#ive had this in my drafts far too long

[specerhastings]

ava silva, halo-bearer H & H PLAYBOOK, anne carson (insp.)

[waywardsalt]

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day!

What do you think about the new Zelda game that was announced? (echoes of wisdom)

P.S. idk if this question has already been asked or if you posted about it already so I apologize in advanced.

Hi! I hope your day's going well, too!

I don't think I really have any strong feelings about Echoes of Wisdom right now, honestly. I didn't really feel much when I saw it announced, mostly just feeling glad for the people who are excited; I'm glad that people are finally getting a proper playable Zelda, and I've decided to withdraw/keep quiet about my my cynical opinions about it since it's not out yet, and people do really seem excited about it. I think totk just really wore me out, so I'm not totally optimistic about what we'll get. But I'm hoping that it's good, and that the people really excited for it have a good time with it when it comes out!

I'm not the biggest fan of that art style, honestly, and I'm not the biggest fan of make-your-own-solution type puzzles, and the controls look like they're going to be really clunky to me, just looking at what the trailer shows.

Either way, I'm likely going to end up playing it anyways, since I did tell my mom about it, and she's pretty excited! At the end of the day, I at least hope she enjoys it, so despite my own feelings I am just hoping that it's good and that people like it.

[lacomandante]

.

[olive-main]

Hi hi! Ive just stumbled across your writing and i adore it so much! You capture Azriel so perfectly!! I don't really have much of a specific request in mind (but trust me, I'll think of one and come back if that's okay??) But could I ask for something with our Az and a super strong, independent, sarcastic reader. I just love the idea of totally smitten Azriel and just all the fluff. I'm so sorry this is so vague but

Happy holidays!!

No Damsels Here

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: A fiesty Valkyrie with a sharp wit and the brooding Shadowsinger find their lives slowly intertwined through training, quiet moments, and unexpected gestures, leading them to realize there may be a growing connection they can no longer ignore.

Wc: 2.7k

A/N: Ok be honest, did you hack into my account and read my drafts bcs….I had just the fic for this request rotting for far too long. I hope you enjoy, it’s not my fav since I think my writing is better now hence why it’s been in my drafts lol and it’s like semi proofread—BUT thanks to this request y’all get more fluff. Everyone say thank you! :b

Masterlist

——

The morning air is cool and sharp, biting at your skin as you jog toward the training ring, late as usual. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, its rays barely spilling over the horizon, but Nesta is already there stretching, as she is every morning. Ever the Valkyrie.

“You’re late,” she remarks as you step onto the mat beside her.

“Fashionably late,” you correct, tying your hair back. “Besides, I needed an extra five minutes of sleep. Someone decided to keep me up last night with her endless talking about smutty romance novels.”

Nesta doesn’t bother to hide her smirk. “Don’t act as if you’re not interested in my books.”

Before you can retort, Cassian’s booming voice cuts through the quiet. “Alright, enough about your romance book things. You’re here to train, not gossip.”

You glance over the training grounds, your eyes instinctively flicking toward the familiar figure standing on the far edge of the ring. Azriel is adjusting the strap of his leathers, his wings half-furled behind him as he surveys the weapons laid out with his usual quiet focus.

Nesta catches the direction of your gaze and nudges you with her elbow. “Still brooding, isn’t he?”

“He’s not brooding,” you reply, a little too defensively. “He’s… serious.”

Nesta gives you a knowing look but doesn’t press further as Cassian begins pairing everyone off for sparring.

“Y/N,” Cassian calls, grinning wickedly. “You’re with Azriel today.”

You blink, trying not to focus on how your heart jumped. Across the ring, Azriel’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you think you see the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.

—

Sparring with Azriel is both exhilarating and frustrating. He’s fast—almost impossibly so—and he moves with a precision that leaves no openings. You’re strong and quick on your feet, but against Azriel, every strike feels like a gamble.

“You’re hesitating,” he murmurs, dodging your swing with ease.

“I’m calculating,” you snap back, twisting to block his next move.

His lips twitch, the faintest ghost of a smile. “You’re thinking too much.”

“And you’re talking too much,” you retort, aiming a strike at his side.

He blocks it effortlessly, his wings shifting slightly as he steps into your space. For a moment, you’re close enough to catch the faint scent of cedar and something darker, something so distinctly him.

“Focus,” he says, his voice low and even, and you can’t help the way your pulse quickens.

But you don’t let him see that. Instead, you smirk and lunge to the left before sweeping his legs out from under him. He lands on his back with a soft thud, his wings flaring slightly to cushion the fall.

“Gotcha,” you say, planting your hands on your hips.

Azriel props himself up on one elbow, looking up at you with an expression that’s almost impressed. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” you echo, laughing. “That was a textbook takedown.”

From across the ring, Cassian claps his hands. “That’s my girl! Show him who’s boss, Y/N!”

You smile proudly at Cassian, bowing exaggeratedly before turning back to Azriel with a proud smirk.

“Again?” he asks, his tone calm but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

“Obviously,” you reply, and the sparring begins anew.

—

You’re sitting on the edge of the ring after the session, toweling the sweat from your face as the others disperse. Nesta sits beside you, nursing a bottle of water and watching Azriel, who’s speaking quietly with Cassian.

“You know he likes you, right?” Nesta says, breaking the silence.

You choke on your water. “What?”

Nesta gives you a look, one brow arched in that infuriatingly smug way of hers. “Don’t play dumb. He’s been watching you all morning.”

“He watches everyone,” you argue, though your voice lacks conviction.

“Not like this,” Nesta counters. “Trust me, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s different.”

You shake your head, refusing to entertain the idea. “He’s just… observant. It’s his job.”

Nesta doesn’t respond, but her silence is louder than words.

—

Over the next few weeks, you start to notice the little things. The way Azriel lingers near you during training, offering quiet pointers or stepping in to demonstrate a move. The way he always seems to know when you’re pushing yourself too hard, handing you a water bottle or calling for a break just as your muscles start to protest.

And then there are the gloves. The day before you’d worn down your leather gloves to their last seam, small tears at the knuckles.

You find them waiting for you one morning, neatly folded and left on the bench where you always sit. They’re sleek and well-crafted, the leather soft and pliable. With your name written on a piece of parchment laid neatly on them, in his writing.

“Nice gloves,” Nesta remarks as you slip them on.

“They’re… new,” you say, frowning slightly.

“Azriel left them,” she says, her tone far too casual.

You freeze, glancing at her. “How do you know that?”

Nesta smirks. “Because I saw him put them there.”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Azriel approaches, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Do they fit?” he asks, his gaze flicking to the gloves.

You nod, flexing your fingers. “Perfectly. Thank you.”

He inclines his head, his lips curving into the faintest smile before he turns and walks away.

“Hopeless,” Nesta mutters under her breath, but you don’t bother arguing this time.

—

It’s late one evening when Azriel finds you sitting on the balcony of the House of Wind, staring out at the twinkling lights of Velaris below.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice soft as he steps into the night air.

You glance over your shoulder, surprised but not unwelcome. “Something like that.”

He leans against the railing beside you, his wings folding neatly behind him. For a while, neither of you speaks, the quiet stretching between you like a warm blanket.

Finally, Azriel breaks the silence. “Something is on your mind”

“Oh? Am I that easy to see through Shadowsinger?” you ask, turning to face him.

“No, not always” he says, his hazel eyes meeting yours. “But you only come out here when something is.”

You hesitate, unsure how to respond. But before you can, he continues, his voice low and steady.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “But if you ever want to, I’m here.”

The sincerity in his tone takes you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him.

“Thanks,” you say finally, your voice softer than usual.

He nods, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat longer before he turns back to the view.

The silence stretches, comfortable but crackling with unspoken words. You lean your elbows on the railing, the cool metal pressing against your skin. Azriel doesn’t move, his presence steady beside you, a quiet sort of comfort.

“So,” you say at last, breaking the stillness. “Is brooding a full-time job for you, or do you just do it in your free time?”

His lips twitch, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the city below. “Depends. Are you asking because you want tips?”

A laugh escapes you, sharp and unrestrained. “Please, I could out-brood you any day of the week.”

Azriel turns his head slightly, enough that you can see the amusement flickering in his hazel eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, you will,” you quip, straightening up and crossing your arms. “But don’t come crying to me when I leave you in the shadows.”

“I don’t cry,” he replies smoothly, his expression as impassive as ever.

You snort, shaking your head. “No, of course not. The great spymaster of the Night Court doesn’t have emotions, right?”

His mouth curves into the faintest smile, and for a moment, you swear you see something softer beneath the usual calm exterior.

“Wrong,” he says quietly.

The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and for once, you’re at a loss for words. Before you can respond, Azriel shifts, his wings rustling softly as he straightens.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he says, his voice low and even.

“Sure,” you reply, recovering quickly. “I’ll need it for when I take you down in training tomorrow.”

His soft chuckle is the last thing you hear before he disappears into the shadows, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

—

The next morning, you’re determined to shake off the lingering feelings from last night. You throw yourself into training with a vengeance, sparring with Nesta and Cassian until your muscles burn and your breath comes in ragged gasps.

But no matter how hard you push yourself, you can’t ignore the fact that Azriel’s eyes are on you. He’s not overt about it, of course—he never is. But you’ve gotten good at reading him.

“Do you think he’s capable of blinking?” you mutter to Nesta during a break, jerking your chin in Azriel’s direction.

Nesta smirks, following your gaze. “Why? Is it distracting you?”

“Hardly,” you scoff. “I just don’t want him pulling something from all that intense staring.”

“Maybe he’s impressed,” Nesta says, her tone teasing.

You roll your eyes. “He’s impressed by my fighting skills, obviously. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Obviously,” Nesta echoes, her smirk growing.

“Don’t start,” you warn, grabbing your water bottle.

Nesta raises her hands in mock surrender, but you can see the gleam in her eye.

—

After training, you’re stretching near the edge of the ring when Azriel approaches. You glance up, noting the slight crease in his brow as he surveys the scrape on your arm.

“You should get that looked at,” he says, nodding toward the cut.

“It’s nothing,” you reply, brushing it off. “Barely a scratch.”

Azriel doesn’t look convinced. He crouches beside you, pulling a small vial of salve from his pocket.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, reaching for your arm.

You consider protesting, but the look in his eyes stops you. So instead, you sit there, watching as his fingers work with careful precision, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“You know, this is the second time you’ve fussed over me this week,” you say, breaking the silence. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

Azriel doesn’t look up, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Is it working?”

The question takes you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. So instead, you settle for sarcasm.

“Not yet,” you say, grinning. “But keep trying. You might get there eventually.”

His quiet laugh sends warmth curling through your chest, and as he finishes wrapping your arm, you find yourself wishing the moment would last a little longer.

—

Later that evening, you’re in the kitchen with Nesta, raiding the cabinets for a late-night snack.

“So,” she says casually, popping a grape into her mouth. “What’s going on with you and Azriel?”

You freeze mid-reach, turning to glare at her. “What do you mean, ‘what’s going on?’”

Nesta shrugs, far too nonchalant. “I mean, he practically hovered over you all day. And don’t think I didn’t notice him patching you up earlier.”

“It was a cut,” you say defensively. “Hardly life-threatening.”

“Uh-huh.” Nesta leans against the counter, studying you with those sharp eyes of hers. “And the gloves? Or the way he’s always watching you during training?”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m really not,” Nesta replies, a sly smile creeping onto her face.

“Well, even if he does… like me, that’s his problem,” you say, crossing your arms. “I’m not some damsel in distress, waiting for someone to sweep me off my feet.”

“No,” Nesta agrees, smirking. “But maybe you’re someone who could use a little… sweeping.”

You throw a grape at her, and she laughs, ducking out of the way.

—

The realization of Azriel’s attention lingers in your mind longer than you’d like to admit. You try to shake it off—try to convince yourself that it’s just his nature to watch everyone, to care quietly. But there’s a warmth to his gaze when it falls on you, a softness that feels different, deliberate.

And once you notice it, you can’t stop seeing it.

Like during training the next day, when Cassian barks at everyone to do laps. You’re running alongside Nesta, your legs burning and breath hitching, when Azriel quietly falls into step beside you.

“Don’t overthink your breathing,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “I’m not overthinking it.”

His lips twitch, almost imperceptibly. “You were counting your breaths.”

You narrow your eyes, your tone laced with mock offense. “You’re watching me breathe now? That’s not creepy at all.”

Azriel doesn’t rise to the bait, but the faintest smirk graces his lips. “Just trying to help.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, rolling your eyes. But when you refocus on your breathing, following his advice, the run feels a little easier.

—

A few days later, you find yourself in the House of Wind’s library, searching for a book Nesta recommended, the one she had mentioned to you a few days ago. You’re muttering under your breath, cursing the ridiculously high shelves, when a familiar voice speaks behind you.

“Need help?”

You whirl around to find Azriel standing there, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Not unless you’ve got a ladder hidden somewhere,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Azriel steps closer, his wings shifting as he glances up at the shelf. “Which one?”

You point to the book near the top, and without a word, Azriel extends a wing, brushing it against the shelf as he pulls the book down with practiced ease.

He hands it to you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “There.”

You take the book, trying not to let the warmth of his touch distract you. “Thanks. I guess having wings is good for more than just flying, huh?”

His smile widens slightly. “They’re versatile.”

“Show-off,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to your tone.

Azriel doesn’t respond, just tilts his head as if studying you. The silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable, and you find yourself wondering what’s going on behind those hazel eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask finally, your voice sharper than you intend.

Azriel blinks, as though pulled from his thoughts. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

He hesitates, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Maybe I am.”

Before you can press him further, he nods toward the book in your hands. “Enjoy your reading.” And then he’s gone, slipping back into the shadows as easily as he came.

—

The tension between you grows, subtle but undeniable. It’s not something you can ignore anymore—not when his gaze lingers just a second too long, or when his words carry a weight you can’t quite name.

One evening, after another long day of training, you find yourself wandering the halls of the House of Wind. You end up on the same balcony where Azriel joined you that night, the city lights below twinkling like stars.

You’re not surprised when he appears again, his presence so quiet you almost don’t notice until he’s standing beside you.

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask, glancing at him.

“Rarely,” he admits, his voice soft.

“Figures,” you mutter, leaning against the railing.

The silence stretches, but this time, it feels charged, as though both of you are waiting for the other to speak.

