#so i watched my name and the glory because they seemed like something i'd like

[yohankang]

Rage is gripped in the hands. Rage gets stuck in the throat, suppressed. Rage is a promise kept.

Happy Holidays @natahjikio! May the new year bless you with health, wealth, happiness, and lots of amazing dramas!

[syneilesis]

[fic] Coffee Break

Coffee Break

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | G | 1.2k words ao3 link

You buy Xavier a new coffee machine.

A/N: I am so in love with this man. Day 2 of the closed beta test and here I am writing fic lmao. God, I love Shen Xinghui so much. This fic is inspired by his Shimmering Sunlight story. Some spoilers about the main storyline and character-exclusive stories, though nothing too significant. Though I frequently refer to his CN name in my other posts, in this fic I use his EN version -- Xavier.

The box is light in your hands, but the salesperson assured you that weight does not equate to quality. Price, too—because although the Hunters Association is generous with their pay, you don't want to raise flags by taking missions incessantly. Tara's nose for intrigue, of course, is well-known among your circles.

It would be all the worse if Xavier gets in on the gossip too. (You'd have to thank the stars for the man's indifference to workplace drama—and to most in general. Xavier may be airheaded at times but when he's focused on something he is monstrously focused on it. It's impressive, and—well—cute.)

The recommended beans are secured inside your messenger bag. You don't call Xavier this time to give him a heads up. He had, a few days ago, granted you the privilege to enter his home whenever you like, his hand tracing the book spines on the shelf, all the while saying it. He wasn't looking at you, but his tone remained light, playful even, that it prompted you to tease him by pointing out that if he merely wanted an efficient alarm clock, he could just buy one of those state-of-the-art ones sold in major stores. That's when Xavier whirled around to look at you, mirth in his eyes but with a secretive, scheming tilt on his lips.

“I'm coming in,” you announce, regardless, by the door, pushing it in with one hand, and Xavier's voice floats across the hall.

“You're really taking advantage of this, huh.”

“Well, a wise man once said that one must seize every opportunity given their way.”

Xavier emerges from a room in all his cardigan-and-sweatpantsed glory, hair mussed enough to indicate that he's just risen from his bed.

“Good morning!” you chirp.

He glances at the clock—two in the afternoon—and eyes the box in your hands. The caution—and curiosity—is obvious in the lilt of his question. “What's that?”

“For you.”

He takes the proffered item and inspects like it'll explode at any moment. You sigh and retrieve it again, and he follows you when you make your way to the kitchen.

“I already have a coffee machine,” he says, confused, as you begin to clean the gift.

“And it brews bitter coffee.” You spare a glance at him to find that he's watching you. You tap the lid of the machine. “This is a more recent and an undeniably better model.”

“I don't recall asking you to buy one for me.”

“That's because you didn't.” There's a pause where you deliberate telling him your next sentence and facing him directly as you say it. You go for it, in the end. “It's a gift. This is a gift from me to you.”

It doesn't register to him at first—it's as if he's waiting for an explanation that requires the mention of Captain Jenna's orders. But after a blink and a shuffle, it clicks, his eyes widening and he's fully awake all of a sudden.

And when he responds, it seems urgent: “What's the occasion?”

You shake your head. “Nothing—or rather, it's the occasion for drinking good coffee.” The coffee beans make their appearance. “Go sit on the sofa or something while I work this thing out.”

Xavier chuckles. “What—now you're ordering me in my own home?”

“And making you good coffee!”

“You're a guest—even I know that it's rude to have the guest make food or drinks for the owner of the house.”

“It's fine! And besides, I'd like to test this out as soon as possible. Refund and exchange policy only lasts for seven days from the date of purchase. I'd want to know if this works just fine.”

Xavier attempts to protest a little more, but you hold firm. Once he trudges back to the living room, you concentrate on the coffee. The salesperson seemed trustworthy enough when pitching the product, and you really can't forget the time Xavier served you a cup of bitter coffee. Not even three sugar cubes could salvage that unholy concoction.

When it's done, the heavenly aroma wafting along your nose, you test a sip from your own mug. It's a success. Placing the mugs on a tray, you head to where Xavier is.

He's reading a book. Though 'reading' seems to be a stretch because his head bobs twice, his eyelids drooping, the edge of a nap threatening his posture.

“Xavier,” you call him, and his head snaps back to attention. You bite your lip to stave off a laugh. Sitting next to him on the sofa, you put the tray on the table and hand him his own cup. “Try this one.”

A sniff and a tentative sip. And then he hums in approval, now drinking it normally. You smile around the rim of your mug, your eyes falling on his book.

“This is good,” he comments, wearing a smile of his own when he turns to you. “Did you use another kind of coffee beans?”

“Yep. The salesman recommended me another one, and it was the right decision. By the way, why are you reading an instruction manual on building a claw machine?”

“It's nothing,” he says, swiping the item away. There's another book on the table—a collection of short stories—and he snatches that up instead. You recognize the title.

“Oh! I've read that before.”

“Is it good? I haven't read it yet.”

“Yes. I particularly loved the titular story. The suspense buildup was done skillfully and the payoff was perfect.”

“I see, then I look forward to starting it.”

Surprisingly, Xavier begins reading it then and there, occasionally sipping his coffee and turning the page. You, beside him, are minding your own cup, thoughts drifting here and there. Your next mission. New strategies in battle. Your next appointment with Dr. Zayne.

It's when a weight has plopped down your shoulder that you jolt out of your musings: Xavier falling asleep on your shoulder, mug empty, the coffee residues pooling at the bottom, book opened in the chapter of your favorite story.

“Xavier?” you murmur, careful not to startle him if he's truly asleep.

He doesn't stir—only burrows further into the crevice between your neck and shoulder, the puffs of his breath close and warm against your skin.

It would've been cruel to push him away, not when he looks comfortable. And besides, you're afforded an opportunity to study him—so you let him as he is.

From your angle, staring down at his sleeping face, you note of his eyelashes, long and thick and seemingly soft, slightly curved upwards, hovering over his smooth cheeks. They frame the blueness of his eyes very well. They make him even prettier under daylight. You're reminded of the time you and he strolled under the blooming peach blossoms, the pink backdrop highlighting the radiance of his presence, statuesque. He as sublime art itself, rivaling that of Rafayel's paintings—or better yet, surpassing them. And when he smiles—

Unbidden, heat crawls across your cheeks and settles there. Oh no. Oh, no no no.

Oh dear, this won't do.

You swallow, and turn away. Against your neck, Xavier sleeps on, unaware of your unfurling realizations. By the window, a familiar bird perches, twittering under the afternoon sun, a small but melodious background song.

[readingadream]

BE THE LIGHT

Chapter One

Word count 1,620

1 | 2 | 3

Wooyoung POV

What would you do if a random person came to you and asked to trust him? Saying that he would be the reason the world would change. Would you trust him? Would you think he was bat shit crazy like me? 

Wednesday night, there was a full moon and a chilly breeze that made leaves fall so beautifully to the ground. Though like the story's told by our parents, the most intresging people came out that night. I should have stayed home, but of course my friends always loved to go out.

“Yah! Woo, hurry the hell up.” Shouted by my friend who was almost as short as I was, light brown hair that had just barely covered his ears and of course not styled much since he had been partying most of the night. I rolled my eyes and waved as our group of friends walked to the next bar. 

“Mm, Go ahead without me. I think Imma catch the bus home. It's late and I need to wake up early anyways.” I waved my friends on as I walked to the convent store, grabbing a thing of ramen, a hangover drink, and some chips. Perfect late night snack plus medicine to help me not feel like absolute death right before work in the morning. The store was oddly quiet tonight which was unusual for a Saturday. Saturdays usually were busy, many drunk young adults like myself grabbing snacks or buying more alcohol. Walking to the front to pay I noticed a younger male who had red hair trying to do homework. Remembering those days I’d felt a little bad for the boy. 

After paying I grabbed my bag and quickly ran to the bus stop that was just about a block from where I’d been. Hopefully my luck would work tonight and not miss the last bus back home. Though when has luck ever been on my side? Never. I watched it drive past me. Looking up at the sky I let out an annoyed yell. “Fuck!” 

I was about to turn and call a taxi when a shorter male approached me, his hair was the color of dark chocolate, and his skin pale like someone who seemed to avoid being outside during the day, and lastly his eyes were dark brown as well but almost black. Though it was hard to see them clearly in the darkness that surrounded them due to the lack of streetlights where they currently were. Who'd have thought a bus stop in the middle of the city would be poorly lit?

“Apologies, I didn't mean to scare you. I know I'm a nobody but would you trust me? Help me out and I can promise you glory.” The stranger's voice was a slightly higher tone to an otherwise velvety smooth lilt, the kind of sound that the perfect melodie wrapped up in a song; a lullaby.

Tell me why I wanted to say yes? Why would someone like me decide to agree to help with something that my dumbass didn't know anything about. Shivering from the cold breeze I let out a breathy laugh as I looked at him. This male had a surrounding feeling of confidence and yet felt so mysterious as well.

“Who is stupid enough to say yes? Me apparently because I'm curious, also because your friend who has been standing behind you closely seems like he can trust you.”

I looked at the male behind him, white hair that looked like snow, was close to shoulder length, and the look he gave was one of seriousness. The male who  spoke let out a faint laugh, waving off the one who stood behind.

“Seonghwa is very close to me, he's our most precious member. Ah, I'm Hongjoong by the way.” Holding his hand out for me to shake. His hand was cold, silver rings on most of finger as well as a few bracelets on his wrist. Was it wrong to mention the fact his hands were smaller then mine? Though this man whose name was Hongjoong was also shorter than me so it made some sense in a way. 

“Wooyoung.” Giving the stranger my name so easily, probably not wise and used a fake name but we only lived once right? What could be worse than a stranger leading me to my possible death.

Seonghwa looked at me, like he was questioning why I'd agree so easily, who could blame him though? because I still was unsure. I used him as an excuse to be completely honest. Moving he points to the black BMW that had been pulling up and parking next to us.

“Our ride is here, you will stay with us from now on. You can gather your stuff tomorrow though Woo, right now it's late and you've seemed to have a long night.” Seonghwa spoke for the first time, voice sounded like thunder in the distance yet also a lullaby that if he sang a gentle song would make all worries go away.

Nodding my head I took a step towards the vehicle, “Promise you won't be killing me?” 

“I promise doll, you are safe with us.” Hongjoong gently patted my shoulder as he walked to get into the front passenger seat.

Stepping into the back with Seonghwa, I noticed the driver. He looked around my age, tired, and his eyes dull like there was no life left in them. I noticed his hair was the color of a faded pink or maybe orange? It was hard to tell in the little light that was provided due to the door being open momentarily. Though, maybe that's because of how late it was and the male was tired.

“This is Yunho, our sunshine most days. I swear he isn't as gloomy as he looks, we just haven't gotten much sleep lately and it takes a toll on us.” Listening to Hongjoong explain who the driver was, I noticed a small smile appear from Yunho. 

“That's because you made me wake up at 2am the other night because of your wild idea. Anyways, it's nice to meet you newbie.”

Newbie? He knew? Of course he did you idiot. “It's Wooyoung.” Letting out a soft yawn I just relaxed in the back seat. The leather seats seemed to be heated which warmed my cold bodie but also made it incredibly hard to stay awake much longer. Looking out the window as we drove, watching as city lights passed by quickly and things became a blur as I fell asleep curled up in my seat and just enjoying the warmth while it lasted.

Feeling someone shake me is what had finally woken me up, I usually slept hard and long so without thinking I shove them off. “Fuck off.” Mumbling and turning slightly. 

That's when I remembered that I wasn't home, it wasn't Changbin waking my lazy ass awake. I shot up and met eyes with Seonghwa. He didn't look bothered by my actions.

“Well you clearly will get along with Sannie, he loves his sleep and once punched our captain in the face for trying to wake him.” He points to a warehouse, it was definitely worn down but also if someone looked closer they would see that the building had been worked on. Looking over to where he was pointing I noticed a few boys outside playing basketball. “Welcome to our little utopia, it isn't fancy but we all have adjusted. You will too in a matter of time.”

When the car parked I noticed a boy with red hair running over holding a basketball. “Hyung! Did you guys get the snacks? Please tell me you got more banana milk because San hyung drank the last one that I was saving.” He pouted and it was cute, like a little bear pouting.

“Wooyoung, this is our youngest member. Jongho, this is our new member. I want you and San if he's awake to get him all taken care of.” Hongjoong spoke as he got out of the vehicle. “Yes we got snacks and more milk, Hwa wanted strawberry milk anyways so he bought a few packs of both.” 

San must have known he'd been spoken of, walking out to help with the groceries he took notice of the new male. Looking him up and down before shrugging.  

“San, this is Wooyoung. I want you and Jongho to get him set up, we will get his stuff tomorrow after we've gotten some well deserved sleep.” All San did was nod. Handing me a few bags before walking towards the building.

Following inside I had noticed the couches in the middle of the building, a few desks around it and then another couch off to the side by the door. The warehouse was old for sure, and looked like they'd made the place for all 7 that there was. Well now 8. 

Ladders led up to a second floor, everything seemed new like they had built the second floor themselves, so it was safe for them to walk on. Lastly, he saw the makeshift kitchen. Everything they would possibly need was there. A microwave, stove and oven, dish washer, a coffee pot, and just basic items you'd generally see in someone's kitchen. San points at the groceries “I'll put these away, so just set them on the table for now.” Of course, I just nodded my head, setting them down. Yawning for what seemed like the millionth time in the last 10 minutes. I walked around as the others all came in, talking about who knows what. He'd tuned them out for a moment as he realized things were about to be a lot different from now on.

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 22 | Words: 4.2k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

BLADEWEAVE CENTRIC CHAPTER

"I mean it. You don't have to watch over me like I'm your dying mother." Gale sighed as Wyll pulled up a chair beside the bed, holding out a bowl of stew.

"Perhaps don't mention dying mothers to the one who doesn't have one?" Wyll hummed and Gale had the decency to flush a little.

"My uh, my apologises."

"It's alright. I didn't know her. My parents were unmarried at the time, so when she died...it wasn't something my father and I spoke about often." Wyll sat back in the chair as Gale sat up with a small groan, taking the bowl from his hands. "You're not well. You say you have a heart condition, but..." He gestured to him. "This doesn't look like the typical heart condition, Gale. Be honest with me...is it magical?"

Gale spared a weak laugh, taking a mouthful of stew into his mouth. It was surprisingly good. Could do with some more salt, but Gale was picky like that, he supposed.

"Nothing natural about, so I'd say so. In fact, I would say it's karma for a wizard's hubris." He was too tired to bother dodging the subject anymore. In a days time, it would be expected of him to rush into Moonrise and blow himself up, whether the Heart of the Absolute should be. If not then, in a weeks time when they found it. Sooner or later, he would die, in Mystra's name.

Wyll crossed his arms over his chest and regarded him with a tilt of his head.

"Tell me more. Of your...of this wizard's hubris."

"That's a rather long and...complicated story." Gale admitted, staring into the bowl. Thinking about it all...it wasn't helping his appetite.

"I want to hear it. I like stories." Wyll was still hurt over the rejection, he wouldn't lie, but he could not ignore the mans suffering. He looked like he was wilting. He wasn't sure if he could help, but...he wanted to try. Even if all he could offer was an ear.

Gale sighed and placed the bowl of stew aside on the dresser. His hunger was not for food, so much as it was for magic. The cravings weren't gone, even with Elminsters help. He still felt hungry, even if it wasn't affecting the orb itself anymore. He hadn't seen Tara in days, and he wondered if it was because she was finding difficulty navigating the shadow lands, or simply could not reach him there. It hurt to think he might die without seeing her one last time. His only friend since childhood. She understood him in ways no other had been able to. She knew everything about him.

"I'm what one might call a wizard prodigy. Who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it. Much like a... musician, or a poet." He waved his hand, gesturing to his former glory. It felt rather sad to think about when he knew how far he had fallen from his prodigy days. "Such was my skill that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady of Mysteries. The goddess, Mystra." He still spoke her name with reverence despite what she was asking of him.

Wyll listened in silence, allowing the man to talk. He found it was easier to wait until he was done before interjecting, or the wizard would lose his place and remark on things he'd already said, or bring up things he hadn't mentioned before without context.

"She revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. In time, she became my muse, and later, even my lover." Wyll's eyes widened. No wonder he spoke of Mystra so highly. To love and be loved by a Goddess - well. It was hard to see why the man would choose to love anybody else when he had his own Goddess of Magic.

"I...How long?" Wyll asked.

"How long?"

"How long have you been...bedding a Goddess?"

"Ah, well...I no longer do." Gale admitted with a tight smile. "As for how long Mystra and I were together, I...I honestly can't remember. She's been there since I was young. I cannot remember when exactly our relationship shifted into what it was."

"You can't remember when you became the lover to a Goddess?" Wyll asked in disbelief.

"I cannot remember the exact moment, no. It just...happened." Gale frowned slightly, trying to remember when exactly they'd gone from teacher and pupil to a man and goddess sharing a bed. He'd been young, he knew that much, barely a whisker on his chin back then. She had always been radiant, and he had been devoted to her completely. He had been hers, and learnt many, many things under her tutelage. Especially in discovering an array of tricks when it came to the pleasure of ones partner.

"We enjoyed each other's company - mind, body and soul. But even so, I desired more." He sighed, thinking back to his own self-inflicted damnation. "You see, no matter how powerful a wizard we mortals can be, we never scratch more than the surface of the Weave." Even now, such a thing vexed him. To be a prodigy beneath Mystra herself and yet barely sinking his hands - or, hand now - into the Weave she had laid before him. It was a temptation that could drive any man mad.

"Mystra keeps us in check. There are boundaries she doesn't let us cross. Yet every time I was with her, I stood on the precipice, gazing into the wonders that laid before." Even now, he could see it in his minds eye. Wishing to reach out, even after he had been burned. "I sought to cross her boundaries."

"To cross a Goddess...you're more brazen than I assumed." Wyll both pitied his past naivety and respected his ambition. He had taken Mizora's pact for the benefit of others, but Gale's reasons for angering a Goddess had been purely out of the temptation she laid before him. "How exactly did you try and cross those boundaries?"

"I tried to convince her. I pouted, I pleaded, I swore my ambition was only to serve her better." And at the time, he had believed it, thought it true. "But she only smiled and told me to be contented." There was resentment in his tone, that of a spurned lover, and Wyll had a feeling Gale rarely let himself speak of Mystra in such a fashion.

"As inconceivable as it seems to me now. I shared a bed with a goddess and yet I wasn't satisfied. So I sought to prove myself worthy to her instead."

"I'm guessing this is where your hubris got the best of you?"

"Indeed. We come now to the crux of my folly." Gale chuckled, but there was no humour in it. "Shall I share the story behind it, or would you rather head to its sordid finale?"

Wyll shook his head, rising from his chair and seating himself on the mattress, leaning back against the headboard as he gazed upon the wizard.

"I'm intrigued. Tell me all of it. I do not skip pages in an interesting tale."

Gale shifted were he sat and rubbed a hand over his chest, the tattoo that encircled it. He was looking at Wyll like he was unsure if he should let him close the distance between them, but in the end, he allowed it.

"Very well." He turned his gaze to his lap, as not to twist his neck uncomfortably to look at the swordsman. "Here goes: Once upon a very long time ago, a mighty lord lived in a tower. A flying tower, to be precise. I'll save his history for another time, but the gist of it is that he sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself."

Wyll glanced at Gale from the corner of his eye. He wondered if Gale had ever considered it. Usurping Mystra.

"He almost managed, but not quite, and his entire empire - Netheril - came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic that was unleashed that day was phenomenal, roiling like the prime chaos that outdates creation." Gale seemed marvelled by the story itself as he spoke. "Even the Weave itself could not withstand the onslaught. It fractured, then shattered, and all magic was lost to the mortal realms until the day Mystra returned."

"She restored the Weave, reuniting all its scattered shards. Or so I thought, until in the course of my studies I learned of a book. A Netherese tome in which a piece of the fractured Weave had been sealed beyond her reach. 'What if?' I thought," Wyll could see where this was going before Gale even said the words.

"'What if, after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the goddess?'"

Wyll shook his head softly. Hubris had indeed garnered his action - but it had also been love. Devotion. It sadden to know that this story did not likely end well for Gale, given the 'sordid finale' he spoke of.

"And what was the answer to that question?"

"The answer was to try...and the outcome was to fail." Gale spoke the words with a heavy tone of regret, closing his eyes and shaking his head at his own youths foolishness. "I was certain that this deed of raw power draped in romance would convince Mystra to take me by the hand and welcome me into her hitherto forbidden domains. I was mistaken." He sighed.

"I obtained the fabled book and took it into my study. As for what happened next..." Gale finally looked at Wyll, turning to face the man and offering out his hand. Pleading to him with his eyes to trust him. "Here. Place your hand over my heart. Let me show you...what my hubris did to it."

Wyll hesitated before he reached out and placed his hand in his. Gale smiled, a soft, small smile filled with gratefulness as he pressed Wyll's palm to the centre of the ink - the mark of the Netherese - on his skin.

Gale took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, centring himself as he closed his eyes, willing his mind, his magic, to open up to the man. He didn't like thinking of the night where it all went wrong, the intense agony as that shattered fraction of Weave imbued itself into his body, warped his soul - made himself the walking disaster waiting to implode, and the future weapon that would save the world from the Absolute.

He was willing. His fear of death, of the unknown - it did not matter in the grand scheme of things. This mission was given to him by his goddess. His magic, what it could do, was all his life had ever been worth - at least this way, he would go out with a bang. Nobody else would be caught in the blast except himself, and the enemy. That was his best outcome, when he thought about it. The most selfless, even if he wished to be selfish like any other mortal man.

Wyll's brows pinched, drawn deeper into the memory, a sense of dread overcoming him. Gale's own dread. Even before he opened the book, his instincts knew he was doing the wrong thing. His ambition to stand by her, his desire to please her, won out.

The folly of a mortal man seeking the wonders of godhood. Of ascension. Years of being told he was so grand, so talented - gifted - by her, yet never allowed more than any other wizard, accumulated into that fateful moment.

Wyll felt like he had become Gale in that moment, the fear, the anticipation, the agony - the Weave so dark he could not fathom even comparing it to the blackest, darkest of nights, pouncing onto him. It was biting, clawing, becoming apart of his very soul - and it hungered like nothing else Wyll had ever felt. Like it could not be sated, like it would always feel starved and deprived.

"Gods-" Wyll was breathing hard despite the lack of exertion, eyes wide as he stared at the wizard. He had thought selling his soul, transforming into a devil, had hurt; feeling Avernus' tar suffocate him, feeling the flames lick at his skin. But it was nothing like this special brand of agony that weaved into every fibre of his body - and that was only the memory of it. It was fading to a dull ache for him as the connection slowly tuned out, but did it still feel like that to the wizard? Did it ever cease?

"How are you still alive?" He asked in disbelief.

"Thankfully, the moment I absorbed the fragment wasn't enough to kill me outright. It was only the beginning..." The light faded from beneath Wyll's palm, becoming but a distant memory as he took in the perspiration on Gale's brow. He looked haggard. Despite it, he brought Wyll's hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. As if thanking him for enduring the memory with him. For listening. Wyll took his hand back with pursed lips.

"This Netherese blight...this orb, for lack of a better word, is balled up inside my chest. And it needs to be fed." He admitted, sounding irritation by the necessity. "As long as I absorb traces of the Weave from potent enough sources, it remains quiet. Were it ever to fully destabilise, however..." He looked hesitant to say it out loud, hoping he wouldn't have to. Wyll wasn't sure he wanted to either, shaking his head.

"I don't think I want to hear this...but I think I have an idea of what would happen." He'd seen enough in his mind, the whispers of his thoughts even within the memory.

"I will erupt." Gale looked at Wyll with haunted eyes. "I don't know the exact magnitude of the eruption, but given my studies of Netherese magic, I'd say even a fragment as small as the one I carry...It'd level a city the size of Waterdeep."

Wyll had been there once, a visitor passing through shortly after his father banished him. Being by the water had helped him collect himself, despite the grief he felt in losing his only home, his nobility. Waterdeep was a beautiful place to live - but he hadn't stayed long, Mizora giving him fresh orders to carry out. It was shortly after that time he dedicated himself as the Blade of Frontiers.

"Fortunately," Gale attempted a chipper tone, and if he hadn't been in his mind just a minute ago, Wyll might have believed it. "This need no longer be a concern. Not until I meet the Heart of the Absolute - whatever that is."

"The Heart of the Absolute...?"

"Yes, it's...well, it's the basis of my mission. The one Mystra gave me. Elminster gave me a temporary ailment, not that it seems to be doing much for me right now, but I'm to take myself to this Heart of the Absolute and...destroy it." There was no point in lying to Wyll now. Not when he already knew his secret.

"Destroy it...?" Wyll furrowed his brows, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How exactly do you intend to do that once you meet this Heart?"

"Well, I'm hoping that the Heart will be in Moonrise Towers. Once I'm there, I will...voluntarily...detonate myself." He gestured vaguely with one hand like the idea wasn't more horrific than Wyll could even conjure up.

"You're going to kill yourself?"

"In a manner of speaking." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the topic.

"You're just accepting it? Like that? Because she told you to?"

"It's more complicated than that." Gale insisted with a huff, looking away. "It's...One day, I will die anyway. This thing in my chest - I won't be able to keep it stabilised forever. I'll die...and in the coming days after, I will explode, regardless. Why not choose my death? Why not give it meaning? Mystra gave me this task because she knew I could do it. And in doing so, I may regain her forgiveness for all wrongs I enacted upon her. She may bring me back into her graces, once it is all over. She knew I would do this, for her sake and everyone else's. It's...It's my duty, to use this curse for good. To sacrifice. I'm okay with that. It is the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes and...let go."

Despite his words, there was conflict brewing in those dark eyes.

"The slate will be clean. Wrongs will be righted, and the Absolute will be gone...and I along with it."

"Your duty?" Wyll scoffed out a laugh. "There nothing to die for in this. You've seen us, what we can accomplish, together. You do not need to throw away your life needlessly."

Wyll hesitated before he took Gale's hand in his once more, holding it tight and tilting his head down to meet his gaze. To allow his one good eye to stare into his very soul, tainted by Netherese magic or not.

"Listen...I might invoke the Triad from time to time, appeal to the Helm - but I am no man of faith. Not like you." He pursed his lips. "I don't know what drives a man to consider his own death, among countless others, to be an appropriate exchange for his goddess' forgiveness."

"I've told you, it's more complicated than that-" Wyll silenced him with a scowl.

"I told you to listen, and you will." Gale's jaw flexed, but he remained silent. Wyll's expression softened. "The faith that matters is that which you hold in yourself...In the ones who matter most to you." His thumb smoothed over the bruised, purple veins of the wizards hand, and Gale's previous irritation seemed to wane.

"Big bomb be damned, Gale, you have everything you already need to defeat the Absolute; talent, nerve and powerful allies at your side." He moved his hand away, and Gale's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach back out for the touch. "I hope you'll come to see that in time."

"I'm afraid I don't have much time left to begin with." Gale smiled ruefully, the upturn of his lip full of sorrow. "Time seems so infinite when you're young. A month is an age, a year is a lifetime...it is a strange feeling, to realise how little time you have left."

"You will see the end of this journey." Wyll assured. "You will return to Waterdeep once we've defeated the Absolute. For what is Waterdeep of, if not Gale?"

Gale managed a weak laugh at the warlocks play on words. He still looked tired, but there was a weight that had been eased off his shoulders, telling someone else of Mystra's order.

"You ask me to spurn my goddess twice?" He mused. "That's quite the request."

"I do not ask you to spurn her. I ask you to put yourself first. You can't desire to die."

"It would certainly be easier if I did." Gale's voice was almost a whisper, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. His head felt heavy. He had not slept well, not with thoughts of his impending doom keeping him up all night. It was easier to read than think about how death might feel. The final chapter of his book, coming to an end. Would he be recorded somewhere, one day in the future, as a hero?

"Is that why you...you rejected me that night?" Wyll asked, voice hesitant.

"The only reason, if I'm honest." Gale shook his head with a humourless huff, raising his gaze to meet Wyll's. "I...I meant it. The idea - it's pleasant."

"And something you may...want?" Wyll tested the waters.

"In another life, absolutely. It's not often you meet a man you are sure you could take back to your mother." Wyll laughed, a bashful flush warming his cheeks.

"Perhaps, when all of this is over...There will be time for me to meet her. And for you to meet my father in return." He offered.

"A daunting prospect. I might choose blowing myself into oblivion first." Gale's tired eyes twinkled with mirth.

"Don't think so low of yourself. He'll probably like you more, considering you don't have horns." Wyll leaned in closer, his arm astride Gale's lap, fingers curling into the linen sheets. Gale did not shy away from the closeness this time, and Wyll smiled. "Once this is all over...I do hope to be welcomed back home. Perhaps with a ball, to celebrate our victory."

"I may be able to obtain your fathers favour then, if he enjoys a waltz." Gale smirked. "Mine was a popular hand at the annual Blackstaff's Ball."

"My father, no. But I? I love to dance. And I could always go for a new dance partner. I'd wager you are as elegant on the dance floor as you are on the battlefield."

"I can't say elegant, but something of the sort." Gale's eyes softened, gazing at the man with budding affection.

"Are we going to kiss now, or am I misreading this for a second time?" Wyll smiled, his voice teasing as he took the wizard's face in hand.

"You're not." Gale whispered, dark eyes watching the swordsman as he stroked his beard. Tara may have her complaints, but Wyll didn't seem to. After so long without human contact...it felt heavenly. "You didn't misread anything, now or then."

"Good." Wyll closed the distance and pressed their lips together sweetly, sinking his fingers into soft brown hair, smoothing a few grey strands back with his thumb. Warmth grew in his cheeks, trailing down his neck and shoulders with the comfort of a lovers embrace, the sudden rush of butterflies making his lips stretched wider into a grin as he tilted his head to kiss him some more.

There was nothing hasty in the locking of lips, despite knowing his last day could be tomorrow - or could be a week from now. Gale couldn't help but simply savour it, letting the world slow down until he thought he could count the finest grains of sands falling through the hourglass. He hadn't realised how much he'd needed this.

He didn't want to hurt Wyll. He didn't. But he craved this, needed it, and if it was the last thing he did, he could die with little regret. He could feel his heart pumping harder, feeling the orb reacting to it's stirrings, and he had to pull back, laughing breathlessly as he placed his hand to his chest.

"Perhaps we should end things here. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to get...too excited. Not in my current condition." If he was honest, he was exhausted anyway. He wasn't sure he'd be of much service, all things considered.

"Of course, I-" Wyll laughed softly, unable to hide the nervous giddiness in his voice. "You should rest. You cannot face the morrow if you do not bid farewell to the now."

"Wise of you." Gale chuckled, his eyes slipping shut. He felt heavy, right down to the bone. "As much as I'd love to spend this day getting to know all of you, I can concede to just a taste."

"A tempting offer. But alas," Wyll shifted onto his knees and eased Gale's heavy head onto his shoulder, a gentle hand cupping the base of his skull as he laid him back down on the pillow. "You need rest. Sleep."

"You're acting like Tara, bossing me around like that." He groaned softly, tipping his head back against the pillow, rather comfortable despite his complaints.

"I am hardly bossy. Who's Tara?" Wyll quirked a brow, unable to help himself from moving a strand of dark hair from his face.

"My friend. A Tressym." Gale smiled softly, happy to talk of her. Wyll slowly laid on his side, a hand propping his head up as he watched the wizard. "I had to be...Gods. Only a boy when I summoned her. I was so proud. I had always wanted a cat. My parents did not."

"Hard to banish a magical cat, if they've grown to favour you." Wyll chuckled warmly.

"Too true, and favour me she did." Gale's expression held nothing but love for the Tressym. "She's my best friend. I love her more than anything. She's been by my side through this whole orb business for...years."

"Tell me more. I want to know everything." Wyll urged him on, eyes warm with fondness as the wizard continued, swaying between different topics. Speaking of his home in Waterdeep, of his mother, his favourite wine, and the first time he made a meal, which went a lot better than his past attempt at potions it seemed. He spoke until he couldn't manage anymore words, almost too exhausted to move his lips.

"I think...it's time I rest."

"We are in agreement." Wyll stroked a gentle hand through his hair, the wizard turning into it even in his dozing. Despite the dark bags beneath his eyes, he looked at peace in his slumber. The swordsman smiled to himself and took the hand resting over his chest, pressing a kiss to it, chaste even as he lingered.

"Goodnight, Gale." He murmured against his skin and laid there, eyeing a tome on the bedside table. He picked it up and opened it, perfectly content to wait for the man to wake.

[qat-fort]

The Tale Of Brainpulp, the Defender and Madman of Stinkfinger

So, I've been working on a volcano fort called Stinkfinger, and a dwarf named Sazir has been the most interesting dwarf there with 0 doubt in my mind. I don't have any images of when he originally migrated to Stinkfinger, but here's what he looks like now:

He migrated to Stinkfinger in the year 102, where he was immediately drafted into the army, which at the time was only 3 dwarves. He excelled at this, and before he even became a Expert Macedwarf, he managed to single handedly stop a goblin attack, almost entirely by himself.

I decided that he deserved to become leader of the militia after this. Granted, it was a very small raid (only 4 or 5 goblins), but considering that my other 2 mace dwarves didn't even contribute in the battle, I figured it was a fair promotion. He served me well as Stinkfinger grew, until a goblin raid in the year 103 had resulted in him having motor and sensory nerve damage so severe he could no longer walk, not even with a crutch. I didn't want to take him off the now royal guard because he was technically one of my most knowledgeable dwarves, so I had to settle with demoting him. He couldn't walk and had to crawl around on the ground, but he could at least pass on what he knew about the art of the mace to new recruits. Understandably, this major injury was upsetting to him.

Despite this, he still worked and trained hard, and actually became a Grandmaster Macedwarf, which was his dream! (sort of)

After he achieved his dream, he became sort of lost and didn't know what he wanted to do with his life. This plus the already large mental toll of his injuries, and the trauma that came with those injuries, overwhelmed him, and he started to show signs of madness by the year 107. He'd crawl around the halls, babbling nonsense. At this point I knew I had to do something, so I I checked his needs and his top need was that he wanted to make something. So I decided that I'd make a room just for him to make some rock crafts as a pass time. It seemed to of worked, somewhat, and after getting a few more Grandmaster mace dwarves, i figured it was for the best for him to retire. I ordered him to return his gear in the and to live a life of making rock figures so he could artistically work through his trauma.

Sazir thought this was a stupid idea, and expressed this by throwing a tantrum and giving a bard a DIY LOBOTOMY WITH HIS FUCKING FIST.

Despite committing this crime in broad daylight, no civilians reported this crime to the royal guard. Why? I have no clue. If I had to guess they didn't want Sazir to come for them next for snitching. I was upset by this, but since nobody reported him, I couldn't have him convicted. I could of done some cheesing to get him unofficially jailed, but I wanted to see how this would play out. I donned the nickname of "Brainpulp" to Sazir. Now a season or so later, Brainpulp did strike again, killing the exact same way he had before. This time however, someone reported it. Just as I was about to have him arrested however:

The largest goblin siege we've ever had came upon us. After deliberating, I decided it was fate that they had arrived when they did. Sazir could die doing the same thing that had made him so important; defending Stinkfinger. The goblins wanted to have parley, so they didn't mind waiting for Sazir to crawl around the fort to gather up his old equipment. I stationed him across from the goblin horde, alone. He would go down in a blaze of glory, gore, and goblins.

I thought that would be the end for Sazir Brainpulp, but he did the last thing i expected.

He ran.

He had literally nothing left to live for.

He had achieved his dreams, watched Stinkfinger grow from being a hole in the ground to the capital of our dwarven civilization, and had trained a fine royal guard. I figured the reason he had become so angry and hateful was because he was succumbing to the madness of having no real purpose anymore. I thought he knew that his stone crafts were simply a thing i told him to do as a way to distract him from that fact. I thought he was killing people because he was tricking himself into believing those dwarves were a threat to our home, much like the original siege goblins he had fought years prior to now. So I decided to give him one last final purpose and that was to sacrifice himself for the glory of our fortress.

I thought this was what he wanted.

I was wrong.

He crawled all the way back up the mountain to the entrance to Stinkfinger, and despite having clear orders to attack those goblins, he crawled deep into the fort, as far away as he could from the goblins marching upon us.

Fortunately, with our trained royal guard of macedwarves, we made quick work of this attack, despite it being the largest yet. When the last goblin had fallen, I checked to see where Sazir was, and he was sleeping in his room. Hiding from a honorable death.

He didn't want to retire and live out his days making stone crafts, and he didn't want to sacrifice himself in battle for our fort. So I'm not sure what he wanted. But whatever it was I couldn't provide it to him. The only thing I provided was a conviction. I convicted him for the murder of the dwarf he had killed earlier, and i ALSO convicted him of a artifact that someone else had stolen. There was no way we would ever catch the person who had done that particular crime, it was a cold case, so I figured that would be a substitute for the crime that is his cowardice.

So now lets fast forward to now, year 108. Brainpulp, now known as the local mad man, is still in his cell. You can usually hear him babbling if you happen to walk past near the doorway to the dungeon. At some point, in a fit of rage, he ripped all his clothes off and is now completely naked. His days are a cycle of insanity, brief gratuity when the poor carpenter Zuglar comes to gives him some water, then spiraling back into insanity.

Aside from Zuglar the only person he even remembers anymore is Rakust, one of his old students. Even that memory is hazy though, Sazir doesn't even remember what he looks like. The only other person Sazir claims to know aside from those two dwarves is god.

The once proud macedwarf is a hollow shell of what he once was, deteriorating after after being in confinement for so long. His prior injuries have become infected, no doubt after the poor bastard tore out his stiches.

His voice is raspy and hoarse after screaming about repentance for days on end, and his eyes have sunken into their sockets after months of guilt.

Despite his crimes and cowardice, I was starting to feel remorse for Sazir. Sazir as this fellow dwarves knew him had died in that cell ages ago, leaving behind something that could only be described as feral. I decided to see when his sentence was up, surely it would be soon, right? It had almost been a year, a i've never seen dwarve be jailed much longer than a year even for the harshest of crimes.

I checked his convition sheet and was stunned to see this:

Legally, he should of been let out ages ago most likely. Nobody has done it though. I guess the dwarves of Stinkfinger have come to fear Brainpulp, and have decided that he wouldn't be safe to release. I can't say I disagree with that.

Normally this is where his story ends, however when I built my dungeon, I built it in a very special way. I built it above a pool of magma, with levers hooked up to the grates outside of the cells. If for some reason i desired, I could pull the lever to a specific cell and have the convict in that cell killed instantly in the burning magma.

I could put him out of his misery. I'm not sure if I will yet, because theres the chance that, someday, one of my dwarves will free him, and he can leave Stinkfinger and try to find purpose for his broken life. If something important happens to Sazir, I'll be sure to let you guys know.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed this little mini story from my fort. If this proves to be popular I may do more of these.

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

I LOVE THE SPACE THEME FOR YOUR 750 FOLLOWERS EVENT AND YOU DESERVE THE FOLLOWERS SOSOSOSO MUCH AND MORE <33 ly you’re doing so great

our friendship’s been rather capricious over this past year since it kinda flickered out after i left tumblr and never really regained the same intensity when i came back, but we were pretty close once and you’ll be dear to my heart no matter what <3 it’s been an honour to see you and your blog (and your name list) grow!! i still remember when you first got your blog. and your rants about your first ex and stranger things and genshin. good times good times 😔😔 aging like fine wine fr (i sound like an old grandma recounting her glory days helpp)

anyways for the. requests. don’t be pressured to answer them at all (that’s potentially 750 people you’ll have to answer to… i wish you luck) but venus and earth would be cool <3

aaa anyways ily bye bye. hope this isn’t too weird + congrats again!!

thank you for visiting the planetarium! (trying not to get sappy here and save that for the letter dusinsisksjskske just know i adore you)

VENUS - i design you an outfit using pinterest - i can imagine you wearing something like this!!!

or something like this because you do give me the vibes of someone who would prefer a skirt to pants

EARTH - i write you a personal letter - dear cristie, i know we don't talk much now but you were once such a big part of my life, and i'll always be grateful for that. thank you for listening to my stranger things rambles even though we didn't always agree, thank you for listening to my genshin rambles even though you didn't play the game, thank you for listening to me ramble about my ex even though it must've been so frustrating watching me ignore every red flag in the book, and most of all thank you for all our delightful conversations about our writing. if im being honest i always felt a little inferior to you, you seemed so put together, your writing was so poetic and beautiful, it made mine pale in comparison. it was always strange to me when you complimented my writing, i'm now a little less insecure when it comes to my writing and i would like to thank you for being there in that awkward phase of my authorhood. you were such a big part of why i got into percy jackson you know? when my dad first got me the books i remember thinking to myself you would be proud, as i spiralled further and further into brainrot i remember thinking "if only cristie could see me now" (p.s: i finally watched the show and i'd love to talk about my thoughts with you <3) all in all, thank you for being such a delightful ray of sunshine, you're such an amazing person and i hope you know that. you'll always have a special sepia colored place in my heart, and though our friendship isn't quite as strong as it used to be, i sincerely hope maybe one day it will be. -signed, your old friend asher

i hope you enjoyed your visit!!! please come again :) (AKA TALK TO ME MORE ITS ALWAYS A JOY SEEING ASKS FROM YOU)

[irxnmaiden]

"All of the movies and comics I'd ever seen Scizor featured in portrayed them in such unpredictable roles: sometimes the hero, typically the anti-hero, occasionally a very well-written villain, the list continues. Despite this, or actually because of this, they were always intriguing to watch or read about. I inevitably found myself wondering, as far back as I can remember, what it'd be like meet one in person.

Bug-types are a whole other beast than steel, though, as I learned after befriending Bugsy. It seems to take a lot for them to trust a human, and it appears many of them hold a specific code of ethics, which has always been fun to observe... But, I'll be honest, training one seemed more than a little intimidating—and this is coming from someone who's wrangled two Steelix.

Though, I– can never turn down a gift. It was a complete surprise, when Bugsy sprung upon me the idea of a trade. At the time, I had Subo with me—the gentlest Shuckle you'd ever seen, though painstakingly shy. So shy, in fact, that he'd spend days at a time tucked within his shell. He wouldn't touch any of the berries I'd gather for him while walking Oshi, which would become increasingly worrisome as days rolled by...

I'd mentioned Subo a lot when hanging around the gang, so obviously everyone knew how dire the situation was. Bugsy, thankfully, was quick to offer his assistance, going as far as saying he had been training in-secret the "perfect Pokemon partner" for me. I must admit, I was perplexed, unable to imagine what he could possibly meant by that.

My eyes lit up, watching as the Scyther that appeared holding a metallic jar of film warped through forms right in front of me. She became– much taller than myself, looming over me with the most menacing stare, almost as if on instinct. Bugsy seemed incredibly pleased with himself, I guess completely missing my look of shock, because he and Subo were off before I knew it...

Subo is doing very, very well these days, by the way.

Hassa, as I dubbed her, was another story. While Subo began properly eating and becoming more sociable, Hassa and I struggled to communicate whatsoever. Any question I had, comment I made... they were all met with a death stare unlike any other. I could– sense the judgement there, and her disregarding commands in battle proved my hunch all the more. There was simply no getting through to her that, after exhausting every last resource I had at my fingertips, I eventually stopped trying.

I soon after began finalizing the paperwork for my new role as Olivine's Gym Leader. While the auditioning process had been fun, and really helped me break my shell when it came to interacting with others, the lead-up to assuming the role was just positively soul-crushing.

Finalizing my roster had a few bumps in the road, which didn't help things. Stahlos was much too "over-leveled" to properly conduct battles at my designated seat within the League, that his daughter Titania—freshly evolved, though still practically an infant—had to take the position as my ace instead. Admittedly, even despite earning my specialization and succeeding in every officiated demonstration, the steel-types I did have with me at the time weren't many. Hassa, being my only other fully-evolved Monster, didn't make the cut—something I was secretly thankful for.

The twins assumed the final two slots, and within a week the doors to the Gym were reopened. In walked a Lass—Melody, if I'm remembering correctly—and my career as Leader officially began its course.

Stories at the time were breaking left and right about a "Team Rocket", a name I heard a lot of when I'd first moved to Olivine a year or so prior. People began acting more paranoid, more shifty—even around those they were closest to? I wasn't getting enough sleep at that time, and not because of the public's shift in consciousness, but because I was beyond exhausted. Gym leading wasn't at all the glamour and glory seen in movies and whatnot, it's intensive and demanding. Things I had expected when walking in, but not to the extents to which I was pushed.

Battling lost its spark, and quick. No challenger that passed through those doors was able to take out Titania, which led to my reputation extending from Olivine to all throughout Johto, probably even Kanto. The media began hounding me more, in between segments about shady instances that were happening all throughout the region. To put it bluntly, my patience was what was being tested at the time, while my skills were not.

And I'm sure Hassa took note of that. I could see it in her glare that she didn't take me seriously, that she saw me as unfit to be her mentor. It stung, it really did. But I continued to push for that spark to return, and kept pushing until my fingers bled.

In walked Kris, one day. We'd connected in Goldenrod months before that point. The wildest thing was finding out that our fathers knew each other, that they'd grown up together in Alto-Mare and had been pals. Dad was still a– sore subject, for me, but it felt nice meeting someone with a familiar background. We became incredibly close, as we are to this day—I know few people more reliable than her.

But, in battle, history is swept aside. I'd heard of her track record up to that point, and extensively. After becoming the first person to take down Whitney's Miltank in goodness knows how long, I knew to be prepared. I wiped the sleep from my eyes, straightened my focus—I would not stand to be upstaged in my own Gym, and especially not against someone I held such a deep respect for.

I felt my blood pumping once again as sparks lit up that old arena. I found myself forgetting about Rocket, responsibilities, expectations, my dad–

Though it ended with me handing out my first Mineral Badge, I still feel as though I won something from that match, too.

Is it strange, for a Gym Leader to celebrate a loss? Maybe so... but, celebrate we did.

Over the course of that night, Hassa's whole energy had seemed to be... changing. I could tell a softening in that once-cold stare, her domineering stature less tense than before. She seemed more willing to mingle with me and the others, and it was so starkly different that I was caught completely off guard. I was as surprised as I was when we'd first met, though my surprise now came built with a foundation.

We both seemed to learn things about ourselves, that day."

[rachelfinder]

Usher and the Baby Spine

In the summer of 2017, I spent hours at lots of local skate parks. I lucked out because my brother-from-another-mother was in town for the whole summer and we hit up as many parks as we could while he was here. At the time, I was working on whatever park trick seemed to fit the park (rather than just focus on one skill at a time), so when we found ourselves at Cornerstone in Lakewood, the baby spine called my name.

Spines are harder than just regular coping. It's two bars, rather than one, and you can't stall on the coping. You've got to straddle both bars at the same time. It's totally doable, but it's a mind-freak. Your brain says, "Nope."

It took a few tries, but I managed to not only land on the spine, but I also managed to come off it to the transition on the other side without biffing it.

Yeah. That's that moment. I'm keeping this picture of my success as my desktop these days. Seeing it reminds me of the baby steps it took to get over the spine. It also reminds me of the joy of succeeding.

Who knew that in seven more years I'd be working on a roller skate invention? And that other roller skaters would find it useful?

This past weekend the world watched as Usher introduced the glory that is Black roller skating. His dancers and skaters took what the rest of us in the community knows and loves and showed the world what is possible on eight wheels. And he did it while transitioning from the field to the stage, going from sneakers to skates in a matter of seconds.

As the inventor of a wheel locker, I was immensely curious to find out how was he going to go from walking to rolling. The internet exploded the following day, with the makers and designers of the Flippers skate boots, Riedell skate manufacturers and Sk8Fanatics skate shop all celebrated the collaboration that created the skates for Usher and his skaters.

Those blue and black high top babies are glorious. Sleek, clean design, beautiful suede leather, and lots of Velcro straps for easy on-easy off.

If you're willing to spend a grand on the boots (just the boots), you can have a pair too!.

As someone who balks whenever I need to spend $$$ on new wheel bearings or toestops, that definitely ain't happening for me. And it probably won't happen for a lot of other skaters.

The last two days got me thinking about the Skooties skate locker: it gives a skater the same ability to go from walking to skating in the same amount of time. It's as easy to take on and off, just like a Velcro strap on a skate boot. But the one thing that separates Skooties from Usher's skates is that they are AFFORDABLE.

There's nothing wrong with having a pricey product (Apple Vision Pro, anyone?). And some entrepreneurs swear by creating high-ticket items and only selling to an elite few. Meh. I'm happy that Skooties are something that everyone in the roller skate community can easily access. Now's the time for the work of getting it out there and into skate shops.

Is it easy launching a new product? Nope. It's a lot of work. It's baby steps. It's just like learning to skate over a baby spine.

[halimayronwood]

he was calm, measured as he stepped around the table and dared her with a look to escalate this, to hit him, to claw at his skin until she drew blood. she entertained those thoughts for a minute, nails biting half-moons into the flesh of her own palms. her own demeanour was the near opposite, her anger an exposed nerve that for some reason begged to be pressed upon. to hurt, and know why it was it hurt. when it came to him, she was always poised upon the brink, and every time, she would take that leap, knowing that if she did not, he would push her anyway.

"wealth and no spine," she echoed, and it was all she could do not to spit on the floor. "use your brain. what good is their wealth to me, armaan? what use is their name?" and she stepped closer, closing the space he seemed so eager to command. "and if i die split open on the birthing bed, who would own them then? do not delude yourself into thinking they'd raise my children to be loyal to yronwood, rather than heirs to challenge yours, unless you dashed their brains across the kingsgrave courtyard."

she was shouting no more, her voice dropping to a near whisper, but they were no softer, still hard enough to cut like steel, but under them was something else, a meaning she knew he would catch, and a wound she would never fully expose. "that you would take that risk for a bit of coin that you'd have anyway is not strength. it's desperation."

her gaze lingered on him for a second, and then she placed hands upon his chest, shoving him with all the strength she could muster. she hated him in that moment, and she hated herself more. she would mould herself into any shape he needed her to be, but not that. halima knew what she was, and it was not someone's wife.

"do you think i want to burn it all? that i'd take joy in it? no. i do what needs to be done, because somebody has to." in truth, she did not know what would bring her joy, anymore. that was a feeling she had bid goodbye to a long time ago. how much of halima was left, and how much had been blighted beyond recognition by the rage that she nursed inside her, she couldn't truly say.

"then i'll fix it my way." no matter how hard he pushed her, how he toyed with her, she would not break. he may have found satisfaction in that, too, in watching her crack, splinter at the seams, go out in a blaze of glory, and that, she would stubbornly deny him. "it will not be an issue by the time you return. but, if the gods are merciful, the dragons will do my job for me." the look she gave him was pointed. whether by valyrian steel or dornish blade, who would question a casualty of war.

"go to your front lines." the faintest flicker of a smile crossed her lips, a bitter thing. "do what you must. but don't forget who it is you're leaving behind to hold the rest of it together."

꙰

armaan let her fury fill the room, a storm he neither feared nor sought to calm. he remained seated, his fingers drumming idly against the edge of the table, each tap a deliberate counterpoint to her bellowing. she was volcanic, all heat and pressure, ready to erupt, and yet he met her with the unhurried poise of someone who thrived on chaos. halima’s rage was his arena, her scorn the fuel that kept him sharp.

"oh, not the chair." he uttered, his tone dripping in sarcasm. but he relished this. he loved this. seeing her become in such a way.

armaan let the silence stretch, letting her words batter the walls of the room like a storm. her anger was a familiar force, but never one he sought to calm. no, halima was most herself in the midst of fury, and he wouldn’t rob her of it. not yet. there was something akin to a general looking upon their protégé, a level of corruption and disillusion that now seemed to stare right back at it. a monster looking at his own creation, and just by taking one look at her and the shadows that crossed her features, he understood she was far worse. worse and too far gone, even compared to him.

he pushed his chair back slowly, the scrape deliberate, a counterpoint to her explosion. rising to his feet, he stepped around the table with a languid confidence that dared her to strike him, dared her to do anything but simmer in her rage. “the manwoodys has wealth,” he said finally, his voice low and steady, like the desert wind before it turns violent. “and no spine to challenge you. you’d own them, with something more legitimate and permanent than haunting their halls.” his gaze flicked to her clenched fists, then back to her face, unreadable beneath his own carefully crafted mask.

“but no, you’d rather scorn the idea outright. because he isn’t a soldier. isn’t a killer.”

the tension between them was suffocating, but armaan thrived in it. his jaw tightened, his voice now deliberate and precise, like a blade finding its mark. “if you hate it, fix it. turn him into what you think a man should be. or don’t. burn it all to the ground. that’s what you do, isn’t it?” a humorless laugh escaped him, barely a breath. “torch everything until there’s nothing left but ash.” he stepped closer, his movements deliberate, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you said no loose ends,” he said, voice dropping lower, as if the words were a challenge meant only for her.

“so handle it. just get it done, before i venture to the front lines. there is much to do, things of actual importance.” and that were the reality of it; even when he did not mean to be dismissive of her concerns, he just naturally was. "we'll discuss it when i'm back. perhaps we pray as many of them are taken out in the conflict."

[morganas-pendragons]

Nobility | Elijah Mikaelson

as I am writing this I am currently on 4x17 of the vampire diaries and I had a whole dream about this man last night that prompted me to write this fic. and he's hot. okay. I love the complexity of his character.

anyway, this isn't too long but I had to get this out. possible part 2 if you guys like it. enjoy!

***

He's not somebody worthy of being loved. He knows that. Someone who has committed the atrocities he did, someone who had lived a long enough life to be sure that he was at peace when death came for him.

Pushing people away is better. Mikaelsons are artists at that. When you have lived long enough to see the same eyes in different generations of people, it becomes difficult to allow yourself to feel things like what Elijah believes himself to be feeling right now.

Love, if memory serves him correctly.

You were just a simple person. Someone who didn't ask for a lot, someone who took joy in the little things rather than the things that often drew people to him and his brothers. Money. Extravagance. You were not interested in that.

You were just interested in him. The man across the cobblestone street who would simply stand by and watch you play violin from dawn until dusk. The way he would always smile when he thought you weren't looking and the way his eyes looked when the sunlight reflected off of them just the right way.

You found beauty in the every day. Him? He was ethereal, and that drew your attention.

He almost never approached you for the first several weeks that you took your street corner, but every time you came back from your breaks you found two hundred dollars in your violin case.

Generous and curious. Interesting.

The days that handsome stranger was there the most was when you played older music. It seemed to ring familiar to him. Like it reminded him of something better. When you recognized what his favorites were, you made an effort to play only those whenever he came around.

It's a shame he was drawn to you so easily.

"Excuse me?" That wonderful, brilliant accent rang clearly behind you as you turned away from the coffee stand parallel to your corner. "I thought I would formally introduce myself to you. My name is Elijah."

Of course you knew who he was. The Mikaelsons had only helped established New Orleans. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Mikaelson." You replied. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

He was handsome, dressed in that deep navy suit with the crisp white tie. Dressed immaculately and finely groomed. Someone definitely had an appearance to maintain.

"I'd rather you give me your name."

You smile around the plastic rim of your cup as you reply with your name. His eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles as he hears it. It's just as lovely as you are.

"And yours?" You ask.

"Elijah. Elijah Mikaelson."

***

Christmas came easily enough. Tips were always better around this time of year, and you were meant to be one of the featured violinists in the Christmas festivities on the square. People came and people went. You were always smiling. Always joyful.

The world had spared you from pain.

Or that was at least what Elijah thought.

"Where is this girl that you haven't stopped yammering on about?" Klaus remarked as the two of them moved down the cobblestone street in the direction of the Christmas lights and the smell of hot cocoa. "Because I have heard many a violinists in my day but with the way you talk about her-"

Elijah jabbed his brother in the side and pointed to the stage. There you were in all your glory, dressed in one of those typical Santa suits for women that was just a little bit too short and had that ridiculous hat. He'd never understood the purpose behind that story that catered to children's dreams.

"Her. That's her."

"Ah, I can see why you're drawn to her." Klaus murmured. "Innocence is not something we're accustomed to, brother."

Maybe that's why he was so drawn to you. You in all your innocent beauty, a simple human, someone he was so desperate to know to see if this one person... this one girl.... could help him believe the one thing about himself he's been trying so hard to deny.

After an encore, Elijah made his way down the center aisle of the rows of chairs that had been set up to greet you as you were putting your things away. "Hello dear." He greeted, to which you turned to gaze at him over your shoulder with that smile that was just a bit uneven but radiant all the same. "That was a wonderful performance."

Your reddened cheeks brightened at the compliment. You'd never been able to take praise well, but the constant compliments and obvious attention from such a well known, handsome man made them difficult to ignore. "You've been at all of them." You reply. It's hard to deny him when he offers you his arm, but you hook your case over your shoulder and take his offered arm as you begin walking back down the aisle. "I have to ask, Elijah. What is it about me that draws someone like you? I'm not anything special. Just a simple violinist."

He paused mid-step and hooked a hand around your waist to stop you before you could continue further. A soft gasp broke past your lips as your hand caught his chest, resting just above his heart as he met your eyes.

"Something I have realized in my life Is that someone like me needs a little bit of simplicity." Elijah paused. His fingertips dragged across your jaw and rested just against the curve of your lips as he leaned in, slow and gradual, before continuing, "And a little bit of innocence."

The first snowflake landed on your nose as you allowed yourself to be kissed. To be drawn in by him and surrounded by him.

It's like something straight out of a Christmas movie. And that is just one of the many dreams that a simple girl aches for.

Elijah Mikaelson. You murmur to yourself as you pull away and curl a hand at the nape of his neck. I want to know you.

"Mr. Mikaelson?"

"Dear," He said lowly. "I told you. Please call me Elijah."

"Alright then, Elijah." His heart nearly stopped in his chest when you linked your fingers through his own and tugged him back in the direction of the center of town. "If you are so set on knowing me, then I want to know about you."

He would've normally hesitated. Why would someone want to know the truth about him and his family? All the horrible things they'd done? The truth was not kind. The truth would drive you away.

Elijah didn't want to drive you away. He wanted you. But someone like you would never fall in love with someone like him.

And that would be the most difficult part.

But this? Listening to your laughter as you moved down the snow covered street, cobblestones slippery beneath your boots and hat loosely hanging on your head, you just looked so.. innocent. Free.

That was the most beautiful part of that Christmas.

***

It was late at night weeks later when Rebekah brought it up to you. Elijah was asleep across the couch from you, feet bare and suit jacket discarded as he slept with his chin propped against his knuckles. It was... oddly sweet.

"If you keep looking at him like that, he's going to wake up and then ask why you've been staring at him so hard for the last hour."

She laughed as you launched a pillow at her from across the room. "Rebekah, I told you... I can't tell him yet!" You hissed. You and the youngest sister of the Mikaelsons had gotten along rather well right from the start for one easy reason. You'd shown her compassion and treated her like a person. Not a monster. Elijah hadn't told you about his families atrocities other then the fact they were vampires and were over a thousand years old. That they'd only had each other. "How am I supposed to compare to anyone? You're all... you're all eternal and forever. I'm finite. I'll turn to dust."

"Maybe that's something he needs. We... really haven't been around humans. Not humans we liked. You have something we haven't seen."

You quirked a brow and pressed the pillow closer to your chest. Rebekah didn't continue as she watched your gaze turn back to Elijah before you were standing to your feet and quietly padding to the other side of the couch. Your hands slipped under his arms as you lifted his body just enough to slide your own behind it, resting the pillow against your chest for his head to rest there.

"I've been watching the three of you. Him since we met on the corner, you and Niklaus since he introduced me to you both." Your voice was soft as you ran your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, smiling as he eased into your touch. "And I've noticed things about you all. Things I've seen in humans that I didn't think I'd see in ageless vampires."

"You make being immortal sound prophetic."

You shrug. "I'm just someone who pays attention. I'm human, can you blame me? I'm curious."

Rebekah took a long sip of her brothers scotch before nodding for you to continue. "Well, go on then. Impress me."

"You're spiteful and hateful and bitter because you crave something you weren't shown as a child. Affection." The admission rolled off your tongue so effortlessly and the way Rebekah paled at it only further confirmed your point. "You don't know love, Bek. None of you do."

She shrugged as if it didn't matter, like that statement didn't cut her deep to her core. You'd seen the same reaction in Elijah and Klaus multiple times. Klaus was starved for the same thing. And Elijah... he just wanted to know he was a better man then he'd been led to believe.

"If memory serves right, which it usually does, my brother mentioned to me he didn't tell you about our family atrocities." She replied. "Believe me. You do not want to know our sins."

"I don't need to. I have eyes." You retort. "But I see you three. I get the feeling most people haven't. No one has ever taken the time to see you as people. You're vampires, sure. But you also used to be human and it still lingers." Rebekah's gaze is so.. soft. Like she's awed by you. According to Elijah, it's hard to get someone like Rebekah to like you. You had seemed to do the impossible. Niklaus... he was a bit of a different story. "Niklaus is cruel and cold, bloody and manipulative. I imagine that has something to do with the way your parents treated him. And Elijah..."

"He fancies you. You should've heard the first time he came home from the quarter and mentioned a brilliant, kind violinist he'd found." Your cheeks reddened as Rebekah grinned wickedly. "One who had been spared of pain. Which is funny. A simple human girl attracting an Original.. We should've seen it coming."

"Let me finish, stubborn woman!" You exclaim. "I don't know where you got the misconception I have been spared of pain. I have hurt. I have bled. I have lost. I've been on my own so long that I forgot what it was like to not be lonely anymore until I met him." Both pairs of eyes flicker down to the man sleeping against you. Part of you wondered if he was listening to everything you said. Maybe he wasn't sleeping at all, but it was nice to see him look so peaceful. "Elijah wants to be noble. He wants to be a man of honor. He considers himself noble because that's what he wants to be. He can't be like where he's from. Who he was. He wants to be better." A pause. "And I want to help him achieve that."

There was a long period of silence before Rebekah spoke, "And how do you plan to do that?"

"By asking him to turn me."

That's when his eyes open. The room is filled with the warmth of the fire and the sweet smell of your perfume, but his stomach rolls at the thought of taking away the one thing that makes you so unique compared to the other humans he's met.

What will make you more noble: Taking away her innocence, or leaving her with it?

Which will push her away?

Will it be worth it in the end?

***

He's not somebody worthy of being loved. He knows that. Someone who has committed the atrocities he did, someone who had lived a long enough life to be sure that he was at peace when death came for him.

Pushing people away is better. Mikaelsons are artists at that. When you have lived long enough to see the same eyes in different generations of people, it becomes difficult to allow yourself to feel things like what Elijah believes himself to be feeling right now.

Love, if memory serves him correctly.

He doesn't know if he'll ever get that again.

[mintugiyuu]

> here’s the final part of your request @kyojoroo ! I’m so sorry it’s in two different parts, but I learned for the first time that these text boxes have a limit lmao, again I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night! <3

༄ we have to stop meeting like this - continued

sfw one-shot

➥ pairing || rengoku kyojurou x reader

➥ au || modern day; college

➥ warnings || cheesy, tooth-rotting fluff with extra cheese

➥ synopsis || the reader keeps bumping into the one and only rengoku kyojurou; only instead of just casually seeing him over and over again, they quite literally bump into him in the most inconvenient ways possible. (cont.)

➥ part one || click here!

༄ the mediterranean sea collection - masterlist

Today had to be one of the worst days in your life. Freezing, drenched, and newly homeless, you tucked yourself onto the bus stop bench. Lucky you, this one didn't even have an awning to protect you from the elements.

The rain had no pity for your predicament as it pelted your body, the light clothing doing close to nothing for you. Summer had just come, yet the night rainfall seemed to have brought an unexpected chill.

Not to mention the suitcase and duffle bag you had with you were now also getting soaked.

You could only hope nothing was too waterlogged.

Your hand did little to protect your dying phone from getting wet as you tried to search for the nearest place to stay. Motel, hotel, air B'N'B; anything in range to get you off the streets for the night.

You had a feeling this would happen, and boy were kicking yourself for not seeing the red flags and preparing sooner.

Not having enough savings for a dorm, you had signed a contract with the residents of an apartment to rent out one of the rooms for cheap.

The agreement only lasted for two semesters, but they had promised that you'd be able to renew it once summer rolled around.

"Promise my ass." You grumbled, remembering how the original owner had gotten a partner. In return, they refused to let you sign another contract so they would have space for the "love of their life".

You saw the signs; you saw how their stuff slowly moved into the apartment and all the time they were spending there.

You just didn't think they'd be shitty enough people to kick you out the moment your contract ended.

A gust of icy wind rolled through, causing another shudder to rack your body. The closest place wasn't in walking distance, and it was far to late for the buses to be running. Sighing, you shut off your phone and closed your eyes.

You had resigned yourself to walk the several blocks to the nearest 24/7 fast food place to at least get out of the rain.

That was until the rain fall suddenly stopped beating down on you. The rain couldn't have stopped though, you could still hear it. You blinked your eyes open and looked up, surprised to what - or more accurately, who - you saw.

"...Kyojurou?"

Standing there in all his warmth and glory, Kyojurou looked down at you with concern, holding a bright red umbrella over your soaked form.

He couldn't seem to help the small smile that graced his lips at the sound of his first name.

"I'd be happier that you finally used my name if you didn't look so sad and drenched."

A humorless snort escaped your lips as you hugged yourself, shivering slightly. "Timing always has my side doesn't it? I'm just about to head to the closest food place to get out of the rain, so don't worry about it."

"Why?"

"I got kicked out," you shrugged, looking to the ground.

"This late at night?"

"It surprised me too. They found a new roommate and wouldn't let me renew my contract for the next school year, and it just so happens it ended tonight." There was a hint of bitterness in your tone, one that was completely understandable.

Kyojurou's brows furrowed. "They didn't give you a heads up? A two week notice?"

"I'm just lucky they let me pack all of my stuff before I had to leave." You continued to look down at the ground, not seeing the way Kyojurou's face contorted ever so slightly.

He didn't get mad often, but whoever your old roommates are were now on his shit list

"Well that's a shitty thing to do," he stated bluntly, causing you to sputter and blink dumbly at him.

It's been almost a year since you've met the blonde, and in all that time you never once heard him say a single bad word.

"Did you just curse??"

He pretended not to hear, pulling out his own phone to see the time as you mulled over the fact that this sweet ray of sunshine just called someone shitty.

Expression neutralizing as he schemed, he turned back to you. "You don't have to stay in a fast food place for the night."

"Huh?? Are you suggesting I sleep in a box?"

The man smiled, resting a reassuring hand on top of your shoulder, frustration forgotten for now. "You can stay with me!"

"What now?"

Chuckling, he passed the umbrella off to you to hold, beginning to slip his arms out of the jacket he wore. "You can stay with me for the time being until you get back on your feet! Well, us. If you wanted to of course! Sanemi just moved out, so we're looking for a new one regardless."

Baffled at the sudden offer, you started to shake your head, forming the words to decline him. It was too big of a favor, how could you accept that?

He was one step ahead of you, as he always is.

"Before you say anything, no, it would not be any trouble, you're a joy to have around! We can settle the nitty gritty later, let's just get you out of the cold."

"Wait, Kyojurou," you were silenced by a heavy warmth that suddenly engulfed your upper body, including your sight. Moving the fabric from your eyes, you realized it was his jacket.

His once dry clothes was slowly becoming just as soaked as you were as he took back the umbrella, insistently keeping it solely above you.

The gentle way he smiled in combination with the light post that shined behind his head had you convinced he was your guardian angel in disguise.

You hesitantly pulled the jacket closer to your body, not being able to deny how relieving the warmth felt. "But, won't you be cold?"

"My insides are practically pocket heaters, it takes a lot for me to be cold. A little wind and rain won't do anything to me, I promise! Now come on, before you get sick," he insisted as he grabbed your bag, throwing them over his shoulder.

"Little" was an understatement, but you didn't have the energy to argue. It was the middle of the night and you could feel your eyes starting to droop.

Grabbing your luggage to role behind, you let the other wrap his free arm around your form, hand resting on your arm. "Thank you, truly I don't know where to start showing how grateful I am. I owe you big time."

"Never refer to me as Rengoku-san again and I'll call it even!"

A wobbly smile tugged at your lips as you leaned into his side, letting him guide you down the route to his apartment. "You have a deal then, Kyojurou."

The weather broadcasters warned everyone about heavy snowfall, but you couldn’t help but think they could’ve prepared everyone a bit more as you stared out your window and could only see the shadow of snow.

Thank the gods above it was winter break or they’d have to cancel classes, which would just be tuition money flushed down the shitter.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door of the bedroom you were in, which was odd because the door was open.

Low and behold, it was your sweetheart of a boyfriend, holding two mugs and using his foot to knock. “I brought hot coco!”

"You don't have to knock, this is your room you dork."

"Our room technically, my dear." He responded smoothly, shutting the door with his foot behind him as he made his way to you.

"Careful not to spill it," he winked, laughing slightly as he handed you your mug.

"Just for that I should," you scoffed playfully, sticking your tongue out at him as you took the drink. The smile on his face was nothing but adoring, finding you to be adorable. You had to look away to dismiss the butterflies that swarmed in your tummy. “Looks like we’re snowed in for a bit. The snow is above the windows.”

Kyojurou hummed in agreement. “I still don’t understand how tiny snowflakes can become so damaging so fast!”

“You’re funny,” you chuckled, taking a sip of the hot beverage. Kyojurou always made the best hot chocolate.

“... UME! I’m glad I can be amusing!” You couldn't hold down the snort at the realization that he wasn't joking, swallowing and shaking your head. You granted him mercy and switched the subject.

“What are the others up to?”

Kyojurou leaned against the sill next to you, shoulder bumping yours affectionately. “Tengen is in the living room playing video games with his girlfriends, Mitsuri is watching a movie in her room and Obanai is watching with her. I think she's also painting his nails from the conversation I overheard while passing by."

“I see.”

The both of you were leaning against the window sill, basking in the comfortable silence. It wasn't common in an apartment full of unique roommates.

Even now you both could hear the loud victory cheer of Suma as Tengen groaned in defeat.

Taking another sip of your drink, you hummed, lifting your head to face Kyojurou. You were going to say something, but that was forgotten as you covered your mouth with your fingers as to not laugh suddenly.

"Hm? Is something wrong?" Your poor oblivious lover had a whipped cream mustache. He tilted his head at you - not unlike an owl - seemingly confused to your sudden shift in expression. You swallowed your laughter down as you placed your drink onto the sill, stepping closer to the blonde.

"No, nothing's wrong. You just have a little something rigghtt..." you reached out to grip his chin gently, swiping your thumb across his top lip to collect the whipped cream. "-there, all gone!"

A pretty, bright red color spread across Kyojurou’s face, wide eyes blinking owlishly at you with his mouth slightly agape. Laughing quietly at his reaction, you licked the cream off your thumb, patting the side of his cheek teasingly.

"You'll catch flies, hun." A click of teeth could be heard as he closed his mouth.

"RIGHT!" He stopped himself to clear his throat, turning to face the window as his usual smile reappeared, though a bit wobbly. "Thank you!"

All you did was hum, a slight mischievous smirk settling onto your face. You were set to happily go back to your drink when you shivered, the chill of the room finally reaching you through your clothes.

Kyojurou caught it from the corner of his eye, turning back to you. “Are you cold?”

You waved him off, shaking your head. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, you'll just get another sweatshirt.

“I’ll be ok. The hot coco will warm me up in- WOAH!” That plan was thrown out the window when he suddenly scooped you up into his broad arms, smiling determinedly.

"You're not allowed to just continue on being cold, not if I can help it!" The firey man plopped you down onto your shared bed, quickly gathering the collection of fluffy blankets you have accumulated over time.

In the blink of an eye, you were neatly swaddled in said blankets and being held gently to your boyfriend's warm chest. He settled underneath the main blanket, wrapping his strong arms around your body.

“Is that better?” He beamed at you, looking oh so proud of himself.

What did you do to deserve him?

"Much," you all but groaned, snuggling your face into the warmth of his chest. It was like cuddling a big warm marshmallow. “I still can’t understand how you’re so warm.”

“I’m a living-breathing heater, my dear. I’ve explained this before, I’m sure of it.”

You snorted, leaning into his hand as he began to run his fingers through your hair. “I’m not complaining, you’re good to keep around for whenever my hands freeze.”

“I wouldn’t mind one bit," his voice came out softly, planting a warm kiss to onto your forehead. This in turn caused you to melt even further into him, burying your face into his shirt.

Kyojurou laughed with amusement as he turned on the television, looking for something for the two of you to watch for the rest of the evening. You eventually peaked your head out to look at him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“Hey, Kyojurou?”

“Yes?”

All of his attention was on you. Even in these small moments he looks at you as though you're the most precious human being in the world. And to him, you were.

You hummed, placing a kiss onto his chin. “I’m happy I spilled my drink all over you.”

The small peck had similar effects from the whipped cream incident earlier, though he seemed to snap out of it quicker this time. He smiled brighter, cupping your cheek with his large, warm hand.

“That's an odd way of saying I love you."

This made you pause, the 'L-word' not being used between the two of you yet. “Wait, what?"

He gave you no time to question further as he placed a kiss onto your lips in return, his other hand finding the small of your back to pull you closer.

The initial shock of being kissed faded quickly, your arms finding their way around his neck as you pulled yourself closer. The kiss was short and sweet, yet the passion that Kyojurou lived by was always present.

The kiss came to a pause with you laying on top of his chest, remote forgotten and blankets wrapped around you as you steadied your breathing.

Kyojurou's eyes crinkled slightly with his smile, brushing the back of his hand across your cheek.

"I love you too."

[shadowsinger11]

Taking Care Of You

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Major fluff and also smut, oral (female receiving), first time with your adorable werewolf boy, the good stuff

A/N: Heyo did you really think I'd spend years in the fanfic world without writing content myself? I think it's time I finally share some of my writing on here. Wattpad was my old love but it now brings cringy memories of me thinking I can write lmao. Enjoyyy

Masterlist

Being friends with the infamous Marauders sure was an adventure.

No matter how many times you'd get in trouble because of their mischief-making, you couldn't help but love those dorks, always being ready to defend them if punishment was to be expected. In return, Peter, Sirius, James and Remus absolutely adored you and they basically adopted you as their own the minute you first stood up for them in front of your stoic and most of the time quite unfair Potions teacher. This was the beginning of a bond which neither of you thought you'd create. It didn't take them very long to trust you since you had proved multiple times that you're on their side and the boys loved having you around.

The whole school was aware of how close you were with the three pranksters but almost no one bothered to differentiate them - to Hogwarts, James, Remus, Sirius and Peter were just "the marauders". Very few people knew them individually and thought of them as separate people without having to associate one with the other two.

Needless to say, you were one of those very few people.

You loved each of the boys for their own personalities. They were so different but together they balanced each other out and that's what made them an unstoppable team.

Even though you had a strong friendship with all three, your connection ran much stronger with Remus. Due to him being way more caring and emotionally mature, he was able to understand you better and provide the best advice. At first you saw his intelligence as intimidating, worrying you'd accidentally embarrass yourself in front of him, but then you realised how much of an idiot Sirius could be around him so you began to get more comfortable. With time you also understood that Lupin was basically just a fluffy smart puppy.

His friendly but somehow shy personality was enough for you to trust him in no time and after awhile so did he. At first Remus was very hesitant to reveal his secret to you but instead of being scared or disgusted when you found out he was a werewolf, you were more intrigued than anything else.

Since then he'd be way more open about his feelings with you thus your friendship grew even stronger. You'd also feel free to share with him your struggles and count on him to help you out and cheer you up. Sometimes he'd take you out for a butterbeer and you'd spend a chill evening together in a cozy café.

If you were tired though, Remus would love to just lie down in his bed with you and cuddle.

Normally he enjoys being the big spoon, but he later found out he'd much rather bury his head in your neck or chest and wrap his arms around your midsection, tangling his legs with yours. This way he felt like he could truly protect you. You would always blush when he suddenly nuzzled his face into your chest, especially at first because you weren't sure what his feelings for you were.

When he later told you he was in love with you, it took you by surprise but the idea itself didn't surprise you. It just felt right.

Now the cuddling sessions felt much more intimate to both of you.

Remus could hear your heartbeat getting faster when he would occasionally press kisses to your neck or chest while basically being wrapped around you.

It filled him with pride when he looked up and saw how flustered you had become because of the gesture.

You would look down at him in admiration and run your fingers through his messy brown hair, trying to play off the fact that your mind was buzzing with thousands of thoughts. There was no hiding this from Remus, he could see your blushing cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes.

Sometimes he'd love to tease the hell out of you by continuously kissing and nipping at you sensitive skin until your breathing got uneven or you accidentally let out a moan.

The latter would give him a huge ego boost and he'd look all smug about it. He'd usually just genuinely smile at you but when he'd smirk at you during these moments, it made your knees buckle.

You'd discreetly try to relieve the tension between your legs by slightly rubbing your thighs together but Remus always took notice.

When it came to you getting dirty, it started off slow.

You were softly kissing on his bed, you straddling his lap.

Your kisses became more urgent and needy as you grabbed his soft hair. Remus tested the waters by moving his lips down to your neck. He knew you'd become flustered but he wanted to see how long he could keep doing this to you for.

Soon you were tugging at his locks and panting heavily, instinctively rubbing your clothed pussy up and down against his crotch.

Remus found himself getting hard on the spot. He wanted to have you right then and there but he knew he had to be careful with you.

"Is it okay if I take this off?" he asked, gesturing to your house themed shirt.

A little hesitant, you nodded and he peeled the clothing off your body. You helped him take off his own shirt as well, his Gryffindor uniform finding its place next to yours on the floor. However, you still had your bra on.

Once he reached to unclasp it, your smile faltered.

"What's wrong, my love?" he softly asked, looking up at his lover in concern.

"Nothing! I just… I don't think you'll like what you'll see…" you muttered in embarrassment. You had learned to dislike your body overtime, thinking your appearance would never make a guy find you attractive or desirable, but Remus was determined to help you change your mindset. He pecked your nose and looked into your eyes.

"My darling, I assure you there's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, look at my scars. You still love me with them, huh? You like how I look," he stated, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "Even if you don't like your imperfections, I love them and I'll teach you to love them too. Now please let me admire you, sweetheart."

Always soft spoken, he never failed to make you melt with his words.

Now, a bit less hesitant, you let him take off your bra.

Once you were uncovered for him to see, he slowly trailed his fingers up your waist until he cupped your breasts. His fingers felt warm and soft against your skin. When you looked up at him, his reaction surprised you.

His eyes were significantly darker, eyeing you up and down hungrily. Something between a whimper and a growl escaped his throat and he whispered, seeming out of breath.

"My love, you're stunning."

His mouth found your nipple and you gasped in surprise, hands grabbing his shoulder as he sucked greedily. His fingers rolled your other nipple and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. You threw your head back as moan after a moan started falling from your reddened lips.

"R-Remus…" you breathed, mind dizzy with pleasure.

His eyes shot open and he looked up at you, "Yes, my love? Did I hurt you? Am I going too fast for you?"

You couldn't help but let out a laugh, "No, you're doing great! I'm quite enjoying myself actually." You playfully bit your lip, ruffling his already messy hair. He smiled, seeming way more relieved. Remus had to get used to you moaning his name and the thought of it filled him with joy.

He carefully laid you back down on the bed, capturing your lips in a long, deep kiss. His lips moved slowly against yours, tasting them as if for the very first time. When you felt his tongue lick your bottom lip, you gladly let it in and your lover wasted no time to explore your mouth. The kiss swallowed your desperate moans and your hips involuntarily buckled to meet his.

