#idk i've been staring at it too long

[capillaryspice]

Gideon the Ninth

(Alt skull-paint version below)

[dimpleskinard]

Tommy Kinard | 9-1-1 season 7

[mumms-the-word]

he is enough

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Just some poetic thoughts about a certain handsome wizard who sometimes views himself as not having value when he absolutely does. Pic of my Tav Dani because that’s all I got. ao3 link

———

He is a man for whom grand gestures are as easy as breathing.

An evening in Waterdeep, conjured from the depths of a shadow curse. A night on the glimmering currents of the Outer Planes, your boat a small atom of light among an expanse of glowing stardust. He would create a castle out of amethysts for you, or find a way to pluck a single thread of the Weave to alter your fate if you asked.

All to prove his worth. His value. To show you his love and convince you that your love is not wasted on him.

And yet, you think, as you lay against him with his arms around you, his nose grazing the back of your shoulder, his breath ghosting across your skin, slow and even as he drifts off to sleep, you find in some ways that you prefer moments like this. When all the grand gestures fall away and you are left with these tiny little moments. These precious little touches.

Like freshwater pearls among glittering diamonds, you seek them out, irregular and imperfect, preferring their soft luster over the blinding glitter. You cradle them close to your heart, threading them together on a string, a poem of lines that are no more than broken moments, tiny gestures, little touches.

fingers grazing along your back  the kiss at the corner of your mouth his heartbeat under your palm calm, steady, quiet

You love to watch him when he isn’t looking, when he is wholly himself without the pressure to perform confidence for you. To study him the way he studies the pages of an arcane tome, seeking the secrets between lines.

his lines around his eyes between his brows the curve of his lips the length of his nose the sweep of his hair silver-threaded a hint of divinity among the mundane just like him 

Not that you’ve ever asked for his confidence or for a performance. You’ve only ever asked for a moment of his time. Posing questions just to hear him talk, watching as much as you listen.

his self-conscious smile halfway between arrogance and doubt arrogance of his knowledge doubt in your interest the way he looks off toward the horizon when his thoughts take him to planes you can scarcely comprehend  the way his eyes find their way back to you the instant he hears your voice or feels your touch you, like the Dog Star, guiding him home again

He worries at times, when he catches you watching him as he reads or studies or speaks, that he’s boring you. He thinks he needs to make grander gestures, that he just hasn’t found the thing that wows you yet. 

But while he ponders the wide expanse of the universe, wondering in which hidden corner he might find the one perfect thing to win your heart forever, you fill a universe of your own making with the sounds and sights and senses of him whom you love.

your littlest finger curled around his, a silent promise amid a busy day, a tiny link that chains the two of you together, the smallest constellation for the briefest moment his lips on your cheek, a teeny kiss made in passing as he moves by you, pulled momentarily by your gravity before roaming away, like a comet tugged temporarily into orbit

He would want you to focus on his abilities. His magic. The gestures he makes to cast his spells. The timbre of his voice as he shapes the incantations. The pull of the Weave as it bends to his will. You do notice. You do.

But there are other moments you find more precious. The tiniest things about him linger in your mind.

the steam that curls into the air

over the worn mug that holds his tea the one missing its handle the way his hand cradles the cup and turns it just so that his lips do not catch on the chip on the rim he's done this a hundred times before and yet you watch mesmerized

"When we get to Waterdeep, you'll want for nothing," he says, painting images of grandeur and splendor with an artist's brush, conjuring images of a dozen luxurious comforts. No more days spent aching from bedrolls on the ground. No more falling into exhausted sleep from a day of travel and battle. It's a lovely image, but so is he.

Just as he is.

You wish he'd see that. But his love for his goddess has taught him that he needs to constantly out-perform himself to retain your love and attention. That if he lets a day go by where he doesn't impress you, then he risks losing you forever. You wish he could glimpse, for just a moment, the way you see him.

a man mortal and aching but kind and sweet open-handed brimming with love just a man a good man whose heart and soul calls to your own just a man who doesn't need to do anything or be anyone more than who he already is because he is enough

You know it's hard for him to grasp the concept that he doesn't need to do anything to win your love. That he has it, wholly and freely given, no strings attached. It's the only theory you've ever known him to struggle with.

