#it really is just all about his strength of will!

[justauthoring]

Late Night Trouble

Summary: Sylus has to leave your side during an auction because of some business. Surely nothing will go wrong, right?

Pairing: Qin Che / Sylus x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,127

A/N: A little fluff piece because I'm obsessed with this man. I will get to your guys' requests soon but I was inspire for some protective Sylus after I saw a severe lack of it in the tags.

Your feet were killing you.

Absolutely aching. They had been since about an hour into arriving at this auction, but there was no quick relief in sight. Sylus had assured you that this evenings auction would be a quick in and out and you'd accompanied him under the expectation that you would be spending the majority of your night in his arms at home.

Only, Sylus was no where to be found and unfortunately, you were not at home. Something or another had gone wrong during the auction and as usual, Sylus didn't want you to have to worry about business that you had no need to. You weren't worried because you were assured and confident in Sylus' strength and capabilities to handle the situation.

You didn't find offence to him keeping you in the dark - you knew it simply came from a place of believing you were too good to have to deal with these pathetic men who attempted to betray or overthrow Sylus. It never worked out and you knew it never would.

So, no, you weren't annoyed. Or really even frustrated. You were tired, your feet hurt and all you wanted was to be in the arms of the man you love.

Taking a sip of your glass of wine that you've been mulling over since Sylus had left your side to deal with business, you eye the protocore's up for auction that evening with little interest. You have everything you need and more and these auctions have long since become dull to you over the years.

"Nothing of interest?"

Turning your head at the new voice, you raise a brow at the man who has not-so-subtly sidled up to your side. He's wearing a fancy suit that is a touch to big for him and looks entirely too out of place on him, and you let your eyes drag across him for a moment before shrugging.

"Not really," you respond dryly, turning away from him to try and make it clear that you're not interested in a conversation.

It apparently isn't clear given the way he continues to speak to you; "too good, then?" He offers, tilting his head at you. "Or have you just not been shown everything?"

Halting at his words, you take a small step back, trying to create distance. "Meaning?"

"Just that I don't think you've been shown everything on offer tonight," he smirks, eyes twinkling. "And maybe I'm the one who can."

You let out a short huff. It's clear this man has no idea who you are.

"Very smooth," you roll your eyes, "but I'm not interested."

You think that makes it obvious and you turn away, expecting him to walk off before his pride is harmed anymore. There's lots of pretty faces in the crowd tonight for him to sink his teeth in; most importantly, ones who aren't already in relationship.

Except, you don't hear his footsteps disappear and instead, there's a hand wrapping around your arm.

"Come on," the man urges, tugging you towards him to the point your head has to tilt back to look at him. Your hand quickly comes to his chest, pushing back to create distance. "Not even a chance?"

He smiles in what you assume he thinks is alluring, but it only makes you sick.

"No," you say sharply. "I'm actually waiting for someone."

"Oh?" He laughs, "who?"

"Sylus," you answer dully. "I'm sure you've heard of him."

For the briefest of seconds, the man looks somewhat unsure, a flash of fear flickering through his gaze before his eyes flitter across your figure once more and he chuckles. "You're pretty, sweetie, but not that pretty."

Offended and annoyed, you try to tug your arm out of his grasp.

"You're a prick," you hiss, "and I'm over this conversation."

His grip tightens, pinching to the point that pulls a small yelp from your lips. Suddenly, his face darkens and the disgusting charm he'd been playing up disappears for the sake of spitting out; "listen, I was trying to be nice and give you the chance you normally wouldn't be given. So why don't you be less of a bitch-"

"I promise you you'll come to regret those words."

Any fear you'd felt disappears instantly at the sound of that familiar voice. Suddenly, there's a warm chest pressed against your back and the man's grip is being pried off of your arm as the man lets out a undistinguished cry at Sylus' grip.

Relieved, you turn back to meet Sylus' awaiting gaze.

"Hello there, sweetie," he smiles warmly, deep voice rumbling against your back as his free hand comes to wrap around your waist. "Sorry I'm late."

You sink into his touch, turning into his embrace, "'s okay," you mumble.

He squeezes you against him before turning back to the man still cowering and whimpering in his grasp. "Now, what was it you said? That my girl wasn't... pretty enough for me?" Something sinister flickers in Sylus' eyes and the man without hesitation falls to his knees.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'm so sorry!" He screeches pathetically. "I had no idea."

"Except you did," Sylus corrects. "Because she told you and you chose to insult her." There's a sickening crack that follows his words and a bellowed yell leaves the man's lips as echoes of gasps and disbelief flutter amongst the crowd. "I don't appreciate you trying to tell her her worth when everyone in here should be aware she's the most beautiful woman in this room."

Cheeks warming, you squeeze Sylus's arm. "Sylus..." You mumble, embarrassed.

Sylus glances down at you, taking one look, before throwing the man to the ground. "You're lucky for tonight," Sylus spits down at him. "But count your blessings."

He turns away at that, turning towards you and you move to step with him but before you can, there's an arm slipped underneath you as you're lifted up off your feet.

"Sylus!"

Clutching your arms around his neck, you turn to him shocked.

He just smirks, sending you a look before holding you with the arm underneath your back and using his free hand to slip off your heels.

"Your feet must be killing you, kitten," he whispers to you, ignoring the following gazes of the crowd as he makes his way out of the building. "I left you standing there all alone too long. I'm sorry."

Letting your head fall against his chest, you hum; "it's okay. You came when it matters."

"Not quick enough," he denies, swinging his heels next to his side as he effortlessly carries you to his motorcycle. "You deserve to be pampered all night, sweetie."

Smiling softly, you meet his eyes; "yeah?"

"Yeah," he nods, smirking. "I'll make sure of it."

[sanguineterrain]

(fem reader, size difference, some thoughts about jason being a big fella.)

Thinking about how it takes Jason some time for it to sink in how different you are physically after he returns, and how it seriously fucks with him.

Obviously, he knows rationally that he's taller and stronger and just bigger. He knows that his skills are sharper than when he was Robin. He fights better because he's grown, and he has the body to match it. He no longer has to worry so much about how to use his opponent's strength against them. He has enough strength for ten opponents.

But it's different with you. You're not an opponent, though Jason frequently feels conquered by you. You were his friend before and you're his friend now, but he can't help but question if that's the only thing that's remained constant. Jason was a small kid, unassuming, and he suspects that that's why you liked him in the first place. Jason wasn't a physical threat before. Of course you'd feel safe with him as a friend. Now what?

The stark difference between you manifests in fleeting moments, like when he gets a cup for you from the cupboard which you could get yourself, but it's easier if Jason does it. And then he watches your smaller, lovely hand take it from his, your fingers brushing together, maybe they're painted with that nail polish you love so much, and Jason has to take a lap. You squeeze past him in the kitchen or the hallway and Jason can't stop thinking about how you both grew up but he really grew up, and you're not small, Jason's just big. He could cover a good part of your waist or your face with his hands. He could pull you into a hug, into a room, into his lap with such little effort, it frightens him. Your spine would bend if he pressed right; your arms would stay up, down, however he moved them. You could be Jason's pretty little doll, and that makes him feel like a monster.

This thought about Jason growing up and seeing you in a new light shaped by want and warmth is wrapped in a richer, darker thought about how Jason sees you and a part of his brain demands you to be his. He pines for it. It's not a quick kink to release in the bedroom (Jason can't even fathom you letting him into your bed); it's a constant reminder of how even though Jason's dedication to you is the same, the way in which he can show you his dedication is different. He's scary now, and sometimes that fills him with so much self-hatred, he feels sick. But sometimes it leaves him heady with power, thinking yeah, you don't need a guard dog, you get on fine, but Jason's there nonetheless, solid and able to take on anything. He would kill for you. You're not helpless but if you were, Jason would take care of you. He'd carry you around the apartment like a loyal steed if you wanted him to. He'd put his hand on the middle of your back and arch you over him, if you wanted him to. Only if you wanted to. Jason would rather die than scare you.

But here is the kicker: you aren't afraid. Jason's this looming tank of a man (of a monster?) and you carry on without a worry. You laugh and tease and poke his ribs and make him lunch and look up at him without a hint of fear. This does not bode well for that richer, darker desire of Jason's. If you were afraid of him, well, Jason could work with that. He'd hate himself more, but he'd understand. It's only logical that you'd fear someone who has such a physical advantage over you.

But every warm touch, every smile, every plate of food that you make for Jason with the casual excuse that you were cooking anyway (you weren't—he knows what you look like when you lie), it all just makes that terrifying thing inside of him want you more. More than once, Jason's woken up from a dream about you. His beautiful, incredible best friend, who'd crawl into his wolf mouth and fall asleep on his teeth. He's dreamt of you offering a sparkly gala gown to him, then pulling off your shirt and waiting for him to dress you. He's dreamt about your horrified screams when you realize that all he's good for is killing, and who'd want a bloodthirsty dog for a friend? He's had other dreams about you that left him hard and self-loathing. Jason's terrified by his desire, but if you let him, if you wanted it, he'd overwhelm you with his size in the best way. He wants you to bury yourself in him, the way he so often does with you. Make him hold you, rest your feet on his back, sleep on his chest. He can take it. He can take it all and more. God knows he's strong enough.

[nemesyaaa]

❝ no brain. only big arms and fat thighs.❞

featuring himbo!rafe x reader.

⸻★himbo!rafe who’s a beast of muscles, all beefy and heavy, literally the bulky man towering everyone around him. when he's not putting on his stupid preppy kook dressing, he loves wearing those little tight t-shirts that are too small to fit his big tits but shows off his well-shaped six pack.

⸻★ himbo!rafe who is the king of manspreading. you can be sure that his massive legs are always highly spreaded every time he sits down somewhere. bonus, when he's wearing one of those favorite shorts after going to the gym, and his thick thighs are naked enough to reveal his fleshy skin filled with hard stunning veins.

✦ He's HUGE so ofc, he's gonna take a lot of place. ⸻ “sit on my lap, baby. you don't need a seat. ”

⸻★ he's more a female magnet than a womanizer. attracts women as well as he knows how to catch them but it doesn't mean he's got a hard interest in them. you're the one he cares about. he's not smart enough to get them with his brain but like any good himbos, he knows how to use his physique to his advantage. ⸻ his pretty face saves his lack of culture.

⸻★ biggest and proud member of the thirst trap community. you can be sure that he posts hundreds of photos after the gym of his large thighs and strong arms, flexing his muscle on the bathroom mirror to get all those veiny lines bulging his thick biceps and pecs.

⸻ he likes to pretend that it's for his gym bros but will delete the story if you don't see or react to his post.

