#it's such an in-character little moment for everyone :3

[mononijikayu]

is it new years yet? — nanami kento.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now." "Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different." “My darling, behave.” “No <3” ".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, secret coworker romance, co-workers to lovers, romance, fluff, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, creampie, p to v sex, stairwell sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my darling, babe, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, actor! nanami kento, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the first fic of 2025!!! this was specifically written because of a conversation between me and @midnight-138 on the afternoon of december 31st 2024. i started progress while on a bus on the way to my grandma's house and for a bit on the 1st. i still wanted to write more for it, but i had to stop because i caught a cold. i still have a cold. and i need a massage cause i feel my body hurt real bad, cause its working hard to save my life from this cold TT TT

but that being said, i shouldn't complain too much. good things have been happening to me despite my problems. i hope that good things continue to come!!! anyway, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy this little fic. happy 2025!!! may good things, good health and happiness come your way always this year!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU AND KENTO GET TOGETHER. But it was to be expected, since you graced the screens since you were a child. Nanami Kento was like that too. Of course, it wasn’t something of a brag at all. It was just your normal.

You were lucky, you were favored like that. Kento was favored just like that. Both of you were so beloved. And especially so, in a way that they end up hoping that you both were together. 

Ever since you worked with him on Jujutsu Kaisen all those years ago, it was just too strong — the chemistry between the two of you. It pulls people in for more. They wanted a story, they wanted something that could ease their days from the mundane boredom that it was to the fun, exhilarating excitement that comes with the tea in both of your private lives.

You didn’t mind, your company didn’t mind either. Neither did Kento or his side of the aisle. It helped that you were both good friends. You had met even before landing your roles on Jujutsu Kaisen, after all. So, the ‘will they, won’t they’ between the two of you really did help your careers.

But of course, just like in Gege–sensei’s scripts, some parts are sentences with too many blank pages. And the wholeness of your relationship with Nanami Kento truly only belonged to you and him. And you were not willing to expose it to the world. Not just yet.

Yet — this does not stop them from trying to do something about that.

The studio buzzed with activity as you adjusted the earpiece in your ear, stealing a quick glance at the veteran actor, singer, producer, writer and entertainment personality that is Nanami Kento.

He stood near the stage, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie a subtle but elegant shade of deep blue,everything about him just exuded a quiet confidence that made it hard for anyone to look away. 

You, however, knew better than to let your gaze linger too long. You knew too well that those are reserved for just him and you to interpret and to see. No one else should. You were as possessive about your private moments as he was. But you would never say that outloud and neither will he.

“Can you believe these two again?” a stagehand whispered slowly, behind you. It was still, of course, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s like they were made for this. If they don’t end up together after tonight, I’ll lose faith in love. Really!”

You bit back a laugh, focusing on your notes. No one knew the truth, after all. That you and Kento were already together had been for a while now. Not even your publicists or managers — hell, not even your entertainment companies, knew that this was for genuine actuality, a real thing now. But you and him liked it that way.

You had let your fans go wild with their theories over the years of course. Every post, every comment, every little interaction, every collaboration, every press tour — almost everything seemed to spark a new wave of speculation and fan shipping. 

For years now, the internet was rife with hashtags like #OurSecretLovers and #MrAndMrsNanami with fans pouring over every detail like it's an investigatory report they were doing, a documentary study. You had to admit, it was amusing at times, watching people try to connect dots they couldn’t see. 

Nanami Kento had a reputation for being rather serious, because he gets roles in that league often. But he was a silly little man, well your silly little man. And he often had the knack for finding the most random, yet oddly endearing, posts about the two of you on Twitter. During your five-minute breaks between shoots, when you were in separate rooms or on different sets, his messages would pop up on your phone, accompanied by a link and a deadpan caption.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now."

"Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different."

“My darling, behave.”

“No <3”

".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

You’d giggle to yourself, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to draw attention. It didn’t matter how serious the production you were working on either. He had a way of making you laugh even from miles away. And that relaxes you a lot.

When it was your turn, you’d send him TikToks. Fancam edits of the two of you together had exploded in popularity as of late, especially since you both played a married couple who were spies deceiving each other recently. People thought he looked so good, especially when he had his shirt off. You loved teasing him about it. After all, he was really pretty hot in those scenes. And if you were being honest, they did in fact rile you up.

"Look at us, babe." you texted once, attaching a video with dramatic lighting, a love song playing over clips of you two stolen from interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. "We’re icons."

His reply came almost immediately: "Icons, sure. But I’m just a guy who got lucky enough to be yours, you know?"

Those words made your heart swell every time. He’d always been effortlessly humble, never letting fame or admiration inflate his ego, even as his star rose. After all, you were the senpai here—the darling of the Japanese screen since childhood. 

You’d grown up in the industry, your name synonymous with household stardom. He, on the other hand, had been a late bloomer, starting as a teenager and building his career with quiet determination.

He never let the difference in your status get in the way, though. If anything, it only made him more in awe of you. He’d often remind you how much he admired your grace, how you’d navigated the pressures of fame with a poise that still left him speechless.

“You’ve been dazzling audiences since you were a kid.” he’d say, his voice warm with pride. “I’m just lucky to share the screen with you now and your life.”

And you’d roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kento. You’re a fan favorite for a reason.”

“Maybe.” he replied with a soft smirk. “But you’re my favorite. And that’s what matters.”

No matter how busy your schedules got, those small exchanges, be it a funny link or a sentimental text, every bit of this kept you connected. It reminded you both that beneath the glitz and glamour, what truly mattered was the quiet, enduring love you shared.

You were out of your bubble soon enough when Kento suddenly caught your eye from across the room, offering a small, reassuring smile and then a small gentle nod. You felt your cheeks turn red but lowered your head immediately before anyone was to notice. He was too good at making you feel like this. And certainly so, he was hiding his smirk under his cue cards.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the director called.

You finally stood up from your chair, taking a deep breath and calmed down. You gave yourself one more look in the mirror, trying to make sure that your cheeks were natural now. When you felt like it was, you smiled at your manager who handed you the mic and swiftly thanked them. You went to your position. Kento soon approached, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” you replied, flashing him a smile.

You were grateful for the reassurance. Even if you were already such a big name, you still did get nervous. And even more so, with such a big show like this — the New Year Countdown, of course you could feel yourself slipping.

The two of you took your positions on stage as the lights dimmed and the opening music swelled. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he fixed himself up, your pinkies touching. Even briefly, you could feel the warmth. He did that on purpose. You could see it in his caramel eyes. 

You let a brief smile echo on your lips. You gathered yourself as the lift came up slowly. When you both were in the sight of the gathered audiences and the cameras started to broadcast it all live, you both slipped effortlessly into your roles. After all, you both were professionals.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to this year’s New Year’s Eve Countdown!” you began, your voice bright and enthusiastic.

“Thank you for joining us as we bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.” Kento added, his tone smooth and polished.

Your banter flowed naturally, as always. That well beloved chemistry between you is still ever so undeniable. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him; he was your partner in every sense of the word. And that made your job tonight a little bit easier.

But of course, the real challenge was hiding the little moments that threatened to give you away that bit you kept so dear to you. You just can't help it when it comes to him. He has such a powerful pull on you and he knows it.

There were those little lingering glances, watching and feeling the way his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a card, the subtle softness in his smile when he looked at you. After all, this is the longest you could be together in your very busy schedules this year.

Still, you kept yourself in that cage. And so did he, despite his lack of patience when it comes to you and everything about you. As the night progressed, the energy in the studio grew electric.

Various music performances lit up the stage, and interviews with special guests kept the crowd engaged. Throughout it all, you and Kento remained the perfect duo—professional, poised, and completely in sync.

After nearly a few hours of composure, it came almost all too suddenly. In just a few moments, the final countdown approached, and the excitement was palpable. The two of you stood at the center of the stage, along with the other participants for this year’s event. In front of you, the crowd behind you cheering wildly, waiting excitedly for the new year.

“Here we go!” you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

Kento leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing great, darling..”

Your heart fluttered, but you kept your composure. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

The countdown soon began.

You took a breath, looking at the screen.

You held your cue cards tightly to you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The lights soon dimmed, and the giant screen behind you displayed the numbers as they ticked down. The crowd’s voices grew louder with each second. The emotions coming through you were indescribable. Another year had gone by. But he was still by your side, like this. And all you could pray for as the time passed into a new age — that you would always be together.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Confetti soon rained down, and the studio erupted in cheers. You turned toward Kento, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you disappeared. The look in his caramel eyes was unmistakable—warm, tender, and filled with a quiet pride that made your chest tighten.

