#but if u look at him in bright light u can discover millions of while hairlines

[mommydragon-of-all]

Mirage 

Soren drifted on a shapeless sea, dizzying and swirling, waves thrumming in his ears, pushing and pulling, burying his limbs into a thick mud. 

Tension leaked from his body, washed away bit by bit. Why was he struggling anyways? Against what? He couldn't remember. Everything was so hazy. He was tired. He could just sleep instead. Everything was so dark and blurry, it was pointless to keep his eyes open, wasn't it? He sighed, a small puff of shallow breath, followed by a sting somewhere, but it was dull like everything else. Another wave, thick lashes fluttering shut. 

Drip. He twitched. 

Drip. An irritating spark in the dark.  Something hit his face, his nose. Something cold and prickling, poking his numbed nerves. 

Drip. 

He opened an eye, squinting, the small spasms waking a bit of light. Something flashed before him, something bright and fuzzy. That color.... There it was again, moving in front of him. A mop of sunshine, bringing forward a distant memory, a soft tingle, a ghost scent, a fleeting warmth on his pale skin, the shape of a mouth, smiling softly, a whisper, a soft laughter dancing like an echo in his ringing ears. Hadiden.  The name burst out from under the fog like a sharp blade, piercing a veil. He gasped and blinked, trying to clear his vision, wake his mind. What was happening? He hurt, badly, he was tired and the fog was still thick in his head, trying to suffocate every coherent thought. Focus. Fight. Yes… he had been fighting. What happened? Where was he now?

~Keep reading~

Another drip, another spark, the blur of sunny softness cleared before him, edges sharpening - but it was still fuzzy. It took Soren’s drowning brain a second to figure out it wasn't so much because of his vision, for the shape wasn't clean cut. He shifted his cloudy eyes around a bit. There were more of them in front of him. They were small, he figured, as the wind picked at them again, moving the one closest to his face to the side, shaking more droplets of cold water onto his face from it. 

They were above him, he realized. 

It was hard to concentrate, his mind woken a bit but everything was shifting in and out of focus. He looked up at the sunny tuft, seeing messy locks of hair, blue gems gleaming from under it. Hadiden. Focus. Fight....there was a fight. Was Hadiden safe? No, he wasn't there, he must be safe. Soren felt his tendons relax, numbness crawling back up over him. His Sun was safe. He could rest... 

Drip. 

Another gust of wind, another icy droplet on his face. His eyes jumped open. When did they fell closed? The yellow ball of fluff dripped old rainwater on his face. Crying over him.

Was Hadiden crying? Why would he? Was it Soren’s fault? If he stayed here, resting, if he didn’t go back... Didn't make it back... His mind kicked into struggling with new power to stir awake. He was dying wasn't he? And Hadiden would cry. That was the first protest to surface in his drowning mind. He couldn't let that happen. 

He could see Hadiden falling for another man, smiling at him, being happy. Perhaps someone gentle, kind, caring. Silly even. Someone who would make him laugh. Feel safe. Understood. Make him worry less. Someone better. A bittersweet resignation sneaked up over him like a blanket. He could see it now, two figures forming in the fog. He saw Hadiden look up at someone, smiling soft, heard him whisper: “Vhenan”.... And the hazy figure turned into a mirror of himself at that word, like a spell blowing away smoke. It was him, Soren, who Hadiden called Vhenan. It was him who the other elf chose for this life. It was a word reserved for a partner for life. That’s how dalish generally worked, and the blond was very dalish. He wouldn't toss that word around without meaning it, Soren knew it. He knew but it was so very hard to think. He had to do better. Vhenan. His Vhenan... He suffered enough. He deserved better. Better than loosing his chosen one, who he allowed himself to bond with, who he found happiness with, the man who’s helping hand and loving heart he accepted. Fuck. Soren needed to get his miserable ass back to him alive.

‘Hadiden. I’m coming home to you, as I promised. I did promise, didn't i?’ He watched a droplet slide down the stem of the fluffy yellow flower. He gritted his teeth, eyes sharpening. 

‘I wont make you cry. I wont.’

His heart made a strong kick, prickling warmth flooding his chest, tingling down his limbs. His fingers twitched. 

Potion. Yes. He needed more healing and more stimulants than what his own body could dose him with, enhanced or not, if he wanted to get anywhere. Moving his hand by pure willpower, he grabbed at his belt, fingers lacking their usual dexterity greatly, tapping around clumsily, but they eventually found the pouch of copper vials. He couldn't feel much with them, barely registered the sting of metal shards piercing his fingers. 

Damn. 

He hit that tree pretty damn hard, without being able to angle his body right, he recalled. His ribs and hip throbbed in confirmation. So much for the extras. Good thing he kept the really crucial things in sturdier little flasks, even if they were heavier. Hehh, and people wondered why he didn't use glass vials. Right. For someone who jumped right into the thick of every fight to tear the enemy apart. Finally he found what he was searching for. It shouldn't have taken this long. Damn he really needed it. 

Lifting it to his lips he opened it with his teeth, gulping down its contents, coughing and wheezing from the straying bits caused by his position on his back. It burned down his throat with hot energy, waking his body like alcohol ignited a smoldering furnace. He shot up, gulping in air, lungs burning. The pain hit him like a mad bull, waking nerves screaming at him from all over, frantic damage reports that made him dizzy with white hot lights. Coughing, holding on tight to a handful of the surrounding flowers by the roots, he frantically searched for other vials with shaking hands. He was now close to blacking out again from the pain, but with his thoughts much clearer. 

He found the other flasks much quicker now, downing them one by one, a stimulant numbing the pain but sharpening the right edges, the other kicking off rapid healing, then another dose of energy, a bit of concentrated blood, a sip of lyrium in it to stimulate the systems altered by touch of magic, to respond better. His improved body was fast to react, an advanced machine shaped for superior function, at attention from the brush of magic to receive commands, kicking into gear.

 His mind was suddenly painfully clear, sharp as broken glass. There will be drawbacks, but hopefully by then he will have the luxury of crumbling down and live to wake. He had to get out of here and go back, but he knew he couldn't just up and run. With his fast healing body now boosted to hell and back, the first thing he had to do was damage control. He patted himself down, roughly, looking for any sort of injury that wasn't supposed to heal left that way. Like the hard nudge in his side. A broken spike, thick as his wrist. He pulled it out swiftly, crying out in pain. The wound was already drawing in on itself. There were other bits and pieces of metal scattered all over, spikes, tree broken arrows, shards. The last things he had to tear out were already closed in. The smaller shards in his arms and hands mostly he left inside for now. Those wouldn't kill him as he moved.

He must have hit his head pretty damn hard if he was about to just give in, even for a dazed moment, to death. “Hah! Not today Fade, not today!” he rasped, his mad grin pulling at some wounds and making fresh drops of blood slide down his chin.

A quick patch work and he got to his feet, ragged an thorn and looking like he should be dead under a leather armor ripped to shreds like that, metal plating thorn out from between the hard leather, huge chunks of equipment missing, bigger wounds still bleeding under quick binds of ripped cloth, his own mixing with the thick cover of his enemies blood, but his eyes were sharp and glowing, determined. He was heavily overstimulated and overdosed, but he needed the push. He needed to get back, to get past a point in healing that he would survive the after effects, he needed to make it. And he was going to. He plucked one of the yellow fluffy flowers, and set on his mission of survival and return, clutching it tightly.

[anyoneseenadam]

sub!azriel but the reader and him aren't together yet and she keep teasing him without knowing until he finally has enough and goes and begs her

Pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

Warnings: smut, sub!az, slight degradation, lotta fluff tho

A/n: so i kinda did the ending of this drunk while watching pulp fiction so if it’s confusing that’s why and I apologise lol

——————————————————————————

He had first met you while training the priestesses. You were a friend of Emerie’s. A fae woman that almost brought him to his knees with a single look.

You had nervously spoken to Cassian about joining in the training and had progressed past his group and into Cassian’s within two weeks.

That was probably for the best.

Besides your original nerves, you had thrown yourself into training - eyes always on him as he spoke and went through moves, moved which you copied with the precision of a ballerina.

He had withered under your kind gaze, soft eyes making him want to fall into you and let you fight away all his fears. And whenever you had spoken to him it was with undivided attention, always listening carefully and providing whatever he needed - whether it was someone to complain to or someone to laugh with.

The night he fell in love with you however was different. He had gone into the library searching for Nesta and found her with Emerie, Gwyn and you, all relaxing in soft clothing.

He had almost fallen over when he saw you in an oversized hoodie with tight shorts and baby pink toenails, your face clean of makeup and still somehow the prettiest he had ever seen.

You had smiled brightly when you saw him, patting the empty space beside you and - unable to deny you - he had come to sit beside you, shivering when you lay your head on his shoulder with your book abandoned in you lap.

As he sat, Gwyn carried on explaining a new concept she had been exploring with her tutor when you spoke up, “But you’re basing that hypothesis presuming the butterfly effect doesn’t exist.”

He tilted his head down then, as you sat up, frowning at the loss of contact while Nesta barely hid her smug grin behind her hand as she watched the interaction.

“The butterfly effect?” Gwyn asked, grabbing a notebook as you smiled.

“We’ll you’re talking about fate, saying that everything is predetermined. But the butterfly effect proposes that anything, even something as small as a butterfly flapping it’s wings, can change the whole course of the future and can split reality into different pathways. This creates alternate realities, one were the butterfly flaps it’s wings and one were it doesn’t, and even such a small change is still a change.”

He didn’t really understand your concept but Gwyn was furiously scribbling things down and scoring things out as you continued.

“So yes, there is a large chance that maybe once there was a predetermined set of events, but as things change and as people are born and stray from these paths, there is no feasible way to ensure everything goes exactly as determined.” You spoke with your hands, something he had never noticed before. You explained the concept slowly and clearly to Gwyn as you discussed the topic in depth, your face lighting up as you spoke about the unknown.

He fell in love then, when he watched you speak so enthusiastically about a topic he had no idea about. But even with a lack of knowledge he wanted to hear all about it - wanted to become so well versed in it that one day you might look at him the way he looked at you.

The problem there was that in his love drunk state, subtleties went out the window. You’d had suspicions before but now, with him blatantly staring at you, you were sure.

You had spoken to Nesta about him before and discovered he didn’t have the greatest track record of admitting his feelings so you decided to step it up a notch, ready to bust out all the tools that would make him confess.

You decided to start simple; removing your top during training and continuing in your sports bra, leaving lingering touches on his shoulders or hands, turning on what Emerie lovingly deemed your ‘sex eyes’ when you spoke to him. And it seemed to be working, he started avoiding your gaze and would pause speaking whoever you touched him, subconsciously leaning into your hand or gently laying his head atop your when you placed yours on his shoulder.

It wasn’t for a couple weeks however that you made a startling discovery. You had decided to make some cupcakes and Azriel had run into you in the kitchen - accepting your offer to help. He had been doing an amazing job delicately filling the cases with batter and you smiled when he finished without spilling a drop.

“Ugh perfect! You did amazing Az!” You had exclaimed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before opening the over with one hand and balancing the tray in the other.

He had made a sound under his breath and when you turned back you found him bright red and looking down with a shy smile on his face. Then it clicked why your beautiful, strong spy always seemed so nervous around you. He was a sub.

You were ecstatic the rest of the day, having hit the jackpot with Azriel and with a plan forming in your head. He wasn’t likely to admit his feelings to you but you had an idea that would make sure he had them before you did anything else.

The next day you saw him at training, smiling warmly at him as you usually did and hopping over to speak to him before you got started.

“Hey Az, did u get a cupcake last night?” You asked, smiling brightly when he blushed bright red having run off soon after receiving your praise with a half assed excuse about finding Cassian.

“Yeah they were amazing,” he said, finally meeting your eyes as you looked up at him expectantly.

“Ah couldn’t have done it without your help,” you praised and he blushed looking down again. You heard Cassian call your name impatiently and turned to stick your finger up at him, “Gotta go but we should hang out again tonight.”

He nodded with a smile, equal parts delighted and terrified at the idea of spending so much time with you.

“That’s a plan! See you tonight pretty boy,” you said, walking away while he stared dumfounded at your back. That - that was new.

He fumbled his way through training the priestesses, maybe pushing them slightly too hard because it meant he had plenty to do that didn’t involve thinking about you or about what seeing you tonight entailed.

Or that you thought he was pretty.

You on the other hand, couldn’t get through training quickly enough. You were finishing moves and sequences before Cassian even said them so used to his rhythm that he ended up just letting you leave when you were finished before everyone else - not without rolling his eyes dramatically however.

As you walked out Azriel couldn’t help his eyes from following you as you sauntered away with flushed, glowing skin and your hair swaying with every step as you shook it out. You shot a final look over your shoulder as you left to go shower, waving at him when you caught him staring with mischievous eyes.

You left quickly to go shower and get somewhat ready, ensuring you smelt good and pulling on your favourite underwear. You then decided to fuck with him and pulled on an oversized t-shirt that you kept from an ex-boyfriend on account of how soft it was and your smallest, softest shorts. You had finished getting ready and were making yourself an ice coffee when Azriel walked in with flushed cheeks, wiping sweat from his forehead with his shirt.

You whistled when you saw him and his eyes met yours, widening comically when he saw your bare legs - shorts barely visible beneath your large shirt.

“You alright hot stuff?” You asked as he moved to grab some bread from next to you. He inhaled sharply when you spoke and you barely contained your giggle,

“Want an ice coffee babes?”

“Um sure I don’t I-“ he stumbled over his words as his brain slowed trying to form a single thought other than your soft legs and even softer lips.

“I’ll make you one,” you said with a laugh, “so what do you want to do today?”

“I really don’t mind,” he muttered, watching as you mixed the drink for him and pressed it into his hand with a smile.

“What about a spa day, when was the last time you got to relax?”

“Cauldron I don’t think I’ve ever done that,” he joked and you smiled.

“Let’s do that then, I’ll get you so relaxed your bones will liquify,” you grabbed his hand as you pulled him out of the kitchen and started leading him to your room.

“Do- do I want that?” He asked and you squeezed his hand,

“You’ll understand soon,” you laughed.

You started with face masks and manicures, conversation flowing easily between the two of you despite Azriel’s nerves and the electricity that shot through him every time you touched him.

You were sitting reading together a while later when you shoved your book down and turned, your eyes focusing on him. He felt your heated gaze and tilted his head to meet your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What?” He asked,

“You’re pretty,” you said suddenly, reaching a hand to trace his jaw gently. He went comically red and you smiled.

“What? I- you think I’m,” he stuttered and you giggled, nodding.

“Yeah you’re so pretty,” he could feel himself grow hard, blushing impossibly hard at your words.

“Say it again,” he forced out and you smiled - reaching a hand to rest on his thigh, stroking it gently as you spoke again.

“You’re so pretty, and I’m sure you’d be so good for me would you?” Your voice got lower as you spoke, Azriel whimpering as you slid your hand up his thigh. “Do you want that? Wanna be my good boy?”

Azriel’s eyes widened and his hips bucked up slightly as he nodded, movements small and insecure.

“Words sweet boy, I need you to say you want this,”

“I want this!” He practically shouted and you laughed sweetly,

“I’m so glad baby, I’ve wanted you for so long,” you confessed - stroking his face gently as you moved to straddle him.

“You- you have?” He was confused and feeling a million feelings at once but so happy with the position he found himself in.

“Mhm and if I’m correct I think you have to,” he nodded quickly underneath you, his hands flying up to grab your hips as you started slowly rolling your hips over him.

“I have,” his voice was already so desperate and you had barely touched him, smiling as you leaned down to press kisses gently into his jaw.

“Mm good boy,” you whispered, “would you like me to touch you now?”

He shook his head and you furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at him with concern filled eyes.

“Wanna touch you instead,” he whimpered out and you cooed stroking his hair.

“Awe baby, go ahead,” you giggled, climbing off his lap as he crawled off your bed and kneeled on the floor - eyes wide as you spread your legs in front of him. He gently removed your shorts and panties, inhaling sharply and your pretty pussy was revealed to him. He looked up at you with his doe eyes, whispering as he silently begged you for permission - but you just smiled and laughed at him with a gentle hand stroking through his hair.

“Please miss I’ll be so good for you, please just wan’make you feel good,” he begged and you relented.

“Okay baby boy,” he swung forward so quickly and buried himself into your pussy, spitting on it before devouring you. His long fingers spread your folds open and he probed your tight hole with his tongue, thumb coming up to rub circles on your clit as he moaned against your heat.

He ate you out like it was his sole purpose in life, putting all he had into the task - almost delirious as he finally got what he had wanted for so long. The days he had spent daydreaming about your soft legs that were now wrapped around his head, the nights he had spent thinking of your pillow lips and how sweet you would sound as you told him what you wanted him to do.

“Oh baby you’re doing so well for me, so good baby. My good boy,” he moaned loudly against your pussy, hips rutting into air.

“M’ yours, all yours,” he cried, pushing two long fingers into your tight pussy and twisting them as he looked up, meeting your eyes as you tangled a hand in his hair.

“Make me come then baby, prove you’re my good boy,” he nodded against you - desperate to make you happy as he worked with renewed vigour. “Azriel baby you’re so good at this.” Your moans were like music to his ears as he scissored his fingers inside you, sucking on your clit hard enough to make you see stars. You swore - hand tightening in his hair - as he pressed into your sweet spot and sucked particularly hard on your clit at the same time, coming hard with an arched back as Azriel stared up at you. Awed at how he had tamed the goddess above him.

You ended up having to pull him off of your pussy as he whined, wet lips pouting as they tried to get back to you.

“No baby no more,” your voice was stern and he whined as you pulled him up to his feet, standing with him and spinning the two of you around.

He was considerably taller than you but even the height difference didn’t negate the power you had over him and when you shoved him down onto the bed and straddled him - kissing him harshly with your fingers squeezing his cheeks together.

“You’re so good baby, so good,” you whispered into his mouth.

“Did I do well?” His voice was so soft that you cooed and kissed him again.

“So, so well that you deserve a reward,” he looked up at you with those hazel eyes you loved so much, “do you want that, want to fuck me?”

“Yes miss, yes please wan’ fuck you so bad. S’all I think about,” you could never resist Azriel and now he was begging, you couldn’t deny him anything.

You reached down to pull his cock out of his pants, choking on a breath at his size. “Fuck baby, you’ve been holding out on me,” your hand moved on its own accord, pumping him slowly - needing two hands to hold him.

He was moaning lowly as you pumped him, precum leaking out the tip and making it easier for you to slip onto him, sinking down until you were fully seated and you could see a faint bulge through your belly.

“God you’re so big baby, filling me up so well.” You moaned as Azriel tried to form a single coherent thought other than how tight and wet you were.

“Do I feel good baby? Do you like having me wrapped around you?” You asked and he simply moaned in reply. You continued bouncing as you waited for a response but when he didn’t reply you slapped his cheek lightly.

“Words Azriel I asked you a question.” Your words were harsh but you spoke with a sickly sweet tone.

“You feel so good, didn’t know you could feel this good. So tight,” he moaned loudly when you clenched down on him, his words making a new gush of wetness coat his cock.

You smiled, drawing a hand over his hair as you bounced in his lap, the strength in your legs only letting you lift yourself halfway up his cock before you’re sinking back down.

“Fuck Az, baby you’re so big,” you whined into his mouth as you kissed him and he responded with a low grunt - his mind and body completely under your control, despite your intentions.

“I’m gonna come miss, please please let me come,” he begged after a few minutes of your hips rolling slowly over his and you laughed, holding him in your arms.

“Awe such a needy baby,” you cooed, “gonna come so early baby, needy slut.”

He whimpered underneath you, hips rutting into you as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise - desperately trying to stop himself from cumming as you were yet to give him explicit permission.

But that was a losing battle as he lost himself in the warmth of your cunt. He was throbbing within you, pulsating as you clenched around him, the sounds your pussy made as he pushed into your body. He was addicted to the small whimpers leaving your mouth and as he watched you move he knew he would never be able to let you go. He had fallen so hard over the short time he had known you and now he watched you take over his body when you had already taken his soul.

“Please can I come miss, please,” his begs were so soft that you nodded, kissing him again.

“Let go for me baby, show me you’re mine,” you commanded and he shook underneath you, coming with a string of curses.

“‘M yours miss, all yours please,” his eyes were teary and voice broken, but he looked so happy as he stared up at you - mouth hanging open in a silent sob.

He reached a hand between you rubbing your clit gently as you came all over his cock with a loud moan and shudder. He guided you through your orgasm, refusing to take his eyes off of you, completely entranced with you.

When you had both come down from your powerful orgasms, you climbed off him and stood to retrieve a wash cloth and to relieve yourself in the bathroom. When you returned Azriel was staring up at you with tired and nervous eyes.

You cleaned him up gently, pressing gentle kisses into his face and lips as you did so.

“You okay baby?” You asked when you were finished, pulling him into your arms as you lay back down - his head on your chest.

“I’m so good right now,” he whispered, propping his chin on your chest and looking up at you, “was that- was I alright?”

His voice was so small and you furrowed your brows, “baby you were so good, perfect.” You promised, stroking his hair and leaning to kiss his head gently.

“Are you sure cause I-“

“Baby,” you cut him off, “you’re all I want, I’ve wanted this for so long and you were so good. Was it good for you?”

He nodded furiously and you laughed as he came up to kiss you, “then we’re all good baby.”

“I think I love you,” he whispered into your mouth and you smiled.

“I think I love you too.”

[queenof-literature]

I know that you just posted your Rito story and I loved. I can't wait for more! I noticed it mentioned Wild blushing when asked to sing one of Kass's song. I am pretty sure it's Kass's final song, and thought it would be cute if one of the other Links hears Wild singing under his breath (maybe while cooking) and the story and song get dragged out of him.

Hi! Thank you so much! I wasn't quite sure what you meant by song and story, but I used Kass' final song with the story of Wild's death and the story with Kass' teacher, so it got a little angsty. I hope that all is okay. If not, please let me know and I wil l write a different one! Thank you for the request!

It had been a rough day. The group had landed in Hyrule’s land, and had instantly been attacked by groups of monsters with insane amounts of bloodlust. Luckily, there weren’t any injuries that couldn’t be fixed with a potion or two. Some scrapes here, some sprained ankles there, physically they were fine. But they were absolutely exhausted.

Wild was making a hearty stew for his friends before they turned in early that night. Four was leaning against a tree, book in hand. Warriors and Legend were playing a weird card game that involved slapping each other’s hands as hard as possible while Wind and Hyrule watched and made fun of them both. Time and Twilight were chatting and laughing softly, while Sky was already dozing off on a tree near Four’s. Overall, it was a tired peace that made Wild’s heart swell.

He never really got this peace before he met the other heroes. It was always sleeping in trees away from monsters, or riding through the night to discover new shrines, or pushing forward to save Zelda and other villages infected by the Calamity. This was peaceful, something that Wild wasn’t used to, but didn’t really hate like he thought he would when he first met them.

“For fierce and deadly trials await. To regain his strength. Fulfill his fate.” Wild didn’t really notice when he began to sing softly as he was stirring his stew. He also didn’t notice the rest of camp slowly getting quiet, or Four elbowing Sky in the ribs. His eyes had grown distant as he continued to sing softly. “To become a hero once again. To wrest the princess from her den.” The rest of the Links looked at each other silently. Wild had a pretty voice from what they could hear. Pretty in a way that it was unique, and rough from lack of use, but also soft and comforting. He almost looks like he doesn’t notice what he’s doing. Should they tell him? 

“The hero, the princess-hand in hand-Must bring the light back to this land.” Wild finished just as soft as he began, like he had sung the song millions of times before. But he realized he felt eyes on him. He looked up to see the entire camp staring at him, even Sky, all with confusion and a bit of awe. Oh dear Hylia. Wild yanked his hood up to find his bright red face as he realized what he had done. ‘I am so sorry.’ Wild signed ‘Sometimes I do that without noticing. I didn’t mean to interrupt you all I promise. I’ll stop. Just let me know when I do it in the future, sorry I just didn’t notice-’ Twilight and the rest of the boys had gathered around Wild, but still gave him space. Twilight gently put his hands over Wild’s. He didn’t like doing that if he didn’t have to, Wild sometimes expressed himself only through sign and he never wanted to get in the way of that. But if he let Wild continue too far, he would spiral into a dark place where it was harder to pull him from. All of the Heroes of Courage had that issue. Sometimes it was better to stop the train of loathing and questioning before it got too far off the track. 

“Don’t apologize about what you do while you make us dinner, Cub” Twilight teased gently, taking his hands off of Wild’s. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, we all got our habits. Besides, ya got a pretty singin’ voice.” Twilight smiled, while Wild simply flushed further into his hood, at this point his face was the most red thing Twilight had ever seen.

“Yeah Wild! I knew you would have a pretty voice!” Wind exclaimed. The group couldn’t see Wild’s eyes at all, but they could see his lips twitch upwards slightly at the younger’s enthusiasm. 

“Ummm… thank you.” Wild said softly, still not coming out of his hood. 

“Can you sing us the whole song? If you’re comfortable of course.” Wind asked hesitantly. He wanted to hear the rest of Wild’s song, but he didn’t want Wild to feel forced into anything. The group looked at Wind in slight shock. They hadn’t expected anyone to ask the blatant question no one else wanted to ask, but Wind was good at that. The shy boy somehow managed to get even more flustered, his face so red he looked like he was about to explode. 

“W-well.” Wild was slightly stuttering again, not that the group minded. It wasn’t just nerves, Wild couldn’t talk very well when the group first found him, so he mostly signed like he did to others in his Hyrule that needed help. Through sign, they discovered that he was actually very witty and fun, but it turns out not using your voice for more than a hundred years and having rough scars around your neck made it a little hard to talk.

“My voice isn’t very good, maybe Kass could sing it to you? It’s better with the accordion anyway.” Wild said nervously.

“Your voice is very good Wild!” Sky urged. 

“If you’re okay with singing it we don’t need the music Wild.” Time stated. “But no one's forcing ya. We would love to hear it, but only if ya want to sing it.” Wild pondered these words. Ever since he started talking verbally again, he tried to push himself out of his silent shell with help from the other heroes. Maybe singing was the next step? 

Once again, Wild felt weak. He could take down entire camps of monsters, defeat Calamity, and kill Guardians with a single ancient arrow to the eye, but he couldn’t talk to people properly. He had relayed those thoughts to Twilight before, how useless he felt sometimes that he could be strong except in the face of normal, everyday people. Twilight had told him that it was perfectly okay, and that everyone had their struggles and fears, but Wild still felt stupid sometimes. 

“I guess… If you really wanna hear it…” Wild emerged from his hood slightly. Maybe it would prove he wasn't as weak as he thought? Wind cheered and put his head in his hands, waiting. The rest of the group smiled, and Twilight patted his arm for encouragement. 

“An ancient hero. A calamity appears. Now resurrected after 10,000 years”

The other heroes are surprised when Wild starts singing. It’s still soft, and it’s still rough, but Wind is right. Wild’s voice has a nice comfort in it.

“Her appointed knight, gives his life. Shields her figure and pays the price.”

Wait, what? Wild’s death is part of the song? And the words, shielding her figure, did Wild take every Guardian laser for Zelda? How did he make it to the Shrine of Resurrection? Oh Wild…

“The princess’ love for her fallen knight, awakens her power and calamity cowers. But the knight survives in the Shrine of Resurrection. He sleeps. Until from his healing dream he leaps.”

Anger fills the group at this. It was known that Wild was in the Shrine? Why did no one check on him? Why did no one keep guard so he wouldn’t be alone and scared when he woke up? Sure it was 100 years, but did no one get suspicious? Especially with elders who saw the fall of Hyrule!

“For fierce and deadly trials await, to regain his strength, fulfill his fate. To become a hero once again. To wrest the princess from Evil's den.” Wild finishes his song while looking around the camp with nervous eyes. Some of the boys looked troubled. Was he really that bad? At Wild’s nervous look, most of the boys snapped out of their stupur and began applauding, Warriors whistling at an ear piercing volume while the others whooped and hollered. Wild, who had kept his hood on to feel a small amount of security at revealing his voice in such a vulnerable way, hid within it once again, except it was a different embarrassment this time, he was relieved he had done it and gotten through it. But the group could see a smile threatening to break out. It was a sweet sight. 

‘Thank you’ Wild signed with fingers trembling from the adrenaline of singing in front of all eight heroes. 

“No problem, Buddy.” Twilight clapped his back.

“Yeah Wild! Thanks for trusting us enough to sing that song!” Hyrule smiled across the campfire. A smile that Wild returned instantly. Hyrule and Wild related to each other in this way. They spent so much time away from civilization and traveling the woods, it was sometimes scary to go back. All of the boys were smiling at him, except for Time. He looked solemn and serious. 

“You okay, Old Man?” Four questioned. Time turned to Wild, look serious. Wild hadn’t been this intimidated by Time since he had first met the man.

“Wild… how many times did those things’ lasers hit you?” Time said the word ‘things’ with such malice the entire group got chills.

“Time.” Twilight whispered urgently. Wild didn’t like to talk about his death one hundred years ago. 

“It says you shielded the princess. How. Many. Times?” Time asked coolly. On the inside he was livid. He was trying so hard not to take it out on Twilight’s protege, because it wasn’t his fault. None of it was, no matter how much he blamed himself, Wild was sent into the situation to die. He took blast after blast with his own body, and he still didn’t make it to Ganon. His friends all died except Zelda who he shielded with his own body.    

“U-um. I don’t remember. I-I guess. Maybe five? Six? I-I’m sorry Time. I-I don’t remember.” Twilight put a hand on Wild’s shoulder when the boy’s breath hitched slightly, jolting Time out of his external anger. The rest of the camp were looking at him in confusion, or in some cases, (Legend), anger.

“I’m sorry Wild I didn't mean to spring that upon you. I was just mad. Not at you.” Time rished the last part in when he saw Wild open his mouth to apologize again. “I was mad at your situation. Wild… you didn’t deserve that. No one would ever deserve that but Hylia, not you kid.” Wild tilted his head in confusion. It would have been slightly cute if the next words hadn’t come out of his mouth. 

“But I failed.” Wild said like it was the most natural thing on the planet. There was an uncomfortable silence in the group, then a descent into chaos. 

“Failed?”

"Wild, no!”

“How the fuck was Calamity’s shit actions your fault? He’s the fucking monster that fucked up Hyrule!”

“Dear Hylia, Wind. Language. He’s right though Wild, it was Ganon’s fault.”

“Wild it wasn’t your fault, it was Ganon’s.”

Wild appreciated the support, but all their voices began blurring together. Tears pricked at his eyes, Twilight’s hand on his shoulder burned hotter than a Guardians laser. It all became too much too fast. 

“It was my fault!” Wild yelled. That halted the group in their tracks. Wild yelled sure. When he was in his environment he would yell while shield surfing, or talking about a crazy plan he had, but this was in anger and despair. Wild harshly brushed Twilight’s hand off, trying to ignore the slight hurt in his eyes. 

“I doomed Hyrule! By the time Zelda unlocked her power I had collapsed. My body quit on me! I quit on all of Hyrule! The other champions died! Why am I the only one left? Kass told me the story of his teacher! He was Zelda’s age and he fell in love with her, but she loved me! I don’t even know if I loved her back! She doesn’t deserve what she was put through! No one does! I did that to them, that was all me! I failed! I got hit with laser after laser after laser but I had to keep going! But I couldn’t, I didn’t even make it the castle! Kass’ teacher was mad I wasn’t a noble or royalty, and he was right! Zelda deserved better! She and I are the only ones left! All the other champions died because of me! Why am I the only one? Why am I still here? Why am I-” Wild choked on his last words on a sob. His entire rant, tears began to cascade down his face as the group looked on in horror.

Wild couldn’t hold it in anymore. He cried and he grieved and he yelled. Wild didn’t feel the white and burning rage anymore, he just felt the despair and sorrow he had been keeping in for years, only releasing a couple of times in small doses. When Twilight reached out to gently touch his hand, it didn’t feel like lava from Death Mountain anymore, it felt warm and loving and Wild simply leaned into it, silently telling Twilight it was okay.

“Oh, Cub.” Twilight murmured before pulling Wild to his chest. Wild curled up in his mentor's arms and allowed himself to sob over all the losses he had felt. His sobs grew harder and he felt like a child, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t breath, his sobs overlapping and clogging his lungs. One of his hands was pulled away from where it was curled into Twilight’s tunic and he whined. 

“Just me kiddo. You gotta breathe with me.” His hand was led to a different chest. Legend, Wild recognized in the back of his mind. Legend exaggerated his breaths for Wild to copy. The first time he tried, he simply choked more and shook his head. “That’s alright, you can do it. Another try.” Legend said gently. Wild would be laughing in a different situation. The word gentle and Legend wouldn’t be put together when he had first met the snarky hero. Wild tried again with a little more success. Legend kept helping him as another hand went through his hair. Four.

“I’m so sorry, Wild.” Wind said from across camp. The younger felt guilty that he had started this when asking if Wild could sing. Wild wanted to reassure that this wasn’t his fault at all, that this had just been building, but he couldn’t talk. Luckily, Warriors and Hyrule were there to cover for him, talking quietly to Wind on the other side of camp. Wind shook it off though, Wild needed them more.

Wild had calmed down slightly. Still crying, and still curled up in Twilight's arms and getting help from Four and Legend. But once he was sure he could hear him, Time spoke up. 

“Wild, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to grill you that hard. That was my mistake.” Wild opened his mouth to tell him that it was okay, he knew Time had no malintent, but Time continued on. “Wild. I need you to understand something. What happened wasn’t your fault.” Wild opened his mouth to correct Time, but Time was having none of it. “No, it wasn’t your fault Wild. I’m not saying that to comfort you or baby you. What you were sent into was an execution Wild.” Twilight's wolf instincts got loud in his head and he almost snapped at Time for being so harsh but stopped himself. He remembered Time told him once after he took Wild under his wing, that mentoring wasn’t just about kind words and support. It was also about knowing when to state hard facts. Sometimes that’s all people understood. 

“No one knew what Ganon had planned, and you had no time to prepare because of the mistakes of those before you. You had nothing to do with their ignorance, Wild.” Time’s face was set in stone, but his eyes showed a fiery passion for every word he was saying. “Wild. Look at me please, bud.” Wild peeked out from Twilight’s shoulder and looked into Time’s eyes, which softened as he met the younger hero’s sky blue eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, because you couldn’t control anything around you. You are not a God. You have the limitations of a Hylian that you already find ways to exceed. Wild, you were so brave. You took hit after hit to protect Zelda. And her powers awakened right before you collapsed. Do you blame her for not unlocking them sooner.” Instantly Wild’s eyes became hard, and he opened his mouth to bite into Time, who could see where this was leading just by the expression on Wild’s face. He held up a hand. “I’m not saying you should. I’m saying that she also had limitations that were out of her control, just like you. If you don’t blame Zelda, why do you blame yourself?” That one stumped Wild a bit. He wanted to say because Zelda was born into a family she never asked to be in, and worked hard everyday to fulfill their expectations… but he was in the same situation. Did Zelda feel the same way he did when he sorrowfully watched her blame herself? Time saw he struck a chord.

“I understand feeling like a failure. I lost battles too. But you did what you could do with what very little of the situation you could control. You said it yourself, you took laser after laser for her, and you only collapsed after you were sure she was safe. The safety of others is the only thing that kept you going, Wild. I’m not saying I approve of you taking lasers for others, but do you realize how much of a hero you are?” Tears flowed from Wild’s eyes once again, but for another reason entirely. Time really cared. He really thought Wild was a hero, even after he heard the song, the stories, the death. He heard it all, and the Hero of Time still thought Wild belonged with them. Wild whispered a quick thank you, and the rest of the group sighed in relief. Wild’s sobs had turned to hiccups as the rest of the group told him similar things to Time. It didn’t feel suffocating this time, it just felt like his eight brothers were trying to comfort him. Wild felt a weight lifted off his shoulders he had felt for so long. Time knew Wild would still struggle with his feelings of failure, one night wouldn’t change that, but he hoped he got through to Wild for the long run, at least a little. 

Wild realized how absolutely exhausted he was before this whole ordeal even started, which only increased tenfold now that he had cried. He was embarrassed that he had lost his shit that much in front of all eight heroes, and realized with a jolt how exhausted they had been too. 

“Um. I’m sorry, I know you all were really tired. I didn’t mean to have this happen-” He was cut off with a flick to his unscarred ear by Legend and a small yank on his ear by Four while Wild yelped.

“What did we just talk about you idiot?” Legend hissed, but it lacked the usual bite he had. 

“Yeah Wild! Don’t be sorry. Everyone needs a good cry once in a while! It’s healthy! I’m a medical professional, you have to listen to me.” Hyrule added with a joking glare. Some snickers rang through the group at Hyrule’s proclamation. Time looked over and smiled in pride at Wild, which Wild returned with red dusting on his cheeks. Hearing all his brothers laughing and fighting, and feeling the comforting arms around him, Wild slowly dozed off into a deep sleep, feeling lighter than he had in years.  

[moonstruckbucky]

Crown of Thorns (3/?)

Summary: Arranged to be married to the great King Steven, the Reader comes to discover he is not all as she was told. He’s cold and callous and indifferent to their union. Is she really so doomed to live the rest of her life in a loveless marriage?

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, King!Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter

Warnings for Chapter: A little lighter, but not by much.

Notes: I’m sorry for the lateness of this. I’m balancing my now hectic work week and some negative headspace. Enjoy this next installment! x

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

Beneath your gown, your knees quake. King Steven is even more handsome up close, practically carved from marble. He’s perfect - except for his eyes. His eyes, which stare you down, their icy blue depths void and emotionless. His jaw is tight as he appraises you, sweeping up and down your body. You feel both hot and cold under the weight of it, stomach torn between fluttering nerves and rolling nausea.

Remembering yourself, you curtsy low, managing not to stumble. When you straighten, it takes him a solid thirty seconds for him to bow at the waist. It’s a stiff movement, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you as he returns to his full height. You wish you could see what he’s thinking. Does he approve of you? Do you disgust him? He’s so carefully closed off you don’t know one way or another.

Around you, it’s silent in the hall. The noblemen and women watch on with interest, curiosity piqued that their King may have found his Queen. Your father watches on, a smile on his face that slowly fades as the two of you appraise one another. Suddenly, you’re not so sure about this at all.

You begin to feel awkward, standing before King Steven as he continues his silent appraisal, and you have to look away. Down at your hands as you fist them in your skirts, at your father who’s now looking worriedly between you.

Then the king moves, extends his arm for you to take to lead you back up the dais. You hope the utter relief doesn’t show on your face as you gently rest your hand atop his. It’s warm, but the bones and tendons are stiff, twitching, as if he’s trying to keep from balling it into a fist. He guides you slowly to your chair, now beside his so that the two of you might converse over dinner.

But you don’t.

It’s silent between you and King Steven seems to be doing all he can to avoid both looking at you and addressing you. He seems to focus somewhere off to the back of the room mostly, eyes flitting around his guests. Taking a drink from your wine, you rack your mind for a conversation starter.

“You have very beautiful horses in your country,” you begin, hope dwindling as Steven remains silent. His jaw is noticeably clenched, muscle jumping as he busies himself with food and drink. Inside your chest, your heart sinks. You try again, “Do you enjoy riding?”

Steven sighs quietly, catching the eye of someone across the room. Pursing his lips against the burn of his mead, he finally regards you. Ice-blue eyes blank, they sweep over your expression, which is quickly growing hopeful at his attention.

“Yes, I enjoy riding.” His answer is short, stiff, but you feel some relief anyways. He hasn’t relaxed, but he’s speaking to you, so you’ll take it. “Do you?”

“Oh, I-I’m afraid I haven’t had much opportunity to, Your Grace.” Now you’re a little embarrassed, broaching a topic of which you know very little. “Women aren’t permitted to ride like men are in my country.”

“Have you never sat a horse?” he asks curiously, angling his body towards yours, and you almost hate how quickly you perk up. His eyes are still guarded, but at least he’s speaking to you - a far cry from how dismissive he’d been.

When you shake your head, he almost seems amused. Something else unrecognizable passes over his eyes, but it’s gone rapidly, replaced by that stony blankness you’re beginning to dislike.

He slices into a bit of meat with his knife, speaks around a mouthful, “A Queen who can’t ride - imagine that.”

It stings, but you manage to hide it. You turn to your own food and eat slowly, your stomach rolling with discomfort, sadness, and anger. Your mother assured you he’d love you, and yet he can’t stand to be in your presence, much less hold a conversation with you. How are you supposed to marry such a man - if he’ll even agree to marry you?

While the clamor in the hall continues, you find yourself utterly alone. Steven has turned to address someone to whom you’ve not been introduced. Your parents chit chat with the nobles beside them. As you look frantically around the room, you jump at a gentle hand on your shoulder.

Sharon frowns down at you with nothing but concern, no doubt reading the growing panic on your face.

“Your Grace, are you well?” she asks, low enough that only you hear. Steven casts her a curious glance but pays her no mind, essentially blocking the two of you out by turning his back to you.

Swallowing, you straighten your shoulders and nod. You’re a princess, dammit, and you’ll present yourself as such.

“I am just fine, Sharon. Thank you.”

She wants to argue, it’s clear on her face, but after a few moments of scrutiny, she nods and backs away. You appreciate the care she already has for you, truly, but you refuse to let anyone, much less a king, make you feel small. So while King Steven continues to ignore you, you let yourself enjoy the work of his cooks.

Roasted meats, spiced vegetables, honeyed breads. You don’t indulge in too much wine, preferring to be of sound mind for the festivities. King Steven has made no attempts to engage you in conversation again, so you opt to watch the interactions. There’s laughter, jokes traded between noblemen, while the women roll their eyes and undoubtedly gossip amongst each other.

Once dinner ends, music replaces the sounds of silverware on plates. The center of the hall is opened up to a dance floor, and nobles all around the room begin to rise. Pair up and flurry about in beautiful ripples of colored fabric. The music itself is beautiful - a bit less lively than what you’re used to, but pretty regardless, and you feel yourself swaying in your seat.

Occasionally, you catch Steven watching you, an unreadable look in his eyes that you choose to disregard. The middle of the crowd opens up when a pair of enthusiastic dancers steal the show. The music picks up and the dancers twirl, leap, and spin to the new melody; you begin to clap along, a genuine laugh rippling from your throat as you watch them.

Even when you catch Steven’s eye, catch the thoughtful frown on his lips, you can’t bring yourself to stop. It’s contagious, the excited, happy energy in the room, and while your home had frequent parties, you can’t remember any of them being like this. This lively and jovial.

“My dear.” Your father’s voice makes you jump, so enchanted by the frivolity. He holds out a hand to you. “Would you do me the honor?”

Smiling, you accept your father’s hand and rise, casting a quick glance at Steven. He’s staring out at the crowd intensely, a million emotions flickering across his gaze that you don’t have the chance to identify.

The music slows, just a little, as you and your father join the throng. Your dress’s skirt billows out as your father twirls you around, leads your steps gracefully. The smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks as he dips you and spins you under his arm. His matching grin is bright, his cheeks ruddy from drink and merriment.

It’s as he’s spinning you again, the music shifting again to something faster, more upbeat that makes it harder for you to keep up, that you see Steven rise from his seat. He looks to you for only a moment, before he stares off at something on the other side of the hall, but there are too many people for you to see clearly what he’s looking at. As he steps down from the dais, his dark blonde head disappears into the crowd of people.

You’re a little disappointed that he hadn’t come to dance with you, hoping that dancing would liven him up, make him warm up to you. The feeling, though, is swept away as you’re swept around the room.

Two more lively songs pass, the last one you choose to sit out, before Steven returns again, looking flustered. His cheeks are tinged light pink, and you assume it’s from drink because he quickly downs an entire goblet of mead. The amber liquid drips down his chin towards his doublet, and it takes immense self-control not to reach out and brush it away.

So preoccupied are you with staring at Steven, that you completely miss the derisive look your father sends him from a few seats down. Steven barely spares you a glance, brushing your curiosity away with a wave of his hand for his goblet to be refilled.

You’re not sure why you say it, or where the courage comes from, but you say it anyways. “You haven’t asked me to dance.”

The change is instant. The air around you growing cold as Steven tenses. He fixes frigid, hard blue eyes on you, jaw clenched tight, and you feel yourself tremble.

“I won’t be asking you to dance,” he seethes, low and venomous.

You don’t speak another word for the remainder of the evening.

It’s a sullen walk back to your room. After Steven had so brusquely brushed you off, you took Sharon up on her offer of taking you back to your room, feigning illness. Wanda joins you, the two of them at your side, not touching as is propriety, but close enough you feel their body heat. It’s comforting, sort of, until you’re so warm you realize it’s anger.

“You told me he was kind,” you accuse Sharon, softly but firmly once back in your bedroom. She’s taken aback, rightfully so, as this is your first night. You should feel slightly guilty, attacking one of Steven’s hired help in such a way, but tonight was… Tonight was a failure, through and through. And you’re angry - hurt, and angry.

“He is, Your Grace, I assure you.” She tries to assuage you, holds out her hands in a show of vulnerability as she pleads with you. “Perhaps he… Perhaps he too is nervous. Maybe even a little unwilling?”

You take offense, and you know it shows on her face as she backtracks. Wanda, sensing Sharon’s rising anxiety and need to fix this, steps in.

“What she means, my love, is that marriage is...first and foremost, a duty. One’s duty to his kingdom, and it is not an easy notion to accept. Perhaps King Steven is as nervous and unsure as you are?”

Her answer makes sense. You twist your mouth in thought, let your anger ebb away a bit. You hadn’t thoroughly considered that marriage is as big a change for you as it is for King Steven. The pressure from the courts that he take a wife, a woman he’s never met yet is expected to spend the rest of his life with, birth children with. It’s quite a deal of pressure for both of you, and while you’re taking it in stride as best you can, His Grace seems adamant in digging in his heels.

You dismiss Sharon and Wanda after they ready you for bed, a simple cream nightdress that touches the floor. The bed itself is about the softest one you’ve ever laid in, the mattress conforming to your shape perfectly. You can’t help it, you sigh happily and hug the equally-soft pillow to your face. The furs atop the bed keep the warmth in, and it doesn’t take too long for your busy mind to shut off for the night.

[juminly]

Hi hi dear! Hope you are doing well☺❤🌻 After i saw your matchup i couldn't resist asking for one! ☺🌻❤ can i pretty please request an Ikevamp match up ☺ i am super curious to see which vampy boi u think would suit me best hehe 🌻thank a million! Sending ya lots o hugs🌻☺ hope ya keeping safe and warm❤

The Art of  Love & War

Context: Finding yourself in an unknown place AND back in time wasn’t an easy experience for you. It was only natural for you to be overtaken by a strong sense of unease because of the unfamiliarity of your surroundings. A mansion full of so-called vampires, a bunch of historical figures that you’ve read so much about but were now all before you, in the flesh. It was a lot to take in and no one could blame you for keeping to yourself and isolating yourself from others (unless you were coaxed by the gentle Comte  [kinda forced by Sebastian] otherwise). 

Fitness has always been something that you indulged in and engaging in physical activity allowed you to focus solely on what your body is doing, pushing away where your thoughts would usually wander (sometimes unnecessarily in very dark paths, considering your situation). 

It was not safe for a woman to go about in the city all alone, let alone, jogging and running which is something unspoken of during those times. Sebastian knew what you were doing and could only think of one way to remedy this situation without causing any inconvenience to your routine.

One day, you woke up at the crack of dawn to find Napoleon leaning on the grand door of your mansion, blocking your exit.

“Bonjour petite nunuche, Sebastian and Le Comte have taken it upon themselves to bestow on me quite an interesting chore. They believe I’m spending way too much time sleeping. I hope you’re worth the sleep I’m wasting on you.”

He had no intention of sounding harsh but his teasing was meant to get a reaction out of you. And they certainly did. Those words were enough to earn him some snarky remarks from you and it earned you a most glorious smile on Napoleon’s face. He knew that there was much more to find under that shy exterior of yours. 

Sebastian couldn’t think of anyone else who would be able to keep up with you but Napoleon. Jean was also a candidate but considering his state of mind, it would take some time before he even agrees to be anywhere near you. 

Your relationship started with the morning jogs that he joined you on. He was unfamiliar with the notion of women engaging in strenuous physical activity and he was definitely impressed and curious to know more about your time. 

He was the yin to your yang, his personality not necessarily opposing yours, but complimenting it, filling in the gaps that closed the distance between you. His extroverted and easy-going nature was more than enough to get you to loosen up around him, almost too easily.  

Napoleon is an extremely charming man and was eloquent, adept enough to make you feel at ease around him. You spent your mornings talking about your time, how your life was like, how invested you are in your studies, how you enjoyed working out and allocated enough time to do the things that you loved. 

You never seemed to notice it but his eyes would shine with admiration the more he got you to talk about yourself. Your ambitions in life, your intelligence and your wit unconsciously made him grow very fond of you.

Even though he led a life full of bloodshed, fear and treachery, he saw in you the peace and the beauty of simplicity that he ached for. He felt that maybe, if he were able to be your friend only for a short period of time, he might be able to live a life that he would be satisfied with (one where he wouldn’t have to escape through long hours of sleep).

He found your sense of humour endearing and he was one of the few to laugh at your jokes (along with Arthur, Dazai, Leonardo and even Theodorus sometimes). You certainly brought more life to the mansion, especially when you would sometimes butt heads with Theo, who would take your sarcastic demeanor as a challenge. (that man is just to easy to rile up)

Having evaluated your physical capabilities, Napoleon deemed it fit to teach you fencing and invited you to join him and Jean during their sparring session. It was challenging, fun and extremely exciting and the adrenaline rushing through your blood was like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You found a new passion and the smile drawn on your face was one of pure contentment (and Napoleon found it absolutely ravishing).

The blood would rush to your face, sweat dripping from your forehead and your cheeks turned tomato red when the other two men would chuckle and seem like they didn’t even lift a finger. Napoleon often teased you about it and would say “Nunuche, your cheeks look red enough to bite.” (and he secretly did want to kiss them and nibble on them)

Leon couldn’t help but notice the type of food that you ate and he was practically appalled. The man was on a mission to feed you and stuff you, especially after your intense training together. And when he discovered how much of a good cook you were, he was awfully confused. “How is it that a woman of your talent for food cannot feed herself properly? What a nunuche you are.”

If you weren’t spending time together in the training room, you were both most probably in the kitchen, making a mess that Sebastian was going to have a hard time cleaning up on his own. The residents were more than happy that you and Leon spent so much time bonding in the kitchen and cooking together (they got lots of yummy food without even asking for any).

Whenever Leon wasn’t around, Jean was your sparring partner. He was your silent friend and you definitely enjoyed his presence. Even as the man was burdened with such somberness, he was a soothing presence and he appreciated your company as well.

For some reason, Leon feels his chest tighten whenever he sees how close you’ve gotten to his dear friend, Jean. He knows that there is nothing between the two of you but he can’t help but feel a bit jealous. That was when he realized he began developing romantic feelings for you.

He ended up sparring with Jean and the winner would get a kiss from you. In the middle of the fight, he realized that he was on edge and maybe a bit too aggressive. In that moment of hesitation, Jean was able to win (and whispered something in your ear while he left the training room).

Leon was completely unfazed until you meekly walked closer to him, earning you a sly comment “What’s wrong? Has the thought of kissing Jean scared you, nunuche?”. You completely wiped off the smirk off his face when you kissed his cheek and walked away, saying. “Winner decides what to do with their prize. Jean was feeling generous today.”

When Leon noticed that you were cooped up in the mansion for too long without exploring Paris, he took it upon himself to show you around: tasting local delicacies, visiting local monuments and recounting tales of the past.

During your outing, you discovered his side-job which was teaching the less-fortunate children and orphans in Paris. It was a bit hard for you to hold your tears back when you saw their eyes shining with excitement and fascination as Napoleon and Isaac took the time to teach them about the world and give them the knowledge that they needed to survive.

The children loved having you around, looking up to you as their “older sister”, confiding in you and looking for comfort whenever they needed it. They would sometimes come to you for hugs and even take short naps in your arms because they felt very comfortable being near you.

You treated them as equals and not as children (you didn’t necessarily have to be good at dealing with children to be able to support them), just like Napoleon and Isaac did, which made them very fond of you and also the assistant teacher! (Leon would demonstrate how to spar with you and showing the children, both the boys and the girls, how to defend themselves) 

Napoleon would often watch you, without you noticing (but Isaac did notice it and even Jean): whenever you teased and spoke to Arthur, the gentle way you dealt with the children. Appreciation for beauty and he saw you as a flower in full bloom that was hiding in the shadows. He wanted to see you under the bright light of day and marvel at how special you are.

During one of your lessons with the children, it was pouring cats and dogs and there was absolutely no way you would make it to the mansion without getting soaked and sick. Renting the only double room available in a nearby hotel, you decided to spend the night there until the rain subsided.

Your body was shivering almost violently from the cold as Leon tended to the fireplace. He gave you his back while you stripped out of your damp clothes, as he ordered you to (while he also did the same [only removing his top though]). He gathered the cover of his bed and turned around with his eyes closed, wrapping it around you to cover your body and pulled you against his body. He held you tightly in his arms, and hummed in approval  “Les petits ont raison. Your embrace is quite delightful.” (that was more than enough to make you turn beet red)

The next day, the sun was up and illuminating your room, announcing that it was time for you to head back home. Unknowing of Leon’s bad habit, you sat on the edge of his bed and nudged his shoulder to wake him up, only to have him grip your shoulders and pull you down for an unexpected kiss.

Zeta: *squeals and turns red* What was that? Leon: Hm? That was a kiss. Zeta: I know what a kiss is, Leon! What was that for?

Leon: It’s a sign of love and affection, ma belle.

Zeta: ... what exactly are you trying to say?

Leon: Exactly what you think I am.

He sits up and pulls you in for another kiss, a bit longer and a lot sweeter. He cradled your face so gently and kissed you with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes. “Allons-y, mon amour. I’ll make sure you have the thermae all to yourself today.”

Leon was never the type to be clingy but he has a strong protective streak, without being overbearing either. He doesn’t have to be with you 24/7 but he likes to be informed of your whereabouts, to make sure that you are safe and sound.

Considering his past, you couldn’t really blame him for being the way that he is and whenever he tried to apologize to you, shutting him up with a kiss would be the best way to make his heart flutter with happiness. You calmed him and reassured him that there was nothing for him to worry about.

Public Display of Affection is his thing and he likes and wants everyone to know that he is yours and you are his. You are his Queen and this man might have ruled France back in the day, but you were much mightier than he was, since you ruled his heart.

He’ll kiss you every single time he’ll get the chance: on your cheek, your hands, your hair and sneak a kiss on your lips too (especially when he wants to see that gorgeous blush on your cheeks).

NSFW Ahead ~ 

He mostly sweet talks when you’re in bed but says the dirtiest things in the most eloquent way which makes you sometimes giggle out of shyness.

Your first time together, Leon kissed, licked, nipped, explored and tasted every inch of your body before claiming you. He was gentle as he made love to you (and his body lightly trembled with the height of his emotions).

He likes to be playful with you, even when you are getting down and dirty so he sometimes tickles you out of nowhere and ends up laughing together before his fingers find their way between your legs, making you gasp and moan for him.

He enjoys teasing you to no end and makes you say and demand the things you want him to do for you before he actually does them. The sight of you frustrated, trembling and almost furious for his touch is absolutely mesmerizing.

He likes spending some quality time with you in the thermae. Just enjoying the warmth of the water and the vapor cleansing your skin. He would massage your body and help you wash and ask you to do the same for him. He would definitely sneak in a few kisses here and there (and would sometimes turn into heavy make-out sessions or a bit more than that). However, he simply enjoys being physically intimate with you (even without the sex).

Leon doesn’t really moan in bed but his soft grunts and groans are very arousing and enough to make you dripping wet when you’re servicing him.

He could spend the entire night with his head between your legs. He relishes the taste of you and the beautiful sounds that you make.

His favourite place to bite you: your inner thighs and wrists (so you can watch him as he feeds on you and see how much he needs you).

He growls at you whenever you try to cover your mouth or bite your lips, depriving him from hearing the moans ripping from your throat. Your pleasure fuels his so you will absolutely succumb to your desires and his needs.

You sometimes feel like he does it on purpose so that the other residents can hear you and make them know that he is the one responsible for making you lose your wits.

Favourite position

In front of a mirror: he likes to take you from the back while holding you up from your waist so he can have easy access to your neck and also turn your face around for a kiss and stimulate your breasts and clit with his hands. When you’re laying on your back: he loves locking eyes with you, seeing every single reaction you make with each touch of his hand and every thrust that he makes. He likes to have your legs over his shoulders so that he can sink deep into you and stimulate your sensitive nub with his thumb, driving you over the edge multiple times and make you tremble before he reaches his own climax.

