#behold my master paint skills

[basil--and--sage]

Fili all chill with a pot on his head and oven mitts on his hands calmly herding a Raccoon back out while Kili is standing screaming on a kitchen chair is the TRUEST THING EVER!!! ( and I do believe upon seeing the wee beastie at first Kili was all like awww how Cute! C'mere, pss-pss-pss like he was calling a cat, and when the non- cat turned and hissed at him THEN the jumping and screaming commenced! Sometimes all Fili can do is shake his head at his Little Brother )

"Brother, stand back and do not fear."

[wishluc]

Fair Play

CW: Yandere character, jealousy, mentioned abuse of authority

PAIRING: Yandere! Neuvillette x GN! Reader

Sigh…I can’t get him out of my head

Whenever Neuvillette makes time to visit the Champion Duelists’ arena, it's only ever to see you fight.

He reasons with himself that it is only because of the fascinating way you weave your battles. He is far from the only spectator to these duels—not just anyone can earn a place among the Champions, after all—though he is the only one who remains silent when the crowd erupts in cheers and praise. He prefers to send his compliments privately, through a regrettably short conversation after the audience has cleared out. He thinks you might appreciate his thoughtfulness, because you always stand up a little straighter and smile a little wider when you see him approaching you, ever so bright despite the sweat painting your skin.

Anyone who has watched your duels would say the same, would sing the same praises that he calmly conveys to you—that your movements are graceful, your strokes swift and your stance sharp. That you are a marvel to behold. He observes how your eyes narrow as your sword slices the air, and he finds it a breathtaking sight. Your duels—your skillful attacks and quick steps are a form of art, one that you embody with every lunge, swing and pause, and one deserving of a revering audience.

—However, he does not tell you all this in detail, as Furina had advised him against it. He settles for simpler statements; “You are extremely talented. Thank you for using your abilities to uphold honour and justice,” among others, and he is rewarded with your eager gratitude, your smile and your joyous call of his name.

Regardless, he's not pleased with all the attention directed at you.

He could understand those who admired you and your abilities. It was only right that your hard work be recognised, even if the cheering crowd often took your attention away from him. But the way the Harbinger looked at you was with an unsettling kind of admiration, running too close to bloodlust and exhilaration, that made his fingers clench and his gaze harden unbeknownst to himself.

You respond with your usual grace, listening intently to his introduction (Neuvillette pretends it does mot bother him how you seem unbothered by his status as a Fatuus, and a Harbinger at that), and smiling at his compliments. He wonders if you’re pleased by his praise, if it’s his status that leaves you awestruck. The Harbingers must be good fighters, too, and Tartaglia had his fair share of scars to prove his prowess in battle.

Then, he asks you to duel him.

In itself, the request is not an unusual or unreasonable one. Duels could be requested (and at times commissioned), though Neuvillette was unsure if outlanders knew of this, or wished to try their hand at it.

But seeing that it was the harbinger—Tartaglia—who was asking, Neuvillette could not help but be suspicious of his intent. Even if it was only a fight he wished for, why did it have to be you, out of all the Champion Duellists? And why was he so...close? He had moved closer to you now, a lopsided grin on his face as he suggests taking him on as a partner sometime, assuring you that it would be fun. Neuvillette hopes you find his self assuredness just as irritating.

Instead, you humor his offer.

"A duel?" you look bemused, "And what for, Master Tartaglia? Your honor?"

Tartaglia laughs, his head thrown back, "Anything you want."

The teasing air of your words sends a chill down Neuvillete's spine. The skies darken as his heart thunders, misery gripping him painfully. He wonders if he ever sounded as natural with you. If his words had that same ease, or if he sounded as awkward as he felt around you. If you would ever think about treating him with such informality, like you would a friend.

The obvious fact that you did not acknowledge him as such only further glooms the sky and his heavy heart.

The Harbinger walks away, apparently done with accosting you, and you turn to catch sight of him in the distance. Your steps quicken and your smile widens as you approach Neuvillette, a spark in your eyes that he tells himself was missing before. You say his name in a delightful way, teeming with cheer, and he questions, not for the first time, if you could hear the awe in his when he had the chance to call your name. He wonders if you’d be upset by the possibility.

“You were wonderful, as always.” You glow at his words.

“But that person you were talking to,” He hesitates, “Was that a friend…?”

“No, just someone interested in a duel. Though he did seem a little intense.” You shake your head, “No, I suppose there are people like that, hungry for fighting. There is quite a thrill to it.”

“And will you?”

You shrug, contemplating your answer for a few more minutes.

“I don’t know. Somehow, I have a feeling that he’s going to find trouble soon.”

Neuvillette, in the back of his mind, recalls the sentence for treason, and conspiracy. He promptly shoves that thought to the corner, where tendrils of frustration and envy reach to carefully cocoon the unjust idea. He is the Chief Justice, and he has to remind himself of the fact—his feelings should not affect him.

But you are a Champion Duelist of the nation, one who upheld the justice he strived for in your actions. And you are at risk of being manipulated by this criminal. Would it not be cruel to allow you to stray any further?

“With an appetite like that, it’s likely. But I would advise against it for his sake.”

You chuckle at that, fixing your gloves, “It would be foolish of anyone to wreak havoc here and risk making an enemy of you, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

That was true—Wasn’t his duty to exact justice for your sake? And when you spoke of him with such admiration, how could he let you down?

For once, he thinks he may be able to put aside any concerns for justice. There would be no need to involve the public or consult the Oratrice. This was his personal sentencing, to satiate his own raging thoughts—judgement excecuted by his very hand.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[vtuberconfessions]

Screenshot and video cam record this ask please.

Slimurgical shows himself a skilled veteran detective of crime scene investigation and he puts out Froot Apricot The Lich on her lies related to her poorly edited document on her husband. Slimurgical's words.

https://x.com/Slimurgical/status/1837146108520452226

"With blue being him and green being You, I actually do wonder this myself because managing a stove is pretty easy, so why not just answer him in more or less both cases of it being difficult for you, or of it being easy for you? If you don't want posts like this, don't put your dirty laundry on the internet.

People who want others to look at them positively aren't going to do that when you post private texts between you and someone else where you. checks notes

Refuse to create a joint bank account as a married couple, or just simply answer questions that get presented to you… by the one you Chose to Marry.

Considering his apparent standards in this post as well, it seems he was actually patient due to never bringing up his stance on yuri prior to seeming to be fully done with you. Usually when people are determined "We're done" they will literally dump every tiny reason onto the table so as to make it irreversible for themselves and to create no true way back to guarantee a way forward is created.

So Froot. Why can't you manage a stove but 200 layers on a canvas is fine?

Also yes, I didn't read your written paragraphs because if you can't paint the same picture with the photographic evidence of what is some random bullshit I shouldn't be able to visibly access without doing something worth extradition over, then it's pretty obvious you are lying out your ass, and low and behold, you are.

He stopped expressing himself with you because he wanted you to leave him alone, it's the downside of including the timestamps rofl. I can literally tell he was just done at the point of those screens at the top because you can scroll down not even ten pages and literally see essays from him.

The amount of "this is necessary" of this is so astronomically negative that honestly this has killed VShojo for me, considering how every member of it has expressed support for this.

You people are creators 500x bigger and probably 10000x more successful than me for fuck sake and you're doing this? If you need a hugbox (which I can understand the need for) it's not any part of Twitter, it's a group chat with your fellow genmates for crying out loud.

Like for christ sake my girl, why do you even feel the need to reveal this at all? Do you think people will feel bad for you and look at your stuff more? Because they won't.

You cannot build a real audience who could also double as clients to a degree off the back of pity partying no matter how real or fake the event in question was. If I mentioned the same stuff but it was real, nobody would look at my art more because of it. People didn't look at my art more when I was about to go homeless and needed the comms money.

I honestly wonder how the admin of VShojo feel about this, because I genuinely will be done if they're fine having someone so genuinely honorless and disrespectful to someone they Married in their employ and representing their brand. Speaking purely from a professional standpoint, this kind of thing is a PR black hole and can never be anything else considering there was no evidence of any wrongdoing done against you. A brand that has this associated with them will never last, it's the kind of thing that stays under wraps and the usually creator themselves leaves to leak it themselves if it's legitimate, considering talent agencies have Managers that the Talent essentially uses like someone form AA would use a Sponsor, or someone else would use a Mentor or a Master in an apprentice Master relationship.

It's evident that it's not real because A. if it was, you'd take it to the cops, he might not be black so the UK would love to prosecute, B. if it was, you'd take it to your manager and the answer would not have been "Leak private communications and make a really bad attempt to slander him" because like… girl for real? You didn't even try to edit the screenshots, just chopped out important context chunks in places to the point that some pages are half empty and you couldn't even be bothered to combine the screenshots so they all created a uniform length so you could… idk, not have 90 pages in a document most people will never read let alone scroll through and will only opt to parrot the people autistic enough to do so themselves. I've combined screenshots better.

If he assaulted you, where are the hospital reports of battery injuries alongside proof his DNA was found near them?

Delete the post until you get real evidence that justifies wasting your audience's time with something that isn't part of your proudly displayed purpose of Content Creator for Vshojo or your still proudly displayed purpose of Artist. On behalf of all artists who want to see people create than flinging shit, I am literally begging you.

Until I see real evidence, this is Ego farming and as a result you need to get over yourself.

Sincerely, a fellow Creator who is sick and tired of watching creators try and destroy instead of create, considering this literally accomplishes nothing.

I haven't shared my abuse trauma stories, and I never will because nothing productive will happen when everyone knows my scars."

.

[pastel-omegas-blog]

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️WARNING!!! THIS BOOK WILL CONTAIN MATURE THEMES AND VIOLENCE PLEASE LEAVE IF IT WILL MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. I DO NOT NEED THIS BOOK TO BE REPORTED . YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.( Mentions of suicide, bullying, blood/torture ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️( This book is going to have more matured themes  compared to my others, from smut scenes to non-con, lactation, drugging, hypnosis, abuse of power and over obsessiveness.

Chapter four. Chapter five

CHAPTER FIVE

                 ¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶•¶

The holy temple of Trovia is a vast and holy place. With the building and land having such a rich and diverse history.

The land itself had been chosen by the gods and goddesses  and had been regarded as a holy ground.  The walls of the temple had been built from 'pure' materials mined  and grown from the power of the imperial family and the very first pope chosen by the higher beings themselves. The growing of the proper materials took over a decade to be properly mined and when they finally did, the creation of a masterpiece took place.

They chose only strong young men that had been strictly trained and taught the ways of their gods from a young age, so no impure or immoral thoughts or actions would take place during it's construction. The building itself took almost fifteen years to be completed,  but after that it was a sight to behold.

The structure was made of pure white marble and limestone, walls had holy månå stones imbedded in them to protect the building from any evil magic or persons that would try to infiltrate the place. Gold and silver decorated every single corner of the building, forming astonishing designs, even going as far as to have the ancient texts on the wall written in pure gold. Beautiful paintings that told stories and highlighted the beauty and strength of the gods decorated every wall in sight, adding to the already marvelous appearance. Apart from the already vast halls and rooms added to the building, they also had ballroom sized rooms created specially for each individual god and goddess they served, decorating the space with only elements that represented said deity in each respective room.

The whole size of the building was twice the size of the Imperial palace ground

They successfully managed to create an architectural master piece. A haven on this wretched earth. A place that would guide innocent souls back on the right path. Rumours had it that the design for said building had been thought of by the gods and goddesses themselves and they had bestowed the knowledge of it to the first pope who then drew it down, because the people believed no ordinary human mind would be able to think of such a wonder with running mad right after.

The holy temple was given the name " EGUAE IMOLE " meaning  ' Palace of light '.

A befitting name for such a place. Because when ever the sun would shine it would have an almost golden glow radiating of it and when the sky bleed into the dark skies of the night, the light from the stars and the moon herself made the building start showing off a soft silvery glow.

It truly was a gift from the gods.

The building would go on to witness the different rise and fall if it's Empire, the bloody aftermaths of the wars that would take place, the age when humans, magic beings and demi humans finally set aside their difference and started to meet eye to eye the dominating new age of creating månå infused weapons and tools. The holy temple witnessed it all. Standing as strong as the day it was built, through those harsh years, never once breaking down or losing it ethereal glow as centuries upon centuries passed.

The holy temple was amazing yes, and what made it even more astonishing was the Pope.

Unlike other Empires who chose their popes through a series hard work and tests or the individual possessed amazing talents and skills, the Pope from the Trovian Empire was chosen from generation to generation from one family.

The Leoht Household.

A Ducal family known for producing candidates for the Pope position in the holy temple. Other than being descendants of the very first pope himself, they were people acknowledge for their intellect and varsity in the holy books and scriptures and how much of a blessing to the world land of Trovia really was.

Though the most extraordinary  thing about them was that they are naturally born with the ability to control holy månå. A månå element that hundreds of years ago was thought could only be bestowed on an individual if they were chosen by the gods. They were a house believed to be another blessing to the land, that and their beauty was something that was almost out of this world.

Silver hair that resembled that of the moons soft beams and pure white orbs that seemed to glow softly like stars. Their soft coloured hair and eyes, that had a fairy like charm to it was a great contrast to their natural skin tone. A deep cool earthy colour that seemed to shine when under the sun's rays. These were features inherited by almost all members of the Loeht bloodline. It made the people think of them as heavenly beings that had been perfectly crafted by the gods, giving them eternal beauty while still being able to recognize as normal human beings with unimaginable powers.

But even though everyone from this family was amazing. Only the very best were chosen to be pope candidates and only the most perfect among them would be the next great leader of the EGUAE IMOLE.

Candidates were chosen from the ages  two and would be trained rigorously until the age of fifteen, then the abilities and knowledge they had managed to hone over the years would be put under harder pressure for three years. The last person standing would be the one to take over the present Pope once they felt they had done enough, but until then the winning candidate would learn under them and gain more knowledge and experience as they go. The trail was held for all eligible members no matter what second gender they would present as later on in life.