But when you take his hand and brush your lips against the backs of his knuckles; or you touch your forehead to his and sync your breaths in time with his; in the moments where I love you are the only words either of you have said for the last hour or more; you think you see the start of him realizing the truth you’ve already carved into the center of your heart.

He is already enough.

He will always be enough.

[yeehawbvby]

[gotchibam]

Does anyone here draw in both desktop & mobile? I'm planning to get a galaxy tab at some point and since I don't really have any experience drawing on a (mobile) tablet, I'm curious abt how it feels to draw on one vs. drawing on pc w/ a graphic tablet 🤔

[stevejobsbuysasamsung]

spock is {

bones is (

and kirk is [

[acesammy]

been working on this for the last couple of days.. I'm gonna sleep on it and I might keep tweaking it, but until then, here you go.

[astro-hunny]

"I don't second-guess a vision; set it, abet it, and go!"

Just a bit of art for my Persona 5 musician AU! I never want to look at the color red again.

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | an appropriate staring distance

While at the beach, you take a moment to appreciate your handsome boyfriend while he's taking a nap—and also when he's not.

1.2k, fluff + established relationship, reader is mc, series: none

NAVY BLUE STICKS OUT TO you the moment you open your eyes.

Your aching shoulder protests your decision to stay as you are, on your side, facing a still sleeping Clarence. Like this, he looks much younger—you're reminded of the time you had to force him to take a nap. Like this, he's simply the cute guy you managed to score not one but multiple dates with, just Clarence, instead of the incredibly smart and wonderful and kind Student Council President.

You glance at the circular table set between your two beach chairs, taking note of his glasses resting primly upon its surface. With him often having to juggle two different kinds of glasses, you'd offered to put them in your bag so that he could pack lighter. Or, as light as he can.

Right now, it's awkwardly squished behind you, miraculously still on the chair only because it's too big to fall out the gap under the armrest.

Filling in the blanks comes as easily to you as the smile on your face when you get to see your boyfriend, nearly the same one on your face right now—and the expression that goes with it is so endlessly fond that you find yourself with the urge to hit something.

Simply put, your boyfriend is a handsome man—the most handsome one, of all the men your keen eyes have gazed upon. And gazed, they certainly have. But even if they didn't have to pick, then they would gaze at only Clarence for the rest of their life..

You almost giggle at the thought, but think against it at the last minute.

But pressing your lips firmly into a thin line has the opposite effect on your budding smile. You imagine you look rather strange to anyone who passes by—what with your mockery of a wide smile and the silent scream building up in your throat, paired with the quiet thumping of your feet against the legrest.

If you were in a more private space, you would resort to kicking instead.

A proper squish to your still warm cheeks as you begin to sit up helps ease up the passion swirling chaotically across your body. You exhale, then allow your hands to slide off your face. One side of it bears the consequences of your actions more than the other.

With a one last longing at the sleeping Clarence, you start to dig through your bag for the only thing in your arsenal that could substitute for a sketchbook.

There are a few miscellaneous promotion emails waiting for you on the lockscreen. A message from Cael asking about dinner tomorrow too. Somewhere between them, there's a notice about the weather, with the temperature from an almost hour ago listed uselessly.

You swipe past them all and hurriedly slip into the camera app.

The hand holding your phone steadies itself against the armrest as you swing your legs over the edge of your chair. A thumb hovers over the capture button, vigilantly awaiting your command. The fingers of your other hand, meanwhile, busy themselves with zooming in on the captivating scenery.

With each pinch, the focus grows ever narrow—until all that remains is Clarence and nothing else.

At one point, you try to zoom into the mole under his eye, but it doesn't make for a very compelling photo. After a few attempts, quite a few of which involve staring at your screen for prolonged periods of time, you reluctantly give up.

Your pout is soon covered up by your phone. When its front camera presses against your upper lip, your gaze is free to wander back to the sleeping beauty beside you once more.

A healing effect, exclusive to him, takes hold of you instantaneously.

Eyes brimming with fondness narrow slightly. You slide off your beach chair, hands on your bent knees as you take a closer look. You can make out the shadows cast by his long lashes and the drool dribbling past his chin.

He's perfect.

