#rs grey

[bettslovesromance]

I'm such a sucker for workplace romances 💖

Here are some fabulous books that I've read and enjoyed.

I definitely want to read more historical with this trope, do you have any rec?

[bunnys-bookshelf]

So you know that TBR I planned for June??? Yeah, that didn’t happen. My mood readers understand. I DID finish 3 of the books I was reading from May, but I started more so my book count as of right now, is still 7, which is only one less than last May. But maybe I’ll finish them all this month🤣 Anyways, this was a good reading month. I enjoyed all but one of my reads. Read a life changing 5 star book❤️ Gave Freida McFadden another shot and was pleasantly surprised. And I really enjoyed Icebreaker when I honestly thought I wouldn’t.

[jeevesreads]

15 Strangers to Instant Enemies to Lovers Romance Books

I love this trope, personally! It’s sort of like a light enemies to lovers scenario without the messy histories and emotional baggage. These couples haven’t been hating each other for years, but their relationships all have a rocky start in one way or another. A date gone wrong, a new coworker or boss who stirs up trouble, a misunderstanding from the get-go. There are so many different scenarios…

[madou-dilou]

"Each unjust act, even committed for the sake of a just cause, carries its curse within." The Accursed Kings, 1956

[timetochaing]

[k-wame]

Tom Courtenay as Lieutenant Robin Grey 1965 · KING RAT · dir. Bryan Forbes · WWII · LGBTQ+

[rs3outfits]

[nermomi]

me when I get continuum in tboi

[anmolsmsblog]

U.S. Traveler Rio Rugged Fabric Expandable Carry-on Luggage Set, Grey, Set, Rio Rugged Fabric Expandable Carry-on Luggage

Price: (as of – Details) Go anywhere with the Rio 2-Piece Expandable Carry-On Luggage Set by U.S. Traveler. This luggage set is made of luxurious superior 1200 Denier rigid polyester. The thick EVA padding protects your belongings. The suitcase features an internal retractable push-button with self-locking mechanism and inline skate wheels with corner protectors. It has two large zippered…

[businessskibat]

Bajaj Pulsar NS 200 Bike price in india : लग्जरी फीचर्स के साथ  मार्केट मे आया बजाज़ की यह बाइक, पूरी जानकारी यहाँ देखें 

Bajaj Pulsar NS 200 Bike :स्पोर्ट्स बाइक की चाह रखने वाले लोगों के लिए बजाज मोटर्स ने कुछ और नवीनतम फीचर्स पेश किए हैं। जो की एक स्पोर्टी और शक्तिशाली बाइक है, जो युवा भारत में बहुत लोकप्रिय है। हम Bajaj Pulsar NS 200 बाइक की बात कर रहे हैं। जो फिर से ग्राहकों को नए फीचर्स और अपडेट के साथ प्रस्तुत किया गया है। Bajaj Pulsar NS 200 Bike Bajaj Pulsar NS 200 का शक्तिशाली इंजन उच्च माइलेज देता है।…

[officialrailscales]

Two-tone setup with Sniper Grey & Black HTP Solo’s

QTR Stop | Carbon Black

HTP Solo’s | Black | Honeycomb Texture | 1-Slot

HTP Solo’s | Sniper Grey | Honeycomb Texture | 1.5-Slot

HTP Solo’s | Black | Honeycomb Texture | 1-Slot

HTP Solo’s | Sniper Grey | Honeycomb Texture | 1.5-Slot

CSMR Button | Carbon Black | Apex Style

- RS

[jeevesreads]

⭐️⭐️⭐️ REVIEW: Three Strikes and You're Mine by R.S. Grey

Three strikes, and… Grey is officially off my one-click list. There was a time when Grey was one of my favorite rom com authors – if not my #1 – so it is REALLY disappointing to acknowledge how bland and generic this was. This 3-star rating leans more towards a 2 than a 4, and that’s mostly because I was genuinely bored while reading. The interactions between this couple were just so…

[stariikis]

colour your smile

synopsis ; when riki picks up a paintbrush, two problems surface. for him, it's fear of being unable to portray you perfectly. for you, you have no idea how to counter this fear of his. this fear that is a constant state of unrest in his mind.

pairing ; artist!nishimura riki x muse!reader genre ; fluff, established rs wc ; 1097 warnings ; kissing and implied mental disorders

It’s pretty difficult for Riki to encapsulate all your beauty into a painting. 

