#like he can do her a solid right? ...right?

[mashtatosworld]

in your arms

summary: your baby attends her first GDragon concert

The energy of the concert is electric.

The bass reverberates through the arena, the lights flash in hypnotic patterns, and the entire stadium is alive, thousands of voices screaming for GDragon.

And from the side of the stage, his daughter watches.

She’s perched on Daesung’s hip, her tiny fingers fidgeting with the straps of her little pink backpack - the one that has a leash. The one she whined and stomped her feet at whenever it was brought out.

You and Jiyong are embarrassed to use it, but you’ve both learned the hard way that Diva is fast. And has a desire to go wherever she wanted. So unless you’re her Appa or Eomma, she will wiggle, twist, or roll her way out of any grasp.

“She’s going to be fine,” you assure Youngbae and Daesung, adjusting the bag’s straps one last time.

Youngbae looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“She’s been calling for Jiyong the whole night,” Daesung says, shifting her weight in his arms. “What if she tries to run to him?”

You shrug. “Then use the harness.”

The two men exchange a look.

They'd seen Jiyong shout - for a solid twenty minutes, at Seunghyun when he'd let the lead slip out of his grasp one time and Diva had nearly made her way out of the park.

“She’s too smart for her own good,” you sigh, recalling all the times your baby had attempted a great escape. “And besides, it’s only for five minutes. I just need to run to the bathroom. You’ll be fine.”

Diva wiggles impatiently in Daesung’s hold, her big, expressive eyes glued to the stage.

She’s mesmerised.

Because Appa is famous?

Of course, she knows you sing.

She’s watched you perform, even toured with you when she was barely a year old. But Appa? He’s just the one who reads her bedtime stories, who does the silly voices, who lets her steal bites of his snacks even when you tell them both no.

And now, here he is, standing under blinding lights, thousands of people screaming his name.

She misses him.

You glance toward the stage, where Jiyong is in his element, his shirt damp with sweat, his voice intoxicating over the mic as he sends the crowd into a frenzy.

A tiny part of you gets distracted, watching him perform.

But you shake yourself out of it, pressing a kiss to Diva’s head before pulling away. “Okay, back in five.”

Youngbae nods. “Got it.”

Daesung doesn’t look as convinced, but he salutes you anyway. “No problem.”

You hesitate for only a second. It’s fine. They’ve got this.

And then you’re off.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Two minutes later and Diva is impatient.

She clutches Daesung’s shirt tightly, eyes wide, ears straining as she listens to the deep echo of her father's voice fill the stadium.

She recognises that voice. It means comfort and safety.

But where is he?

The lights flash bright, the music booms, and suddenly - it’s too much.

Usually, when it gets dark and loud like this, her Appa holds her close, whispering that everything is okay.

But he’s not here.

“Appa, here!” she says, tiny fingers tightening around Daesung’s collar.

Daesung lightly pats her back. “Appa’s singing, sweetheart. We have to wait. Look, look, we can watch him from here!"

She pouts.

Not good enough.

Youngbae tries, taking off his sunglasses and holding them out to her. “Hey, here we go, do you want to wear these? You like glasses, right?”

“No.”

A fib, but she only wanted one thing at that moment.

Her tiny fists ball at her sides.

She wiggles again.

"Hyung, hyung! I'm losing her here!" Daesung shifts his grip, like he was wrestling with a slippery fish. “Don’t even think about it!”

She'd already thought about it.

And then, before either man can react -

She moves.

Fast.

Like a tiny bullet, she twists out of Daesung’s arms, hitting the ground running.

Youngbae yelps. “YAH - !”

Daesung lunges for the pink harness - but she dodges.

Tiny legs sprint past staff and security, and the harness leash dangles uselessly behind her.

They chase.

She's heading straight for the only person who matters.

Jiyong.

He’s in between songs, catching his breath, preparing for the next set - when suddenly, the crowd erupts into something different. A different kind of scream.

A laugh ripples through the stadium as he turns just in time to see a tiny figure barreling toward him.

His little, trouble-making daughter.

For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining things.

But then, nope, that’s definitely her. Pigtails and all.

And she’s coming in hot.

The audience loses their minds.

Security hesitates - that’s his baby. They all recognise her. She’s the one who waved at them backstage and raided the snack table.

So they let her through.

And Jiyong - crouches.

Arms open.

And she collides into him, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

The stadium erupts.

Screaming. Cheering. Crying.

Jiyong laughter is caught by the microphone while adjusting his in-ear. “My princess!”

Diva clutches his shirt. Her safe place.

He lifts her effortlessly, so proud of his little Houdini. “What are you doing, huh?”

Diva leans toward the mic.

“Appa sing."

The crowd melts.

From the side, Youngbae and Daesung finally stumble onto the stage.

Panting.

Hands on their knees.

Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“She’s too fast,” Daesung defends, breathless.

“We're getting old.” Youngbae mutters, wincing as he straightened.

The audience erupts with laughter.

Jiyong kisses Diva’s temple, smiling at his little girl. She can do no wrong in his eyes.

Then the opening chords of “Home Sweet Home” begin.

Jiyong chuckles. “Guess you’re staying for this one?”

And just like that - Diva is part of the show.

She kicks her legs in victory as Jiyong sings, happy to be in his arms again. Youngbae and Daesung interact with her mid-song, playing along, making her giggle.

The cameras catch everything.

Her curious hand pulling out Jiyong’s earpiece.

Her patting his shoulder to the beat.

And then -

You return.

You stop dead in the wings of the stage, watching the performance. And the last minute added addition.

Your five-minute bathroom break turned into a viral moment.

Jiyong catches your eye. You raise an eyebrow.

Seriously?

He just smirks.

When the song ends, you hurry onto the stage, reaching for your daughter. “Alright time to come back."

But Diva has terms and conditions.

"Yes, yes, we'll get you a snack and juice.” You shush her while trying to pry her grip from Jiyong's shirt.

The fans continue to scream and chant at your surprise appearance.

You smile and wave at them anyway, adjusting Diva on your hip.

Jiyong smirks into the mic, his arm coming around you two. “What do you guys think? Should we do a song together?” he asks the crowd.

The roar is deafening.

He laughs at the reception. “It's been a while, hasn't it?”

The last time you two performed together was when the mischievous little daughter you were holding was still in your belly, unable to escape and cause havoc.

You shoot him a playful glare.

This man.

But the glint in his eyes is irresistible.

