUT NOW SO REJOICE EVERYONE ‼️‼️

Anyways, have a lovely day to all of you !! (disappears for another month)

And yes dw my interp of sahsr/sahsrau will come out maybe around late june once my recognition finally comes to pass

[charlesslut16]

-losing means letting go-

summary : you and oscar realise, that it is over for you...

PAIRINGS : oscar piastri x reader(y/n)

WARNINGS : break up?

note : it took me so so long to finally write something,as i have run out of ideas...

masterlist

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Oscar Piastri sat in his apartment in Monaco, staring at the lights reflecting off the Mediterranean Sea. It was a breathtaking view, one that had once filled him with inspiration and excitement.

Now, it seemed to mock him with its relentless beauty, highlighting the growing darkness within his relationship with YN, his girlfriend, whom always was there for him and always would be

They had been together for four years, a Fary tail romance that had seemed perfect from the outside. But behind closed doors, the cracks were growing wider with each passing day. Oscar was a rising star in the world of Formula 1, and YN was his steadfast supporter, at least at the beginning. The endless travel, the high stakes, and the intense pressure of his career had begun to wear on both of them.

Their once passionate love was now marred by frequent arguments and silent treatments. They still loved each other dearly, but maybe that wasn't enough anymore.

Tonight, Oscar had left the apartment after another heated exchange, and you were left alone with your thoughts. You replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, as it often did.

Oscar had returned from another race weekend, exhausted and frustrated after finishing outside the points. He had wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch, but you had been waiting for him with a list of grievances.

You were tired of feeling like a secondary character in his life, of being ignored and taken for granted. The argument had escalated quickly, voices raised, accusations hurled, until Oscar had stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

You sighed, hugging yourself to make you feel better. Oscar knew you had a point. He had been so consumed by his career that he had neglected your relationship.

But what could he do? Racing was his life, his dream, and it demanded everything from him.

Still, the thought of losing you was unbearable. He loved you more than he could express, but love alone didn't seem to be enough anymore.

Hours passed, and you remained in the same spot, lost in thought. Finally, you heard the door creak open, and Oscar stepped inside. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked as tired as you felt.

Oscar walked over to the couch and sat down, keeping a distance between you both. For a moment, you sat in silence, the weight of your unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

"Oscar," you began, voice trembling slightly, "we can't keep doing this." He looked at you, his heart aching at the sight of her pain. "I know," he admitted. "But I don't know how to fix it."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "I've been thinking about this for a long time. Maybe we're just not meant to be together right now. Maybe we need to let each other go."

Oscar's chest tightened. "No, YN. We can work through this. I promise I'll do better." You shook your head, a tear slipping down your flushed cheek.

"We've tried, Oscar. We've tried so hard, but it's not working. We're hurting each other more than we're loving each other. I think we need to break up."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Break up? He couldn't imagine his life without you. But looking into your eyes, he saw the truth. You were both miserable, and clinging to each other was only making it worse.

He didn't want to admit tit, but he knew for a while that the two of you were doing more bad than good. He never wanted you two to end, but the moment his priorities shifted, it was over between them.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, tears falling freely now. "I am. I think it's the only chance we have for happiness, even if it destroys us right now."

Oscar reached out and took your hand, holding it tightly. "I don't want to lose you." "You won't, not ever," you replied softly. "We'll always have the memories, the good times. But we need to find ourselves again, separately."

He nodded, tears streaming down his own face. "I love you, YN. I always will." "I love you too, Oscar," you said, your voice breaking. "And that's why we need to do this. For both of us."

They sat together for a while, mourning the end of their relationship. Eventually, You stood up, and Oscar knew it was time to let you go. Forever.

He walked you to the door, feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. "Goodbye, Oscar," you said, giving him one last, lingering look.

"Goodbye, YN," he replied, his voice choked with emotion. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She walked out the door, and Oscar closed it behind her, leaning against it as he sobbed. The apartment felt emptier than ever, but he knew deep down that they had made the right decision.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but sometimes, love meant knowing when to let go. The months that followed were a big blur for Oscar. He threw himself into his racing career with a newfound intensity, using the pain of the breakup as his fuel.

He climbed the ranks, securing podium finishes and earning the respect of his peers. But no matter how successful he became, there was always a part of him that missed YN, that longed for the days when they were happy and in love.

YN, too, found her own path. She pursued her own dreams, rediscovering passions she had set aside during their relationship. She traveled, met new people, and slowly began to heal. There were days when the loneliness was overwhelming, but she reminded herself that they had made the right choice.

And though they were no longer together, their love had left an indelible mark on their hearts, a testament to the strength and beauty of their time together.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Imagine your first wash day at Joe's...

word count: 1.1k

a/n: JB9 taglist is now open, if you’d like to be on it comment 'tag me🏈’ and you’ll be added. If you want to be taken off at any point dm me -babe :)

main masterlist

When you first started dating, Joe had only ever seen your hair in a protective style or wrapped in a scarf, granted you met in the summer so those were your safest options.

As time went on and you grew closer, you began to wear your hair out more which required much more work, so you left a mini hair care bag at his place. It only had a few essential items like a leave in, edge control, mini spray bottle, some hair oil and a pack of silk scrunchies. Since you spent the majority of the time at his place he believed that was all you needed to maintain your 4b/4c hair.

You moved in with him a month ago, and today is your long awaited and very much needed wash day. The weather in Cincinnati finally cooled down enough for you to let go of the braids, so you planned to do mini twists. You wanted to start as soon as possible, so when Joe left at 8 in the morning you gathered your bucket of haircare products and locked yourself in the bathroom.

♡ ♥︎ ♡

It was about noon when Coach Taylor let his players out, they had a game that Sunday so he didn't want to run them too ragged. Joe, Tee and Ja'Marr decided to grab a bite to eat before heading to Joe's to cool off.

The moment the 3 men enter your living room is the exact moment you remember that you may have neglected to tell your boyfriend of today's significance.

"Hey babe, we stopped by that place you liked so I brought you- woah." Joe looks wide eyed at the organized mess of different combs/brushes, gels and bottles of hair products with you in the center of it.

You nervously smile at the trio. "Hi." You quickly finish the twist you're on and pause the movie you're 'watching'.

"Are we interrupting something- ohhh yea mhm got it. Let's go, Tee." Ja'Marr says assessing the situation.

"Yo wait, can you do mine next? You know, when you get a chance." Tee asks.

"Man, she aint doing yo crusty ass fade. I'm definitely next."

"There ain't nothing wrong with my cut." The two wide receivers argue on the way out.

You chuckle before turning back to your boyfriend, "I may have forgot to tell you today's wash day." You say sheepishly.

