#how to make a guy desire you

[bookalicent]

yeah so this was insane

[clicked-in]

Are you interested in alternative dating?

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The great thing about dating in this day and age is the versatility and availability of methods to seek out your preferred type of person or activity. Dating can be confusing and frustrating, no matter what your situation. Here are some alternative dating ideas that may appeal to people who don't want to go down the traditional route of seeking a mate.

Singles bars have been around for a long time, and though they may not appeal to everyone they are ideal because everyone has the same goal in mind. You're all in the same boat, and it may not be subtle but it certainly is straightforward.

Speed dating gives you an even shorter time to make an impression. As an alternative dating technique, it can be a lot of fun. You sit opposite someone and each of you have a few minutes to tell the other about yourself. When the bell rings you move on to the next table, start at square one and repeat. If someone bores you to tears, your suffering is short-lived. At the end of the evening, you connect with those that tickled your fancy and go from there. If you didn't meet anyone you clicked with, there's no pressure and you can simply go home and attend the next session. This is becoming a very popular technique for singles, and even those who may mock it and perhaps go 'as a joke' or on a dare end up enjoying themselves.

Dating agencies have become quite popular in recent times. Professional people who lead busy lives like to use them. It's an alternative dating method that is not foolproof but it's somewhat safer, as all clients have gone through a filtering system. Many agencies utilize video dating, whereby the client makes a brief video of themselves and has access to other client videos for perusal. You don't have long to make an impression, so it's best to just be yourself. You want to come across as a genuine person, not a phony.

Many communities have singles groups that embark on fun activities together, and this is is a great alternative dating method. Events like biking, bowling, curling, movie nights, dancing and comedy clubs are organized by the singles group, and it allows an evenly-distributed group of participants to have a fun and casual night. With emphasis put on the activity itself instead of making a romantic connection, it takes a lot of pressure off the singles and attractions occur more naturally in this type of setting.

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[dykedvonte]

Curly's little blurb on his steam trading card just keeps reminding me he is a much more miserable person than people realize.

We don't get a lot of his thoughts, inner confliction that aren't bogged down by what Jimmy says or does. Even in the The Last One and Then Another, his dialogue is reflective, not the Curly before the crash but the result of everything. Parts of the him he was are there of course, but also disfigured and warped beyond recognition just like he is physically.

Curly really doesn't think much of himself and desires. He clearly chases fleeting moments of happiness. He doesn't really have prospects for himself, assumes in a similar way to Swansea, that if it should make it happy then he is happy. Though, he hasn't reached the point Swansea did to admit it doesn't. He neither sees the glass half full or empty, it's just water, something he needs and he'll take it from any perspective.

He wasn't running from anything but he's never really been going towards something either. He's listless. I've been using the term complacent to describe how he feels about his life and the closest people (really just Jimmy) in it, but now that word feels too neutral, too nice. Happier than Curly really was. There isn't just one word for it, he's unfulfilled, uncertain, uninspired. There are no active problems he faces and that's the issue, why should he be upset?

I believe he really is a person who doesn't know who he is or wants to be. He follows a structure. I don't think he's suicidal, but he clearly doesn't think about what makes him happy. He's numb. I suppose that is a better word than complacent, used to the feeling even if he hates it. It doesn't hurt so why stop it?

[teacupsandcyanide]

Something I miss from earlier eras of the creative side of the internet was things just being unabashedly low-budget. Just all unashamedly amateur, unprofessional, ‘I don’t own a good camera but I have a story to tell you’, ‘I can’t afford a good mic but I have a song to sing for you,’ ‘I don’t have any kind of background in editing or lighting and I only just picked up this guitar last Tuesday but here’s an entire musical me and my friends wrote about our favourite book, we filmed it on a potato and put it up on YouTube in ten minute segments because we thought it was pretty funny.’

[shokveyv]

shut up

[epiphainie]

i can't with all these "the show is highlighting tommy's jealousy, they're planting seeds that it will cause problems" takes like bffr. he mentioned being envious over the 118's dynamic twice, sure, but in what world (literally how?) would that cause a relationship problem? do yall expect him to be in cahoots with gerrard behind their back and murder buck to take over his life or something?? like even with the hyperbole aside, i genuinely cannot see how they can turn this into relationship drama without going against everything they showed us with tommy so far

[luckyricochet]

"Gloire au grand défenseur de la liberté." "Charles. De quelle taverne avez-vous été jeté aujourd'hui?" "Aucune. Mais il est encore tôt. Quand partez-vous sauver l'Amerique?" "D'un jour à l'autre, le cour m'honore d'une commission."