He’s tried, time and time again. Sat you down in his allocated ‘art studio’ room, a tiny part of the house where the grey walls are splotched rainbow. Watercolour palettes lie uncovered all over the room, one sitting just beside your boyfriend on the wooden bench he’s parked himself on. 

In front of him is a blank canvas – tainted only by the strokes of graphite that sketch the outlines of your features. Wispy hair that partially covers your eyes, your button nose quickly drawn into a nub, and your smile accurately depicted, eager and wide. Riki captures the very essence of who you are, with little effort at all. 

It doesn’t look difficult to you, because he makes it look effortless. Like with one snap of his fingers, he can churn out another portrait of you. But it really seems like he does. To Riki, however, it’s not so easy. He tilts and turns his head, muttering dissatisfied remarks to himself. More often than not, he spends more than an hour sketching you and touching up ‘mistakes’. ‘Mistakes’ that you never even saw. ‘Mistakes’ that look like nothing in your eyes, but make all the difference to your perfectionist of a boyfriend. 

“You know what?” You murmur, slightly tired of having to endure another few hours of him scrutinising your portrait. “Why don’t you just try to paint freely? Without thinking about the quality. Keep your focus on me, paint as if you have nothing to hold you back.” 

Riki finally draws his eyes away from the surface of his canvas. He meets your gaze, looking remorseful as he does so. “I wish I could. But then I’d see all the errors and feel guilty. Wouldn’t you?” 

You slide closer to him from the opposite side of the wooden bench. You gently tug the paintbrush from his fingers, placing it beside the watercolour set that looks horrifyingly dry and crackled. “Are you scared?” 

Deep emotions. You take his hands in your own.

You feel them surging deep inside his veins, the whimsical vibrancy of colour flowing along the current. His imagination is running wild but he’s restricting it himself. Out of fear he’s going to mess up. Afraid it’s going to turn out worse than expected. When he looks away, running a hand through his hair and nodding, you’re hardly surprised. 

“Relax.” 

You whisper into the silence. 

“It’s going to be fine.” 

His fingers start to tremble. 

“Your beauty is too complex to be depicted in a simple painting,” he finally speaks, inhaling deeply from his own confession. “Everything looks grey — it looks so plain and so boring, and your smile there – so not you. I have to make this you, I have to do you and your beautiful smile justice.” 

“One hue off the right colour of your hair already scares me to my depths. Everything is so colourless and bare and empty I can’t even tell these strokes apart.” He runs his fingers along the bumps on the wall, forest green fading into baby blue and a harsh strike of vermillion. “I don’t remember how these came about but I remember they’re strokes of frustration.”

“Frustration?” You urge him, patiently. He’s still distracted, rambling and refusing to meet your eyes. But he’s an artist, and you’ve already resigned to putting up with episodes like these for a while now. At the same time, you understand. In your own way, you are an artist too. The only difference between you and Riki is,

you’re bold and daring. You see all the shades the rainbow has to offer. You complete your pieces without a second thought. Of course, they’re never top quality, but they’re satisfactory to yourself. 

Riki is hesitant. He sees in black and white, occasionally shades of grey bleeding into borderline brown. He feels it’s his duty to reflect and duplicate everything about his object perfectly. Like looking into a mirror, it should properly align with reality. It should elicit appropriate emotion. It should reflect all his object’s best qualities. He should be able to make them shine. 

And when he doesn’t, he lashes out. 

“What if?” He scrunches the apron hanging over his thighs. Lost in thought, you wonder whether he’s coming back down to earth or if his head is still in the clouds. Worrying and worrying and worrying. “What if I can’t do it again?” 

“You need to free yourself…” 

Ironically, you know what he needs the most to free himself, is a long, warm embrace that calms his mind. Bring him back down. Teach him to breathe again. You lean back to snatch the paintbrush and palette, holding it in front of him. His gaze clears and begins to transfix onto the materials in your hand. “This is what you came to do. Is it not?” 

He takes it with a shaky hand and blank stare. 

“I think it looks pretty,” you kiss his cheek quickly and slide back into position. “That’s your intention. I know. I look pretty there.” 

Your heart aches for him. Will he ever shake off his overbearing perfectionism and learn to enjoy the talents and skills he’s been blessed with? 

