#i do love her braids though they make no sense at all and the loose strands are terrible but the construction of the braid is cool

[missing-a-place-ive-never-been]

the first part of the third season of netflix's the witcher is giving bad wigs, a still iconic wardrobe of geralt and jaskier (give me their blouses NOW), honestly not many great costumes next to that, iffy writing, flipflopping characterization, a protagonist that looks at least 6 years older than everyone treats her, and an actor that have annoyed me since mamma mia 2

[unabashednightmarepizza]

A/N: I am just starting to play Honkai so if there is anything wrong or that just doesn't make sense, please tell me!

A/N ²: This is me attempting to adopt and protect my babies, wrapping them in cotton and never leaving their side... And I got sleepy at the end, or else I would have written Aventurine and Dan Heng too :( If anyone has ideas for Honkai SAGAU, please do send some asks 👏🏻

Imagine... The Creator!Reader in Honkai verse. You were just idly passing by, to see what your children were doing after the Ones you left in charge... Pretty much usurped your throne.

Imagine the Creator!Reader seeing, witnessing all the deaths and sorrow IPC created...in the name of "economy". Such thing was absurd, why would they do that, slaving and using people for their benefit to make more and more when you gave all the humans and even the Aeons enough source to love in harmony?

Why would they destroy people, families, lives... Planets?

Imagine... Creator!Reader's disappointment as They slump back on their throne. They gave them life, opportunities to overcome their mind's limit and be someone to be remembered... They gave them life sources, water, air, planets to live on, souls to feel and think and passions to find a reason to be alive... And yet, there were some people, the people of your Aeon Qlipoth, who was usualy indifferent, deciding that they were the ones to destroy the harmony and balance you had settled for everyone.

They thought Yours wasn't the final saying, that your word wasn't the absolute

How many more times did they have to go through all of the syages of self-destruction before they finally used their mind and consciousness together? Before they realized your Balance was the most beneficial for everyone?

Imagine... Knowing what would happen, even though pain was a constant part of human life, They didn't want their creation to suffer such a fate. Loosing humanity, everything that made humans humans... Loosing your family and witnessing their deaths right before their eyes, only being seen as the sins someone that wasn't you did and being exiled, pushed aside and running away for not to be hunted and all the reasons for your disappointment... Creator!Reader decides to take the reigns.

First, they go to visit a certain father and daughter duo. They watch from the side as they spend time, caring for the horses, playing guitar and braiding each other's hair. They couldn't help the smile that slowly took over their face, watching with fondness at the innocence of that little toddler... Before their eyes met, and a spark erupted.

From now on, as much as Boothill was first skeptical about them, he accepted to have Them around since his daughter and siblings loved Them so much. The little girl often slept on Them while cuddling, her soul immediately knowing the presence of its creator... Of course They didn't tell them everything, that their lives would be over because of Their greedy creations... And of course, the fact that They were the Allmighty Creator they kept telling tales about.

They loved this little found family a lot, with the human body They crafted to blend in, and soon found Themselves attached. Soon, They found Themselves cooking and cleaning around, running after the children with a toddler attached to their hip as the silent affection between Them and Boothill grew with all the loving and fleeting touches, hugging and cuddling, stargazing at night but never leaving their eyes off of each other...

But an omnipresent being falling in love with their creations was...against the balance... Especially when the day of their death too, came closer, and They were the one who lied, although it was to protect them.

But please, they were the Creator, to Weaver of All Fates, were the measly humans really going to stop Them? Take what was rightfully theirs?

Don't think so.

Before the fall of the planet, when all the equipments of IPC broke and the Path of those who worked under it, alongside Qlipoth's, were taken away for some time... That was when Qlipoth understood that they initially fucked up and angered the Creator. Now, another Aeon who had a head over their shoulders, would probably go nuts with fear and cower at some kind of corner of the universe...

But greed? Greed was often stronger that rationality.

Did any of that shitty behaviour stop? No, not really.

So, it was up to you to save and protect all those traumatised kids... And also make sure that a whole race didn't get wiped out.

[mothiir]

yknow what??? fuck it. im not even gonna turn on anon. IM NOT EVEN GONNA DO IT!! because at this point you'd clock my ass a nautical mile off for who it is just bc im gonna ask for exactly what you caught me for on anon LAST TIME.

SO,,,, haha,,,, heyyyy mothiiiiir,,,, pllllleeeasse more nasty ass rabbit/emp headcanonnns OR writing or anything,, you always cook and im one starving ass loser.

thank you ily and your writing once again ok ok ok BYEEE

cw: angst, not what you intended but this got me thinking about the emperor and then uh. we got this. not set in the little rabbit verse, which will soon become obvious. playing loose with the canon timelines because i don’t know exactly how the burning of monarchia went down.

—

—

Monarchia burns — and three days later, Guilliman and his sons make planet fall.

—

It takes a great deal to surprise a Primarch, and yet here Guilliman is, blinking at the charred rubble of your former capital, struggling to find words.

“Say that again,” he says, at length. You sit up from your prostrated position, lifting your head just enough to address his shins rather than the ground.

“There is no penance great enough for the crime we have committed against the Emperor and the Imperium,” you say, your voice soft, but ringing clear. “There is no punishment that we do not deserve for such blatant defiance of the Imperial Truth. I can state that we were misled — which is true — and that we were ignorant, but that is no excuse. All I can say is that when I discovered that my Lord Husband was acting in defiance of the Emperor’s wishes, I acted as swiftly as I could to remedy it.”

It makes even less sense the second time around. The once-glorious city is wreathed in flames; the sun blotted out by a miasma of smoke. The same story is repeated across the entire planet. A revolution almost overnight — temples torn down, idols cast into the sea, believers put to the sword. The few Word Bearers that remained had died at their posts; they had slaughtered thousands of their kinsman, but died all the same. Bears torn down by hounds.

“You did this,” he says. You shake your head minutely. Your hair — once a glorious braid almost to your waist, always ornamented with some fancy that Lorgar had gifted you — has been chopped into an unkempt bob around your shoulders. Guilliman vaguely remembers a tale amongst Lorgar’s adopted people: of a queen who had lost a great battle, and shorn her locks in penance.

“No my lord. I did nothing. My people acted against the rot in our ranks. They carved it out.”

“Millions have died.”

“It is no great loss that those who would espouse the evils of theology perish,” you say, your voice as flat and featureless as a windless sea. “All I ask is that those that remain…”

For a moment, emotion returns to your voice, colouring it.

“All I ask is that some of them be spared. Please.”

You lift your face for the first time since his arrival. Your lips are lined with blood, shadows hung beneath eyes sunk deep into their sockets. In the space of three days, you seem to have aged decades — from a fresh-faced woman in the bloom of youth, to a crone who has seen the ending of all that she loves.

—

The seas do not boil. The sky does not burn. Another battle is brought to a shuddering, decisive end as the Ultramarines join on the side of your rebels — no, you cannot think of them as such. They are not rebels; they are vindicated. They are fighting for the truth, for what is right and good. They are crusaders.

You — you are not a crusader. You are not sure what to call yourself. Lorgar called you a goddess; a title that always disquieted you, but you accepted it, for his eyes shone so when he looked at you, and he made love to you as though you were the only thing that mattered. Now, you have lost count of the number of men and women who have died for referring to you as such.

You are not a widow either. Your husband lives, though you do not know where he is. Once, Lorgar pressed his hand to your chest and felt the thrum of your heart against his palm and said that no matter where you went there was a golden cord that bound your heart to his; that no void nor fire could split asunder what was joined in love.

You dream that you wind a golden chain around your hands, pull it taut, and bite until your teeth chip, until your tongue bleeds, until it frays into dust on your lips.

—

When you meet the Emperor, you press your forehead to the cinder-warm flagstones that used to be a marketplace, and you wait for death. You know, in a distant dreamy sort of way, that you should be afraid, but you are not. You accepted your death what seems like a lifetime ago — in reality, it is less than four days since you gave the order to start burning the temples.

The irony of it all. People answered your call to arms, to not-so-holy war, because you are Lorgar’s bride, because you are the woman once called goddess. And what did you do with the power that he gave you? You ordered that his greatest works be destroyed.

But what else could you have done?

Colchis is your home. And in his arrogance — in his endless childish arrogance — Lorgar would have let it burn to ash rather than do as he had been bid. Did he truly believe his father a god? If so, why would he not obey his commandments as soon as they were given?

Thinking this way hurts you — not only because it stirs anger like a wounded animal in your breast, but because it throws into stark relief how Lorgar’s mind contained chasms and corners you never saw. How even though you gave yourself to him as completely as a woman can, he always kept parts of himself hidden from you — but you will not waste time delving into that labyrinth. His beliefs are inconsequential. Only the facts matter. Lorgar worshipped his father as a god. Lorgar was told to stop. Lorgar did not.

You visited the day of judgement upon Colchis before the Emperor got the chance, betting everything on a single desperate gesture. You do not regret it, though you will dream of the dying wails of your people until the end of your days. If you had not acted, all would have died. Now, maybe — just maybe — some may live.

“The girl acted in the best interests of her people,” the Emperor says, and it is only then that you realise precisely what was happening: he was rifling around in your head, subtly enough that you could not see the intrusion; mistaking his exploration for an ill-timed moment of navel-gazing. All at once, pain rushes into your knees and thighs, knife-like cramps. How long have you been kneeling there?

