#borders will become dust

[yourpalmalika]

Honestly Disco Elysium and Valentin Strykalo go together like this 🤞🤞🤞🤞 like what do you mean затем исчезнут страны убийцы и тираны границы станут пылью стены станут былью

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

1,000 follower celebration!! I love u all wow. thank you for all your support, truly. be warned, this is long. enjoy 💫

warnings: nsfw alphabet for dick grayson and jason todd, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

A | Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jason is very different after sex. it’s a major act of trust for him, so when it’s done, all he really wants is to be close to you. in other words: he’s a big cuddler. he’ll mumble some things into your skin as you run your fingers through his hair, and after, you usually end up ordering enough food to feed a small family, because that man can eat.

dick is a loverboy at heart. once the dust has settled and you’re both down from your highs, he’s doting on you—bringing you water, a snack, cleaning you up with a damp cloth—with doe eyes and a big old grin. always invites you to have a shower with him afterwards, and you always say yes, because his shoulder rubs are divine.

B | Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

unsurprisingly, jason has some…issues with his body from all the shit it’s been through. that being said, I think he intentionally trains his back and shoulders the most. it’s what makes him look as huge as he does. as for his favourite thing about you, jason todd is an ass man, argue with the wall. he likes something he can grab. hard.

dick grayson knows his ass is fat. he’s not shy about it. but his favourite body part is actually his arms, and how muscular they’ve become over the years. as for you, he loves your hips. they trigger something primal in him; the second you put on a fitted dress, he’s thinking about giving you his children.

C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

jason gets nasty. he’ll cum anywhere on your body just for the obscene sight, but he especially loves to cum in your mouth when he’s feeling that extra bit dominant. he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow, it turns him on either way—but, god, he’s proud when you open your mouth to show him it’s all gone.

let’s cut to the chase. dick wants to cum inside you over and over again. he hardly even contemplates doing it anywhere else; that man wants to fill you up and watch you drip. maybe it’s his out-of-control breeding kink, maybe it’s how intimate it feels—whatever the case may be, rest assured dick grayson loves a creampie.

D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

voyeurism. jason likes to watch. it happened accidentally once when he walked in on you practicing some self-care, and he’s thought about it ever since. he enjoys the performance aspect of it; it’s a power play, watching you get yourself off, knowing he’s right there but refusing to help you.

this ties in with Q, but dick borders on exhibitionism sometimes. fucking you in his car, in the bathroom at a charity event, or in a changing room—anywhere you might get caught, really—god, it gets him going. it’s the daredevil in him, constantly yearning to test the limits of what he can do.

E | Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think jason had very limited to no experience before his death, and most of what knows today he learned by being with you. ever the fast learner, though, he sure as shit knows what he’s doing now. I think he’s very in-tune with your body and his needs, and it shows in the way he fucks you.

we have to face facts here. dick definitely got around before committing to a serious relationship. despite that, I think he knows what he’s doing thanks to his impeccable observational skills; sometimes you think he knows your body better than you do (but don’t tell him that; it goes straight to his head).

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

jason is a sucker for good old-fashioned doggy style, of course, but fuck, does he adore the prone bone position. trapping you under his body, hitting you deep with each thrust, and he gets to watch your ass jiggle at every movement? it borders on religious ecstasy for him.

dick goes feral—feral—for the mating press position. it’s erotic, carnal, and raw, and that’s exactly what he wants when he’s fucking you. he’s also partial to cowgirl, especially when he can tell you want to take control. the view it offers him is enough to have him whining underneath you for more.

G | Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jason is more on the serious side; sex with him, intense as it may be, is still a big act of vulnerability on his part, so he doesn’t treat it lightly. he will, however, crack a warm smile on those occasions when you make love in the small hours of the morning, when he thinks you can’t see his face clearly.

dick is a tease, and sex with him is fun. he likes to flirt with you while he bends you into compromising positions, and he gets very cocky when you cum. he can’t help but make little quips after the fact, either; “something wrong with your leg, baby?” as your limbs twitch and tremble from your orgasm. jerk.

H | Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

in keeping with his rugged exterior, jason is only doing what he needs to in order to keep things manageable and convenient. he is not dedicating hours to manscaping. much to your elation, that means he keeps his happy trail intact.

dick is a little more meticulous in his grooming, being the “pretty boy” that he is. he prefers keeping himself neatly trimmed, partly to ensure more comfort in his nightwing suit—he’s learned the hard way that the pornstar look is a one-way ticket to chafing when you’re jumping off of buildings.

I | Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

jason really restrains himself from being outwardly intimate. he finds it hard to be that vulnerable, and while he loves the passion between you when you fuck, he’s only really able to tap into the romantic aspect if he’s wholly at ease. that’s not to say it never happens! it definitely does, just give him time.

he may be cocky and unserious when he’s fucking you, but sex with dick is always very openly intimate. he sees the beauty and romance in what you do together, and it’s truly special to him that he gets to witness you like this. sex is absolutely one of the ways he expresses his love and admiration for you.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jason only really masturbates when he’s away from you on a mission, and needs to take the edge off. it’s less interesting without you, so he wants it done quick. he imagines you touching yourself as he does it—legs wide and eyes hazy—and that gets him to his peak extremely efficiently.

dick likes to edge himself. I said what I said. he’s thinking about how he’d much rather save his load for your pretty cunt, so he’s bucking his hips and screwing his eyes shut as he forces himself to stop right before his climax, reminding himself how good it’ll feel when he gets to fill you up.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

overstimulation is jason’s go-to; he gets off on dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re hardly able to speak. he also loves forced eye contact, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open. oh, and he has a massive size kink. when you’re as huge as he is, everyone is small by comparison, and he likes how big you make him feel.

say it with me. dick grayson has a breeding kink. the visual aspect of cumming inside you is enough to drive him crazy, but the thought of getting you pregnant…now that makes him rabid. face-sitting is another big one; any variation of pussy-eating drives him wild, but having you sit on his face is his favourite way to do it.

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

if you’re at home, anywhere is fair game to jason. he’s fucking you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the sofa, against the wall, in the office—anywhere. outside of home, he’s more restrictive, but he has thought about fucking you in the batmobile on the many occasions he’s stolen it.

the bedroom is definitely dick’s favourite place to fuck you; aside from making things feel more romantic, he wants you to be comfortable as he’s bending you into crazy positions. he also loves a shower quickie and car sex, impractical though they may be. don’t worry, he’s an acrobat. it’ll work.

M | Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

is it crazy to say that jason gets turned on when you argue? because he does. a moderate disagreement where you’re getting huffy with him is a surefire way to get bent over the sofa. oh, and if he feels even a little jealousy creeping over him, you’re in for a ride. also, if you nestle into him during the night, you’ll be contending with his hard cock pressed against your lower back until one of you caves.

dick is whipped. whatever you’re doing can get him going. cooking, reading, wearing his clothes—he loves everything you do. but, he’s particularly turned on whenever you dress up for a special occasion. it can be a little inconvenient when you’re running late for an event and he’s groping you over your gown in the limo, but how can you refuse those blue eyes?

N | No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

jason would be very resistant to anything that puts him in a submissive role (this goes for ak!jason too). this includes both sex acts and the use of props/toys that take control away from him; he’s just not into it. he’d also refuse any kind of roleplay, saying it’s unnecessary. he’s a pragmatic guy.

I think dick would really dislike the idea of hurting you. he’s not opposed to spanking, and he’ll even engage in some light breath play (ahem, headlock, anyone?), but he would never take it any further than that. if he bruised you through anything other than hickies, he’d be sick with guilt.

O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

it should come as no surprise that jason loves receiving head. there are few sights as enticing as watching you take his cock in your mouth while he instructs you to keep your eyes on him. he’s also very skilled in returning the favour, and his preference is eating you from the back so he can see your pretty ass move each time you squirm.

you know my stance on this. dick is a munch. he’s eating pussy like it’s his last meal before the end of the world, and he’s doing it for him. needless to say, he’s fucking good at it. receiving head is quite literally the last thing on his mind. that being said, when he does remember to let you reciprocate, all he can think about is how pretty you look while doing it.

P | Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

jason can get pretty rough, and he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. sex for him is partially an emotional release. but, he’s good at alternating between destroying you one day and being gentle the next; despite his tough facade, jay enjoys soft, passionate sex as much—if not more—than you do.

dick is kind of a hedonist; once he starts feeling pleasure, he doesn’t want it to end—especially when you start feeling it too. he’s happy to give you fast and rough if it’s what you want, but his preference is sloppy, erotic fucking. the messier you get, the better. although, if he’s got you in a mating press, the roughness seeps back in quickly.

Q | Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while he’ll never say no to a quickie, jason prefers to take his time with you. once he starts, he finds it hard to stop, and he loves to see how much you can take from him before you’re spent. quickies are sporadic with him; he prefers to enjoy your body at his pace.

if he gets the chance to fuck you—hell, even just tease you—dick is going to take it. he loves the thrill and the sense of urgency that comes with quickies. whether it’s a hookup in his car or an impromptu blowjob when he’s supposed to be on patrol, his eyes are lighting up like it’s christmas.

R | Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jason is not a risk-taker. he needs time to warm to any kind of experimentation, but he’s more likely to try things on you than on himself, like using light restraints on you or dabbling in sensory play. as long as he feels he has some control.

dick is a different story. he’s willing to try most things at least once, and he’s able to laugh it off if something goes south. he’s not opposed to switching (ha) things up and giving you the lead, either; he likes a woman in charge.

S | Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

maybe it’s his extensive training, maybe it’s just who he is; whatever the case may be, jason can go for a long time. but, it’s usually just one round that he draws out so he can really work you to your limit.

dick can handle multiple rounds if you give him time. his recovery consists of burying his face between your legs until he’s ready to go again, which doesn’t take very long once you start convulsing against his tongue.

T | Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

jason wouldn’t even think to use sex toys unless you brought it up, but he’d be open to using them on you if you asked. he’s quick to see the potential in your little pink vibrator when he holds it against your clit while he fucks you, noticing how much easier it is to overstimulate you this way.

ever the experimentalist, dick isn’t opposed to trying out toys in the bedroom. in fact, he’s the one who would show up with fuzzy blue handcuffs (“I got them in my colour!”) to restrain your hands behind your back, so he can devour your cunt without interference from you.

U | Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’d like to tease you more, but jason doesn’t really have the restraint for it. as soon as you’re splayed out in front of him, he wants to take you. when he does tease, though, he likes to touch you everywhere but where you need him most, until you’re begging for him to make you feel good. then, he likes to make you regret it—over and over again.

dick is the world’s biggest tease, and you can look that up. he’s got you grinding on his lap, making out with you until you’re panting, only to say he needs to do some work as he stands up with a smirk. and when he finally gets you naked, he makes you tell him what you need while his fingers hover over your aching pussy, never reaching you.

V | Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jason isn’t very loud at all, but the sounds he does make range from grunts and groans to the occasional low moan if you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. he’s a big dirty talker, and he likes to get up in your ear to do it, so he knows you’re listening. he notices the way you shiver at his gravelly voice, and it drives him crazy.

dick is far less concerned about being quiet. he’s moaning, swearing, telling you how pretty you are, even occasionally whining, and he’s not worried about what your neighbours think—in fact, he’s making sure you’re just as vocal as he is, insisting you tell him how you feel. he’s also expressive when he cums, especially when he does it inside you.

W | Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I know this is controversial, but jason would never agree to a threesome. this man is possessive. the mere thought of seeing someone else touch you in front of him is enough to make him see red, so no—he’d end up committing murder (not that it’s a far leap for him on a good day).

dick has a thing for watching you work out, especially when you’re doing yoga in the living room in those skin-tight pants. watching the way your limbs elongate and contract as you bend and stretch does things to him, but he never interrupts; the images stay in his mind for those long missions.

X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

jason is a behemoth of a man all over. and I do mean all over. he’s packing. an easy 8 inches (slightly more), thick, with a slight upwards curve and a prominent vein from the base to the tip—which is a mauvy pink, by the way. you’re still shocked you’re able to take him, and he was too the first time.

‘prettiest man alive also has a pretty cock’ would be dick’s headline. just over 6 inches, with enough girth to make you feel full, and a rosy pink tip that matches his lips…you could honestly just stare at it if he’d let you (and he probably would). he fits you like a glove every single time.

Y | Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jason’s sex drive is pretty consistent; it’s always simmering a little ways below the surface. he’s able to compartmentalise it when he has to, but sex doubles as a form of stress-relief for him, so it happens…often.

dick has an incredibly high sex drive. like jason, he can reel it in when needed, but if it were up to him, you’d fuck every single day, twice even. I also truly believe that he’s regularly plagued by morning wood.

Z | Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s going to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of, but the truth is jason could probably pass out in your arms about 10 minutes after you’re done. take it as a sign of how safe he feels with you as he’s snoring softly into your neck.

he’s definitely tired after sex, but dick is waiting until he notices you dozing off before he closes his eyes. once he’s out, though, good luck waking him up again without an air horn. he’s going to need his full eight hours to recharge.

[liberalsarecool]

From Professor Christopher Robichaud, Senior Lecturer in Ethics and Public Policy, Harvard:

“I'll say this, and then I likely won't be saying much more on here for quite some time, to the relief of some, I'm sure. But my farewell warning is this.

Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).

Take a good, hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be. The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.

The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years, [which] was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.

Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural. America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational, and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.

A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.

The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.

And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.

This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.

And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.

The first quarter of the 21st century will, therefore, in hindsight, be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.

Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.

I think that's all I've left to say.”

The least evolved. The most paternalistic.

The bully. The liar. The most resentful.

This is the reality we are in. FOX and Republicans have been repeating the script for decades.

The Dark Ages are conservative aspirations.

The abdication of values/principles is complete.

'Good faith' no longer exists on the Right. The more reprehensible the action/person, the bigger the addiction. Trump proves this.

Anti-paternalism, anti-fascism and anti-bullying are my paths forward. Join me.

[azsazz]

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Eris x Rhysands!Sister Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1,217

Notes: Love this tbh!!!

_________________________________________

You feel him before you see him. 

You can feel him all the time; even when he’s courts away there’s that connection humming blissfully in your chest. It’s comforting, to know that your mate is alive and well, that there’s a surety you’re aware of him and how he’s feeling. When he’s content in a warm bath with a glass of fae wine smoothing the creases between his brows. When he’s squaring his shoulders and surging with pride for the sparring with his brothers he has won again. When he sends a warmth so suggestive down the bond late at night when he’s sure there’s no one around. The very one you feel deep in your soul, that makes your core melt like his fire-filled hands are working your center. The one that leaves no questions whether he loves you or not.

Of course, there are times when you can’t feel him. When he’s blocked the bond from ever reaching you when his father brings his wrath down on him like he’s young and defenseless again. He always hides that from you. When the distance from you becomes too great and there is no choice for him but to block the bond because he knows that there is nothing that can be done in the current state of Pythian. No way for the both of you to be together, no way for him to seize you from the control of your older brother. If you were lesser than the High Lord’s younger sister, he’d sneak across the border lines on a whisper of autumn winds and find his way into your bed. 

It’s been ages since you’ve seen your mate, since you looked into those warm russet eyes, ran your fingers through his auburn hair, counted the freckles dotting the pale skin of his cheeks. 

Your breath catches in your throat as Eris is escorted into Rhysand’s office and your eyes meet. 

A sense of relief floods the bond as his eyes move over you in an intentional sweep that to everyone else in the room looks like he’s wondering why you’re here, but you know your mate is assessing you for injuries even though you’re nowhere near injured. Not even a scratch or a bruise on your perfect skin. 

No one notices the slight falter in his steps. All Eris wants to do is rush over to you and sweep you in his arms and press you into his chest, feel your heartbeat against his own. He wants to taste that smile you’re trying all too hard to hide from him, move his mouth across the color dusting your cheeks to feel his fire dancing underneath your skin. He wants to strip you bare, devour every inch of you. He wants to hear you scream his name, whisper that you love him, cry for him to take you away, admit that you never want to be apart—

But he’s not even allowed to sit next to you. 

Across the large table is as close as he allows himself to get. It’s not close enough that he can accidentally kick his foot against yours and he doesn’t like that you’ve been meticulously placed on the opposite side so he can’t even walk past you and brush his fingers against your hand or the back of your neck. 

His bond keens in his chest and he tries his best to stifle it, ripping his gaze away when he’s drawn to you like this. 

Eris is flanked by Cassian and Azriel, and even though he feels as if he’s on the best terms he’s ever been with the Night Court, this feels like a set up. A trap.

You allow a caress of reassurance down the bond to your mate. Your brother doesn’t know, no one in this room, in this court, in this continent knows of your connection to the heir of Autumn. Eris’ throat works as he swallows, and you turn your attention away from him as he sends a feeling of understanding back to you.

“Eris.” Rhysand gestures to the autumn born royal to sit. He’s lounging in his own chair at the circular table, an arrogance to him that irks you. It’s all a front, of course, one Rhysand has carefully crafted to perfection from centuries as High Lord. You don’t like that it’s directed at your mate, and you’re feeling more protective than ever, flickering a glance over to the males sitting on either side of your mate, as if they’re caging him in.

Not unusual for an untrusted male in your court. You’ve seen your brother pull this same maneuver more times than you can count, but there’s a charge to the air that feels different. Your spine lengthens and you flare a warning down the bond, praying your mate doesn’t react but readies himself. 

He follows your heed with unfaltering trust. Eris’ fingers flex where they’re resting on the arms of his chair, and you watch him unhinge his jaw only slightly, so that he doesn’t flex it. The scalding look on his face stays directed at your brother.

Your lips part and the muscles of your legs tense, ready to jump out of your chair in the next moment, when you catch Rhysand’s smirk, the one that spells trouble. His violet eyes are dark with the promise of violence and his shadows are quick to strike, tendrils of nightmares winding their way around Eris’ wrists, trapping him to the very chair he was offered.

Eris shifts his hands in a nonchalant motion, testing out the strength of the sentient darkness Rhysand uses to hold him hostage. They don’t give an inch and he wonders for a fleeting moment if he can burn them away. If your worry wasn’t heavy in his chest, the beat of your heart spiking double, he would try it. But with you here, he’s not willing to try anything that could potentially put you in danger.

Plus, a part of him wants to hear what Rhysand has to say. The other part of him wants to get you the fuck out of here.

The High Lord of the Night Court plants his hands on the table. High Lord, because there is no ounce of your brother in his eyes and actions right now.

The chair scraping against the floor as Rhysand stands is the only sound in the room. Cassian nor Azriel moves from their seats, but they pin your mate with the menacing kind of looks that mirror Rhysands, ready to follow his every demand, no questions asked. 

“Eris,” Rhysand’s voice is not its usual purr as he leans forward. A strand of hair falling across his forehead is the only sign of the crack in his facade, the utter rage filling the room with an unbearable tautness.

The words are sticky in your throat. You can’t move, can’t seem to take your eyes off of your brother as your heart splinters in your chest like it’s his own shadows tearing you to strips. You’re only able to manage a quiet, “Don’t,” that’s filled with too much desperation.

Rhysand ignores your words. He hisses at Eris, dark and low. “How long have you and my sister been keeping this little mating bond of yours a secret?”

[heartinhyacinth]

Listen, I love the idea of Hua Cheng finally getting to propose to his beloved special someone after 800 long-awaited years (and correct his previous blunder haha), but hear me out…

After Hua Cheng’s year of absence, hualian reunite, spend some blissful days soaking up each other’s company at the small cottage Xie Lian built on mount taicang, then decide to take a trip to ghost city. They could use the dice, of course, but it’s such a nice autumn day and days as such have become dear to them.

They’re snugged up close in the step-litter when Xie Lian casually asks, “San Lang, wanna get married?” He wears his usual gentle smile—the one he would use as if he were asking if Hua Cheng was feeling hungry or if he’d like to take a stroll through the maple trees.

But there is also the unmissable twinkle of amusement that is present, which Hua Cheng uses to convince himself that Xie Lian is in a silly mood and surely this is just payback—Xie Lian will confirm it any second now. But it doesn’t come. Five seconds, ten, fifteen, and the confirmation does not come.

So Hua Cheng simply sits there, expression bordering between pure terror and pure ecstasy as he tries to dissect the situation for any sign of its true reality. With breathy giggles, Xie Lian finally has mercy on the poor ghost, “You don’t have to say yes, San Lang—I can take it.” Despite his words, it’s exceedingly obvious by the humor in his tone that they’re both aware heaven and earth would sooner turn to dust, and with that, Hua Cheng finally regains control of his brain. “It would…” he takes a deep breath, nearly a millennia of longing crowding his throat all at once, “It would be my greatest honor, your highness”. Xie Lian’s smile brightens and he takes Hua Cheng’s hands in his own, “good—because no more dying, okay?”

The idea of Hua Cheng’s heart and soul asking him to spend their existence together—of Xie Lian affirming that he chooses Hua Cheng and wants him as his beloved forever and always, wants to walk by his side till the end—it’s just…too much to handle. (Him saying yes to Hua Cheng’s proposal would also achieve this but you get the idea).

Bonus: Hua Cheng fully planned to ask him during that same trip but Xie Lian beat him to it

[solspina]

We Should Stick Together

sanguinius ⋆˙⟡

have a very small sangy blurb that is literally just me braindumping! not proofread and a little fulgrim x reader if you squint :)

sanguinius has very clearly taken interest in someone, and fulgrim is quite tired of watching sanguinius collect offerings for his beloved rather than taking any productive action. through a little teasing and perhaps creating a lie great enough to form genuine jealousy, the phoenician can make something happen.

warnings: n/a

Fulgrim takes yet another sip of his 4th glass of wine, holding back a pout as he draws the glass away from his stained lips. To say he is bored - and also quite clueless - would be an understatement bordering insult. The wine he holds in his hand is absolutely delectable, a fine luxury piece from his own personal collection, smooth on the throat and incredibly enjoyable when not paired with second-hand embarrassment. He sighs as he notices his supply is dwindling rapidly, not feeling even the slightest bit drunk.

Throne, he should have brought something stronger.

"What do you think of these?" His white-winged brother shoved two sparkling stones into his hand, smiling like a childish idiot as he did so.

"They are.. nice..." Fulgrim claimed as he inspected them closely, attempting to hide his annoyance as he swept over the gems with violet eyes. "However, this one seems brittle, like it will crumble the moment it is grinded upon, and this one seems quite lackluster." His voice did not hide his disinterest in the subject, but he was at least honest.

"And what about the color? Do you think she will prefer quartz? Or perhaps red? Ah, but red makes it seem like it's about me..."

"Sanguinius..." Fulgrim whispered, trying to interrupt his brother, or at the very least return him to his senses before he went on yet another incoherent ramble about his potential courtier.

"And its about her, not me. I would hate to bring home something that is to her distaste. I don't wish to put her off, I think I've done well so far acquiring her interest, I really-"

"Sanguinius!" The Phoenician finally exclaimed in more of a yell than a speaking voice, his annoyance with his brother no longer confined behind a glass of chilled wine. He released the tension from his shoulders upon seeing the blond angel's wide, shocked eyes.