With adoring eyes, he turns back to the canvas and thankfully begins working on it. You hope the profound sparkle in his eye has signalled a change. Everything falls into routine, and you’re stuck breathing in the same scent of must and dried paint for the next few hours. 

Luckily for you, Riki seems to have let the weight evaporate from his shoulders. He can finally take smiley glances your way to compare his portrait and you. He can lean back with a pleased and impressed glimmer in his orbs. Every once in a while, he gives you and kiss and thanks you for staying so still and remaining so patient. 

You know his words carry more intent than he wants to let show. 

“You like it?”

Three hours later, he finally spins the portrait around and lets you have the first look as the muse. Though many portraits of your face have lined his walls since you started dating, you’re pleasantly surprised to feel something different. Though the paintings may all look similar. Same face. Same eyes, nose, ears, cheeks, hair, moles in the same spots. There’s a hint of confidence emanating from the mish-mash of colours. 

And Riki looks satisfied. 

“I can finally see the colours,” he rasps in excitement, cutely clapping his hands together. “I could finally colour your smile.”

i just got diagnosed with chronic migraines (i'm having one rn but it's because i'm not sleeping) so this is pretty self-indulgent. i am riki riki is me. ALSO. riki's aotm i'm shitting tears

more of my works >

[violent-viscera]

okay, so most definitely an unpopular opinion considering the amount of caitlyn fans/stans (in addition to fans solely bc of caitvi) but i wanted to articulate my thoughts on her s2.

firstly, i loved the idea of her character in s1. along with jayce, i understand that they were both fundamentally flawed due to inherent, latent prejudices that they held against zaunites. they often misspoke and stepped out of line when speaking to ppl like vi and viktor just on the basis of their privilege of being born piltovan.

but it was interesting to see how their good hearts and intentions led them to being forced to face their troubled and unfair prejudices. of course, i didn't agree with how they viewed zaunites, but i was rooting for them to become spearheads of change and reform.

anyway, i digress to where i am now where i am feel incredibly disappointed by the writing of her character.

i love a good villainess and was actually quite excited to see where her fascist arc would take her. it would be such a diametric, polar opposite of her character in s1 where she was slowly beginning to see piltover's role in the systematic oppression of zaun.

it would've been compelling to see her become completely lost to her grief and rage and the message behind how the repercussions of cataclysmic calamity that she and jinx cause as mirrors of one another would've been interesting (ie. jinx shooting a rocket launcher at the council in her loss of silco vs. caitlyn gassing innocent civilians in a bid to discover jinx after losing her mother)

but again, the writing didn't do much for me in the way of caitlyn or her mother in s2 in so many different ways.

i understand that there are nuances and complexities in difficult mother-daughter relationships and i understand caitlyn has every right to grieve. but her grief is not parallel to the grief of vi or jinx or any other zaunite when most of the misfortune that befell zaunite deaths can indirectly stem from the choices made by ppl like cassandra and the council.

yes, cassandra built systems to ensure that the grey did not completely suffocate zaunites. but this still by no means absolves all her other sins in her complacency in the oppression of zaunites–not to mention her attitude towards zaunites or anyone else that she deems "less than"

caitlyn's villain arc was watery and diluted at best. it was initially really interesting to see count caitlyn and her cape step up to the plate under ambessa's encouragement, but by the next episode she was already wavering and uncommitted. it seemed like a pointless route to entertain with how brief it was. and as others mentioned, caitlyn was being a cruel asshole without the direction of ambessa with the usage of chemical warfare.

caitlyn's choices had very little repercussions throughout the season. she hits vi with a rifle and turns her back on her and is basically instantly forgiven. she performs chemical warfare and her guilty conscience is the only real consequence she faces. she loses her eye in a fight, yes, but it is also a battle she invited when she accepted tutelage under ambessa to sustain a fascist regime. she makes it blatantly clear that she accepts vi bc she views vi as an entity separate of the rest of the animals of zaun and there isn't really any content that implies these views have changed or that there will be any reform imminent for enforcers/piltovan-zaun relations aside from reluctantly allowing Sevika a spot on the council

i dont even want to get into how vi become completely a shell of the amazing, compelling character she was in s1 and how the heart and soul of the show (the sisters' rs) was essentially abandoned to make caitvi happen rather than rly considering the optics and pragmatism of having an oppressed, falsely imprisoned, vulnerable zaunite being with an enforcer without due sensitivity and consideration of what needs happen to make caitvi happen in a sensible fashion.

i just feel like by the end of the show, caitlyn ends up right where she started where she's a privileged piltovan living her cushy life with no repercussions. there was no real reason to write her as an empathetic character, struggling with what she knew as a piltovan vs. what she sees when she is with vi down in zaun, bc in the end, the empathy did nothing to change how she treated zaunites or how her enforcers operate on the day-to-day.

and i actually think if the writers didn't try to play caitvi off as being a healthy, beautiful representation of a lesbian relationship instead of toxic one marred by power imbalances, it would've been a compelling and tragic message.

