#no proofreading also we die like men

[ruvviks]

see-no-evil mousetrap crown pistol rainbow fire and green heart for roksana [:

oc asks!

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - what's a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

roksana wants to have meaningful relationships with people and longs to be close to people but at the same time can't let herself get close enough to others to achieve what she wants. she's always had the feeling she has to "be strong" in order to fit in with her family and showing desires equals showing weakness (according to nadya); so instead she puts on a stoic mask like her father and oldest brother which makes it very hard for her to really connect with others

🪤 MOUSE TRAP - what will always lure them into certain danger? a loved one in danger? a promise of something they are always searching for?

roksana isn't easily lured into certain danger because she doesn't want to put her life on the line for. well. most things and most people to be honest. but if there's the promise of being desired by someone else waiting for her, then it Might be worth the risk. she will Consider it

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

she wants to be remembered as roksana. not roksana dobrynina, not roksana morozova; she's her own person and does not want anyone to associate her with either of her parents (or her brothers for that matter, but in a much lesser degree) because of everything that has happened so far and could possibly still happen in the future. anything else doesn't matter to her at all, she just really does not want to belong to that family anymore

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

roksana does NOT trust people easily at all and has similar methods of analyzing people as vitali to get to know them a little better from a safe distance before fully committing to something. she's always had her own agenda and usually doesn't commit to the point of no return; likes to have a back door open for herself to leave whenever she wants if things don't go her way. she has betrayed her own brother before, and her own father in that very same breath despite working for him specifically; she doesn't like doing other people's dirty work and will act accordingly

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

roksana would have no advice for her younger self mainly because she puts the blame of every bad thing that's ever happened on her parents. in her eyes, she hasn't done a single thing wrong and wouldn't do anything different; if anything, she would give herself the advice to get out of that home as soon as possible, but since she knows it's not that easy to do it would be kinda pointless to even try and give herself that advice

🔥 FIRE - do they have any self destructive tendencies? what habits do they have that hinder them from becoming their best self?

she's a chainsmoker first of all which has definitely caused a health problem or two along the way but with a family like that i honestly don't blame her. she's also had a very unhealthy obsession with mikhail, her brother's best friend, since they were all young and somehow this is still a thing even years later despite not having seen him for YEARS. this is mostly because vitali went to mikhail to escape from home, so roksana has subconsciously tied mikhail to freedom, which is something she really wants to have. but because she can't let go of him, she ends up getting more and more stuck in this fantasy that will never become reality ://

💚 GREEN HEART - what things make your oc feel comforted? hugs, kisses, food?

roksana appreciates it when people keep her company when she's feeling down and could definitely use a hug or two, but would rather die than admit the latter. she can't ask for much so someone staying with her is already more than enough; but again, she really wants to just be close to others but it's so difficult to get that when you just don't let anyone in. girl please

[pupkashi]

satoru thinks about the anatomy of a hug often.

he thinks about it when you’re both waking up in the morning, you’re still half asleep and his hair is poking in every direction possible, a half dazed smile on his face as he scoots over, urging you to wrap your arms around him.

a content sigh leaves him, face burying into the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath.

“g’morning sweets,” voice raspy and muffled, you smile, humming in response.

“g’morning angel boy,” you whisper, eyes still closed as the two of you gently fall back to sleep, this time hugging each other, with your heart as close as possible.

satoru thinks about the anatomy of a hug when the two of you are arguing, when you’re upset at him and frustrated beyond belief. he’s being stubborn, he knows he is but he also doesn’t get why you’re so upset.

“maybe if you’d just listen to me you’d get what I’m saying!” you groan, your jaw is clenched as you stare at your lover in anger.

“you just keep saying the same thing over and over what else is there for me to listen to?” he replies back, angry at the lack of progress in the conversation.

“whatever,” you mumble, turning your back on him and beginning to walk away.

if there’s one thing satoru would never allow himself to do, it’s let you go to bed angry and in the middle of an argument. he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down as he follows you into the bedroom.

“sweetheart I’m sorry, i don’t wanna go to bed arguing, can we please just- let’s just sit on the couch for a little okay?” his voice is leagues gentler than it was before, and you feel yourself wanting to lash out at him again.

a deep breath and a cold glass of water later you’re on the couch with your lover, wrapped in each others arms. soft sniffles leaving your nose as satoru wipes away your tears, apologizing once again before hugging you tighter than before.

the second he sees you after a mission away he’s wrapping you in his arms, hugging you and never planning on letting you go.

“oh i missed you so much lovebug” he murmurs, kissing your forehead before hugging you once more.

“you were gone for two days, toru” you laugh, holding him tightly nonetheless, grateful to have your lover back in your arms.

he’s hugging you after he gets home from work or you get back from hanging out with friends. he’s hugging you after a rough mission and is choking back sobs. when he’s being harassed by his students and you peek your head into the classroom, all of them immediately on their best behaviors.

“oh sweetheart you saved me!” he fawns, hugging you, picking you up and spinning you around before kissing your cheeks.

satoru loves hugging you, knowing there’s no other way for your hearts to be closer, knowing you’re here and safe in his arms. knowing the two of you are heart to heart, filled with love for one another.

a/n: i hope you get a nice warm hug, you deserve it ! <3

masterlist

[dawnbreakersgaze]

Excuse me but the idea of MC and Xav sitting on their respective balconies and texting each other The Tea while people watching in their neighborhood is both so silly and so endearing to me.

So let's go on a small adventure, shall we?

Warnings: None.

Just fluff. Pure, unadulterated fluff.

The late morning sun was already warming you through the windows of your tiny apartment before you'd even stepped foot outside. It was finally mid-spring in Linkon, which meant you could enjoy your late breakfast on the patio without having to worry about a stray chill or errant frost dampening your weekly Saturday 'brunch' plans.

Opening the patio door with your granola bar in one hand and phone in the other, you settle into the cushioned bench that overlooked your apartment courtyard and took a deep breath. Sometimes it felt like winter was neverending in Linkon, but you could finally feel the tension of the gripping cold that had settled in your bones start to slowly bleed from you.

After getting comfortable, you finally pulled out your phone, and quickly found your brunch 'date's' contact info, sending him the customary "Get up it's people watching hour" text.

[Hey Xav, you up? I'm already on my balcony?]

It doesn't take long for his reply. This has been your weekly tradition for a few months now. Ever since you had both just so happened to see that kid getting dragged down the street by the monstrous hound, it had become something of a... habit for the two of you to text each other the funny happenings on your street when you were home. Not that either of you were particularly prone to gossip, but the simple domesticity of it was oddly comforting after a long week of getting slogged on by wanderers.

[Yeah I'm up. Give me a sec]

The soft ping of your notification broke the peace, followed shortly by the shuffling of his patio door sliding open from above you. Sure, you could simply call out and greet him, as the acoustics out here are great and the soundproofing is atrocious, but the silence is cozy, and the atmosphere almost feels magical. This is your ritual, after all.

It's a bit like a storybook scene, you think, the two of you sharing a moment in time together yet still separated by some outside force. Maybe it was silly, but the fabricated longing almost made it feel romantic in a way that you're sure your neighbor would find ridiculous.

When you hear his footsteps above you come to a halt, you immediately notice something in particular is missing, however.

[You forgot your coffee Xav. Are you gonna be able to stay awake?]

[How could U tell?]

[I didn't smell any burning 🤭🔥]

He doesn't reply, but you can hear the huff he makes over the railing as his footsteps retreat, fading behind the sliding door once again. You don't even try to hold back the laughter his reaction elicits from you, hopeful the concrete carries it to him easily.

When he finally does reemerge, faint smell of bitter charred beans on the wind, his phone is already buzzing with the morning's newest additions to your people watching portfolios.

An older man you'd long ago dubbed "Green Thumb" who liked to frequent the flower garden outside your apartment complex was already taking photos of the new stargazer lily blossoms that had just opened this morning. So enamored by the vibrant petals, he didn't even seem to notice the couple he'd backed into who'd happened to spill their groceries all over the sidewalk. You heard Xavier call "Watch out!" From above you when he'd recognized the impending impact, but at your distance, it was no use.