"You think?" He shakes his head and takes a seat on the cleanest spot next to you. "This is a lot, when did you get all of this?"

"I've had it the whole time, most of it stays in the closet a majority of the time." You shrug moving around some of the products so he can stretch out. He gladly scoots in closer and analyses your work in progress.

You had just finished the back before they walked in, your hair is pretty thick and a decent length so washing it took about 2 hours. Then you decided to make your life easier by making the process harder and blowing out the entire thing, that took another hour.

"The line in the back is crooked, but its look pretty nice overall."

You immediately smacked his chest. "Joey, what the hell."

"What'd I do? Do you not want me to be honest?" You glared at him.

"You've been hanging out with Ja'Marr for too long."

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your head, "baby you are the most talented, amazing and most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet. And you are doing an absolutely fantastic job on your hair."

"Much better, now let me wash my hands before I see if you actually got my order right." You teased.

"I know you better than I know myself Y/n, you need to stop doubting my 'boyfriend skills'."

While you're gone he couldn't help but look at every single product in his vicinity. Trying not to knock over any of the open bottles of oil, he spots a bright blue gel-cream and reaches for it.

"Doo Gro, well I am growing out my hair." His curiosity getting the best of him, he scoops some out of the jar and sniffs it for safety reasons. Unable to place the scent, he rubs it in his hands then rakes his hands through his hair.

"Joe, what are you doing?" He jumps at your voice, effectively knocking over your bag of combs.

"Shit, baby. What does it look like?" He says now cleaning the mess of combs, in shapes and sizes he'd never seen a day in his life.

"It looks like you wanna be a giant grease ball." You snort picking a handheld mirror off the floor and putting it in his face.

"Jesus, I didn't put that much in." The dollop he picked up had somehow multiplied and made it look like he'd meant to slick back his hair.

"Aww my poor greasy baby, I hope you rubbed it into your scalp as well." You said picking up your plate and shoving the food in your mouth.

"I think I got that covered, does this stuff wash out- Y/n baby calm down it's not going anywhere." He stares wide eyed at the plate that's been half eaten in mere seconds.

"I know, I just haven't eaten since like yesterday. It probably does, just not all of it. At least you'll get thicker hair out of this," You can't help the giggles coming out as you continue to look at your boyfriend's head.

"It's not that funny." He bites his bottom lip as his own start to take over.

"You look like the kids that cover themselves in vaseline and peanut butter." The room's completely filled with your laughter to the point that everything has been forgotten.

"If doing your hair has always been this fun, let me help all the time." He smiles as the laughter subsides.

You shake your head, "I'll let you wash it next time and we'll see if you still wanna be included. Even with your giant football arms, you'll be tapping out before we get to deep conditioning."

He smirks, "all I hear is that you like my arms."

You scoffed and gave him a good once-over, "oh I like more than your arms." Biting your lip, you sit yourself in his lap.

"Oh yea, tell me more." His eyes blazed with desire as your hands run up his arms and down his chest.

"I love how big you are, but you already knew that." You smirk.

"Fuck." He growls pulling your lips flush against his.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

a/n: inspired by my HS self making the fact that I learned to do my hair during quarantine and mastered mini twists enough for it to become my entire personality. she was very humbled when they became a trend lol, I still love them tho and my nephew who covered himself in vaseline not once but 3 times. :)

[leakyweep]

Boa Hancock x Reader - Taking Care

Anon; could you please write sub!boa? I've been looking for good ones but cannot find one at all :(( thank you </3.

A/N; anon - YOUR BRAIN it's so big *kisses you* i hope you like! i'm sorry this took so long </3

Warnings; afab reader, fingering, squirting, tribbing, submissive boa, dominant-ish reader, nicknames (my love, baby, my darling)

Words; 0.8k

Minors DNI

The squelching noises of the Empress’s pussy filled the room like a melody, making your core light up in anticipation. Her moans and begs were only spurring you on, encouraging your fingers to propel quicker and curl into Boa’s sweetest spot as she arched her back. You had her pinned between your immovable, strong body and the plush mattress, her legs smothered with your own as you fingered her needy cunt. She was squirming and writhing beneath you, clutching at her sheets for some kind of purchase.

“Didn’t you ask for this, my love? The least you can do is stay still for me.” Your voice was like honey to her ears, her torso quitting its thrashing and taking your fingers deep into her core obediently. She wasn’t used to being at someone’s mercy– but being that it was you, wonderful, beautiful you, she couldn’t help but wonder what your dominant side was like. She had never expected this.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she gasped, running her slender fingers through your hair, “I- I just wasn’t expecting to get such treatment- oh-” Her voice was high pitched and her cunt pulsed around your digits as she came, your fingertips pressing deliciously against her cervix.

You smiled and worked her through her orgasm, admiring the way her eyebrows furrowed, the bow of her back, the pink flush of her porcelain skin. She was as beautiful as she was passionate; and this only drew you closer to her. You enjoyed being taken care of by her, being taken by her fingers or her strap; the dominant woman was more than willing to meet your needs and then some. However, you wanted to return all of these feelings ten fold if only to show her the care she granted you.

With a wet squelch, you pulled your digits from your lover’s cunt and smiled up at her. She returned a hazy, half-lidded look in response, her apple cheeks as red as her satin sheets as she muttered, “M-My dearest, let me–” 

“Shhh…” You filled her mouth with your shiny fingers, an artful smile on your lips. “Let your dearest show you how you make them feel. I want you to get the full experience.”

Boa’s eyes turned bashful, though the way her tongue twisted through your wet-laced fingers gave her away. You knew that she wanted you- to rub her pussy against yours to feel so delicious in her core. It was one of her favorite love-making activities. 

You lifted one of her legs, kneeling above her with a sly smile. Her features were pulled together in a pleasured furrow, her pink bottom lip pressed between her teeth. She was clutching the bed sheets in stark anticipation, gazing up at you as if you were her own deity. Your hand wrapped around her ankle as you positioned your dripping cunt above your love’s, sighing out in relief once you felt her wet press against yours. Your hips seemed to move on their own accord as you began to work her pussy, your glistening folds stroking hers so perfectly. You two always seemed to fit together like a puzzle piece.

Boa’s dark curtain of hair brushed past her tits, mouth agape in an o-shape of pleasure. Grabbing her chin, you forced her lowering gaze to your own bold one, placing a thumb on her tongue and riding her harder.

“So wet for me, baby,” you reveled, using your free hand to pinch her nipple between your thumb pointer finger. They puckered under your touch, skin tightening as she let out a pitiful moan.