TLDR: i think many ppl have expressed their disappointment in how vi (and jinx) were written in s2, but i also think the writers did a terrible job in writing caitlyn as well.

[the-kr8tor]

Katy…. For the 1 year anniversary

Garlic cloves and 💧

Vampire hobie and some angst

Vampire hobie and a human where other vampires find out hes in love with a human (maybe they cause him to purposely goes mad, to where he will attack and be the cause for rs death. Possibly?)

Then when he snaps out of it, he realize what hes done. To the person he fell in love with (can totally see him trying to make R into a vampire while sobbing choking out apologies while trying to get them back) 😭

I dont know i thought youd like this possibly, you have full control over the ending or how anything goes or could go. Some of its just a small ideas to give your brain maybe to help give you ideas for how you want to go. But i know you love angst and you are amazing at it

First thing i requested for your Apothecary. Do whatever you want with this idea. Just knew itd give a lot of angst potential for our favorite punk

Hehehhehe vampire! Hobie angst 👀 thank you for requesting, bestie!!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except her clothing), TW death, CW blood and gore, CW violence, vampire AU, Angst.

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

Blood coats his tongue like a thin film of gore and death. It sticks to his fangs, red dripping off his unhinged maw where his fellow immortals’ crimson flows out like your own blood spilling from the numerous bites marring your precious skin. Skin he used to hold and love, skin that is now littered with specks of rubies as if a constellation of stars has touched you in your dying breath.

He heaves in place, adrenaline coursing through his veins like the raging rapids. Sharp claws still red and dripping, rage filled eyes roaming around the violence he did not start but had to finish.

Hobie never thought that he'd be betrayed by his immortal kind that he has spent centuries with. Vampires they used to call friends, even family. He never thought that being called upon by a trusted friend would result in you lying in your own pool of blood in the same house he left you, in the same dress he last saw you in, in the same floors he danced on with you holding on to him as he glides you around the home he once built for you.

Home, it doesn't look like it now. The oak walls that you've painstakingly painted that resemble tree branches stretching across the abode like a warm embrace are now coated in every shade of red. Numerous portraits of your life with him now lay scattered by his feet, glass crunching under his footsteps like dry autumn leaves. The pretty candles that you always light on the same hour every night are nothing but wax melted upon the ashen skin of fellow vampires. His hands are coated in the same ashes, grey amidst dark red, dark red among his skin, skin that he thought he has washed away from a millennia of sin— skin that he thought was worthy of your sacred touch.

As he walks closer to your limp body, his eyes bore into the river of red left in your wake. His expression is akin to an empty, apocalyptic look— dangerous, yet, a tragedy lies underneath his wine red eyes. He's starting to hate his eyes now that you lay in a pool of the same colour. You used to tell him that his eyes were like the purest of crimson, similar to a stirling ruby no king or emperor could ever possess. With your words he vowed to keep you close to him until your skin has etched into his own, until his own ribs rip apart to embrace you and take you into his very being. Now that he gingerly holds you close to his chest, he should've done that to protect you better, now it's too late as you gasp, fending off death itself from taking your soul before you could say goodbye.

Your eyes no longer show the light he once admired, light akin to the sun that would burn and turn him into ash— but he could not stop looking at them, even if it could possibly be his demise, because it'll be worth it to feel the righteous sun kiss his skin once again.

“‘m sorry,” Hobie cried as his tears from his own blood dripped down across your cold cheeks. “I can still fix this.” With a shaky inhale, he feels mortal when your freezing hand taps his long dead heart. You don't speak nor blink at him. He wishes you could but with your life seeping out of you, it's impossible for you to do so. He feels it, how your life is being drained from the numerous bites along your body. He also wishes he doesn't feel you slip away. “Please, l–let me bring you back.”