Then, inexplicably, a wash of frustration: girl, he calls you. Girl. You are staring down your third decade of life — nothing for one such as him, of course, but really.

Girl. You carved out your still-warm heart and laid it on a flaming altar and he refers to you as girl.

“Stand,” he says, and you obey, fighting the hysterical urge to snort with laughter — you’re exhausted, swooning, and starting to feel the after-effects of the universe’s most powerful psyker reading your thoughts. Blood drips down your chin. “I am satisfied with the efforts of your loyal Imperial citizens against the primitive cultists.”

“Thank you my lord,” you say, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground — thus missing entirely the swift, puzzled look Guilliman gives you, for ‘I am satisfied’ is more praise than the Emperor normally gives anyone.

(And perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or the wild shadows cast by the afterglow of battle, but Guilliman swears that just for a moment his father smiles.)

“Heracles,” says the Emperor, addressing one of the gigantic golden sentinels standing to attention beside him. “You will escort her aboard the Bucephalus. We will speak further when I have dealt with my son.”

The golden sentinel inclines her head, and you try your best to stay upright, your legs shaky as a newborn colt. You do not think of what the Emperor will do to Lorgar; you cannot.

“It goes without saying,” says the Emperor, almost as an afterthought. “But your marriage to him is annulled.”

Eight years. Your life; your heart; that golden cord. What love has joined together, none may tear asunder - except that is not true, was never true.

“Yes my lord,” you say.

[vodika-vibes]

hi!!!! could I get crosshair and camping with fluff! thanks out so much!!!

Better Together

Summary: Crosshair knows that he technically kidnapped his Imp, but when she’s pressed against him like this, he can’t feel guilty.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 979

Warnings: None

Prompt: Camping

A/N: So, this is a sequel/companion piece to I Think We're Alone Now because it makes the most sense to me. Also, I love playing with this type of pairing. I hope you like it!

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The campground is quiet as the sun creeps over the horizon.

Crosshair specifically chose this site because the closest civilization is several hours away. Sure, if either of them gets hurt they’re going to be SOL but Crosshair did the math.

The further away from civilization they are, the safer they’ll be from the Empire.

Crosshair shifts slightly when he feels movement next to him, and he lifts his head to check on his bed partner. He watches as she slowly blinks away, and turns her bleary gaze up to him. 

“Cross?”

“Morning Imp,”

“Morn—” Her greeting is interrupted by a massive yawn, and Crosshair chuckles as she rolls and buries her face in his chest, “-ing.”

He slowly runs his hand over her head, “You can go back to sleep, Imp. It’s early. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet.” 

Crosshair feels her shake her head, “You’re awake too.” She presses herself closer to him for a moment, almost as if she’s trying to draw strength from his presence, and then she rolls on her back and sits up.

Her braid is flat in some places, and some of her hair got pulled loose in her sleep. Honestly, she looks like a mess, and Crosshair has never seen anyone look prettier in all of his life.

He allows his gaze to linger on her for a bit longer, watching as she pulls her braid out and combs her fingers through the waves formed by the braid and then watches as she pulls her hair into a knot at the back of her head, exposing the elegant column of her neck.

Crosshair watches as she shifts some blankets around and then grabs the vibrant yellow sweatshirt she wore the night before, and pulls it over the thin tank top she wore to sleep.

No lie, he’s kind of disappointed that she’s putting on more clothes, but their relationship isn’t quite there yet. Not to mention, it’s a little chilly so far up the mountains.

Then she turns to him and favors him with a bright smile, “I’ll go start the fire so we can have caf and breakfast.”

Finally, Crosshair sits up and rubs his hand over his short hair, “While you do that, I’ll go and bathe.”

She nods solemnly, though her lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh, “You should.”

Crosshair narrows his eyes at her, and then swiftly pokes her in the side, causing her to squeak and squirm away from him, “Are you saying I smell?”

“You said it, not me!” She says through a laugh, only to squeal as he swiftly tugs her into his arms and half lays on her, “C-Cross! I have to go start the fire!”

“Too late now. You’re trapped.”

She wiggles under him for a moment, then gives up trying to squirm away, and instead lifts her arms to drape them around his neck. Her fingers, calloused from years of working on droids, absently play with the hair at the base of his neck causing him to shiver slightly.

He adjusts his weight slightly, so he’s not resting his full weight on her, and then brings his hand up to lightly caress her jaw. She’s watching him with an expression that makes him want to kiss her.

Instead, though, he drags his thumb across her bottom lip and tosses her a crooked smile, “What’s on your mind, Imp?”

She hums thoughtfully as she lightly drags her nails through his hair, an action that has him biting back a breathless curse. “Cross, what are we going to do?”

He reaches back to stop her hands, needing her to not do that if he’s going to focus, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid, Crosshair. I know you defected.” Her hands move from the back of his head to cup his face before he can properly react, “You defected and you brought me with you and that’s fine, Cross. I appreciate it, honestly. But this,” She gestures the the tent and the blankets, “It’s not sustainable. Not in the long run.” Her fingers lightly trail across the scar on his temple, “Tell me you have a plan?”

Crosshair releases a relieved sigh and then leans in to press his forehead against hers, “Course I do. I contacted my brothers, they’ll come and get us. If only so they can bitch at me for supporting the Empire.”

“Your plan is dependent on someone else saving us?”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then trust me on this. We just need to put up with this for a bit longer. I promise, Imp.” 

She lightly traces his cheekbones, and then favors him with a warm smile, “Okay.” Her smile widens, “I don’t mind camping if it’s with you.”

“That right?”

She tangles her legs with his and moves her arms so they’re wrapped around his neck again. Her smile is gentle as she watches him, “Come on, Cross. I know I haven’t exactly been subtle about my crush on you.”

“Your crush is adorable,” Crosshair agrees as he angles his head slightly, “And, now that we’re not with the Empire, I can tell you that your crush isn’t one-sided.”

She looks surprised for a moment, and then very pleased. 

Then Crosshair leans in and presses his lips against hers. Her lips are warm and surprisingly soft, and it’s better than he imagined kissing her would be. And he had intended to keep it as a chaste kiss, it was their first after all.

But then she lightly nips his lower lip, and all of his intentions fly out the proverbial window.

For what it’s worth, Crosshair suddenly finds himself very pleased that his brothers won’t show up for a couple of days. After all, now he has something to savor while he has the time.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

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@justiceandwar98

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@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

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@continous-mistakes

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@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

[everybodyloveshippos]

Children of Malice

Vierna, Maya, Briza Drizzt, Nalfein, Dinin

redraw/redesign of the Do'Urden family (probably will draw Malice, Zak and Rizzen next)

design notes/headcanons under the cut

i usually just have thoughts about the character as im designing so for a few things i was like 'oh thats a thought' also yes i know children of malice is a CR thing too haha

-i wasnt originally gonna draw 'lolths embrace' since these are just my own designs not visual dictionary but like....facial markings are really cool and so i ended up looking up various spider markings (i only used those specific realworld spider designs for dinin, who i also gave darker marking as opposed to lighter) and briza

-i also prefer the idea that its not actually anything to do with lolth, its just a genetic marking that some have and some don't. also the proximity to magic/faezress theory (?) was cool so there's not a huge meaning here; though i guess im guilty bcus I didnt give them to drizzt or vierna

-maybe zak doesnt have them and neither do his kids which sorta spurs on the heretic theory when its actually just a genetic thing that has no actual bearing on lolth's favour

-the women wear more gold and the men more silver, however the men can wear gold; they just have to be wary with standing out more than their sisters. any given day could be too much and cause for a beating

-nalfein likes jewelry and decorations/makeup and is more flashy when he's away at sorcere. his ears are marked up from training with/lessons from zak, who frequently would smack his ears when he was displeased with him. they blend in with lolth's embrace and he will cover them with makeup or a glamour on occasion. i just got the sense he was somewhat insecure given how he kept challenging zak and was written off by his family as mediocre. i think he liked being at sorcere more than at the house

-drizzt takes out his braids whenever he can. he likes his hair loose

-so does dinin. i think a lot of his appearance is meant to attract attention and establish his individuality

-i've always given vierna bangs and a ponytail BUT i love her braids in the comic so I gave her those too. her hair is unruly, like drizzts. she has a couple visible scars as opposed to her sisters because she trained more with zak. he felt bad about it but a bit relived when she didnt make a big deal out of getting a bit marked up. malice was angry

-maya has markings on her ears, so she doesnt pierce them. she wears makeup but forgets its there, and sleeps in it and wipes it off by accident. since her hair is shorter she decorates with little spider gold clips

-i will die on the headpiece hill. og drizzt oldman swag

-compared to my older art of them (first fanart of the series! i knew i was in when i drew all the siblings lol) i think i changed nalfein most to be less ...square....i hit him w a yassification beam and gave him eyebrows

[comfortless]

what if König does see his knight being more ladylike? or maybe even in a dress? sorry they’re just so cute i love this au lol

you are never getting her into a gown… not ever.

except at a special event (:..?

There’s a summons for König and the lady knight to attend a ball. At the castle, no less. The sheet of parchment dents weighty in her hand as she tugs it free from the message board at the center of town— a list of names, hers and König’s included; quite high, too, above even dukes and duchesses from foreign kingdoms and a wonderful knight who had braved an attempted siege and won the King victory.

