#established feelings

[aventurineswife]

Hi! Can I request taking a day off to play in the snow with Gepard? Ik it's a little childish but my school let us out for a snow day after 7 years of no snow and the snow is amazing. Anyway have a nice day 🩷

A Truce in the Snow

Summary: In the peaceful, snow-covered city of Belobog, you convince Gepard to take a rare day off from his duties as captain of the Silvermane Guards. What begins as a playful snowball fight turns into a heartfelt moment of connection, reminding Gepard that even someone as duty-bound as him deserves a chance to relax and enjoy life.

Tags: Gepard x Reader, Fluff, Snowball Fight, Lighthearted Romance, Comfort, Playful Banter, Established Feelings.

A/N: damn what type of school do you go to? I never experienced snow in my entire living life (it never snowed here 😔)

The city of Belobog stood silent under a thick, shimmering blanket of snow. The Fragmentum's gloom seemed far away today, with the sun casting a golden glow over the crystalline frost. It was rare to have a day of such peace, but you had seized the opportunity, determined to drag Captain Gepard Landau away from his endless duties.

Standing outside the barracks, you stomped your boots against the snow, your breath fogging the air as you waited. Before long, the heavy doors creaked open, and there he was—Gepard, clad in his uniform, the silver-blue armor glinting in the sunlight. His fur accessory swayed slightly as he approached, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement.

“You’re persistent,” he said, folding his arms.

“You deserve a break, Captain,” you countered, tilting your head with a grin. “When was the last time you had fun? Come on, you can spare a day to enjoy the snow.”

Gepard hesitated, his eyes scanning the city streets. “I have patrols scheduled, and—”

“—and I’m sure the other guards can manage without you for a few hours,” you interrupted, grabbing his gloved hand. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He sighed, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “All right, but just for a little while.”

The two of you found yourselves in a quiet clearing near the edge of the city. The snow crunched beneath your feet as you led the way, pointing out the perfect spot for your plans. Gepard followed, his armored boots leaving deep impressions in the pristine white.

“So, what exactly are we doing here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You grinned mischievously, scooping up a handful of snow. “This.”

Before he could react, the snowball hit him squarely in the chest, leaving a dusting of white on his polished armor. For a moment, he stood frozen, his expression one of pure disbelief.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he said, his voice carrying a rare playful edge.

It was on.

Gepard bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, expertly forming a snowball before launching it your way. You ducked behind a tree, laughing as it sailed past, narrowly missing you. The two of you darted back and forth, snowballs flying in every direction as laughter filled the air.

Despite his stoic reputation, Gepard was surprisingly competitive, his precision as sharp on the snowfield as it was in battle. But even he couldn’t resist the lightheartedness of the moment, his usual composure giving way to genuine smiles and carefree laughter.

Eventually, you called a truce, both of you collapsing onto a soft snowbank. Gepard leaned back, his hair catching the sunlight as he exhaled a misty breath.

“You were right,” he admitted, his voice soft. “This was… nice.”

You turned your head to look at him, catching the rare warmth in his expression. “You don’t always have to carry everything on your shoulders, Gepard. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, too.”

He glanced at you, his blue eyes softening. “Thank you for reminding me. I don’t think I’ve felt this relaxed in… a long time.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, the peaceful stillness of the snowy landscape wrapping around you like a blanket. Then, slowly, he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against yours in the snow.

“We should do this again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, lacing your fingers with his. “Anytime, Captain.”

And in that quiet moment, under the gentle light of Belobog’s winter sun, it was as if the weight of the world had lifted—if only for a little while.

[stcrfeesh]

a dance and a bouquet of padisarahs

No warnings apply; Safe for work.

Al Haitham x Nilou

Is it appropriate to gift someone a bouquet of their favourite flower as a way to say thank you?

In truth, Al Haitham didn’t really know why he was here. Actually, no. That wasn’t it. Rather, he doesn’t even know what has gotten into him, because for the first time, in all the years he’s been alive, he did not know what he was doing—let alone why he was doing it.

