#the “i appreciate that BUT” came in so hot

[twijaxx]

Fem! Nagi, Kaiser and Ness (separately) x Fem! reader, occ characters, fluff.

wc: 1,1k

Part 1. Isagi, Rin and Sae.

Nagi seishiro :x

This woman is too lazy to do anything! But for you? she will do everything (still in her lazy way)

Nagi forgot when she realized that she loves you, maybe it was when you two were eating instant noodles at her house? maybe it was when you cheered on her during one of her matches? ohh maybe it was when you took care of her when she was sick?? thinking about it is too much hassle.

Recently you two were in your two week Minecraft phase and ofc Nagi was the one mining, collecting materials and she actually focused on the game, but you? you just wanted to build a house for the two of you and have like a million cats inside, sadly you were SHIT at this game, couldn’t even build a simple house.

You decided to give up on building that house, you couldn’t even follow a simple tutorial on youtube and Nagi thought that you were so cute, struggling so hard to build a house for you two that will be abandoned in a week or so. So when you logged off she decided that she will build that house for you even if it was “too much of a hassle”

The next day you wanted to play on a sheared screen so she decided the two of you should meet up at her house. She was a little excited to see your reaction to that house she built, not talking about the surprise that was waiting for you inside.

When you finally opened Minecraft you saw that the house you really wanted was magically there :3 You hugged Nagi with so much joy, but when you went inside instead of million cats there were like ten wooden signs saying “I love you, please make me happy and be my girlfriend :x” You two still play on this server too these days.

Michael Kaiser :-

don’t think this woman ain’t rich too! ohh she loves spoiling u just like sae. And just like Sae and Rin, Kaiser was delusional too, but maybe a little less than them.

Shopping sprees, yea that was her thing, she loves doing that especially if it means making you look pretty and feel appreciated. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, nails, eyelashes, hair done, everything you asked she bought you, nahhh you didn’t even have to ask she just text you “get ready i will be there in thirty, we are going shopping” how much money does she have?!

Picking you up in her expensive lamborghini (that’s so hot) going from this mall to another until you find something you like. When the two of you are done you don’t have a hand to hold the bags anymore. She laughs at you about this but after all she ain’t that mean (only when it comes to you) she will help you put the bags inside your house.

She loved you for such a long time but only managed to say “i love you” when she was drunk as hell at the parties you two were going to every other weekend. So you waited and waited until she finally got the courage to say it sober, but it never happened so you decided to took matters into your own hands.

Texting her “You come to my house this time, i got something special for you.” it wasn’t anything special compared to what she got you, just a simple dinner, couple of candles and wine. When she came to your house she was shocked that you did all this for her (will you blame her if she says that tears peaked at her eyes when you turned around?)

You two sat down at your kitchen table but on her plate was a note saying “Kaiser, I love you and I don't know how much time it has been. I’m tired of hearing you say that you love me every time you are drunk but then when you are finally sober you don’t say it again, i don’t know if you only say that in a friendly way or you seriously do mean it. I just wanted you to know that I do love you romantically and I want to be your girlfriend.”

She was speechless when she read that, but she would be a fool if she didn’t agree so she did and you two had the best night of your life. 

Alexis ness :>

i think she is the most romantic of the 6 and she will do everything! for you

ohh Ness where do i start… maybe she is not that fancy like Kaiser and Sae but don’t underestimate her! she can do as much as they can, just in her own special way.

Ness will tag along everywhere you go, and by everywhere i serious mean everywhere. Shopping, walk in the park, cafe, even church if you are religious!

Ness realized she loves you when the two of you were sitting on some random playground. You two were eating ice cream but yours fell on the floor… You looked at her with your big doe eyes as tears almost peaked at them, without a second thought she offered you her’s and she never saw you this happy as at that moment.

And since that moment ohhh she been plotting so hard! She fell in love and didn’t even tried to deny it :3 But she wasn’t so obvious like Isagi was (you still knew tho) She tried sneaking little love notes around your house just in case you see them when she already leaves, and ohh boy you did see them but you wanted her to say it to your face not on some stupid note.

She knew you saw them cause every time she was at your house the previous note disappeared, she got fed up with your behavior but she decided that she will wait until valentines, and when valentines actually came she did all she could so you didn’t forget this day.

It wasn’t something really big, but for her actions speak louder than words, so she just invited you to her house for dinner, and then you two could maybe watch a movie? Everything was just like she imagined but wait.. she forgot to ask you the most important question of the night! So when you two already were getting ready to sleep she walked into her bathroom that you where just in (don’t worry u wasn’t nakey nakey) with roses in her hand, she got really close to you and said “[name] will you be my girlfriend?” she for sure had whole monologue prepared, but after just those 6 words you kissed her, the kiss wasn’t very long but it for sure had a lot of words you two wanted to say.

Tags: @isaisliterallyhim @laiko2real :3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Alles zu seiner Zeit

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, mentions of death and loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Fifteen years after a plague struck Wisborg, the widower Harding continues to visit his wife and daughter at the cemetery where you work. His devotion spans across seasons but it might be more than those he lost drawing him back.

Characters: Friedrich Harding

Note: this is a new character for me so...

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Winter 

Bristles scrape on stone. Each push of the broom tugs in your arms, the layers against the chill inspiring a slake of sweat along your back. The trickle makes you itch as your efforts scratch across the ground, sending clouds of snow into heaps. 

Where once greenery blossomed and flowers smiled at sunlight remain only bristly sticks and frozen dirt 'neath the rug of January's malaise. The sombre grey skies form a thin curtain against the shadow of memories. The spectre of plague and whispers of a curse carry in the winds and swirl the flakes around your skirts. 

You were young the winter the sickness came. You'd known eight up until that blight and your brothers knew no other. They were of the forsaken, left in pine boxes to be buried when the frozen ground could be cracked with a spade. Your mother joined them soon after, though of a different malady; despair. 

Your father suffered the same disease but to a very different effect. At the bottom of a bottle. He lingers there in the depths of distraught distraction.�� 

You sweep the path clear to the doors of the mausoleum, then perpendicular around the perimeter. When the walkways are done, you will put your mind to the stones. And by the time those are revealed, a new sheet will litter the ground and your work will begin anew. 

Emmett, the youngest of the diggers, sits in wool and a leather cap, drinking hot barley from a cup. He shivers as you pass, mindful not to push the snow his way. He doffs the cup amiably. 

"How's it, fraulein?" He greets. 

"You would know so well as I, herr," you reply, moving the bristles anon. Your mittened hands cling tightly as the cold nips through to your knuckles. You keep your chin tucked into your scarf, 

"Frigid, ja," he cradles the cup and curls into its warmth. Adelaine, daughter of the sexton, must have offered the kindness. She does make certain to know all the diggers' names. "Would you do all this by your own?" He peers around the rolling expanse marked by headstones and monuments. 

"Someone must mind the spirits," you carry on without hamper.  

"For a pretty thaler or so, I'd pray," he remarks and clucks. 

You will not tell the truth. It is a thaler for the whole of a fortnight of sweeping and clearing the cobwebs; of breaking the frost from the keyholes and dusting away the musty leaves and stirred pebbles. 

"I pray you keep warm, herr. The almanac calls for a long winter." You bid as you progress away from him. 

"And you, Fraulein. Mind the ice," he girds. 

You keep careful steps as you press on. Emmett rises with his cup of barley and retreats to the shed with the shovels. A mean gale blows around you, nearly taking you off your feet. 

You steady yourself as you plant the broom and chatter against the deathly gust. There's a shrill whine from behind you. You turn as Adelaine clings to her fur-trimmed hood and hides behind a statue of the Holy Mother. 

"Fraulein," she trills in her creaky tones. "Have you seen Herr Emmett?" 

"Mm," you hum in hesitation. Her father, Wilhelm, warned you against encouraging her comingling. He is a pious man, minding the sacred grounds and all. "I'm not certain where he's strayed, Fraulein Adelaine." 

"Mercy," she huddles down against another violent draught. "The bishops says it's not been so cold since... well, he would not speak of it." 

She makes the sign of the cross and bows her head, clutching her hand where her golden necklace is hidden beneath her dress and cloak. Many would not wear holy icons so gregarious in their clothing. Simple wood or iron is more in line with the protestant pragmatism.  

The gate bell tolls and she cranes to see beyond you. Snow blows across her cheeks as the wind billows in her hood. Your own lets the bitter chill right through its weave.  

"There he is," she exclaims before your mind might follow her previous allusion. That corrupt wintertide. 

You turn to peer across the ivory swathes. Henrick and Emmett approach the gate and open it to the visitor. A figure on a horse rides through impatiently, nearly catching Henrick beneath the hooves. The gentleman wears simple black though the richness of its cut can be seen even from your purview. The breed of his coldblood steed attests to his fortune.  

Adelaine gasps and steps out close to you. You have seen the man before. As often you've seen the drape of his cloak, you would only know him by the emblem pinned upon the horse's harness.  

"It is the widower, Harding." She whispers.  

The man draws his horse around the stone crypt marked with his name. The one barren of any other decoration; no flowers in Fruhling, no ornament upon the door, nor even a cross carved into the lintel. You note the plainness each time you tend its grounds. 

He drops off his horse heavily. His boots send up a cloud and you grip the broom tighter. How quickly it's piled up all over again. Flecks fall along the folds of his cloak as he marches to the doors. You can hear the twist of the key as he lets himself within. The door slams sonorously and casts a pall over the grounds. 

"My father says he was young when his wife and daughters succumbed to the ague," Adelaine says. 

"Do not speak of it," you chide. "It is ill tidings to call upon the dead who wish to remain undisturbed." 

She tuts, "he comes every day. He disturbs them oft enough." 

"They are his to disturb," you sniff. "I should be certain it does not snow him in." 

She would not know what it is to have those beyond your grasp. To spend the nocturne longing for them to be there again. To hear them sing a lullaby or tuck you into sleep.

"Have you ever been inside? Even a glimpse? Father does not have a key." She grabs your sleeve before you can depart. "What do you presume he does within? I've heard him talking..." 

"It isn't of my concern," you tug away from her. "Nor yours." 

"Hmph, mind your lip," she sneers. "Or I'll have father find another broom sweep. Perhaps one more droll, ja?" 

"Apologies, fraulein, I only mean to do my work," you say. "The snow comes more and more. Perhaps you should go within, be warm." 

"Perhaps I might and perhaps I mightn't," she retorts and rubs together her gloved hands. "Very well, go about and do you work, little dormouse." 

You part before her temper can rise. Adelaine can be as prickly as she is pleasant. One moment a giggle, the next a growl. 

You retrace your steps along the path, uncovering the stone with the bristles as you do. You glance over at the yellow crypt as the wind wails as a wraith might. None are permitted within but the widower. It is a rule never broken. Never questioned. All know of the heartbroken Harding and his sorrow, even beyond those gates. Even as he hides within the walls of the house he once made a home of. 

Fruhling (Spring) 

As the annual thaw softens the earth, the frozen ground churns to mud, and the air bristles with the damp threat of rain. The early sprigs of green poke up from the flattened grasses and the cracks between the stonework fill with wet sludge. Your bristles clump with mud and you trade the broom for shovel to scrape it all away. 

Adelaine’s song carries with those of the songbirds, returned from their winter nests. She sits upon a bench and chimes as Emmett and Matthias dig into a new plot nearby. Her ploy is not subtle. 

Even as the season marks rebirth, death is to be expected. The hole is meant for the wife of a cobbler who did not survive her child. The infant, as you heard, is well. A reverence carries on the whispers as the old wives and grandmothers praise her noble sacrifice. It is as close as a woman might come to the bravery of man, though there isn’t much choice in the matter. 

Your mind wanders as the tedium of your work inspires preoccupation. Adelaine will be a wife one day. Will she end up in the ground upon her own sacrifice? Or will she sing then to her child instead of the diggers? 

What of yourself? You are no lady, your father is not rich but a drunkard feeding his demise off your tuppence. Should you have a husband when he succumbs to the rye’s dark tides? It would be practical. You father has no son, his house cannot pass to a daughter. 

With your days spent in the cemetery, you know that inevitability is closer than you should like. Your father should’ve died the night he was kicked in the skull by that old mule he slapped while in his cups. It is a miracle he lived to laugh so bawdily about the farce. 

You sigh and carry on, as you do many things in life. You will need to think on it more thoroughly before Winter comes again. It is a godsend your father did not catch the same ague as poor Frau Elke. You spent wakeless nights listening to his snores, searching for a cough or a choke. 

The day wears on and the burial happens in a bout of sunshine which beams down sardonically on the party’s grief. When the forsaken mother is buried, never to kiss the face of her child, they depart. Emmett and Matthias pat firm the earth as Sexton Wilhelm whistles for you. 

His daughter has been sent away. She cannot stomach the funerals. Ironic given her lot in life. Her family is not from Wisborn, they did not witness the plague, only heard of it. Her mother is well and alive, she never had any sibling, and her father is in fine enough health for a man his age. 

“These flowers are for the woman’s plot,” he gestures to a crate of marigolds. 

“Yes, Herr,” you reply diligently.  

“I will have one of the diggers assist,” he assures and struts off. 

You turn to face the plot. You heard the woman was younger than even you. A new bride. Not even twenty. You trace the cross over your chest and shoulders then pick up a basket of the marigolds 

Matthias comes with two hand spades. You take one and begin your work. You transplant the rooted flowers into the ground carefully. He grumbles as he kills more than he preserves. His hands are not delicate but calloused and well-worn. 

“Herr, I will finish,” you say. “You’ve done plenty today.” 

“Are you certain? There are still very many.” He glances over at the crate. 

“Too many. I will find them homes,” you promise. 

The gate bell rings as if supporting your suggestion. Matthias rises and dusts of his hands. Emmett and Henrick run down to open the doors to the visitor. Black velvet flaps over short bristles of reddish-brown. The widower canters in as the thick hooves clop over the stone. 

You pack down the earth around another stem. Harding dismounts as the diggers keep their distance. The lock grinds and the door drags on its hinges. It closes with a clunk as your shovel bites into the earth again and again. 

When you have lined the plot with the pleasant orange blooms, there is still a basket left. You peer around the fruhling blossom. Your eyes are drawn to the most bland swath among the sprawl. The yellow crypt and its vacant brick walls. Not even the ivy grows upon it. 

You are not so presumptuous as to disturb the soil. You cut the stems and bound them together with a headless one. Little bundles all snug together. You place them along the front of the crypt. They will die and blow away but it is a small blessing for the lost. 

You set above wiping clean the foot of the statue of the splattered mud. As you do, the crypt opens again. The cloak almost seems to float as its wearer remains hidden in its folds. He stops only two steps from the threshold. 

You scrape off dried muck with your fingernail as the clouds shift above. The sudden frantic scuffing and stomping draws your attention. Harding crushes the petals into the ground, decapitating the stems, twisting them into strands with his heels. His hood shifts you think for a moment he is looking at you. 

He kicks away what is left of the bouquets and approaches his dulcet steed. The beast is still as its rider mounts. It trods around the crypt then up the path to the gates. You frown and watch the widower’s departure. You did not mean to offend. You hope that Herr Wilhelm does not hear of this error. 

Sommer (Summer) 

Pollen floats in the air, tickling nostril and throat, mingling with the aromas of June. In the early morning dim, a cool breeze stirs the hem of your skirts and wafts around your clogs. You walk with a stick in hand, using it to traverse the cobbled roadway, chipped by the passing of carriage and hoof. 

Your trek to the cemetery is peaceful in the sommer. In the winter, it can grow quite eerie with the whistling winds like wailing wretches and the spindly branches like skeletons. In the summer, the trees are lush and rustling, waving like companions, and the grass ripples like water beneath the gentle flow. 

That morning, you hum to yourself as you peer ahead at the distant cemetery wall. There are houses along the old street but most still sleep in the dawn’s hue. You must be early to the graveyard so that you may ready the plots and paths. 

As you plod along, the posts of the cemetery gate come clearer over the rooftops. Your low melody is punctured by a sudden tempo. Slow and plodding. You move aside as you sense the nearing horse. The merchants rise as early as you; eager to deliver or claim their cargo at the dock. 

They do not hurry. They do not change measure. You traipse along and await their passing. As the shadow of the great steed nears, you do not count the creak of a wheel or axle. It is only a rider. 

Yet, they do not continue past you. The hooves keep a patient pace in tune with yours. You’ve never heard or seen a horse go so slow. Any beast you ever saw would tremble to be at full tilt amid the meadows. 

You peer over your shoulder curiously and follows the white fur around the wide hoof up the brown leg to the reddish sheen further up, the strands of a well-brushed main draping around the coldblood’s thick neck. Black velvet pleats around its rider but does not catch the wind. The fabric is too heavy for riding and for the season. 

The emblem on the horse’s chest gleams in your eye. It is him, the widower, in his mourning ebon. His hood shrouds his face as ever and he is silent as his horse walks beside you, as if an escort. 