✦ of course, he's an attention whore when it comes to you. that's a true himbo.

( the rest under the cut...)

⸻★ himbo!rafe who will take every opportunity he gets to show you how strong he is.

no matter your weight, he's bigger than you so don't you dare worry about your body size. you're perfect. he's gonna lift you up so easily, and it's also an excuse to show you how well–builded he is.

✦ if your feets hurt, he will carry you a short distance as well as a long one. he will open all the jam jars for you, and carry all your bags and suitcases. with him, you won't move a finger and you can be sure that you won't break any nails.

✦ you are a princess to him, and he will treat you with all the respect a girl like you deserves. he doesn't call you his baby for nothing.

✦ and that man loves to smack on your ass but you immediately need to calm him down because he doesn't know about his heavy strength. like this man, he's kind of a beast, could bruise you with just one good slap.

⸻★ big addict when you touch and compliment his physique. like yes, praise him. you're the gool girl he craves and literally dreams of. huge simp when you've just done your nails and you're testing their quality on him. he loves having your wild marks on his skin. come on, he's big. ⸻ his huge size is literally not for the WEAK so he's begging at your feets for you to use your nails on him. he wants you to dig them so hard so that every time he looks at his broaden back in the mirror, he remembers why he's paying for any of your girls appointments.

⸻★ 100% jealous. he’s really is. he doesn't want to share you. even if you're not his girlfriend, he’s convinced that you are his and that you belong to him.

the problem with himbo!rafe is that he's not really that smart... even if you're the one who made the first move with this guy in the club, you can be sure that the innocent person with whom you flirted will end up in a hospital bed...⸻while you will have all the privilege of ending up in his bed. (women can do no wrong)

he doesn't want to hear or know the context. (be serious, he's not gonna understand it in any case.) like any himbos, he hates to think. he only trusts what he sees. so if he has to spend all the party breaking the jaws of all these guys around you, you can be sure he will do it.

you don't want to care about him ? he's gonna show you a reason why you should.

this man will literally fight. yea, he got muscles to show off but also to be sure to destroy his rivals.

he is proactive. he acts, he does not think.

⸻★ if you want to go out in a short dress, a mini skirt, any tiny piece of clothing, you can be sure that he won't say no but will be clinging to you like a leech. like he's okay with your outfit but you don't go anywhere without him. it's THE RULE.

✦ if you're not okay with that, fine. you're gonna cry about it at home.

and you can pout, he doesn't care. (you're still pretty so…)he will literally mock you by saying don't play games you're gonna lose if you want to win.

“ but raf…” you start. but he doesn't care. “ do not rafe me. you've done enough tonight. ” “ i want to go to the party ! ” “ no, you just want to get on my nerves so you stay here. ”

but if you're going out and the other boys want to look at you, there's no problem. you can be sure that in the next second, their faces will be too broken to continue staring at you.

⸻★ don't talk to him about things that are too complicated like politics, ecology or feminism, you're gonna waste your time. the only thing on his mind is you so don't confuse him with things he'll never understand.

⸻★ himbo!rafe who adores when you need him. like, if this man doesn't wait for your call every time.... that's probably the only reason he has a phone.

he loves when you need him, even for random things. you need a driver? he is there. you need money? give him the amount and it's done. you need advice on your new outfit? he's gonna worship you.

⸻★ himbo!rafe who always got a soft spot for you and called you by sweet nicknames like baby, princess, peach, and pretty. he's listening to everything you have to say, don't make you repeat even if he doesn't understand a single word of what you're saying. ⸻ “ rafe, you're not listening. ” you shouted softly, snapping at him. “ of course, i'm listening baby. ” “ okay so what did I say ? ” “ that you wanna hang out with me tonight ? ” he proposed with such an obvious smile that you're forced to laugh at his audacity. “ i didn't say that. ” “ okay, but do you wanna hang out tonight ? you can't say no. i mean, it's yes or yes. ” “ okay, i wanna hang out with you tonight. ”

if you hate some people, you can be sure he's gonna be the biggest hater of those people too. but easy girl, because he's also the biggest hater of boys that you love.

✦ himbo!rafe who loves when you cry on his arms because one, his ego needs to be the first man you think about when you're sad, but also because he loves to carry you against him. shush you everytime you sob, but also kiss your forehead dearly. he's so gentle at the moment, but the moment he knows the name of who makes you cry, he's turning into an evil man.

⸻★ when you show interest in him, he loses his mind. he's like a sweet giant puppy. he's not the type to blush when you look at him but he just wants to squish you in his big arms. like, you are so nice and pretty.

you make him feel so dumb ( when in fact, he's really stupid on daily and it's not about you.)

⸻★ it's also a sucker for the size difference between the two of you. like, you are so small compared to him. so, don't try to run away from him, he will always be faster than you. himbo!rafe loves to play around with it, resting his arms on your head when he's next to you, joking about your small feets compared to him, pretending to not see you when you're around.

it's all a joke until he finds that thing can be a kink…

and that you’re maybe into it.

⸻★ himbo!rafe who's is a BIG VIRGIN not because he doesn't get any opportunities to fuck some bitches but this man wants to get his first time with you and only you.

✦ not only he cares about his virginity, but he does checks on yours every time.

⸻★ he's got a nice cock if you ask, everything so good-shaped about him…but god, he's such an himbo. there is nothing in his brain, so don't expect your dumb puppy to know how to use his pretty dick.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[kawhh]

https://www.tumblr.com/kawhh/772768566606987264/sometimes-i-almost-sit-myself-down-for-a-talk-my

“…how small and fragile you look…”

mhmmm quinny with a size kink yes plz

Size kink Q would make me actually insane. He might not be the tallest, but he's just. He'd be so big compared to you.

It's a slow building fascination with him. He doesn't fully notice at first, he's more focused on you. Focused on making sure that everything else is going right, that you're becoming fully his at a steady enough pace for his instincts and needs.

It starts off fairly innocent - him bringing you close for hugs and realising that you're just.. so small. He can't believe how fragile you look, all tiny in his arms. He could wrap both his arms around you and cage you in.. keep you pressed against him as long as he needed, even if you tried to squirm.

He starts trapping you against counters, against walls, plastering himself against your front or back, enjoying how you can't do anything about it. You're like a little kitten.

He might start grinding against you while you're trapped, a dazed look on his face, a hint of ferality in his eyes. You just have to take it.. he towers over you.. the strength of his arm making a unescapable barrier.

One night while he's cuddling you on the sofa, he starts gradually moving on top of you, winding his arms around you, forcing all his weight down onto you, trapping you against the unforgiving furniture.

Sliding his hands under your clothes.. he almost moans at how small you look compared to them. How do you even manage to take his fingers? Never mind his dick.. surely it's impossible? He knows it's not, but, holy shit.

He's grabbing your legs, hooking them over his shoulder, needing to have a front view experience of the physical evidence.

He needs this. Needs to see you take him. Needs to see the stretch. He can't even wait to strip, just shoving his boxer briefs down. Giving you a hard slap to your clit with his head. Even that size difference.. he can't.

He's stretching your cute little cunt open with his fingers, lining himself up, slowly inching in, keeping you as presented as he can.

The resistance, the protest of your walls as he invades you. He really should've recorded this. But no fear, he'll be doing this every single time he fucks you now. He'll have plenty of time to record the way he can see himself slide into you, how your cute little tummy bulges.

[wonderjanga]

Why’s Cap Acting like an Asshole?

Thavma and Billy have been separated for about two weeks now.

Without Billy, Thavma is simply the Living Lightning. Sure it’s alive, but it doesn’t have morals, opinions, none of that. Instead, all of that is shaped by its host. So, without Billy, Thavma doesn’t really care for anything.

Though, that doesn’t stop it from trying to care about the stuff Billy does.

Thavma: *standing outside of a burning building*

Mother: “My baby! My baby is still inside!”

Thavma: *closes its eyes and takes the biggest breath, sounding so done because he does not want to help*

Baby: *wailing*

Thavma: *floats into the building to save the baby and anyone else with an annoyed expression*

To be honest, all Thavma wants to do is protect the Rock. And Billy. But mostly the Rock. The reason for this is because of the fact The Living Lightning was solely made to protect the center of Magic. It does not care for saving people, but it does care about eliminating threats to the Rock, which most of Billy’s villains are. If that ends up helping anyone but the Rock, that was an extra bonus.

Speaking of villains, like stated earlier, a few of them are threats to Magic. Such as Black Adam. In Thavma’s mind, that means he automatically has to be eliminated. No mercy.

That’s how Black Adam was greeted with the Champion actually trying to kill him and almost succeeding. He’s never seen the man so bloodlusted and silent during a fight before. He’s also never seen the man use the full extent of his abilities. In other words, Thavma is much more in tune with its own strengths and weaknesses and was whooping Black Adam’s ass with extreme efficiency. This is because while Thavma doesn’t have any morals and such, he still has memories from previous champions, and although they had different gods as patrons, their strengths and speed and all that were the same.

In short, this was a guy with about 5000 years of experience fighting a guy with over 100,000.

Anyways, the fight got so bad that the JL pulled up as Thavma was literally about to force Black Adam to say Shazam with MIND CONTROL MAGIC that neither Adam nor the JL have ever seen him use before.

Supes: *sounds disturbed* “Since when can you do mind control??”

Thavma: *looks over to them with a judgmental eyebrow raise cause why’re Billy’s little friends here*

Batman: “Captain, please step away from Black Adam.”

Thavma: *torn between protecting the Rock and not wanting to mess up Billy and the JL’s friendships*

Thavma eventually decided that when Billy became his host again, the boy might be upset about losing these people. The boy being upset could affect his ability to protect the Rock in the future and so he reluctantly stepped away from Adam.

Thavma: *steps away but does a little annoyed sigh reminiscent of a moody teenager*

Black Adam: *flies away, glancing over his shoulder every now and then*

Flash: *zooms over* ”Cap, buddy, what was that?”

Thavma: *really doesn’t want to talk to these guys at all* “Nothing. I must take my leave now. Good day.” *tries to speed walk away*

Flash: *wondering why he’s talking like that* “Dude, wait up!”

JL: *all follow after him kinda like ducklings*

Thavma honestly didn’t know how his host put up with these mortals. They ask so many questions.

GL: “Cap, you haven’t shown up to the last few meetings. What’s up with that?”

Thavma: “I forgot.”

Supes: “Forgot? I thought you never forgot things. You said something about the Wisdom of Solomon making it so that you couldn’t. Has something been making you that busy?

Thavma: “Yes.”