It makes no sense… they’re essentially hired thieves, roaming through caverns of filth filled with the dead, stealing what’s never been their own and never will belong to them for profit. There’s no honor in their work, despite the way she puffs her chest in pride and so often declares that one of these expeditions will earn her a seat at the royal table.

Still… they had retrieved that object for the Queen, and it seemed the materialistic royalty deemed that well and good enough to consider them worthy.

König is unperturbed— he’s never been one for these formal affairs, dressing up in a tight fitting suit of ruffled fabric, chest adorned with a shimmering brooch and his blade kept tucked away far out of reach. His knight on the other hand… Her face is practically glowing, he’s never seen her smile so wide or so sweetly.

Of course… she doesn’t have some silky gown to her name, only cold steel and endless straps… not even a proper corset. König can’t help but notice her pout when they begin to prepare. Though he thinks she’s pretty, perfect even as battle-worn she is, it’s clear she wants to be more so as she stares longingly out of the window of the inn at all of the beautiful ladies riding on horseback to approach the castle gates, their gowns each as intricate and immaculate as the braids and curls and lengths of their hair.

He doesn’t get it- he’ll just go in his normal clothes, but like any proper suitor would do… he buys her a gown from the tailor a few buildings past the inn. The most expensive one he can get his paws on with the hoard of gold they collected from their last adventure. (Who knew slaying a few reanimated skeletons to give a cursed femur and jaw bone to an old witch could count as a job?!)

The dress is certainly… tailored to his preferences: it’s a lacy thing, dyed a shimmering bluish gray, creamy lace trims along the cuffs and hems, the collar dipping down into a ‘v’ to properly frame her tits. He didn’t expect it to be any lovelier than what his imagination supplies when she does put it on, and yet he finds himself utterly stifled by the sight.

He’s seen her nude, pawed at and groped her hundreds of times, but as she stands before him shyly lifting the dress at her hips and glancing at the wall, the floor, anywhere except from directly at him… his pulse begins to race. Of course, he picks her up and buries his face against her neck, whispering about how pretty she is, how much he adores every new side of her, and promptly ruins it by detailing how he would like to tug her laces loose with his teeth later in the evening after the dancing is all over. She shoves him away, hissing like a startled kitten but he’s certain she casts him a little smirk the moment that he does relax his grip.

The ball is no less extravagant than she had expected. Food and luxury wine adorn every table: cheeses, fresh baked bread, smoked meats and pies, fruit of many kinds, and the wine all sweet and bitter and so very unlike the thick mead that burns as it goes down that they’re accustomed to. The dresses, the elaborate dances, the beautiful sounds of music feathering through the air- all of it. She even gets to drink from a goblet made of silver, and her eyes light up when a servant fills it to the brim.

König despises it all.

He tucks himself away, flooding himself with food and the few gilded pitchers of actual ale he’s managed to threaten a servant into retrieving. He notices the eyes on her always, as she dances with the other ladies and smiles adoringly over at him each time their eyes meet. Her grace translates well here from battle, each step taken with some extracted precision that she’s learned from flailing her blade around in the darkness… her partners giggle against her ear as they curl their arms around her, many adrift to either side waiting for a turn.

It’s only when a man does approach his lady knight that König’s had enough. She’s tipsy and far too cute, stands out like pure treasure amongst this adoring flock, and the bastard’s eyes are on her breasts when he asks her to dance. The other man is yanked back by his scruff and tossed to the marble floor, eliciting startled gasps and even… some sweet sighs from the women surrounding as they fawn over how romantic it must be that a brute like him wouldn’t allow another man near her.

His knight only smiles at him when he leads her away, out of the grand hall and down the corridors of the castle until they find themselves before a window that seems to overlook the entire kingdom. The music still plays, the voices still chatter, but they’re all muffled and subdued someplace far away… and König only feels the world seem to come to a grinding halt when she asks him to dance with her here.

He doesn’t have the same tact or skill as the others when he moves: swaying her in a grip like iron ‘round her waist, dipping with her when her back arcs that almost leaves his face flush with her chest. It’s clumsy at best, far less flowery and sweet than when she danced with the other women, but he tries his best to not entirely ruin her night— unaware that she’s far too drunken and giddy to care. She wouldn’t have batted an eye if he had snapped that man’s neck, if only he rewarded her patience with a dance like this.

They meld together, a perfect fit when she stands on his boots and drapes her arms around his neck to press her chin to his chest. The frolic comes to a quiet end as they whisper back and forth about what happens next, after tonight. When the sun rises and they’re back on their feet… He swears to her that they’ll buy a horse, subtly hints that the offer to settle will always be present and she only shushes him with a kiss, one that she laughs into as she tastes the ale on his tongue.

Those strings are, in fact, loosened by his teeth as she lies on their shared bed with him later into the evening. He traces every dip and curve of her body through the silk as he works away at relieving her of the gown, then the corset with slow, precise movements and tugs. She laughs again when he hisses praises from behind her, licks and nibbles a hot path along her skin, rests his head against the smooth flesh of her back when the corset finally lays to either side of her.

His fingertips graze from the back of her neck, to her shoulder, further along the middle of her back before he stops himself. Despite the near constant ache, this isn’t how or where he wants this done: in some rundown inn outside of the castle, her veins flooded with red wine. Instead, he only pulls her close in a cuddle, massages at her tits as she thanks him for accompanying her, for dancing with her despite his gait being more like a newborn foal than a proper stallion.

And when the moon finally reaches a peak in the night sky, her breathing slow and soft while she rests her head against his chest, he kisses the top of her head and pulls her in closer. Tells her that he likes either side of her, knight or lady it mattered not, so long as she remains at his side like this.

She nods to her own damnation, contentedly swearing her oath to him with one word, “Forever.” It comes in a soft murmur, eyelids already fluttering as he squishes her closer against him.

[silmarillaure]

Finweans ranked by Aura

Feanor - So powerful he sucked the life force out of his mother, invented a ton of cool shit, had more children with his wife than any of the other Eldar, died in battle while his body combusted into flames because he was just that hot, & the King of the Valar who he hated cried over him.

Earendil - Cool as hell, has a wife who's cool as hell. Predestined to be a hero even though he comes from a basic vanilla bloodline (besides his great grandpa Fingolfin). Even though most of his ancestors were nobodies or flops, most of his descendants that came after him were cool as hell.

Maedhros - Might have been higher than his father & cousin if he didn't khs, Lowkey an Aura loss moment but he makes up for a lot with his gorgeous red hair, height, surviving Morgoth's torture, & sorta fulfilling his dad's dumb oath.

Fingolfin - The only good thing his bland vanilla mother did was give birth to him. He was a total badass I've got to admit even as a Feanorian stan. Him crossing the helcaraxë & his death were top Aura moments.

Elrond/Elros - They're twins so they can share a spot too. Both badass as hell.

Fingon - Called "the Valient", braids gold into his hair, saved his sexy redheaded cousin, & became King of the Noldor. Everything about him screams Aura.

Galadriel - Despite the fact she's a Feanor anti (Booooo!!!), she admittedly has a ton of Aura. She's smarter than possibly everyone else here given she survived when the rest of her generation either got themselves killed or spends all their time being a sad beach cryptid.

Gil-Galad - Cool as hell, managed to make an alliance Maedhros could only dream of.

Maglor - Has a couple Aura loss moments but in the end he LIVED which is an Aura gain. Also gets Aura points for having the best voice in Arda.

Celebrimbor - Pretty rad dude, love how he's more like Feanor than his father Curufinwe Jr is, unfortunately he died.

Finrod - His death is cool as fuck. Looses points for cockblocking his little brother & dying for that basic joe Beren though.

Caranthir - Goth Icon. Love how despite his raging anger issues he's also an awesome guy you'd want to be friends with.

Finwe - A massive flop in a ton of ways but definitely still has Aura. Looses Aura points for failing Feanor & choosing to marry an unsexy Vanya when he could've waited for his sexy talented silver haired Noldo wife to come back to life. Only good thing about him besides his awesome hair is that he's Feanor & Fingolfin's father.

Aredhel - Cool as hell but has terrible taste in men. Her whole white aesthetic & her wild personality gain her Aura points though.

Turgon - The only cool thing about him is that he built Gondolin which wins him some Aura points. Looses Aura points for getting played by his nephew & dying pathetically though.

Idril - She's cool I guess, the only thing of note that she did was give birth to the chad Earendil. Tuor is such a basic guy though, he's not the worst but she could do better.

Aegnor - Cool hair. Pulled a baddie. Fumbled the baddie.

Angrod - Not the most stand out Finwean but he seems to be a mama's boy & he didn't do anything wrong so I'll put him above the family flops.

Finduilas - She's a sweetie but she looses Aura points for falling out of love with a great guy like Gwindor & falling in love with Turin the walking L.

Celegorm - Stupid as hell for trying to use a powerful half-Angel as a political weapon against her father. Looses more Aura points for getting abandoned by his dog & dying at the hands of said half-Angel's 30 y/o mortal son while he's over 1000 y/o. Gains some Aura points for being able to talk to animals, his hair, & his hot bastard energy.

Curufin - Feanor with 99% less Aura. His only achievement is having Celebrimbor yet he still couldn't even succeed at being Feanor 2.0 and having 7 kids to continue the family line. Had the chance to kill Eol but didn't which led to his favorite cousin dying (that's a huge L).

Finarfin - Takes after his mother in the sense he's vanilla af. The tiny percent of Aura he has is from his Noldo side obviously and he used that to pull a baddie like Earwen. All his kids get their Aura from their mother's side.