You're content to stay there until your knees begin to ache, reminding you insistently that this isn't a very comfortable position to be in. As a compromise of some kind, you adjust your arms atop the nearby armrest.

It really would be better if you'd brought your sketchbook along—but, you think, remembering his workaholic tendencies, would he even bother to take a nap then?

You scrunch your nose up at the thought.

In that moment, Clarence seems sense to your presence. When you look back at him, you're greeted with the sight of confusion in his now opened, but still drowsy gaze. He blinks, and it earns him an amused grin from you.

"Morning," you say, though it's well into afternoon.

That seems to wake him up. His cheeks flush a warm pink, and he hurriedly wipes away the drool on his face, as though you haven't already committed the sight to your memory.

Clearing his throat, he responds in kind, careful to sit up in such a way that he avoids looking at you.

"You don't have to be so close...I can see you just fine."

You laugh, not unkindly. "What if I'm the one who's having trouble?"

For a moment, when he turns back to look at you, he looks alarmed. Then, his shoulders relax to the tune of a sigh, his groggy mind apparently having caught onto the fact that you were joking.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for his glasses. But as with the issue of walking into a cave without a flashlight, even if you vaguely recall where your destination is, there's no guarantee you'll actually reach it.

"Give me a second," you mutter, your annoyance making your tone a bit too sharp.

You follow your words up with an apology. His glasses held are carefully by the frames as your sheepish gaze connects with his faintly amused one. Clarence reaches out, getting as far as grasping the slanted tips of the frame before the two of you reach a mutual agreement.

"Well." His cheeks return to being a rosy hue. He coughs politely. "If you would."

Cute. Biting your lip giddily, you shake his grip off. A quick once-over of your surroundings before you stand up shows that no one seems to be paying attention to you. And unless your friends and acquaintences have come to together to unlock the secrets of invisibility, no one you know seems to be present either.

Leaning over, you line his glasses up against his face, the tips of his frame brushing against his cheek. It takes only a moment to slot them into place—and you have enough experience with doing so that they don't snag against his ears.

It takes only a moment longer to give him an innocent peck on the lips.

"There," you murmur, not entirely satisfied with the kiss.

His Adam's apple bobs. Clarence adjusts his glasses with an awkward look that suggests he has some kind of solution to your dilemma. You, of course, beat him to the punch.

"Why—" Your voice cracks a little. "—don't we go find a different spot?"

He smiles, narrowed eyes watching you fondly. "I was about to suggest the same thing."

[koushuwu]

𝐈𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐢 ↳ for @strawberrystepmom

[galadae]

delighted and beguiled

rating: Explicit pairing: calantha lenn/hien rijin words: 3.9k summary: calantha emerges victorious from her second Arcadion match and is instantly beset by another problem she didn't see coming. notes: vague spoilers for DT - place names and M2 mechanics mentioned ao3 link

Calantha’s steps are heavy as she pushes through the door to the locker room. A few other figures leave as she enters, their voices falling past her ears in a vague jumble of sound. She’d heard almost nothing Metem said to her after the match, either. His words faded to animated background noise behind the rosy fog in her head. She hopes it wasn’t important. I suppose I'll find out later.

A leaden ache settles in her legs as the adrenaline from the match starts to wear off. Her ribs and back are sore, but it's hard to tell if fatigue or bruises are the most to blame. A sharp sting shivers along her skin wherever she's bled in the fight. The acrid sweet-sour scent of venom lingers with the cloying scent of honey and citrus, tied with something a little more visceral she can't quite make out, dried on her sleeves and trousers. 

Calantha sets her lance to one side, and goes to inspect the damage. She grits her teeth as she unzips the front of her battle torn jacket with bruise mottled fingers. It leaves her torso bare, except for her bra. Nothing serious. All the blood is dry. It looks worse than it is. An annoyance if anything. She could spend a few moments healing the worst of them, but she doesn’t see the point amidst the pink, heavy haze that's settled on her thoughts. 

In the arena, survival kept her attention. The pheromones did little compared to the threat of injury or death. But in this room, the stark metal lockers, cold lamps and forlorn benches do nothing to stop sweet, heady fantasies from pulling at her mind. She leans her head against her locker, its surface cool on her face. Heat rises to her cheeks. It's not unusual for leftover adrenaline to excite her, but this is different. Suffocating. The room feels hotter by the second.