Wondy: “What is it? Some kind of villain?”

Thavma: “It’s nothing, and no.”

The “nothing” in question has just been it lounging around the Rock because that’s what it was made to do: protect the Rock. Being around it often is the easiest way to ensure that. The Champions not staying often was something Thavma always found idiotic. Why did they care about their villages or cities when their duty was to the Rock? At that thought, Thavma could only sigh and shake his head. Mortals.

[palmanatomy]

Something that really annoys me in this fandom is when people immediately push Bruce's characteristics onto the rest of the Batfam. The whole 'contingency plans for my team' thing is all Bruce's paranoia based off of his personal trust issues. It's a key part of Batmans character that he is always prepared and the Tower of Babel arc is supposed to show that this paranoia and trust issues can manifest into something harmful. Also, Bruce's paranoia is a character flaw of Bruce, not of Dick, not of Jason, not of Damian, and certainly not of Tim. Yes, Tim has been described as the most like Bruce, but that is reflective of his detective skills and intuition. That doesn't mean his personality is like Bruce or that he has the same opinions. In fact, theres a whole arc in YJ where the team accuses Tim of having these contingencies like Bruce and he dismisses this entirely, saying that Bruce has colleagues but Tim has friends.

It's Young Justice issue #36 if anyone wanted to know. But Tim is trusting of his friends and he's not some depressed, neglected kid who stalks Batman and is addicted to coffee. He only got out and took photos to collect evidence to give to Dick in a Lonely Place of Dying where he is, correct me if I'm wrong, 13 or 14, because he is a detective. He knows he needs to present evidence of Batmans unhealthy behaviour to get Dick to listen. And his parents aren't abusive. Sure they're a little neglectful, but they love him. Its literally in the character description on wikipedia that they love him but have a lot of buisness trips they have to go on. Another assumption is that Tim is antisocial, which makes no sense because he makes friends literally everywhere he goes. He's a likeable guy. And Jason didn't try to kill him, he just wanted to rough him up a little and Tim landed some hits too. Jason actually comes out with newfound respect for him and goes on to say he's his favourite brother. Tim is only really depressed in Red Robin 2009 but thats only after everyone that he loves has died or left him. Tim is social, loyal, nerdy, and a little bit of a player like Bruce. But he isn't some broody guy with trust issues that everyone makes him out to be. He's his own character. Sure, he's a little similar to Bruce but he isn't a carbon copy. Some people need to understand this. And don't get me started on those 'DC stands for disregard canon' people because you have to actually read the source material to disregard it. Most people saying this haven't picked up a comic and have their knowledge of DC from Tumblr Batfam posts. Which is a pity, because some of the comics are so fucking good.

This turned into a rant about the character assassination of Tim Drake, but my point still stands. Each member of the Batfamily has their own personalities and character flaws. Bruce is prepared and cunning, but he's also paranoid and tends to push people away. Dick is funny, but he also overworks himself and has a fear of failure. Jason is reckless, but he's also loyal and passionate. Tim is smart, but he's also a perfectionist and a control freak. Damian is self assured, but he is also arrogant. Cass has strong morals but she can also be stubborn. They all show traits of Bruce, but they are their own characters beyond that with their own flaws and strengths that people need to acknowledge. They're all unique, incredible characters that deserve to be represented as what they are instead of being lumped with the same annoying traits of Bruce Wayne.

[mindless-existence1]

Jjk men headcannons- Sfw and Nsfw

Includes: Geto, Gojo, Toji, and Nanami

Authors note: This is probobly the last thing I'm going to be able to make before my broken arm gets put in a sling so enjoy it chat!

Sfw

Ive said this before but Gojo spoils tf out of his partner. He has money what is he using it for besides you? Really likes sweets so sometimes he buys candy for you just so he has an excuse to by some for himself. Same other snacks, he'll say they're for you but he's the one eating over half the bag.

Geto has some crazy Insomnia and the only way for him to sleep is if he's cuddling you. It makes him fall asleep so fast. Spooning turns off his brain like a lightswitch. Something about physical contact with his loved one makes him feel content.

Nanami is the definition of a gentleman. We know this already, but it's the little things. He pulls out your chairs, he opens your car door (going as far as pushing you back into the car so he can open it for you if you already did). He also will hold your waist so your close to him in crowded places.

Toji, tho he hates electronics, would answer you no matter what. In the middle of a mission? He's answering with a "Hey there doll" (he'd call you doll I've said it once I'll say it again). He'd never text or call you first during a mission but if you contact him he's picking up the phone and you wouldn't even be able to tell he was on call.

Gojo likes seeing yiu wear his glasses. He'll let you have them on when he's wearing his blindfold and he goes crazy. He'll say something like "they look better on me" but in reality he's using six eyes to get a veiw of you from other angels.

Geto is kinda like this but it's with shirts. He's a baggy shirt wearer trust so seeing you in one makes him border line feral. It's like your covered in him and that's qhat he wants. He likes the thought that when you wear them when he's not there it's kinda like he is.

Nanami is a listener so if you're yapper he's the one for you. He'll listen to anything and everything. He has some tough days at his job and hearing you randomly call him after a hard meeting just to tell him about the dog you saw on your walk today brightens his day.

Toji doesn't like seeing you work. And not in like any sort of sexist or "I'm better than you" way. Just a "I'm right her I should do it not my god/goddess of a partner". He just doesn't want to let you lift a finger when he's right there and able. You have pick up the table, he's got it. You spilled some water, pet him wipe it up. Anything.

Nsfw

Gojo is a FREAK he will try basically anything at least once. If you're into it or want to try it almost 100% of the time he's down. Especially if in involves you being dominated because despite what he says he's a switch that likes bottoming more.

Geto likes when you pull at his hair. I'm talking yanking it, his scalp is sensitive and it makes his head go all fuzzy. When he's giving you head/eating you out he gets off on you pulling his hair alone. He'd rut his hips intoanuthung he could when yiu tug a particularly sensitive spot.

Nanami lives to serve. Although most times he's on top he's doing what you tell him to do. Kinda vanilla but not in a bad way. He'd try stuff out if you asked but nothing too freaky. Likes missionary so he can see you perfectly.

Toji is a pain lover. Both giving and receiving. It's the way the pain mixes with pleasure that gets him going. But seeing you wither and shake from the intense mix of pleasure and pain makes him get dizzy with lust. This sight is so pretty and he can't help but tease you more at the veiw.

Gojo would use 6 eyes to see the two of you while you're fucking. Your ontop of him and he can't lift his head from the pleasure to see you so he uses the last of his strength to activate 6 eyes and get all the different angles.( I heard someone say his eyes glow bright blue when he's using his technique so imagine you look up at him and he barley opens his eyes and you just see the bright blue gleaming down at you.)

Geto is a bit of a risk taker. Nothing crazy but he'd be open for some different places to be added on the lists of places to get freaky. Maybe it's am old Jujustu Tech classroom. Maybe he fucks you there while people are still taking classes and he has to put a hand over your mother to keep you quiet.

Nanami would whisper sweet nothings in yiur ear. You can't even hear what he's saying over the intense shocks of pleasure but none the less his voice goes to your cloudy head and all you can do is moan in response to the praise.

Toji would fuck you infront of a mirror. He just loves doggy and want you to see how pretty you look. He'd also want to see you so it'd very self indulgent. He just really enjoys watching in live time how your face reacts to the intense pleasure.

[isan0rt]

Thinking about how much the front half of Dungeon Meshi gives such a very different impression of Kabru as a character than the back half. Like we joke about how he's watching Laios and Toshiro slap-fight with popcorn having a great time, and he is and it's true, but then my man focuses up REAL fucking fast the instant Canaries have boots on the ground and then it's Serious Fucking Business Kabru for the rest of the manga.

Like it's all fun and games when he's focused on trying to figure out what's going on with the Touden party. Like he's still trying to defeat the dungeon for his overall goals but his party's focus on catching "the thieves" is just more or less a distraction. A little side quest to work out a little interpersonal mystery he's been trying to figure out. He's having a fun little time putting together the pieces that didn't make any sense before.

Then the Canaries actually landing on Melini is for Kabru like the scene in Mulan where they walk into the ruined village and it abruptly stops being a musical for the whole rest of the film.

Playtime is fucking over! Kabru is the one guy who fully understands how much playtime is over the instant Canaries are involved. Shit is about to get real bad real fast. There is NO MORE TIME for goofing around. He's playing panicked defense for the entire rest of the manga.

(Side note speaking of panicked defense, it's interesting how much the scene of the illusory fish men followed by the sea serpent really establishes how Kabru reacts under pressure. He's got his shit so together during the illusions and fighting the corpse retrievers but the minute he's out of his element with the sea serpent he panics and can't give good orders, and would have gotten his whole party killed again if not for Toshiro's party.

You can see how this same dynamic plays out when his initial plan to convince the shadow lord backfires and Kabru panics and can't recover, and again when his plan to have Laios become the dungeon lord apparently backfires and he panics and has a full on breakdown. The particular nature of his trauma is such that when he loses control of a situation and something he didn't predict happens, he can't keep his head in the game, and the fact that Kui sets that up so early with the sea serpent is -chef's kiss- so good. It's a fascinating contrast with Laios, who really has a strength for thinking on his feet that enables him to succeed where Kabru's foresight and planning cannot.)

[pedriache]

Merry Christmas, I miss you 𖦹 Quinn Hughes !

summary. quinn was back home for christmas and all he could think about was you. his highschool sweetheart. one he hadn’t seen in a very long time. but now, with the holiday bringing you both home… whats a better time to rekindle what once was?

wc. 1.39k+

disclaimers. ex’s that left off on good terms, fluff, reader being slightly awkward & this may be a little ooc but IDC IDC.. also reader went to college for something unspecified.

notes. i had two drafts for this idea but i liked this one better lolsss.. also i fucking decided i hated this but i also am just like whatever i need it out of the drafts!

Quinn’s fingers hovered over the green button. He had been sitting on the living room couch, chewing on his lip for about thirty minutes now. His mom had informed him that you were back in town for the Holiday’s. Your mother had stopped her at the grocery store to chat, and you’d rounded the corner. Ellen practically raced home to inform her son.

Jack and Luke sat on chairs not far from their older brother, both sharing equally as annoyed looks.

“Man, just press the button.” Jack grumbled, sinking into the chair, his foot tapping the ground impatiently.

Quinn’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing on his brother before they flickered back to his phone. “It’s not that easy. What if she has a boyfriend now and I—“

Before he could finish his sentence, Luke shot up from the couch, passing the distance in a few long strides. The youngest Hughe’s brother wrenched the phone from his brother’s tight grasp, not giving Quinn a second to retaliate, he presses the button.