“Only for you, darling-” she gasped, feeling your clit bump her own in beautiful harmony, “You’re the only one who can take such good care of my pussy.” She said the words quietly, as if she were too afraid to say them aloud. Also, your thumb was pressing down further towards her throat, causing her words to come out dumbly. 

She was truly at a loss for words until she felt her thighs tightening and her toes curling, her cunt spasming wildly as she cried out your name, uncaring if the whole island of Amazon Lily were to hear. “Yes- there! Fuck me there!” She leaned up to grip your hips, grinding them into her cunt harder, until there was not a smidgen of space or atoms between the two of your cunts. “M’ gonna cum, my darling! M’ g-gonna-”

“Go ahead, my lovely. Just let it out. I’ll be here to fuck you into the mattress all night.”

In an instant, Boa’s cum was squirting onto you, leaving you messy and wet as you finished her off, riding her into the plushy sheets beneath to pull every ounce of pleasure from her body to her core. You smiled proudly at the sticky strands of desire that connected the two of you and thanked the stars for such a wonderful partner, in and out of the bedroom.

While she could be stubborn and self-centered, you two brought out the best in each other, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[dootznbootz]

At this point i am so sorry Ovid for all the hate you are better than the author that wrote Tele-GONE-ny :')

Like makes no sense for Odysseus story like it's not even canon. I believe he wrote it because of the success of Homer and wanted to make a known book based on something

Hmm this behaviour is oddly familiar with something recently we experience 👀

Honestly, it's not Ovid's fault in a way, just most peoples' taking his work as GREEK mythology instead of Roman. I don't think it's bad to enjoy the Roman Mythology version as long as people KNOW it's Roman and as long as they leave sweet boy Perseus alone.

Tele-GONE-y? That is just a titan of its own and it's so frustrating.

Because if you look it up? That's technically part of the Epic Cycle!

One of these is not like the others~

And it really sucks because we can't just say "It's Roman, therefore technically not Greek Mythology" like we can with Ovid! Why, out of all the myths for Odysseus and Penelope, would you choose this one? Why would you finish such a lovely story with such a trainwreck?

It literally goes against Tiresias' Prophecy! The myth of Odysseus being turned into a horse would've been a better one to go with if people didn't think "dying peacefully, surrounded by loved ones, after old age" isn't "exciting enough". At least then it's kind of cute to possibly imagine Horse!Odysseus being pampered by his family or something.

It is so dumb and just WRONG to say that the Odysseus and Penelope that are in the Tele-GONE-y are the same ones we know and love in Homer's masterpieces.

Even to lump the Tele-GONE-y with the rest is laughable. Even without considering the extreme out of character-ness of it, its plot is just messy and almost overly simple. As even with just FRAGMENTS of the others, we can take so much of what is implied and see the beautiful web that's being woven!!!

One of my favorite arcs, for example, is with Palamedes and his effects along the way. He places Odysseus' BABY in front of the plow and ofc, Odysseus saves his son. His sanity is proven and he has to go to war now, after having a prophecy of being the only survivor and not seeing his family again for 20 years.

Odysseus' rage is just boiling under the surface and he frames Palamedes for treason, causing him to be killed. THEN Palamedes' father, King Nauplius, hearing of his son's death plans to get revenge against all the kings. He goes to their wives telling them that their husbands plan to replace them.

Almost all of them either killed themselves or took new lovers EXCEPT for Penelope. While we don't know the exact details, I believe it was likely that:

1.) "You're telling me, my husband, my Odysseus, is planning to replace me? That man is the biggest simp to ever simp, I've never heard such utter bullshit in my life. Get out of my house." 2.) When she realizes that he is Palamedes' FATHER? She's absolutely not believing one word that leaves his mouth. This is the father of the man who nearly got her baby killed and caused her husband to be taken away from her. She does not trust him.

(Silly side thing but Penelope's also probably making sure that Telemachus doesn't meet him lol "Remember that mean man who put you in front of the plow that I told you about? That's his dad. Don't talk to him. We don't know if 'Malice towards Telemachus' was inherited." 😂 )

It's so amazing and ironic that Nauplius got revenge against them all except for the man responsible!!! ALL BECAUSE PENELOPE IS THAT COOL AND SMART!

Granted, yes, he lied to Anticlea causing her heartbreak but still!

It's just such masterful and lovely storytelling!!! The rest of the Epic Cycle interweaves and connects lil stories into the big ones in such satisfying ways!!!

There is nothing like that in the Tele-GONE-y. No little seeds placed along the way to build upon. No "hey, this decision is actually monumental". Shit just happens.

It really does just feel like a young author being like "So, this is my new OC. His name is Telegonus and his dad is Odysseus! No, his mom isn't Penelope! And like, he has a special stingray spear and he kills his dad with it!"

I'm all for supporting and encouraging authors no matter how silly or cringy they get (I'm silly and cringy too!) but imagine from Homer's and the other authors of the Epic Cycle's perspective, that you write a book that you worked so hard on, only for people to take some FANFICTION as canon and therefore affecting how people see your work!

I got really rambly but I'm just genuinely mindboggled that people take the Tele-GONE-y as canon. It's not good. In general.

Another small thing but Homer usually tells us little details even when the characters don't know it. For example, with Helen not knowing her brothers are dead. (in Homer's works)

But I can’t see two of the men’s leaders,                                     Castor, tamer of horses, and Pollux, the fine boxer—they are both my brothers, whom my mother bore along with me. Either they did not come with the contingent from lovely Lacedaemon, or they sailed here in their seaworthy ships, but have no wish                                     to join men’s battles, fearing the disgrace, the many slurs, which are justly mine.” Helen spoke. But the life-nourishing earth already held her brothers in Lacedaemon,                             in their own dear native land.

(Book 3, Johnston)

Homer would have most likely said something in Book 12 of the Odyssey along the lines of "And so he left Aeaea for the final time, not knowing that he will have another son that grew up without his father." or something. HE DOESN'T SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT. BECAUSE IT'S NOT CANON. It also never says that they slept together in Book 12. All she did was pull him away so that they could talk and she could warn him.

