#probably why the length of it feels so odd and off in a game

[violet-dragongirl]

Yep I need to take a break, eat, drink, maybe get tipsy, watch some Lupin III Series 5 and chill for second

[selfindulgentpixies]

Learn to play the game for me

Aventurine x GN!reader Hunger games!AU

Wrote this for @decaydaddy's event! The idea of Aventurine being a previous victor and mentor for the hunger games hit me like a truck. It just fits him really well I feel like. I can't say i'll write more for this just because I can't say i'm fully back on the writing horse yet. I was just really taken by this idea because i really enjoyed the hunger games back when i read it. Even if i only read the first two books. It'll be clear that certain scenes really stuck in my head.

header is official promo art and divider credit goes to @kaeyaphile

A sharp rip echo’s through the room before a string of curses fall from your lips. “Fuckin mother fucki’- the hell did you you warn me first?! Why do I need this done exactly?!”

“Ah ah, language, if you’re going to get sponsors we need to play up that pretty and polite image, no one’s going to want to sponsor you if you don’t.” Your mentor chides as the stylist disposes of the first paper and wax strip now coated in hair, hair that you really didn’t think there was a point in getting rid of.

You glare at your mentor, pretty as a picture as he always is. He’d even been pretty when you were young children, even if he’d lacked the flamboyantcy and refinement he now carries himself with back then. You try to ignore it as more warm wax is painted onto your leg and keep your focus on Aventurine. “And you think a few sponsors will be enough for me to survive this thing? I’ll probably end up dead, and then i’ll just leave behind a ‘pretty’ and hairless corpse.” 

Something shifts in Aventurine's eyes and he leans close to you. “You can survive this, you just need to learn how to play their game. Just like I did. Are you really ready to just give up and let yourself be chewed up and spit out?” 

Something stutters in your chest both at the intensity of his gaze and at his close proximity. Rrrriiiip- the wax strip being pulled from your skin cuts off anything you could have said, though to your credit you don’t swear this time and just let out a surprised choked sound. 

Aventurine steps back from you, the expensive heels of his shoes clicking on the hard floor as he turns away. “I’ll leave you to get finished being cleaned up.” He gives a little wave of his hand and walks away. 

___

You stand before the full length mirror, staring at yourself draped in expensive fabric you would never have  been able to imagine yourself in before. Soon you’d be sitting on a stage, selling yourself, selling the idea of you, to the sponsors who could tip the balance for you once the games begin. No. The games have already begun. Aventurine stressed that point to you, that the game began the second you were chosen as a tribute. Everything you did leading up to the fighting was just as important if not more so. You swallow thickly, your thoughts race, you weren’t cut out for this but who was? Maybe those brats in the more well to do districts. Not you though. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep your breathing in check.

Suddenly there are hands on your arms, squeezing lightly. Your eyes snap open, only to be met with your mentor’s in the mirror. Finally alone with him you can see concern there. “That’s right, come back to me, just breathe.” 

His words make your heart stutter but you do as he says, he breathes deeply and you mimic the action. Time stretches on forever with you mimicking his breathing until he seems satisfied. “There you are,” there’s a hint of a smile on his lips now. His hands smooth over the fabric he’d wrinkled while gripping your arms. “I know none of this is fair, but I’ll do everything I can to give you every advantage I can in order to even the odds.” His voice is serious, quiet, you might not even be able to hear him if not for how his lips are pressed to your ear.

“Aven…” before you can fully say his name he continues. 

“All I ask is that you fight like hell. Both on stage and in the arena. Don’t throw the game because you’re scared.” His eyes are intense, so much so that you try to glance away from his reflection in the mirror only for him to turn you toward him. 

He holds your gaze until you give him a firm nod. “Good.” He rests his forehead against yours for a moment and you feel your cheeks heat, your heart racing for an entirely new reason by the time he pulls away and steps back from you. Suddenly your hands shoot out to grab at his arms startling you both. 

“I-i..” A deep breath. “How… Did you manage it? You were a lot younger than I am now when you won.” Despite being your mentor Aventurine has actually spoken very little about his own games. He’s dodged most direct questions both by you and the other tribute.

“I got lucky.” He lets out a dry chuckle when your face contorts. 

“That’s a terrible answer and doesn’t help me.” 

“Ah ah but is it not in line with what they say about these games? ‘May the odds be ever in your favor.’?”  there’s a hint of something pained in his voice. 

“Aventurine, please, is that really all you’re going to tell me…?” 

He removes your hands from his arms before reaching up to cup your face. You feel the warmth of his hands seep through his gloves to your skin contrasted harshly against the cool metal of his rings. “Tell you what, you win and then i’ll tell you everything.”

“But-”

“That doesn’t help you win? Consider it a little extra motivation.” 

Before you can protest he steps away from you and turns to head toward the door with a little wave. “It’s almost time for your interview~” With his back to you can’t see that sadness in his expression. He’s not ready to talk about her with you yet, his older sister who’d given her all and made it possible for him to be standing here now. He can’t share that pain with someone who could be dead tomorrow. 

—

Very few could ever claim to know what’s going on in Aventurine’s head, and you certainly don’t count yourself among them. So when your interview concludes and you’re just barely off stage and he takes your hand, mouthing the words ‘trust me’ then without a moment for you to process he pulls you to him, his lips crashing with yours. Your sound of surprise is swallowed up by him as he deepens the kiss, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his expensive jacket. You almost don’t register the gasps and murmurs of the crowd. You may not see it but this moment with your mentor is broadcasted on the large screens as he walks you back a step further into view. The way he kisses you and his tender embrace plain for everyone to see. 

Everything feels like whirlwind from there, granted everything since being chosen as tribute has felt that way, but this? The news of you apparently having a love affair with your mentor is everywhere. Headlines of how a pair of lovers are being forced apart and how one must watch the person he loves endure the same trials he once had to survive are abuzz. “Was that seriously necessary?!” Your face is heated and you can’t decide if you feel more embarrassed or angry as you stare at Aventurine perched on the love seat in your temporary accommodations. Shameless with legs spread and a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“It makes for a good story. Everyone loves a tragic love story.” He gives a small shrug. 

“Why didn’t you ask me first!?”

He raises one elegant brow. “Would you have agreed?”

“No!?” 

“And that’s why i didn’t ask. This is another way i can help you and make you more appealing to the audience. Besides… You didn’t seem to mind while I was kissing you.”

“That’s-!” Your stomach twists and you feel your face heat further if possible. 

He puts his hands on his knees before standing and walking toward you, when he’s about to pass you he speaks again, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “If it helps, I meant it. The kiss, I mean.” 

Your world slows. “You- you don’t get to just say things like that and walk away!” You follow hot on his heels as he begins to head for the door. You grab at his expensive jacket once again, the poor fabric seemingly doomed to your abuse, and turn Aventurine to face you. His expression surprises you, all traces of smugness gone. You swallow thickly. “You can’t play games with my feelings at a time like this…” Your fire seems to fizzle out further with each moment you look at him. 

“I’m not… I wouldn’t be putting so much work into giving you the best chance possible if I was.” 

“But… why now? After all this time.. After you were in the games when we were little I never heard from you again and suddenly now that you’re my mentor you’re telling me what? That you lo-” a deep breath. 

“And if I am?” 

“I don’t know… But i have missed you.” 

“That’s why you wanted me as your mentor isn’t it? I know you asked for me specifically.” 

“Is it why you accepted?” 

You meet eachother eyes and suddenly share a small moment of quiet laughter. 

“You’re impossible, you know that right? And don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

“Win the games and I’ll make it up to you.” And he sounds so sure when he says it that a small part of you believes you could win, if not for yourself perhaps for him. Perhaps for the two of you.

The next day, standing on the platform waiting for it to rise to the arena you feel your resolve solidify. He stands in front of you and rests his forehead against yours. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” spoken for you only before he steps back, allowing the platform to rise to take you to the surface, away from him and he hopes it’s not for the last time. By the resolve in your eyes as you get further and further from him he can believe you have a chance, and that’s all you need to win a game like this.

I hope you guys liked it! Aventurine has taken over my brain lately. I've actually written a couple other things but I just haven't polished them. This idea forced me to sit down and write it.

Tag list: @scarabrat-archived @pastelle-rabbit @fushigurro @zorosdimples @bad-as-the-boys @likelilacwine @kweenkatsuki-fics

[mybiasisexo]

41 and baekhyun pls and thank you!! 💙

Cute 👓

Genre: fluff Pairing: Baekhyun x f.Reader Length: 1.2k Warnings: Sexual Implications

a/n: ngl this is just me writing down a fantasy. it is what it is lol

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

It’s the end of a long day, and you’re ready to relax and spend some quality time with your boyfriend, Baekhyun. He’s already sitting on the couch when you enter the living room. Watching whatever show he put on for you to mindlessly watch. The first thing you notice as you approach is his hair. He finished his nighttime routine before you, so it’s still damp from his early shower. He didn’t bother messing with it, so it is now drying at odd angles. His body is fitted with a silky blue pajama set, and on his face is a pair of chunky glasses.

He looks like a child, and you have to physically hold your lips together to stop the cooing threatening to come out from his presence.

He spots you and smiles. He always smiles like that when you join his side, no matter where you are, and it makes your heart melt. “Hey, Baby.”

His voice is gentle, comforting. The tone deeper because of it. It drives you crazy, and he’s probably aware of that, but his intentions aren’t to arouse.

That being said, he draws his arms back, a wordless invitation you’re too eager to oblige.

You crawl into his lap, sitting sideways so that your back leans against the armrest and your legs drape over his thighs. He closes his arms around you, one going around your back, the other resting on one of your exposed knees.

He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before giving his attention back to the show playing. You find his profile more entertaining. He can definitely feel your wandering stare, but ignores it, getting back into the show.

Your gaze is hard to ignore completely though, and the skin on his face tints pink under your stare.

You lift a hand to the back of his head, untangling his light-colored locks, fixing the mess he has going on back there. When he’s presentable again, you start combing your fingernails over his scalp. The action has him purring like a cat, his head leaning more into your touch.

You can’t help but smile at him, continuing the movement for a bit longer. You pull your hand away eventually and he groans in disappointment.

“Those glasses make you look so cute,” you finally say, your voice lilting like you’re talking to a baby. The compliment makes him drop his head to try to hide the pleased smile on his little lips.

“You think so?” he asks softly.

You hum in agreeance. “You should wear them more often.”

He lifts his head back up to look at you, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Maybe I will.”

“So that I can gush about how cute my boyfriend is?” You question.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, turning back to the television, playing off the affect your words have on him. You can tell he can’t get back into the show, that you’ve completely distracted him, by the way he’s blinking. His cheeks and neck bloom a lovely red, and you think you’re going to explode with how endearing he is.

You can’t help but poke his cheek. “I think it’s adorable how easily you blush.”

“Yah,” he whines, pulling away from your touch.

You chuckle and lean in more. “What’s wrong?” You feign concern.

He cuts his eyes to you. “Stop calling me cute.”

You gasp dramatically. “But how can I not? With your cute little glasses? And your cute little pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he denies, bottom lip gutting further out. “But if I was, it wouldn’t be cute.”

“Oh?” You reposition yourself, sliding your legs over his so that you’re straddling him. He falls back onto the couch, hands instantly going to your hips, squeezing them gently.

You cup his face, holding it so that he can’t avoid your gaze.

“That’s too bad,” you purr. “Because you’re my cute baby. My pretty boy.”

A grunt leaves those red lips of his and you feel him twitch underneath you. “Why did I kind of like that?” He mutters to himself.

A sly grin grows on your face that he notices with slight fear in those shiny eyes of his.

“I know you did,” you whisper. Slowly, you close the distance between you both, brushing your nose and lips against his. “I felt you.”

He gulps. Rarely do you take a dominate role in your relationship. Actually, this is the first time. Baekhyun’s a bit overwhelmed by the role reversal. His eyebrows are raised in surprise, his breathing becoming more ragged with anticipation.

You tease him a bit more, rubbing his lips with your own, the tip of your tongue curling over the sweet flesh. You finally kiss him when you feel his body shaking with need. It’s sultry and slightly vulgar. All teeth and tongue, languidly twirling together. There is no rush, no pressure for anything more even though you both know that’s where this is leading to, especially with him growing more turned on with every swipe of your wet muscle.

He pulls away suddenly, holding you back as he falls into the couch again. His features have grown mischievous as he takes in the way your pupils have blown out.

“You should reward me,” he says with his now husky voice. “For being so cute.”

“A reward?” You repeat and he nods. You play along, tilting your head curiously. “And how exactly should I do that?”

“I can think of a few things,” he pushes, pulling your hips forward to grind against the hard bulge in his pajama bottoms.

The action draws a moan from him, and you bite your lip. “I do need to hear more of those pretty moans leave your mouth.”

“Yeah?” He lets out in a breath. You’ve started trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Unbuttoning his shirt to continue your journey south, consuming every inch revealed to you. You slide down to your knees, and lean up at him between his legs. He takes you in hungrily, loving this view more than you’ll ever know. Little does he know, you do too. You lean against his knee as you lose yourself in the art he is. That pouty mouth of his has fallen open as he struggles to breath, his exposed chest slightly heaving, those glasses that are the reason you’re here in the first place askew on his nose.

Your man is cute, indeed.

“What?” He asks, grinning self-consciously as you continue to stare at him.

You shake your head, both as an answer for him as well as clearing your head. “I love you is all.”

A new layer of blush coats his face, but he doesn’t avert his gaze like had been doing before. Instead, he bends down so that your faces are level, and lifts up your chin with his finger. “I love you too.”

He gives you a quick kiss and leans against the couch again, expectantly. There is nothing ‘cute’ about him any longer, even with the crooked glasses. No. Now he only exudes manliness. His shoulders suddenly broader, the features of his blushless face sharper with lust, the silent demand in his glittery eyes causing saliva to flood your mouth. You fight the urge to swallow, knowing you’ll be making good use of it.

Not wasting any more time, you go for the band of his pajamas.

His quiet groans fill the room as his head falls against the couch, his back arching as you give him the reward he deserves.

And, god, is it cute.

[cruyffista]

for the prompt ask: 6 or 28 with marco van basten?

Thanks for the prompt <3 I did No.6. Reverse Amnesia. I had a lot of fun writing this one and might expand it into a full-length fic.

The alarm clock wakes Marco up like a hot knife cutting through something soft, and the thumping noise echoes through his eardrums and into his pounding head before he slams the alarm mute with a satisfying thud.

Still enveloped in his warm blankets, Marco stretches out his arms with a yawn, shrugging out all the kinks and aches in his joints that often plagued him in the early mornings when he woke up.

Besides him, soft light escaped through the curtains, creating strange, swirling patterns on his body.  When Marco opens the window next to his bed, he’s hit with a pleasant breeze, and when he peers outside, he sees that the autumnal trees have shed their brown leaves, so that they make oddly elegant twirls in the grey sky.

Marco flicks his gaze to his watch. Practice at the De Meer stadium is only an hour away, and he had promised Johan that he would go over some specific drills before the next game.

He briskly changes into his sweatpants and training shirt. Since the training grounds are only a few kilometers away from his apartment, Marco prefers to jog rather than take a car or cycle to De Meer stadium; he has also discovered that an early jog relieves some of the pain that still throbbed in his knee.

While on his way, however, Marco notices something curious: for the entire duration of his run, he has not been asked for a picture, an autograph or even been wished good luck for the next game. In fact, Marco hasn’t been recognized at all.

Reaching the wrought-iron gate of De Meer, Marco shakes his head and tries to dismiss his erratic, tangled thoughts. After all, he should be relieved—not perplexed—that he hasn’t been recognized.

But still that odd, disquieting feeling remains. The distinct sensation that something is off.

“Can you please buzz me in,” Marco politely asks the security guard outside the centre.

The security guard looks at him in puzzlement. “ID, please?”

Marco rolls his eyes. He has, after all, been here probably hundreds of times, but nevertheless hands the ID to the security guard.

The guard checks through a long list of names that Marco sees are scrawled on his notepad, before looking at Marco apologetically. “Sorry sir, but you’re not on the entry list.”

Now Marco is getting even more bewildered. Not only that, he's also getting a bit angry. “What do you mean? I’m Marco van Basten.”

The security guard shakes his head. “Look, I don’t care if you’re the king himself, you’re not getting in if you’re not authorized to.”

“Well, just ask Johan Cruyff, he knows who I am.”

The security guard furrows his brows. “Why would I ask the coach of Feyenoord to let you, a complete stranger, into De Meer stadium?”

Jesus, what type of bizarro timeline had he been dropped into? “Okay, what about Frank? Frank Rijkaard. He knows me.” Marco pleads to the guard.

The security guard pauses for a moment. “Frank Rijkaard? He’s a great lad, but he’s in Milan now. Didn’t you hear?"

For a second, all Marco could do was slump to the ground in disbelief. He doesn't know whether he wants to scream, cry, or somehow wake up from the terrible nightmare that he has been having.

What the hell is going on?

In this universe, I like to imagine that Cruyff would've stayed with his previous club, Feyenoord, and mentored Ruud Gullit instead of Marco.

As a sort of butterfly effect, this universe's Frank Rijkaard goes to Milan earlier than 1988.

[tiredassmage]

dav thoughts misc. edition

(if you will)

there's a few other assorted things that fuck me up about having played my canon/first run of veilguard through as tyr that i don't think i have the full ability to word properly atm and i'm not sure when or if i will, so i'll suffice with a shorter(? we'll see how bad i ramble) list.

for one, the recurrent themes of grief and change and regret are just. delicious. and exactly the kind of shit tyr's baked out of or into or however you wanna say it in his ~original media presence (swtor), so it's absolutely incredible to watch it come up so often in veilguard. i figured he'd fit really well and naturally into rook's role and i wasn't disappointed. one day i could probably make a screenshot dialogue collection of it all, but i also know my own motivation for that kinda thing, so that's. a fairly big project i just don't think i'll ever actually complete but it lives in my mind.

the second is that it is massively fucked up after the twist in the end that his dragon age verse tag is a line of varric's from inquisition and i am still crying and sniffling about it intermittently because there's no way i could've known about that. and god it works painfully well. there better be a damn good punchline, varric says. hold my beer and watch this, said veilguard.

neve and him still drive me up a wall (positive). i want to chew on electric cables or something about it. she's incredible and i love her. and it's incredible the kind of... parallels if you will that are in her and tyr's relationship and to some of the relationships he's had elsewhere (shara jenn, anyone? yeah. i'm still not over my watcher two feelies and neither is tyr). the only explanation i can think of for why i didn't predict how down bad i'd (and... tyr, tbh) be for her is because i didn't dig a whole lot into the material immediately before release bc i just wanted to have fun when i got my hands on the game. they have similarities to each other, and neve's own struggle draws out a really interesting Thing tyr does about... where his love and beliefs sorta come together. honestly, part of why he falls so fucking hard for her is because she's on the edge of letting him jump off the i love you cliff, uncertain if she should let either of them take the risk of actually saying it. i think a lot of it is exactly that neve gallus knows the kind of loyalty that's in that man. she wants to believe him when he says they'll figure it out, but they're up against impossible odds, and he is trouble, for her, because she knows the kind of lengths someone like him is willing to go to. he'll see this through to the end, whatever it takes, because that was a promise. and he'll apply that same level of dedication to whatever it is he feels for her. [inhales] god they're so fucking good, brent.

i'm probably forgetting other things but. again. short rambly list just to kind of get it out of my skull and remember to share it because i want to even if all the words won't word completely how i kinda know they are in my head, lol.

i also have developing feelings about rook #2 (welcome back theo, the man the myth the legend most of you probably haven't met but i love him) and it's doing really interesting things about family and performance pressure and fitting in with him that, again, brain refuses to fully articulate atm. but they're in there. gnawing on what it's doing to the crow background for me w/him.

bites the keyboard etc etc.

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

Hey Hey Ed So y'know how we were getting a little unhinged the other night? Well GOOD NEWS it's friday and I have an oc x oc prompt for you!!

For some Tal & Hamin, "The dark collects our empties, empties our ashtrays. ([The dark collects…], Ben Lerner)" from the poetry prompts list.

OKAY SO I DID MY BEST WITH THIS ONE. I am new to Hamin so please if I made any character errors, lemme know and I would be happy to fix. But also I love them and think they would make great friends so long as Tal isnt trying to kill her LOL uwu Anyway, enjoy!

for @dadrunkwriting

Rated G: Tension and mild violence, ~1.5k words

Stained by Ash and Darkness | By Exalted_Dawn

“There is someone watching you.” 

The warning floated in the dark corners of Hamin’s mind, a low roll like thunder on the horizon. Hamin stilled, her hands going to rest upon the hilt of one dagger. She had specifically picked this route to avoid enemies. The lower valleys were flooded with dueling mages and templars– too much of a death trap to be worth the convenience of the roads. And besides, the sound of all the fighting had scared most of the game away regardless. 

“An enemy?” she murmured, praying instead that it was simply a lost kid in the woods. 

There was a pause. 

“I am unsure. They hide amongst the trees, but they are alone, and… they do not seem to be like the rest.”

A rogue bandit perhaps? Fuck, but she really hoped it wasn’t a templar. The last thing she needed was for some deserter to try their hand at easier pickings for food and coin and get close enough to find out she was a mage. 

Hamin kneeled, playing pretend at having found some fungi for harvest. If they were a threat, it would be better if they still thought themselves unnoticed. At least for a little while– long enough until she could get away “How far back?” 

“About thirty… maybe forty feet back. They are hard to follow.” 

That close? Hamin’s brow furrowed.

Even with the din of the forest and the far away battles, she should have been able to hear the crunching of leaves of the drag of a lazy step. Especially if they were wearing armor. But as she stood and began walking again– listening– she heard nothing at all. Ten feet. Fifty. And still not a sound. Without the ghost, she doubted she would have picked up on the presence of her tail at all. And thatshe hadn’t been told otherwise likely meant they were probably still following her.

She ground her teeth. 

Fuck her poor luck harder than a bear in heat. Why did this have to happen to her now, when she was so far out from the scouting camps?

Thinking quickly, Hamin chanced a few more measures of length before ducking behind a small bend of trees and skirting her way down a sharp drop off in the rocks. It was a steep hill, and she could feel loose gravel giving way beneath her feet, threatening to either shred them or trip her. But she was willing to take either of those odds against possibly going back to the Circle. She was free now, and free she would stay. 

Coming to a stumbling stop at the base of the hill, she took off in a full on sprint. They may not have been her woods, but she would still wager she knew them better than any human at least. 

The world was a blur of verdant waves as she ran, launching over twisted roots and around thistle bushes. She was swallowed up by swaying shadows, a veil of the forest’s weaving. But still, she heard nothing. Not a clank or a clamor or a shout. Certainly no curse words thrown at her. Huffing hard, she did not dare look back.

“Are they still following me?” she cried out loud, ducking beneath a low branch.

“Yes, but-”

Suddenly, there was a dagger stuck into the wood of the tree in front of her, right where her head had been. It thrummed still with the power of the throw, but that is not what caught her attention most. The design– she recognized it. Ironbark, carved with a rune for- 

“Ah tits-!”

She dodged backwards, just in time for the tree to explode into a shower of wood and lightning. But even if she had evaded that attack, she realized too late she had made an error in backpedaling. Before she could turn to right her balance, there was a knife held tight against her throat, another pressed into her gut. Whoever stood at her back was roughly her height– their mouth perfectly level against her ear to hear the hissed insult.

“Thief.” 

She turned her face to see stark gold eyes. A sweep of dark hair. Gaunt features. Ash smudged cheeks. And Mythal’s vallaslin beneath. A Dalish elf. But what had she meant by-?

There was a slicing noise as the kill she had collected a few hours was cut free from her belt, the lack of weight causing her to stumble a little and cut her skin against the sharpened knife blade. 

Hamin winced, straightening her neck away from the dagger, stumbling over her words. “H-Hold, lethallan. Aneth’ara. I am of clan Virnehn. A hunter, not a thief.” They were spat in quick succession, hoping to sway the elf before she decided to cut her throat for having wandered too close. 

Just to prove her harmlessness, she lifted her hands away from her belt, where her own knives still sat sheathed. She wanted no confrontation today, especially not with someone who had her weapons to Hamin’s throat. 

“If I stole from you, then it was unintentional. I was sent to empty Inquisition traps,” she explained. “I must have made a mistake.” Even though she was nearly certain she hadn’t. If it had been a Dalish trap, she would have recognized the make of it, she was pretty sure. 

She chanced another glance over her shoulder when she did not receive an answer. The elf was studying her suspiciously, eyes flicking between her face and her weapons belt. Now that Hamin had a bit of a clearer look, she could tell that the woman was more than just a bit gaunt. The darkness clung to the ridges of her protruding bones, and her clothes, which hung loose on her frame, were almost entirely smothered in scorch marks and ash. 

…The victim of one of the mage skirmishes then. And a very malnourished one at that. 

“The shems are reckless to throw their magic around as they have been,” she tried, forcing herself to meet the woman’s sharp gaze. “They’ve been setting the forests on fire, and scaring off all the game. Scorching and starving out the woods. If you like, I can build a fire and we can share that. I can also heal you if you need…” 

The voice in her head piped up, wary. “Hamin. It is not wise-”

She did it anyway, letting a bit of mana flicker to her fingers. What else was there left to lose, if she could not convince the woman to let her go?