THÉODORE PELLERIN as GILBERT DU MOTIER, THE MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE

EVERY LAFAYETTE SCENE, 7/? ✧ 1x02, FRANKLIN (2024)

[arashi-no-saxlphone]

as much as I would like to believe that Frederick and Asuka could be friends again, like, Freddy is building that rocket as fast as he can to kick his ass before the residual FoC and Gear power leaves his body. I'm sorry. I know I'm the Asuka apologist but dude. Nearly 2 centuries of the most unimaginable agony and festering sense of betrayal, compounded by Asuka goading him intentionally on multiple occassions (his reasoning behind all this goading aside) he is not just going to be able to let that go.

Asuka's crimes against humanity are one thing, you can argue til you're blue in the face about that and there's actual ground to cover there, but what he did to Frederick and Aria is like... damn dude. You, without their consent, turned them into gears. You lied about it to their faces too. Aria, someone who is cited as having her identity and who she is as a human being be one of the most important things to her, trusted you to put her into cryosleep because you said you'd find a way to save her so that she could be with Frederick. She didn't want that, she wanted to stay and spend the time she had left with Frederick instead, but she let you convince her cause she trusted you. And you took away her body, identity, and autonomy. You took Sol's humanity from him following that, lied to him about it, and then spent 200 years pissing him off so bad on purpose to make sure he'd always be there to help you fix everything. Oh, and then you made him kill his wife that you mutilated. Twice, essentially.

I love you Asuka, but shit, that's all kinds of levels of fucked my man. Frederick justifiably hates you really REALLY bad. I hope we get something in Dual Rulers settling this, cause Frederick just letting that go even following the events of Strive is just kinda unrealistic.

[lanternlightss]

(thank you to @arson-n-quwubilder for the request <3 ! )

There is not a sight more fascinating to Venti than the image of his dear friend with his eyes sparkling, awed etched into every detail of his features, his mouth opened in a small “o,” as he takes in what lies before him—the food of the one, the only, Good Hunter!

Cecil’s fingers dig into the cuffs of his top. Points, to where Sara sets a Mint Jelly plate and an Apple Roly Poly onto the counter, turning to face Venti. He had done the same to the last few foods that have been taken away to those who had ordered them (a Satisfying Salad, Venison Steak, Moon Pie, and Crab, Ham & Veggie Bake, thus far.) He seems to be particularly intrigued about the Apple Roly Poly, now, though, asking Venti, “What is that?”

His eyes pull up, delighted to share—the food his children think of and create are extraordinary! “An Apple Roly Poly! It is made with apples, of course, and eggs, butter, flour, all coiled into one. A delicacy, for sure.”

“And—the green?”

“Mint Jelly,” and how, briefly, he wishes that those in Old Mondstadt could have eaten jelly, he thinks that Amos would have liked it. “it is made with those mints you keep seeing, and sugar. A very squishy, sweet food!”

“Squishy ….”

Cecil falls into a contemplative silence. Frets with Venti’s ruffles, and the buttons on his sleeve, his expression becoming something akin to a stilted wariness, determination the longer he thinks on his words. Venti, deliberately, pretends not to notice, casually humming a short tune to himself in the wait, and lightly tapping his foot against the legs of the wooden chair he sits on.

“Are there any other foods made of apples?”

Venti grins. “My friend, there are many. Northern Apple Stew, Apple Fritters, ehe, it is not a food, but Apple Ciders, and Candy Apples, Apple Cake, Apple Pie—”

“Apple Pie!?”

“Apple Pie!!!!!!”

“How is it made?”

“Oh, apples, sugar, flour, cinnamon, mmm.. butter too, and—” and they … they have everything they need to make it … right here, oh goodness, Venti from three days past thank you for not spending a drop of your mora! He stands from his chair (Cecil jumping, hand darting from his sleeve), it scraping across the stones, tittering just that slightest bit at the end. “One moment, beloved!”

“What—” He, too, stands, one knee placed onto the seat, his head swiveling to follow after Venti bursting into a run to the general goods shop, “What are you—??”

“One moment, cherished, one moment!!”