But just as quickly, the moment passed, and you both turned back to the crowd, waving and smiling as the cameras captured every angle. People of course started to pay less attention to you both and the stage and more onto the fireworks now blurring the sky with its bright hues. You and Kento made a steady exit off the stage. 

“Another successful project, isn’t it?” you said, breaking the silence as you leaned against the wall.

Kento smirked faintly, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to loosen his tie. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks, you know?”

“And shipping us even harder, hm.” you added with a laugh.

“They’ll never know, though.” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. His fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else could. “They don’t need to, babe.” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “This is ours.”

Kento’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

“Happy New Year.” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You had thought it would end there, sweet and innocent. You had thought you both were safe for one more year. But when you two are together after a long time…..it was a whole new animal. And nothing can stop such a wave in high tide from occupying something whole. 

The next tithing you know is that the internet exploded the moment the photos dropped. Headlines blared across every platform, hashtags like #FINALLYOMG and #NewYearNewScandal trending within minutes after they were taken.

The pictures were pretty damning. They were blurry but unmistakably you, disheveled and wrapped in Nanami’s coat, your hair a mess. And him? A rare sight indeed.

It was none other than Nanami Kento, usually the epitome of composure, looking uncharacteristically undone. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the telltale bruises blooming on his neck left little to the imagination.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the coffee table as you buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Kento sat unbothered, calmly sipping his tea like the world wasn’t on fire—or at least your career’s PR team.

“I told you we should’ve been more careful, babe.” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quivering into a teasing smile. “You were the one who couldn’t wait with it, y'know?” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with an elegant clink.

His tone was infuriatingly calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Who was it again, begging me to fill you up? By round two, you were going—‘Kento, I need you. Right here. Right now.’ and I was happy to heed the request like always.”

Your scarlet blush was immediate, your head snapping up to glare at him. “Kento!” you hissed, glancing around the living room as if someone could overhear, even though it was just the two of you. “Not helping!”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with the air of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’m just stating the facts about, I'm the same.” he said with a shrug, his smirk widening as you shot him another flustered look. "That's not a bad thing."

Your phone buzzed again on the table, your manager’s name flashing on the screen. You sighed, picking it up only to immediately huff and toss it back down. “This is really…” you trailed off, searching for the right word but settling on a frustrated groan instead.

“Chaotic? Consequential? Hilarious?” Kento offered, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You shot him a glare that was far more affectionate than threatening. “Horrible. That’s the word. This is horrible.”

He chuckled, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on your knee. “Darling, it’s not the end of the world. Scandal or not, we’ll deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say.” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Your team probably thinks this is great publicity for your brooding, mysterious heartthrob image. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting texts about how unprofessional it looks for ‘Japan’s sweetheart’ to be caught sneaking around with hickeys and wearing her boyfriend’s coat.”

“Unprofessional?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “It’s not like we committed a crime. We’re adults in a committed relationship. And in any case my darling....….” he added, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You look adorable in my coat.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me. Very much." he quipped, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, instead letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh. “Next time, though….really.....” you muttered. “We’re finding a stairwell without photographer cameras.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Noted.”

As you leaned against your lover, the memory hit you both like a freight train, vivid and unrelenting. It had started innocently enough—or as innocently as it could between the two of you. The countdown show had gone off without a hitch, and the studio was still buzzing with post-show chaos. 

You both talked for a bit, had a cute moment and then went back to your professional mode when everyone started to surround you both again. It was like a switch, and it was easy. No one suspected a thing.

You went ahead into the dressing room, you talked with everyone. You’d been polite and professional, thanking the crew and chatting with some of the guests. But the moment Nanami Kento had caught your eye as you left the green room, something in his caramel gaze had made your pulse quicken.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Between his packed schedule and yours, the countdown project had been the only excuse to be in the same room together. The public facade you maintained only added to the frustration. Every fleeting touch, every shared look—it all built up, an unbearable tension neither of you could ignore.

So, when he’d quietly grabbed your hand and guided you down a quiet, rarely-used stairwell in the building when no one was looking, you hadn’t protested. You were excited, happy even. This was the chance to feel him again this close to you. 

And you were glad for that opportunity. You could feel his touch be so genuine and warm despite the heavy chill in the air, and the firm grip of his fingers around yours sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Darling, I missed you, really.” he murmured as soon as you were alone.

His voice low and rough, filled with a longing that made your knees weak. His hands cupped your face with a reverence that always left you breathless, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was searing, his lips melding with yours as though it had been an eternity since your last stolen moment together.

The cold winter air bit at your exposed skin, but his touch set you alight. His coat had slipped from his shoulders in a quiet, unspoken gesture, draped over yours as his lips moved to your neck. The kisses were hot, open-mouthed, and deliberate, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin before his teeth grazed your pulse.

“Kento, babe….” you gasped, your voice trembling from a mix of the frigid air and the heat of his attention. Your fingers clutched the lapels of his suit, trying to ground yourself against the onslaught of sensations.

“Shh, just enjoy it......” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. 

His hands slid down your sides, firm but gentle as they gripped your thighs. Without hesitation, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the wall. The rough texture scraped against your coat, but you barely noticed, too focused on the way his body pressed into yours.

His strength always caught you off guard, even after all this time together. Your eager legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he stepped between them, his body fitting against yours like a missing piece.

“Babe!” you breathed again, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He kissed you like a man starved, his lips leaving your neck to reclaim your mouth. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him. He was hungry, perhaps even more than you were. But you had expected that. He has a habit of yearning to touch you a lot.

“I hate not being able to touch you, with all the schedules we fucking had.” he muttered against your skin, the words tinged with frustration and longing. “Hated every fucking minute of it……”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tugged him closer. “Then don’t stop, babe.” you whispered, the plea soft but desperate. “Cause….I need you badly too. I need you so bad in me—”

He growled softly, the sound rumbling against your throat as his touch shifted. One hand remained steady on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, while the other slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers were deliberate, pushing aside the delicate lace of your panties with practiced ease.

When his fingers slipped through your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall. He groaned softly, the sound low and satisfied as he gathered your arousal, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“You’re already so ready for me, aren’t you, my darling?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers moved with precision, finding the spot that made you arch into him.

The cold air around you was a stark contrast to the heat building between you, the quiet of the stairwell broken only by your uneven breaths and his whispered praises. It was reckless, indulgent, and utterly intoxicating—just like him.

“Kento, babe….oh!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his fingers continued their unrelenting rhythm. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure began to build within you.

“Shh, darling.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing back to your neck. His voice was low and soothing, laced with a quiet intensity that only made your pulse race faster. “You’ll have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he added a second finger. The stretch was delicious, his movements slow and deliberate, coaxing you higher with every stroke. His thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, and your thighs instinctively clenched around his waist.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my good little lover, hm? My only beloved darling.” he murmured, his praise sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “So perfect for me.”

Your fingers slid up into his messy blond hair, tugging gently as your body arched against him. The rough texture of the wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his touch, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Kento, please, b–babe….oh!” you breathed, the words barely audible as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to his eager lips. “M–more…..more!”

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient, aren’t you? Greedy too.” he teased, though his fingers quickened their pace, curling just right to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. “I missed seeing you like this, so needy for me.”

The heat pooling in your core intensified, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—” you began, but the words dissolved into a strangled gasp as he pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, pretty for me, so fucking pretty." He says, coaxing you like a pied piper. His voice was low and intoxicating. Everything about it just burns you as much as his touch did. "I’ve got you. Always.”

With one final stroke, the beautiful echo, that blossoming coil inside you just snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body tensed, your thighs tightening around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that escaped your lips.

He held you through it, his fingers slowing their movements as your body shook with aftershocks. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing soothing kisses against your temple.

When you finally relaxed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with affection.

You nodded, still too dazed to form words. He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you as he gently set you back on your feet. Your legs wobbled like jello against him, and he immediately steadied you, his hands firm but gentle on your waist.

“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, babe.” you managed, your voice breathless but steady. “More than fine.”