With your last strength, you curl your lips to a soft, weak smile. Hand weakly gripping his shirt, mouth mouthing the words— “not your fault.”

Hobie chokes on a sob, shaking his head, he cannot, will not let you go. You're the only person who truly knows him, the only person who has seen the real him that he hasn't shown to anyone since he was turned. He loves you, and he'll continue to love you until his dying breath, whenever that may be. Ten years from now, twenty, a hundred— he'd love you until he steps out of the shadows and back into the light of the sun that reminds him of your eyes.

He feels your heart slow down, the blood rushing out of your veins are like drums in his ears. Opening his jaw, fangs in full show, you let out your very last mortal breath.

But he's too late, you have no blood left, drained until the last drop. No spark of life left to be brought back to earth with. Without a flicker of light, there's no embers to set fire to. Yet, he still tries in despair. Teeth sinking into you, a hungry bear to a corpse of a rabbit, he bites and sips into nothingness. Not even a glimmer, a hope lighting a fire in you brought by the kiss of death— nothing, absolutely nothing can bring you back to life. He cries, sobs wracking his body, a hurricane of emotions flooding through him that he has never felt in his immortal life until now.

Calling your name, he cradles your cold body, hand behind your head, lips upon your neck. He doesn't bite this time, he knows better. But if it does work, will you hate him for it?

The door creaks open, a familiar face he just saw a few hours ago enters the sheer violence Hobie left in his vengeance. His face contorts into sorrow but it quickly turns contorts to disappointment.

“You should've listened.” He utters, mouth dripping with venomous words. “Was she worth it? Breaking our law?”

Hobie slowly glances at the man without leaving your side. His once pure ruby eyes have turned into a flurry of bright red fury. “She was.” His claws dig into your lifeless body, lips shaking from sheer anger.

“I still cannot understand you.” He scoffs, “and you even tried to turn her. You're a fucking disgrace.”

Hobie slowly brings you back down, carefully laying you and closing your lifeless eyes. He looks at the man, someone he used to call a friend, someone he once trusted. Vampire blood and ash coats his very being, staining his soul, but they don't compare to your blood on his hands.

“Then I'll make you understand.” With a pounce, Hobie will drench his hands in more ichor until it's enough for him.

[fairyhaos]

[17:39 PM] — joshua .

428 words, fluff, non-idolverse, est. rs

The rain patters loudly against your umbrella as you stand there on the street.

The air, once heated and sticky against your skin, has gone cold, now feeling wet and mildly unpleasant, a gust of wind brushing against your exposed knuckles.

It's not dark, but the clouds make it feel so, gloomy grey and hanging low in the sky, so low that it feels as if the tip of your umbrella brushes against it as you twirl it in your hands, patiently waiting.

You feel a little like you're in a Ghibli movie, really. There's barely anyone out on the street with you, the bus stop abandoned beside you, the sun still attempting to peek out behind the clouds and providing an odd contrast of white light and grey fluffiness. And with the rain pattering all around you as you wait for a bus, you feel like you're living through that one scene in Totoro, waiting for someone important to come home.

A bus pulls up to the stop, but none of the people that step off of it are the person you're looking for, so you simply smile politely and look down. You're holding one umbrella over your head and one in your hands, because it hadn't started raining until an hour ago, and you're sure that he hadn't taken one with him when he left for work that morning.

The rain drips from the ends of your umbrella, white and crystalline. Delicate. You're looking at them in wonder when another bus pulls up, its doors opening, and you smile.

Joshua steps out of the bus, eyes already having found yours, a soft smile pulling up the corners of his lips as you step towards him.

"Oh," he says, and even his voice is soft. "Hello my darling. Didn't expect to see you here."

"Thought you might need an umbrella," you say, holding it out to him as he steps off the bus and he smiles at you, grateful.

"Thank you."

Before he opens the umbrella, however, he ducks under your own, leaning in to kiss you lightly. His back gets slightly wet in the process, but he pulls away with the sweetest look in his eyes, so gentle and full of love and it makes your own heart feel full to bursting.

"Alright," Joshua says, as if he hadn't warmed your very being with that action, and opens his own umbrella. He smiles at you again, and after not seeing him for the entire day, it feels utterly wonderful to see his smile again.

"Let's go home."

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @butiluvu @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride