#but there are those glimmers of light that come from creating

[cowboyemeritus]

Hi!!! I think you’re one of the best Ghost writers on this dang app! I wanted to request something, if that’s okay?

I’d love something about being fated mates with Copia. I’ve watched Nosferatu and I’m feeling the desire of some mighty powerful predestined pairings 😈

Thank you!

Hey! Thanks a lot - you’re too sweet. ❤️

Okay, yes, anon. I also saw Nosferatu and I hear you. I see you. Let’s fucking do this.

I originally had an idea for something cute, but evil Copia is too sexy powerful. Hope you enjoy :)

“How did you find me?”

Copia’s wide, beaming smile morphs into shocked confusion. He blinks once, twice, rebooting.

“I, eh-“ He huffs out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I thought you would be happy to see me, amore. It didn’t hurt you like it hurt me?”

Every step away from him had felt like walking on broken glass. Of course it fucking hurt. But Copia had lost his mind — his humanity — and it had been unbearable. You would have fallen into that abyss, too, if you hadn’t left.

“How did you find me?” You can’t tell if you’re shaking with rage or with fear.

Copia smiles again. The sight at once makes your heart melt and your stomach churn. He gestures to his new suit, the collar, brooches, and grucifix glittering in the afternoon light. “I’m running the show now.” He takes another step closer and you flinch, your pounding heart skipping a beat. Your reaction has him pouting like a kicked puppy, but he persists. “Nothing can keep us apart. No Nihil, no Sister.” He chuckles. “Psaltarian is still around, but he always liked you.” The knife block is off to your left. The thought that you should arm yourself crosses your mind, but you remain frozen in place. Copia sighs. “Of course I was going to find you, cuore mio. Now we can finally be together, like we were always meant to be.”

Suddenly your eyes are stinging, then welling up. You curse yourself for the display of weakness.

“You’re insane.” He appears unmoved by the insult. “If you think I’d be anywhere near you after all that… that shit, then you’re out of your fucking mind.” At this, his once kind eyes darken. Something in them glimmers, ice cold and deadly.

“I did what I had to do to-“

“They were your brothers.” His white eye twitches.

“They were in the way-“

“Your fucking brothers!” Memories of the three bombard your psyche. You think of Primo and his garden of carnivorous plants, of listening to old ABBA vinyls with Secondo, and of Terzo, and his dreams of a better future. A tear finally spills over, carving a burning path down your cheek. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Copia, fists balled at his sides, takes a deep, steadying breath. He looks you dead in the eyes and it’s like there’s bugs under your skin, creeping and crawling and eating you alive.

And yet, those eyes. His face has changed, but those beautiful, soulless eyes are almost exactly the same. It’s a welcoming sight. The revelation makes you feel a little sick, but your resolve is already slipping. If he’s oblivion, then you’d gladly fling yourself into the void.

“Everything I have done,” he says, keeping his voice low and measured, “has been for you. For us. I have struggled, I have made myself a fool, and I have killed, all so that we could be together.” You sob.

“How dare you say that to me.” Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You sniffle, shaking your head. “You’re sick.” Knees giving out, you slide down the side of the counter, sinking to the kitchen floor. Copia is on you before you can resist, wrapping his arms around your frail, weeping form.

It’s like coming home.

“If I am sick, then I am sick with love for you.” He is so dreadfully good with words when he wants to be. A gloved hand finds your chin, lifting your head to look at him. The late-afternoon light hits just right, creating a golden halo around him that is so perfectly ironic. Copia: your guardian angel, your worst nightmare. It had been golden hour when you’d first met, him a spry young bishop and you a new Initiate, hungry for life and unaware of the strings of causality puppeteering you both.

Copia pulls you into him. He buries his face in your hair and inhales, a shudder running through his body. It’s a perverse gesture, but you don’t have the energy to protest. Years of running — from him, from the Clergy, from yourself, from destiny — have taken their toll.

“Every waking minute, I have thought of you.” He sounds almost like his old self, but something about his delivery is too smooth, too sure of himself. He must have practiced. “And every night, you have haunted my dreams.” You don’t doubt that; your days and nights have been very much the same. “I am meant for you, amore. I couldn’t let you go if I tried.”

All this profession does is make you cry harder. You are so unbelievably weak for him, it’s shameful. And he’s right — no matter how fast you run, no matter how long you hide, you two are bound to one another by forces far beyond your comprehension. You’ll always be pulled back in the end.

When you first laid eyes on him all those years ago, it felt like something had clicked into place. Now you understand why. It sends you reeling through all five stages of grief at once.

“I love you,” you whimper, tears soaking into Copia’s expensive-looking jacket. “I can’t not love you.”

“And I love you,” he coos, petting your hair just like he used to. “More than anything.” The years, the agony of it all, seems to melt away as you huddle on the floor, crying until you’re too exhausted to keep going. Copia never stops holding you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear like nothing between you had ever changed.

When your outburst finally ends, you pull away a bit. To your surprise, Copia lets you, instead taking one of your hands and pressing his lips to your knuckles. Instinctively, you know the warmth in his eyes is a facade, but you can’t help the butterflies that flit around in your stomach. Maybe if you pretend really hard you’ll go back in time, to before all this madness began and you were just two stupid kids in love. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Come back with me.” You can’t tell if he’s begging or demanding it. “Come home. No more bullshit, I promise. You won’t have to worry about anything like that ever again.”

You don’t believe him.

“Okay.”

[soupandsorcery]

all i really have to say is keep making art. keep engaging with your communities. keep your loved ones close, and if you're in a position of privilege, look out for the people in your life who don't have that protection. lift up the people who are making and doing things you love until it drowns out the hate.

that's all we've got at the end of the day.

[obsesssedblerd]

being the jjk villains' favorite 🖤🩸

incl: toji x f! reader, geto x f! reader, and sukuna x f! reader

smut under the cut [MDNI]

toji knew that you were tracking him long before you even found him. he was dangerously good at what he did. usually, he'd kill anyone that even dared to track him down, but oh, you were so pretty. he had to have you. within a few days, he let you find him at a bar. he had to bite back his chuckle at how excitement glimmered in your eyes. you truly believed that you, a beginner assassin, were going to be the one to catch and kill toji fushiguro. fuck, you were so cute.

he spent the entire night flirting with you, obsessing over how you slightly fumbled over your words and tried hard to hide how flustered you were. he could tell that you were attracted to him, especially with the way you were gently pressing your thighs together. eventually, he leaned over to whisper in your ear, "you can either continue with your hopeless plan to kill me," he enjoys the small gasp you let out when he reveals that he knew what you were up to the whole time. "or you can come find me later so i can help you with your little problem. your choice, doll."

that's how you ended up against the wall of his place with your legs wrapped around him, crying out his name as you cum on his cock multiple times. he mocks your whines, degrading you as he savagely thrusts into you. "dumb slut. can't even focus on your job 'cause all you were thinkin' about was getting your pussy filled. wouldn't be surprised if this was your plan all along." when you figure out that he's about to cum, you sink down to your knees, looking up at him expectantly as you stick your tongue out. "attagirl," he praises as he strokes himself. "didn't even have to tell you." he cums in your mouth with a grunt, and you swallow every drop, despite your body still trembling from all of your recent orgasms. "oh, you're filthy, i like you," he chuckles as he grabs your chin. "think 'm gonna keep you, doll."

---

suguru knew that it if he wanted all you, he'd have to change your mind first. despite him stealing you from jujutsu society and keeping you close, you were so stubborn; so deeply committed to saving non-sorcerers. that's okay. he was patient. he'd change your mind, and he was excited to do so. (one of my fav hcs is that he has a corruption kink.) he knew that you loved him, and he intended to use that to his advantage.

every time you begin to snap at him for killing non-sorcerers, he would just interrupt you with a small kiss. it's feather-light, but enough to fluster you and stop your mind from working properly. then he'd gently push you back so you were lying underneath him, giving you an easy smile. "aw, my love, did i make you upset?" of course, he doesn't care about the monkeys that he's killed. he only cares about you. before you know it, he's tugging your pants down and spreading your thighs, his thick fingers rubbing where he knows you're sensitive. his smile grows when you begin to moan. "there you go. let me make it all better, yeah?" getting you to forget what you were mad at him about was too easy.

soon, he's fucking you deep, whispering every filthy, depraved thought in your ear as he does. how he's not gonna stop what he's doing, how beautiful you are completely ruined underneath him, and how he's never ever letting you go. he chuckles when your body twitches, and your pussy begins to flutter around his cock, eventually making a wet mess on the sheets. "aw, did that make you cum? i knew it would." he puts two of his fingers in your mouth, and you suck without a word. "you're not actually upset about those monkeys. you just needed me to fuck you, didn't you?" satisfaction rushes through him when you nod, too fucked out to protest like you did earlier.

when he cums, it's deep inside of you, with his hand against your tummy. he imagines it swelling with the child you'll give him once he's finished creating the perfect world.

---

sukuna wanted you from the moment he saw you through itadori's eyes, and his blood would boil each time he saw you wrapped in satoru gojo's arms. the first night he fought with you, he had you pinned to the ground, and he whispered in your ear that you'd be his eventually and that he'll devour you once he gets rid of gojo. he enjoyed the way you'd blush anytime he teased you with flirtatious and sometimes lewd comments.

the day he does get his hands on you, he keeps every filthy promise he made. he makes you cum within two minutes with his fingers, then makes a mess out of you with his tongue. with four arms, it's so easy to hold you down and maneuver you into any position he wanted. "you've cum four times already, and i haven't even cum once," he says, watching your breasts bounce deliciously with each thrust as he fucks you. "such a greedy little thing, aren't you?"

he makes you watch your reflection in the large mirrors he takes you in front of so you could see how beautiful you are when you're all fucked out. if he's not showing you off to audiences in lavish clothes and jewelry, then he's fucking you in front of them, enjoying their jealous stares. every sorcerer and every curse on the planet will know that you belong to sukuna.

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Jinwoo x Isekaid! Artist! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 044 ✦ ┆・

[Tw: I think this fall under depictions of depression and panic attacks. Please, if you're not in the headspace, do not read this. ]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Muse] ¡! ❞

Isekaing to Solo Leveling is one thing, but living in this world is just... Way too brutal for your poor heart.

Why is that? Anxiety is a major enemy.

What do you mean everyone else is living normally not having little paranoid moments that lead to panic attacks with overtaking at the possibility of a gate opening somewhere near you and monsters would come out?

Sung Jinah's school wasn't even safe. How are you gonna live?

Anyway.

You have a job to do.

Even though you just wanna spend all of your time crying in the corner of your room and praying to god to protect you when technically you aren't even religious.

But what are you to do?

It's not like Sung Jinwoo will swoop in and save you from misery.

...Hahah, if only.

You are one of his more delulu fans, like every other girl in this country— You are a big fan.

Well, except the fact that you know far more things about Jinwoo since you came from a world where he is fiction.

The flex you have is that you know how awfully adorable that petty bastard is when he was still an E-ranker. Those Jinwoo simps will never know the fact that Jinwoo has the fluffiest and softest looking cheeks ever.

Not to mention, you have all of his powers memorized to even the titles those powers have. You can name a lot of his shadows.

Of course the easiest to name are Beru, Igris, Bellion, Kaisel, Tank,.... And the easiest,... One, two, three, four.... Yeah, you get it.

But why are you being so smug? As if you 're not the same fool who secretly buys Jinwoo polaroids. Coming from this country full of fangirls is a haven for you since there is quite... The plethora of Jinwoo trinkets.

And you, being a lovestruck fool, went all in and took "Take all my money" to the next level even though the man you're obsessing over is 10x more richer than you.

But ah, this isn't the time to fawn over your Jinwoo merch paradise.

You have work.

Thankfully enough, this world has given you mercy. Despite it preying on your paranoid self, it gave you the blessing of living the life you've always wanted.

And that is to be a freelance artist.

Not doing your average 9-5, crying about the lack of fame you receive that hinders the pathway to making a successful art career, not having to listen to family members berating your love for art as low as a drug abuse.

In this world, no one is going off about your craft, no one is belittling your passion to something akin to a crime.

Like it's just a pathetic hobby and there's no meaning to all the hard work you put in the past years improving your skills, there's no value to being able to draw squares and circles more impressive than others, there's nothing note worthy of being able to pick and choose colours— There's none of that.

To be honest, there were even lots of moments where you wanted to give up, where you realized maybe they're right.

Even if you had starved yourself just to save up for your art materials, even if you work hard micro-analyzing your artstyle, even if you spent hours studying the algorithms, even if you shed blood sweat and tears just for the glimmer of hope that maybe you can turn your art into something more— It's all just delusions.

Like how you hope to be one of those big artists who inspire other people to create their own pieces. Like how you secretly hope that maybe your artworks can bring a smile to anyone's face if they come across it. Like how you silently pray to every single star that may your wish come true.

You wanted to keep hoping, for the slim chance of having a single magnus opus that will instantly put you in the limelight— You wanted to keep having your hand outstretched to that tiny light.

But everyday, with each piece, you start to realize that your dreams are all for nothing.

You had been so focused on art that it's the only thing you have that defines who you are as a person and as an individual.

Art is what made you human.

Slowly, your innocent dreams molded itself into a twisted and vile poison that ate you from the inside out. Your love for creating backfired and now it's a blur if your passion stems from adoration or you just ran with it because it's the only thing that made you feel relevant in this world.

Maybe you should give up.

Even if there is a drastic improvement in your art with each piece, what good is it if it can't guarantee that career you oh so desperately want? The big artists say that you should make art for yourself, well yeah, they're right. But what if even if you do that it doesn't work?

Colour theory, shape language, line language, composition— All of those improved out of sheer love to learn. You've seen other people around you get careers out of it so it will happen to you?

Right?...

Right?

You're not a problematic artist, you don't make trouble, you don't make enemies, you don't participate in drama, you stay humble and eloquent.

Surely it will work... Right?...

Hahah.

In that world?

No it didn't.

It did not.

You died in your deathbed after being involved in a hit and run.

And after a long period of slumber, you have awoken in this world where somehow you are a renowned artist.

It felt shallow, really.

Suddenly having all of that in a snap of a finger through death?

Hah.

It felt like it mirrors Jinwoo's life. Except he had rightfully earned the glory of his powers.

Truthfully, you love him because of that.

What was it?

Ah yes.

"Because I was rock bottom, I longed for the highest peak."

That was the line that made you love him.

As someone who had no future in your art career, it was that line that made your heart yearn for him.

Two unfortunate souls who struggle in the same thing in different dimensions, except one managed to create that dream into reality.

Sure, you have the glory now. And although it made you so happy, it still felt so shallow because you didn't achieve this through hardwork. You just had to die.

You had to be dead.

It took dying to be given the mercy of having your dreams be granted.

And that just made you feel so... So awful.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

With a canvas on one hand, your painting materials neatly arranged in a bag in the other hand— You take a deep breath and enter the party.

Brilliant golden lights twinkle above your head coming from the magnificent chandelier hanging above. Cameras flashing, the clinking of glasses as hunters and celebrities discussed amongst themselves dressed in luxurious outfits and blinging jewelry.

The sight made your stomach sink and a lump in your throat forming.

This is an entirely different world you knew from the lonely greys and blues.

You look around frantically, almost panicking at the overwhelming chatter and blinding lights.

"Ah, you're here" A voice snaps you out of it.

You turn to see your sponsor, Choi Jong-in flashing a polite and handsome smile. You bow your head politely.

"Please," Jong-in simply shakes his head, "No need to be so polite. I am pleased that you have arrived in time. Champagne?"

He extends a glass towards you and you shake your head, sheepishly saying "O-oh... I'm not really an alcohol enjoyer. I'm fine."

"Ah, I see" He nods apologetically before gesturing you to a clearer space.

Jong-in escorts you to a less crowded area of the ball, the lessened crowd and noise calming your accelerated heartbeat down.

"If there is anything you need, please feel free to call me or the waiters" He says kindly, "You are also free to eat food."

"Thank you, Mr. Choi" You bow politely.

Before he could even reply, Jong-in was called over by a beautiful blonde girl you knew all too well.

Cha Hae-in.

She's as lovely as she was in the manhwa panels, with that red dress and her neatly tied hair— She was a sight to behold.

But as soon as you see a tall man clad in black, you feel a distinct thump in your heart, a twisting kind of small pain that made you feel like it stopped beating along with the way your lungs stopped breathing— You knew who it was.

"A guest?..." He inquires, making your heart thump even harder at the sound of that deep voice you only heard through the speakers of your phone and laptop.

"Mr. Sung, I'm glad you could make it along with my vice master" Jong-in hums, "This is an artist I'm sponsoring, I thought it would be a good idea to commemorate this important event celebrating humanity's win against the gates"

"Ah, I see" Jinwoo's handsome grey eyes would sweep onto your anxious form who is fidgeting uncontrollably in her hands. "I'm Sung Jinwoo,"

He extends a hand, making you look up at him with an even nervous look. It took you a while to extend your hand, and the moment your palm touched his— You felt as of you're touching someone from a different species. Something too unreal and divine.

You barely had even managed to speak your name out with how much of a nervous wreck you are. Shaking his hand didn't happen if it weren't for Jinwoo gently doing it and letting you pull your hand away.

Your palms may have been trembling, but now it's even more erratic as you step back, not meeting his gaze.

Thank gods Jong-in decided to start a conversation to pivot Jinwoo's attention away from you.

As you attempt to calm yourself with a persistent panic attack, you feel a soft tap on your hands.

"Thank you for coming, I-I hope you enjoy your time" Hae-in says in her hesitant voice.

And you, who cant mutter a single word after your very first encounter with Jinwoo— Only muster a polite nod at her as she turns away to join Jong-in and Jinwoo in their conversation.

You were on a trance for almost five minutes, before finally deciding to set up your easel and canvas. You took out two different mason jars and filling them up with water; the gouache paint you will be using as a medium; the ceramic palette you have been using for quite a while now; and finally gently arranging your brushes.

Jong-in didn't specify what you should be painting for this event. But decided to paint the stage. An hour into the event, Jinwoo would start giving his speech as he is the main hero of the war against the gates and monarchs—As well as the person this whole event is dedicated to.

You had to pause in your process of painting the canvas, just to give respect to Jinwoo.

Your idol.

Your role model.

The man of your dreams.

His words aren't even registering as you can't help but be lost in a trance as he continues with his speech. Unconsciously, your hand raised itself and started to paint carefully, your eyes fixated on the hunter as your hand moved with a mind on its own.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jong-in was extremely worried for the artist he had hired, he could tell from earlier she was having a panic attack with the hesitance. And when Jinwoo came into the picture, it seemed to frighten her all the more. He quietly called for his secretary to add at least 40% more of the initial payment that was planned to compensate for the unintentional distress he had put her onto.

While Jinwoo was giving his speech, he couldn't help but check on her by glancing from the distance.

In that canvas, he saw the stage, and in that stage was Jinwoo.

The artist was carefully painting Jinwoo.

Delicate strokes despite her eyes not on the cloth and brush. She was just mindlessly moving her hand as she looks at Jinwoo.

"Ah... I see it now."

Jong-in quietly smiles to himself.

It wasn't that she was frightened of Jinwoo's intimidating presence. No way does someone scared of a person have that same intense look with such dilated pupils.

With a determined hum, Jong-in knew exactly what to do.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

It had been three days since that event, and Jinwoo was attending to paperwork when he was informed of Jong-in's visit.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with a bit of worry that his 'senior' might scold him for renting out gates in territory of Hunter's guild.

To his surprise, Jong-in entered carrying a rather large thing into his office.

"???" Jinwoo cocks up an eyebrow, silently inquiring Jong-in at what is the thing he brought in.

"Take a look, hunter Sung" Jong-in simply says and the hunter reluctantly stood up from his chair to approach the item his senior placed down.

When Jinwoo pulled off the protective cloth, he was met with a brilliant painting that felt like it was straight out of a renaissance era painting.

The red curtains were blood red and shaded softly. The wood is delicately painted, with even tiny specks that indicates the painter's exquisite attention to detail, but most importantly— His eyes were drawn to the middle, where a man stood center.

It was him.

His face was delicately painted, even his tousled black locks were intricately painted to imitate the way his strands behaved, his body language was painted in a relaxed but still managed to somehow translate the undertone of authority and power he held over the crowd that was purposely painted in a blurry manner to give more focus to him. Even the lighting of the stage was expertly imitated on the canvas.

The piece looked as if its goal was to put emphasis on his—the man who is standing in the golden limelight. As if it were trying to put him on a divine pedestal, to show him off as this some sort of god woth the painting.

"Who?..." Jinwoo finally manages to inquire.

"The artist chose you as her muse for the painting" Jong-in says, fixing his tie as he does so. "Quite the talent, no? Even us hunters who have quite the skill in the art of combat, are taken aback by such craft. It was as if she had magic on her very fingertips despite being just a civilian."

"Her muse," Jinwoo repeats, not knowing what to feel about it.

"It would be... Quite indecent of me to keep a portrait of a rival in my guild, no?" Jong-in coughs out, making Jinwoo awkwardly nod. "Consider it as a gift and a thank you for assisting my guild in jeju raid as well as your role in the war."

"I have quite the awards really, no need" He shakes his head.

"Yes," Jong-in glances back at the painting. "But I think that you, as the painter's muse, must see for yourself this piece created on your image."

"Mn...."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo quite frankly grew curious of the little painter he met and made him the centerpiece of her painting. He was honestly worried at first, she was so small compared to him and she was trembling at the sight of him. It didn't help that he noticed how she grew more shaken after they exchanged pleasantries.

Maybe he had gripped her hand a little too much.

Beru on the other hand, was visibly very pleased at the painting as well as the other shadows who wont shut up about it.

Throughout his monotonous days and hours, Jinwoo would often think of the painter.

It feels... Weird to be in someone's painting.

It's unreal even.

But ah... By chance, he met that pleasant little painter again.

She was in the bookstore, picking up several heavy books. When he approached her, she was flustered and nearly dropped the books she was purchasing if it weren't for him assisting her.

Just like their first meeting, she was clearly bashful and anxious. So Jinwoo made space between them and made small talk.

Somehow, their small talks would develop into long and meaningful ones with the days passing of them having frequent encounters.

There is this tiny, tiny warmth in Jinwoo's heart whenever he finds himself in the presence of his painter.

His heart whom he thought had lost its capability to harbor affection— Is beating fast whenever he crosses paths with her.

There is... Something about her.

Her little habits, her never ending curiosity, her childish habits and her love for everything beautiful. Somehow, everything in her eyes has the potential to be a piece of artwork.

Jinwoo was never a creative soul, he's only ever creative at insults maybe.

So to see someone so dedicated to her own craft, to see someone so full of love for something... It's like peering into a different world he never thought was there.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Go Gunhee decided to visit Jinwoo, it was to thank the hunter again with coffee beans and two— Just to visit Jinwoo.

"Ah, hunter Sung," Gunhee smiles as the person he waited for appears. "I hope you don't mind, I just wanted to pop in"

"Not at all, director" Jinwoo smiles politely.

"That piece," The old man's gaze drifts to a painting hun by Jinwoo's side. "What a magnificent work of art. I heard Hunter Choi gifted it to you after the artist he hired decided to put you as the centerpiece. Truly such remarkable talent by a younger lady."

"Yes, hahah" Jinwoo awkwardly rubs his nape.as he serves Gunhee a cup of tea.

"My father told me that artists have a special kind of love" Gunhee hums, reminiscing. "He told me that having an artist love you is different. A writer glorifies you into pleasant words, a musician translates your beauty into compelling music and a painter immortalises all of you in a single painting. A blank canvas is a tool by painters that they use to communicate. All the ugliness of the world can be put into ink, and all the beauty into wonderful pops of pleasant colors"

He continues, "And through my years, this is one of the few most magnificent pieces I've ever seen that shows the painter's love for it's muse"

"Her muse," Jinwoo repeats it, "I've been told the same thing."

"A lovely feeling, no?" Gunhee chuckles, "To be loved by a person so full of love."

"...So that's what it means"

"..."

The old man's face wrinkles into a happier smile.

Young love, truly beautiful, isn't it?

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"That colour is really pretty" You mutter absentmindedly glance at the flowing water underneath, as if trying to ingrain the memory and behaviour of it.

"Thinking of a new artwork, again?" Jinwoo asks, glancing down at the direction you were staring at. "I can't wait to see what you'll make."

"Your pieces are always so beautiful"

It felt as if something struck an arrow at your heart, you glance at Jinwoo— Completely frozen in state.

When he noticed the heavy silence, his eyes would befall on you before his mouth going a little agape.

You're crying.

"Did... I say something wrong?..." Jinwoo asks and you panic, immediately tearing your gaze away.

"No, no, no" You shake your head, hiding your shameful tears from Jinwoo.

Compliments with your art were never really foreign, but you, being the insecure sad soppy excuse of a human being would always downplay it most of the time.

You were never truly satisfied with yourself and anything you ever made. Mostly because you came from a household where everything is never enough.

Ultimately, that system has been fully ingrained into your body that it became your personality.

Colors are muddy, the lines aren't steady or too thick or thin, the anatomy is off, the composition isn't fluid and the harmony is all over the place.

You were always, always, critical of yourself.

Nothing is ever enough.

Your works aren't beautiful enough, and you thought they never will be.

But when Jinwoo told you your art was beautiful, it caused something to crack inside and burst open.

Maybe it's because you loved him so much. Maybe it's because he is the person you admire the most in your sorry, lonely life.

It was always Jinwoo who was in your mind whenever you had those bad episodes of just having silent mental breakdowns.

It's his image that became your most beloved saviour.

Perhaps you're sobbing because you're finally able to hear the words you've imagined he would during the times you daydreamed about him.

Or maybe... Your body reacted because you knew deep down that Jinwoo was never a liar.

That he didn't say those words out of empty praise, that he said your crafts is beautiful because they simply are.

In your broken, shattered heart a heavy yet soft warmth swelled. Swelling so much that you felt so overwhelmed and couldn't control your emotions.

That kind of validation just felt like it washed away all the doubts that plagued you for years.

As you cried uncontrollably, Jinwoo would instinctively reach his hand out and pull you in for a searing kiss. His tongue gently nudges your lips before shoving itself into it.

One flick.

Two flicks

Three flicks,...

Until you yourself cant even count it anymore.

He pulls back slowly, but still not far enough for you not to feel his hot breath fanning over your cheeks.

"I only said your paintings are beautiful and yet you are crying like this, sarang?" He rubs his nose against yours, "Just what happened to you that you're this emotional, hm? Did you not think what you make is stunning? Did you never once think that your pieces are captivating? Why are you crying like this? How hurt have you been that it feels like you're crying out this kind of sorrow I can't seem to understand?"

"Why does your sobs feel like you've been dealing with such loneliness that a simple sincere compliment breaks you to this extend?"

"Everything about you is beautiful. All of you is beautiful." Jinwoo says in that ever so gentle voice of his, "Never doubt that for even a single second."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: what started as another simple fluffy idea turned into something more... Personal :'DD. Sorry guys hahahahsheshdg. Idk when I will have the free time to make the second half of the cai bots yet but please look out for when I do. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ — All stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[metalmewtwo-kxb]

Pokédex Update:

Auroreon - the Iridescent Feather pokemon. A flying type. When it fans its wings and tail, it can manifest beautiful yet powerful beams of light in concentrated attacks and healing moves. If it ever opens its eyes, it will unleash its wrath on the unjust.

Notes:

- Auroreon's feathers always seem to glimmer in the light, causing even its body to give off a faint prismatic glow. They are also sturdy, soft as cinccino velvet, and capable of keeping sheltered pokemon warm. If the weather and conditions are right, Auroreon will spread its feathers over the grass and sunbathe (or moonbathe at night). This makes the moisture in the air above it become a captivating blanket of shifting colors. The shiny variation of this pokemon is said to also manifest colors of light that very few humans are able to see.

- The 'eye spots' on Auroreon's feathers serve as a natural statement of beauty as well as a means of confusing opponents. And the halo above its head is a result of the fur's natural light refraction.

From Recovered Texts and Documents:

- Long ago, a king encouraged the use of these feathers for decorative purposes during his reign. This greatly decimated the population of both eevee and Auroreon in their region. Those with dark feathers were considered "impure" and hunted for sport. A few were kept as pets and servants, which was illegal save for those with the king's written permission.

- Some groups of the past believed Auroreon to be among the pokemon known as "the Heralds of Arceus", messengers and light-bearers who served the Creator of Worlds. There were a variety of pokemon believed to hold this title, each described as "familiar yet unique" to each respective species. They were more powerful than their counterparts, and some rarely spotted if not considered an illusion. They were also quite gentle and well-mannered, and their roles involved giving life and healing to the world. However, these pokemon were considered dangerous in times of conflict.

- It is said "the false king" of their home region was single-handedly responsible for the disappearance of the Heralds, the beginning of conflict between humans and Arceus, and the terrible aftermath of the last great war. Rumors spread that Arceus removed the Heralds from the world of humans to save those pokemon from the cruelty that would follow in coming years.

Notes Continued:

- Further research is being conducted, as a single pair of Auroreon were recently spotted in an isolated area with an unusual eevee. One white, and one dark. The gender of each is unknown, though ancient texts suggest that females have shorter capes than males.

- There is no documentation of what their open eyes look like. Texts only say that no one who saw them directly lived to tell the tale, including the false king.

----------------------------

Decided to take my own stab at creating a flying type eeveelution, and potentially add a second typing later on.

I'm really happy with how it turned out, and glad I had another chance to delve into more of the comic's background lore.

[platinumshawnn]

A Union of Ice and Stone (blurb) | Cregan Stark

A/N: I am struggling to find muse to write my fics recently but guess who has random blurbs in the drafts 🤺 enjoy some cregan smut that was based on auois while I work through the next chapters

TW: Smut, implications of prior SA, triggering themes that may be upsetting for some readers — please do not hesitate to reach out should you find the themes lightly touched on triggering, I am more than open to supporting readers who are affected by my content and creating a safe space in which I am either a direct source of support OR I can direct you to the appropriate resources. Please read at your own discretion.

“I’m not going to force you to consummate a marriage you did not even want in the first place,” He grumbled from the settee, “That is not the kind of marriage I want— where you feel you have no choice in the matter.”

“And you actually value that? My willingness to participate in this marriage?” She asked from where she stood over the writing table, a trinket in her hands that she fidgeted with while she watched him. His back faced her, not looking at her as he watched the fire.

“Yes,” He answered.

“And what if I choose never to?”

His head turned slightly, looking at her from the corner of his eye as he then looked down, “Then I suppose that is what your choice to make, my lady,” he said, turning to look again at the fire. A silence befell them, her fingernails picking at the paint of the miniature horse that had been gifted to her as a child; an anxious habit she hated — she did not trust his word, or trust his sincerity that he meant it. No man in their right mind would mean it, that they cared not for bedding their wife — she had heard the horror stories as a girl of men who forced themselves on their wives, regardless of their pleas — a thought that made her shudder. She let out a quiet sigh, setting the wooden horse down back on the table and approaching him, circling the settee he had found respite in, his eyes briefly lifting to look up at her as she stood to his left.

“And does it upset you that I am unable to offer to you my maidenhead, as a husband expects of his new wife?” She asked suddenly.

He lifted his cup, taking a slow sip of wine and looking away again — he was not a man of eye contact she had come to learn, unless it was deemed necessary. Cregan paused, the weight of her words settling between them. He placed his cup down carefully, then finally turned to face her fully. His voice was low, steady, but filled with a sincerity she had rarely heard from a man.

"Then I would expect nothing from you that you do not willingly offer," he said, his gaze meeting hers, unflinching. "I am not like those men you’ve heard of. If all you can give is your companionship and trust, that is more than enough for me."

He let the words linger, his expression softening, "Your worth is not tied to that. I want a partner, not a prisoner."

She warily eyed him, eyes narrowing as she processed the reply — she followed where his eyes had previously turned to, watching the flames lick and stained the stone walls with soot, her chest rising and falling with a deep sigh of air, “You are a kinder man than most, Cregan Stark,” Lysara stated, her voice soft as she moved to take a seat in the small space that remained in the settee; her bare shoulder brushing his as she folded her hands in her lap. She could feel his eyes still bearing into the side of her face, warmed by the intensity of his gaze and fidgeting with her fingers — she twisted the bracket that remained around her right wrist, hold and glimmering in the light; she turned just enough to angle her head towards him and find his eyes.

“I wouldn’t consider it to be about kindness, my lady,” he replied, his eyes searching her face.

Her mouth twitched upwards in a small hint of a smile, “Then what might you call it?”

“Decency, I suppose.”

It was a simple reply, but there was no hesitation behind it; unwavering as he looked forward. She took the angle to eye him up close, her eyes following the outline of his face and drifting down every feature — she followed the strong structure of his brow and nose, his cheeks — past his mouth and stopping at his jawline; soft but masculine in a way that could have made any man envious and any woman lustful. His hair had loosened from its pulled back style, the long strands falling into his face as he drummed his fingers against his thigh. She could have fared worse — her father had tried to match her with men twice her age in her youth, old enough to be her father, aged and scarred and mangled by battle. She sucked in another breath, finding his eyes as he turned to look at her again, his eyebrows twitching curiously. It scared her half to death, the idea of approaching him — but she felt emboldened by his words as she unfolded her hands and moved towards his lap; his eyes following her. Her thighs straddled his hips, hands finding his shoulders and nudging him back to allow her more space while resting his hands on her hips as though it was a reflex.

She smoothed her hands along the fabric of his undershirt, the cotton rustling under her touch as she slowly dipped her hands to his chest and found the base of his throat; stopped at his collarbones, her face hovering over his. Despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of her head, threatening to let out a panicked cry, she found herself able to swallow down that fear and trust him fully.

His head had tilted to look up at her from his position, eyes on hers as she paused, unsure how to proceed — suddenly she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, the kiss something slow and exploratory, gauging his response to her as she leaned forward and into him. His mouth was hot against hers, skilled and confident as she felt his teeth gently drag along her bottom lip; her right hand coming to his nape as she shifted forward in his lap to press flush against him until his back was forced against the back of the chair, broad shoulders being traced by her hands.

His head tipped, forcing her chin up with his nose in order to press her throat with searing hot kisses that elicited a soft sigh of pleasure, fisting handfuls of his shirt between her fingers. His hands crept underneath her nightgown atop her thighs and stopped at her hips, leaving her partially exposed to him — her back arched into him, head lolling back as he pushed a hand up along the expanse of her backside and up her spine until it pressed to the small of her back as her hips pressed into his. His mouth ceased, withdrawing from her and letting out a sharp breath of air as she cupped his face and held it between her hands, his lips parted as he looked at her, “Tell me to stop…you do not have to welcome me into your bed if you do not wish it,” he quietly said, “tell me to leave and I will go.”

She hesitated, her thumb brushing across his lips, “I cannot.”

The words seemed to spur him on, his arm wrapping around her and pinning her against his chest as he maintained that restraint she had come to know him for; his nose brushing hers in the little space she was allowed, “Then tell me to stay,” he said, his voice short and breathless, “please,” He begged.

She didn’t have to hesitate, “Stay,” she echoed.

“Thank the Gods…” he breathed out, a smile coming to her face as his lips brushed up along her neck to reclaim her mouth. Cregan’s hands quickly bunched her down around her hips — she reached down fumbling to put enough space between them and undo the laces of his breeches; shoving them down was the hardest feat of the task, proving difficult as she had to lift enough for them to be pushed down his thighs. Eager hands grabbed the front strings of her shift, yanking to undo them and undo the fabric enough that more skin was exposed to his mouth, teeth and tongue tracing the skin as he cupped her breast in his palm through the fabric, her hand right instantly coming to her mouth and licking her palm before she reached again between them; her hand gently wrapping around the base of him and moving up and down the length of him with a slow steady pace that forced a low moan from his mouth. His eyes found her, mouth agape as she pressed her forehead to his.

He was already breathless, panting against her mouth as he stilled and paused his movements. With all the restraint he could muster, wanting nothing more than to go as slow as he could in case there lingered any trace of doubt or hesitance to have him; he pressed forward and slowly slid his hands up her sides, the fabric bunching around her waist with the movement until his hands cradled her ribs; his firm hold sliding around to her spine — he itched to discard the fabric but halted himself from bunching the fabric further. Lysara seemed to sense his hesitation in undressing her more than was necessary, her hands withdrawing from him and earning a discontented sigh that could have swelled her ego — to see the internal battle between his pride and restraint that held him in place, his hips subtly shifting under her at the loss of contact; she took the fabric of her shift from his hands and stripped it over her head, allowing it to fall to the floor by his feet that planted flat against the marble floors. The room was filled by a soft rustle of fabric, her back warmed now by the heat of the fire behind her, the shape of her hovering over the mountain of a man who sucked in a deep breath and watched her with desperate eyes — it was a subtle change, his usually stoic, reserved facade dropping just a smidge and softening as his eyes scanned down her body; his eyes lingering on her chest and down her abdomen, his right hand tentatively lifting to tenderly brush up along the underside of her breast. His palm enveloped her chest with ease, cupping her and brushing a curious thumb over her nipple, every nerve in her body standing at attention to his touch — it felt pathetic, really, to lean into such a simple gesture; a soft sigh leaving her mouth and closing her eyes — but it felt like it had been forever since she’d known the touch of a man and she hadn’t realized how much she’d craved it.

She allowed herself to relish in the feeling of his hands of her husband, tantalizingly slow and curious like a boy who’d never bedded a woman before — but she knew better. Knew there’d been others, a first and last before her — a wife who had bearded him a beautiful son before — a woman who had known these touches much better than herself. She envied what that would have been like to have been his first.

His fingers traced up her chest, mouth leaning into and pressing to the base of her throat and drawing her back to reality when his mouth found the raised scar between her collarbones. The movement startled her, gasping as her eyes shot open to look at him — she froze, a hand flinging up to his chest as she saw the realization dawn on him, a look flickering in his eyes. Her pulse quickened, holding her breath as it felt suddenly like she could feel his hands on her again — the boy knight’s breath against her neck as he held her in place, threatened by the knife at her throat; feel the weight of him resting heavy between her thighs as he shoved them open, forcing her ankles apart. The feeling nauseated and panicked her, wanting to crawl out of her skin and shove him away.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean…” Cregan said, his voice low. He paused, allowing a beat of silence to pass, his hands on her waist, “I am sorry.”

The only thing that grounded her was the sincere look of remorse in his eyes, his voice a low, soft mumble as he seemed unsure what to do next. She swallowed and sucked in a deep breath that lifted her shoulders, shakily exhaling as she withdrew her hand from his chest, “It’s okay…it’s okay,” she said, voice quiet, “just please…please don’t touch me.”

She wanted to cringe.

Cregan held her gaze, nodding after a moment and withdrawing his hands to his sides, allowing them to find respite against the seat beneath them and its plush cushions. He was quiet and still, letting out a breath that felt relieved, but his eyes held an edge of uncertainty as though he was expecting her to flee from his lap any moment. She hesitated, her hands coming to the hem of his shirt finally and gently pulling the fabric up — he kept his word, hands moving to raise his arms and cautious not to touch her with the movement, his hands falling back to their spot against the settee once the fabric was placed on the chair beside him; her hands gently finding his chest.

Her eyes lowered, fixating on the several little scars that painted his skin — a reminder of the battles and fights he had endured in his short life, ruining the porcelain skin that laid over taut muscles that rippled with movement. She could feel him watching her every move, too timid to find his eye yet as her fingers gently traced each mark, mapping out every ridge and dip, outlining his collarbones and sliding up to his shoulders — there, she found hold, stabilizing herself and keeping her grounded to him. She sucked in another deep breath, finally daring to look him in the eye as she lowered her left hand between them — his jaw clenched, blinking but not moving.

She admired the restraint it took for him not to writhe or flinch as she took him in her hand again, guiding the blushing head of his cock to her slit and lifting on her knees. She caught a flinch then, brushing him through her folds and gathering the slick of her arousal along the tip of him, in his brow; his chest expanding with a deep breath. She slowly sank onto him, the warmth of her walls welcoming him eagerly as she pressed on — inch by tantalizing inch, swallowing him whole until her hips rested flush against his. Her mouth opened in a soft gasp, full to the brink of discomfort and causing a slight stretch that she embraced, his features finally relaxing. His eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly twice and clenching his teeth as his eyes lowered for a moment, his hands fisting the cushions beneath him as he waited for her to move — a low moan left him, head lolling back against the back of the seat, and withdrawing a sharp breath of air through his nose.

The hand between them lifted, coming to his nape as her hips slowly lifted, sinking slowly again to begin undulating against his — a hot flush spread throughout her, pooling itself in her belly and between her thighs as she pulsated around him, earning another soft sigh. His head lifted from the couch, her hand bringing his forehead to hers with a parted mouth, short pants leaving her mouth. The laces of his breeches pressed into the back of her thighs and rump, a harsh contrast to the smooth brush of his skin, but all the more exhilarating. Chest-to-chest, she thrust herself against him, his chin lifting just enough to catch her lips with his in a sweet kiss that pressed against her bottom lip; she released a soft moan, high-pitched and lewd as it bounced off the walls and reached her ears, her nose brushing his with each movement. A light sheen of sweat broke across her skin, her hips grinding down into his as her eyebrows tugged into a frown of concentration, “Oh gods…” she softly breathed.

He pressed another sweet kiss to the corner of her mouth, a guttural moan rumbling from behind plush lips, an animalistic sound that could have made her eyes roll back. Her hips stuttered, picking up in pace and eagerly using the position to roll her hips against his in a way that caused friction between his pelvis and her bud — she let out a soft cry of pleasure. Her thighs tightened around his hips, holding him in place and attempting to repeat the movement, desperate to once again experience the sensation whilst digging her fingernails into his scalp when she succeeded. Her movements were frantic from that point on, sloppy and enthusiastically chasing that blissful end, her chest heaving with each deep breath she struggled to squeeze in, her moans increasing in volume and frequency with each passing moment as her body grew taut with anticipation.

Her peak washed over her, blinding and searing hot as she let out a sudden cry, her walls squeezing around him as she tumbled forward and into his chest, “Cregan,” she whined.

“Fuck,” He grunted, his breathing heavy and frowning as he slowly worked her throat the tail end of her peak. His hips lifted, thrusting into hers and milking her of every last ounce left within her body.

She blindly grabbed his left wrist, desperate and too dazed by the pleasure to even concentrate on anything more than the desire to once again experience some sort of touch of his. His hand was guided behind her, his palm finding repute against her backside and using the flesh to grip and guide her against him, forcing her hips to continue the roll against his with a mantra of his name leaving her mouth like a prayer. The welcome of his hand emboldened him, sitting upright and away from the back of the chair as his arm wrapped around her waist, his face pressing against her shoulder as he pulled her against him — her hand released his hair to bring her arm around his neck. His hips snapped up, eager and relentless, drawing her close to the brink of insanity as it seemed there was no end in sight, sensitive and screwing up her face. He rutted against her, her nails biting into his shoulder as the heat between her thighs spread like wildfires, her thighs trembling around him, “Fuck- wait…” he muttered.

His face drew back to hers, forehead pressed to hers and closing his eyes. She felt him lift her, attempting to pull her from him, his body tensing under hers, “Nonono…” she breathlessly pleaded.

“I won’t if you do not wish me to,” he muttered.

She forced herself back down against him, his hips hesitating to resume their previous pace as she ground against him, “I want it- I want you,” She replied, “please. I want all of you.”

The simple plea was his undoing, his mouth open in a low groan, snapping up into her with such fervor it sucked the air right from her lungs, clutching to him. Her voice was a high pitched whine, her fingers fisting his undershirt and tensing so hard, every joint in her body ached — her thighs burned, his fingernails biting into her flesh as he flung his right hand back and gripped her backside; Cregan released a sharp grunt, low and carnal as his mouth dropped open with the sound — it was the first time since their first encounter that she saw his resolve break, his stoic facade slipping as he spilled his seed into her.

[89pedri]

Leaves in the River | Mason Mount

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: Mason meets a girl on Halloween. She was drunk and he was lost.

Warnings: None? Alcohol?

Word count: 4.7k+

Note: Hi everyone, it's been over a year, I think, since I last posted something here. I'm still out here reading and liking fics, so I thought I'd post this!

Hope you like it!!!

 ◌                             ◌                                       ◌           

                                            ‧₊ *:･ﾟ彡       ◌                 ☽︎       ◌

            ◌                                 ✩彡 ･ﾟ *:                                     

                                ◌                                        ◌

It was a chilly Halloween night, with the wind whistling through the streets and carrying the crisp scent of fallen leaves. Inside an old mansion on the outskirts of Manchester, dim candle light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The grand, creaky rooms were filled with the chatter of unfamiliar faces, their costumes ranging from the elaborate to the absurd. Music thumped through the wooden floors, and costumed revelers were lost in a sea of laughter and dancing.

But Mason, still recovering from a series of injuries, felt strangely detached from it all. At a party he didn’t really want to attend, his teammates had insisted he come along, hoping to lift his spirits. They had been buoyant and energetic at first, eager to immerse themselves in the festivities, but as the night wore on, Mason found himself drifting away from them. Despite their good intentions, he felt more isolated than ever.

While everyone mingled and danced, their laughter and easy conversations seemed to belong to a world that was just out of his reach. Mason had retreated to a quiet corner of the room, nursing a drink as he watched the scene unfold around him. The contrast between their vibrant enjoyment and his own muted existence was jarring. He felt like an outsider, a ghost drifting among the living, disconnected from the energy and warmth that surrounded him.

In all honesty, he was profoundly sad, unable to escape the weight of his unfulfilled potential. Despite his high-profile transfer, his injuries had kept him from truly proving his worth on the field. Each missed match and postponed comeback only deepened his frustration. What he had envisioned as a triumphant return to the top seemed increasingly out of reach. Instead, he found himself sidelined, grappling with feelings of inadequacy and the fear that his time to shine might slip away.

In the midst of his spiraling thoughts, his gaze inadvertently fell upon her.

She stood near the back door, her angel costume strikingly detailed. Her white wings, delicate and meticulously crafted with sparkles, seemed to catch every glimmer of the low light, casting a soft glow. Her flowing dress, made of gauzy fabric, draped around her, creating a shimmering effect as she swayed to the music. Her dark hair fell in loose, damp waves around her shoulders.

Mason had noticed her from the corner of his eye earlier in the evening. At first, she had been a quiet, almost unnoticed presence among the more boisterous guests. As the night wore on, though, she had gradually come into focus. He saw her exchanging friendly nods and small, genuine smiles with those around her, her interactions marked by a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chaotic energy of the party.

Her demeanor was calm and poised, as if she was naturally attuned to the subtle rhythms of social grace. Despite the lively crowd, she seemed to float through the room with an effortless ease. Her presence an oasis of serenity that Mason envied.

In stark contrast, he felt like a mere caricature in his hastily assembled devil costume. The red horns were crooked, and the tail hung limply, clearly a last-minute addition rather than a deliberate choice. 

He wanted to break free from the shadows and join her in the light. Mason's longing to connect with her was intertwined with his deeper yearning for escape from the burdens that plagued him. He wanted to share in the grace she embodied, but he was caught in his own tumultuous reality, unable to bridge the chasm that separated their worlds.

He took a deep swig of his drink, the warmth of the alcohol offering a fleeting sense of courage. Gathering his resolve, he pushed through the sea of revelers and approached her cautiously, each step heavy with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. When he was close enough, he cleared his throat, trying to sound casual.

 “Hey,” he said, aiming for a nonchalant tone. “You okay?”

She looked up, momentarily surprised to see him. Her deep, soulful brown eyes revealed a trace of sadness he hadn’t noticed before, but she greeted him with a cheeky smile. 

“Yeah,” she replied softly, her voice laced with playful mischief. “I’m just not really feeling the vibe tonight. It’s funny, though—feels like a devil’s been watching me all night. I guess I’m just not in the mood for the attention.” Her gaze lingered on him, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Mason couldn’t help but smile at her playful comment. “Well, I promise not to be too devilish. How about I get you another drink first? Maybe something strong enough to fend off any lingering devils.” He gestured towards the drinks table, his tone light and inviting. “Then, if you’re up for it, we can get out of here for a bit. A walk might be just what we both need.”

Her eyes brightened at the offer, and she gave him a warm, grateful smile. “That sounds perfect. I’d love a drink. Thanks.” She glanced towards the drinks table, then back at him, curiosity evident as she awaited his return.

Mason nodded and headed to the drinks table, grabbing two shot glasses filled with vodka. He returned to her, offering one of the shots with a smile. “Here you go,” he said. “A little liquid courage before we head out.”

She accepted the glass and, with a playful glint in her eye, raised it in a toast. “To escaping the chaos,” she said, her voice light but sincere.

Mason clinked his glass against hers. “To a change of scenery,” he replied, and they both took their shots simultaneously.

Without missing a beat, she tilted the glass to her lips and downed the liquor in one swift motion. The strong, burning sensation seemed to clear her head, and she let out a small, satisfied breath as she set the empty glass down.

“Much better,” she said with a hint of relief in her voice.

Mason followed suit, feeling the warmth of the vodka spread through him. “Glad you think so. Ready for that walk?” he asked, gesturing toward the door.

As they stepped out of the mansion into the cool night air, Mason noticed her shivering slightly, her costume offering little protection against the chill. Without hesitation, he removed his jacket and held it out to her.

 “Here,” he said, his voice warm against the night. “You look like you could use this.”

She looked at the jacket, then up at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, accepting the garment. She slipped it around her shoulders with a sigh of relief. The jacket, slightly too big for her, enveloped her in its warmth, the fabric soft and comforting against the evening’s cold.

With the jacket now draped over her, they began to walk down the empty streets. The dim street lights cast long, eerie shadows on the wet pavement, and the quiet was a stark contrast to the noisy party they had left behind. The crisp night air felt refreshing, and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot added a gentle rhythm to their steps. The transition from the raucous indoor atmosphere to the serene garden path was a welcome change, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath their feet provided a soothing backdrop to their conversation as they walked side by side.

The rain began almost immediately, starting as a gentle drizzle that caressed their skin and soon growing into a steady shower. Mason glanced over at her, intrigued by how she seemed to blend effortlessly with the night, moving with a fluid grace as if the rain and deserted streets were part of her natural element. Her presence felt both refreshing and enigmatic. The steady shower created a quiet cocoon around them, offering a brief respite from his struggles.

Mason looked at her with a playful smile. “As much as I'd love to call you my angel,” he said with a chuckle, “I’d really like to know your real name.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and she offered a warm, inviting smile. “It’s Y/N,” she replied.

“Well, Y/N,” Mason continued, trying to keep the conversation light, “what brings you to this part of town on Halloween?”

She paused, her gaze momentarily flicking to him before drifting away, as if searching for the right words. “My friend works for Man U,” she began, her voice soft and thoughtful. “She’s a PR assistant and dragged me along tonight because she thought it would be fun. I didn’t really want to come, but she insisted. Said it would be good for me to get out. Plus,” she added with a grin, gesturing to her costume, “it gave me an excuse to finally wear this. It’s been collecting dust in my closet for a while, waiting for the right occasion.”

Mason felt a flush of warmth mixed with a tinge of embarrassment at the mention of his new team, unsure if she had recognized him. “So,” he began, striving for a casual tone, “do you follow football at all, are you familiar with the team?” His curiosity got the better of him.

Her eyes sparkled as she met his gaze. “Oh, I definitely know who you are, Mason, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied with a warm, teasing tone. “I recognized you and your friends the moment you walked in. My old friend was a huge fan of Chelsea—we used to watch your matches together all the time. I figured it was better to keep it cool around you, though.”

Mason chuckled, finding her candor refreshing. “And how’s that ‘cool’ act working out for you?” he asked with a teasing grin, feeling a rare sense of ease as their conversation flowed.

Y/N laughed, her laughter mingling with the rhythmic patter of the rain. “Not too badly, I’d say. Although,” she added with a playful smirk, “I must say it’s quite hard to stay cool when the devil is walking beside me.” 

Mason smiled. “Well, I’d hate to think I’m ruining your ‘cool’ vibe,” he said, his tone playful. “But if it helps, I promise I’m actually pretty cool and down-to-earth once you get to know me.”

He glanced sideways at her, his expression softening. “Besides,” he added with a hint of sincerity, “it’s nice to have a break from the usual football talk. It’s refreshing to just be… well, me, for a change.”

They continued walking, the rain soaking through their clothes, but neither seemed to mind. The slick, soft leaves beneath their feet created a gentle, almost soothing sound as they moved. Aside from the steady rhythm of the rain, the only other sound was the rustling of foliage, adding to the serene atmosphere. Mason felt an unusual sense of tranquility, as if the weight of his worries had momentarily lifted. He glanced at Y/N, growing more intrigued by her presence by the minute.

“Well, since you know what I do,” Mason said with a grin, “it’s only fair you share what you’re up to.”

Y/N continued with a hint of excitement. “I’ve been freelancing in PR, primarily for healthcare and sports clinics lately. I’m also currently studying for my Master’s in Marketing, focusing on how to build and enhance brand identities. This visit to Manchester is, well, a chance to rediscover the city and see if it could be the right place for me. I’m hoping to find a role where I can blend my PR skills with marketing work.”

Mason’s gaze lingered on her, clearly impressed. “So, pretty and smart.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on her lips. “How often do you use that line?”

“Only when I’m talking to pretty and smart girls,” Mason replied with a playful grin.

Mason’s curiosity about Y/N’s ambitions grew. “Do you think you’d want to work in football, like your friend, eventually?” he asked, genuinely interested.

Y/N considered the question for a moment, her eyes catching the soft glow of the streetlights. “I hadn’t really thought about it seriously,” she admitted. “I’ve always had a passion for sports, and working in sports PR does sound intriguing. However, I’m more focused on helping organizations craft their public image in impactful ways. Still, if a compelling opportunity in sports came along, I wouldn’t completely rule it out.”

Mason nodded thoughtfully, taking in her words. “It sounds like you’re open to possibilities, which is a great mindset to have. Sometimes, the best opportunities come from unexpected places. Plus, having a passion for what you do makes all the difference.”

Y/N smiled, her expression thoughtful and appreciative. “Thanks, Mason. I guess we’ll see where my journey takes me. For now, I’m enjoying the chance to explore Manchester and see what the future holds. And, who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll find myself working on campaigns for someone like you.”

Mason threw his head back in laughter, the sound genuine and warm. “I’d be lucky to have someone as talented as you working on my brand,” he said with a grin.

He paused, his expression turning serious but sincere. “You know, if you’re really considering a move up North, I could put in a good word for you. I know people in Manchester, a little nudge from someone in the industry might be just what you need.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, touched by the offer. “That’s incredibly kind of you, Mason. I really appreciate it.”

Mason gave her a reassuring smile. “Of course. Sometimes, a bit of support can make all the difference.”

They walked in companionable silence, the steady rhythm of the rain creating a soothing backdrop. Y/N eventually slowed her pace, her gaze shifting as she took in her surroundings, her expression thoughtful. After a moment, she pointed to a small, unassuming brick house a little further down the street. “I grew up there,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “I haven’t been back in years.”

Mason glanced at the house. It stood quietly, the darkness of the night making its features almost indistinguishable. The windows were dark and empty, and the front yard, strewn with fallen leaves. Despite its wear, there was a subtle warmth to it, a sense of memories lingering in the chilly night air.

Mason noticed the wistful look on Y/N’s face and felt a surge of empathy. “Do you want to stop for a bit? Maybe stand by the porch before the new owners notice?” he asked gently, his tone reflecting his understanding of the significance of the moment.

She nodded, her eyes lingering on the house as if trying to piece together fragments of her past. They paused on the sidewalk, the rain continuing to fall softly around them. Mason stood beside her, offering her the space to take in the familiar yet distant sight, allowing the moment to be hers.

Y/N led him to the front steps, then took a seat on the pavement, patting the space beside her in a silent invitation. Mason, understanding her unspoken offer, settled down next to her. They sat together in the rain, the steady downpour creating a private, intimate cocoon around them. The coolness of the night contrasted with the warmth of their shared presence, as they both took solace in the quiet moment.

Mason noticed a handprint in the cement of the stairs leading to the door beside where he was sitting, weathered and faded with time. Y/N spotted it at the same moment and leaned forward to trace it with her fingers, her touch light and contemplative. As she moved closer, their proximity became more apparent, and she suddenly seemed aware of the compromising position they were in. With a soft, almost shy smile, she pulled back slightly, her cheeks flushing from both the rain and the closeness they had unexpectedly shared.

“This is where I used to live until I went off to university,” she said quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by the rain. “My parents moved back to their home country a few years ago and sold the house. I haven’t been back since. This place holds so many memories.”

She hesitated, grappling with the vulnerability of their newfound closeness. “Remember the old friend I mentioned, the one who used to watch your games with me?” Mason nodded. “He was my ex,” she continued, her voice wavering. “He was—still is—a huge Chelsea fan. We spent so much time here during high school. We were young, I thought we’d be together forever but at a certain point it became obvious it wouldn’t work out between us. We stayed in that relationship far too long, but It’s strange, really. I’m over him but being here, I guess it brings back all these memories. It’s odd to see how much has changed.”

Y/N looked down, her expression clouded with a mix of nostalgia and sadness. “Coming back here makes me realize how much has shifted in my life. It’s like I’m caught between who I thought I’d become and where I actually am. I was so full of dreams back then, but now it feels like things are less figured out than I’d hoped. It’s a reminder of how much can change, and how you can end up somewhere you never expected, I guess.”

Mason listened intently, his own sense of vulnerability rising to the surface. The rain mingled with his thoughts as he took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. “I get that,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “I’ve been dealing with similar feelings, sort of. My injuries and missed games have left me feeling adrift, as if my dreams and reality are worlds apart. I envisioned this triumphant return, a chance to prove myself and silence the critics. But with every setback, that vision seems to slip further away. It’s like I’m stuck between who I was and who I want to become, and finding that balance has been incredibly challenging.”

He paused, searching for the right words. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get back to where I was or if I need to chart a new path altogether. It’s hard to come to terms with feeling disconnected from what once defined you.”

Y/N looked at him with a warm, encouraging smile. “You know,” she said softly, before settling her hand on his knee, “it’s really admirable how you’re facing all of this. I believe in you and I’m confident that your comeback will be amazing. I suppose that sometimes, we have to go through these tough times before we can truly appreciate the good times.”

Mason’s lips curled into a half-smile, comforted by her words. Her eyes were filled with genuine sincerity as she continued, “Even if things seem out of reach right now, remember there are people who believe in you and are rooting for your success.”

He paused, letting her words settle in. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said sincerely. “Hearing that means more than I can say, especially right now. It’s so easy to get lost in setbacks and forget why I’m here.”

He glanced around at the rain-soaked streets, then turned his gaze back to her. “Coming back to familiar places can bring up old memories, but it also offers a chance to see how far we’ve come. It’s like reconnecting with the past while looking forward to the future.”

Y/N chuckled, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Quite the philosopher are you?” she teased, letting his words resonate.

Mason gave her a playful smirk. “And quite the conversationalist yourself. Do you normally open up so much to someone you’ve just met, or is it the rain that’s making us more candid than usual?”

Y/N glanced up, a gentle blush rising to her cheeks as she looked away, nervously adjusting the hem of his damp jacket. “I don’t usually open up like this, especially to someone I’ve just met,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I suppose the drinks have loosened my tongue quite a bit more than I intended.”

Mason’s gaze softened, and he smiled warmly. “Don’t be shy. I find it quite endearing,” he said gently. 

She met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of apology and vulnerability. “I guess tonight’s been a bit more revealing than I planned,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this on you.”

Mason’s smile was warm and understanding as he responded with a gentle chuckle. “It’s okay,” he reassured her. “Sometimes, talking to someone you don’t know well— yet,” he added carefully— “can make it easier to share. And as much as I’ve enjoyed hearing about your past… if you end up spending more time here and need someone to help you make new memories in Manchester—or just to distract you from the old ones—I’m around.”

Y/N’s laughter was soft, her blush deepening but her demeanor relaxing as she looked at him with newfound ease. Her hand slipped into Mason’s, her fingers cold against his skin, but the touch was reassuring, grounding them both.

“Come on,” she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s getting late. Would you walk me back to my friend’s flat?”

Mason smiled warmly and nodded. “Absolutely.”

Before they stood up, Y/N leaned in close, her breath warm against Mason’s ear. “And hey,” she whispered with a playful tone, “I promise you a kiss as soon as we get there.”

Mason’s heart skipped a beat at her words, and he chuckled softly. “I’m looking forward to it,” he replied, squeezing her hand gently as they rose to their feet.

As they wandered through the quiet, rain-soaked streets, Mason found himself increasingly captivated by Y/N. Her lightheartedness and playful energy were a welcome change from the weight of his recent struggles. Despite her costume clinging damply to her frame, she seemed utterly carefree, her spirit untainted by the rain. Mason laughed more freely than he had in weeks, their conversation flowing effortlessly.

Suddenly, Y/N let go of his hand and darted ahead, twirling around with a joyous grin. Her laughter echoed through the empty streets, and Mason felt a warmth spread through him. Her exuberance was contagious, lifting him out of his own concerns.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” she called over her shoulder, her voice vibrant with challenge.

Mason quickened his pace, his grin widening. “Why should I hurry?” he teased.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Because if you don’t, I might just have to reconsider that kiss I promised.”

Determined not to miss out, Mason quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. As he reached Y/N, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands resting lightly against the small of her back and pulling her close. He buried his face in her damp hair for a moment, breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her body even through the soaked fabric.

As they stood there, Mason looked down at Y/N with a contented smile. His arms still encircled her waist, holding her close despite the chill of the rain. He took a deep breath, savoring the closeness and the warmth she radiated. “You know,” he said softly, his voice carrying a blend of amusement and affection, “I know you promised me a kiss when we got there, but this moment feels pretty perfect too.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise and delight. “Oh, really?” she teased, her lips curling into a playful smile.

Mason nodded, his gaze steady and earnest. “Yeah, I think this moment is as good as any other.”

Before she could reply, Mason gently tilted her chin up with a tender touch. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against her skin with warmth and reverence. Their eyes locked, and for a suspended instant, the world seemed to pause. The steady rain created a soft, rhythmic backdrop that blurred their surroundings, making their shared space feel intimate and isolated.

Mason leaned in slowly, his breath mingling with hers as the distance between them closed. The cool droplets of rain kissed their faces, but it was the warmth of their connection that captured their full attention. When their lips finally met, the kiss was tender and deliberate, a gentle exploration that deepened as they became more attuned to each other. It was both soothing and electrifying, a beautiful contrast to the chill of the rain that clung to their clothes.

Y/N looked up at Mason, her smile still glowing from their shared kiss. “Let’s keep walking,” she said softly, slipping her hand back into his.

Mason nodded with a warm smile. “Okay,” he replied, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

As they continued their stroll toward the flat, Y/N glanced over at Mason, a playful smile on her lips. “Tonight’s been quite the adventure,” she said, her tone light and cheerful. 

Mason chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. “I know what you mean.”

As they arrive to the flat, their eyes exchanged more than words ever could, conveying a silent understanding and connection that spoke volumes.

“Before we part ways,” Mason said with a playful glint in his eye, pulling out his phone and opening the contacts app, “I’d like to make sure I can stay in touch with my favourite angel.”

He typed “Angel I Met on Halloween” into the contact name field with a coy smile and handed the phone to Y/N. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she took it from him, her smile widening.

“Alright,” she replied, her tone warm as she began typing her number into the phone. Her fingers moved gracefully across the screen, and she glanced up at him with a mix of curiosity and enjoyment.

Once she finished, she handed the phone back to Mason, who gave her a satisfied nod. “Perfect,” he said, saving the contact. “I wanted to make sure I could keep you updated on how my injury recovery is going,” he added with a hint of playfulness.

Y/N smiled softly. “Sounds good to me.”

“And if you’re up for it,” Mason continued with a shy smile, “maybe I could even arrange a spot for you in a box when I’m back on the pitch.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “That sounds like a plan.”

Mason nodded, his smile broadening. “Great. I’ll be sure to reach out.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As Y/N turned toward the flat, Mason gently touched her arm, his expression a mix of anticipation and coyness.

“You know,” he said, his voice light and teasing, “you did promise me a kiss as soon as we got here, remember?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Well, aren’t you the greedy one?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Mason’s grin widened, his gaze sincere. “I think it’s only fair,” he replied, his tone warm.

With a soft laugh, Y/N leaned in, her eyes meeting his with a playful glint. Their lips brushed in a brief but sweet kiss, leaving a lingering warmth. She pulled back, her smile soft and genuine.

“There you go,” she said, her voice filled with affectionate playfulness. “Until next time, Devil.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Mason called softly as she turned to head inside.

“Goodnight, Mason,” she replied over her shoulder, her voice carrying a hint of warmth.

Mason watched her enter the flat, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

 ◌                             ◌                                       ◌           

                                            ‧₊ *:･ﾟ彡       ◌                 ☽︎       ◌

            ◌                                 ✩彡 ･ﾟ *:                                     

                                ◌                                        ◌

Please give me your thoughts and request any ideas you have because I loveeee to write based on a concept!!!! :")

[vi-is-badass]

Arcane Season 2 - The Base Violence Necessary for Change

I think this shot is the most interesting part of the trailer. We see a shot of Jinx as a painting on a wall. A symbol. A leader. Her actions stand for revolution in Zaun and I think this could be an interesting expansion of Arcane’s exploration of violence and the idea that there is a base violence necessary for change.

Silco is framed as an antagonist in season 1 because of his actions against the undercity people specifically.

In act 3 he’s not the revolutionary he positioned himself as and is instead hurting the people of Zaun through his leadership. He’s doing as much to hurt topside as Vander was in act 1 (meaning nothing at all). He’s even got the sheriff working with him just like Vander, but, unlike Vander, Silco is hurting his own people to facilitate power and he’s not even fighting for that freedom he claimed to want so much.

We see the damage his actions have wrought. We see the shimmer addicts, forgotten and exploited. We see that he's created a hierarchy rather than a community.

And it’s contrasted with the firelights. People considered terrorists to Piltover, who do use violence to fight back against Silco and topside, and yet offer the biggest glimmer of hope. They aren’t villainized. The act of fighting back isn’t villainized and it shouldn’t be.

Because it’s not the violence in and of itself that’s the issue. It’s what that violence is used for.

The series hammers this idea home through Vander. 

Vander’s staunch stance against violence is flawed as well. It comes from a good place. A desire to protect what he loves rather than destroy what he hates and it did create a time free of the death revolution brings, but it’s made it so no ground could be made to free Zaun and create a better world for the people in it. It created stagnation. 

The people of the undercity are still stuck in a cycle of crushing poverty, growing up without parents, dying young due to pollution or violence wrought by desperate people or oppressive enforcers.

It didn’t move the needle because Piltover and the system in place wasn’t going to change just because the people of the undercity were playing nice.

The unrest and anger felt towards Vander for his ideal was understandable. His views on the cyclical nature of violence and the fact that if you fight you will lose people (“What are you willing to lose”) is correct, but that doesn’t make this option the ideal one.

Which brings me back to that shot in the trailer of that painting of Jinx.

Season 2 looks like it’s going to be a season of opposites and rediscovery where it flips what we expect of Jinx and Vi on its head and further explores these ideas of violence, oppression, and revolution.

And I think this season might possibly do that by reversing how Vi and Jinx reflect Vander and Silco.

In the first season the siblings were direct reflections of their respective father figures, but now they’re inversions. Jinx can become the good to be found in Silco’s ideals and Vi the pitfalls of Vander’s.

Jinx’s actions in season 1 weren’t those of a revolutionary. Her actions weren’t meant to free the people of the undercity or improve their lives. She didn’t steal the hexcrystal to bring hextech to the undercity and improve their lives and she didn’t kill the enforcers on the bridge to get rid of dirty cops. She didn’t kidnap Caitlyn for a greater cause.

But we know that Jinx isn’t only the violence she enacted. That she is “the monster they (the system and people around her) created”. Her actions weren’t heroic in the first season, but they were driven by the life that was forced upon her. Her hurt and anger are justified.

Now that she’s away from Silco, no longer a part of his machine and actively participating in his actions that were hurting the undercity, her actions and anger can take on a new light. She can rediscover herself away from his manipulations (this isn’t to say he didn’t love her but what he did and said isolated her and allowed her issues to fester) and become that symbol we see on the wall.

Jinx could be in a way what Silco could have been if he didn’t let his own self interest get in the way of his ideals. Not quite as forward thinking as Ekko or as idealistic, but still a symbol for resistance that fights for Zaun.

Whereas Vi is sort of on a path to becoming a darker reflection of Vander’s ideals.

Vi becomes a part of the system she used to rage against.

 Based on the season 2 teaser that was released in 2021– 

“Nobody else needs to get hurt.”

–I think it’s likely that Vi believes she can prevent more death or can stop Piltover’s violence against the undercity if she takes Jinx in.

Vi sees herself as a protector who has failed at every turn to protect those she cares about. She lost her parents, Powder, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, etc. and she is constantly desperate to try and save what she loves and that will likely drive her decision to become an enforcer.

Vi, like Vander, wants to save what she loves and as a result isn’t going to fight back against topside. This is a much more extreme version of Vander’s ideals. Where she “compromises” in an attempt to prevent bloodshed but as a result enables (or in her case helps) the system in place.

This decision will have negative consequences (and deservedly so!) because no matter what thoughts or feelings are the driving factor in it she is still siding with her oppressors and ultimately helping the system that is the root cause of that loss and pain in the first place. 

Based on the clip released at Annecy and what people have said the writers explained about Vi’s arc in season 2 it seems like Vi will be ostracized for this decision and deservedly so. She won’t belong anywhere. To the undercity she’s a traitor and to Piltover she’s nothing more than an undercity rat.

She will have lost everything. She will have no one to protect. And who is Vi if she’s not a protector?

Vi will be forced to re-evaluate who she is and what she wants. Just like Jinx, Vi will have to redefine herself when she loses everything.

I can’t wait for season 2 and what the team at Fortiche has in store for us. The way the show tackles complex themes and ideas is incredible and Vi and Jinx are some of the most compelling and complicated characters I’ve seen on tv. I’m looking forward to November.

[thefadecodex]

In DATV, the concept of spirits evolving rather than perishing after corruption presents a profound shift from what was established in DAI. In DAI, when the Spirit of Wisdom was twisted into a Pride Demon, its redemption led to what Solas described as a form of death—a return to the Fade, stripped of its purpose and essence. However, DATV offers a more nuanced perspective: the potential for rebirth and transformation.

Rebirth: A New Purpose, A New Name

This revelation unfolds in the Hossberg Wetlands, where the side quest “Something’s Coming” introduces a haunting encounter with a Despair Demon called Despair Undying. True to its name, the demon reappears relentlessly, no matter how many times it is defeated, until the quest is completed. To resolve this cycle, players must collect three bundles of Broca’s Blooms—delicate flowers that only begin to grow after the side quest a specific side quest is completed.

Upon returning to the site of Despair Undying with the flowers, players find the demon is gone. In its place stands a spirit, Hope Unyielding. The transformation is not simply a return to what the spirit once was but a rebirth into something new. The dialogue that follows encapsulates this evolution:

Despair Undying: Light glimmers the surface. Flowers break through snow. Hope unexpected. I am such. Rook: Is Despair gone? Hope Unyielding: No. But nor was I forever.

This moment introduces a pivotal idea: corruption is not an absolute endpoint. A spirit can transcend its corrupted state, not by returning to its original form but by evolving into a new purpose. 

The Fade Codex speculates that Despair Undying may have originally been a Spirit of Compassion. The journey from corruption to rebirth could have catalyzed its transformation into Hope Unyielding, reflecting growth rather than mere restoration.

This shift in understanding deepens the metaphysical lore of spirits and their connection to purpose. It opens the door to themes of resilience, change, and the enduring possibility of renewal, even after profound darkness. In DATV, spirits are not bound to linearity—they embody the transformative power of the Fade and the infinite potential of purpose reshaped.

The Role of Broca's Blooms

At the heart of Despair Undying's transformation lies the quest "Something’s Coming." Broca’s Blooms, delicate flowers that thrive in adversity, symbolize life persisting in harsh conditions of the Blight. These flowers only begin to grow after players support the Grey Wardens fighting back darkspawn attacking the village and taking out blight boils. After this, broca’s blooms suddenly appear, which is confusing for everyone. By collecting three bundles of these blooms and bringing them back to the spirit’s location, players engage in an act of restoration—not through force, but through care and intention.

Broca’s Blooms are not simply tools; they are symbols. They represent the player’s willingness to interact with the Fade and its spirits on a deeper, more compassionate level. These flowers, growing in a place steeped in despair, signify the potential for renewal. They are proof that even in the darkest spaces, life—and hope—can find a way.

The Player’s Role: Patience and Recognition

Unlike the encounter with the Spirit of Wisdom twisted into a Pride Demon in DAI, the confrontation with Despair Undying does not end in violence or a 'death' so to speak. Instead, the resolution comes from understanding—an understanding that Despair Undying could not simply be destroyed, nor could it be forced back into what it once was.

When the player collects the flowers and returns, they do not "fix" the spirit. Instead, they create the circumstances in which the spirit can choose transformation.

This aligns with Solas's observations in earlier titles—that spirits are deeply tied to their purpose and the perceptions of those around them. This also aligns with comments made by Emmrich how surprised spirits (and maligned spirits) respond to kindness.

By bringing the flowers and offering a gesture of peace, the player helps shift the narrative around Despair Undying, allowing it to see a new path forward.

The Fade and the Cycle of Purpose

Spirits exist in cycles: they are born, they take form, they serve their purpose, and sometimes, they are twisted away from it. In DATV, the cycle does not have to end in destruction or death. The presence of Broca’s Blooms and the dialogue with Hope Unyielding suggest that the Fade is a space of potential. Despair Undying’s transformation was not about erasing its past or pretending its suffering never happened—it was about accepting that suffering and finding a way to grow beyond it.

This mirrors the philosophy present in many interactions with spirits throughout the series. Spirits are not inherently "good" or "bad"; they are shaped by purpose, perception, and choice. Despair Undying's choice to become Hope Unyielding represents a rare moment of agency for a corrupted spirit, facilitated by the player’s actions.

Why This Matters

The transformation of Despair Undying into Hope Unyielding redefines how we understand corrupted spirits in Dragon Age. It challenges the assumption that corruption is always final and that redemption must come at the cost of self-destruction. Instead, it presents a gentler truth: spirits, like people, are capable of growth, change, and transformation, given the right environment and care.

In the end, Despair Undying did not "die." Nor did it revert to something it once was. It evolved. And that evolution was made possible not by force, but by compassion, patience, and the willingness to believe in the possibility of hope—hope unyielding.

[scrompsmilanodiaries]

Christmas time is here

A Christmas gift for everyone. Word count:786

It's been a brutal and hectic few months for the guardians of the galaxy, with jobs galore and each of them getting more crazier than the one before. But with Christmas just around the corner, Quill wanted to ease everyone's minds and celebrate being in each other's company.

So when December 1st rolled around...

"Hey Groot, Got a task for you" He smiled softly.

"I am Groot ??"

"Remember when I was talking about those tree that Terran's decorated when the very last month comes up ??"

"I am Groot" He nodded.

"Well, today's the day buddy, let's make ourselves a tree"

The other guardians heard some scuffling and constant drags across the floor, once they went to check out what was causing it, most of them were confused except for you.

"Is that a Christmas tree ??" You asked with a smile, god it feels like forever since you celebrated it.

"You bet your buns it is" Quill nodded.

"How does one sell y/n's buttocks peter quill ?? They are attached to them" Drax chimed in to which everyone sighed in dissapointment.

"Well whatever it is, I ain't wanting to be apart of all that sparkle, It's giving me a headache" Rocket began to walk away.

"Oh come on dude, It's a fun time. We all get to hang out and do fun things" You tried to hype it up.

"Like we don't already ??" He chuckled.

So with that, you made it your mission to get Rocket on board with the whole thing. Starting with little things like creating advent calendars for everyone.

"So when a new day arrives, you flip it over as we lead to Christmas eve" You showed him.

"Not bad craftsmanship but still not on board" He returned to his project, making you pout a little.

The next day you brought out a USB stick with some movies and a projector, getting everyone around for movie night.

"What are we watching y/n ??" Mantis asked curiously.

"A Christmas classic" You then pressed play on Die hard.

You could see some glimmer in Rocket's eyes as the whole movie played, But once it ended it quickly dissipated.

"The action scenes looked cool, but don't understand why they had to set it around that time, could've been any other flarking day in my opinion" He jumped off the couch and wandered off.

Every day, you started to grow a little sad that he didn't want any part of it. It was now Christmas Eve. You were sitting in front of the tree with the lights fully shining, the tinsel adding to the effect as well. Everyone was in bed and fast asleep or so you thought.

"What are you still doing up ??" A familiar voice chimed as he then joined you.

You looked at him and then sighed. "Christmas isn't about movies and trees and buckets of food... It's about spending time with the people that care about you the most... I'm sorry for trying to force all of these things on you..." You looked back at the tree.

Rocket looked at you, He was incredibly touched by your statement. He knew you cared about him... and he did too. The countless times that you had helped him, saving his butt out on missions, comforting him after his nightmares... He considered you a close friend rather than an ally.

"Ahh flark it" He went over to the tree and scrummaged through the bottom until he pulled out a box. "Merry Christmas..." He muttered, trying not to act too soft.

You slowly smiled at him as you gently took the box out of his hands, he got you a gift... "Thanks"

You began to slowly open it and inside your eyes widened, It was an old Playstation 2 from your childhood, It looked in tact as well. "Woah, Theirs some games inside too" Your smile growing wider.

"Cost me a lot of units, so you better be appreciating it" He smirked.

You then placed the box down and then moved to the tree, pulling out another gift before handing it to him.

"It's only fair" You smiled.

Rocket looked at you like a deer in the headlights before then opening the gift. Inside was the new version of a jetpack he wanted to ste.. uh... get.

"Pretty cool huh ??" You looked down at the jet pack.

Before you could even do anything, He lunged at you, wrapping his arms around your neck as happy tears started to fall down, He was incredibly touched by the gift... You really did care for him, You happily returned the gesture by wrapping your arms around him, Holding him close and tight.

"Merry Christmas Rocket"

A/N: Apologies if this isn't on par, it's been a while since I wrote anything so I'm a tad rusty.

Taglist: @callofdudes

[asacredthebread]

Cocky Corrections

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Sam x F!Reader - 18+

𝙵𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎?

Warnings/Themes: Sub Sam, Begging, Whining, Teasing, Drinking, Slight Public, Cocky behaviour, Handjob

wc; 5794

taglist - @musicislove3389 @peaceloveunitygvf @jazzyfigz @sarahbethgvf

It was one of those late summer evenings, where the air was thick with humid warmth, and the golden light of the setting sun streamed through the open windows of the bar. The small space was buzzing with laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a comforting ambiance that made you feel right at home. You sat at a round table with Sam, Jake, Josh, and Danny after an exhausting but exhilarating band practice, the remnants of their efforts lingering like a distant echo of a concert yet to come.

Sam, with his long brown hair cascading down his back and his expressive brown eyes sparkling with mischief, sat confidently at the table, an amber pint cradled in his hands. You couldn’t help but admire him from the corner of your eye as he animatedly recounted some trivial band drama from earlier that day. His natural charm had a way of pulling everyone into his stories, and as he spoke, he leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing on his lips.

"Maybe if we had a little more practice and a little less bickering, we’d actually get song down," Sam joked, shooting a teasing look at Jake, who feigned innocence, rolling his eyes with a smirk. “But who am I kidding? You’d probably drown in the spotlight anyway.”

Danny erupted into laughter, his infectious humor infusing the atmosphere with a lightness that evoked chuckles from everyone around. Josh, the softer-spoken one of the ensemble, sat quietly, a tender smile on his face as he watched the dynamic play out. You felt the warmth of laughter wrapping around you, but there was a different energy pulsing between you and Sam—a tangible undercurrent that suggested a different side to him.

As he continued to boast and banter with his brothers and Danny, he seemed to grow more animated. His laugh was louder, his gestures more exaggerated. You knew that within this confident façade lay a completely different person; one who thrived on your approval and craved your guiding hand. The thought was enough to propel a small smile to your lips, one that Sam occasionally caught when his eyes flicked toward your direction.

“Really, dude, you should just stick to playing bass,” Jake said, shaking his head, a smirk lacing his words. “You know pushing your weight around can’t cover up your lack of rhythm.”

“Oh, come on!” Sam waved a dismissive hand, but there was a glimmer of mock frustration in his eyes. “I’m practically the backbone of this band. Without me, you’d all be lost.”

You caught his gaze, and it held a challenge—an invitation wrapped in bravado. One part of you wanted to encourage that cockiness, to let him bask in the limelight he thrived in, but another part couldn’t resist giving him the knowing look that shifted the power dynamic. It was a brief glance that carried with it the understanding of your complex relationship, unspoken yet resonant. In these moments of confidence, he was the band’s star—a leader, a showman—but in private, he could be so achingly tender, his demeanor a stark contrast that only you truly recognized.

Sam's smile faltered for just a second, as if registering the subtle shift in energy between you both. The façade of bravado smoothed out, giving way to a flicker of something deeper—perhaps vulnerability or yearning. But the spell was soon broken, and he filled the silence with a quick quip meant to catch everyone’s attention again.

“Alright, alright, I guess I’ll take all the credits then. Just know that when we blow up, I’ll expect a bigger share of the profits!” he declared with a laugh, slamming his pint down on the table in a triumph that earned him a chorus of playful groans from the others.

You couldn't help but smile at him. Watching his rapid shifts from cocky bravado to a deeper introspection was always a show you enjoyed. There was something intoxicating about being the one who held that subtle sway over him—a power balance steeped in trust. Balancing the roles he played on stage and off, you relished the parts you understood—how he fed off the energy of the room, yet yearned for more from you in a space only meant for two.

As the night continued, the laughter and teasing filled up the air, creating a warm blanket that wrapped around all of you. But within that vibrancy, you could still sense Sam’s playful arrogance masking the deeper layers of who he truly was—a man yearning for guidance, for connection, and most important, for you.

As the evening rolled on, the lively banter among the band intensified, fueled by drinks and camaraderie. Sam leaned further into the spotlight, transforming into the embodiment of rock star charisma. He tossed his hair back with an exaggerated flourish, his body radiating confidence as he declared, “It’s official: I was born to own that stage! When I step out there, it’s like the world fades away and all that remains is me and the music. Everyone else is just background noise!”

The table erupted into laughter and cheers, a chorus of encouragement that fed into Sam's bravado. He gestured widely, mimicking the movements he might display on a stage—a grand rock star performance at its finest. “You know those moments when I grab the mic and the audience goes wild? That’s all me, baby! I’ll have you guys begging for an encore! I’ve seen it, all the signs, it’s me and my woah’s against the world!”

As he recounted the latest practice where he imagined himself commanding the crowd, you watched him intently, your gaze piercing through the playful banter that surrounded you. There was a glimmer of pride in your chest, mixed with something akin to urgency. Sam was riding high on the waves of confidence, but you knew the others—caught up in their cheers—weren’t fully aware of the path he was navigating with more than just bravado.

As Sam gestured animatedly to make his point, you leaned in slightly, letting the heat of your body brush against his, sending an unspoken warning through the space between you. You shot him a look—sharp yet teasing—a promise that he would be held accountable for this newfound arrogance. There was something about the way his eyes sparkled in that moment, a flicker of realization mixed with challenge, as if he eagerly accepted your silent contract.

Not wanting to let the opportunity slip away, you placed your hand lightly on his thigh, just above his kneecap, allowing your fingertips to graze his jeans as you locked your eyes onto his. The gesture was casual enough for the others to remain oblivious, but you could feel the heat radiating from him as he paused mid-sentence, caught in the tension brewing between you.

His expression shifted slightly at the contact, his cockiness momentarily fading to reveal something more vulnerable, almost blissful. A mix of surprise and thrill danced behind those expressive brown eyes as he fought to maintain his swagger while your hand teased him subtly.

“My sweet boy,” you said quietly, your voice soft but laden with meaning, emphasizing the appropriate mix of intimacy and authority. “You might own the stage, but don’t forget who keeps you grounded here.”

The words hung in the air, and you could practically see him weighing the balance of defiance and submission in that moment. Around the table, Jake was relaying his thoughts on the upcoming setlist, Danny was contributing with his usual flair, and Josh remained a calm presence—oblivious to the inner conversation layered within the hazy air of the bar.

But Sam was no longer hearing his brothers. His focus had shifted; the raucous laughter around you faded into a dull hum as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, just for you. “Do you think you can keep me grounded?” There was a playful challenge hidden beneath his words, a desire to see just how far he could push without losing your grasp.

You smiled at him, your thumb brushing lightly across his thigh, sending shivers through him, and you could sense the mix of cockiness and intrigue swirling within him. It was exhilarating and risky; a push and pull that defined the unspoken relationship that existed between the two of you. The thrill of asserting control over his cocky facade, mingling with the rush of knowing he needed you in a way no one else did.

As Sam attempted to regain his bravado and rejoin the conversation happening around him, you remained poised, your fingers still grazing against his thigh, maintaining a thread that connected you both—a secret tether in the midst of the evening's revelry. And while the others continued to celebrate the evening, a quiet heat built between you and Sam, stretching the tension just a little longer, each glance and touch laced with unspoken promises of what was yet to come.

You could feel the electric tension humming between you, a current that connected you both amidst the noise and laughter of the bar. Sam's cocky persona was beginning to shift, and you relished the power it gave you in the moment, a thrill that coursed through your veins like the alcohol swirling in your glass. You subtly adjusted your position, leaning in closer to him, your breath barely brushing against his ear as you made your move.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid your fingers into the waistband of his pants, just enough to feel the warmth of his skin beneath his jeans. You were careful to keep your movements casual, like a playful caress, but you knew what you were doing. The thrill of teasing him sent a delicious shiver through your own body, and you felt the slightest tremor run through him as your fingers grazed over his boxers.

Sam jolted a little, surprise painted across his features as his concentration abruptly shattered. The laughter from Danny and Jake morphed into a distant backdrop, fading as he focused solely on the intimate connection you had initiated. For a brief heartbeat, you reveled in the way he stiffened at your touch, his eyes widening in surprise, but just as quickly as it sparked, it was tempered with a semblance of his previous bravado.

“Oh—damn it!” he exclaimed, his voice rising a notch as he quickly pretended to shift in his seat, a forced chuckle escaping him. “I just hit my knee on the table. You know, these stupid legs—they’re like a weapon of mass destruction!”

He aimed a playful kick at the table, trying to brush off the involuntary reaction, but you could see the suppressed excitement in his eyes, a flicker of desire mixed with embarrassment. The laughter continued around you, but for Sam, the stakes were different now. You had pulled him from center stage, grounding him into reality with just a few daring gestures, and it thrilled you to see how he responded.

His bravado was still there, just reconfigured amid a swirl of confusion and uncertainty. You could tell he was fighting to reclaim his earlier composure, caught between wanting to stay cocky while also grappling with the thrill of your intimate touch. As you held your position, your fingers barely tugging at the waistband, you took joy in the power you had over him.

“Watch where you’re swinging those long legs, Sammy,” you teased, your voice low enough that only he could hear. You felt a grin tugging at your lips, drawing further out the contrast between his exterior and the hidden desires that lay beneath.

Sam's playful smirk returned, albeit with an edge that hinted at his ongoing need to maintain his persona. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m just fine! You know me—always hitting my targets, even when they’re my own knees!” He laughed off the moment, but there was a flicker in his gaze, an unspoken acknowledgment of the boundary you had both crossed.

The others around the table continued chatting away, absorbed in their own discussions, blissfully unaware of the charged atmosphere simmering between you and the man who was simultaneously the life of the party and a person longing for something deeper in the respite that existed outside of the spotlight. Sam’s hand subtly drifted toward your thigh, seeking some connection, but you remained firm in your teasing, relishing in the way he responded to your every move.

The balance hung in the air: he projected an image of playful dominance, but you both knew who truly was in control. And as the laughter faded into anecdotes and the drinks continued to flow, you were determined to keep him guessing—between his roguish charm and the depths of his submission, you held the key to unlocking the secret behind the man who would one day own the stage.

After a few minutes of playful teasing and lingering touches, you decided it was time to break the spell for just a moment. You leaned back slightly, letting your fingers trace away from Sam’s waistband as you rose from your seat. “I’ll be right back,” you said, shooting him a sly smile before gracefully making your way through the throng of people towards the bathroom.

As you navigated the busy bar, laughter and music swirled around you, but your thoughts were filled with the enticing figure you had just left behind. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, and it left you with a thrill that combined anticipation and mischief.

You freshened up quickly, splashing cold water on your face and taking a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you stepped out of the bathroom, you spotted Sam leaning against the wall down the hall, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the thumping rhythm of the party.

"Hey, I thought you might get lost in there," he teased, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

“I know my way around a bathroom, don’t worry, darling.” You shot back playfully, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. The space between you felt charged, electric with the tension that had been brewing all evening.

“Now, about your behavior back there...” you began, your voice dripping with a mix of authority and affection as you gracefully wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer to you. There was a moment of surprise in his expression, followed quickly by a softening that made your heart race.

“Look at you, all cocky and full of yourself,” you murmured, pressing gentle kisses against the warm skin of his neck. The taste of beer mixed with the faint scent of his cologne intoxicated you further, and you could feel him melt into you, a quiet moan escaping his lips in response.

“Just being charismatic,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, but the teasing lilt in his tone had shifted to something more vulnerable as he leaned into your touch.

You felt a rush of satisfaction at the effect you had on him, and you whispered against his skin, “Oh, really? Charismatic or just a little too full of yourself, princess?”

The term of endearment slipped from your lips effortlessly—playful yet intimate—as your kisses trailed further up his neck, delighting in how he reacted to your touch. Sam's breath hitched slightly, a deeper moan escaping him this time, his body leaning closer, inviting you to draw him in even more.

“Princess?” he echoed, a slight chuckle intermingled with the breathy sound of desire. “That’s a new one…”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, which were now alight with a mix of mischief and yearning. “It suits you. Sweet and a little spoiled,” you teased, feeling emboldened by the way he was surrendering to you in the dimly lit corridor away from prying eyes.

He chuckled softly, but there was a hint of submission in his gaze. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

The air between you was thick with anticipation, as you stood there, holding him close and sharing a moment that bypassed the usual bravado. Sam's vulnerability was disarming, and it only fueled your desire to tease him further.

You felt the world around you fade as you held him, the sounds of the bar distant and muffled. In this private moment, it was just the two of you—intimate, charged, and poised on the edge of something deeper. You could feel the shift in Sam as he melted further into your hands, the teasing banter fading away to reveal a side of him that hungered for something deeper. His body instinctively leaned into you, surrendering to the warmth of your embrace, and you could see the façade slip from his features as desire mingled with a vulnerability that was impossible to ignore.

“Please...” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pulse of the music from the bar. The word hung in the air, laced with an urgent need that made your heart race. You could sense the tension coiling tighter within him, and it thrilled you.

“Please what?” you asked coyly, keeping your hold on him steady as you pressed another kiss to the crook of his neck, your lips brushing against his skin in a way that felt both playful and intoxicating. In response, you felt him shudder, a soft whimper escaping his lips that tugged at something deep within you.

“I—” he stammered, the confidence he usually wielded melting beneath your touch. “I was only playing, I swear,” he murmured, the words laced with a mix of desperation and a hint of embarrassment. “You know that, right?”

The way he spoke, almost pleading now, sent a thrill coursing through you. You reveled in this new dynamic, the tease evolving into something more profound that sent sparks of excitement racing down your spine.

“Playing?” you echoed, enjoying the tension that lay between sincerity and the playful game you both engaged in. “Then why do you sound so needy, hmm?”

He took a shaky breath, and the way his fingers tightened subtly against your back made your heart race. “I just—can’t take it,” he admitted quietly, the words barely a whisper, yet filled with an urgency that made you smile. “Just... please stop teasing me. It’s driving me crazy.”

His admission was laced with a quiet whimper that resonated within you. There was something exhilarating about having this power over him, watching as he unraveled under your touch. You held him closer, trapping his whispered pleas between your bodies as you leaned in, capturing the moment with the intoxicating warmth of his vulnerable side.

“Aw, poor baby,” you cooed softly, further pressing him into submission with each word, feeling the tension create an electric bond between you. “Can’t handle a little teasing? Is that it?”

He hung his head slightly, the playful bravado disappearing as he chose to simply let you lead. “I can handle it, but,” he sighed, “it’s just…”

“Just what?” you pressed gently, fully aware that you could make him squirm if you pushed just a little harder.

“I want you,” he finally confessed, the admission trembling on his lips as he searched your eyes for understanding. “I want you to stop teasing and just…”

You sensed the weight of his words lingering in the air and felt a rush of satisfaction. Whether he could fully embrace his submission or not, he was visibly caught in the dizzying whirlwind of your control, and you savored every moment of it.

With a sly smile playing on your lips, you tilted your head slightly to gaze into his eyes, your heart racing at the sheer connection you felt. “Tell me you want it, and I might just be willing to give you what you’re begging for,” you teased, knowing full well that Sam was teetering on the edge of surrender.

His answer was a soft, desperate moan, fraught with need, as he looked at you with longing and vulnerability, caught in that perfect moment of intimacy where playful teasing merged with something much deeper.

The atmosphere between you and Sam crackled with unspoken tension and anticipation. You could see the struggle in his eyes as he wrestled with his desire and the last remnants of his bravado. He opened his mouth to say something but faltered, words escaping him as he searched for the right ones.

“Uh... I— I mean, I want you to…” His voice was a soft stutter, the sounds tumbling clumsily from his lips, and with each pause, you could see him trying to regain the confident composure he often wore like armor. But here, with you, he was unraveling, and you loved every moment of it.

“Just take your time, princess,” you said softly, a teasing lilt in your voice, encouraging him even as you enjoyed the power you felt in this vulnerable exchange. It was a dance—one of dominance and submission, and he was all yours.

“I want you to… um, I want you to touch me, but,” he hesitated again, biting his lip in that adorable way that sent shivers down your spine. “Not just like, um, like before,” he managed, and you could see him struggling to articulate his thoughts. “I mean, I want you to really—”

“What do you want me to do?” you asked gently, leaning in a bit closer, your lips brushing against his ear, where you could feel the warmth of his body radiating even through his shirt.

“I want you to make me feel good,” he finally whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of urgency and desire, sealing the admission with a quiet whimper.

Your heart raced at his confession, the heat pooling low in your stomach. You understood what he was yearning for—this blend of teasing, control, and now the promise of something more intimate. It sent excitement shooting through you as you felt his vulnerability envelop you, urging you to explore this new territory together.

“Okay, princess,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against his waist, feeling the way his breath caught in his throat at the slightest touch. Taking the lead, you let your hand find its way down, moving slowly, intentionally, as it slipped under the waistband of his pants. The heat of his skin was intoxicating, and you could feel his muscles tense at your touch.

“Just breathe for me,” you instructed softly, easing your hand further, fingers brushing against him where he was already growing hard. The moment you felt him, he gasped—a sharp intake of breath that sent a thrill coursing through you.

“Oh my god…” he breathed, his words stammering out in a breathless rush as you wrapped your fingers around him, slowly stroking, teasingly gentle at first. “I didn’t— I wasn’t ready for… for that.” His voice was a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming need, a fragrant cocktail of desire that made you want to push him even further.

“Just relax,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry. “Let me take care of you.” You let your movements be deliberate, your fingers gliding along his length in slow, tantalizing strokes. You could feel him respond almost immediately, his body instinctively leaning into your touch as soft moans slipped from his lips, each one igniting something wild within you.

“Y-you’re so—” he stuttered, lost in the sensation as you maintained that exquisite pace. “I can’t believe we’re… here.” His words were punctuated by quiet whimpers, a mix of pleasure and soft pleading that encouraged you to keep going.

“Just focus on how good it feels,” you encouraged, feeling him melt further into your touch. You loved the way he surrendered, the way his body reacted to you so openly, as if you had awakened something inside him that he was desperate to explore.

His gaze was hazy, pupils dilated as they locked onto yours, and you could see the way he struggled to suppress his whines, lips trembling slightly as if trying to hold back a tide of need. “I—I don’t want to hold back anymore,” he admitted, the words spilling from him in a rush as if the dam had finally broken.

“I know, Sam. Just let go for me,” you replied, your fingers picking up the pace ever so slightly, deliberately applying more pressure as you watched his reactions closely. Each flick of your wrist, each stroke of your hand coaxed soft cries from him, pushing him deeper into the whirlpool of desire.

“God, I— I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he stuttered, eyes fluttering shut as he savored the feel of you—so close, so intimate. “It feels so good… you.. oh-”

“Shh, just enjoy it,” you whispered, your voice wrapping around him like velvet as you continued your steady rhythm, feeling the familiar heat and weight of his need pulsing between you. Sam was losing himself in your hands, and with each passing moment, the air crackled with an energy that felt electric, binding you closer in this moment of shared longing.

Though he was still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, you could see it slipping away. The way his hips instinctively bucked into your strokes, the soft, tortured whimpers spilling from his lips—each response was a command to keep going, to take him further into this intoxicating abyss of pleasure together.

And you were more than willing to oblige.

The electric connection between you and Sam thrummed in the air, a palpable tension that surged with every heartbeat. You could see the need building in his eyes as he wrestled with his desire, and the moment felt ripe for the taking.

“Come with me,” you said softly, your voice low and inviting. Without waiting for a response, you took his hand, guiding him through the hall, until you reached the dimly lit bathroom. The sound of muffled music faded as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a sense of finality.

The small space felt intimate, charged with a sense of secrecy that only heightened the urgency of the moment. You turned to him, locking eyes, and in one fluid motion, backed him up against the cool, tiled wall. Sam gasped at the sudden shift, his breath hitching as the reality of where you were sank in.

“Now, let’s see how needy you are,” you murmured, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you pressed your body against his. Instinctively, he tilted his head back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed as surrender washed over him. You could feel his warmth radiating through your clothes, his body responding to your proximity and the thrill of the moment.

With a gentle yet firm grip, you resumed stroking him, your hand moving with a deliberate slowness that made him squirm. “Oh god, please…” he whimpered, the desperation in his voice sending a rush of exhilaration through you. You loved that he was so utterly receptive, his body betraying him as he bucked his hips into your hand, seeking more of the pleasure you were giving him.

“You like this, don’t you?” you teased, leaning in closer. Your lips found their way to the sensitive skin of his neck, planting soft kisses that made him tremble. “You’re so responsive, Sammy… I can feel how much you want it.”

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, his voice a breathy whisper, barely holding onto the thread of restraint as he melted further into you with each kiss. You could feel the tension coiling in him, the sweet anticipation of release that threatened to spill over. His breath was ragged, each exhale mingled with soft whimpers as he continued to grind against your hand, pleading for more.

“Tell me what you want,” you whispered against his skin, teasingly breathy, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. He moaned softly, tilting his head to give you better access, the action allowing you to kiss more fervently along his collarbone and up to his jawline.

“Please don’t stop,” he managed to say, voice trembling with intensity. “I need this… I need you.”

The way he pleaded with you, unguarded and vulnerable, made your heart race. Encouraged by his eagerness, you sped up your movements, letting your fingers slide along him in a way that was both teasing and demanding. He gasped, pushing his hips forward even more, your shared urgency resonating in the small bathroom.

“Just let it all go,” you murmured in encouragement, planting another kiss along his neck, feeling the way his body started to tense and release under your touch. The vulnerability in his eyes mixed with need made your own pulse quicken, and you were perfectly aware of the clandestine thrill of what you were doing.

As his body arched against you, you felt the intoxicating rush of power mixed with a heady desire. You kept kissing him, each touch driving him closer to the edge while you held onto him firmly, urging him to succumb completely. Sam was lost in the moment, fully engulfed in the pleasure you were igniting within him, and you reveled in the connection you shared.

In this secluded refuge, nothing else mattered but the two of you, the world outside falling away as you focused solely on his need. Each kiss, each stroke of your hand brought you both closer to that precipice, and the thrill of it all was intoxicating.

“Please,” he whimpered softly, a delightful tremor echoing through his words. “Don’t stop. I can’t hold back much longer…”

And with that, you pushed him further into that abyss, teasing, taunting, and fully embracing the passionate moment that consumed you both in its feverish grasp. As the kiss trailed off and your touch intensified, you could feel the tension building in Sam, his need palpable and intoxicating. Suddenly, with a soft, almost fragile movement, he leaned his head against your shoulder, surrendering to the moment entirely. The weight of him felt reassuring, and you reveled in the closeness, as though the two of you had built a world of your own inside the stall.

“Oh, Sam,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair as you continued to stroke him with a steady rhythm. It felt like everything was crescendoing around you both; the muffled sounds of the bar and distant laughter faded, leaving just the two of you caught in a dizzying haze of heat and desire.

Sam’s body reacted to you with an urgency that made your heart race. The way he nestled into you, his breath hitching against your skin, sent waves of warmth flooding through your body. “You feel so good,” he whispered, voice shaky and breathless, completely lost in the moment.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied teasingly, feeling him press his body against yours, urging you to continue. With each stroke of your hand, his soft whimpers grew louder, filling the small space as evidence of his pleasure.

“Please…” he whimpered, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy, his mind clearly clouded with sensation. The tension in his body coiled tighter as if he were a spring ready to snap. You could tell he was close, and a part of you thrived on that knowledge, reveling in the fact that you were the one bringing him this pleasure.

“Just let go, Sam,” you encouraged softly, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear, the intimacy of it sending shivers down his spine. “You’re so close. Just— let it happen.”