[zynart]

the picture of aubrey dorian grayham

i havent seen anyone else say it yet, but i've often felt like drake had the vibe of a real-life dorian gray, even for years before this and even aside from all the allegations. and if today felt like a slashed painting, let's cover what i mean

it's about an almost 40 year old whose entire online presence for years has been culture curation and memes and celebrity shit and partying and womanizing and more partying on instagram and plastic surgery and trendsetting trend following and making music to make tiktok money and memeing with celebrities for instagram

a slightly dorky looking guy who seemed like a somewhat self-aware and kinda soulful enough dude in his early 20s, who got famous making music about love and emotions or heartbreak or whatever that even got him the "sensitive rapper" moniker (whether the image was real or fake all along, what i mean in how he came across in public) who has now spent a decade as this giant star where i cant remember the last time i've seen him do anything that looked like it showed an actual emotion beyond insecurity and pettiness and self-aggrandizement in all that time, especially about love

guy made songs like marvin's room but when's the last time he seems to have had any actual emotions about any women besides just chasing an endless list of women as status symbols and feeling wronged or slighted or threatened by women over petty shit. guy got famous off a song like best i ever had, made "sweatpants, hair tied, chilling with no make-up / that's when you're the prettiest" into a catchphrase people referenced for years. i dont know what his true self was but just like in the story, we're not arguing about whether dorian was rotten from the start, just talking about how it seems

haven't seen him show genuine emotion in years aside from trolling. flaunting wealth, trying to take taken women getting off on the concept of dominance play over other men. it's like someone who cared so much about looking hard and chasing pleasures that, because they thought real love and heartbreak looked weak, decided it was better to lose the capability at all

"enthralled by the hedonistic worldview that sensual fulfillment is the only thing worth pursuing in life... dorian expresses the desire to sell his soul. the wish is granted, and dorian pursues a libertine life of varied amoral experiences while staying young..."

someone whose entire life is vacationing with drinks beautiful settings or clubs or mansions or posing with celebrity women or trolling for memes, shown no actual emotions except pettiness and resentment in years. plastic surgery to look fitter and younger. life that's not lived as much as meticulously crafted and curated for instagram

circling back and seeing its a reverse dorian gray situation. one might think that instagram is the real-life painting, but the drake that we see and know is the drake on instagram, the carefully curated hedonistic party animal billionaire with a parade of celebrity friends and women, ab etchings and pout and photo filters and vacation settings for a look curated to be unchanging, constant, the biggest star on the planet. the drake we dont see, the drake in the attic, is the real drake. the person behind the curation

tbh maybe it's not that deep, it's just. a certain dorian gray feeling is something i've always gotten. this drake is something that in theory can't last, you would've expected any given billionaire playboy to have wound down and found love and settled by this age, there's only so long you can stave off time until you're actually old without a family around you, unless you're dorian gray and you can just keep going. but at some point someone's still stabbing that painting

[bluehourbucky]

Ice breaker

pairing: Steven Grant x reader

summary: the first date awkwardness

a/n: I'm still new to writing for Steven so bare with me <3 sorry about the tt reference but I just thought it be funny fhdjdhd

main / moonkinght

_______________________________________

Steven was getting nervous his first date with you is tonight.

He has changed his outfit four times already and if he changes his tie once again he'll be late which won't leave a good impression.

You and Steven met at a library you both often visited, and one time, it just happened that you both wanted to borrow the same book. Unfortunately, there was only one available. Steven and you both wanted to let the other person take it, and in the meantime, someone else had taken it, you had laughed about it and did rock paper scissors to decide who gets it the next time it is available. Steven won, so he promised to let you know when he finishes it so you could borrow it. That's how you exchanged numbers.

You have texted only regarding the books you were reading at the moment and only saw each other at the library. However, last time you had managed to gather courage to ask Steven on a date. Fortunately for you and him he had accepted and you were really excited. Steven is unlike any other man you've met.

He's so sweet and considerate but can be sassy when he wants to, it desn't help that Steven is extremely handsome.

Steven was kind enough to choose the place even though you were the one to ask him on a date. He had told you that he is vegan and you really didn't want to choose a restaurant that had nothing for him so you asked him to do it.

Steven actually blushed when you asked him that, he really appreciated your consideration to his needs.

Steven takes one last look at the mirror and finally manages to get out of his apartment a bit later than he originally wanted to, but he can still get to the flower shop nearby and get you flowers.

"Good evening, I know it's late and you're closing in five but could I please get some flowers." Steven asks as the bells on the door still echo through the flower shop. The lady sighs but nodds.

"Thank you so much I appreciate it. I was wondering if you have dark pink carnations?"

The lady shows him what she has considering it is the end of the day.

"Ah, these are quite light. Do you maybe have some darker ones?"

The woman goes to the back and comes out with the exact ones Steven was looking for.

"Thank you so much." Steven pays and quickly heads into the direction of the restaurant.

He sees you've already arrived and are waiting for him, so he approaches you awkwardly. He hasn't been on a first date in so long.

"Hello, love, sorry I'm late." you turn around and flash him a smile and Steven thinks its the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"You're not late I just arrived a bit early because I thought I was late."

"Here these are for you."

Your mouth forms and O before you cover them with your hands.

"I- Thank you Steven so much! It's been so long since I've gotten flowers! They are so beautiful!"

you look at the flowers in awe.

"No problem, darling. Uh shall we go in?"

"Oh yes, please." you're still blushing and when Steven gently rests his arm on your back to lead you in, you can't help the butterflies in your stomach.

The restaurant isn't particularly crowded it's just that all the good spots have been taken

"Bullocks, I should've reserved a good table I'm sorry."

"It's alright I don't mind where we sit." and you really don't you're just excited to be with Steven.

It doesn't take long for you to decide what to drink, with food It's a bit different all of the options look very tasty.

After some consideration and Steven's help you finally decide what to order, but as soon as the waiter leaves its silent.

The silence isn't that awkward but it also kind of is.

Steven's mouth are quicker than his brain so in order to break the awkward silence he suddenly blurts out a random fact.

"Did you know the ancient Egyptians belived that the most significant thing you could do in your life was die?"

Firstly you look at him blankly but then you laugh.

"That's really interesting and an awesome way to break the ice. Tell me more." You say, and Steven let's out a sigh of relief. Needless to say, there were no more awkward silences.

[the end]

not really happy with this but oh well

[omgfloofy]

Audi Star of Lucis Text

During a discussion in the FFXV Book Club discord, the wayback machine link for the Audi Star of Lucis webpage was linked, but when nothing came up, it was immediately dismissed as not working.

In an attempt to find any leads to more content, I started digging through the page inspector to look for the source and found all the text - archive.org wasn't playing the script, and thus none of the text would display.

I initially started to work up a page that preserved some of the styling, but I opted to not do that since that was a lot of work. LOL

So instead, I've just pasted in the text below the cut with *some* styling going on. The primary reason for this, though, is because OF COURSE, there would be some tiny tidbits on the world in the midst of this flowery marketing copy.

Enjoy!

INTRODUCTION

Insomnia, Crown City of the enchanted Kingdom of Lucis

The walled city of insomnia, Crown City of the kingdom of Lucis, is shielded by a force field that offers full protection against enemy attacks and has granted its citizens an extended period of peace and prosperity. This protective shield is generated by a mysterious crystal in the control of King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII.