He has the most irritating and beautiful smirk on his face when you have trouble walking around the mansion or have to excuse yourself from fencing practice.

His absolute weaknesses:

When you call out his name (whether you’re moaning, whining or just asking for his touch). He adores you more than anything and knowing, feeling and seeing how much you need him and love him in return is enough to make him lose control.

When you initiate physical contact and show any sign of neediness, clinginess, desire/yearning. He intentionally drives you into a state of frustration so that he’s able to see how you would be if you were to take things into your own hands, throw him on the bed and just claim him.

He’s a huge cuddlebug after sex and whispers the sweetest things in your ears before he falls asleep with you cradled in his arms. Your warmth is his safe haven.

Kinks: mirror sex, overstimulation, bondage (mostly blindfolding you and tying your wrist over your head), sensory stimulation (using feathers, arousing your senses with heat and cold [example: ice or melted chocolate]), edging, outdoor sex (where you could get caught).

[keatsblue]

Want a Piece of Me?! - a Kiribaku Baking AU fic, pre-slash.

*** 

It was something he’d picked up from his mother, before she’d gotten too sick.

She’d let him roll out flour-dusted dough into thinned sheets, let him taste a batter mix or two on the tip of her spoon. Whenever he was tasked with packing the buttercream, he’d unerringly return to her with a dollop of icing on the end of his nose. She’d let out a laugh like windchimes as she wiped his face off with a multi-stained washcloth, would murmur, warm against the skin of his cheek as she kissed it—did my little dragon get greedy for some sugar again? Well, here’s some sugar!

Kirishima was her little dragon, and she’d made sure his early life was filled with candied nights and warm bellies, gingerbread castles with marshmallow spires.

After she passed, he kept it up to feel close to her.

He was far from an expert baker, but he knew his way around an oven. His hands were large and not the most suited to handling delicate fondant, but he managed. His arms were strong, good for hefting bags of fresh ingredients.

Pineapple upside-down. Triple-tiered, Italian wedding crème. Chocolate lavender truffles, topping his signature cherry cordial mousse. Delicate macaroons and finicky meringues, mirror glazes so seamless he could see his reflection. Kirishima baked his way through the entire grieving process, inviting his closest friends over for tastings, and he won.

I’m okay, mom.

He wasn’t certain when it had really started, this online business. Mina had actually made the first post, snapped the first photo. He hadn’t expected it to get a single comment.

It got hundreds. Then thousands.

People contacted him, wanting to know how they could make their own cakes look like that.

Kirishima obliged, of course. How could he not? He was going to bake anyway. Might as well help a few other amateur chefs while he was at it!

Mina helped him film. “I discovered you, so I’m your manager for life,” she’d say, with a wink. “Don’t forget about me when you make it big and become a world-famous baker, somewhere.”

World-famous, my ass, he always thought, whenever she’d suggest such a thing. He still made far too many mistakes, for that.

It was okay, most of the time. Many of the people who followed his little baking ‘show’ were more than understanding, and incredibly supportive. When he read their kind comments, it gave him a warm, fluttery kind of feeling—almost like one of his mother’s secure hugs.

There were always those few, though.

He was just getting off the rickety bus that stopped near his neighborhood when he saw it. He almost missed the last step on his way down, stumbling for a few paces as the telltale sound of a screen door sliding shut behind him signaled the bus’s departure.

However, Kirishima wasn’t paying attention to any of that. Instead, his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone, where he’d just called up his latest baking stream.

xxxx: ur cakes suck a**

He frowned down at the comment, checking the timestamp. So, it was just posted a few minutes ago.

Huh.

It was obviously a troll, no doubt about it. They didn’t even have a profile picture to go with the nondescript name. And usually, usually, Kirishima would just let comments like that slide right off his shoulders.

But he’d had a bad day. And it was funny, how something so small could pierce his heart sometimes, a sharp spear to the mighty dragon’s soft underbelly.

It was safe to say, making his way up the rusted-out stairwell to his college-budget apartment took a little more energy than usual. He jammed his key into the lock with punishing force, twisted.

The door swung upon under his palms, and the familiar scent of his home wafted toward him, riding along the sudden gust of warm air escaping. Kirishima was careful to shut the door quickly, before too much of the heat was let out. Breathed in the fruit-sweet smell from his kitchen, so if nothing else, the familiarity of it could ease his scattered mind.

His phone chimed, before he could get too relaxed. When he checked the message ID, though, he couldn’t help but smile.

alienqueen: ughhhhh I hate this asshole already

alienqueen: obviously, he’s never tasted 1 of kiri’s cakes

ducktapes: kiri’s cakes <3 ahhhh my heart

sparksmcgee: dude same, want me 2 get sweet vengeance?

As soon as Kirishima’s smile had appeared, it vanished. He frantically opened the chat, his thumbs too large to type with the speed he needed.

There was no way to tell if Denki was serious. And his friend could do it, too—every day, Kirishima thanked his lucky stars he was on the excitable hacker’s good side.

kiricakes: no need!! it’s just a troll, guys

kiricakes: super manly of you to think of me, though

sparksmcgee: ur too nice, fams

sparkmcgee: guess the troll lives… for now

ducktapes: TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! THERE’S A-

alienqueen: aksnfkasnof

kiricakes: lolllllll

Before long, he was able to lose himself in mindless chatter. The antics of his friends never failed to bring his spirits up. He plugged his phone into one of the few outlets in his crummy apartment, embedded into the wall just over the kitchen counter, so he could continue the conversation even as his battery started to wane.

The hours grew long, though, and time was scarce mid-week for exhausted, assignment-laden college kids. It wasn’t a surprise when Denki soon begged off on some coding or another that he had to re-run, or when Sero and Mina similarly slipped away (they were researching something together for Comparative Physiology, it was all very much over Kirishima’s head). In the end, he was left with only his thoughts, and an empty kitchen.

He locked his phone, and the screen went dark. He could see his reflection in it, baggy eyes and downturned lips. A shock of red hair, which had once been midnight-black.

Like his mother’s.

Kirishima turned his head. In the low light, his appliances gleamed from their shelves. Almost mocking, in a way.

“My cakes don’t suck,” he said, to no one. His grin stretched wide, and he could tell from the burn of it that he was showing far too many of his sharpened teeth. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He set his phone to record, and made another cake. It was triple-tiered, funfetti, because that was the batter mix he had on-hand. He watched the batter rise within his dented iron pans with all the patience of a general considering the battlements—or perhaps, a dragon considering its’ hoard.

Any spare buttercream was packed into a dispensary, silken and primed to hold his creation together. He spliced it evenly between his cakes with a practiced ease, layer after layer.

Then, the whipped frosting. It was a simple recipe, one of the first he’d learned. He worked the whipping cream within a chilled bowl, adding scoop upon scoop of powdered sugar until the mixture obediently began to rise, forming soft peaks.

He made several batches, and then added some orange food coloring to each.

Fuck it. I’m in an orange sort of mood.

His second favorite color, after red.

All that remained was assembly.

… throughout the process, he talked.

Kirishima didn’t typically make a habit of speaking while he baked. He certainly didn’t speak while he recorded, but this—this was a special occasion. Soon, he found himself opening up in front of the camera like never before. He spoke of his mother, briefly. Of his love of baking, and how much he didn’t want to lose that little piece of her he had left.

It was all he had left.

The whipped frosting went on like a dream for him, a smooth and even ombre that when he finished, reminded Kirishima just a bit of an orange sunset. It was soothing, and right, and exactly what he needed.

He didn’t think much of posting the video, largely unedited, to his public account. His was still a small corner of the internet, after all—a solitary baking channel in a sea of thousands. Maybe even millions. How many people would even see it, really?

“Oh, and by the way, can you guys stop saying my cakes look like shit?”

It was only one cake.

With great effort, Kirishima stumbled his way to his bedroom. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, how much all that time in the kitchen had taken out of him.

Before his head even hit the pillow, he was out.

He dreamed of his mother’s sweets, and orange.

***

sparksmcgee: dude wake up

sparksmcgee: wake uppppp

sparksmcgee: KIRI

sparksmcgee: KIRI U GOTTA SEE THIS

sparksmcgee: KIRIIIII

sparksmcgee: fine, ignore me, Mr. Internet Sensation

sparksmcgee: wait I was joking, I was joking!

sparksmcgee: I’ll call u! I’ll do it!!

sparksmcgee: damn it kiri

sparksmcgee: just watch the fuckin’ video

sparksmcgee: https://twitter.com/Simplemachines_/status/1297739774795509761

***

Kirishima groaned, slamming a fist down on top of the source of that incessant beeping. It was too early in the morning for such ear-splitting noise.

But what was done couldn’t be undone. He was awake now, for better or worse.

He cracked one eye open, squinting against the bright blue light of his phone screen. Still bleary-eyed, he scrolled through all of Denki’s messages (seriously, man?) and pressed a thumb over the hyperlink his friend sent. It was probably just some dumb meme—

Wait. Wait.

That was his cake video from last night. And… that wasn’t all.

Some blond guy with an angry face took up the other half of the split screen, but he wasn’t doing anything. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Kirishima blinked. A… reaction video…?

He heard himself begin to speak, to layer the buttercream. Internally, he cringed.

Well. In his defense, he had been having one of those days—

He almost dropped his phone when the blond guy yelled at the top of his lungs.

“WHO WAS MEAN TO YOU?!”

Huh? Was this guy speaking… in Kirishima’s defense?

“WHO SAID YOUR CAKES LOOK LIKE SHIT?! POINT ‘EM OUT!”

Slathering on his nice, ombre whipped frosting, now. The blond guy (who was kinda cute, actually, even with his angry face) continued to watch and listen with rapt attention, occasionally letting out another unholy screech.

The video progressed to the part where Kirishima had begun describing his day, and really, he could’ve kicked himself. It’d just been a math test. He’d been excited at the time, because he’d gotten his grade back and hadn’t completely failed it, but now, he wondered. Who would want to listen to such inane, boring—

“YES! I’M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU, SHITTY HAIR!”

Shitty hair? Inadvertently, he felt the hand that wasn’t currently occupied supporting his phone drift up toward his hairline. He knew he applied a lot of gel, spiked it up on purpose. Surely it didn’t look that bad.

But even with that last comment, the guy had said a lot of nice things. And how manly, to post such a wholesome reaction video, where all the world could see?

His phone beeped again as a message banner flashed across the top of the screen. He opened it with a flick of his finger.

It seemed this time, Denki had messaged in the group chat. He didn’t have long to wonder whether his other friends had seen the video, either, messages were fired at rapid speed.

sparksmcgee: did you see it?!?? I found the guy! Your dream man!

sparksmcgee: his name is **drumroll**

kiricakes: denki, no

ducktapes: denki, YES

sparksmcgee: BAKUGOU KATSUKI, HE’S FROM JAPAN

alienqueen: Kiri go get your mans!!

sparksmcgee: if you want I can also get his credit card

kiricakes: DENKI NO

Bakugou Katsuki. Huh.

As his friends continued to bicker amongst themselves, Kirishima stretched out his limbs. He let out a soft sigh when his shoulders popped, already considering what he would bake himself for breakfast.

Maybe he’d have a slice of orange funfetti. And perhaps as he did, his mind would drift to an angry fan.

One he hoped to meet, someday.

[poppysicle]

some drabble at 12:15 AM

description: yuri talks to victor on the phone about what love is to him, as reference for him to understand his feelings about a certain boy who’s name starts with o and ends with k

also this is my first time even writing about otayuri and i think the ship is pretty cute okay but yeah, oops.

the time on the small, clock that stood in the darkness on the bed side table read 2:45 AM. victor didn’t know why he was awake at a time like this, especially with practice in the morning. he shifted his head to find yuuri’s body pressed into him, his head tucked into the middle of victor’s bare back. the younger man was sleeping soundly, victor smiled fondly and shifted off the bed carefully. 

since he was up, he might as well get a drink. adjusting the blankets back onto his sleeping lover, victor grabbed his phone off the charger and slipped into a pair of sweats that belonged to yuuri (it was left on the floor by accident in his offense). 

heading out of the room to not disturb yuuri’s slumber. once in the kitchen, victor placed his phone down on the island and opened the fridge. being blinded by the bright light, he grasped for the bottle of water on the side and shutting it. 

victor unlocked his phone, greeted with a message that had been sent not too long ago. 

yuri - u up? 

the message was sent about five minutes ago, victor realized he didn’t put his vibration back on after seeing a film with yuuri for their date last night. victor decided to reply, curious about why the teenager texted him this late.

victor - yeah, what’s up? 

he chugged after the bottle before his phone went off this time and he unlocked it to read. 

yuri - can i call you and ask you something? 

yuri wants to call him? out of all the people in the world? 

now victor was extremely curious, he glanced down the hallway to find nothing before pressing the call button and bringing the phone to his ear. it rung a couple times before there was a shuffle of what sounded like the other side picked up.

“hey,” yuri murmured, victor smiled graciously.

“hi, yurio. something on your mind?”

there was a slight scowl at the end of the phone line after victor saying the given nickname, “i wanted to ask you something.”

“shoot then.” victor replied, wandering into the living space to sit comfortably on the couch with his water bottle on the coffee table.

the apartment was quiet, victor prayed he wasn’t going to wake his poor yuuri that was still tired from today’s practice and antics. yuri collected himself, huffing in annoyance at what seems to be himself. victor let him take his time during the few minutes of comfortable silence between the skaters.

“can you- can you like tell me what you think love is?”

“love?”

yuri paused, “yeah. the mushy stuff you feel for katsudon.”

“oh, that kind of love!” victor grinned, “why?”

“can you just tell me?” the young boy replied, victor could hear his eye roll and chuckled softly.

“alright, alright. when you mean what i think love is, are you asking me to describe what i feel for yuuri?”

“kinda, in a way.”

victor pulled his lips into a tight line but let it go, he’s only 16 and he’s still got a long way to go. plus, talking about yuuri to yuri is a once in a lifetime chance and best believe he will take it. the russian got comfortable on the couch, laying back on the pillow away from the hallway he hoped yuuri wouldn’t come from.

“okay, i can work with that.”

yuri didn’t reply, only waiting for what victor had to say. victor put his phone on speaker, setting it down on his chest as he stared into the ceiling above him. collecting all the memories about yuuri since day one and it caused a smile to quirk from his lips.