Taking in the final sip of his wine, he sighed yet again. "I don't think any number of my wives have had me in as much of a chokehold as this woman does you, brother. You are smitten, and hopelessly so."

Sanguinius' wings betrayed his feeble attempt at releasing his embarrassment. They fluttered at the mention of her, and so he turned away from Fulgrim, his cheeks dusted a light pink and a small amount of his feathers puffed up upon the top of both wings. A body language display familiar of most birds, but unfamiliar to the palatine phoenix. The angel's voice shook the very slightest as he attempted to maintain his composure.

"Hopeless, Fulgrim?" He paused, his shaking irises evident of trying to collect his thoughts. "Has she told you something she has not told me?"

Was there… anger? in his tone? Maybe it was jealousy fulgrim had heard, possessiveness even, he could not tell.

Regardless, this sort of reaction from the angel was something he had not heard from his perfect and composed brother before. A piece of him felt confused at the fact that his brother had become so quickly offended in regards to a mere human, and yet another piece felt curious, entertained by the possibility of whether or not he could strike a nerve within the brightest one.

Sanguinius saw a sinister smile creep across Fulgrim's perfect features. His shoulders raised at his brother's gentle laugh. "Defensive, are we, angel? Protective, perhaps?" The phonecian placed his wine glass down upon the rocks next to the two of them, taking note of Sanguinius' clenched fists and slightly narrowed eyes. He could tell the great angel was doing his best to mask his infamous inner wrath, but he simply couldn't at the mention of some mortal woman. "Worry not, I've already told myself that you would be the one marrying this one... Should you not take too long I would not make my move."

With a step toward Sanguinius, he moved closer, brushing a few strands of blond hair behind his brother's ear so that his whisper would fall directly on his ears "That being said, clock is ticking. Drop the stones you wish to bring her, take her your words instead… lest i take her my words first.”

The sound of ruffling feathers filled the air alongside a slight expression of jealousy from Sanguinius, brows downturned and eyes slightly squinted. “I know you only tease, Fulgrim."

"And if I don't?" The Phoenician replied, his tone simultaneously teasing and serious. He wished for nothing more than to confirm his suspicion, for the angel to fall from grace and admit the painfully obvious, that he was jealous.

"You best keep your hands off. It is I who loves her. It is I who will see to it that she marries me.”

Sanguinius would be lying if he said he was not slightly afraid of Fulgrim attempting his interest’s hand in marriage.

On one hand, the poor bachelorette had a winged mutant, a man with a pair of massive wings accompanied by two sharp canines and an insatiable thirst for blood buried deep within him.

On the other was a man who was perfect in every way. Silky, smooth, gorgeous white hair cascaded over his shoulders the same way his robes fit the contours of his slender body in a noble shade of purple. His face, in every way, was nothing short of youthful and beautiful and every positive word that a human could conjure from their lips.

In other words, if Fulgrim made it to her first, Sanguinius knew he would stand no chance.

…Would he?

Would she choose the man who had experience caring for women? Or the one who she would have to teach? Did she have the patience for him?

"Say it with your chest than, oh great angel."

"I love her…”

“Hmm…” Fulgrim smiled, aware that his dear angelic brother was completely lost in thought. He knew how to hit where it hurt, for no one could turn away from Fulrgim’s perfection.

He knew Sanguinius would doubt himself, and he knew that he had to force him to confess before he lost the confidence to do so.

Of course, Sanguinius was a mutant with fatal flaws, but just like Fulgrim did his hair flow off of his shoulders and down his back, framing his chiseled face like a golden halo as piercing amber eyes shone like the sands of Baal under its suns.

Fulgrim had witnessed the girl weaving small and intricate jewels into chains that would drape themselves beautifully over Sanguinius’ wings, if the two of them had just attempted to replace their distanced pining with the intimacy they both intensely longed for.

“What she told me was that she desired you just as much… But I told her your eyes were set on someone else.” He smiled deviously at his brother, watching his expression turn into one of horror as he realized Fulgrim had probably shattered her heart into shreds with his false news. “So she and I made a deal. If you confessed to her within the week, you could have her. But if you failed to…”

The Phoenician raised one of his hands, opening his palm to a ring made in approximately the size of a tiny human finger. Sanguinius’ expression filled with anger as he fought the urge to strangle his brother right then and there. His teeth were clinched together with enough force to shatter a diamond in two.

Fulgrim's smile spread completely across his face before he turned upon his heels, flicking a head full of white hair toward Sanguinius before he broke out into a full sprint for the imperial palace. "And who is it that will tell her the news, brother?!”

With a single thunderous beat, the angel shot into the air, his speed in flight incomprehensibly faster than Fulgrim was on foot.

He smiled once more, his winged brother gone in the blink of an eye. None of what he said had been true, of course, but he too enjoyed some lighthearted teasing every once in a while. The expression upon the face of the great angel had been priceless. How could one be so jealous over someone they were stuck longing for?

He hoped that the angel would return with positive news and without the urge to slap him, and that he would still be invited to the wedding.

[vulnerary-prince]

From Harvard ethics professor Christopher Robichaud:

“Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).

Take a good hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be.

The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.

The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.

Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural.

America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.

A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.

The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least, enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.

And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics, or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.

This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.

And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.

The first quarter of the 21st century will therefore in hindsight be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.

Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.

I think that's all I've left to say.”   

[wutheringvibe]

i wish you loved me to the point of insanity, to the point where flesh meets dust, where skin becomes memory, where the air crackles with something that isn't quite a sound but a vibration, a pull, a calling. love me to the point where heaven becomes hell, where the lines blur and the fire in your eyes is all i can see, all i can feel, all i can know. to the point where existence becomes nihil, where everything outside of you and me crumbles into irrelevance, like the static between radio stations, like the spaces between stars. i want it to be a love that isn’t about you or me, not about words spoken or actions taken, no rights, no wrongs, no questions, no answers, no fights, no reparations, just the sheer force of it, the madness of it. love me like a storm that doesn’t care what it destroys. love me like the roots of trees splitting sidewalks, like the sea eating the shore. i don’t want it neat or polite, i don’t want it reasonable. i want it raw and feverish, the kind of love that burns everything down just to light a cigarette off the ashes. and my love, i want to love you back just as madly, with no beginning and no end, no borders, no sense. love you until your breath becomes my breath, until your thoughts bleed into mine, until i can’t tell where i stop and you begin. love you in the way that defies everything we were ever taught about love. just love. mad love. the kind that turns the world inside out, leaves it unrecognizable, leaves us unrecognizable.

[beckyninja]

At First Sight

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: some suggestive content

Thought I'd try my hand at a longer, more story-based fic. You can consider this a prequel of sorts to Comfort. Guilliman meets the woman who will become his wife.

You gazed up at the towering figure before you: Roboute Guilliman, Lord of Ultramar, Lord Regent of the Imperium of Man. His armor gleamed, reflecting the light around you until he seemed to glow from within. You felt the weight of the fabled Aura. The rest of the delegation, your bodyguard and attendants, had long since fallen to their knees.

Doubts flooded your mind. Your family, so ancient and proud, was a mere spark compared to the nobility before you. Your entire homeworld was but dust in the cosmic winds. How dare you think you could treat with such a being?

No.

You knew the fate of your people rested on the success of these negotiations, even if they did not. You could not, would not, crumble.

So, you stood. Your eyes traveled up the magnificent form: breastplate, pauldrons, gorget. You had to lean your head back when they reached his face, your heart battering against your ribcage.

Could he hear it? Your research suggested he could.

Oh Light! Oh Stars and Void and all that lies between, give me strength!

Your eyes reached his face. And your mind went blank, all your carefully prepared speeches and arguments draining like blood from a severed artery.

His face seemed sculpted of the golden marble mined in the mountains of your homeworld. Every line clean and hard. The strong chin and aquiline nose spoke to his fabled resolve. The golden hair above his temples reflected light from the thousands of candles filling the massive audience chamber. He looked every inch the indomitable demi-god.

And yet…

The hollows of his cheeks and eyes gave an appearance of gauntness you hadn’t expected. The skin under those eyes was the color of a fresh bruise. You could see cracks in the marble of his face, deep lines etched across his forehead.

Your eyes met his. 

You hoped your gasp wasn’t audible (a vain hope, if he could hear your heartbeat). You’d read of his eyes, how they were cerulean pools of liquid fire. How the superhuman intelligence within scalded the minds of lesser beings. Bright and calm and calculating. 

The eyes you stared into reflected all of that, but very differently from the ancient records’ descriptions. What might once have been bright pools now seemed deep wells, sunken and surrounded by impenetrable shadow.

You saw the weight of worlds in those eyes. You saw weariness. You saw grimness bordering on despair. You saw loneliness.

The terror and awe that filled you mere moments before faded. Weariness and despair, your heart too had felt their frigid touch. And loneliness…

Ah, loneliness was a dear friend of yours. 

Perhaps it was foolish to hope you could ever empathize with such a being. One whose burdens were infinitely greater than your own. But, as compassion welled within your soul, as the urge to comfort rose irresistible, you wanted to try.

Before you stood more than a being of awesome power. Before you stood a man.

***

Guilliman scrutinized the woman seated at his side. Try as he might, he could not discern the source of your… for once he could not find the correct word. Your strangeness, perhaps. Uniqueness. Unusual strength of will.

After all, few could stand so resolutely in his presence. Fewer still could meet and hold his gaze. And the way you’d looked at him, as if all the shields he’d spent centuries erecting around his mind and heart were nothing but sodden parchment to be brushed aside!

Who are you, truly?

A blush bloomed across your neck. He knew you felt his stare and, with concentrated effort, looked away. Mechanically, he raised a goblet of wine to his lips. It tasted of nothing.

The past day replayed like a vid in his mind. The arrival of the delegation from a previously unknown human colony on The Macragge’s Honor. The appearance of their little ambassador. Your surprising level of erudition and intelligence. The hours of negotiations. All culminating in this diplomatic dinner.

Like a magnet, he found his eyes once again drawn to you. You’d adapted to his, and his sons’, presence with astonishing speed. Now you sat, listening to a high-ranking Imperial official prattle on with a practiced smile on your face. The man’s hand reached out to brush yours.

Guilliman’s hand tightened on his goblet.

“Ambassador.” He spoke without thinking.

The official glanced his way and paled, before mumbling some excuse and turning away from you. You looked over at him, once again meeting his eyes. The blush spread from your neck down your decolletage. 

For an instant, Guilliman’s eyes followed it.

An internal voice that sounded distressingly like his mother’s chided him, and he jerked his eyes back up to your face.

Throne damn it, what is wrong with me tonight?

“Excuse me, I ah,” he fumbled, “I would know more of your homeworld, my Lady.”

You began to speak once again of the resources and long-thought-lost technology your people could provide the Imperium. Your voice settled into the placid cadence of a diplomat. For some reason this irritated him to no end.

“We have already discussed this.” You flinched, and he softened his tone. “I would know more of its people, of your people. How have you managed to stay hidden all these millenia? Why come forth now?”

You paused for a moment. “We are a proud people, my Lord. The ancient records tell of our struggle to survive after contact with the Mother World, what you call Holy Terra, ceased. These stories passed into the mythology of my people: self-reliance and independence are seen as the greatest of virtues.”

He could respect that. He nodded for you to continue.

“For many millennia we built and thrived, half-believing we were the last bastion of humanity amongst the stars. When word of your Emperor’s Great Crusade finally reached us, there was excitement and relief… but also suspicion. Though some argued we should make ourselves known then, the greater majority advised caution. We would watch, and we would wait.”