Insomnia is a maze of transport arteries, neon illumined skyscrapers and ancient marble monoliths adorned in gold and platinum that cast splendid reflections upon surrounding skyscrapers. Visitors are typically mesmerized by the rare amalgamation of ancient culture and modern technology.

The best of Audi and the Royal Art Society of Lucis

Audi has played a pivotal role in the evolution of automobiles, always driven by its Vorsprung durch Technik slogan. One of its pinnacle achievements is the Audi R8, a genuine handcrafted work of art. Components are manually produced, assembled and polished to lustrous perfection by a small team of master craftsmen at the quattro GmbH factory.

The Royal Art Society of Lucis has likewise been a leader in the production of groundbreaking products. For over 150 years, it has taken on new challenges while never straying from its tradition of innovation and excellence. The unprecedented challenge this time was for the seasoned professionals at the Royal Art Society of Lucis to join Audi's top engineers in creating something truly extraordinary — the Audi R8 Star of Lucis. A fusion of car and crystal.

From Audi to the Kingdom of Lucis

Audi proudly received a Royal Warrant from the Kingdom of Lucis in recognition of its automotive quality, performance and styling. In commemoration of this honor, and to celebrate the 20th birthday of Prince Noctis, heir to the throne, Audi custom designed the Audi R8 Star of Lucis for the Prince. This gift reflects our heartfelt gratitude to the citizens of the Kingdom of Lucis and to the Royal Family, which has long supported the automotive industry. We hope it brings joy to the Prince, his family and friends for years to come.

COLOR

An exquisite finish in the royal color

Black represents the light of the Lucis Royal Family and coats the great crystal, intensifying its brilliance. There are many attractive shades of this royal color in the Kingdom of Lucis, including Ramuhstard Black and Lucis Ebony Black. However, we chose Ultrossic Black to complement the premium metallic finish with a subtle trace of purple.

DESIGN

Design inherited from the gods

Arabesque pattern

This traditional pattern of the Tenebrae oracle clan confers peace, blessings and well being on the Kingdom of Lucis. It has long graced the decorations, attire and accessories of the Royal Family. Delicate yet strong, it conveys a luxury and dignity commensurate with a work of divine art.

Lucis emblem wheels

Each intricately crafted wheel represents the Kingdom of Lucis emblem with finely sculpted swords, the symbols of true mastery, brandished amid rose-like petals.

INTERIOR

An interior fit for the Prince

In pursuit of interior beauty befitting the Royal Family, Audi pondered perfection and the qualities most valued by the Prince to arrive at a gratifying solution. The cockpit is efficiently designed and thoroughly refined to make driving intuitive. It frees the Prince to focus on the road while comfortably cruising for hours at high speed. The steering wheel is wrapped in fine leather that gently clings to the palms and features orange stitching carefully placed to enhance tactile pleasure. Clear royal quality audio is delivered by an advanced Bang & Olufsen sound system. A fully digital Audi virtual cockpit graces the instrument panel. Audi connect® provides internet access while Audi connect Navigator instantly links the Prince with an operator at any desired time. Diverse infotainment is always at the Prince's command and within his field of view.

PERFORMANCE

Performance worthy of the future King

In the Crown City Insomnia, where the automobile industry flourishes, a rare fuel from the Western Cavaugh is being fused with crystal to develop a new source of energy. Much of the technology is still experimental, but a number of resulting advances have already been applied to the Audi R8 V10 engine with dramatic effect. The engine responds smoothly and quietly through the streets of Insomnia, but roars with wild abandon when released from civilized constraints in the vast outer reaches of the kingdom.

Bonus

In my tumble down the rabbit hole over the side content for the car, I came across information of a Concept Book (also with an insanely limited print number), and it has some other little things in it.

But first, this cover is NUTS. And I'm all for it.

It looks black until you look at it through a cell phone camera. And you can apparently see the image if you shine a bright light on it.

One of the images in the book, though, has this-

The most important part of this, is I think at the bottom of the plaque, it says something like, "Dedicated [may be incorrect on this] of this first day of the first month of the year seven hundred fifty six."

So it makes me think that this was meant as a 'Coming of Age' gift as much as a birthday gift. (Especially since Insomnia is heavily based on Japan, and at the time FFXV came out, 20 was the age of majority. (it has been lowered to 18, as of 2022.)

It's an interesting thought, I think, that goes with it. I'm trying to find more info on the Concept Book, though, and may post more about it down the line if I do find it.

[amorgansgal]

So it's been a while since I've written any fanfiction (sorry RDR2 lot) but I've definitely been captured body and soul by Baldur's Gate 3 and I bashed this out this morning. I appreciate fully not many might read this as it does concern my own named tav, Vanya, and I just fancied doing a little creative writing. But if anyone does, hope you enjoy. It's from Astarion's perspective.

Gods, she was annoying

Gods she was annoying. Astarion gritted his teeth as somehow, despite the exhausting fight they had just been through and long day of walking, Vanya babbled on! Gale walked by her side, smiling at her observations on nature, the dinner they had last night, the gnolls they had just fought, her thoughts on whether she would keep her long plait or do something different with her hair tomorrow. Astarion had assumed that all elves were some form of stoicism or stillness, he and Halsin certainly were, but Vanya seemed all too keen to prove the opposite was true!

She scurried around camp, a giddy smile on her lips, greeting people as she went and they would infuriatingly beam back at her, which he was sure just encouraged her. It had taken them goodness knows how long to get out of the druid’s enclave because Vanya had stopped to chat with anyone and everyone, even the bloody animals! She’d almost been pickpocketed by one of the tiefling’s kids to boot because she had to stop to speak to the lad’s sister and Astarion managed to grab hold of the child’s arm before he could wriggle something out of Vanya’s pocket.

‘Really? I didn’t know there were many coastal druids,’ Gale’s comment to Vanya interrupted Astarion’s musings. 

‘Oh no, not many. It’s a bit of a strange calling, most elves like the forests or freshwater lakes or rivers, but we’re there! But I do like the forests too, there aren’t so many animals you can really adopt from the sea, I can’t keep a pet fish on my travels, though I did have a crab. He was very sweet, if a bit nippy.’

Gale’s laugh made Astarion clench his teeth. The greater annoyance Astarion had was somehow, for some unfathomable reason, he was beginning to like Vanya. She did everything seemingly to irritate him, launching herself into fights without so much as a by-your-leave, chaotically flinging around firebolts and laughing joyously as she did! She evidently, rarely ever thought a little tact, decorum and deception would go a long way to avoid a battle, but such things were impossible for Vanya if she thought someone was being wronged or hurt. 