Orodreth - I like the guy, but he's definitely a dumbass with no Aura. He inherited a kingdom but isn't particularly good at anything. His only accomplishment is possibly fathering Gil-Galad.

Maeglin - Orodreth might have no Aura but this guy has negative Aura. His childhood sucked but he's such a walking L that's he's somehow more of a loser than both Celegorm & Eol combined.

[je-lurk]

I'd love it if you elaborated on how Agatha's hair reflects her state of mind! I'm obsessed with that kind of character analysis and I have a vague idea how I think they're connected but I'd love to hear your thoughts! If you want to of course. : )

Hi! It took me a hot second, but since I hadn’t finished yesterday I thought I could add ep 4. Here are my ideas, hairstyle by hairstyle.

The beginning of the reflection comes from the idea that loose hair in ancient Rome or Greece represented madness (can’t actually find sources on this so take the historical accuracy with a grain of salt) and, in a lesser extent, grief.

In episode 1, we see mostly Detective Agnes. Detective Agnes wears her hair in a low, untidy ponytail. This is the easiest way to gather one’s hair to free up the face. It’s not even done properly. Obviously this echoes how this Agnes is neglecting herself, mostly through self-destructive behaviors. Still, her hair is collected, as is her mind. The situation makes sense for her.

Until it doesn’t, and Agatha frees herself of the past iterations of Agnes. It might be worth to note that all of these have at least stylized hairstyles. This is, to me, Wanda’s influence: the Agneses (as well as every other character in Westview) were not allowed to lose their mind. Detective Agnes, bearing alone the full brunt of Wanda’s power, even less.

Once rid of all her layers, Agatha is naked (rebirth) and her hair is loose (madness).

"Madness" in this case as in disorientation. Agatha’s brain is barely catching up with what’s happened and needs answers. She’s constantly off balance, mostly emotionally.

She spends most of episode 2 with loose braids, done on the fly but still slightly researched. She’s scrambling for control: control of her appearance, control of others, control of her mind.

With Lilia she actively changes her appearance, gathering her braids in a somewhat tight bun, secured with a stick. She attempts to look both different and more pulled together than she really is. This, as we all know, did not work.

Then she ends the episode with a classic updo, with hair piled on her head and framed with two strands, obviously elaborate. The very little time she had she used to prepare herself, both physically and mentally. Every last hair is secured (except for the two strands, we’re aiming for class, mystique and confidence, not stuck-up-bitch-efficiency) and every thought is in place. The plan is made. And the strands can act as a curtain. She’s never really without those hair that can get in her face (except when under Wanda’s control because she doesn’t have the wherewithal to do anything, much less hide and scheme).

Episode 3 sees Agatha with the same updo, although it changes once they enter the first trial.

Her hair is — I struggle to find another word for it — schooled. It is still "loose", but the kind of loose that is held together by cans of hairspray, with studied waves. Girl is holding together with dreams and a prayer. She looks like she is holding together at least. There is still this idea of vulnerability. She’ll be more understanding, more in touch with the others. Less good at deception. More vulnerable, more protective, towards her son (whose loss is, if not still raw, rawer because of Wanda), towards Teen. The front bang, if we can call it like that, is always between the ear and the eye. Again, a curtain. Curtain that she completely pushes back during her hallucination.

It is interesting to me how the hallucination only happens as she is plucking a hair. With all the hairspray it’s staying mid-air. This, with the hair carelessly pushed back, is the more disheveled we’ve seen her in this episode (yet). This is also the most open, emotional and raw we see her in the episode. Even when Teen said he would drink the wine in her stead was she more reserved.

She ends the episode in the updo of the beginning, though 3/4 ruined by the water (lot of stress in the preceding sequence, plan barely holding on). And then Sharon dies. There is something to the ruination of the most elegant and researched updo she did by herself. It recalls again the themes of mental vulnerability, loss of footing, loss of confidence, etc.

There is a little time between the end of episode 3 and the beginning of episode 4. They all dried, and Agatha took her hair down (it’s less ridiculous like this. It’s a conscious choice of appearance, too, she could have easily put her hair up with literally anything). I think it’s because she has really registered Sharon’s death (I’m calling bluff, though. First, because I love her, and second, because she looks too dead for having been dead this short). Even if she doesn’t want to show it, she cares about her and about her death. If she didn’t, she would have no issue assuming the responsibility. It’s not the first time she’s killed. But she shifts the blame elsewhere.

Then there’s Rio, and Agatha is feeling too much at the same time.

Second trial, loose hair, secured with a headband. I love how, as soon as Rio is involved, Agatha always has a loose component to her hairstyle (not counting episode 1 because she was Agnes). In this trial, Agatha is (mostly, we don’t forget Exposition Boy in this house, but hey, that’s what the loose part is for) pulled together: she plots, takes swings, and leadership, and support Alice. They finish the trial so much quicker and with minimal loss.

They get out, where Agatha immediately gets back her loose hair "style" and her emotions. She doesn’t even care to look too attached to Teen. She cries. I believe we’ve only seen her cry once before, in the hallucination. She gets careless, opens herself too much, begins to believe again (in Teen, in Rio) and only gets back a punch in the jaw ("What really happened to your son?") and in the plexus ("That boy isn’t yours". Come on Rio, she knows she’s entertaining delusions, leave her alone).

Tl;dr: It all boils down to hairstyle = control

Loose hair could represent a loss of control over her mental and emotional states, over others, and over her environment.

Styled hair/hair done could show her confidence (and/or the confidence she wants people to think she has), mental acuity, and general capability to think, plan, and plot (whether for her own benefit or that of her coven). In other words, her ability to control the situation.

[tarrynightss]

𝒜 𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓈

Pairing: Jake Sully x fem!reader

cw: Angst, mentions of partner and child death, one-sided love

Soft, hot skin brushes over his and Jake sighs, slowly starting to wake up. You feel so comfortable, fitting into his chest just perfectly as your hand rubs over his arm. Though he cannot see your smile yet, he can sense it, knowing that if he were to turn you around he would instantly be greeted with it. You are always blessing him with your warm smiles throughout the day, your eyes filled with love. Even on his worst days where all he had wanted was to kick everything and anyone near him into little pieces, you had never looked at him with anything but that love and kindness.

You are patient, forgiving, a truly caring woman who would do anything to make the people she loves happy, so why does it still not feel like enough? Jake’s heart aches as you press your body up against his, cutely groaning as you stretch and completely oblivious to his thoughts. He had tried so hard to fall in love with you, had told himself it was okay to mate you because eventually, the feeling would come, but more than a year later it remained absent. You are kind, skilled, beautiful, but you are not Neytiri.

His sweet Neytiri who had been taken from him too soon. Eywa had not granted them more than a year together with their newborn son, Neteyam, Neytiri falling gravely ill before his first rotation. You had taken the widow and his child into your loving arms, raising the boy like your own. You knew loss better than most as you had lost your mate and child during the attack on Hometree, but this had felt right to you. In your eyes, Eywa had brought the both of you together in a time of need to complete each other and make a family again, but to Jake it continued to feel like a cruel trick of fate.

You turn around to face Jake, that sweet smile of yours playing at your lips as you greet him. “Good morning.”

It almost hurts when you kiss him, so tender and trusting that it makes him feel like the scum of the earth. His hand moves to the back of your head, feeling the little braids in your hair roll under his fingers. He sighs into the kiss, the mental image of his old love running through his mind. It’s not always like this, but more often than not Jake finds himself picturing you as Neytiri during these moments.

When you pull back your eyes gleam with happiness and you stroke a gentle hand over his face. In the dim light he can see your resemblance to her, the two of loosely related, and it makes his heart flutter. Any other man in the clan would’ve wanted your beauty for just what it was, but Jake could not help but chase that glimpse of the past.

“I love you.”

The words roll off your lips so earnestly, fingers moving to his hair to play with it. He closes his eyes.

“I love you too,” he says, another word remaining unspoken. Neytiri.

[esther-dot]

I’ve always found it odd that in s8 Sansa started wearing her hair more like d@ny. Like that bun braid she’s got going on in the promos & those two little braids that frame her face at the dragon pit. I can head-canon that she chose to wear her hair like that in king’s landing for the sake of the unsullied. Perception is everything & their leader wore her hair that way—a strong woman capable of commanding an army; an intimidating woman. Sansa likely felt she needed to project an intimidating level of strength if she had any hope of securing Jon’s release & the braids could’ve been a way to subtly influence their perception of her. Meant to recall images of their leader & paint her as someone to be feared.

As far as wearing her hair the way she did at the start of the season…the best I could come up with is that she was doing it for Jon. And while it’s an answer I can accept (be still my jonsa-heart!) it doesn’t feel quite satisfactory. I’m wondering if you’ve put down any thoughts on this & might have something more for us to consider? Or perhaps a head-canon you’d like to share?

I remember this debate and there’s even an article about it,

(link)

But the idea that Sansa was copying Dany never made much sense to me because Sansa starts wearing the hairstyle before she’s met Dany? I think that Sansa's hair was meant to be a Northern style, and worked with the association of Sansa & Lyanna the show created (link).

Here’s a pic and another post about it:

(link)

And then in s8, looking at the hairstyles, even though there are braids in both, it looks to me as if they attempted to keep them distinct. Look how soft and loose Dany's is in contrast to Sansa's. Also, Sansa has a bun while Dany's braid is like a crown sliding off her head (ba-dum-ch!)