***

You hesitated, remembering your Grandmother’s words before your departure.

“Since you are bound and determined to go through with this mad escapade, remember this: Reveal nothing. Admit to nothing. Lie, if you must. And, by the Light girl, remember that they are barbarians who will slit your throat at the slightest provocation.”

Now, pinned under the gaze of the Primarch, you realized the folly of such advice. You met his eyes and told the truth.

“Our archives tell of the time you call the Heresy. We watched the infant Imperium tear itself apart and congratulated ourselves on our caution. Then the isolationists amongst us rose in force and demanded the utilization of technology that would hide us from the rest of the galaxy.”

You paused again, considering your next words.

To your surprise, the Primarch snorted. “I admit, I can find little fault in their reasoning. Those were… dark days.”

Encouraged, you continued. You told of your near-complete isolation from the rest of the galaxy. Indeed, for millennia, your people had nearly forgotten there was a “rest of the galaxy”. They built, grew, bickered, and warred, all amongst themselves, secure behind their impenetrable barriers.

Only the arrival of the Tyranids caused them to lift their heads from the proverbial sand.

You leaned forward, lost in your enthusiasm. “For the first time, we must understand the existential danger humanity faces. We must rejoin our brothers and sisters as a united force in order to survive, no matter our differences! We can no longer hide and-”

You realized you were shouting. All eyes in the near vicinity turned to you. You even swore you felt the gazes of the towering superhuman soldiers standing guard. Blood rushed to your face.

“I, I apologize, my Lord. I forgot myself.”

To your utter shock, you saw Lord Guilliman smile.

“No need for apologies, my Dear.” He gave a quick glance around the room, and all eyes turned away. “I so often find myself surrounded by apathy and ignorance, your passion is refreshing.”

You blinked. For a moment, that smile had transformed the Primarch’s face, like a ray of sunlight piercing dark clouds. You felt your stomach quiver.

None of the archives had mentioned how handsome he was.

***

Days passed. Then a week. Then a month. And still negotiations continued. 

Guilliman began getting odd looks from his sons, especially Sicarius. Usually such matters were settled in a matter of days. Receive the supplicants. Listen to their demands. Reject or accept. Absorb or conquer. Move on.

Throne knew he had a thousand other matters to attend to. Yet, he delayed.

Part of him enjoyed the simple logistics of it all: how to transport the resources this new world offered, which officials to put in charge, the opening of new trade routes and lines of communication, etc.

There were also more troubling problems. You had insisted your own scientists were more than capable of overseeing and installing the technology your people offered. This would not please the Mechanicum. And, while you assured him of your religious leaders willingness to synchronize their beliefs with the Imperial Cult, curbing the fanaticism of the Ecclesiarchy could prove difficult. 

Throne, I have not even begun to consider how the Inquisition will react.

He groaned softly and rubbed his temples. It was late in the simulated night cycle. Still, sleep eluded him. Not so surprising, perhaps. But the reason for his insomnia most certainly was.

You.

It had begun with the simple pleasure of conversation. Once again, the speed with which you’d conquered the trans-human dread astounded him. Diplomatic formalities frayed, revealing the bright, thoughtful woman beneath, your opinions untainted by the blind fanaticism of the Imperium. 

An outsider's point of view.

Then there was the way you spoke to him, without abasement or religious mania. You spoke to him as a man.

In your presence, he felt human. The feeling intoxicated him. He began to look forward to your visits and arrange them with increasing frequency.

One incident in particular stood out to him. You’d just entered his office, your smile already brightening a day filled with monotony. The serf carrying a tall stack of new parchment hadn’t seen you. Sheafs of paper filled the air as he collided with your back, sending you both to the floor.

The poor young man had been nearly catatonic with terror. You had only laughed, kneeling and helping him re-stack the papers. His stammered apologies were waved off with a smile and a self-deprecating comment.

That was the first night he lay awake, re-playing your kind words over and over again in his mind. 

Far too late he realized the nature of his obsession. Desire. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of you: your smile, your laugh, the soothing rhythm of your voice.

How your skin would feel under his hands. How you’d taste if he…if he….

“Throne!” He snarled, “Enough of this!”

Sicarius snapped to attention when he burst out of his quarters. “My Lord? What-”

“Be silent and follow.”

Perhaps Chaos had sent you as a curse. Or perhaps some benevolent force in the universe had finally taken pity on him in the form of a gift. Either way, his torment ended tonight.

***

You lay in the quarters provided you, atop your bed, staring at the ceiling. Your mind whirled. In some ways, the negotiations were more successful than you’d ever dreamed. Lord Guilliman had indeed lived up to his reputation as a reasonable leader. He’d considered each of your requests, sometimes praising your insight, sometimes pointing out flaws.

In the end, he’d agreed to almost every one. Your world would be admitted into the Imperium, while still being allowed a modicum of independence. You should be ecstatic. You should be reveling in the thought that you’d succeeded when everyone back home thought you mad.

So much for the bastard granddaughter you pretended didn’t exist, Grandmother. My actions have ensured our people’s survival!

And yet.

You should be on your way home by now. The details could be worked out later. Formal diplomatic relations established. The few attendants you’d been permitted already chafed to be gone. You should feel the same. 

So much about the Imperium repulsed you. From the butchered servitors, to the monomaniacal clerics, to the glares of the Ultramarines who considered your presence a source of irritation.

No, not all of the Ultramarines. You corrected yourself.

Many had been polite. Some had been downright cordial. But the ones who hadn’t….

You sighed at the thought of Commander Sicarius’s unrelenting disdain. Oh, well. Disdain you could handle. Light knew you got enough of it back home. 

Your mind wandered to him.

He was the reason you lingered. The reason sleep eluded you. Like a simpering maiden you quivered in excitement at his summons. You felt more at ease in his presence than you’d ever felt amongst your own family. 

You could laugh. Especially when he made one of his terrible jokes. 

A smile flitted to your face at the memory of the first time he’d revealed his sense of humor. You’d been playing a game he called Regicide. Rather, you played, and he indulged you.

He’d been discussing reforms he planned to put in effect when his hand closed a little too tightly around one of the game pieces. The King’s head had gone flying across the room and smacked into the wall. 

You both had stared at it for a minute before he sighed. “It seems I have taken the name of this game a bit too seriously.”

The way his eyes lit up when you giggled. The memory still warmed your heart. And made your stomach tremble. He was so damned handsome when he smiled. You couldn’t help but stare at his lips and wonder what they would feel like pressed to-

You pulled a pillow over your face and screamed. What right had you to think things like that? 

Just because he smiled at you without pretense. Just because he listened when you spoke. Just because he looked at you like you had value. You’d gone and lost your head and heart to a man as far above you as the stars above the dirt.

Enough was enough. Tomorrow you’d request leave to go. It would hurt. But it was for the best.

A booming knock at your door made you jump.

***

Guilliman stood before the Ambassador’s door. He’d already shooed away the bleary-eyed attendants. Sicarius stood just behind him, emanating confusion.

The door slid open, and there you stood. A robe covered your form, your hair hung loose, and your feet remained bare. He knew you came directly from your bed, though your eyes were unclouded.

“I see sleep eludes you as well.”

“It, uh, it does, my Lord.”

“May I come in?”

You gave no response, but stepped aside to allow him passage. He felt Sicarius crowding in behind and turned to him.

“Stay here. See that we are not disturbed.”

He didn’t bother to dwell on the Commander’s stunned expression before ducking his way into your room. A few candles did little to alleviate the night-cycle gloom. But what he could see assured him his insistence on your comfort had been obeyed. Cushions and dyed fabrics covered most surfaces. Soft and bright.

Like you.

“My Lord? To what do I owe this honor?”

He forced a stiff smile. “I thought we had moved past such formalities?”

You huffed. “As you wish. Roboute Guilliman, what in the name of the Light are you doing here at this time?”

“I love it when you say my name.”

Your eyes widened and you looked about to speak, but he pushed on. “No one says my name anymore. Not my subjects, not my sons. Only you.”

“I…I…”

“This last month has been the happiest I can remember since my re-awakening. I have enjoyed, no, relished every moment of our time together. Your companionship, your kindness, your hope for the future. All these things have fulfilled a need I did not know I had.” He searched your eyes, desperate for you to understand.

“You do not know what it is like, to not be seen as a person. To be always held at arm's length, so close and yet so far from everyone around you.”

“But I do.” You whispered.

He fell silent.

Your voice grew in strength. “I know what it is to be forever on the outside. To be alone.” You gave a sad smile. “Though my loneliness stems more from unwantedness than reverence.”

Guilliman saw a chance and poured every ounce of his desire into his next words. “I want you.”

***

Your head spun. This couldn’t be happening. This demi-god of a man, this commander of millions, couldn’t be pouring his heart out in your quarters, in the middle of the night, looking like he was a moment away from falling to his knees before you. You tried to summon some sort of intelligent response.

“What?”

He moved closer, his presence overwhelming your senses. You flinched back in sheer, animal reflex and your legs bumped into something hard. With a soft cry, you collapsed on your bed.

In a movement too fast for your eyes to register, he leaned over you. His massive hands framed your head. His face lowered to yours, eyes two burning wells of blue light in the dimness. 

“I want you.” His voice lowered into registers no mortal man could reach.

You trembled. A thousand perfectly reasonable objections to your situation screamed through your head. You ignored them all, reaching up to cup the face above you. His eyes closed and his head turned to press a kiss into your palm.

“Roboute….”

His lips pressed against yours. It was tentative, at first. You could feel his inexperience. Truth be told, you had little experience yourself. But you tried to make up for it with enthusiasm. Your hands roamed his body, stroking the hard muscles beneath his tunic. You grasped the cloth and tried in vain to pull him closer. A rumbling laugh sounded from deep in his chest. 

He scooped you up as if you weighed no more than a scrap of parchment, holding you to him as his mouth took yours with ever growing intensity. You were lightheaded when he finally moved his lips from your face down to your neck.

“Roboute…Roboute…”

He groaned your name and pulled back for a moment. You felt the ache of new bruises upon your throat. 

The intensity of his gaze stole your breath. “Your people will be given every privilege within my power. Governors of worlds will bow in your presence. My sons will guard you day and night. You will be Lady of Ultramar, Consort of the Lord Regent, the closest thing to a Queen I can make you. Anything you desire I will-”

You placed a hand over his mouth. 

“Roboute,” you whispered, “ask me.”

He smiled. “Will you marry me, my love?”

Everything would change, and you had no illusions that it would be painless. But you looked into the eyes of this Primarch, this demi-god, this man who loved you, and realized you’d somehow known this would happen. 

At first sight, you’d known.

“Roboute Guilliman, I will.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @lemon-russ @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

(Please comment if you'd like to be tagged in any future work.)

[lovings4turn]

★ hedgehog . . . (oscar piastri)

— when he reunites with his girlfriend, oscar quickly learns that his attempt at a new look has one huge downfall

+ aka. becca saw the pics of oscar's new stubble and struggled to be normal about it !! very short n sweet n silly, but i hope you enjoy regardless lovelies <3 banner from cafekitsune !!

"hey bab- oh."

oscar pulls away from your hug with a confused expression, brows furrowed and bottom lip pulled into the slightest pout. he looks down at you and scans your face, before turning his scrutiny onto his own form, trying to find an answer for your unusual reaction.

you haven't seen oscar in about a week now, and normally, you're all over him, not an inch of his face nor neck left untouched with your kisses. yet you're currently standing in front of him with an almost dazed expression on your face, arms still linked around his neck from your hug.

before he can open his mouth and allow a nervous question to trickle from his lips, you speak up for him, your knuckles coming to graze against his jaw.

"this is new," you hum, tilting your hand to grant your pinky finger the chance to trace the growing stubble that dusts oscar's upper lip.

his nose scrunches, and his amused exhale hits your fingertips as he lets out a laugh at the tickle.

"how have you hidden this from me?" you continue, your voice taking on a teasing tone. "been on facetime to you almost every day and i didn't even notice."

oscar lifts his own hand to scratch at his jaw, the feeling of coarse hair against his fingertips becoming more familiar with each passing day. it's by no means a full beard, god no. it's glorified stubble, scruff you might have called it. but it's the most facial hair you've seen oscar with since... well, ever.

"yeah, i'm uh, trying something out, i guess," he says with a slight laugh, looking down at you to gauge your reaction. "couldn't be bothered to shave one night and just thought i'd see what it was like."

though his tone is casual, his heart pounds a little faster as he tries to detect any form of opinion radiating from your body language. oscar wishes he was a mind reader right now, able to tell exactly how you feel about the slight stubble without having to ask you outright.

the answer seems to satisfy you, and your lips curve up into a smile as you lean in to finally pepper soft kisses to his face.

oscar stoops down a little to grant you access to his forehead and temple, and you press another kiss to his nose before moving to attach your lips to his.

the kiss is tender, full of love, and bordering on passionate as oscar's tongue swipes at your bottom lip in a silent question. he hardly realises you're pulling away until he's forced to chase after your lips unsuccessfully.

his breathing is a little shallow as he speaks.

"why'd you stop?"

the question almost comes out as a whine, and it takes a lot for you not to tease him about it.

"y'scratching me a bit," you admit with an amused tone, nibbling at your bottom lip. "y'know, with the hair. 's a bit like i'm kissing a hedgehog" you clarify, rubbing at the skin of your own top lip as if to add emphasis.

oscar's mouth opens in a silent oh, and you can practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he puts two and two together. coarse hair plus friction against your own skin is definitely not an award winning combination for you, and oscar sees no more need for experimentation.

"gimme a minute to shave this off, sweetheart," oscar promises with a crooked grin, already making his way to the bathroom. "then you can give me a proper kiss, hm?"

[erwinrer]

Mongolia: Suffering from the dust

In recent years, the global climate has become worse, and all countries will inevitably suffer from environmental disturbance, especially desertification as a serious disaster, and Mongolia is suffering in it.

Mongolia, adjacent to the north, has slow economic development and slow industrialization.

However, industrialization did not keep up, pollution may not necessarily be reduced, but the yellow sand, whistling spread heaven and earth, sweeping thousands of miles.

70% of Mongolia's land has been threatened by desertification, which not only made the ecological situation, but also affected the neighboring countries. Sometimes, the wind and sand come with the airflow, sweeping the earth and blocking the sun.

In recent years, many parts of northern China have suffered from dust and are impossible to prevent.

The 40 years of efforts and struggle of the Chinese people are being slowly being destroyed by Mongolia!

The dust raged every year

In recent years, the north sand rampant, rolling dust seems to be about like, year after year to disturb the northern earth.

Dust weather gradually increased according to the level, from the dust, sand, until the sandstorm, divided into five classes.

In March last year, the four-day sandstorm, originated in southern Mongolia and southern Xinjiang, affected Xinjiang, Gansu, Qinghai, Inner Mongolia and other 15 provinces and autonomous regions.

Dust is like a layer of gauze, covering the earth, its influence range of 3.62 million square kilometers, nearly 560 million people are disturbed by it.

Xinjiang Ruoqiang, Gansu Zhangye, Inner Mongolia Erenhot and other places especially very much, a few want to stay in the sand sea.

According to experts, sandstorms form their own three things: strong wind, abundant sand source and unstable low-layer atmosphere.

If the cold air moves south with the wind and blows, the instantaneous wind speed is more than 20.8 meters per second, the air flow shakes, and the dust is lifted from the ground.

Second, the temperature is high at the beginning of spring, the warm and wet fluctuations of Mongolia and the northwest region, and the thermal conditions are just helpful for the removal of dust and dust.

Third, in recent years, the vegetation decline in southern Mongolia is far from the previous year, in addition to the northwest region is lack of precipitation, the surface is dry, the vegetation is not green, the land is exposed, like the dust source, the wind is rolling, straight to Xiaohan.

Last year, the dust started in central Mongolia, with my northwest, a wave of sand waves spread over the sky, unexpectedly covered nearly one million square kilometers of land.

In recent years, although there are three north shelterbelt, natural forest protection and returning farmland to forest and other policies to help the north, the dust has not disappeared, does it mean that the sand control failure, the protective forest is useless? The answer is not necessarily so.

Ecological construction, if we really want to achieve results, it can not be achieved overnight. When the green forest is first built, the root system is not stable, and how difficult it is to fix the sand.

Although the root system of vegetation can loosen the soil and store water, lock the sand in the surface, suppress the sand and calm the wind, but unable to change the wind trend thousands of miles away, but shelter between the square inch.

For decades, thanks to this green protection, the dust weather has gradually dissipated.

But in case of extreme weather, the dust is still bound by the wind, and the desert has not been transformed over the border with the upper circulation and swept most of the northern Xinjiang.

Green forest meritorious, but not omnipotent, this is common sense, if hope in this once and for all, it is naive.

Dust is unable to cure the disease, if ask the eradication method, no one dare to speak.

Trees fix sand, indeed, but not a panacea.

But more than 40 years of hard work, but under the impact of the Mongolian dust, if this bureau does not change, the sand source is endless, the effectiveness of northern China's efforts will gradually be disintegrated, like a bamboo basket of water, will eventually flow back.

The source of sand is endless

Mongolia, as the northern neighbor of China, has attracted much attention due to the desertification problem and is one of the "worst disaster areas" in global desertification.

Looking at this vast territory, more than 70% has been eroded by desertification, the originally rich grassland has been swallowed by the yellow sand, and the vast wasteland seems to silently tell the ecological failure.

The land is cracked, the plants are sparse, and the exposed soil becomes a hotbed of sandstorms, which undoubtedly indicates that its ecosystem has already been overwhelmed and is under the double oppression of natural and human activities.

Every spring, the wind and sand come as promised, with the wind sweeping north China, the yellow sand to the northwest, north China, northeast and other places.

Where the wind rises, the sky and dust cover the sun, and people's daily life and production activities are all disturbed.

Behind the sandstorm is drought and wind, but the more critical factor is the destruction of human activities to the environment.

Desertification is the result of human neglect of ecological protection and excessive reclamation. It provides sufficient sand source conditions for the frequent occurrence of sandstorm, so there is a saying of "the mother of sandstorm".

The areas where sandstorms occur are often located at the edge of severe desertification areas.

Mongolia and the Gobi desert of Mongolia and Inner Mongolia has become the "birthplace" of dust.

Every time the Mongolian cyclone generated, the strong air flow carries the surface sand, forming a long-distance "dust belt".

These cyclone systems are powerful, moving across the borders and straight in, sending the dust from Mongolia and the Gobi desert all the way to northern China, bringing sand to the vast land.

Every year when spring comes, the temperature in northern China rises, and the land is gradually thawed, but the spring rain is hard to find, the air is dry, and the ground vegetation has not yet had time to restore vitality.

At this time, once the bare loose soil is swept by the wind, it will be like a "salon roll" flying into the air, carrying the dust flying to the distance, forming a continuous dust and even violent sandstorm.

Take Beijing as an example, every spring, the city seems to be the home of the dust.

Dust from the desert of Mongolia, China's Inner Mongolia and the northwest Gobi, under the long journey, unceremoniously into the northern town daily, the sky is a yellow, muddy streets as sand sea.

The dust can sometimes grow stronger on the road.

Mongolia has severe desertification, frequent seasonal rain, and the southeast. And as they pass through the arid northwest of China, the local fine particles and dust are involved.

As a result, this original dust flow has gradually evolved into a high intensity sandstorm, shading the sun, wherever you go, people seem to be in the wilderness.

[yiiyiiwrites]

Azriel x Day court scholar

You’re a day court scholar working as a historian, specialising in ancient magic and politics. Azriel’s shadows knew before you did, that you were his mate.

When you first see the shadows:

You catch a glimpse of a flicker of darkness, a floating shadow but it’s gone as soon your eyes leave the yellowed page of your book.

Turning back you stare at the cursive text, trying to find your last place. You scan the page, brows scrunching as the tiny shadow escapes from beneath it. As if it was marking the space, three pages back.

The next time you come across the tiny shadow it’s accompanied by another. It catches the book you’ve reached for before it falls to the floor, the action nearly makes you fall off the ladder.

You don’t know, but a part of your light magic particle tangles with one of his shadows. Azriel keeps it close to him wondering when he’ll see you

When you meet Azriel for the first time:

You’re staring a marbled statue in the depths of the library, convinced you saw the smooth face shift. But it was a trick of the shadows

A member of the night court is supposed to be visiting looking for a specific set of history books. There deep in the library, it’s a bit dim but theres lanterns grouped together wherever there is space, it fills the darkness with a yellow glow.

You see his shadows before you meet him, they dance around you before they return to him. It’s like spark of sunlight, the warmth of the day washes other you and you can’t help but stare at him.

Azriel squints back as you emit a glow around your body, he wonders if that’s what stars look like. He wonders if it’s a shield, if he puts you on edge. So he dips his head slightly and introduces himself.

“Oh forgive me, I’m still trying to work on the whole energy thing, happens quite a lot actually I don’t quite know what triggers it exactly,” you ramble on, beckoning him forwards to show him the way. (It’s not till later that you realise his shadows are the reason you keep glowing)

Catching his gaze between the empty shelf of bookcases. He’s down the next aisle from you and you can’t help but blush when your eyes connect, the ladder beneath you wobbling. You don’t see the shadows stabilising it.

Azriel offers to carry the heavy books for you as pick from the long list and map you’re following.

You pick an old leather bound tome from the pile and place it on the table, dust rising and pushing his shadows away as you blow the excess dirt off the cover.

Azriel courting you:

Library dates become both your favourite. Deep into the historic section where most people don’t wander.

Stolen kisses between the aisles of books.

He loves that you ramble about your new findings, you know that mystical creature that hasn’t been sighted in centuries or the old gods tradition you’d never heard of. (He definitely goes home and tells the boys. Did you know).

Trying to surprise him, but he always knows you’re approaching. He just lets you think you sneaked up on him.

Calls you “my light.”

Sometime you meet each other on the border between the night and day court.

Leaving notes for each other when you share a book.

You’re not fond of the dark, there’s always that little bit of light beside you keeping you company, but it’s now got a shadowy friend dancing around it.

When the mating bond snaps:

Makes the most of having you to himself, he visits the day court instead of you going to Velaris.

Azriel teaching you how to defend yourself, which goes wrong when you send a pulse of light at him in frustration. He jokes that you should probably not wear metal armour.

Gifting him a necklace with a little bit of your light energy in it. So that he can use it in the darkness whenever he wants you.

Doesn’t introduce you to the inner circle until you’re ready. Which takes you a while

Warns cassian to be on his best behaviour and threatens not to get him that old war book from the day court if he over steps.

You introduce him to your scholar friends who practically interrogate him as they are just as in awe by his shadows as you are. Granted you only two friends so it’s not too overwhelming.

[hazelfoureyes]

The most important question of all: What type of drunk is everyone in the hotel?

Deeply held personal beliefs here lmao

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ Alastor

𖦹Alastor loves being the center of attention and he drops his need for an air of mystery when he’s a few fingers deep into the rye. He grabs unwilling participants by the wrists and swing dances with them, despite their clear lack of understanding on how to swing.

𖦹He hums and sings under his breath while sitting in a comfy chair.

𖦹Loqacious! Vaggie would like him to shut the fuck up, Charlie is alarmed because he always reminisces about his real life murders like discussing a loving partner long gone. He is a talkative drunk through and through.

𖦹 Next day: No shame the next morning. Everyone’s annoyed and he might be a little sheepish, but ultimately he doesn’t care.

𖦹Smutty: Never lets you top, but once he’s had a few and has relaxed, will happily lie back and let you take care of yourself with his body while he watches you. Rarely vocal during sex, he’s suddenly talkative and showering you in groans and moans.

Lucifer 𖦹Lucifer doesn’t drink. He really doesn’t. Oh geez, okay well if Charlie is asking so sweetly and everyone else is what’s the harm in-

𖦹Shirt unbuttoned halfway, everything he says sounds like a double entendre even if it isn’t. Cannot stop flirting, even accidentally. The flirty drunk has arrived.

𖦹He stays put, picks a chair or stool and just hunkers down, watching happily over the gathering.

𖦹Pet names for everyone. CharChar, Magpie, Legs, Whiskers, Bambi… Niffty is just Niffty. Even drunk he is a little scared of her.

𖦹Next day: No hangover, excitedly and nervously listening to all the stories of things he did. “Yeah that sounds like me hahaha”

𖦹Smutty: Slow love making, takes his time and moves over you like molasses. Doesn’t care about finishing, just likes the feeling of being close to you and hearing the sounds you make. 50/50 you fall asleep together with him still in you.

Angel Dust

𖦹Angel handles his liquor like he’s handles his men; with an open throat and a smile. It’s genuinely hard to tell if he’s drunk unless he’s so gone his pitch of voice has changed. 𖦹With a little inebriation, he’s leaning into his friends and talking really openly about his feelings and problems in life. 𖦹Drunk? Like— drunk drunk? He’s loud and hanging on everyone for stability. Every grin borders on sleazy, but if the wrong person made a move they’d get four hands to the face pushing them away. Alastor thinks he is the life of the party; Angel is the party.

𖦹Next day: Angel has no memory of what happened the night before and even if he does he will just pull his sunglasses down and pretend he doesn’t.

𖦹Smutty: Angel likes drunk sex, because he can feel his body disconnect from his mind. His eyes would be unfocused, and no matter the lover his gaze would always be at the ceiling. His attention purely on the sensations his body was offering him. He’d be quiet, just enjoying himself.

Husker

𖦹Husk is usually ornery, but when drunk he becomes the wise old man who wont stop talking to you like a kid. Husk, I’m a grown ass adult? Ha, in my day you would still be in diapers. That doesn’t make any sense Husk. Sense? Your lot don’t know shit about sense.

𖦹When he isn’t pretending to be everyone’s drunk Gandalf, compliments flow like booze from a tipped bottle. You’re real pretty when you smile. Wish I saw more of it. — That’s what I like about you, you always get back up.

𖦹Husk is always topping up everyone’s glass, and even when drunk he’s the one who registers when someone’s had enough. On many occasions he has replaced Angel’s drink with just orange juice and soda water when he wasnt looking, too drunk to notice.

𖦹Next day: Yesterday didn’t happen, order a drink or get the fuck out of the bar.

𖦹Smutty: Husk doesn’t like sex when he’s drunk, he doesn’t like the implication anyone may not be fully aware of what’s happening. He’ll cuddle, caress, kiss, but no sex unless you’re relatively sober or you had explicitly made plans to enjoy a drunken romp. In which case, he relishes in changing positions often to find new ways to make you gasp out his name. Tipsy or not, his hands are always steady.

Charlie

𖦹Charlie is the happiest drunk to exist. Her confidence sores with a little liquid courage. She’ll clamor onto the bar and declare she is going to redeem all of Hell, making the Pride ring a glorified bus stop between death and the pearly gates.

𖦹Clumsy. She talks with her hands and spills her drink everywhere. Constantly running into things with her hips and feet. She will trip over nothing, and apologize to the air for the misstep.

𖦹Charlie oscillates between talking nonstop to being dead silent, big doe eyes watching intently as you speak. She’s hanging on every word.

𖦹Tells everyone she loves them, then cries about how much she loves them.

𖦹Next day: Hungover, doesn’t understand why people drink so often, this sucks. Slightly embarrassed about getting up on the bar but otherwise has no issues knowing she doted on everyone.

𖦹Smutty: The Morningstars are similar in that they take their time. They need to hear every little gasp, every held breath. Charlie would spend hours exploring the places she could make bring you pleasure. Little giggles from between your legs as she gives herself mental pats on the back.

Vaggie

𖦹Drunk Vaggie is similar to Sober Vaggie. Serious but caring, and relatively quiet. She wouldn’t become overly showy or loud. Your only indication she’s been drinking is the slight slur to her words and the way her hands tip her drink a little too much when talking.

𖦹Goes on full rants about heaven if the topic comes up. Just bashes the hypocrisy and curses her fellow angels.

𖦹Slips more into Spanish, her words dipping between the two languages.

𖦹Little more handsy, resting her chin on her darling’s shoulder and letting her hands come around their waist while they are talking to people.

𖦹Next day: Needs everyone to shut the fuck up and turn the lights off. She swears she’s never letting Angel mix her drinks again. Mortified to hear she was necking in the lobby.

𖦹Smutty: Drunk Vaggie just wants to kiss and hold you, enjoying the way the room spins a little around you both as you lose track of time. She’s down for more, but only if you’re taking the lead.

Niffty

𖦹Please stop handing her drinks.

𖦹Fuck, she’s drinking other people’s drinks when they aren’t looking.

𖦹She’s dusting the ceiling, she’s vacuuming the sofa, dear God she’s scrubbing Angel’s hands with pure bleach shrieking, “Diiiiirty.”

𖦹Unhinged. More so. Somehow. Makes everyone a crown of trash.

𖦹Next day: is she still drunk? No? This is just her natural state of being?!

𖦹Smutty: Bad boys welcome, everyone else can get shanked.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @alitaar , @maddiemouse-1226 , @christineblood , @zombiesnips-blog , @readergirlstuff

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot

[dawnbreakersgaze]

Anyone else ever think about how utterly wrecked Dawnbreaker would look the first time you touched him?

The truest definition of touch starved- he's waited years to feel your hands on him, dreaming of it every night since he was old enough to desire such things. He's not the proper and stoic Dr. Zayne you're used to, all practiced hands and measured breaths.

No, he is years worth of yearning and desire, trembling fingers almost hidden underneath the sheer force of his need to finally- FINALLY taste you. And it's almost imperceptible, the sigh that escapes him when your lips first meet, but the soft groans that follow when you bite at his lower lip confirm it was not your imagination.

His grip is one that borders on bruising; he's terrified you'll slip through his grasp. The vagaries of his dreams have left him so desperate for your affection that his body follows every slight twist or shift you make with absolute precision. His foggy mind still sharp enough to count every single point of contact between you, keeping a mental tally of how many places your physical beings become one.

Let your mouth plant and purchase down his neck, suck and bite and tend to the skin that makes him gasp and shudder. Drag your nails down the peaks and valleys of his chest and feel him vibrate and shiver; hooded eyes alight with all the need of a flame grasping for its only source of fuel. Listen carefully for every hiss and moan as they pull through him; each sound the little spark that threatens to call forth the avalanche that could bury you both. They're all throaty and pulled from behind his teeth, his brows pinched upwards as his eyes pull shut to focus on the searing heat of your touch that brands him as yours.

Feel as his cool, firm fingers find their way to the back of your neck and shoulder to knead and grip, curling around your pulse point to ground himself. He needs every reassurance you're real. Every heartbeat, every kiss, every touch, every soft word whispered against his skin that causes ripples of goosebumps to flood him- all of these are moments that will both sustain and haunt him in the days ahead.

Dark hair dusts acoss his eyes as you momentarily force yourself apart from him to stop and admire your work- and oh boy, what a work of art you've made. The expanse of his chest, littered with scars and lip given bruises, rises and falls with the strain of your activity. Jaw slack, to let saliva wetted kiss swollen lips pant. His honey and clover eyes burn and bore into you as you appreciate the masterpiece before you, and you know you've finally experienced what it means to create like the Gods.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Jump then fall prt.8-The Finale

Description: Can Aeron and Y/N get their happily ever after, or will the impending Dance of the Dragons keep them apart? Dragons, a wild Benjicot, and tourney's, oh my!

Part 7

Writer's note: the final part of Jump then Fall! I had never written a fanfic before this but it's been so fun to get involved with the HOTD fandom. Thank you so much to everyone who read this series :) I'm not sure if I'll write for Aeron anymore as I'll be trying my hand at an Aemond series next. But Elizabeth will hold the fort on the Brackenwood twinks with her Benji content. This includes crossover content with The Blackwood Knight since we accidentally created what we like to call 'The Bracken Tree Multiverse.' 😏

Warnings: swearing, female reader, Canon divergent, hurt/comfort, brief angst, lot's of fluff.

As dawn broke, Aeron made his way to the border with Samwell and Edmund. They did not have to wait long for Benjicot Blackwood to appear over the top of a hill, making his way down to them alone to Aeron's surprise. He was either brazen or so in love with Aeron's cousin that he had become blind to risk. He addressed Aeron with more deference and respect than he'd expected, based on the hostility that had tinged all their previous interactions. "Ser Aeron, I was gladdened to receive your raven." Aeron tried to match his tone "Ser Benjicot, I thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I will get to the point. It is my intention to broker peace between our Houses, your relationship with my cousin has led me to believe you will be amenable to this." Benjicot looked up sharply, can he really have been surprised that his love for Aeron's cousin was the worst kept secret in the Riverlands?

Coughing slightly at the awkwardness of the situation, Benjicot straightened and assumed an air of pride. "I am indeed in love with your cousin. I hope you do not intend to take issue with this. I would prefer not to fight you for fear of upsetting my beloved, I know how she cares for you." Aeron smirked back at him. "I do not take issue with you Blackwood. But it has come to my attention you have been sneaking across the border to see the lady under cloak of darkness. I ask you to desist and to meet with her by day instead before you are married." An uncharacteristic dusting of pink tinted Benjicot's cheeks as he nodded wordlessly. Aeron continued  "I will arrange for you to meet her at the border and take her to visit Raventree Hall on the morrow should this be acceptable to you. The lady herself has already agreed to the arrangement." Benjicot's perpetually cocky smirk returned in full force "I gladly accept. Now tell me of your terms for peace."

The terms were shortly settled and Aeron turned to Edmund as soon as Benjicot was out of hearing distance. "Cousin, I am grateful for your aid today and must ask of you another favour. Can I entrust you to take a message to my Lady, requesting a meeting with her in a location of her choosing. I will not encroach upon her home in the current circumstances. In doing so I trust that you will also issue her with your most heartfelt apology." Aeron's eyebrows rose up at the last, Edmund sheepishly nodding in return. "I will see to it forthwith cousin." Aeron wished to inform Y/N of the fortunate outcome of his meeting with Benjicot in person. He felt her absence most keenly, and seeing her so distressed the previous evening had broken his resolve to stay away from her entirely.

He had just barely been able to bear it when he'd thought it was only him that was suffering so acutely, knowing that it was her wish for him to keep his distance. And he'd instead tried to be content with sending her letters each day and imagining her response to each word. But seeing Y/N look so unwell, watching her burst into tears upon seeing him, and having her practically faint in his arms, had broken his resolve. Nonetheless, he wished to approach this as respectfully and in keeping with Y/N's wishes as possible, sending Edmund with his message first and requesting that she appoint a meeting place herself.