And yet, despite all of her many faults and flaws, she was winning him over and he wasn’t even sure how or when she had begun to do so. Well, he knew what had triggered it, him telling her he wouldn’t sleep with her the night of the tieflings’ party. But the fact he didn’t find her desirable didn’t seem to bother her - she had gone round the entire camp flirting with anyone and everyone, leaving Gale flushed and Shadowheart wryly smiling and Halsin’s eyes following after her and even godsdamn Lae’zel looking at her differently. For him, she was too soft and round for his tastes. Round moon like face, messy red hair that swung behind her in its usual braid, freckles on her cheeks that put him in mind of someone splattering paint over a canvas, she did have beautiful blue eyes, he’d grant her that. And a fine neck. And he supposed that her body was… pleasing to most, but he wasn’t fussed by it. But in any case, it wasn’t finding her attractive that seemed to bother her, what seemed to niggle at her was him just not liking her. No one had to sleep with her, but she wanted everyone under the sun to like her. 

He thought she might learn what he liked, someone who bit back, who could be playful and sharp and acerbic, who might spar with him. But she didn’t, she just was… sweet and nice and kind and it was sickening. She’d rifle through an abandoned box or bag in the old goblin camp and find him a dagger or a lockpicking kit and exclaimed excitedly, ‘Oh, Astarion! This is perfect for you, here you go!’ She happily passed him a book on necromancy, though even that made Gale and Wyll sigh with exasperation. Astarion found himself talking to her about Cazador, admitting to things that he hadn’t told anyone else and- How in the gods’ holy arses had she done it? She’d just been her usual self and slowly worn him down. Was this how she did it with everyone else? Did everyone, who didn’t like her initially, get a concerted effort from her in winning them over? There must be someone who it hadn’t worked on, someone who still didn’t like her however much of a joyful, excitable pup she was. Astarion was tempted to hunt them down and demand they tell him how they resisted.

‘How is it Vanya that you have gone through life, adventuring and fighting, without someone taking advantage of your good nature and naivete?’ Astarion asked pointedly, making Gale and Vanya look around at him. Gale gave him a look and Astarion smirked back at him. Yes, your precious little druid is foolish and overly familiar and one day she’s going to get herself into a mess because she can’t keep her mouth shut or diving head first into situations where she isn’t wholly sure on what’s going on, Astarion thought to himself.

‘Hmm,’ Vanya said, because gods forbid she couldn’t even think quietly! ‘I don’t know.’

Astarion scowled. ‘You don’t know, what do you mean you don’t know?’

‘Do we really have to squabble before getting back to camp?’ Shadowheart asked. Astarion clicked his tongue with irritation. He would’ve thought that even Shadowheart would remain a little contemptuous and irritated by Vanya too, but somehow the druid had worked her charm spell on everyone and Shadowheart had long given up on being cool and sharp with her, except on rare occasions. Too rare for his liking. Only Lae’zel was left, his remaining ally, who would deride Vanya’s softer side. And even then, the githyanki seemingly enjoyed Vanya’s wild attitude when it came to fights. 

‘I guess people like me enough not to take advantage of me and the rest of the time it’s luck!’ Vanya said, turning back round to continue her conversation with Gale.

Astarion sputtered - which was the first time he had done such a thing, but how on earth could the woman be flippant about that too? ‘It’s just luck! No one has ever double-crossed you or used your good nature against you?’

Vanya pursed her lips in thought, then gave him a bright smile. ‘No, not yet. At least, not as far as I know, maybe they did and I just didn’t know about it!’

Gale burst out laughing and Vanya quickly joined him, though Astarion was sure she didn’t quite fully grasp on why such a thing was funny. Astarion glared at their backs and then at the ground. Godsdamn stupid druid with her stupid smile and stupid laugh and careless, thoughtless attitude and everyone in camp encouraging her.

‘You wouldn’t know half the time you had a parasite in your head from the way you take absolutely nothing seriously and waste time gadding about!’ he snapped. The laughter died immediately and while he kept his eyes fixed on Vanya, a tiny flicker of guilt crept into his stomach when he saw the small amount of reproach in her expression. 

‘I do take things seriously,’ she said, her voice suddenly even tempered and cool and measured. It had been what he wanted for weeks, but the tone of it felt wrong and so unlike her that he felt compelled to look away from her unfaltering gaze. ‘I’m worried about the tadpoles, i’m worried about all of you. It would kill me if anything were to happen to anyone here. But I spent a lot of my life not being able to laugh or find joy in things or meeting anyone new and getting to know them, and it’s no way to live, Astarion. So if I seem foolish or irreverent, it’s only because I don’t wish to wallow. I don’t wish to be serious and unable to crack a joke and make people laugh. And what is the good of being stoic and serious all the time? We are infected and there’s not much we can do to change that until we get to Moonrise towers. So I’m not going to sit in camp, feeling sorry for myself, languishing and getting upset when I can’t do anything about it. I may as well find joy where I can.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Gale said, and Astarion could have ripped his head off, but more because he felt… bad… for making Vanya feel bad. When she had spoken about not being able to laugh or meet new people, it didn’t sound like something she had chosen for herself or a malady affecting her in that way, it sounded like she was… coerced, controlled, ordered and he knew all too well the pain of that. Maybe she hadn’t suffered quite like him, but it sounded like whoever had done that had tried to crush her. 

The serious, sorrowful look on her face rapidly shifted and she smiled at him once more, though it looked a little forced and tired for once, and the guilt in his chest blazed hotter, tightening around his heart and throat. He was grateful they were so near camp and Vanya whipped round as Scratch (one of her blasted pets she had picked up) barked and came running up to greet them.

‘Scratch!’ Vanya cried happily and charged off, ruffling his fur and laughing as the dog licked her face and playfully bounced around. ‘I missed you! I missed you so much, how’s my good boy, my goodest of boys? You want to play? Come on, let’s go play! I left your ball in the chest, come on!’ The dog eagerly bounded after her.

Shadowheart left them to take off her armour and to wash, so Gale and Astarion were the only two left of the party who were still watching Vanya hunt through the travellers’ chest for Scratch’s ball. Astarion was about to make his way to his own tent when Gale caught hold of his sleeve.

‘Look, I know you don’t like her,’ Gale began.

‘I never said that,’ Astarion muttered, because the frustrating truth was he did like her.

‘But don’t hurt her in order to bring her down. She might handle things differently and sometimes her relentless optimism can be… a little much, but we need a cheery sort around camp. I think we’re all too serious sometimes. And I get it, someone will hurt her eventually and it might sour her and make her less willing to laugh and trust others, but I like her the way she is. So leave her be.’