It was a process that was repeated through out each generation, yet people of the current era would all have to agree that their current Pope had to be better than those of all the previous generations combined.

He was a man who radiated prestige, and a very bold charisma and his presence demanded authority, yet at the same he was a gentle as the summer breeze and had a tender smile that reminded people of pretty blooming flowers during the coming of a new spring.

A gentlemanly Alpha who was soft with his words, but at the same time his voice demanded all attention on him. A man who would never discriminate against others because of their race. A beautiful man with a beautiful heart and golden soul.   With a månå reserve far greater than all of his predecessors combined.

Alvar Leoht.

The current Pope of the Holy temple truly was an amazing person.

So it would only make sense if he had a partner who was up to his standards and shared an air of prestige almost equal to his.

And who else would be a better candidate other than the one and only saint of the mighty Trovian Empire?

Soft silky sky blue hair, dazzling amethyst purple eyes, pretty porcelain skin, plush thin peach lips and a delicate figure. His sweet scent of strawberries and roses that always seemed to draw people closer to him.

The most perfect omega the Pope had ever set his eyes on

 A man so holy and blessed  by the gods should have belonged too him.  Their fates were supposed to be intertwined.

They should have been together. They were absolutely perfect together in his eyes.

So the silver haired man didn't understand why the gods had taken away his fated pair and had given him to another man.

A man who was too dark for him. A man who would forever continue to stain his hands with blood from both the innocent and sinners. A man who didn't care for people who he thought were beneath him and took joy in other peoples suffering. 

A blood thirsty tyrant was who the gods had given his beloved too!

Alvar wanted to intervene, to stop the madness and swoop the smaller man into the safety of his own arms.... But he couldn't. Not only would he be selfish for doing so, something that went against his beliefs, but he didn't have the power to do so. He would never bring himself to admit it, but his love looked happier with the black hearted beast, his smile was brighter, his scent was sweeter. The omega's whole demeanor became more loveable. The alpha would do absolutely anything to make him happy. No matter the cost or how he badly it would affect the man himself later on.

So as his milky white eyes stared at the contents of the letter in his hands he couldn't help but feel conflicted. 

' Dear Ally... '

 The dark skinned man felt his lips twicth upwards at the familiar nickname.

" I hope you've been doing well and haven't been over stressing yourself! Just because I'm not there anymore to force you to get some rest, doesn't mean you shouldn't give yourself a break. "

Alvar felt his heart warm up at the words. Leon had always being so worried about his well being when he was still in the temple, he was glad that hadn't changed with the time the other had spent away from him.

 "  With that set aside I need to ask you for a favor.

Lord M/N's case from what I've heard from the doctors is in a very critical condition. "

Alvar couldn't stop the smile on his lips from falling as he read the name of the tyrant's former spouse. It was not like the Pope didn't like the man. They had gotten together a few times for the planning of a few scared rituals in the past, that and temple used to supply him pills on the former Emperor's command ( the usually monthly supply stopping after the h/c man got poisoned ).

The silver haired man felt neutral around the current Emperor's former spouse. He had a good head on his shoulders ( although most of the time it was only filled with thoughts of how to please his husband ). He wasn't as stuck up as the nobles of upper aristocracy, he was just... there. 

 Alvar didn't have any hatred towards the h/c omegas himself, but he absolutely despised the dark månå he had seen flowing through the petite man's body, a sign that confirmed what the Pope had been told his whole life about the s/c man. 

He was a devil reincarnation. A bane to everything the god's considered Holy.  A walking curse on the blessed land given to them. If he hadn't been present on the day the sealing ritual had been performed on the other when he was still a pup, he wouldn't have known just how dangerous he truly was. But Alvar would never be able to forget those glowing red eyes and cross pupils that glared into his soul as the being let out a ghoulish scream and cursed at them.

That terrifying sight still sent shivers to his core as if now. He didn't want his love associating with the h/c man at all. What if that demon vessel tried to corrupt him?

" Yet his cousin the countess seems to be getting more energetic by the day, although she's beginning to look more exhausted and I fear for her wellbeing. Her change started about a month ago. I tried to ask her what had happened, whether the lord had recovered, but she refused to talk to me. She acted hostile and was glaring at me the entire time. I'm sure she thinks I'm the reason for her cousin's current state simply because Marrav chose me over him, but I really admire the lord and just want to know about his well being. The last time I saw her was over a month ago so I can't even enquire about his health a "

Alvar couldn't stop the anger flickering in his heart , his eyes darkening a bit as his grip on the paper got tighter, causing the material to crinkle.

How dare that wench treat his beloved like that?!!

She should be grateful that the saint was even giving her the time of day and had the heart to ask about that devil container in her care. Leon was always kind hearted, but the alpha didn't like how he showed that kindness to people who were unworthy of it. He feared that the omega's kindness would make people use him.

" And the more worrying part is that Basil has started ignoring me and has started disappearing without a trace and not telling me about his whereabouts. I'm sure he's going over to his master's side and I'm worried that the lord's inevitable demise is causing him to feel down and bothered, that's why he's been acting cold and distant towards me. "

The alpha took in a deep breath to calm himself lest he rip the paper in his hands. The silver haired male had never taking a liking to the pink haired alpha. He was always so arrogant and full of himself. A hot headed man who was to proud for his own good. He had tried to divert Leon away from him, not trusting the alpha with the omega's delicate self, because he didn't want his actions to hurt the blue haired man.

Looks like he hadn't severed their connection as much as he thought.

" I know that they are just struck with grief and mean nothing with their actions, still I wish I could do more for the both of them.

My favor is this. 

Could you please come over and give the lord a quick farewell prayer? I know your a very busy man, but please Ally?

​​​​​​For me? I want the lord to be able to enjoy a peaceful afterlife. I'm sure a prayer from you will cleanse whatever evil månå is stuck in him. Could you please come as soon as you can? Before it's too late for him

                                                  Leon Valryon

 "

Alvar looked reread the last name the omega had used to sign off the letter, hoping his eyes were playing tricks on him, but nothing ever changed.

His chest began to burn and his throat went dry, his tall broad form twicthing every once in a while.  He knew the last name to well.

How couldn't he? 

How couldn't anyone for that matter

It was the last name borne by the imperial family.

Alvar saw red for a moment, his usually calm månå energy flaring up for a brief second before he calmed down. 

His heart was to weak against the omega to ever stay mad at him, plus he had even asked him for a favor.

The pope could never say no to his lovely saint.

" Were leaving for the palace. Please assemble everyone. "  the silver haired man  spoke up, softly dropping the paper on his mahogany carved desk, before turing to look towards his right hand man who was waiting by the door to his office.

" Yes your holiness " a masculine voice  responded his tone void of any emotion,  bowing in front of the man, his long blond locks falling against his face before he stood up straight again ,not bothering to ask any questions. He already knew the reason for the alpha's haste.

That man was involved.

Alvar noticed the grim look on the other's usually chirpy face

" Is there a problem Louis ? "

Said man quickly shook his head , his normal giddy expression falling back in place.

" Oh it's noting Your Grace, please don't mind me. I just remembered something I forgot to do is all " the blond replied, his smile becoming more strained when he heared the silver haired man mutter under his breath. ' How typical of you. Honestly if you weren't family I would have given your post to someone more eligible for it '

The blond man didn't say a word.

Not like he could anyways.

He waited for the Pope to compose himself, before followed the taller man out of the study, going to gather the members needed for their small trip. 

Walking along the vast halls of the holy temple alone gave him time to think to himself. An annoyed sigh left his lips.

He guessed going to the palace wasn't that bad, although it sped up his plans by a few weeks he could adjust.

Louis quickly stopped by his room to pick up a bottle. He had been working on it since he returned. It was almost as perfect as his first one. He shook the bottle, watching as the liquid inside swirled around. 

The vivid green colour matching that of his own  green eyes perfectly. He quickly put the bottle into the pocket of his pure white robe, patting it softly so it wouldn't be noticable, before quickly leaving behind his rusty room.

His steps had a bit more bounce to them as he made his way through the halls once more, but he couldn't help himself. 

He couldn't wait to see what this exciting new future held for him and his partner. He was smarter and more experienced now, so he wouldn't be falling for any tricks.

He hoped it would be the same for the h/c man. 

[pandorasboxoftreasures]

I BRINGETH!

Hate to admit it, don’t wanna name names. 

But the level of structural accuracy of canon Na’vi character fanart MUST improve.

It’s been 6 months now. And I still keep seeing some very high quality art in amazing styles, however, the characters themselves are severely lacking in their accuracy.

I’ve been pointing out what I can about the worst victim of this, Recom “Ritch” Quaritch, and I’ve noticed people have been paying more attention and noticing these little things on their own. It’s great seeing artists working hard and perfecting their skills.

I hate as an artist to have to say that it’s not been enough for quite a lot of artists I’ve seen so far. I know everybody is improving and working hard. Including myself. And everyone has to start drawing Na’vi somewhere.

But I think I need to nudge things along a bit more. And I recently discovered a new way that may help.

Using a painting filter to basically give each character human-ish skin and eyeballs. (Unfortunately only in one light tone which is very frustrating but I guess it’s consistent and the lighter shade will make details harder to miss in different lighting situations) Clearing up the beautiful to observe but visually cluttering to study and paint details and colour palettes. Some of you may find this horrifying, I dunno. A warning anyway.

For months whenever people tell me “He’s ugly in the movie!” I’d rebuke with “He’s classically beautiful. Like works from the Italian and Dutch masters. Like the ancient sculptures of Rome. Slap him down on a couch in front of Da Vinci or Michelangelo and they’d piss themselves with sheer awe.”

Well, here’s the proof... kinda... using screenshots I’ve collected and made myself in as many angles as I could fit together for now with different levels of quality until I can get my 4K inputs sorted :

STOP JUST PAINTING HIM BELOW THE NECK!  YOU HAVE NO EXCUSES NOW!

Try rendering him similar to this in your target or individual style, and THEN put the Na’vi detailing on top. See if it makes a difference.

Granted, the filter only worked on some angles (I have more images to add later too) and it did make some very minor alterations, I did my best to mimise them, regardless take note. And it couldn’t get every little crease. But with how much missing the mark there’s been anyway, I guess aiming for this is still better than the status quo (again not naming names except for maybe myself).

I’m gonna be doing this with other characters, too. I simply figured starting with him would both be the best test as to whether this would help as well as fight the tide of “this artwork is amazing but who the hell is that guy” disease.

It might also be worth my while to morph these together and see what I get. 1 uniform face for each character. Guess I’ll see what happens with the others.

Note the other posts I’ve made about the finer details like moles and freckles past and future as companions to this one. 

I’ve also got another post coming up about the consistencies and differences of the patterns in the bioluminescent freckles each Na’vi subspecies has so watch out for that if you’re interested.

(SO GLAD TO BE ABLE TO SHOW HOW VISUALLY DISTINCT HE IS FROM HIS HUMAN DONOR, TOO! LIKE DAMN. THEY HAVE THEIR SIMILARITIES OF COURSE BUT I SHOULD PROBABLY DO THE SAME TO HUMAN QUARITCH SEE WHAT SHOWS UP)

UPDATE HOLD UP I THINK I FIGURED OUT A BETTER WAY OF DOING THIS BY USING THE PAINTING FILTER AS A BRIGHTNESS LAYER WITH THE ORIGINAL IMAGE COLOURS UNDERNEATH BEHOLD MUCH BETTER RESULTS AND NOT HUMANWASHING I’LL TRY AND REDO THE ORIGINAL IMAGES THIS WAY:

[criticalcrux]

@Icybreaths asked:

[for Grimmjow] It’s a similar scene they’ve been in before, where he’s throned upon his kill and feasting on his winnings. Jewel had watched the entire hunt in brutal detail — that he lured her to, she concluded.

Her heart pulsed into her ears as she dropped to her knees to the macabre piece before her.

Fists balled onto her lap as she studied the mangled bits before her. “Quick work, as always.”

Her lips pursed as her gaze lingered on his ruby sheened fingers. “… I’ve got this feelin’ in my blood like I want more.”

In the revelry and glory of another success, he carried on in honor of the fallen, feasting, they'd given all they could, and his skill proved above theirs. How many had he'd overcome in the slaughter, did it matter, they would all be a part of him now regardless of their number. Ripped apart, shredded, cracked and broken with severe disregard for preservation.

What would appear as brazen chaos to an uninvested outsider's view was to some so keen, the act of an orchestrated succession driven on pure instinct. Both planned and improvised when necessary and it all fell together in a horrific beauty for one so inclined to perceive it. Those given over to the savagery of battle. To behold it for what it could be, a form and language all it's own. One he was innately, fluently masterful in.

He was simultaneously lost to the bloodsoaked carnage and so driven by adrenaline and inherit ability that each and every action and reaction taking place within the ruby splattering of rain that resulted from every manuever commited appeared to be handled with strickenly attuned senses and immense foresight.

And for her—she was there to observe as he'd come to know just how much she enjoyed herself when she did.

Of course it'd been bait. And of course she'd taken the unspoken invitation—of her own accord. She was every bit the blood-thirsty fighter he'd come to expect she was and she showed it more with each time she followed his lead.

On her approach he saw no reason to take to any movement, a sly glance as he continued was all he offered. And he was a sight, bathed in crimson beneath the unceasing pale glow above them, the glisten of sanguine dripping from his form and features, which he never took to wiping away. Not least til he'd considered himself—finished.

He'd sensed her reiatsu but it was off somehow, and it was pulsating throughout the entirety of her aura. There she was quivering with something else this time. Something he'd only mildly detected from her sparingly during a few of thier prior encounters. The times she'd refused to admit to it existing there, obscured but there nonetheless.

But he wasn't about to be interrupted quite yet. Teeth baring down, they tore into tendon and tender muscle, ripping away from the remains then set to chewing. Only a glower in her direction. "Thought I said I wasn't givin' lessons. R'didja ferget." He was soon picking between his teeth with a red-painted, sharpened claw. And that was about the time she collapsed. His eyes quickly shifted and settled as they drank in the scene for a moment before narrowing.