Finally, Azriel breaks the quiet. “You confuse me.”

You blink, turning to face him. “What?”

“You’re strong, stubborn, sarcastic…” He trails off, his lips curving slightly. “But you care. Even when you try not to show it.”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he says, his gaze meeting yours, “that you make it very difficult to stay in the shadows.”

His words hang in the air, and for once, you don’t have a witty comeback. You’re too busy trying to process the way your heart is racing, the way his eyes seem to see straight through you.

“Well,” you say finally, your voice quieter than usual. “Maybe it’s time you stepped out of them.”

Azriel’s smile is small, but it’s real. And in that moment, with the stars above and the city below, you feel something shift between both of you—something neither of you are sure you can ignore anymore. Not when he feels that golden thread that glows in his chest, connecting his soul to yours.

——

Are y’all interested in a tag list?? I’m gonna be more consistent in posting hehe.

Thank you for reading my lovely humans. Requests are still very open ;)

[theonottsbxtch]

SAVING HER | CL16

an: chat this is a short one but she’s been sat in my drafts unedited for a while SO PLS DONT JUDGE IVE BEEN BUSY WITH WORK also im about to close my requests for the next month or so because i am very busy

wc: 2.3k

THE ALLEYWAY WAS A THEATRE OF SHADOWS, the high walls narrowing like an unfinished thought. Rain clung to the cobblestones, slick and shimmering under the muted glow of a nearby streetlamp. Charles slumped against the cold stone, his breath a ragged symphony of pain he didn’t feel. The wound on his arm—a careful cut he’d made himself—bled just enough to convince anyone, though the blood seeping into his sleeve was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.

He’d been told she would come this way.

The princess of Monaco was known for walking among the people, her kindness spoken of like an old fable passed from lip to lip. A woman with a crown yet no walls, they said. A woman who saw everyone as a person worth saving. It was that softness—her fatal flaw, his boss had said—that made her the perfect target. Charles knew how to exploit such softness. He had done it a thousand times before, slipping into lives just long enough to end them.

And so he waited.

The footsteps came as if conjured from the night itself, light yet steady, moving towards him without hesitation. He pressed his hand against his wound for effect, his jaw tightening, his body folding into the pose of a man undone. When he raised his eyes, there she was.

“Sir, are you hurt?” Her voice was warm, unguarded, each syllable woven with concern. She knelt before him, her coat already sliding from her shoulders to wrap around his trembling form.

“I—yes,” Charles stammered, surprised by how natural the lie felt on his tongue. “It’s nothing. Just… had uh. You shouldn’t—”

“Hush,” she interrupted, her hands already seeking the source of his injury. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you help.”

Her touch was feather-light, and for a moment, Charles forgot the blade hidden at his hip, the kill he had rehearsed in his mind a dozen times. She didn’t flinch at the blood or the grime, her hands steady, her face calm, her eyes impossibly gentle.

It would be easy, he told himself. The knife would be quick. She wouldn’t even see it coming.

But as she looked at him, her gaze a pool of unguarded kindness, something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. It wasn’t guilt—Charles had never known guilt—but a hesitation, like a string pulling him back just as he prepared to strike. He gritted his teeth, forcing the thought away.

Not here. Not now. Next time.

Instead, he let her lift him to his feet, her shoulder under his as she guided him away from the shadows. And for the first time, Charles wondered if he had underestimated her. Not her kindness—that was as plain as the moon overhead—but its weight, its gravity.

And it terrified him.

Her flat wasn’t far—she said as much while helping him along the cobbled streets—but Charles found himself biting back questions. A princess who lived alone, away from the safety of royal walls? Who brought strangers into her home on nothing more than blind trust? It was absurd. Foolish, even. And yet, there she was, walking him through her unlocked door, her arm steadying him as though his weight was nothing.

The space was modest—unexpectedly so for someone of her stature. The furniture was worn, each piece arranged with a care that spoke of practicality over opulence. A collection of books leaned precariously on the edge of a small shelf, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. It was too… human for a woman who should have been untouchable.

“You’re lucky I found you,” she said softly, easing him onto the edge of a worn armchair. “I don’t usually take this route home.” She offered him a small smile, as though his suffering were a strange twist of fate they should both be grateful for.

“Lucky,” Charles echoed, his voice gruff.

If only she knew.

She disappeared into another room, her movements light and unhurried, returning moments later with a first aid kit. “This might sting,” she warned, already dabbing at the wound on his arm. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and for the first time, Charles could see the weight of her kindness—a heaviness in her eyes, as though she carried the burdens of every person she helped.

He clenched his fists. The knife was still there, tucked against his hip. All it would take was a single motion—a flick of the blade and she’d be gone. The mission would be over. His boss would be satisfied, and Charles could leave this city behind.

Do it, he told himself. You’ve done worse to better people.

But his hand remained where it was, resting on the arm of the chair, his fingers curling into the fabric instead of the hilt.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, her voice breaking the silence. “Are you in pain?”

Charles shook his head. “No. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He looked at her—really looked at her. Her hands were stained with his blood, yet her touch was careful, precise. Her face, so close to his, was unguarded, open in a way that unsettled him. No one ever looked at him like that. No one dared.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you don’t know me. For all you know, I could be dangerous.”

Her smile returned, small but unshaken. “Everyone deserves help when they need it. Even if they’re dangerous.”

Something inside him twisted again, tighter this time. He averted his gaze, fixing it on the floor. The blade felt heavier now, its presence burning against his skin.

He could do it. He should do it. But as she worked, humming softly under her breath, Charles realised something with chilling clarity.

He wasn’t hesitating because of guilt. He was hesitating because, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

Not yet.

Not now.

“You shouldn’t walk home alone at night,” Charles muttered as she tied off the bandage on his arm. “It’s not safe.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a faint smile. “I imagine most people would say the same about bringing a stranger home, yet here we are.”

He couldn’t argue with that. She had no guards, no locks worth mentioning, not even a dog to bark at the wrong sort of man. Yet there she was, unshaken, as though kindness itself were a shield.

“Stay the night,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ve a spare room you can use. You shouldn’t be moving around much anyway.”

Every instinct Charles had told him to refuse. He should leave, disappear into the night, and finish the job another time. But the offer was tempting, and not for the reasons she thought. Staying close to her would give him the perfect opportunity. No more alleyways, no more waiting. If he stayed, he could end this before morning.

“Alright,” he said, his voice measured. “Just for tonight.”

She nodded, satisfied. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

The spare room was small but comfortable, a single bed tucked into the corner with neatly folded linens at its foot. Charles lay down fully clothed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as the silence pressed in. His work phone sat heavy in his pocket, the messages from his boss unanswered.

He would do it tonight, he told himself. It was cleaner this way, simpler. No witnesses, no complications.

But the hours slipped by, the house silent save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the soft rhythm of her breathing in the next room. Charles stared at the faint light leaking through the curtains, his body taut with tension, his mind unwilling to rest.

Finally, he rose.

The knife felt familiar in his hand as he moved through the darkened hall, his steps silent. Her door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light from the streetlamp outside falling across her sleeping form. She lay curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, her chest rising and falling in an unguarded rhythm.

It would be easy.

Charles stood there for what felt like an eternity, his shadow stretching across the floor as he tightened his grip on the blade. But the longer he watched, the harder it became to move. Her face, serene and untroubled, was unreasonably small in the pale light. There was nothing regal about her now, nothing untouchable. Just a person who had opened her home to a stranger and asked for nothing in return.

He thought of the blood on her hands—not hers, but his, from patching him up without hesitation. He thought of her smile, that maddening softness that made no sense in a world like his.

The knife dropped to his side, his fingers loosening until it slipped from his grip entirely.

He couldn’t do it.

Charles stepped back into the hall, his breath sharp and uneven. His work phone burned in his pocket like a brand, its presence unbearable. He reached for it, his fingers moving mechanically as he scrolled through the messages. The last one was simple, a single word: Update?

His jaw tightened. He moved to the nearest window, pushed it open, and hurled the phone into the night. It clattered onto the cobblestones below, its screen shattering on impact.

For the first time, the weight in his chest lifted.

He closed the window quietly and turned back to the room. The knife lay abandoned on the floor, but he didn’t pick it up. Instead, he returned to the spare room and sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

The mission was over.

It wasn’t enough to walk away now, not with his boss’s reach and the consequences that would follow. If Charles couldn’t kill her, there was only one other option: protect her.

His lips curled into a faint, humourless smile.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to make this choice, but it was too late to turn back.

Now, he was on her side.

Charles woke to the smell of coffee and the soft murmur of a voice carrying through the thin walls. He stretched, his muscles stiff from a restless night, and rubbed his face as he sat up. For a moment, he stared at the unfamiliar room, piecing together where he was and why.

The princess. The knife. The phone thrown out the window.

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. There was no turning back now.

The voice grew louder as he approached the kitchen, and he paused in the doorway to take in the scene. She was pacing the small space, a mug in one hand and her phone pressed to her ear with the other. Her hair was pulled back, though loose strands framed her face, and her bare feet padded softly across the tiles.

“No, I understand,” she was saying, her tone brisk but tinged with worry. “But I can’t wait two weeks for a replacement. I need someone now.”

She turned and saw him standing there, and her lips curved into a faint, distracted smile. “I’ll call you back,” she murmured into the phone before ending the call.

“Good morning,” she said, setting her mug down on the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Charles replied, though his gaze lingered on her tense shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her smile faltered, and for the first time, he saw unease in her expression. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, then sighed as if realising the futility of her deflection. “Actually, it’s… something. I found a knife outside my bedroom door this morning.”

Charles froze, the words striking like a blow. She wasn’t accusing him—her tone was too uncertain, too trusting for that—but the implications made his stomach twist.

“I assume it was a warning,” she continued, crossing her arms. “I’ve had threats before, but nothing this… direct. I was on the phone with my head of security. Unfortunately, my current detail is out of commission, and replacements take time. More time than I’m comfortable with, frankly.”

Charles’s mind raced, the weight of her words settling like lead in his chest. If she knew how close she had come to real danger, would she be this calm? Or would she have already called the authorities?

He straightened, forcing his voice into a calm he didn’t feel. “That’s… troubling,” he said. Then, after a pause, the lie slipped out as easily as breathing: “You’re lucky. That’s my line of work.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Your line of work?”

“Private security,” Charles clarified smoothly, slipping into the persona as if it had always been his own. “Before… well, before things went sideways.” He gestured to his arm, still wrapped in her bandage. “It’s what I do.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and cautious hope. “You’re serious?”

“Serious enough to know you shouldn’t be pacing around without someone watching your back,” he said. “If you want, I can help. Just until your new detail is sorted.”

The words hung in the air, and Charles braced himself for her to refuse. It would be safer for her, he realised, if she did. But instead, her shoulders relaxed, and a faint smile touched her lips.

“Really?” she asked, her tone laced with relief.

“Really,” Charles said.

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright. Thank you, truly. I… I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

The irony of her words wasn’t lost on him. He was the threat she feared, yet now he stood between her and the danger she didn’t even know existed.

Charles watched as she moved to pour him a cup of coffee, her back turned to him, her trust laid bare. The knife she’d mentioned hadn’t been a warning; it had been his own. Yet now, instead of finishing the job, he was stepping into a role he’d never imagined for himself.

Protector.

He wasn’t sure what would come next, but one thing was clear: there was no going back.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[waywardsalt]

putting this under the cut immediately because i KNOW this is going to be extremely long

general disclaimer, its not my kind of game im not blaming the actual devs for most of this shit i understand gamedev and writing and animating and all of that shit is hard yadda yadda anyways i fucking despise totk with an acidic rage and im trying to swear off of bitching about it any further but tbh i gotta get my actual thoughts out of my system somehow.

i guess my biggest issue with totk at the moment now is just that... it feels like it's the gaming equivalent of dangling keys in from of some kids face to get their attention; it's shiny, it's got fun gmod-ass glue mechanics, you get three whole maps and... it feels very hollow and like they just wanted to make a fun game and let everything else rot while the gameplay was polished to an insane degree- and i see why it's likely getting good scores despite the story and worldbuilding and theming and literally everything but the gameplay being rough as hell, its a fucking open world game with stupid glue mechanics where you can built the shit you want and go anywhere and like.

i didn't even like ultrahand very much, so there was no chance of this game actually winning me over. more often than not ultrahand was a hassle for me to use outside of solving puzzles with it. the gameplay isn't even particularly fantastic when you take away ultrahand bullshit or the admittedly impressive recall and ascend, it's just there to prop up the stock-standard open world game exploration and combat, which is effectively the exact same with the additions of every weapon being shit and funneling you into using ultrahand-mini (fuse) and giving you the chance to create insane destructing machines, which- where does that fit in? where does the zonai garbage being crazy weapons fit in with like... the zelda feel? idk the gameplay did literally feel like botw but with different abilities. ultrahand and fuse were effectively the same thing and the abilities just had. no decent story integration you just get these weird ass abilities because the devs wanted to let the player so whatever the fuck.

i mean, just... i know there's this general idea with loz games where they come up with the gameplay gimmick first and then build everything else around it, and totk is where it's the most painfully obvious. it is extremely easy to tell that the gameplay was the first priority in creation. with the other games, the gameplay gimmicks and story mesh pretty well, and everything is about equal- but the gameplay in totk sticks out like a sore thumb in comparison to the story and... everything. the story does just feel like an excuse for the different gameplay mechanics they decided to cook up.

i mean there's no real reason for why link getting rauru's arm allows him to access those powers, especially since we never see rauru or mineru use those kinds of powers, the depths and sky don't really matter outside of the dungeons in them, and the zonai tech is messily integrated just to be toys, and zelda turning into a dragon just... gives you another dragon for resources, and along with ganondorf jsut lets you have this cinematic final boss- ganondorf turns into a dragon for the sake of that cinematic boss battle, there's literally no way for him to have known what would have happened if he ate the stone. ganondorf being in the game alone is just... they added him because it's ganondorf, they don't actually go forward with making it matter that it's ganondorf, just that they had calamity ganon in botw and decided hey why not people like ganondorf let bring him back. it practically doesn't matter that he's gerudo or even a human character. he's just treated like another flatly evil monster. he's evil for the sake of it, and any other possible backstory for him is either ignored by the story or stamped out by the way the narrative wants you to view him.