And before Astarion could say anything in reply, Gale had already began walking over to join Wyll and Halsin by the fire, and Astarion didn’t know how to explain that he both couldn’t stand Vanya, but also liked her far too much.

[jonnysinsectcatalogue]

Oil Beetle - Meloe campanicollis

When the autumn season arrives, I always try to seek out this specie of insect given it's size and uniqueness. As a reminder from earlier posts, this Beetle may be somewhat strange looking, especially if you consider the other members of its large family (Meloidae), but it is a Beetle nonetheless. At least it is easy to recognize given its bulbous abdomen, reduced wingcase and Ant-like head. Other Blister Beetles may have an Ant-like head, but they will possess functional elytra with wings and a long abdomen that protrudes from behind the wingcase (but doesn't bulge out). Keep an eye for these traits in the insect world, as the Beetles that possess them also come loaded with a burning hot defense. As such, handle with extreme care and make no attempt to agitate them. However, today's post won't cover the cantharidin defense of Oil Beetles (you can find more information by checking out this post here). Instead, we have two wandering female individuals (as confirmed by the antennae shape) to explore as they go about their dya. In Pictures 2 and 5, a hardy Beetle was crawling on some stones, and marched forward without a care for the impending chasm between the stones. Granted, insects are not stupid and can decide to turn or change direction if they detect their travel can go no further. In this case, I placed a leaf in her path to bridge the gaps and she crawled across to the other side. After crossing, she traveled the full length of the stone.... and then tumbled into the grass below after reaching the edge. I suppose there wasn't much to see/do from such a height.

For the second individual, she was likely searching for a suitable location to place eggs. Soil-filled and sandy environments are great places to look, but the chosen earth has to be a suitable depth in order to ensure that the many eggs have a degree of protection from predators and colder conditions. The sand she was traveling on definitely wasn't deep enough, and so she kept walking. She may be arching her body and placing her abdomen in the sand in Picture 7, but she's not testing for depth; this is a warning posture. After I backed off, she calmed down and resumed her walk, (and maybe you've noticed this already) she left a trail in the sand from where her abdomen touched the ground. This is a unique moment to how an insect makes tracks as it travels, both from her abdomen, and the three legs on each side making little indents (but mostly the former). As such, if you find trails like this, you may be able to follow the journey of such a beautiful insect as it moves. The trackway seems so small compared to the vehicle tracks next to her, but it's a real marvel. Unfortunately, it's also a necessity given the abdomen's size, so there's no lifting it off the ground. Of course, predators can follow this trackway, but they - assuming they followed the right direction - may not be prepared for the burning defenses that this Beetle possesses if caught!

Finally, having seen this Beetle specie a few times now, I've made small interactions with them on those occasions just to see how they react. While smaller insects tend recoil and retreat from the placement of a finger in front of or near then, the Oil Beetles I've found are always curious and begin to vigorous crawl up my finger, after which I pull away. If I find them next year, I'll try this again, but I'll be sure to have gloves on. I cannot emphasize enough that it is unwise to agitate or corner these Beetles since they can exude blister-inducing, cantharidin-saturated liquid from their joints. In addition to protecting yourself, don't allow dogs to prod or lick them while walking them.

Pictures were taken on October 17 and 21, 2024 with a Google Pixel 4. Next time this Beetle is showcased, we'll look at what happens after their eggs are placed in soil. It'll be a wild ride, unless you have to be a Bee!

[barelytolerabled]

Lost Chances

Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: you finally express your feelings toward spencer not expecting anything

Warnings: none, not an happy end?

WC: 634

Taglist: @envraijesaispas @rosecentury @taygrls @thisismeraki @thenerdthatwrites @bigbunnygucci @jordie-gvf @cynbx @saturnstringz

a/n: let me know if you guys would like a part 2!!

As the moon cast its soft glow over the empty BAU office, you found yourself alone with Spencer Reid. It was an unusual occurrence, given the chaotic nature of your work and the constant presence of your colleagues. But tonight, the two of you had stayed behind, caught up in an intense discussion about the latest case.

Sitting side by side at his desk, the familiar warmth of friendship lingered between you, but so did an unspoken tension. You had been best friends for years, sharing everything from laughter to tears, but there was always something more lurking beneath the surface.

"I'm not in love with you anymore," you breathed, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. Relief washed over you like a cool breeze, but it was tinged with sadness, knowing that you had carried this hidden affection for Spencer for far too long.

Spencer's expressive eyes widened, searching your face for a sign of deception. The flicker of confusion on his features was soon replaced by a tinge of sadness, and the realization settled in his gaze that he had been oblivious to your feelings. "I didn't know you ever were," he replied softly, his voice laced with regret and a hint of longing.

His response cut through you like a knife, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. The connection you shared, the unspoken bond, had led you down this path, but now it seemed you had taken a wrong turn. Perhaps it was too late to salvage what you once thought could have been.

"I never said anything," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was afraid, Spencer. Afraid of losing what we had. But now, it feels like I've lost something anyway."

His eyes never left yours, locked in a gaze that held years of memories and unspoken words. Slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on top of yours, offering a gesture of comfort in this bittersweet moment. "I'm sorry, I never knew," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "I never realized what we could have had. If I had realized, I would have done things differently, so differently..."

A tear slipped down your cheek, betraying the depth of your emotions. "I didn't want to risk our friendship," you confessed, your voice trembling with the weight of missed opportunities. "But now, I can't help but wonder what could have been."

Spencer's thumb gently brushed away your tear, his touch tender and full of unspoken longing. "I understand," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It is hard not to feel a sense of loss. To know that we could have had something amazing, something beautiful, and it slipped through our fingers."

Silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words and the remnants of shattered possibilities. The night stretched on, the only sounds filling the room were the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of your hearts.

In that moment, you both realized the depth of your connection and the pain of lost chances. The road not taken haunted you, but it also held a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this conversation was the catalyst needed to explore the depths of your feelings.

As the night drew to a close, you found solace in knowing that even though the timing may have been off, the bond you shared would always be there. It would take time to heal the wounds left by unspoken confessions, but the foundation of your friendship would remain steadfast.

And who knew? Perhaps, in the future, the stars would align once again, granting you both the chance to rewrite your story with a different ending—one filled with love, courage, and the possibility of a love that had been silently yearned for all along.

[quartzhearted]

Lambert’s records didn’t include much of the academy’s faculty- at most some of their names and positions, nothing more. Anything else would have to be learned through interaction at best and mild eavesdropping at worst, though in this case it didn’t take too long for him to figure it out. Not when the subject in question already had a shining reputation among some and…well, was one of his closest friends.