A soul reaper before him. One unlike others he'd known of. Her actions revealed more than words ever could and he wondered if she knew that.

Exalting the King.

He could see it no other way.

Whether it was him. The kill or her own bloodthirst. He knew one thing—He'd caused it.

That's right. She had been driven to her limit

A sinister intensity and delight gives rise to a crack of a grin widening across his features. Razor's edge glint; flickers from sapphire incandescence in his stead, he hadn't the need nore want to make advancement just yet.

Leering down, that's when his interest was solely on her, she'd reached a pique and he could push her just a bit more with ease.

"That's right. Don't lie this time. You've always wanted more."

A pause before he huffed a low but knowing laugh.

"Say it, Stone. What do you want? Cowards never get what they want. So. s p e a k. up!"

[bruinescence]

“If that a tattoo on your face or just some kind of war paint?” Aljari too has facial art. He applies eyeliner every morning, as well as a thick black line of paint going down and under his chin.

There is a hidden gentleness in impatience that he's seemed to master. And glad he is for that because it is a skill best employed with the wizard and all of his...questionable exploration into the arcane. In addition to being full of questionable magic, Aljari was also full of questions the druid would have never thought to ask himself. Perhaps he had not opened up enough to his companions?

A slow smile is the wizard's first hint of an answer as Halsin quirked a brow at him. "...do you ever see me without it? Or see it run in the rain?" Shaking his head, he reached up to rub a thumb over part of the vine-like marking, showing that it did not smudge with the attempt.

"A permanent addition, I'm afraid...should you find it bothersome to behold." After another rub or two, Halsin allowed the marking room to bask in the cool of dusk unhindered, burning red like a fresh branding against the setting light. "Roots." He explained after a moment more of the other squinting in his direction. "The main body is to Silvanus...and the branching paths- those lost that yet remain of my heart."

[magicalheirponsol]

[✧･ﾟ *♚*･ﾟ✧ ]

Ponsol was surprised by her questioning. He’d said that he mostly engaged in art for self-indulgence, so most of his creations were personal. Why would he give those away to others? He said that he didn’t often give away his creations, not that he refused to do so.

❝I see no reason why I should give away art pieces that are personal to me. Art is my outlet, so it’s not that often that I will purposefully create art for the sole purpose of gifting it to another.❞

That answer should suffice as an answer she could accept. Others out there may enjoy creating art for the sole purpose of gifting them to others or to show them off to people, but Ponsol didn’t feel the same way. Art was a way for him to feel good about himself and to forget about his troubles. It didn’t feel right for him to give away the art that was created during specific times in his life. They were somewhat like historical pieces that could remind him of certain events happening in his life.

❝Yes, he does, as I’ve given him a painting.❞

He wasn’t sure if her comment was spoken because she was attempting to reassure him that his brother owned a piece of his- like he wouldn’t know that for himself. Ponsol had gifted Shugarl a painting of him and Jupiter, a young girl that they knew who was going through speech therapy to help with her being selectively mute due to trauma in her childhood. Both of them had saved the other in one way or another, and so their bond was a close one. Ponsol has joked before that Jupter seemed more like a sibling to Shugarl than Ponsol himself was.

Contrary to Nunnally, he’d often wondered how his life could’ve been if he had been a single child. Perhaps he’d be subjected to less scrutiny if his genius brother wasn’t in the picture. Maybe his mother would still be alive today. Perhaps, the relationship he had with his father would be better than it was now. There were limitless possibilities of how being a single child could’ve changed the course of his life, but this was what his life was now. He’d long since accepted it, and trekked through.

❝I wouldn’t say we’re both artists, no. We do indulge in the hobby, occasionally.❞

Ponsol more so than Shugarl, but if you considered cooking and baking to be an artistic, then Shugarl had that skill mastered. His ability to make complex designs in his baked goods was a sight to behold. That meticulous man would spare no effort if it came to added a geometric design to anything.

❝I could run the idea by him, but he’s extremely wary of having too much attention on him, especially by the media.❞

He could tell that she was partially jesting by the suggestion, but he deemed the answer most apt for the situation was a serious one. His brother hated to have cameras pointed at his face and he especially hated when anyone remotely like a reporter coming up to him to ask questions. Being who Ponsol was, the media would be keen to visit and make an appearance. There was also his own personal reasons for being hesitant to showcase his art.

❝I appreciate the offer, however.❞

A bitter smile cracked through his usually calm and friendly façade. Listening to her words, he looks up in thought.

❝You can be grateful for what you have in life but still lament circumstances. You could have it worse, but you could’ve also had it better. I think you’re ability to acknowledge your privilege and conveniences is better than blindly bemoaning over 1st world problems.❞

Just because one person had better circumstances than another person, it didn’t mean they were disallowed to feel bad about their life. You never knew the full story behind one’s life. His elder brother was probably a good example of such. One may opt to overlook him for being a genius who came from a pedigree family and was wealthy—but he too had his own fair share of trauma.

❝That’s how I think, anyways. Once you start trying to compare pain and struggles, you start compartmentalizing the suffering of people, arbitrarily deciding who is more ‘worthy’ of sympathy or otherwise.❞

She liked the way Ponsol talked about fate. It was still realistic, but it gave that nice idea that reality could also feel special? Or romantic. Or supernatural. She wished she could see the world in the brighter colours; Nunnally wished she could be her old “self” before she forced to take a role in the family business. Politics was a dirty business, and she didn’t like it. Or perhaps what she truly didn’t like was the role that was assigned to her.

“Why? Why is it so?” – she asked feeling that she might be prying. Ponsol seemed to be talented, and yet he refused to share with others what he created…? If anything, that was something she’d happily do, even if Nunnally didn’t consider she was really good at anything she did. Nunnally would never show her paintings to the public; she would never display them in a public setting, and Ponsol was willing to do that. So, he must have confidence in what he was creating. And yet he wouldn’t gift it to others. Perhaps he just considered his creations too special to give them away? There surely must have been something behind this statement. – “I’m sure your brother has something you made. I can feel a lot of warmth in your voice when you’re talking about him…” – despite the harsh words and despite Ponsol's complaints.

“I wonder how it would be to have a sibling…A brother actually…” – perhaps then she could be fully accepted because there would be someone who could simply take over the heritage of the two families. In a way these two families expected. And she could be Nunnally. Nothing more. She wanted to be Nunnally. Not the heiress of the Ayvelles family.

She nodded when Ponsol shared his experience of being constantly compared. Nunnally suspected it was even worse in his case. He was compared with someone, who he could be potentially a match for. It was probably easier for her. People pitied her (or maybe rather her father) that she was unfitted to take over. But she couldn’t imagine how hard it must have felt to be compared to a sibling. Or sister more precisely…

“So, you are both artists…!” – even if Ponsol’s suggested his brother was doing it more for fun, it must have been interesting to share a hobby together. She smiled: --

“Perhaps I should organize a small event especially for the both of you…” – it was partially a joke, but if Ponsol was interested she could surely get something going. Nunnally often thought about herself as useless and having no skills, but she was good at organizing. She could probably make her living out of it, if she had enough confidence to even think about it. But she didn’t. She was brought up believing she would be nothing without the family money, and that it’s her only responsibility to make the family proud. And she was trying (and failing?).

It’s true…” – yes, sad conversation had it all what Ponsol was mentioning, but Nunnally still thought she had no right to allow herself for self-pity. After all, she was lucky in many ways. She had a father who loved her (despite how much trouble she was bringing him), she had never had to struggle for anything (apart from freedom), and she could still do a lot of help others.

“I still think I should be grateful for what I got in life…” – she stated, somewhat, absent-mindedly – “I could be much worse off.”

[totallysmores-blog]

So I’ve decided to do the 100 generation achievement with the intention of completing all the in game achievements, including the hidden ones.

I’ve also decided to make a few of my own achievement/challenges to keep me from getting bored when I inevitably have 60 generations to go and no achievements left.

The cool aunt/uncle- max parenting skill without having a child in the household

College dropout no more- graduate college after having ‘dropped’ at least twice before

We were robbed-remove all furniture from the house

IRS investigation- remove all house funds and start over again

Bellanot- fail 5 social events (do not receive even bronze)

Chronic insomnia- only allow a sim to sleep twice a week

Museum connoisseur- view every item in every museum

Teenage Rebellion-full friendship as child negative as teen back to full as young adult

Well traveled- complete all locale based aspirations

Ancient elder- have an elder live 5 generations

 Senior year- elder graduate college

Eye of the beholder- paint from reference something random at each park (I.e. trash can)

Commitment issues- work 3 days in every job

Master of one- master cooking by only cooking one meal

Master of none- never let any skill pass level 5

Hallmark movie- marry an ex on Christmas

Whose your daddy- try for baby with 3 sims in 1 day

Stockholm syndrome- marry an unplayed sim held in captivity for 1 sim week

Grid failure- survive the winter without electricity

I would love more ideas!

[m0chisenpai]

Hello Little Dream

The Sandman 

Desire of the Endless x Iris!Reader  

“Sweet Dream ought to keep an eye on his little creations.”

Desire had a tendency to meddle with their brothers' creations. They won't deny his brother was skilled in makiing the most beauitful dreams, even his nightmares left them breathless at times. So often times they would struck fear into a newly born dream or lured them away to fulfill their secret desires. Desire kept it to a minimum, just something to tease and toy their eldest brother with. 

But you oh you were a sight to behold, to long for, to desire. You took to the skies quite literally. You seemed to blend in with the beautiful golden clouds above Dreams realm. The picture of utter and pure innocence. Untouched, untainted, so delectable. 

They couldn’t help but run their tongue across pearly white teeth that just wanted to sink themselves into that beautiful expansion of untouched flesh. 

You lie across the haven of golden skies clothed just barely in the wisps of the clouds. Your hands would twirl and play making the most beautiful of colors to fill the skies.

And as Desire lies within the Threshold watching you each day, the yearning for you seems to grow. Obsession sinks its claws deep into their heart. It was dull at first, one moment you were not there in the clouds and they found himself lying in the Threshhold wondering where you were.

And as time went on the dullness spread and twisted itself. Desire would want to rip their brother's heart out when he dared call upon you.

Then You would return, lazing about your kingdom of clouds. Your hands would move so beautifully painting murals in the sky, placing the most beautiful of colors into an iridescent bow of those colors that stretched across the Dreaming.

You were one of your master's young creations. When he breathed life into you he named you Iris, for you would fill the skies of the dreamers' minds with the most beautiful of colors and glorious clouds. Your master would call upon you often with simple tasks, you often filled the daydreams of mortals or filled the minds of young ones.

And yet as Dream was locked away you still lingered in the clouds trying to bring a ray of sunshine upon the realms desolate lands. You were the last beacon of hope for Dream and all his creations. The creations and residents of his realm looked to you for hope, knowing that if you still resided in the realm their lord would surely return.

Your bows of color and golden skies warmed the broken hearts of the Dreaming. With you there, you were able to keep some things afloat. And soon as Dream came back he was sure to bestow his utmost of thanks, but even then, Desire saw your resolve slipping, You were getting older, that innocence slowly chipping away.

You just needed a nudge, a gentle push.

You don't necessarily remember stepping into the Threshold. Perhaps its beauty lured you in, and its red gleamed out of the corner of your eye.

Red wisps curled around you, beckoning you forth almost pulling you toward it in trance. They swirled around your body, taking the close appearance of a hand that pulled you toward the beating Threshold. You accidentally pressed your hand upon the beating sanctuary and found yourself falling in.

You wandered the endless sleek red halls, led by the gentle red wisps that seemed to whisper sweet nothings until you happened upon an open room. The sigils of the endless floating aimlessly pushed you to walk towards your lords.  

Your fingers a hair away before a voice halted your actions.

“Well, well hello little dream you’re a long way from home aren’t you?”

“Desire of the Endless” you jumped back into a deep bow down casting those beautiful eyes downward. “My apologies I should not have entered your realm without announcing myself.”

“Oh lift your gaze sweet dream, let me see your eyes.” With two fingers gently pinching your chin your face was raised to meet the golden eyes of desire. 

“Such a beautiful gaze. My brother took his time creating you I can tell.” They cooed as they traced their thumb along your jaw, their gaze like predators.

“Your words are truly kind. I hope I do not offend you, but my duties must be fulfilled. I will be wondering where I am” and you took a tentative step back trying to find your way down that sleek red hallway.

“Or perhaps you stay? Little Dream is busy is he not?”

“My Lord is, but he has much to recover! So much is to be fixed and I have my duties as well..”

“Has he neglected you sweet one?” Desire crooned, gentle fingers scratching the smooth skin just beneath your jaw.

“No! My lord takes care of all his creations. Lord Dream shows a new fondness since his imprisonment.”

“Ah yes, but was it not his poor skills that caused the downfall and uncreation of the Corinthian?” Your eyes fell. Oh Corinthian was the sweetest to you, which Dream found to be an anomaly. A nightmare and dream finding companionship together? Impossible.

He would shout your name from down below your clouds and you would float down teasing the nightmare. He’d see you before being sent away to handle his duties, he claimed seeing you cleared his mind and when he came back you softened his brow from his grapple with what he was. You were the balm on his aching heart, if he had one. He liked to think if he did it beat for you alone.

Yet when it was Lord Dream who called you down and revealed the skull with teeth for your eyes your heart broke. Your shaking hands held it to your chest as your clouds turned a dark grey.

That was the last time you saw your master. You couldn’t bear to see him again. He didn’t call you on as often, perhaps he wanted to give you the time to process your newfound loneliness.

He neglected to teach you love, and a further neglect on how to grapple with a broken heart.

 “For years I watched those beautiful glistening clouds from my threshold, but that day must be the first that I have seen my brother's realm in such…despair. Truly unbefitting of a lovely little thing such as yourself.” They caught the stray tear that dared to fall off golden cheeks.

