#bless whoever drew him

[burningparadiseduck]

OUR SEXY DUKE !!!

[look at his flirtatious eyes!]

[arklayraven]

Was considering using this image of Satan as my icon but not sure yet...(always changing icons lol)

but I noticed something...

HIS EYES.

[babyangelsky]

BL Boys I Wanted Carnally in 2024 💖✨

Welcome to Babyangelsky's 2024 Wrap Up! To commemorate my second year of watching QL dramas, and my first year of actually talking on my blog, I've compiled a series of lists to celebrate all the QL things I loved this year!

Please feel free to take my categories and make lists of your own and tag me in them if you do!

💜 All the lists can be found here! 💜

Remember this game? I'm bringing it back!

MERRY CHRISTMAS LET'S LOOK AT BEAUTIFUL MEN

♡ Fort Thitipong as Mahasamut (Love Sea)

I wrote a whole post about how badly I wanted to eat this man with a spoon and how stupidly fucking attractive he is because I could not keep it to myself. I WANT TO EAT EVERY LAST BEEFY GOLDEN INCH OF HIM AND THEN I WANNA DO IT AGAIN!

♡ Furuya Robin as Takashi (Love is Better the Second Time Around)

I see Hiro. I understand Hiro. If this man made this face at me, I would also go have a really good shower.

♡ Ngern Anupart as Arthit (Fourever You)

THEY MADE HIM A FOOTBALL PLAYER AND COVERED HIM IN TATTOOS I NEED PART 2 LIKE I NEED AIR *SCREAMS INTO A PILLOW*

♡ Great Sapol as Yoryak (Wandee Goodday)

He's my blog header and blog title for a reason. Putting this beautiful giant ass man in bunny ears and a tail was a gift *specifically* for me. A gift for which I am eternally grateful, bless you thank you P'Golf.

♡ Mark Sorntast as Pie (Battle of the Writers)

I would like to once again thank the cameraman for this very slow pan up Mark's body and I would also like to thank whoever decided that Pie should strip for Ozone because they really blessed us all.

♡ Top Piyawat as Namping/Sian (Every You, Every Me)

I want them both in very different ways which, once again, all the credit in the world to Top both for Looking Like That and for having the skill to portray these two characters so differently.

♡ Pond Ponlawit as Hill (Fourever You)

I don't ever not want Pond carnally when he is on my screen. He was also great and attractive as Third in Century of Love but he didn't get enough screen time and also they didn't show him to us like this:

♡ Joong Archen as Fadel (The Heart Killers)

Style's just like me fr because I would absolutely RUIN my life for this man. I would ruin several lives for this man. I'd beg, borrow, and steal for this man.

♡ Frank Thanatsaran as Atom (The Rebound)

Atom is too sweet and too good and too damn fine not to have gotten his happy ending. I would do so right by him. He'd get a happy ending and then some.

♡ Nagumo Shoma as Arashi (Love in the Air Koi)

No one has ever been more perfectly cast in anything ever than this man. Shoma was made to be the Japanese version of Payu. The daddy dom energy just drips off of him. AND THAT SHOT OF HIS BACK? STILL NOT OVER IT.

♡ Big Thanakorn as God (Monster Next Door)

He's just so unfair. The sweetest, greenest flag of a man ever and built like a goddamn tree it's NOT FAIR!

♡ Lin Chia Yo as Johnathan (See Your Love)

Peace and love to Xin Jia he's just a baby gangster trying his best but I would NEVER let Johnathan leave that bed whether I remembered how we got there or not. NEVER.

♡ Sailub Hemmawich as Oab (This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans)

The long pretty eyelashes and the fuck me eyes and that body I just--ONE CHANCE JUST GIVE ME ONE CHANCE OAB PLEASE

♡ Yin Anan as Jack (Jack & Joker)

HE HAS A NECKLACE OF MOLES AROUND HIS NECK! HE HAS A MOLE JUST BENEATH HIS SHOULDER BLADE! DO YOU GET IT DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

♡ Jaonine Jiraphat as Latte (Knock Knock Boys)

Of course he's on this list. Do you know how many of his gym thirst traps I've posted on this blog since this show aired? I would like to personally and very sincerely thank whoever styled Jaonine in this show.

♡ Max Kornthas as Tai (Two Worlds)

I'd get distracted too if he was looking at me like this while I drew him. Doesn't matter which version of him it was, I would let him do anything to me and if it was the scarface version, I could fix him.

♡ Poom Phuripan as Joe (My Stand-In)

The way I would give Joe anything he wanted just to see that beautiful face smiling up at me. Congrats to Ming for being rich and everything but he could never treat Joe as right as I could. I would babygirlify that man to within an inch of his life just like he deserves.

♡ Honorable Mentions ♡

I am going to break my own rules a little bit because this is my list and I can so I'm going to include:

Kevin Chang as Ever4 (Eternal Butler)

Like I know the show just started and thus doesn't meet my criteria but I can't NOT include our new favorite daddy dom robot butler because...

...reasons. If I do a list like this for next year, best believe he's gonna be on it again.

Nike Nitidon as In (180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us)

This breaks my rules even more but I watched this show for the first time like a week ago and it immediately landed itself on my list of favorite BLs ever because everything about it is like heroin to me and I NEED this man to be in another BL so desperately like you don't understand giVE HIM BACK TO ME.

[cozylittleartblog]

WHO DREW THE FUCKING SPAMONGUS

hopping on this trend. send me a drawing!!!

[sephirthoughts]

For the ask game, I'd like to request Draw Me with Genesis and whoever else you wish. 💜

(the drawing can be like one of those French girls, if you know what I mean ;3 But no pressure! 💜)

Thank you for the ask! This is the silliest thing ever, so i hope you enjoy it! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Why Lazard Installed a Lock on His Office Door

“Lazard! Look at this!” Genesis demanded, as he threw the office door open and strode in, like he owned the place.

“Come right in, Genesis,” Lazard said drily. “What can I do for you?”

Genesis slammed a sheet of paper down on the desk. “Look! Can you believe it?!”

“Uh. It looks like a piece of sketch paper.” Lazard adjusted his spectacles and picked it up, to inspect it. “Oh, did you draw this?”

“Ha. Ha ha!” Genesis collapsed theatrically into a chair, like a tragic heroine. “Nay, not I. These hands were not blessed by the goddess in the way of the pen.”

“It’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good? You have laid your unworthy mortal eyes upon true sublimity, and you say pretty good??” Genesis sneered, snatching the paper away again. “Pearls before swine!”

“Hey!” Lazard scowled.

“Ah—apologies, director,” Genesis corrected. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you are in any way swine-like.”

“…”

“I only meant that you’re a tasteless philistine, with no eye for artistic virtuosity.”

“There it is. Alright, so you found a drawing of yourself. Why are you in my office about it?”

“Because I need your permission to make copies and hang them up all over the building.”

“I see. Not the worst idea. Even if the artist doesn’t come forward, someone may recognize it, and lead you to them.”

“Hm? Oh! Yes, we could use it to find them! You are right. The person who created this is a world-shaking talent. They really should get some recognition.”