“There you are. For a man so loud, I must admit finding you was quite the challenge for me. I did not think that I would be invited for a hunt when I set out to locate you, my friend.” He approached the other with arms crossed and a fond smile in his features. A demeanor that by now had already changed so many times that Lambert even felt bad for it, in part. But this was the norm he was meant to follow, this was a fraction of who he was meant to be. “Have you had a good day so far? You look quite good, so I assume yes.”

“But I hope I may be able to make it even better, in this case.” A wink, coupled with a smile bordering a smirk, before Lambert unsheathed a blade that had been quite well concealed under his cloak. 

Bright silver with a crimson holster, the sword was offered to Morion.

“Whatever it is that blocks your path my friend, carve your way with this blade. Allow this to manifest a future for you, your family and your nation that you can be proud of.” Another smile. “And perhaps think of me while you do it, will you?” A light chuckle became laughter. The blade actually used to be a rather rusty, old one that he had found in the Abyss. But after befriending the local blacksmith, Lambert was able to have it be completely restored and reinforced.

Ironic, how much like himself and the man before him, that blade too was allowed a second chance at life. “Happy Birthday, Morion. May the Goddess bless your every step.”

drinks with his son, a dragon's pendant. a beautiful gemstone star... morion never wants for anything, but the small things he's received make him happier than what should be possible. he's a man that knows the joy of marriage, the joy of fatherhood... really, little things like these should be minuscule, but...

aw, fuck it. it's nice to get cool presents from people that like you. anyone can agree on that.

he's taken some time to fish out in a remote section of the pond, thinking about life, death, and sweet, sweet fish. the waters are calm, the sun is deciding whether to set... ahh, it's nice.

it's made nicer by the arrival of a friend; lambert approaches, and morion turns his head to meet the voice. " ho there, lambert, " he greets, returning lambert's fond smile with one of his own. " didn't know you were lookin' for me. i would've tried harder to hide! heh heh.

" i've had a fantastic day so far. i got all my work done, got some nice presents... m' supposed to head out for a father-son thingy later tonight, and boy am i ready for that! " there's genuine joy radiating from all over his body. in all his time at the monastery---from his highs to his disastrous lows---he has never felt so happy to be alive again. to breathe, to see, to smile... he sure took those for granted back then. now he treasures each moment.

when lambert next speaks, morion's smile turns a little coy. " oh? you're gonna make it better, are you? and how's that? " his shoulders tense, waiting. if they're gonna start wrestling on the bank, then he's for sure gonna be ready for that!

but it isn't wrestling! at first, when lambert unsheathes the new sword on his person, morion reaches for his own ( which, as it would happen, was replaced by a fishing rod ). but the stance is wrong---he's not ready to fight. if not to clash, then why would he...

...

...

morion blinks a few times. looks down at the sword presented before him, thinks about lambert's words.

the sword is beautiful. its blade boasts a lustrous silver whilst its carrier burns a deep red---such weapons are expensive, made up for by their sheer power. it could not have been easy to get the sword to such a condition, and here lambert is presenting it on the bank of a pond.

the two of them have seen each other in many, many states. there is a lot lambert does not remember, and some that morion doesn't, too; each have made discoveries in each other's presence, expanded their worlds with each other inside them. where morion goes, lambert does not follow---he crash-lands, now with a big smile and a fiery attitude to match him.

morion is grateful to know him, now and forever. the man who has cut a path for him in this world, when he was alone and confused... how could he ever repay someone like him for all of that?

" ...lambert, " morion finally says after an eternity of silence. the breeze blows over crystal waters, sleepy sunset reflected off the mirror. " i'll always think of you. you've always been there when i needed someone most and... well, i... " dragons. he really is at a loss for words. " i just don't know how i'll ever thank you.

" so, yeah, i'll do what you said. use this sword to find my way... but you've gotta be there, too, all right? this thing's awesome and all, but it'll never replace you! " he pats lambert's cheek once, twice with the back of his bare hand. morion smiles gently.

" now, i've got an extra rod down here. you gonna sit down and fish with me or what? "

Morion has obtained the Wolf King's Sword!

[thenighthouse]

Aftersun (2022) and grieving what's still there

I'd been saving (read: avoiding) Aftersun because I knew it would make me cry a lot. I knew it portrayed a father/daughter relationship, and that's also a theme that leaves me in shambles. Yeah, no. Nope. I could never be prepared for the reality of what I experienced.

It feels disingenuous to write about something I don't even want to call a movie. Aftersun was like a memory to me — the kind that isn't mine, but one that I lived through in other ways, other places, with someone else. It was the most heartwrenching, painful, beautiful, spiritual experience I've had watching a movie.

Aftersun is perfect because, in its simplicity, the very subject of the film can either ride on or get lost in the viewer's experiences and sensitivities. As someone who's struggled with mental illness from a very young age, as well as been surrounded by people with the same struggles for that long as well, the way we slowly see more and more of Calum's depression was jarring.

The scene where Sophie speaks about being so sad after a good, fulfilling day was when I went "oh." I't such a relatable feeling, why does he seem so taken aback, so worried? So guilty? Oh.

And as we slowly see more of his disdain for himself (crossing the street without looking, standing on the railing), it hurts even more to see how present he is with Sophie. He lives for her! Why would he care about himself when he could dedicate himself to her? Granting her time in the sun, protection, food, live music, a carpet she'll get to keep forever. Why would he care?

I can't help but wonder if part of his hurt was due to how much she openly loved him. Sophie loved her father very loudly. When you loathe yourself, it's very hard to fathom why or how someone else would even look at you, much less like you... love you? That’s ridiculous.

"Happy birthday, Dad."

"Sing for my dad's birthday."

"It’s fine, Dad. No big deal."

The juxtaposition of all the strangers singing happy birthday to Calum (lead by Sophie) and Calum crying, retching alone in the hotel room was genuinely terrifying to me. The whole movie, actually, it's like I was there, a fly on the wall watching helplessly as Calum's pain ate him up from the inside out. Knowing Sophie would eventually be left with a gaping hole in the shape of her dancing, smiling father.

There's truly no words that could ever make this movie justice. I feel like I’m grieving.

The resentment in Adult Sophie’s eyes throughout all her scenes is fascinating because it’s also recognition. She’s sifting through her memories of her dad and picking up on things she now, unfortunately or not, understands. Stuff she feels as well.

I haven't spoken to my father for 6 years. He knows nothing about me, who I am, who I grew up to be. I had just turned 21. I hated him for a long, long time — long before we even cut ties. He made many bad choices, said many terrible things, hurt a lot of people.

I’m 27 now. I don’t know who he is anymore either. As I finished the movie, I felt at peace with him for the first time.