“one of the best things i have ever gotten out of loving him is that i have discovered my own definition of love.” victor started carefully, not hesitating his words. “love is different for everyone and it’s rare that you find someone that is the whole idea that you have in mind. it’s an interesting process because it can either be one of the best things that has ever happened to you or break you into a million pieces. but no matter what, love is beautiful. in any shape or form.”

“something i have grown to love about yuuri is the entirety of who we are as a whole, it isn’t victor and yuuri. it’s more victorandyuuri. if you catch my drift, it’s as if we are one person together and i love that. i love that he is the one who could sign my hospital documents with ease and remember my order at restaurants without having to ask and reminding me of tasks and goals i have in mind. love is support.”

“there are times i wonder how i was able to live without love, how i was able to push it aside with a problem. yuuri makes it so hard to push it aside, he makes it worth something. having someone who makes anything worth it in the end is amazing, it makes you feel powerful knowing that you have that person by your side to guide you physically and mentally while you do the same for them.”

“love is a two person job, never has it ever been one person does it all,” victor coughed quietly and continued his words. “love is being able to connect with each other and not have a problem with it. discussing problems and coming up with a solution. never giving up no matter the circumstances. because love involves trust and trust involves working together.”

“things are hard to explain when speaking about love, yuri. i hope you know that because everyone has it different whether it be yuuri and i, sara and michele, or otabek and you.” the older man heard a soft huff and let it go to keep talking. “it’s different but that’s what is unique about love. no one has the same type of love. it’s all individual.”

“i could go on about the differences but i think i know where this is going. love to me, personally, is life. i feel so much positive energy around yuuri everyday. i feel as if i am the luckiest man in the world the moment he wakes up next to me. i am on cloud 9 when i go to the rink with him. i look forward to living each day knowing he is going to be there with me all the time, he is my muse. my love. my entire soul.”

victor paused to see if yuri was still there, “a very important thing about love, love is home. it’s the absolute comfort that you can go anywhere with that person whether it be to the grocery store, a movie theater, competitions, or a new country. it will always feel like home because they are there. which is beautiful in my opinion,” victor sighed with a soft laugh. “god, i’m so in love. i hate that i didn’t meet yuuri sooner.”

“yuri..” victor whispered quietly and felt the question on the tip of his tongue, “do you like someone.”

“what makes you think that?” yuri finally spoke up, victor hummed in content while shutting his eyes.

“i don’t know, why would you be asking me this question?”

“i-” yuri stopped his words, letting silence fill the room. all victor could hear was the soft snores by the dining room table where makkachin slept in the bed that yuuri got them as a gift on christmas. yuri shuffled again, the noise in the phone ringing victor’s ears. “i like someone, yeah.”

a smile grew leathily on victor’s face, “who?”

“you know him.”

“otabek, right?”

the phone on the other line sounded like it dropped, the russian heard a few cuss words in russian making him chuckle.

“how do you know?”

“i didn’t.”

“what?”

he bit down on his lip before speaking up, “a few days ago. yuuri asked me about otabek, wondering what your status was with him since he came to visit you for the week last week? yuuri suspected something between you because of the way otabek looked at you.”

a stutter from yuri caused victor to laugh, “what is that katsudon being nosy about?”

“is he not wrong?” victor asked amused, yuri hushed after.

“so what? i happen to like him, yeah. i don’t know what to do though.”

“how do i just tell him? what if he-”

“-yuri! otabek probably likes you. i am 100 percent sure of it, take it from yuuri. that man knows it all.” victor murmured, hearing pattering of feet on the floor.

his eyes shot open to find yuuri standing at the hallway arc, wearing victor’s shirt and tight briefs. yuuri rubbed his eye sleepily, his bed head everywhere. victor noticed yuuri’s mouth open slightly, but it was cut off but yuri’s words.

“everytime i am around beka, i get nervous. my hands get sweaty and my body gets really hot. i never had that problem before, especially around people i am close with.” yuri started with a sigh, “he’s my first actual best friend and i don’t want to ruin it. but every time i see him, i feel like you when you’re around yuri. i want to hold his hand and kiss his stupid face and see him smile.”

yuuri paused to process the thing going on, victor held the phone up and put his fingers on his lips. he motioned his lap, yuuri walked over carefully to plop down on victor’s lap and curl into his body. his hands around him, cozying up with him. 

“that’s not weird at all,” victor replied, “people have that happen all the time when they make friends.”

“yeah but it’s different, i have never liked someone before. i don’t know what you’re suppose to do or say. beka is great, i want to see him all the time and talk to him whenever we have a chance.”

“tell him, you won’t regret it.”

the younger boy spoke weakly, “what if i do?”

yuuri picked his head up to face victor, their eyes both shocked by the sound of how vulnerable yuri spoke to him. they stayed quiet as it sounded like yuri was going to continue speaking.

“i really like otabek, i actually want to love him too. but, i am so nervous to tell him. should i just do it?”

victor smiled with empathy, “why don’t you do it the next time you see him in person? aren’t you going to almaty to spend time with him for the week as well soon? tell him then.”

“you think so?”

“do it for yuuri, he’d be proud.”

victor pressed a soft kiss on yuuri’s temple, smiling when yuri groaned.

“you guys aren’t my parents.”

“we could be, if you’d just let us.”

yuri thought a moment, “thanks for.. for talking to me about this.”

“anytime, if you need anything from yuuri and i. let us know, okay?”

“okay.”

the phone call ended, victor set his phone on the coffee table and wrapped his arms around his lover. yuuri pressed a soft kiss on his jawline, peering at him in the darkness.

“what are you doing up?”

“i woke up on accident so i came out here to get a drink but then yuri said he wanted to talk.”

yuuri smiled, embracing victor in his arms and sighed happily. they sat together in a comfortable silence until victor tapped yuuri’s thighs, he complied and wrapped his legs around his waist. the russian hoisted the both of them up together, gripping yuuri’s thighs securely as he walked back into the bedroom.

“i heard you, you know?” yuuri whispered into his ear, sending a chill down victor’s spine.

“all of it?”

“all of it,” yuuri replied without missing a beat.

“good,” victor whispered, laying yuuri down on the bed and stroking his cheek fondly, “cause it’s all true.”

[solotheloso]

A BOON BARELY GIVEN - CH. 4

When I woke, the storm was still raging and the sky so deeply clouded that at first I thought I had slept through to the evening. My phone read only a few minutes past 1:00 p.m., which was a little early for me. Left to its own devices, my body is happy to lie in a near-comatose state for half a day, but sacrifices are to be expected when you’re on the job.

It took just over a half an hour for me to drag myself out of my stupor. My exertion last night had ensured that, by the time I reached my apartment, I was far too exhausted to think about anything but falling into bed. I’m normally fastidious when it comes to personal hygiene, so the realization that I had laid in sweat and grime for the entire night sent chills up my spine. I took an especially long shower and went about my morning routine, but not before depositing my soiled clothes in the trash and the shrine watcher’s skull fragment in a double-sealed sandwich bag.

My apartment was simple but well-suited to my needs, a one bedroom unit located high above the ground on the fifth floor. The building itself was old and of sturdy construction, one of the first structures that had been built with modern techniques when the city made the switch from single-family houses to multi-story tenements. Bare brick walls and wrought iron were practically everywhere, attractive complements to the age-polished wood floors. It gave off an intensely nostalgic vibe, which you could consider odd, given that the area I had grown up in was strongly French Colonial. The only reason I was able to afford such a place was due to its location overlooking a rather unattractive abandoned lot behind the building. That, and what I suspect was a murder-suicide some time in the past five years. I did always get strange feelings from the hall closet.

I prepared a simple breakfast in the kitchen: eggs, a bagel and a huge mug of coffee. Like much of the apartment, the room was spotless and meticulously organized, everything in its proper place. It had little in common with my office. That space took up most of my living room, two card tables and a rickety stool set against the wall with windows bathing the area in natural light. It was strewn with scraps of paper, half-filled notebooks and uncategorized junk. Any other adult mage worth half their salt would be horrified by the chaos in my work area, but I found that it suited my improvisational style rather well; I had never been one for formulae and rote memorization.

I took a seat and tucked into my breakfast. While I ate, I examined the skull fragment again. It was charred and blackened, barely resembling the typical white of human bone. Portions of it were brittle and others threatened to turn to dust at the slightest provocation. I had taken it from the ridge of bone above the eye socket, close to the frontal lobe, the seat of reason. This kind of association was good for magical purposes since it lent the object a special significance that I wouldn’t have gotten as strongly as something from the cheekbone or back of the skull. If I were so inclined, I could use it to lay a curse on one of the owner’s living relatives; something involving forgetfulness or even dementia would be entirely reasonable. This time, however, I had a different goal in mind.

I finished my meal and pushed the plate aside. A small lockbox just to my side contained several small objects, one of which I took and placed on the plastic surface of the table. It was a small disc of supple leather, originally a light pink but stained with a patina of age and some unidentifiable yellowish substance. It was human skin. I had discreetly ‘inherited’ the thing from an uncle. It and the other objects in the lockbox were universally things that I would most certainly not want to be caught with (by mages or otherwise), and with that in mind I had laid a spell on the container to burn the contents if I ever failed to touch it at least once every two days or someone else touched it at all. It wouldn’t stop someone from discovering it in the first place, but it would definitely keep the evidence out of their hands.

I pulled the bone fragment from its baggie and set it gently in the center of the leather disc, which I then slowly rotated until a tiny mark on the outer rim faced due north. Now that the construct was prepared, I could feel a dark warmth radiating from the objects, a mana field that brought to mind the taste of copper and a suffocating redness. As with every time I used this kind of magic, there was a vague feeling of intoxication, almost like the pleasant buzz one gets from just the right amount of alcohol. I fought off the feeling as I always did, refusing to be pulled into its grip, and focused on the bone fragment. The construct was a form of anthropomancy, divination powered through human blood and flesh. While there was no overarching authority in the world of magic, most clans frowned upon human-fueled magic at the very least. If I were caught at it, the only trial I would be likely to get would be at the wrong end of a bullet. Considering the monsters that had flourished before execution became a matter of course, I couldn’t exactly blame them.

Almost twenty minutes of deep concentration followed. I was beginning to think that the whole process was a bust until I started to feel the faint metaphysical sparking that signified a newly formed magical connection. The construct was working, the spell churning along at full force. With a surge of energy that tingled from the crown of my skull to the bottoms of my toes and back again, an image rushed into my mind’s eye. The image was a face. I saw the shrine keeper as he was in the last days before his death, a haggard visage of a white man somewhere between forty-five and sixty, cheeks hollowed and eyes sunken by months of lost meals and forsaken sleep. Oily hair hung limply over his eyes, which themselves seemed to fit a corpse better than a living man. His sharp cheekbones and stern nose meant he could have been considered quite handsome if it weren’t for his state.

Another, smaller jolt brought me a second chunk of information: the sound of the man’s name. Augustus Varga. I quickly scribbled it down before it could fade from my mind. The image of his face would likely remain for a while; for me, faces are always easier to remember than names. Just after I finished, the bone fragment swiftly crumbled into dust, which itself seemed to vaporize into thin air. Consumption of the reagent was an unfortunately common byproduct of any spell, especially those where said reagent was bodily remains.

I put the leather disc back into the lockbox and moved over to my couch, where the laptop was sitting plugged into its charger. I kept the thing on hand more for utility than entertainment, but even so, most nights I found myself crawling through bunk amateur websites dedicated to cryptids or magical minutiae. Or watching movies. Hey, despite my otherwise stoic lifestyle, I’m as human as anyone else.

I utilized the wonderful world of modern technology in an attempt to find the deceased shrine watcher. Luckily, his name was fairly unique as far as those go-- at least in this country-- so it only took a few quick searches to find him. I found myself looking at the company website for a local chain of convenience stores (Go-Rite!, the cheerful yellow logo exclaimed), a photo of a smiling and healthy Augustus Vargas staring back at me. My initial suspicions had been spot on: He was a handsome individual, possessed of bright grey eyes and that rare sort of charisma that was somehow innate to the structure of his face and his expressions; he gave the impression of a close family friend, or perhaps a trusted professor. There was no trace of the tormented obsession that my spell had shown me. The photo labeled him as the owner and operator of the chain, yet he wore a bright blue polo shirt labeled with the company’s logo rather than one of the drab suits typical to management types. The shirt was pressed but slightly faded and a tiny stain marred the collar, which told me one of two things: either he was the hardworking type that got his hands dirty alongside his employees, or some poor schmuck had been forced to lend out his work uniform.

Given that I hadn’t found any clues as to the identity of the fool who had trashed the shrine, my best bet now was tracing out every possible angle on this. The most prominent was Augustus himself. It might be beneficial for me to take a look at his old life and scope out any possible clues as to the culprit, if there was any connection at all. I’m no investigator or cop, but there was little else I could have done at that point. Ten million procedural crime dramas couldn’t be wrong, right?

I took out my phone and dialed the number I found on the website’s contact page. It rang a full six times before someone picked up. The woman at the other end sounded frazzled and forcefully cheery, like someone who had just run a marathon and been told to smile like her life depended on it. “Go-Rite!, this is Eveline speaking, how can I help you?”

I adopted a polite and chipper tone. “Hi, Eveline, may I speak to Mr. Vargas?”

The girl hesitated, and when she spoke it sounded wary. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Vargas is unavailable. Can I ask what this is about?”

“Do you know when he’ll be in?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t seen him in a while… sorry, what do you need to speak to him for?” She was starting to sound suspicious. It would be wise to ease the tension a bit.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I put an upward lilt into the end of each sentence to give my speech a bit of a bubble vibe.  “I’m not a telemarketer or anything. My name is Brenda, I spoke with Mr. Vargas a few weeks ago about buying a used TV. He was selling it on Craigslist and getting a new one, and the number he listed on the email he sent me was the one I just called?”

Eveline sounded immediately exasperated, but to her credit she didn’t hang up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vargas isn’t here right now, can you call back later?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t want someone else to get to it before me! Mine broke and I have just been dying without my shows. Do you have, like, a home number or something?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before she spoke. I could hear clattering in the background. Apparently she decided that getting me off the phone in a hurry was more important than any potential violations of her boss’ privacy. “Fine,” she acquiesced. “Do you have a pen?”

She gave me the number and I thanked her happily, then hung up. It took a moment for me to shake out the Valley Girl. Never a pleasant experience. It was a matter of minutes to find the address associated with the number online. With that done, I leaned back into the couch and blew out a breath, massaging at my neck where a mother of a headache was starting to take root. I glanced at the paper in my hand with Augustus’ information written on it. “Not great,” I murmured, “but it’s a start.”