His inhale was sharp, a desperate gasp as his body began to tremble involuntarily. With one final, deliberate stroke, he finally came undone in your hands, a deep, breathless moan escaping his lips as he released. The sound was utterly intoxicating; it resonated within you, serving as a powerful reminder of the connection you two shared.

“Ahhh… God,” he gasped, head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut in a mix of bliss and disbelief. You felt him shudder against you, his breath coming in quick, uneven gasps as he tried to catch his breath, body still twitching from the aftershocks of his release.

“That’s it, baby,” you cooed softly, your own excitement barely restrained as you continued to hold him, your fingers gently tracing comforting patterns along his skin. “You did so well for me.”

For a moment, the two of you simply lingered in that post-orgasmic haze, the world outside the bathroom stall forgotten. But as the intensity of the moment began to fade, a serious thought crept into your mind, and you gently pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, wanting to ensure the lesson was conveyed.

“Sam,” you began, your tone soft but firm. “You need to remember something. You only ever get what you want when you behave.” His brow furrowed slightly, and you could see a hint of vulnerability mixed with confusion as he processed your words.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice still breathless, an innocent lilt that made your heart ache.

“I mean,” you said, leaning closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you can’t act like you did with the rest of the band in front of me again. You know how I feel about that.” There was a weight in your words, a warning laced with a sense of authority that he needed to grasp.

He looked down, guilt flickering across his features, and you could see the wheels turning in his head. “I… I didn’t mean to. It just happened,” he said hesitantly.

“I know it did,” you replied gently, brushing your thumb along his cheek to bring his gaze back to yours. “But if it happens again, I won’t be as kind next time. I might just have to teach you a different lesson, you understand?”

There was a moment of tension, electric and charged, as you watched his expression shift. Understanding bloomed in his eyes, a realization of the boundaries you were emphasizing. He nodded slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, though you could tell he was still processing your words.

“Okay… I get it,” he finally replied, his voice quieter now, softer. “I promise to do better.”

“Good boy,” you replied, satisfaction blooming within you as he leaned back against you, resting his head on your shoulder once more. The combined rush of pleasure and the promise of a new understanding settled between you like a comfortable blanket, warm and enveloping.

“For now, just hold onto that promise,” you said, letting your fingers play lightly in his hair. “And maybe next time, I’ll show you just how kind I can really be.”

With a lingering look shared between you, the two of you reveled in the weight of the moment, a mix of passion and newfound respect lying beautifully beneath the surface, ready to be explored anew.

[snarky-wallflower]

Guided To His Place

Word Count: 1584 AO3 Inspired by my friend @its-short-for-jackalope's art, which can be found here! Also by my friend @midnightnautilus, whose ficlet can be found here. I found Samuel's arc truly beautiful, and as much as I'm devastated he's gone? I wanted to write my own send off to him, as someone who deeply related to him. I hope you all enjoy it.

Samuel Stratford lies in the grass, the softness of it comforting his back. It's twilight, sweet and true all around him. A peace settles in him, as he looks up at the stars. Shining, brilliant and bright, reminders of home. The stars are familiar, even in this strange place. Shining starlight, up in the sky once more. This place, the end. The place he appeared, once he awakened from his final choice.

He's wandered throughout it as much as he can - recognizing the Paper Stand, the Township, even the Ellen Austin and Lincoln Island. Places he loved, places he made an impact. A place where his story unfolded, now a place for him to walk and discover.

Their echoes.  Now, he rests. It's a strange sensation, being alone. He doesn't know if he'll ever grow used to it. He spots familiarity up in that glimmering cacophony of stars, and feels his shoulders relax. He glows the same as those stars now, golden and warm against the cool night. 

Above him is the Sagitta. Rose, Samuel, Margaret and John. The closest he has come to seeing his friends, his sister. Those stars Rose had named after the four of them, up in the sky. Separated, unable to reunite. Above him, the Satellite, shining out protectively into the dark. A guiding light home. That beauty he laid so many bricks to help create, helping to bring people home.

It's not the true stars or Satellite, of course. But it's still a reminder that his friends are out there, finding their way. He thinks that's still something real, in a way.

A cloak of grief and love covers his heart, as a lump forms in his throat. It's a strange mixture, those feelings, yet they still hold true. He's cried so much since he made his choice. Even now, they start to softly drip down his cheeks, as he thinks of teasing Rose at the Paper Stand, quietly talking with John about the weight of a legacy, of rejoicing with Margaret as she turned that wood to gold, so incredibly proud of her. Masterpieces of memories, fortunate to have ever have made them. They fill him with pride and fondness, rippling through his veins like that starlight across the sky, the love he holds tight to his chest.

John, the man who started as an icon, who became someone Samuel could speak to about his fears of not being enough. Who understood Samuel when he said he still had so far to go. Who Samuel watched choose creativity, becoming more wild and free.

Margaret, his friend, that one who enchanted him with what lived inside her. Her quiet resolve, her determination to find her answers, her own kind of masterpiece. One who he found trust with again, who forgave him for what he had done. Who he spoke and spoke with, trying to build back that original connection once more. Helping her find her way. 

Rose, the one he would have been lost without. The one person Samuel thinks he knows better than he knows himself. The bravest, the best person he knows. Her sheer resolve to make her own legacy, to accomplish whatever she set her mind to. The first person he ever dreamed with, who was the one who reached out with him to find a world that was more than this. 

Memories are what he has in this after, and he thinks of them often. Living in the echoes he made with those he loved so dearly.

There's a peace in his choice, though. Samuel knows it was the only choice he ever could have made. His friends will go on without him. His life was worth them getting to live, to continue their journeys. He acted like the man in his dreams, accomplished great things in the end. There is no greater thing he could have done than make sure that the family he built in brick carried on. 

But, still... "I miss you." His voice is quiet. He misses them so badly that it aches. He could write and write and write, and it would still never come close to capturing the loss that he carries with him now.

But they must go on without him. This is what sacrifice means. It's a sacrifice he cannot ever bring himself to regret. Not when it means that those he loves--John, Margaret, Rose--live on. He did this for them. He would do this for them over and over. He wasn't afraid at the end, no longer needed direction. He knew what needed to happen. In no universe would he have held back from what needed to be done. He saved them, making his final impact.  "I love you." It's easy, to say those words. Reliving those memories, that started all with his notebook. Those connections--those people he holds so dear. His hand reaches out to the stars. Connecting the four of them with his finger, holding their memories and stories in his mind. He's always been a storyteller, after all--that certainly will not stop now. He tells their stories, if only to himself. A fond smile crosses his face, as he feels warm air swoop across his face. He can almost picture them beside him--but only just. 

The world is silent.

It's only Samuel and the stars, at the end of infinity.

A quiet sigh leaves Samuel's mouth, feeling that kaleidoscope of stars all around.

This is a moment, all his own.

Then, a buzz, just above him. He draws his head up, to see an intricately carved box, humming with its own sort of blue-green glow. It's mahogany, the buttons and knobs near the top standing proud and strong. It's near his height, mere inches shorter. He lets out a laugh, recognizing the radio--for that is what she's called--that first and only other being here. He moves to get a better look at her, the other storyteller here. He'd like to call her a peer.  MAIA.  Elation and fear runs through him, as he realises what's happening. "Oh." She does not often call. There's only one reason she's come to his side. "It's time, isn't it?" MAIA lets out a short buzz. An affirmation.  Samuel breathes in. Breathes out. He gets to his feet, feeling the grass shift around him. He rolls back his shoulders, steadying himself.

Once on his feet, he places a hand on MAIA's top.  "Take me there?"  

She lets out another buzz, and-- In a flash, Samuel's no longer in the grass. Instead, he stands in a small room. Marigold-yellow wallpaper covers every wall. A green, plush chair is in one side of the room, with MAIA now rests next to that chair. On her top, now, a vase of roses. Soft blue carpet covers the floor, as a small table holds issues of what he knows to be the Sun. He picks one up and idly flips through it, laughing at the words he wrote with Rose in what feels like so long ago. His journal, a recreation of it, sits besides one of those issues. Trinkets, some he thinks Rose would have loved, strewn across the room.

MAIA starts to hum, a signal. She's picking up on the next story to share.  He's almost nervous.

But why should he be?

They know where to find me. 

Samuel feels a swell of pride, of trust in his friends.  There's agony in no longer being there for them, of course. He thinks he will always feel that pain. There is a part of him that is terrified to listen, to hear exactly what his choice did to his family. That is terrified to hear Rose's grief, the final Stratford still on Earth. His sister, without him. 

But they will persevere.

They always have, and he knows they are strong enough to keep on moving. Margaret, with her quiet inner strength and belief. John with his understanding of the weight of a legacy. Rose, who has survived so much already, his sister who he knows better than anyone else. His harbour in a storm, who will now live on without him. She has people other than him to lean on now, and he prays that will be enough.  They will be enough for each other. They have each other, even without him. They've built their family - and Samuel knows that it will hold fast against the shadows ahead. 

He had always been the storyteller before. The one who wanted so badly to convert passion to action. But now? 

"Tell me how it ends?" 

MAIA buzzes, a unspoken of course. So, Samuel settles in, sitting in the comfortable chair beside her. He can feel warmth exuding from him, something ghostly and true. He leans in, placing his hand on his cheek.  "Rose, Margaret, John..." he muses, "l know you can do this. You're capable of everything. You were worth the world. Protect each other, for me?" He knows they cannot hear him. But he says it anyways, keeping them in his heart. Speaking out to the stars.

A voice starts to play through MAIA's speaker, the blue-golden glow shining across the room, a mixture of Samuel and MAIA's combined light. A sweet tune sounds off before it, a opening of a curtain. Their stories go on, even without him. Samuel smiles.  He's ready. "Somewhere between the comforts of the familiar and the precipice of the unknown, an orchestra performs a score written in stardust..."

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 5: First Date (R)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my own imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts. :)

Your curiosity started getting the better of you when the Uber driver entered the small airport, but you were really getting anxious when the driver stopped in front of an airplane hangar.

“Here you go,” the driver said looking at you in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks,” you say as you get out of the vehicle.

As the driver leaves, the door of the hangar opens and out walks Jake in jeans and a t-shirt.

’Great minds think alike,’ you think to yourself because you are also wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Your hair up in a ponytail.

Jake’s grin spread wide as he sauntered toward you, hands casually tucked into his pockets. “Morning, darlin’,” he drawled, his Texas accent warm and inviting. “Hope you don’t mind a bit of a change in scenery for our date.”

You looked around, your brow furrowed. “A hangar, Jake? What exactly do you have planned?”

He stopped a few feet in front of you, tilting his head as his mischievous green eyes locked onto yours. “Trust me. You’ll love it,” he said, echoing Phoenix’s words from the night before.

Your arms crossed instinctively. “Those words haven’t always worked out for me, you know.”

Jake chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. But I promise, this’ll be worth it.”

He gestured toward the hangar, and you hesitated for a moment before sighing and following him inside. The hangar was bright, sunlight streaming through the open doors, illuminating a sleek Cessna plane waiting on the tarmac.

Jake stopped near the plane and turned to face you. “Ever been on a private flight before?”

Your eyes widened as you took in the aircraft. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He opened the door and held out a hand to help you inside.

"Is this actually yours?"

"Sure is," he replies, giving the side of the plane a light, proud slap. "Almost fully paid off."

"And we're really going to fly in it?"

“Yup," he says as he starts to buckle you in and then checks the straps. “Don’t want to lose my precious cargo.”

You feel your cheeks warm as he secures the plane door with a confident click before striding around to the other side.

He buckles himself in, hands you a headset, and then slips his own into place. With a press of a button, the engine growls to life, filling the cabin with its powerful hum.

Excitement courses through you, electrifying every nerve.

"Tower, this is Henry six-seven-two-four-six. Ready for takeoff," Jake announces in his smooth, commanding pilot voice, his words crisp through the headset.

"Affirmative, Hangman," comes the response from air traffic control.

Jake turns to you, his green eyes gleaming with anticipation. "You ready for this?"

You smile confidently. “As ready as I’ll ever be!”

He drives the plane to the runway and stops at the end. You hear the person from the air traffic control tower again. “Henry six seven two four six. You are all clear for take-off.”

“Rodger that, Control,” Jake responded as he moved some controls, and the plane made its way down the runway and into the air.

Jake maneuvers the plane into a smooth turn, and the glimmer of the ocean appears on the horizon.

"Where are we headed?" you ask, curiosity sparking in your voice.

"Figured we'd fly over the ocean," he replies, a hint of mischief in his tone. "Maybe spot some migrating whales or catch a glimpse of dolphins."

"Really?"

"Really," he confirms, dipping the plane lower as the vast blue expanse grows nearer. "Look out your window. See those whales?"

Your breath catches. "Oh wow!"

He nods, his grin widening. "And over there, some dolphins."

"That is so cool!" you exclaim, your excitement bubbling over as you press closer to the window, captivated.

Jake's smile deepens, the joy on your face lighting him up.

As the plane glides over the shimmering ocean, you can’t tear your eyes away from the breathtaking view. The whales below move gracefully, their dark silhouettes cutting through the turquoise water, while the playful dolphins leap and dance in the surf. It’s a sight that takes your breath away, one you never thought you’d experience from this perspective.

“You like it?” Jake’s voice breaks through your wonder, his tone lighter now, almost as if your excitement has softened his usual swagger.

“Like it? Jake, this is incredible!” you say, turning to look at him, your face glowing with genuine amazement. “How did you know I’d love this?”

He shrugs casually, but the way his lips tug into a satisfied smile betrays his pride. “Just a hunch. Figured a biologist like you might appreciate a little wildlife tour.”

“A little tour?” you repeat, laughing as you glance out the window again. “This is way more than ‘a little.’ This is… unforgettable.”

Jake watches you for a moment, his grin softening. “Good. That’s what I was going for.”

The plane coasts smoothly, and you feel an unexpected sense of peace. It’s not just the stunning view or the thrill of flying—it’s the thoughtfulness behind Jake’s plan, his effort to show you something he knew would matter to you.

“You know,” you start, glancing at him again, “I didn’t peg you for someone who’d go out of their way like this.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, darlin’,” he replies, that signature cocky grin slipping back into place.

“Maybe not,” you admit, your voice softer now. “But you’re full of surprises, Jake Seresin.”

He chuckles, easing the plane into a gentle turn. “Stick around, Y/N. There’s plenty more where this came from.”

As you watch the ocean stretch endlessly beneath you, your heart feels a little lighter, the weight of the past days momentarily forgotten. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve stumbled into something—someone—that you didn’t know you needed in your life again.

Tags: @smoothdogsgirl @alwayshave-faith @devil-angel-winchester @khouse712 @illisea @hookslove1592 @tgmreader @juliemarauderfan

[blingblong55]

From Eden -Simon 'Ghost' Riley

A/N: in my delusional mind, Simon and Reader are talking to each other in this song

photo credit: @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

--- GN!Reader, life and death au, death!Ghost, Life!reader, fluff?, platonic!relationship, --- A/N: inspired by an bot on C.ai(@/maskedmenenthusiast), and read the @yawnderu version of this concept. 

You were sitting on the mothy grass, your angelic features overlooking the lakes where the calm koi fish swim. The day was peaceful, it always was for you. Humans, are so simple and easy, if only it was all the same for you. Years since the creation of planet Earth, you were created to form life. You, alongside your friend Simon, also known as Ghost have roamed the Earth, watching its beginning and its current moment in time. He and you have accompanied the other through it all. From the first humans to the latest ones. Simon was created to take away those you created with love. The first time he did this, it pained you to see such a soul be taken away but now, you've grown used to it, it's part of the cycle.

Every day, there is new life, one you so happily watch when creating it. Simon, every day takes away a new or old life, something he's done for so many years. With death comes life and with life comes death. Simon walks through the fog, his scythe strapped to his back, his cloak draped over his body, fitting him so perfectly. He always called you his angel or just life, something that you grew accustomed to. "My angel, what are you doing here?" He sits beside you, the sun shining through making his and your eyes glimmer. He always called you his angel or just life, something that you grew accustomed to. You sigh, "It's peaceful here." You quietly respond.

This was your place, no human had ever stepped foot in this place. No one knows it exists because well, it is not a real place on Earth, this place was created for Simon and you to rest in. People always assume he is some evil man for what he does but no one knows him like you do, no one ever will. He looks ahead, his icy skin warming with the sun. The birds chirp and he chuckles, it was always that damn blue bird that sang to him. A kind reminder of you. According to others, he enjoyed what he did but in reality, he was tired of it, it drained him because he knew how much every human you ever created was loved by you. 

Being your friend, he couldn't do it but it was his role and every day, at this time, he would come to you. His head hangs low as he watches all the souls swim through his veins. He looks over at you, your skin so soft and beautiful. You were so innocent and kind, so majestic and here he was, ruining all that beauty with his darkness. His scythe is laid on the floor as he looks away from you. "Do you ever think one day we'll be replaced?" Doubt clouded his mind, Ghost was one thing, the reaper of souls, Simon was a man, a simple man who always had doubts and fears and...well loneliness when you weren't around. 