“I’m a friend. I promise. So, sathan, if you could let me go?” Green eyes met gold, reflected in the canopy above them both. A bit of sun poked through, shining dappled light on the woman’s cheeks. A light, plum colored purple, and not the black of the forests’ shadows she had assumed them to be. 

There was a single, tense motionless second where she thought she might have blown it. That perhaps, out of safety, the other elf might assume she was simply an elven apostate, among the number who have been causing so much chaos and destruction in the lands below, and choose to kill her anyway. It is what most Dalish might have done, to protect their clans, but as she breathed in, and then out in one, strained exhale, the hold on her neck loosened, and then retreated all together. 

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Serannas,” she said, turning as she touched the nick at her throat and sealed it with a spell. “May I have your name?” 

There was still mistrust in the woman’s gaze as she watched. A flickering in her eyes.

“Where is your vallaslin?” the stranger asked, speaking with the all-too-familiar lilt of the People. 

Well that was a fair question, she supposed. “A long story– and one better told around a fire, if you wouldn’t mind it.” 

Slowly, the woman lowered her guard, and sheathed her daggers at her belt. Barely, she tilted her head in a nod. 

Hamin walked up to the tree that had been partially blown to bits and tugged the dagger free from its center. It was undented– a beautiful work of woodcarving and smithing. She flipped the small dagger in her hand and then held it out to the woman. Tentatively, she tried again. “Andaran Atishan. I am Meldiriel of clan Virnehn, but I go by Hamin.” 

Equally as hesitant, the woman extended her hand and took the knife. “Talenna, formerly of clan Ethera. Now, though, I am clanless.” 

Clanless? Then they were alike. 

She nodded. “Well, Talenna, if you would allow me, I would like to offer you my help.”

Another second passed, and then surprisingly, Talenna scoffed. “I would prefer your food, but… I will not deny help when it is offered.” 

A small smile twitched to her lips. “I will prepare the rabbit if you build the fire?”

Talenna nodded. “It is a deal.”

[aro-simp]

Heyyy, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 & 13 >:3 (these are again so many sksjskk, sorry)

AHHHH THANJ YOU AGAIN!!! That's like almost the entire ask game 😭 But I do love an excuse to ramble endlessly!

Thought it would be fun to answer some of these "in-character", those are green :)

3. What is your sense of style? Do you have any specific aesthetics when it comes to your wardrobe?

I don't have much of an own style I guess? I mostly just wear the overalls I have to wear when I'm working... preferably only halfway since it's always so damn hot around here.

You know now that I'm more comfortable with... myself I do like showing off my arms (and again: It's So Fucking Hot. Always.) so I'm a loyal tank top/undershirt/wife beater (whatever the fuck you wanna call it) wearer. I like to think it gives me something of a charmingly rugged appearance. Don't tell anyone I said that tho that sounds like bull.

And outside of work just whatever clean pair of jeans and any jacket. I like those kitschy neon windbreakers actually :)

I think that whole big pants little shirt thing looks great on me

4. What does your voice sound like? Is it low and gravelly? Is it high pitched and quiet? What does your laugh sound like?

I honestly always have such a hard time coming up with voices 😭

Luckily (or... sadly, tragically) I've been near obsessively watching old Top Gear/Grand Tour clips recently so Psy just ended up sounding like Richard Hammond in my head, accent included. ...Do with that information what you will.

5. What are your hobbies and interests? Do you have any that others find odd?

I fancy myself a bit of an artist, and I'm trying to play the piano!

I (obviously) really like jets but generally I just like mechanical vehicles! Cars, planes, ships, etc. I don't think it's in itself an odd interest but not a lot of people share quite the same ...type of enthusiasm with me.

I like video games and movies a lot... especially the action genre, and I really like dragons!

8. Do fans like or dislike you? Why?

Generally Psy is more on the length of fandom wide liked character. There's not really any huge fans but he also gets no big hate. He does kinda fall into the "fandom's most defended baby" section, he's queer and disability rep and don't you dare get too angry at him!

The dislike towards him is less about him as a character and more about him as a narrative device. There's some talk about forced representation, as always. But otherwise people are pretty chill about him.

The circle of people who are enthusiastic fans about him also won't shut up about what a cool detail it was to get the kid from the first movie back.

9. How do other characters feel about you? Why?

I think I'm generally met with like a sense of annoyance? Nothing too big but it's not getting past me that not everyone is too pleased with the space I take up. I'm loud, I'm obnoxious, I need more help and attention than others.

I like to think that despite the annoyance a lot of people find me somewhat charming, a bit of a renegade. I love to bicker and joke.

I understand that most folks I know are on a strictly professional level with me and well... I'm not an outstanding worker? I have some very specific aspects I focus too much on, I am too lenient with others. I did perhaps stir some trouble with one or two meltdowns... People know me! That's all I need. And most don't viscerally hate me...

I like to think I am more or less accepted within their circles as a silly little side guy

10. What is your "role" in the story? Main character? Villain? Side character?

just a measly little side character 😔 ...I'd argue not an unimportant side character, beautiful love interest to the protagonists after all! And I am a reoccurring role! But... side character nonetheless

11. What are popular ships involving you? Do any of them involve characters that aren't your f/os?

Most popular is of course RoosPsy!! We are boyfriends!!

I'd say second most popular would probably be... Hangman and I... Not a huge fan, personally. Not at all. Subsequently that also means Hangman x Rooster x I. Also. Not a fan. Maybe even worse, I don't want to see my man with a guy I can't stand >:/ (no hate to anyone who ships Hangman and Rooster it's just a ship I really don't like, my bad T^T)

PsyMav of course, lovely ship, lovely f/o :)

I think Goose and I as a familial ship are doing quite well!

12. Are there any mischaracterizations of you?

Fiction and reality do love to imitate each other and sadly that means that I am frequently caught in between constant infantilization and demonization :,) I promise it won't kill you to view me as an autonomous person and not just a walking talking charity cause. It also won't kill you to consider me just another member of society and not something so repulsive it has to be evicted from the community.

13. What songs do you associate with yourself?

I'm Gonna Win by Rob Cantor, I like the attitude of the song, I think it fits me :) I'm not necessarily a star of managing my life but it's quite a challenge to try and keep me down. The sort of sinister tone to it is also really nice, I'm gonna take what's mine and make that everybody else's problem.

2Econd 2Ight 2Eer by Will Wood, it's just such a fun song! And the line "I'm just a psycho, babe, come and go out my mind" is one I never can get out of my head.

Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons, this song makes me cry a lot :( Maybe it's the comfort of the idea that my shortcomings aren't my fault

Old Friend by Mitski, I just really like Mitski! And this song is great! All of her songs are great tbh...

[sacredglitch]

i have eeped, woken up and cried

I have some thoughts. MW3 spoilers below.

Major thing out of the way; everyone is gonna experience the campaign at different lengths depending on skill and difficulty they choose. I started around 9/10pm and finished at 5am, so it took me quite some time, predominantly with issues in the Weapons Free missions and the Ally AI just never backing me up? Felt a lil like Rudy in the Ghost Team mission yknow?

But it was a fun experience in gameplay standpoint. There was elements of both MW and MWII alongside some new things that I still gotta get used to once MP drops. But story wise?

Something felt weird. Like it wasn't as consise as MWII with its storytelling. All that took, what? A few days? Maybe even weeks to come to completion. With this game, bar the flashback mission, I never knew how closely related each mission was unless it was explicitly clear, like Passenger and the mission with Farah inspecting the debris. You know that was only hours apart from one another.

Characters also felt a little odd. Like there was moments where it felt like yeah, these are the crew I know and others where it's like....who am I listening to right now? There was just an air of tension with it all, and yes with who they were dealing with ofc there's tension...but idk again the flow wasn't there like the other two games.

Okay elephant in the room; Soap and Makarov. The amount of times Soap was on the verge of whipping out his pistol or knife and just ending it and no one letting him? If Makarov was such a major threat; sometimes the information he may or may not have had just isn't worth it. Thousands would be alive if Johnny was just let loose and take out the trash. But because he wasn't he's now dead.

And Makarov lives. What the fuck, Activision? Infinity Ward? Fucking Sledgehammer?! What was the point of killing off someone who they know damn well is beloved in the fandom (yes, he died in the OG but hear me out) as is his actor, let the baddie get away, and then just....end it with the 141 spreading his ashes. No revenge for Soap, no honouring what he wanted from the beGINNING, no nothing. Just somewhat dull words from the team, his ashes spread and roll credits.

It's giving rushed story for no fucking reason. I wouldn't be so mad if they just did something after that. Sure, one could say this is them building up to MWIV but it also could have been dealt with one more mission. It truly feels like a slap to the face for the fans, cause we know OG Soap's death was agonising but it had its resolution with Price honouring his men.

If this was the second game then it would also make more sense, build up to the conclusion. But no, this was what most of us expected to be the big finale of Makarov and this current story of Modern Warfare, and it wasn't. Just more prolonged waiting that they're probably going to rush to get out next year. It's truly a shame on the big trio working on this game, but also towards the new fans and in my eyes, Neil too. This was his big break in sorts and it's clear by fan interaction he loves being Soap. I'm glad he seems to be the main protagonist of Zombies which makes me hope he'll be in more things or some pre campaign things but damn. Imagine getting the role of a beloved character, giving them an incredible performance just to be shot point blank and given a dull ending. That would make me feel betrayed but ofc I won't speak for Neil, I have 0 clue how he feels on all this. Hell he could be all for it. Just...truly sucks from a fans perspective.

One final thing is the questions and confusion that ig are open ended because whoop de doo another game, more cash for Activision. For starters; who was the 'Shadow' giving Makarov intel? Was it supposed to be Shepard? Considering he was kidnapped and all that would make sense, but Makarov specifically said Shadow. In my eyes if he had meant Shepard, he would have said US Official or something.

Speaking of Shadows; why did Graves sell him out? What's he gonna gain from that? A redemption arc? Fuck that shit I didn't spend almost two hours fighting the tank for him to come back and be all "am sowwy"

Was Urzikstan truly cleared of any wrong doing or is it one of those things where it's like "Welp it's one General's word against our opinions". Also not to get into irl things but seeing some of the stuff during the Passenger mission had me thinking of how the world is currently with certain ongoing fights. Sometimes COD gets the realism down.

Maybe it was because of the situation they were in and how big the threat was, but there wasn't much of a dynamic going on with the teams. At most, there was some Soap and Ghost banter, and then Graves with his Shadows but that was kinda it. No idle chatter just head in the game type of deal. Does make sense ofc but maybe that's why the characters really felt off at times.

One that's just a personal thing; since it's confirmed that at least in 2019, Price, Soap and Ghost knew one another, makes sense cause the trio were SAS, but it's got me thinking why is Ghost the only one allowed to call him Johnny? It was teased in MWII with the interaction in Prison Break but...it's not been elaborated on. Even Price, when Soap was losing his shit over Makarov in the Heli, called him John.

What did Ghost do or say that Soap decided he could allow him to call him Johnny? This isn't anyway me asking "OooOO, are they fruity???" no I'm curious. If it was a thing he allowed his superiors that he was friendly with to say, then Price would be included that. Alejandro and Rudy would be included. What makes Ghost so special?

The last thing that my grief riddled mind can think of is where is Soap's family? I don't think I can truly believe he doesn't have one. It's canon he joined because of his cousin so...why was the 141 the ones to spread his ashes? Again it could have been his wish and all...shit just also adds to the rushed story feeling. I ain't asking for the MacTavishs to make an appearance or be canon or whatever but as someone who has a loved ones ashes, the small urn you get would have made more sense. That they decided with the ashes his family gave them to throw them off the cliffside in what I assume is Scotland.

If he didn't have family then holy shit it makes his death even more hurtful but no way impactful.

I'm just rambling angrly now so I'll stop my thoughts. Overall the game was fun, interesting concept with the Weapons Free missions but the story was lackluster compared to the previous games, as well as a slap to the face for Soap's character. It was just there for the sake of sadness.

I wasn't expecting a happy ending, I was just hoping for a honourable conclusion.

[thelikesoffinn]

So...I finally played Bustafellows.

And this game is…I’m sorry, it really is a mess and a half.

Generally speaking, the art is really nice and pleasant to look at. The sprites are nicely done for the most part – not counting Shu’s hand. Wtf is wrong with his hand. – and the backgrounds, albeit generally uninteresting, do suit the entire game well.

The voice acting is also really nicely done. It’s one of the few truly enjoyable things about this game. The voices are well chosen and suit their respective characters. Characters who, for the most part, are good. They’re pretty cliché and we’ve seen this combination of archetypes about a million types by now, but that’s probably why it work so.

Everything outside of these few points? Woof.

On the mechanics side, the game flunks out on its controls. The button choices are far from intuitive and its gets frustrating really fast when you keep quick saving while actually trying to open the menu. Manoeuvring through the game is a fiddly hassle, made difficult by the extremely odd menu layout and button assignments. Choice wise, the game is an absolute farce. A game of this length should have a lot more choices, but that’s simply not the case. In fact, there’s episodes that don’t have any choices at all.