You wait but he does not canter nor trot. He keeps the gait. You look ahead again then back to him. You wouldn’t want to be uncouth. 

“Guten morgen, Herr Harding.” 

As you’ve never heard him speak, you’re not certain you’ve ever heard any speak to him. Not the bold Adelaine or the stern Sexton Wilhelm. He only ever brought dire silence with him to the crypt. And then, as always, he remains quiet. 

You gulp and once more put your attention ahead of you. You are nearly at the gates, though you would not enter through the mainway. There is a smaller door round the east corner.

The gentleman and his horse bear down on you, their shadow rippling in the rising sunlight. Sweat trickles down your spine as a chill speckles across your skin. You feel as if he watches you but dare not look upon him in turn. You don’t believe you would see anything beneath his hood. You do wonder if the widower might indeed be a phantom himself. 

He steers to the gates and you pass them and head for the door behind the English oak. You pull the cord to lift the lever and glance over at Herr Harding. The widower’s hood shifts in your direction. You cannot see his eyes but you feel them. Like worms crawling over a corpse. You press inside and quickly swing the iron door shut. 

The gate bell pierces the early din of tweeting birds and skittering critters. Dandelion dust powders the air and bristles in your nose. You go to the shed to fetch your broom as the gates open at the widower’s behest. 

When you come out, he is gone. His horse is by the crypt and the doors are closed. You are deliberate in your work. Since that day with the marigolds, you’ve not gone near the yellow brick while Harding was as visitation. You always wait and say a silent prayer for his family as you clear the debris. 

There is much to do in the aged cemetery. There is no shortage of dead, forgotten or new. The stones must be cleaned or repaired. Wilhelm takes care to apply mortar to new cracks are to fix an eroded etching, so long as a thaler is offered for the effort.  

You brush the broom back and forth, pausing to watch a bee pollinate a flowerbed or a caterpillar make his slow progress over the stone. There is so much life here despite the purpose of the land. Where others come only to see death, you see what is still there. 

The sun ascends higher and higher. You leave your shawl in the shed and take a can to water the blooms. You marvel at how some petals seem to open and drink in the moisture. In the sommer, there is splendour. In sommer, you can hardly believe that winter could ever be. 

As you come around the path, the horse stands by the crypt, chewing the patchy grass. You pass by its swaying tail as you return the can to the shed. While there, you steal a handful of feed meant for the horses that draw the wagons of the lost. 

You cautiously near the large beast. It has been some hours since your arrival and it is a hot day. You open your palm, curving back your fingers to avoid the flat gnashing teeth. The horse smears spit on your hand as he eats the oats. 

The crypt door whines on the thick hinges and you wince and back away. You tuck yourself into an alcove as the door shuts heavily. You press into the brick as your heart races and you spot the littered trail of feed that leads to you. 

As Herr Harding comes around to mount his horse, he spies it too. He pauses as he bows beneath his hood, the edges of lifting slightly as he follows the seed and oat to you. You stare at him haplessly. You don’t know what to do or say. 

He turns and grabs the reins. He hauls himself onto the hours and clicks his teeth, driving his heels into its belly. The horse snorts and obeys, its hooves dusting along the stone toward the main gates. 

Herbst (Autumn) 

Summer wilts with the crisp bite of Herbst. One last breath of life before the grey winter. The leaves mellow to rustic tones of umber and gold, the pine cones litter the dirt, and the wet grass shine from the kiss of the morning fog. You sweep aside the wet leaves with your broom, skirts sodden along the hem. 

As you follow your usual progress across the grounds, the gate bell chimes. The echo rolls through the air and earth. The steady chafe of bristles guides you through the musty mist. It is a beautiful season but wet. 

You pause to brush leaves that have caught on plinths or statues, to wipe away the twigs across the stones embedded in the flats, and to tidy the plots of the leafy carpet. You can only count the blessing that it is not snow. 

Adelaine’s laughter flutters up to you. Her father helps her into a carriage. She has been entertaining a suitor as of late. She always spoke of a summer wedding but it seems a winter one may be on the horizon. She is off to see the bishop and her betrothed.  

Emmett and Matthias open the gates with little heed to their employer and his daughter. They must feel spurned after so long of her fawning over them. It is unfair of her to give them such false longings.  They shut the gates and stomp off back to their digging.

There was a family that perished in a fire. They will each need a hole among their designated plot. It is sombre and back-breaking work. You do not envy the diggers for more than their wage. Were you a man, you could take a shovel and make at least a thaler more than you do now. 

You shiver again. You’ve not been warm for days. You’ve not the money for fuel so the hearth remains dormant in favour of your father’s habit. The drink keeps him warm and you are left to wool and the friction of your palms. Thank the lord you have walls at the least. 

The voices of the men fade as they climb to the new plot and you come down the low incline toward the main row of the cemetery; the large mausoleum for the fallen soldiers and the next for the vaunted nobles.

As you near the yellow crypt, you are met with a most unlikely sight. The doors are open. You search around the desolate grounds.

The coldblood is not there awaiting his rider. The gate bell rang but you did not see the black hood enter. How can that be? Perhaps he did leave it unlocked the day prior. 

Looters are not uncommon. Henrick chases them off in the mornings as they sleep in an alcove or on a bench. Though, unless they have a chisel, they do not claim much. 

You rest your broom against the yellow brick. You stand before the open doors. Both are drawn wide. You look up at the arch as shadows plume within. As you stare inside, you swear you can see the darkness furling and unfurling. 

You make yourself move. Step by step you approach the doors. You grab the large iron ring on the left one and pull. It is much too heavy. Or you are much too weak. You grunt and try again, shifting it a few inches. 

A scratching noise stills your efforts. You squint as you try see through the thick gloom. 

“Allo?” You call through, “is someone within?” 

You wait for an answer. There is nothing, but then, a skittering noise. A rat, perhaps. 

A swirls of leaves blows around you and skid over the stone floor within. You look over your shoulder, hoping someone might pass and help you shut the place up. There is only you. 

You take your broom and enter cautiously. You hold your breath as you gather the leaves and push them back out. You might shove a door shut from within then use the broom to somehow leverage the other. 

You bat the last of the clutter out and turn to peer out at the red sky. Your feet leave the stone and your cry is smothered by a gloved palm. You kick out in fright as the broom clatters from your grasp.

You claw behind you blindly as you are spun to face the crypts black belly. You jolt back with your captor as he pushes the door closed with his weight, then the other. You writhe and flail, grabbing at the arm hooked around your waist.

He pants but does not speak. He carries you forward as your soles bounce off the floor. 

Your stomach meets something hard. A stone ledge engraved in tiers. You brace it as you’re crushed against it. Your arms shake as you try to shove yourself away, try to free yourself of this treacherous adversary. 

You whimper and wiggle your head helplessly, unable to free your mouth from behind his hand. You know by his strength, by his size that it is a man indeed. He shushes you and squeezes your jaw.

You quiver and splay your fingers on the stone shape before you. It is a sarcophagus. You shudder as your throat tightens. 

He presses flush to you. His warmth seeps through the damp layers of wool wrapped around you as his nose brushes up the brim of your ear. He exhales and his breath wraps around your neck. He sucks in air and nuzzles along your hair. He’s smelling you. 

He buries his nose in you locks and purrs. The deep gristle makes you quake. He continues to smell you, to feel you as his hand spreads on your stomach and grazes up your bodice. You tap your foot around in a frantic search for his, driving your heel down upon his toe. 

He grunts and brings his hand up to tap your cheek. He hums derisively. That noise alone freezes your blood. There’s something so base about it. 

He slips his hand down again and the other follows. He keeps you penned in with his arms and removes his gloves, letting them fall to the floor. His fingertips dance up your bodice and back down. He kneads and pokes and caresses. He fondles you until you’re a trembling mess. 

“Herr, please--” 

He nips your ear and snarls. You close your eyes but it cannot save you from this. You are only deeper into the darkness. He drags his nose down to your neck and nuzzles into you there. His hand curls around your hip, squeezing before climb up your back and down again. 

He draws his face from your neck and his hands descend further. He tugs and yanks at your skirts, bundling them up in his grasp. He pulls them up to your waist and leans into you until your middle is right against the stone, your body bent with his. 

He hooks his arm under the layers of your skirt as his other hand wanders beneath. His nails skim your skin, goosebumps rising with his touch, and traces down to thighs. He pokes beneath them meanly and forces his foot between yours. He kicks your boots wide and you whine again.  

“Herr, please--” 

“Ta ta,” he warns in a hiss. 

He pushes his hand between your legs, cupping it over your cunt. He inhales again as he takes in the scent of your scalp, his nose once more delving into your hair. He slips his middle finger between your lips and rubs you. Gently at first, then firmer, quaking as he pinpoints on your clit, rolling it beneath his fingertip. 

Your legs tingle and tremble. You dip your head down and he growls. He spreads the slickness that rises with his uninvited touch. Your lips form around a silent prayer as you beg the lord for forgiveness.  

He pushes his finger into you, his hand against your cunt as he rocks in and out. He does not heed your babbling pleas or the shattering of your body and soul. He takes what he covets without repentance. 

He continues to pet you, coaxing you until you are heavy, writhing in a maddened state. You do not welcome him and yet it is pleasureful. It is joy like you’ve never known. And it bursts within you like damn, coursing free as a river as it slakes down your thighs. 

You wail between your teeth as you bite down on your shame. Father, Mary, forgive me. I do not want this. I swear it. 

He groans and exhales into you. He pulls his hand back and leaves you hollow and squirming. He reaches between your bodies and fusses with his own clothing. You squeak and try to crawl over the sarcophagus. He keeps you trapped as he clutches the rumpled fabric of your skirt. 

He once more scoops his hand around your pelvis and along your cunt. He spreads you and guides his cock along your bottom. You whimper and reach to stop him. He ignores you as he delves down along your cunt. He stops at your entrance and wets himself with your sinful excess. 

He snakes his hand up to your hip and pushes you onto him. Just his swollen tip. You gasp and gulp as you twitch around him.

He lets go of your skirts and they fall down over the front of your legs, the back caught between your bodies. He tilts and slowly impales you.

His hand crawls up your bodice and he pushes beneath the taught fabric. He squeezes your breast, two fingers framing your nipple as he snarls and burrows into you with subtle and slow thrusts. 

You tense and tremour as he gets deeper, crying out as he breaks past the last thread of innocence. He huffs and bows his head down. His lips brush over the meat of your shoulder close to your neck and he bites into it. You sob again and he bucks his hips. 

He puts you on your toes as he repeats the motion. He pulls back then snaps against your rear. Each time he bites harder, he gropes you tighter. He pumps into you, faster, more furious, more frantic. 

His voice trickles out between his eager rutting. He teethes at you as he pinches your nipple. He bends you over the sarcophagus as his breath billows all around you.  

He pounds into you so that the stone cuts into your hips and stomach. You snivel as your tears soak your cheeks and your head thrums. You grip the lid beneath you and hide your face against your arm. 

He spasms and buckles, his legs seeming to give out, though he keeps his hips moving. He fucks you until he cannot any longer. Until he is weak and panting into your nape.  

He sniffs and reaches to cover your hand on the stone. He slips his palm away and feels the sarcophagus. He slowly eases out of you and leaves you to hang off the lid.

He chokes into the blackness, “forgive me, Anna.” 

Your legs give out and you sink onto the floor. You hang your head as you barely keep yourself from heaping into a puddle. Herr Harding weeps over his wife as you do the same for yourself. 

[midnight-mourning]

(Mostly) Happy Accidents

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 3💘💘

Silly little fluffy thing for you all, as someone allergic to red dye (to a point, it's a 50/50 chance whether i'll break out in hives or not so I usually just avoid it to be safe) it resonated when it came to valentine's candy/sweets, hope you enjoy!

Prompt: The boys know about the tradition of Valentine's candy and get some for Y/N, not knowing they were allergic to one of the ingredients in the candy. Apologies and appreciation for attempting to get Y/N a gift obviously follow

Word Count: 1425

Read here if you prefer ao3!

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Sun seems almost too excited when the last child exits the Daycare for the day. Practically buzzing beside you as you wave goodbye and shut the door. 

Maybe it was just for clean up, considering you had so much to do today in particular. It was Valentine's after all. And as with every holiday, the attendant simply had to go all out for it. Which, while pretty, would be a laborious process to tidy up. 

So when you turn around to discuss it with him, and see his hands filled with a giant heart-shaped box, you were quite surprised. 

"Happy Valentine's day, Sunbeam! We got this just for you!" Sun tilts his head, rays spinning quickly. 

Your eyes widen, starting to smile. "Oh! You didn't guys didn't have to do that. But I appreciate it! Thank you, really." 

You take the box and open it up. Inside, they're all sorts of different sweets, all different shapes and with different patterns. You don't even know where to begin. You pick one at random and pop it into your mouth, chewing as you listen to Sun speak again. 

"Of course we did! How else are we supposed to show how much we care about you? On the most important day to do it, no less." He chuckles. 

Your face starts to warm up, and you swallow. "Y-yeah? You um, mean that?"

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't, Sweetheart." Sun boops your nose, giggling. 

It just serves to fluster you further, so to stop yourself from saying anything by downing another chocolate. 

Sun continues chatting, his excitement truly coming to light now. "We were really nervous about finding something you'd like, we spent ages trying to make sure we found something that had all your favorite flavors, to show you how much we care, because we do, a lot..."

As he talks, you realize the burning on your face isn't getting any better, but now notice that it's not from being embarrassed. The warmth is also traveling down your neck and chest, accompanied by an all too familiar itching sensation. You feel that same to desire to scratch at your currently covered arms.Your throat is tight, but not horrible, thankfully.

When you think to look at the half-bite you've taken out of the chocolate in your hand, and see the hot pink-colored filling, it basically confirms what you thought had happened. 

You keep your calm though, still trying to listen as the playtime attendant keeps going. "—And then came the matter of actually getting it! We couldn't ask for help because that would ruin the surprise, and we were also afraid someone would tell us we couldn't get you something, and that wouldn't do! So imagine our delight when Officer Ryan left his wallet in the break room. We just quickly borrowed the card and put it right back, don't worry! He didn't even notice—" He stops all of the sudden, tone falling. "Is everything okay, Starshine?"

You jump, realizing you're scratching at your neck now. "Um, sort of? Do you happen to know if any of these have red dye in them?"

"Red dye? Of course they don't, Sunbeam, it says right here in your file that you're allergic we would never—forget... something, like, that..." Sun freezes in that moment, staring out into space as realization seems to kick him straight in the gut. 

You put your hands up. "It's okay, it's okay. I just need a benadryl and I'll be fine-Woah!"

Sun scoops you up, hurriedly rushing over to the desk with you in his arms. With his free hand he starts frantically looking for something. 

"Not good, not good, not good! Oh, I'm so so so sorry Star! We should have paid more attention, we just got so caught up in finding you something perfect and now—" He shakes his head, growing more panicked. 

You try to diffuse the situation before he short circuits or something. "Sunny, it's fine, I promise. It's just a mild allergy. I'll be okay, really." You don't tell him how desperately you want him to set you down so you can scratch your arms off, as you think that'll only worsen the situation. 

Your words don't register, he can't seem to hear you as he searches through the medical bag, suddenly ripping his hand from inside to pull out an epi pen. And before you can protest, he's setting you on the desk and jabbing it into your thigh. 

You yelp, and he immediately relaxes. For the most part. As his posture sags, face downturned, he speaks again, dejected. "Please forgive us. We're so sorry. Had we been paying attention this never would have happened."

"Sunny, it's okay. It was a mistake." You set a hand on his shoulder, he flinches at your touch. 

Suddenly he looks up, anger in his tone, though not at you, you quickly realize. "But we hurt you! How can you be so calm about this!?"

"Because it's a minor allergy, silly bot." You cup his face with both hands as his rays flit about. "Do you have any idea how many things have red dye in them? Especially Valentine's candy? I've probably had to take an antihistamine like four times this week already."

You ignore his wide-eyed stare at your statement in favor of pressing your lips to his smile for a moment. "It's my fault for not checking beforehand, not yours. You were just trying to be nice and do something sweet for me. And I appreciate that more than anything. Really, I do. I'm… flattered, honestly." You mumble the last bit, looking away as you comprehend what you just did. 

A hand on your cheek makes you glance back to him, eyes now lidded and tone syrupy. "We're glad..." He shakes his head. "But, still. It won't happen again! Now come on, what you need is proper rest and relaxation!"

Again you're picked up, carried away to be sat in the attendant's lap in a bean bag, blanket suddenly covering you both and a couple of coloring books and crayons appearing out of nowhere. 

"Don't you worry, we'll think up an even better gift to give you before the day is over! I promise!" Sun says as he gets to work on coloring. 

You pause to register everything that just happened, then chuckle, shaking your head. "Okay, but really, it's alright. This is just as thoughtful, you know. But we'll have to clean at some point, don't forget."

Sun hums, and he's so focused you think he only half hears you. You laugh again, and snuggle back into him to get started yourself. As his free hand slings round your waist you feel yourself start to burn up all over again. 