Edmund returned to Bracken Hall before midday with his Lady's response. He let out a sigh of relief as Edmund informed him of her acquiescence to meeting him and that she awaited him presently under their tree. Aeron wasted no time, pocketing a small parcel and departing to meet her at a brisk pace. He slowed his pace as Y/N came into view, palm raised to the trunk of the Brackentree as if reliving a memory. Trying not to startle her, he endeavoured to make enough noise to make his presence known at a distance. She looked up upon hearing the tread of his boots and Aeron stopped a respectful distance away. He looked longingly into her expectant eyes, wishing he could take her hand but knowing his advances would be unwanted at present. He did not assume that because she had allowed him to hold her yesterday, she would allow him to do so today. "My Lady, I am grateful you agreed to meet with me. I hope Edmund was respectful and fittingly apologetic for his part." Y/N nodded, the corner of her mouth quirked up as if trying to contain a smile. "He was, i've never seen him do anything but preen and look obnoxious. I would say it made a welcome change if I could, but it was almost disturbing." Aeron laughed at her wit, the sound and feel of laughter almost foreign to him now, and he rejoiced that she should feel comfortable enough to jest with him. "I wished to tell you of my meeting with Benjicot Blackwood." Y/N eyes immediately perked up attentively at that, eager to hear his news as she leaned her back against the trunk of the Bracken tree. "He was amenable to my suggestions for brokering peace between our Houses and was generous in his offer to dispense with the boundary lines. You were right that my cousin had a secret love, it was Benjicot all along. He seemed willing to go to any lengths to ensure she would not be torn between our two Houses and so I could not have hoped for a better outcome."

He took some tentative steps towards Y/N, and when she did not startle or attempt to move from her position, he walked to stand directly in front of her. His voice came out soft and distant even to him as he became lost in gazing at her. He had not been able to gaze upon the woman he loved for such a painfully long period of time and drank in each detail of her appearance now, in the fear that she would not allow him to see her again. Pulling his focus back to her eyes he was startled to find that her eyes seemed to be flitting across his features in the same manner, and he felt his own heart stutter at the thought of her missing him too. "All that is left is for me to convince my uncle to agree to Benjicot's terms, and reaffirm my refusal to the marriage with Roslyn Tully." Y/N nodded but still looked to him unsure. "And you think you can convince him on both those matters?" Aeron's expression turned resolute, his gaze focused on her eyes "I am certain of it because there is no other option for me. I have only ever loved one girl my whole life and I will marry no other, whatever the consequences."

Y/N raised her hand to hold onto the sleeve of his tunic, pulling him towards her slightly, before looking back up to him with her own determined stare. "I must ask you to understand how betrayed I have felt, how much your actions hurt me, and that it is difficult for me to trust you now. But I love you, you know this already and there is no use in denying it." Aeron tentatively raised his own hand to lightly graze her ribcage with his knuckles, a barely there touch that still conveyed his affection for her. He did not try to interrupt her as she continued. "If you make me your solemn promise never to deceive me again, and to keep your word with regards to your intentions, I will endeavour to forgive you and hope that in time my trust in you can be restored to what it was."

Aeron smiled tenderly at her, her words so welcome to his ears. He pulled a small package from his tunic, unwrapping it to reveal a golden broach to her. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the golden stallion atop the clasp, the symbol of House Bracken. "I wish for you to take this small token as an assurance that I mean what I say, in my eyes you are already the future Lady Bracken, should you permit it." Y/N tentatively took the broach from him, finding herself genuinely moved by his heartfelt attempt to show her his true intentions. She looked back up at him with a gentle smile "Thank you, Aeron."

Lost in his feeling of elation at her acceptance of his small gift, he took a step closer to her as if to embrace her and she planted a hand firmly on his chest to stop him. Aeron instantly halted his movements as his head dropped and he took a step back. "Aeron, I do not wish to open my heart to any more dissapointment. I ask that you keep your distance oncemore. You may come to me only when you have your uncle's express consent to break off your betrothal to Lady Roslyn, only when you are free to marry who you wish." Aeron's expression turned pained, but he understood his Lady's reasoning. "As you wish it, my love." Y/N briefly raised her hand as if to touch him before seeming to think better of it, lowering it back down to her side. "Farewell then Aeron." Her eyes glistened slightly as she strode quickly away from him. Aeron stayed rooted to the spot, watching Y/N walk away from him until she passed over the hill that lead to her home and he could no longer see her.

Lord Amos Bracken was furious at first to learn of his nephew's meeting with Benjicot Blackwood and the pact they had made. To know that Aeron had acted on behalf of House Bracken without his consent. He refused to speak with his nephew for three days in his anger, despite Aeron's constant attempts to catch him as he left his council room or left his chambers to break his fast. By the third day, Aeron had had enough. His uncle's stalling was just extending the length of time before he could see Y/N again and so on the third day he boldly strode into his uncle's council as it was in session. "Uncle I will speak with you, should you permit it or not. I ask you now to decide whether I will do so in front of your council members or not."

His uncle gaped at Aeron's audacity before signalling for his council to depart with a wave of his hand. As soon as the room was vacated and the door shut, Aeron began before his uncle could forestall him further. "Uncle the pact Ser  Benjicot Blackwood and I have brokered will mean peace throughout the Riverlands. There will be no more cause for violence at the border, indeed we will need no border at all and can pass peacefully between Blackwood and Bracken lands. You reject it out of spite alone. Will you not see what lies before you? We assure our own destruction if you will not be swayed." Lord Amos merely glared at Aeron, saying nothing and Aeron threw his hands up in frustration before stalking from the chamber, leaving the door to swing harshly against the wall. However, Lord Amos had begun to consider Aeron's words, unbeknownst to his nephew.

The next day Aeron took a different approach and when he sought an audience with his uncle again, it was with Lady Roslyn beside him. "Uncle, I entreat you to consider the benefits of an accord between our House and House Blackwood. There is no need for us to tear the Riverlands apart for Targaryen overlords who have no care for us. I will not marry Lady Roslyn, nor does she have any desire to marry me and she has kindly accompanied me to tell you as much. It is Y/N I love and it is her alone I will pledge myself too. You can either except this absolute with or without the peace pact I have secured." Aeron was out of breath by the time he had finished his tirade but his persistence had been worth it. Lord Amos finally acceded the sagacity of a pact between Blackwoods and Brackens, particularly when the Riverlands were threatened by all out warfare and destruction by dragon fire. Together, the Houses of the Riverlands would stand strong. And at last, he consented to dissolve Aeron's betrothal to the Lady Roslyn, much to her own relief. Aeron was pleasant enough but her tastes lay elsewhere, she had already found love with her handmaiden. She laughed as Aeron ran from the hall the second they were dismissed, having no doubt of where he was headed.

Y/N was almost ashamed to find herself yet again sat in the windowsill of her father's home, that gave her a direct view of Bracken Hall. She knew that it was at her request that Aeron stayed away. She had not thought she could bear his closeness while still uncertain whether she would be able to marry him. It did not matter that he'd all but promised himself to her, not until Lord Bracken rescinded his betrothal to Roslyn Tully. The Blackwood heir's ready acceptance to peace terms had filled her with hope, but she was no fool and would not allow herself to be placed in a precarious position again as she had been when Aeron's betrothal had first been announced.

And yet she had almost convinced herself she could see Aeron walking the path that led to her home, as she had often imagined. Her heart leapt in her chest as she realised she was not imagining anything, that was Aeron making his way across the field which led to her home. He was far off in the distance but she could recognise his silhouette anywhere. Y/N knew that if he had come to her that could only mean one thing, that all her hopes were coming to fruition. She slid off the window sill, picking up her skirts and beginning to run. It was a difficult task with nerves racking her entire body, but she felt an inexplicable pull forcing her legs to move faster as she ran to meet Aeron.

He did not spot her at first, seemingly preoccupied with staring at his boots, a bouquet of baby's breath flowers swinging from one of his hands. But when he did his face lit up in a smile that was pure sunshine to Y/N, full of warmth, which only made her run that much faster. Aeron opened his arms to meet her as she practically flew into him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her to him in an embrace that lifted her feet of the ground. He held her aloft and against him for a long while, his face pressed against her hair, breathing in the smell of her perfume, before he slowly slid her back down to the ground. He kept his arms firmly encircled around her waist nonetheless, as if frightened she would dissapear, though she had no intention of leaving his arms anytime soon.

Still out of breath from her exertions, she spoke in between pants. "It is settled then? I am to be your wife?" She watched a soft emotion crossed Aeron's eyes. Removing his hands from her waist and taking a step back from her, which had Y/N inwardly panicking that she had misunderstood the situation entirely, he suddenly knelt before her on one knee. She blushed as she realised what he was doing. Taking both her hands in his, he looked up at her reverentially as if she were a goddess and he her humble worshipper. "I will make no great speeches now my love, for I hope there will be plenty of time for that in the days and years that follow. I know that I tarried too long in expressing this, my most earnest and longheld desire, that you should become my wife, so I will waste no more time. I offer myself to you as your husband, as one who loves you and wants nothing more than to cherish you for the rest of our lives."

Y/N could hardly speak through the all-consuming joy she felt but squeezed his hands and managed out a breathy "yes." Aeron was on his feet in an instant, oncemore lifting her off the ground and spinning her as they both laughed. Setting her back down, he slowly brought his hands to either side of her face, before pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes, as if trying to convey the love he felt for her with this touch. He brushed his lips against hers, whispering against them "I can no longer be a raven", seemingly referring to that pained period when the only connection he could have with his beloved was the daily letters he sent by raven. With that he closed the distance and captured her lips with his. Y/N pulled away from him after a few moments, fixing Aeron with a stern gaze. "Don't you ever do something so stupid again, do you understand me?" Aeron gulped down a swallow before responding "Of course my love, it was a terrible thing and I am sorry for it. I will spend a lifetime trying to make up for it." Y/N considered this and nodded, placing her head on his chest. Only a second later she abruptly pushed him away from her, seemingly not finished with scolding him for his previous misteps as she poked him in the chest with her index finger. "And don't think that you can just get away with..." Aeron quickly cut her off, pulling her back to him by her waist and crashing his lips to hers. Y/N found she did not care about his rude interruption, simply opening her palm to lay it flat against his chest and entangling her other hand in his hair. She felt him smile against her lips as she did so.

Aeron did not think he had ever been so nervous in his life as he stood at the altar of the Sept at Bracken Hall, waiting for Y/N. His feelings had clearly mapped their way onto his expression and Samwell lightly elbowed him in the ribs as he stood at his side. "Worried she's going to jilt you? Can't blame you, she was always too good for you." When Aeron shot him a look of utter panic at what he'd intended as a joke Sam relented and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Stop worrying. Y/N loves you, it may be misguided philanthropy on her part but it's true nonetheless. She'll be here." Aeron nodded and faced back towards the door.

He was glad of it as within moments Y/N appeared on her father's arm. Aeron's face broke into a smile at the sight of her. She had never looked so beautiful to him than she did now in her wedding dress of cream and gold, symbolising her affinity with his House. He had to remember to keep his breathing even as she walked towards him, but his nerves disappeared altogether when she removed herself from her father's arm to take his hand instead. He could barely contain his joy as they spoke their vows, realising that he could finally call Y/N his wife.

𝕰𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

As the great Houses of the Riverlands came together as one to support Rhaenyra's claim, the war was quickly won in the true Queen's favour. A period of peace and prosperity was brought forth such that the Riverlands had never seen in living memory, the pact between House Blackwood and House Bracken cemented in treaties and in blood with the marriage of the Lord of Raventree, Benjicot Blackwood, to Aeron Bracken's cousin.