He is certain there are teal feathers and puffs of Anemo trailing after him in his sprint, hoping those are overlooked by the Vision hung at his belt, too caught in his excitement to get the ingredients needed to tweak that little quirk. It is normal to have feathers. Glowing feathers. Very normal, everyday thing that people have and do. Pay no mind to the fact that his Vision is not also glowing as brightly as the feathers are, it happens, you see.

Sliding up to the counter, bracing his hands on it, he pants: “Miss Blanche! Miss Blanche, good lady, do you happen to have flour, milk, eggs and cinnamon?”

Blanche, the lovely shopkeeper she is, is holding a hand to her mouth, attempting to hide a laugh. Venti considers this a success.

“Of—snrk—Of course.” She pivots on her heel, rummaging through the shelves positioned around her, meticulously and gingerly adding each item grabbed to the crook of her elbow. She sets them down just as gently. “That’ll be two hundred and forty mora!”

Venti has already brought out and dug through his pouch of the currency. Pokes at the pile, as he counts it in his head, and puts the needed amount into her outstretched palm, scooping the ingredients into his arms with his other hand (and, for fun, tips his hat very gentlemanly at her in a swish of Anemo—fun party trick, he should add, being able to concentrate it to a single point as so.)

“Thank you, Miss Blanche! Good day!”

“Good day to you, too!”

He waves to her, walking backwards, as he hurries to where an awfully confused Cecil continues to half-stand, half-sit. That confusion is merely amplified by Venti arranging the flour, milk, eggs and cinnamon on the table, tapping at the cork of the cinnamon when it is to his liking. Skips over to Good Hunter immediately after, his dearest spluttering, looking between the objects and him, scrutinizing both in a manner similar to that of when he is solving a problem.

“Miss Sara—”

“Let me guess: butter and sugar?”

“Heehee, caught! Yes, ma’am, if I could have those, pretty please!!”

She smiles at him, eyes softening. Ducks down to the cabinets, opening them, the hinges creaking softly. He thumps his fingers on the counter (in a pattern he remembers from the “drumming contest” that Bennett and Amber had him supervise), listening to the clink of the bottles.

“Here you are,” she sets them beside his hand. “Six-hundred-forty five mora!”

“Ooohhhh..” He tries his best not to visibly show his surprise, the pouch being rifled through again. “Six-hundred-forty five… ?”

“Six-hundred-forty five!”

That certainly is an amount for this all…

He hands over what is needed, snatching the butter and sugar, and shoving the marginally lighter feeling pouch into the hole of his shorts, for the meanwhile. He waves bye to Sara, as well, skipping over to Cecil—who is looming above the previous ingredients, hands to the sides of them, his face drawn into a slanted frown—and proudly presenting what he has. Cecil blinks at him, his expression transforming to a wide-eyed one, then scrunches his brows into a furrow, his lips thinning.

“Venti,” flops onto the seat, “my little song, my darling, my angel. Why did you gather this? Are we, by chance...?”

He shakes the sugar, the tiny specks bobbing in the bottle, swaying back and forth while he does. “Mhm! We can make Apple Pie!!”

That has Cecil shift to bewilderment, rising from the chair, swinging his gaze back to the table. “And everything is this… leisurely, to gather? All of it, in the market—“ he falters, going over each item once more, finding one, strangely, missing, “—all… well, almost everything.”

An eyebrow is cocked at Venti, Cecil placing his hands on his (also cocked to the side) hips, trying for a “disappointed” stance. A stance that is betrayed by the mirth in his eyes, simply bemused wondering behind it. “Are we to make Apple Pie without the Apples?”

Venti giggles.

“Do not fret, they are taken care of!!” His cape makes a satisfying swoosh sound, as he bounds toward his precious, clutching his butter and sugar close (it will not be spilling on his watch!) “And I know a spot where we will be able to put everything together, just the two of us”—he winks, braids and eyes flickering in their glowing—“if you could, the other..?”

Cecil moves a hand closer to the ingredients. “On it.”

First, the milk is placed under his right arm. Then, the eggs are gathered next to it, followed by balancing the flour and cinnamon on them. He continues to maneuver them, walking up to Venti, his arms crossed tightly, a part of his cloak draping over his left bicep.