Not that it matters, seeing as the choices never actually seem to do anything. So far, it seems that only professor sauli’s test matters in the long run. This is the thing that decides which male lead you’ll end up with and that is pretty much the only thing of interest in the entire main part. And even then, apart from your choice of swimwear and the name of your feline companion, this doesn’t change much until you get to your male leads A-Side. (The a-sides also seem to have little choices of consequence. Mostly one or two, depending on the male lead you’re romancing.)

This means that replaying value borders zero, since nothing ever changes. And, seeing as skipping and jumping are either slow or annoying to do, it’s actually more of a -10 than a 0. This is made more annoying by the fact that you have to play all the routes to unlock the actual ending.

A thing that really bothered me personally because I literally just don’t understand why they went through the trouble is the female leads name. Not that it is Teuta, but that we can change it for some reason. Why? Why allow me to change the first name and only the first name? For what reason would anyone want to change only the first name and nothing else? Especially since all it does is add weird gaps to the voice over?

Either give me a character I can make myself entirely or stick with Teuta as a heroine for this one. This entire name thing is just dumb.

Another thing: Typo’s and weird phrasings. There’s quite a few of those, which is just…it’s just sloppy for a game that costs this much. I mean, what is this? Is he called Zora or Zola? Choose one, game, but don’t give me both! And I thought Sauli did criminal psychology? Why does his test say ‘Phycology’? Phycology! What, does he study algae on the side? Jesus.

And then there’s that mess of a plot.

Now, the initial premise of the story was nice. Girl can time travel, but won’t know which body she inhabits and where she’ll be. She meets a couple of dudes that play the system to punish those that would usually swim through legal grey areas and they partner up. There’s a mysterious ploy going on and girl wants to find out what’s up.

Great. It’s a pretty common set up, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. The time travel thing puts a nice twist on things as well.

Darn shame the initial set up already set’s the course for this entire thing.

The Prologue is done very sloppily, almost haphazardly. There’s absolutely no reason to repeat the entire conversation we’ve had with Limbo two times but they do. They straight up copy pasted it and added a few more sentences as deviation to throw players off their scent. It feels so incredibly redundant because barely anything changes.

The first few episodes – until we get to the a-sides – feel somewhat connected. They each have their own plot, but we can sort of see where it is supposed to go and what it wants from us. Now, does that mean it’s well done?

Absolutely not. Big questions will be ignored as soon as they’ve been uttered aloud and no one mentions them again. The characters, set up as smart and suspicious by nature, never question certain things that every normal human usually would. They just shrug and bumble off because – oh look! Amusement Park!

Teuta’s grandly introduced time travel power is absolutely useless and she rarely does more than use her phone to call someone and warn them. So, at some point it just becomes annoying whenever she decides to use it.

And then the ending ending.

The a-sides don’t fare much better. They vary in quality and the story seems nearly entirely random in quite a few of them. Shu’s story, for example, was generally fine.

Limbo’s felt like a bad fever dream that skips from one scene to another without proper explanation as to why this is important. (Like Evan. Why? Why this scene? Why introduce this character one minute only to kill him off and forget him the next? And the game does things like that all the time. It’s just random and messy.)

All in all, it’s fair to say that this game is not worth the money. If, and only if, you can get your hands on it for really cheap, fine. Go for it. But as long as that’s not the case, just walk away. Walk as far as you can.

Gods below, we don’t talk about the ending ending. It was horrendously bad.

The ending ruined a lot of decent characters for no reason other than ‘I can.’ Other characters were suspicious the entire time, so the element of surprise was also not really a thing. But I don’t want to spoil anyone, so I’ll leave it at that.

[worldlydesiretemple]

Losing a bet was a dangerous game, especially with high stakes involved.

And unluckily enough for Gordon Freemind, he wasn't the winner against the odds.

Here he stood in the worst possible person evers room, clad with working cat ears and a tail to match. Not technically biologically real, they were robotic and furred, but worked nonetheless.

And the worst possible person ever wasn't doing a God damn thing. His tail swayed uncontrollably, no doubt hitting the back of Benry's chair. Not as if he cared, or anything.

"God- fuck, dude. Pay attention to me." He growled, even if it seemed like a whine, pawing at the others shoulder. A noncommital hum made it's way out of Benrey's throat as he shrugged off the contact with the flick of his wrist and the click of his mouse.

"nnno can do, friend. gotta- im in the middle of. an epic conquest. fuckin peoples shits up. kinda busy." Benry mumbled, eyes not even leaving the screen as Freemind shifted his weight from side to side in impatience.

"why so bothered? huh?" Benry's gaze flitted to Freemind for the shortest of seconds. "is the feline not fine?" There was a shit eating grin to accompany what he said, and something in Freemind snapped.

"I said," Freemind frowned, and then whacked Benry's headphones straight off his head, causing them to make a dull thud on the desk when colliding and dropping to the floor, barely stopped by the cords length. "pay attention to me."

There was silence.

"what the fuck."

Benry's attention was no longer superglued to his monitor, which displayed the unfortunate loss of his video game. Freemind wanted the attention, be it good or bad, but wasn't sure if this is how he wanted it.

"You make me wear these- these fucking things and expect me to just let you play your God damn games?" His hands waving towards the cat ears atop his head let Benry watch the way they twitched realistically with annoyance. "'cause you look cute. it was parta the bet, bro."

Freemind could feel the headache coming on. "Like fucking Hell it was! It was just "Ooh, Gordon, wear these!" and you shoved them in my hands! And it's NOT cute!" His voice rose, and Benrey shook his head. "shhh. remember whos in the next room over?" He warned, and Freemind hissed.

"Who GIVES a damn who's in the next room over? I want your attention right fucking now, you piece of shit!" He stomped his foot in a huffy manner, and saw the way Benry looked like he was biting back a comment, probably wanting to point out how he's acting like a baby.

"I don't even see how you won that fucking bet, that shit seemed impossible and- I'm Gordon fucking Freeman, asshole, I NEVER LOSE." The gears in his head continued to turn as he threw a fit. "You and your fucking alien bullshittery, I wouldn't even doubt it if you cheated, that's- you..." He paused as Benry's expression changed, lips quirking upwards the smallest amount as he watched Freemind rant.

"Oh. You motherfucker. You rigged it, didnt you? THAT'S why I lost? I knew something was off. You've never won before. You were desperate to see me in this stupid get up? Is that it? You little fa-"

Freemind's eyes widened as he was shoved against the wall with a grunt, staring down at the shorter of the two. He didn't even notice Benry get up from his seat while he was on his tangent, but here he was, dangerously close to his personal space.

Benry's head tilted upwards towards him, expression still blank but something dark brewing behind his eyes. "tsk. ur bein a bad kitty." His voice was low, and Freemind swallowed. "Yeah? Why don't you do something about it?" Finally, he was FINALLY getting what he wanted, and...

There was a loud bang on the door. "Can you two cool your jets?! It's almost midnight!" Feetman yelled, and Freemind's fists clenched at the interruption while Benry cackled as the two heard the other stomp off.

God damn it. "No, please, c'mon-" Freemind whined as Benry backed off and headed towards his desk. "i warned u man!" He snickered, and Freemind was not going to have it.

"FUCK him! Get back here!"

He was going to rip Benry away from that damned computer and ruin the rest of Feetman's night if it was the last damn thing he would do.

hey anon i've been Thinking about this actually. begging you please oh please get an ao3 the people would KILL to read your writing especially if you're the same one who spilled gubby in catlokis askbox.....

[slytherbun]

wildflower

pairing: cedric diggory x hufflepuff!reader

summary: you weren't too sure what to think when a new eye candy transfers to hogwarts and becomes the new seeker of the hufflepuff's quidditch team but you realize in time that he is all of what you hoped for.

word count: 3.7k

tags: @specialagentsoftie

note: so this is all just a bunch fluff. i'm not sure how i feel about it in terms of cringey and hope y'all like it! figured i'd post this anyways either way though lol. i made up the way reader and cedric met at hogwarts so, it's non-canon from the movie.

another note: italics are flashbacks! :)

it was cold.

you could see everybody’s breath in the air outside and knew it was a crime to be out and about now with freezing and chilly weather.

the snow outside coated the ground by inches and the black coats zippered up and wrapped around you only helped so much. you were the type to freeze easily and the climate at hogwarts didn't help your situation at all.

minutes ago before you walked outside, you knocked on the door to his dorm after surveying the hufflepuff’s common room and noticed there weren't very many people around. and when cedric opened the door after you rapped on it a few times—he took in the view of your body wrapped around your blanket before pulling you into his room.

pathetically enough, you were shivering in the halls even with your mitten covered hands stuffed in the pockets of your coat. you weren't about to admit the doubled up socks on each of your feet either underneath the knee-length boots you wore today.

"are you cold?" cedric successfully taunted you when you reached your arm out of the pocket of your jacket and then under the blanket to slap his arm. he hissed and glared your way playfully while rubbing his arm dramatically.

you shrugged with a smirk on your lips and he plopped down onto his soft bed. “don’t get too comfortable.” he suggested when noticing you trying to sneakily get underneath his covers. 

“what i’d do for one of those thermal blankets the muggles use.” you sighed dreamingly while watching him walk towards his closet.

“imagine having a postal company deliver the package to hogwarts? dumbledore would have an aneurysm.” cedric replied and you couldn’t help yourself when imagining the scenario playing out in your mind. 

he turned to the side to admire your smile while you were a little distracted while pulling out a coat. then he closed the closet up and walked back over, holding it in your direction to offer an extra to put over your body. you gladly took it with a smile. "thanks ced."

cedric backed up a few steps and brushed a hand through his brunette hair. not being able to help himself he joked, “can’t have you walking around with your blanket wrapped around you. your height already makes you look so adorable.”

you got off from the bed when he exaggerated with your blanket in hand and scoffed. cedric bit his lip nervously while continuing to back up before he felt the wall pressed against him.

he rubbed the back of his nervously while you held the blanket up to his height and above your own head. “i’m just kidding.” he gulped before you took it and put it over his face.

when he tugged it down from his face he spotted you innocently standing by the door with his jacket around you. “i was going to leave it here anyway. just put it on the bed and i’ll come get it later after we get back.”

while you zippered it up you noticed this particular jacket was the one that you often saw him wearing before he ended up buying a new one for the upcoming winter that you were suffering in now.

and it was longer than the one you had previously put on about twenty minutes ago so, you couldn't argue with him on that steal.

"alright.” he laughed and added with a more serious tone. “oh and by the way—you don't need to thank me. you're my best friend, wildflower."

today was the first quidditch match of the season and you were sitting at the edge of your seat in anticipation. the hufflepuffs didn't score well last season and you were hoping they wouldn't come out with last place again for the year.

y/g/b/f (your girl best friend) sat down on the stands next to you with an umbrella in her hands. you turned and looked at it with a confused face. but she just smiled at your contemplating thoughts and looked up at the sky once before supplying you with an answer.

“well it looks bright now but i have a feeling it’ll rain later.” she always had a suspicion for when it was going to rain or snow and you never second guessed her because every single time she was right.

“did you know we’re having a new seeker play on the team today? i believe he’s going to be captain too if he plays his cards right this game.” she asked. you didn’t know that.

“wait is he the new guy everybody is talking about? i heard the rumors but you know how they are. i didn’t want to take it seriously until i saw it with my own eyes.” you stated and she nodded. 

“yeah he’s a transfer i think but i’m not too sure. his name is cedric diggory though.” after her reply, you glanced around the stands to see if anybody had diggory signs for the game but with no avail you sighed. before you could respond you felt a few droplets on your shoulder. 

your friend gave you a smart-ass grin and popped out the umbrella to hold it over the both of you. “guess we’ll see how good he is.” you mumbled before seeing the players come up to the playing area with their brooms.

butterbeer was pretty popular during the winter season. many students from school usually went and got some to help regulate their body temperature and keep warm.

everybody else must have gotten the same memo because you were inside the three broomsticks now for some butterbeer and it was crowded.

almost every table was filled with peers and that’s probably why you didn’t see many people in the school. with just one glance around the area, you could already tell the divided area’s of where each school was seated right away. 

your tables were to the left area, the slytherins must have come earlier because they grabbed the back ones, some of the ravenclaw’s were off to the right, while harry and the other gryffindor’s had the middle area.

cedric nudged your side to grab your attention and nodded towards the hufflepuff area. “want to grab us some seats and i’ll get the drinks?” he asked and you nodded. “sure, could you get me a snack too if you don’t mind?” 

he smiled and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “i suppose i could.” cedric walked away with a wink and you shook your head knowing he was just humoring you.

little did you know he already had planned to get you something else even before the two of you left the dorms. it had gotten to the point where asking him for little things hadn’t bothered you because you reciprocated all of the time.

but sometimes cedric would give you little excuses when it was your turn to pay, just so he could end up paying for whatever you guys were having or getting. he always spoiled you.

"ah the golden girl is here." hermione scoffed and watched you walk towards the hufflepuff area. your other best friend was seated already and started talking to you when you sat.

the brunette from the red colored house didn't particularly dislike you since you were always nice. sometimes you chatted with her while working on a project that you were paired for. then other times you gave her a soft smile when catching her eye while walking in the halls towards your next class.

she definitely couldn’t help but respect and admire you.

but the reason she didn’t put herself out there and try to befriend you was because you were one of the girls known in school for your smartness, quick reflexes, and witty attitude. 

when people from school talked about you and referred to you as the golden girl instead of your name most of the time—it wasn’t that you were golden per-say but the fact that it matched up perfectly with the school’s color that you sorted it.

hufflepuff was known for its represented yellow color.

and there’s no doubt about it that hermione was also known around the school. but, she felt it was for all of the wrong reasons. despite not having it any other way as one of harry's best friends, she wondered if not for him that in an alternate lifetime that she would be you. 

“why is she wearing cedrics jacket?” ron asked after following hermione’s stare. harry thumped him on the back of his head and then shook his own. “why does it matter?” the one with a thunderbolt on his forehead replied.

“well it is interesting, isn’t it?” the brunette said in defense of ron’s question. the one who didn’t seem curious at all took a sip of the butterbeer in front of him.

he licked his lips, thinking then replied to them with a response. “i mean it’s not our business but it is an odd find now that you pointed it out. maybe he’s just being friendly?”

“as if! cedric has had a crush on y/n since he met her. she’s just oblivious to it all,” she paused and tapped her chin. “—or is she?” ron gasped at her accusation but took a sip of his own drink before she could hear his outburst.

harry noticed her getting riled up once again and sighed. “well i don’t know what else to say. maybe you should just introduce yourself already and ask her instead of me.” he shrugged and hoped to end the conversation there.

you knew exactly who cedric diggory was when he swiftly passed by the hufflepuff area during the game. of course, he was wearing yellow. 

the game has been going on for a decent amount of time now and he was stacking up the scores on the quidditch board—easily passing by the score of the gryffindor’s team.

cedric was undoubtedly the new eye candy for the whole school with the gasps and ‘awes’ from the other girls sitting in the stand. your friend was so busy watching harry that she didn’t catch the commotion.

you didn’t really pay attention to him to get a good glance at his face so, you thought he was just another arrogant rich boy and rolled your eyes.

what you didn’t notice was the way it was like a slow-motion love at first sight situation for him when he went by. since it stopped raining through the middle of the game he was able to catch a quick view of you. 

the week wasn’t done yet so it was possible he’d be seeing more of you in another class he hadn’t had yet. and cedric hoped you were because he couldn’t help but look over in your direction throughout the game to catch another glimpse of your face.

it was still humid outside and you tried wiping your makeup a few minutes ago since it was under your eyes now, but you only smudged it further. your robe was drenched with your wavy and half-dried hair now lying down the back of it. 

but he didn’t care what you thought about yourself because he knew without a doubt that you were the prettiest girl there.

“cedric’s looking pretty good today.” y/g/b/f voiced for the first time today. you played with the napkin in your hand while trying to get a glimpse of cedric. 

“i don’t think you would know even if he was—since you spend all your time looking at harry.” cedric was up to the counter now waiting for your butterbeer and food.

“uh huh. don’t think i haven’t admired cedric before from afar though.” after a moment of not answering her, y/g/b/f noticed that you weren’t paying attention. you knew exactly what she was hinting towards.

cedric did look good.

his hair had that ‘just woken up’ style to it and he always managed to look even more attractive then he should have. the yellow scarf wrapped around his neck was the one that came with every hufflepuff’s supplied uniform clothing.

he usually wore it when you sat with him in potions on a chilly morning and you caught yourself wanting to take it off of him and wear it sometimes.

he always smelled good and it comforted you in ways a best friend shouldn’t have the ability to.

you seemed to have let your guard down and stared longer then you should have which confirmed what y/g/b/f already knew. “i knew it!” she chuckled and stated more loudly than the last comment to snap you out of the zoned out state you were in. 

“know what?” you asked while placing the napkin back down on your table.

cedric was reaching the table and you wanted the conversation to end quickly. you usually dragged out conversation topics like this so you had time to think of another one to distract her with. but, she always found a way to circle it back around again. 

you had to shut it down before he could hear, already knowing exactly what she wanted to talk about again.

“i’ll tell you later before our curfew.” y/g/b/f smirked and you sighed knowing she would in fact take the time out of her night to find you before bed. lucky you.

“hey y/g/b/f. how has your day been?” he asked your other friend while sitting down and placing your refreshments in front of you and then doing the same with his. 

she grinned at you then glanced over at him, “pretty good i guess if it wasn’t for this weather i would say great. how about you? and how’d you manage to get this one out?” she gestured towards you, causing you to roll your eyes. 

here we go again.

you were walking down the path back to the hogwarts dorms with y/g/b/f and some others. there was going to be a small celebration in the hufflepuff’s common room and other students were trying to hurry back without raising suspicions with any professors nearby.

“hey, i’ll be right back y/n/n. i see luna and i’m going to go ask her if she has a hair tie.” she said and pointed to the curly knots that she had on her shoulders.

you nodded and continued along the path while she walked over to the other side. it was quiet for a moment and you surveyed the peaceful area, a few feet over in the grass was a small patch of flowers.

you were about to take a quick look at them before feeling someone tap your shoulder. it was sudden and you couldn’t help but quickly move to the side and form a fist. you were about to throw it but stopped when you stared wide-eyed at the person who scared you.

cedric felt awful and only after he startled you did he realize that you were looking off in the distance of the area. the way you jumped though seemed that you were quick on your feet and he couldn’t help but smirk at the new name he had for you. 

“hey i’m sorry for startling you wildflower but i just wanted to introduce myself. i’m cedric diggory.” he introduced with a panty-dropping smile.

you weren’t sure if it was some kind of joke so you treaded carefully. “uh it’s okay, it’s my fault really for not paying attention but i’m y/n y/l/n. nice to meet you ced.”

cedric held out his hand for you to shake and you took it, giving him a firm shake. after you let go he smirked and questioned. “ced, huh?”

he crouched down to pick up a flower that you were looking at earlier and it reminded you to ask, “wildflower, huh?” you met his statement equally and folded your arms together so they were across your chest to look more tough.

his cheeks tinted a minor shade of pink and tried to hide his embarrassment by ducking down and ignoring your question. instead he glanced back up to tuck a hair behind your ear and then placed the flower there.

“yes, wildflower.” 

and how could you argue with him when he was being so sweet?

the two of you made it back to the common room after an hour of eating, then chatting with cedric and your other best friend. he was sitting on the bed with you sitting next to him.

you’ve been sitting for only about a minute or so—only enough time to shrug off your jackets and place them on the desk chair between that time after walking back to his dorm.

“would you like to lay down for a few minutes?” cedric asked when he noticed the tiredness shown clear as day on your face.

“sure” you agreed and you laid down while he shook your blanket out for the two of you to use. his eyebrows scrunched together when he realized it wouldn’t make much of a difference in comfort with how small it was.

you chuckled watching him trying to maneuver it around and he glanced your way with a smirk of defeat. “hmm, seems this blanket is a little small. would you like to go under the covers?”

cedric was giving into what you wanted earlier before the two of you left and he knew that too. the three broomsticks' food was delicious as always and you just wanted to relax for a few minutes after getting teased by your friend.

he grinned watching you get comfortable after the both of you were situated under the sheets and yellow comforter. there was a hufflepuff patch ironed onto it and you rubbed your thumb over it while laying down.

it wasn’t that awkward since you’ve fallen asleep in his arms a couple of times before already. class exams were frustrating and took a lot out of the students so he took comfort in you and vice versa when there was some down time during the weekends throughout the school year.

with an arm around you—he pulled you close to the point where you could feel his warm breath along your neck. “i don’t think you realize how much i treasure these moments y/n/n.”

he spoke breathlessly and you gulped slowly. you were dumbfounded with how seriously he said that. as if it had some kind of hidden meaning behind it. “me too.” you agreed and wondered if he would leave it at that.

but you knew better and cedric never left well alone when he wanted to get a point across. he turned your body slowly with the arm he had around your middle and you faced him with confusion.

he glanced down once before looking back up and continued on with his confession while staring into your doe eyes—a color he deemed his favorite the day that he met you.

“i’ve been fighting myself for a while on whether or not i should tell you this because i didn’t want my feelings to ruin our friendship. i’d rather be your friend than not be a part of your life at all. and i always look forward to seeing you e-everyday.” he paused when his voice cracked.

after cedric cleared his throat he continued, “and i totally understand if you don’t share the same feelings with me but i just couldn’t go on another day without telling you how i—” you cut him off by leaning in and brushing your lips against his.

he moved closer on the bed, so his skin was touching yours. cedric wanted to get as close to you as he possibly could. your hand swept through his brunette curls and you surprised him by tugging it.

he never knew what you were going to do and his friends teased him that you were a wildcard, to which he’d correct them and say you were his wildflower.

cedric smirked into the kiss and you groaned knowing he was being a smart-ass. but in return, he shocked you when he placed a hand delicately on your cheek to cup it rather softly.

he rubbed your cheek while your hand massaged his curls and then moved them downwards to the nape of his neck.

cedric pushed the hair back from your neck with his hand and then placed it back so his thumb splayed across on your cheek in a loving gesture. and you only wanted him closer after feeling sensitive about the whole astonishment that still had you stunned to the core.

you tugged the collar of his shirt and he pulled away with puffy, red lips and a smile. “what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know, i’m just emotional.” you voiced squeakily and full of embarrassment about it. cedric shook his head and before patting his chest, he held up the comforter over the both of you and let the minimal cold air in.

“oh, baby it’s okay. come here and let's cuddle a little before curfew.”

you bit the bottom of your lip and nodded, giving him a smile in return to the one he gave you and then crawled onto him. “i think i like baby better.” you voiced and laid on his chest with your head over his heartbeat.

he let go of the comforter when he noticed you were settled and tugged it firmly around both of your bodies. “better then what?” he asked.

“wildflower.” you admitted and hummed nervously while awaiting his response. you felt cedric shake his head and he put his arms around your body so you were pressed firmly against him before he kissed your forehead.

“you’ll always be my wildflower.” you closed your eyes after giving him a quick kiss on the cheek in response.

after a moment of laying back down you could feel his chest rising up and down in an odd pattern so, you put your head up to see him laughing again at you.

“what now?” you questioned trying to keep a serious facial expression but failing when he grinned.

“guess you got what you wanted, hmm?” cedric said—referring to the fact that you were finally under the comforters and you smirked.

“of course i always do. including finally getting you, ced.”

[judeswhore]

there’s the christmas spirit - john stones

in which john is the absolute last person you’d want to be found under mistletoe with but after a slightly heated encounter including a sticky zip how much longer can you deny the tension

prompt: “shut up and look up”

“Why are you here?” You glared at John’s reflection in the mirror, hands behind your back as you tried to tug the zipper of your dress up, the awkward angle making you groan and curse. John flicked his eyebrows up, gaze wandering down and as much as you hated it, you felt the heat of his stare along the length of your spine like a caress.

“I work here, Y/N.” His voice was a lazy drawl as he leant against the doorframe of your hotel room, and you narrowed your eyes at the fact he’d simply just let himself in. He hadn’t even knocked for God sake.

“I meant in my room, dickhead.”

“Not feeling very friendly today?” John’s eyes met yours again and you noticed the odd look in them, their usual teasing gleam seemed more heated, darker then normal somehow and the weight of them settled weirdly in your tummy. He watched you closely as you huffed and dropped your hands, the top half of your black dress still unzipped.

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Stones. What do you want?” You turned your body and shifted your hair over your shoulder so you could see your back in the reflection and tried again to zip yourself up.

“Came to watch this incredible show, you’re seconds away from tying yourself in a knot.” He pulled his hands from the pockets of his black slacks and strode towards you, eyes settled on your back.

“I am not, I just need to-“ Your head was turned so you hadn’t even seen him come up behind you and you let out a half gasp when his hands lightly batted yours aside. “What are you doing? Get off.” John clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth when you jolted away from him, glare harsh enough to throw daggers and he rolled his eyes.

“Stop flapping about like a fish, would you? I’m trying to help.” He slid one hand across your hip, palm and fingers hot through the material of the dress and pulled you backwards again.

“I don’t need your help, I was fine.”

“You were about to snap your arm, it’s just a bloody zip, Y/N, relax.”