“It is not uncommon for an Endless to forget their creations, especially my brother.” Your watery gaze turned down, “but here little dream, oh your desires, your needs, your longings will always be fulfilled” their claw gently pressed into your chin tilting it and drawing you into golden eyes.

“You need only to ask, little dream. And I shall soothe the ache you feel within you, right here.” Their hands pressed the exposed flesh of your chest, where your veery life essence resided.

And in that moment in those iridescent eyes Desire watched you, saw you break from your masters hold, and they would be the one to make you theirs. They would make you who they knew you truly needed to be. What Dream neglected.

“Perhaps I may stay just for a moment longer?”

“But of course, little dream” they purred, luring you to one of the blood red couches. And down below as the librarian shelved and read through books, Lucienne’s eyes crinkled as Your golden skies swirled, slowly turning into a soft fuschia. 

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Brothers and Side Characters Play the Sims

I don’t know what possessed me to make this but WHATEVER. I’ve been playing the Sims since I was a wee little girl, and I’ve seen my fair share of weird Sims stuff that I feel would fit these bozos perfectly.

My Sims have a Functional Family Life Because I Don’t (Lucifer)

God dammit Levi’s obsessed with another game... ugh.

Spends 5 minutes in Create-a-Sim and hops into a starter home.

Lucifer’s the type to start with all the average stuff and then build their stuff up as his sim gets promotions.

It’s just... so peaceful...

...he’s adopting a dog.

Look at his new little virtual family... his sim-kids are self sufficient and getting A’s in school, his Sim spouse MC or Diavolo take your pick loves his Sim-self, his sim-dog-

WAIT NO- THE DOG’S AN ELDER?!

AAAAAAAAAAAAA-

...

He’s fine. It was just a virtual dog. *sniffle*

He’s now spending his free time drinking Demonus and playing the Sims.

What’s a mod? Levi why does your sim have gun?

Behold, My Gorgeous Home... It’s a Box (Mammon)

Mammon, like the rest of the HOL, is mooching off of Levi’s Origin account.

“AW SHIT! This house looks awesome! I’m gonna build it for Sim-me to live in!”

Mammon proceeds to build a box with rooms. Yay...

He just picks the funnest sounding job if he picks any job at all for his Sim. That’s how he ended up making 9 dollars an hour in the criminal career.

Didn’t stop Mammon from buying that solid gold bathroom set from Get Famous... a box with solid gold bathrooms.

His Sim is broke send help-

“Leviiiiiii my sim needs money... the people my sim kidnapped and is forcing to paint aren’t making enough money...” “Ugh... press control shift C and type ‘motherlode’.”

...Levi made a mistake.

“FUCK YEAH! MOTHERLODE!”

His sim’s life is so chaotic, he has a piranha pool that his sim has almost died in twice, the sim is carrying on several torrid love affairs, his sim got struck by lightning, his sim has nearly died in a grilled cheese making accident twice... in the same day.

At least once Sim-Mammon and Sim-MC get married things calm down a little.

Mammon finds out what custom content is and proceeds to download EVERYTHING HE CAN FIND.

And now he’s asking Levi why his computer is running so slow.

Expansion Pack King (Leviathan)

He got into it back when the Sims 2 was new, he’s a veteran fan.

“Bro remember when Agnes Crumplebottom would show up and whack the shit out of your sims if they were flirting?”

“Remember when that witch would show up randomly on the lot you were on if you had Makin’ Magic?”

“Remember when Bella Goth was abducted by aliens and we just... didn’t question it?”

He whines about the Sims4 and how crappy it is but still buys every expansion pack, game pack, and stuff pack.

This boy watches like 40 hours of built tutorials and ends up sobbing over his weird roofs.

“WHY DOESN’T IT LOOK AS NICE AS THE ONE I’M LOOKING AT?! THIS ISN’T FAIR!”

The mod folder is so full istg-

Levi gets custom content for the sole purpose of making his favourite fictional characters.

This is why Henry and the Lord of Shadows are married and Ruri-chan and Sim-Levi are roommates.

Oh my god they were roommates-

Levi also added his brothers to the world and uh... Sim-Mammon died in a tragic pool accident F.

Levi then proceeded to befriend the Grim Reaper.

He’s anxiously awaiting the release of Paralives.

Wait Gameplay? In This Build Simulator? (Satan)

Satan’s here to build and leave. Gameplay who?

Our favourite bundle of rage is a master architect and the amount of followers on the Gallery he has shows it.

He takes up those build shell challenges and always ends up making them look positively perfect.

Asmo’s always using his houses, and Satan often takes requests when he gets bored.

No Mammon, he reserves the right to refuse to build a golden castle for you- YOUR SIM HAS 40 SIMOLEONS-

No mods, no CC, he’s building with what EA gave him.

...and EA gave him debug objects, and he’s not going to explain how to get them.

The one time he did actually play with a family... it was one sim and seven cats.

He tries to play without cheats... and ends up getting frustrated and turns on cheats.

All hail the Pets Expansion Pack.

Custom Content Soap Opera (Asmodeus)

Asmo spends 5 hours in Create a Sim then just... clicks out of the game.

That’s how it goes most of the time, buuuuuut when he gets super invested in a family he’s made, boy howdy is he INVESTED.

Sim A is carrying on an affair with Sim C who’s in love with Sim B who’s married to Sim A but Sim D wants to kill Sim A and C even though they’re the illegitimate child of Sim C-

When Asmo realizes that in the Sims 4 he needs to manufacture all the drama himself and he can’t just sit back with a glass of wine and watch the fireworks, he switches to the Sims 2 and 3.

“...why is this old lady beating up my Sim..?”

He immediately recoils in horror upon seeing how ugly the Sims are pre Sims4.

HE NEEDS TO FIX THIS-

Ah, there we go, perfect. Custom Content to the rescue!

He ends up remaking the entire world just so he doesn’t have to look at weird looking Sims.

Asmo is the only one to have finished a proper Legacy Challenge, but it gets crazy chaotic after gen 3.

“My sim just got abducted by aliens and now he’s pregnant- WHAT?!”

He has about 40 saves and only two he actually plays.

Just a Big Ol’ Happy Family (Beelzebub)

Beel found the game, proceeded to make everyone in create-a-sim to the best of his abilities, and made everyone get along.

That’s why Sim-Lucifer and Sim-Belphie are on a swing set together, they’re friends :D

“Hey Luke do you think you can make this?” “I-is that a cake shaped like a hamburger?” “Yes. Please make.”

He took one look at the cooking options and decided to max out his Sim’s cooking skill to unlock all the options.

Beel proceeded to drool all over his keyboard. Gross...

Boy howdy did he have some crazy dinner suggestions!

Overall, very wholesome Sim-life, except for the time Sim-Levi died because the toilet caught fire, don’t worry, Sim-Beel knows how to make ambrosia.

All is good in the Sim save...

...until Sim-Beel ate pufferfish nigiri and fuckin died-

Wait Did I Not Pause- (Belphie)

Huh, this game looks fine... I’ll play for a little- *SNORE*

Belphie makes some sims, plops them into a starter home, plays for an hour, then falls asleep.

He wakes up five hours later to absolute carnage.

Three sims have died because someone decided to make Mac and Cheese and the oven caught fire, the kids were taken away by social services, and the dog ran away.

“...heheh, holy shit everyone look.”

He doesn’t play often, but when he does, death occurs. He has found out every death method for every game from Sims 2 to 4.

And that INCLUDES the Sims Medieval! You guys remember that game?

Sometimes it’s not intentional, but Belphie got bored with the totally normal life his sims were living and decided to spice it up.

“Why are the ghosts breaking my showers..?”

Help There’s a Bug- (Diavolo)

The Crown Prince started playing when he noticed Lucifer was playing it.

He was immediately obsessed.

Dia mostly plays the Sims Medieval because he likes the feeling of achievement after completing a quest!

“Barbatos... why isn’t my Sim completing their task? The icon won’t show up.” “My lord it appears the game is bugged.” “:(“

No one thought to tell Diavolo that EA doesn’t plan on offering bug support to a game made in like... 2009

This doesn’t matter! Look at how great his kingdom is doing- oh no his hero has the plague-

He plays through the Pirates and Nobles expansion and manages to get the peaceful ending, he’s so proud of himself.

“MC! Look! My Monarch’s sword is permanently on fire and I’m fighting an evil wizard!”

When he does play the other Sims games he’s pretty basic, though, he does a great job at furnishing!

Dia gets crazy sad when his Sims die... he turns off aging.

Builder no. 2 (Barbatos)

Barbie doesn’t have time for this... but when he does, he builds.

No create a sim.

No playing the game as intended.

Just builds.

It’s relaxing, okay? A nice little suburban house he’s never going to play in, maybe a treehouse, maybe a big Hollywood Mansion...

The only time he actually plays the game outside of build mode is when someone needs his help to fix something in-game.

He does download custom content build items if he feels bored by the current selection.

Oh Crap What Am I Doing?! (Simeon)

Help him. Please.

He’s so confused.

“Luke, why is my sim upset?” “He’s hungry, Simeon.” “Oh, how do I fix that?” “...Simeon-”

There’s a toilet in the middle of the living room.

The fridge is facing the wall.

There’s no bathtub or shower.

The house is on fire- there is no god- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Okay, once he gets the hang of it he’s sitting pretty. His sims have good jobs, the kids are getting good grades, everything’s fine.

...

But Simeon won’t forget the nightmares.

What Even is This Save? (Solomon)

Solomon’s save is the definition of chaos.

One sim’s a vampire, the other is a spellcaster that really wants to fight the Callientes for some reason, there’s one normal sim that’s always sick for some reason,

It gets weird, confusing, and horrible.

Just how Solomon likes it.

His house makes no sense, like, what even is architecture?

Money cheats are needed because Solomon‘a goal of chaos and confusion is proving to be kind of expensive.

Square up Mortimer Goth, Solomon’s sims are here to steal your weird knight statue that’s worth a shit ton of simoleons for NO REASON.

He joined the scientist career for the sole purpose of getting to the alien planet and kidnapping adding an alien to the household via cheats.

The vampire ended up dying on their wedding day because Solomon forgot that he gave them the sun weakness.

Oh well, the ghost got added to the household! VAMPIRE GHOST!

The Child (Luke)

Before you say Luke’s too young to play the Sims, you should know that I was nine when I first started playing, and I turned out fiiiiiiiiiine.

He’s just happy to be playing.

Look, his sims are gardening :D

Look, two of them are getting married :D

Look, they had a baby :D

Look, his sims are building a rocket ship :D

Look, his sims’s rocket just crashed-

The concept of death hit the little angel right in the face that day.

“*sniffle*... my sims...”

Don’t worry, with tears in his eyes, Luke quit without saving and everything was fine!

Speaking of My Sims, Luke played MySims Sky Heroes and that was when Luke had his first bout of gamer rage.

MC came over to hang out with Solomon and Simeon, and in the distance they could just hear:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY TIME WASN’T FAST ENOUGH TO CONTINUE THE STORY!? I’LL SHOW YOU FAST ENOUGH TIME!”

Okay, maybe Simeon should take the game away... just for a bit... he should take heed not to be bitten by the incredibly angry chihuahua.

Bonus:

MC: Why are our Sims married?

*Insert Boy Here*: Uh... that’s weird... I have no clue why they’re doing that...

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt. 1

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut 

↳ (3.7k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread. 

➟ Warnings: This series will involve themes of graphic violence, depictions of blood, major character death and hints of trauma. 18+ rating. Reader discretion is highly advised. 

gif credit. 

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, December 22 

Love is a strange thing. 

It pulls individuals together, sparking fireworks and blissful rays of euphoria within seconds. It renders people affectionate, words dripped with honey and caresses full of tenderness transcending  without a means of stopping. To be frank, it’s majestic through the eyes of the beholder. 

But love is indeed a strange thing. 

It’s history has been plagued with moments of weakness and hesitation, moments that rip away layers to reveal raw, vulnerable selves from every individual. It’s inability to forget and move on clutches onto the minds of those that chose to associate with it, invading their memories and never granting them a single second to run free. Love is a strange thing, but it’s most putrid use has always been the necessity to use it like a tool. 

A deep breath escapes your tinted red lips, cold hands clutching onto the delicate bouquet that’s been thrust into them. The petal pink and lilac purple flowers rest against the chaste white of your dress, the awaited arrival of yours long passed as you raise your head and sneak a peek at the person standing in front of you behind your veil. 

Clad in a special tailored suit for the occasion, his dark brown hair has been brushed back and neatly tucked into the corners of his hair. He stands tall and confident, seemingly captivated by the words the priest mumbles through as he drags on through every dull phase written in his book. As if he can tell your eyes are on him, he suddenly looks in your direction and you return your gaze back to the ground, clutching onto the array of petals in your hands. 

The priest goes on to dutifully declare the responsibilities you must carry, including the very ones that tie you to each other. 

For better, for worse. Rich, poor. Sickness, health. 

Love. Cherish. 

“Until death do you part?” The priest peers up with fatigued eyes, glancing in between you. You suck in a shaky breath, eyes fixating on everything except for the man standing on the opposing side.  

“I-I do.” You hastily mutter, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat. Patiently waiting for his answer, you try not to focus on the collection of eyes gawking at you from the altar. 

“I do.” He states, firm and resolute with his answer. It shakes you to your core, eyes immediately flickering up to meet his warm ones. 

You’re perplexed for a moment, but you’re not given time to dwell any longer once the priest shuts his book, content with your answers. Relief floods you in an instant, yet it’s short-lived and has your stomach churning instead. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest steps back as if you needed room for the grandiose gesture, eagerly awaiting the showcase with the rest of the people seated in front of the altar. Nevertheless, your hands begin to quiver despite your best wishes and you remain planted in place. 

Before you even know it, the delicate veil resting against your forehead is being pulled up and tucked away, projecting your dolled up features on full display. You can only fidget when he draws near, preparing for the worse until he pauses. 

Glancing up in surprise, you’re caught off guard from the lines crossing his forehead and the dismay clouding his eyes. For a second, you could have sworn that you were gazing into a mirror, an image of your combined concerns being painted right in front of you. 