Even when I look at “Sansa’s war braids” at the dragonpit,

It doesn’t make me see Dany at all. She susually had two curls down by her face, but that was to soften her look, whereas Sansa's braids have the opposite intention. My main thought is that it’s weird the girl who wasn’t fighting got the armor-ish dresses while the two who were out there with the army of the dead did not! This may have been an effort to give her a totally unique hairstyle from the Northern cast, in prep for Queen Sansa?

I think the Jonsa implications would be in the Lyanna connection and the NedCat cosplay from s6-7. The fact that the finale rested on Jon’s (Targ) love for Sansa (Stark girl) makes me think there was some story-related reasoning back in s5-7 that carried through to the end even if they didn't really wanna follow-through on the implication. Making Jon appear as Ned and Sansa as Cat (the hairstyles are similar, not exactly the same but the script referenced the Cat thing at one point so it was intentional) also feels like something that was still present in s8 storywise. They were a unit, they did trust each other, but there was a lot of anxiety about that trust and pain about a perceived betrayal.

And in-world reasoning, I’d say that when in the South Sansa was trying to fit in at court so mimicking to greater or lesser extent the fashion made sense, and when she returned home, it made sense for her to start wearing styles she’d worn or seen as a girl.

(link)

[monstertreden]

⊹ OPERATION FERRIS WHEEL ⊹

-Reader: female reader -TW: none -Character: Gabriel O’Hara (Marvel, Spiderman 2099 comics) -Summary: The tech slightly awkward guy from the engineering department of the Spider HQ, had a plan—though “plan” might be an overstatement. It is more like a half-baked, caffeine-fueled, wildly ambitious scheme to finally ask out his long-time crush, (Y/N). Will he gather the courage or fumble badly? -Word count : 1695 -A/N: I wrote this while being on a brief vacation. I love him with all my heart, I think he deserves the world, a hug and a smooch. This is what I've listened

“Mann, I can’t believe we’re going to the fair tonight! With all the amount of work Migs puts us through I thought we would never see the outside world again! All of this made me crave cotton candy all week!” Y/N sighed, stretching in the passenger seat.

 Despite having left earlier from the HQ, the place was still packed. Cars were crammed into every available spot, like sardines in a can, with families, couples, and groups of friends piling out of minivans and trucks.

Gabriel smirked, throwing Y/N a quick glance. “Ehh, no worries starshine” Surprisingly he managed to find a perfect spot (after circling the lot after what felt like an eternity) to park his convertible “I do think we deserve a nice relaxing adventure after everything we do at the HQ, we’re the best of the best-!” The moment he hopped out of the car, he nearly slipped on the gravel, catching himself just in time. Without missing a beat, he straightened up and rushed to her door, dramatically swinging it open like a gentleman.“-After, you” As if she hadn’t just witnessed it from the rearview mirror.

“Thanks” Y/N stifled a laugh, raising an eyebrow.

Gabriel winked, comically bowing “Always, for you"

-Very smooth Gabriel, everything is going very smooth, he praises himself as he leads you to the entrance of the fair.-

── .✦

Once they both reached the entrance, the lively sounds of carnival games and laughter filled the air along with the heavy smell of fried dough and popcorn, making her stomach rumble.

“It seems your stomach spoke before you could” The brunette teased as he approached the food stalls. “Want do you want to grab at the stalls before we decide to go? My stomach’s telling me to try these churros! We should always trust our stomachs”

“Churros?” Her gaze followed his, eyeing the stall he was interested in, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and sugar hitting her as if on cue. “Eh- why not?”

Minutes later, Y/N was in the middle of biting that greasy churro, crispy and dusted with tons of sugar. Then, reality kicked in as she frowned, glancing down at her hands, her hair dangerously close to that oily pastry. “Damn," She muttered, gritting her teeth as she wiped your fingers with a napkin. "I forgot my hairband"

Sensing her distress, Gabriel stopped mid-bite, his own churro hovering in front of his mouth. “No worries! I’ve got you covered. I’m a man of many talents, after all.” He stepped behind Y/N, clean fingers working on her hair, gathering them into a loose braid. “I’m not only a technician, you know?”

She raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress the smile creeping onto her face as she caught sight of a Barbie pink hair tie in his hand “Where did you get that?”

He admired his handiwork proudly, fixing any stray hair “ Oh, this? Welll, whenever I babysit Gabriella, see, she always asks me to braid her hair. Eh! I’m basically the best uncle in the world. And let's be real, I might as well be the best hairdresser in all of Nueva York!! Just don’t ask me to cut anything or I could lose major clients“

Y/N couldn’t help but tease “Noted...I’m never letting you wield a pair of scissors...”

── .✦

By then they had experienced half of the main attractions, from bumping cars to stop at a game booth to get a plushie as Gabriel was skilled enough to win her a giant fluffy cat she later named Chiquito. Everything was going smoothly as he laughed in relief, the nervousness easing from his shoulders each attraction they hopped off.

“Who knew I had such hidden talents?” he remarked, glancing at Chiquito, who now rested securely in his arms. While Y/N had quickly gone to grab some bag of candies at the nearest stall, Gabriel found himself standing in place for 20 minutes talking to himself, lost in his own thoughts.

"…No, no, that approach is wayyyy too philosophical. Okay, okay, how about this: ‘Fancy a spin around the wheel with me?’ Ughhhh, way too formal. Who the shock says ‘fancy’ these days?!" His quiet ramble then got cut off by Y/N returning to his side.

“I’m back! Got some dolphin and licorice sweets for you too!” Y/N exclaimed, shaking the colorful bag with a grin in front of his face.

"For me??” Gabriel squeaked in surprise as he immediately munched on some “Thankss Y/N! I’ve been dying to take these! Makes me recall those bittersweet childhood moments.” He gulped the sugary treats “Now, let me do the honors because I’ve got something for you too!"

“Sure, Gabe! what is it??” That bright and contagious smile Y/N had, sent a wave of butterflies right through his stomach, but he was quick not to show it (yet).

Finally! He had practiced this exact moment multiple, if not millions, of times in his head. He would ask casually if she wanted to join him on the most important ride of that night on the Ferris wheel, chat about the view, maybe throw in a funny joke, and then smoothly ask her out afterward. Perfect. 100% foolproof. Only an idiot could mess this up-

However, what actually came out of his mouth was a pitiful blend of incoherent words put together “Uh, wheel. I-You... me? Spin?”

Y/N blinked and tilted her head, clearly confused, was he speaking a nerd incognito code? "Sorry, what?"

Gabriel felt his face heat up, mortified by his utter failure to deliver the smooth discourse he had rehearsed minutes ago. Great job, Gabriel  O'Hara…, he thought, mentally facepalming. You’ve officially lost your ability to form sentences.

Trying to recover, he chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I meant... do you want to go on the Ferris wheel with me... perhaps?” This time, his voice was laced with a hopeful edge.

When she responded with a bright smile, “Sure! I’d love to,” Gabriel decided to interpret that as a good sign.

Mission success! Gabriel almost fist-pumped the air but managed to hold it in, opting instead for a cool (probably too enthusiastic) nod. "Great! Awesome! Let’s do that then!"

He turned to lead the way, feeling a rush of excitement, He felt a bold impulse to take her hand, to intertwine his fingers with hers, but quickly retracted them in embarrassment.

── .✦

"Alright, Gabriel. You’ve taken down bad guys, hacked into top-secret systems…I’m way better than that Spiderdude, then, how hard could it be to ask her out?" he whispered to himself, standing in front of the giant glittering Ferris wheel. ”No big deal, right?”... Nope. His heart was pounding louder than the carnival music blasting in the background. With a deep breath, he helped her to hop into the vibrant cabin.

“Just ask her once you’re up there” He settled in beside her, trying to ignore those damn butterflies fluttering wildly in his stomach as the cabin began to ascend, the ground dropping away beneath them…

Once their cabin reached the top of the ride Gabriel could barely contain his excitement any longer. “So, Y/N, I genuinely wanted to-“ And just when Gabriel was about to give himself a little pat on the back for having started the conversation, the Ferris wheel stopped suddenly—right at the top.

Don’t panic O’Hara.

Panic set in. "I swear, this never happened before!" Abort! Abort the mission! But Gabriel was in too deep now. He tugged his scarf, not daring to look down the window. His palms were sweaty, his legs felt like jelly, and his stomach had suddenly decided to do a loop-the-loop that no rollercoaster could ever match.

“Uh, I mean, heights are totally fun, right?” he added, trying to sound casual but failing miserably .“The view looks amazing!”

"You okay, Gabe?" His crush asked, tilting their head to look at him. They had a glint of concern in their eyes.

"Yeah! I'm fine. Totally… fine." Gabriel gripped the seat so hard his knuckles turned white.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N turned to him, maybe she could find a way to put him back together “You know, Mr. Genius, since we’re stuck here for a bit, I guess you’ll have to entertain me.”

Gabriel froze. This was it. Maybe… just maybe, he could turn this around in his favor. “Well,” he started with a shaky grin, “lucky for you, I’m great under pressure.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, but what came out was.. "Did you know Ferris wheels were invented in 1893 for the Chicago World's Fair?" Oh -it was so embarrassing, of all the things he could have said-

“That was... unexpected,” She said, a teasing smile tugging at her lips “but hey, I didn’t know that. You sure are interested in this field, are you, Gabe?”