The rest of the afternoon is filled with similar activities, neither attendant letting up at all about 'making it up to you' despite your insistence that you were okay. 

You didn't mind in the slightest though, now snuggled in Moon's arms as you both sit reading. 

"As horrible as it sounds I'm kinda glad you bought those chocolates." You glance up to him, small smile on your face. "I don't think things would've ended up this way if you hadn't."

Moon tsks, though his eyes hold a certain cheekiness. "Maybe not, but that doesn't mean we'll ever be letting it happen again. There are much better ways to end up with you in my arms." He flicks your forehead and you huff. Only to be silenced by a brief peck to your lips. 

He holds something up for you then, and taking a moment to focus you see it's a bundle of paper roses. Looking closer you see some are made from coloring pages, and others from Moon's book. 

"We have plenty of more books of all kinds before you worry. And it was the least we could do considering what happened earlier."

You take the bundle, admiring the detail in each folded piece of paper. "They're lovely. Truly. Thank you both." You twist again to kiss his cheek, then go back to fawning over your present, warm smile on your lips. 

"Once we get ahold of Officer Ryan's credit card again we'll be sure to get you something better, I promise." Moon presses a kiss to the top of your head, and picks up his book once more. 

You pause then. "I, let's not do that—you didn't think to save it?"

"We did. But just inputting it directly isn't nearly as thrilling." He snickers. 

"Moon!" 

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Thank you for the request @dangerva! I enjoyed writing the sillies panicking (just a little bit) hehe

My writing masterlist

DCA Valentine's masterlist

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist

[fungifanart]

Lazy Mornings

Characters: Cater Diamond, Male reader, Yuu!reader, Grim

Word count: 562

CW: Very mildly suggestive if you squint

Notes: HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?! Sorry I haven't posted a regular fic in a hot minute. With regular work on top of schoolwork on top of zine work, my muse has been dead on the floor, but I still wanted to pull something together for Cater’s birthday! (And thank you to @artistnettles for providing the prompt)

-----------------------------------------------------

Waking up alone when he was expecting to wake up in his boyfriend's loving embrace isn't exactly the way Cater had hoped to start his birthday.

Sitting up and looking around the room, 'Yep, definitely alone. Not even little Grimmy to keep me company.' Cater concludes.

In a slight huff, Cater turns and stands up from the bed, collecting and putting on various pieces of clothing he'd discarded before going to sleep last night and exiting the Prefect's room in Ramshackle.

Walking down the halls, Cater slowly picks up on a rather appetizing scent wafting from the kitchen and when he arrives there, he sees his boyfriend cooking bacon and eggs at the stove as Grim eats his own portion at the table without acknowledging Cater's presence.

Silently, Cater walks up behind the other man and wraps his arms around his waist while resting his head on his shoulder, "Did no one tell you it's rude to leave the birthday boy all alone?" He says with a pout.

The Prefect scoffs lightly in response, "Well, it's kinda hard to serve you breakfast in bed if you're not in bed." He says while motioning towards the table, "Now are you gonna take a seat or keep me trapped like this?"

As a response, Cater simply nuzzles his face deeper into the Prefect’s neck, the sensation eliciting a small shriek from the man in question and causing Cater to smile as he starts to push further–

“Are you two gonna keep being disgusting or are ya gonna sit down and eat before I puke?” Grim interrupts in an exasperated tone.

Cater quickly lets go as the two men straighten out their posture in embarrassment.

The Prefect clears his throat, clearly flustered,“*ahem* Y-yes, well, the eggs and bacon are almost done and I put on a pot of coffee right before you came in, so if you could get us some mugs from the cabinet, that’d be appreciated.” He says while avoiding eye-contact.

Cater complies, a red flush playing on his cheeks, as the coffee slowly begins filling up the pot under the machine next to the stove.

Before long, the two men are seated on adjacent sides of the table, just starting their meals as Grim finishes his, “Alright, lovebirds, I’m gonna go help set up for Cater’s party at Heartslabyul. Make sure you’re decent when Ace, Deuce and I come to get ya later.” Grim warns as he exits the kitchen and then the dorm.

Cater snorts at that comment, “Since when has Grimmy been the responsible one?” He questions before bringing his coffee mug to his lips.

“I’ve raised him well.” The Prefect hums in response while taking a sip from his own mug.

The two men then proceed to eat their breakfast in a comfortable silence that’s only broken a few minutes later by the sound of chairs moving when the Prefect decides he wants to be closer to his boyfriend upon finishing his meal, “Did you like your birthday breakfast?” He asks while looking at Cater with those adorable eyes of his.

The orange-haired man sets his fork down and takes one last sip of his coffee before answering, “Well, it’s no breakfast in bed, but I love everything you make for me.” He says genuinely before turning his head to share a coffee-flavored birthday kiss with his boyfriend.

[dramalove247]

Favorite Things: Your Sky

First, you had us at fake dating. We are huge suckers for this trope when it is well done and they did it SO well!!! This show felt like the writers sat down and said, "How can we make the most over the top main couple that is sickeningly cute and sweet with every green flag you can imagine?" Then they added the best big sister ever, doting parents with too much love... (for the most part), amazing friends, great side couples, and a freaking puppy. This show gave us serious cuteness aggression! And just when you forgot it was a Domundi series, they start delivering the spice in EPIC proportions until you can no longer remember how shy and cute their relationship started.

Here are some posts we loved (spoilers ahead):

The elevator scene is hilarious! Thanks for posting @hughungrybear

@poetry-protest-pornography post about them launching their relationship with an IG post is HILARIOUS 🤣

@iguessitsjustme pointing out some of the things we have loved about this show ❤

So many of the side characters were GREAT in this show! We loved Babe and Lee and all the friends, but Hia and Real were EPIC! @hughungrybear captured this hilarious Real and Hia moment and named it perfectly:

using sunscreen to flirt: a guide

The confession scenes/episode were so great 🥰 @soujux shared this fun background information about how the scene was changed.

Agree so much with @axibani. We LOVED that Fah is so gentle and reassuring to Rak. He wants Rak to be ready. Not only does Meunfah not pressure him, but he is constantly checking in and watching and stops the second he sees Teerak's hesitation. Absolutely love how caring and respectful Meunfah is. 100% green flag. Plus, consent is so hot.

😳 We had to make a NC 18+ appreciation post. The chemistry in this show was off the charts. The scenes were so spicy and sweet and fluffy that we decided it could only be considered Jalapeño Cotton Candy.

We absolutely loved how the desire between Muenfah and Teerak was mutually intense, like in this scene posted by @kittycaths when Teerak takes the lead. This super sweet series gave us an unexpected amount of spice and the chemistry between Thomas and Kong was wild!

Episode 12 gave us so much cute between Fah and Rak 😍 @tortibomb posted a collection of some of these sweetest moments in this compilation of GIFS.

Episode 11 was nightmare fuel and Teerak's fears were justified. Makes you wonder what made him doubt his father's love would be unconditional when it came to coming out. But as much as this blindsided us, we realize that was the actual point.

Sometimes it's the little details:

[t00tsmcgee]

Rook as a companion fic, scene excerpt: Spite learns how to paint

Scene written with my Rook Calais as the eight companion. Read more about him here!

Scene is a takeout of a larger Rookanis fic that I'm writing so this is a bit of an experiment. If this does well I'll post a few more scenes on here!

-

Cal was a few minutes into his painting exercise when the door of the pantry opened and a sleepy Lucanis came out. “Oh, hello. You’re back already.” he said, surprised. “Yeah.” Cal said, a little short. Lucanis frowned, cocked his head, but didn’t inquire further, walking over to the kitchen counter for coffee first. Of course. “Here, looks like you need it.” he said, coming over after finishing brewing coffee for both of them and putting the cup next to Cal. Cal couldn’t hold on to his anger in the face of such a kind gesture, smiling gratefully at Lucanis. “Thank you, Lucanis.” “You’re welcome.” Lucanis smiled and took a seat on the table next to Cal. “I thought painting was supposed to be relaxing.” he pointed vaguely at Cal’s tense frown. “Usually it is. Today I’m just trying to keep the demons at bay.” Cal sighed, deflating a little. “What?” Spite chimed in. “I’m not doing anything!” Cal chuckled. “Sorry, Spite, I didn’t mean you. I more meant my personal demons. Bad thoughts.” “What bad thoughts?” Lucanis asked. “Did you not have fun last night with Emmrich?” “Oh no, it was great. I had a lovely time.” Cal said. “Perhaps too lovely.” “Talk to me.” Lucanis said, openly looking at Cal.