i dont know exactly what happened during development but i hope to hell the final story and worldbuilding isnt what they intended to do by the end. it all feels so hollow, echoing what past zelda games have done and reusing old tropes, either not improving on any of them or not understanding why those things worked the first time. totk's story is just so flat, hardly any new characters get time to breathe and make any real impression, the ancient sages are nameless and faceless and are barely more than symbols, sonia was quite literally fridged, mineru and rauru get their moments but they don't do anything beyond what is needed to advance the immediate plot, and any new characters in the present aren't that deep either, even ganondorf is just more flat than ever even if he had the most character to his animations.

they backtracked on zelda's character growth and character in general to just shove her into that same old dedicated princess mold and the game at large is so desperate to have you groveling at her feet like the rest of hyrule with the overbearing repetition of 'look how great and nice and smart and thoughtful she is :))))' and it's so bizarre how they shove her influence into every corner of the world, including those she really shouldn't be that involved in, and it just wraps around to being like... don't think about it just listen to us. that's what the whole game feels like, don't think too hard about it and just follow what the game wants you to do and think about all of this. the stable quests all boiling down to just finding a bunch of stupid quirky little misunderstandings of things zelda had benevolently done was one of the most frustrating experiences: why even fucking BOTHER with fake zelda even being a thing in the present if nothing outside the plot is done with it, and the stable quests would have been a great opportunity.

i didn't even bother with most of the side quests after i beat the main story; i did a smattering of bigger side quests, got the memories and all of the shrines and cleared the depths and finished the story and i havent touched it since. and then i played persona 5 royal and had the best time of my life. that game was a fantastic palate cleanser after totk.

i mean.... my favorite part of totk (asides from the music) was the depths, clearing that out and spending hours getting every lightroot, and as much as a i loved the depths, in hindsight it is BULLSHIT that you get what amounts to a worthless token for getting every single lightroot. same as the reward for every korok seed- that open world bullshit of there being no real payoff to these massive collectible undertakings buts a little 'you did it :)' token. SO much of the chests and rewards in totk were absolute dogshit, it was CONSIDERABLY worse than the rewards in botw especially since the weapons are worse across the board. i played totk around the same time as a friend of mine, and even they were starting to get irritated with the shitty rewards.

similarly, it was also a pain in the ass to see how they used the amiibo armor and other references to past games- it was so shallow and hardly every worth the effort and just... why even reference the old games anyways? totk has jack shit to do with any of them, much less the game it's supposed to be a goddamn sequel to, and it was just a worthless attempt at using nostalgia and references. you can utilize past game references and nostalgia well (imo fire emblem engage did a really good job with that) and totk just tossed that shit in there bc it could and then moved on. don't even bother.

tbh totk really did stampede over everything in botw, from basically ignoring most of zelda's characterization, to scrubbing away most of the stuff about the champions or sheikah... anything (i'm so pissed by that one interview thing. 'it all disappeared bc calamity ganon disappeared' ILL BITE YOU. NOT ALL OF IT IS GONE. THEY LITERALLY DISCUSS IT IN BOTWS EPILOGUE. they built that shit in preparation for clam ganon its not like clam ganon caused it to pop up it was like a massive contingency plan for ganon why would it all disappear anyways what the hell. what the fuck. considering the sheikah's history w/ the hylian royals its so doubly fucked), and just... oh my GOD what totk does with link is so. you cannot be doing this rn.

link being a non speaking character is totally fine and has been handled great in the past and tbh botw handled him being non-speaking with limited emoting in the memories bc it gave a valid reason and suggested that lack of pressure and memories is what allows him to be more visibly emotional in the present!!! and totk is like. ah. nope. hes stone faced again. even in front of his friends and the people he cares about. even though this was explained as being basically a defense mechanism for hyrule's safety being put on his shoulders in the past and he loosens up in present botw. oh you want to see him smile? at his friend? who he's fought tooth and nail to see again? too bad its out of bounds. poor boy looks like he could be a customizable character in most cutscenes. you could swap him out with any other character in those scenes and it would not matter. the common defense abt link feeling like he doesnt matter to the story is usually like 'oh but he's doing that stuff of course it matters' you are missing the point the problem is that it feels like link. link specifically. link the character from botw. it feels like he does not matter to the story. feels like he could be swapped out with any random character so long as they have the master sword in hand.

look the music was the best part of the game but like. the usage of motifs from botw that don't actually relate to anything in totk (such as bringing back the champion's motifs when. they have LITERALLY nothing to do with almost anything in totk). the music does a good job at pulling on your heartstrings but it feels like it's doing a LOT of that specific heavy lifting in the story. very little of the actual game content backs up the soundtrack. totk does not deserve its soundtrack imo.

tbh the new sages were kinda weak, too. yunobo is infuriatingly fooled by fake zelda at every turn, tulin (best boy) has the most lazy blink-and-you'll-miss-it character 'arc' abt him learning to work with others or whatever the hell that dialogue was trying to impress upon me, sidon... look i did the water temple first (hated it) and then moved on i barely remember much about sidon, and riju is unfortunately in the blast range of what was done to the gerudo as a whole. they're fine, don't really get much time to breathe, their powers range from decently useful to just straight up a pain in the ass, (mineru is the worst sage. her mech... using that thing is one of the most unpleasant gameplay experiences ive had in what might be years) and oh god the dungeons... those fuckers are not a 'return to form' they're cheap imitations of zelda dungeons of the past.

say what you will about the divine beasts but at least i didn't feel like i was being treated like a fucking moron while going through them. totk's dungeons were insultingly easy, robbing any puzzle completing satisfaction by either just handing you the solution on a shiny silver plate or having the puzzle just be some flavor of 'go hit that switch' totk's water temple is the WORST zelda dungeon i have ever played through good god. it feels like the inverse of what majora's mask had going on; while majora's mask was on a smaller scale, the dungeons are huge undertakings of interwoven puzzles that are just... mwah i need to replay majora's mask soon. despite the game's massive scale totk's dungeons didn't take half as long as some fucking shrines. idk. every other zelda game ive played from phantom hourglass to skyward sword had considerably better dungeons than totk. fuckin- ph is easily a zelda game aimed more for younger audiences and they have more complicated dungeons than totk. fuck the story felt darker than totk. FUCK, LINEBECK ALONE WAS A MORE WELL WRITTEN AND DEVELOPED CHARACTER THAN THE WHOLE CAST OF TOTK PUT TOGETHER- my copy of phantom hourglass cost me $70 to obtain. phantom hourglass is worth that $70 to me. totk is not.

(speaking of shrines, totk's shrines were fine, it was disappointing how many of them were just. empty with just the prize. i will say, however, I fucking LOVED the shrines where you were stripped of all of your items and dropped into a unique combat situation. a perfect blend of puzzle and combat that utilized the new abilities much better than literally any other part of the game i WISH they actually used the ideas present in those shrines throughout the whole game they were so so good)

of course, theres the uncomfortable implications in the plot of hyrule in the past, the zonai being heralded as gods and then just peacefully placing themselves as higher and in authority over the other races, and then the suggestion that again in the present the other races (in some form) return to being vassals of hyrule, pretty much everything with the gerudo and the way ganondorf is treated and some aspects of his design, how the female characters are treated and viewed across the board, the messy theming, hyrules seemingly complete infatuation with zelda… a lot of this game just made me feel icky, and not in an intentional way.

it almost feels like theres a sense of disdain aimed at storytelling and worldbuilding in general, hardly anything feels new and what is new just is awkwardly superimposed on existing concepts, those existing concepts being carelessly brushed aside, the world bending- sometimes nonsensically- to fit the new ideas totk introduces. all of the disparate parts do not fit together very well and every cool new idea either falls flat after any scrutiny or stands as an unsatisfactory answer to an interesting question. its messy and i get the vibe that they (whoever has the final say on this stuff) don’t care so long as it sells. it doesnt particularly inspire hope or interest in the future of the series if the attitude towards final-draft storytelling and worldbuilding is the same as we got in that interview snippet about the sheikah technology. it feels insulting after everything we’ve seen in this series.

totk arguably is dragged down the most by its story, and i think is has the worst story of the series on account of how hollow and blatently gameplay-enabling it feels. at least in past zelda games if things went unexplained, there was enough room and evidence to speculate. the sheikah tech situation has been explained with ‘it just vanished and no one cared’ and that just feels insulting, not only to the people who wanted a real answer, but also to the game itself.

idk what else to add this game is covered in the ooze for me and i hate it and wouldnt mind never playing it again. theres so much that just doesnt make sense, straight up sucks, goes nowhere, means nothing, is shallow and pointless, is uncritical of itself and what it says, and is just… im not surprised about the lack of dlc on the basis that they dont have any more gameplay to add. the story and world is the very least important thing to totk and it fucking sucks. the gameplay doesnt even do anything for me i just fucking hate this game and its elementary school recess level complexity world and story

To my fellow totk haters (people who started off mildly annoyed with the game's flaws, who then progressed into full on rage as almost everybody else seemed to love it): What did you most dislike about the game? If you can't decide, what were the biggest problems you had? What changes would you like to make?

This can be anything from gentle constructive criticism to a full on rage induced rant; I want to hear your thoughts, whichever form they may take!

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iv

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: wow, another update four days later and ahead of schedule for once!! this chapter has been half-written and in drafts, waiting to be finished a whole month. sorry if it has some errors, i did my best to proofread and edit. i wrote most of this to someone to stay -- vancouver sleep clinic if that doesn't explain the soft moments this chapter gives, i needed the soft moments for my own selfish reasons pls enjoy <33

Synopsis: Amidst growing turmoil, Elmo Tully works to forge alliances with old rivals. As wedding planning forges ahead, storm clouds gather over Raventree Hall. Guests arrive for the betrothal feast, while Serra and Benjicot struggle to find common ground to ensure their marriage's success. Benjicot's olive branch to Serra offers some hope, despite her doubts. The families celebrate amid rising tensions and news from King’s Landing. Lord Samwell hears of the Brackens coming close to their borders and finally cracks underneath the pressure of his council.

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 7.1k

“How did it go?” 

Kermit had met Oscar at the doors upon his return from travel the past five and a half days — he couldn’t even hide his disgust at the sight and smell of his younger brother whose return was whispered to him as he had been sifting through the contents of the library that morning. He had made sure to be notified as soon as he’d stepped foot within the gates of Raventree once word had reached him that Oscar was expected to arrive that afternoon. 

It had been a long several days since the feast, and in the aftermath of the meeting between some of the Lords of the Riverlands, Oscar had been sent on horseback with a fleet of men from House Tully to the Arryn’s — a long journey that he did not outwardly protest against, but Kermit had seen the twitch of his eye as he gave his father a nod that was curt and far too formal for their usual dynamic; the war had shifted something in the air between the father and his sons in recent days. But the journey was one of necessity, sent as a messenger to House Arryn in the Eyrie -- one that would have been quicker if not for several storms that forced them to shelter for the night, issued with the task of reminding the Lady Jeyne of her vow to Rhaenyra and of their houses’ long-standing alliance and support of one another. A task that seemed easy enough, now days later and two less horses after having hit a snag and walking into a trap that had been rigged on the forest paths. Kermit had been there when the raven flew in with updates from their journey, notifying Elmo of the accident, which had involved his brother. Oscar was safe and otherwise unharmed aside from his pride and sore. 

Oscar, with his dirt stained face, smelling of fields and horse shit, yanked off his riding gloves as he shoved past his brother; his left cheek scuffed with a scab from a fall off his horse amidst their return after a last minute detour towards House Baratheon -- a decision his brother had made in his emboldened enthusiasm.

“What did they say?” Kermit asked again, earning a huff from his brother who continued his brisk walk towards the great hall where their father waited among the councilmen. 

“That’s a promising answer,” Kermit sarcastically said, striding alongside his brother and trying to keep up with his pace as he mimicked his huff, “I take it you replied with a sort of…” he continued, giving his brother an animalistic like grunt from behind him. 

Oscar abruptly stopped outside the doors and whipped around, scowling as his brother collided with his shoulder and awkwardly stumbled to keep from falling into him, “Do you know when to shut up? Have some patience, brother.” He muttered, shoving his brother back a couple of steps and re-establishing the small bit of space between them as he turned, his brother letting out a snort.  

He shoved the doors open, Elmo sat at the head of the table and deep in conversation with Lord Rivers who had yet to return home as the feast celebrating the union of his sister and Benjicot neared, the final details being cemented for that night, much to their reluctance -- Kermit and Oscar both heeded warning at the thought of last feast’s events, but their father insisted at least on something smaller and more intimate than dozens of random elderly Lords and their snobbish sons. The invite had only been extended to select few entrusted vassals of House Tully, Elmo reassured.  

He stopped at the opposite end of the table as he entered with Kermit in tow, his father’s gaze watching him with a look of expectancy, awaiting his words as his head bowed out of respect. Lord Rivers withdrew to his seat as Oscar glanced towards him, waiting until there was silence among the table of men, his gloves clutched in his right hand at his sides, “I have news from my journeys to House Arryn and House Baratheon.” He announced. 

The last of the mutters ceased, pausing as he moved to shift his stance, suddenly panged by a wave of anxiety towards the eyes that watched him from around the room. Oscar was never an insecure, timid boy -- he was confident, well-spoken and self-assured, and had never shied away from attention. But with his age, in comparison to the much more experienced men around him, oozing wisdom that countered his own youthful inexperience, he was painfully aware that he was just a boy in their eyes; stood there in armor, like a child playing ‘knight’. He knew that they did not view him as equal to his father -- not like he expected them to. 

“Proceed, son.” Elmo stated, his voice warm and encouraging. 

Oscar again nodded slowly and took a breath before he spoke, “House Arryn has once again pledged their support in favor of Rhaenyra Targaryen as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and has pledged to support our military efforts as much as they can afford.” He spoke, his tone more confident than it had been when he arrived. 

“And that of House Baratheon?” His father asked. 

“They have declared for the usurper, Aegon.” He replied, his eyes scanning the men around the table who broke into a series of mutters. “They plan to support him and his army should the time come.” Oscar explained. “Craven cunts.” Kermit muttered from behind him, reminding Oscar that he stood only a foot away from him as they spoke. 

Elmo’s eyes darted to his brother, in response to his words, his frustration evident in his face as his brows furrowed. 