Her mind wanders like a lover’s hand winding down her back. Arms wrapping around her waist. Kisses on her bare shoulder between bruises. Up her neck, into her hair. Hands pressing her against the locker, grabbing her hips. Leaving marks on her skin from the tightness of their grip as they— She lets out an exasperated sigh. Since the match ended these thoughts have become a burning avalanche of desire, leaving a simmering hunger building in her abdomen. Her heart hammers. Damn pheromones. I just want to leave and go home... 

Hien is here, somewhere. He’d seen the match, he would be close, still in the building– Gods, I hope he can find me, she thinks. It’s difficult to form any clear thoughts under the heavy gauze of her welling desire. She tries to open her locker, to find her things, but it seems pointless now. She hugs herself as another wave of illicit imaginings captures her attention. Her face flushes and a hot shiver runs down her spine. The need makes her dizzy and weak in the knees. 

She slumps to the ground. If anyone comes in right now, perhaps I can say I'm drunk, she thinks. She covers her face with her hand. Perhaps it’s for the best that Hien isn't here. She wouldn’t be able to keep herself off him. Not when her thoughts won’t stop circling, calling to mind his body pressed against her, holding her down. Or his tongue on her clit, or his hips flush against hers as she rides him– Imagine the scandal. At least she can think of him here, in this empty room surrounded by cold tiles and electrope humming in the walls, with relative privacy. As long as no one else comes in. She shifts on the floor, subconsciously searching for friction, pressure— she groans. Fuck me. There’s no way I’m making it out of this room if I don’t deal with this. 

Resigned, she leans her head back against the locker and sets her legs apart in front of her. Her hand tugs one side of her bra down to expose a taut nipple. She sweeps her thumb across it. The pure intensity of the sensation shocks her. It appears the pink haze has amplified the touch. She whimpers and bites her lip as the hunger grows, flickering into flame.

She repeats the motion. Her other hand falls to her waistband, fumbling with the fastening on her trousers, frantic to soothe the gnawing heat inside her. She slips her hand into her small clothes, down into her slick. She's so ridiculously wet, she almost wants to laugh.

She pushes her fingers into her swollen cunt and the motion sends another thrill through her. She hisses as she rubs the sensitive nub at her center, pushing and stroking till she starts to pant. The gnawing grows deeper, wider, more insatiable. Her hand is not enough, but it will have to do.

She shifts her hips. She wishes Hien was the one doing this to her. His hands strumming sweet pleasure, or his cock, tight inside her, as he rocks against her, breath ragged on her neck. She shuts her eyes. Despite their inadequacy, her fingers drive the blazing heat in her nerves, building the sensation. She moves faster. Relief is within reach, almost at her peak—

The door opens. 

Calantha yelps. She bolts upright, snapping her knees together and pulling her free arm against her chest to hide her open jacket. The hazy desire still thrums inside her, screaming for her to finish what she started. She shoves it down, barely, heart hammering. Her eyes are glued on the doorway. She's not lucid enough to explain this to anyone, especially a stranger.

Hien steps into the room. 

“Thank the fucking twelve,” she mutters, laying her head back against the locker. 

He spots her on the floor and walks over, his footsteps loud in the empty room. The light is too low for her to read his face until he stands above her.

He'll understand. He can save me. She ducks her head, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“There you are.” He grins. “I waited at the ring entrance, but you must have passed me by in the crowd. Why are you on the floor?”

She gives a breathless chuckle and swallows, trying to compose herself long enough to explain. She sits up and pulls one knee close to her chest. “Tired,” she mumbles. 

As he squats down next to her, the dim light casts shadows on his face. He seems more striking than usual. Has he always been so...pretty? She reaches out to touch him. 

Her lifted arm lets her jacket fall away. He raises an eyebrow at her state of almost undress, her one hand still an ilm inside her small clothes. “Help me,” Calantha says, her voice a desperate whisper. She clutches his arm and swallows again. She needs him on her, in her. She wants his fingers in her hair, her mouth, her cunt. She knows in return he'd let her devour him, take him with her mouth and her hands and her hips, leave him reveling and spent—

“What’s brought this on?” He kneels closer and brushes hair behind her ear, eyes a mixture of confusion, concern and amusement. He glances at her bruises. “Are you well?” 