You’re caught in between a daze and bewilderment when he advances again, however all you feel is a soft peck against your skin before your veil is placed back into place. Your audience seems to be at loss with the action, but once he turns around to face them in the midst of holding your hand, loud cheers and roars flood the room as congratulatory confetti bursts into the room. 

Unconsciously, your hand drifts over to your cheek with furrowed brows and you steal another glance at the man you will be bound to for eternity. 

***

The L/N Family. 

Tactical and resourceful, known for their skillful strategies and trade explorations, a business they would go on to proudly pronounce in the arms industry. Others would look to them for support and reassurance, and they would in return cohesively make protective deals that would ensure no harm. Yonghwa, their head, would go on to make a legacy out of his family name. 

The Kim Family. 

Discreet and powerful, known for their relentless determination and invokable hunger, characteristics that would eventually seep into their weapon manufacturing business. They know how and with whom to pick their fights, vigorously acquiring a steady position in the industry within a flash before everyone’s eyes. Namjung, their head, carved the Kim name into a status no one would have ever imagined. 

Trade and manufacturing, two able sides of the same coin. They seeked to forge an union that would unite their two sectors, to create a harmonious flow of success within their collective industries. 

But not all deals, go as planned. 

On the fateful day, Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood while Namjung was left visibly shaken. Catastrophe seemed to only follow the event there on after, with both families seeking revenge on the other. Their union seemed to be the last thing on either mind, but after the years passed and stained relations had been fully dragged out, there only seemed to be one solution that could bring peace to the two of them. 

*** 

The wheels of the large suitcase hit the polished ground. 

It’s lavish and grand, crystals littering the high held ceiling and lilies spread over the handles of the spiraling staircase. It ends right at the large chandelier, with more crystals dangling down opposite the shining marble that your slippers find purchase in. 

You remain in place, staring with wide eyes and an agape jaw the scenery before you. 

“Please,” A girl bows before you, dressed in a simple pale blouse and skirt that’s paired with an apron. There’s a small twinkle in her pleasant eyes paired with natural pouting lips; the delicate features drawing out the sheer youth the girl embodies. “Follow me.” 

You snap out of your daze once she advances forward, her hands careful weaving through yours to clutch onto your packed luggage. At first, you’re a bit unsure as to if you should let her carry the heavy load up the stairs, but you’re pleasantly surprised when she manages to hall it all the way up.

She roughly pushes herself against a large wooden door, revealing the grand room behind it. It’s decorated similarly to the main portion of the house, however the sheer size of it has your jaw dropping again, eyebrows furrowed as its appearance. 

Your suspicions are confirmed right away, “This will be your room, Miss Y/N.” 

“I-I…” You can’t help but hesitate, “Are you sure?”

She nods, placing your luggage now. “Of course, Master Kim asked us to prepare it for you.” 

You instinctively flinch at the sudden mention of your husband, but the girl tilts her head to the side, curiosity peeking through her. 

“Don’t they have such rooms in the L/N residence?” Her eyes suddenly widen, and she slaps a hand against her mouth, “Oh no, I-I didn’t mean it that way!” 

A smile curls on the corners of your lips, “What’s your name?” 

She gazes at you with surprise, like she had been expecting a scolding fit for her lifetime. Nonetheless, she hastily answers your question with a bow. 

“I am Eunjoo, one of Master Kim’s most faithful servants.” 

“Little flower.” You decipher, “Sounds like a fitting name.” 

“It could have been summer’s grace.” Eunjoo offers with a shrug, “Though I don’t really like summer, so I’ve tried my best to ignore that meaning.” 

You let out a genuine chuckle from that, something that has Eunjoo instantly beam. The news of her own Master getting married to someone from the L/N family was initially difficult for her to digest, but it appears that she was too early to judge. 

A lopped smile etching onto your features, “And to answer your previous question, unfortunately the L/N’s don’t have such a residence. We’ve lost much of our wealth after‒…” You pause, biting back your words, “...after, you know.” 

You wave your hand away in the air and Eunjoo understandably nods, no need to delve into the long-lived history of your families that is known to all. She hurriedly aids in you in unpacking much to your reassured protests, following and assisting you around like a little fairy. Her company ends up being both interesting and comfortable, especially since the two of you discovered the other wasn’t well in adapting the titles you carry. 

A knock resounds against the door, drawing out your attention. Immediately Eunjoo drops the clothes in her hands, right before she straightens up and takes a graceful bow. 

Her reaction is telling of who's at the door, so with pinched lips and a creased forehead, you turn around. 

He remains glued to the door frame, still adorned in his tailored black suit. Aside from the similarity in his put together appearance though, his shoulders are no longer hiked up in a noble stance, nor is there any remaining amount of warmth spreading through his eyes. Instead, he appears akin to how he was in the split-second before your ultimate union was official, the memory causing the skin of your cheek to slightly burn. 

Swaying from side to side, he hesitates to step into the room. 

“I see you’ve met Eunjoo.” He mentions. On cue, the servant straightens up, a huge smile on her lips. 

“I was just helping Miss Y/N unpack!” 

“Oh that’s nice, perhaps I can assist to‒” He isn’t able to finish his sentence, because the next thing you know you jolt at the sound of a loud crash that echoes through the room. 

“Master Kim!” Eunjoo immediately rushes forward, scurrying to help the fallen man. He instantly rises up to his feet and dusts off his suit jacket, but remains of glass are scattered all over the ground. 

He lets out a groan and Eunjoo sighs, “Master, you know you have to be careful.” She begins to quickly pluck up the shards of the vase, raising one up to eye level with a pout, “I especially picked this one out for your newly wedded wife.” 

At the mention of you, Namjoon instantly glances up, pupils shaking. “I-I can get you a new one soon, it might take around a week but if I put in a request now‒” He scrambles around for a moment, before checking the inner pockets of his jacket for something to write on in a haste. 

Unconsciously, a small smile cracks through the seam of your lips, increasing as he tries to intervene with Eunjoo to pick the shards, and she protests that he shouldn’t get his hands soiled with her errands. He eventually has to sheepishly stand to the side, staring at her defeated like a child that had just gotten scolded for misbehaving. 

Eunjoo eventually collects all the pieces and ushers herself out, reminding you of the pending family dinner you’ll need to attend in the evening. She leaves the room and you decide to resume unpacking, until you come across the realization that you’re not alone. 

“Do you need help?” He peers at your suitcase behind you, “I’m usually more capable with things that aren’t easy to break.” 

The abrupt proximity catches you by surprise, but you merely shake your head at his kind offer, “I should be fine, thank you.” 

He nods and you assume he’ll excuse himself after a moment, but he lingers and that’s when you crane your head over at him. 

Appearing to be in between a deep ponder, he snaps back into reality once your questioning eyes fall onto him. “Uh I‒” A lengthy sigh leaves his lips, “I know this is strange.”

You wonder what he's referring to until you notice him gesturing to the gap between you, “It’s strange for me, and it’s strange for you. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” 

He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, a deep crease forming between his brows. You’re frozen in place, at a complete loss for words. 

He suddenly sucks in a breath, looking up to gaze into your eyes, “But I’d like to get to know you better….a-as my future wife.” 

Your eyes round and his declaration only receives dead silence in its awake. Flabbergasted, he attempts to correct himself amidst your prolonged response. 

“T-That doesn’t mean right away! We can take our time and I’m not expecting anything from you, so you don’t need to worry and‒” 

“I’d like that.” 

He freezes, “Wait, really?” 

You hum, a corner of your mouth lifting, “You’re right, it’s strange. But I’d like to get to know my husband better as well.” 

His eyes immediately sparkle, like you’ve said the very words he’s been aching to hear, “That’s great!” A breathtaking smile overtakes his features, “I guess I’ll see you at dinner then?” 

You nod with a smile,  and he departs, the euphoria never once leaving his lips. 

***

Evening draws near and long gone is the dilatory white piece of garment that’s forever confined you to your fate. Instead, it’s replaced with a delicate fabric of rose gold, perhaps to represent the luxury you have of being present in such a place or in the new beginnings that will soon follow you. 

Regardless, you prepare yourself. Although you’re simply arriving to dinner, there’s a family waiting at the table that you don’t know of yet. 

Eunjoo brings you down with her after putting your hair up and presenting a pair of matching heels your way. You’re wary as you walk down the spiraling staircase, barely balancing yourself on the elevated shoes. Luckily, Eunjoo notices and helps you down, but the split moment of relief is met with a jolt of surprise when you notice someone waiting at the bottom.

“I’ll take it from here, Eunjoo.” The women amiably bids. Eunjoo swiftly bows, mumbling something along the lines of Mistress Kim, before heading into the dinner room. 

You immediately whirl around, eyes on alert like a deer in headlights. She mirthfully smiles at you, carrying a warm tone in her eyes that feels familiar. 

“You don’t have to look so worried,” She reprimands, “I’m not going to bite your head off.” 

Your eyes widen even more, “I-I’m sorry?” 

She bursts out into laughter, concealing her ruby red lips with a hand that is glittering in assorted jewels. 

“Nothing, dear. I’m just teasing you.” You nervously laugh at that, and she places a hand against your back, guiding you forward. “Come, I’m eager to know what my son’s wife is like.” 

Politely nodding, you follow behind her and nearly freeze. If you had expected your bedroom to be astonishing, then you weren’t prepared for the enormous buffet that waits for you ahead. 

Pieces of food are scattered all over the decorated table, ranging from freshly cooked to foods you would have never imagined yourself eating. It reminds you of times your family could barely manage to have a decent meal for one night, lost scavenging for food that wouldn’t make your empty pockets hurt. 

You’re so lost in the thought that you don’t feel someone brush by you. There’s suddenly a warm hand planting onto your shoulder, drawing your attention with a smile full of dimples. 

“Do you want to sit down first?” He gestures to the table, where his mother sits next to his father and opposite to his sister. Embarrassed that you’ve been just gawking at the table, you hurriedly take a seat and so does Namjoon. 

Even though you’re only just sitting at the table, it seems like all eyes are on you, burning into your skin and tracing every move. The impending silence eventually does crack though, and it’s done by a person you would have least expected. 

“Is that chicken?” Namjoon’s father blurts out, his eyes following a tray one of the servants brings by. His wife immediately interjects, dismayed by his reaction. 

“Indeed,” She points a demanding finger at him, “But none for you, there’s a reason why your health hasn’t been the greatest as of lately.” 

He pouts at her response, longley staring at the dish once it arrives. The childlike display catches you a bit off guard, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s unreasonable though.” He suddenly looks in your direction, “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t she being unreasonable?” 

The abrupt inquiry leaves you speechless, no coherent words manifesting at the tip of your tongue. His wife whirls around, cocking up a brow in his direction. 

“Why are you dragging her into this?” She faces you with a smile, “Y/N is the newest addition to our family so we should make her feel welcome, not bring her into such trivial matters.” 

The pleasant response astonishes you, but more so the mention of your inclusion. He lets out a sigh, acknowledging his wife’s sentiments. 

“You’re right.” He turns to you, “Y/N, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” 

His mother hums, “I’d like to hear about where you grew up, Y/N.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing really special,” You grow bashful, “I was raised in the outskirts of the country by my parents.” 

The two of them nod, intently listening to you, “Before coming here, I studied in the imperial academy for a while.” 

“Ah, involved in the industry I see.” He praises, “You must know a lot about how our businesses are conducted, right?” 

“Not quite.” There’s a strained smile on your lips, “I didn’t want to actively participate in it.” 

Although your answer seems to have taken both of them by surprise, his wife hums in approval. “So I’m assuming that was your personal choice?” 

When you nod, a giant smile stretches onto her lips, and she elbows her husband, “A gutsy one, don’t you think?” 

He smiles in retaliation, “Just like you.” 

She blushes at his sudden compliment, but a voice from afar breaks the two out of their daze. 

“Gross - we’re eating here.” 

Appalled at the feminine voice, you notice the young girl seated across from Namjoon, a deep frown etched onto her stern features. 

“Leave them be, Geongmin.” Namjoon coaxes his sister, but she lets out a grunt of disapproval in the midst of eating soup.

The corners of his mother’s lips turn up and his father faces you again, looking as if he had a million questions up his sleeve lined up just for you. 

Much to your surprise, the rest of the evening is spent exchanging pleasantries with them and keeping conversation light. There even comes a moment when both you and Namjoon end up reaching out for the bread basket, only to pull away once you discover your hands had ended up meeting halfway. As you grow bashful, you notice his mother smiling tenderly and his father chuckling at the abrupt affiliation. 

Once the evening begins to come to an end, you excuse yourself through the use of your own fatigue and request to head to bed first. They waste no time in understanding, with Namjoon’s father even wrapping a hand around his son and expressing that he needed to discuss some things with him anyway. 

You leave the room as he heads off with his family, granting you with some much-needed time and space. 

***

Treading back, you pause at the large wooden door that leads into your room. Your eyes briefly skim over the fine carvings on the wood, instead choosing to scrutinize the direction of your right and left side. A shadow casts over your pupils and your hand presses against the door, letting it slowly creak wide open. 

Step by step, you stroll inside and let the light fade out, replacing itself with only darkness. 

The moment the source of luminescence disappears, you move within a flash. The handle is locked, tugged at for a confirmation. There’s a speck of radiance coming from the small lamp you’ve turned on, enough to see the large suitcase you’ve brought get yanked out. 

Zippers are flying and the cover is ripped off. Clothes are frantically thrown astray, dumped into a careless heep without much of a second look. Your hands are weaving through the material and running rampant, eyes flickering with something akin to desire and alloyed with increasing unease. 

Once your hands meet with metal, a twinkle emerges within your orbs. The spindle of ore is unwound; detangling the material in a quickened manner. It looks distinctly similar to what one would use for electrical purposes, set with the intention of providing light in grim areas. 

Right. The intention. 

Unraveled, you cautiously drift over to the large window by the bedside and crank it open. Peering outside, there’s no glimmer or streak of luminescence meeting your eyes, only a dark, simple gray sky. 