Ring.. Ring..

“Hello?”

Quinn glared heatedly up at Luke as the curly haired boy grinned, handing the phone back to his brother. Jack stood from the chair, nodding his head toward the door for Luke to follow and give Quinn space.

Clearing his throat, Quinn’s mouth parted. Shit, shit, shit. What did he get himself into? What did Luke get him into?

“Uhm.. Quinn?” God, your voice was still as sweet and melodic as the last time he’d heard from you. The small hint of a smile in your voice was the thing had gave Quinn the strength to reply.

And, you still had his number saved.

“Hey, yeah, sorry. Hi!” He sunk into the couch, free hand rubbing his thigh in a comforting motion. “Heard you were back in town?”

Shuffling was heard on the other end before a soft sight left your lips. “Yep! Are you here too?” There was something in your voice, something hesitant that raised a hint of concern in Quinn.

Did you have a boyfriend? If so, that would explain it. Not wanting to hear from your ex.. what was he doing!?

“Yeah, yeah. Just for a few days. How’ve you been?” He really should just get the question that’s been nagging at his mind for hours now.

On the other end, your heart was slamming into your chest. You’d always been shy, even in high school. The only reason you had a friend group was because of Quinn. He’d helped you come out of your shell.

But now? Now he was your ex, a famous hockey player, and incredibly good looking. Why wouldn’t you be a little shy?

“Good. Been good! College is tiring, but worth it..” A pause, “How are you?”

Quinn felt a smile pushing at his lips despite himself. “I’ve been alright! Listen, I really gotta ask..” Now or never, Hughes. Now or— “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Choking. That’s all Quinn heard, even when you so clearly moved the phone away from your face. “I—Uh, I, well— no. No, no, I don’t. Sorry! That caught me a but off guard!”

A laugh slipped out of the brunettes lips, his head dipping with a low shake. “No, it’s my bad. I should’ve eased that question in. Just.. didn’t want to overstep.”

Once you’f collected yourself, did you allow a small chuckle to escape your lips. Red blossomed on your cheeks and you’d never been so grateful for it being over the phone.

If this had happened face to face? Well, you might be in the hospital for passing out from sheer humiliation.

“You aren’t overstepping anything, Quinn. I promise.” You stood from your seat, walking toward the kitchen to get yourself some water.

Quinn waited a second to speak, not wanting to seem too eager—he couldn’t scare you off just yet. “Good. We should catch up, soon. The cafe on main street is still open, you liked their espresso’s if I remember correctly.”

He did remember correctly. As if Quinn could forget anything pertaining to you. You liked it with an extra shot, claiming it was necessary or your whole day would be off. Not that you needed more energy, you’d always seemed to have an endless supply of that.

The Hughe’s man supposed that’s what he’d loved the most about you. Your energetic side that made it easy for him to sit back and relax while you took over the conversations.

“You remember very correctly.” You laugh lightly, “and, I’d love that. When are you free?”

Quinn sat up straight, smiling. Then, he turned his head, noticing his brother’s peeking over the corner. Their eyes widened and their heads disappeared.

He had to hold back the groan as he turned his attention back to the woman he was on the phone with. “Right now, if you are.”

“Oh! Oh, give me thirty minutes to get ready. I can drive—“

“I’ll pick you up. My brothers are here and they are being.. well, them.”

You nod in understanding, forgetting he couldn’t see you. A grin tugs at your lips as you imagine the younger Hughe’s boys being oh-so-nosey.

“Alright. I’m staying at my parents. Come whenever, I’m sure they’d love to see you.” And with that, you both said your goodbye’s and you sprinted to your room.

When Quinn did arrive at your house, nerves wracked his body. His stomach churned at the realization he was about to see you after so many years. Sure, he still followed you on Instagram.. but you didn’t exactly have a big social media presence.

The click of the door opening had the mans back straightening, pulse quickening in his throat like he was a high schooler all over again.

And when he saw you, his breath hitched in his throat. You looked so much more mature, somehow even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen you.

Yes, four years had passed since he’d seen you in person. But this was.. well, he forgot how to speak. The flowers in his hand long since forgotten.

“Grip those any tighter and you might snap the stems.” You spoke quietly, teasingly. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you watched him blink, his throat bobbing. Was that a stupid joke?

Then, he laughed. And you saw that he was the same Quinn you’d loved all those years ago. His cheeks puffing and his head shaking.

His grip loosened on the flowers, his arm sticking out to give them to you. You took them gratefully, cheeks flushed as you murmured a thank you.

Quinn shifted on his feet as you brought the flowers up to smell them. “You look beautiful.”

Your eyes paused on the flowers before slowly lifting to meet his. You didn’t think it was possible for your face to get any warmer, but here it was. Ablaze.

“Thank you! So do—well, I meant—“ Your mouth clamps shut. “You look handsome.” It came out gritted which caused Quinn’s lips to twitch.

Setting the flowers on a table beside the door, you grab your purse and step outside. The cold air cooling you down and stifling your humiliation. The walk to Quinn’s car was brief, thankfully.

Inside, you settled into the seat. You really needed to control yourself, this awkward vibe seeping off of you was only making you more embarrassed.

As if nothing had changed, Quinn disconnected from bluetooth and turned to you with a loose grin. And just like that, you were back in high school again, refusing to go anywhere until you gained control over the music.

Your mouth quirked as you pulled out your phone. “Always a gentleman, Hughes.” You tease lightly, which was met with a short chuckle. That simple sound shot something so familiar through your chest.

Your fingers hovered over the song you were about to play, when your eyes flitted back to Quinn. He was looking at you still, his lips pulled into a small smile. And you knew that what you were feeling wasn’t just a one way street.

“I missed you.” He spoke quietly. His eyes softened as they moved around your face like he was trying to memorize every new detail to store beside the old ones.

Tearing your eyes from him, you press play. “I missed you too.”

likes, comments, & reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any or all of my posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @spidybaby @joaoflms @sakashq @be11ingham @piastri-fvx

[kacievvbbbb]

Okay new take on the angst.

Neither Shanks nor Mihawk die (yay!) but Yoru shatters instead and Mihawk wishes it was him instead.

In a nice parallel to how Mihawk shattered Zoro’s two nameless swords like it was nothing Zoro uses these three great and kind of cursed swords to slowly and painstakingly chip by chip shatter the greatest blade in existence and even tho he’s still breathing Mihawk dies right along side it.

Honestly I don’t see a future where Zoro breaks mihawks sword and lets him live he has to much honor for that has to much respect for Mihawk both as a great swordsman and as a mentor figure. Knows what it means to die proudly with your blade in your hands so I think he’d think it quite cruel to shatter Yoru and then not give Mihawk the honor of death. So like even if he did I think it would be kind of on accident (like he wasn’t deliberately making precise blows to shatter the sword it just kind of happens) and Zoro has spent to much time with Luffy and shanks to kill Mihawk, has spent to much time with Mihawk has witnessed the boredorm and discontent he faces and it’s all complicated. So he Gives him the same lesson Mihawk gave him three scars down the chest from shoulder to hip tells him to come challenge him again.

Either way Mihawk is here scars down his chest for everyone to see and no sword and he has never been more scared or more empty in his life. But shanks is just glad that he’s here and that makes it so much worse.

Because now he feels like he’s just another thing Shanks has to protect. He’s weak and Mihawk hasn’t felt weak in a long time can’t remember a time when he felt there was a challenge that he couldn’t face. But living life after this might be the hardest challenge he has ever faced. There wasn’t supposed to be an after this was supposed to be it. His escape from the monotony a way to go out as honorable to the life that he had lived as he can be. And yet, here he is…..with Shanks, and he has nothing to offer him.

Mihawk is not a good man, not in the way Shanks and Luffy and even Zoro are. He’s selfish, capricious, haughty, callous, casually cruel and all these other adjectives that have never mattered to him before because he was also strong. His strength was all he had to offer and he has never felt as weak as he does now. Why would shanks want that? Why would shanks trade in an equal, a rival someone who could meet him at the top, why would he trade thay in for just another person to worry about. Mihawk wouldn’t (doesn’t think he would but he doesn’t know anymore) Mihawk left him at his lowest moment because of strength and he expects, demands, that shanks do the same.

Unlike Shanks he has nothing else to offer there is no deeper than this but Shanks is just glad that he’s here and what does it mean that he is still here?

Also this is very shanks to Mihawk coded because shanks has always know that this is exactly who Mihawk was there was no deeper (and maybe there where certain things he hoped he could learn) but Shanks has always known and has always accepted him for exactly who he is. There is no question in his mind that Mihawk will pick up a sword and get stronger again (maybe never as strong as he was but that’s okay too) not because that’s what Shanks expects but because that’s who Mihawk is

[eroselless]

───────── wait for me // down to the riptide

summary: even divine favor can't save him from the price of doubt. [5.9k]

[charles leclerc x reader]

Greek!AU, orpheus and eurydice

dttr masterlist

warnings: smut, cumplay, cowgirl, death, description of death, religious/theological references (its a greek mythology story)

note: *throws fic, runs away* hehe, see you next week, bai :)

Charles had always been told he had been touched by the gods. The first time he’d sat down and brushed his fingers delicately a lyre, the melody flowed so effortlessly that even Apollo’s priests began to whisper among each other, wondering how a mortal could possess such a diving talent, one that could even challenge their god. 

Whenever he played, the air around him would still. Animals gathered and the restlessness of his fellow men would quiet. Kings sought him out for their courts, poets would beg to set their words to his melodies and aristocrats would pay millions for even a minute to hear him.

But he never cared for that, not really. Not until he laid his eyes on you. 

You were beautiful in the way soft things were beautiful: delicate but with a strength that made Charles ache just to look at you. It was as if you carried Aphrodite’s beauty in your smile, the way you seemed to light every room with your presence.You were the kind of woman that was written about, craved and yearned for. 

You were the daughter born of a high-born family, promised to Lord Damian an older man your parents had meticulously chosen for you. Wealthy and proud, his status was rivalled only by his towering ego. Your status paired with your beauty made you untouchable, promised to a man of power and ambition Though you were worlds apart, at every banquet, every court gathering you’d find your eyes lingering on Charles for just a moment too long. He would meet your eyes as he would expertly pluck at the strings of his instrument. Your eyes would be half-lidded, chin resting on your hand as if you were hypothesized. And Charles? He could feel your eyes like the warmth of the sun. It wasn’t something he could ignore, even if he wanted to. 