“Y- yes, I am! Of course, you know me!” Gabriel avoided eye contact as he looked down at their feet, it was then that he noticed a small container embedded in the floor of their cabin. “Wait a sec, that’s a cable generator...up here? That’s...strange” If he could get the Ferris wheel to start moving again, then...

“You’re right” She replied, still puzzled “ But we certainly don’t have the tools to fix- where did you get that screwdriver?”

── .✦

“That will do! This will teach the carnival organizers a lesson. Oh ho, I can’t wait for them to be sued!” The brunette joked, their laughter still bubbling from the adrenaline of the ride.

Once their feet finally touched the ground, Gabriel had regained his cool demeanor. “But let’s focus on other things, I do have another surprise for you, that surely doesn’t include a Ferris Wheel malfunction...”

He smirked, taking something out of his pockets while still keeping one of his hands tangled with hers, her other hand clutching Chiquito closer to her chest.

"Guess what I’ve snitched from Miguel’s credit card ?? VIP Tickets for the fireworks show, it’s about to start c’mon!” Gabriel cheerfully tugs her arm while leading to the secluded spot, they both giggling like idiots.

.

At least, they were now holding hands.

[captain-lessship]

Among The Stars Pt. 1/2

A/n: cause I love Anakin too much, we’re gonna say that Qui-Gon lived and was his mentor to free up Obi Wan (Also cause Qui-Gon deserved better) 

Obi Wan was excited, he had worked his way through the trials and spent years looking into mentoring a padawan. He took this very seriously, he spent months looking for one that he knew he could serve the best. 

That’s when he found you. Your force energy radiated through the entire space you were in. Currently, you were levitating a ball for the young kings who just arrived, trying to entertain them. 

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat.

You turned around, eyes widened, you let the ball fall gently into the young lungs hands, “Master Kenobi.” You stood up and faced him.

He asked for your name and once you gave it, he asked for you to walk with him. He asked you a lot of questions about yourself. Did you remember your home planet? Were you ready to be trained fully? Why did you want to become a Jedi?

Obi wan was slightly impressed by the wisdom in your answers. He saw a lot of himself in you. 

“Well, I am looking for a padawan. Would you be interested?”

You thought for a moment, “Do I get to wear the braid?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do it.”

Obi wan was exceptionally proud to bring you one just as Anakin was due for his very own padawan. 

You were cautious as you were talking with master Yoda about it. It was a high stress situation as Yoda and you went to get the padawan ready to deliver a message to the disconnected troops.

“Are you sure it’s a good time?”

“Time it is. Anakin needs responsibility, yes?”

“Yes, of course but Anakin? Really? He’ll scar them for life.” 

“Why do you say this?”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t trust Anakin with another person. But then again, it isn’t my decision.”

Then the heavy door opened, getting your attention instantly. In walked a girl, your eyes met and you smiled. This must be the new padawan for Anakin.

You and Ashoka found yourselves spending a lot of time together, which caught the attention of Obi Wan and Anakin.

“It isn’t the Jedi way.” Obi Wan said.

“Look, doesn’t it make more sense that they’ll fight that much harder if there’s a risk they’ll loose one another?”

“It isn’t all about fighting, Anakin.” Obi Wan dropped his head into his hands.

“I know you’re worried about him, I’m worried about her too but they’ll keep each other safe.”

Neither of you heard this and if either of you did, it would be an argument. But you two were outside, laying in one of the few gardens, enjoying the sun.

“So, what color is yours?” 

You two talked about so many other things that you had almost forgotten about being Jedi. 

“Blue, like Master Kenobi’s. His is darker though.” 

“Wonder why?”

“I don’t know, maybe age.” You shrugged.

Ahsoka looked at you, a mischievous smile coming to her face, “you want to go do something fun?”

“Like?” 

“Spar.”

[inquisimer]

❛ for the first time in years, i felt something that i thought had been lost to me. ❜ please for siobhan and loghain? since i like pain

HELLO PAINNNNNN

you know I still haven't made this Decision™ but the lead up has me👀

anyway have them being.....them🥺😭 for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Inquisition tents dotted the sand of the Western Approach, far enough from the looming shadow of Adamant to stay safe, but close enough to foreshadow the reckoning that the morning would bring.

Someone had ensured there would be ale to keep morale up. Most of the soldiers were gathered in bunches around a giant bonfire, frothing mugs in their hands and smiles notwithstanding across their faces.

The Inquisitor was off with his Commander, reviewing the plan for the umpteenth time, and his sister, ever the rogue, flitted between the troops with a flirtatious smile and sleight hand.

In the back of the camp, two shadows danced against a nondescript canvas. Siobhan maintained a soft ball of mage light, casting shadows in the weathered crevices of Loghain’s face. She stretched across his chest, both of them lying on a combined pile of bedrolls, their armor tucked neatly in the corner. She raised one hand and combed it gently through his shortened hair.

“I miss the braids,” she said softly, smirking.

“Well maybe if you hadn’t set them on fire—“

“Well maybe if you hadn’t been so frustrating—“

He silenced her with a kiss, pressing his chapped lips against hers. “You love it,” he teased.

“Mmm you wish,” she murmured against his lips. She ducked her head into his collarbone, exposed by his unlaced shirt, and sighed. When she spoke again, the humor had leaked from her voice.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was heavy with implications. Loghain’s arms around her middle tightened instinctively and he frowned.

“For what?”

She gestured aimlessly about the space. “For….this. For bringing you here. Of all places to drag you into risk, the ass end of Orlais? I think you deserve at least one apology.”

“I think your memory is faltering.” Loghain raised a brow, eyes and hands loose with the hint of whiskey they’d snagged earlier. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and carried the motion down to cup her jaw. “You didn’t drag me anywhere, Siobhan. I followed. And I would do it again.”

Siobhan huffed, her eyes cast aside. It might have been a joke, but Loghain’s frown deepened. He read the tension in her shoulders and the ire that flowed around her like a second skin.

He sat them both up. She straddled his lap, arms looped around his neck, and she still wasn’t looking at him.

“Siobhan.”

Her lips pursed and her gaze remained focused on a particularly dull corner of their tent.

“Siobhan.”

He hooked his fingers under her chin and pulled it down sharply. Finally, instinct snapped her cracked marble eyes to his storm weary ones.

“Fuck,” she hissed, jerking back. Her hands fisted against the back of his neck.

“Look at me,” he insisted, hand gripping her chin. “I would do it again.”

“You shouldn’t have to!” She reasserted herself, pressing them against the ground. Her palms went flat, flexing against the bedroll beneath them. “That thing should have died in the Vinmarks! And even though he didn’t—you shouldn’t be here—you wouldn’t be here if—“

“If I’d never met you?” he preempted her protest. His eyes darkened. “Would I even be here, in the broader sense?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t suggest that I would have been better served without you.” His gruff voice sliced severely through layers of cynicism and guilt. Siobhan glared down at him. He could practically see the sparks and smoke from her mind at work.

“I was” —his tongue darted out, uncertain and searching against his lips— “directionless. Orders are easy to follow, but a man needs something worth following to make the effort worth the time.”

“I spent years, aimless, killing darkspawn and wandering, no end in sight. Then Stroud dragged me to the Deep Roads and I dragged your meddlesome brother out.” He wasn’t one for speeches and the extensive words wore on him. But there was still a furrow in her brow, doubt in the creases of her lips, the corners of her eyes. That would not do.

“And Carver dragged me to Kirkwall, in the end.” His hands found the back of her head, traced the contours of her braid, and pressed her forehead down to his. “And to you. For the first time in years—years—I felt something I thought had been lost to me.”

Images of an insistent, but patient cabinet maker, tenacious and wise and incomparable in all ways flashed across his mind. He had cast away that gift, with little thought for what he was abandoning. Never again.

“Do not suggest you have given anything to me but grace,” he said sharply. “Grace—and more than that, when others never would.”

“What I have done—whatever good I rendered or peace I wrought—what does it matter?” Her voice cracked and she broke his gaze with closed eyes. He imagined that if he were a mage, he might feel the Veil bend with the force of her regret.

“Is a single life worth less because it was saved alone?” he asked softly.

“And what of the lives I could have saved? Kirkwall aside—the ones who would have lived if Carver and I stayed the hell away from the Vinmarks?”

“Those lives were never on your conscience.”

“Weren’t they?”

“Corypheus would put the onus for his actions on your shoulders. But you did nothing other than grant him freedom. Anyone who suggests you could control his actions thereafter is a fool.”

He drew her closer, just a whisper between their breaths. “And we do not parley with fools, my love.”

Her fingers threaded together at the back of his neck and she closed the space, a fierce, desperate kiss between them. Her uncertainty coated his tongue like iron and he met it with reassurance, a steady and comforting presence, as he’d served for years now. His hands found the small of her back and he stroked up her spine, soft and grounding.

Somewhere in the back of his mind was anger—at the Inquisitor, the Maker, the world, for rendering such a circumstance where she would doubt herself. She, who had given all there was to give for causes she never meant to take up.

She started to pull back and he tightened his grip, renewing their embrace.

What they faced tomorrow was unknown. But he did not have to their foe to know that she would come out on the other side, perhaps not whole, but strengthened, stronger. She had always been thus, and he would not see her change.

Even at the cost of his last breath.

[dellamortethelesser]

Trystan Hawke

Just a lil thing I wrote oopsie. If you’d like to get a peek into the (WIP) dynamics between him and Leandra and Bethany then keep reading :)

“Carver... He was such a little boy. Never had a knee that wasn’t scraped or trousers without holes.”