“It does not come as a surprise to me.” Samwell said, speaking up finally. “I recall their Lordship expressing his…reservations about a woman sitting on the throne when she was first declared apparent heir. I was just hoping he would come to see reason.” He said, letting out a small sigh and looking to Elmo, who gave a small nod. 

“We can only do so much to guide others to see better judgment. I’ve received ravens from House Manderly and House Celtigar who have declared for Rhaenyra at least.” Lord Tully stated, his fingers drumming against the table as he seemed to linger on the update. While not the outcome they had hoped for, Oscar had done his duty successfully in all other words. “You’ve done a good job, Oscar.” 

Oscar nodded again, his head lifting to where his father stared at him, the two men in silence. A moment passed before Elmo leaned forward in his seat, placing his elbows atop the table and glancing towards an empty chair on his right as a sort of hint to his son. “Well?” He asked. “Do you plan to sit and join us?” 

Oscar turned his head and glanced at Kermit who looked back at him, the brothers sharing a look, his mouth opening to stutter out a sentence, “I…I was hoping to change first, make myself presentable.” He softly explained to his father. 

His hand waved dismissively to the idea, “Nonsense. There’s no more pride than that of a knight in the raw.” 

He visibly hesitated, letting out a small grunt under his breath that only Kermit could hear, a choked sound that came from his throat as though he wanted to refuse and insist on at least changing out of his riding gear; the little armor he wore streaked with mud and his own blood from the gash on his cheek. There was a sound of leather squeaking as he clenched his gloves with a white knuckle grip, before he let out a breath from his nose and walked forward, his head down as he moved to take his place at his father’s side. 

“And what of me, father?” Kermit asked, his brother’s chair dragging across the ground as he sat down.  

There was a glimmer of pride in his father’s eye as he watched Oscar scoot his chair forward, making himself as comfortable as he could, though Kermit could compare him to a wooden plank; stiff as he adjusted his cloak underneath him. His father turned to look at him after flashing a smile to his brother, chin lifting as he spoke, “Oh, check on your sister, will you? I haven’t seen her yet today.” 

Kermit gave a small nod, visibly disappointed at the request. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She found the castle had been quiet in the days that followed the feast -- much quieter than she was used to. In the aftermath, her father and Kermit were much gentler than normal with her, careful as though they feared she would jump and run if they spoke too loudly. She felt like a child they were coddling and the whole situation was humiliating, feeling as though she was six years old again, clinging to her mother and crying because some boy was mean to her. 

In some ways, she was grateful for it however. 

They gave her more space than they had before and didn’t interrupt her as often; instead, they hung back from a distance and occasionally walked by her rooms, to glance in and make sure she was okay but would leave without saying anything. On the odd occasion she caught them staring, they would offer small smiles and nod, before carrying on. It gave her an opportunity to breathe, ground herself and reel from the events of the feast -- she could almost pretend that it hadn’t even happened and convince herself, this was not her life and was just some nightmare. 

Once she had moved past the feast and its chaos, she was faced with a new challenge. 

She watched from the treeline as Benjicot trained, too engrossed in his spar with his cousin to pay her any mind as she kept her distance; Alistair posted a few paces behind her. Her hands remained preoccupied by the small purple flowers in her hands -- violets that she had managed to find at the edges of the property, plucking them with a childish excitement. She had turned from her knelt position on the ground, summoning Alistair forward and insisting he hold them as she picked whatever his hands could hold. There had been a hint of apprehension, hesitating as he eyed her, before nodding and accepting the flowers, holding them in his left hand as she resumed her task of collecting them and rambled on about the knowledge she’d obtained over the years; familiar with herbs and plants and their medicinal use -- she had rambled on about a tea she could make with them when they returned. In the aftermath of the feast that had turned out disastrously, she found she actually enjoyed Alistair’s company and found comfort in his presence. He listened and was polite when he responded, and in the few words he offered, he provided her with wisdom. 

“Should we return to the library, my lady?” Alistair asked. She hummed inquisitively in response, eyes still transfixed on the boy Lord she was still working to figure out. “I can summon one of the kitchen workers to fix that tea for you.” He offered. 

She turned to look at him, offering a soft smile, “No, no. It’s quite alright, I can do it later. I’d like to stay out here a little while longer.” Serra replied, her gaze turning to look again towards the two young Blackwood men. “I…have something I have to do, actually.” 

“Might I be able to help somehow?” He offered. 

She shook her head, but paused, “Could you actually take these inside? I’d like to invite Lord Blackwood for a walk and then I will be in.” She explained, turning to him and once again scooping half of the flowers into his hands, her gaze down and avoiding his eyes. There was a moment of silence that passed between them before he spoke again. 

“Would you like me to summon him for you?” Alistair pressed again, her eyes finally coming up to make out the skepticism in his features, a look of concern in his eyes. 

She smiled again, “No, I…feel this is something I should do.” She replied, voice soft as she withdrew, keeping a few of the flowers for herself. 

Even through her reassurance, she could still see his concern, reluctant to nod and leave her to the task. Though he gave her a nod and passed her, walking towards the house and leaving her in the spot near the trees some feet away from where Benjicot’s cousin let out a yelp as he fell back into the dirt with a thud. Emrys was quicker to shoot up, rolling onto his side and reaching for his sword that had slipped from his hand in the tumble, just as Benjicot kicked it further from his grasp. She slowly approached, the small flowers in her hands as she stroked the petals between her thumb and forefinger, Emrys’ gaze finding her first as she neared the edge of the circle. 

Emrys looked relieved as he panted out a soft greeting and began to scramble to his feet, “My lady.” 

Benjicot turned towards where his cousin’s attention was placed, finding his betrothed standing before him and offering the smallest of smiles. The two men issued a bow, breathing heavily and flushed in the face as the heir wiped sweat from his bow, “Lady Tully.” He greeted, mouth ajar. 

“My apologies for interrupting.” She softly said, glancing between the two men. She paused, her gaze dropping briefly to the flowers in her hands, looking then to Emrys, “Hopefully he’s not been too hard on you today.” She remarked, her tone hinting a stiff attempt at teasing the Blackwood cousin. 

Emrys barked a laugh, brushing dirt from his doublet, “Hardly. I’m starting to think he’s deliberately trying to maim me.” He commented, shooting a look to his cousin who let out a quiet snort, the closest thing to a laugh that Serra had witnessed yet since her arrival. “In the event I die, he would no longer have any more competition in vying for your eye then, isn’t that right?” He flirted, smug as he leaned to shove Ben with his shoulder. 

The action hardly caused Benjicot’s feet to move beyond his right foot dragging against the dirt in a half-stumble, the two boys jokingly shoving each other and wrestling for a moment. Serra watched as Benjicot quickly slung an arm around his cousin’s neck in the scuffle, laughter ensuing as he muttered something incoherent at him that resembled a warning of ‘watch it’. “Okay, okay-- easy!” Emrys cried out, laughing and shoving him away. 

They settled down, straightening themselves out before they both looked at Serra once again, the smile she wore both shy and hinting her amusement at their antics, finding the interaction rather endearing. “I also mean to bring gifts for you both.” She said, finally stepping into the circle and approaching them. She witnessed the look the two men shared, Emrys’ interest piqued and smiling at her as she walked first to him and offered the small purple flower to him, bowing to her as he gently accepted the flower; bringing it towards his chest. 

“Thank you, Lady Tully.”

She sweetly smiled at him, before her gaze reluctantly found Benjicot’s as he watched the interaction before him, though his expression was one that she found unreadable, his lips parted and eyebrows raised. She hesitated, slow in stepping towards him and offering the last flower to him, placed in her palm and waiting for him. 

Benjicot glanced up at her face from the flower. He had never really understood women’s fixation with flowers, even as a boy, as pretty as they were -- he never viewed them as anything more than decorative things that adorned banners, armor and were a nuisance in the yards of Raventree. They were hardly a gift, but he moved to place his sword underneath his arm, pinned against his side and holding it as he reached out to carefully pluck the flower from her palm with his fingers, forcing a tight smile while holding it up briefly, “Thank you.” 

He watched as she offered a sweet, giddy smile and stepped back, her face lit up with joy as he accepted the flower, “You’re welcome.” Her hands clasped together in front of her, her eyes darting to Emrys who hardly made an attempt at concealing the wolfish grin he gave his older cousin at the sight. She looked back up at Benjicot, his own gaze lingering on his cousin and shooting him a glare of warning, “I understand you are probably busy, but I was wondering if you would care to take a walk around the grounds? Whenever you’re done here, of course.” She hurriedly spoke, her own look shooting to his cousin as if to ask if it was okay, not wanting to intrude more than she already did. 

“I think that would be lovely.” Emrys quickly replied. “We were actually just wrapping up.” 

Benjicot wanted to turn and slap him by the back of his head in that moment, eyes fixing on him again as if to question what the fuck he was doing-- 

“Are you sure?” She asked. 

However, he suppressed the urge to argue and deny her hopeful stare, sighing softly, “Of course. Let me just bring my sword back inside and we can go.” Benjicot grumbled, his annoyance boiling under the surface of his words. 

Her mouth opened to respond, but she was cut short before she could even utter a word as he turned on his heel and stalked away from her. She blinked, shrinking back once again as Emrys watched her deflate, watching after his cousin, “So moody-- I promise he isn’t always like this.” Emrys whispered, trying to make light of the situation, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I’m sorry.” He quickly said, running after him. 

Her eyes met Kemit’s from the doorway as she watched Emrys run inside, his expression stoic and plain as she forced a polite smile before he turned and walked in the opposite direction as the two men before him. 

     · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could still sense his anger when he returned to the yard. 

The pair were silent as they walked, her watchful gaze fixed on observing the outer parts of Raventree — tall, sturdy, and appearing just as powerful as its men. Although her feelings towards the man to her right were that of indifference, she struggled to comprehend or make sense of his own attitude towards her, as she had hardly ever done anything to him aside from existing in his presence and that, even as children, had enraged him to such a point that at times she could not deny Benjicot was nothing less than what his houses’ reputation stood for. He embodied that very idea. Loyal but brutes. He did not seem to outgrow that as adults as even now, he didn’t seem to care for her and just seemed to search for any opportunity to humiliate her. Unlike when they were children, it came in forms of snide remarks and innuendos dismissing her as nothing more than some…object to one day warm his bed, or a nuisance — if not, even worse, it felt as though he treated like some sworn enemy to the likeness of a Bracken at times. 

Even though his father could sometimes scare him back into line, it only came in brief moments before he seemed to fall back into his habits. And his father couldn’t follow them and play mediator at all hours of the day. How did they plan to enter a marriage and live under those conditions? In which he despised her and she was nothing more than some doll to take his anger out on? To one day show her some warmth, only to come back with rage and lashing out at her. 

She almost preferred his childhood antics and would have rather he’d shove her into mud and call it a day. The thought of a lifetime spent living this way felt unbearable, the realization weighing heavy on her chest, almost as though she was being both physically and figuratively crushed by the very idea as her gaze anxiously darted to the side of his face from the corner of her eye; taking in the sight of him, so nonchalant and blissfully unaware. Unfazed. Her eyes darted back straight ahead as her clasped hands released themselves, smoothing over the fabric of her dress to wipe the sweat from her fingers, hands shaking slightly as she then clenched them, her breathing deep and heavy with each sharp inhale and exhale of air; even her breath shuddered as she attempted to ground herself, trying to force air into her lungs which felt as though they, too, were being crushed— 

“You’re breathing quite loudly.” Benjicot suddenly said, having been unaware that she had managed to walk ahead of him by a few paces while in thought, her hands once again going to smooth over her bodice as she abruptly stopped. 

She was quiet in response to his statement, too frightened to turn and face him immediately, like a scared child who was fearful of getting in trouble for something they had done — scared that if she showed even the slightest hint of weakness, he would pounce like a predator does their prey. But there was no hiding the fear in her eyes as she slowly turned towards him, one hand at her stomach and gripping the fabric there as if it would somehow steady her shaking hand and hide it in plain sight from him, her eyes meeting his. Though she could only bear to hold his stare for a moment before it dropped to the chest of his doublet, sucking in a deep breath, Benjicot’s eyes narrowing with a furrow of his brows. 

“What…” he began to say, pausing and taking a step toward her, “pray tell, is the matter with you now?” He sighed as he spoke, shoulders slumping with the words and a roll of eyes. 

If she had had even the smallest bit of boldness that existed within her and coursed through her veins, his words could have enraged her — his tone, speaking to her like she was an unfortunate bastard child that burdened him by simply existing, maybe then she would have had just enough courage in her so that she might have been brave enough to shout, yell, even swing a punch at him— but she couldn’t. If she had been born a man, she may have been lucky to possess such bravery. Instead, she was frozen in place, swallowing and instead looking up towards a window of the castle that overlooked them to avoid his eyes as she felt him continue to stare at her. She realized in that very moment, realizing how trapped she truly was, that she would have rather jump from the very window she was standing underneath than be married and stuck with Benjicot the rest of her life. She heard him sigh again, though the sound felt muffled and distant — not like he was standing only half a foot away from her, the sound of her heartbeat pounding so loudly she could barely hear over it.   

“My Lady?” 

She subconsciously had stepped towards the house, her breathing still rapid as she closed her eyes, a cool breeze flowing through the court that blew a few loose strands of hair into her face and across her cheeks. She was snapped, however, from her daze by the feeling of his hand closing around her elbow, eyes shooting open and immediately moving to withdraw from his hold as she leaned away; shrinking back with her mouth open to protest, his eyes on her face — for the first time since her arrival, though, she couldn’t find any trace of disgust in his features as he scanned her appearance. His grip tightened as she tried to withdraw again, tugging against his hand but to no avail. 

“Easy— just… just wait.” He commanded, his eyes darting over his shoulder as though he was looking for someone or something and scanning their surroundings before he quickly looked back at her. His other hand mirrored his right, grabbing her other arm just above her elbow and holding her in place as the sinking feeling of panic set in, her eyes widening and gasping for air as she used her entire weight to try and force herself backwards and out of his hold. Even with all her strength, she was unsuccessful beyond more than a stumbled step forward, only bringing him closer, bringing them chest to chest, “Serra, please— stop.” 

“What are you doing?” She suddenly cried out, voice small as her arms attempted to flail free from his restraint. She looked up at him, a look she couldn’t quite place flashing across his features — hurt, disgust? She gasped inwards, leaning back. 

He suddenly released an arm, stepping back from her and scanning her face, the furrow in his brow remaining, “Do you really think I’d deliberately seek to hurt a woman?” He asked, voice quiet but not hiding his offense, though he knew it was hypocritical. He wasn’t always kind, he was aware of that. 

He hardly allowed her a moment to process his words before his hand around her second elbow loosened and he blinked rapidly a couple of times with a glance towards his feet. He looked up a moment later, his hand dropping and cautiously taking hers, the move slow as his hand covered hers and watching her face as though he was searching for any sign to stop; any further protest — her own eyes still watched in complete and utter fear, confusion on her face, “Just…trust me for a moment. Watch.” He pleaded, voice quiet and desperate as his gaze dropped briefly to her chest, still heaving with the breathless pants that left her mouth before returning to her face. 

His hand was gentle over hers as it lead hers from her side; unfolding her fist and spreading her fingers as it was outstretched towards him, only feeling a small bit of resistance as her hand was guided inwards towards his body — he caught her eyes, that looked between her hand and his face, “Easy...” He repeated, his voice softer than before. Her body was still rigid and her skepticism still evident, but even Benjicot could not blame her for being so unwilling to trust him. What reason had he given her to do so thus far? He’d been nothing short of cruel to her in their childhood and had been so selfishly engrossed in his own fury that he hadn’t even pieced it together that she was as equally innocent in this scenario as he was. It seemed to dawn on him, looking at her face, the pieces falling into place. 

He pressed her hand to his chest, the heat of her fingers felt through his clothing as he pressed it flat, her palm pressed against his sternum over his heart; the steady thrum of his heartbeat felt underneath the layers with his chest rising and falling with steady, regular breaths, “do you feel that?” He quietly asked, her gaze still flipping between her hand and his own eyes before settling there, watching him. “Feel my heart? My breath?” He asked. 

He didn’t expect much of an answer, but her gaze dropped to her hand which seemed to relax under his, which was enough of a reply, “Just feel…breathe.” He quietly instructed. “Follow my breathing, in…out...in…” he guided, giving her a few moments and watching as the tension seemed to slide from her shoulders like a piece of clothing. 

The image of her fear-stricken face was still burned into his mind as he watched her relax — the memory invoking a flurry of guilt and shame to wash over him. He knew he could be cruel at times, but he’d never intended to be the source for her terror; hells, he’d never even realized just how much his actions had affected her. Looking at her in that moment, he’d come to remember she was just as much a pawn to the games of politics as he’d been — if not, more innocent than anyone. She hadn’t wanted this anymore than he had but she didn’t have any choice in the matter, just as he hadn’t. But he was prideful and had to swallow down the urge to say anything more about it, standing there silently as his gaze scanned her face. 

He pitied her, truly pitied her. 

“Your heart is beating faster.” She quietly pointed out, her eyes looking upwards from where her hand was placed, Benjicot having not even realized he was still staring at her as he’d pondered his anger these past days. A sudden rush of heat flooded his cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something -- the urge to spit out some sarcastic quip readily on his lips, but his words were halted by the sound of Ser Eryn’s voice as he approached them. 

“My lord.” 

Benjicot stepped back immediately, almost jumping and dropping his hand from her wrist as she simultaneously withdrew her hand from his chest; both their heads whipping towards the guard, “I apologize for my intrusion…but your father has summoned you.” Ser Eryn explained, his gaze fixed explicitly on the young man. 

Benjicot found his voice finally, nodding as he swallowed, looking down at the ground beneath his feet and then glancing towards Serra, her hands at her sides as she briefly returned his glance -- they both then looked back at Ser Eryn, “Very well. Thank you.” He simply replied. 

The guard nodded, turning with a clank of his armor before striding away, but not before he shot a last look in the direction of the young woman who was still standing timidly a few inches shy of the heir, wordlessly. Benjicot waited until he was out of earshot before he looked back at her, his hands going to clasp behind his back, “We should make our way back now, my lady. Shall we?” He spoke, his voice regaining its prior confidence, head tilting to gesture her along -- she nodded, a meek gesture in reply as she tentatively took a few steps to come back up to his side as he then began to lead them back down the path that circled the estate. 

The walk back was just as quiet as the one there, both keeping their eyes straight ahead. Serra wasn’t sure she had accomplished what she had set out to do when they first left — not sure she felt she understood him better or felt they had bridged their feud; she wasn’t even sure she could say she knew him better. But she was at least reminded that he was still human, under the brutish behavior, that he did possess the ability to be gentle and kind, if that’s even what she could call it. Occasionally, her gaze would wander towards him and even though he seemed set on avoiding catching her eye again, she still took the brief opportunity to observe him as she tried to figure him out again for the hundredth time that week. She noted the lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he scowled and she could assume they were prominent when he smiled, too. From this angle, as the sinking sun caught his eye, she could make out that his eyes were almost green — maybe even hazel? Regardless, in this lighting he did not appear as intimidating or even menacing as she had previously thought him to be. Nothing more than a boy, she realized. 

The main doors were opened by guards as they approached, creaking open so loudly the sound echoed throughout the halls; Benjicot walking ahead of her and letting out a puff of air as he began to approach the familiar doors where the council and his father were awaiting him, though he paused. He visibly hesitated in turning to her, the same pensive look on her face as they stared at one another a moment before he took a step toward her, “I apologize for having to cut our meeting short. I will see you at supper, yes?” He questioned, reaching out to grab her hand and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles. Her eyes briefly dropped to his mouth, noting the scar above his lip before returning to his eyes and nodding. 

“Yes, of course.” 

Benjicot straightened up and nodded, letting her hand go in order to turn and make his way into the hall where Serra briefly caught a glimpse of her father sitting at the table, along with Samwell and other council members as the doors opened. Though a silence settled over them as Benjicot entered and sat down, her father and Samwell both casting looks in her direction as their quiet discussion ceased at the doors being held open. It was then that her attention was drawn to the sound of her elder brother coming down the stairs quite quickly, one hand at his sword just as she and Benjicot parted; his gaze following his friend before looking at her. Kermit appeared to slow as he approached the bottom two stairs, pausing and sharing a silent exchange with his sister, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Sister.” He suddenly said, breaking the silence and nodding at her before rushing into the room behind the young Blackwood who had entered moments earlier. The doors were closed behind him, leaving her standing in the hall, more at ease than she had been the past several days. 

    · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A soft knock echoed through the room as Benjicot stood in front of the window, straightening the neck of his cloak, shoulders rolling as he assumed it was a reminder to hurry from one of the guards, “Come.” He called out, growing frustrated as the fabric would not sit right against his throat no matter how much fidgeting with it that he did. He felt as though he was being choked and deprived of air as he sucked in a sharp breath. 

He heard as the door opened and footsteps shuffled against the ground, entering the room and closing the door, “I will be down shortly.” He replied, giving the clothing one last tug and beginning to fix his sleeves, however his companion was silent. He turned, sensing that it wasn’t a guard afterall, and finding Kermit stood behind him with a look of contemplation, his eyes moving to scan his appearance. His eyebrows furrowed. They quietly stared at each other for a moment that left Benjicot almost uncomfortable. 

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Benjicot asked suddenly. 

Kermit forced a smile, “You always do, don’t worry.” He said, the attempt at a playful tone painfully forced and not unnoticed by Ben. His gaze dropped again, fixed on the Blackwood sigil across his chest, mouth opening to speak again, “I don’t want to be the overbearing brother who nags you with the same warnings your father already has, I know there is only so much I can say that has not already been said a hundred times...” He said, his voice soft and looking up to his eyes again. 

Benjicot did not attempt to interrupt him with a reply, settling on listening intently. 

“She’s a kind girl.” Kermit stated, matter of factly and more confident as he stood upright. “Kinder than most. She feels so much, so deeply, and she cares too much for her own good sometimes. But she is good…more so than anyone I have ever met. She possesses both intellect and wit, and despite the chaos of the men around her-- she remains such a gentle, good-hearted spirit who keeps us grounded. She is terrible with a needle and thread, but she knows how to soothe and mend the worst of wounds-- I used to go right to her whenever you kicked my ass when we would train as boys. And I know one day she will be equally as kind a mother as she will be a wife, just as our mother was.” He continued to speak, stepping closer to his friend who held his gaze. 

“I’d like to think we’ve always been good friends,” He said. “I even consider us to have become like brothers.” Benjicot’s expression softened, his shoulders relaxing, “I do too.” 

“Then please treat her with kindness.” He pleaded suddenly, stepping forward one last step until he was mere inches from him. “Treat her with decency and be good to her. I have never trusted anybody else with her as I do you. I know you are a good and generous man, Benjicot, and I know somewhere inside you, you still possess the kindness and warmth my sister needs. I ask…” He spoke, pausing to catch his breath. 

He reached out to place a hand on Benjicot’s shoulder, “I ask that you be a better man than your father was to you. Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot, and I cannot bear to imagine a life without her, knowing I was the cause for my own sister’s demise. She does not deserve that.” He explained, his voice thick with emotion as Ben watched his friend nod as if to silently ask that he understood after a moment. 

He reluctantly nodded after a few seconds that felt like hours. 

They did not part immediately, staring at each other in the silent space of Ben’s chambers, the weight of his pleas lingering over them. Kermit gave a final nod whilst clapping his friend’s shoulder and sniffling once before he stepped back and folded his hands behind him, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready, then.” He quietly said. 

Kermit was slow in retreating from the room, leaving him to his thoughts, his words heavy on his chest like the boot of his opponent in battle; the ache there deep and raw as his hand instinctively rose to massage his chest over his heart with his knuckles, as if to rub away the anxiety their conversation left him. He turned on his heel and faced the desk that was shoved against the wall, stacked with books — and there, among all the strewn papers and ink stains, sat a small purple flower against the brown leather of a history textbook he had skimmed through days prior. 

He reached out for it with the hand that had touched his chest, careful in picking up the delicate violet that had been plucked from the yards of Raventree and eyeing it under the little light that the sun cast in through his window. 

“Because otherwise she will not survive this marriage if you cannot.” 

His mouth twitched, sighing as he lifted the flower across his chest and gently tucked it into the pin of his House that rested over his left shoulder as he turned to leave towards the door. His guard stood to attention, stiff and proper as he bowed his head while he was still preoccupied by the task of adjusting the flower against the fabric as he stepped into the hall, Ser Eryn’s eyes drawn to the plant that was neatly placed among the uniform. Benjicot exhaled, cheeks ballooning with air as his eyebrows rose briefly at the guard, his head tilting in the direction of the stairs, “Shall we?” 

The young Lord Blackwood led them throughout the halls of the keep, the sun beginning to set with the end of the day as evening enveloped the riverlands in darkness; the walls lined by lit torches that provided an orange glow despite the hour. He was given the odd bow of head as he passed workers House Blackwood employed, mutters of ‘my lord’ following him as he descended the stairs to the entrance. The doors to the great hall were already opened and readily greeted him as Ser Eryn followed close behind, relieved to find that the only commotion from the room was the sound of joyous laughter and the light hum of conversation filling the hall as he entered. 

His father had spared no expense with the extravagant display, the room lined with yellow and red decorations, the finest of silverware adorning the table as guests lined both sides of the table. 

He anxiously fidgeted with the cuffs of his doublet as he approached the head of the table, where his father and Serra’s family sat, waiting for his arrival. His father’s gaze eyed him from over his chalice, taking a sip as Benjicot found his place at a seat next to Serra, snug between her and Samwell. 

“--your men should reach the borders within the hour.” Elmo said in a hushed voice, leaning towards Samwell, attempting not to bring attention to the conversation. “They should meet the camp as soon as they get there.” 

Benjicot frowned as he pulled his chair forward, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Samwell quickly replied, setting his drink down and scanning his son’s appearance. “You look well-rested.” He said. Ben sensed his struggle to utter the words, not used to extending compliments. 

“Thank you.” He quietly replied. 

He could feel his eyes linger, following his father’s eyes to the flower on his left shoulder, “You’ve added some personal touches to your uniform.”

“It’s from the yards.” He answered, reaching for the wine pitcher from the table and bringing it towards his cup, pouring himself a drink. 

In the corner of his eye, he could make out the sight of movement as Serra had turned, mid-conversation with who he soon figured out was Oscar when he turned to look over at her whilst setting down the jug. Her gaze was fixed on the flower that was tucked in as part of his pin, delicate and perfect there, her lips parting but not saying anything. 

“It’s a nice touch,” Samwell said. “I like it.”

Serra looked up at him, a blush creeping across her face as she flashed a small smile, shy and genuine as she then looked down to her lap. He tore his gaze from her and looked once again at his father who rose an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Benjicot mumbled, lifting his cup to his mouth.

masterlist | backward

TAGLIST: @username199945, @cxcilla, @thethiccestdaddy, @deltamoon666, @drwho-ess, @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche @majoso12 @roseheart5 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22 @accidentpronedork @tannyfairy @maximizedrhythms

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Hey its the enha request anon and yep that's the one! Thank you soooo much and I can't wait for whatever post you drop next <3

Teheh, this is the first part I hope you like it :) its been in my drafts for so long but I didn't come back around to clean up it until just now so my apologies (tbh my drafts are drowning in things i need to finish or just post but ive been saurrrr distracted)

When They Take a Prank a Bit too Far | Jake

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx)

Jake had been a bit of a prankster since the beginning of your relationship with him. His playful nature was one of the things you loved about him, one of the things that made you fall so madly in love with him. Especially when one of his jokes could pull out the laugh and smile you loved so much.

But he had always been careful when teasing you. He knew you had the tendency to be a bit more sensitive. This time, he decided to take his pranks to a new level by pretending he was talking to someone else. Little did he know that this prank would end up testing your relationship in ways neither of you anticipated.

Jake had been planning the prank for a week, coordinating with his friends to make it as believable as possible. He wanted to see your reaction, thinking it would be fun to reveal the truth with a grand romantic gesture later. He didn’t consider the possibility that you might not confront him about it at all. You always had been slightly insecure, especially whenever you'd see videos of Engenes at fanmeets fawning over him. But you had a quiet confidence that made you pull through those insecurities. It was something he admired a lot. So he thought if you assumed he was talking to someone else you'd simply bring out a pouty face and ask him. And then he could assure you that it was just a joke.

In fact it stemmed from the fact that he had assured the guys you would do such. He swore up and down that he knew you best, and knew that you wouldn't take it to heart.

"My Y/N-ie may seem insecure, but they know I would never cheat on them." He had told the guys.

And it was no surprise that Ni-Ki proposed they should test this idea.

For the past few days, Jake had been unusually secretive with his phone, constantly texting and smiling at the screen. You noticed the change immediately. Usually, he was open with his messages, even asking you to reply to his friends sometimes. But now, he would quickly turn his phone away whenever you walked by, and he seemed to be lost in his own world, smiling at whatever was on the screen.

While you were curious at first- even coming to the conclusion he was pulling your leg, your initial curiosity turned into worry quickly.

Jake wouldn't be the type to pretend to cheat for a prank would he? You couldn't fathom your golden retriever aussie boy pulling a prank as risky as that. He knew how sensitve you were and always shied away from doing things that could unintentionally hurt you.

So while at first you summed it up to be a prank, you convinced yourself your saint of a boyfriend was not a prankster of this caliber.

Which immediaetly brought worry into your mind.

Was he talking to another person? The thought gnawed at you, making you feel insecure and anxious. You tried to brush it off, reminding yourself that Jake loved you and wouldn’t do something like that. But the nagging doubt persisted the more and more you saw his behaviors change.

The first time you had noticed Jake’s unusual behavior was during dinner. His phone buzzed, and he quickly glanced at it, chuckled, and then turned it face down on the table. Usually, he would share funny messages with you, but this time he kept it to himself.

"Who’s that?" you asked casually.

"Oh, just a friend," he replied, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, but it only grew stronger as the days went by. Jake would often excuse himself to take calls in another room, and you could hear him laughing softly.

A laugh you loved so much.

Your heart ached with worry, but you kept silent, not wanting to seem paranoid. And not wanting to risk angering him if you were to ask.

One evening, you found yourself alone in the living room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone while Jake was in the bedroom, supposedly talking to his "friend." You couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy and insecurity as you watched the same reel for the eleventh time.

What if he was going to break up with you and leave you for the other person? Were you desperate enough to overlook infidelity just to keep him by your side? You felt ashamed believeing that you would.

You just loved Jake so much and it hurt to think that he was finding that love in another.

Maybe they kinder than you? Sweeter? Prettier? Funnier? Overall better. The thought made your chest tighten with anxiety. You never felt good enough to Jake. He seemed like a literal angel and you felt extremely lucky to have someone like him when you felt so underserving of him.

Maybe he had found someone who was deserving of him.

You tried to keep your composure, reminding yourself of the trust you had in Jake. He didn't seem like the type of person to cheat. But then again wasn't anyone capable of anything?

You told yourself it was impossible for him. But the more secretive he became, the more your resolve began to crumble. You found yourself lying awake at night, replaying every interaction in your mind, searching for clues or reassurance.

Did you do something to make him stop loving you?

Jake’s behavior didn’t improve; in fact, it seemed to get worse. He was always on his phone, and every time you walked into the room, he would lock it and smile at you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. It was driving you crazy.

One night, after a particularly long day, you were sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. Jake was next to you, but his attention was entirely focused on his phone. He chuckled softly, his fingers flying across the screen as he typed a message.

Your heart ached with a mix of jealousy and hurt. You felt tears welling up in your eyes, and felt your lip begin to quiver, but you didn’t want to confront him. Instead, you quietly excused yourself and went to the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. You laid on the edge of the bed, burying your face in your arms as silent tears streamed down your cheeks.

You felt a deep sense of betrayal, wondering what you had done wrong. Why was he talking to someone else? Did he not love you anymore? The questions swirled in your mind, each one more painful than the last.

Jake, oblivious to your distress, continued his prank.

He was just sending mindless memes back and forth with Ni-Ki. It wasn’t until he noticed how quiet the living room had become that he realized something was wrong. He looked up from his phone and saw that you were gone. A pang of guilt hit him, and he decided to check on you.

Jake entered the bedroom quietly, expecting to find you reading or maybe even asleep. Instead, he found you laying on the bed, your shoulders shaking as you cried softly into your hands. His heart dropped. He hadn’t expected his prank to affect you this deeply.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked gently, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

You tried to compose yourself, wiping at your eyes, but the tears kept coming. “It’s nothing,” you said, your voice shaky.

Jake’s heart ached at the sight of your tears. “Please, talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. “I just… I feel like you’ve been distant. You’re always on your phone, and I don’t know who you’re talking to. It’s like you’re hiding something from me. Did I do something wrong?" You croaked.

Jake’s guilt intensified. He had never meant for his prank to hurt you like this. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “It was a prank. I wasn’t talking to another lover. I was texting Ni-Ki. We were testing out how you would react to me being secretive. I didn’t realize it would make you feel this way. I thought you would have confronted me by now...” His round eyes were sad as he looked at you, his chin jutting you as he pouted.

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of relief and hurt. “A prank? You promise?”

He nodded, looking genuinely remorseful. “Yes, a prank. I wanted to see your reaction, but I never meant to hurt you. I love you, and I’m so sorry for making you feel pained.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension leave your body as you leaned into him. “You promise it was just a prank?”

“I promise,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “No more pranks that make you feel like this. I love you too much to see you hurt.”

Jake went out of his way to make it up to you, planning small surprises and showing you how much he cared over the next few days. And even asked Ni-Ki to explain to you that it was just a prank. He couldn't stress it enough.

It pained him even more than it had pained you.

One evening, as you both sat on the couch, he took your hand in his. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened,” he said softly. “I’m really sorry for making you feel like that. I never want you to doubt my love for you.” This had to have been Jake's one hundreth apology and you chuckled.

You squeezed his hand, grateful for his sincerity. “I know. And I’m sorry for not talking to you about it sooner. I just… I didn’t want to seem paranoid. But its okay Jake, I forgive you."

Jake shook his head. “You’re not paranoid. I should have been more considerate. I’ve learned my lesson.” He said snuggling up to you.

You smiled as he peppered kissed all over your head and face.

"Jake!" You giggled as he continued kissing you.

"Hmm?" He said pulling you closer. "Hmm?" He hummed repeatedly, emphasizing each one with yet another kiss.

You squirmed in his arms but he wouldn't let you go.

"I." Kiss. "Love." Kiss. "You." Kiss.

"I know!" You giggled once more.

"I." Kiss. "Love." Kiss. "You."

"I-I knowwwww!" You said trying to squirm out of his ticklish embrace.

"Mmm." He said pulling you back. Kiss.

"Jakeeeee."

"I'm not-" Kiss. "Letting-" Kiss. "You go-" Kiss. "Until-" Kiss. "You-" Kiss. "Say it-" Kiss. "Back." Kiss.

"I-I love you, TOO!" You squealed as his got to the sensitive spot on your neck.

He smiled and placed a chaste kiss on your lips, and pulled you into his side, picking up the remote and scrolling through the TV.

"I thought you said you'd let me go if I said it back." You mumbled in mock annoyance, pushing yourself even more into Jake's side if that was possible.

"Maybe I lied..." Jake said softly, stroking your hair as he settled on a drama you loved. "Because I don't ever want to let you go."

You sighed contentedly in response to his answer.

His few words unknowingly clearing any lingering doubts you had about Jake's immeasurable love for you.

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo

@meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona

@shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345

@mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @minsungsthirdwheel

@yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

[iikisa]

part 1

so. this is part one of a red dragon!krs fic ive been building up… this first chapter doesnt really have much much interesting scenes as of right now, and I’d love love love the input from everyone on how to continue, ideas for characters, and if theres anything i should consider changing!! that doesnt mean that i’ll be changing everything according to commenters, but i’d value all opinions to help build this plot 🥲

I’ve already finished around 3 similar length chapters and recently got stuck, so think of these posts as drafts and final revisions will probably go officially on AO3. thanks everyone 🤪

———

Oh, Pitiful Dragon (1)

-

Ever since his birth, the child longed for death. If it could take away his pain and grant his freedom, he’d trade anything he had so scarce of already. And on a particularly horrible day— the day that terrible man decided he would rip out his heart and use it for evil— the little child met a god.

The God of Death.

He thought it was ironic, seeing how soon his own demise was due soon. But this God didn’t come to reap his death, rather it came to propose a deal.

And the red dragon would accept any deal to be free of this pitiful life.

-

Kim Roksoo awoke suddenly from his slumber. His vision was black and only began to adjust to his blurred version after continuous blinking. Why was it so dark? And how had he fallen asleep? He was just finishing Volume 5 of The Birth of a Hero series and now— wait, are those chains?!

His eyes blew open and his vision was finally adjusted to the pitch darkness that surrounded him. He tried to stand but winced when pain spiked all across his body. Only then did he realize just how badly injured he was. Why was he so weak? Had someone kidnapped and beat him to a pulp?! He was completely blinded by the inexplicable pain that he hadn’t realized something much more important. No— wait, pain is important! It’s definitely concerning! But… why was his whole body covered in crimson scales?

‘Oh geez, well isn’t this new.’

Shortly after he had that thought he passed out from exhaustion and shock.

-

When Kim Roksoo woke again, he was practically being strangled. He quickly gasped for air and focused in on his current situation. He was being held up tightly by a metal collar on his (very, very sore) neck by some strange man in front of him. His hair was a long, spiky mess of blond and didn’t look very well-maintained. But his eyes… they were bloodshot red and had a crazed glint to them.

‘Crazy bastard…!’

Roksoo’s breathing was beginning to strain more and more, and suddenly he felt something prick beneath his scales painfully. He looked down and saw a clear tube running from his body all the way through an open passageway not so far from him. His blood began flowing through it.

‘Blood— They’re.. taking my blood?’

His thoughts were becoming even more incoherent by the second but after securing the clear tube into the little red dragon, the crazed man dropped him to the floor.

“You’re blood is so pure and vibrant, it’s so beautiful.. just like the color of your scales! It will definitely aid our liege and his cause. Haha!”

All Roksoo could think of was how crazy this lunatic was. He was still heavily panting, because honestly when was he not at this point, but thankfully he hadn’t passed out again. Instead, he glared with all his being towards the crazy bastard standing above him. Unfortunately, it only seemed to excite the lunatic even more.

“Maybe I really should visit you more. That look in your eyes gives me chills!”

Mumbling to himself, the psycho soon left the room through the very passage his blood was being drawn towards, and Roksoo was left alone; unprotected and cold. He hated feeling this way. These people didn’t seem to want him alive for so long, considering his “luxury” treatment. He was going to miserably die at their hands sooner or later. And he was too weak to do anything about it.

His eyes suddenly flashed with memories— no, records— of his fight with the second unranked monster to plague Korea. Lee Soohyuk and Choi Jungsoo… he had let them die. It was his fault and he knew it. It was something he’d regret for the rest of his life. But… they had told him to keep living. To keep living for them. He couldn’t die. It didn’t matter how he got into this situation. He’d rather crawl in shit than die this pathetically. He’d survive his new predicament— this new life that’s been granted to him. He’d survive.

He’d definitely survive to smack these bastards in the back one day.

-

Roksoo had spent weeks in that dark hell. His blood continued to flow from his body to somewhere unknown, he was paid violent visits by that lunatic, and he got weaker and weaker because of it. But his will didn’t waver for a second. Whenever someone came in to check on him, he’d mark it in his mind every time. Soon enough, he learned their patterns and found openings. He finally had a plan to escape this hell, no matter how many holes there were.. it was a chance.

With his limited information, there was only so far he could get, but somewhere deep inside him, he knew he’d manage. So, he followed his instincts. The minute his opening came, he used all the strength he had gathered and focused.

‘Concentrate. Concentrate on that feeling you’ve been accumulating, Roksoo!’

Suddenly, Roksoo felt as if he’d achieved some sort of enlightenment like the ones described in murim stories. He felt an overwhelming warmth spread throughout his body and a rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins exponentially. This power… He didn’t know where it had suddenly manifested from, but he was sure now. He could get out of here using it. His mind and body began working beyond their limits, and eventually everything around him felt like it was moving at a snails pace.

‘Instant..?’

His second ability from his past life, Instant. Time would seize and he could move freely for a short while. With a heavy cost on his body of course.

‘But this… it’s similar to instant, but it’s not completely it. I think— No, I can definitely handle this much better than what I’ve been able to before in Korea.’

His new body must’ve integrated Instant into another power. And this new power was about to help him escape. A small smirk graced his torn and bloodied face. Perfect.

Shackles that were tying his limbs down shattered beneath the little dragon’s feet in the blink of an eye, and in a literal instant he was darting across the passage with his slashed and scarred limbs.

‘Keep going. I have to keep going and get out of here!’

He was sprinting through the corridors, and if anybody had looked his way all they would’ve seen was a long, red blur. A bright light was beginning to seep in between the cracks in the ceiling of the dark man-made cave he was confined in.

‘Screw the consequences, we’re blasting through!’

With incredible speed, Roksoo was right beneath the seeping cracks of light and expanded his unused wings for the first time. His wingspan barely fit within the wide corridor as he spread them out and up, blasting off from his spot on the ground and flying like a rocket towards the ceiling. He was making it out.

Just as he impacted and the dust and debris had shot up everywhere, he spotted a few individuals standing far off in the sunlight. The most notable was a red haired main of fairly tall stature completely frozen in place by Roksoo’s sudden escapade. He wore a strange white mask over his upper face, his eyes a bright red with hints of brown. The person looked far to similar to Roksoo. His prominent crimson red and his own piercing reddish-brown eyes. They would’ve looked entirely the same if it weren’t for Roksoo’s current form.

He only locked eyes with the man for a split second, and continued shooting up into the sky. He began to hear shouts and alarms blaring within his vicinity. He had been encaged in a mountain with a large encampment stealthily surrounding it. He’d remember this exact spot.

Massive fireballs and arrows began piercing the sky in an attempt to bring Roksoo down, but he clumsily maneuvered around each and just barely grazed a few on his crimson scales. Suddenly, a blinding white spear had crossed his vision. And before he knew it, another had pierced right through his wing, tearing it open a considerable amount. Roksoo stifled the cry of pain that threatened escaping his lips, and instead gritted his teeth and continued to fly towards any kind of safety. Anything other than here will be safe, he just needs to lose these bastards first. The adrenaline rush he had originally received numbed all the pain in his body, but he knew that wouldn’t last with his current levels. He had to make use of every last bit of this power that he had in him.

He flew over an ocean and kept flying as far away as he could. Eventually he reached the mainland. The forest underneath him was dark and vast, a perfect hiding spot. He glides over the tree-line and with his remaining strength he just barely managed a suitable landing right by a flowing river. His landing was a little on the rough side and he was still so sore, but… he had finally made it out. He was successful. Now, he could truly live a slacker life! Wait— he still needs to get back at the bastards who had tortured him in the first place. Ah.. he also needs to secure enough funds for his slacker life as well.

Sigh.

Roksoo had much to do before he got to live a peaceful life.

‘But first, let’s just lay here a little while longer…’

Roksoo succumbed to his exhaustion and pain, entering a deep slumber.

———

THANKS FOR READING to the end !! please let me know ur input, things i could change, add, etc, i lack a lot in this field and value ur feedback ! 😋

[jojo-schmo]

hi jojo! im just wondering but ive been wanting to make a comic for a little while but im not too sure where to start 😅. i really love your style of art and your forgotten land roleswap, and i was wondering if you had any tips for beginners?

Hello, hello! Thank you for enjoying my Forgotten Land Roleswap comic, it means a lot! <3

I'm very honored that people have been asking me for tips and advice. All of this is coming from a hobbyist who draws these comics purely for fun outside of my regular day job. Some of my methods would probably deal psychic damage to a professional, LOL. But I'm more than happy to share some things I've personally learned! :)

First of all, the book, "Understanding Comics" by Scott McCloud ROCKS. It literally gave me a new dimension to understand the medium of comics and how it presents ideas and emotions to readers! And I haven't even had the chance to finish it all the way! I'm very happy I own a copy and I recommend having one of your own if you can, but it's archived here if you want to read it :D

I also like analyzing other comics and thinking about how they get information across to me as a reader. It's helped me learn more effective ways to visually tell a story, like what to include in a frame, how zooming in or out affects the feeling from the panel, maybe building a scene by focusing on other stuff if someone is talking a lot... etc.

ANYWAYS-! Some other tips I've learned through my personal experience-

I had to overcome a lot of negative self-talk in order to tackle a huge comic project like this and stay committed. I was a pretty severe self-deprecator for most of my life so far, and getting help has allowed me to catch myself when I'm slipping back into those habits, look in the mirror, and go, "NO, JOJO! You pour your heart into what you make and that is a wonderful thing! You are appreciated and loved and you deserve to have fun making something you are passionate about!!" Some examples of the negative self-talk I catch myself in....

"I'm a noob at writing and making a story interesting... What's the point of even trying?"

When it comes to starting a project, whether it's 2 pages or 2000 pages, is to just jump in and start! It's okay to be a little insecure or nervous about your technical art skills, writing skills, etc... But writing a "bad" scene is better than no scene- because you can always edit a "bad" scene down the line, but what can you do with nothing? Nothing!! I also put "bad" in quotation marks because I am trying to use that term less, and instead call them "early drafts." or "works in progress."

The first Roleswap scene I fleshed-out was the first Bandee boss fight, in May 2022. I made this drawing on an impulse, getting my ideas down on the page without thinking about the technical stuff like comic panel borders. I consider it like a "pilot episode" almost, haha. The final project is going to be very different from how things play out here. But it got me interested in the concept and excited to see where I could take it, and I made the decision to commit to an entire game plot's worth of AU comics!!

Also, what's the point in trying you ask? The point is to have fun! Making a fan comic in my free time means I don't have restrictions like deadlines, nobody's telling me what I can and can't write, and I can make the story as long or as short as I want! I have full control, which means the world I'm writing is all mine to create! Yes, with a fan comic there is a pre-established world with existing characters. But a universe like Kirby has enough open-ended concepts for people to take basic concepts in the world and take them to whole new levels! I think that's why there are so many amazing fan interpretations of Kirby characters and OCs. The rules are so vague, you can just make up your own a lot of the time!! And it's a wonderful exercise to learn skills for someday building an original world with all original characters from scratch! Magical!!!

"I'm not good enough to make a comic. I don't understand perspective or color and other stuff. Anything I make will look bad.

I once read a two panel comic on here. I can't find it anymore but I remember most of it. First panel showed the artist looking at what they're drawing on their tablet, looking defeated and sad. "Man, I don't even know how to draw this....."The next panel was like them smiling and shrugging, I think rainbows and sparkles were coming out of their tablet, ".....I GUESS I'LL JUST HAVE TO DRAW IT SHITTY!! :D "

IF ANYONE KNOWS THIS COMIC I'M REFERENCING, PLEASE TELL ME AND I'LL LINK IT!!! Because it permanently and positively changed my brain chemistry.

No kidding, making the decision to just do my best even if it's not perfect, helped me a LOT. I was always waiting to "reach a certain level" to tackle a huge project because I felt like I'd never do it justice at my current state. Except I had been telling myself that kind of stuff for years and I still didn't start any projects!!

So the day I said, "Oh well! If I draw backgrounds shitty, then it is what it is! I'll learn from it and draw the next background a little better," Was the day I could commit fully to the project. I'll keep studying how to draw them better for my own benefit, but I won't let my skill issues stop me from even trying!

And for my limited confidence in full-color art, I solved that by making the comic in black and white with no-to-minimal shading lolol. Because I can only address one skill issue at a time before it takes me 25 years to finish this HAHAHA.

It saves a BUNCH of time to work with skill issues rather than against them! Because at least experience is gained in other ways, and who knows, maybe that new knowledge will help address the skill issues someday! So identifying your personal skill issues and deciding which one to try to grow stronger, and which one to work around, could help with big projects!

"Nobody will read this. I'm going to put months or years of my life into a dumb little thing nobody will even care about."

Learning how to draw for my own enjoyment instead of somebody else's was one of the biggest breakthroughs I ever made. Enjoying the feeling of being challenged artistically and just doing my best, even if it's not technically perfect, is the reason why I was even able to start this!

And just because someone doesn't directly like, comment or whatever on a post doesn't mean nobody saw it! I used to get really down on myself for the lack of engagement on my art on other websites.

I was a lurker for pretty much my entire teenage years and never posted my own stuff or commented much. But that didn't take away the fact that I really enjoyed the things I saw online. Those positive feelings were real to me, even when I didn't know how to articulate it in words. Granted, I grew up into a Words of Affirmation main, and I use words to tell people the positive things I think about them as much as I can! But I know not everyone prefers words to express themselves. So I think about the people that I don't know enjoy my work- that just because I don't see it doesn't mean I didn't make a positive impact on someone by sharing my stories.

THIS IS GETTING LONG-- UHHH, STORY TIPS!!

If you work best on technology, start building the story in a Notes app, or a Google Doc! If you work best with pen and paper, start a notebook and rearrange stuff as you need to!

Or if you're chaotic like me, a mix of tech and paper!! I bought a notebook with ring binding so I can remove and rearrange pages of drafts as much as I wanted to! Like here's two very rough concept pages of one Chapter 1 scene made months apart.

I'd say planning out the biggest basic plot points and then filling in between as I went was most helpful! I also have separate notes for character motivations, important story-changing events, etc... So I can have my own reference when I'm writing new scenes!

Okay this was a lot, sorry about the yapping! Hopefully it helps even a tiny bit. If you have any specific questions I'm happy to talk about my experience in the creation process! Or elaborate on anything I said above.

And finally, because I'm not a professional there are probably plenty of other tactics that could work better for some people. My ADHD probably doesn't help with the chaos of my process either, HAHA. But thank you for reading this far and enjoying the peek into the rainbow glitter and soap bubbles that inhabit the right side of my brain, heehee.

[fr-likes-chocolate]

So if you couldn't tell by my recent sobbing posts, I finished Scott’s Empires Season one.

I am totally fine and normal about it. (lie)

Anyway I can't stop thinking about how Scott never made a castle megabase, I'm sure there are some irl stuff that kept it from happening but Ive come up with my own little in-universe explaination. (this does contain spoilers, I know this series is 3 years old but you have been warned)

After the death of his parents at the hands of his brother, Scott was crowned ruler of the ruins that were Rivendell. Xornoth’s betrayal and corruption had wreaked havoc. He was considered barely an adult by elven standards.

So he slowly rebuilt what was once the great land of Rivendell. It took many years, but everything soon was restored.

Except for the castle. Scott had been putting that off for a long time. The place where he once had grown up alongside his older brother, where he had studied the affairs of mortals and trained to become prince. (because everyone thought the eldest, Xornoth, would inherit) it was where his parents were murdered in cold blood by his far too gone brother and where Scott’s happy and normal life had ended.

Scott had all the rubble cleared out from the area, and he had drafted the blueprints for the new castle to be built. Then, as one often does, he got busy with other things, building a cod sanctuary from Jimmy and later a garden for Kathering, his out of control ice powers, a road mandated by Fwhip, and Winterfest all grabbed his attention from the big project.

But by Aeor’s horns he would finish the castle or die trying! He had all the materials, all he needed was some rare dark oak from nearby and...

The ground shook, and after a quick meeting with the other emperors, Scott ran straight back to Rivendell to find it in ruins once again, with Xornoth at it’s epicenter.

And that was the last time anyone saw the elven king alive.

Scott never finished the castle, hell Rivendell was basically back at square one again, but now the entire royal family was dead. With no one left to rule, the elves scattered to the other kingdoms.

[vanishingcherry]

Hey Leah, hope you’re doing good. If you’re taking requests, please could I get either Charles or Lando x fem reader. I had a really shitty day and my friends seem really distant and I feel super sad. Thank you x

PIANO LESSONS

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

author's note: heyy! im so sorry about your day... i hope you're feeling better now 🥰. im sorry its a bit late, ive just been in a writing slump and didn't have anything finished. ive had this in my drafts for a while tho so here you go!

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

It was summer break, which meant Charles was home for over 2 weeks and you had him all to yourself. Granted, you did have days in which you would go out with family and friends, but it was a manner of speaking. It meant that you would be together almost 24/7 for days at a time, something rare in his career.

That was why the two of you had pre-decided to make the most of it. Charles felt guilty sometimes, about not being, in his words, the boyfriend you deserved. Although you had told him multiple times that he was perfect, he held on to that insecurity, which is why you went along with everything he planned, knowing that all he wanted to do was spend time with you.

You could honestly say you had been on more dates in the last week than you had so far in the year. There were the simple dinner dates, movie dates, hiking dates and also the more unique ones, such as the one that ended with, for some reason, throwing paint on each other.

But with all that, there were also the more quiet days. The days in which the two of you would stay in your apartment all day long. Those were your favourite days. There was something special about being able to wake up late, not having to worry about work or some sort of event.

"Have you been awake a while?" you whisper, shifting so that you would be closer to him, tucking your head under his own as he continues to run his fingers through your hair.

"Ouais." he murmurs. Yeah. "Mais c'est bien. I like looking at you."

It was another one of these days, and you were coming back from the kitchen with a snack when you heard the soft notes of the piano. Smiling, you switched off your phone and walked into the makeshift studio you and Charles had converted a guest bedroom into.

He had taken piano lessons during quarantine, and you had never been happier with his decision. There would be times in which you would come home from work, the sound of music immediately putting you in a state of relaxation.

You stand in the doorway, watching as his fingers dance across the keys. A few minutes later, when he stops playing, you walk over and sit next to him.

"What piece was that?" you ask softly, not wanting to speak too loud. You rest your head on his shoulder, offering him a chip from your bowl.

"Did you like it?" he replies, answering with a question of his own.

"Yeah, it was beautiful. I loved it."

"It's mine. I made it." he admits sheepishly. "I was just trying something out."

"REALLY? Oh my god, amour!" Your eyes widen at his words, head turning towards him in disbelief.

"Yeah. You actually like it?"

"Yes, of course! Oh my god, bebe. How did you- I'm so proud."

He shyly smiles at your praise, before piping up. "Do you want me to teach you?"

"Your song?" you ask, clearly excited.

"Well" he starts. "Maybe not my song right now, but I can teach you an easier song... and then we can work up to my song?"

"Ouais! I can't believe I never thought of that before."

He smiles at your enthusiasm before wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. He then gently takes your hands, placing them on the keys, keeping his fingers over your own. He looks at your expressing for a few seconds, unable to stop the smile from creeping on his face as he realises just how special you are.

"You press this finger and this finger at the same time, and hold it for a second" he directs, after shaking his head to focus, pressing down on the right keys.

You follow his directions, going over ever note a few times before moving on. He was patient, overly so, helping you with the biggest grin as you ask him to repeat the last few steps.

Before you knew it, it had been over an hour, and you had learnt quite a bit of what Charles was teaching you. At this point, both of your attention spans were low, and there wasn't a lot of playing going on. Rather, it was you trying to get through the last few notes before a break while Charles lightly tickled your sides, proving to be an annoyingly cute distraction.

"I think I'm done for today" you sigh, shifting slightly to rest your back against Charles.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm tired." you say.

He nods sympathetically before standing up and pulling on your hands to make you do the same.

"You go to bed and put something on the TV, okay? I'll make dinner and be there soon."

"Are you sure? Do you want me to help?"

"It's just pasta" he replies, shrugging and lightly pushing you in the direction of the bedroom.

"Okay... but I want mine al dente", you emphasize. "Not croccante"

liked by arthurleclerc, scuderiaferrari and 309,857 others

yourusername thanks for the piano lesson @.charlesleclerc

view all 8,547 comments

charlesfan oh to have charles as a piano teacher

scuderiaferrari couple goals

ynfan AUS23 yn's pov when

charlesleclerc of course ❤️... same time tomorrow?

↳ yourusername i'd love to

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 ♥

hi! it's been far too long since ive done this, but classes have been kicking my ass. next semester is my last at this college, so i'm trying to get as much done as possible <3

thank you to the lovely @captain-of-silvenar for tagging me, and to everyone who has been tagging me in my absence!!

tagging @orfeoarte @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @viss-and-pinegar and whoever wants to do this and hasnt been tagged!!

this week, i bring the rough draft of the rewritten first chapter of An Inner Sanctity. ancano wakes up to find himself in an unfamiliar setting with intense pain he can't find a source for… and someone else in the cabin with him.