[ecotone99]

[FN] In The Land Of Winged Purple Tigers

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.” — Philip K. Dick, I Hope I Shall Arrive Soon

I open the door and quietly sneak in, here it is! The wardrobe stands in front of me. It has taken 17 years of labor and toiling across five continents, during which I had to unravel and decode yellow faded journals of previous explorers. For most of these difficult years, my lease on life was never really long and sometimes very short. At least twice I saw death eye to eye, once when I was chased by a Rhino in Botswana and a few years later a Yak made me do a dash across a frozen lake in Tibet . . . and Emily left me as my obsession with C.S Lewis was not really helping her. However, now it seems I am closer to my goal than ever before.

I take a pause, a long breath and revel in the silence of that short moment of self-appreciation. I open my notebook, only to realise that I don’t need to take any more notes, I close it with a smile. Narnia! … here I come.

Did C.S Lewis knew about the reality of this world? his stories were probably reconstructed from the journals of the explorers that he may have got his hands on. I am more than sure that after the valiant attempt by Don Perignon [1] of Andalusia and his assistant Cheval Blanc in 1737, no one has dared to venture into Narnia, until of course yours truly came to the scene. The journals I found in Barcelona had a lot about El-Dorado and no mention of Narnia. Four years later, I met Running Tamarin, the Quechua chieftain at the banks of Lake Titicaca in Bolivia. He told me that ‘Nar-Neae’ in the Chepolas script which is an ancient long forgotten tongue used by a race prior to the Olmecs, and El-Dorado found in the chronicles of the conquistadors mean nearly the same – the city of promises.

I am not sure, what is to follow next. Will I come across a talking lion or a white witch? I open the wardrobe and see a speck of light at some distance, is it the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Undaunted, the daring adventurer in me takes the leading steps to walk into this world. After about 200 meters of somehow gripping the wall, peering into the darkness and uneasily walking towards the light, the blurring clears and the first sight seems to echo the settings of an arid landscape, a far cry from chilly Narnia. I am standing upon a plateau, about 20 meters from the ground level. It is rather dry and it looks like a desert dotted with a tree or two at regular intervals. The trees seem to glitter – is it magic or just a new type of vegetation? The sky in this world is also blue, and it is morning with a cloud or two. Can I see a sun? I turn my head in anticipation – there and there! Two suns … this world has two suns, one big and the other about a third of that. Two suns – am I at Tatooine? Did I just walk into the Star Wars universe? I muster up courage, walk the first few steps and come across a winding stairway which seems to take me down the plateau and towards the desert. I walk down and after about 100 odd stairs made of bright red bricks I am pleasantly surprised to find a road with yellow tiles. The trees have glitter on their leaves and branches and many of them have Christmas decorations. This seems straight out of a dream – I stomp my foot, nod my head and take a long breath – it is all real, no hallucinations.

I proceed with eagerness on the road. Not just the trees, the yellow tiles also look magical and once I step on them they start to glow. The air smells of Almonds, yet there are no Almond trees. So where am I? Is it the land of Oz, am I on the trail of the yellow brick road? Baum wins the crown and not Lewis? Didn’t Dorothy land up in Oz when she accidentally fell through the portal at Kansas? While I took the …

Just imagine if I have indeed crossed over a portal, and this is Mars . . . Barsoom [2] and I am a new age John Carter or more like Matt Damon – the Martian. The gravity doesn’t feel like that and the trees look more earthly than “marsly” or should it be “mars-like” . . . we soon may have to invent a new vocabulary for vegetation, animal life and geographical features of this newly discovered planet, keeping in mind to refer it to a known object or concept in the Earth vocabulary. For example, if I were to come across an aggressive animal with purple skin, big teeth, a tail and a pair of wings, if I am left alive I would document my experience of a winged purple tiger. In time this exotic animal may find a name of its own . . . ‘Volaticus Purpura Tigris’ [3]. A new world – a new language, at least some of it.

. . . maybe not Matt Damon, rather Ryan Gosling or Jake Gyllenhaal, now let us not get ahead of myself. If this place is indeed my destiny then soon I will be famous, else this can also be a dead end. As of now, I am not even sure if this is a flat piece of land or another sphere like Earth . . . correction – Earth is an oblate spheroid. Sometimes it seems that I am indeed an actor in a movie – a Buzz Lightyear toy in a synthetic world of someone’s sadistic delight.

Narnia, Tatooine, Oz and now Barsoom! Where am I? Where are the people? Did Cortez and Pizzaro come down this path, plunder the population, take all the gold and sail off to Spain? but . . .

As this monologue continues in my head, I look around and then think that I may well be in a world where people are micro-sized – an extreme version of Lilliput. If this is true, then probably by now I have already murdered a few million of the unfortunate inhabitants. In sheer shock and awe I stop and lift up my foot – no, nothing there . . . nothing that meets the eye. Are there any insects? microbial life? If there are trees there have to be insects, bees, butterflies . . . or, are these grown out of magic. I look around.

. . . and then, on the horizon, I see a big bird ferociously flapping its wings. No, it is a dragon! heavens I think to myself. A dragon and it has a rider, a woman with golden locks. Is it . . . Khaleesi? I am surprised and at the same time aghast. In no time the dragon is right above me. I looked up at Khaleesi and our eyes meet . . . and she shouts loud, “Dracarys” and the dragon immediately sends out a long stream of fire in my direction. I run! and there is soon another stream of fire which narrowly misses me! I run faster, I reach the edge of the road and clamber up about 20 steps of the stairway. If Gulliver’s spirit got me to this fantasy land, then for sure Usain Bolt’s has me running out of it.

The dragon chases me till the edge of the road and then stops rather abruptly where the yellow tiles end. As I fumble on the staircase made of red bricks I see that it is no more interested in me, as though it is contained by a magic spell and cannot proceed beyond the yellow tiles. Khaleesi pats her dragon and it turns back as I climb up the staircase.

My heart beats like drums, and there is a tingling sensation in my calf muscles. I slowly walk back to the tunnel. It is not Narnia, it may be some weird concocted version of Westeros. A play with my senses and the twisted truth of reality. The tunnel ends and I walk out of the wardrobe. I have come back alive – and that does matter – G.R.R Martin kills his characters, and this time he killed a dream – no promise in the city of promises.

FOOTNOTE

[1] : Not to be confused with Benedictine monk Pierre Perignon (1638 – 1715) who was also known as Dominus Perignon

[2] : Alternate name for Mars in Burroughs’ novel

[3] : Winged Purple Tiger (from Latin to English)

Note : This is a very short (~1450 words) story about an explorer who has apparently discovered Narnia. The writing attempts to seek into the mind of the explorer, the streams of thoughts which brought him here, the quest which was more an obsession and the various inquiries which come to his mind as he takes his first steps into this fantasy world. His explorations and inquiry end on a bitter-sweet note, as he is chased away by a dragon. This is my first attempt at meta-fiction and was written over a number of sittings from September to November of 2017.

More at my blog, https://gaffingaround.wordpress.com

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[kathleenseiber]

How fast is the universe expanding? Depends who you ask

As the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory (LIGO) turns back on April 1, scientists are preparing to get data that could shed light on some of the universe’s biggest questions.

On the morning of Aug. 17, 2017, after traveling for more than a hundred million years, the aftershocks from a massive collision in a galaxy far, far away finally reached Earth.

These ripples in the fabric of spacetime, called gravitational waves, tripped alarms at two ultra-sensitive detectors called LIGO, sending texts flying and scientists scrambling. One of the scientists was Daniel Holz, a professor in the astronomy and astrophysics and physics departments at the University of Chicago.

The discovery gave him the information he needed to make a groundbreaking new measurement of one of the most important numbers in astrophysics: the Hubble constant, which is the rate at which the universe is expanding.

The Hubble constant holds the answers to big questions about the universe, like its size, age, and history, but the two main ways to determine its value have produced significantly different results. Now there was a third way, which could resolve one of the most pressing questions in astronomy—or it could solidify the creeping suspicion, held by many in the field, that there is something substantial missing from our model of the universe.

“In a flash, we had a brand-new, completely independent way to make a measurement of one of the most profound quantities in physics,” says Holz. “That day I’ll remember all my life.”

Questioning the universe

We’ve known the universe is expanding for a long time (ever since eminent astronomer Edwin Hubble made the first measurement of the expansion in 1929, in fact) but in 1998, scientists were stunned to discover that the rate of expansion is not slowing as the universe ages, but actually accelerating over time. In the following decades, as they tried to precisely determine the rate, it has become apparent that different methods for measuring the rate produce different answers.

One of the two methods measures the brightness of supernovae—exploding stars—in distant galaxies; the other looks at tiny fluctuations in the cosmic microwave background, the faint light left over from the Big Bang.

Scientists have been working for two decades to boost the accuracy and precision for each measurement, and to rule out any effects that might be compromising the results; but the two values still stubbornly disagree by almost 10 percent.

A neutron star collision causes detectable ripples in the fabric of spacetime, which are called gravitational waves. (Credit: Aurore Simonnet)

Because the supernova method looks at relatively nearby objects, and the cosmic microwave background is much more ancient, it’s possible that both methods are right—and that something profound about the universe has changed since the beginning of time.

“We don’t know if one or both of the other methods have some kind of systematic error, or if they actually reflect a fundamental truth about the universe that is missing from our current models,” says Holz. “Either is possible.”

Holz saw the possibility for a third, completely independent way to measure the Hubble constant—but it would depend on a combination of luck and extreme feats of engineering.

‘Standard sirens’

In 2005, Holz wrote a paper with Scott Hughes of Massachusetts Institute of Technology suggesting that it would be possible to calculate the Hubble constant through a combination of gravitational waves and light. They called these sources “standard sirens,” a nod to “standard candles”, which refers to the supernovae used to make the Hubble constant measurement.

But first it would take years to develop technology that could pick up something as ephemeral as ripples in the fabric of spacetime. That’s LIGO: a set of enormous, extremely sensitive detectors tuned to pick up the gravitational waves that are emitted when something big happens somewhere in the universe.

The Aug. 17, 2017 waves came from two extremely heavy neutron stars, which had spiraled around and around each other in a faraway galaxy before finally slamming together at close to the speed of light. The collision sent gravitational waves rippling across the universe and also released a burst of light, which telescopes on and around Earth picked up.

Prof. Daniel Holz writes out the formula for the Hubble constant, which measures the rate at which the universe is expanding. (Credit: U. Chicago)

That burst of light was what sent the scientific world into a tizzy. LIGO had picked up gravitational wave readings before, but all the previous ones were from collisions of two black holes, which conventional telescopes can’t see.

But they could see the light from the colliding neutron stars, and the combination of waves and light unlocked a treasure trove of scientific riches. Among them were the two pieces of information Holz needed to make his calculation of the Hubble constant.

How does it work?

To make this measurement of the Hubble constant, you need to know how fast an object—like a newly collided pair of neutron stars—is receding away from Earth, and how far away it was to begin with. The equation is surprisingly simple. It looks like this: The Hubble constant is the velocity of the object divided by the distance to the object, or H=v/d.

Somewhat counterintuitively, the easiest part to calculate is how fast the object is moving. Thanks to the bright afterglow the collision caused, astronomers could point telescopes at the sky and pinpoint the galaxy where the neutron stars collided.

Then they can take advantage of a phenomenon called redshift: As a faraway object moves away from us, the color of the light it’s giving off shifts slightly towards the red end of the spectrum. By measuring the color of the galaxy’s light, they can use this reddening to estimate how fast the galaxy is moving away from us. This is a century-old trick for astronomers.

The more difficult part is getting an accurate measure of the distance to the object. This is where gravitational waves come in. The signal the LIGO detectors pick up gets interpreted as a curve, like this:

The signal the LIGO detector in Louisiana picked up as it caught the waves from two neutron stars colliding far away in space forms a distinctive curve. (Credit: LIGO)

The shape of the signal tells scientists how big the two stars were and how much energy the collision gave off. By comparing that with how strong the waves were when they reached Earth, they could infer how far away the stars must have been.

The initial value from just this one standard siren came out to be 70 kilometers (just under 43.5 miles) per second per megaparsec. That’s right in between the other two methods: The supernova method finds about 73 (just over 45 miles) kilometers per second per megaparsec and the cosmic microwave background finds 67 (just over 41.5 miles) kilometers per second per megaparsec.

Of course, that’s only a single data point. But the LIGO detectors are turning back on after an upgrade to boost their sensitivity. While nobody knows precisely how often neutron stars collide, Holz co-wrote a paper estimating that the gravitational wave method may provide a revolutionary, extremely precise measurement of the Hubble constant within five years.

“As time goes on, we’ll observe more and more of these binary neutron star mergers, and use them as standard sirens to steadily improve our estimate of the Hubble constant. Depending on where our value falls, we might confirm one method or the other. Or we might find an entirely different value,” Holz says.

“No matter what we find, it’s gonna be interesting—and will be an important step in learning more about our universe.”

Source: University of Chicago

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How fast is the universe expanding? Depends who you ask published first on https://triviaqaweb.weebly.com/

[thebibliophagist]

Way back in 2015, I did Perpetual Page Turner’s end-of-year book survey.  I could have sworn I also did it last year, but I guess I didn’t!  Here are this year’s answers.  I’d love to know your thoughts as well.  Feel free to shoot me a message!