She leans into the touch and licks her lips, wondering how to explain. “Pheromones,” she says, weakly. “The arena... They were everywhere. I can't get them out of my head. I need to...” she trails off, distracted by the set of his shoulders, the ties on his jacket. She can only think of how she'd rather see them bare, her hands pressing into his chest as she—

Better to act than to explain. She sits forward and grabs him by the shoulders. One hand slips to the back of his neck as she kisses him, the other clutching the collar on his jacket. 

If he expected a slow, tired kiss, hers is hungry, searching, her tongue seeking his. It almost surprises her. His breath catches and he recovers, laughing in surprise against her mouth. His hands clutch her waist to keep his balance. She nips at his lip. He grunts as her hand moves from his shoulder to his hair and she grips it, angling his head to deepen the kiss. He feels unfathomably good. 

And it's not enough. His body heat beckons her. She breathes out a needy, quivering sigh and leans against him. His hands aren't where she wants them. Indignant, she grabs one and presses it to her hip. He squeezes it as she bends over him again. She catches another kiss, chasing his lips and tongue, until he's pressed to the floor beneath her. 

For a moment she wonders if she should explain more. A thought which is instantly tossed away as his tongue meets hers. His hands grip her waist. He doesn't seem to have complaints. She feels light headed and breaks the kiss to catch her breath. 

“Pheromones?” He asks, panting. He looks dazed but not opposed. He sits up, his face flushed.

“Mm,” she sighs. His lips curl into a smirk as she nips his ear. The need buzzes in her mind. She must have more of him. His beard tickles her nose as she leaves a love bite just below his jaw. 

She grabs his chin to catch another kiss, and her jacket hangs open. One sleeve has slipped from her shoulder in the rush. Her dark bra peaks from beneath the zipper, one breast still exposed from her earlier attempt to soothe herself. A light sheen of sweat rests on her chest and neck. He breaks the kiss and leans back to look at her. She huffs in annoyance, trying to pull him close again. “Touch me. Please, Hien–”

“Now?” Hien eyes her, part keen hunger, part concern, gaze darting between her chest and the shallow cuts and bruises on her arms and torso. He brushes his hands over her stomach, inspecting it. The motion threatens to make her dizzy. “Should you not find a healer? We must see to what pains you.”

It's all she can do not to push him down again, straddling him, his hands clutching her thighs, his lips on her chest, his—

She shakes her head and scowls, trying to focus. “Wh-what pains me?” She stutters. “I'm fine.” His scent is no different than usual, just his soap, leather, perhaps a hint of sweat. It almost drives her mad. Her voice is a low, grating whisper. “Please, Hien. It’s unbearable.”

He glances toward the door as his thumbs trace beneath her bra. “Here? Are you sure? The door does not appear to lock.” He turns back to her, leaning his head against her shoulder. “If anyone comes in…” he pauses and she takes his hand, kissing it. She closes her eyes as he brushes his finger along her lip, into her mouth. “Perhaps we should go elsewhere.”

Despite his words, his eyes shine with both want and mischief. She sighs as he traces his hand back down to uncover her other breast. It seems he's affected too, the leftover scent of pheromones in her clothes and hair driving him to desire.

It's for the best. Probably. Now that he's here her thoughts are unchecked. Her need consumes her mind, almost painful, a throbbing, driving heat. 

“I swear on all the gods I've ever fought. Just fuck me," she growls. “Now.”

“If you insist.” He grins and kisses her, his tongue darting into her mouth. He sucks on her lip, giving a small chuckle as she moans.

“Why are you laughing?” she says. “I'm miserable.” She gasps as he pinches her nipple, sending a euphoric jolt to her core.

He leans against her until she's the one pressed against the floor. The tiles are a wash of cool on her skin that only heighten the warmth of each touch. He kneels between her knees, kissing her neck. Her heart flutters with anticipation. 

Hien leans over her to leave a long, heated kiss above her collarbone, marking her, before he moves down her sternum. She grips the waistband of his trousers. She can feel his erection pressing against her as she fumbles with the ties. He takes her skin between his teeth, the salt on his tongue, and leaves a sharp, heated nip on the swell of her breast. She slips her hand into his pants and finds his cock, sliding her fingers down the length. Her other arm grips his shoulders. He sighs at her touch, taking the silver ring in her taut nipple between his teeth, and gives a gentle tug. She hisses and leans into him until she's between his lips. He flicks his tongue over the ring as his other hand moves to cup her. Outside of her small clothes, to her annoyance.