[That was nice of you Xav. Too bad it didn't help 🫠]

[I can't believe they didn't see Green Thumb. He was so hard to miss. Even when Ur distracted U still see better]

[HEY! I'm not the one who sleep walks! 💀]

[And yet I'm always there to guard Ur back partner]

He's right of course, though you're not going to tell him. Xavier likes to play the part of a soft and harmless little thing, but it doesn't take much to stoke the hunter into burning hotter than you intended. His evol might be light, but you know better than anyone that light, under careful concentration, can start a blazing fire if you're not mindful. His teasing isn't ever harmful though, so instead you decide to simply poke the bear.

[Only because I'm starting to suspect you like it back there]

The distinct sound of a phone accidentally hitting the concrete marks the end of that thread.

Its not long before another of your regulars, pair of young kids Xavier had called the Trouble Twins arrived on scene. Aptly named for the number of times their poor mother has chastised them for chasing the ducks and picking the flowers, the siblings were quite the rambunctious duo. Today they seem to be a few steps ahead of their vigilant mother, rushing into the park with high-pitched hollers and improvised swords made of small branches they'd found. Today's unfortunate conquest seemed to be the pigeons that were being fed by the local grannies.

[They look like a pair of knights today don't they?]

[Knights? Don't knights usually protect people?]

[Maybe they're protecting us from the pigeons]

[Xavier those old ladies look pretty mad idk. That one even tried to chase the boy and almost caught him!]

The pause in messages was punctuated by his soft laughter above you, carried on the spring breeze. It was so warm, so genuine, so comfortable. You didn't need a mirror to feel the heat bloom in your cheeks; the overwhelming sensation of ardor flooding you at the the very sound.

[You're right. He needs more training. A good Knight should never be caught by an old lady]

[.... I don't think that's the message here Xav]

The rest of your morning goes back and forth like this for another hour. Watching your favorite people pass by, concocting new and interesting stories for them as they pass your balconies. Xavier has very interesting and oddly insightful opinions on those around him, considering you don't really recall seeing him with many friends. None the less, his company and companionship on your balconies has easily become your favorite part of the week. The only noises between you are the laughter that passes back and forth as the texts volley from one to another.

Finally, as the afternoon sun starts to become an uncomfortable heat, your phone chimes once more.

[I'm getting kind of hungry]

[Oh good. You're warning me this time. Thanks!]

[What?]

[No. I was going to ask if U wanted to go to lunch. With me, I mean?]

And just like that, the storybook was snapping shut. No longer a fragment lost in time where two people gazed at the same scene together from two separate places, but a tangible moment you could step into. Something intimate and real.

Perhaps you stayed in this thought a moment too long, or your silence below him made him second guess himself, as the chime of your phone snapped you out of your daze again.

[I didn't mean to impose if U have plans]

[I know it's Ur day off too]

Fumbling with the suddenly slippery device, softly cursing, and praying he didn't hear, you quickly hammer out the only thing that's been playing in your head on repeat-

[Yes absolutely! I'd love to grab some lunch I'm starving]

[Meet me downstairs in 30?]

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

my bohemian ass woke up at noon on a friday so I'm not firing on all cylinders yet, but there is this important distinction in the novel, The Phantom of the Opera, and the musical The Phantom of the Opera. I understand why a novel length distinction is cut for time and narrative tidiness for a medium that happens on stage, but I think people draw some very unfair, unflattering and incorrect conclusions from the stage that they port into their reading of the novel.

that is: Erik, the phantom of the opera, knows about Christine and Raoul's engagement and he's actually totally cool with Christine's plan. This is not incel behavior. This is not ~toxic masculinity~ or whatever contemporary bullshit you want to spew on the intentionally sympathetic monster in gothic literature. Raoul is supposed to leave on a naval expedition to the north pole. Christine's plan is to be engaged with him until he leaves. "This is a happiness that will hurt no one," she says. I don't have the exact quote for it but later on she relates how Erik knows and approves, at least of this intended to be limited engagement engagement. Why? Because he's the happiest of men with Christine, and he wants Raoul to experience that happiness. He does also expect Raoul to, you know, fucking leave when he's supposed to, but still. Christine and Raoul are romping around the Opera, kissing and crying together, and our ghost dude here is just like: good for them.

What sets him off is not the idea of a romantic rival. He does not, imo, feel "entitled" to Christine's love or whatever batshit nonsense the Erik-as-incel narrative huffs like paint fumes. What sets Erik off is how Christine has lied to him: not about the engagement, but about the degree of visceral disgust she feels for Erik specifically as a result of his deformity. She details, in graphic detail, how she closes her eyes instead of looking upon him, how she tells him that she only averts her eyes because she is in awe of his genius. She tells Raoul how horrible even physical proximity to Erik is, how grotesque his face is, how the horror of an animated corpse proclaiming his love to her is--well, horrible, and horrifying. Erik is on the floor, on his knees, kissing the hem of her dress, and Christine has her eyes closed the whole time.

I also think contemporary audiences can't handle that. They need Christine to be a pure and wholesome Good Girl (regressive bullshit), who is the victim of an evil evil man, and only the victim (also regressive bullshit). But also because she is a female character in the contemporary mind, she is allowed no flaws. She must reject Erik because he is a bad man. It would be ableist otherwise, yes? And the contemporary audience cannot handle lack of physical beauty being the reason. There can be no nuance to Christine's reactions. She is Good. Erik is Bad. That's all there is to it. The audience member is so sure that they themselves are above moral reproach, too. That's what is at stake here, also.

Never mind that Christine herself, repeatedly, notes that Erik is right when he says that if she thought he was handsome, she would stay. Never mind that when Raoul asks her if she would still love him if Erik were handsome, Christine declines to reply.

To be clear: this is not a Christine bashing post. I think her complexity here is fascinating. I hate a flat one note ingénue and that's not what she IS, and it pains me that fic authors write her that way, as if it's superior. No! Here she's human and she's magnificent! She's conflicted! Erik is alluring but also in ways that are no fault of his own, terrifying.

We gloss over the intended body horror of the novel. I know I do. I forget that he smells like rot and death, that he's cold and clammy to the touch, that he moans like a ghoul, that is supposed to have a gaping nose hole and eyes you can only see in the dark.

I don't think Christine is wrong to lie. But it's easy to understand, if you let yourself, how betrayed the monster might feel when he finds out about all this concealed disgust.

So, two points here

The rage upon being unmasked isn't just because he's unmasked and she broke a rule or whatever. It's the death of his whole gambit and his last hope, and Erik is, canonically, very smart. He knows this. He knows his face IS the issue. He knows it is THE issue. He reads Christine correctly in that the Angel of Music bit is ultimately forgivable in her eyes, and she likes that he brought down her favorite horse, she absolutely is there for their shared spiritual musical raptures. I want people to understand this: ERIK IS RIGHT about his own situation, a LOT of the time. He comes to some bad conclusions after, but in terms of understanding what's happening around him, he's accurate.

And so the rage and despair post Apollo's Lyre isn't "oh no, she loves Raoul," or even "how dare she, that SLUT," as some people make it out to be. It's the realization that he's been a monster to her this whole time. All this time he thought that she saw him as a man, and she has not. All the presumably good memories he has of her and her two weeks she lived with him are now revealed as lies. She's been enduring this whole time, not acclimating. She feels horror. She feels, again, disgust. She's shuddered at the touch of his hand in hers and put on a brave face and he's believed her up until this point, and he's having his physical inadequacies and his uncharacteristic naiveté described in excruciating detail to his romantic rival. He probably feels real fuckin stupid, on top of all else. He's been duped. He also feels disgusting and unlovable, because Christine has just repeatedly described him as disgusting and unlovable.

It is, of course, wildly incorrect to then decide to blow up an opera house about it.

But it's not entitled incel behavior and that's such a boring and contemporary narrative to shove a beautiful example of gothic literature into. Intellectually lazy and artistically myopic. I think most of us, if we're honest with ourselves, can think of a time we thought somebody liked us--maybe romantically or sexually but also maybe not, maybe just as a friend, as a bestie--and we turned out to be very wrong, because the person was just being polite or avoiding awkwardness or whatever. That is: they lied, in a very understandable and justifiable and socially expected way. And how did that feel, dear reader? Not great, right?