The room was dark. Lit only by a hearth, or some other fire. He could almost hear it crackle, if not for the shooting, electric pain digging into him like a hot knife. It ran in wild arcs from his lower spine, up through his shoulders and down through the legs, into his head until it pounded. He strangled a cry mid-way from his mouth and choked on air, face balled tight in an effort to shut it off, but that only served to intensify the tension in his head. He laid back on the pillow, coated in a new layer of cold sweat, lungs ragged in their attempts to keep any air in them. He tried to move, kicking his legs like stubborn carts laden with ore, but they were too heavy to move under the quilts and his own exhaustion. The pain dulled, first a slow glimmer of softening, then it dissipated into thudding behind his eyes. His ears pounded with blood rushing through them, his muscles heavy and uncomfortable. It was as though he had been speared through with a burning iron blade, but as he lifted his shaking hands to his face and touched the skin beneath, he could not feel anything out of the ordinary. His features were a bit sharper, perhaps. And the thin, oily coat of sweat didn't help any matters, either. He couldn't tell where he was, nor why the room was dim, nor why the quilts were there. Was he asleep? How long had he been asleep? The last thing he'd seen is that wave of… What was it, was that magicka? Not like anything he'd ever seen before. But it had slammed into him, knocking him back towards a wall, and a force had shocked through him to his core, and then…

A door opened near where he lay. Ancano shut his eyes. He slowed his breathing as the trudge of footsteps drew closer, a bowl sloshing with water. The guise of sleep would afford him enough time to take them by surprise, to shove them aside and paralyze them before he made his escape. Then, he'd run to the Thalmor Embassy and let them know what had happened at that dreadful College, barring a few details, of course. After all, it was only natural that the one to wield such an artifact such as the Eye should want to keep it for himself, is it not? A warm, wet washcloth swept over the ridge of his brow, the hand who held it moving in slow, gentle motions. He could feel their fingers as they gripped the cloth, and brought it down to his cheeks, over his eyes, and around his mouth. It took all of his strength not to protest the sensation, but he remained still and quiet as a corpse, and allowed the motions to fall over him. The cloth set aside somewhere, the same hand dipped something into the water, before he felt bristles moving through his hair. The motions were careful, pushing back the front of the lengths with the wet brush, ensuring that the one who held it did not harm him. Strange, was he perhaps in the care of a Dominion medic? Is that, by some miracle, where he'd wound up? The brush set aside on a wooden surface - to Ancano's chagrin, as he had enjoyed the little bit of comfort the brushing sensation provided - the mysterious hand returned, moving the cloth down his neck, and around his chest. They moved it along the ridges of his collar bone, and when he opportunity struck, he lurched out his hand like a snake's mouth to prey, eyes shot open as he got a bleary, unclear look at the figure. "Explain to me who you are, and what you are doing, or you will be missing a hand very shortly," he sneered in a hoarse voice, the threat taking the figure by surprise. As he began to register the figure before him, recognition came through the sound of their own voice, the person shoving against his hand on their wrist.

"Let me go, damn it! I'm just trying to help you!" Their protests came out more surprised than scared, and at that moment Ancano got a clear look at the individual before him. He loosened his grip, watching the Mer rub their wrist and pout a little, their dark hair falling over their shoulders in curls. His eyes widened involuntarily as he looked up at them, brow knit in confusion. The last memory that he had of this figure was that of them trying to kill him. "Athenath?" He uttered, throat unusually dry. The Altmer turned their attention to him, giving a nervy grin as he continued to massage his wrist. They then let the hand fall to their lap, looking over Ancano curiously. "Yes, and I'm gonna assume you've always had good grip strength." He frowned. Attempting to push himself up onto his elbows, another crack of pain whipped through his lower spine and into his extremities. Whatever noise he must have made, it was enough to make Athenath flinch, before they began to lower him back into the bed. "Hey, don't do that, not yet," they chided as Ancano's lips ran with haggard breaths, "you're not… well. I mean, I don't think you're sick, but you're definitely injured, though Lydia said she can't find any signs of physical injury. I can't, either, besides some cuts and bruises from… Well, you shouldn't worry too much."

He sneered. "Don't worry, I won't," he replied, words dripping thickly with sarcasm. The other Altmer rolled their dark eyes, and while Ancano had known they'd spoken, and he'd returned his own words, it was as though all sound came from across a corner, down a hall, somewhere out of touch. All he saw was his own pulse-spot-spattered vision, and the gleaming of the hearth reflected in the surface of the water that they'd been using moments prior. He had never known that he could get this thirsty. His tongue laid as dry and sharp in his mouth as a chunk of sandstone, all thoughts focused there. It would be pathetic to ask for water, to beg like a dog, but he found he did not have to, as Athenath pulled over a silver pitcher and poured him a glass. They set it aside, and with as much care as he could muster, began to shift Ancano to sit against the pillows. He winced and gagged on the pain, but the other took his time, and Ancano swore in that moment he almost heard reassurances, words meant to soothe so bitter and mocking in this light. When it was all over, however, he was seated, with the pillows against his back, resting on the headboard of what must have been a makeshift bed, as it was too hard to be a bed used regularly, and too lumpy to be one he was expected to sleep on for much longer. Well, he certainly hoped so, for if he had to sleep on this mattress any more nights, he might burn the entire place down with everyone but himself inside.

[safe-from-sharp-teeth]

Ayo! I haven't answered asks in FOREVER, so it's time for some spring cleaning :) Also answering other stuff, like what I've been up to.

If you sent an ask and it's not here, sorry! I may have deleted it because the prompt required too much work of me and I wasn't feeling it, or I was uncomfortable.

Let's gooooo !

Firstly - where have I been? Work REALLY picked up in a way I wasn't expecting over the last...4 months? I was working double and often triple the hours I was used to. With work, vacations, random illnesses, and many video games I got a bit too obsessed with, this blog took a backseat. Plus, sometimes I get disinterested in vore when obsessed with something else. Sometimes, that lasts months, and it did this time.

But now I can confirm that work will FINALLY chill for a long period of time. I'm free! And more motivated than ever! Wahoo! Thanks for your support ALWAYS.

Next big question - when am I going to do more of my story? The one with Asyr? AHHHHHGHHGHH this story has consumed my life. I think about it daily. I dream about it. And yet I'm not as comfortable writing as I am drawing, so writing is a slow process that my perfectionist ass struggles with. I can assure you that there is a story in the works - and I am working on it at a snail's pace.

Okay, ask time...

@ponyluvesonic09 AYO maybe I'll make a full ghost pred pros/con list for you, because that sounds awesome! Kir//by is one of the silliest canon preds out there. Honestly getting eaten by him would be like getting vored by a vacuum, LOL. Galaxy tummy!! Imagine a prey floating around in one of those item bubbles all grumpy. Thank u for the ask, this is good stuff.

no. ( /・・)ノ

UWAGHHHHH I LIKE HER!!! Never played O/verwat/ch but what a gem!! I have a random fondness for centaur-like preds nowadays. She looks so cozy. THANK U I LOVE HER!!!

@tiger9o0 I have not played r//ain w//orld or know what it's about, LOL. Looks like a platformer? Man, I'm terrrriiiiibblleee at those. But whoever this is on the cover, I LIKE EM. A+. (That might not answer ur question shdjbghkjg SORRY)

@heimkoheimkofan LOVE THAT I GOT THE ROBOT ENJOYERS AFTER THAT ONE POST....YES yall are so right and I'm so wrong for just hard metal robot tums. I will rectify my mistake soon I PROMISE. Also oh! You were the one asking about stomachs other than elemental ones! IVE HAD THAT IN MY DRAFTS FOREVER IM SORRY AHHHH. I REALLY love your imagination with tums and you've inspired me to think of some awesome environments! THANKS

@fastfur07 BWAH?? Ugh I'm all over the place when it comes to art. Some pieces take 30 min (like the zangooc I drew at the top of this post), most take 2 days. Some really hard drawings like my wolf bat creechur from a few months ago and my shrimp from last year took a month. THANK U??

We're going back so far that I think this is about my naga oc (which I'm in the midst of redesigning cough cough). For him, he would never tolerate being prey, extremely unwilling bahaha. In general, I haven't thought much about naga or snake prey! I get the appeal of slurping up a noodle, but I just prefer human prey :)

@fastfur07 you fiend, you always give me the best drawing ideas. UNFORTUNATELY, I didn't have time to draw something for this one. BUTTTT....

(i've had this next one in my drafts for forever)

then i had a silly comic. I'll post the wip here because I won't finish it, so enjoy bahaha.

@blizzaria123-blog THANK U im rapidly melting into a puddle from ur words

@mrpotatomanversionsix relevant. i will continue drawing them 4 u

?!??!!??!?!??!?!?!??!?!? how dare u enter my ask box with this blasphemy

@sfwsillynoms WAH!!! you!!! I'm currently redesigning my naga oc but when I finish I'll tag you, if you're still around! And he can 100% be drawn with ur preysona :)

@mystorl i am SO late to this, but SMART. I like it. I shall give my lil guy this friend. I just want to let u know that I see this and it's wonderful and I will do something abt it.

I remember this ask made me laugh a ton when I first got it. thank u. idk why I find this so funny

@sillylilprey IM CRYING RIGHT BACK AHHHH this is an ancient ask, but thank u! hope you're still enjoying!

@terrytheinsane finally, the last ask in my askbox. I love it. You have been wronged with how long it took me to answer you. I have gained knowledge from your ask. THANKS

AND THAT'S IT!! Thanks guys, I hope to make you proud! Feel free to send more asks, and hopefully I will answer in a TIMELY manner.

Goodnight! And remember: Nice Vore ᕕ༼⌐■-■༽ᕗ

[bismuthburnsblue]

Lady Stede part 1: the shift!

(this is all about prep & the pattern, tomorrow we will begin the actual making!!)

so as ive already mentioned, im not focusing in on a specific period for my shift pattern, instead trying to make something i can get the most wear out of as possible. i dont think theres going to be anything inaccurate about my finished shift, but thats not been a specific consideration for me.

Ill mostly be following this blogpost by Angela Clayton & the cutting guide linked within it. theres a couple other resources ive looked at to make this, but i think those form the foundation of how im going forward.

im using a linen that i bought a couple of years ago for the purposes of making a shirt or shift, so it feels good to be finally getting around to using it! its pretty light and slightly see through, and when i prewashed it the hand softened up a ton, which im super happy about too. it should drape up really nicely!

its 140cm wide (actually, its more like 145cm, but lets ignore that, im just going to work it into the length of my shift) so ill be cutting my body with a shoulder seam for better fabric efficiency.

If you wanna read more specific stuff about patterning & even see my cutting plan, its below the cut! this was just getting a little long :)

Theres 4 shapes i need to cut for a shift - the main body, the sleeves, the side gores & the underarm gussets - but a lot of the measurements are pretty arbitrary, especially in this era where they were a relatively loose garment.

i knew i didnt want too much extra around the bust, both because it ties into how far off the shoulder the seam falls, and for sensory reasons- i hate having too much fabric underneath a tight garment, aka my stays- and i wanted slim sleeves for a similar reason, as sleeves in this era are pretty tight, so i drafted a quick mockup from my bust & flexed bicep measurements (and a couple other things i picked at random) to see how things were looking. you should be able to do a shift without a mockup, but im personally glad i did, because i decided to adjust a couple numbers after it!

while thinking about cutting, i thought id have a look to see if there was any lay planning software out there- i found this one, which i think is for cutting wood, but works great for planning out rectangular sewing projects too! i had a great time tweaking numbers until it fit together in the best way possible !!

So! heres my final cutting plan w/ measurements :) ill need to cut a diagonal down my gores to make triangles, but other than that, this is exactly what ill be working with!

(i have more yardage than this, so the extra section will just be left attached to the rest of it! though i did see narrow cuffs for the sleeves mentioned in some sources, so ill get those out of there too, if i decide to include them!)

[superstitionangel]

ngl i kinda hate my English teacher

NOW DONT GET ME WRONG!!! i love english. ive been writing stories since before i could define what fiction was. i love reading, too, most of my time that isnt taken up by my social media addiction is spent reading.

which is why im so upset about this

i am 100% sure my english teacher put my writing through an ai tool to find what was wrong with it. why do i say this? oh, i dont know, probably because after i read her comment on my Google doc i put it through the grammerly ai assistant and asked what i could improve on - which, usually, would have affirmed to me that those parts of my story actually needed work.

if my story wasn't a single page long, and everything she (and the grammerly ai) had suggested i added either was obviously unnecessary details that would have torn readers away from the story, or something I'd literally. Already done.

"describe the fire crackling more! like its dancing!" why? this is a horror story set in a graveyard and your reading the first 5 minutes of the story. we have 4 more hours for the characters to suffer through. the fire was a small detail - all it did was added a cozier atmosphere to the beginning of the story so the change later was more abrupt, like i want it to be.

"describe the forest!" this is a horror story based in a graveyard... i added one sentence about gathering wood in the woods along the fences to highlight how isolated and difficult to escape the graveyard is, which matters later. the color of the wood and the wind shaking the leaves doesn't matter. the characters can't see it, and this part of the story is very focused on one specific part; the characters setting up for a cozy night reading ghost stories around a campfire together.

"develop the relationships between the characters more!" in the first page? the first 300 words? ive already given many hints to their relationships with eachother, such as the main character and another character being clearly familiar enough with eachother for the other character to poke fun at his choice in ghost stories. two of the characters are sitting directly next to eachother, and everything they've done so far has been with eachother. not to mention... it's the first page.

the first page! I'm not going to be adding unnecessary details to the first page! i am not going to overload the readers with information like that because, honestly, this part barely matters! it's later that the scenery is important, it's later when the relationships shine, its later when the horror and isolation develops. not the first, muthafuckin, PAGE!

sorry I'm just so annoyed. so many of the things she said I needed to add were in the story, if she'd just... read it. literally all she has to do to see some of the things she's complaining about it read the words I've written out for her and REMEMBER that not only is this the first draft ever, but also, ive been sick and unable to work or write, and....... ITS 300 WORDS SO FAR!

auuuugh. please no advice because im, like, so not up for advice or criticism right now. it'd be more obvious how silly this situation is if I shared the writing, but it's just so short it feels like a waste of time to share it. i'll share it when it's closer to done if anyone wants, im just.. so tired of teachers zapping my creativity by constantly commenting on my work, when it's so obviously clear that I'm still working on it and it needs time to flourish.