And just like that -

The night just got a little longer.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

im backkkk - revived by a kiwi passion fruit and guava vape

hope you all enjoyed. gd's tour will be the start of big changes for the btu series!!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford

[megumismyhusband]

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• secret door- arctic monkeys

rin is your person.

he always has been.

the one who waits for you after class, standing by the door with his hands tucked into his pockets like he’s not been lingering for you the whole time. the one who knows exactly how you like your coffee. the one who remembers the stories you told him years ago, little things you’d long since forgotten until he brings them up like they’re important.

because to rin, they are.

and it’s moments like those that make you wonder.

wonder if the way his eyes soften when he looks at you means something. if the warmth in his voice when he murmurs, “you’re okay,” after a long day is more than just friendly concern. if the way his fingers linger at your wrist—gentle, grounding—is his way of saying, i’m here. i’ve always been here.

it’s enough to keep you hopeful. enough to make your heart flutter when you imagine what it might be like if you just told him.

but rin is your friend first. and you’re scared of what happens if that changes.

so you stay quiet.

and then she shows up.

it’s innocent at first—he mentions her name in passing, some girl in his class who’s “pretty cool.” you brush it off because, well, you’re you, and he’s rin. surely, you don’t have anything to worry about.

but then she’s there again. and again. and again.

and soon enough, he’s talking about her the way you once thought he might talk about you.

it’s not long before they’re together.

you smile when he tells you. you smile because what else can you do? you smile because rin is your friend, and friends are happy for each other. you smile because if you don’t, you might just break down right then and there.

he smiles back, like he’s found something good—something solid and real. you feel your chest tighten.

and god, it hurts.

because rin used to look at you like that. like you were his world. like you were enough.

and maybe you were. once.

but that was before he convinced himself you didn’t feel the same. before he moved on. before you let him slip through your fingers, all because you were too scared to reach out.

and now you’re stuck—stuck watching him love someone else while your heart still clings to him. still hopes for something that isn’t yours to hope for anymore.

so you learn to smile when he brings her up. you learn to push your feelings down until they feel distant, dull. you teach yourself to stop imagining what could’ve been because it doesn’t matter now.

he’s happy. that should be enough.

it has to be.

[cosmerelists]

Should You Copy These Cosmere Characters' Homework?

[Teacher voice] Of course, you should NEVER actually copy someone's homework, but... if you WERE going to copy someone's homework and you happened to be in the same class as these Cosmere characters, would it be a good idea to copy their homework in particular?

1. Dalinar: No

You tried it once. Dalinar told you that it's okay to fail sometimes, as long as you do better next time. Then he patted you on the shoulder and walked away. It was a little bit infuriating.

2. Elend: Yes

You know Elend's the smart kid in school. And he does kinda like to disobey authority too... As long as the teacher is a jerk, you should be safe asking Elend to help you pull one over on her.

3. Nale: No

Nale not only won't let you copy his homework, but he's telling the teacher you tried.

4. Renarin: Yes

If you ask Renarin if you can copy his homework, he'll end up helping you finish the homework instead. Not what you asked for or expected, but hey. At least it's done. The weird part is that he seemed like he was expecting this...

5. Painter: Sure

If you venture into the oddly dark corner where Painter is sitting and ask if you can borrow his homework, he'll say something like, "So...you were desperate enough to come to me?" But actually, his homework is pretty okay. He didn't pour his heart & soul into this assignment or anything, but that is a solid C right there.

6. Breeze: No

Breeze was kinda hoping to copy your homework so, you know, it's a little awkward now.

7. Siri: No

Siri also didn't do the homework. She's doing it right now, as fast as she possibly can, and she doesn't really have time for you at the moment.

8. Tress: Yes

Tress will want to help out, and her homework is gonna be in good shape, too. She also told you that she noticed you've seemed extra stressed and sad lately, so she made you this blueberry muffin. Y-You just met her last week!

9. Taravangian: No

There are only two ways this can play out. Either he says yes right away but the homework is horribly incorrect, or he says no and you just know that homework is perfect. There's no winning with this guy.

10. Shai: If you can afford it...

Shai has several copies of the homework, each different. Seriously, different handwriting, slightly different mistakes, different food stains....It's downright elaborate. She does charge a lot of money for one, though.

11. Steris: No

Steris' homework is done. It's perfect. But she's not gonna let you copy it, so.

12. Adolin: Yes

Adolin's homework won't be perfect (for one thing, he can't read), but he'd still be happy to help out. It's probably kinda correct, right?

13. Vivenna: No

I mean, you can try, but she's keeping it covered and glaring at you with a truly terrifying expression.

14. Kaladin: No!

You'll give the poor guy a crisis of conscience! He'll want to help you because you're in need, but he won't want to help you because helping you would be cheating. Don't do that to our boy.

15. Shallan: Sure!

Shallan studies hard, and she doesn't judge. Just...ignore the weird drawing in the margin of the many-headed beasts consuming the world. I-It probably means nothing!

16. Moash: No

Moash will give you all the wrong answers. He'll happily fail this assignment if it means taking you down too!

17. Jasnah: No

The look she gives you when she calmly asks, "Oh, did you not do the homework?" will haunt you for weeks. It's just not worth it, man!

18. Sarene: It's risky...

With Sarene, you never can tell whether her homework will be pristinely correct...or whether she'll give you the most ridiculous joke-answers that will make your teacher hand back your paper with that really sad frowny face on it.

S-She still got 100%, though! Did she give you decoy homework??

[pushspacetocontinue]

"That is the least we can do in regards to her," Leofric said, "If anything, it might just get her to abandon her allegiance with Five, once she realises that we're not worth the salary he's paying her."

Travis nodded in approval with that idea.

"Sounds good to me," Travis said, "I'll get masked up and gloved for the occasion."

"It's not a bad idea," Leofric said, with a small nod, "I will be getting myself suited up for this too."

It wouldn't be a gas mask and a set of gloves, but it would indeed serve for some protection against Five's weapons for the times when becoming intangible wouldn't be the best option.

Antonio then nodded.

"I suppose that's fair," Antonio said, "I wonder how well she'll be able to hold onto a gun when a giant cat's paw is grabbing or slapping it out of her hand."

But he could speculate on that another time. So it seemed that the two team ideas were pretty solid.

Russell nodded.

"Sounds, sounds good to, to me," Russell said.

"Yeah, me too," Simon said, nodding, "Looks like we're getting on this so far."