“Everything was perfect, Lucanis. Exactly as it should be. But I ruined it with my feelings.” Cal sighed. “Emmrich was very clear on the arrangement. It was going to be one night only.” “Right. But.. you felt different.” Lucanis said. “I foolishly thought we had something special. He and I always talk so easily, make each other laugh, understand each other in a way no one else does.” Cal sighed. “And I guess I was dumb enough to think maybe he felt like that too. So when we got back this morning I asked him if he really was set on it being a one time thing. That I was open to it being more than that.” he took a sip of his coffee, letting the hot liquid settle his nerves a bit. “And he rejected you.” Lucanis concluded. There was a little contempt in his frown, but it quickly disappeared. “I’m sorry.” “Thank you. I suppose it’s my own stupid fault though.” Cal said. “I knew the terms.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself. What you said is true, you and Emmrich are usually like butter and toast. I can’t begin to guess why he would reject you, but I know that what you feel isn’t stupid.” Lucanis assured him with a gentle smile. “Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.” “I guess. But the rejection hurt more than I like to admit. It made me feel.. small. Like I wasn’t enough. That’s why I’m here, painting the feelings out. That’s why I was frowning so hard.” Cal smiled sadly. “It’s hard to feel useless when you’re creating something.”

Lucanis looked a little lost on what to say, but Spite had a word of wisdom as usual. “Useless? No, never useless! Create in spite of what he said. Prove your worth. But you are already enough. Like pennies in a jar.” Cal laughed a little. “Thanks Spite.” “He has such a way with words.” Lucanis smiled when he saw Cal smile as well. “He’s right though. You’re never useless. Always enough. You bring joy with your presence, your smile.” “Thank you. Both of you.” Cal smiled warmly. “I really appreciate the support. I’ll be fine. Just need to get over myself for a bit.” “And painting helps?” Lucanis asked. “It does. It’s calming. I like the feeling of the brush on the canvas, thinking of what colours to use and mix, plan out a painting step by step.” Cal explained. “You can try, if you want?” “Yes, try!” Spite was clearly excited. “Sure, why not?” Lucanis said, indulging him. “I should warn you though, I don’t have an inch of artistic talent.” “It’s not about talent, or about what you make. Its about expression. As long as you’re conveying what you’re feeling, it doesn’t matter how ‘good’ it is. If its worth doing, then its worth doing badly, too.” Cal smiled, Lucanis surprised by that little bit of wisdom at the end. “I suppose you’re right.” he said. “Well, I suppose it can’t hurt to try.” “What do you want to paint, you think?” Cal asked. “You.” Lucanis said, honestly. “How I see you. Well, I mean, I’ll try.” “Oh, okay.” Cal said. “Then I’ll paint you, if that’s alright?” “Yours will be better.” Lucanis smirked. “But it’s the thought that counts right?” “It is.” Cal agreed. “Can Spite use objects in his latent shape?” “Yes, I can if you are near! I want to paint too!” Spite proclaimed with his usual smirk. “Hold on, I’ll get you set up.” Cal said, grabbing a canvas and putting it on the table for Spite to use. He put his older brushes there for him, the ones that wouldn’t suffer much for a bit of abuse, the hairs already starting to split. “There you go. Just dip your brush in water first before you grab paint.” he said, Spite eager to do so. It must have looked strange for anyone walking in, Cal and Lucanis painting, and a third canvas being assaulted by a floating brush. But Cal actually found a sense of peace in it, and the bad thoughts left him as he kept looking at Lucanis’ face for reference. The portrait was turning out quite nicely, and he couldn’t help but feel curious as to how Lucanis’ painting was going. Lucanis kept looking at him too, Cal smiling whenever their eyes met. There was something to it, he found, feeling the stirrings of something beneath the surface at Lucanis’ slow smile. Or was that just because he was still emotional from this morning? He probably couldn’t really trust his own feelings right now, but it was nice to take his mind off of this with someone he liked and trusted. Even Spite seemed to be having a good time, happily painting away. At first the strokes were big and aggressive but he seemed to hone in now, scribbling with a smaller brush. “What are you painting, Spite?” Cal said, seeing him so focused on his canvas. “Home.” Spite said, and the longing in his voice was clear. “Can I see?” Cal asked. “If you want, yes.” Spite said. He still seemed a little awkward but Cal was glad for the trust that was clearly returning after their earlier mishap. He came over to look at Spite’s painting, surprised to see how well he’d managed to represent the fade with colours and shapes, even if they were more abstract than how a humanoid would have done. “Spite, that’s beautiful.” Cal said, taking in the painting. Lucanis joined him, curious to see it as well. He seemed surprised, eyebrows rising. “I had no idea he could do this.” “I love the colours you used, very expressive.” Cal smiled when he saw Spite’s giddy grin. “I like painting!” Spite proclaimed with enthusiasm. “Giving shapes and colours to feelings and thoughts!” he wiggled excitedly. “I want to paint more!”

“Of course, here I have another canvas you can use.” Cal said, giving it to Spite, who was as happy as a child with a new toy. “I’ve never seen him like this.” Lucanis said, almost in awe as they returned to their own canvasses. “He’s so happy, so calm.” “We all need a hobby to express ourself.” Cal smiled. “Even spirits.”

“I wonder what he did before to express himself.” Lucanis said. “Can I see how you’re doing?” “Sure. It’s not finished by a long shot, though.” Cal said, standing aside to show Lucanis his painting. Lucanis took it in with a quiet look, smiling when he looked at Cal again after. “You’re very talented.” “Nah, I just practised a lot.” Cal said. “And you don’t even have a face yet.” “But I can already see it’s going to be me. The shapes, the stance, the essence is already there.” Lucanis said. “It’s going to be beautiful, I can tell.” “Thank you.” Cal smiled, flattered. “Can I see yours?” “No.” Lucanis said, quickly. “It’s.. nowhere near as good as yours. I am.. a little ashamed.” he admitted. Cal chuckled. “How many times have you painted in your life?” “The last time I painted was as a young boy.” Lucanis said. "It was with fingerpaint, and me and Illario started a war with it instead of painting our canvasses."

“Right, and I've painted every day, since I was four years old. So don’t put that pressure on yourself. Just have a good time.” Cal smiled. “Comparison is the thief of joy.” “You are just full of wisdom today.” Lucanis said, smiling.

Cal focused on his own painting for a bit, seeing Lucanis do the same, but he gradually seemed to smile wider, Cal curiously looking over. “What is it?” “It’s a mess. I don’t think I can salvage this.” Lucanis gave in. “It’s like a child made it.” “You’re too hard on yourself.” Cal said. “No, it’s fine. I’m just going to have to accept that I’m not an artist.” Lucanis sighed with acceptance. “I tried.” “Come on, just let me see.” Cal said, Lucanis stepping aside to let him look. Cal didn’t want to laugh, but he had a hard time keeping his grin contained when he saw what Lucanis had made. There was something of a face there, he had to give him that. The colours were unmixed, primary only, so his skin was red, his eyes blue and his hair yellow, a little orange where it touched his skin and making it look like spaghetti. He put his hand in front of his mouth to hide his smirk. “This..” he said, taking the canvas and presenting it to Lucanis formally, holding it in front of his chest. “Is modern art.” he saw Lucanis start to grin, finally breaking his own composure and laughing as well. Their joined laughter filled the kitchen, Cal having to wipe a little tear once they calmed down.

“It really is a disaster, isn’t it?” Lucanis sighed, chuckling and shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not a disaster.” Cal said, hiccuping. “I can see the shapes. That’s definitely a face. Everything is kind of in the right place, too.” “You’re being kind.” Lucanis said. “It’s ugly.” “It makes me smile.” Cal said. “And I love it for that.”

“You’re sweet.” Lucanis said, his eyes warm. “But I think painting is definitely your thing. Not mine.” he gave Cal the canvas he’d been working on. “Here, a gift. If it makes you happy, you should keep it.” “I will. I’ll look at it every day and remind myself that this is how you see me.” Cal smiled.

“Well, don’t do that.” Lucanis chuckled. “I didn’t even get your hair colour right. I don’t know why I didn’t just use white.” he subconsciously touched Cal’s hair, Cal looking at him with surprise at the familiarity. Lucanis seemed to realize his mistake after a moment or two, taking his hand back to himself. “Forgive me.” he mumbled. Cal smiled when he saw Lucanis fumble slightly.

“You’re okay.” he said. “Do you want to try again? The painting I mean.”