There was a monster in Trystan’s head screaming back at his mother that he was once a little boy too and he never had someone to nurse his scrapes. There was a monster screaming and roaring and cursing her out for every brushed-aside bruise, for every tut ever made over the fact that he’d gotten mud on his dress or over the fact that his hair had fallen loose of its braid—nevermind that such things were usually a result of him doggedly attempting to keep the twins out of trouble.

He wanted to shake her back to her senses. (This is your fault. I want my son back. How could you let him run off like that?!). It had taken everything within him then and everything in him now, over a year later, not to scream at Leandra that she still had a son. That he had done everything he could to keep Carver safe; that some things were out of his control and he couldn’t be the one to drag them through each day because she couldn’t stop crying about it.

Guilt-ridden as he was, Trystan had to get over his grief quickly. He still had Bethany to look out for, as it was clear to him that his mother and Gamlen weren’t going to do it. If he lost her, it would wreck them all. It would ruin them. He wouldn’t be able to look his mother in the eye again; he wasn’t sure that she would consider him her child anymore. His job, above all else, was to make sure that the same fate didn’t befall his sister. He knew it. He hated his mother for it.

All of that anger in his chest left him in an unsteady exhale as he saw the tears running down his mother’s cheeks. Pity took its place.

“I just keep thinking there was something more that we could’ve done. It’s killing me— eighteen years of loving and feeding and raising, and… that was it.”

Trystan didn’t know what to say. What could he say that wouldn’t make it worse? Talking things out was always Bethany’s strength, and she wasn’t here now. It was for the best that she wasn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to her to see their mother like this, broken apart, and him barely swallowing his anger back down into his throat. He hoped that he could resolve this before she came back into the room; it was all he could do to shield her from Gamlen’s inane diatribes.

“I’m glad you’re past blaming me,” he said, bitterly and with little humor. Leandra hiccuped and looked up at him with wide, teary eyes. Anger mingled with guilt in his throat.

“Oh, Trystan, I— I’m so sorry,” she pleaded. “I didn’t really mean that, I… I miss him.” When he didn’t respond, she looked back to the low-burning hearth. “…I am working to make an audience with the viscount. With any luck, we will be able to reclaim the Amell estate.”

“Good,” he said, and he wavered. Leandra glanced back at him, waiting for him to continue. Trystan hesitated as if he had more to say. If he were to be honest with himself, he did have more—much more. Yet what purpose would it serve except driving the knife deeper into his mother’s grief? It was a selfish sort of anger, the one that he harbored against his mother. He would hate her through his own tears as they fought over her neglect, silently wishing her dead; yet hours later would be tucked around the table laughing as though nothing was wrong. Trystan might have been Malcolm’s spitting image, but the wretchedness was his mother’s mirror.

He stormed off before he was tempted to say anything he’d regret.

Bethany caught his arm before he could reach the door, and all of his anger dissipated in an instant. Trystan turned to face her and, upon noticing her brows furrowed into a line of worry, he forced a smile to his face. “Don’t worry about it,” he said in answer to her silent question. He was unsure how much she had overheard. “We were just discussing Mother’s big plans for the estate. Where have you been?”

“Sleeping,” she said, “but I know you were talking about a lot more than just that. Are you all right?”

“Of course,” Trystan lied. That old rage was like bile in his throat, but he had to lie for Bethany’s sake. Mother’s pandering had been no fault of hers, after all.

Bethany had only ever been his biggest supporter, and grateful for his efforts; as young children they had shared dresses and ribbons in their hair, and as he grew up, she was the first to embrace calling him brother with her full chest and a big hug. It had taken Carver longer to come around for fear of no longer being the only boy of the family. Not that such fears came to fruition, in the end, thanks to how unsurely his parents had adjusted to such a change.

“Why don’t we go to the markets?” Bethany suddenly asked, breaking him from his reverie. “Just to look, or maybe to get Apostate a snack. He hates this musty old house, you know, and being cooped up all day.”

The Mabari raised his head at the mention of his name and talk of treats.

Trystan turned his head to look at her. “You aren’t worried about Templars?”

“Why would I be?” She asked as she grabbed onto his arm, just as she had always done. “I have my big brother to protect me. Besides, I think you can do with getting out of this house, too.” Light streamed in as they stepped out onto the porch, and with a whistle, Apostate jumped up from his spot on the floor to join them.

“Besides,” Bethany continued as they began their trek into Lowtown, “maybe now you can tell me about that other apostate friend of yours. The healer? He seemed really fond of you when we stopped by the other night.”

“Maybe we can not talk about that,” Trystan replied. “He just lost someone important to him. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to imply about it.”

“Fine,” she sighed, and looked away with a huff. “I just think you’ve been lonely. It wouldn’t kill you to make some friends. If one of them turns out to be more than that, well, would that be so bad?”

FIN

[karrenseely]

Oh gods, not again.

I've been stuck in my head this week. A new epiphany rocked my world again. My hormones were adjusted recently. About a year ago... I think, I was started on a progesterone cycle. And very quickly I found myself having a desire to explore my body. The really significant dysphoria I was having around my hips, my shoulders, my voice. They didn't bother me as much as they had before. And then. Then I started to have some libido. That was weird and wonderful. My body did things for me I'd never experienced before. It was pleasurable and interesting, and I was feeling less and less like an imposter and more like the woman I am. I know I was also doing a lot of work in therapy as well. Working through the shame and conditioning I'd incorporated into myself that being a woman, being feminine was bad, liking anything girly was bad at best, perverted at worst. And I started to be a little more ok with myself. I wanted to explore the girly things and was finally allowing myself to do so. I even felt sexy sometimes, I think having never experienced those feelings before I'm still not sure if that's what that feeling is or not. I got back into make up, I learned how to paint my nails, I really started enjoying creating outfits and feeling like I was looking good. I was getting in touch with that feminine part of me that I had been suppressing because even though I had transitioned, parts of me were still convinced being feminine was bad, being feminine made me a pervert even though I was a woman. Yes, I know, there's a great deal of cognitive dissonance going on in my brain. And while I was doing these things at some point the little girl in me who'd been crying and along all her life had had enough of being shut away and forced me to let her out, and I got stuck in the past and had a severe bout of CPTSD/Depression putting me out of work for the last 4 months. But doing these things, was self care and when I was able to do them, it helped lift me up some.

I still know very little about hair care, I still for the life of me, have no idea how to do a good tight simple braid without it going off to one side at best, being really loose at worst. You know all the things that I should have learned growing up, that my sister got to learn because it was ok for her to be a girl for some reason and not me.

I love my sister, I don't blame her for choosing to side with my parents, she wasn't facing a choice of death or losing her entire family, she was just faced with losing a sibling or her entire family. Understandably she chose her entire family. I don't think they abused her, at least not the way they did me. She is my younger sister. But when my parents broke me and I just couldn't continue growing and got stuck around age 15, she started to be more like a big sister. I looked up to her. She was good at school, with really good grades, she was popular, she played in marching band, she had lots of friends. And I wished so much that I could be like her. I wanted to be close to her, but I was so terrified of anyone learning my secret and in my head in order to play that role forced on me, meant I was supposed to fight with her. And everytime I beat myself up over it, because I knew I'd destroyed another chance to be close. But I was so scared, and I was just trying to survive. And it hurt so much when she called me pervert for borrowing her clothes.

But despite that, she was an amazing sister. Despite my unpopularity, despite everyone sensing something wrong with me and at best avoiding me, at worst torturing me. She invited me to one of the highschool parties her friends had invited her to. It was a wonderful experience. I felt included. I felt like I'd been seen, but not in a bad way. And for a little while I forgot to be afraid that someone would figure out my secret.

Another time she invited me to go with her and her friends cliff diving at Canyon Lake. That was another wonderful memory, and for all the same reasons. During those excursions I felt like I hadn't completely ruined everything with my sister. That maybe she did care, that she did love me despite me being a pervert. They are good memories.

I don't know how I got on the subject of my sister... Oh that's right, she was in Marching Band and learned how to put her hair up in tight crowns of braids. I so wished it would be ok to ask her to teach me that. I wish I hadn't been so afraid of what my parents would do to me if I talked to her about what I was really going through that I actually did talk to her. I dunno, if I'd had the courage to do that, maybe I'd have had an amazing supportive sister. But maybe not. She was part of the church all through high school. And this church was the one that convinced my mom disowning me was what needed to happen, who convinced my mom that my being dead was better than my being trans. So no I probably wouldn't have had that kind of sister then. Still. I miss her and I love her and I don't blame her for what happened.

And I wish I could apologize to her for everything I did, for saying some of the things I did to her. Maybe I'll write a letter of what I wish I could say to her on here at some point.

anyway I went on a tangent. So yes, it's been a dark few months, but I've been exploring and having some fun with my feminine side. I've also been trying to reconnect with the trans community. So far I've not created a solid connection yet, but atleast I'm part of it on reddit, here, and fb, even though I don't really know anyone on there. It's nice to see how things are different and better for a lot of people compared to when I was kid, and it's hard to see that others in my community are suffering like I had to. But we're all on there, and because we are, we're not quite as alone as we used to be.