He made sure to mark the two routes that the teams would be taking, along with a path for Russell to take, and where the drone would be as he piloted it.

"Fair enough," Travis said, with a grin, as he watched Bill drag Ratchet over to the right room. Therefore, if anyone didn't want to witness it directly, they didn't have to.

"You are welcome. Perhaps he should have known better than to run into your fist," Leofric said, once he was done healing her hand up, "And I won't stop you if you want to try that. For what he did to you, he's fair game for anything you wish to do in retaliation."

But it seemed that their preparations were done, and Bill smirked as he moved to sit in a nearby chair, getting his Nintendo Switch out to play on while he acted as the weight to keep Ratchet dangling.

"All right, soldiers! Open fire!" he called out then, as an invitation for all who wanted to have a go at the target practice to come and do so.

"It's unlikely she will surrender, but it's no issue." Willow replied, "We are experienced in dealing with snipers. She will be dealt with swiftly and safely."

As long as everybody agreed to letting her be the main target for Crosshair's bullets.

"The three of you, along with Travis, will be our main strike force. As for your point," she turned to Antonio, "neutralizing Crosshair counts towards protecting Rook. Don't argue with me, I'm already due to having this same conversation with her, but regarding you and Frosty."

Lucien looked about to say something, but managed to keep quiet for his own good.

Willow looked back to the map, "Two minutes and a half will suffice. You will lead us up to this point, before heading off. Simon will be watching your back. The strike team should be able to spot you from their position. That will be the signal to attack."

Erica stood up. The plan was starting to come into shape and it looked like they were about to have some fun too. She got her gun ready while Lucien did the same. "We could all go to the gym together the first time. It's a completely new thing for Lucien."

"That's true. The most I've done is skating in public." Lucien admitted, "Let's come back to the topic later. It looks like it's finally open season."

Well, it mostly looked like Bill was going to use Ratchet like a rag to sweep the floor at the moment. There was only some cursing as Ratchet tried to somehow shield his face the best he could in his situation. He was definitely regretting at least some of the things he said.

Any moment he spent without spewing nonsense felt like a blessing. Lucien was looking more and more impatient as the gadget enthusiast was accurately prepared for target practice. "Now?"

"Not yet." Erica said.

"Thanks, Leofric." Rook said, before quietly adding, "That asshole is being so rude to Bill. He's making me want to test if I can use the Force chokehold on him."

"Now?" Lucien asked more impatiently.

[mykoreanlove]

Mommyyyyyyy!! 😍😍😍

This is the same anon who last year requested the special birthday fic of hyunjin x chan x f reader.....

My birthday again...is coming on 14th March.....

I would really love if you make another birthday fic (you know my bias by now).....

Just surprise me by your writing.....because the fic you wrote last year.....has made me got off multiple times (TMI lol) and your writing us too good!! Please write a smut fic for my birthday 🎂.....I trust your creativity and vulgarity (lol)

Thank you again for last year 🥺😘☺️

BIRTHDAY BLUES

Birthdays are supposed to be special. They’re supposed to be filled with love, laughter, the warmth of friends who remind you that you matter. That you belong.

Mine is filled with silence.

I stare at my phone, the screen glowing mockingly. The group chat is filled with messages—reminders of the party I never intended to attend, my friends begging me to “come out and have fun” because “twenty-something is the prime of your life!”

What a joke.

I toss my phone onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. My stomach twists—not from hunger, but from something heavier.

It’s been months since I walked in on him—my last mistake, my last heartbreak, tangled up in sheets with another girl. And the worst part? I didn’t even cry. I didn’t scream. I just stood there, staring at the person I’d once imagined a future with, realizing that love—real love—might not exist for me at all.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

No, my heart has been a revolving door, an open invitation for disappointment. Every time, I give. Every time, I try. And every time, I end up alone.

So why celebrate? Why pretend? I’m sick of it.

Tonight, instead of fake smiles and forced happiness, I choose solitude. I slip into something comfortable, grab my keys, and leave my apartment without a word.

The spa isn’t even my idea. It’s a last-minute impulse, something to fill the empty space inside me, even if just for a little while. Maybe the salt water will wash away my sorrows, if not I can drown in them.

The woman at the front desk greets me with a warm smile, her eyes twinkling. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

I blink. “How did you—?” She winks. “Lucky guess.” Before I can respond, she taps on her screen. “We have a special package tonight—highly recommended.”

I almost say no. But then I remember the silence waiting for me at home. The empty bed. The thoughts I don’t want to be alone with.

“…Fine,” I mutter. She hands me a robe, her smile never faltering. “Enjoy.” Little do I know, the night is about to take a turn I never saw coming.

The air is thick with the scent of sandalwood and something faintly floral, a fragrance that settles into my lungs as I lower myself onto the massage table. The linen beneath me is warm, almost cocooning, but my skin prickles from something else entirely. Anticipation, irritation—hell, I don’t even know anymore. I came here to drown out the noise in my head, to escape, even if just for a little while.

I hear the door click open. Soft footsteps pad across the wooden floor. I keep my face nestled in the cradle, seeing nothing but the polished planks below, but then I catch a glimpse—bare feet, strong, the kind that belong to a dancer, not a massage therapist. Then the voice comes.

"First time here?"

Low, rich, like warm honey melting over my skin. I don't answer right away, too caught off guard by the way his voice alone sends a ripple down my spine.

"Something like that," I murmur.

I hear the faint clink of bottles, the whisper of oil being warmed between his palms. Then his hands find my shoulders, firm and unhurried, pressing down with a slow, deliberate force that makes me exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

His fingers move with precision, gliding over the knots in my shoulders, kneading them into submission. The metal rings on his fingers catch against my overheated skin, cool and solid, leaving a trail of contrast in their wake. It’s unexpected. Strange. I like it.

"You’re tense," he observes, voice tinged with amusement. I let out a breathy laugh. "Gee, I wonder why." He chuckles, the sound deep and velvety. "Well, you came to the right place."

His touch drifts lower, tracing along the dip of my spine, and I shudder. The air between us shifts, thickens. His hands are no longer just massaging—they're exploring, teasing, testing. My breath stutters when his thumbs press into the small of my back, his fingers spreading along the curve of my waist, holding me in place.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice softer now, rougher. It’s not. It’s nowhere near enough.

His hands slide down, thumbs grazing the dimples just above my hips, his fingertips digging into my body in a way that sends a sharp pulse of heat between my legs. My lips part, a small, unbidden sound escaping, and I swear I feel him still for half a second.

"Sensitive here, too?" he muses, his tone shifting, dipping into something darker. I swallow, pressing my cheek against the table, not trusting my voice. He doesn’t need an answer. He already knows.

His hands move with purpose now, sliding lower, teasing along the curves of my thighs, pushing boundaries neither of us seem willing to acknowledge. His breath is warm against my ear when he leans in.

"Let go," he murmurs, and when his fingers slip just a little further, I do.

His fingers press deeper, the metal of his rings biting against my skin in the most delicious contrast—heat and cold, firm and teasing. My body betrays me, hips shifting instinctively into his touch, a soft gasp slipping free before I can stop it.

Hyunjin hums, low and knowing. "There it is," he muses, his voice brushing against me like silk. "You’re holding back."

I bite my lip, my hands gripping the sides of the massage table. He knows exactly what he’s doing—pushing, testing, waiting for me to break. And I’m so close.

His touch drags up, slow, deliberate, gliding over the curve of my waist before slipping down again, fingers dancing along the inside of my thighs. My breath stutters. My pulse hammers against my ribs.

"You're so tense," he murmurs, and there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, like he already knows the reason why. His fingers knead into the plush of my thighs, a slow, rolling motion that sets every nerve alight.

I arch just slightly, chasing his touch without meaning to. The moment I do, his hands still, just for a fraction of a second. I hear his breath hitch—just barely—but it’s there.

"Relax," he says, but his voice is rougher now, less controlled. I don’t think either of us believe that’s possible anymore. Then his fingers move again, pushing higher, slipping beneath the plush towel barely covering me. A sharp inhale escapes me as he grips my hips, thumbs pressing into my skin with purpose.

"Hyunjin—" My voice is barely a whisper.

"Shhh," he soothes, but there’s nothing innocent about it. His breath is warm as it ghosts over my shoulder, his lips just barely brushing the heated skin there. "Just let me take care of you."

I shudder, my fingers curling into the table, trying to ground myself, but it’s useless. His hands move like they own me, coaxing, pressing, claiming. My world narrows down to this moment—his touch, his voice, the way my body melts under him.

And then his lips finally meet my skin, and I come undone.

Hyunjin’s breath is molten against my skin, each exhale igniting a fire beneath my flesh. His fingers knead into my hips, his grip tightening, possessive. I’m barely breathing, my body stretched out before him like an offering, every nerve ending strung taut, waiting—no, aching—for him to break me apart.

And then, finally, his lips meet my spine.

Soft at first, barely there, just the ghost of a kiss that sends a violent shiver down my back. Then another—open-mouthed, wetter, warmer. His tongue flicks against my skin, teasing, dragging down, down, until I’m trembling beneath him.

"You’re so tense," he murmurs, but there’s something dark in his voice now, something knowing. His teeth scrape lightly at my shoulder, and I gasp. "I think I know how to fix that."

His hands slide lower, trailing the curve of my waist, before slipping beneath the towel that barely covers me. The moment he tugs it away, cool air kisses my exposed skin—but it doesn’t last. His heat is there, following, consuming, and then his hands—God, his hands—are exploring freely now.

"You’re already so wet," he breathes, fingers teasing through my slick folds. He groans, like the discovery is too much for him to handle. "Did I do this to you?"

I whimper in response, pressing my forehead into the pillow, my fingers clutching uselessly at the massage table. His lips curve against my back. "I’ll take that as a yes."

He spreads me with his fingers, dragging his touch through my arousal, slow and deliberate. My thighs tremble as he teases my entrance, circling, pressing—but never giving me what I need.

"Hyunjin, please—"

"Patience, baby," he coos, but his own breathing is uneven now, his restraint barely hanging by a thread. "I want to feel you come apart first." His fingers find my clit, circling in slow, devastating strokes, his other hand gripping my hip to keep me still.

"Fuck," I gasp, my back arching. "That’s it," he praises, dragging his fingers lower, pressing one inside. My walls clench around him immediately, desperate, needy, and he groans at the sensation. "So fucking tight."

He moves, slow and deep, his fingers stretching, stroking, curling inside me with precision, finding that spot that has my body seizing up, my breath coming in broken gasps. His rings are cool against my burning heat, a contrast that only drives me higher.

"You’re close, aren’t you?" he whispers, pressing his body flush against mine, his lips tracing my jaw. "I can feel you squeezing me." I can’t answer—I can only feel. The pleasure is unbearable, an electric current coiling deep in my belly, winding tighter, tighter—

And then he flicks his wrist just right, and I break.

A sharp cry tears from my throat as pleasure floods through me, my body shuddering violently beneath him. Hyunjin curses, his lips finding my shoulder, his fingers working me through it, prolonging it until I’m a trembling, oversensitive mess.

I barely have time to recover before I feel it—him. Hot. Hard. Pressed against me. My eyes flutter open, my head turning just enough to see the hunger in his gaze, the way his chest rises and falls, the way he wants me. "Tell me you want this," he rasps, his voice wrecked.

I don’t hesitate. "I want everything." And then— Hyunjin’s control snaps. One moment, I’m breathless beneath him, trembling from his touch—the next, he’s flipping me onto my back, the cool air shocking against my heated skin. My pulse stutters when I finally take him in.

Disheveled. Chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His dark eyes, once playful, are now hungry—like he’s been starving for this, for me. And then he’s on me.

His lips crash against mine, swallowing the gasp that escapes as he presses his weight down, pinning me against the massage table. His tongue slides against mine, hot and demanding, a dizzying mix of silk and sin. He tastes like need—like restraint finally breaking.

"Fuck," he groans against my mouth, his fingers tangling into my hair. "I knew you’d feel like this." I barely have time to respond before his hands are moving again—gripping, spreading, claiming. His fingers dig into my thighs, hitching one over his hip, and God—I can feel him. Heavy. Thick. Pressing against my entrance, teasing, testing.

"Look at you," he rasps, dragging himself through my slick folds, coating himself in my arousal. His forehead drops to mine, his breath ragged. "So fucking wet for me." I whimper, hips bucking, desperate for him to end this torment.

"Hyunjin, please," I gasp, nails digging into his back. His fingers grip my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. "Say it. Tell me what you want." "You," I breathe, no hesitation. "Inside me." A curse spills from his lips—then, finally, finally, he pushes in.

A sharp moan escapes me as he stretches me open, slow but unrelenting, his cock sinking inch by inch into the heat of me. My body clenches around him instinctively, the sensation blinding—pleasure and pressure twisting into something unbearable.

"Fucking hell," he groans, his head dropping against my shoulder, his hands gripping my thighs so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow. I don’t care. I want them.

He stills once he’s buried to the hilt, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back. "You feel…" He exhales, his voice wrecked. "You feel so fucking perfect." My fingers tangle into his hair, tugging.

"Move." He obeys.

His first thrust is slow, deep—deliberate. The next is sharper, dragging a cry from my lips. Then he’s pounding into me, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against each thrust, filling me so completely I can do nothing but take it.

The room is filled with the sound of our bodies colliding, the slick, obscene wetness of my arousal making everything filthy. "That’s it," he grits out, watching me through hooded eyes. "Take it. Be a good girl and take all of me."

My body is unraveling, the pleasure unbearable. "Hyunjin—I’m—"

"I know," he groans, thrusting deeper, angling just right—

And I shatter.

Pleasure detonates inside me, my body arching, my walls clenching around him as wave after wave crashes through me. My vision goes white, my cries echoing through the dimly lit spa room. Hyunjin curses, his rhythm faltering. Then, with a final thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his body shuddering against mine as he loses himself inside me.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of our heavy breathing, the scent of sweat and desire thick in the air. Then Hyunjin chuckles—breathless, satisfied. He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, his fingers gentle now, reverent.

"Best birthday ever?" he murmurs, smirking. I laugh, still dazed, still wrecked. "You have no idea." His lips curve against my temple. "Oh, I do."

And as he leans in to kiss me again, I know this night is far from over.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHappy Birthday love 💖 Enjoy yourself lol 💦

[tenessee-walker]

Hey!! You’re doing god’s work with these headcanons! Could you do an arthur x reader in Colter (chapter 1) where he’s trying his best to keep her warm pls 🥺

what if I am god

caring!arthur who hates how cold it is, how the icy wind cuts right through to the bone, but what he hates even more is seeing you shivering beside him, hugging yourself tight, trying to put on a brave face.

caring!arthur who immediately shrugs off his own coat, doesn’t even hesitate, and drapes it over your shoulders. “ain’t no sense in you freezin’ up out here, sweetheart. take it.” (and if you try to protest? he just gives you a look. a real serious one. you’re wearin’ the damn coat.)

caring!arthur who keeps checking on you as you ride through the storm, stealing glances your way, noticing how you tuck deeper into the coat, how your hands tremble as you hold the reins. “you alright back there, darlin’?” he asks it like every ten minutes.

caring!arthur who helps you down from your horse when you finally reach camp, his big hands steadying you, keeping you close to him as he mutters, “c’mon now, let’s get ya warm.”

caring!arthur who guides you straight to the fire, making sure you sit as close as possible while he kneels in front of you, rubbing your hands between his own, trying to bring warmth back into your fingers.

caring!arthur who grumbles under his breath about how damn cold it is, how y’all shoulda never come up this way, but his touch is so gentle as he tugs your boots off, wrapping your feet in an extra blanket.

caring!arthur who forces you to eat something warm, pressing a steaming tin cup of coffee into your hands, watching closely to make sure you drink. “go on now, sip it slow. ain’t havin’ you gettin’ sick on me.”

caring!arthur who stays right beside you, letting you lean into him, his arm coming around your shoulders to tuck you against his side. his body is so warm, solid and safe, and he just sighs all soft, murmuring, “don’t you worry, sweetheart. gonna get through this just fine.”

caring!arthur who, when it’s finally time to sleep, pulls every extra blanket he can find and makes sure you’re bundled up tight, even tucking one under your chin like you’re something real precious. (because to him? you are.)

caring!arthur who stays awake longer than he should, watching the way your breath evens out, making damn sure you’re still warm enough, before finally lying down beside you.

caring!arthur who, right before he drifts off, mumbles real low, “ain’t nothin’ in this world gonna take you from me, darlin’. i’ll see to that.”

[lokavisi]

Holy shit, I haven't told y'all about my seidr class.

This past Saturday was the last of 4 Saturdays in which I attended my friends' first ever time teaching the oracular seidr ritual that they recently developed. (It was adapted from the most common modern form of the ritual, which was developed by Paxson's group, but rooted much more firmly in the lore and sagas and our current understanding of archeological finds from Germanic/Scandinavian Europe.)

First of all, they built a phenomenal ritual. Everyone felt safe from start to finish every time we ran it. The entire group was so supportive of each other. No one was afraid to ask questions and my friends teaching were incredibly open to feedback and suggestions on how to better teach and prepare future students for the ritual. It was a wonderful teaching/learning environment, and what we were learning and practicing was so amazing to witness.

What I really want to talk about, though, was my time in the seer's chair. I have done many trance journeys in my practice and have intuited/channeled many messages from spirit, but this was a whole new level. And I will say, having had so much practice with those things really helped. My friends teaching said of all the people that sat in the seer's chair, I had the most solid energy. Since we were all newbies to the ritual practice, they did a little extra energy work to help bolster those of us who were struggling a bit throughout each run of the ritual. They said they didn't have to do shit for me, which honestly made me feel over the moon. It was so validating, like that seat is where I'm meant to be. So much of my practice had led me to that chair and it was such an honor to sit there even just one time.

The classes were done at the UU church I'm a part of. So much CUUPS (UU Pagan) programming happens on that property. The land spirits there are so familiar with us. There is a gorgeous willow tree near the edge of the property. While I was in the seat, one of my classmates asked if "Sister Willow" had a name she preferred to go by and how we can honor her. I felt a warm joy from her at the use of "sister" and felt her pulling me in for a hug. (The following day I was at the church doing pagan programming for kids. Only one kid, whose mom was helping me, showed up, but we took water to Sister Willow and gave her hugs. The utter joy I felt in my heart weighed on my chest in the most beautiful way as I hugged her, as if I was hugging a warm body. It was beautiful.)

Another classmate asked if the land spirits on their personal property had anything they wanted to them to do for them. I saw a chicken wire fence with a section that looked like a white picket fence, a suggestion to upgrade the boundary. It was a little playfully sassy which was fun to relay. The classmate told me later that they had received a message to erect a fence, and the chicken wire was the best they could do at the time, so the hint to maybe make the fence a little more solid sounded about right to them.

The last question I took was from someone asking if one of their Jewish ancestors had any advice about doing their work during these particular times. I will keep their personal information private, but what was kind of funny was the ancestor suggested they, a pagan, talk to Yahweh for some answers. To which the querant replied, "Well, I did say 'Jewish ancestor'." This ancestor was a delight, though. He had such bright blue eyes and huge smile across his face the entire time.

For as long as I can remember, even as a Christian, I have wanted to help people connect with spirit in some way. Doing the work of seership feels like such a natural extension of that, and just this one experience in the chair felt like such an honor. I spent some time talking with Loki about it afterwards. They said they were so proud of me, and that they and every other spirit (deity, land spirit, or ancestor) were incredibly appreciative of me for being willing and able to do that work for them. It honestly made me cry. I so deeply love doing this kind of work. And I low key (heh) wish I could sustain myself by doing it because I would do nothing else if I could. I'm so grateful to every person that has ever asked me to give them readings or messages, and every benevolent spirit that has asked me to give them a voice here in Midgard. I am grateful, I am grateful, I am grateful. I don't share any of this to brag about my gifts or make anyone feel lesser in comparison. I just wanted to share the utter joy I feel from having this experience.

[notsp1derman]

an hyperfixated review of the apothecary diaries season one, by natsu hyuuga

First, I just wanted to say that I NEVER expected I would be here talking about this. I started Apothecary Diaries with the same jaded tiredness of someone who doesn't consider themselves an otaku anymore, so it has to be an EVENT for an anime to be truly enjoyable. After some time I just got bored of all the isekai and harems, shallow self insert characters, braindead action and hypersexualization of women, so you can imagine how often I watch something that has come out recently.

But this thing has consumed my life and my thoughts. It has made me go through a rabbit hole of ancient chinese history and culture, and I actually can't get enough of it. Apothecary Diaries managed to do a very rare feat in the chaotic anime industry: cover all its bases brilliantly. There's the perfect amount of everything a well-thought story needs: an incredible animation, deep and believable characters, an intriguing plot without any apparent holes, solid worldbuilding and just the right touch of social issues to make you think.

In an unnamed empire totally not a copy-paste of ancient China, we follow the story of Maomao, a poor apothecary's apprentice that gets kidnapped and sold to the imperial palace to work as a servant. But soon, her abilities of reading and writing (rare for a peasant) and poisonous plants get her noticed by Jinshi, an eunuch responsible for overseeing the famous inner palace: the garden of women where the concubines of the emperor live. Maomao then starts working as a food tester for one of the four most important concubines, to ensure she isn't poisoned in the politics of the palace, but ends up getting roped into more complex challenges and mysterious events.

Despite the clever plots and solutions in each episode, the true star of the show is the character of Maomao herself. She is a brillant example of a smart female protagonist, perfectly capable of solving problems because of her love for her job but still with her flaws and peculiarities that only make her more endearing. She is calculating and detached, but still shows a great knowledge of the inner palace's hierarchy, keeping her posture but discreetly helping people how she can.

Maomao is THE perfect example of a girls girl, and every other media should learn from her character. She has a strong personality and doesn't really like appearing too feminine or demure, but it doesn't stop her from being kind to her peers, helping the concubines and servants alike and never judging them for placing so much importance on their sexuality, despite not being interested in these affairs herself.

And despite having strong morals, Maomao is also keenly aware of her place in society as a poor woman. She know how insignificant she is to those in power, but instead of making rash decisions she works around the system. And this makes her the perfect counterpart to the other great reason to watch this anime: Jinshi.

Jinshi is an eunuch that supervises the inner palace, always butting himself in every problem to make sure the concubines are taken care of. He is a man born with everything: well-spoken and smart, signs of a great education; clearly high ranked, which makes him rich and powerful; an ethereal beauty that captivates every woman in the palace and loyal servants at his beck and call.

So when Jinshi discovers Maomao's great knowledge and usefulness, he is quick to think of her as another pawn to do as he says. He couldn't be more wrong. As they solve mysteries and develop a tenuous friendship, both of them are forced to change their perspectives: Jinshi is shocked to see a woman that doesn't fall for his charms and starts to truly admire Maomao as a person, and Maomao learns to trust a bit more and not judge a person by their status.

This whole ordeal leads to some of the funniest scenes I've seen in some time, and truly one of the nicest relationships I've seen lately. It helps a lot that Jinshi respects Maomao's intelligence and trusts her judgement, but his worry about her ingesting some unknown poison is very cute too lol

The side characters are adorable too, specially Maomao's sisters and how they treat her like a baby, and everyone has their space to shine. I think my only critique would be that the concubines are still too much sexualized. I believe firmly that you can have characters that show their sexuality without having to have giant boobs barely covered, specially in a historical context. But I know how Japan's anime industry works, and if this was the least they could pander to a male audience, I'll take what I can get.

Overall, even if all of this isn't enough to catch your attention, I would recommend Apothecary Diaries just for the insane animation it has. The colors are beautiful, the movements are fluid and there are scenes I kept replaying because of how well scripted they were. This is an unexpected gem lost among the slop, and I can only hope it keeps going strong in this second season!

★★★★★ ♡

[lovelyyink]

Daryl's grip on your arm is tight- unyielding. You flinch, more from shock than pain. The fight is over. The Whisperers are gone. But he still holds on, like he’s waiting for you to pull something.

The thing is… you might’ve. If you had anywhere to run.

Your chest rises and falls too fast. You’re trembling, but it’s not from the cold. Realization. This isn’t a dream.

The ground beneath you is too solid. The sting in your scraped palms is too sharp. Daryl’s calloused fingers digging into your arm? Too real to be imaginary.

You scan the scene, half-expecting to see a camera crew, a boom mic, a director stepping in to yell “cut.”

Nothing.

Just blood, bodies, and silence.

This isn’t a show.

This isn’t Norman Reedus looming beside you... but what if it is?

Your mouth goes dry. Your mind clings to the thought, desperate for some kind of explanation. There’s no way this is real. Right?

You open your mouth, hesitant. You don’t fully want the answer, but you have to try.

“Norman?”

Daryl stills. His eyes snap to yours, sharp and wary. “What?”

Okay. Not Norman.

Your stomach drops. Shit. “I—uh—nothing.”

His grip tightens. He doesn’t buy it. His eyes rake over you, sharper now. Before he can press further—Aaron exhales sharply, adjusting his weapon. “We need to move.”

Jesus wipes his blade on his sleeve. “And what do we do with her?” He glances at you, studying your face. “Do we take her with us?”

Daryl shoots him a look. “You trust her?”

Jesus hesitates. “I want to.” His voice is low but firm. “She saved our lives. But what if this is a ploy? What if she’s one of them?”

They think you're a Whisperer.

Your stomach sinks, “No, I’m not, I swear!”

Aaron looks around warily. “We don’t have time for this. There could be more of them.” Daryl doesn’t loosen his grip. “Ain’t takin’ her nowhere ‘til she talks.”

Aaron presses. “They might come back with even more people. Let’s walk and talk, alright?” Daryl doesn’t answer. His grip doesn’t loosen. Instead, they start moving, and you have no choice but to keep up.

You glance down at your bare feet, sinking into the mud. Every step away from the graveyard makes you more anxious.

You have no idea what you’ve done.

Jesus was supposed to die tonight. The Whisperers were supposed to have the upper hand. But you’ve changed it.

You glance over your shoulder. The trees loom tall and lifeless, shadows shifting in the wind. The Whisperers fell back, but that doesn’t mean they’re not watching.

They know you exist now, too. They saw you warn them. And if you altered the course of things... then who’s to say what happens next?

Or what happens to you?

A rustling ahead snaps you out of your thoughts.

Daryl jerks you closer, crossbow raised. You lean into him. The others shift, taut as wires. Then—she steps into the clearing, katana drawn.

Michonne.

Your pulse stutters.

Magna, Yumiko, Connie, and Luke follow, weapons aimed into the depths of the trees that surround you.

You know them. All of them. The faces, the voices. Your mind scrambles, trying to make sense of it, but it can’t.

Because this isn’t where they belong. This isn’t where you belong. Your knees threaten to buckle under the weight of it all, but you push it down. There is no time for that.

Hilltop.

You have to get to Hilltop.

Michonne’s gaze sweeps over the scene, lands on you, and hardens. “The hell is this?”

Jesus exhales. “Ambush. Not walkers—people wearing their skin."

Michonne’s eyes flick to Daryl. “And her?”

Daryl keeps his hold on you. “Says she ain’t one of ‘em.”

Michonne doesn’t blink. “And you believe that?”

Daryl’s jaw tightens.

Jesus speaks up. “She warned us before they attacked. If she wanted us dead, she had the perfect chance to stay quiet.”

Michonne’s expression doesn’t change. “Doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous.”

The silence stretches.

Daryl watches you, unreadable. Jesus glances at the others, clearly conflicted. The rest of the group remains on high alert, their tension bleeds into you. Then—Daryl speaks first. “We take her.”

Michonne doesn’t look happy. But after a moment, she nods. Jesus lets out a breath of relief and Aaron doesn’t argue.

Daryl pulls a strip of cloth from his pocket, “Hands.” You offer them up willingly. You trust him. But he doesn’t trust you.

His calloused fingers wrap the fabric around your wrists—tight, but not cruel. As he knots it, his voice drops. “You pull anythin'—” He tugs the knot firm. “You’re done.”

You nod quickly, “Got it.”

Daryl steps back.

Someone behind you shifts. You barely get a second to process it—A rough hand grabs your shoulder. Cold steel presses against the base of your skull. And then—Sheering pain. The world tilts.

Darkness.

Prompt: You're teleported into The Walking Dead Pt.2

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: March 13

2019

a solid five minutes [david/patrick, G, 1,246] by @wild-aloof-rebel

At the party, Patrick's parents aren't as surprised by David as either David or Patrick had thought they might be.

blue... [david/patrick, G, 552] by @startswithhope

Just a little fluff about David's newfound love of the color blue.

Slate and Mahogany [david/patrick, G, 1,432] by @mostlyinthemorning

David has some suggestions for decorating Patrick's new apartment.

2020

Barroom Blitz [david/stevie, E, 1,651] by unkindravens

Stevie and David share an evening out, much of which is spent in the restroom...

Bells Will Ring, The Son Will Shine [david/patrick, NR, 1,078] by @meadowharvest4856

Johnny Rose starts a wedding fund for his son. This accompanies s6e10, "Sunrise, Sunset"

Mysterious Way About You [david/patrick, M, 3,327] by @leupagus

He pulls out his phone as he’s kicking off his shoes; there’s no message from David after the shut up 💖💖💖💖💖💖 sent a half-hour ago, in response to Patrick’s text goodnight and instruction not to pine for him too much.

will this ever get old? [david/patrick, T, 927] by startswithhope

Needed to write some fluff to take my mind off the dumpster fire around us right now. So, here’s some post-marriage future domestic bliss.

2021

Finland [johnny/moira, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

Love and Cereal [david/patrick, T, 1,148] by davidrosestan

david has thoughts about love, they both like to mess with each other a little as usual, idk it's short just read it

Smorgascreek [david/patrick, T, 4,572] by @grapehyasynth

There's been a big misunderstanding. There's obviously been a big misunderstanding because people keep coming into David's very nice store and trying to get him to take them on as vendors.

Stay close to me [david/patrick, G, 147] by petrichor_apothecary

Interpret this as you will. Maybe the heater broke and they’re cuddled up on the couch with the fire going, cuddled up in their comfiest clothes just trying to make each other warmer. Or maybe they're in New York with Alexis and they’re watching the skaters go around the rink at Rockefeller Center. But no matter what, David just wants to keep his husband warm.

The Thumb [david & ronnie, G, 251] by @steviestoospooky

David and Ronnie shoot the shit at the Wobbly Elm.

vows... [david/patrick, T, 2,419] by startswithhope

Patrick, I've never liked a smile as much as I like yours. I've never felt as safe as I do when I'm with you. I've never known love like I have when we're together. It's not been an easy road for me, but knowing that you will always be there for me at the end of it makes everything okay. Patrick Brewer, you are my happy ending.

we keep this love in a photograph (we made these memories for ourselves) [alexis/twyla, G, 419] by @wafflesfriendswork

Prompt: “I made you something.” Twyla doesn't love having her picture taken. Alexis helps.

Well, I did [david & alexis, M, 2,965] by Fafsernir

"You didn't have to worry about me.""Well, I did." David never says it, but he loves his younger sister. He goes out of his way for her to be happy, or to be safe, and he doesn't even know why he does it. But as long as she's having fun he can take it. He can sit at home and worry, he can run to the other side of the world and bring a passport, as long as that means she's okay. Or: Random moments when David helped his sister, with her not often aware of it, if ever. But he was never looking for congratulations when he did it.

2023

In another life [david/patrick, M, 17,321] by @smblmn

“So you’re telling me there are infinite universes and not in one of them a Patrick and a David are happy if they’re apart?” “That’s correct.” David squints at this version of Patrick that reminds him so much of his Patrick, the one he met five years ago, extremely sure of himself and so, so irresistible. “I don’t know math, and even I know that’s impossible. If there are infinite versions of ourselves, at least in one of them they have to be happy apart.” “Well I do know math and that’s what I’m telling you.”

Rain [david/patrick, T, 100] by @ramonaflow

100 words based on the Tumblr prompt: Rain

The Kiss [david/patrick, T, 76] by @wearpersistencewell

David gets a surprise kiss.

2024

Luck of the Irish [david/patrick, T, 858] by @a-noble-dragon

There’s a leprechaun stood outside Ray’s, handing out leaflets. ☘️ Or, Patrick meets David while he’s in costume, and David counts himself lucky. 🍀

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2022 2019: 3 fics/3,230 words 2020: 4 fics/6,983 words 2021: 8 fics/12,221 words 2023: 3 fics/17,497 words 2024: 1 fic/858 words Total: 19 fics/40,789 words

[mollysunder]

Can pretty privilege help Mel dodge the Noxian draft?

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Happy Birthday! Thank you for all the amazing art you share with us! Did you get your King Magnus skin? (Terrifying sentence with no context)

THANK YOU !!!!! and thank you all for supporting me throughout these past few months: THAT in of itself is truly a most wonderful gift- to be able to share my silly art and ramblings with you all and for everyone to be so wonderful bout them :']]

BUT NOOO I DIDNT GET MY SKINS YET,,,,,,, my game hasnt finished updating,,,,

[good-beanswrites]

hi! may i request some mikoto + amane (platonic obvs) … anything? they are very dear to me 😭

Yes!!! Thank you so much for the request -- they really are such a good pair ;-; (The thing is, I had so many nice scenes in mind about how they parallel each other, but they wouldn't know or reveal that about each other so I kept restarting...) Anyway, here's something right after Mikoto's first trial/verdict!

Mikoto could pick up on someone’s bad mood from a mile away, though the skill was unnecessary when the other party very clearly and calmly informed him, “I’m in a bad mood.”

After refusing his offer, Amane turned back to a thick textbook she’d been taking notes on. Didn’t kids usually complain that school was already a prison? She must have wanted the full experience. He'd worked nonstop at his studies as well, but this was a new level. Amane often reminded him of his little sister, though she always took the extra step like this. His sister would have jumped at this opportunity to play a few rounds of their favorite card game.

“It’ll be fun!”

He flashed a smile, but it had no effect on her severe expression. “I know you’re just trying to comfort me about our verdicts. I refuse to be pitied.”

“Comfort and pity are two very different things. But anyway, it wasn’t either of those things.” He gave an easy shrug “To be honest, I’m just a little bored. It’s weird not having any work to do during the day.” 

Mikoto couldn’t remember the last time in his life he’d had so many hours to himself. A lot of the others were fun to play games with. A few of the sportier prisoners helped him stay active. He enjoyed smoking breaks with the other men. Still, he was left to his own devices for the majority of his time. It was maddening. He’d recently requested some more art supplies, having used up the last batch, but they had yet to come in. Now with the verdict announcement, he wasn’t sure they’d ever arrive.

“That is your own problem. I already have something to do.” Her eyes lingered on the cards for the briefest of moments before returning to the book. “I told you, I’m not in the mood for it.”

Regardless of her hostility, he took a seat beside her. He leaned his arms out on the table. “We don’t have to play the same game.” The last time they'd played as a big group, several prisoners pulling the tables together to fit everyone. Amane had kept very quiet, eyes darting around at the cards as she tried to keep up with the rules. Not many of the others noticed the frustration clear in her face. Mikoto wasn’t the type to let her win out of pity, though he had begun to mutter the rules and strategies to himself a bit more as the night went on… 

“Is there a game you liked to play at home?”

 “No. There was no time for games in the house.” 

“All work and no play… hah… I know what that’s like.” He slumped his cheek onto his arm, lazily shuffling the cards around. He felt bad for bothering the girl if she truly was upset. He thought it was the bad experience that made her reject him, he hadn’t realized there were also family issues attached. Usually he could read people well; maybe he was losing his touch. He seemed to be losing touch with a lot of things, these days.

He readied a game of solitaire. 

“Mikoto?” Amane kept her face turned away. “There was… one game.”

“Yeah?” Mikoto shuffled the cards back together. He slid them over to her. “You should teach me!” 

She didn’t touch them. “You probably already know it.”

“Nah, I only know a few games. I’m better with tarot cards, though those aren’t really the gaming type. Come on, what is it?”

She told him the name of the game, insisting it wouldn’t be worth playing. She kept her attention on the textbook, but her eyes weren’t reading any of it. 

“Ahh, I’ve heard of that one! We start with four cards, right?” He started dealing them out.

“No, five –” she pointed to the deck, urging him to add two more. 

“Right, right.” He laughed lightly. “And the goal is to get pairs, and put them in a pile, uhh, here.”

Amane shook her head. She shifted her body slightly towards him. “You must be thinking of a different game. There’s actually three piles for pairs. One here, one here, and when it’s your opponent’s turn…” 

Her eyes gleamed as she explained the rules. She pointed to various cards, telling him exact moves and point values. “And to win, you need to –” Her expression shifted. “You… you already knew all this.”

“Of course not!” He put on his most convincing smile. 

She deflated. “You’re not a very good liar.”

“Tch, tell that to the warden.”

His shoulders sagged along with her. If Amane could see right through him, why was the rest of Milgram still coming up with stories about what he did and didn’t do? “Well, I might already know the rules, but it’s been a long time since I’ve played. You can still give me a hand. Plus, if you really are in such a bad mood, it’ll be good to take a break from your studies. You should always take a break when things get too overwhelming, yeah?”

She gave him a withering stare.

“Eh? What’s that face for?”

“Alright, let’s play. You can go first.”

“I mean it, what was that look? Aw, come on…”

[todayisafridaynight]

top ten things i didnt think could happen during the aoki/bodyguard segment Aoki Actually Attacks

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all, weird question time! Do you have any advice for stretches/exercises to improve finger dexterity/range of motion? This question brought to you by a childhood history of being really spectacularly bad at catching footballs, several instruments I'd probably be better at playing with a better range of motion, and also the fact that I can't raise just my middle finger by itself without my other fingers also going up at least a little bit