"Don't think so, we've been the ones created for this specific job. Would be mean if they did take us out of it though," your head now rested in his. His hand found its way to you. You were the sun and he the moon. You shined in the day and he brightened up the night. With others who were tasked with some small roles on this planet, he was cold, mean and harsh but with you, his oldest and only friend, he was just Simon. He smiled and nudged you when you made a joke, wiped your tears when you were sad, hurt those who made you sad and like moth to flame, he came to you for it all. 

In the dark cold nights when he took souls away, that smile you carried, that little nose crinkle, that is what brought him to sit down under a willow tree with you. Your hands light up the grass, you are magical. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if your deer friend came back again to pester me," he comments and you chuckle. That cute little fallow deer, with its wet nose, poked at Simons's scythe and then looked at him with curious eyes. "He likes to be around you, can you blame him?" Your hand caresses Simons. "I can indeed, because every day he follows me around, I have important things to do, my angel." His hand gripped yours with so much delicateness. "Liar, I know you follow me into the city," you look up at him. "I...well I do that because what if you accidentally make a monster like last time and I have to kill it?"

"That was a mistake and I did it because you told me that scary story the night before-" "Excuses. Admit it my angel, you just wanted a reason to have me near you all day," his hands, hesitating to caress your precious face. He was partially right. "You know, I won't entertain this nonsense," you look away and he smirks. His angel, oh how he adored it when you'd look away and he could look down at you and smile, his eyes filled with love. His chin rested on your head. 

It had been long since you were in charge of creating every single life on Earth and now that you oversee the work, you have time to be here with him. His situation was the same, he wasn't gone all day and night reaping souls away, he overlooked the work and that was it. "Are you cold?" His voice is softer than usual. "mhm," you nod your head just a little. His black cloak now keeping both of you warm. The silence, how sweet this was when the world outside of this safe bubble was so chaotic. 

"I've always admired your work," Simon tells you, his expression unchanging as he speaks. "The way you create those souls, I swear I can see their essence being infused into you. Such beauty in the work you do." It was like a memory. The first time he saw you create life, how glorious you appeared before him. "I always wondered how you viewed life before it's taken away." His hands caress your arms. "I think I should be the one asking you that question since you are the one to take their souls." 

"Hmph, a fair point." Simon's hands are so warm against your skin, it was like you melted the other with this amount of skin contact. "I've had centuries to observe, and the more time I had, the more I realized how fleeting it truly is. It is a beautiful gift you give, even if I have to take it eventually. But as they die, they become one with me, just like you have become a part of them. Even so, they do not cease to exist, you know that." In some sad but captivating way, you creating life and him taking it is a way of him and you, being one with the other. 

"I don't know what this feeling is but, I like it when you make me feel it," his confession whispered. The sun setting over the horizon. Your hand over his again, "Ghost-" "No, we don't do that, I'm Simon to you, my angel." Your lips curved to a smile. 

---

"Death, meet Life. Life, meet Death. You two will now be one, work with the other to make this civilization work properly. From this day forward, your jobs complement the other for however long this planet shall live." This is when Life and Death met when they shook hands and smiled at each other as they appeared before a small paradise. Their forever home, where they create and end lives. From this day forward, you're not one without the other. 

As time progressed, you and he roamed the plant alone, slowly populating it and controlling it however you could. One day, as you sit underneath his black feathered wing, he looks over at you. "Call me Simon, I'm Simon," his gaze back to the desert. "Simon and...what shall you call me?" You look over at him. "R/N but I think My Angel is way better, so I'll stick with it." He was always so cold and in this moment you swear he maybe hung out with one too many angels when he visited the gods. "Only you'll call me Simon, no other, understood, Life?" He looks over at you again. "Don't worry, Simon, you're name stays with me." He looks away, a small smile on his lips. 

---

In the beginning, if you told him that he'd be so close to you, to know you so well, he would have laughed and drank more of his wine. Now, he smiles proudly to know you are here, with him. From your lips, a yawn escapes. "Tired already, my angel?" His hands play with your hair. You nod, "It's been so long since I slept." His arms, pulling you closer, your head resting on his lap, his wings keeping you warm. His touch is soothing as you finally close your eyes. "Rest, my angel," Simon caresses your face, you smile and feel warm underneath his hand. "Good night, Simon." "Good night, my angel," his gaze back to the sunset. That bluebird, singing a melody for all millennia and maybe even the next one. That deer, coming only when it knows you are resting. Its nose touches Simon's scythe, "Aren't you something," he chuckles and pets it. Its eyes close and it rests against Simon. 

No one will ever know, that even the Grim Reaper himself needs moments like this. For he isn't some stone-hearted man, he cares enough to walk you to the afterlife and in this moment, as he holds you in his arms, awaiting another day of guiding souls, this is when he finds peace. He always believed, at the beginning at least, that he was meant to be evil but when he holds Life in his arms like there is no other remedy for his ache, that is when he knows he is too a good man. The souls attached to his skin, all keeping him alive in many ways and you, keeping him a little closer to happiness. 

They say Life is with you, even in your darkest nights and Death is there, for when your soul feels alone. Life creates you, Death guides you. 

Life and Death, are forever welded to each other. To roam Earth and know that out there the other one is still there. To live an eternity and know Death is always lurking in the shadows for you. To know without Life, Death is no one and without Death, Life is no one. Simon and R/N, forever one, for good or worse. 

Tags:

@warenai @liyanahelena @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @scarletdfox @actuallyhiswife @kit-kats06 @@goldenmclaren @eicee @ilove-masked-men @iruzias @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien

[ateez-himari]

YŪGEN; THE SHOWCASE

Korea's Tiger, Himari, has established herself as an incredible solo artist through an emotion filled concert that left the industry wanting more in the future

January 14, 2025 (6:15PM)

Insomniac is the term used in reference to individuals who often have difficulty finding sleep and has been used as the title of Himari's recently released extended play as the tracks contained in this heart breaking solo debut speak on the extensive mental health issues that have led to this condition. Undisclosed health concerns have delayed the showcase ticketing yet with the temporary conclusion of the group's Japan schedule, Jangchung Gymnasium was able to host the maknae's very first solo performance on January 13th.

Attendees immediately took to social media to inform those unable to attend that the young woman's raw stage presence left them in tears - pictures capturing the large screen uploaded later that night clearly showed those same tears almost glimmering under the bright lights rolling down her own cheeks. Himari's position as lead vocalist lets the audience hear an entrancing steadiness in her angelic voice, but through these emotional verses it went through phases that could be compared to grief; breaking, changing the flow, laced with choked back sobs, and overall heavy compared to its usual seeming weightlessness.

The lyrics are clear mirrors of memories that have broken the maknae over time as it was noticed that when the last note rang out, Himari looked emotionally drained, ending the painful stage slumped over the microphone stand with long raven black hair covering what many imagine to be a sorrowful expression. In order to lighten the heavy emotional silence settled onto the audience, the young woman interacted rather closely with attendees during the interlude prior to shedding the tear streaked clothing and performing unofficial songs that have only been released on the group's YouTube channel.

The Setlist; Intro; 00:01. Paranoia. AM 4:44. Wake Me Up (ft T.O.P). Interlude; Tear. Outro; Rockstar. Shadow. Interlude (Ment). Take Me Back To Eden. Nobody Knows (unreleased). Want (unreleased). Blinded Red (unreleased). Addict. Ending Ment

Yūgen was chosen to be the title as it is a concept that influences various Japanese arts such as performing arts, literature, painting, etc., and is widely translated into 'mysterious profundity', refering to the beauty that can be sensed in an object. It refers to the beauty which lingers with someone when coming across an art form; in this case these tracks hold such charm due to the fact that each person is able to imagine the past that has influenced these lyrics, the struggles that the vocalist went through for every note to be created.

The Industry Itself Came To Support Their Holy Maknae

Choi Seunghyun also known under the stage name T.O.P, who has not been active in the music industry since 2022 following the release of Still Life with ex-group BIGBANG, made a temporary return through their joint track. The two share none of the other's pain nor history yet the emotions conveyed through Wake Me Up resonated in their own hearts and whether this comes from the numerous weeks spent side by side is unknown, but what can be said for sure is that despite the artists having never interacted prior to this project they have created one of the most harmonious chemistries between two generations.

Taemin, the young woman's mentor of four years, was given special balcony seating which was proudly shown to fans through numerous social media posts and later endeared the internet by fawning over his precious producer after the showcase. G-Dragon on the other hand made a much more discrete appearance aside from one singular picture sharing the carefully crafted nametag attached to his headrest, many suspecting that something is amiss since the five part series 'unmute' was released as he joked that had Taemin not made her his protégée already, he would have done so.

There are certain seniors that have marked the audience at the end of the night by bowing deeply to their much younger junior as this show of respect seemed to hold so much more meaning than simple recognition; Yoongi, T.O.P, G-Dragon and Taemin. While three idols folded their bodies into ninety degree bows to convey their deep respect for the vocalist's incredible talent and likely to give their blessings towards her taking a seat alongside the history makers of the industry, her older brother was on his knees - a type of bow used to demonstrate the utmost respect or apology.

Theories have been circulating regarding the true meaning behind the rapper's gesture as he was seen in an almost grieving state during the track 'Interlude; Tear' that is speculated to discuss the maknae's destructive relationship with someone attempting to take their life - though neither of these things have been officially confirmed. It is reported that attendees seated next to the artist balcony have seen the vocalist's biological brother offering this same bow, and considering that she broke down into tears after catching sight of this there is likely burdened history between the siblings.

The Guestlist Included; ATEEZ. Stray Kids. BTS. Hanzo. Mingyu, Wonwoo, S.Coups, Hoshi, Dino and DK (SEVENTEEN). Jihyo, Momo, Sana and Jeongyeon (TWICE). Bibi. Hwasa. Minho (SHINee). Cha Eunwoo, Sanha (ASTRO). Zico. BOYNEXTDOOR. Xikers. And more

The Emotions Come Crashing Down

Limited footage showing backstage interactions with other artists have been made available to the public and as usual it was the ones between the siblings that caught the most attention, especially when netizens noted the difference between each reunion. Hanzo, who has been living in another continent due to his contract with a foreign football team, immediately engulfed the young woman in a tight embrace before spinning the two of them around with pure happiness, seemingly unable to stop himself from leaving numerous kisses on her cheeks much to his sister's whining protest. Yoongi on the other hand, who has been away to complete mandatory military service, seemed much more solemn when he wrapped strong arms around her with so much care that it would seem she would break should he hold on any tighter - letting Himari bury her unreadable face in his chest.

The maknae's bandmates made much more noise when entering the secured area, holding the cake they previously filmed themselves purchasing to show their fans adorned with sparklers that matched the bright shine in her eyes at the moment. Mingi, the lead rapper that officially revealed his romantic relationship with her last summer on accident, cradled his girlfriend's cheek, securing her smaller body with the other hand on her hip, and pressed their lips together under the loud cheers of their members. Every single one of them was wearing some semblance of merch designed at the hands of their captain, their precious youngest's name etched in some form on their outfits as each held lightsticks customized to look like tigers.

Taemin entered holding the ever so symbolic bouquet of flowers present at each of the young producer's achievements, rambling on about the pride felt throughout this showcase while petting her very disheveled hair. T.O.P was the last senior with whom interactions were shown and it seems that the artists have come to stand on close ground with one another as they too shared an, albeit somewhat brief, embrace and exchanged a few words silenced by editors with bright smiles on their features.

Xikers, despite each member being taller than the young woman, all ran to hug their producing senior and very nearly crushed her in a sea of large bodies while shouting out congratulatory words, almost forgetting to bow in their excitement until Wooyoung scolded their poor juniors. BoyNextDoor, who the vocalist has been producing for since their first extended play, were much more shy when approaching her - except for their leader who has been seeking out mentorship from their senior for some time now - and had to practically push one another to decide who was going to ask for a picture, which she signed at their request.

ATEEZ's Tiger Cub Does Not Seem So Small Anymore

Himari has been producing breathtaking tracks to be used by other artists for six years now, as even group releases showcase their vocal unity rather than each member's individual sound, and used this much more intimate venue to bare her soul to fans that have been wanting to hear her own voice since the immense success of the track 'Shadow'. The intense pain plaguing the vocalist's past was turned into shattering tracks that were perfectly delivered through hypnotizing stage presence that will likely linger in the minds of those present in the venue for the remainder of the year, and which has certainly cemented her place amongst industry royalty.

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[bardic-tales]

Sephiroth xReader: A brief respite

So, I have been either laid up in bed or on my computer watching cat videos and the like since I have been diagnosis with RSV days ago. Last night was the first day I felt well-enough to interact with anyone, but being stuck in bed is boring. So, I wrote this.

Please excuse any typos or tense changes, as my temp was like 101.8F when I wrote this: from a fevered dream I had and a scribbled note on it in my dream journal. Setting is some time during SOLDIER. Reader (who is me lol) is his love interest and sick as a dog. But it can work for anyone. I try to leave it genderless and raceless so everyone who is or might be sick can feel some sense of comfort. If you ignore the mention of my actual illness in the first paragraph, I am sure it could work with a cold or flu?

Rated: General. There are mentions of illness

Pairing: Sephiroth x genderless reader

The faint glow of the bedside lamp illuminates the room, casting soft shadows across the wall and resembled monsters with endless wings. You lie there: bored and sore. Your chest is tight and throat raw. Your breath comes in shallow, labored wheezes. The oppressive weight of RSV - Respiratory Syncytial Virus - lingers in your lungs and every movement feels like a monumental effort.

Sephiroth sits nearby in a simple wooden chair. His long silvery-grey hair cascades over his shoulders and down his back, pooling off the furniture. The dim light catches the metallic sheen of his pauldrons, and the faint reflection of green materia - healing materia - glimmers on his belt. His bright cyan eyes are focused entirely on you. Their cat-like pupils narrowed slightly with concern and a bit of frustration.

You have refused to let him heal you with his magic: or even take the edge of the pain. You view it as abnormal and wanted a more natural way of healing. So, you lay there. Sweat covered your body in a fine sheen.

"You need to drink more water," he says. His voice is calm and steady with the usual softness that he used with those he cared about. He reached out, offering you a cool glass of water.

You nod -- a weak nod as the simple act of sipping is exhausting -- but it was a nod, non-the-less. He watches you closely, your silent sentinel. The professional he's known for in SOLDIER is tempered here by something more tender, and dare you think more personal.

"I made something for you while you were asleep," Sephiroth says after a moment. He stands. His coat flows behind him as he crosses the small space to the table under the window. When he returns, he's holding a steaming bowl.

Pumpkin soup.

The rich orange color is inviting. As the aroma wafts towards you. It was comforting and familiar. He never really explains to you the reason he loved this type of soup. He only mentions that it had something to do with his mother, but you are always so curious of him and never press him beyond that.

Sephiroth's expression remains stoic, but you know him well enough to see the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes: a desire to help ease your symptoms. He kneels beside the bed, cradling the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"It's too thick," you rasp, managing a faint smile as your back ached from the movement. Coughing created tight, painful bands of agony across the middle of your back. Each movement felt like your back was on fire.

For a moment, he looks almost sheepish and boyish -- a rare sight, indeed. "I can thin it out," he says. This time his voice is quiet and resolute. But instead of leaving immediately, he sets the bowl aside and reaches out. His fingers brushed against your cheek.

"You're warm," he continues. His hand lingers for a moment before he stands, returning to the kitchen area to adjust the soup.

As he works, you watch him: the strong lines of his back, the fluidity of his movements. It's hard to reconcile the man in front of you with the stories you heard of his exploits in SOLDIER. He's so much more than warrior and the Living Legend the world sees. To you, he's Sephiroth: the man who makes pumpkin soup when you're sick, the man who sits by your bedside, refusing missions that his other 1st comrades are going on, and will not leave until you are feeling better.

When he returns, the soup is thinner and more manageable. He offers a spoonful. Even here, his movements careful and precise. You take a small sip, the warmth spreading through you and your system like a comfortable embrace.

"It's good," you whisper. However, you can barely manage more than a taste.

He doesn't respond immediately, but you could see a subtle shift in his expression: a flicker of relief. He sets the bowl aside again. this time, he is content to just sit by your side.

As the night wore on, your breathing remains strained, but Sephiroth is a constant presence. He reads quietly from a book, the soft timbre of his voice soothing, even if you are too tired to catch all of the words. Every so often, he reaches out to adjust your blanket -- a silver and black blanket with the Shinra emblem stitched in the corner -- or offer you a drink of the cool water.

Eventually, he stands. You hear the soft clink of his pauldrons as he removes them, setting them on the nearby dresser. Opening your eyes slightly, you see him standing there with his long coat brushing the floor as he slips out of it and drapes it over the back of the chair. He is left standing in his black trousers, the leather pad with the Shinra emblem over his stomach, and, of course, the crossed suspenders over his chest.

Sephiroth climbs into bed beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. His arms encircles you gently, pulling you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is a balm against the fever ravaging your body and the discomfort that still lingers.

"You'll feel better soon," he murmurs. His breath stirs tiny wisps of your hair. "I'll make sure of it."

His warmth surrounds you: a steady and unyielding presence against the disease that threatens you. You let yourself relax into the safety of his embrace. Despite the heaviness in your lungs, you feel a small spark of comfort being with this man, knowing that no matter how difficult the night becomes, Sephiroth will be there, holding you close until the morning light.