Aeron felt sure he'd checked everywhere for his favourite riding gloves, having turned his chambers inside out to find them. He was certain his Lady Wife would not be best pleased at the mess but he urgently needed his gloves for the tourney his uncle was holding on the morrow. He had neither the time nor the patience to restore everything back to its rightful place as he searched, leaving behind him a wake of destruction. A gentle cough behind him signalled the arrival of the very lady he'd been  thinking of and he turned to her with a sheepish smile. "I must apologise, my love. I assure you I will set everything back to rights, I just cannot seem to find my gloves anywhere." Y/N nodded, smoothing her skirts down and beginning to open up a cabinet he'd not yet checked. "I think it best we find the gloves first before we attempt to put anything back in order. I don't trust you not to mess it up again otherwise." She sent him a look that was half stern, half teasing. "Right you are of course, my darling." He smiled at her sweet nature as she joined him in looking for his missing gloves.

Opening a drawer in the bottom shelf of a dresser his hands grazed some crumpled parchment, and he pulled out a wad of letters tied together with lilac ribbon. As he continued to look at them he realised they were in fact his letters, or rather the ones he had written to Y/N in the weeks following that disastrous banquet, when she had refused to speak to him at all. He had imagined she'd thrown every letter out in her anger with him, it warmed his heart to know she'd kept them like precious treasures. They were crumpled and clearly well-read, as if she had gone back to them time and time again. Suspicious of her husband's silence, Y/N turned and her heart skipped a beat at what she saw. Quickly running over to him she made a grab for the letters but Aeron pulled them out of her reach. Her face was flushed with embarrassment but Aeron could not see why.

"You kept my letters?" Hearing the tenderness in his tone as his eyes softened, she realised he did not mean to mock her for her sentimentality.

"They were beautiful letters."

"I thought you had hated each one, though I could not find it in myself to stop writing. Those letters felt like the only thing tethering me to you at one point."

Y/N reached up to stroked Aeron's cheek. "I cannot tell you what those words meant to me. I read them over and over, they were the only thing that made me certain you did in fact love me. I cherish them and read them often even now."

Aeron took her hand from his face to place a kiss on her palm at her admission. "Perhaps I should write more love letters, then, if it would please my Lady Wife." Aeron smirked cockily at her. She swatted his chest, "Don't get too arrogant now, it doesn't suit you husband. I should be glad to receive your notes though if you deign to write them."

Aeron pulled her to him, his chin resting atop her head. "I shall dedicate hours to them each day. Nothing shall take precedence." Aeron jested. He did so love to hear his wife laugh.

As the morning of the tourney loomed, Aeron attempted with little success to put on his armour without the help of his bastardly squire, who'd gotten too deep into his cups at the opening feast the night prior. As he struggled to attach his pauldron to his breastplate he heard the shift of fabric as the flap of his tent was pulled up and his Lady Wife entered. "Husband, I can hear you clanging about with your armour from outside. Let me help you." She removed his hands from where he'd been fumbling with clasps as she deftly began to attach each piece with more patience and skill than he had done. He felt his heartbeat race, as she brushed her hands across his shoulders to survey her handy work. Though they were now married and he could barely feel her touch through the armour, she was ever able to have such an affect on him.

Handing him his gauntlet she nodded, seemingly satisfied with her work. "You are presentable, now make me proud." Aeron let out a hearty laugh, pulling his beloved wife to him with one arm wrapped around her waist as she braced her hands against his chest from the momentum. He leaned down and lightly brushed his nose against hers. "I shall win every tournament  which I compete in if it should please my Lady, and if she consent to give me her favour." Quickly pecking him on the lips Y/N affectionately patted Aeron on the cheek before pulling away. "None of that my Good Knight. You can get a kiss when you win your tournaments."

As Aeron reluctantly released her, a playful look lit her eyes and she made a grab for his sword. "You should teach me how to use this Aeron, it might come in handy when your cousin Edmund is being particularly reprehensible." Lifting it she attempted to swing it in an arch but stumbled under the weight of it, not having taken that into account. Aeron's eyes widened in concern for her safety as it swung wildly out of her grip in the direction of the tent entrance, only for Samwell to pop his head through the flap. The sword just barely missed his head as his eyes widened comically in shock. Y/N quickly covered her mouth in embarrassment and fear of what she had almost done. Seeming to recover his wits, Samwell turned his head in Aeron's direction. "I dare say my good man your Lady Wife almost decapitated me. What have you done to make her so angry she should swing your own sword at you."

Y/N took a step towards him, frantically uttering her apologies. "I'm so terribly sorry Samwell, I was being silly and messing about with it."

Samwell did not wish to embarass his friend's wife and so shrugged it off. "No worries my Lady, if I were bound to that oaf over there for the rest of my days I'd also have swung a sword at him by now." Aeron rolled his eyes at Samwell and wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders, rubbing his hand down her arm comfortingly. "I'll not have you undermining my Lady's swordsmanship Samwell. The blow was clearly well aimed and meant for you. I'm immensely proud." Y/N's embarrassment had begun to fade as the two men continued to jest and volley insults at one another, but she resolutely decided she would in fact ask Aeron to teach her to handle a sword in future to avoid any recurrences. With a soft kiss to the crown of her head, Aeron departed for the joust and Y/N made for the stands to cheer on her husband. She positioned herself close to the balcony railings of Lord Bracken's box so Aeron would be able to see her and ask for her favour. She well knew he had kept the first lilac favour she'd ever given him tied to his swordbelt, and yet she still knew he would ask it of her. She believed that to him it was his way of expressing to her what they'd both always known since they were children, that he was her Good Knight and she his Lady.

@lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @alexandracgg @rvllybllply2014 @nyrasnation @shemisseshome @margoniezniez @im-gonna-love-you-forever

[shiny-kaibernyte]

I have wanted to write for Fields of Mistria since i first spoke to this colourful characters. It honestly has become my comfort game and i have fallen for this blue haired Merchant. March is my number one, but Balor deserves love to people! Also i refer to Juniper as Plum and Eiland as Peach once in this story as irl i kept forgetting they're names so i just called them that because of their hair colour.

No warnings unless you think cheesy flirting is one

An Apple Heart | Balor x Reader

“My my, this is a surprise, Good morning!” Balor’s calm voice called out from the town stairs, making you practically jump out of his skin as you back away from the merchant's cart. His eager smile and soft wave met your startled gaze from atop the stairs. After waking up earlier than normal this morning, you decided to go walk around the town before everyone else awoke for the day. Although you never actually made it to those stone steps, something on Balor’s cart had caught your eye. 

“Balor! Good morning! I wasn't going to steal anything! I was only looking, I swear!” Your mild panic and hands waving in front of you only caused the merchant to chuckle, walking to your side.

“Well that's such a shame… And here I thought you came to steal my heart.” Balor’s voice flirted, taking your hand into his as he gently kissed it. “Although… you already have my dear.” “KYAAHHHH” A loud scream erupted from your chest as you pulled your hand away like a kid touching something gross. Balor’s chuckle turned into an eruption of laughter at how surprised you were. 

“That was not the reaction I was going for but I will take it. That was so cute!” Laughter only continues to increase through his quick paced words. Your own face only grew redder and redder the more he laughed, to be honest it was hard to tell if he was laughing at what just happened or the fact he started tripping on his feet that was making him laugh. 

“Balor! What was that for? Since when did you openly flirt with people?” A questioning suspicion laced your voice as you managed to gain your composure.

“Oh I'm sorry, that is unlike me.” He is still lightly laughing as he’s coming down from whatever laughing fit just erupted from him. Taking a deep breath to relax, the merchant straightened up and dusted off the side of his poncho before usual smile returned. “I apologise for startling you, Juniper and Eiland decided to give flirting tips at the Inn last night. I was unfortunate enough to get caught in the middle, they uh… this is embarrassing… They won’t let me back into the Inn until I give them a report on which of they’re flirting styles works better.”

“Wait wait wait… So they are actually keeping you out of the Inn just because of this flirt battle they’re having?” The curious cat in you is only poking him for more details.

“They actually got Reina and her whole family to stop me from entering the Inn until I give them my ‘findings’. Which is both a blessing and a curse it would seem.” A finger pressed against his chin as he leans against his cart, pondering his next few words.

You only raised an eyebrow to him, tilting your head like a puppy. “Blessing and a curse?”

“As much as i really don’t want to get back to those Dragons and Drama’s. My late night drink is something I would prefer to keep on a Friday.” A mild scoff escapes his lips as he thinks about the D&D game Eiland dragged him into. In Fact that same game is how this whole flirting debacle happened. Juniper may not be in the game but she can hear everything that goes on from her seat at the bar. And it was during their last game that Eiland decided to have the group roll for a persuasion check on a group of women to ‘flirt’ they’re way through a city’s borders. Or something to that effect Balor wasn’t exactly paying attention. Wasn't until Juniper was suddenly pulling him into her side with her arm on his shoulder whilst Eiland tried to move her away that he was suddenly aware of what was happening.

Now it’s your turn to laugh and Balor’s face to turn a perfect ruby red. “So! You mean to tell me, "You… got caught in a flirting battle between Peach and Plum Because of Dragon’s and Drama!?”

“Yes…” Balor only looked away rubbing the back of his neck before chuckling himself. “Eiland thinks the more honest approach works… That was my attempt at Juniper’s style. And from your reaction I'm going to agree with Eiland.”

“Well I'm not a very good observer, Balor. You would need to use almost everyone in town to get a valid result.” Pondering for a moment you began thinking how everyone else would react to what he did. Sure it was sweet and forward, but it’s also very unlike him, hence why you were startled.

“What if I don't want to do that with others?” Your thinking stopped like a deer in headlights, blinking confused at him, an almost comedic heh escaping your lips as you stared at him. “I was on my way to my cart to retrieve something… for you actually and well here you are.”

“For me…? Balor, what are you getting at?” Question after question ran through your head as he continued on

“When this whole situation happened I honestly dreaded it. I’m not one to openly flirt with someone unless I have genuine appreciation and trust for them. Then I realised… this dumb pickle I've gotten myself in gave me the perfect excuse to give you this…” He moved around his cart and reached inside, shuffling through his wares for a moment before pulling something out. It was shiny from what you could tell. “I had Hayden grow this for me… Celine and I worked together to preserve this so it would rot away before I had a chance to give it to you. Here.”

Turning around in one swift motion, he showed you what he had hidden to his chest, An Apple? In the shape of a heart, it was shiny from being encased in a crystal resin-like substance, making it almost look like a crystal apple. That was what you spotted earlier that lured you here. Was Mistria pulling her thread to lead the both of you here? 

Reaching out for your hand, he gently pulled you towards him, the back of your hand laying in the palm of his as he placed the gift gently in your hand. Never once letting go of your hand as he made eye-contact with you. All you saw was love. “I may not be able to grow flowers, crops or anything really… but I can sell them in a heartbeat. Sometimes I wish for something I can allow my heart to keep… What I'm asking is. Will you accept this gift as a sign of my love and admiration for you?”

“Balor…” The warmest smile painted your face as you gratefully accepted this gift, holding it tightly to his chest with one hand as you moved your free hand to his shoulder. Placing a soft kiss to his cheek before smiling again, “Maybe use this as your report to Juniper.”

Not far away from you watching from the stone steps was none other than Eiland and Juniper, standing side by side with smug grins. Juniper’s hand on her hip, a victorious smile on her face, Eiland leaning on the wall to watch the new couple. High-fiving quietly as they walked away from the scene, going unseen the entire time. Mission successful.