His lips quivered into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

As the reality of your surroundings sank back in, you couldn’t help but glance around, the abandoned stairwell suddenly feeling far less private. “We should… probably get back, babe.” you said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

He followed your gaze, his expression calm and unbothered. “Let them wonder where we went.” he said simply, shrugging off the concern as he adjusted his coat around your shoulders. "It's none of their business."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the mischievous glint in his eyes stopped you cold. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he was guiding you gently back against the wall. His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, igniting the fire he’d only begun to stoke. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth chasing away the chill of the stairwell as he pressed his body firmly against yours.

“Kento, babe.” you murmured, a weak attempt to regain your composure, but he silenced you with a kiss that left no room for argument. 

“I missed you, a damn whole lot.” he said, his voice low and filled with longing as his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly once more. "Like I always do."

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heart pounding as the desire you’d both tried to suppress flared back to life. He pressed against you, the hardness of his arousal undeniable even through the fabric of his pants. The teasing grind of his hips against yours drew a gasp from your lips, and he smirked, his composure slipping just enough to show his need.

"Really....." Kento effortlessly whispered to you, his voice vibrating onto you like a wave crashing onto you at sea. "We shouldn't schedule much this New Year, hm? So we can be together."

"Hm.....Kento." You echo back to him, intoxicated by his touch. "'ake time....for me, okay? I'll.....I'll do the same."

“That's the plan already, you know?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he shifted, his hands tugging at the barriers between you. “Let me take care of you, like I always do.”

Soon after that, you could feel the wet, thick head of his member pressed against your entrance, the heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as he began to push in slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.

It was too good, too damn easy to fall into a high to. You could feel the stretch inside of you, it made you so full. Everything about it was intoxicating, your body yielding to him as he filled you inch by inch, your walls clinging to every part of him like he was made to fit. 

It was like he was trying to make a home inside of it. Inside of you. And it just made you feel so good. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he buried himself deeper.

“Darling.” he muttered, his voice strained and low. “You feel so perfect.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as your body adjusted to the delicious fullness. The sensation was overwhelming, the slight ache quickly giving way to a heat that spread through your entire body.

“Kento.” you breathed, the sound a mix of plea and surrender.

His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, the motion slow but unyielding. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the friction only made you crave more.

“God, this is so…..you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with need. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go slow like this with you.”

“Don’t, babe.” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

His carmel eyes darkened almost instantly at your words, a flicker of something primal overtaking his usual control. With a growl, he began to move in earnest, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the stairwell, a symphony of shared desire that neither of you could hold back.

The rough texture of the wall behind you only heightened the sensation, grounding you as he took you apart piece by piece. You could feel your back burn against the concrete wall as you throw your head back against it. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body claimed yours.

“Darling, my pretty baby darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged and desperate. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes, babe. Yours….O–oh…only! Only yours!” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as he kissed along your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. 

The coil in your core once more tightens with every spark you feel as he pushes deeper over and over in a fast pace. Everything about the pleasure you feel keeps building to an almost unbearable peak. It just felt too good. He felt too good.

His pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as his control began to slip. One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it in quick, precise circles.

You cried out, your body arching into him as the tension finally snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching tightly around him as your release tore through you.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m close!” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he shuddered against you, his body going taut as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared, labored breathing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle as they smoothed over your thighs and waist, grounding you both.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern despite the lingering haze of pleasure in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gently setting you back on your feet. His hands remained steady on your waist, holding you as your legs wobbled beneath you. You leaned into him, your breath uneven, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course. 

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded, and neither had yours. The raw desire that simmered between you was far from sated, and you both knew it. Kento’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing soft, teasing circles against your hips as he studied your flushed face. 

“I just think that I…..” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I still want more.”

You barely had time to process his words before your lover’s lips were on yours again, roughly consuming you in a kiss that was as demanding as it was all encompassing. Your hands quickly found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. Your body instinctively responds to the magnetic pull of his, over and over.

“We shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s going to make people suspicious.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, his smirk returning as his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing up your thighs. “But repercussions are damned when we’re hungry. I can’t stop. I know you won’t too..”

The wall pressed against your back once more as he claimed you all over again, the cool stairwell air doing nothing to cool the fire that raged between you. It was reckless, but neither of you cared. Not here, not now. Hunger demanded to be fed, and with Nanami Kento, you were always insatiable.

After a while, you were both removed from the plane of normalcy and you were both panting with joyous weariness. He presses a kiss against your jaw as you keep a steady bite on his neck. He grumbles against you as he gathers himself from seeing stars. You follow him soon after. You released his neck and started kissing his lips once more. 

When you both found yourself satisfied, you both started to make yourselves as presentable as possible. Well, at least what remains presentable and salvageable for both of you. Kento ripped too much of your outfit as much as you did. Still, you both did not care. 

“We should get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his tone tender as he placed his coat on your shoulders and adjusted it tenderly on you, to keep you warm. “I’ll call my car and then we’ll just hop in there. We’ll go to my hotel, okay?”

You nodded again, your cheeks flushing as the reality of your surroundings began to sink in. But as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the main building, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of contentment.

Of course, things too did not go the way you both wanted once again. You didn’t know that there were many SNS photographers  and gossip journalists waiting to catch some other celebrity in that area where Kento’s car was going to be. And that’s just how you were caught, not thinking about the logistics of it all. 

But how could you? It was New Years. 

You just got mindlessly blown with really, really, really good sex.

And you were together once again with your lover.

How could you think about anything else after all that? 

Now, back in the present, the two of you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment. Nanami Kento’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to your frazzled nerves. You sighed, looking up to your lover who presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You know this is going to be everywhere, babe.” you said, gesturing toward your phone.

He set his tea down and leaned back, regarding you with a look of quiet amusement. “Let them talk, darling. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You groaned. “Eventually I didn't need to include hickeys and a ruined coat. And oh god….. was I leaking your cum?” 

You took your phone once again to inspect, but your lover took your phone with his free hand and put it away. You looked at him, almost sulky as one would look as a child. He laughs. He presses another kiss on your hair. Kento couldn’t help but smirk. Both acts had made your heart skip a beat. 

“You look good in my coat though. I could hardly care if my cum was dripping out, darling.” he said simply. “I’m pretty sure I look just as ridiculous. You mauled my neck so happily after that first round.”

“You  do look like you’ve been ravaged.” you shot back, though your cheeks burned at the memory. “I mean, it made sense at the time….I was hungry.”

“Hm, I don’t blame you.”

You sighed. “We’ll contact our PR and everyone later, okay?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm.”  he said softly, his voice filled with the steady reassurance you’d always loved about him. “We’ll be fine, okay? I don’t care as long as I am with you.”

You sighed, leaning into his warm touch. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze warm. “I don’t mind. As long as we're happy together, I say let them say whatever they want.”

You blinked at him. “You think so?”

“Hm.” He smiles at you. “Because no one will truly know who you are to me. That’s only mine. They’ll have a headline, but I’ll have the whole spreadsheet.”

You feel like your heart is melting with his tenderness. “I love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your lips, smiling wider at you.

And just like that, the storm outside felt a little less overwhelming.

[rutobuka2]

I've been wanting to ask for a while but never was brave enough to. I'm not a very good artist myself but whenever I try to do a comic by the second panel; my art, mind and hand are all worn out from doing one panel.

How do you keep your panels and art style so consistent throughout the comic?

hi!! thank you for being brave to talk to me! I really enjoy discussing technique!

I think comics seem simple and easy to make, but they're a looong process.

👉First of all: start small. like, ONE page small. TWO pages, etc. just tell one joke, or one kiss, etc. it'll make the entire process less daunting. but do think of the beats of the story like...

1- character A is doing a thing 2- character B makes a comment 3- character A gets embarrassed

/ end

something simple, but you can cut up each little beat into two panels if you like, or just keep it at 3 and explain more with the dialogue.

👉for the drawing part, you should really start with a really ugly basic sketch to outline what kind of dialogue and story progression you want to make on each page.

this is a sketch of page 11 of my Bunny Crossing comic:

as you can see, I put a lot of focus on drawing the more delicate moment where Bilbo notices Thorin remembered the comment, so I just actually drew his face in detail there. But the rest was just enough for me to know later where each character is, or if I needed to draw a background, where the dialogue should go, and such.

👉divide your work into days. if it makes you exhausted, you can take one entire day to draw the rough sketch. Then, another day for the dialogue and speech bubbles. Then, another day to actually draw the panels and the more polished sketches of each character. Then, another day for the lineart. Then, shading. etc.