Unconsciously a breath of relief leaves your lips and you reach out, reclining your body just enough to reach above and then below the window’s hilt. The instrument effortlessly blends in, appearing like a simple cable that’s been tightly strung around. 

You lean back and rummage through the luggage on the ground, pulling out a small plastic box that doesn’t appear to be much, but more or less, is the sole thing you couldn’t have departed without. With a small hinged click, it connects to the thin barbed string you just unraveled and right when a quiet buzz resonates through, does a smile tugs on the corner of your lips. 

A knock resonates through the box. Followed by another, and then another. It’s succeeded with a prolonged silence on your part, your entire body remaining in a frozen state. 

Static echoes and you let out the air you didn’t realize you were holding from your lungs. 

Within seconds, you are nimbly knocking against the box in repetitive notions. Your actions range from different types of knocks; heavy, light, twice the sound. 

More static echoes and your eyes immediately widen, hands balling up into tighter fists. 

A heavier one. 

“I have….” 

Lighter. 

“...successfully infiltrated….” 

One last firm knock. 

“....the enemy household.”

[cognacdelights]

fluorescent adolescent [7]

the romantic tirades of indie routledge series masterlist

my outer banks masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys 

summary: angry and upset at the way she was treated, indie gets her revenge on an oblivious jj. however, not before she gets the release her touch-starved body has been craving in his absence. 

warnings: sexual content. dirty talk. public sex. underage drinking. angst. swearing.

There weren’t many skills in life that Indie Routledge had mastered; she was considered by most as a give-it-a-go kind of girl. Well, that was until it came to math, as Pope Heyward had come to realise after attempting to explain algebraic equations to her. Let’s just say, Indie thought of algebra as more of a foreign language, rather than a sub-branch of math. Cheerleading during her freshman year faired far better - motivation-wise, at least. The brief, three week period in which Indie had somehow made it onto Kildare County High’s award-winning cheerleading team had been plagued with a plethora of slips, trips and falls. A sprained ankle - and a broken nose on Thalia Ramos’ part - had swiftly ended the young Routledge girl’s career as a flyer. However, her career as an electric guitarist, not-so-astonishingly, was even shorter. After two weeks of out-of-tune strumming and accompanying tone deaf vocals, Big John had gently suggested that she retire from the demanding world of rock and roll and had promptly sold the guitar to a friend of a friend; not to mention, Wonderwall was banned from the Routledge household for the foreseeable.

However, there was one thing that she had come to master during her fifteen trouble-filled years on this godforsaken planet - besides raising absolute hell for her at-a-loss brother. Grudges. Indie Routledge could hold a grudge longer, and harder, than the best of them. There was no escaping the feisty, sharp-tongued hellcat’s wrath once you had entered into the notorious realms of her bad side. From the intense, acrimonious death glares, to the caustic, bitter snipes of her venomous tongue, to the suffocating quiet of her silent treatment; you would bare witness to it all, as the insufferably oblivious JJ Maybank had come to find out the hard way.

As his bare, sun-soaked shoulders leant against the cushioned back of the bench, he peeled the sweat-ridden skin of his thighs from the scolding leather and rested his hips nonchalantly on the edge of the seat. He brought the freshly-opened can of beer up to his lips - taking a long and generous sip - as the scorching, mid-day sun beat down above him. The reflective lenses of his off-brand sunglasses covered his murky, cobalt eyes, allowing him to shamelessly devour her curvaceous silhouette from the opposite side of the deck. His tongue dragged lazily along the chapped ridges of his bottom lip as her dainty fingertips bunched around the faded, stone-washed fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, pulling the garment up and over her tousled top-knot.

“Dude,” Pope’s reprimanding voice attempted to pull the shaggy-haired blonde from his hormone-induced trance, accompanied by an abrupt slap against his shoulder, “he’d kill you if he saw you looking at Indie like that.” Despite his quite adamant disapproval, the usually soft-spoken boy couldn’t resist taking a swift glance in Indie’s direction; the ruched, ivory bikini - which only just covered her most intimate of areas - was a stark contrast against her bronzed, olive-toned complexion, that glistened celestially under the Mid-Atlantic sun. She was utterly a sight to behold, and that fact was undeniable - no matter who you were to John B.

“I’m just admiring the scenery,” JJ responded somewhat casually, an air of dismissiveness present within his gravelly tone. However, whilst the blasé words that so effortlessly rolled off his tongue indicated one thing, his inconspicuous eyes suggested another; behind the over-sized, reflective glasses, his cerulean orbs were drinking in her scandalously-clad, slender figure and indulging themselves in all of her glorious liberties. His searing gaze fixated on her cleavage, refusing to relent as she obliviously leant forwards in an attempt to reach the tanning oil - the thin fabric of her bikini shifting ever so slightly to expose even more of her chest to him. A haughty, brazen smirk tugged briefly at the corners of his lips as he revelled in the sight before him; whilst Indie merely sported B cups, her boobs were delightfully perky and the two spear-headed, titanium bars which penetrated either side of her taut, rosy nipples were a definite turn on for him.

Leisurely regaining her posture, she adjusted the loosely-tied string of her bikini top, which had slipped uncomfortably high up her back. The lackadaisical movements allowed her to flaunt the perfect amount of sun-kissed side boob, and showcase the heart-shaped, do-it-yourself stick and poke tattoo that had been drunkenly carved into the left side of her rib cage. A lustful moan vigorously clawed at the back of JJ’s throat, desperate to surpass his beer-soaked lips and resonate through the salt-laced, open-ocean air. He suppressed the ungodly groan with a subtle cough as his hazy, indigo eyes continued to follow her cleavage - her love-marked breasts bouncing ever so slightly with each sprightly step she made towards him. 

“Will you?” the sultry melody of Indie’s voice diverted Pope’s rigid gaze from the calm, distant waves of the horizon. His deep umber eyes swiftly fell upon the half-empty bottle of tanning oil, which she had half-heartedly thrust in his general direction - purposefully avoiding her barely-clothed silhouette at all costs. He would be downright lying to himself if he refused to admit that she was a radiantly beautiful temptress, and that the odd inappropriate thought hadn’t grudgingly crept it’s way into his typically innocent mind on occasion, but he knew it was wrong on so many levels; if he existed in the Garden of Eden, then Indie Routledge was the forbidden fruit that devilishly taunted him from the evergreen trees above. She was his best friend’s little sister, after all. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he admitted solemnly, bringing his almost-empty can of tepid beer to his lips. Once again, his cautious, mocha eyes concentrated on anywhere but her exposed physique as they peered above the metal rim, settling on her luminous, cinnamon orbs out of safety. Indie’s signature pout painted her olive complexion as her neatly-plucked eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Pope stared back at her with a deadpan expression - as if it were completely obvious as to why he refused to place his sinless hands on her sun-drenched, bikini-clad body. 

Outstretching his upturned palm, JJ interjected their conversation with a nonchalant offer, “give it here.” Indie was forced to finally acknowledge his presence after a prolonged period of subjecting him to her soul-crushing silent treatment, eventually allowing her mahogany eyes to fall upon his relaxed, shirtless silhouette as a sour scowl contorted her doll-like features. Her cold, impassive gaze trailed along the toned lengths of his athletic body as she silently mulled over her next move. She so desperately wanted to stand her ground with him, however a subtle arching upwards of his untamed eyebrow saw her reluctantly caving in to his demands with a defeated exhale. 

“Just know that you were the last resort,” her vicious tongue sniped with it’s venom-laced words, as she forcefully placed the tanning oil down in his hand - the grease-coated bottle slapping loudly against his calloused palm on impact. 

Pope let out a rapid breath of air in the form of an uncomfortable whistle tone before standing from the scorching, leather seat, “I’ll leave you two to it then.” His bare feet padded against the blistering fibreglass decking at an increasing pace, cautious not to burn the already sensitive skin of the undersides of his feet, as he approached the similarly scolding ladder. Wisely, he opted to launch his sculpted, over-heating body into the sweet, frigid relief of the open waters, instead of slowly and painfully descending down the fire-like steps. 

In a sanctimonious display, Indie swiftly swivelled on the heels of her feet, leaving the teal-eyed boy with the glorious sight of her voluptuously pert ass. The corners of his upper lip twitched ever so slightly - a satisfied smirk creeping across his chiselled, stubble-lined features for a fleeting moment as he insolently admired the sight before him. She, however, stared out into the distant waves, observing intently as the remaining pogues frolicked carelessly around in the placid waves.

His audacious fingertips took it upon themselves to curl beneath the double-knotted ties of her bikini bottoms, inching her hour-glass figure ever close to him until he could feel the smooth lengths of her sun-kissed legs against his. The warm palms of his hands wandered the short distance to her voluptuous hips, applying a gentle touch of pressure to guide her petite frame into his welcoming lap; his ring-cladded hands carrying a certain authoritative and domineering contingence that Indie simply couldn’t ignore.

With his paw-like palms coated in a generous amount of tanning oil, JJ began tenderly caressing the dainty, sun-kissed broads of her shoulders - his masterful thumbs massaging the coconut-scented product into her skin in soothing circles. Indie’s incandescent eyes fluttered closed as her tense, aching muscles reluctantly relaxed under his delicate fingertips, an almost inaudible moan of satisfaction slipping out from between her slightly parted lips. Seven painfully long days and pining-filled nights had passed since she had last felt the invigorating touch of his fingertips against her searing skin, and the mere, innocent gesture of him rubbing in her tanning oil was slowly - but surely - beginning to douse the week-long, burning rage which she had directed towards him. 

“You like that, hmm?” he hummed imperiously, his tone low and gravelly as his thin lips grazed ever so lightly against the soft skin of her neck with each spoken word. Her slender arms pricked with goosebumps - almost as if on cue - as she felt the faint scruffs of his stubble tickle against her exposed collarbone, and his taunting lips curl upwards into a haughty, satisfied smirk. In truth be told, JJ Maybank had missed their secret, intimate rendezvous; he longed for the subtle hint of watermelon that lingered on her plump, luscious lips and hankered for the euphoric sensation of her tight, dripping pussy clenching around his painfully hard dick once more.

“I’d like it a lot better if you shut up,” Indie spat with a sour tongue. 

“Hey, watch the mouth, madam, before I put it to good use,” JJ responded with a playful warning, mistaking her seething snipes as her infamous, satire-laced flirting. The smug smile which had painted itself across his defined, rosy-tinged features grew ever so slightly, as the mischievous tips of his stubby fingers toyed with the loosely-tied knot of her bikini top. Teasingly, he pulled the thin, ivory band towards him before abruptly letting go - allowing the lax elastic to snap somewhat gently against her spine; of course, it wasn’t anything too rigorous, just a little something to capture and secure her attention.

“Try it, I dare you,” her dark, mahogany eyes peered upwards at the taller, shaggy-haired blonde, the back of her head resting comfortably against the brawny muscles of his squared-off shoulder, “I’m in a biting mood.” His murky, indigo eyes met with hers as his wandering palms slipped casually beneath the double-knotted tie and continued to carefully massage the sweet-smelling oil into her beautifully bronzed skin in effortless, gentle, circular motions. She was facing a real confliction of emotions in that moment; the insolent smirk which, not so graciously, graced his sunburnt complexion fanned the flames of her hurt-fuelled hatred towards him - however, the way his masterful hands tenderly caressed her back doused the fire just as rapidly. 

“Mhmm, there’s that attitude that I love so much,” JJ countered her fiery quip with a lighthearted chuckle. His beer-stained lips placed several sloppy kisses into her tamed, chestnut tangles as he allowed his free-spirited hands to dauntlessly inch around her front. Indie’s gaze dropped - suddenly - to the two bear-like palms that had brazenly slithered beneath the thin, ruched material and cupped both her petite, bouncing breasts in a domineering hold. His audacious hands were pleasantly warm as they sensually fondled her cleavage - his masterful thumbs working every inch of her hickey-littered skin as heavy, jagged breaths surpassed her chapstick-coated lips. A quiet, lascivious whine echoed between them as his gentle fingertips toyed with her nipple piercing, twirling the titanium rods around in a painfully slow motion. 

“The only thing you love is the sound-” Indie’s vindictive words were crudely interrupted by an elated gasp forcing it’s way out from the depths of her throat, as his mischievous fingers flicked against her hardened nipple. Frustrated by his teasing touches, she sunk her two front teeth into the rose-tinted flesh of her bottom lip in a desperate bid to discourage the searing, sensuous heat that was promptly building between her sun-soaked thighs. 

“What was that, Squirt?” his taunting, husky voice questioned. Her terracotta eyes had focused themselves on the frayed, princess-printed beach towel that laid flat against the opposing, leather cushions, but she just knew from the blatant mocking in his inflections that an overbearing, pompous beam had plastered itself across stubble-lined features. This only enraged the dainty, sour-tongued virago further. 

“The only thing you-” she began again, her tone significantly lower, resembling more of a resentful and infuriated growl. However, her malicious words were once again disrupted by a second high-pitched, pleasure-filled gasp as the calloused tip of his thumb flicked against her excited nipple once again and his sumptuous, massaging motions became increasingly more rigorous. As valiant as they were, her efforts to smother the lustful heat emanating from between her now clamped together thighs were futile - as her scant bikini bottoms dampened with desire. 

Feeling the drenched material clinging against the exposed skin of this muscular thighs, JJ’s audacious fingertips retreated from the comforting shelter of her bikini top. Painstakingly slow and ever so lightly, he traced the concave outline of her hour-glass figure until he reached the soaking wet haven of her bikini bottoms. His chapped, beer-laced lips found a sweet spot nestled within the crook of her neck and began their salacious assault, as his work-worn palms allowed themselves to forcefully slip between the crack in her love-marked thighs. JJ proceeded to prise them apart with an authoritative touch of pressure, having her spread her bare, sun-drenched legs so he had full and unrestricted access to her gloriously sodden core. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he informed in his trademark, throaty tone - although he knew in his bones she wouldn’t; Indie Routledge had gone seven days without his tantalising, expert touch and her svelte, slightly-toned body was evidently just as touch-starved as his own. 