Your first meeting was almost accidental. You’d find him on a marble bench in the gardens late at night, taking refuge from the ongoing party, playing softly to himself under the light of the moon. Most of the guests were still enjoying the lavish reunion, conjuring the spirit of Dionysus in their wines and dancing.

You watched him momentarily from the shadows, admiring how the light flowed around him, as if the gods were watching him at that very moment. Your silk down brushed the hedge, catching on the little branches as you hesitated. 

“You play beautifully,” you call out, stepping into the moonlight. 

Charles looked up, startled momentarily, fingers faltering on the strings. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Having you so close and all to himself, he gave into the temptation. You were luminous, hair catching the silver glow of the moon only made the red carnation tucked behind your ear stand out more.  For the first time, he truly understood why the poets spoke of mortals shining brighter than stars. 

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

“Would you mind if I stayed?” you asked, your voice coming out in a shy whisper. “Just for a little while.”

Charles should’ve said no. He should have packed up his lyre and left, putting distance between himself and the tragedy that was only waiting to happen. But he didn’t. He nodded, returning to a melody he’d never played before, inspired by the way you watched and the way you seemed to glow as he played on. 

Over time, you inched closer, asking him questions about himself long into the night. You sat among the stars, giggling together. He’d even placed his lyre into your hands, instructing you how to play as gently as he could. 

“I don’t think I should be here anymore,” you whisper suddenly. Your voice is low, something he can’t quite recognize dripping from it. He could see your eyes drooping, just as they did whenever he played his lyre. It was a look you saved just for him—a gaze that sent shivers down his spine and, now that you were so close, stirred a deep, undeniable heat within him. You were sitting face to face, now seated in the grass instead of the bench you’d been on at the beginning of the night. 

“Then why are you still?” he murmured back, his voice low, his lips close were enough to brush against your temple. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself lean closer to him. 

He meets you half-way, his lips pressing against yours hesitantly. He thinks he can feel your mirrored hesitance, almost waiting for him to pull away. There’s a flutter in his belly that erupts in waves as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him ever closer. You’ve risen up on your knees, moving into the space between his outstretched legs. His hands caress your back, bringing your chest to his, your breast firmly pressed up against him. He licks into your mouth to glide his tongue over yours, a silent confession of how long he’s been fantasizing about this moment—since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You carried the subtle sweetness of the wine you’d been sipping all evening, while he tasted of something richer, almost intoxicating—a flavor you knew you could never tire of. His hand slips up your torso, sliding over the hills of your breast before finding home at the base of your neck. It stays there, not squeezing but almost as if to memorize the feeling of your skin under his fingers. 

You settle into his lap now, hips gently beginning to rock against his. As your hands fall down to his chest, you can almost hear Eros whispering in your ear, enticing you to give into the feeling that was burning between the two of you, to slip your hand under his tunic or to bring his hand under yours. 

It’s distant, but you hear your name called from beyond the hedge, the voice oblivious to the predicament you’re in. You agonizingly pull away from Charles, staying silent, hoping they’ll move on, but instead, they call out for you again, louder this time.

You sigh, pressing a light kiss to Charles’s lips again before telling him to meet you after the next banquet. Charles nods, blinking as if he’d been pulled out of a dream. He watches as you flatten your gown before giving him a shy wave and disappearing behind the hedges. 

It wasn’t long before you’d see him again, the excuses flowing like water. You would meet with Charles again under the protection of the night, Nyx watching overhead. You’d sneak away from the feasts just as you did that first night, everyone at court whispering how you’d simply tired of Damian’s company. No one suspected where you went instead—slipping through the darkened halls and shadowed gardens to wherever Charles was.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・゚

“Oh how the gods have smiled upon us,” he says one night. He has you in his arms, your gown pooled in your lap. It doesn’t stay there, his hands impatiently pulling the scrunched piece of fabric from your frame. He drags his lips down your neck while his hands are anchored on your hips, shifting them gently on his cock. 

You can only muster a weak hum, quietly agreeing with him. You’re shaking a little, your legs exhausted from the effort you’ve been putting in all night. It is almost overwhelming how deliciously he’s pressed to your walls. His moves have been small and gentle tonight, yet he could feel as your walls would tremble with every little push. Your head lulls back, hands anchored to his shoulders, opening up your chest and he can’t help but smile as he sees your chest heaving. 

He kisses at the flesh of your exposed skin, tongue licking long stripes down to your breasts, eventually pulling a pebbled nipple into his mouth. He relishes at the sound of your voice and how it whines at the feeling of his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. It makes you arch your back slightly, shifting him inside you. 

“Please,” you implore, eyes squeezing shut, begging him to do something, anything to ease the delectable ache he was causing between your legs. Charles sweetly presses his lips against the column of your neck, tilting your face back towards him. “T'es tellement belle comme ça, mon coeur,” he says warmly. No matter how many times he saw you like this, completely bare, he always had a way of turning you into a giggling mess whenever he spoke to you in French. There’s a flutter in your chest that pulls a laugh from your lips that slowly turns into a moan as he pushes you upward before dragging you back down.

He pushes his nose against yours, chasing your lips as he leans back in the bed and pushes up into your. His arm wraps around your waist to hold you steady as he pounds into you. Yesyesyes. You can feel your release nearing. There’s a flash of heat throughout your body as you feel it, a loud groan falling from your lips. Charles keeps pushing his hips, trembling as he pulls out, reaching for his cock. With one stroke, he spills onto you, painting your navel and chest in white. You’re heaving, the sounds of his moans making your center warm up again. 

You slump down to the bed together as he drags his finger through his spend that is pooled on your skin. You eye him, tongue poking out to lick your lips before taking the finger into your mouth as you giggle. He gives you a smirk before reaching for something to clean you up.

Once you’re relatively clean, he joins you back in bed, pulling your body on top of his. Your head rested in his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his skin. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, his own fingers smoothing over your bare shoulder as he stared up at the ceiling. The high is dissipating, the silence makes you feel safe, cocooned in each other. You stay quiet for a while, not sure how much time passes before he speaks. 

“What’re you thinking about?” He murmurs, voice heavy with the oncoming wave of tiredness. His other hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You tilt your head slowly to look up at him, lips curving into a soft smile. “You were right, it is as if the gods have smiled on us and allowed us this night.” Your voice is soft, as if you didn’t want the gods to hear. 

Charles chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Yet I’m worried that it's a dream that could fade with the rise of the sun,”

“If it is a dream, then let me never wake.” He says, burrowing into the bed. You reach up at his response to trace the lines of his face—his strong jaw, the lips that you were so addicted to. 

“I could spend an eternity like this,” your voice cracks a little as the voice falls from your lips. “I can’t bear the thought of a life apart.” 

He blinks slowly, eyes filling with tears as he looks at you. “There’s no distance I would not travel, no risk I would not take if it meant keeping you.” 

Your throat feels tight as he says this, tears threatening to fall from your eyes now, hot and unbidden. He presses his nose to your cheek, pressing his lips there as his thumb brushes away a stray tear that has slipped down. “I love you,” he says, voice low with his confession.

Your chest feels tight as you shudder, tears cascading down your cheeks. “I have loved you since the very first moment you looked at me and saw not just a lowly musician but a man.” You smile as you let his words sink in. You kiss him, slowly and deeply, almost cradling his face in your hand. It was as if you were trying to imbue in your kiss what words could not. “And I love you,”

Your fingers gripped onto his as you pressed your forehead to his. “What if we left this place?” You ask. “We can run away to somewhere that no one will find us and live out the rest of our days the way we want to.”

Charles stills, his brow furrowing as he searched your face. “Damian will not let you go,” he puzzles, his voice heavy with foreboding. “He won’t accept this rejection, he won't let you slip away.” 

“He doesn’t need to know,” you reply swiftly, your eyes burning with determination. “We can vanish without a trace. He will wake to an empty house, and by the time he realizes we’re gone, we’ll be halfway to the ends of the earth.”

Charles closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple. He is a man who sees defiance as an insult, and insults must be repaid. Even if he doesn’t find us, he’ll punish others in your place—think of yours. He’ll ruin them to make an example.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. “And if I stay, what then?” you ask, your voice sharp with desperation. “What becomes of me? A prisoner in a marriage I did not choose, chained to a life I cannot bear? I will wither, Charles. I will fade until there is nothing left.”

“Please don’t ask me to stay,” you beg, your hand gripping his. “Don’t ask me to trade my soul for his pride. We can escape him, Charles. We can outrun the chains he would place around us.”

“And if he catches us?” Charles asks, his voice trembling with the weight of the question. “What then? What price would you pay for this freedom?”

“I would pay any price,” you whisper. “Because freedom with you, even for a day, would be worth a lifetime in his shadow.”

He stared at you, torn between hope and fear. Slowly, he pulled you close once again, pressing his forehead to yours. “You are braver than I will ever be,” he murmured. “And more reckless.”

“Then be brave with me,” you whisper, a shake in your voice. “Be reckless with me, Charles. I love you. And I will not let him take that from me.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his hand brushing your cheek as though committing your face to memory. “I love you,” he says at last, his voice breaking. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love anything.”

“Then let’s leave,” you declare, your  eyes burning with more unshed tears. “Together.”

Charles Presses himself to you once again, arms pulling you as close as he could. When he pulls apart, his hands linger on your face, his touch soft but steady. “The next full moon,” he said finally. “We’ll go. No one will stop us.”

“No one will find us,” you correct him, a small smile breaking through your tears. “And if they do, it will already be too late.”

“Together,” he said, his voice resolute.

“Together,” you echoed, your hand curling against his chest.

The weeks go by quickly. You disappear into the night, leaving Damian to ruminate in his study. He could see you weren’t tired, something in your eyes giving it away. “She’s hiding something,” He says one day, tone as cold as the marble floors beneath his feet. Lysander stands at the foot of his desk, the servant waiting for his master to give him the orders. 

“My fiancé disappears far too often to my liking. Follow her. Watch her. And when you’ve discovered what she’s been up to, you report back to me.”

Lysander bows. “Yes, my Lord.”

It only takes a few days for Lysander to catch you. He watches you from a distance, careful not to draw attention to himself. Your movements start mostly harmless—spending hours in the gardens, wandering through the halls and finally, like clockwork every night returning to your chambers early. 

It's not until one evening that he catches you leaving your room, through the abandoned guest wing of the manor. He follows you as quietly as he can, heart thumping wildly in his chest every time he follows too closely. You arrive at a secluded area in the woods, a small cabin nestled among the trees. 

It's there when he sees him. He can see through the window as you meet Charles in a kiss, hands tangling in his hair. He can see how you hold each other as if you’re each other’s lifelines, desperate to keep afloat. He watches as you writhe under Charles’s touch, a passion igniting between you two that he hasn’t even glimpsed at between you and his Lord. It makes Lysander avert his eyes, feeling disgust as he waits in his spot. 

He doesn’t leave. Lord Damian’s orders were clear and Lysander’s curiosity was stronger than his discomfort. He lingered in the shadows, watching as Charles loses himself between your thighs and how you toss your head back with a lust filled look on your face. He can hear as you call out for Charles, and how easily the iloveyous are exchanged between you.His stomach churns with unease, he wants to leave. But he could not come back empty handed, Damian would not tolerate it. 

Soon the space quiets and he dares look in through the window. You're draped over Charles’s chest, Hypnos’s touch making you hazy. Your voices are soft as you speak and Lysander can hear every word.  

“Just a few more days,” you whisper into Charles’s skin. “The moon is just about full and we leave all of this behind.”

Charles’s fingers cart through your hair, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Are you still sure?” he asks, his voice low. “Once we leave, there’s no going back.”

“I’ve never been more sure about anything,” you reply, voice steady. ““He can have the titles, the wealth, all of it. I want none of it. I only want you.”

Lysander’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic. This was much more than just an affair—it was treason. He backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound as he retreated from the light of the cabin. 

His hands shake as he stands before Damian, recounting everything he’d seen. Damian’s eyes darken at every word, lip stiffening and knuckled whitening as he grips the edge of his desk. “The little bird thinks she can fly away.” he muses, his eyes drifting toward the open window overlooking the woods. A sly sneer curls his lips.“But I don’t think so.”

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

You’re breathless as you arrive at the clearing, cloak pulled tightly around you. You carry a satchel over your shoulder, some supplies from the garden and little things you could take from home that wouldn’t be missed. Charles is waiting for you at the edge of the forest, an almost identical satchel around hung on his shoulder. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice laced with urgency. His hand holds the back of your neck, tilting your face to look up at him. 

You nod. “I don’t care where we go, as long as I’m with you.”

There’s a silent adrenaline in Charles’s chest just waiting to ignite as you begin making your journey through the woods. A feeling he can’t quite shake pools in his gut, but he doesn’t know what it is. The sun has long been gone and you’re guided by the light of the moon. It’s quiet as you walk, both of you too nervous to say anything quite yet, as if any word could break you from this dream that was slowly becoming reality. 

The pit in his stomach only grows the further you walk. He doesn’t regret this, neither do you. But it is as if Fortuna has turned her back on you tonight. 

It happens in seconds, the sound of horses and shouts coming from behind you. Lord Damian. 

“RUN.” Charles urges you, tugging you deep into the forest. Caution is thrown into the wind as you run. That adrenaline is now raging in your chests. You turn into a field, the grass shrubbery as high as your knees as you run to reach the other side where you could lose Damian in the trees. You’re exposed to the air, a clear view of you from where Damian calls for you. You can hear him as he shouts. 

“My little bird, you’ve disgraced our union with your actions. It’s time to return—we’ll marry at first light, before your reputation is further stained. In time, I may find it in my heart to forgive you.”

The words send shivers down your spine. What would he do to you if he caught you? What would he do to Charles?

You’re almost to the trees when you feel your gown catch on a shrubbery, halting your run completely. You pull it away and take a few steps, only to be yanked back, caught on the branches of a fallen tree. There’s panic in your voices as you call for Charles, tugging at it desperately. You can’t think straight. Charles pulls at your gown, trying to set it free. Damian’s creeping up slowly on his house, watching you as you struggle. He’s taunting you. 

You almost don’t feel it—the sudden, sharp sting on your ankle, like a thorn pricking your skin. But then comes the second bite, a searing pain that shoots up your leg. You gasp, Charles finally pulling your gown for the branch. You watch as a viper slithers away, hissing as it disappears from your sight. 

Charles urges you again to keep running, not yet noticing the limp in your step or the blood that's begun seeping from your leg. “Charles,” you whimper as you feel your vision begin to blur. “We’re almost there,” Charles promised, his voice low but urgent. 

You’re so close to the tree line but the world spins around you as you meet his eyes. “A snake, Cha,” you gasp, your chest feeling tight. He drops to his knees next to you, hands cradling your face. His eyes wander down, finally catching the wound. There’s a terror in his eyes, an expression you’ve never seen before. You try to pull yourself up, to stand, to run with him into the trees. If you could only just make it to the trees. But you can’t. There’s a fire burning through your limps, a newfound heaviness. The trees in front of you blur into one as your vision slipped away. 

You can hear Charles pleading with you as your vision goes out. You can feel him crying over you begging you to stay. Don’t go where I can’t follow.

You try to speak, to tell him you were still there but your throat wouldn’t form the words. Gods, no. I love him. But you can’t, Thanatos is already pulling you away. 

Charles feels his heart rip from his chest as he sees the light in your eyes go out. How cruel the gods were to grant you this one chance, only to take it from you in the blink of an eye. He can feel your warmth begin to fade as his shaking hands brush your hair from your face. You’re gone but he can’t help but plead with you over and over again. 

He can almost see the shadows that grow longer over him, Damian and his men drawing close. He had to move—had to escape. But how could he leave you here, alone in the dark?

He lowers you to the ground, closing your eyes as he settles you there. You looked peaceful, so heartbreakingly beautiful. He lingered for a second, fingers reaching into his satchel to pull out a single red carnation. He’d planned to ask you to marry him that day. Now he can only give it to you here as you lie. 

He presses the flower to his lips, tears falling onto the petals before tucking it behind your ear. 

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I swear it. This isn’t the end.”

The sound of Damian’s men grew louder, their shouts drawing nearer. Charles stood, his fists clenched, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He kisses your forehead one last time, turning and disappearing into the forest.

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆・

Charles wanders the woods aimlessly for days, his guilt weighing heavy on his chest as runs. He’s not sure where his feet are taking him—the only thing he knew was there he couldn’t let Damian’s men find him. There’s a faint pounding in his head as his breath comes in ragged gasps, legs burning as he pushes himself forward. He heaves as he ducks into an empty cavern, almost collapsing onto the ground. Tears begin to fill his eyes as catches his breath, mind filling with thoughts of you. Your face is burned into his mind, your smile, your laugh, the way you had once looked at him. And now, you are gone. 

He pulls out his lyre, wincing as he stretches to pull it from its spot slung on his shoulder. His fingers tremble as they find their home on the strings.

The first few notes are soft, trembling like the tears that streak his face. He plays, the gentle melody rising into the air like a prayer. It’s raw, unfiltered, a song born of grief, desperation and loss. The air around him seems to stop, the wind stilling, trees freezing in place. Even the stars he sits under seem to listen to him, weeping with him. 

He’s bathed in silver light that falls from the skies, slowly coalescing into two figures. One is dark and towering, his shadow stretching over the ground like an imposing shroud. The other is radiant, her eyes filling with immense kindness and sorrow. 

The woman calls his name, halting his playing. He’s never seen her before but he knows her name, Persephone, queen of the underworld. His voice is soft as her words gently echo through the air. “Your song has reached even the depths of my realm.”

“You mourn deeply,” observes Hades, his voice a deep, resonant growl. “Few mortals would dare to love so fiercely.”

Charles drops to his knees, clutching his lyre tightly as he does. “Please,” he begs, his voice broken and weak. “If my music has touched even the gods, I only ask one thing. Let me bring her back, I’ll do anything.”

Persephone tilts her head, studying him with endless, violet eyes. “You would risk everything for her?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, his voice now steady despite the tears in his eyes. “I would give my life if it meant hers could be returned.

Hades steps forward, his presence looming. “We are not so generous as to grant such a request freely,” he begins. “But your devotion… it is rare. We will grant you a chance.”

Charles’s breath catches, hope flickering to life in his chest. “What must I do?”

“You will descend to the underworld,” Persephone instructs. “There, you may plead your case for her soul. But beware, mortal. The path is perilous, and the rules are absolute.”

“If she is to follow you back,” Hades continues, his tone dark and heavy, “you must not look back at her until you both have reached the surface. Should you falter—should you give in to doubt—she will be lost to you forever.”

For you, Charles would face anything. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

The path is dark, just as the goddess had promised. Charles stumbles as he enters the cavernous opening in the earth, like the mouth of a beast preparing to devour him. The air seeped out, heavy and damp, cold as it carried disembodied voices. 

The descent was steep, the darkness growing around him, growing thicker with every step. His feet carry him over a winding path of jagged stone but soon there is nothing but smooth obsidian beneath him, slick and unforgiving. His shoes slip on the stone, sliding further into the darkness. He loses himself, focusing only on the path in front of him. He can only think of you, the only thing that pushes him forward. 

His first arrives at the River Styx, the waters swirling endlessly before him. Charon, the ferryman, waits there for him. His hollow eyes watch Charles with disdain, disgusted as he sees the very alive man pleading with him. 

“I have nothing to offer you,” Charles admits, his voice hoarse. He’s thirsty but his fingers dance softly on the chords of his lyre. The notes are rich, weaving a melody of loss and longing. Charon pauses, his skeletal fingers curling back as he listens to the man. 

The ferryman’s expression softens the slightest bit and with a slow nod, he gestures for Charles to board his boat. It rocks under his weight, the journey across the waters eerily quiet, except for the steady splash of Charon’s oar. When they reach the other side, Charles slowly steps out, turning back only to bow deeply to the ferryman in thanks. 

The path takes him to the Fields of Asphodel, where he sees how the dead wander in eternal monotony. Their eyes are sunken and blank, their forms just a little more than shadows of what they had been in life. As Charles passed, many began to stir, drawing to the scuffing of his steps. 

“Play for us,” they whisper, their voice dry like the leaves of fall rustling in the wind. “Play for us and you will pass safely.” 

Though it makes Charles’s heart jump in his chest, he stops to bring the lyre up higher to play. He plays the only tune that comes to his head, the one he had played for you the night you had kissed for the first time. It begins soft as it did before, only growing sadder and he remembers why he’s playing it in the first place. The souls gather around him, their movements slow as they listen. Many weep at the song, their shadows trembling as the last note fades into the dark air. Slowly they part, allowing him to continue. 

It is not long after that that he reaches the palace of the king under the earth. Hades and Persephone wait for him, their thrones looming above him at the end of the hall. The queen looks down at him with sympathy in her eyes contrasted by her husband’s cold and unreadable gaze. 

“You have come far, mortal,” Persephone tells him, her voice soft. “And your music has touched even the dead.”

Hades leans forward, his tone as sharp as the edge of a blade. “We will grant you what you seek. She may return to the world above. But you must remember the condition: you must not look back at her until you both have reached the light of day. Should you fail, she will suffer in the fields of punishment for both of your treacheries.”

“I understand,” Charles said, his voice steady though his heart raced.

You appear just as he turns back toward the path. He hears you call his name, the warning ringing in his mind, don’t turn back. His eyes fill with tears as he feels you press your head to his face, the fabric of his tattered tunic wetting with your tears. Your fingers wrap around his wrist gently as if to tell him, I’m here. 

“I’ll follow where you lead,” you whisper. “Take me home.”

Your ascend begins, each step growing heavier than the other. The patter sounds like a faint drumming that pounds as the terrain changes and changes. Their soft scuffle of your sandals is the only sign Charles knows you’re there. But it doesn’t keep the doubts from slipping into his mind. Is this truly there? Have the gods tricked him?

You eventually reach the obsidian path, the final stretch, Charles thinks. You climb, higher and higher, Charles stopping every now and then to listen for you. 

“It’s ok,” you remind him. “I’m coming.” Though it reassures him momentarily, it soon disappears and he has to stop again. The whispers of the underground grew louder as the light at the top of the tunnel grew larger. They swirled around him, each word needling into his mind. She’s not there. You’re wasting your time. You failed her once already, why would they give her back?

His breath quickens as he doesn’t hear your steps, calling out your name. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Wait for me.” you huff and now he can hear you and your slow steps. You trudge on. His heart screamed at him to look back, even just for a moment, just to be sure. But he doesn’t, he knows he mustn't. 

The light is just ahead now, so close Charles can feel the warmth of the sun. But the silence has returned, making his chest tighten in his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, it was too much. The urge to turn, it consumed him. He finally turns, his body trembling with the effort to resist, as if there was something begging him not to look back. He calls your name as he does, seeing you just a few feet away. 

You were there, alive and just as radiant than the moment he lost you. For a moment your eyes brighten as you meet them, but it doesn’t last long. 

The shadows surround you, wrapping around your legs and torso. 

“Charles, no!” you cry out, your eyes filling with tears. You try to push your legs to walk but with no avail, the shadows holding you in place. Your hand reaches out for his, desperate as they brush the air between you. He takes off in a sprint, lunging towards you. 

He sees the terror in your face as if to say don’t let them take me as the shadows begin to close around your face. It is the expression he saw in the moment just beyond the treeline. And he can’t bear the twisting feeling it creates in his gut. 

The last thing he sees are your eyes, tears steaming and evaporating into the shadows before there's a strong wind, pulling you away and pushing him out into the light. 

Charles awakens to the warmth of the sun as it caresses its cruel hand on his skin. It almost pains him as he opens his eyes and realizes where he’s laying. He sits up, seeing his lyre on the ground before him. Between the strings, there’s a carnation, its stem threaded there. He clutches his chest, gasping as he cries. “Gods, please!” he cries, fingers digging into the dirt beneath him. But there is no one there to hear him. 

☾ ⋆・゚:⋆

From then on, his music changes. People stop asking him to play at their parties, more asking for him to play at wakes or funerals. It still carries magic, and though people still stop and stare,  many say his songs are no longer for this world.  He plays for no one but you now, hoping the gods might take pity on him again. But they never do.

Index:

Apollo - God of the Sun, music, prophecy, healing, and the arts. Eros - Greek god of love, passion, and fertility. Hades - God of the Underworld and the dead, ruler of the realm of the departed. Persephone - Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld. Daughter of Demeter. Dionysus - God of wine, revelry, and ecstasy. Thanatos - Personification of Death. Often depicted as a gentle, peaceful figure who guides souls to the afterlife rather than a force of violence or terror. Nyx- Primordial Goddess of the Night.

a/n: i genuinely have no idea how i got to almost 6k words but if you're here, I wanna say thank you so much for reading. Any feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

[kumezyzo]

masterlist

Images began spreading unlike anything the media had ever really expected. They were all of you and Luigi. Well, really, how could anyone be angry about it? You were both beautiful. Something about the way you looked together was… unlike anyone had seen before

Although, the reason why these pictures were circulating so freely now was… not as wonderful. Luigi had finally been arrested.

There were reporters waiting outside your home now, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, a statement even. They were shameless, really. And the public wasn’t any better, really. Or more so… your coworkers.

You called off of work, even though you weren’t sure if your bank account would appreciate the act of self-preservation. The news had caught wind of your chat with the detectives.

People began to see you as a saint. Others saw you as a liar, even more believed you to be pitiful. You sounded small, desperate even. But they knew for a fact that someone who managed to get a ring from Luigi Mangione would protect him to the ends of the earth.

Regardless of what others believed for you, it was as if your life had truly, finally, fallen apart. You cried upon hearing the news. You didn’t cry because you hadn’t wanted him to get caught. No, you cried because you knew that regardless of the outcome of the court trial, your lives wouldn’t be the same.

That was clear to you because a clip of yours surfaced. It wasn’t yours so to speak, it was one that his sister filmed and you posted to your social medias. The day he proposed.

“Lu, where are we going!” You shouted, giggles falling from your lips as he pulled you ahead of his family. It seemed like he had a sudden surge of energy, grabbing you by your hand as you guys arrived at the park. It was the park he asked your out. It was his sisters idea to take a walk after family dinner.

He suddenly stopped, sending you crashing into him. He laughed as he held you up, steadying your footing. Despite your confusion, you couldn’t help but smile with him. He pressed his lips tenderly against yours. You smiled, hiding your face from his family, who was slowly catching up to you.

“What are you-” You began asking, watching him slowly get down on one knee. You swore you could feel your heart skip too many beats to be medically normal. “Oh, my god.”

Your hands shot up to your mouth as he smiled, opening up the small black box in his hand. Your heart was now beginning to beat out of your chest. Tears began filling your eyes, his only mirroring yours as he opened his mouth to speak.

He spoke your name like it was meant to be said by his lips only, “You are the love of my life. I couldn’t imagine spending the last four years with anyone else. I mean, you’ve been with me through so much and never once complained,” His voice and hands shook as he spoke. Even when he seemed so unsure of his words, his eyes told you everything. He already knew your answer. “I know you’re too good for me, but I can’t possibly imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. So… will you marry me?”

You let out a sob, unable to muster up any words. You could only nod, letting him shakily slip the ring onto your finger. His family began cheering at the sight. He smiled as a tear fell past his cheek. He stood up, engulfing you in a hug. The sheer strength in his hold told you that he more than loved you. It felt like you could live in eachothers skin. He spun you around, happiness and excitement gushing from both of you. 

You let out a watery giggle, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” He said, holding your face in hands before kissing you deeply. You both melted into the kiss, salty tears mingling between your lips.

You still remember that day like yesterday. Watching it from another perspective was just as emotional. Or maybe it was because that time felt like another lifetime. Or maybe because it was being used in edits with the song "Young and Beautiful" by Lana Del Rey.

I've had this in my drafts for a while. but it felt appropriate to continue it now for some reason. 🤷🏽‍♀️ -nony

[shiyorin]

We all know Ultramar is space roman, so Guilliman will definitely have a (lot of) nude statues of him there ⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠). So how do you think he would react to that and what if he caught the Reader staring at it?

#Fast food

#Romcom 40K but of course com is more than rom

#If you squint, you'll see Guilliman x Reader. But yeah, it is Guilliman x Reader

#Crack fic? I don't know

The Fortress of Hera, Macragge - Central Plaza.

The morning sun casts long shadows across the newly unveiled plaza, where a massive statue of Primarch Roboute Guilliman stands in all its… glory. The statue, crafted from the finest marble, towers fifteen meters high, depicting the Primarch in a classical pose reminiscent of ancient Terran sculptures.

You have been standing in the same spot for nearly an hour, head tilted back, eyes fixed on the statue. Your expression is a mixture of fascination and something else entirely.

Guilliman stands beside you, growing increasingly uncomfortable with your sustained attention to his marble counterpart. The statue, while tastefully done, leaves little to the imagination, save for a strategically placed piece of cloth that preserves some modesty.

"Stop staring," Guilliman finally says, his voice strained.

You don't even blink. "I'm not staring."

"You're staring."

"You can't blame me." You tilt your head to the side, squinting slightly. "I mean, the craftsmanship is… impressive. Very impressive."

Guilliman pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's just a statue."

"Mhmm," you hum noncommittally, still not looking away. "Is it… anatomically accurate?"

"AGENT!"

"What? It's a legitimate artistic question!" You gestures dramatically at the statue. "I mean, look at those abs! And that cloth… it's very… strategic."

A group of Ultramarines passing by pretend not to hear the conversation, though their hurried pace suggests otherwise.

"The artist took some creative liberties," Guilliman mutters, his face turning a shade closer to Vulkan's.

You finally tears your eyes away from the statue to look at him, grinning mischievously. "Oh? So you're saying it's not accurate? Because I could always verify-"

"That will not be necessary," Guilliman cuts your off hastily.

"Are you sure? In the name of artistic integrity-"

"Absolutely not."

You turn back to the statue, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "You know, from this angle, it kind of looks like-"

"Don't."

"-the cloth might slip at any moment-"

"I swear by the Emperor-"

"-I mean, what's even holding it up?"

"Divine intervention," Guilliman deadpans.

A passing Chapter Serf nearly chokes at this exchange.

"Really though," You continue, undeterred, "who commissioned this? Because I need to shake their hand."

"Marneus thought it would boost morale," Guilliman sighs.

"Oh, it's boosting something alright." You mumbles under your breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" You says innocently. "Just admiring the… architectural integrity."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Well, I could be more specific about what I'm admiring-"

"Please don't."

You pull out a pict-capture device. "Mind if I take a few shots? For… historical documentation?"

Guilliman snatches the device from your hands. "Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on! Think of future generations!"

"I am thinking of future generations. That's exactly why you're not getting any pictures."

You pout. "Fine. I'll just have to rely on my excellent memory then." You taps your temple. "And let me tell you, this is definitely getting filed away in the 'permanent records' section."

A group of visiting dignitaries approaches, and Guilliman straightens, trying to look appropriately primarch-like. You, however, has other ideas.

"Hey," you stage-whisper, loud enough for several people to hear, "does this mean there's a bathroom somewhere with a smaller version of this statue as a soap dispenser?"

The dignitaries quickly find somewhere else to be.

Guilliman looks skyward, as if seeking strength from the Emperor himself. "Why are you like this?"

"You love it," You grin. Then, after a pause, "Speaking of love, that cloth really doesn't leave much to the imagination about how much you love-"

"That's it." Guilliman grabs you by the shoulders and physically turns you away from the statue. "We're leaving."

"But I haven't finished my artistic analysis!" You protests as you are marched away. "I haven't even gotten to the back view yet!"

"There will be no back view."

"Spoilsport. At least tell me if the sculptor got your butt right-"

"AGENT!"

Extra:

Back in the plaza, you manage to break free from Guilliman's grasp long enough to shout, "You know, if you're worried about accuracy, we could always do a side-by-side comparison!"

The sound of Guilliman's exasperated groan echoes across the plaza, followed by your delighted laughter as you are once again dragged away.

Later that day, several Chapter Serfs notice that someone has placed a "Do Not Lick" sign at the base of the statue.

No one asks who put it there.

No one wants to know why it was necessary.

And if anyone notices an imperial agent sneaking back after dark with a measuring tape, well… some things are better left unreported in the official records of the Ultramarines.

[alexdswfan]

Hange and Levi's first meeting in No Regrets and what it means to Levi

I'd like to talk about a scene in No Regrets that gets brought up sometimes by certain people in the fandom, which is Levi and Hange's first meeting, but I don't think fandom talks enough about the emotional impact this scene must've had on Levi, or why that first meeting is so important to him. This scene always manages to make me feel emotional no matter how many times I think about it, hence why it's my favourite part of the manga, because for the first time since Levi, Furlan and Isabel got in the Survey Corps, someone treated them with kindness and didn't look down on them.

The first thing we can notice from the way Hange approached them is how genuine and excited Hange is with what they achieved with the Titan, making sure to include them all in the achievement and not only Levi as seen here by how Isabel tells Hange that their group is amazing and Hange agreeing with her.

Hange is interested in getting to know more about Levi's strength, but it's in a way where they want to learn from him and get taught by him rather than in an idea of using his strength as a tool. By bringing the other Scouts in the conversation as seen below, Hange encourages Levi to teach them his tricks so they can all have better chances of survival and also kill Titans more efficiently from now on.

Hange wants to get to know Levi as a person first and foremost, which does impact Levi who hasn't really met anyone in the Survey Corps until that point to be interested in himself as a person and not just as a tool, and in his friends too as he's inseparable from them. Hange doesn't forget about them and even includes them in the conversation in their own easygoing way as seen in this panel.

Continuing on this idea, one of the most important parts of this scene is how Hange isn't only friendly with Levi, but they're friendly with Isabel and Furlan too, going so far as to give Isabel a treat for the start of their new friendship. It might not mean much, but for people who recently left the Underground where getting treats was probably a luxury or at best hard to come by, Hange's action will impact them far more than some people might realize. These three have constantly been called thugs or have been disrespected until they showed their technical prowess with Titans during their first expedition, so to see Hange push past that barrier by wanting a genuine friendship with them is such a contrast to the way they have been treated by the others all this time. And even when Levi is curt with Hange, they don't give up, inviting them all to a meal after the expedition is over, which shows how much Hange wants to get to know them better as people, and not only as soldiers skilled with ODM gear.

I think what impacted Levi the most out of that exchange wasn't necessarily that Hange was kind with him. It's definitely important, but when we know how much Levi cares about the ones he loves, how he values their lives much more than his own, it's that Hange was so kind with his friends that really impacted him the most, and I don't think fandom talks enough about it. How affected Levi must've been by Hange's sheer kindness without expecting anything in return from him in a world where that concept simply didn't exist. Levi was being kind with others, but this is the first time we see someone else that isn't part of his group be kind to him in return. I think what Hange did that day for him and his friends meant a lot more to Levi than we realize. Someone in the Survey Corps finally treated them as they should've always been treated, with respect and kindness and not with disdain or even coercion. And Hange isn't bothered by his refusal to communicate with them as seen by Furlan's reply here: "Anyway, Hange doesn't seem particularly bothered."

They respect his boundaries when Levi doesn't feel like answering since he doesn't want to get attached to new people (we know how that plan failed in retrospect, but he still tried), and that's because Hange doesn't try to force anything out of him. They tried and he didn't want to engage, that was fine with them, they'll still want to be his friend in the future regardless of Levi's answer. And I don't think fandom gives enough credit to Hange in this scene.

This scene will forever remain my favourite in No Regrets because it shows just how incredibly kind and friendly Hange was with Levi since the very beginning. Yes, this has to do with Hange's personality, that it's just like them to be attracted by the new outsiders or misfits and try to befriend them, but the important part is that someone at least tried. And it makes total sense how out of everyone we know, it had to be Hange to carry out that role. Someone caring as much about his friends as Levi simply cannot be hated by him. This scene actually destroys that claim even more, because by this definition, Levi would have to hate the first person in the Survey Corps to actually be friendly with his friends, the most important people in his life at that moment in time. It's again completely nonsensical to say that, and I do think the people who keep saying it either have forgotten this scene exists or they'd rather ignore it because it wasn't included in the OVA. But regardless of the reason, the fact remains this scene is part of the No Regrets manga and is important to delve even further into the relationship of Levi and Hange as it presents the blueprint of their relationship. Supportive and caring for each other until the very end.

Edit: I want to add that Levi definitely felt suspicious towards Hange's kindness at first since genuine kindness doesn't exist in his world. Coming from the Underground, he has all the reasons to be suspicious of Hange (as people have pointed it out in the reblogs). That being said, Hange's intention was to be friendly with him without wanting anything in return from that friendship, and I do think Levi was more appreciative of the whole exchange later in time when he got to learn Hange better. I struggle to say that someone who later in the story becomes one of his closest friends tried to be manipulative with him at the beginning of their relationship like the man with glasses from Bad Boy. Levi would never try to befriend such a person in my opinion. But we all know how their relationship grew instead, where their communication skills are beyond anything we've seen in the manga, so in the end, Hange's intention of becoming his friend proved to be genuine despite Levi's first suspicions. Therefore, I respectfully disagree with the interpretation brought forward in the comments that Hange might've been manipulative with Levi and his friends. Hange has no reason to manipulate them. Let's all remember Hange has no clue whatsoever about the subject Levi, Furlan and Isabel discuss beforehand. They're only interested in the group's prowess and efficiency at fighting Titans, and then later in them as people since they're open to a more meaningful friendship with them three. Someone manipulative wouldn't have cared about being friends with them afterwards.

[respectthepetty]

Blue Boy Faifa is the gift that keeps giving in episode fourteen of Perfect 10 Liners because I don't think he is even aware of how flirtatious he comes across ("I'm trying to get you to tell me your name"), yet he leaves the door unlocked for his brother to comfort his future brother-in-law even though he is pissed at Yotha. Once he realizes he wants Wine's attention, he is going to make the best boyfriend!

But Faifa and Wine might need Tawan's help to get there first.

Because he is the love guru whose spidey sense tells him when the color-coded gays are in love.

Tawan got these two opposites together!

And now red is publicly written over Yellow Yal Arm's heart for his Red Rascal Arc.

So now that Black Brooder Yotha is lighter because of Green Guy Gun, this could be them too!

Yotha already put a ring set square bracelet that is reserved for partners on it.

So Gun has permanent real estate on Cloud 9 much to the dismay of his barking Blue Boy besties when Kong seems to have a poly agenda, but Faifa's "Gentleness Shows Strength" shirt is really speaking to who he is as a character.

Because Faifa is still leaving that door open, so his brother and brother-in-law can continue whatever intricate queer ritual Yotha is committed to rather than just realizing he is IN LOVE!

Doesn't mean he isn't judging them when the morning comes.

It must be a Blue Boy thing because Kong is also judging Faifa for being "too friendly" with everyone and their mom, which is only building up more evidence to be *the* problem in the final story of Faifa x WIne.

But as long as these two color-coded boys in love can keep playing the daisy "he loves me… he loves me not" game who cares about some judgy friends.

Because Arm certainly doesn't care that his besties Green Guy Po and Blue Boy Sand are always judging him for being needy and clingy.

But Yotha also has to deal with his brothers and Neutral Newton is anything but neutral.

He is quick to throw Yotha under the bus about his love life, but I'm hoping this dad joins the elite squad of parents with THREE gay sons since Green Guy Po is out there looking for a boo while Newton is sitting there minding other people's business. Make it happen. Amen.

But now I have to see the exact moment Warit ripped Yotha's heart out and stomped on it. I get the reason, but I also get why Yotha is still so hurt by it. Yotha can't trust himself or what it is feeling because what he thought was love was a lie.

Also, Warit has a type, and it's damaged Black Brooder. Look at the pink light hit as they kiss instead of actually discuss their issues!

They are lucky they are beautiful because they are toxic af.

But I'm distracted by Gun, the light of Yotha's life, making a mistake of planning a weekend visit to his family with Yotha without actually speaking to Yotha first. Babe, your man has trust issues. You cannot spring this on him and expect a good response!

Not even Faifa being the one light thing in Yotha's dark room can coax this Black Brooder into trusting his heart again.

Now the usually happy and chill Green Guy Gun has to convince his color-coded buddies that he isn't in pain because Yotha is being distant at the mere suggestion that he wants something more real, yet nobody is convinced. Not at all. Not even a little.

Yotha is soooo light around Gun, but he is so scared to mess this up that he just keeps hurting Gun, and Gun just keeps smiling through it. They are practically wearing the same color, and I'm in a glass cage of emotions.

And Faifa can't really help either one of them through this because he sacrifices so much of himself for others that he ends up the only one suffering each time. Wine, as another Blue Boy, please be gentle with your future Blue Boyfriend. He will literally die if you don't help him.

Because he and his brothers are so traumatized that Yotha thought it was okay to tell Gun that he should leave him if he found someone to love him better, so now he is sitting outside a bathroom in a light shirt but a dark hallway,

While the light of his life is crying inside of it!

AND NOW THE DOOR IS LOCKED AT NIGHT!

BECAUSE GUN HAS LOCKED HIS HEART AWAY FROM THE DARKNESS! NOOOO!

And now Yotha is taking out the tie that has his birthday on it after imagining Gun back in his room. I'm on the floor. I'm crying into the tie. I'm using it like a Puffs Plus with Lotion, and I'm unwell about it!

No. Gun! Don't do that! Don't show that it hurts when Yotha touches you. Don't do that to my heart when you are basically wearing black because you love him. DON'T HURT ME LIKE THIS!

YES!!!! KISS! MAKE UP! BE BRAVE! BE HAPPY! BE LIGHT!

BE IN LOVE!