[agentnatesewell]

So the agent sorcerer person who was trying to sacrifice us to Li-Sar… how did he know our blood was needed for the ritual? Do we know if it’s only the detectives blood type that would work? Idk you’re my fav blog for Wayhaven content rn so I thought I would share this question with you 🤣

My pick for my detectives is they always share their blood for tests so idk if that scene is different for others who decided not to share their blood. Just things I’ve been pondering

Hello hello! Thank you so much for the compliment 🥹 that really means so much to me, and I so appreciate it!

That is a great question! Going back, this is really the most that I could find regarding the MC’s reputation beforehand

Going to put the rest behind a cut as it’s long!

This playthrough is with Suri, and she is the only one of my MCs that doesn’t allow the blood tests. This dialogue is the same regardless if you did them or not! And now I am really thinking —

The Agency hasn’t seemed to figured out (and if they addressed it, we haven’t seen it yet!), the leak within it. The leak that really came to light in book three with the kidnappings used to lure out the detective - the auctioneer knew that the detective had the Murphy-Mutation. And even before that, as it was in book two, there was increasing communication outside of Agency channels of the detective’s blood and what powers it might hold

(Bonus, the trappers in book two drew a connection to Rook, with different dialogue depending on if you did the blood tests or not)

F makes mention of gossip being what they have to do for fun while working at the Agency - so my guess is one of two things. One, and most benign, is that Ostin (who isn’t well known, and might be regarded as a recluse), just kept his ears open and heard about the MC’s mutation. Seeing how the MC is a hot topic of gossip (being called a special snowflake in book two, and the questions/comments about their love life in books three&four), and with all that has happened in prior books, I imagine everyone in the Agency knows about the mutation (everyone knows about the solar magic in chapter three AND! AND!! there is a tiny detail in book one - about the cleaning crew after the Murphy fight, I imagine that they may have figured out the effect of the mutated blood and took that information back to the Agency and everyone found out even if you didn’t do the blood tests). The other thing is similar, that Ostin heard through more leak/sinister channels about the effect of the blood

So, like with the onboarding we do at work, I imagine people in the Facility can volunteer to train the MC/new hire. The handler mentions Ostin “agreeing”, but I bet that he volunteered. An easy mission, a routine mission. And he has tried for centuries to free Li-Sar! But now that there is someone who can accompany them under the guise of observation and training, well, the sun and stars really did align didn’t they. This new agent’s blood serves as a supernatural battery, and maybe it would work to supercharge his ritual to getting Li-Sar out. Last ditch effort! It was going to work or I guess die trying? He was very confident it would work

There was no key for his lock! And he really took his chance. He was right. At the cost of his humiliation and his life

Ah! Hope this made sense! I just don’t trust any secret actually being a secret with the Agency, and it didn’t seem they’d go to great lengths to hide the MC’s blood mutation (which … didn’t UA catch during book two? The detective smelling of gingerbread and lemonade??)

Thank you so much for the ask and exploration!!

[kallistcs]

She looks so serious and so doubtful for a moment, the contrast to her wide-eyed gasp is as night and day. The smile is more of a reward than he was expecting he might get as a reaction.

"Why would I put one there?" Ganymede asks, but as soon as he's voiced the question he understands very well what Polyxena means with it. He shakes his head. "I don't think that'd be a very good idea, though. Everyone is used to what that space looks like, how and where they can run across it - besides, if you'd like them to believe you, just ask them to drink."

Teasingly, he flicks water at Polyxena, but only so far up as to have the drops land on her arm. A distraction, hopefully - he really doesn't feel like drawing attention to the need to keep the courtyard as it is and always have been for war-related safety reasons.

"The other water around here might come from the hot or cold springs, and especially having warm water so easily accessible made bathing an ease, I sure appreciated. The water from this little spring, however, will make you feel good. Like the blessings nymphs give the land around which they live."

His mother, as well as his river god grandfathers, had been so very proud when he'd found out he was now not just capable of creating springs, but that the water in it came with same sort of blessing she might give through her water. She'd called it a fertility blessing, and that had been... kind of awkward. Ganymede had settled on calling it a life blessing, because there was no proof the spark of refreshing energy and everything had anything to do with literal fertility.

Just as well, otherwise he'd feel even more awkward making this spring for his little niece and then inviting her to drink.

"A little like a city," Ganymede says as he kneels down on a spot beside the path to the tower.

There's earth here, which will suit him well. Not that he couldn't have done this on the courtyard himself, but he hasn't learned how to take back what he's called forth, and so it'd be an inconvenience to leave a spring in the middle of the courtyard.

"Zeus' palace alone is large enough to be a city, almost, and besides his there are a couple other palaces as well. And a massive theater building of marble. I'm never sure how large it actually is."

Putting his hand on the ground, Ganymede frowns. He can feel the water below like a weight in his hand, as if it was cupped and filled with it, instead of laying flat on the ground. His mother's spring.

"Put your hand here," Ganymede urges as he looks up with a smile, nodding to the spot next to his own. It's getting dark, so this way she'll be able to feel it as well as see it. "I don't need to use an already existing spring, but I don't think anyone would've been very served by me putting one in the middle of the courtyard, would they?"

Smiling wryly, Ganymede closes his eyes.

It doesn't take long, especially not when there's an underwater source nearby. The grass grows damp, then crumbles open, only very slightly as water bubbles up, creating a little pool. Their hands are half submerged in it, clear and cool as it ripples around them from the tiny fountain in the middle.

[ratatatastic]

"what was it like to see ekky drop the gloves and see him just jump in there for you?" [proceeds to say you know and yeah like a lifeline until he can gather his thoughts properly.] "its just cool hes a good guy"

"i appreciate that but you know... yeah i would do the same thing to him"

post practise interview | 11.18.24 (x)

[serpentface]

TRADITIONAL FOODS OF THE HIGHLANDS

The Highlands or 'Greathill' is a region in the central north-northwestern territory claimed by (but almost entirely uncontrolled by) the Wardi Empire. They are inhabited by a network of peoples collectively referred to as the Hill Tribes, who are not a unified or monolithic group but share ancestry, similar means of subsistence, and a common traditional diet.

The highlands are regionally unique for their altitude and relatively cool temperatures (and is the only part of the region that can expect snow on a yearly basis, with some of the highest peaks receiving snowfall year-round). The climate is overall dry, though the rivers are usually well fed by high altitude rains and snowmelt, and the river valleys are wet enough year-round to sustain woodlands and more delicate agriculture.

Most vegetables can only reliably farmed in the river valleys, and these key regions are typically under the control of specific clans or tribes who dominate intra-Highlands trade networks. Those living outside of the river valleys have only occasional access to most farmed vegetables, and foraging is an important supplement to the core diet. Hardier crops are grown on terraced slopes, and the vast majority of the landscape is used as grazing pasture.

The regional cuisine revolves around grain (especially barley and most often taken in the form of bread), meat, cheese, milk, and yogurt. The flavoring stands in stark contrast to the surrounding Wardi cuisines, traditionally being only lightly seasoned (few spices are natively available) and mostly reliant on subtle herbal flavoring, though both palates are in agreement on the value of capsaicin.

Many of the Hill Tribes (or individual clans) have trade connections outside of the highlands, but food (aside from livestock) and spices are not common imports. The majority of the population have maintained traditional culinary practices that are unique among the wider region (though with some inevitable cultural cross-pollination).

Most dishes are eaten by hand out of serving plates and bowls, with spoons used for some soups and porridges. Almost every meal is served with flatbread, which is torn off and used to collect and eat the rest of the food. It is considered good manners to save a piece of bread for last, which will be used to soak up any remaining juices after a plate is cleaned (not doing so is a mild insult to the cook).

Tea is an important part of the daily routine, and is served alongside each meal. Traditional teas in this region are exclusively herbal and consumed for both taste and medicinal purposes, and none are caffeinated (though one has a stimulant effect). Tea is by far the most popular edible import in trade with the broader Imperial Wardi region (along with salt), with imports of tea leaves being desirable and having become quite popular in the last century.

Staple foods:

Barley- the absolute most important staple grain. Most barley grown in the region is a strain that better tolerates the highland’s regionally unique combination of seasonal cold, dry climate, and high altitudes.

Wheat- more delicate than barley and not as widely grown, but a key crop in the more fertile river valleys

Kulys- a native hardy, spiny plant that stores water in its trunk and is tolerant to dry and cold seasons. Its young stalks are edible, but the fruits and flowers are of greater regional importance. The flowers are used for a lightly sweet herbal tea, and the fruits are a important to the diet and usually eaten on their own.

Amaranth- a species of amaranth is regionally native and domesticated, with seeds eaten whole or ground into flour and leaves being used for green vegetables.