Slipping his ring-clad finger beneath the utterly soaked fabric of her bikini bottoms, he ran a teasing stripe along her dampened folds - drawing a long, lecherous moan from the back of her throat. His sharpened teeth grazed against the now mauve-tinged patch of skin as his thumb found her acutely sensitive bud of nerves. He worked a, gentle at first, series of figure eight motions against her swollen clit, enticing a melodic symphony of pleasure-filled purrs and whines from between her slightly parted lips. With each passing second, his masterful motions grew rougher and more abrupt. 

Pushing the juice-soaked fabric entirely to the side, he lathered both his middle and ring finger in her pearl-like nectar before thrusting them into her yearning warmth. Instinctively, Indie clamped her dainty palm across her mouth, muffling the emphatic, enraptured moans that soon followed his fast-paced thrusts. JJ abandoned his rhythmic figure eight motions as he focused solely on thrusting his fingers deep and hard into her dripping core - expertly curling them up against her delicate pleasure point. Her voluptuous hips rocked in synchronisation with his rapid momentum, the cool metal of his rings contrasting against the sweltering heat of her pussy. 

Squeezing her clouded, cinnamon eyes shut, Indie released a barrage of sinful expletives and high-pitched moans into the safety of her clasped hand. She could feel the beginnings of her much-anticipated high building in the pit of her stomach as the already tight walls of her soaking pussy contracted around his stubby fingers. With a pleased-with-himself smile still contorting his sunburnt complexion, his thumb returned to it’s previous salacious cycle of pressing rigorous circular motions against her delicate rose bud. Her lubed-up walls clamped hard around his silver signet ring and he took this as his cue to hastily retreat from her warmth. 

“Don’t you dare,” she whimpered at the sudden loss of contact - fury detectable in her strained, stringent tone. A low, tormenting laugh vibrated from the depths of his vocal chords as he nectar-drenched fingers drew cursive patterns against her inner thighs. 

Minutes dragged by as his hazy, teal eyes watched her heaving chest regain it’s gentle composure, before plunging his two long and stubby fingers back into the depths of her still soaking core. Indie’s head subconsciously threw itself backwards - resting against the burly broads of his shoulders - as his pace quickened with each vigorous thrust. JJ’s calloused thumb found her swollen clit once more, reprising his previous cycle of sensuous figure eight motions alongside his momentous thrusts. Salacious moans continued to spill from between her chapstick-coated lips as she allowed his free hand to guide her seductive curves into a synchronised rocking - forcibly meeting against the juice-soaked balls of his knuckles. Once again, the rigid clamping of her core’s warm and nectar-stained walls around his masterful fingers triggered JJ’s hasty retreat - still sporting the imperious smirk which Indie had come to loathe with a searing passion. 

“I hate you,” she spat, overwhelmingly frustrated. Taking charge of the unfolding situation, Indie’s lavender-painted fingertips tensed around his bracelet-clad wrist - dragging his loosely clenched fist back between the hickey-painted plains of her inner thighs. 

“If you hate me, you wouldn’t want me doing this, would you?” his gravelly, sardonic tone tormented as his juice-stained fingers found themselves thrusting themselves vigorously back into the warm depths of her forbidden fruit. With great difficulty, she suppressed the raucous whines and elated moans which clawed desperately at the back of her throat as she indulged herself in the lascivious contact between them. Several sloppy, rigid plunges had her yearning, touch-starved centre clenching tightly around his fist for a third time. JJ - once again - attempted to deny the cinnamon-haired hellcat her release; however, her juice-stained thighs reacted much quicker than he could and clamped themselves together - trapping his teasing fingers within her sodden core. She was desperate for a release. 

“Alright, you win, pretty girl,” JJ cooed into her ear, a deep laugh resonating through the salt-laced, mid-ocean air. Cautiously, her thighs relaxed their rigid hold around his bruised-covered fist and allowed his dauntless fingertips to ease back into their fast-paced thrusts. Within seconds, Indie was bordering on the edge of her orgasm for a fourth time; her hankering walls fell into a desirous cycle of clenching and un-clenching around his juice-covered knuckles in anticipation of the euphoric high she had been craving all week and her lecherous whines filled the oppressive, muggy air surrounding them. One set of ballerina-shaped fingernails dug themselves into the burly flesh of his thigh as the other carelessly sunk into the clammy palm of her hand - her dainty fist contracted into a tight ball as she bit down into the tanning-oil-covered flesh in a successful attempt to silence her pleasure-filled screams. 

“Fuck, I wanna feel that tight pussy clenching around my dick so bad,” the shaggy-haired blonde let out a carnal groan - his chapped lips capturing hers in a steamy, lascivious kiss. Everything about their raunchy embrace was sloppy, needy and unchaste as his large, sweat-riddled palms guided her enticing hips so that they faced his. Her petite knees sat either side of his shirtless, athletic silhouette - trapping him beneath her aching, eager pussy. 

“Mhmm?” Indie taunted with a sultry hum, her plump, luscious lips remaining in a salacious synchrony with his. Grinding her nectar-soaked heat against the very tip of his hardened dick, she felt his pulsing length continuing to grow as it strained uncomfortably against the unforgiving fabric of his swim shorts. Her desperate fingertips combed through the tousled waves of his fair locks, tugging carelessly on the straw-like ends. 

“Mhmm,” JJ struggled to responded, his hormone-focused brain transfixed on the euphoric sensation of her damp, clothed pussy rubbing against his dick. 

“Too bad, pretty boy,” she purred against her earlobe, her tone swiftly transforming from one thick with desire and lust to one laced with bitterness and revulsion, “you better sort yourself out before John B sees.” Adapting his harsh words from the previous week, she spoke with the same causticity and sourness - completely removing her scandalously-clad figure from his yearning grasp. An acidic scowl contorted her bronzed, doll-like features as her darkened, sorrel eyes bore into his unphased.

“What the fuck?” he questioned with an un-amused groan, completely perplexed by her abruptly sudden turn of mood. His still cum-drenched hand reached out to coil around her dainty wrist and coax her back into his welcoming lap - however, as his ring-cladded fingertips clasped onto her, she snatched herself from his grasp with a cold and impassive stare. “What is the matter with you, huh?” his now highly-frustrated tone pushed for anything resembling an explanation, “you’ve been one hell of a bitch all week and it’s wearing pretty fucking thin, India.”

“Did you just call me-” the utter shock of his use of her government name stopped her from finishing her exclamation - the venom-filled, rage-fuelled words getting caught in the back of her throat. Her bare, exposed chest heaved with jagged breaths as she struggled to contain her anger; JJ Maybank had never - not once - ever referred to her as India in the eight years that he had known her, until now. Indie’s cheeks flushed an enraged rouge, as did the tops of her ears, as she finally reached her boiling point. “Do you know what, Jesse James? You’re a real piece of shit. Fuck you, and your one inch wonder. I’m done with you and whatever this is.”

“This,” JJ gestured between the two of them with his forefinger, “isn’t anything. You’re just a smart-mouthed little girl seeking out attention that she can’t handle, and I’m not fucking entertaining it anymore.”

Taglist: @bellaguarneri @spilledtee @outrbanks @ilovejjmaybank @outerbxmalia @parkerpetertingle @jjouterbanks @summerintheobx @poguelifesurfshop @o-b-x @maybanksmalfoy @pogue-writings @milamaybank @heypopemain @wtfstarkey @trinnwazheree @corebore123 @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @queenniccimicci @maybankslut @jiaraendgame @starlightstarkey @abbiesthings @dannii-li @tempestuousjj @abbiesthings @stfukie @diverrdown @curlybrownhairedboys @joshy-obx @jjmaybankx @fanofmany @jjtheangel​ @obxlife @tangledinsparkles @jayjaymaebank @linctaviaxbellarke @rafecamerondeservesbetter @belledutchess @tembo-ndoto @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @secretmoonphantom @lolitstiana @blindedbyyourgrace17 @rudyypankow @sunwardsss @john-shelby @angelicbabybutterfly​ @kamcrazy123​ 

[ibijau]

The modern xisangyao I’ve been talking about yay /o/ also on AO3 (and big thanks to the xisang discord for listening to my ramblings a while back + providing a lot of ideas for this!)

Lan Xichen hangs the phone and slumps against the back of his office chair. It is unusual enough to catch the attention of his assistant who looks up from his laptop with a concerned noise.

"Something wrong?" Mo Xuanyu asks

Lan Xichen nods weakly. "It was a fake after all." 

Mo Xuanyu immediately understands what he means, and relaxes upon learning it is something he wouldn't count as important. To Lan Xichen though, it is devastating. That painting has been all he's been thinking about for weeks at this point. A lost Nie Huaisang resurfacing is always exciting for the very small circle of people who care about these things. And Lan Xichen cares, of course.

He wrote his thesis on the master, and he has a deal for a book so more people can learn about that forgotten genius. He has been called the leading expert on the Tang era scholar, though it isn't hard when hardly anyone else bothers with him. 

That's why when 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', long thought lost to a fire early in the last century, resurfaced on the market, the buyer turned to Lan Xichen to ensure that it is the real deal. It is well known that there's a staggering number of fake Nie Huaisang paintings out there. One of many oddities about the man’s work, since his fame never rose high enough to be so eagerly copied by other artists of all periods, and his paintings have rarely sold for a price that would justify the attention of skilled forgers. 

Lan Xichen is also trying to write a paper on that, when his book and teaching leave him the time. 

It had been a treat to behold 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe'. There are no known copies of that one, only descriptions which do not do it justice. Lan Xichen could have cried at those delicate lines, fraught with inexplicable melancholy, like a last goodbye to a beloved home. 'Winter moonlight' is the last known work of Nie Huaisang before he dropped off the record, well into his eighties or possibly his nineties, and Lan Xichen did get a sense of finality upon seeing it. It wasn't just a painting, it was a farewell. 

As to its authenticity, Lan Xichen had no doubt at the time. The lines, the subject, the sense of light and darkness, everything was perfectly fitting with the master's other works. It really had to be the lost masterpiece, the culmination of a great artist’s life. Lan Xichen had only recommended further analysis to confirm it, certain that it was the true 'Winter moonlight'.

The painting's owner has just called to explain that the paper is too young by a few centuries. 

Lan Xichen is distraught to say the least. It's not that he is above mistakes, he is only human after all, but he was convinced that this painting was real. 

It's the thing with Nie Huaisang though. Not only has he attracted many counterfeiters over the centuries, they are always forgers of rare talent. 

"Well, that's disappointing," Mo Xuanyu agrees, more out of politeness than anything else. "Not really surprising though. How many fakes does it make this year?" 

"Three. No, two, 'man with rabbits' was tested last month and confirmed as being authentic after all. He painted that one in his youth so his style wasn't quite settled yet, but the paper and ink are right and it does look exactly like that copy they have in Beijin."

Mo Xuanyu rolls his eyes, and turns back to his laptop. 

"I don't know why anyone bothers with that guy's paintings," he huffs, having never shared Lan Xichen's passion for the artist. "Most of the ones we have are fake."

"The estate sale that got us those two fakes also produced several confirmed ones," Lan Xichen protests mildly. “It’s a shame 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe' turned out to be fake, but apparently ‘Mountains longing for snow’ has been confirmed as real, even if it didn’t sell. I’d give anything to have a look at that one too.”

Mo Xuanyu, who clearly lost interest in the conversation the instant he realised it was about an artist Lan Xichen has heard him describe as mediocre at best, turns his full attention back to his laptop when he sound warns him he has a new message.

“Then do that,” he mutters without conviction. “Go have a look or something.”

Lan Xichen stops breathing for a second, and stares at his assistant as if Mo Xuanyu had just handed him the key to the secret of the universe.

It is always a little awkward to contact owners of paintings once they are in private collections, and Lan Xichen has learned the hard way to avoid it. Some collectors are rather defensive, and a few don't want it publicised that they own rare art. But surely the antiquarian who currently holds those works wouldn’t mind letting him have a look? His interest in them, if publicised, could certainly create a ‘buzz’ of some sort in the small community of Nie Huaisang enthusiasts. It is for that sort of things that his little brother has convinced him to get a social media presence after all, so why not use it to his advantage?

Already recovering from his disappointment over 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', Lan Xichen gets to work and starts looking for information about whoever currently holds those unsold paintings. It takes a surprisingly long while, but he eventually discovers that the series of paintings was bought by a man named mister Shanzi, apparently after the death of their former owner whose identity has not been revealed.

It is not the first time Lan Xichen encounters the name Shanzi. The man is a reputed antiquarian and art dealer. Part of his reputation comes from rarely ever being fooled by fakes and copies, and for often being the one to spot lost works from obscure artists. If mister Shanzi was fooled by 'Winter moonlight in Qinghe', then Lan Xichen feels a little better for his own mistake. The copy really had to be excellent.

The problem with mister Shanzi being involved is that he is not an easy man to contact. In this digital age, mister Shanzi is an art dealer without an online presence of any sort, though after some probing, Lan Xichen learns from one auction house that in recent years mister Shanzi has hired an assistant, and that young man is slightly less elusive than his employer. Not by much though, and it takes all of Lan Xichen’s persuasion and good reputation to obtain the email of that assistant.

It would be an understatement to say that the assistant in question is unhappy to have had his contact leaked to a stranger. The first email Lan Xichen gets in answer to his painfully polite enquiry is probably the most passive-agressive thing he has ever beheld, and that includes family dinner with his father and his mother’s new girlfriend. 

If it were earlier in his career, if he were a few years younger, Lan Xichen would have given up at that point, fearful to disturb. But he’s learned to fight for what he wants when it is needed, and what he wants, right now, is a chance to look at paintings he will otherwise never see unless by some miracle a museum in the country buys them… and he knows how unlikely that is. Nie Huaisang doesn’t attract the crowds and academics.

Not yet, anyway. Lan Xichen’s book will change that.

And the more of Nie Huaisang’s work he gets to see with his own eyes, the easier that book will be to write.

So Lan Xichen replies to that unpleasant email with an essay detailing his hopes of attracting attention to his work, the possibility that prices might rise in the future, but above all his interest in an artist who deserves to be admired along with more famous names.

To his surprise, it works.

Mister Shanzi’s assistant’s reply states that he also has deep admiration for the forgotten master, and that his employer has a private collection of Nie Huaisang’s works. He is unsure whether mister Shanzi would be willing to show those, since they are stored in his own home, but perhaps an arrangement could be made. Hopefully, Lan Xichen might agree to meet in a few days at a café near the university where he works, so that they can more easily discuss what he would need for his book.

Lan Xichen readily agrees, and the day of their meeting cannot come soon enough.

When it does come, at last, Lan Xichen is almost half an hour early at the café. He tries, at first, to grade some essays from a class he teaches, but quickly finds that he cannot focus on that at the moment. It is ridiculous to be so nervous over this, he’s met with plenty of antiquarians and art dealers before, he’s been invited to check private collections as well, but on that late afternoon, his skin is buzzing with excitement, as if he were on the verge of something extraordinary.

That excitement spikes up when an elegant young man enters the café, browsing the table with searching eyes, only to smile when he spots Lan Xichen. The young man, who might be one of the most beautiful people Lan Xichen has ever seen, quickly gives him a short bow.

“You must be Lan Xichen?” he asks.

Lan Xichen can only nod, and gestures to invite the gorgeous stranger to sit across from him.

"I'm mister Shanzi’s assistant,” the other man says as he takes a seat. “Meng Yao, at your service."

[rllymilerlly]

Okay so this is for my (And essentially @toph-beifcng too because omg they have helped develop this a ton) Avatar Band AU.

Now these are the Songs I think would be on The GAangs Album “Water Earth Fire Air” (I know very little about music terminology and such so please excuse my lack of knowledge)

This Album is one of their only albums that tell a story from start to finish. It’s a story about love, loss, found families and growing up.

-The Avatar: This Song is almost purely instrumental and uses a lot of motifs from the actual show. There is only a little Narration throughout it and is done by Katara (and it kind of is similar to the shows in a way)

-The Boy in the Iceberg: This Song starts off with a very dramatic chord but then Aang enters in and is very bubbly and light. It focuses mainly on Aang with vocal accompaniments by Kat and Sokka. But as the song progresses it gets a little more desperate and you realize it’s about this kid in denial about the horrors that have happened to him. And Zuko is playing these underlying tones that just make it feel like there is this impending doom. And it ends with Aang solemnly saying “I never wanted to be-“

-Kyoshi Warrior: This follows along with the tone Zuko started in the previous song and focuses on Suki. This is about the obstacles she has had to overcome especially being a woman. And it’s a very empowering almost angry song. Sokka has lil harmonies with her too in this song which is pretty cute. Katara has a keytar solo in this too dont @ me

-Imprisoned/Jet: I’m debating putting this song in but I want an early Katara feature so I just might. This one would be about her dealing with her not so great relationships in the past. And kind of a not so subtle fuck you to Jet

-The Blue Spirit: This would follow up with Katara’s slower vibes and start out kind of eerie. It’s a Zuko and Aang duet (Mainly Zuko though). It’s about Zuko’s internal struggles and moral dilemmas. Aang in the song represents the goodness he knows he has in him. But Zuko keeps pushing that away for the time being. And it gets more and more harsh. And it practically ends with Zuko scream/sobbing

-The Siege of the North: This features practically everyone vocally. This one is dedicated to their passed friend (Girlfriend in Sokka’s case) Yue. And it starts off angry and sad and it just hits everyone. Then it does end on a solo from Sokka that’s wow so emotional.

-The Avatar State: A 15 minute masterpiece that puts all their styles of music together. And cannot decide if I want this as just an instrumental or not. But fun fact for the fans: Aang actually originally composed and recorded the whole thing by himself as sort of a dedication to all of his pals. But in performance and the soundtrack it’s all of the Gaang playing

-The Cave of Two Lovers: Essentially it’s mostly Katara and Aang singing a funny little tune as they try to just laugh off the insanity of their life. They’d even include a nod to “Secret Tunnel”. It’s a simple tune that contrasts great with the complexity of the Avatar State before. It’s a sign of hope of a brighter future. (Also during the performances of this everyone is on stage and sings a little part of the song. Except Toph who’d be getting ready backstage)

-The Swamp: This is just a Ethereal experience. It stars Sokka Katara and Aang. And is about strange ‘visions’ in a swamp. It Starts off with Sokka accepting Yue’s gone and Katara accepting her mother’s death. And finally it ends with Aang, he feels hopeless and alone but he keeps hearing this voice calling to him. And at live performances this is where Toph comes up from below stage as the fog machines pour out everywhere making it this insane mystic vibe. And the two of them are harmonizing together as the song builds up. (I imagine it sounding kind of similar to this song). And when they finally come together Toph saying something totally just Toph Like and that ends the song. (Also towards the end of the song they are singing this fun harmony and at the end take it up an octave (kind of like in the end of ‘show yourself’ from Frozen 2) and fans think while listening to the soundtrack that it’s Toph who hits this super high note but low and behold at the live performance it’s revealed it’s Aang in his wild falsetto)

-The Blind Bandit: It’s a 4 minute Drum Solo that’s just Toph center stage fucking killing it (LIKE PLEASE WATCH THIS VIDEO FOR REFERENCE OF HOW ACTUALLY INSANELY HARD SHE GOES. THEY TURN HER UPSIDE DOWN) Toph doesn’t need words to express her emotions. Okay enough said.

-City of Walls and Secrets: The Whole Gaang features in this one vocally at some point. And it’s about society keeping things away from the people. Because the Gaang really says fuck Authority.

-The Crossroads of Destiny: A Zuko and Katara duet. Their styles blend perfectly and create this somber piece about hope of redemption. And how they both lost their mother in a way.

-The Painted Lady: A mystical Katara Solo. That has everyone shaking. I’m not sure quite what it’s about but this is the song that made fans gay for Katara that’s all imma say.

-The Runaway: Look this is about to be the 3rd Katara feature in a row but I’m not mad. This would be a duet with Toph. And it’s a head banger and is about unlikely friendships okaY

-Nightmares and Day Dreams: An Aang solo. This one is just straight up wild. It’s a similar vibe to Boy in the Iceberg. Where a lot of it is Aang in denial of his problems and wanting to avoid responsibilities but it’s causing him insomnia. He wrote this when he didn’t sleep for over 72 hours and the weirdness it has definitely shows that.

-The Swords Masters: THE SOKKA SOLO WE DESERVE. In this album Sokka takes a way more serious vibe to his music, But this one does have a little more fun. It’s very energetic and shows off Sokka’s guitar skills.

-The Boiling Rock: The Zukki Song we have all been waiting for. It’s just straight up a good time. And is about finding love and accepting ones flaws. And it’a just iconic. This is where Suki hits a Whistle note in the album. They also each get an instrumental solo. This is one of the best headbangers in the album.

-Agni Kai (Lightning Strikes): @toph-beifcng is APPARENTLY WRITING THIS SO I DONT WANT TO SAY ANYTHING BC I DUNNONWHAT THEY WRITING BUT I KNOW ITLL BE STRAIGHT FIRE. I’m ASSUMING IT’S A ZUKO FEATURE THO.

-Sozins Comet: The final song in the album. It’s theme consist of a brighter future with their new found family and acceptance of the past. Overall it’s a straight jam. But in the end of the song it ends with the ‘Avatars Love’ Motif at the end.

BONUS TRACKS:

-Tales of Ba Sing Se:

Features fun little melodies from the Gaang that didn’t make full fledge songs. This also includes ‘Leaves from the Vine’ sung by Iroh still that Zuko plays with him. In memory of Lu Ten.

Please feel free to add on or suggest anything! Or send me an ask if you would rather do that :^)

[ready-to-rally]

Overwatch Possible New Hero Teaser: Toshiro Yagami

Letter translation below

Haikei, Toshiro, beloved husband:

The cherry blossoms are in glorious bloom after a gentle winter, soft clouds of pink against the green trees on the hillside. The season returns me to the winter day when the Hashimoto took you away from us, when snowflakes fell as the petals do now.

Strange that we are so close, yet we can visit you only when our current “masters” wish it. I hope they value your work enough to bring us together soon. Our daughter appreciated your recent gift, though I pray the blades you forge for the Hashimoto aren’t nearly so sharp, that what you craft for them is only equal to their sordid selves.

The forge of Yamagami Blades remains locked up tight, and since we last saw you in the autumn, we have moved into the upper level. It helps us feel close to you in many ways. In other ways, I feel your absence even more keenly. The musical hammering of the hot tamahagane, the song of the steel, is missing from this place. So is your own voice, your singing to the sword as you brushed it with yakibatsuchi, and the crackle of the fire when the blade hit the forge and the hiss as it cooled in the water. Sometimes I think I hear you there, yet it is always only the wind.

But I will not linger here. For as winter leads to spring, let me write a letter of lightness—a warm breeze bearing drifting blossoms. Perhaps it will grant us both a little peace, even as I turn my blade to keep the peace here from shattering altogether.

Many things remain unchanged, of course, in these eight years since your last trip home. You will doubtless be pleased to hear that Ichiko refuses to change the family recipe at Gozan Ramen, and the black garlic oil is as delicious as ever. It was crowded today, as many have come to celebrate the cherry blossoms. Yui’s dog, Mochi, is getting on in years, but his likeness still spins on the sign of the pottery school. Most of our favorite places are kept alive thanks to the tourists who delight in visiting quaint old towns such as ours. They eat ice cream from the cat café and burn their yen at the arcade or the new shopping mall you have yet to behold. Then, happy with their souvenirs, these day visitors skitter back onto the train before nightfall, when the lanterns flicker to life and the Hashimoto pound on closed shop doors, taking their “share” of what is earned by the labor of others and funneling it up to their betters through the aptly named Tora no Sumika.

Shimada Castle still sits high in its place of glory, overlooking our city like a stalwart stone temple awaiting a benevolent deity. You and I know well enough, we two who make and wield the sword, that while their castle was indeed strong stone, the Shimada were no gods, but people—and criminals at that. But the Shimada understood that honor and loyalty forge the strongest bond between ruler and ruled.

Lately, the Shimada have consumed my idle thoughts. They asked much of those who followed them, but they inspired us to give it. And in return, the Shimada clan led with integrity and treated us with respect. As you know, my mother and hers before her were honored to tend the fox shrine far from the clamor of town. But when it was clear my soul longed for the sword and I excelled at kenjutsu, the Shimada chose me over all others as their swordmaster. They knew that Kanezaka was not just the seat of their power, it was their home . . . and ours, too.

But where the Shimada gave, the Hashimoto take. After all, when one has many homes, one has none—and the Hashimoto clan claws at nearly every city in this nation. We are nothing special to them; one day they will drink us dry and move on, leaving us empty and broken. Even now, some twelve years on, I see the mark they have left on our city.

I regret that, even though the old part of Kanezaka appears outwardly unchanged, it has suffered under the cruel hand of the Hashimoto. Our view of the motherly mountain now encompasses the jut and arrogance of skyscrapers and neon, not the warm comfort of wood and wind and stone as it once did.

I stand, as Kanezaka itself does, between the old ways of the mountain and the Shimada and the new, sharp, hard ways of the city and the Hashimoto. We both know that the Hashimoto have you in their “care” not only for your skills, but also to keep me in my place—to ensure that I do not falter in their charge to keep peace in this city, among these people whom I respect so much. I will obey our current masters, for to do anything else will put both you and our friends here at risk.

I had hoped that over time the Hashimoto would grow lazy. That they would see we are an honest people whom they need not oppress.

Not even the most faithful dog could take such a beating without biting back—and the people of Kanezaka are great of heart. We are being worn down. The demands upon the populace are increasing, and tempers are rising. Missed payments are met with more vicious abuses. And now someone has given the Hashimoto further reason for anger.

Over the last few months, shipments of Hashimoto contraband have gone missing. Their men have been badly beaten or robbed when returning from their rounds. Perhaps most boldly of all, messages painted in bright, conspicuous colors have started to appear, though they are quickly painted over.

These fools are not so subtly throwing in-nen at the Hashimoto, and their acts are received as well as you would expect. These vigilantes think to rise strong against a tide of violence. Instead they strike fast—and hide faster—while the good people of Kanezaka take their penance. And so my job—to keep our own people, our friends, in submission—has become both more delicate and more vital with each passing day. There are moments when I can scarce believe the world in which I walk now: You, making beautiful work for undeserving pigs. I, who trained the scions of Sojiro Shimada, forced to turn my swordmaster’s blade against my own. The children of this town, growing to adulthood with only the brutal, thoughtless Hashimoto to determine what is good or bad . . . our daughter among them. It is dangerous in this city now.

I will walk through Kanezaka today not simply to imagine you walking beside me or to greet our neighbors. I have made an offering to take to the Tetsuzan Shrine of my ancestors: A bowl coated with brilliant blue-green yuyaku from the pottery school, into which Ichiko has ladled a splash of dashi. A rice ball from our neighbor. From Kenta, a piece of red bean mochi—our daughter’s favorite. To all this I have added a generous pour of sake. I may have poured a small cup for myself as well.

I will ask the fox spirit for strength to continue this fight and for wisdom for myself and for all of us. Then, after sunset, I will take the sword that you gave me so long ago at our yuino and patrol the streets of this place that both fills my heart and breaks it. I will find these self-appointed “guardians,” who, if not deterred from this path, may be the spark of a misguided and deadly fire that will consume us all.

May you and I both be as your blades are: strong and sharp. Obey the Hashimoto, as I must, and give them the outward show of respect, even if you cannot give true respect a home in your heart.

I will close on the lighter note that I promised and say that I know if you were here you would remind me, “The kitsune can change your luck with a flick of even one of her tails.” May she flick all nine of them and send some much-needed good fortune our way.

Kashiko—