And so it's helped some, even though I wish I could make some irl trans friends. But at least I don't feel quite so isolated anymore. But the depression was bad, and I was still suicidal and the treatments hadn't started working yet, so my PCP suggested increasing my estrogen a little to see if that would help. And it did. I started to feel even more like myself. I had reduced it a long time ago because if the dose is too high I ended up with heart palpitations... but thankfully I haven't had issues with it this time around. I dunno, maybe it's because I'm also on progesterone as well now.

There is a part of me that is really angry at the medical establishment and the entrenched misogyny there. Angry that they decided that we only need half our hormones. That progesterone was completely unnecessary because it was only useful with pregnancy. Except that it does so much more than that, but the effects are subtle and... well... it was men that were designing the treatments at the beginning and that misogyny bleed through to later generations of doctors. But they robbed me of over two decades of feeling more comfortable in my body, of having a libido. So yes. I'm a bit chuffed with them.

So yes, about a month ago my estrogen was increased. And it helped my mood, and... apparently my libido. I found myself fantasizing about having sex. I'd never done that before, not ever, and certainly not in a pleasurable way. It was good. But also confusing. I felt like I was waking up from a decades long coma and the world had changed. It's only been in the last 7 years that I understood I was asexual. It's only been in the last year or two that I really began to explore what that meant to me. And it was a shock and confusing that I suddenly had interest in sex. What does this mean for my identity? Does it mean I'm not asexual anymore? And also a lot of anxiety because I suck at dating, I don't really know how to do it, or how to meet people in that way. I was pretty happy with the platonic relationship I had, though there were things I wish I could get myself to talk about, to hash out. And now I found myself wanting a physical relationship with someone.

Still trying to figure out how to find that irl. Then in the past 2 weeks something really really really confusing happened. I found myself fantasizing about a man, having a man love me, touch me, and hold me and have sex with me. And really wanting that. I've known a long time I had slight bi tendencies. But not once, not ever did it those tendencies involve a physical relationship... But here I am wanting one. And it's throwing me for a loop. And I find myself wondering if the assholes who thought trans women didn't need progesterone had robbed me of this too for all these years. And so I thought about finding a man to have a relationship with... and that's when I hit a brick wall. I am terrified of having a romantic/physical relationship with men. Absolutely terrified. And I have been for as long as I can remember, I just didn't understand what it was until now. I just avoided thinking about it. Because you know, trauma response. Something makes you uncomfortable avoid it if at all possible.

And I had no idea why. Except I think I know part of it. I have a good idea what men think of, want from, and how they talk about women. Seeing us as objects, not people with our own wants desires and needs. At best seeing us like children. I have seen so many of us killed by men who felt there masculinity was threatened by us because they didn't see us as women, but as men, and the trans men as women being uppity. I've heard what they say about us, because most of these men don't realize I'm trans and say it in my presence. And I remember Tyra Hunter who died while EMT's and Paramedics laughed at her instead of helping her. And then I remember all the times some random guy decided it was ok to sexually assault me.

I'd coped with that last part by believing that all women had been assaulted at some point in there lives... then a redditor said something that made me wonder if I was wrong, and then a reddit bot pointed me to resources when I wrote about those assaults. And then I talked to a DV advocate crisis line, because I was confused and hurting because I mean how could I have been assaulted so many times if it wasn't the normal level of misogyny all women faced? And if it's not normal then why did it happen to me? What more is wrong with me (yes on a rational level I know none of it is my fault but our brains are rarely truly rational). And the DV advocate told me. She told me that it wasn't normal. And suddenly I felt like I'd done something wrong. That I'd deserved what happened because I was an idiot.

And then I asked a reddit group of women if it was true. If it wasn't normal for women to be assaulted. And the first response I got was someone blaming me for what happened, rather than answering my question. And suddenly the little girl in me that has been in so much pain all along surged up and out. And I've been a mess since then and that happened two nights ago I think. But I'm not sure. Anyway, I'm feeling alone, confused, and really stupid. And part of me still has a hard time believing that advocate.

And just before all of this started happening in my head, just as we increased my estrogen, my counselor went on maternity leave, and I don't know who to talk to. And while I'm really happy for her, I'm feeling really lost at the moment. I've started looking for another counselor, but I won't get immediate help even if I saw them tomorrow, because I don't know them, because of my trauma history it is incredibly difficult for me to trust anyone, much less a counselor (my trauma history includes being traumatized by a counselor, a male one at that, which probably is a contributing factor to my fear of men) So yeah. That's where I'm at right now. Scared, lost, confused, hurting and parts of me also stuck in the memories images and/or feelings of the abuse I suffered growing up. It's not a good place to be.

The treatments are working though. I'm not suicidal during this past week, so I guess that's something? Maybe. But I find myself just wishing I'd gotten to grow up like a normal girl and that I didn't have to go through all of this. That so much time has been wasted dealing w/ this BS. And I hate it. I hate the universe for putting me and everyone in my community through this shit.

[t4tprinzzy]

2. What are your sides traits? Are they the same or different from the Sanders Sides?

4. Do your sides have names? Is there a reason they're named that? (Ex. How Patton's name comes from "Pathos")

9. Do your sides interact with the Sanders Sides? If so, who gets along with who? Who hates each other?

16. FREE SPOT FOR ANSWERERS! Ramble about anything you want!

- @transfemlogan

2: my sides traits are Hope, Sensitivity, Logic, Creativity, “Cringe” and… weed. the weed side

cringe is like a reclamation of sorts, and is used positively. she’s made of self love rather than self deprecation :3 rawr basically encompasses all my interests that society considers “cringe”

hope is kinda like my morality in a way, but functions differently from patton (especially since she’s also my selfishness). hope wants me to be better, and knows i can be, but isn’t overbearing about it

sensitivity is also my anxiety, and kinda takes things to heart. but she’s fiercely protective of me and the others, so if any of us get hurt, all hell breaks loose. they’re unintentionally the reason i worry about if im a bad person, because of the anxiety portion of her functions. she doesn’t mean to make me question it, it just happens because of their worrying

and logic and creativity are fairly similar to logan and roman respectively, but my logic is very emotional, and i only have one creativity that encompasses all aspects of imagination

weed is… my stoner thoughts. and my munchy cravings. and my love of bongs

4: they all have different names from their traits except Hope! he’s just Hope because it feels right, i honestly have no reasoning skjdjdfk

Sensitivity is Ophelia, named after the hurricane because they’re like an oncoming storm, and also because the name means “aid” and “help”, and all Ophelia wants to do is help me through life’s issues,, idk it makes sense in my head lmao

Cringe is Ebony because “my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and i have long ebony black hair (that’s how i got my name) with purple-

Logic is Nikola because i wanted to name it after someone in history who was known for their brilliance, and Nikola Tesla, inventor of the tesla coils, seemed like the right pick. idk something about a guy who worked with electricity seemed right to me

Creativity is Angelo, derived from Michelangelo, the famous painter. for hopefully obvious reasons lmao

Weed is… Mary Jane. i probably don’t need to explain

9: i haven’t yet decided if they actually interact! but i think hypothetically, Hope would get along well with Remus. idk why, just the vibe i get. and Janus i think. and he would probably think Patton is a bit much kajdjffj like “damn this guys in charge of thomas’s morality??” kajdjdfj

Nikola and Logan might get along as well, and logan would be fascinated by Nikola’s capacity for emotion, given their role as Logic. it would definitely be intrigued by Remus and Roman, being two creativities that separated from each other, and probably try to study them sjdjdjfjf

Angelo and Roman would freakin love each other lmao a prince and a fae, that’d be great. though Angelo can have darker ideas that lean towards remus territory

Ophelia would appreciate Virgil at first but after a while be like “wow this guy kinda sucks” KSJDJDJF and due to her being intrusive thoughts and anxiety, she wouldn’t really like being around Remus cos of the influence he would have (remus would say some shit like “your bones are always wet” or smthn idk and Ophelia would freak the fuck out)

Ebony and Remus. need i say more <3

also Mary Jane and Remus. but Mary Jane probably likes everyone (probably doesn’t trust Patton at first, cos his dad energy also has some narc energy like he’s gonna be all strict about drugs, but warms up to him eventually)

16: UHHH UM. RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS?

im dating myself, and as such im also dating my sides. so there’s that

Ebony and i are cuddlers through and through. if i had longer hair he’d always be braiding it lmao and it loves making me kandi jewelry that i cant wear cos it’s imaginary </3 faer primary love language is physical touch for sure (words of affirmation is a close second)

Nikola just loves spending time with me and telling me everything on its mind <3 they also love sharing fun facts about the world cos it knows i love learning. their primary love language is quality time

Angelo is always wanting to slow dance with me, even though im not a good dancer lmao. he’s very romantic and sensual, so fae’re always trying to sweep me off my feet by waxing poetic. magics primary love language is a tie between gift giving and acts of service

Hope enjoys singing to me, especially to try and help me fall asleep at night. it doesn’t always work but the gestures there lmao. she’ll run his fingers through my hair and softly serenade me and fuck im so touch starved KAJDJDDJF her primary love language is acts of service (quality time is a close second)

Ophelia writes me poetry and performs it (not in a bombastic way, just… a gentle delivery that speaks for itself). they get help from Angelo for this lmao but it’s always 100% her writing. her primary love language is quality time (physical touch is a close second)

Mary Jane is also a big cuddler, and, of course, enjoys smoke sessions. it also enjoys joint cooking sessions (pun intended), where we both cook something :3 its primary love language is physical touch and quality time

i hope i answered these well :3