Squash- grown only in the river valleys and a key item in trade within the highlands. Squashes are found nowhere else on this side of the Viper seaway, and were likely brought along overseas by the original migrant population.

Chili peppers- several strains are grown in the region (ranging from very mild to chiltepin levels of capsaicin) and mostly used to create spicy yogurt sauces and to flavor stronger dishes.

Wild onion- a region-specific onion species, tolerant of harsh growing traditions but difficult to propagate, mostly foraged.

Magah- a farmed. potato-esque tuber, more strongly flavored and bitter than potatoes.

Dairy products- dairy is foundational to the diet and used to create a variety of yogurts, creams, butters, and cheeses, and milk is often consumed on its own. Cattle and horse milk is preferred, khait will be opportunistically milked but have much lower yields.

Cattle- Cattle are of utmost and absolute importance to the diet (in the form of meat and milk) and overall lifestyle. Wealth is primarily measured in the size of cattle herds. The native landrace of cattle is well accommodated to altitude and seasonal cold, though many breeds have been obtained in trade.

Horses- (the small, three toed kind) They are of secondary importance to cattle in terms of livestock, used for meat, wool, and milk.

Taarn- a type of pheasant native to the region that has been domesticated for meat, fares best in river valleys.

Honey- Beekeeping is a well established practice, and honey is the sweetener of choice and highly valued. Bee larvae are also sometimes roasted and eaten.

Bread- made with wheat, amaranth, or barley flower (or all three), a part of most meals. A type of flatbread is used as a base to scoop up other parts of the meal.

Wild game:

gazelle, antelope, hippegalga, and deer.

aurochs (sometimes found in the low river valleys and foothills)

crocodiles (mainly found in the Erubin river valley)

ducks and geese

unkata (a genera of cassowary sized flightless birds, a smaller subspecies of which can be found here as a grazer)

grynaig (a native species of pidgeon which nests among boulders)

piispiispi (a lagomorph that can be found at high altitudes, somewhat resembles a marmot. The name is onomatopoeia based on their shrill calls)

fish (especially trout), frogs, freshwater mussels, and crayfish from the rivers.

Native fruits: wild plum, dirrucag (a shrub that produces small fruits, roughly comparable to autumn olive), wild rose hips (used for tea and jams).

Other vegetables (cultivated and wild): cabbage, onions, garlic, carrots, rapeseed, peas, wild amaranth, mustard greens, nettles (the latter two also being regionally unknown and likely brought in the original migration).

Herbs/spices: relatively few spices are natively produced. Fennel is reliably grown. A type of sumac can be obtained in the river valleys, and a couple native sages and mints can be found throughout the region.

Alcohol: murre (a relatively strong (8-10% abv) alcoholic beverage made with fermented fruit and horsemilk), mead, kulys wine, and a few wheat and barley ales.

Teas/non-alcoholic beverages:

-Kulys flower tea (a mildly sweet herbal tea with nuanced, delicate flavors, usually consumed on its own without a meal)

-Brolge tea (a bitter tea made with the brulge leaf, which has a mild stimulant effect (comparable to coca in composition, but a different kind of plant) and is often consumed in the mornings. (This plant is known as bruljenum in Imperial Wardin))

-Floral tea (tea made with a variety of edible wildflowers, with plum and rose flower being especially favored, and rosehips added for tartness. Often served with milk)

-Nettle tea (favored as a soothing evening tea for its rich, earthy flavor)

-Mint tea (it's mint tea)

-Roasted barley tea (an everyday staple, often taken with milk or butter and honey, or mixed with herbal ingredients).

-Honey-garlic tea (usually uses roasted barley as a base, boiled together with garlic that has been fermented with honey. Preferred by herders for a warming effect on cold nights).

-Green tea (the preferred untreated variant of imported tea leaves)

-Fermented tea (a combination of imported tea leaves and a native preference for fermentation)

-A sour fermented horsemilk beverage, best taken with salt and/or honey.

-a fermented cowsmilk and yogurt beverage, taken with mint.

-A beverage made with mead, extra honey, hot peppers, and chopped garlic boiled together. Consumed for its warming qualities and to treat colds.

Examples of Dishes:

-flatbread (the base of most meals, made with wheat, barley, and/or amaranth flour. Assume that most non-grain based foods described here are served along or atop it)

-a spicy yogurt sauce made with finely chopped hot peppers, sometimes garlic

-a sour yogurt sauce made with sage, mint, or fennel.

-A type of thick dumpling, stuffed with a variety of foods (beef or horse, wild game, onions, fennel, magah, cheese, etc) and used as a common element of meals. Most comparable in shape to a pierogi.

-fried or baked dough balls with cheese and herbs

-taarn pheasant with a butter and plum or dirrucag sauce.

-beef stock soup with dumplings, onion, and curd cheeses

-beef or horse tartare with melted butter. Sometimes eaten on its own, sometimes sprinkled with herbs or topped in a spicy yogurt sauce.

-wheat or barley porridge with milk, yogurt, or butter, sometimes sweetened with honey.

-broth made with beef trotters and lightly flavored with herbs, often used as a base for other dishes but usually sipped.

-savory barley porridge cooked in beef or horse stock (often as a base for meat dishes)

-cheese, beer, and meat stock soup, often with peas, onions, magah, barley, and/or amaranth.

-yogurt, mint and fennel soup

-plain yogurt with mint and honey

-a mildly sweet porridge made with mashed squash, barley, and milk

-sweet snacks made with amaranth seeds, honey, and dried fruit.

-piispiispi stuffed with herbs and onions and roasted

-mashed magah, basic dish of thoroughly cooked magah, mashed with butter, cream, or yogurt.

-boiled, minced magah with minced meat, mild peppers, and fennel, best topped with a sour yogurt sauce.

-mustard and other wild greens, usually cooked down with butter or beef fat and mixed with onions

-an absolute litany of cheeses, often made with delicate herbs or strong peppers. Soft cheeses are generally favored and most widely used in cooking, hard cheeses are eaten on the go.

-Beef or horse testicles, usually cooked in a butter sauce as part of a larger meal. (most commonly obtained as a byproduct of gelding, in which case it is thought to uniquely boost fertility in ways that testicles obtained in slaughter do not)

-a mild pastry stuffed with soft cheese and topped with honey

-a nettle soup and onion soup, best taken in a fish or shellfish broth for enhanced umami flavor.

-Cow head that has been de-haired and de-brained, smoked, and slowly cooked with herbs and vegetables until tender. This is eaten at wedding celebration- the husband's family will have slaughtered the cow as a bride price. The husband and wife are given the choice, fatty cuts, the marrying families share the rest of the meat, and the broth is sipped by all guests.

-cow or horse brain, minced and fried in butter with onions and served atop mashed magah.

-blood sausage, with grain or magah and wild onions for filler.

-a spicy soup or stew made with boiled crayfish, onion, hot peppers, and cream.

-smoked trout with honey

-roasted honeycomb with larvae

[july-19th-club]

giggling and kicking my feet and prancing into my armchair to watch this annoying guy do embarrassing things on my tv show with his hot friend . and also Tim is there

[hoforwonho]

Wonho’s Home Workout

[misc-muses]

The cloning stuff is probably fetishmining fyi. Google that if you don't know what it is

Anon, I'm crying this is the funniest ask I've ever received. I'm sorry I don't know if you wanted me to reply to this in character, but Stan is not looking up fetishmining if I have anything to say about it.

[vnynv]

i wanted to let you know that your body-type tf2 pictures literally is my favorite set of jpegs ever I love the way you drew demoman I think about it at least once a week

thanks so much!! tf2 body type drawing is still so important to me as well and i'm glad others feel the same <3 xoxo

[thevioletcaptain]

Two days ago you reblogged a post that said "may you end this month $6,800 richer" and your tags said at the end @the universe money please and thank.

It wasn't long ago you were asked how much you needed for your class and denied the anon donating to you because you felt bad about how other people might decide to spend their money. How is the universe gonna get you money when you go out of your way to block it from doing so?

The anon I answered directly by saying I need $648 for my class?

All I said was that I didn't feel right actively promoting any kind of fundraiser for myself right now, but my ko-fi is still linked on my Tumblr page, and my venmo (which I've never been able to figure out how to link without a QR code) is listed on my ko-fi.

An anonymous donation came through on ko-fi shortly after I posted my reply, presumably from the same anon who initially messaged me. I accepted that donation and I thanked the person who sent it.

I will gladly accept and send thanks for any other ko-fi or venmo donations that anyone wants to send.

I don't see how any of this equates to me blocking anything.

[chronicparagon]

[Goodness gracious! I had no idea that headcanon would get this many likes…]