As he silently questions his own actions, he deduces that he could not blame Nilou for staring wide-eyed at him, completely dumbfounded by what he had just said—or asked. Even he, himself, was dumbfounded.

“You… You want me to teach you how to dance?” Nilou asks again, tilting her head to the side. “Uhm, are you sure?”

Was he sure? He certainly was not. Did he want to learn how to dance? Not really. He doesn’t even know why one moment Nilou had been conversing with him about something mundane—he didn’t really mean to, but whatever she had said earlier had already flown over his head—and the next, he had blurted out that he wanted to learn how to dance.

He may not see it now, but he knew somewhere, in a far corner of Sumeru (most probably their shared place), Kaveh was already laughing his ass off at whatever was happening to him—whatever this was supposed to be.

In an attempt to play it cool, he nods his head in reply, confirming. Thus, further and willingly was he dragging himself into something he wasn’t even entirely keen about. To make things much worse on his part, he says, “Yes. I find dancing intriguing, I do not see the harm in learning.”

It was as if he had no control over whatever was coming out of his mouth. This was horrible, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

When Nilou smiled brightly at him, there was this small voice in the back of his head that said maybe, he didn’t regret all his life choices—though, that didn’t really matter. All he wanted to do now was walk away and perhaps never show her his face ever again.

“I’d love to teach you if that’s what you want.” He could practically feel the joy radiate from Nilou. “Just let me know when you’re free. I know it often gets busy at the Akademiya…”

“Thank you,” He tells her curtly—as if it would take him back to before this whole ordeal even started. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

He wasn’t seeing her tomorrow! What in Teyvat has gotten into him?

“Huh?” There was that look of shock on her face again, and Al Haitham couldn’t help but think Nilou looked… nice. Perhaps, decent, and much more tolerable than most. “O-Oh! Sorry. Okay… okay! Let’s meet outside Puspa Cafe, same time tomorrow?”

“That works for me,” Why would you say that?

“I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Okay.” Was all he said, and then she waved him goodbye.

Dear Archons.

He stands still, unmoving from his place, staring at her as she makes her way towards the Grand Bazaar. As he observes her, he couldn’t help but wonder: Has her hair always been as red as the sweetest Zaytun Peaches?

The sun starts to set, emitting a warm glow, painting Sumeru City in a beautiful shade of gold. He furrows his brows, suddenly realising it was time for him to head back home. As he leaves, he grumbles under his breath. This was all Kaveh’s fault. Had it not been for his constant babbling about Sumeru’s beloved star dancer, the thought of dancing would have never piqued his interest.

   Sometimes, Al Haitham asks himself why he ever allowed himself to decide to take Kaveh in. It’s not that he hated his now-housemate, and yes, it was the right thing to do, what with the architect going bankrupt, but sometimes, the question lingers in his mind. Like now, for example.

His hypothesis—or a simple guess, rather, from earlier was right. Kaveh would be laughing his ass off if he ever knew about his conversation with the dancer; but instead of Kaveh doing it somewhere in a far corner of Sumeru, the man was laughing right at his face.

At that moment, Al Haitham concludes that he never should have told his housemate about it. Granted, telling Kaveh about anything important will never be the wisest decision—It never should be an option in the first place, He thinks—as more often than not, it backfires. But, alas.

In his defence, though, all he wanted to say was that he might be home hours later than usual. But then, one follow-up question turned into two, then into a whopping twenty, and the next thing he knew, Kaveh—this doesn’t happen usually, he swears—has gotten him to spill all the beans.

Which brought him to his current situation. A laughing Kaveh, whom he was very very close to kicking out.

“Just like that?” Kaveh asks, still laughing, much to his great dismay. “You asked Miss Nilou to teach you how to dance…? What even for, Al Haitham?”

I don't know, okay?! Was what he wanted to say—the only rational, albeit seemingly irrational thing he could think of; but no, that won't do. He did not need a laughing Kaveh worse than the one standing before him now, and he most certainly did not need a Kaveh who'd remind him of this situation every other five minutes for the rest of his life. Or at least, for the rest of his life while sharing a place with the (self-)renowned architect. He was bound to move out someday, anyway.