But you couldn’t relax because he was pressed so close to you that you could feel his breath against the back of your neck, the minty scent from whatever he was chewing most definitely going to your head. You could smell his cologne and that woody scent that seemed to follow him around everywhere he went and you couldn’t deny that he smelt incredible. And as much as you hated him for making you think it, he looked amazing in his slacks and white shirt, hair styled into messy perfection, scruff decorating his jaw. He was effortlessly beautiful and it made you want to punch him.

Since you started working on England’s photography team things had been slightly complicated with John, you’d gotten off to an incredibly bad start and even 10 months down the line you still hated each other. Everyone knew to avoid rooms if you happened to be in there together and everyone definitely knew not to mention the other during a conversation. Granted it was all petty and ridiculous for two grown adults but that was the way it was and ever since the first awful meeting your disliking for him just grew with each new encounter. Everything he did infuriated you to no end but it certainly didn’t help when you couldn’t stop finding him attractive.

Yes, you hated him and everything about him but you also couldn’t deny the fact that if given the chance you’d probably tear his clothes off in a heartbeat. Not that that meant anything, the little flutter in your tummy you got when he looked at you had absolutely nothing to do with liking John as person and had everything to do with liking his body. And that was okay. You figured anyway, it wasn’t like anything would ever come from it, you couldn’t spend three minutes alone with him so actually getting with him was an absolute impossibility.

“I can do it myself.” You mumbled but John’s fingers tightened on your waist and held your firmly in place while his other hand reached for the zipper.

“Be quiet.” His voice was just as low as yours, words vibrating from his chest and you swallowed thickly when he gripped the zip between his fingers and flicked it slightly before he started pulling it up.

John’s movements were slow, torturously slow, and he deliberately held the zipper so the backs of his knuckles brushed along your spine. You couldn’t hold back the shiver it pulled from you or stop the goosebumps rising along your arms, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end just from the simplest of touches from him. He was barely grazing your back, just the very tips of his knuckles were making contact but it sent a blaze outward over every inch of your skin, your nerve endings feeling like live wires.

He’d never touched you before. In any capacity save for hand shakes that were necessary when others were around but those had never felt like this. Your mouth felt dry and you knew your cheeks had gone red and you couldn’t deny the obvious tightening in your lower stomach when his fingers slid over an extra sensitive part of your back. His grip on your hip shifted, fingers splaying further apart and with the hot puffs of his breath on one shoulder it felt like he was everywhere. John finally tugged the zip right to the top but he didn’t step back or remove his hand from your waist, just lifted his gaze so his eyes met yours in the mirror. The tips of his fingers grazed over the back of your neck and one shoulder, slipping over the curve.

“You have a birth mark right in the middle of your spine.” He muttered, eyes darting away from yours so he could watch the trail of his fingers as he dragged them down along the back of your arm. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t seem to move or breathe with the way he kept touching you, his hands rising so he could pull your hair from one shoulder and settle it in curls down your back. His pointer finger ran along your collarbone in the process and your knees went a little weak, head swimming with his touch and his smell and his voice.

“Y/N-“

“Everyone’s probably wondering where we are.” You knocked his hands off you, cold spreading through you once you lost that little bit of contact and you mentally kicked yourself for being so affected by him as you grabbed your purse off the dresser. You wanted to keep on hating him, you didn’t want him to keep looking at you with those fucking eyes that made you forget why you ever disliked him in the first place.

“They won’t even-“

“Lock the door on your way out.”

The party was shit. Whoever had control of the music had been playing Mariah Carey on repeat for the past 15 minutes and watching the boys all knock back shot after shot while you stood against the door jamb with your one glass of vodka was humiliating. But you couldn’t drink more than that because you felt nauseous about potentially running into John again. You’d lost him as soon as you’d left your hotel room and had managed to avoid him successfully for over an hour but you knew you were bound to bump into him again at some point and you needed to gear yourself up for that.

Even now your body thrummed with the memory of his touch and the way his fingers felt against you, even with the lightest of touches seeming to have left scorching marks branded into your skin. Every time you blinked you saw that look in his eyes, that look he’s never given you before but you knew exactly what it meant and it sent a dangerous thrill through you. You’d made a pact with yourself that very first day you met him, John Stones was trouble and you would not fall for his shit.

You blew out a breath, telling yourself fresh air was a good idea and placed your half empty glass on a little table before slipping out of the one of the side doors and down the empty corridor. You could hide outside or in your office for the night and hopefully no one would even realise you were missing. John would get drunk (if he wasn’t already because really that was the only explanation for why he was touching you like that) and by the next time you saw him he’d have forgotten all about it and you wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of him knowing how he made your body feel.

“Where are you going?” Luck definitely wasn’t on your side because John was walking towards you down the corridor, brows drawn together in a frown. He’d unbuttoned the top of his shirt, collar open slightly and the little glance at the top of his chest made your mind spin a little.

“Are you stalking me or something?” You came to a stop in front of him, a safe distance between you and narrowed your eyes when John’s gaze slipped to your boobs and then darted away.

“Where are you going?”

“For fresh air, is that a crime?”

“Why do you need fresh air? All the windows are open.” You raised your eyebrows at him, arms folding over your chest.

“Are you being serious?” His lips quirked and he shrugged a shoulder.

“Need company?”

“Your company? No I think I’m okay.” You flashed him a smile and brushed past him, shoulder bumping into his before you made your way down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps following you making your groan. “This is seriously weird, Stones, stop following me. Whatever it is you think you’re gonna achieve, you aren’t. I’m not in the mood to argue with you and I haven’t had enough alcohol to deal with your pathetic excuse at flirting.”

You spun on your heel, almost slamming into him when he didn’t stop and you whacked his hand away from you when he tried to steady you with a hand against your elbow. “I’m serious, John, whatever new game this is, I’m not playing,” You tugged back from him, glare forming when you noticed the little grin that was starting to curl his lips. “What’s so funny? God, you’re being so fucking weird, whatever you’ve been drinking-“

“Shut up.” Your head reeled back at his words and the amusement laced into them but before you could insult him he spoke again and took a step towards you. “Just shut up and look up, Y/N.” His warm fingers settled under your chin and he tilted your head back for you, your gaze sweeping the ceiling and you immediately shook your head when you saw what he was looking at. Of course you’d end up standing under mistletoe with him.

“No, absolutely not. Move, I’m not kissing you, Stones. No fucking way.” You tried to step back but John’s fingers slipped around around your waist and pulled you back against him, that humorous smirk still settled on his features.

“It’s Christmas tradition.”

“Who cares about Christmas tradition, I don’t like you.”

“I don’t particularly like you either but rules are rules, darling.” You frowned at his words but stopped your attempts at pulling you both out from under the mistletoe.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Touchy feely and shit, that’s not you.” He gave a little shrug, finger grazing the curve of your jaw and you shivered against him, lashes fluttering slightly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.” Is all he says, voice low, nose brushing yours and you could feel the fan of his breath over your lips as his eyes flashed. “It’d just be one kiss, Y/N.”

“Why do you want that?” Your words were breathless and sounded pathetic even to you but he was everywhere and you could hardly focus on anything that wasn’t his fingers slipping over the back of your neck.

“I look at you the same way when you aren’t looking. I wanna see what it would be like.”

“To kiss me?”

“I’ve never kissed someone I’ve hated before. What’s the harm in trying?” John leant in a brushed his lips over the shell of your ear and you reached out to clutch his arm, acrylics digging into his skin. “It’s Christmas rules, not kissing under the mistletoe would be blasphemous.” His mouth grazed along your jaw as he slowly brought his face level with yours again and he met your eyes, pupils blown wide and raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner. “Kiss me and then tell me if you still hate me.”

You swallowed harshly, gaze flickering across his face, taking in how annoyingly pretty he was so close up. You’d never been this close to him before and you could make out the swirls of colours in his eyes and you briefly wondered what his beard would feel like against your lips. Your composure was slowly slipping away and you muttered a curse beneath your breath.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine by me.” And then you were kissing him, hands sliding around the back of his neck and into his hair so you could tug him down to your height, your mouth sliding roughly over his. John’s hands gripped your waist, fingers splayed over your dress and he pulled your hips against his, ignoring the clash of your purse as it hit the floor, contents rolling along the carpet.

His kiss was demanding, lips harsh against yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip whenever he got the chance. You couldn’t breathe and your mind went fuzzy when he brushed his tongue over yours, his fingers tightening. It felt like you were remembering every single time you’d insulted each other and the kiss just kept getting deeper and rougher, the slide of his mouth of yours losing rhythm and becoming messy as he lost his breath.

Hands against your hips he spun you and pushed you backwards, your shoulder blades hitting the cold wall and he sucked on your bottom lip when you broke away on a gasp. Everything felt like it was spinning, your entire body on fire with the way he pressed you up against the wall. There was a slight thrill in the idea that anyone could come down the corridor right now and it made your whimper against his jaw as he tangled one hand into your hair and pulled your head back, lips pressing over every inch of your neck and throat that they could.

You tugged on the front of his shirt, embarrassingly eager to have his mouth back on yours and John let out a throaty chuckle, eyes flashing when he looked at you. “There’s the Christmas spirit.” And then he captured your lips in another breathtaking kiss and you almost buckled against him.

[captainkurosolaire]

You often post at length in near-incomprehensible language about why you do or don't create. The duty of a creator is to make their message pellucid to an audience. And yet, you have a large number of devotees here on tumblr. Do you use more coherent language in actual RP, or are those you RP with accustomed to your inscrutability? I respect your screenshot practice, but for goodness sake, please pay attention to legs and feet when characters are seated. If you're going to make yourself and other characters unrecognizable through mods, at least make them look alive.

Are you okay? You sure do ponder a lot about me and trying to pin point some flaw if I had any... But there's nothing I haven't spoken of. Your concerns although It's something that I perceive as flattery. But that should perhaps be used on yourself more. To administer so much foul venom only to bite a turtle's shell... I won't waste your energy, I'll feed you equally a response. Since you seem troubled. Your words they covet such an inferiority, it's the taste of jealousy. First off, I don't think it's too difficult to understand me. I'm quite simply passionate. If that is your version of creator then you've got me wrong. I will never be that image. It may shock you but some people create for themselves above all other things. Not to pander or warrant. Times have changed and social media has influenced that attention and the merit of others = value. But originally a blog used to be what used to showcase and just share and express. I express myself. I put my heart into canvas and that isn't some catch-phrase or some odd term or exaggeration. I love what I do. And since you're so hung up on my "large number of devotees" that revealed this is written of envy. it may again surprise you but some people can read that I actually value in what I create, they can FEEL it and that intelligence is above comprehension and the actual essence. Again I've RP'd for an incredible long time, I've had more sessions and a lot of partners and it's never been a compliant ever, I've written in every style imaginable. So I wouldn't speak for others, again this is on you. Listen I respect the criticism, truly. But you're not a good enough critic for me, you strike with a mask on, foremost. Understand -- I am my best critic and worst critic. Not sure which particular thing you've eluded too, but nearly everything I have conjured lately is doable. Oh here we go --- the last desperation act, the -mod- thing. Everyone uses that to try to invalidate something or they try to find something of the similar sort in every creative field or sport. The purpose of the mods is to attempt to exactly make something more alive, to get an image. At this point modding has been a thing for a very long time, its standard, I know... that's a reality pill. I've done and used a lot of vanilla stuff and I'm equally as appreciative of square but modders also worked hard on their own creations, I showcase anything, It's all the game to me. I've literally the dates back before I even used a single mod, it wouldn't make much of a difference in my creativity, the dates are there. You can always discredit those for doing it but won't change it. It's a choice and you're forcing yourself into limited situations of making something, and expecting everyone to conform, that's the most unrealistic thing. ...I get it. This works often probably for you, but this isn't Twitter. A lot of your like-minded have went there and worry about trending there. They prey and feast together in mobs there. But you won't find your meal here anymore. Cause it's just not cared about what you think. Nor does it matter. I prefer you chose me. But you can't swallow me. Never any lifetime could you. I write characters more in-depth than you every second in my mind. I write true villains, those mentalities that are broken, I know trauma, I'm a survivor. I have portrayed myself in your attire, your indeterminable mask outlined in cowardice and it's far better written in stories. That is where only it's meant to be. You can universally believe tearing and making people believe your attention seeking truth is what's real and ALL. But it's not. My mind may be whacked, different, alien to you. I'd choose that preferably over being blind. I hope it gets better for you and in-turn, you become just that, BETTER. You have my sympathy and prayers. Much love. I hope this attention services you, I do validate your existence. Although you cannot impact mine.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Beel Wants a Baby

Beelzebub x Fem!reader

Warnings: cunnilingus, breeding, semi-rough sex, pretty vanilla, unprotected sex, a hint of voyeurism bc ofc Belphie’s there, hints of MC being intimate with multiple brothers (that’s just how you play the game baybeee!), very slight, and i mean minuscule, daddy kink

A/N: This is the first time I’ve written for Obey Me! and I honestly needed to get this out of my head so I could focus on other projects lmao. Please be gentle. I’m new to the fandom. (Minors DNI)

It’s not the fanning of his warm breath against your skin that stirs you away from your slumber, nor is it the press of his soft lips against the hollow of your neck. You’re used to it by now - Beelzebub getting a little more cuddly after you’ve fallen asleep. It’s probably something he’s picked up from his twin. You like it. His presence is comforting, and his affections are never unwelcomed.