Remus took the hint but instead decided to prolong this further by setting between your legs and dry-humping you. His clothed dick rubbed deliciously against your pussy and you were sure your panties were soaked at this point.

"Remus, please…"

Even though he enjoyed toying with you, Remus was pretty impatient himself so he pulled back and slipped down your jeans. He spread your legs wide and his lips twitched in amusement at the damp spot on your panties. He ran his fingers up and down your core and chuckled when you whimpered.

Remus finally peeled off your panties and stared at your red, swollen and incredibly wet pussy in all its glory.

And you saw it again - that same animalistic look of hunger on his face.

He licked his lips and growled quietly, making your thighs tremble before placing each of them over his shoulders.

Remus blew hot breath on your core and you sighed in anticipation. He used two fingers two spread your folds and inhaled your hypnotising scent.

Remus used the tip of his tongue to gently flick your clit and you yelped, you thought you could cum right there but he stopped. He licked a generous amount of your juices and slowly dragged it up before adding his lips to the mix and starting to french kiss your pussy.

Your head fell back down on the pillows, hands coming down to massage his scalp as your needy moans echoed in the room. Your hips involuntarily moved up to meet his mouth and he hummed in appreciation, the vibrations spreading waves of pleasure through your body.

Remus slightly pulled back and watched as he slowly entered two fingers into your pussy, a thick layer of wetness coating them. He moved them in and out carefully as he asked, genuinely concerned, "How does it feel, darling?"

At this point you were not in the state to form a proper sentence, "So good, oh my god… please keep going…"

Remus smiled to himself and went down to business, quickening the pace of his fingers. His tongue came up to play with your clit again but you truly lost it when he added a third finger, thrusting them rapidly as he sealed his lips around your clit, sucking harshly and massaging it with his tongue. You came hard with a loud moan, your juices gushing all over his fingers as Remus kept eating you out like a starving animal. He only stopped when you tugged at his hair since your clit had become sensitive and he crawled up to you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"How was I, darling?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," you giggled, pressing a kiss to your lover's lips and he was quick to return it. His hands began to wander your body, eager to feel all your curves. His fingers left goosebumps everywhere they touched; your chest, your breasts, your neck, arms, thighs… Remus made sure to mark every single spot with his fingers and lips.

He quickly got rid of his boxers and your mouth watered when you saw his glorious length spring free. He wasn't very long but he was exceptionally thick and your pussy begged to have him buried inside you.

Remus began to grind down between your legs, looking up at you once more, "Do you truly want this?"

"Absolutely," you sighed, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured against your lips and slipped his cock inside of you. His thickness stretched you out much more than his fingers, your pussy eagerly welcoming every inch. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling of being full up to your cervix.

"Does it hurt, my love?" Remus asked, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort.

"Not at all," you smiled. "You can move now."

And with that Remus laced his fingers with yours in a firm, but gentle grip and started to slowly pull out and then thrust back in deep inside until he filled you completely. And again. And again.

Your bodies moved in a passionate dance, your hips lifting up to meet his as he kept pushing into you.

Remus' grunts and gasps joined your moans and whimpers as you both clung desperately to each other. He picked up the pace, hips snapping into yours as his thick cock slipped in and out of your glistening pussy. Your back arched, your breasts brushing against his chest with every move.

Remus removed one of his hands and slipped it between your bodies to rub nice tight circles on your clit.

"Remus, I'm-"

"I know, just breathe."

The volume of your moans increased and so did the speed of his thrusts and fingers. You looked down at where your bodies met and you moaned at the sight of his thick cock frantically entering your wet pussy, hitting all the sweet spots. With one harsh thrust he spilled his seed deep into you which triggered your own climax, your pussy clenching tight around his cock and milking him for all he's worth.

Remus kept thrusting in and out of you, prolonging your orgasm, and then finally slipped out, lying next to you and hugging you to his chest.

You both started to laugh. You felt tired, absolutely spent, but you were also energised and refreshed.

"Did you enjoy it? Was I okay? I didn't hurt you, right?" Remus asked again while pulling the covers over you two.

"Remus," you placed your hands on his cheeks to make him face you. "I just had my first time and it was mind-blowing. You did amazing, I assure you."

He seemed visibly more relaxed now and looked down at you with such pure love you had never seen before.

"I am honoured to be your first and I'm immensely glad I satisfied you. You deserve to be taken care of in an appropriate manner."

You smiled at him, letting your fingers dance seductively along his chest, "Then what do you say you take care of me appropriately again?"

Reblog if you enjoyed my work!

Masterlist

[sunlessea]

part of him wonders, truthfully, if it even knows the things it confesses to without directly doing so. he doesn't turn his attention back to it, not at first, but instead stares at a stray paper pinned 'pon his wall, slowly beginning to fall at the corner as the tape peels from it. he is special. he knows it. they both do. but hearing it given spoken confirmation is different, whether that's what it intends or not. "no one but me would've 'accosted' you." it's complaints, or perhaps scoldings, fall on deaf ears, perhaps in direct confirmation of what it rants about to begin with. it may as well be talking to a wall, the way it carries out its insults : if they can even be called that. there's a shift in his demeanor, a subtle upturn of his lips. "have you forgotten who i am, mr irons? that you think i'd temper myself for you is the true mystery. i burned your bazaar to the ground before i ever crossed your path and told you i'd do it again to escape my prior circumstances, were it necessary. no. you know damn well who i am."

he's brazen. he knows that. stupid, reckless, careless, it's right. perhaps it's not truly a question of lacking understanding, though he oft plays himself a lackadaisical sort. the truth is that he doesn't care. he knows it won't hurt him, more now than then. if it had intended to, it would have. when he'd accosted it, when he'd doubled down on the things he'd done, when it knew his name. it had ample opportunity to kill him. and yet, and yet, and yet. there's always an and yet.

at last does it catch his attention again, instinctive in the way his attention is snatched back to it, eyes watching its movement as it sheds its cloak, raises from its seat. his own reaction, immediate. he's certain it's a side effect of watching it upside down, the dizzy fog that swarms his head, but he can't account for how he suddenly tenses. no, not from caution. it growls, and his breath hitches. yet still he quips. "question my character all you will. i'm not alive by the grace of the glory's hours nor the wonders of the neath, i'm alive because you want me to be." he can't force it to admit to anything, but to speak it into their space knowing it cannot counter him is enough.

he follows it with his gaze, though doesn't move, even when it kneels beside him. it looms over him from how he lays, and just being caught by its stare feels as if he is drowning. it isn't until its claws dip low, take his jaws in its grasp, that he feels blood suddenly rush to his head proper. he almost flinches, but though he doesn't, the breath he'd been holding escapes. that's all it takes, really, for his composure to crumble, though he'd argue otherwise come another day. his confidence falters, until the blush he'd touted hidden by his ears seems to suddenly run to his face. it takes him curling his hand into a ball, pressing his own claws into his palm, to find his voice again. it releasing him does not still his heart.

"so you do believe in love, then." he's surprised, though it's impossible to tell from his tone of voice, somehow distant, caught on something else. "i didn't, until i was the first. for all the poetry i wrote, how could i possibly believe in something that had never existed in my family's bloodline? the ashburnums are old. some of us still remember when you lot sunk london. it's why my family despises you so deeply. hate, not love. that is what our bloodline is built upon." one would think him talking about it so casually frightening. but he's hyperfixated on it, his voice quiet, reminiscent. his heart is racing. it's no something he can ignore any longer, the way it stares at him : something that, once, would have and likely should have kicked in his senses of fight or flight. it looks at him like he's prey, but no, not quite : it's something more than that, too. he's in danger, but it isn't for the sake of his life.

"you're beautiful." it's a halfhearted comment, though genuine. it takes every part of his self control to tear his gaze away from it, to stare up at the ceiling, dimly lit by the fairy lights hung 'round his office. he doesn't look back, even when it shifts. instead, he steels himself, narrows his eyes and chooses a particular crack to focus on. even as it takes its place next to him 'pon the ground, half atop him, face buried against his neck. he can feel each time its lips part to speak, and if his pulse were not deafening before, as it claimed, it certainly would be now. his chest aches, how quickly he feels his heart against it, almost as if it had gotten caught in his throat, pounding in his own ears. its hands touch his waist and he doesn't startle, but he does wilt, in a way he can't possibly describe. the touch itself, though simple, is foreign, and as it pulls him closer, he thinks he stops breathing entirely, but it does not prevent him from the strangled, swallowed whine that instinctively catches in his throat. his body suddenly feels a touch too warm. he does not move away from it. he doesn't move at all. he waits, anticipates.

"i have been trapped by something all my life, luv." to speak is... a struggle. for once, he sounds as impossibly meek as he assumes he is meant to in the presence of this creature : but it is still not from fear. "if anything is capable of freeing me, it is love, irons. if even you can't protect me..." he trails off, realizing that he's focused so hard on the crack in the ceiling that his vision itself has started to blur. "...then i don't think anything in this world can save me from what my destiny is meant to be."

and just how harsh is its scowl, where he so clearly mocks it? it can feel its lip curl, bearing its teeth not unlike something wild : " anyone but you would be dead. " and how dangerous a truth to admit, how vulnerable ; and it knows it too, given the furrowing of its brow and the way it's posture shifts uncomfortably as if it were trying to guard itself from a threat unknown. but it knows, just as he does, the only reason he still lives to even retell the tale is because he is special. " what good are those ears on your head? you never listen. i told you before— " he drives it mad : the things he says, the things he does all equal parts lively yet lackadaisy, but most of all, it's the way it can still hear his heart racing. it doesn't think he comprehends how deep a distraction he's become, no matter how much he makes mockery of it as it speaks, its hands move in time with its bitter words : they taste like fire 'pon its tongue, the more it lectures, the more it seethes, the faster its hands move in turn. " —you're careless, reckless—" though ... by the time it starts its ranting, its less signing so much as it is making a dramatic gesture of the list it counts out 'gainst its palm.

it grasps at the fabric bunched at it's shoulders, and in one swift motion pulls its cloak free of its form, tossing it over the lounge as it stands, voice kept at a low growl ; a warning, to anyone else. it can hardly tell what it is for himself. " —stupid. " it's rarely so casual even in its own home, though that's more of a matter of rarely occupying it to start. barely taking so much as a moment's rest, as it was wont to do. isolated in its own great many stations, it'd found itself content living a life away from the rest, barking mad only when it was called upon. ( though more often than not ... when it was "called upon" was for such miniscule mistakes. it makes the man strewn out 'cross from it all the more proof of a miracle. ) it's as rugged as anyone might expect, but the rest ... beyond the tatters, how it fashions itself, it would hardly be shocked to hear, would be more of a surprise. at the very least, its very blatantly not an everyday londoner, what it holds in bulk and height notwithstanding. so does it bring a hand to its already disheveled hair, brush bangs from its eyes, and in no short strides does it come to kneel beside him. " it's a wonder you're still alive. "

a wonder ... what's wondrous is how it looks almost lost in thought, its gaze drawn low and half-lidded, where it reaches out and tilts the man's head upright to meet it, claws ever slightly digging into flesh where it holds him by his jaw. " our modern kindred are just as mindless, how our bloodlines survive i could never comprehend. " it pauses long enough to sigh, twist its body when it lets him go, collapsing into the pile beside him. expectedly, it ... almost sinks into it, and what a sight it makes! one of the most disagreeable masters, a splash of rust and ink among the most vibrant colors, its arms crossed over its chests and legs at the ankles, and yet its expression remains unchanging, still. a touch angry, perhaps, but nearly stagnant besides. " i've never agreed with ours much, you'll notice. not the elders, nor our lessers. " at the very least, it speaks openly, with every subtle hint of emotion threatening to break its carefully maintained stoic image with every crinkle of its nose. " not that ours were alive to start. our hearts never beat a day, but we feel nonetheless. our continued existence is not brought to a halt by simulacrum. "

" but yours ... " its voice trails off in a drawl as it shifts, props itself upright at first, but only for a moment's time before it moves onto its side, just enough to allow it space to nestle its head against the crook of his neck. enough, that when it falls into a low rumble, every word is practically whispered 'gainst his skin. " your pulse is deafening. " he's burning against its skin—like ash, or steam, or fire. its eyes fall closed when it reaches over, taking a strikingly careful grip to his waist : it catches itself then, but this time when it startles, it does not pull away. instead, it tugs him closer. " would you call this destiny, elysium? the love story you seek to write ... does it free you, or trap you? "

[kiri-ah]

With A Bow Tie s.jn

(click header for high quality)

I am so sorry about this but this is a female/non-binary reader insert, I can't think of a way to make this work for a male reader, it's too self indulgent. I'm so sorry, really. You can still read it of course, but there are some details that might be a wee bit off.

taglist because i think my friends will like this: @danishmiilk @lebrookestore @leejunini @allegxdly @hannie-dul-set @alicanta77 @multifandomcoffeebean @batshitcrazyauthor @bluejaem @mingiswow and if I forgot you please send me an angry message lol

You've never understood how a bow tie works. Any male figures in your life used full-on ties or the little clip-on bow ties that you don't actually have to, well, tie. Then you started dating Johnny Suh and discovered that bow ties were relatively common, most of his (humongous) friend group used them more often than a long tie. 

The morning of his friend Taeyong's wedding, the two of you are getting ready in your shared hotel room, him in his suit and you in your best clothes. Johnny looks absolutely stunning and you find yourself wondering how he would look if you were to walk down the aisle towards him. You nearly melt from the image; even in your head, he has the prettiest smile. You snap out of your thoughts when he asks you to help decide which of the two ties he brought looks best. You raise your eyebrow in amusement.

"You brought two ties to the hotel?"

He goes to run a hand through his hair before remembering the gel in it and freezing his hand mid-air. "I couldn't decide yesterday, I thought maybe I'd be more sure today," he tells you, and you can see he's just as exasperated with himself as you are.

"Okay," you say with a laugh. "I'll help, but you have to teach me how to tie a bow tie, and not laugh at me." 

He doesn't hesitate even a moment before saying, "deal."

You tell him that you think the red tie goes better with the occasion and he nods, ready to take your word for it. In exchange, Johnny shows you exactly how the oddly shaped fabric turns into a bow.

"Okay so you start a little bit like tying shoes," he says, showing you. "Then this bottom piece gets folded in half, making one half of the bow. Then you wrap this other side up and around, securing it." You watch with something akin to awe as he twists the fabric with nimble fingers and makes half a bow. "Now this other side gets folded in half as well and you tuck it through the back to make the other half of the bow. Then if we just tug a little it straightens out into a nice bow!"

"You make it look so easy," you breathe out. "Can I try on your other one?" He looks down at his watch, smiling at your enthusiasm. 

"When we get home, I'll let you practice until you can make a million perfect bows," he tells you, "but we're going to be late for the wedding if we take much longer, and I'm a Best Man. I can't be late." 

You huff out a breath but follow him out the door after grabbing your things. You're more eager than you'd like to admit to see the mystery fiancee of Taeyong's. He's kept her to himself for too long. 

When you arrive at the wedding there are people streaming into the church, Johnny's whole enormous group of friends is here, some with their significant others, and so are older adults and- is that Xing-Yi?!

You gasp, looking at Johnny. "I think I know those girls! I'm gonna go see if they know who the bride is." You kiss him on the cheek and before he's even answered you're speeding off towards the group of surprisingly familiar faces. 

"XING-YI!" you call. She turns all the way around and it is her, and around her are Krystal, Nini, Storm, Felix, Allex, Bruna, Bean, Taytem, Aditi and other friends from your high school years. 

"Y/N!" she exclaims delightedly, and opens her arms for a tight hug of welcome. "I didn't know Brooke invited you!" 

"Brooke?" you echo, confused. "I'm here for Taeyong, I'm dating his friend Johnny." You barely have a moment to consider the fact that Brooke forgot to invite you. Then again, Taeyong did, and they couldn't invite you twice. Brooke is the bride?

"Taeyong?" says Allex. "Skinny kid, always dancing, all the girls and the gays wanted to have sex with him?"

"Yeah, he got more attractive, and he's also the groom," you tell the group.

"And Brooke is the bride?" Nini is all out squealing. You wince at the shrillness. "Dude, I can't believe they kept this a secret for so long!" 

"I can't either," remarks Sicheng, coming up and putting his arms around Xing-Yi's waist. You roll your eyes. They're ones to talk. It took ages to get Xing-Yi's name out of Sicheng's mouth and even longer for you to meet her and realize that it was your Xing-Yi. Allex seems to have the same thought and her mouth is halfway open before she appears to think better of it and closes it again. She's been dating Jaemin for years, a fact you were very jealous of until you met Johnny. They're rather… flamboyant about their love for each other.

Then finally everyone is sitting down and of course you sit with the girls because Johnny is up with Taeyong, who looks gorgeous as ever in his suit and (actual) tie. Allex wasn't kidding; all the girls and a surprising amount of guys wanted him back then, and probably still do. Now he'll be Brooke's to hold and to cherish forever. You desperately hope that she's not the jealous type. 

All of a sudden music starts playing and Brooke walks through the doors to the chapel in all her glory; her dress swishes around her legs as she walks, train falling gracefully to the floor, thin veil over her face and she looks amazing, and you find yourself beating back jealousy. You will not ruin this beautiful occasion with envy. Her smile is visible even though the veil and she just looks so happy. 

After the service everyone is socializing and most of the chatter, from what you can tell, is about how ‘it was Brooke all along’ or ‘can you believe she's married to Taeyong?!’ Apparently they kept it a secret from everyone except their parents. Eventually the bride and groom come in themselves and people are swarming them; your group stays back. You have all the time in the world. Johnny comes to find you in the crowd and then finally it's your turn to go congratulate the couple and tell them how fantastic they looked. They're a great match. 

When you get home the next morning after sleeping in and driving from the hotel, Johnny lets you practice how to tie a bow tie on him, patiently instructing you.

Life is good.

[assassinscreed-photomode]

Break down Ivarr pls. I love how they wrote him so much and I'd love to have your take on him 🖤🖤

Thank you for the ask!

Ok ok, I put off doing this one, my feelings on Ivarr are complicated and kinda sad.

IVARR

-SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T DONE SHROPSHIRE LOOK AWAY NOW-

Also, this is going to be LONG i have

THOUGHTS.

How I feel about this character At first I thought he was gross lmao. I was so caught up with the graphic scene in the church when we first met that I completely missed the part where he explained that those people were spies etc. But after that drinking scene something changed.

When he was talking away I found myself seeing many similarities between him and Eivor. Or my Eivor at least because I know we all play them a little different. Both scrappy younger siblings of these strong confident (and tall af) well loved leaders. Both a bit different from the classic viking ideal of a warrior. Both are seen as a little strange. Both a little bit unsure of what the hell they were doing there or why they followed their brothers so loyally. 

My brain decided (against my will) that he was my new fave, as quickly as turning on a light.

So when he went off the deep end in Shropshire, I was heartbroken. ( and was instantly reminded of my first devastating betrayal in viddy games SOLAS FROM DRAGON AGE, which messed me UP, same feelings arose ). I really thought his story was indicating a different direction and was blind to the red flags. 

It was terrible to see someone that you see your own reflection in spiral down like that. To not be able to coax them back down from the edge, to help someone you see yourself in. Watch them destroy themselves in front of you. It's such a disaster.

To not be able to help them see that there is more to life than the endless battle and bloodshed. To fail. 

I thought about him in that final scene with Odin, when Odin asked what more Eivor wants, what more does she want apart from glory and battle etc and she said “everything else”. That hit me hard.

I feel like his character was not a lost cause from the moment he was born, that could have been him but it wasn’t and that's what makes it so sad for me, for Eivor.

Ivarr felt like a character that reflected what Eivor could have become if she was too far gone and wasn’t able to step back and see what else was there. Wasn’t able to see that value in being alive for the sake of it.

-

[side note! When I went to uni I studied art. (stay with me lol) and the one thing I looked at was people who make art about the day to day mundane aspect of living and the value of everyday life. So people who collect data on weeds growing in the concrete outside their house or people who fall in love with all the little details in their tacky washed out motel room and make photo series about it. Loving the tiny little aspects of life holds great value to me and I find it sad when I meet people, or find characters who can’t see the joy in it. 

Characters who want to only muddy a battlefield but do not stare in wonder and love when grass and wildflowers grow back on said battlefield after so much destruction are characters that have so much potential for growth. When I find characters like that, like Ivarr I can’t help thinking that if I can show them that from the dirt a flower must grow, I can help them. They might be happier.] -

-

How do I feel about the character?  Sad. Sad and Angry that we weren’t able to pull him back from the edge of his own destruction. 

I’m not sure if he was written well as a tragedy or if I’m mad at the writers for not allowing him to be a more three dimensional character.

All the people I ship romantically with this character Well, after the drinking scene I hardcore shipped him with Eivor. I mean they basically have the same name! With the similarities between them that was honestly where I thought it was heading. But of course it headed in the opposite direction. 

So maybe in an AU where Ivarr was not so close to the edge, where he was able to take a step back from his own obsessions, not kill Coelbert and fight us, then that’s where I’d ship him.

My non-romantic OTP for this character I loved that he seemed to be very particular about whome he surrounds himself with and does not consider someone a friend easily. I like that Ubba seemed to know this and know him very well. I’d like to see more of him and Ubba. Coelbert too of course.

My unpopular opinion about this character Gods what can I say here that hasn’t already been said. I think he’s weirdly attractive? One side of me wishes we could romance him, but the other side was glad we couldn’t see where his story went. I wish Eivor was able to pull him back from the edge, but that’s already been said.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon. Therapy? Seriously, he clearly had a lot going on. His fixation on Rhodri and what Rhodri did to him made him into the worst version of himself while Shropshire. Blinded him to everything else.

I wish we could have helped him back from the edge, I wish he hadn’t killed Coelbert and tried to kill us. I wish we were able to show him there is some value in life outside of the battlefield. I wish we could have helped each other. I wish he hadn’t died.

I wanted him for my longboat, if he hadn’t you know, died horribly.

GIVE ME A CHARACTER and I’ll break their ass down

[claudemonae]

Hello, i'd like to request a full out scenario of Tamaki with a fem s/o who jumps his bones whenever he comes home still dressed in his hero costume and calls him Suneater when they're doing it~ lots of praise and body worship because he is a sweet boi💜

Oh *fuck* yes. I love a shy boy.

“Welcome Home” - Request

Tamaki x Reader

Rating: M for Mature!

Tags: Body worship, sloppy toppy, you’re a strong girl and rip off his clothes. also Cute pet name._______________________________________

There was just something about Tamaki’s hero suit that set a fire inside of you.

You had been dating him for a while and by this point you had seen him in the get up about a hundred times but for some reason every time felt like a first. That tight black unitard that showed off every ounce of his carefully constructed muscle, the flowing cowl and visor with its air of mystery. fuck, what a man. Right

You think about this idly, sitting on your couch watching some stupid hero game show when the sound of keys at your door make you perk up and smile. When he left he told you not to wait up so you were pleased to see that he was home early for once but the innocent expression on your face twists as you get an eye full of his appearance.

Tamaki was still in his costume, it seemed like he had dirtied it in the process of fighting whoever he encountered today. The expression on his face says he’s tired, already fed up with the day and just wants to peel out of this clunky shit to take a soothing hot shower. “What, why are you looking at me like that?” He doesn’t like that hungry look you’ve got on and he almost curls into himself when you hop up like an excited puppy ready to go on a walk.

“I’m just excited that you’re home~ can’t I be excited to see you?”

Normally he’d buy that and let it go, but he knows that look and for him it means trouble.

“Hey…I’m tired ok? Can we jus-OOF.”

It’s no good, the sudden weight from your surprise tackle sends both of you to the floor. Tamaki lands flat on his butt looking very afraid but that’s one of his default expressions so you ignore it and shoot him a catlike grin from his lap.

“B..bunny please.” He’s resorting to begging but you’ve already begun your assault; sliding your palm up between his legs and palming him until his cheeks are cherry tomato red. “R-r-right here in the living room?” There goes that cute little stutter you fell in love with, it practically makes you purr to hear it.

“How am I supposed to wait when you come home looking like this, fuck~ you smell amazing.” You slide up between his legs, your hand is still working it’s magic with his clothed length. There’s something satisfying about nuzzling underneath his neck, the way he shudders and whimpers at the contact plus how warm his body gets kicks you right into second gear and he’s given up on trying to talk sense into you at this point.

“God. You smell…amazing.” You praise between kisses, trailing down from his neck to his chest- where you pause to unbuckle and discard his vest and belts- then down to his skirt which you yank down to his knees in a quick motion that makes him furrow his brows. “Easy, you ripped the last one…”

“I know~ I’m sorry.” You purr back.

There he is, in all his glory; keeping himself propped up against your shared apartment front door. Of course he’s hard now, How could he not be with you touching him all over like that? He’s averting his gaze from you but you don’t care, you drink him in and slide your palms against both thighs just delighting at the feeling of him shivering. “You’re perfect~ “ you smile, it’s genuine and not as hungry as before. “You know that right~? Everything about you is amazing.”

He still isn’t looking at you, he says nothing and he’s trying to hide in his cloak. You grasp his chin and turn his face towards you, “I’m serious.”

“I’m not that g-g-great I…”

“Bullshit.”

“Bunny…”You sigh, it’s dramatic.

Then you release him and bring your attention back down between his legs. “Fine, I guess I’ll just show you.”

Before your boyfriend could protest you’ve already torn a nice hole in his spandex suit, he’s lost so many articles of clothing to your strength that at this point he shouldn’t be surprised anymore…he grimaces at the thought of having to order another one but the feeling of your mouth on his skin instantly blows the concern from his mind.

Tamaki throws his head back and lets out a soft moan, your plump lips around his cock is giving him some much needed TLC after the stress he had to deal with and he’s not too shy to tangle his fingers into your hair for reaffirmation of your skills.

Your head bobs rhythmically while your one hand grips his base and the other kneads the lumps of his balls, he can never watch you do this because you know it embarrassed him but you purposely make choking noises or cross your eyes to make it that much harder for him to witness. The two of you get hot and heavy quite quickly, before he even notices what’s happening he’s got a taught fistful of your hair and is rolling his hips into the back of your throat while your eyes lock with his focused indigo orbs.

Just when you feel like he’s going to burst you pull back, panting..spit everywhere and your cheeks hot with lust. “C..cum on my face Suneater, baby please.”

It still shocks him that you could use his hero name and say such things but he swallows the lump in his throat and pumps himself quickly to give you what you need. Focusing on how sexy you look it only takes him a few seconds to bust his sweet, hot release on your bottom lip and chin. If he wasn’t so excited he would have aimed better but you don’t seem to mind.

Your pink tongue flicks out to lick the substance away and he feels like he wants to tear his clothes off and pound you into the floor.

“Welcome home~” you mewl.