"It’s simple,” Al Haitham starts, making sure he sounded as confident as possible. “As a scholar—something I hope you are still familiar with because Archons knows what you’ve been up to recently—” Yes, his usual jesting would surely make the other buy his next lie.

“Huh? What are you talking about? I’ve been trying to get funding approved, that’s what I’ve been up to!” Kaveh interjects—bingo. “Come on, you, as the scribe should know that.”

“Will you let me continue now?” He raises a brow, and Kaveh, finally, finally shuts his mouth. “As I was saying, as a scholar, life-long learning does not stop with mere academics alone. Learning extends to the arts—what I meant to say is, I find dancing intriguing enough to allot time for it.”

“Hah?” Kaveh asks again, likely still confused.

Al Haitham did not have the time, nor did he have the answers to his housemate’s questions. An act of desperation, “This is none of your business anyway, why do you keep bothering me with questions?”

Though, it seemed like not even desperation could save him as a shit-eating grin appeared on Kaveh’s face—which was growing more and more irritating to Al Haitham as they spoke.

“Ohh. Ohh…” Kaveh says in a sing-song manner. “I get it now.”

“What?”

“I am no expert in this field, my friend,” Kaveh starts, making his way towards him. He places a hand on his shoulder, and Al Haitham could see a glint dancing in the other’s eyes. What it was for, however, he did not know. “But, helping out a friend in need is a just thing to do!”

“I don’t need help with anything.” Al Haitham says. “What are you even going on about?”

Kaveh laughs, “Oh, you poor, poor, clueless man.” Now that was just an insult to him. “You, my friend, have found yourself a certain someone to be smitten with. In other words, you’re growing up—you’re falling in love!”

What in Teyvat was he talking about?

“Where did you even get that conclusion from?” If he had any valuable take-away to whatever insanity Kaveh was subjecting him to, it was that his housemate was a disgrace to the scientific method. “You sound incredibly stupid. Do you even hear yourself?”

Insane. This was insane.

“One, I am not stupid, I’m Kaveh.” Case in point. “And two, don’t think I’ve never noticed it. On all occasions where you’ve met with Miss Nilou—heck, on all occasions when you’ve seen Miss Nilou, you come home in such a good mood, and you’re all chipper. You’re never chipper!”

“You just don’t know me enough.”

Kaveh shushes him, “Three! Your new-found interest in Padisarahs, Miss Nilou’s favourite flower—”

Al Haitham cuts him off, “How do you know that?”

“She has many, many admirers if you would like to know. Some fans, others vying for her hand. How do you know?”

“She mentioned it to me in passing, once.”

“Okay… anyway, as I was saying, you don’t like flowers, man. Now, dancing lessons? From Miss Nilou herself, no less! Now, riddle me this, what do you think of Miss Nilou?”

“I’m not answering any more questions from you. Good night.”

“Not wanting to answer me only proves my point!”

Al Haitham knows he does not owe the architect an answer, or an explanation, but this time around, he needed to be right. “I find her admirable. There. Would you please drop this stupid idea of yours now? You don’t even have a proper hypothesis, let alone data to back such a claim.”

“Not every question should be answered in such a roundabout way. And, see! You don’t simply find anyone admirable.” Kaveh pushes on.

“I find you admirable, but that doesn’t mean I fancy you in that kind of way?”

“Of course you do, I am rather admirable.” His second conclusion for the night was that Kaveh had his head far up his ass. “But this is not about me. We’re talking about Miss Nilou. You’re Al Haitham, the stoic and cold Grand Scribe, someone hard to please, but finds himself weak at the knees for a lovely lady.” Kaveh laughs again, “I never thought I’d ever see this day.”

“If you don’t shut it, you won’t live long enough to see the sun shining tomorrow.”

Kaveh only nods, unafraid. “Good luck tomorrow. Remember to bring her flowers!” Then disappears into his room.

Al Haitham was not in love, or whatever it was that Kaveh had been insinuating since the night before (the morning after was even worse). No, he was definitely certain he was not. It was only polite to bring Nilou something to thank her for all the trouble he has caused thus far. Flowers were a good way to thank people, and gifting the woman flowers she was fond of would further illustrate his sincerity. That was everything there was to the bouquet of Padisarahs he was holding on to.

He stands in front of the cafe’s message board, reading the scribbles of little notes to pass the time as he waits for Nilou.

‘Even the owner predicted I’ll get into the Akademiya this year!’ One message read. Exams were ongoing, and scholar selections were very selective. Sumeru was the land of wisdom, its citizens were free to pursue knowledge, but the Akademiya has its own set of criteria. Though there was one exception years back, when a certain pyro wielder from a noble Liyuen family got in for her peculiar elemental attunement, that was an entirely different situation.

Al Haitham could only hope the best for whoever penned the note.

Below that, was another note in neat handwriting, ‘Hehe… Gata, hehehe…’ Weird. And below that was a reply from the store manager, ‘Gata seems to be really fond of you too, Miss Nilou.’ Oh. Gata… Al Haitham makes a mental note to look into that Gata fellow later.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” A familiar voice calls out to him. He turns around to see Nilou, and his eyes dart towards the bouquet in his hands, and then back to her. The sooner he gives her this, the sooner they could start, and the sooner he could get this over with.

Of all things Al Halitham could start with, he begins with a simple “Hello.” It should suffice—he hopes it does.

“Hi,” She replies. He stares at her, she stares at him, and it goes on for a minute or probably two. A minute of awkward silence, if you will.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” Nilou says, flashing him a shy smile. “Something came up at the Bazaar, and I couldn’t just leave it be. I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He replies. “I just got here anyway, so I haven’t been waiting long.” Liar. He’d been waiting for half an hour. He clears his throat, offering her the bouquet of Padisarahs. “Here, these are for you.”

“Oh, thank you.” She takes the bouquet from him, and the shy smile that was just on her face moments ago turns into a blindingly radiant one.

The afternoon sun was about to set, painting the city of Sumeru in glimmers of gold, and yet, in his mind, Nilou’s smile bested its beauty. Her smile was akin to that of the rising sun, the early morning rays kissing the land in new hope.

What was he even thinking?

“I did not know what would’ve been appropriate to give you as a token of gratitude.” He half-confesses. On one hand, it was true that he did not know what to give her, and on the other, he had been intending to give her Padisarahs the moment they began to bloom. “You’ve agreed to teach me on such short notice, and I am grateful for that.”

“You really didn’t have to!” She says, bringing the bouquet close to sniff every once in a while. “These are hard to find outside of Pardis Dhyai… it must have been troublesome for you to get these… Being able to teach people how to dance is enough of a thank you. So really, you didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

I’ve been cultivating them myself, he wanted to say but decided against it. “So… should we begin lessons?”

“Sure!”

In the span of a day and a half, Al Haitham has lied more times than he could count on two hands. Well, it wasn’t a lie so bad he’d put his own reputation and integrity as a scholar in jeopardy. Just… white lies, to escape further embarrassment. He lied when Nilou asked him what enticed him to learn how to dance. His new reasoning was far from the one he had used on Kaveh. This time around, it was because he was bound for Mondstadt. It would’ve been embarrassing if he, as a scholar, was not familiar with the Nation’s waltz.

He lied again, when he said he has never seen the dance live. He has, on multiple occasions. Then, he lies again, when she holds his hand and he stiffens. He felt abashed by the sudden touch, but he told her he was just naturally stiff.

She giggles at him, and he wonders if lying was worth it after all.

“Relax,” She tells him. Believe him, he was trying his best. “Mondstadt’s waltz is like the nation’s element. Freely flowing like the cool breeze of the wind.”

Al Haitham was far from gentle. At least, when ancient relics and texts were out of the question, he was far from gentle. But, miraculously, as he takes her hand in his, and places the other on her waist, he was like a mother to a newborn. Slowly, but with certainty, he followed her lead, and as she had described it, flowed freely like the breeze.

“You’re a natural at this. Are you sure you aren’t a beginner at all?” She asks him, after a couple of rounds of box steps and spinning. He shakes his head no—another lie. He wasn’t a pro, per se, but decent enough to be more than a beginner. “I suppose you’ve got the basics, but I can still teach you if you want…”

He wouldn’t be needing any more lessons, but…

“If you’ll have me, then I see no reason to refuse.”

“Of course! I’d be glad to teach you more.” She pauses, and Al Haitham assumes she was probably choosing the right words to say—something he hadn’t been able to do since yesterday—then she smiles at him again, “It’s nice, being able to freely perform now… but I think, being able to share dances with someone else, I believe there’s more joy to that. So, as long as you’d want me to, I’d be happy to teach you.”

“I would like that.” He says, before realising what his words could entail, so he adds, “After all, being well-prepared is a must.”

She reminds him of a few more points—ones he was already aware of—and then offers to walk her home.

The sun had long set, and there was a moment of comfortable silence between them—completely juxtaposed to the awkward silence they had shared earlier. It was nice if he was being honest. Nighttime in Sumeru City has always been a sight to behold, but being able to share it with someone else… well, everything good becomes better tenfold.

A thought comes into his mind, and he looks at Nilou, “Miss Nilou?”

She hums in reply.

“Are you free tomorrow evening?” Once more, Al Haitham finds himself completely oblivious to the reasons for his actions.

“Would you like to continue lessons then?” She asks him.

“No, not lessons.” Al Haitham glances at the bouquet of Pardisarahs in her arms. “Actually, I would like to take you somewhere. I’d like to show you something.”

“Oh?”

“The Padisarahs I gifted you, those are ones I grew myself—with much assistance from Tighnari, of course.” Finally, a truth from the Grand Scribe. “I remember how you mentioned you were fond of them. Pardis Dhyai closes before the sun sets, and those flowers are much more breathtaking under the moonlight.”

“It’s a shame I never get to see them when they’re supposed to look the most beautiful,” Nilou says, a sad sigh that does not go unnoticed by Al Haitham, escaping her lips.

“Well, I think that will change soon…” He trails off, gauging her next reaction. She looks up at him expectantly, perhaps afraid to draw presumptuous conclusions. “I was able to borrow an old friend’s greenhouse for those Padisarahs… would you—of course, only if you want to—would you like to see them?”

“Would I not be intruding on your friend…? I mean, it’s their greenhouse after all.”

“Of course not.” He says, a little too quickly for his own liking. “He likes showing his greenhouse off. If anything, he’d be ecstatic to know that someone other than myself is able to see how grand his greenhouse is.”

“If you say so…” She starts, “I’d love to see the Padisarahs.”

“So, that’s a yes?” He asks again, and she replies with an enthusiastic nod. “Tomorrow… I’ll meet you at the Bazaar.”

“I promise not to take longer this time!”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He laughs. He laughs.

“Oh! This is me,” She says, coming to a stop, and nodding towards an apartment. “Thank you for walking me home, Al Haitham.”

“Don’t mention it.” Another pause, before he clears his throat. “Thank you again, for the dance lessons… Good night, Miss Nilou.”

“It was nothing… and, good night to you too.” She retreats into her own home, and Al Haitham is left to ponder on his own thoughts as he walks back home.

In truth, Al Haitham does not know what he was doing. Or feeling. Or what has gotten into him; because for the first time, in all the years he’s been alive, he has never felt the way he does now. It was like a push and a pull within him. It was warm and fuzzy in his chest, but he could feel his guts doing summersaults. It was odd, but at the same time, it was a feeling he did not hate.

He silently reflects on his own actions and comes to a conclusion. Perhaps, Kaveh had been right all along. Though, of course, he would never admit that. Kaveh would never let him live it down.

I might have a talent for pulling rare pairs out of my ass. They could like have 0.3 seconds of screentime, but if I see potential, you bet I'll be writing about them.

Anywho, this fic is crossposted from AO3, which you can find here.

Thank you for reading! And, if you like my writing, feel free to check out my on-going Xiaolumi spy series, off the precipice!

GENSHIN MASTERLIST  |  KO-FI SUPPORT

[chloesimaginationthings]

What if Mike and Jeremiah are the guards in FNAF 2..

[akanemnon]

It could get worse and it DID get worse

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[loumandforyou]

proof that they were together in the past or... it could all mean nothing

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Burning Rotten Bridges

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[sincerelybubbles]

"spence?"

"hm?"

"when did you get home?"

a more awake you would be squealing, thoroughly excited he came home early from his trip, but the early hours have hardly begun to bring light and you're struggling to even open your eyes to look at him. your cheeks still widen into a pleased smile though, turning into his warmth and humming, confused, when your hands find the rough fabric of his coat.

"a few hours ago," he says, voice rough, eyes still shut. one arm across his eyes, blocking the minuscule light, the other a vice around your waist. his voice is slow, deep in his chest, caught on the sleep he obviously wishes to keep. but he still turns his face toward the sound of your voice, smile creeping up at the corners of his lips, willing to entertain you despite his fatigue.

"are you still wearing your shoes?" you ask, voice teasing, scooting up in his arm to nudge your nose against the curve of his jaw. you press a kiss there, the point where his bone hits a right angle, lips tingling from the stubble you find.

"no," he says, voice honest, "i know better than that."

"no shoes, but your belt is still on?" you tease, fingers dragging across the leather. you don't care, not beyond a genuine concern for his comfort, but you enjoy teasing him in this way, skimming your lips across the rough skin of his chin in not-quite kisses.

"i took my gun off," he complains in a half-hearted groan, lifting his arm to peek at you out of the corner of one eye. "hi," he says, voice still soft, somehow deeper with affection, dimples the star of the show on his cheeks.

"hi," you say, tilting your head back and lifting your arm to cart your fingers through his mess of hair. "welcome home."

he smiles, reaching around with his other arm to gather you up and drag you across his chest in a bear hug, chuckling at the squeal you let out, sighing against your hair. he presses a firm kiss there, right above your ear.

"we will have to wash the sheets, though. it was really gross for me to not change, i was just exhausted, sorry."

[iamnmbr3]

consider established drarry just casually using each other's wands all the time because they are so magically compatible and trust each other so absolutely that they can use each other's wands nearly as well as their own so if it's for something minor they'll both just grab whatever wand happens to be nearest at hand

and like. technically it's not pda. but there's something so intimate in the way they are so intertwined even in this that people around always feel as though they're witnessing something private.

[hurlingdown]

“baby,” zoro manages, and when it doesn’t work, he gently tugs on your hair. 

you look up through your lashes, without unlatching, and nearly forget how to breathe. it’s jarring, almost, the warmth that pours into you at the quiet vulnerability in his gaze, tender and wanting and yours. 

you give his swollen nipple one more wet kiss, before raising your head to meet him with a small, coy smile. teasing, the way that makes your lover glow. “too much?” 

he’s too busy blushing to respond right away. you bring his hand down to your cheek, pressing the burn of his sweaty palm against your face. it makes you want to close your eyes, and you give in to the comfort with a faint sigh. 

zoro lets out a small grunt, turning his head to the side. it’s nothing new, your affection for him, but sometimes, you’re a little too good at making him feel embarrassed. what stays on you, though, is his good eye, molten silver and warm sea bleeding into you. 

he pretends to think about your question, for a bit. like the answer isn’t written all over his face. 

“no,” he denies, quietly. 

“... you’re tired, then.” 

“no.” 

“bored?” 

“never.” 

you blink your eyes open, and zoro’s frowning. it’s not that you don’t get him, he knows this. you just don’t want to act. 

“tell me,” you begin, “tell me what you want.” 

he swallows slowly, throat bobbing. he knows this game you’re playing, has played it before, countless times. but zoro doesn’t want to play. he wants you pinning him down by the neck and taking him apart, wants to sob and keen and thrash under your mercy, crying as you spill inside him again and again and again. 

“baby,” you murmur, your cheek smushed against his chest, and as tender as the word is, it’s a soft-spoken warning. zoro doesn’t think he can handle it if you go back to sucking his nipples. they’re soft and swelling, peppered with red and purple. too sensitive for his liking. “tell me where you want me.” 

this, he can do. 

he’s not the best at directions, zoro supposes. not that good with… locations, in general. his instincts take him where they want to go, and he follows blindly. some of the best decisions he’s made, some of the worst. 

but when he takes your hand, intertwining it with his, it’s steady and warm and full, and he’s never been more sure that this is the right thing. 

he places it on his stomach. “here,” he breathes. “i want you here.” 

[kwillow]

stupid doodle of a stupid horse.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Michael Afton draws FNAF tape girl for Vanessa,,

[thelibrarian1895]

For your consideration

Lucanis proposes to a Mourn Watch Rook, Caterina even gave him the opal ring for the proposal since someone who killed one of the elven gods could be arguably acceptable for her grandson.

Probably

Then it's time to plan the wedding and I would like to offer the idea that Caterina and Teia who, upon learning that Rook has no living parents and was, in fact, found in a crypt in the Necropolis by the undead, might come to the conclusion that since there are no other parental figures involved, they will have full control over the wedding planning as they are grandmother of the groom and groom's basically sister with some input from Rook and Lucanis of course.

Except no

Vorgoth appears in the room that Caterina has dedicated to wedding planning. Vorgoth is there to make sure that the Nevarran and Mourn Watch traditions are also respected. Plus this is their little crypt baby who's all grown up and getting married! Myrna comes in shortly afterwards, it takes her a little longer to travel than it does Vorgoth and now Teia has the bride's basically sister to debate with.

Debates over whether or not skeletons should be ushers or not, picking over every name on the guest list, debates about the size of the guest list, arguing over the location of the wedding (Vorgoth: THE MEMORIAL GARDENS ARE VERY POPULAR FOR SUCH OCCASIONS Myrna: It would be particularly romantic as Emmerich reported Rook would like their remains to be used in the garden after their death Caterina: No, the Dellamortes have been married in the Treviso chantry gardens for generations Teia: will the Chantry be finished cleaning up all the leftover Ventaori things in time? Caterina: I was unaware that we were dealing with any time constraints (Teia changes the subject while they debate whether or not to confess that she suspects Rook might be pregnant and thus they might want to have the wedding quickly since while having a baby first isn't a bad thing, it would make the fitting of wedding outfits difficult (Rook is not pregnant, Rook is throwing up and sickly at the moment because they're trying to develop immunity to common poisons)) catering, discovering that Nevarrans also arrange for the couples' funeral while they're putting together the wedding, determining if one of the couple will be wearing a dress, figuring out who is going to make the outfits for the wedding party (Manfred, who made their own Watcher uniform, is unaware of the careful negotiations and has already measured both Rook and Lucanis and has started to sew a very traditional Watcher wedding outfit that was in style about 2,000 years ago that Manfred thinks it cool/pretty, Manfred started this as soon as Spite told them that Spite, Rook, and Lucanis were officially a thing because I 100% believe that Spite and Manfred gossip with one another and Lucanis figures better Manfred than Spite walking around while Lucanis is asleep and spilling everything to everyone in the Lighthouse, Rook and Lucanis will wear the outfits Manfred makes for the reception), figuring out who is going to be in the wedding party (lots of debating about whether Illario is going to be part of things or not), determining who is going to be walked down the aisle (Rook), determining who is going to walk the person down the aisle (Vorgoth, this is why I say Rook is walked down the aisle), flowers, decorations in general, location for the reception, music, living arrangements in the aftermath of the wedding, conferring about wedding presents so none of them get the couple a duplicate of something, determining who is going to officiate, figuring out who will paint the wedding portraits, whether or not it would be appropriate for any contract to be fulfilled during the wedding (Teia: Unless you refuse to allow guests to bring plus ones, at least one Crow is going to bring a target to the wedding and finish the contract after the vows, it happens every time) what would happen to anyone who might die of "natural causes" during the wedding, wedding favors, Mourn Watch avoiding/ignoring the Crows probing about King Marcus, designing the wedding invitations, scheduling health check ups, seating arrangements, if Antiva or Nevarra have any tradition of dowries or bride prices then Vorgoth and Caterina discuss how that works out, determining where the couple will go for their honeymoon, and of course, determining which side of the family will pay for what and setting a budget, neither side is going to let the other get away with "I pay for it so I decide" though neither side would honestly because while they all have specific visions for their loved one's wedding, they really do want the couple to be happy with how things end up

It's quite possibly the most fun Caterina has had in decades and she and Vorgoth will either best friends or they'll be mortal enemies in the aftermath

When everything is done, Teia and Myrna will absolutely be exchanging letters in the aftermath and meet up once a month for brunch/gossip that they can't tell anyone in their own organizations.

In the meantime, Lucanis and Rook are debating if they'd survive eloping and Rook is getting Viago to coach them through building up an immunity to common poisons as well as poisons commonly used by the Crows which is not the same thing (resulting in Teia's misunderstanding) and how to best put the fear of Rook into the Crow houses most likely to cause problems/target them as spouse of the First Talon

Edit: No matter what the wedding planning group decides, all the wisps from the Lighthouse are going to be there at the wedding if only because I adore the mental image of the wisps floating around the ceremony. I think it would be pretty.

Edit: One of the wedding colors is absolutely purple

Edit: Manfred measured Lucanis for his Watcher wedding gear while Lucanis was asleep and Spite was in control and further fittings happen in the same fashion so Lucanis is actually unaware of the Watcher wedding gear until much later, Spite gets him to change into it for the reception. Rook didn't know why Manfred wanted to measure them but was willing to indulge Manfred because Rook finds Manfred adorable and is later delighted by the Watcher wedding gear and was quite pleased during the fittings

[haridraws]

Excuse the format (I made this for instagram since that's what the publisher wants, rip) but this is basically a shorter, easy-to-read version of the history section at the back of my new book.

(Part 2 || The book)

---

Disclaimer: I'm extremely not an expert, and this is only scratching the very surface of complex topics that are hard to simplify. I mostly made this to EXTREMELY rec these books and podcasts, and would urge you to go check them out if you're not familiar!!

This stuff might seem obvious to some of you, but let me tell you, I do NOT think it's widely known in the general UK population.

Imo a lot of the general (especially white) public think that the Windrush generation - Caribbean migrants brought in to help rebuild postwar Britain in the 50s - were the first Black communities in the UK. And yet there's deliberately not much focus on why the Caribbean has links with northern europe. HMMMM

(Britain loves, for example, to celebrate the abolition of slavery without mentioning WHAT CAME BEFORE IT - Britain being the biggest trader of enslaved people, with more than 1 million people enslaved in the British Caribbean. They literally just did it overseas.)

Telling the truth about history or British imperialism gets this massive manufactured backlash at the moment. There are so many ideas prevalent in UK politics - anti-Black, anti-refugee, anti-trans - based on going ‘back’ to some imaginary version of the past. Those are enabled by a long tradition of carving parts out of the historical record, and being selective about whose histories get told and preserved. Even though the book I was making is a fun rom-com, by the time I finished researching, I decided to make an illustrated history section at the back too (this is a mini version). My hope is that readers who haven’t come across these histories might get an introduction to them - and some pointers of what they could read next to get a clearer view of our past.

[rooolt]

I actually think Freddie’s characters should keep dying every ten episodes and he should keep having to make new guys with stupid accents to the point where it’s just a revolving door of what feel like special guests in the story of two lesbians and their murder son dealing with the horrors. Marbles should stay tho