However, when air-light fingers slowly, sensually glide down your chest to your navel and his hand begins moving in soothing circles, tiny knots crowd your stomach, causing a pulse to begin between your legs. When you’re finally lucid, your toes curl and your thighs squeeze together. Your eyes flutter open, and you’re greeted with his appraising purple irises that gleam with adoration.

You lift a hand to his flushed cheek, cupping his face. He leans into your touch with a soft hum.

“What time is it, Beel?” You’re not too sure if it’s morning yet. Belphegor is still snoozing away in the bed next to Beelzebub’s, but that’s a given. Belphie would sleep until noon unless somebody did something about it. Despite being a little more alert, you can tell by the sleep under Beel’s eyes that he’s only been awake for a little longer than you have.

Beelzebub mumbles back a short, “dunno,” and that’s how you know it’s not exactly morning. He’d already be talking about breakfast if it were. You faintly wonder when his stomach will begin to growl, and if he’ll ask you to come to the kitchen with him. Before things can escalate to that, you lean up and plant a soft kiss on his lips.

What you think would be a simple peck—a light kiss before you fall back into bed, and turn away before he tries to tow you with him to get a pre-breakfast snack—turns into something much more. His kiss is deep—hungry in a way that only Beelzebub can manage while keeping it arousing. He parts your lips with a flick of his tongue and is quick to to gain as much from the exchange as he can manage. He groans lowly as his tongue grooves over yours, riffing up to stroke the roof of your mouth. All the while, his hands roam your body, moving over your sides to tighten on your hips. He pulls you against him, and you feel his erection press against your pelvis, which sends another excited flutter to your stomach.

You’re only able to breathe when Beelzebub breaks the kiss to move his lips back to your neck. What once was little lip nuzzles turns into sudden nips and harsh sucking. His tongue laves over you, trailing long, wet stripes over the most sensitive parts of your skin. He bites down when your body shudders underneath him. You moan, and despite knowing you’ll be reprimanded by Lucifer (and possibly even Mammon), for having dark spots around your neck, you weave your fingers through Beel’s ginger hair, and tug, asking him for more. He’s quick to oblige, making sure that both sides of your neck get an equal amount of sucking treatment.

When your hips buck, Beelzebub takes advantage of your position and begins grinding against you—the thin material of both of your pajama bottoms proves to be a useful form of friction. You can feel your arousal begin to pool as his cock slides against your entrance, teasing you, giving you a sample of what’s to come. But you’re far too impatient for that, and you find yourself cupping him, rubbing him through his smooth pants.

There’s a grunt, and suddenly Beelzebub is shifting his kisses lower, raising your shirt over your head so he can wrap his mouth around your right nipple while his hand tweaks and pinches your left. He bites down softly, eliciting a sweet mewl from you, only to have him chuckle and do the same to your left. Then he’s lowering himself, kissing your stomach over and over, petting you. It’s odd, but he’s giving quite a bit of attention to your stomach. You don’t mind too much, except your hips are more than a little sensitive, so when he kisses you there, he gets you squirming. But he doesn’t travel lower. He just keeps kissing your stomach...until he sighs.

“Beel? Baby?” You cast a glance down on him to see him eyeing your stomach almost solemnly. When his eyes meet yours, you see it: his sadness. His brows are knitted together, and he looks so hurt that it’s almost enough to make you cry. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he dips down to kiss your stomach again.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, reaching down to brush some hair out of his eyes.

He pauses. “Yeah.”

You lean up, still keeping your hand in his hair. Your fingers move down to tip his chin up at you so he’s looking at you again. “Want me to come with you to get something to eat?”

You definitely don’t want to stop here, and going to the kitchen would be a bit of a pain, but you can’t stand to see Beel looking this sad. You’d even walk with him all the way to Hell’s Kitchen if it meant seeing him smile again. But all he does is shake his head.

“I’m not hungry for food.” He drops another kiss, and you think you’re back on track, until his head touches your stomach again. He grimaces.

“Talk to me, Beel. What’s going on?” You’re more tentative now. Awake. You cradle his head in your hands and kiss his nose. “Why are you sad?”

“I had a dream.”

Oh…

Beelzebub has told you about his dreams. Memories from the Celestial War—memories about Lilith, shot down right in front of him. You hadn’t truly been there, so you don’t share his trauma, but you know it haunts him, and you want to be there for him, especially during bad nights.

“I’m sorry, Bee. I know how those bad dreams make you feel. We can talk about it, if you’d like. Or...I could distract you.”

Again, he shakes his head. “I’m not sad because it was a bad dream. I’m sad because it was a good dream.” His eyes fall down to your stomach. “It was such a good dream. And it wasn’t real.”

You begin to move your hand away from him, but he catches you, and kisses the carpal side of your palm. “I want it to be real,” he says, “so badly.”

“Yeah?” You ask as Beel’s lips slowly travel up your arms. He pulls you against him, crowding you in what would be a loving embrace if it weren’t for his tongue sliding against your neck again. When you speak, it’s broken—breathy and needy. “H-how can I help? Can...we make it real?”  

He lets out a low sort of hum as his hand slips down your body and into your pajamas shorts. Fingers find your center, and you gasp when he begins to pet you through your already damp panties.

“Lay back,” he commands in a whisper, decidedly dropping the subject. You’re suddenly struck with Beelzebub’s change in expression. He no longer looks sad. Instead, there’s a determined shine in his eye. You can feel the heat of his ravenous intensity as you lay your head back on the pillow, shuffling out of your shorts. He moves south and spreads your legs apart so you’re open and ready. He plants an open-mouthed kiss over your clothed slit before his tongue slips up the length of you. He hums in appreciation, always loving the taste of you, even through your panties.

Tugging the thin barrier between you and his mouth to the side, Beel’s demon tongue slues out, hungrily lapping up your arousal. He’s a little sloppy and relentless as he runs long, languid strokes between your lips, but there’s method to his madness as far as your clit is concerned. The tip of his tongue barely teases it, but it’s enough to get your rocking against his mouth. As hungry as Beel usually is, when it comes to you, he’s much more likely to play with his food before his meal.

He hooks his arms around your legs to hold you in place before his long tongue dives deep into your cunt.

“O-oh!” You choke out a moan, surprised by how full you feel with just his tongue. “Beel, god, that’s—nnnh!”

“Shhh.” He slides out of you, offering your throbbing pussy little kitten licks before saying, “don’t want to wake Belphie.”

He wraps his mouth around your clit and begins to suck. His fingers prods your entrance, and he doesn’t spare another second before his large digits are halfway in. He pumps himself in and out of you, curling his fingers to the press against that spongey button that drives you crazy. You have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from growing louder, but still you’re whining through it, stirring Beelzebub on.

Soon you find your thighs clamping down on his head. Your heart pounds and blood rushes down to your center. You moan, halfway whining your way through climax as Beelzebub continues to devour you. He doesn’t stop until you’re done shaking and practically yanking on his hair to pry him off of you. He has a smug look on his face—a rare sight for Beel—as he licks residual slick off of his fingers.

“Was that good?” He asks, though you know that he knows it was.

“Incredible,” you pant, still trembling a bit.

He chuckles and sits up right, pulling his pajama bottoms down to reveal his thick, throbbing member. The tip glistens with a thick hint of precum, and he uses it as lubrication to begin pumping himself.  

While you slip out of your panties, you ask, “do you have something? For...protection?”

His eyes fall over your naked body and he shakes his head.

“I don’t want to use any,” he says, looming over you. He presses his cockhead against your still-sensitive clit and begins rubbing himself against you.

“But, Beel-!” You’re silenced by his mouth slamming into yours. He pulses against you, sliding his cock against your waiting, plush entrance. He groans into the kiss before pulling away, a string of saliva connected his lips to yours.

“I want a baby,” he whispers gruffly.

“A-? A baby?!”

“You were so happy in my dream,” he continues, one hand traveling back to your stomach as he continues to grind against you. “You had this cute little bump and you were so excited for her.”

“A girl?” You ask, eyes widening in disbelief. Beelzebub hums a conformation and kisses your cheek softly.

“We were gonna have a little baby girl and we were going to name her Lilith,” he explains, mouth raking over your ear. “I want to make you that happy in real life. Let me inside. Let me put a baby in you.”

This is definitely a subject that warrants a longer discussion, but you’re unable to say that when Beelzebub once again bites into your neck. You cry out, hips bucking up, allowing him direct access into your cunt. He slides in with a groan, and you are absolutely lost to him.

He pushes in deep, the feeling of his unwrapped cock filling you up in one delicious thrust. Your mouth falls open on a broken moan, and that’s when his muscular arms wrap around you, caging you against him as he begins to groove into you.

Beelzebub is strong, but he’s a gentle giant. He’s always been so careful to not hurt you when he fucks you, but this is different. He starts off at his usually benevolent pace, moving his hips so he hits just the right spot, but when his hand moves over your stomach to feel his cock pressing up against you, something in him switches. His thrusts become more relentless and he even bares his teeth when you reach out to stroke his muscular chest.

He lifts legs over his shoulders, folding you against yourself, and slams into with so much force, you find yourself yipping. He kisses you with bruising intensity, tongue greedily twining with yours before he’s pulling away, growling I love you’s and I’m gonna make you so happy.

“Happy,” you echo in a half-dazed state. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been fucked this roughly. Lucifer sure likes using toys to make you scream, but when he’s inside you, he’s more charitable than anything else. Beelzebub is being greedy, and you would have half a mind to say that he’s using you, if it didn’t feel so good.

“Bee,” you whimper as you feel a tightening in your center. “Feels so good, baby! Please don’t stop!”

His response is to hiss through his teeth and move his fingers in ceaseless circles around your clit. “You’re gonna come for me, baby girl?” He kisses you. “You’re gonna make me a daddy?”

“Ahhh! Yes!”

Beelzebub drops one of your legs and holds the other spread farther out. “Use your words, little one,” he commands, panting. “Say, I wanna have your baby, daddy.”

You repeat his words, albeit breathlessly, right before incurring the crackling of sparks of an oncoming orgasm. You clench around him, chanting your pleas, locking your arms around his neck. He kisses you deeply, silencing your warbling cries, and as you lose yourself, spasming around him, he releases a long groan, jetting out white hot seed into your throbbing cunt.

The two of you stay like that, connected, breathing together, kissing each other, and loving every second of it. He whispers to you, apologizing for getting a little out of control, and you smile and kiss his nose, making sure he knows it’s okay. He tells you that he’s excited, that you’re going to be a beautiful mother, and that he can’t wait to be your baby’s daddy. All you can do is smile and let him tuck you against him after he pulls out.

You’re not sure what to think about having a kid with Beelzebub—with any of the demon brothers, for that matter. But you’ll be sure to talk to him more about later in the morning. He’ll be sure to want a repeat of what just happened—Beelzebub is as gluttonous as they come—but for now, you’ll be happy being held in his embrace.

Until, of course, his stomach begins to growl.

“Hmph!” He’s quick to complain.

“Do you want me to come with you to the kitchen?” You offer.

“No, I’ll be fine.” He kisses the back of your neck before sliding out of bed. “I woke you up, after all. You rest.”

You hum back to him, thanking him as he walks out of his shared room, then snuggle up to Beelzebub’s pillow, already missing his warmth. It’s not long before you’re dozing back to sleep, and a new presence dips into Beel’s bed.

You feel his hands roam over your bare back before he speaks.

“Now, that’s no fair…” Belphegor's voice is crackly with sleep as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck. His breath is hot with envy and need while his arms wrap around your torso. “What if I want you to have my baby?”

[hartofhearts]

The implications of Tifa’s familiarity with Marco

In OG, our first encounter with a clone is in Sector 5, when we’re running around with Aerith. (Link here at 0:14--it’s where we get the infamous “this guy are sick” line!) It’s unclear if OG Tifa has ever met or seen a clone, and even at Nibelheim she doesn’t comment on a single one. (Though to be honest... she doesn’t say a lot in Nibelheim anyway.)

So Remake’s introduction of Marco was a bit of a departure from OG.

Remake essentially took the 30-second scene from OG Sector 5 and split it up across Chapters 3 and 8, and the encounters themselves were significantly expanded and dramatized to build a “clone arc” with a beginning, middle, and climactic pay-off at Shinra Tower. While I’m 100% confident that these changes were made to adapt the clone storyline to a full-length, Midgar-only game, the implications of Tifa’s new involvement are fascinating and may have an impact beyond Part 1.