Hooking a hand on that bicep, Venti urges Cecil to one of the alleyways. And, once it seems that no one is giving them attention, allows the swirling of Anemo to swathe them; looping strings of teal round and round, pressing into the skin and leaving them with fleeting prickles of buzzing. His braids lift into the air, the wind zipping past, accelerating, and he clings to Cecil as it all brings itself into, well, itself. Raising them and streaming them through the many, many winds of Mondstadt.

They whip by buildings and fields, fields and buildings. Ending pushed inside a door to a nice, little area in between, the enticing smell of the latest batch of pastries wafting throughout the room.

Cecil stumbles, slightly, knocking one foot into the other, when the Anemo dissipates. Venti keeps his grip on his bicep, stepping back the moment his friend is steady, and spins to walk by, carrying his items at an arm’s length while he proceeds towards the kitchen island, located dab in the middle of the room.

Footsteps edge closer to the archway of the kitchen, where it splits into two hallways—ones that Venti merely glances towards, noting Cecil with his hand braced on that archway, as he leans out to look down the corridors. He directs his attention to the items, then the drawers of the countertops, and the cabinets. The pie plate and bowls should be in the bottom ones, the measuring spoons should be in the far left drawer, and the measuring cups should be above them… hm…..

With a snap of his fingers, the cabinets and drawers are pulled open in a tug of Anemo. Meticulously, he grabs each one needed (medium sized bowl, colored blue, same with the measuring spoons, and the glass plate and cups—and, for extra, a rolling pin.) He sets these next to the butter and sugar, hands on his hips as he inspects everything.

A soft, frilly fabric is pressed to his cheek. He turns to see Cecil offering him a green, pinstripe cooking apron (a white bow wrapped at the middle), oh!! In a swift whoosh, both his corset and cape vanish, as he takes the apron into his hands and sets to tying it around his waist, exclaiming: “You found them!”—Cecil snorting at his eagerness, placing the ingredients he had held in his arm next to Venti’s, and undoing his belt, then vest, and snapping open the clasp of his cloak, to put on his matching blue, pinstripe apron as well.

“Alright!” Venti says, clapping his hands, “Let us get to work, yes?”

Cecil, eyeing the bowl, hums. “The Apples?”

“Of course, of course,” Giggling, he reaches to his beret, and, with a flutter of his hand, taps at the very top of it (the Cecilia and leaves bouncing.) His fingers dig under it, and flings it to the side; falling into a bow to catch it, thus revealing the six red apples that laid underneath it.

There is a pause. The Apples are plucked from his hair, being replaced by a hand, of which ruffles there til it is a disheveled jumble of strands—Venti leaning into each pat that passes with a grin.

“I should have known,” Cecil huffs, amusement laced in his voice. Venti is sure that when his beloved steps around him to get to the sink, his expression can best be summarized as “cat that caught the canary,” just about as pleased as punch at this outcome. Another “party trick” of his, one that never gets old in seeing everyone’s reaction to it!

A bit aways from him, water rushes from the faucet, spilling over the apples held under it.

Busying himself whilst Cecil does that, he arranges each ingredient from largest to smallest, and once that is done, picks up the bottle of sugar to regard how much is inside. From what he recalls of the recipe for this, it should be.. half cup sugar, two tablespoons flour, one teaspoon cinnamon, one egg, and all of the apples are accounted for already…. hm, hm, hm!

The apples are gently rolled into the flour bag, Cecil stopping them from going further with a gentle touch to their stems. Bumps his hip againsts Venti’s, passing by, to settle beside the right of him.

One hand going behind his back, the other gesturing towards what sits in front of them both, Cecil clears his throat, lowering his voice to a comical degree, “Shall we?”

Barking a laugh into his fist, Venti stands straight, rolling his shoulders back, clasping his hands at the waist. Lowering his voice, too, and nodding hard enough that it has his braids flailing into the air, “We shall.” (He will say, though, that they lasted a solid minute without breaking their characters—only breaking when Cecil had looked to Venti, whom was deepening his frown, and burst into cackles.)

And so they do. And so it becomes a mess halfway in (he is mildly surprised it had not when he had swirled the bowl of sugar, flour, and butter with Anemo, and had it spring out everywhere at the end—he had sighed when making the whipped cream, too, as Kaeya would have been a fantastic helper), when Venti, after rolling the dough, tucking it into the pie plate, and having wiped a quick streak of the apple juices on his hands across Cecil’s nose. Which had lead to Cecil mock gasping, running his hands through the leftovers of the ingredients and cupping Venti’s cheeks with them, which then to Venti dusting the bottoms of Cecil’s braids with sugar, which then lead to Cecil packing up flour into a shape of a ball and mushing it against him, and—

The kitchen will need … cleaning, most certainly. As will they, the two of them sat on the floor, snickering and chortling, nearly covered head to toe in contents and components.