The point of the phantom of the opera is that it's a bunch of normal human experiences turned up to the max, dialed into a sublime hum that goes so hard it turns inhuman and terrible. It's that what makes a monster, what makes a man line, which is only interesting to walk if it's identifiably very human in parts. So Erik isn't just romantically rejected: he is rejected in just about EVERY way possible, besides his divinity of music. And this is supposed to the story of his entire life, over and over again, just most vividly and poignantly illustrated by his failure with Christine, when he most desperately wants to be just like everybody else.

And I think it's a shame to lose that very basic narrative and thematic point, but also a shame to lose the nuance of: Erik wants to share his happiness with Raoul. He loves Christine so, so much that he seems to find Raoul's lovesick desire very relatable. Of course, who wouldn't allow his fellow man a glimpse of heaven? And I just chose my words carefully there, if not the rest of the post. In his approval of Christine and Raoul's playful engagement, Erik is briefly engaging on a man-to-man level. He feels human about it. And when he feels human and accepted as human, instead of a walking horror show, he's immediately kind of gracious.

It's when he finds out that he's been a monster and not a man this whole time, in the eyes of his beloved and his rival, that he seems to go: I'll show you what a monster is.

[unordinary-diary]

I’ve discussed before the parallels between Blyke and John, but here I shall call attention to the way that the two of them are drawn.

Unfortunately I don’t appear to have any good pictures of Blyke OR John where Blyke isn’t getting beaten up, but I’m here to point out how similar they look. They wear the same uniform, of course, they have similar builds, the same haircut/style, and the same eye color.

Even later on in the series, when Uru-chan began to vary the facial features of the characters (namely eye shape), Blyke and John remained strikingly similar.

(There was also a point in time where Blyke’s hair was drawn more out to the sides, presumably to differentiate him from John post-hair gel, but it is not drawn that way anymore.)

I’d like to point out this panel:

This was taken from the season 2 part 1 recap.

It... really looks like john is beating up himself. Of course, we as the audience recognize that panel and we know that it’s Blyke, but the two of them could’ve been switched and it would look the same. I believe that this was an intentional choice; not all flashback panels have the same effects on them, and this particular effect happens to make Blyke’s hair look black. Also, with the panel that is chosen, Blyke’s face is not visible. Even if their faces did look significantly different, we wouldn’t be able to tell.

[centeris2]

just played the update so you all get to suffer my thoughts

Gonna preface this with I fully support and want SSO to reuse and recycle events. I love when SSO went "we're decorating the mall and Silverglade Village again for Christmas! Not changing the quests even remotely!" I loved that, I loved the feeling of 'tradition' (or something familiar to look forward to) as it happened year after year. Not to mention it made things easier on the team.

Okay, now that is out of the way:

Camp Western

I'm sorry Camp Western but you were at a disadvantage because I was not in a mood for an event, I feel like we just finished the Spring Event and I'm so tired and do not have time or brain space for an event. I also have no inventory space so anything giving me player items is not something I want to do right now because my backpack only has so much space left. But I overall really liked the western event last year, and I was like 45 XP from hitting level 27, so gonna do it.

(Yeah, level 27. It's mind boggling, idk what happened.)

I am relieved Camp Western looks to have nothing new added to it, other than new gear (which I will skip due to the "no inventory space" thing.)

Now to the actual stuff:

I feel like all the stuff that made Camp Western really cool last year isn't there anymore. Which is hard to believe because nothing changed about the event.

Coming off the Spring Event where races gave you 800 horse xp, not having anything comparable feels... lacking. I'm sure their logic is "Camp Western has unlimited Horse XP because of the gold!" which is true.

But if I wanted to run around in circles getting 2 hxp per shiny thing, I could do that in the Hollow Woods, without the threat of things attacking me. There is also wisps, rune tablets, and crafting plants to pick up.

Want to grind gold for shillings? Also not Special anymore, I can do that in Hollow Woods harvesting light or around the map picking plants without being chased. Not that being chased matters for me right now, I ended up with like 70+ beast repellents last year somehow.

Want something to do with mini games for as long as you feel like being in game? Hollow Woods, again! Or anything in game that triggers a 'cut scene' now has the same basic mini game.

300 horse XP for collecting the horses around Firgrove? Ehh, why do that when I can repeat the races around the ranch, Firgrove, or anywhere else that doesn't involve getting chased by things. 300 horse xp isn't a lot anymore when you can repeat a race, or when past events gave 800 horse xp in a single race. 800 horse xp in like a minute, or 300 horse xp that requires trading an item (albeit one that isn't hard to get) and finding the horse and dealing with dangers and leading it back? Ehh it just...

Idk. I don't want to say past events were too generous and too easy in terms of rewards, but it doesn't feel as rewarding, ya know?

Additional caveat: I have like over 3k gold from last year and over 1k summer tokens because I did all the activities and token exchanges every day, so I am rolling in tokens. However! This is exactly WHY I did that! So I could go "ehh, I don't have the time/energy/interest in this event, I got enough tokens and gold to buy what I want if a pet comes out, and I can be on my merry way."

I do like that they've increased the stack sizes for things, so all my gold can be in one stack now (and I could condense my lures and beast repellents). I also do like that it is basically a repeat. Yes, I am still calling that a net positive.

I had other complaints but they were mostly bugs unrelated to Camp Western, like hot keys not working.

Oh I'm really glad they've just gone to "season tokens" rather than having every event every year have a unique currency. That was annoying. That's not new I'm just happy about it.

Also what is this weird black cloud thing that we can hide in. I don't understand it. Do the wolves lose interest if we pass through it, do we have to stay in it, does it only work if we aren't detected already? Why does SSO insist on having like 5 different versions of a stealth mechanic and they are ALL different.

TL;DR - The neat things they tested out with Camp Western last year they added to the game permanently, which makes Camp Western not feel special anymore because you can do basically the exact same mechanics elsewhere (possibly for better/easier rewards too oopS)

[wosemi-sama]

01: PARTNERED UP

TALK TO ME BABY! — AN OBEY ME SATAN X READER SMAU

to your dismay, your professor had assigned everyone partners for an upcoming writing project. your furrowed your brows in annoyance. almost immediately, you stopped paying attention as to silently rebel against the professor. he kept talking as you stared at the same spot on the wall. you hadn't noticed, but everyone around you started moving.

eventually, a blonde man you had never noticed in class had come to sit by you. he opened up his laptop covered in cat stickers and made a blank document.

you looked at his computer screen and looked around the lecture hall. you we're utterly clueless. you figured he must be your partner for the project, despite the fact that he hadn't even said a single word.

"uhm, are you gonna say something..?" your head tilted a bit, voice dripping with curiosity. he finally turned to look at you for the first time. you were expecting a "hello" but instead, you were greeted with the scariest death glare you've ever seen. you felt as though he was staring into the darkest corners of your soul.

you shivered and ultimately turned away to look at your own laptop screen as the blonde returned to typing away. you stared at your screen, mind completely blank other than your mind occasionally wandering to your lunch with solomon after this class was over, which was great because you were starving.

a couple minutes had passed and everyone was starting to pack up and leave. you hadn't thrown your laptop in your backpack faster than before. you speed-walked out of the lecture hall, out the building, into the dorm building, and into your dorm, somehow keeping the same pace the entire time in such a large distance. you unlocked the door and threw your backpack on the ground.

you looked around your mini fridge for anything to eat. you had found a granola bar sitting in the corner of the mini fridge and decided that suffice until you could make it to the café off-campus with solomon.you sat down on the floor and opened up twitter while eating the granola bar. almost immediately, you had gotten notifications from your two best friends.

well call yourself john liar because you lied to your two best friends. you're not even sure why. but there was no time to dwell on that since solomon must have been waiting for you. you left the granola wrapper on the floor and ran out your dorm, phone in hand. you didn't realize you had forgotten your wallet in your backpack until you got to the café.

you approached the little building on the corner with a wooden sign reading ocean's café. it was formerly a corner store but it unfortunately went bankrupt. the owner had to sell everything. a young woman named ocean had recently bought and renovated it, and now it's a cute little café.

you could see through the glass that solomon was already waiting for you at a wooden table. you felt a bit bad, but you assumed he hadn't been waiting very long. you walked in and the bells on the door jingled as it hit the glass.

"hey sol." you turned and sat down across from him. "oh, mc. how you kept me waiting..." he said, faking the sad expression on his face. you turned you phone on and checked the time. "i'm two minutes late, you're so dramatic. and honestly that shouldn't even be considered late because-" solomon laughed as to cut you off. "i'm kidding, i'm kidding."

as if on cue, the waiter walked over to your table to take your order. you took your orders and waited around ten minutes for the food. while waiting, solomon decided to begin some small talk with you. "so, how have you been settling into your creative writing class?" he smiled.