Unlike the ambiguity of OG, Remake gives us definitive proof that (1) Tifa is not ignorant to the signs of “clone behavior”--we see her care for Marco when he is deep in the throes of incoherence and delirium. We’re also told that she checks in on him now and then to make sure he’s okay--so (2) Tifa is familiar with the incurability and tragedy of this condition. 

In OG, we are shown that Tifa will see these same symptoms of incoherence in someone else:

However, unlike Marco’s tragic condition, Cloud’s mysteriously cures itself:

Until she asks him a simple question about the past and it causes him to freak the f out. He terrifyingly, dangerously, uncontrollably flails his sword around while she can only cover her mouth in fear (pay close attention to her hands and body language in the next image--she sees his odd behavior and reacts to it):

He finally stabilizes in a peaceful, coherent-but-confused state:

And Tifa is reluctant to broach the topic further, lest he destabilize once more.

(Entire scene here.)

While the body language in the flashback scene is easy to miss, Tifa’s fear and confusion are undeniable. Her motivations for staying silent on Cloud’s disconcerting contradictions are obvious: not only does she not want to chase him off before she can figure out how to cure him, but the one time she did ask him something, his response was uncontrollable and inadvertently dangerous. This scene illustrates the high stakes Tifa thought she'd be playing with if she broached the past with Cloud again.

In Remake, Tifa’s familiarity with Marco can lend her additional insight during this pivotal moment with Cloud, and increase the stakes even further. When she sees an incoherent Cloud at the train station, (1) Tifa recognizes this as “clone behavior” and (2) likely worries that Cloud has the same tragic, incurable affliction as Marco. So when Cloud magically fixes himself, it must feel like a miracle to her. Of course she would likely want to do anything to keep him that way. So if Cloud seemingly regresses--violently or otherwise--when prompted about their past together, Tifa probably doesn’t want to push her luck. After all, what if this is the time he becomes permanently Marco-fied?

The devs are well aware of common anti-Tifa talking points, and used both Remake and Trace of Two Pasts to systematically debunk dozens of them.  It seems highly likely that Remake intends to use Marco to refute yet another talking point: “why didn’t Tifa ‘tell the truth?’”

---

(shoutout to @terra-fatalis​ who encouraged me to get back on my ffvii shit and has an amazing tumblr of their own!)

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Evermore

Simon Basset x Reader

Words: 2319

Summary: While residing in the same house, Simon and his wife could not be further apart. His resistance to love may cost him the only thing he holds dear while he can merely stand and watch it fade. 

Notes: I love Simon waaaaaaay too much. I have been dying to write for him, so please please let me know what you think! 

More period dramas: HERE

-

I never needed anybody in my life

I learned the truth too late

From this spot, he had a view of the entire garden. He watched as you strolled between the flowers, pausing occasionally to smell a particular bloom. You used to walk together, but now, he could hardly bear to even look at the gardens. Seeing you there sent a feeling through his heart that he could not rid himself of. It was better this way. The happiness that you had felt in your first few months of marriage was an illusion. Simon knew that he could never truly make you happy, no matter how badly he wanted to. Still, these days of silence ate at his soul. 

You felt his gaze upon you before you spotted him in a second-story window. Looking up from the rose in your hand, you held his stare with your own, as if daring him to come out from behind his closed doors. This was the first time you’d seen your husband in two days and even when you had seen each other, it was in passing, shrouded in bitter quiet. 

You looked away first, dropping your flower and storming back into the house with renewed frustration. From the corner of your eye, you could see him vanish from the window, probably to disappear into his office for yet another day of avoidance. Through your anger, your heart ached. He never explained his sudden hatred towards you. One night, he simply stopped speaking to you. When you confronted him, he’d shouted and shut himself away in his room. No word between you had been uttered since. 

To fill your lonely hours, you walked the length of the house. Clyvedon was a beautiful estate and offered at least some distraction from your empty heart. This time, however, your usual path was interrupted. 

“Your grace,” You greeted coolly. It was odd to see him in this part of the house, so far away from his usual fortress. He rarely left his office anymore. “I must say, I am surprised to see you away from your desk. You have been married to your work recently.” You put as much venom into your words as you could muster. For a moment, you thought you saw him flinch. 

“Y/N, I understand you are uncomfortable with our current situation-”

“Uncomfortable?” You exclaimed furiously. “You think that I am uncomfortable? This is not an ill fitting dress or-or a pebble in my shoe. I saw you in that window and I couldn’t breathe. Even now, it feels like my heart is trying to leap out of my chest and give itself to you, for maybe that will finally be enough for you.” His eyes shifted to the window, desperately trying to escape your hateful stare. 

“You are more than enough for me-”

“Then tell me, your Grace,” You spat, “why you can’t even bring yourself to look at me!” You had raised your voice beyond what was proper, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to see the anguish that this forced solitude was bringing you. “Explain to me how we can be making love one morning and by that afternoon, you can hardly utter a word to me. Look at me, Simon! For God’s sake just look at me.” 

Whatever his reasoning for coming to you was lost to him now. He could only hear the anger and frustration in your voice. The hatred you must hold for him. While his eyes finally found yours, it felt as though he was looking past you. 

“I presume you will be eating in your quarters again.” Was all he said. The return of his indifference was the final straw for you. Having had enough, you charged off to find the furthest place in the house away from him. Simon watched you go in quiet agony, cursing himself for being unable to shut out his affection for you. He told himself again that this was how it must be. If only that was enough. 

-

Wasting in my lonely tower

Waiting by an open door

He wasn’t sure how late it was, but his eyes were starting to burn from staring at documents all night. He could hardly keep them open. Setting his work aside, he ran a hand down his face, trying to rub the exhaustion from his eyes, and slowly dimmed his lamp until the light was gone. When he looked up, he found you standing in the doorway, shrouded in shadow. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you looked like a spirit in your white nightgown and tear stained face. 

“Why are you not in bed?” He questioned, only half awake himself. 

“I came to…” The words caught in your throat, making them sound garbled and broken. You stepped into the moonlight and composed yourself. “I came to say goodbye.” Simon froze. 

“What?”

“I have arranged for a carriage to take me back to London at dawn.” You stared blankly at him, your face sunken and despaired. He hadn’t realized the depths of the misery he had caused you until now. “My presence is clearly unwanted and I feel that we may live our lives more peacefully apart.” 

“I see you’ve already made up your mind on the matter.” Simon scoffed, the pain your words inflicted fueling anger. You didn’t reply. Instead, you turned and started back down the dark hallway to your quarters. He caught your arm before you got too far. “You cannot just leave.” 

“I see no reason to stay, your grace.” 

“You are my wife.” He growled. Finally, your sullen exterior broke away to reveal the anger burning inside of your chest, threatening to swallow you. 

“Am I?” You jerked your arm away, stumbling backwards in the dark. “Because these past few days I’ve felt like a stranger, wandering these beautiful halls, looking for something in them to keep me here. There is nothing but emptiness and grief and pain and I cannot-” 

He placed a hand on your cheek, your words halting on your tongue. You stepped closer into his touch, a touch that you had been aching to feel for days. Simon dipped his head down, bringing your lips slowly to his own. 

His movements were fast and urgent, his lips moving against yours like he depended on you for breath. You felt the familiar feeling rush over you. It was the intense feeling you’d felt so many times at the beginning of your marriage, one you had feared you’d never feel again. But it wasn’t enough. 

“Simon, wait.” You pushed back, trying to find anything in his eyes that could explain to you why he’d been acting so distant. “Talk to me, my love.” 

He tried. He wanted so desperately to be able to share with you his fears, but every time he opened his mouth he felt like that stuttering little boy again. Your gaze pleaded with him. 

“Please, say something.” Still no response. You pulled out of his grasp forcefully, that feeling fleeing just as quickly as it had come. “Tomorrow, I am leaving for London. At least there I will not be reminded how little I must mean to you.” 

You gave him no chance to reply, vanishing into the dark night while he furiously went back into his office, knocking almost every paper off his desk. Simon craved to follow you back to your quarters and show you what you really meant to him, but his feelings didn’t matter. You were miserable and it was his doing. 

Still, the idea of being away from you, the feeling of abandonment sunk into him like sharp claws. It was dark and grim and kept him awake, pacing back and forth in the confines of his office. That night, he did not get a moment’s rest. 

-

I let her steal into my melancholy heart

It’s more than I can bear

Days passed, each one quieter and darker than the last. You were gone. He had watched your carriage leave from his window, solemn and alone. Each day he waited. He waited to hear the rattling of the carriage, the pounding of the horse’s hooves. He left the door to his office open as if he expected you to walk in like nothing had happened. In fact, he hardly left his office at all in hopes that his waiting would conjure you somehow. 

It was the fifth day of your absences when he received the letter. Lady Danbury started by inquiring as to why his wife was in London unaccompanied, but it was the end of the letter that sent an icy fear through his blood. You had fallen ill and had doctors in and out of the house for the last two days. While she did not know the severity of your illness she had heard that you had been bed ridden and unable to take any visitors. She feared the worst. 

Simon didn’t waste a second readying his horse and taking off towards the city. It didn’t matter how many hours the ride took, he went on without stopping. His horse sped through the city, having little care for the foot traffic around him. Hastings house stretched ominously over him, adding to the dread filling his chest. He didn’t wait for a servant to open the door, he didn’t wait to be shown to your room. He ran through the halls like a mad man only to find your quarters empty. 

“Your Grace?” Your lady's maid gasped, nearly dropping the bundle of fabrics she was carrying. “I-I thought you were staying in-”

“Where is she?” He barked, making her jump. He didn’t mean to frighten the poor girl, but he did not have the patients for explanation. 

“S-she’s having tea with Lady Danbury in the drawing room.” The girl squeaked. His confusion was quickly replaced by rage and he stormed into the drawing room, Lady’s Danbury’s letter crumpled in his fist. Your eyes widened at the sight of your husband, sweating and disheveled. 

“Simon, what are you-”

“Your Grace, how wonderful for you to join us.” Lady Danbury smiled triumphantly. 

“Is this meant to be some kind of cruel joke to you?” He snapped viciously. You’d never seen him this way before and, frankly, it frightened you. Lady Danbury didn’t seem phased. “My life is not a game for you to meddle in!” 

“Someone had to show you how much you stand to lose, your Grace.” She said, keeping incredibly calm under the circumstances. 

“How dare you.” Simon was seething. “You wretched woman-”

“Simon!” You exclaimed, jumping up from your seat. “A word, your Grace.” You opened the door to the garden and waited outside for him to join you. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Simon glared. Lady Danbury stood and walked past him with enviable elegance. 

“Don’t lose her, your Grace. Not when she’s finally made you believe in love.” She left without further comment. 

Simon finally walked out and you resisted the urge to slap him. Your fists were balled at your sides and you were walking furiously back and forth on the path. 

“How dare you come here and speak to my guest in such a manner.” You wanted to scream and cry and kiss him all at once. “What on earth are you doing here, anyway?” 

“Lady Danbury sent me a lie in order to get me to come here.” He finally let the exhaustion of his ride rush over him and he leaned against the wall. 

“And what lie could have been so great to get you to leave your office?” You scoffed. Simon’s face softened. 

“She said that you were ill.” He said quietly, his voice betraying the truth. For those few hours before he arrived were the most terrifying he’d ever experienced. “I thought that… I was afraid I would lose you.” 

“You haven’t seemed that concerned these past weeks.” You muttered in irritation. Simon’s face fell. 

“Do you really believe that?” He asked with such pain in his voice it nearly broke your heart. “That I am not concerned for your well being? That I do not care if you are hurt or-or sick?” 

“What else am I to believe, Simon?” You said, exasperated and exhausted with his constantly shifting moods towards you. “You avoid me at all costs when I am with you, you have suspended any affection towards me, and now you tell me that you came all this way because you thought I was ill? I don’t understand you, your grace, I truly don’t.” 

“Everything I have done has been for your benefit.” He stepped towards you. “My affection towards you runs deeper than I could possibly explain and that is why I cannot condemn you to a life cast into my darkness.” His eyes did not look through you now. Rather, they pierced down to your very soul. You stood in shock, trying to find the right words to convey your true feelings. 

“Simon…” You gasped, laying a hand on his chest to feel his racing heartbeat. “You are not a shadow. You are the moon. Yes, you have darkness. Yes there are parts of you that I do not yet understand, but that does not mean I do not wish to know you. You are the guiding light in my darkest nights. You are my husband and I love you.” 

You wrapped your arms around him and brought his lips to yours. It was like your first kiss, hesitant at first, but soon evolved with passion and need. Simon cupped your face in his hands and vowed. 

“I will not hide my love from you again. I will cherish you the way you are meant to be. And I will remind you how dear you are to me every moment I can.” He brushed a joyous tear from your cheek. “For evermore.” 

-

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