Despite this, the pie tastes delicious, Venti thinks to himself, offering another piece of the pie pierced through a fork to Cecil, for him to bite and eat.

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

I don't know if this still happens cause I'm not too involved with the Fuuta side of the community, but when I was first getting into Milgram I remember being somewhat annoyed at how much I saw Fuuta's murder being watered down to just "Haha twitter user was twittering". And I still feel that way, not because I think Fuuta should be specially punished for his murder, but because in a series full of murders that anyone could commit when placed into their shoes, Fuuta is the character that I think exemplifies the fact that any of these prisoners could be you if you were placed into different circumstances.

[ruvviks]

// ocs as patron saints. [x]

tagged by; @katsigian, @deadrlngers and @devilbrakers, thank you so much!!

tagging; @mojaves, @dickytwister, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf and YOU!

– PATRON SAINT OF RELICS.

patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?

hindsight carries the gun of his deceased father, the last memory he holds of the past and of what used to be his family; he is alone, a vessel for all that used to be, carrying the burden of remembrance like a chain around his neck. he has made himself easily digestible, to fit in, to not stand out; yet the past clings to him tighter than the present and forces him on his knees, forced to worship a twisted and faux idyllic retelling of a place he can no longer get back to.

– PATRON SAINT OF HEARTBREAK.

not of comfort. not of condolences. there is a heart and there is a fissure, a fracture, something that starts to splinter and break open. you're the patron saint of the way a heart is rent open. the way it tears itself apart. patron saint of the rift. patron saint of the gash. when they say to "open your heart" to somebody, you are the patron saint of bleeding out.

erytheia is a grave domain cleric, and has witnessed more burials in her lifetime than any being ever should. she has seen the countless ways in which the best of her abilities still did not suffice, her healing more than often merely prolonging a life rather than saving it; and she carries the consequences of it wherever she goes, the faces of those who were left behind, the broken hearts and wails of sorrow like a symphony in the dead of night, chasing after the trail of blood left by her bleeding heart.

– PATRON SAINT OF BLOOD.

patron saint of the life that flows through our bodies. patron saint of violence. patron saint of love. something that does not watch over but exists within: not for protection but for vitality. there is no passion without a beating heart at its core. when that heart breaks open, someone has to be responsible for what it bleeds.

juniper is full of life, full of passion. her heart hungers and beats viciously within her ribcage, threatening to burst out; all of which shows in her unexpected ferocity in battle, as well as in the way her hands hold the waist of her lover, whoever is within her reach when her desire threatens to spill over. a mouth that kisses as much as it bites, and teeth that graze vulnerable skin and dig into tender flesh; she is a predator, and gods save whoever becomes her next prey.

[clicked-in]

A Report on the Scenario of UK Adult Personals and Adult Dating Web Sites

Click here now to make this method yours before you forget and miss this opportunity to transform your luck with men.

Computers and the Internet have had a tremendous impact on society. Together they have become the dominant aspect within our social, business and personal lives, and have completely altered our cultural landscape. From accessing information to shopping, from sharing email to finding life partners, everything is now possible online. Essentially we have created a new world: the virtual world. Let's explore one of the new features emerging from these integral tools that have become so essential to our lifestyle:

Many of the oldest social activities revolved around finding a life partner. Balls, parties, dinners, social gatherings; all offered an opportunity to meet that someone special. But life has become increasingly fast-paced and online dating has joined the ranks of online shopping because of the convenience it offers. Though initially online dating was limited to searching and matching user profiles, it has since grown beyond this painstaking ritual. Every day, the online dating industry is exploring new terrain for growth and has become so vast that it would be impossible to pen to paper its current breadth. There are few limits as to what you can accomplish within an online dating site - it is a service that brings results.

The UK is one of the most developed nations in Europe, with a long social history and strong political ties to the USA - which has naturally affected their socio-cultural environment in minor but noticeable ways. One might assume that the growing popularity of adult dating in the UK is derived from the immense growth of the same industry in the US, which is saturated with online dating options. Another explanation may be simply that the days are gone when people are confined to pubs, night clubs, or other social arenas if they want to meet someone new. Now it is as simple as logging on to a UK adult personals web site, comparing your preferences to other members and finding an attractive prospect, messaging a bit online and then taking it to the physical realm with an in-person meeting. It’s that easy!

Whether we're looking at the UK, the USA or another country, sex is an inevitable urge of being human. This closed-door affair was a matter of privacy in the past, but as people deem adult dating sites to be a safe and efficient domain for meeting others they feel encouraged to share their identities, urges and feelings. Now, if you're convinced to give adult online dating a chance the next challenge is sifting through the numerous dating sites for UK personals. I recommend Kisscafé (http://www.Kisscafe.com) if you want a a truly positive and satisfying experience.

About Kisscafé

Kisscafé (喫茶店逃避録～岩手大好き男の喫茶店・カフェまとめブログ～) is one of the fastest growing social networking and dating websites in the World Wide Web. The best aspect of this dating service provider is that all the exclusive service features (which other popular networking sites provide as subscribed services) absolutely FREE. Currently Kisscafé (http://www.KissCafe.com) has 22 international websites and plans to launch even more sites in additional countries. Efficient Instant Messenger, multilingual capabilities and advanced profile search technology has made Kisscafé one of the leading online dating service providers on the Web. Kisscafé (http://www.KissCafe.com) member blogs are a great source of interesting posts related to the dating industry, including dating advice, personal stories and much more. For more details, you can log in to their site and compare their services with other dating sites.

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>>Click Here to visit our official website>>.

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[distant-velleity]

lmao for the record this is not very... coherent or well-paced but-- it definitely exists so 🙂 yeah!!!

yuhua's book 7 dream in tgtwst (before he gets sent to silver's dream by the System)

(warning for floyu crumbs; explanation of the dream in the tags)

~

“You’re saying Azul wanted to see me?” Yuhua asks for what must be the second time now. He follows Chrysos along the oft-walked path to the Hall of Mirrors, adjusting his winter coat to better shield him from the January chill.

Thankfully, Chrysos has the miraculous patience of a saint, at least when it comes to him. “Yes. Truly, it’s an urgent matter; both he and I agree on that.” 

They enter the hall and take a soft right veer into the alcove for the Octavinelle mirror.

“Of course,” Chrysos says, right before they enter, “if it helps, Floyd is rather insistent that you come as well.”

Something strange flutters in Yuhua’s chest, the beginning traces of a feeling he can’t allow himself to feel. He silently stamps it down, though he can’t stop himself from smiling regardless. “Really, now?”

“And there it is.” Knowingly, the corners of Chrysos’ mouth quirk up in a faint smirk. He gestures towards the mirror invitingly. “Go ahead. You know the route to the Mostro Lounge.”

“Right.”

Yuhua steps through the mirror and experiences the usual weightlessness for the briefest of seconds. His foot finds solid ground again on pale lilac tiling, the reflections of the water from above warped over his shoes. Having walked this route countless times now, it’s through muscle memory that he follows the path to the Mostro Lounge; Chrysos isn’t far behind him.

“Ah, wait—” Yuhua looks behind at Chrysos before he opens the door. “...is it locked? Or—”

Chrysos shrugs one shoulder, a non-answer. “It’s unlocked right now, I can assure you.”

“Really? Okay.”

Yuhua grabs the handle and pulls the door open to see utter darkness inside. He blinks, wondering if it’s merely the effect of his eyes adjusting to the light, but no—only the lights from within the tanks are on, and those do little to make the interior any more visible.

Skepticism sinks into his chest. “Chrysos, are you sure—”

“SURPRISE!” shout a pair—no, a chorus of familiar voices. A burst of magic, a showy effect of harmless sparkles, erupts before Yuhua as the Lounge is once again illuminated. Ace, Deuce, Epel, Jack, and Santiago are right there by the door, their eyes bright.

“Happy birthday, Yu,” Deuce says first, a sincere smile on his face. 

“Ya didn’t think we forgot, now did ya?” asks Epel. He partially covers his good-humored laughter at Yuhua’s face with a fist. 

Jack crosses his arms and looks at the others. “...C’mon, guys. Give him some room.”

Indeed, Yuhua needs it—he can’t quite believe his eyes. Looking past the first-years, he can see the Lounge decorated, not too flamboyantly but not too modestly; he also spots other familiar students gathered around, watching the door or sitting at tables and chatting among themselves.

“I—I…” 

His grasp on the door handle grows weak; Chrysos takes it and makes sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself by letting the door crash straight into him.

“...This is for… me?” Yuhua finally wonders aloud.

Ace snorts at that and shoves a bundle of clothing into his arms. “Who else? I don’t know any other January 27th birthday boys at this school.”

“Um—but I never told you guys my—” 

“Don’t underestimate our combined deductive abilities.” Santiago winks at him, dangling a bolo-style tie around his finger for a second before handing it to Yuhua. “We figured it out just in time.”

“Together? Don’t you guys hate each oth—”

“We’ve learned how to put aside our differences sometimes,” Chrysos assures him, though judging by Ace’s stink-eye, it seems to be a one-time occurrence and nothing better. “And we decided to hold it here at the Lounge as a compromise.”

“But, I…” Yuhua’s mouth remains open even as he falls silent, trying to form questions he doesn’t quite know how to vocalize. “...I… Is this really okay… The Lounge, I mean, and my birthday…”

He doesn’t know quite what he’s feeling, just that the feeling is so immense it stops him from forming coherent sentences. 

“Who else decides if it’s okay or not?” At the imminent approach of a very familiar and very welcome sophomore trio, the first-years scatter like minnows. Floyd easily snakes a hand behind him to place on Yuhua’s opposite shoulder and walks him in. “C’mon, it’s your birthday, li’l Koi! A day just for you!”

“Surely, someone else was—”

“My, my.” Jade hides an amused smile behind a delicate gloved hand. “Are you just going to tell all of these people to go back to their dorms after they’ve already arrived?”

“Come on, now,” Azul agrees. “We were even able to coordinate such a well-timed surprise.”

“Well—” Yuhua sputters, flustered. He hugs the clothes to his chest. There’s a million arguments for his case, but just as many against it. “This is all really impressive, yeah—”

“So there we got it!” exclaims Floyd. “It’s your birthday, and we’re gonna celebrate it. Now, are ya gonna go get changed or what?”

Happiness. Like a soap bubble popping, Yuhua comes to the realization when he looks at Floyd’s infectious smile and feels the warmth surrounding him. This overwhelming, confusing, dizzying feeling—is happiness.

“I…” What is he waiting around for? If everyone’s already gathered… Like a fool, Yuhua laughs at himself sheepishly. “Yeah. Just wait for me a sec, I’ll borrow one of the bathrooms.”

…

“Hold still,” Vil demands, stopping Yuhua as soon as he steps out of the bathroom.

“I—Huh?”

Yuhua stays frozen in his tracks as Vil steps around to stand behind him. Rook takes Vil’s initial place as the housewarden sets to work on Yuhua’s hair.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” Rook sing-songs. 

“Hi, Rook,” answers Yuhua. “Are you also here for—?”

“The celebration? Why, of course~” With a flourish, Rook bends into a bow and extends an open palm forward. “May you have a very happy birthday on this fine day.”

“Don’t distract him while I’m doing his hair, Rook,” Vil says curtly.

“But of course, my Roi de Poison.” Still, Rook smiles at Yuhua in his poetically pleasant, friendly way.

Finally, Vil steps back to appreciate his work. Yuhua, after awaiting the approval of a quick “Go ahead,” gently feels at the braid his hair has been done into.

“Wow, I…” Yuhua turns around. “Thank you, Vil. You didn’t have to.”

“Mm, is that so?” Vil lets out something of an almost-content hum, as usual. “I couldn’t have the birthday boy walking around with his hair the same as his day-to-day look.”

“Your beauty has only been enhanced, monsieur,” Rook declares. “Now, shall we return to the party?”

“They’re all waiting on you,” adds Vil.

“Ah—” 

They’re waiting on him. They actually want him there.

Yuhua nods slowly. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They leave the side hallway to return to the Lounge. Almost immediately, Yuhua catches sight of a certain redhead waving madly at him from one of the tables. It seems like Ace has fervently and insistently claimed himself a spot at the table with the cake, alongside others like Floyd, Deuce, and Chrysos.

“Over here, over here!” calls Ace, earning himself a simultaneous flick to the forehead from Chrysos and a punch in the arm from Deuce. “Ow!”