“World shaking?” Lazard said doubtfully. “I mean, it’s a good likeness of you and everything, but don’t you think it’s a little…idealized?”

“Of course it is! Do you not see?” Genesis intoned, shaking the paper at him. “True art is not to photographically reproduce reality, but to render the subject as beheld by the heart. This is a confession of love! Every pen stroke an act of worship!”

“So, you want to find the person who drew this, because you think they’re in love with you?”

Genesis ignored him and laid back in the chair, holding up the portrait to gaze at it, with a long, languorous sigh. “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight. For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

“It’s eleven-thirty AM.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, abruptly sitting up again. “An artist who could translate such pure and tender longing to ink and paper, is clearly a gentle and diffident soul. Their talent must be allowed to bloom on its own, without rough hands disturbing the delicate petals, or they may close up forever. I will find them out discreetly, so as not to alarm them, with sudden exposure.”

“Alright, good. Now, what can I do to get you out of my office?” 

Just then there was a knock, and Sephiroth poked his head in. “Director? I was passing by, and I—oh you found my picture!”

Genesis stared at him, thunderstruck. “You…you drew this?”

“Yes. I misplaced it somewhere, but I assumed it’d been thrown away by now,” Sephiroth said sheepishly. “I’m a little embarrassed that you saw it, actually.”

“No, no! Don't be embarrassed! It’s beautiful,” Genesis said, his voice wavering with emotion.

Sephiroth looked even more awkward than usual, which was quite an accomplishment. “Thank you for saying so. It’s just a sketch, though. If only I could learn oil painting, I could do the subject justice. But I don’t have time for things like that.”

“When did you even find time to take up drawing?” Lazard asked.

“Oh, I haven’t. Dr. Barenbaum and I are just doing some art therapy. The assignment was to draw the most important person in my life.”

“Sephiroth, I…I don’t know what to say,” Genesis faltered, blushing like a rose. “I had no idea that you felt that way. I shall treasure this portrait forever.”

Sephiroth looked at him strangely. “Of course, you’re welcome to keep it, but why would you want a picture of my mother?”

Genesis choked. “Y—your mother?”

Lazard felt a headache coming on. “So, to recap, you just fell in love with a picture of yourself. And you drew a picture of your mother, that looks exactly like Genesis.”

“…”

“…”

“Alright, get out. Both of you,” he said, pointing to the door. ��I can’t be expected to deal with this level of absurdity before lunch. And don’t come back until you’ve worked out your narcissism and mommy issues! Or at least your unresolved sexual tension!” 

Thanks again for the ask!!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

[searchingforserendipity25]

Throwback Thursday Friday

Thank you @sallysavestheday! I've been meaning to do some throwbacks and since I'm stuck in the middle of Friday afternoon traffic, I finally have time to get to it. Small blessings!

Here's Somewhere To Return To, a post-Thangorodrim look at Maedhros, Fingon and Maglor, based on this beautiful art of Maedhros sandwiched between his favourite people by @welcomingdisaster.

Be still, my prince, said the healers. Your back must not be moved.

And then, more alarmed, they had tried to grasp him down - to force poultices and potions for sleep, to make him chew willow bark for the fever and scent the rooms with dizzying incense.

And Maedhros had fought. He scratched and bit; in his fever he might have slain his followers - his father's followers, he had thought at the time, staring at the faces that frowned at him, and prodded at his mind, and drew back pale and stiff as if scorched.

No pressure tagging: @that-angry-noldo, @mayfriend, @melestasflight, @hobbitwrangler, @emyn-arnens and whoever would like to participate!

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Give Thanks to the LORD, for He is Good

1 Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good, for His mercy endures forever!

2 Let the redeemed of the Lord speak out, whom He has redeemed from the hand of the enemy, 3 and gathered them from the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south.

4 They wandered in the wilderness on a deserted path; they found no city to dwell in. 5 Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them. 6 Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them out of their distresses. 7 He led them on a level road, that they might go to a city to live in. 8 Let them praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the people! 9 For He satisfies the longing soul and fills the hungry soul with goodness.

10 Some sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, being prisoners in affliction and irons, 11 because they rebelled against the words of God and rejected the counsel of the Most High. 12 Therefore He brought down their hearts with hard labor; they fell down, and there was none to help. 13 Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them out of their distress. 14 He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death and broke apart their bonds. 15 Let them praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the people! 16 For He has broken the gates of bronze and cut the bars of iron in two.

17 Some were fools because of their transgressions, and because of their iniquities they are afflicted. 18 They loathed all manner of food, and they drew near to the gates of death. 19 Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them out of their distress. 20 He sent His word and healed them and delivered them from their destruction. 21 Let them praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the people! 22 And let them offer the sacrifices of thanksgiving and declare His works with rejoicing.

23 Some went down to the sea in ships, to do business in the vast waters; 24 they saw the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep water. 25 For He commands and raises the stormy wind, which lifts up the sea waves. 26 The sailors went up to the sky, they came down to the depths; their strength melted because of the great danger. 27 They reeled to and fro and staggered like drunken men, and were completely confused. 28 Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them out of their distress. 29 He made the storm calm, and the sea waves were still. 30 They were glad because the waters were quiet, so He brought them to their desired harbor. 31 Let them praise the Lord for His goodness and for His wonderful works to the people! 32 Let them exalt Him in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders.

33 He turns rivers into a desert, water springs into dry ground, 34 a fruitful land into salty wasteland, because of the wickedness of those living there. 35 He turns a wilderness into pools of water, a parched ground into springs of water. 36 There He makes the hungry dwell, and they prepare a city to live in; 37 they sow fields and plant vineyards, and yield a fruitful harvest. 38 He blesses them, so that they are greatly multiplied, and He does not let their livestock decrease.

39 But when they are diminished and brought down through oppression, affliction, and sorrow, 40 He pours contempt upon princes, and causes them to wander in a wilderness with no road; 41 yet He raises up the poor from affliction and cares for their families like flocks of sheep. 42 The righteous shall see it and rejoice, and all evil people shall stop their mouth.

43 Whoever is wise let him observe these things; let them consider the lovingkindness of the Lord. — Psalm 107 | Modern English Version (MEV) The Holy Bible, Modern English Version. Copyright © 2014 by Military Bible Association. Published and distributed by Charisma House. Cross References: Genesis 11:4; Genesis 12:2; Genesis 13:10; Genesis 14:3; Genesis 17:20; Genesis 35:3; Leviticus 7:12; Numbers 9:23; Numbers 14:33; Numbers 15:31; Deuteronomy 30:3; Deuteronomy 32:10; 1 Samuel 2:8; 1 Chronicles 16:34; 1 Kings 17:1; 2 Kings 3:17; 2 Kings 10:32; 2 Kings 19:29; Job 12:25; Job 33:20; Psalm 22:11; Psalm 22:22; Psalm 22:25; Psalm 29:3; Psalm 44:25; Psalm 49:15; Psalm 50:15; Psalm 64:9; Psalm 68:6; Psalm 77:3; Psalm 78:42; Psalm 111:4; Psalm 111:14; Psalm 148:8; Isaiah 24:20; Isaiah 29:17; Isaiah 50:2; Jeremiah 28:13; Jeremiah 30:14; Jeremiah 31:5; Jonah 1:6; Jonah 1:14; Matthew 5:6; Matthew 8:26; Mark 4;39; Luke 1:79; Luke 13:16; Romans 3:19

Spurgeon's Treasury of David—Psalm 107

[cringecannon]

i am kind of going batshit insane and biting at the bars of my cage over the thought of a woman of the cloth, one oh-so ever devoted to their deity in soul and of body (i'm talking complete chastity; grade 'A' virgin) waging an internal WAR at the coaxing and prying of an incessant, hounding and horned up FREAK just constantly sniffing up their skirt (whether literally or figuratively is up to you, tee hee),,, honestly could play out w/ whoever, but like,,, hrmrnng gortash, kar'niss 'n astarion

Religion is your life. You chose a life of chastity and restraint willingly. You devoted your life to purity, and no one will make you stray from that path. No matter how hard they may try.

Serving as a religious advisor for the Archduke should've been simple. It was supposed to be simple. You keep to yourself and say nothing unless he asks. It worked for a time. Despite your best efforts to stay under the radar, you started to catch him staring at you. He'd follow you out of meetings, an easy smile on his face as he escorts you through the halls. Your skin prickles as you feel his eyes trail over you. In your peripheral you can see it- his gaze falling to where your hands are clasped in front of you, then up to your chest. You're thankful for the modesty of your robes, ensuring he can't see much- but it doesn't help the hot flush that suddenly rises in you. The hand that rests itself on your lower back doesn't help your flustered state. His hands drifts lower as he speaks, musing to himself as you fight to keep your composure. He'd like to get to know you better. The sudden heat that flashes through you when his fingers skim over your ass is almost unbearable. You'll join him for dinner, won't you? Of course you will.

Your stubbornness annoyed Astarion. It was bad enough having one hard to read cleric, two is just unnecessary. However, he had found through relentless persistence that you were slightly less impenetrable than the other. Not by much, though. While you were almost always far too helpful for his liking, you always drew the line at any intimacy outside him feeding on you. Every line and proposition he tries, you decline with grace. It's infuriating. Your eyes stay fixed to the ground whenever he stalks up, shoulders tense as he whispers sweet promises into your ear. Try to ignore it all you want, darling. He can hear the way your breath hitches when his chest presses against your back, and he can feel the pounding of your pulse when his lips brush against the side of your throat. Do you remember what he said, about you being his first? Well, he'd be more than happy to return the favor. A cold hand drifts over your chest and he salivates when he can feel your rapid heartbeat. What an effect his pretty words have on you. Say the word, love. Let him show you what you've been missing.

Kar'niss is completely enamored with you. Few could match his dedication to the Absolute, and fewer still interacted with him willingly. You worshipped with him, never condescended him, prayed for his safety whenever he had to leave the tower. He was convinced you were a blessing sent by the Absolute herself. Perfection given life. You never complained anymore when he touched you, brushing his nose against your jaw as he holds you from behind. He whispers frantically, one hand drifting to your thighs and gripping the fabric of your robes. The words are unintelligible, you're never sure whether he's praying or praising. His ramblings rarely make sense to anyone but him. He feels heat radiate off you as he slowly pulls up your robes inch by inch, ankle, calf, and knee exposed to his desperate hands. Perfect soul, perfect flesh. Worship with him. The Absolute demands satisfaction.

[xproskeith]

can you tell i'm bored-

please answer those. i also drew a ghost for you. because i'm bored. i'm gonna answer my asks too lmao HAVE FUN!

Lmao ok but I actually love this. The you wrote it out AND the ghost! Tis the season!! 👻🎃 Now let's begin!

11: best friend?

My best friend is awesome! His name is Ben and we've been friends since we met at college for our first degrees (we'd both end up going back for nursing later. He ended up following me on that front). But we really started to get closer after we both graduated and especially after I moved back to New Orleans after moving home after graduation for a year and a half. He's just a really cool and chill guy who has always been there for me and been super supportive. We've both helped each other through some really rough times in our lives and really supported each other. He's pretty introverted, tho if you met him you might not realize that at first. It's a hilarious contrast to my extreme extroversion. I also owe meeting my wife to him. He pushed me to finally get on the dating apps and I met my wife on hinge. He also encouraged me when she and I started talking and dating seriously. He also knows how to deal with my anxiety very well and respectfully, tho my anxiety has gotten immensely better than it used to be. Still, worth mentioning. He's also said on multiple occasions how much he appreciates and like how I am just unapologetically me and an unapologetic nerd. To quote him, "genuine folks are hard to find." So that was also really cool to hear from him and just reaffirmed that being myself is the right move. When he lived in the city with me, we'd hang out at least once a week. But we text daily for the most part and still try to see each other as much as we can even tho he's 2.5hrs away now. He was my best man and gave an amazing and touching best man speech. Now, almost a year later, people still talk about it and quote him, "IDK how else to describe him other than he's aggressively friendly." it's accurate and everyone who has heard that agrees lol. Anyway, he's great and I'm blessed to have him in my life. Here's a pic of us at my bachelor trip and before my wedding. As you can see, and as I've mentioned before in various other posts, the dude is built like a Greek god lol

15: favorite movie

This is actually a hard one lol. I enjoy a lot of movies, but have a hard time narrowing down a fave. Hmm. Deadpool and Wolverine is certainly up there for very obvious reasons, but a movie that has always stuck with me since I was younger is The Prestige. It's a well done film whose twist really got me at the end. It's rare for me not to figure out a movie twist before the end and this one I did not see coming.

18: most traumatic experience 

You're gonna get 2 for the price of 1 lol. 1 childhood trauma and 1 adulthood trauma. Both cover a span of time instead of one specific incident.

First is childhood. From pretty much 1st - 4th grade, I was bullied pretty often. I was a very big and fat kid who was also nice and didn't exactly fight back, so I suppose in retrospect that made me an easy target. But beyond that, I was often made the butts of my peers' jokes or would be asked to do something silly or embarrass or the like and they'd say stuff like "of course we're you're friend!" and "if you do it, we'll be your friend." so this went as well as you can expect. It got so bad and took so much of a toll on me that my mom literally pulled me out of school to homeschool me from 5th-8th grade. This would eventually become repressed as the mind often does only to rear its ugly head later in adulthood when my friends wanted to institute a "punishment" for whoever placed last in our fantasy football league. I had always opposed this idea, but they we were really pushing for it that year. Didn't help I was dead last, but I was having such a visceral reaction and didn't know why. But I was literally about to drop out of the league because of it. Then all of a sudden the memories came flooding back and I finally understood the why. I explained it to 3 of my friends in the league, including the guy in charge, and they abandoned the punishment idea. They said they hoped they knew that this was very different and that no ill will was meant. I did, but it didn't stop how I felt. So the punishment idea was dropped.

Now for adulthood. That would be working through COVID as a nurse. This was traumatizing in many ways, but in particular there were 3 key points. The first was watching patients deteriorate and die so rapidly. Like I would leave in the morning and come back to find out my patient coded and died 3 hours after I left. They were fine before then. We also called so many rapid and codes because people would deteriorate so much and so rapidly. Despite everything I knew and docs and nurses way more experienced than me knew, we couldn't save them all or stop the rapid spiral.

Secondly, every time a code blue or rapid response is called overhead, it's preceeded by a beep on the intercom. I would hear that so many times during that time that I found myself to physically flinch and tense and my heart would race whenever I'd hear it. Even a year later when it was just happening to make an announcement. Didn't realize it was legitimately a PTSD response until I was talking to an army buddy who was like "Yeah dude that's what happens to me when my PTSD gets triggered." I overcome that by becoming the code and rapid nurse for my icu when I moved. So I just threw myself headlong into it and overcame it by exposure and desensitization.

Lastly, there was the whiplash of being called a hero and having my knowledge and insight respected only to be called a liar months later. By my own family even. I still remember making a lengthy thoughtful post about the importance of making and explaining why surgical works for day to day vs the n95 masks needed in hospital and the same day my mom made a post about how covid is a lie and masking is just the government trying to control us. My family has on multiple occasions told me my experiences weren't real and I was exaggerating, especially because I'm liberal. After many fights, we all finally agreed to just never talk about it around each other. An uneasy peace, but better.

So there you have it. My two biggest traumatic experiences lol.

21: what I love most about myself

My kindness and willingness to help people

28: a description of the person I dislike the most

Hmm I don't really dislike people. But I suppose this one older lady at work. Kind of short, white, fading blonde hair that's always short. She's always unhappy lol. Mostly dislike her bc she gatekeeps certain patients and has full control over the schedule despite not being the manager.

42: last thing I ate

Greek yogurt and pumpkin seed granola

[evansblues]

I hope red flower can come back and tell us more. Like, is he ever going to make it to fs? Does he even want it? At this point I feel like we as fans want it more for him than he does. Not just his person, but just change in general.

Red Flower here,

Reading the cards EvansBlues drew about Halloween, I felt the same way when I picked up informations about the maneuvers that are going to be used to push this illusion. It's encouraging to see that we're picking up the same energies but in different mediums. It also shows that not many people here or on other pages, are mistaken about the reality of events.

There's nothing to do but let them get on with it and watch things sink further into nothingness. Because whatever they do, it won't bring them what they want. It's already lost, but they refuse to conceive it. And that's a good thing, because that's what's going to precipitate their downfall. There's a lot of positive and what seems negative, it's in reality a blessing in disguise. So yes, I understand that it's hard for his fans to watch, but it's the path he's chosen.

Is he going to make it to FS ? Once again, free will plays a central part here, but given that he's scrupulously following his soul contract here (because yes, in the universe everything is planned in advance), he has no choice but to do the right thing. The old Chris, the one he showed to the public, wasn't real. He hid his dark side and lied about a lot of things. FS could never have envisaged anything with this man. She would have seen through him. But whoever emerges from all this will be very different, and that's the man FS wants.

Does it even want it ? Oh Yes ! Desperately ! He's been alone all his life. Even though he's had girlfriends, and he's close to his family… in reality, nobody's ever understood him and he's just conformed to people's idea of him. When FS comes into his life, it's as if she's telling him right away : show me who you are, without hiding. I want to see your soul because I've shown you mine. He'll be a bit shaken by this, and that's why he'll be impressed by her from the start. She's very different from anything he's ever known, and she doesn't fit in his usual environment. It's also why the friends he currently has and the dynamic he's adopted with his loved ones will be shaken up. He's going to travel a lot cause he'll want to see and understand the world, because she'll have shown him that the universe is something to be experienced, not studied. And that's why he'll gradually distance himself from his past. Only his parents and siblings will be very supportive of this, because they'll see him happy at last, while those who benefited from his kindness will be left behind and bitter.

The films he makes after his encounter with FS won't have the same meaning, it's as if I were being shown that it was an act of love in every one of his performances. He wants her to admire him, to respect him, not to be ashamed of him, because she's really brilliant at what she does and he wants to be the same. That's why the relationship will be more successful than the others. In the beginning, he'll be afraid of losing her at every moment, because he knows that without him she'll always be what she is, whereas he needs her love to carry him.

You'll see the difference in his appearance, his choices, even his interests. People's perception of him will change, because his perception of himself will change too. And you'll see what's a real love glow looks like.

She'll be Pygmalion and He'll be the Muse.

Be patient. Just let the universe do its work, it knows what it's doing.

Namaste. Infinite Gratitude. :)

Love. It.

[iwriteisuckatittho]

Bob Marley x reader

not proofread. Sry inspired by "waiting in vain" by Daniel Caesar from the movie

From the very first time I blessed my eyes on you, girl my heart said follow through

There was never a time when Bob Marley didn't have somewhere to be. Whether it was a concert or a studio session, he was busy, so whenever he had the chance he'd walk . Just so he could get some fresh air and see the city. Today he had to be at a meeting with someone at RCA Records, he didn't plan on signing, but it was a free trip to America, why wouldn't he come? He was walking down Lancome, passing a park filled with young men and women holding signs and chanting. He wasn't new to seeing protests or even being in them, but there was something special about this one. There was a woman, who to Bob looked more like a special gift, from Jah. Wrapped all up in a flowy skirt and an olive green headwrap. “you looks like magic, ya know?” He said to whoever listened. His life's mission had suddenly become meeting you. He'd succeeded but not without being 30 minutes late to his meeting.

Don't talk to me as if you think I'm dumb

“It would never work Bob.” you said to him, bracelets clinking as you waved your arms. “Why not? Ya tell me why I can't have you fi miself huh?”“Be smart about this, please.” you pleaded.“Well I'm not a claffy!” you raised an eyebrow in confusion, you'd barely adjusted to his deep Jamaican patois. “Dumb, I'm not dumb, yn.” But he was. He was dumb for you. And you were too focused on graduating colleges and retiring your parents to realize. “I could move,” he suggested.“What? Nesta, y-you love Jamaica.”“Not more dan you.” his eyes watered and he let the tear slip past his nose and curve under his chin.“I've got school. I have to finish school.” you wrapped your arms around Bob's midsection and inhaled the shea butter scent wafting from his freshly washed locs.“Come see me in the summer, will you?” 'Cause if summer is you're I'm still waiting there It was the second summer Bob had visited you and it was the same as last. you greeted him at the airport with a hug and a kiss on his cheek. you let him drive your car and laugh as he cursed at the different driving rules in your city. you washed his hair and the both of you would cuddle up and watch romances on your tv. Bob Would pretend he was taking the couch in your 1 bedroom apartment and you'd smack him with a pillow until he'd agree to take a spot in your bed. You two would blast the newest music and share your opinions on what was best and what was worst and. He would wake up and cook you an ital breakfast. You and Bob would spend time walking up and down the streets making up life stories of people they passed. And at the end of July he would pack his bag and “accidentally” leave a sweater or t-shirt in one of your drawers. “ I love you” he'd say and turned away fast so that he couldn't hear you lecture him. And he'd imagine you said it back all the while flying back home. Feeling in his heart that your arms were his new home. The home that would never fully be his. It's been three years since I'm knockin' at your door Another summer drew Bob Marley back to you. He strolled through the airport in a pair of jorts and a t-shirt big enough to fit another him. His locs were pulled back with a black scrunchie he'd stolen from you. His eyes roamed the vast room searching for your familiar smile. But it was nowhere to be found. Just as he pulled out his cell your number flashed across his screen. “Ay, my love whe ya at na?” “I'm coming in right now. I'm so sorry I'm late.” Your flip flops tapped lightly against the hard shiny floor as you reached Bob's slumped figure. You could tell he was disappointed. Over your 3 years of friendship you had never forgotten to pick him up. His arms draped heavily over your shoulders. “Sorry. I'm sorry.” You muttered into his shirt, hoping this was the one he'd leave with you. He kissed the top of your head, already forgetting what you'd done and imagining the fun you two would have. At your apartment, Bob pulled out his key and led you inside as if you were the one visiting him. Bob made it his business to dig through your kitchen drawers and find a good menu. You took his bag into your bedroom and kneeled by your dresser to fold his clothes into one of your drawers you kept clear for him. In the bottom of the bag sat a small velvet box. As soon as you'd seen it your breath caught in our chest and your shoulders tensed up. Tears flowed from your eyes. I'm the moment you couldn't figure out if they were happy tears or sad ones. Bob walked in on you crying and cringed, he hadn't meant for you to see it. “Ya na haf do nun you dont wanna.” He twisted his lips to the side of his face and looked down at his feet. “ Just in case you begin to love me.” “We-we’ve talked about this Nesta,” “Don't call me dat.” He was only Nesta when you were breaking his heart. 'Tears in my eyes burn, tears in my eyes burn 

While I'm waiting, while I'm waiting for my turn

Bob was on his way to see you. And this time summer wasn't leading him to you. It was your graduation, he'd been waiting years for you to graduate. That had always been your excuse for not being with him. School. You had to focus on school.

He pulled up to your school in a cab, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button up. his locs were freshly washed, and he'd found someone to twist his locs, a style he would never let you do. He was dressed to impress you, and maybe ask for your hand in marriage (again). He sat in the very back legs crossed and waited patiently for them to call you up. To his surprise you were the very last one. You were welcomed by the school president as Valedictorian. When he heard this he cheered and whooped like a proud father. 

As you walked off the stage and shed your graduation gown, Bob rose from his seat and began heading over to you, he marveled at you in your green dress. () Your smile and skin glowed in the sun and he chuckled as you shook your hips in a silly dance. As  he got closer he slowed behind you, planning to surprise her with a scare. You turned to face a man to the left of you and threw your arms around the man. He placed a wet kiss on our temple and you laughed into his shoulder. Bob made a sound behind you, eyes already beginning to burn with salt water. “Nesta?” you said.

“Who's this?” the man asked and stuck his hand out for Bob to shake. 

“Bob Marley. One of the most famous artists out righna.” Bob bragged he'd do anything to make this man feel less than him. He looked at you, feeling betrayed in every way possible. He felt cheated on, and sick to his stomach. 

“Ya have a good time yea?” he looked down at his feet, fearing if he saw your eyes he'd burst out into tears in front of all these people. 

“Yea…” You ignored the man and your friends beside you and grabbed Bob's face with two hands, you stared into eyes. He wondered what it was you were searching for. “I love you.” You said. He grabbed your hand and set them in front of you. “Good bye.” He said and left you wishing you could follow after him. Wishing you hadn't been so dumb.

[animeangelriku]

in every picture that i drew (i saw you)

[Also read on AO3!]

Crowley chances upon the briefcase by accident.

Aziraphale’s gone out to pick up a few records and a package of coffee blends Maggie and Nina sent them, as well as a couple of sweets from his favorite bakery in town to celebrate that they’ve finally finished moving into their cottage.

Of course, there are still a few things left to tidy up—some trinkets, two or three books in the study, a pair of plants here and there—but for the most part, they’re done. This place is fully theirs now.

Crowley rubs at his chest, over where his demonic heart rests within his corporation. Oh. Oh, that’s new. That feeling of encompassing relief, of absolute certainty, of overwhelming calm. He… doesn’t dislike it, no. It’s just… something to get used to. And he’s got time to get used to it, doesn’t it? They both do. That’s—that’s part of the deal.

Fuck, there it is again, like the warmth of sitting close to a fire during a cold night. Of having Aziraphale’s tartan blanket tucked around him at the end of the day. Of catching the giddiness in Aziraphale’s voice with his mouth.

Crowley shakes his head to himself, snatches his mug of coffee from the kitchen isle, and heads upstairs, to their bedroom.

(Their bedroom, for Someone’s sake.)

He stands at the doorframe to simply take it in for a second. The rustic dresser doesn’t match the bedclothes in the slightest, the hideous combination of Crowley’s satin pillowcases and Aziraphale’s decades-old duvet and sheets, and the rug by the foot of the bed is a stark contrast to the hardwood floor, which is a contrast in itself to the marble tiles of the ensuite bathroom, and the bloody nightstands stick out like a sore thumb, and Crowley will be blessed to admit it’s his favorite room in the entire cottage, he loves it so fucking much. He could spend the rest of his immortal life here, as long as Aziraphale is with him.

Then something catches his eye. 

Right there, beneath the bed, almost hidden by the corner of the rug, is something… brown. Kind of leathery looking.

Crowley kneels by the bed and pulls the object out. A bag? Some sort of briefcase? It’s definitely Aziraphale’s, if only because it’s at least eighty years old, but Crowley doesn’t remember ever seeing it before. And why is it that Aziraphale hid it under the bed? Instead of hanging it by the front door or putting it in their walk-in closet.

When Crowley stands with it, the latch pops open, and the contents of the briefcase spill out onto the floor. Nothing but several papers of different sizes: papyrus sheets, scrolls, scraps pieced together.

“Shit!” Crowley mutters. From the looks of it, at least there was nothing that could’ve broken or snapped apart, but if Aziraphale kept this stuff, it must be important, and Crowley doesn’t want to accidentally ruin any of it.

He kneels down to immediately start to get everything back inside the briefcase, except that his eyes catch the corner of one of the papers, and what he sees makes him stop.

It’s a sketch of him.

His hair is much longer than it’s been for a few decades, curls cascading down to his chest. The expression on his face is unguarded, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. He seems to be wearing a robe, though he can’t really tell, given that the sketch isn’t finished. It looks almost as if whoever drew this stopped once they reached his shoulders, like the artist got distracted or couldn’t bear to finish it.

Crowley stares at the piece of parchment for what feels like an eternity. It has no signature, and the nearly washed out black of the lines gives the impression that it’s much older than one would assume at first glance.

Did… did Aziraphale draw this?

Crowley picks up more of the pages still on the floor. They’re all sketches of him at different points in time. But not only that—they’re all instances in which he and Aziraphale met up throughout the millennia. The oldest sketches are the ones that are incomplete: Mesopotamia, Uz, Golgotha, Rome, Wessex, even their encounter outside the Globe Theater. Some of them are a little more detailed than others, sometimes including a bit of his arms and torso, but those, he finds, are the unfinished sketches.

Then the sketches change. They become a little more complex, a tad more alive, more like pictures than scribbled lines. There’s him in Paris, sitting across a table with a glass of wine and a plate of uneaten crepes in front of him; him in Edinburgh, his head thrown back and his mouth open with what seems to be a loud cackle; him in London, staring straight ahead as he holds out a folded piece of paper.

(The folded piece of paper is scratched out, covered by angry lines and splotches of ink, but Crowley knows exactly what it is. He knows exactly what words are written on it.)

Him in the backroom of the bookshop, having a drink with Aziraphale after the angel’s first professional magic performance.

(He can still remember how badly he shook as he raised the rifle to aim it at Aziraphale, the fear and nausea that he would betray his trust by discorporating him.)

Him in his car, holding a tartan thermos gently, carefully, in his hands.

(Aziraphale looked so bloody gorgeous, backlit by the neon lights of Soho. Crowley recalls his fingers twitching with the desire to cup his jaw and kiss him.)

Him on a bench, his lips curled up in a lazy, amused smile.

(“We will win, of course,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley allowed himself to think he meant the two of them.)

“My dear, I’ve been calling you for— Good Lord, what are you doing?!”

Crowley’s head snaps to the door of their bedroom (their bedroom, he still can’t get over that). Aziraphale is frozen in place, his eyes wide in shock and a beautiful blush pinkening his cheeks.

“Huh?” Crowley asks.

The angel rushes into action. Crowley remains stunned, cross-legged on the floor, while Aziraphale picks up the scattered pages and clutches them tightly to his chest.

“Why do you have these?!”

“I…” Crowley licks his lips, clears his throat. “The… bag. Briefcase. Under the bed.”

Aziraphale lets out a frustrated groan. “You weren’t supposed to ever see them!” Then he glares at the briefcase on the floor. “And you were supposed to be locked away, not hiding under the bed!”

The briefcase, Crowley thinks, seems to almost give a nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry,” Crowley says. His mind hasn’t stopped reeling with the realization that Aziraphale has been drawing him for millennia, and he feels a bit like he’s missed a step in this conversation.

The angel puffs out his cheeks and huffs out a breath. His brows knit into an upside-down vee that Crowley immediately wants to kiss away. “No, Crowley, I—I’m sorry. I should not have yelled at you, I was simply… surprised. I’ve kept these hidden for so long that I… I forgot I no longer have to.”

He kneels down by Crowley’s side. He looks at Crowley, and his face softens, and the corners of his mouth curl upwards in a shy smile. Crowley moves closer to him, brushing their shoulders together. With an exhale of air, Aziraphale spreads the sketches out in front of them.

There truly are so bloody many, it’s a miracle they all fit inside that briefcase.

“I suppose you have questions,” Aziraphale says.

“Sure,” Crowley agrees. “But you don’t owe me anything, angel. You can tell me whatever you want me to know.”

Aziraphale reaches out to push a strand of Crowley’s hair behind his ear.

“I didn’t mean to start sketching you,” the angel begins, his gaze back on the sheets of paper. “At first, I mean. I-it was an unconscious thing, you see. A-and whenever I realized what I was doing, I-I would stop, but I— Well, I couldn���t bring myself to destroy them, so I just… hid them instead.”

Crowley glances down at the first sketch he saw, with his long curls and unguardedness. He thinks it might be the first time he met Aziraphale as a demon, on top of that wall. He sure as fuck looks like a smitten, lovesick schoolboy.

Hell’s bells, he’s always worn his fucking heart on his sleeve, huh.  

Aziraphale touches one of the pages closest to him: Crowley holding a coin between his fingers, about to toss him for Edinburgh.

“But no matter how hard I tried,” Aziraphale goes on, “I couldn’t stop completely. I would always find myself drawing you again, despite my futile attempts to push you out of my mind. You’ve always been there, one way or another.”

Crowley bites his lip to stop the words from spilling out: It’s always been the same for me, too, angel.

The space between their bodies is nonexistent now. Crowley leans against Aziraphale’s arm and rests his head on his shoulder. His angel turns to press a soft kiss to his hair.

This is also kind of a miracle, Crowley thinks. The touches and casual displays of affection. How easily those come to them, after millennia of dancing around each other. How quickly they fell into them.  

Aziraphale takes a deep breath. His mouth trembles as he opens it to speak.

“After the world didn’t end, I kept myself from sketching you as often. We were spending more time together, I—I didn’t want to risk you finding out. I was just coming to terms with the depth of my feelings for you, and I… I didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you would think I was silly, or if you would decide not to talk to me again. But I still couldn’t stop altogether.”

Crowley takes one of Aziraphale’s hands between his and touches the pad of each finger, pressing his thumb to the center of the soft palm. He can almost feel Aziraphale’s heartbeat through the skin, knows that’s impossible but doesn’t care much—their corporations have always done what they wanted them to. Crowley might not be good with words, but this, he’s gotten good at.  

Next to him, Aziraphale shudders.

“Even in… Even in Heaven,” he says, his voice quivering, his eyes squeezed shut, and Crowley wants nothing but to pull him close and kiss his temple and tell him it’s okay, it’s all right, they’re here now, Crowley’s forgiven him, there’s no need for more pain, more heartbreak, they’re okay, they made it.

Aziraphale carefully grabs one of the sketches from the pile and shows it to Crowley.

The expression on his face is… it makes something break within Crowley, makes his essence wriggle and writhe in discomfort, makes his skin burn like a scar he can’t touch without slicing it open anew. The devastation in his damp, golden eyes and the defeat in the tight, flat line of his parted lips would be enough to bring him to his knees if he weren’t already sitting.

He doesn’t want to recognize this moment. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to be back there, having poured his heart out, hoping he won’t lose Aziraphale forever, afraid that he will, anyway.

(He did. He did, and he’s dwelled on it enough, and he won’t anymore. It’s not worth any more tears.)

It’s not the only sketch of that day. Crowley counts at least seven more pages with similar images of him (heartbroken, abandoned, alone), not to mention the ones he can’t see.  

“Even while I was… Up There,” Aziraphale starts again, curling his fingers around Crowley’s. “I was unable to stop thinking about you. About your beautiful eyes, your wonderful mouth, that kiss… I…”

He trails off, his eyebrows pinched in what looks like pain. He bites his bottom lip so hard that Crowley swipes the pad of his thumb over it to pull it free. “Aziraphale.”

“Oh, my love,” the angel says, leaning their foreheads together. He pushes his nose against Crowley’s cheek, like he wants to make up for the distance that separated them for months, and all Crowley can do is hold his hand, cup his neck, kiss his eyelids. “My darling, I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” Crowley replies, the only thing he can say without falling apart. “I know, angel. Me too.”

He focuses on the fact that Aziraphale never forgot about him, just as he never forgot about Aziraphale, despite everything. It helps bring him back to the present, to the life they have now. The life they chose for themselves.

Aziraphale slightly shakes his head to himself. He smiles—a small, timid, almost self-conscious sort of thing—and hands Crowley a stack of papers.

“I don’t know about you,” Aziraphale tells him as Crowley takes the stack gingerly, as delicately as he did with a tartan thermos sixty years ago. “But I like these ones much better.”

And then—oh, and then.

The sketches in his hands amount to more than the rest of the drawings combined. The way his hair is styled and the clothes he’s wearing and the lack of sunglasses indicate that these are portraying moments from the last five years or so, once they were… once they were truly on their own side, finally on the same page: him sleeping, smiling, watching the telly, yelling at the plants, working in the garden, looking out the kitchen window, sharing a glass of wine with Aziraphale, and, most telling of all, looking ridiculously, stupidly, tit over arse in love.  

When Crowley runs a finger through the pages, careful not to crinkle the paper, he can feel that love in them. The same love he sees in Aziraphale’s eyes every day, the same love that courses through him whenever Aziraphale holds his hand and entwines their fingers and noses his cheek and scratches his nape and sighs into his mouth.

It’s… it’s surreal, in a way, to see himself the way Aziraphale sees him. His body language is much more relaxed, the edges of his eyes softer, the lines on his forehead less pronounced. Even though the sketches are all black and white, these seem brighter somehow, as though the cloud covering the previous six thousand years of drawings had dissipated before Aziraphale sketched the more recent ones. Not that Crowley can blame him—their time in this cottage has been the happiest he’s been in… centuries. Millennia. Maybe his entire existence.

In these drawings, he looks it, and it would be embarrassing to be so fucking obvious about it if he didn’t know that’s how Aziraphale looks at any given moment as well.

Retirement suits them.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees. “Yeah, I like ‘em better, too.”

He turns to catch Aziraphale’s gaze, and the radiating joy and calm in his eyes and the easy twitch of his mouth is too much of a temptation to resist. Leaning in to kiss him is the easiest thing in the world, and Aziraphale meets him in the middle.

When the angel holds Crowley’s chin between his fingers to pull him closer, to find the perfect angle so he can deepen the kiss, Crowley melts against him, sinking his hand in the curls on the back of Aziraphale’s head.

Thank you, he wants to say. For loving me all along.

He doesn’t. Instead, he kisses back harder, hoping Aziraphale will still understand what he means.

(He does. Of course he does.)

Later, sitting at the kitchen table, Crowley drinks his cup of coffee and listens to Aziraphale rave about how excited he is to go to the farmer’s market next week while he eats one of the sweets he bought at the bakery. Crowley reaches over the table to take Aziraphale’s hand, and he hides a smile on the rim of his cup when Aziraphale immediately interlaces their fingers, like it’s only natural that he would.

And if, later on, out of the corner of his eye, Crowley sees Aziraphale miracling a notepad and beginning to sketch him, well—he simply looks away and pretends he doesn’t notice. He hopes that’ll convince his angel to show him the finished result.

(Aziraphale shows him.)

[myapathyhaspeaked]

Platonic Sides Week Day 3: Cards

It was a rainy afternoon, and Patton decided that it was the perfect time for some family game time. He managed to coax Roman, Logan, and Virgil into the Mindscape common room, where he had pulled out a plethora of games, from Monopoly and Scrabble to Battleship and Exploding Cats. They eventually settled on Uno, and sat in a circle.

Logan held the instructions in his hand, poring over them while Roman did some obstentations shuffling tricks for the others. They were going to follow the rules. If that made them the only Uno players in the history of Uno to actually follow the rules, so be it. 

“Everyone draw a card, and whoever gets the highest number deals,” he stated, then reached for the deck. He drew a six and sighed. Not a guaranteed win, so the others would have to draw, which wasn’t as efficient as he would’ve liked.

Virgil got an eight, and Patton got a four. If Roman wanted to deal, which he very much did, he would need to draw a nine. When he saw the card he had pulled, he cheered.

“Yes, Wild card! That’s gotta be like a ten or something, right?” He grabbed for the deck, ready to deal the cards out.

“Actually, in this situation Action Cards count as zero. So Virgil will be dealing.”

Roman dramatically slumped against the couch like his bones had disappeared and sighed. “But I wanted to make it rain!” he complained.

“It’s already raining, kiddo,” Patton pointed out, bless his heart. Even in the Mindscape, the raindrops drummed outside, creating consistent background noise. If he hadn’t invited the others to hang out, he probably would have been cozied up in a blanket with a hot drink and an old cartoon.

“That would likely expose half of the cards’ faces before the game even began.”

“Don’t worry dude, we can make it rain after you lose,” Virgil teased. Before Roman could start making offended Princey noises, Logan tapped the instructions to gain their attention.

“As the person to the left of the dealer, you will have the privilege of starting the game.”

Safe to say he was appeased.

It had been two hours, and they were, despite all odds and what they all had previously thought was possible, still on their first game. They had gone through the deck three times, and they were halfway through their forth.

Logan was stewing with a hefty handful of cards, mainly because it only took fifteen minutes for “stacking Draw Twos is a human right” to win over following the rules and the universe was apparently intent on giving him an aneurysm. At least he had managed to convince them to keep stacking Draw Fours illegal. He couldn’t handle what would happen if someone was hit with a Draw Twenty-Four.

The others were doing a lot better, with no more than four cards each. Usually this meant the game was about to end, but they had gotten to this stage several times, and each time some bullshit happened to give everyone a full hand again. Still, they were optimistic.

Roman proudly placed down a red two. “Uno!” Virgil followed with a green two, and Logan submitted a green eight. Their eyes turned to Patton, who was looking a little nervous.

“Now kiddo, please know that this is nothing personal,” he cautioned, his cards held close to his chest. The cause for his concern was soon revealed when he hesitantly added a Draw Four to the pile. Roman let out a dismayed shout as victory was pulled out of his grasp before he had the chance to embrace it. 

“Patton!” he gasped in overacted betrayal.

“Sorry, sorry, but I didn’t have another card I could play. And blue.”

“I suppose, under those circumstances, I have to forgive you,” he sighed, then drew his new cards. Logan continued the game with a seven, and Virgil chose a Wild Card, changing the color to yellow. Patton looked sheepishly at Roman, then pulled out another goddamn Draw Four.

“Oh my fucking God,” Virgil snickered behind his hand, watching as Roman clutched the fatherly Side’s shoulders, begging him to chose literally any other card. All he got was the same “it was my only option.”

You’ll never guess what card Patton used to end the game. Actually you probably can, quite easily even. But I’m going to let you imagine the others’ reactions, because nothing I could write could possibly capture the amount of defeat, devastation, and befuddlement that you can picture more clearly in your brain.

---

@platonicsidesweek

[shellxrls]

Hannah I’ve just seen the pics of Drew please tell me ur alive queen because I would pass out😮‍💨 because holy shit he’s looking hella fine and that fuckass all-green suit is DOING THINGS TO ME

u don’t even understand how good it made him look in real life like what the FUCK his eyes were so fucking insane paired with that suit god bless whoever put him in it for london.