"well, i think my partner for our next project hates me..." you started. "oh? who's your partner?" he asked, tapping the wooden table with his fingernails.

"i dunno..." you shrugged. "mc, how do you not know..?" he stopped tapping on the table, turning all of his attention to you. you shrugged again. "and why would they hate you? i assume you don't know them."

"i don't, but," you said as solomon sighed. "he looked at me like he wanted me dead! can you believe it?" you exclaimed. the waiter then brought out solomon's stack of blueberry pancakes and your belgium waffles. the waiter poured coffee for the both of you and proceeded to set down the syrup. he smiled and walked off to continue his job.

"look at us. eating breakfast for lunch." solomon seemed... enthusiastic? "uh huh yeah never heard of before. anyway," you brushed him off. "what should i do about my partner?"

solomon hummed as he thought to himself. "maybe make amends with him? i think he just got off on the wrong foot so it'd be best to just start over and reintroduce yourselves." he took a bite of his pancakes and swallowed before talking again. "it'd be pretty difficult to write a story with a guy who hates you, huh?" he took another bite of his pancakes.

a light bulb had suddenly went off in your head. "thank you, sol!!" you clapped your hands together and grinned at him. "i'll do that right away tomorrow!"

"that's great, mc. but tomorrow's saturday." he had reminded you. you frowned, remembering the parties asmo and mammon were planning on dragging you to.

"monday then!" you said after thinking for a couple of seconds.

"right. monday." solomon repeated under his breath. "make sure to let me know what happens, okay? i'd love to know if my amazing advice worked out." you nodded in agreement.

back to ttmb masterlist

[moongothic]

*gets struck with a thought and wakes up in cold sweat*

MOST COMMON INJURIES AMONG CROCODILES ARE LOST LIMBS AND JAWS

SIR CROCODILE IS MISSING A HAND AND HAS SCARRED FACE

ODA YOU GAVE THIS MAN SO MANY LAYERS OF DESIGN AND MEANING

*looses conciousness again*

I mean ngl I do think that's probably just coincidence

Like Oda is fucking insane so you can never know for sure what he did intentionally and what was by accident, but there has to be some kind of a limit to how many design choises are intentional references. Like, sometimes you do character design decision for no other reason than it looks fucking cool. Sometimes it's meant to be symbolic for one thing. And sometimes it can accidentally symbolic be for whole other thing (like the gay earring. It could be intentional or an accident)

Like Crocodile's hook is a very Iconic Pirate Thing (that calls back to Captain Hook) that Oda wanted to give to an important character in the story, a thing which Croc couldn't really have if he still had his hand (kinda like how Zeff couldn't have his peg leg if he had two feet still). The sheer size of the thing making the hook look imposing and dangerous, fitting for him as he would be the first OP villian to defeat Luffy (twice to boot (an undefeated record?)) and truly show off what the Grand Line has in store for the Strawhats, while the gaudy gold (on top of his other bling and how he dresses in general) reminds us of Crocodile's wealth/status. Meanwhile the scar, oh the scar, it has a few things going on. For one, the way it's positioned on Croc's face makes it resemble a crocodile's eyes peeking through the surface of water, fitting the animal motif amazingly. But also, it is a massive scar, going right across his face, a wound few people would survive; it shows off how battle hardened Crocodile is and how he is a mighty foe. But also, just like the missing hand, replaced by a hook does; it shows that Crocodile is still human, he still bleeds like the rest of us, and thus can be taken down.

Like that's just the Surface Level Character Design Shit I could think of at the top of my head at 4 am, this rabbithole does go deeper with what the scar and the missing limb reference and symbolize.

Not to be dismissing of you, I think that is a very cool coincidence, but I do think it's just a coincidence, it's going to happen inevitably when you do character design.

[the-lark-ascending69]

What is this??? A wip??? In my folder???

[boygirlctommy]

i just speedran the shit out of my midterm 👍 hoping and praying its legible

[hyperesthesias]

For a made up fic title:

Wallflower, Blooming

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

Viktor was never a social butterfly. Often excluded from the activities of his peers, he found comfort in his own company, his own thoughts, his own concepts. His office was frequently empty, save for the rare occasion when another admin came to tell him something, or a student needed to get ahold of Heimerdinger. He preferred it that way -- whether by an acclimation to the solitude, or because in the quiet he could think clearer, he could never be certain.

The only thing he knew with certainty was that he was what others called a 'Wallflower': a person who listened, who watched, but who never or rarely participated.

It had been three weeks since he reconnected with Anya. He had already treated her to coffee, to lunch, and a tour of the Ecology department's green house. Anya loved flowers, he came to learn. It was rare to see any greenery in Zaun, thus despite growing up together, he had no way of knowing her fascination with flora. But he remembered her smile, and how it seemed to light up everything around her.

When she asked him his favorite flower, he found he could give no answer. He admitted he had never given it much thought. He'd had no need.

He wasn't used to being asked personal preference.

Neither was he used to being accessible.

Anya arrived at his office, quiet and unhurried -- she didn't want to disturb him. He was hunched over his desk, working on something in a journal; handwritten notes scrawled with fervor on every inch of the page. She smiled to herself as she tempted the threshold, giving the door a soft knock.

He didn't look up. He was completely engrossed in whatever it was he was doing.

She almost debated turning around and leaving. But she wanted to invite him to lunch -- Academy's dime or not. Viktor had always been thin, but she had assumed that in childhood it had been due to their impoverished surroundings, food insecurity, and lost appetites. She was now putting together that as an adult he often forgot to eat.

She worried about him. So she stepped inside his office.

"Viktor?" she called.

She saw a twitch in his face, as he supposedly heard her. But he still didn't answer.

She looked over his shoulder and saw a calculation for a powerful beam of light -- a laser. She pointed to an equation in front of him. "This could be inverted."

He jumped.

"I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you heard me," she chuckled.

He leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face. "No, no. It's -- It's fine," he let a breath, and began to laugh. He tossed the pencil on desk and combed his fingers through his hair. "Sometimes -- I get too focused," he confessed.

She smiled, observing him. He was lightly pink, as if he were blushing -- or flushed with surprise, or both. She found it endearing. "If you're not too busy, I was hoping we could have lunch together."

"What time is it?" he looked at a clock on the wall. "Yes, lunch. What was it you wanted to discuss about the Academy?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I simply wanted to talk to you. In a personal sense. If that is okay with you."

His hands gripping the armrests of his chair, he found himself looking at her blankly before his brows rose and his mind was finally able to piece together that she wanted nothing from him. "Oh. Yes, yes -- that is, that is fine," he said and began to clear his desk.

Her smile grew and she suppressed a chuckle. "My driver is waiting outside. Will you escort me?"

"Of course." Viktor stood and locked his journal in a drawer. "It would be my pleasure."

It was an odd feeling to be seen, even in his rawest state. An observer being observed. If what others said about him was true, if he were a wallflower -- someone who grew on a vine, coiled ever on the outside of recognition and praise -- he found himself neither plucked, nor planted elsewhere, for all others to see and watch and gawk.

Instead, he thought, as he held out his arm for Anya to take, he considered that another vine had found its way beside him. That the blooms and blossoms of another flower had coiled next to this place. Someone else who observed, someone else who listened and understood.

He thought it a precious gift.

[dynmghts]

A special day. Even if the person celebrating may have already pointed out his distaste for most celebrations quite a few times, everyone worked their hardest to make this day even more special, so the blond would enjoy his birthday from the depths of his heart. It could be selfish of them, to force Katsuki to celebrate, but he was the one to blame — rarely honest about the rhythm of his heartbeat. Despite every part of his being carrying honesty with pride, successfully he’d conceal the parts of him they all wished to understand the most, his real nature.

But Shoto believed he wouldn’t get many more chances to show the other — without any doubt, without any clouds in between them — the extent of his affection. For someone who read everyone as if they were the back of his hand like Katsuki, Shoto sure had to try his hardest to make sure his message would sound loud and clear. The harder he pushed him away, the harder he’d push back. It was about time, for the blond to finally admit defeat for once, learn some battles are better to be lost.

Imagination wasn't one of Shoto’s outstanding skills– it was as if he were born without it, to be honest. Limited to what he could see and sense, despite often losing himself in his thoughts, Shoto didn’t actually dream. Maybe years of isolation, his mind feeding on thoughts of resentment and revenge alone had a lasting effect on him. Maybe, he didn’t dream because he already had more than he could ever dream of: friends to care for, and a path in life he had chosen. Or maybe, he didn’t dream, simply because he enjoyed a simplicity of the mind. And that simplicity had caused him great trouble in choosing a gift, for maybe one of the most complex people he had crossed paths with.

The choice of a place to find him in private was the first challenge. Katsuki’s room would have been the best choice, but he’d lose the element of surprise ( plus he didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect if he were the first person the other would see in the morning before even washing his face ). Before even the sun had risen, Shoto had taken seat in the kitchen. The blond usually was one of the first to wake up and make breakfast, and he relied and hoped on his routine repeating on this day as well.

On the kitchen table was placed an orange-colored gift bag and a small bouquet of orange roses, decorated with a white bow. Next was placed a small-sized birthday card. After numerous attempts to write down what Shoto wished to say to the blond, he settled for a simple ‘ Happy Birthday Bakugo. ’ The words he couldn’t express in a card, he’d say them out loud instead while he’d stare into fiery eyes, when the time was right. It was the gesture after all, that mattered on such a day, not the words and presents offered. At least that’s what Shoto hoped, since for the contents inside the bag, they were the biggest challenge to decide.

First, was a pair of gloves. Another pair of gloves was seemingly useless for Katsuki — he could just order them to his exact liking, made for battle, to enhance his Quirk. But the gloves Shoto had chosen, were simply meant to keep his hands warm on winter days, to a style he wished Katsuki liked. Made of leather, black in color, fingerless, with a characteristic red X symbol decorating the top of them, and a red stripe detail on the wrist.

There was a cassette tape, with all the songs Shoto thought Katsuki liked to listen to, along with a music player to play the cassette. Some time ago, they had seen an old movie where someone gifted to the person he held most dear a cassette. Shoto, unconsciously fond of anything considered old-fashioned or classic, hadn’t thought these would continue to exist, but he was surprised to discover they were still on the market. He may not have much knowledge of which music was popular, and have trouble to fully understand the kind of music Katsuki liked, but with Sero’s help, he made the tape while also adding some of the songs that reminded him of the other.

Last was a pair of chopsticks. The same gift Katsuki had given him for his birthday, the style mimicking Shoto’s hero costume. Shoto had done the same, the style mimicking Katsuki’s hero costume. Maybe, it could be nice if they matched.

The cheerful chirping of birds was getting louder, the sign of their day starting, and that Katsuki was about to come in any minute now. Except, the exhaustion of many days was finally sinking in. The relief of a day he’s been looking forward to having arrived, the soft warming light coming into the room, the satisfaction and sweet kind of bubbling anticipation got mixed with his growing dizziness of mind. Why was it that Shoto couldn't sleep at night, but couldn’t keep his eyes open during the day? He needed to stay awake, but it was getting harder to resist. Maybe, a short nap wouldn’t be that bad. He’d make sure to wake up before Katsuki would . . . The sound of footsteps and the creaking door could no longer reach him, head resting against the kitchen table.

( shoto being like: how to confess without confessing. hbd kats!! can't believe it's already been a year 💕 )

katsuki didn't make plans for his birthday this year. well, nothing past the ones he already organised and pre-approved for his family, who want to celebrate the young bakugou surviving to 18 against the odds. they mean well, really. katsuki isn't about to turn around and deny them when his 17th was in the middle of wars, a fact that isn't lost on him nor anyone he knew; some classmates last year insisted on a celebration after everything settled.

this year, though, katsuki just hoped they waited until it was a reasonable time of hour before tossing whatever hare-brained plans they had his way.

either bakugou katsuki's guard was up too high, though, or he actually got up soon enough that the others wouldn't have their window to bother him - and with that leaves his morning routine intact. he enacts his skincare routine without skipping a beat, re-organising his class notes and setting out clothes for the day before pacing out of his dorm and down the stairs. he doesn't run before breakfast; his next step is to beeline it to the kitchen before anyone else decides to claim it, with the goal of fixing himself a well-balanced meal before exercise.

when careful footsteps pace into the kitchen, making an effort not to make too much noise until he was cooking, crimson eyes fall on the resting figure leaning on the kitchen table. a brow raises. he moves forward with light steps to avoid disturbing the other - and it isn't hard for katsuki to determine who it is resting on the kitchen table, but if he was to have questions as to why, the gift bag and roses set on the same surface making the indication quite clear.

had shoto stayed up to gift him these on his birthday?

the blond stares between him and the gifts presented to him on the kitchen table, brows furrowing. his face scrunches up. after a moment, katsuki manoeuvres over to the bag and bouquet, deftly picking up the card that accompanies them - he reads the writing on the inside and huffs, lips quirking upward even as he rolls his eyes and sets it aside. he re-examines the roses. he can't imagine they were... cheap, per se. they looked high quality. a hand reaches to gently run fingertips along the petals of the flowers, noting that they seemed fresh, recently picked if anything; how far did shoto plan this, exactly?

katsuki doesn't let himself linger on the thought much longer as he finally turns his attention to the bag with the goods inside, glancing over to multicoloured hair and pausing. his hands rest against the edge of the bag for a moment. then, quietly, he pulls open the bag to peer in and seize the first item among the few that settle in there; up come the pair of gloves first, of which katsuki observes, feels the texture between digits with a slight head tilt. he hums. the weather is not quite freezing, no, but the spring mornings were still carrying a bit of bite with them - he makes the quick decision to slip them on. he doesn't know if they're quirk resistant. not that it matters much; he wasn't using his quirk at all this morning.

the next is the chopsticks - easy to reach, easier to hold. katsuki can't help but quirk his lips upward at the sight of familiar orange X and explosion motifs as the design; if he remembers explicitly that he'd given a pair with the same intentions to shoto a few months ago, on the other boy's birthday, he won't say. he places them aside. maybe he could even use them this morning.

the final gift is the one that perplexes the young bakugou the most. not because of its nature, that is, because katsuki enjoys music and doesn't care how he has to listen to it - the tape player is fine, but the tape it comes with isn't an explicitly marked band track. he eyes it curiously, flipping it over, looking for any writing on the tape to indicate what it is exactly, what its contents were. katsuki furrows his brows when he doesn't seem to find any strong indicators. nonetheless... if shoto gifted this to him, there had to be a reason. something this vintage and old-fashioned and arguably dated isn't just handed off to people without a purpose anymore, right? so maybe...

hands quickly set the headphones over his ears and slip the tape into the player. taking a few moments to learn the functions, katsuki manages to press play, and after a few seconds, he's hit with one of his favourite songs. this, he smiles at.

todoroki shoto remembered this about him, and that... was heartwarming.

with a final glance to the resting boy at the table, katsuki makes up his mind quickly and sets to work in the kitchen; deft hands work swiftly to accommodate for two different breakfast meals, yes, but they also aim to fill out a bento that the blond dug out and placed aside during his meal prep. it would take him more time than normal before he could go on his run, and he may have to cut the run short. he decides almost instantly that it would be worth his time.

once the blond sets the food on the kitchen table, crimson gaze lingers on multicoloured hair, hesitating. a hand reaches. there, he very delicately shifts a few strands back into place, gaze losing its sharpness for a moment. [ he is suddenly glad that nobody else is in the kitchen; he doesn't want to admit how his face turned red, nor how tender the action itself was. ]

by the time shoto is awake, katsuki is long gone. the gift bag and flowers have since been moved - in their stead, however, rests a bowl of cold soba, some vegetables put aside as an optional addition for the other's favoured dish. beside that, a bento, stuffed meticulously with a balanced lunch. while it wouldn't come close to rivalling lunch rush's outstanding cafeteria options, there has been considerable time taken to accommodate to shoto's food preferences all the same.

a note rests near them. it is scribbled in a quick hand, but the calligraphy is undeniably bakugou katsuki's as it reads (and quite fondly):

shoto,

got your gifts. thanks. didn't think you remembered what i listened to. liked the songs you added. made you breakfast and lunch. don't waste them.

katsuki.

nobody else knows why katsuki's mood seems better all day. maybe they don't have to know - so long as the blond spends his free time with headphones on ears, cassette tape on repeat, head subtly moving with each song's beat.

@deibreak / katsuki's bday asks! <3

[pinkfey]

words: 3600+. art credit. summary: supposed to be a character study, veered a little too nsfw, so more like an adventure in learning how to write smut!! plot for about a single page.

Lily swirled her wine glass and cocked her head at him. If the gods of legend truly existed, they’d smile upon Caspian Attlee. His warm, vibrant skin that seemed happy to be his. His veiny hands–soft, like they had never seen a winter’s day. Feathery golden hair and doting brown eyes, yes, he was borderline saintly. Lily should have been honored.

She smiled, and it felt cruel. “You know I can never love you, right?”

The stars in his eyes never stopped dancing. His voice was gentle and sure. “I know.”

---

Six pairs of painted eyes bored holes in Lily’s skull as she contemplated the man reclined at her side. Contemplated his question, his future, her future. Contemplated the elaborate pearl jewelry that adorned each blonde head in the Attlee family portrait and how many years of work it would have taken for her to afford just a single piece. 

Lily swirled her wine glass and cocked her head at him. If the gods of legend truly existed, they’d smile upon Caspian Attlee. His warm, vibrant skin that seemed happy to be his. His veiny hands–soft, like they had never seen a winter’s day. Feathery golden hair and doting brown eyes, yes, he was borderline saintly. Lily should have been honored.

She smiled, and it felt cruel. “You know I can never love you, right?”

The stars in his eyes never stopped dancing. His voice was gentle and sure. “I know.”

Lily could have laughed in his face. He must have been mad to agree to this proposition. A marriage of transaction? Unrequited love? Perhaps not so unheard of in the court, but for an Attlee to willingly seek it out...

“What is it that you get out of this?” she asked.

“You.”

Her finger ran the rim of the glass. A simple answer. Too simple? 

Caspian rubbed his face with the hand he was leaning against. “That look on your face…” He chuckled a beautiful chuckle, dropped his hand. “Is it not enough that I admire you?”

“No one has admired me before.”

“A lie if I’ve ever heard one. You have met the nobility, haven’t you? They worship you.”

Lily listed a stiff shoulder. “The privileged love a story of rags to riches. Makes them feel better about themselves.”

“Do you think that of me as well?”

She peered down at the wine, inky in the dim light, then at the man beside her—the man asking for her hand in marriage, the man coolly draped against the lounge like it was just another Tuesday. How could she possibly measure the weight of Caspian Attlee?

“No,” she settled on. “But if not a sob story, what is it that you think of me?”

He worked his jaw, still smiling. Always smiling. “Well, I believe you are… Brave. Beautiful. Cruel,” he added with a wicked shake of his head. Then: “Fascinating. Conflicted.” His gaze dropped briefly, as if wondering whether he should broach his few next words. “You believe you are a possession. I disagree.”

This time, Lily did laugh. The gall.

Caspian’s easy expression remained and it was sobering. She couldn’t insult him if she tried. 

“I see you. Not the grand Lillian of legend, the Lily who drinks wine in the darkest corner of the room with the charmingest man she has no intention of bedding.” He dared to trace an escaped curl with his finger. “Lily,” he whispered, brutally soft. “If I can see you as I do now every day for the rest of my life, I will be happy. That is all I desire and all I can ask of you.”

Lily spared a glance back at the portrait across from them. She could not imagine coming from that lifestyle, but she could imagine obtaining it.

It could have been the wine, or maybe the pleasing lilt of his voice and the slender hand at her cheek, or maybe all three of these, that spurred her to lean forward. Her lips grazed past his own to whisper her answer in his ear, and when she pulled away, there those stars were in his eyes once more in their everlasting waltz. 

She wondered what he saw in her at this moment, her lipstick smeared on his cheek, her breath against his mouth. If all this time she was just a thing too sinuous to ignore, too much of a spectacle not to play with, or if every word he spoke was as earnest as her gut told her they were. Perhaps the latter would be a truth even harder to swallow than the former. He sees me, she thought. A little rosy-tinted, for certain, but she was seen. Loved, even.

Lipstick on his cheek. Stars in his eyes.

Gorgeous.

He stiffened when she caught his lips with her own, clumsy, but he gathered himself quickly, earnestly, adorably keen to please with open-mouthed kisses and hands that didn’t know what to do. This differed so greatly from Lily’s norm she couldn’t help but giggle. And Caspian, always smiling, giggled back, cut short by her taking his hand and guiding it to her hip. She watched him like a wolf—watched his throat bob as he swallowed and the trembling breath that followed—before kissing him again, chastely, gently. She pushed his shoulder and he fell back against the couch as she moved to straddle his thighs.

She liked this—catching him off-guard, watching those waltzy eyes of his fill with deferential awe. There was something distinctly delicate about kissing a man that adored you, and Lily would be mad not to treat it tenderly.

Lily rarely took her time with these endeavors. Kiss for a few minutes, fuck, then go. Reaver, on the other hand? Reaver was…

Not something she would think about right now. Right now was for her, for Caspian, for Caspian’s lips that tasted of sugared pears and too-sweet wine, and all the filthy things Lily wanted to do to them. She could imagine them wrapped around her fingers or put to work between her legs or...

Lily dipped down to pepper his exposed collarbone and he let out small, raspy sighs in response. A fascinating development. She toyed with his neck, drew the skin between her teeth, and was rewarded with a muffled whimper. Between those blessed noises of his and whatever intoxicatingly saccharine perfume he wore, she could not be held accountable if she bruised the entirety of his neck.

Those soft hands, rich hands, hands born to weather no more than a paper’s cut, ran up her hip to her waist, pulling her closer to him. That’s when she grinded her hips down against him and felt just how much he was enjoying this encounter. His grip tightened on her and he sighed once more. Such a lovely sigh. A gentleman even at his most unraveled.

She pulled back to get the full image of him as she continued to roll her hips. Oh, he was a mess. Disheveled hair, reddened neck, lips like wine, and at her mercy to boot. He looked at her with his lidded eyes and quickened breath and she couldn’t imagine denying him anything. Anything. If marriage brought her wealth, security, and a view like this, she would be a happy woman indeed.

Suddenly his eyes darted over her shoulder. His voice came out tight. “Uh, Lily…”

She whipped around to see that the door to the lounge was ajar. Gods. She contemplated if it was even worth getting up for, but the gossip alone would already be bad enough for Caspian. If they were caught, he would never hear the end of it. With reluctance, she clambered off him and shut the door, ensuring it was locked. No scandals, please and thank you.

On her way back, she set to work undoing the clasps and laces of her corset. When she caught his eye, she smirked at the tightness of his crotch. “Enjoying the show, Cas?”

He cleared his throat and averted his gaze as he wiped his palms against his pants. A flush had swept across his cheeks; it occurred to her he looked darling in red. 

“No, please,” she insisted. “Watch.”

Caspian Attlee was excellent at following instructions. He watched her slip off her skirt, her corset, her chemise. He watched her like he had never seen a nude person before, with a precious reverie, an unmistakable disbelief. This could have been his first time, but she doubted it. His clumsiness came not from inexperience, but because it was his first time with her. Lily was not sparse for beauty and this she knew well, but to see that she could have such an effect on Caspian—to have her beauty reflected in his very demeanor, reduced from a dashing aristocrat to this, bright-eyed like the very act of their intimacy was the invention of something new—was worth more than any pretty words he had to offer.

Her body bare, she undid the pin holding her curls back and swung a leg around to straddle him again, this time further from his waist. 

She went for his shirt, yanking the hem out from his waistband. “Off,” she said, and he complied. She loved that. One word and he listened.

As soon as he emerged from beneath it, he leaned up to kiss her, arms tight around her back, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades. He trailed down her jaw, her neck, her chest. Her fingers curled in his hair as he made for her breast, teasing her nipple in slow, coaxing circles. He went rougher, teeth tugging at her as he dipped his head back before returning to a gentle roll of his tongue. Gods, he was such an eager thing. A tongue like honey and velveteen hands.

“Cas,” she mumbled. “You’ll bruise me.”

He faltered and looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes. His lips were pink and wet against her breast. “Maybe I want to.” And he kissed his way back up, breath tickling her skin. “Vengeance and all.”

“I didn’t bruise you!” she protested.

“Mmm. I must be sensitive then.”

“That so?” She reached down to feel how hard he was and he gave a hoarse whine at the touch, resting his forehead against her. She used light touches, her fingers dancing across him, teasing and stoking his desire. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around him, giving him a few strokes with an earnest hum. “Better get these off.”

Nudity was no more intimate to Lily than a business agreement, but she knew a work of art when she saw it. Caspian’s body was soft and lean and haloed by gold hair in the candlelight. Blessed by the gods had been an accurate summation. She considered taking him in her mouth right then and there but her gut told her he wouldn’t last very long and so she tucked the thought away to revisit later. 

She took hold of his cock and massaged the length of it with her thumb, watched him tip his head to the side with a sigh and mutter, “Gods.”

Her lips traveled from his cheekbone to his jaw. “Caspian.” She picked up the pace, retracting her thumb to stroke up and down evenly. His breath hitched on the downstroke, hips jerking up to meet her in tandem. “Caspiaaan,” she repeated.

“Uh-huh?” How adorable he was when he trembled.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you,” she said. It was not a question.

He swallowed and nodded, breathless. 

She ran her spare hand up his chest and neck, coming to a stop to play with his hair. “You’re an educated man, Cas. Use your words.” As she stroked downwards, she twisted at the base. Like everything else about him, Caspian’s moan was rich and silvery, too pretty for someone like Lily to behold. The richest man in the nation, and here he was like putty in her hands, her exquisite plaything.

Sweat glistened at his brow and he leaned to bury his face in the crook of her neck, but she held him firm by his hair. He groaned desperately. “Come on, darling. Just say it.” “I want to fuck you,” he mumbled.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“I want to fuck you, Lillian. Or, I want you to fuck me. Anything, anyway, I just—I can’t... Please.”

“He speaks! And with such lovely manners, too.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “All right, Attlee. You’ve earned it.”

She released him so that he could readjust himself for her to ride. Lily always made quick work of foreplay; seeing how much he wanted her was good enough to get her wet. No pretenses, no bullshit, she guided his cock, looked him in the eye, and sank down onto him with a pleased sigh. He fit snugly inside her, and flush against her clit so every thrust would cause friction. She brought his hands to her hips and placed her own on his shoulders for stability. He gulped. His lips were chapped now from panting. Poor, sweet thing.

She bent forward, no doubt moving his cock inside her, and took his face by the jaw. “Cas,” she whispered with a smile, rocking her hips back and forth slowly. His nails dug into her skin and she was certain a dear part of him was holding back, preventing him from encouraging her to move faster like he desperately needed her to. She tilted her head and shook it. “I am not a gentle lover.”

That pitiful, desperate look on his face could have motivated her to do anything, but he was more than happy with her sadism. He grinned up at her, brown eyes gleaming. “If I didn’t know that—” he sat upright to capture her lips once more “—I wouldn’t be here.”

She pushed him back down against the couch for the umteenth time—after all, a man is most beautiful when he’s either on his back or on his knees, and she would see to it he’d be on his knees later.

Caspian grit his teeth to stifle a groan as she started off with a steady motion and it sent her skin thrumming. Lily knew her knees would ache the following morning, but to get him to make such a heavenly sound as she had earlier, she would muster every ounce of willpower she had. Bless the gods for all those horrid nights hiking through the mountains. Without them, she wouldn’t have made it past more than a few seconds.

Lily never took her eyes off of him, watching for each and every reaction, like how when she bobbed up and down he would glance down and watch himself slip in and out of her, but when she grinded back and forth his breathing would labor. She held onto him fiercely, worked through the burning in her thighs to pick up speed. This position wouldn’t be enough to get her off, but if it worked for him…

She leaned forward to nip at his pulsepoint, earning her one of his velvety moans. He gripped her ass and jerked himself up to meet her rough rhythm, but she took hold of his wrists to keep him from taking charge. He hissed out a sigh that, if she didn’t know better, could have been colored by frustration.

“Ah ah.” She slowed their fervence to a gentle grind. “Do you want me to stop?” she asked, albeit more breathless than she anticipated as if she didn’t already know the answer. 

As she was beginning to learn, desperation looked good on Caspian. He seemed to swallow his exasperation. “Please don’t stop,” he whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

“I don’t find that convincing, Lord Attlee,” she deadpanned, releasing his wrists but halting her movements altogether. Now she was just being evil, and she knew it.

He hummed, resting his hands atop her thighs, absently tracing patterns against the skin as he gave her a look that appeared to say, What am I to do with you?

“You know…” He lifted himself up, just once, and it sent her lurching forward, bracing herself against the couch with an unsteady arm. He smiled up at her with those waltzy eyes of his. “I am the one inside of you.”

She scoffed. Wicked.

“How about we switch things up?” he continued, beginning to thrust at a ginger pace. “Give your legs a much needed break.”

She was off her game, but she would be lying to herself if she said the shift in dynamic wasn’t a welcome one. “I thought you weren’t one of the nobles that worshiped me,” she teased.

Lips latched to her collarbone as he lifted her and flipped her onto her back. Her damp skin stuck to the couch uncomfortably, but her thighs rejoiced at the reprieve.

“Who said anything about worship?” he said.

Fair enough, though a shard of her dignity withered away. Was it naive to hope he hadn’t just been using her for his own pleasure? Was it vain to wish his respect for her veered even into the bedroom? A shame. 

Above her, he was the picture of beauty. When he flashed his teeth it hurt. “At least get me on my knees first, Lily. But…” His right hand stroked her inner thigh from knee to pelvis and she was reminded once more of how soft his touch was. Then, instead of deigning to touch her clit, much to Lily’s frustration, he placed the head of his cock against her, intentionally skewing downward to coat himself with slickness before returning to slide himself against her, rubbing her with every movement. 

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll need that,” he said.

Oh, so he was being cocky now? Wasn’t he just chock full of surprises!

But the feeling of him grinding down on her, toying with her, his breath against her skin, was enough to distract her from any irritation. She threaded her fingers through his golden hair and breathed through pursed lips, hooking her ankles around the small of his back. Then, without warning, he slipped into her, eliciting an embarrassingly unexpected noise from the back of her throat. He grinned, but she silenced him with the sharpest glare she could muster.

Bracing himself on his elbows, he pulled back out of her until just the head of his cock remained inside her. Lily exhaled, then gasped as he pushed back in. Caspian didn’t rush. There was no need to. He set a steady, even pace as he worked in her. His strokes were diligent, intentional, focused on his goal—so unlike lovers from her past who treated sex like a competition against an unknown contender. He ground into her with purpose, clit against his pelvis, and she dragged her nails across his back.

“Harder, Cas,” she said through labored breaths.

She could see the gears turning in his head. The idea that maybe he could have a little payback for all the edging she so confidently put him through. But Caspian was as merciful as he was kind.

Ever the good listener, he lifted her ass to provide a better angle and did exactly as he was told, gradually picking up speed until the sound of skin on skin enveloped the lounge. Lily gripped one of her breasts, eyes half-lidded as the smallest of moans escaped her, freed by the nonstop motion of Caspian’s hips on her own. He had said he wanted to fuck her and now he was getting exactly that. She liked it best this way, him pushing as deep as he could go as the sensation mounted in her.

“Just like that,” she thought, or maybe whispered. Did it really matter?

He bottomed out with every stroke, pressing hard against her clit, and each short whimper that escaped her grew louder than the last. Her eyelids fluttered and she bit her lip to save her from any other embarrassment, but Caspian brushed a thumb against her mouth and she released it. His head collapsed against her shoulder and she was once again drowned in the scent of his sickly sweet perfume just as she reached her unending, torturous climax, the tension in her muscles dissolving as she let pleasure overcome her in waves. Caspian rode it out with her, foregoing grinding for gentle thrusts lest her clit become oversensitive. Faint, she gasped for air and stared at the ceiling, other senses returning to her one at a time.

“See?” Caspian said, easing in and out of her still. “No worship needed.”

Her mind returned to her. She blinked at him, then erupted in a fit of giggles.

And Caspian, always smiling, giggled back.

“Oh. Gods,” she muttered, glancing about the lounge. She met his gaze with a teasing smile. “Just go ahead and finish in me already, Cas."

He was already close, so he thrust into her a few more times, increasing to a fervent pace as she cradled his face between her hands, talking him through it. “You’re doing so well,” and, “That’s it.” Finally, held himself deep inside of her as he came undone with another gilded moan. His arms caved in and he crumbled in exhaustion on top of her chest and, basking in the afterglow, Lily drew her arms up to brush her fingers through his hair.

Together, they laid in a thick sort of silence. Across from the lounge, six painted eyes stared at them in blank disapproval. The horrifying realization dawned on Lily that they just had sex in front of the Matron of the Attlee family. Well, her spirit, at least.

Caspian did not appear to have the same thought. His face still smushed against her chest, he appraised the portrait with disdain.

“Ugh. You know, once we’re married I can commission a painting of us naked.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you.”

"Of course, darling. We'll frame it right there, above the mantle."

"But then who would watch us when we're caught in the throes of such passionate lovemaking?"

Caspian propped himself upright, squinted one eye at the portrait. “Well, then, we’ll just put them in the bedroom.”

[sylleblosscm]

Anonymous:

For the meta thing, perhaps the journey to contact the gods and how it affects Lunafreya?

---

Send A Topic For Meta [accepting]

Oh Anon, starting off strong with a punch to the gut.

 Before I get into this proper, there’s some context I need to provide about Luna’s character that is arguably the most pivotal aspect when it comes to understanding her fully. It’s something I’ve seen criticized and overlooked, even within the source material itself. See, it wasn’t just the Empire that put Luna through hell. There’s a heartbreaking moment in Dawn of the Future where Noctis is given the chance to see all of history, including everything he never knew happened to Luna in the years they were apart. There’s no way to stress just how brutal her Oracle training is - and Luna began hers at the age of twelve. Fucking twelve. She was forced into long periods of isolation, fasting, intense mental and physical training - and all this is to say nothing of the hellish panopticon of being made into a religious figurehead in one’s tweens. Imagine what that does to a person. With that in mind, know that Noctis is disgusted and horrified, in no small part with himself, now he knows the full extent of what Luna endured for his sake. He never knew. He never knew because Luna never said. Luna, the girl who literally can’t survive the a p o c a l y p s e without writing a letter to her boyfriend about the tea she found and the time her companion said she had a bad poker face, never thought to mention the extent of her training. 

 And that’s the thing, friends: this is as normal to her as the sky is blue. Try as Noctis and Ravus might have, bless their hearts, Luna was never taught that her life, her thoughts, her feelings, mattered. Hell, she was actively taught the opposite. She was not yet a teenager, suffering after the death of her mother, the separation from her best friend and the subjugation of her Kingdom, when immidiately her image, thoughts, feelings and relationship to her religion were made into a public commodity. Millions looked to her during times of war and strife for comfort, assurance - shit, God Himself put the weight of the world on her shoulders because he was too lazy to do it himself. Luna is the epitome of a good and selfless person being taken advantage of so severely that she can no longer function healthily, and that’s the kind of thing that takes years to heal from. And the worst part is, she can’t see what’s so wrong with it. 

 With that as our groundwork, let’s move on. Because there is one thing she kept for herself, if only one. A dream. One encouraged by her own Gods by virtue of their prophecy - that one day, the darkness would be driven from their star, and she could be with Noctis again. This isn’t a lunoct apologeia post (although...) - it’s just important you understand, it is the one and only thing she wanted for herself. The dream she worked toward all her life. Yet by the time she was to awaken Leviathan, Luna knew she was not long for this world. Please understand what this means.

 At some point between leaving Insomnia and arriving in Altissia, Luna realised she was going to die. She was going to die, and her only dream would never be fulfilled. Her God, who she dedicated her life to, failed her. She would leave her brother, her only family behind; Noctis would have to go on without her; and she would never get the future she was promised. Sit with that a minute, because goodness knows I had to take several. There was a moment in time when that thought first occurred to her, and she had to keep going. I want to say she was too good and noble to run, but knowing what we know about her upbringing, it probably never occurred to her in the way it should have.

 We don’t know too many details about what traveling was like for Luna (because the game doesn’t care what she thinks or how she feels), save for what few cutscenes we get, and what Ravus writes in his letters. We know Gentiana was with her for at least some of the journey. We know she visited a few places and was well-loved wherever she went. We know her condition steadily deteriorated from being in fine physical form, to struggling to carry her own body weight. And goddamnit, we know Luna never got the justice she deserved except for in one canceled DLC that made a banger of a book most fans will never read. Justice for Luna.

[impostortale]

Tool ask: Dude, calm down. Just count to ten, think about relaxing place, do a long breathe and lay on the snow. Your brain needs freedom from problems, these psychopatic halucinations will kill you, but... We are with you, so, lrets play a "words" game? Just liie "apple" - "elephant" - "town". I start: "Death, blood, kill..."Okay, stop, dont cry, thats just a joke you know? Normally, uhm... "Snowman" - and you?

Warnings:

Description of 'dying'/'bleeding'

Basically angst

Bad?? writing?? idk

There was very little strength left in his bones at this point. Energy poured out of his throat, trickling down and seeping into his clothes. It'd soon fizzle out, dissolving into the air.

He could still see messages appearing in his vision, but the words blurred and flickered, mixing into one another. His head spun trying to decipher the words growing stranger and stranger, the meanings of each fading with each flicker of darkness blocking his sight.

Though he managed to read one in its entirety.

"...I'm calm."

For the first time in so long, he was at peace. He knew the heaviness in his limbs were a cause for worry. He knew that he should be scared of the haze slowly eating away at his consciousness. He knew that the voices of the masks aren't supposed to fade— they screamed and cried, not wanting to disappear. But strangely enough, he felt... free.

"I won't die, technically..." His voice was soft, unlike moments before when he was screaming his throat raw. "Don't worry... I'm... only resting." He hoped it would be permanent, despite the small scared voice begging him to keep them alive.  “You guys don’t have to stay with me for this, you know?”

He deserves worse. He deserves to suffer for all eternity for what he's done. But he can't do this anymore. Being alive will eventually lead to more problems, right? Tool was a burden on all who loved him.

The mention of a relaxing place brought up memories of a garden. A familiar set of mismatched eyes blinking at him. Arms pulling him close, pressed against the soft fabric of a pink sweater.  He could imagine the warmth blanketing over him.

Maybe he was loved. Alas, the people that would've taken in him regardless of his flaws are dead by his own hands. Maybe Ceru would still let him into his room at his house but... that's only because he's too nice to say no.

A part of him blamed Ceru. He never wanted this. He didn't ask for this. He was happy alone. But it's happened again and again and—

When the observant joked, Tool only faintly smiled. He didn't have any energy left to spare for tears. Crying was impossible, even if he were to try his best.

He felt his eyes droop, tired. His time will soon end, the promise of rest like a cold embrace. "Observant... if you insist... I will play the game, then."

Humor the observants one last time, why not? He won't be getting anything out of this, but that's okay. He was grateful enough for the company. Being alone was... suffocating.

A snowman... so his word will start with N.  What starts with N?

“Night.”

And the world melts away.

[formaedei]

Your remorse hasn't fallen on deaf ears. Rather ones that just don't care.

"And that helps us how?", Coyote was looking at the man speaking the words - the hero of the realm, finally in Galemald. A tad bit too late. It already lays in ruins, its foundations shaken and tried and broken. Hero swoops in to save the day, only it is already nighttime and there's no one left to save.

It was uncertain if Coyote was speaking about themselves, or the people of Garlemald in general. Lack of the gestures around suggested it is the former - however, their tone was flat and betrayed no personal emotion. Robotic, almost.

"I appreciate your words, though," they continued, showing trained manners in their words and, now, movement - if they were dressed differently, looked more human, one could mistake them for a member of a high society. "But words are not enough." With a sigh, they got up from the crate they were sitting on. "If you intend to show you're different, there's no lack of tasks that need doing. And a pair of hands is always welcome."

They turned around and tapped the crate they were sitting on. "These are supplies for Tertium." Gesturing towards a card with a few crates already on it, they said: "We're supposed to take them there. If you feel so inclined, your company would be appreciated. Not having to fight beasts by our own self would be a rather welcome change of pace."

As they lifted the crate up, with no struggle despite it it being roughly half their size, they added - as an afterthought: "Unless you have prior commitments, that is."