“Yelling isn’t going to make me get there any faster,” Yuhua retorts, though he’s still laughing when he squeezes in to sit between Ace and Floyd. “I bet you just wanna eat the cake already.”

“You’re pretty greedy, Crabby,” agrees Floyd, just to get a jab in at the first-year.

“Hmph.” Ace grins mischievously, neither confirming nor denying. “Maybe I just wanna know what the birthday boy’s gonna wish for.”

The candles on the cake flicker. It’s just a birthday wish, and it doesn’t mean much. Not much is riding on it.

“I don’t really—” Yuhua pauses, and then huffs a laugh. “Yeah, like I’d tell you. That ruins the whole point.”

“Aww,” whines Ace, batting his eyelashes. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, you dork.”

“What about me?” ventures Floyd, a shit-eating smile on his face.

“Come on.” Yuhua rolls his eyes affectionately. “It’s supposed to be a secret. That means I don’t tell you guys until it comes true. And it’s not that big of a deal anyway—I bet you can guess what it is pretty easily.”

That seems to appease them into staying silent, each thinking about what it could be.

…Again, it’s a wish that doesn’t mean much. With nothing too big to relegate to a birthday wish but nothing memorable enough to immediately ask for, Yuhua more or less has to make it up on the spot. He takes a deep breath before he silently thinks—

I hope I can celebrate my birthday like this again in the future.

—and blows out all the candles in one clean exhale. 

Ace whoops, and somewhere in the Lounge the sound is repeated. Cheers and clapping, from the people celebrating for the sake of it  and the people who want food, echo through the room. “Alright! Now the party’s really begun!”

“I want the first slice of cake!” Floyd insists abruptly.

“No way. It’s mine!”

“Huuuuh?”

“Hey, you two, don’t fight in the middle of Yuhua’s party—!”

Chrysos leans over the table to Yuhua while the other two bicker and Deuce tries to play mediator. “You’re giving it to me, obviously. Right?”

Yuhua sighs, meant to sound long-suffering but instead reflecting his muffled giddiness. “You guys…”

…

Once the food is eaten and the gifts are given, Yuhua finds himself sitting on a stool by the counter while the others mingle among themselves. 

He isn’t mad that he’s seemingly being neglected, no—because he isn’t. People are still checking in on him: Jamil, stopping by to offer him a hair clip; Idia being nudged by Ortho to make Yuhua aware of his attendance (haha); Riddle personally wishing him a happy birthday before being accidentally warded off by Floyd; so on and so forth.

And people are gathered here because of him. They’re all getting along, making merry because of him, in a way. It feels nice, to see everyone not at each other’s throats for once—to see Azul and Leona talking civilly, to see Sebek and the other freshmen having an eating competition… To have people still asking him if he wants to try this food or play this game with them, and knowing that he can just join in whenever he feels back up to it.

This happiness, that knowledge—they form a pool of warmth in his heart, a pool running so deep that Yuhua thinks he might burst if he does anything other than sit. He’s happy to be here, happy to be a part of the celebrations; so happy to be acknowledged as something important to people. Happy to be more than a thought that fades away once the moment has passed.

He’s happy to belong.

Are you really happy? asks a voice in his head—

“Hey, li’l Koi!” Floyd shouts from a table. “Wanna play a game with us?”

—The easy, obvious answer is an unhesitant yes.

Yuhua smiles and nods his answer. A fluttery, bubbly feeling in his heart fills his veins with excitement as he stands up—

The world spins; his vision swims. His foot doesn’t meet the floor, his stomach sinks, and suddenly he’s falling with all the weightlessness of a dreamer being awakened.

~

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @casp1an-sea @nahelenia

@skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @scint1llat3 @nyx-of-night @nemisisnemi

@sillyslipperybananapeel @beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @lumdays @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

@taruruchi

[moeblob]

I like the fact Tremaine's designated color is pink while Germaine's is maroon because if I draw them together it looks so bright and happy but they're in a dying world and both commit crimes many times a week just to survive. But hey, whatever.

If love is how they die, it beats starvation or injury! So letting them be codependent is like a treat almost.

[0alix0]

boy do i love how the only reason bioware replaced Lucerni with Shadow Dragons was because they wanted middle class citizens being the driving force of the changes for Tevinter.....

.......... and STILL ended up with them being run by a former member of magisterium, a rich altus diplomat and a fucking BLACK DIVINE

[werebutch]

Dude I need to be someone else