[gloryundimmed]

THE IMPORTANCE OF CERTAIN DATES WERE MORE OFTEN THAN NOT, USUALLY LOST TO THE VULPINE. Dates such as holidays, or anniversaries, for example. Having grown up in a place that lacked any indication of the passage of time simply had that effect. However, he had made a conscious effort to remember one; Kai's birthday. He'd researched the best ways to celebrate one's birthday... and this is what he came up with.

Currently hidden behind some furniture within Kai's lodging, Fox waited patiently in darkness for the man to arrive home. Prior to this, he'd splurged and bought all kinds of banners, balloons, and decorations-- which he'd placed around their abode, to be greeted once they open that door and flip the light switch. The table had been set, with a cake he'd personally picked out, along with some drinks that Fox had seen Kai liking.

In his hand, he holds a small confetti popper. Keen hearing only amplified by his mask detects Kai's footsteps from a distance away, and he can hardly contain his excitement. Keys jingle, a lock wiggled, and handle turned to open the door. He can hear Kai sigh, as if relaxing after a day of work, but the moment he flips on the light switch--

POP!

Popping out from behind the furniture, a hail of confetti and strings sprout forth, resting upon Kai's hair.

[(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧] "Surprise! Happy birthday, Kai-kun!"

He'd expected a sudden reaction from the hitman, dodging a swipe; old habits die hard after all, and Fox understands. He doesn't say a word about it, simply clapping happily. He wasn't the best at decorating, nor approach, but it was genuine. Tossing the now used confetti popper away, he swings an arm around Kai's shoulders, bringing him in close.

"So?! What do you think?! I spent forever on all of this! Let's celebrate! Wahooo--!!!"

Kai’s Birthday

When Kai finally arrived home from what had been an exhausting day, all he was thinking about was heading straight to bed. Yeah, it may have been his birthday, but who cared about that shit anymore anyway? It wasn’t like it was a blessing that he had been born into the world. He’d ruined more lives than he could count— killed, maimed, tortured. It was unlikely even a single soul would want to celebrate the birth of a monster.

As he pulled out his keys, he hesitated, realizing the lock to his apartment had been tampered with. Someone was probably out to kill him. Could this day get any worse?

With a deep sigh, he drew his gun from his jacket and took up a defensive stance. In one fluid motion, he busted open the apartment door and aimed at the trespasser. Yet, before he could pull the trigger, he heard a pop from behind a piece of furniture. Of all things, confetti rained down on his face. In the next moment, a figure appeared before him, and he reached out to grab the fucker, whoever he was, but the guy had fox-like reflexes and easily dodged his swipe. A move like that could’ve only been one person— Fox. It was also Fox who called out to him cheerfully as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

He could sock him. He should sock him. God, he wanted to, but he couldn't follow through as he looked around at the scattered, heartfelt birthday decorations. That would have to wait for another day.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ, Fox, I nearly shot you! What the hell made your dumb ass think breakin’ into a hitman’s house— my house— was a good fuckin’ idea? Crazy bastard.” He growled, returning his gun to his black leather jacket. As much as he wanted to be, he couldn’t stand to be mad at the cheerful man who had gone through so much to prepare something for his birthday. He couldn’t even feel angry at the way Fox swung his arm over his shoulder, even if he hated being touched if it wasn’t in a sexual context. Ugh. What a pain.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great, thanks or whatever—“

Exhausted, he pushed the clingy Fox away and sat in a nearby chair. Sometimes, Fox’s energy really wore him out. “Just pour me a drink, will ya? If I’m gonna celebrate, I want to get fucked up.”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A new heir

Prompt no. 50 : Out of love

Pairing: Harwin x Rhaenyra  

Themes: Soft | NSFE

Wordcount: 600+ words

Warning: Kissing

Summary: After Jace is born, Rhaenyra finds that Harwin had come to see him.

Minors DNI

This is also available on AO3

The bells of the Red Keep rang from sunrise till sunset to announce the birth of a little prince, one who was born to the crown princess, no less. Many who served could not help but pass on the news: their future queen had been safely delivered of a son, and his cradle egg had already hatched. It was a sign from the Seven, and a good one at that. The realm had been blessed.

The next day, Viserys was the first to call on his daughter and her son, with a reluctant Alicent following close behind.

“Well done, my girl.” Viserys glanced into the crib and beamed. The line of succession had been secured, and with it, his daughter’s own future. “You have your successor. I will issue a proclamation announcing the same before the day is out.” 

“Thank you, father,” Rhaenyra replied, more than a little weary from her labors. She rested comfortably in her bed and sighed in contentment when her handmaid proceeded to rub her swollen feet. “I am grateful to you for it.”

Alicent was less effusive with her praise. She took stock of the babe’s hair and pursed her lips. It was a rich, lustrous brown, and it did not possess even a single strand of silver. Whoever the child’s father was, he was clearly not of Valyrian blood.

“Congratulations, stepdaughter,” she said, knowing full well that there was little that she could do to change the outcome. Laenor proudly claimed the child as his, and Viserys was determined to name the babe his mother’s heir. “May the Seven bless you with many more sons in the future.”

“My thanks,” the princess returned, and she closed her eyes. She felt the queen gazing intensely at her, but she paid no heed to it. And she knew the cause of it. Her little Jace was a bastard, fathered by a man who was not her husband.

If only she could tell the world that she was left with little choice but to look another to sire her child and provide herself and the crown with an heir that was born out of her body. If only she could tell the world that Laenor could not do his duty, no matter how hard he tried. This was the only way, he had said, for both of their Houses.

I will not humiliate Laenor that way, she thought. No matter what, I will not subject him to the world’s derision. He has done nothing to deserve the scorn and sniggers of others.

Rhaenyra gave herself to sleep after her lord father and stepmother took their leave of her. She only opened her eyes whenever she needed to nurse, or when she needed to eat or wash or relieve herself. Otherwise, she slept, and her handmaids did their best to leave her in peace. Hour bled into hour, and when she opened her eyes again it was late at night, with a distant bell chiming eleven times. That was not what grabbed her attention, however. It was the golden cloak catching the light of a nearby candle that did so.

“Did my husband help you find a way in?” She asked.

Harwin turned to face her and flashed a grin that made her heart flutter for a moment.

“Indeed,” he said, cradling Jacaerys in his arms. “But I cannot stay for too long. I cannot be found here with you; it would endanger you both.”

“I understand.” Rhaenyra smiled indulgently while Harwin came over with their babe. “He has his father’s hair.”

“And his mother’s insolence,” he quipped, and he brushed his thumb over Jacaerys’ cheek. “Already asleep in the presence of the Lord Commander of the City Watch, eh little lad? Such a blatant lack of respect.”

Rhaenyra laughed. “He is his mother’s child after all, Ser. And his father’s.”

“Indeed.” Harwin sat by the edge of the bed and leaned down, his lips warm against Rhaenyra’s brow. She savored it, and the warmth that flooded through her when Harwin drew back, his eyes burning with pride. “I am so proud of you, my love,” he whispered.

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