👉try drawing grayscale first. Don't add colors until you're sure you'll have the energy to finish it! It'll get you used to the process, you'll iron out any errors easier.

👉consistency comes from the process itself. I try to be careful while drawing the sketches for my panels, because a good sketch can help you so much in the long run!

👉look for reference on other people's work! manga artists and western artists have loads of footage of themselves drawing online, you'll get inspired for sure!

I hope this helped a little bit! Do respect your own rhythm! 💖 also, if it doesn't help, not everyone likes to draw comics, and that's ok! It IS a very repetitive process. static illustrations are amazing too, and I envy the skill!

[jules-writes-stories]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

Thank you to everyone who tagged me! I'm sorry this is late. I've been working on it for days. It's really long.

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

366,893

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

9!

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

I have 1 WIP: A Love That Bleeds and a Koschei x Eris fic that's not posted yet (but close to drafted).

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

I love all my babes equally, but I am most proud of Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows, which was my first fan fic, and a true labor of love.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

Monster feels different from a lot that I've written. It's pre-cannon and examines Lucien and Eris's relationship, and is not ship-centered.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

My Azris modern AU The Night Court Lounge really took me by the throat. It was supposed to be a slutty little spite fic and then it just took off. The boys caught feelings and I caught feelings. But I have @pippsmcgee to thank for hyping that story up. She was the brain child behind a big plot point, the pet names, and just talked me through positions and timing and what ifs... truly a gift.

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Hmmm... not sure? Maybe my Amarantha x OC fic? It's hard to write pre-canon stories, especially for a villain! A Love That Bleeds is pretty dark and touches upon themes of slavery, love and autonomy, and is different from much that I write. But I am so proud of it.

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

There are too many talented artists to list. Here are a few: @nus4y who makes Azriel's skin literally glow and everything just screams passion. LOOK AT HIS BRILLIANCE on A03 (NSFW)

@queercontrarian never fails to surprise me. Their take on the Court fashions, hair styles, jewelry. So much diversity and representation. THIS is one of my all time favorites. THEEESAN.

@palomita-de-la-sangre whose style is so unique and gorgeous and raw. This is what I mean.

@seihdacalling is immensely talented! Her Eris and pups and JEL Eris? AND LOOK AT MITHRAS (my beloved OC).

@bloodyplunder whose work is so passionate and full of color and movement. LOOK at this! AND (NSFW) LOOK AT JEL CHAPTER 25 on AO3!

@fourteentrout is inspired and talented. And all around incredibly kind and supportive. Just brilliant. LOOK AT FIRE SPRITE ERIS

@laxibbeb creates characters' faces in a way that hold so much emotion. NESTA is a favorite, omg... and AZRIEL IN STIRRUPS.

@elleybug @chunkypossum @lucychanart (who made me a Tamsand believer. God, this one?) so many more...

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

There are SO many. First and foremost, @chunkypossum who welcomes new creators with so much warmth and support. Every single story. Every word is magical. @iftheshoef1tz is another legend who is so kind and warm and wickedly talented. Every single story is perfection. Will they adopt me as my Azris parents? Maybe. Congrats! It's a shoe-possum!

@the-darkestminds is truly someone I could write a book about. The emotions she brings out with her characters and words will leave you breathless. If you want to feel, read her stories. You will walk away so full of every emotion, but also with a newfound appreciation for each character. And @mistandmemories whose Eris is the funniest, most clever, most lovable in the biz. Her Azriel makes me laugh constantly. How you ask? Shenanigans. Windows, pants, awkward moments of self doubt and a precious inability to communicate. Go read it. The plots, the politics. The WIT. The decades of delicious edging. (It was several chapters but gods it felt like a lifetime).

These two have been writing their own multi-chapter fics beside me this year, and without their friendship and support, I probably wouldn't have finished. ILY!

@pippsmcgee will never be rid of me and my neurotic little paws. This one just looks at a story, a character, a scene, and says "you know what will make it even more (painful, sexy, exciting)?" And you better listen. But she also wrote a beautiful story about young Azriel that inspired me so much this year.

@shadowsandlint is full of talent-- Her prose is layered with meaning and flows so naturally. I can't put her stories down.

@zenkindoflove For her OC Alexius, who is my baby forever and ever. Creating an OC is gutsy and brave and takes so much talent. She's got it all. Also stunning world building and dialogues! And don't get me started on Elucien...

@talibunny30 For her depictions of young Nesta and her OC Boudica. She shows so much of Nesta's trauma in a thoughtful and honest way. I love it!

@neciebee whose writing is like poetry. Every time I read it I'm like, wait! Come back. Tell me more. I want... more? Gimme!

@witch-and-her-witcher whose fics are so magical. Her Nessian is my all time favorite. Nesta, Cassian, the Illyrian culture that she built for us. Just stunning.

@born-to-riot for VAMREN. But also sexy plots, hilarious shadows, and fluffy Azris moments we need.

@acourtofladydeath for writing pieces that challenge readers to sit with uncertainty-- gray characters and grief that lingers but also carry lessons and hope.

@secret-third-thing for such perfect storytelling-- every word matters and every image counts. The descriptions and details are exact, the settings are lush and imaginative. Also, Artaban.

I could keep going... If you are not on this list, but I've commented or left kudos or bookmarked your fic, you've left a mark. If not, I'm coming for you in 2025!

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

@g00seg1rl who writes smut like a witch. A very sexy witch. @nus4y who is another sexy witch? Watch out for these two. @jolenes-library is so talented! Motorcycle Azris AU. Enough said. @buffy-vanserra whose prose is beautiful. Every word matters. @clockwork-ashes has so many lovely pieces I couldn't choose just one. @unanswered-stars for those damn letters. You know the ones. I'm still crying. @yanny-77 : Best Elain in the biz. And the Lip Ring.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

@brunetterebel010 @mistandmemories and I wrote A Solstice Carol. It started as a lot of joking about Rhys being Scrooge. And it became a true passion project! @talibunny30 helped with brainstorming ideas and beta reading, and @fieldofdaisiies and @pippsmcgee beta read.

Also my partner in crime in all Azris fics: @pippsmcgee who talks me through plotting the political animal, asks the important questions, and twists the knife of angst. She keeps my eyeball obsession in check.

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

I'm most proud of Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows. It really is silly, but finishing it, right at the end of 2024, and looking back at all the new friends I've made along the way, and how it has touched other people just makes this year feel special.

Thank you so much to @pippsmcgee for helping me land that plane. And for being my very first comment, ever. When I saw you and @talibunny30 and @neciebee were reading, I felt legit. And to @mistandmemories and @the-darkestminds who were on this journey with me. It was so important to walk beside you during it all!

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

Write was brings you joy. Comparison is the thief of that joy. You can only write your own story, and it's ok if it's not for everyone. Because a story that is everyone's is probably no one's, you know? It will reach the people it needs to.

Outlines are important (for my process). They saved my ass so many times. And beta readers. And friends. And reader-readers. They all saved me too.

14. What is your advice?

Surround yourself with people who cheer you on. Be sure to support other creators. The community aspect of fandom is important. We're all just out here putting our hearts onto the screen and hitting Post.

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

Finish A Love That Bleeds, Finish my Koschei x Eris fic, and start plotting out a longer Azris multi-chapter fic. It's a little seed right now, but one day soon...

[glowettee]

hi there! i love your content and was wondering if you’ve made or plan to make a “how to romanticize chores”, or something about romanticizing your work, for those of us who are out of school / in the work force? TIA (: <3

ೀhow to romanticize work and choresೀ

hi angel! 🌸 thank you for being so sweet!! i absolutely adore the idea of romanticizing chores and work, especially for those of you who are no longer in school and navigating through the workforce. i think this concept can apply to everyone, no matter where they are in life. we all deserve to find beauty and joy in the little things we do every day.

romanticizing your work or chores isn’t about pretending everything is perfect, it’s about shifting your perspective and finding small, meaningful ways to make your daily tasks feel more special. it’s about creating moments of joy and treating yourself with love and care, even when you’re doing something as simple as folding laundry or answering emails.

first, let’s talk about mindset. one of the biggest lessons i’ve learned (and something i’m sure applies to work life too) is that your attitude matters so much. instead of thinking “ugh, i have to do this,” try reframing it to “i get to do this.” even the most mundane tasks can feel different when you approach them with gratitude. for example, when i’m cleaning my room, i remind myself that i’m creating a cozy, peaceful space for myself. if you’re working, think about how your efforts contribute to your goals, your growth, or even just your ability to support yourself and those you love. it’s not about forcing positivity!! it’s about finding meaning in the little things.

next, let’s make the environment dreamy. i truly believe that aesthetics have the power to transform how we feel about tasks. for chores, light a candle with your favorite scent or play a soft, romantic jazz playlist in the background. for work, create a workspace that feels like a sanctuary. add a vase of fresh flowers, a cute mug for your coffee, or even just organize your desk so it feels inviting. i know it sounds simple, but these little touches can make such a difference in how you feel while you’re working.

another tip is to romanticize the process, not just the outcome. instead of rushing through your tasks, try to slow down and be present. notice the way warm water feels on your hands while washing dishes, or the satisfying sound of typing on your keyboard. i know it might sound silly, but when you focus on the sensory details, even the simplest tasks can feel more meaningful. this is something i practice when i’m studying, i try to enjoy the process of learning, not just the results.

you can also turn chores or work into rituals. for example, if you’re doing laundry, make it a cozy moment by folding clothes while watching your favorite movie or sipping tea. if you’re answering emails, set a timer, put on a calming playlist, and reward yourself with a little treat when you’re done. rituals give structure to your day and make even the most ordinary tasks feel intentional and special.

one thing i’ve learned from my psychology studies is that humans thrive on small rewards. so, give yourself permission to celebrate the little wins. finished a big project at work? treat yourself to your favorite dessert. cleaned the house? take a bubble bath. these rewards don’t have to be extravagant, they just need to remind you that your efforts are worth celebrating.

lastly, remember to romanticize yourself in the process. dress up a little, even if you’re just working from home. wear comfy yet cute clothes while doing chores. play music that makes you feel like the main character of your life. the way you present yourself to the world (and to yourself) can have such a big impact on how you feel.

romanticizing your work or chores isn’t about ignoring the hard parts of life. it’s about finding beauty and joy where you can. it’s about making the most of your daily routines and treating yourself with the love and care you deserve. so, even if you’re scrubbing floors or working on spreadsheets, know that you’re doing amazing, and you deserve to feel good about it.

sending you all the love and dreamy vibes! ✨

xoxo, mindy

quick tips for romanticizing your daily tasks! 🤍

create a morning ritual that feels like self care

invest in pretty organizational tools

make a workspace playlist for different moods

use your favorite scented products while cleaning

treat yourself to cute office supplies

keep fresh flowers or plants nearby

write your to-do lists in a beautiful journal

take mindful breaks with your favorite drink

dress in a way that makes you feel confident

create evening routines that feel peaceful

use soft lighting instead of harsh overheads

organize your space in an aesthetic way

set tiny rewards for completing tasks

document your progress in a pretty way

make your lunch break feel special

use beautiful containers for storage

create seasonal touches in your workspace

keep inspirational quotes nearby

make cleaning feel like a reset ritual

celebrate small wins with little treats

turn mundane tasks into mindfulness moments

add personal touches to your workspace

keep comfort items close by

make your desk feel like a sanctuary

use timers to create focused work periods

quick tips for making chores feel magical! 🤍

- light a vanilla candle while doing dishes

- use pretty cleaning supplies in pastel colors

- create a special cleaning outfit that makes you feel cute

- make a "cleaning day" playlist with dreamy songs

- invest in aesthetic storage solutions

- turn laundry time into a cozy movie moment

- use sweet-scented cleaning products

- take aesthetic photos of your clean space

- reward yourself with a bubble bath after cleaning

- make your cleaning caddy look pinterest-worthy

- pretend you're in a soft, aesthetic montage

- use pretty baskets for organizing

- make your bed like it's a luxury hotel

🌸 love, mindy

[kittenintheden]

Silver Swords & Dragonfire

It's been fifteen years since the Battle of Baldur's Gate and the fall of the Absolute. Lae'zel joined forces with Orpheus and has been plotting Vlaakith's downfall. They will travel to the githyanki city of Tu'narath in the Astral Sea and they will slay a lich. But Lae'zel's story does not end there. She will have her red dragon. She will have what she is owed.

She will ascend.

This piece was originally written for @bg3womenswrongs, which will be available for free in March 2025. I highly recommend checking it out -- the art and the written work is an incredible tribute to the ladies of Baldur's Gate 3, who get far from their due. Let them be a little evil, as a treat. Enjoy <3

Rating: M Characters: Lae'zel, Ascended Astarion, God Gale, Orpheus, Tav, Vlaakith Word Count: 1,960 Content: Canon-typical violence, regicide, everyone being sort of terrible (but also kickass), post-canon

AO3 Link

***

The atmosphere around Créche K’liir is cold. Full of silver-white moonlight and crisp as night sky in midwinter. There’s always warmth to be found in the inner chambers of the asteroid, but the starsong beckons the githyanki to the surface to search for what is lost. To answer a call.

As Lae’zel steps foot onto the extraterrestrial surface of Tu'narath, The City of Death, she feels that way again. It’s been fifteen years since the Battle of Baldur’s Gate, fifteen years since she walked on the shores of the Astral Sea.

The nebulae whisper of history immemorial. A promise of eternity. Her birthright.

Vlaakith’s tomb.

Castle Susurrus towers high overhead, dark spires shrouded in fog, unchanged for millenia. Sharp, blackened edges cut across a sky otherwise filled with the gentle light of creation. Lae’zel stands with a stance straight as the silver sword she holds in one hand, fingers wrapped round the hilt with the care of a protective lover. Dark blood runs rivulets down the shining metal of the blade.

A drop shivers at the point and falls, floating lightly in midair before it descends to splash against the rock.

Lae’zel’s other hand is slick with gore of a different sort. There, she grips one tentacled mandible of a ghaik head, its eyes vacant and lifeless, its mind whispering no more. The purple flesh has gone gray and dull with unlife, the black blood long since crusted over.

A moment, not long past, rises in her mind’s eye.

The illithid to whom this head belonged stands at a war table, discussing strategy. It is a position her foolhardy younger self would never have occupied, but she is no longer young, nor blindly devoted to a queen on a stolen throne. The rightful heir, Orpheus, walks a circle around the table, reviewing their plans.

“A clever assault,” he says. “Albeit more subject to the whims of istek than I’d prefer.”

“We agree, my liege,” Lae’zel says with a deferential nod. “But my allies, while flighty, are nevertheless bound by their oaths to me.”

Orpheus searches his First Commander’s face and finds her truthful. “As you say. The plan is set, then.”

Lae’zel waits until the prince leaves the room before she dares look to their sole ghaik ally. On cue, they wince and close their eyes, putting two fingers to their temple.

“It pains you?” she asks.

After a moment, the illithid drops their fingers and glances her direction. In her mind, she hears them respond, “It does. Every day, I lose more of myself. That is why you must end me before it is too late. I will make a fine offering.”

Lae’zel leans heavily onto the table, hands balled into tight fists. When she looks to her friend, it is with bitter sorrow in her eyes. “I cannot,” she whispers.

The companion she once called Tav replies, “You will. You must.” They put a hand over hers. “It has always been your destiny.”

What good, this heart of stone, for it to be shattered? Good enough to take up the shards and shred Vlaakith’s regime. A new monarch will rise.

And so she stands with a sword in one hand and her dear friend’s skull in the other, waiting for the allies who promised their aid. Every guard that met their end on her blade lies slaughtered at her feet. At last, a portal glows violet and two men step through. The first gleams with the silvered skin and brilliant eyes of a newly-minted god. Lae’zel stops herself from curling her lip.

The second is all angular features and oppressive finery, peering down his nose at her with ruby eyes as he wipes blood from his hands with a handkerchief. Lae’zel stops herself from sneering a second time.

The God of Ambition and the Vampire Ascendent make powerful allies and unbearable conversationalists. Strange, that she once thought of their weaker forms as friends. That moment is past. That was a time before life went hard and unforgiving for them all.

“I’ve cleared the entry hall for you,” Lord Ancunín says, voice distant and disinterested. “Do keep in touch if you manage to stay alive. We’ll have much to discuss about the future of our respective realms.”

As if she would share her eternal glory over the immortal plane with this coward-turned-little-lord of Baldur’s Gate. Her sights are much higher.

Lae’zel nods nonetheless.

The god once called Gale of Waterdeep gives her a condescending bow. “May you achieve the outcome you seek,” he says, words echoing. “And recall who blessed you on this day of your rebirth.”

Astarion tosses his stained handkerchief to the ground with a scoff. “Years ago, I promised you a favor in return for your assistance in helping me become…” He inhales deeply through his nose and gestures down the length of his body. “... this. That favor has been called in. Do not darken my door again unless you bear gifts. Enjoy your own… ascendence.”

Lae’zel tightens her grip on the tentacle and waves her sword in Gale’s direction, jerking her head toward the palace.

“Your favor remains unfulfilled, my friend with a foot in the divine,” she says. If he notes the underscore of disdain in her tone, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

With a wave of his hand, he opens a second portal. For a moment, his expression goes almost sad. “Arrogance makes enemies of us all,” he says. “For both our sakes, may we never meet again.”

“My thanks for honoring your bargain,” she replies, tucking her chin and glaring. “Now go. This victory is mine.”

He laughs, bitterly. “Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai.”

Then he is gone.

In the distance above, red dragons lock claws and battle in midair. One bears Orpheus as a rider, his war cry lost to the stars. The atmosphere around Lae’zel is calm. Quiet.

She tears her eyes from her prince and enters the portal left for her, never looking back.

True to his word, the Ascendent left the hall decorated with corpses, their blood going tacky beneath her boots as she strides toward a barred door many times her height. Black obsidian, chipped and carved over years to depict githyanki knights crushing their ghaik tormentors underfoot. In the center, a vermillion dragon roars, mouth open wide.

Lae’zel pauses and reaches out, marveling at the smooth glass beneath her fingertips. A scene older than she can comprehend. A promise, ready to be fulfilled.

She hoists the illithid head into the dragon’s mouth and lets the ancient magic take hold. Once, in the days of Orpheus’ mother, the gith earned their knighthood by offering a ghaik’s head. A final test of mettle. Through all Vlaakith’s misbegotten lifetimes, the lich queen could never unravel it completely.

The dragon’s eyes glow, the skull withers and becomes dust, and blessed strength flows through Lae’zel’s veins. She puts her hands to the massive bar keeping her from her quarry and throws it aside as if it weighs nothing more than a harpy feather.

As the door swings open wide, she locks eyes with a usurper, a thief, a charlatan.

Vlaakith stands from her throne, her sharpened crown rising high over her brow and her expression filled with hate.

“Impossible,” the false queen hisses.

Liquid gold flows beneath Lae’zel’s yellow-green skin, lighting her up from the inside out. She broadens her stance, wrapping both hands around her sword and holding it steady at her shoulder.

“The only impossibility here is that you live longer than I will it,” Lae’zel calls. “Die as you lived – wicked and alone. Mha stil'na forjun inyeri.”

Her once-queen hisses and enters a battle stance, her movement rusted over with time and disuse. Far from the gith she rules so stringently, her deathless form has become hollow, weak. It takes no time at all to get a blade to her throat.

Vlaakith’s mouth twists with hate as she glares into Lae’zel’s unwavering eyes, the flesh of her palm cut to the bone as she holds the silver sword by the blade.

“Your suffering will be unending,” Vlaakith snarls. “I shall keep you shivering on the edge of death for an eternity, your body and spirit broken, your tongue a shredded ruin behind your shattered teeth.”

When the lich begins an incantation, Lae’zel lashes quick as lightning and forces two fingers into the queen’s mouth all the way to her gullet, pinning her tongue and causing her to gag and cough, the spell lost. Lae’zel gives a miniscule shake of her head.

“None of your witchery,” Lae’zel whispers. “You will fight as githyanki are intended, or you will not fight at all.”

A resounding crash fills the space as a hulking form crushes its way through the stone wall. A dragon with glittering scarlet scales towers taller than any Lae’zel has ever seen, its throat glowing from within with deadly fire. Its teeth are opal daggers, a shining threat. Below Lae’zel, Vlaakith is brought to her knees, frantically gripping the warrior’s forearms and biting down on the fingers holding her tongue. Lae’zel does not yield.

In the ancient language of dragons, the one she was never taught until she taught herself, Lae’zel says, “Stay your claws, King of Flame, and you will be beholden to Vlaakith’s madness no longer.”

It is a long, tense moment, during which the dragon’s golden eyes search between the blessed newcomer and his longtime queen. At last, he inclines his head and waits. Strength is a ruler he knows.

An unholy, garbled wail rises from the lich’s throat as Lae’zel’s attention returns to her.

“Perish without honor, hshar'lak,” Lae’zel says.

Githyanki silver sings as Lae’zel withdraws her hand and ends it at last. The head of Vlaakith, Last of Her Name, rolls across the finely tiled floor, her face forever in torment, soul long destroyed. Lae’zel drags the tip of her blade behind her, letting it shriek across the stone until she can kneel and pluck the crown of twisted black glass from the rapidly disintegrating skull.

The room fills with the sound of claws scraping and victory cries. Her prince calls an ancient victory cry, his cohort responding in kind.

Lae’zel does not turn, not even when she senses Orpheus near.

“Well done, Baht D’Orpheus,” he says. “We are free. Your victory will be forever written in the stars.”

“Yes,” Lae’zel whispers, her face upturned to the millions-strong starlight filtering through the red-stained windows above the dark throne. “It shall be.”

In one swift movement, she whirls, blade flashing, and runs Orpheus through with her silver. She holds his eye as his expression turns from surprise to betrayal to fury, hands scrabbling uselessly at the sword he himself bestowed upon her. She does not look away.

Profound silence fills the air.

“I will not ask for forgiveness,” Lae’zel says softly, pushing the blade still deeper. “But you will understand that there is no force on this plane or any other that will ever bend my knee again.”

She withdraws her blade, a line of lifeblood painting a slash across the tile. Orpheus, once the Prince of the Comet, falls to the floor with a gurgle.

Lae’zel raises her head to the gathered warriors and their mounts, her face defiant, victorious. When one soldier makes to stand against her, Vlaakith’s former steed produces a burst of flame in their direction.

She sheathes her blade and lifts the bloodied crown over her head. When she lowers it to her brow, a drop of blood courses down her temple and she hears the myriad echoes of the githyanki. All who ever were, and all who will ever be. She moves to the dais and lowers herself to the throne, looking out over the beginnings of her kingdom.

All kneel before Queen Lae’zel, First of Her Name.

[blackjackkent]

A final moment for Minsc's arrival in Rakha's camp!

Some time ago, when I first started speculating on how Rakha and Minsc would get along, @rhysintherain surprised me with a lovely gift - he wrote something about Rakha! (This is the first time anyone else has ever written something about one of my characters, and to say I was very excited would be an understatement.)

Specifically, he wrote something about one of Minsc and Rakha's early conversations about her Bhaalspawn heritage, and it was honestly so perfect that I asked him if I could just include it as part of the liveblog canon because I love it so much. :D And he said yes, so here it is!

-----

Of Gods and Hamsters by @rhysintherain

“There is a beast that speaks to me. It tries to control my actions.” There was no hesitation, no searching for the right words. This explanation was nearly tradition by now, a conversation that Rakha has with every new member who joins their group.

“Ah, I understand, my friend. I also have a beast who seeks to direct me. Is your beast also of the furry, pocket-sized variety?” Minsc replied casually.

Rakha hesitated. She had faced many reactions to this declaration, but none had prepared her for this one.

“Mine is the voice of Bhaal, god of murder. His will speaks in my mind and tells me to commit unspeakable violence,” in the face of Minsc’s confusing response, Rakha fell back to familiar facts, no matter how unpleasant. It was best the large, bald ranger know exactly what he was signing up for.

“Well, that is not precisely the same as Boo. More like a nasty, evil little rat living in your skull alongside the worm… is it not getting crowded up there? Your head has so many occupants it's a wonder you have any room for the facts you love so much!”

“You have no idea,” Rakha muttered tiredly under her breath.

“You know, you are not the first I have known to share a skull with Bhaal,” Minsc continued, unfazed.

Rakha had heard of the other Bhaalspawn he spoke of. Caden. Jaheira had mentioned him more than once.

“Imoen!” Minsc declared, clapping his hands together excitedly.

Alright, maybe she hadn't heard of who he meant.

“Like you, dear Imoen was a child of most foul Bhaal! Like you, his evil blood called to her. But sweet Imoen was not tempted, and did not embrace the legacy of murder!”

Another child of Bhaal who had resisted their urges? Rakha’s mood lifted, just a little. One Bhaalspawn who overcame their nature could be chance. But if another had done it, there must be a pattern, a strategy she could follow. 

“How?” She asked, working to keep a hint of desperation from her voice.

“Why, the same way the best of us stay on the righteous path of buttkicking for goodness! A good hamster can inspire even the most shadowed hearts to step into the light!”

“A good… hamster?”

“Of course! One simply needs a guiding voice on the outside to drown out the voice on the inside. A small, squeaky voice, ideally. Imoen’s small squeaky voice answered to the name Sniffs, and he liked to travel in the hood of her coat.”

Rakha considered his logic for a minute. On one hand, it seemed very unlikely that the solution to the beast in her head was an opinionated rodent. On the other, Minsc had known two Bhaalspawn who resisted the beast, and she had known none. Jaheira often seemed skeptical about Boo’s efficacy, but Rakha had to admit the little creature always seemed to speak up when Minsc was on the verge of a bad decision, and Minsc often reconsidered those decisions at Boo’s urging.

“... Do you think that would work?” She asked.

-----

“The solution to the beast couldn't actually be a hamster. Could it?” Wyll asked in bewilderment, overhearing the conversation from where he sat at the campfire.

Jaheira snorted. “Believe me when I say the only problem Minsc has solved with a hamster is Minsc.”

He sighed. “I suppose it's too much to hope that the Lord of Murder’s secret weakness was cute little furballs all along.”

“Before you put too much stock in that theory, keep in mind that Imoen denounced Bhaal long before Sniffs came into the picture. We never understood quite why that resistance came so easily for her, but I doubt it was rodent related.”

“Well, it can never be that easy, can it?” Wyll replied with a laugh.

“Take heart, Wyll. We will find a way for Rakha to escape her father's legacy. And I have faith that when we do, that solution will not require her to pack around an sassy rodent who refuses to keep his feet out of our breakfast.”

[blueskittlesart]

[egophiliac]

swipes everything else off of the table to yell about diasomnia flower bookmarks

(I gave Silver one too :D)

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[deus-ex-mona]

when the slowburn makes the ship extra cute~~~

[thescreaminghat]

There’s so much to talk about Arcane S1 and S2, and what I want to focus on for this ramble is the issue I take with Singed being Corin Reveck. I’ve said this before, but this was one of the choices that I was worried that the writers would make back when s1 was airing. I actively dislike the idea of making Corin and Singed the same person, and not just because I think it unnecessarily humanizes the awful, awful person that Singed is both in League lore and Arcane while taking away what is a tender and mournful story revolving around two relatively unimportant characters in the broader world and stakes of Runeterra (namely, Corin and his only daughter, Orianna).

My two main gripes with this writing choice are as follows:

It makes the world so much smaller and less interesting than before. In the most recent iteration of Orianna’s game lore, Corin was a famed artificer known for building prosthetics in Piltover (this could be seen as a "doing good work for the people" kind of job, even if he is running a business). This background in itself wouldn’t be too surprising even if directly transposed to Arcane Piltover and Zaun, as even prior to Hextech improvements, we see that body augmentations/modifications are accessible to members of the council (though I much rather prefer League’s idea of Piltover and Zaun as having all sorts of inventors and academics exist in both cities, with Zaun having its own Academy of Techmaturgy, rather than having a handful of named characters be responsible for much of the city’s technological development as we see in Arcane). However, to me, what makes Corin and Orianna’s story so compelling is how easily it can be overlooked amidst all of the grander narratives in League P&Z, the in-fighting between chembarons and the class hierarchy enforced by Camille, Jinx being Jinx, etc. Corin has importance as an inventor, but there are so many of his type—perhaps not specializing in prosthetics, but another field of study—that he really feels like another “ordinary citizen” of Piltover. There is no world-ending stake involved in his and his daughter’s story, but that is precisely why their narrative is so compelling to me—when Orianna rushes to the site of an explosion in Zaun, in secret, to apply the skills she learned as her father’s apprentice in order to save others, and returns home with irreversible lung damage, I feel as though I am witnessing a ”day in the life” of someone stuck within the conflict between P&Z. Corin and Orianna are still privileged, and their situation is vastly better than the actual Zaunites who Orianna made it her mission to save, but Orianna’s biography suggests that despite Corin’s renown, he and Orianna were left largely to their own struggle following Orianna’s illness. I.e. they did not have the kinds of resources and help presumably available to the houses with even greater authority in Piltover.

When Corin devotes himself tirelessly to saving his daughter with his own skills, and Orianna is watching herself lose bits and pieces of her own body, I feel as though we are meant to understand this as a small blip in the overall circumstances of the world, that there are far greater events demanding the attention of the many, and a father’s grief over his child, and a child’s horror at how her body no longer looks the way that she remembers it, is relegated to a quiet, personal tragedy to be shouldered by the pair alone (even though it shouldn't be).

When Corin and Orianna relocate to Zaun, after Corin spends everything he had in order to save his daughter, I can imagine the kind of small relief that father and daughter perhaps felt, realizing that as long as they had each other and their passion for their craft, then that was enough for them, regardless of what happens in the complicated landscape of P&Z. When Corin subsequently falls ill due to the toll that his stress has taken on his own body, and Orianna is forced to make a deal with a chembaron to obtain a hextech crystal in an effort to save her father, we are left wondering how many Zaunites and Pilovians alike may have fallen into similar circumstances, how many secret meetings have taken place between desperate people and good-for-nothings in positions of power in P&Z. And when Orianna ultimately saves her father by giving him her last, healthy organ, the physical embodiment of her emotional core—her heart—and decides to leave her home as a machine powered by hextech, there is no fanfare, but we do get the sense that a tragedy has occurred, that even if there was no “fatal flaw” or twist villain, that something unjust has taken place in these sister cities. And that is how it was meant to be, I think, in Orianna’s story. These are characters, who, by interacting with the world of P&Z as we know it, give us insight into how this world works for its citizens. Their stories don’t need to lead to a grander narrative or tie into timeline-changing events; they are meaningful because they allow us to see how a character could live and thrive and struggle within the backdrop of the world. And that allows us to imagine other stories that could organically come from the politics of P&Z, and other ways its citizens could envision change (e.g. what if working-class Zaunites were given better protections, and Zaunite industry designed to be safer for its workers, so that explosions like the one that was slowly killing Orianna didn’t occur? What if Piltover had better medical support systems so that Corin wouldn’t have to destroy his own health in order to keep his daughter alive? Did Corin’s initial attitudes towards Zaunites change? After all, Piltover effectively failed to assist them, and he and Orianna were forced to move to Zaun in order to continue their business, something that could be regarded by more elitist Piltovians as a “decline” in one’s respectability, regardless of the quality of work produced by Corin and Orianna for their clients. Etc. Etc.)

By making Corin the same person as Singed, the possibilities that Orianna’s narrative opens up for an exploration of other people’s lives in P&Z are removed. Because Singed is so closely tied with shimmer, with Warwick/Vander, with Viktor, with the trajectory of the arcane, with the surgical “creation” of “Jinx”, there is little room to let a backstory of a father and daughter breathe, let alone introduce an audience to the non-plot-related interactions that this duo could have with the richness of the world. It also, in my view, makes the world so much smaller/more extreme (e.g. we can only have a scientist who engages with grandiose, unethical experimentation for the sake of his child, because that is what we would commonly think of when we are presented with a scientist father; we cannot have a father who also happens to be a scientist, where the focus is on his introspective, personal mourning on how his field of study and his community of peers have, in many ways, failed him, but despite that resentment, he continues with what he has, representing one path in a set of circumstances that could drive a different person down another path). And I get that Arcane s2 in particular literally opens up the idea of the multiverse and “other paths,” but that felt somewhat hackneyed, and I much prefer the idea that the multitude of paths that an audience can explore is right here, in the world we currently see, as different people live through their different circumstances.

2) Singed being Corin Reveck removes so much of what made Orianna’s dilemma—whether she is a “machine” or a “human”—so interesting. Orianna, by having her limbs and organs slowly replaced with artificial ones (I emphasize this because the nature of Orianna’s transformation becomes a “ship of Theseus” question), also loses her sense of what it means to be human (e.g. the unbridled creativity that is suggested to have previously animated her craft seems to be gone, and she instead produces “masterfully tuned mechanisms,” rather than “works of art”). She becomes “disconnected” from herself, presumably both from her internal sense of self as well as her physical body, even as her care and love for her father lead her to literally give up her own heart to keep him alive.

One can see the parallels between League Orianna and League Viktor, and how they potentially contrast (or complement!) the other. Viktor claims to have replaced his flesh with metal in order to rid himself of the weaknesses inherent to having an organic, decomposable body, while Orianna is forced to replace her limbs and lungs because she is experiencing, real-time, what the limits of that organic body are, even though she obviously does not want to experience something like this. Viktor claims that it is humanity’s emotions that leads them to make errors in judgment and hinder efficiency and progress, but Orianna’s love for her father leads her to perform a successful operation and save his life (and Corin’s love for his daughter leads him to “create” the kind of mechanical being that Viktor would praise, as part of his ideology). Viktor’s actions suggest that he believes it is necessary to move beyond “limiting” emotions like fear (e.g. his injection of that experimental serum into Naph) while Orianna’s whole struggle is trying to replicate, once more, those feelings, trying to indulge in sentimentality and romance (e.g. When she tells the automaton, Fieram: “I like to ride the Rising Howl at dusk to catch the last of the day’s golden rays,” . . . “From the very top you can see the harbor beyond the sea-gates, and the endless glistening ocean. From up there, you can imagine the smell of faraway lands.” – are these the thoughts and language of a machine, or of a human? And when she desperately destroys the casing around the automaton, believing herself to be freeing a boy like her, are those the actions of an “efficient” consciousness, or of a child encased in steel?). I can imagine, in the world of League P&Z, scientific and philosophical debates regarding the nature of Orianna’s existence (what makes her more human than machine? More machine than human? Is it her lingering connections to memory? To emotions? Or something else entirely?).

All of this to say, that there are some interesting questions to be explored through the way in which “Orianna”, whether she is an identity, a physical being, or something else entirely, emerged through Corin's gradual and necessary removal of her physical body. Making Singed and Corin Reveck the same person strips away these complexities.

Both League and Arcane Singed are awful people. That is undeniable. Regardless of his reasoning or emotions, Singed did unspeakable things to Vander, and was a catalyst for much of the violence, or its escalation, in Arcane, particularly with his production of shimmer in line with Silco’s aim of weaponizing and distributing the substance in the undercity. The circumstances of Orianna’s creation, with Singed noting that everything he had been doing was for his love of Orianna, are thus tinged with a layer of ethical wrongdoing so thick that not even Jesus Viktor could remove it. Similarly, Orianna was not replaced slowly, with the mechanical equivalents of her limbs and organs. She appears to have been yeeted back into existence with the magic shenanigans in S2 Act 3. Any interesting questions about Orianna’s identity, in my opinion, are overshadowed by the starting premises that, yes, Orianna should not have lived or been brought back to life in Arcane, if it meant that the horrible things that Singed, whether directly or indirectly, had done to the people of P&Z could have been avoided, and yes, Orianna in her current form may literally not be herself because we have seen the hexcore/multiverse/ascended hivemind Viktor shenanigans play out already. And this doesn’t even touch on the lack of agency that Orianna has in Arcane, as an unconscious thing for Singed to show the audience for sympathy points, versus the Orianna we get from League lore, who consciously made the choice to disobey her father to help Zaunites and was conscious and present throughout the entire process of her body modification/replacement.

The League lore also sets up an interesting exploration of how patriarchal power is used and its relationship to the mechanical female body—Corin comes off as not only overprotective of his only daughter, something that could also stem from class considerations towards Zaun, but as a sort of “Prospero” figure, guiding and warning his daughter to never venture outside of their neighbourhood in Piltover (like Prospero’s warnings to Miranda), while only permitting her to indulge in fantasies that he approves as “appropriate” for her (e.g. theatre performances). Even when he builds Orianna her artificial lungs, Corin keeps the key to these lungs in a safe, to prevent Orianna from leaving his sphere of authority.

When they do move to Zaun, Orianna not only takes on the traditional role of the breadwinner due to her father’s ailing health, but is in some ways able to gain more agency in her interactions with other elements of the world, such as the chembaron. When Orianna decides to make the choice to save her father, she takes with her the last object that he can use to maintain some form of control over her. While his control is not framed as intentionally abusive, it does lead to questions about how Orianna’s feelings of “detachment” from her sense of self may also be tied to the control that her father exercises concerning her physical agency.

None of this was explored in Arcane, and I never expected the show to focus so much on these kinds of issues for minor secondary characters, but that’s exactly the problem. By introducing us to Singed as “Corin Reveck,” and effectively tying him with Orianna and the intriguing possibilities available through the existing lore, Arcane, which has now ended in terms of its story, ends up failing to deliver any sort of exploration of these issues. Orianna and Corin could have been left as a side story in an Arcane spinoff, or as a cinematic like the Annie origins cinematic, etc. but because the Arcane writers seem to want to make everything “interconnected,” it just feels like we missed so much potential, and even if we did get something on these issues, it feels, from the path that the showrunners have gone so far, that they would narrow these possibilities to whatever can fit the ”interconnected stories” narrative.

Not everything needs to be tied to something else to be good, it can just be good—tying Singed of all people to Orianna’s story was the strangest of these kinds of choices made in Arcane S2, especially when we could have just explored Singed as Singed (i.e. exploring ethics in science from a broader perspective), and hopefully I’ve been able to explain why.

*Note: the above is just my opinion, so please ignore if you feel so inclined.

[zeb-z]

Bad has so many reasons to be cautious, even paranoid, as anyone else on the island. From Federation nonsense to Dapper being kidnapped to the whole purgatory nonsense to whatever fuckass suit of armor “old friend” was setting up cameras in his house. But it compounds on his regular overly aware paranoid self to this state of hyper-paranoia. And as a demon who can and usually will lie, cheat, steal, and use sneaky underhanded tactics, he expects the craziest extent because he thinks of it, realizes it’s possible, and would use it himself. We saw this very obviously in purgatory - when he thought greens desperate last ditch effort to balance the scale was a super planned out tactic to tip the scale, so he did it first, all the hardcore base hunting, the spawn killing, there’s a reason every other tactic he used usually followed a main channel qsmp post with updated rules - all usually things he was surprised no one else thought of. But then this also piles onto the fact that he has to have things go his way, all the time, and that he’s argumentative as all get out, which led to the debate between him and Bagi yknow. Especially because he’s not just doing it for the sake of being right, he doesn’t think he’s paranoid, but that he’s exercising the right amount of caution.

So like. Listen dude. Yeah he’s got reasons to be paranoid. But his thought process around building vaults for separate cookie caches like they locked up the risus pills, only to scrap it because it’s not perfectly impenetrable, is extreme. His character has hardly been a leading example in someone who has reasonable reactions to things. And even when there isn’t his own children’s livelihoods potentially on the line, he has a need for control, and the most control he has is if he keeps the cookies in his inventory at all times. If he makes himself the sole point in which the others can get ones in a case of emergency, then he can control the variables. The problem is he’s unreliable about himself when he’s at his most rational and healthiest, and he’s far worse with the current memory and health issues he’s been mostly unaware of.

I dunno it’s like. There is never going to be a purely impenetrable base. And it’s not just a case of “Bagi just hasn’t lived through __ yet!”. Bad’s own logic about keeping the cookies on him at all times is flawed under his own logic, because Bagi is right - if someone has enough drive to break into separate secured cookie caches purely for the downfall of eggs, they more than certainly have enough drive to find a way to kill Bad and just take them from his inventory, or to just kill the eggs themselves. All it truly does is give Bad a sense of control, and soothe his paranoia.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Sunforge

sequel to The Dawnhounds

fantasy/scifi with bio- cyber- & god-punk elements

follows a crew of revolutionary pirates who become stranded in a city in ruins, overrun by a hostile militia, who must find a way to the people who can help them disable the technology that’s stopping them from escaping

and find themselves pulled deeper into the conflicts and history between the strange gods who give them their powers, and the complex history of their world

mainly centres Kiada, told between flashbacks of her past in the city, and the present

arc from the author! out August 6

[seithr]

powerful sorcerer with magical storm blood who can still magic and rend minds and transform people btw

[poisonousquinzel]

self care is blocking the (hopefully????) clueless people in the tag who've drawn their "I really love both these characters" ships dressing up as Harley Quinn and her abuser for Halloween.

[rawliverandgoronspice]

ohhh I managed to convince my potato laptop that it was indeed capable of running clip studio paint let's fucking goooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!