She shifts her hips, body twisting against his hand. “Hurry,” she whispers.

He leaves more heated nips and marks up her neck. “I said hurry,” she whines. She draws her hand from his trousers to clutch his arm. 

“Forgive me, my love,” he says, “if my actions only serve to make you more flustered.”

“Flustered? I'm beyond flustered, you–” He kisses her lips, cutting her off. She huffs in indignation and he grins again. Her small clothes are still in the way of his hand.

“What are you waiting for?” she snaps. “If you don't hurry up I'll do it myself!” 

“At once,” he says, a smile still on his lips. He gives her another small kiss before he slips his fingers beneath her underwear, dipping them into her silken heat. She groans and tilts her hips in response, searching for firmer pressure in his hand. He slides his fingers around the swollen nub of her clit, slow at first, circling, teasing. Calantha wraps her leg around him. His hand feels better than her own, but it's not enough. She squirms against him.

“More," she says, her voice thick with need. “Hien. Please.” He nods, slipping another finger inside her, pressing deeper. She whimpers, sharp and desperate. “Please,” she pleads again. Her hips buck and her other hand holds his forearm, trying to push him faster. He leans into her, holding her against him. He makes his strokes faster and firmer, her slick coating his fingers. He bends to kiss her breast, taking a ring between his lips again. Her eyes flicker closed. He holds her softly between his teeth and sweeps his tongue over her. 

White hot pleasure bolts through her. Calantha loses herself to him, tilting her head back as her panting reaches a crescendo. In a rush she comes undone, a breathless, desperate mess of cries, curses and whines bursting from her mouth. He strokes through the waves until he can no longer feel her pulse against his fingers.

Her head falls back against the floor, eyes closed, chest heaving. Her hair is mussed, half fallen from her ponytail. Her cheeks are hot, and she can feel sweat beading around her forehead. She has a moment’s relief, at least. Hien kisses her jaw, taking his hand from between her thighs to rest at her waist. The slickness leaves a shine on her stomach. “Better?” he says, his voice low. He leans his head against her neck. 

As soon as he moves, the need coils inside her again. Hungry for another course. “No,” she groans. “It's not. I need–Hien–” She stammers and brushes his waistband, slipping her hand inside once more. She's pleased to find him harder than before, moisture budding on his cock. She rubs the tip with her thumb and kisses him. He moans softly into her mouth. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can start he nods and tosses his jacket to the floor. They both stand to fling off whatever clothes are most in the way. After a few seconds of frantic fumbling, she's gotten her own trousers off and pulled his below his hips. She's grateful he's wearing less layers than his usual fare at home. Much faster to remove. 

“Where do you want me?”

She doesn't answer but pushes him back towards one of the wide benches in the room behind him. She knows he would like to draw this out, leaving kisses and marks on her thighs, but her urgency leaves no room for tenderness.

Calantha wastes no time crawling over him to straddle his hips. His breath is a heated prayer on her neck as she slides onto him. She revels in how he feels against her, inside her, bracing herself against the back of the bench. Hien clutches her hips as she moves, his eyes closed. He leans his face against her breasts and kisses her. She sighs as his tongue, teeth and the light rasp of his beard on her sternum send another shiver through her. His one hand grips her butt and the other clutches her thigh as she holds his head against her, hand in his hair. Her breath comes in little moans. She quickens her movements and her thighs tense with the effort. He sighs into her collarbone, fingertips digging into her thigh. He pulls her hip. As sensitive as this damned haze has made her, the motion is enough to make her break. Once more she lets herself go, consumed by each amplified touch. Her voice rings off the walls. She couldn't care less. 

And the hunger is still there. She groans.

Hien notes her desperation. “Cala–” he pants. “I–let me–” he puts a hand to her chest. “Up,” he stammers. 

She crawls off of him and he stands, chest heaving. His cock glistens with her slick. She stares greedily.

He steps away and pulls her in before he all but slams her back against the locker in his haste. The cold metal is a shock against her back and butt, sending a shiver down her spine. He puts an arm under her knee and pulls her leg up to his shoulder. He can’t help the groan that escapes his lips as he presses into her again.

Calantha whimpers as he moves his hips against her. “Come on,” she says. She bends her knee, pulling him closer, trapping him against her. He thrusts into her and his eyes flutter closed. 

She grips his shoulders, hands in his hair once more. She's already close. His breath comes in pants and ragged moans. She lets out a sharp sigh as heat and pressure and pleasure pulse inside her. Hien pushes against her, his breath hot on her chest.

She cries out as she comes again. Her legs shake. She squirms as he presses himself deeper. Her hands clutch his hair, her nails leave marks in his shoulders and back as her cries fade to whimpers. She leans over him, breathing his name into his hair as the waves of her own pleasure caress him. His hands are a vice on her hip and thigh until he comes with a grunt and a hoarse cry of his own, spilling hot inside of her. 

They stay in a shaky, breathless slump against the lockers, until they both wordlessly sink to the floor.

Hien reaches for her. He wraps an arm around her back. His fingers touch her cheek. “How do you fare?” he says. He leaves a kiss on her cheek.

She flops her head onto his chest, resting till her breath calms. The hunger is still there. Almost sated, but not quite. She shakes her head.

He shifts to cradle her on his lap, her long legs resting far over his own on the floor. “Are you not tired?” 

Her muscles feel more sore than ever, exhaustion pulling at her limbs, the dull ache returning. And yet the want is all she can think of. She meets his eyes, almost bashful. “If–if you want a rest, I can manage,” she says. 

Hien slides his hand to her hip. “No need.”

She's raw and sensitive, still full of his spend, but the hunger remains. He finds her clit and leaves smooth, lingering strokes. She rests back against him. The desperate urgency gives way to a low, drowsy desire. He nuzzles behind her ear and she relaxes, savoring the slow brush of his fingers.

The sensations are no longer stark and electric with each touch but sweet, gentle waves, caressing her, building at a slow, steady pace. It doesn't take long for her to let go with a soft whine as she comes once more. 

For a moment she's adrift in a daze of fatigue and warmth, pleasure and pain as all the aches come rushing back. But the hunger is gone, for now. Finally. She turns to kiss him.

He kisses her cheek. “Any better?” He asks again. His eyes are filled with concern more than anything.

Calantha nods and hums. She leans her head against his. Now that the haze has broken she feels grimy, sweaty. Worn out and exhausted. She hadn't realized her throat was so dry. 

A sinking mortification fills her mind as she registers how easily they could have been seen. She would never have insisted on doing this here without the intoxicating haze. She covers her face with one hand.

As if reading her thoughts Hien casts his eyes around the room, noting their scattered clothes. “Perhaps we should take our leave before we are discovered.” 

“Yes. Let’s go. Quickly.” 

They tidy themselves and their things as best they can and slip out into the main lobby. Calantha has little business in Solution 9 until the next match. Within half a bell they’re back in Tulliyollal, the aethernet shard near the For’ard Cabins humming as they make their way to their shared quarters. 

Calantha puts her arm around his shoulders as they walk. “That was worse than any of my other wounds today. I would have died if anyone but you had shown up, if only from embarrassment.” 

“Died?” His laughter rings out in the night air across the walkway. “I'm glad my timing was apt. Let us hope our next such encounter will not be quite as dire, or likely to be discovered. Even if you seemed to enjoy it. Unless, of course, my eyes and ears deceived me.”

She sighs. “Oh hush. I was desperate enough to risk it. But it won't happen again.” 

She stretches her arms above her head, dreaming of a bath to clean herself and soothe her aching muscles. Her stomach growls.

“Are you hungry?” she asks as they reach the door. “I’ve certainly worked up an appetite. Shall we go for food after we clean up?” She stops, breathing in the scent of meats, herbs and spices on the warm beach breeze. She tilts her head, glancing towards the shore. She can smell something else she hasn't noticed before, not in Tulliyollal. It's sweet, pleasant, but visceral—

Her eyes widen. It's the cloying scent of honey, half masked by everything else, still stuck in her nose. Her relief fades as the realization hits her. The haze returns in a rush so potent she has to grip the door frame to steady herself. Hien’s voice passes over her, something about drinks and celebrating her victory. She hears almost nothing. She leans her head against the door.

Hien looks up as she slumps forward, brow furrowed. “Are you alright?” He puts his hand on the small of her back. It sends an unexpected, delighted shiver through her as she remembers his hands on her earlier.

“Gods damn it,” she mutters. “Let’s just get inside.” 

[alsojnpie]

dishes are forever

[tearlessrain]

seriously can catastrophes stop happening for five minutes my brain is already fried from the ones we're already experiencing

[bitterlyromantic]

why aren't they wearing clothes? i'm not too sure actually

[daybreakrising]

HEADCANONS - BLADE & Y.INGXING

i've wanted to address this for a while because whilst these two identities are completely separate, they are also not at all separate and i wanted to touch on the ways y.ingxing lingers like a shadow within blade & what that means

THE MORTAL

the main contrast i hc between the two is that where blade is characteristically more introverted, y.ingxing was extroverted. he wasn't always, but he grew into it as he aged. his lore states:

"...though y.ingxing was a shy boy in his youth, he became more confident as he grew up, and was described to be an arrogant man by many..."

so, to borrow the overused phrase, he came out of his shell and grew into a more confident, more extroverted personality.

and to focus on that last bit for a second, he was seen as arrogant by many - i have taken this to mean y.ingxing was a proud man as well as a confident one. this is a man who knew he was good at what he did and wasn't afraid to show it. add to that the varying status of the company he later keeps, it's not surprising he might have been considered arrogant. he was, after all, a member of the high cloud quintet.

THE IMMORTAL

the events of the sedition obviously changed many aspects of the man that was y.ingxing, and the traumatic repetitive deaths at j.ingliu's hands, combined with the ever-present threat that is mara, stripped away many of the aspects of his personality alongside his humanity. the man that y.ingxing had been was buried deep, shut away, never to see the light of day again.

or was he?

because there are still hints of that man within blade, and those who are close to him (especially those who knew y.ingxing) will see glimpses of him from time to time. the confidence that blade exudes, for example, is all y.ingxing. the glimpses of humanity as he is gradually, so gradually, reminded that he is not just a weapon - that is y.ingxing. when he smiles - and i mean a true, genuine smile, not a manic, mara-driven grin - it is y.ingxing who is smiling through blade's facade.

CAPACITY TO HATE; CAPACITY TO LOVE

this is a key one. an important aspect of both blade and y.ingxing. herein lies another of their greatest contrasting traits: blade is filled with hatred; y.ingxing was filled with love. love for his craft, love for the people he cared for, love for life, and yes, even love for himself.

and this, by extension, is the thing that binds them together - because in order to hate with such ferocity, one must also be able to love in the same degree. and whilst this is certainly an emotion blade does not display (or feel) too easily or readily, he inherently has the capacity for it. that he can feel such seething, bitter hatred is rooted in how deeply, achingly fiercely y.ingxing was able to love.

y.ingxing is blade's humanity. blade is the weapon; an identity crafted to suit his new existence, to separate who he was from who he is. but y.ingxing is still there. he cannot separate himself entirely from who he was (and nor, i think, does he want to).

and this shadow of who he was remains a distant echo both for the sake of his sanity (y.ingxing is too tightly woven into memories that trigger the mara; too dangerous to hold too close), and because blade has forgotten what it is to be human. his new identity is so rooted in being a weapon, in being a tool, something of use, and it has been so long now since he was y.ingxing (700+ years) that he has simply... forgotten.

blade will never again be y.ingxing - that is impossible, even if he would wish for it. too much has changed, he is too different from the man he was, and there is no going back. but he is relearning his humanity little by little, and he is discovering that it means something different to him now than it did before. he may never be him again, but y.ingxing will always be a part of him, will always influence his emotions and his actions.

he will always be y.ingxing at heart, if not in mind.

[sheisalivingchild]

did not clock Tom Blyth as a brit AT ALL on my first watch of tbosas. his accent is very good and I assume it's because he went to acting school here and had a bunch of American peers. however now that I know I feel like I can actually see it more than hear it. which sounds silly but it's the slightly tense way he holds his mouth, that sometimes reads like a smirk