Number of books you read: 140! Number of re-reads: 1 Genre you read the most from: romance

1. Best book you read in 2017?  Hands down, The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. 2. Book you were excited about and thought you were going to love more but didn’t? The Fortunate Ones by R.S. Grey. 3. Most surprising (in a good or bad way) book you read? Maybe Kissing Max Holden by Katy Upperman?  I thought it was going to be a cutesy book about a romance between neighbors but it really just ends up being about a guy cheating on his girlfriend. 4. Book you pushed the most people to read? I don’t think I’ve really pushed a lot of books this year, but I do incessantly recommend anything by Krista & Becca Ritchie. 5. Best series you started in 2017? I mostly read standalones this year, but I could definitely go with Krista & Becca Ritchie’s new Like Us series. 6. Best sequel of 2017? Again with the Ritchies... Infini for sure. 7. Best series ender of 2017? Our Dark Duet by Victoria Schwab. 8. Favorite new author you discovered in 2017? R.S. Grey. 9. Best book from a genre you don’t typically read? Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur. 10. Most action-packed/thrilling/unputdownable book of the year? I don’t read a lot of books that fit that description, but I did have a hard time putting S.D. Grimm’s Summoner down, so we’ll go with that. 11. Book you read in 2017 that you’re most likely to re-read next year? I don’t do re-reads unless required. 12. Favorite cover of a book you read in 2017? A Million Junes by Emily Henry. 13. Most memorable character of 2017? Farrow Keene from the Like Us series. 14. Most beautifully written book read in 2017? I know it’s a really polarizing book, but I loved E. Lockhart’s writing in We Were Liars. 15. Most thought-provoking or life-changing book of 2017? Hmm, what a question. Maybe We Should All Be Feminists? 16. Book you can’t believe you waited until 2017 to finally read? I read a lot of 2017 and 2018 releases and not a lot of older books, but I could probably go with either Brown Girl Dreaming or Everything, Everything. 17. Favorite passage or quote from a book you read in 2017? This is not a deep or thought-provoking passage, but I loved this line in My Lady Jane since it was such a funny Monty Python reference: “Who are you calling beef-witted?” she laughed at him. “Your mother was a hamster, and your father stank of elderberries!” 18. Shortest and longest books of 2017? According to Goodreads, my shorted was To Cast a Cliche by Aubrey Wynne (15 pages) and my longest was Second Chance Seal by BB Hamel (712 pages).  There’s no way that book was 712 pages, though, so I’m going with A Conjuring of Light by V.E. Schwab (624 pages). 19. Book that shocked you the most (plot twist, character death, etc)? All the Bright Places.  See below. 20. OTP OF THE YEAR -- I will go down with this ship: Luka Kotova and Baylee Wright in Infini. Give me all of the pining from afar. 21. Favorite non-romantic relationship of the year? The Hale/Meadows/Cobalt siblings in the Like Us series! 22. Favorite book you read in 2017 from an author you’ve read previously? I’m so sorry but I have to do Infini again. 23. Best book you read in 2017 that you chose solely based on a recommendation from someone else or peer pressure? The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice & Virtue by Mackenzi Lee. 24. Newest fictional crush from a book you read in 2017? Davis Price from Arm Candy or Julian Lefray from The Allure of Julian Lefray. 25. Best 2017 debut? The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. It’s the best book I’ve read in years. 26. Best worldbuilding or most vivid setting you read this year? Maybe 27 Hours by Tristina Wright?  I didn’t read a lot of books this year that really needed a lot of worldbuilding. 27. Book that put a smile on your face or was the most fun to read? My Lady Jane by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, and Jodi Meadows. 28. Book that made you cry or nearly cry in 2017? So I actually very rarely cry while reading, but a ton of books just decimated my heart this year.  The Fortunate Ones by R.S. Grey, A Conjuring of Light by V.E. Schwab, and All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven immediately come to mind. 29. Hidden gem of the year? I’ll call this hidden because I haven’t brought it up a lot -- Operation Prom Date by Cindi Madsen. 30. Book that crushed your soul? Ugh, definitely A Conjuring of Light by V.E. Schwab. I’m still not over Holland and it’s been months! 31. Most unique book you read in 2017? Probably The Passion of Dolssa by Julie Berry. It’s not often that you find a YA novel set in Inquisition-era France that focuses on a young woman who hears the voice of God. 32. Book that made you the most mad? All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven.  I think the author had good intentions, but the book was really irresponsible. I wrote a really detailed review if you’re interested.

1. New favorite book blog you discovered in 2017? I’ve been following the same handful of book blogs for years, but I did recently start following girlxoxo, which has been a lot of fun. 2. Favorite review you wrote in 2017? I’ve written 140 book reviews this year (possibly more, because I was a little delayed at reviewing book from the end of 2016) so this is a really hard question! I think my spoiler-filled, semi-ranty, essay-length review of A Conjuring of Light is probably my favorite. I got so emotional about that book. The thought of Holland still breaks my heart.  Here we go again... 3. Best discussion or non-review post that you had on your blog? According to my blog stats, it’s my top ten anticipated releases for the second half of 2017. 4. Best event that you participated in (author signings, festivals, virtual events, memes)? I don’t do a lot of events because of social anxiety, but I’m trying! I joined Krista & Becca Ritchie’s Fizzle Force and try to participate in the events there.  I would love to go to a signing but I feel like I’d probably just clam up and forget how to speak. 5. Best moment of bookish/blogging life in 2017? Alright, there are two. First was getting an ARC of Renegades by Marissa Meyer, which was totally unexpected and totally awesome. Second was that publishes and authors started reaching out and offering me ARCs this year, which was also totally unexpected and totally awesome. 6. Most challenging thing about blogging or your reading life this year? Definitely moving! It took up so much time and so much effort! I don’t think I read anything for at least a month. 7. Most popular post this year on your blog? My review of Renegades by Marissa Meyer! 8. Post you wish got a little more love? Probably Top Ten Tuesdays in general. I love doing these lists and I usually end up putting a lot of time and effort into them.  Sometimes they’re hits and sometimes they get literally zero attention. 9. Best bookish discovery (sites, stores, etc)? Probably booko, which compares prices between major retailers, and bookoutlet, which has huge discounts on popular titles. 10. Did you complete any reading challenges or goals that you had set for yourself at the beginning of this year? Yes! I completed my goal of reading 125 books, the 2017 Debut Author Challenge, and both Modern Mrs. Darcy reading challenges. I keep track of my challenges here if you’re interested.

1. One book you didn’t get to in 2017 that will be your #1 priority in 2018? Probably Saint Anything by Sarah Dessen, which I got in 2016 and planned to read in 2017. Hopefully, 2018 will be its year. 2. Book you’re most anticipating for 2018 (non-debut)? That’s a really hard question because I’m anticipating so many books, but probably My Lady Jane by Cynthia Hand, Brodi Ashton, and Jodi Meadows. 3. 2018 debut you’re most anticipating? So far, You’ll Miss Me When I’m Gone by Rachel Lynn Solomon. 4. Series ending/sequel you’re most anticipating in 2018? The Lady’s Guide to Piracy & Petticoats by Mackenzi Lee. 5. One thing you hope to accomplish or do in your reading/blogging life in 2018? There are a few things I can say here.  First, I obviously want to meet my reading goals and finish my reading challenges.  Second, I want to maintain relationships with the publishers and publicists who have been so great about providing me with ARCs!  (I’d also like to hopefully build relationships with more publishers.)  Finally, I hope to be a bit more active in the bookish world outside of my blog.  I’ve had this blog for almost five years now and I think it’s well beyond the time that I should be getting out there and spreading the word. 6. A 2018 release you’ve already read and recommend to everyone? Unfortunately, I haven’t loved any of the 2018 releases I’ve read so far.  At least not enough to recommend to everyone. But there are a ton of them I’m looking forward to!

[drubblernews-blog]

New Post has been published on http://drubbler.com/2017/01/03/not-that-daly-mccain-remained-dissatisfied-with-poroshenko/

Not that Daly: Mccain remained dissatisfied with Poroshenko

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Yakov Rud, January 3, 2017, 12:40- REGNUM

the struggle for democracy and freedom is a delicate matter. Chinovnye American proponents of this activity in the countries of the third world are accustomed to complement the promotion of ideals and values work for profit. examples of such combining business and pleasure or, in the words of the hero of “the Caucasian captive”, “mixing his wool State” enough. After the United States, committing aggression against Serbia, torn away from her autonomous region of Kosovo and Metohija, the firm held close to then Secretary of State m. Albright, Kosovo became the monopoly provision of telecommunications services. Famous for this kind of combinations and former Vice President of the United States, d. Cheney, which stretches a whole train “offsets”. In Ukraine, the American business, having “Maydan” maximum mode favored discovered the wide field of activity. And led her strongly, confidently, boldly. One of the high-profile precedents here became American interception at Russians and their Ukrainian partners Atomic Energy themes, bringing the injured Member n. Martynenko. Sen. j. Mccain in this regard is no exception to the rule. Over the years, lively involvement in Ukrainian Affairs and the Ukrainian State-political “kitchen” on the rights of the “sincere friend” of Ukraine managed to make not one American and international business with American participation. Is it only for the sake of “democracy promotion”, or for a modest financial reward, it is a question, almost rhetorically.

Reply shortly before his departure from Kiev to question whether American business are interesting objects of the military-industrial complex of Ukraine, former United States Ambassador j. Payette said that the interest is there. towards its implementation, however, stands as a form of ownership hurdle MIC enterprises. So far, they say, they remain in State hands, no one from across the ocean to build regarding any of them serious plans will not. Enterprises of the defense industry has always attracted the attention of d. McCain. After the victory of “Maydan” when it seemed to him that the time has come to expand field activities in Ukraine, he decided to take a look at some of them closer. And yet, according to knowledgeable people, laid eyes on some “junk” in the energy sector, as well as the Odessa port plant. Rumors — rumors, but when Mikhail Saakashvili Governor of Odessa region d. Mccain visited him in Odessa, discussed with him as Miho himself told the press, “progress in privatization, then already in Kiev something long explained p. Poroshenko. While the face was grimace, what happens at malaxation of lemon. At this point the President-oligarch apparently remembered the existence of such a thing as a “conflict of interest”. On IPF he plans is unlikely to match the expensive plans, the American guest and his partners.

what p. Poroshenko? p. Poroshenko, listening to vpoluha, that is to say, for their diligence with America will remain all still doing a good mine when bad game. take assurances very much like, but alas, not very could: “signals” went one worse than the other. Hopes that all issues with the new Administration will be able to close one d. Mccain, little. The ceremony, the President clearly was bored, but was forced to perform compulsory dance, as it should be. As required, on the one hand, the Protocol, and on the other the goods outstanding obligations before the American friends. D. l. Graham, McCain and he talked about how it was important for him and for his 45-million-strong country “over the past two and a half years,” the traditional bipartisan support in Congress and in the administration of the President of the United States. in the reflection of the Russian aggression. ” Those words sounded as pleasant memories of days gone by. Sour facial expression the President at the time of their utterances left no doubt that he was well aware of the occurrence of new times in the Ukrainian-American relations and about the changes that these times can bring. In a report on the meeting on the official Presidential Web site references to the administration of the President of the United States by the press-service of Poroshenko had delicately deleted. Just in case, apparently.

the tone of speech and Paphos p. Poroshenko made suggested that he perceived a meeting with Senators as a farewell. Moreover, not only with them but with unqualified support, United States which enjoyed with Barack Obama. and the senators? Whether they gave themselves, that hour has come farewell with p. Poroshenko, that he is now, essentially the same “lame duck”, as well as 44-fired the boss of the White House? Only reason it “lameness” is different than American counterparts. Before the presidential elections in Ukraine two and a half years. And here, to “Maidan”, coup or severe illness, which can prevent the owner of the Presidential post work already before the deadline — it looks like a few months, on the strength of six months, no more.

Finally, p. Poroshenko invited d. Mccain and his companions go to the Donbass. To make sure that Russian aggression. That’s probably a lot with great pleasure went would be somewhere in another place, for example, in Odessa. To make sure that AES is not yet privatized, and thus a chance to engage in the section he remains. But doing nothing. Laws of the genre demand. Had to assemble and go in Mariupol. Many Ukrainians to learn about it, unwittingly poezhilis’. Hand on heart, it was from what. Too fresh in the memory of memories of how briskly paced on independence square in Kiev in Nuland. handing out left and right included in the history and folklore of “cookies”. Ta Ended American support tears, blood, personal injury and death of hundreds of people. Lord forbid, d. Mccain in Donbass would hand out sweets! From this then also could leave something bad.

However, one should not exclude that motive consent d. Mccain on a trip in the Donbas wore not personal, and almost State or, at the worst, the State commercial in nature. One of the objects was in Mariupol APU finally installed passed Americans Ukraine observation complex. It is possible that our side decided to demonstrate to Senators that it is in working condition, that with him, nothing is stolen and not propito. Whether those are happy with what they saw. And here’s the p. Poroshenko was clearly pleased with everything. And complex, and senators, and yourself. to the extent that, speaking with spichem, puzzled listeners another mystery on the topic of Russian “aggression”. two and a half years ago, he said, we have such complexes was not, we were blind and deaf, we were exposed to the “aggressor”. Question, why “aggressor” did not avail himself of this and became to wait to improve equipment MAT, as always, remained open. Highlight performances have become words to “ Ukrainian occupation of Donbass”, which, they say, should end soon. The explosion of ironic comments in social networks about this on Bankova chose not to respond.

Shirokino and Mariupol “lame” whether roosters or hawks p. Poroshenko and d. Mccain exuded optimism, swore allegiance to each other and friendship, scolded the light stands, Russia, brjacali arms, promised war until victory and other nonsense. First in camouflage looked grotesque, second in sneakers with bright eyes glaring from a distance, blue laces is funny. When the President mentioned that their motorcade in Shirokino almost-almost-almost “came under fire, meet with the fire rain total at some thirty to forty minutes, unwittingly thought that if you want to hit the target with such a label would not primetnoj. Camouflage, napjalennyj on the neighbor, not saved.

in the materials of the Ukrainian mass media dedicated to the visit of the senators and their joint with p. Poroshenko trip in Mariupol, focused on the President. It was he who in all subjects, he said something explained. Americans, including the accompanying Senators United States Ambassador in Ukraine m. Jovanovic and d. Mccain, more silent. View the silent Senator inadvertently suggested that rendered him welcome and handed the order he remained dissatisfied. “acknowledgments” Problem, i.e. liability personally p. Poroshenko and the Kiev regime before the United States in the face of the Obama administration and members of the Democratic Party, such as d. McCain acquires special significance, perhaps, as soon as possible. As well as the problem of preserving the current joint schemes to develop military-technical assistance to Kiev with the participation of United States, on the one hand, Ukrainian legal entities and individuals, on the other, Democrats close to the business and political circles in the United States. Game with 350 million dollars in prize money allocated in the budget of the United States in 2017, on military support to Kiev, worth the trouble not only for “poor” Ukrainian oligarchs, but also for the rich American officials and senators. Distribute all sisters in the rewards distribution in this case is unlikely to succeed, especially if under “earrings” understand the assets and property. The alternative is to encourage Americans not materially and morally, by rewarding Ukrainian Awards. The question is, will there be enough u p. Poroshenko orders? And time.

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