#there’s probably something even darker out there that would fit but i’d have to think for a while lol!!

[umemiyan]

Okay Robin now I must ask YOU which violent and fictional universe do you think you and Megumi would do best in???

oh my lord 😭😭😭

i’m going to try and NOT say star wars since that’s too obvious bc i’m obsessed (even tho he would be such a beautiful jedi….. let me not get started 😭)

there are so many good options tbh….. but i kinda wanna say avatar: the last airbender???? i know that doesn’t necessarily seem big and scary because it’s for younger audiences LOL but like it has a lot of conflict and themes that are really deep actually. like in the right hands it could go pretty dark. and idk it seems like a good fit off the top of my head??

i’m always indecisive about what my own status as a bender would be and i’m kinda the same way about megumi, but i just think the whole universe would be neat for us!!!

i know i’ve seen some people say waterbender megumi which i LOVE but i also think about firebender megs too… just because it seems so different from who he is but, just like his technique in jjk universe, it’s something he maybe inherited and didn’t ask for. so idk!!!!!!! very very indecisive with my own headcanons lmao but i really do love all the possibilities!!

i think it would be interesting to explore our dynamic during the conflict of the war with the fire nation or hell even a time period way before or after when shit is going down

[throneofsapphics]

hi, i was wondering if you could do something with an idea that i’ve had for a while ?

it would be a feysand x reader

imagine: you’re apart of the friend group between nesta, gwen, and emerie. you’re all reading a darker romance book then you usually do, one day rhys or feyre catches you reading it or finds the book, either way they take the book and starts to read it/shows the book to other. later on that day feysand confronts you, starts to tease you about the book, maybe even asks to recreate your favorite scenes. you get a little embarrassed bc of it being a darker romance book, but mostly bc feysand found it & read it.

i hope that makes sense, i was hoping for somewhat angst if you could fit it in and definitely smut

i’ve had this stuck in my head for days and i just needed you to hear it 😂😭

i am absolutely OBSESSED with your writing, i can’t get enough of it 🫶🏻

a good book can do wonders 

Feysand x f!Reader

Summary: Rhys and Feyre steal one of your books. 

Warnings: nsfw, smut, cnc, bondage, not proofread, minors dni!!

Word Count: ~1.4k 

A/N: I loved this idea so much, thank you! It deviated a bit

They’d scented your arousal, undoubtedly, as you sat curled in your favorite armchair. …

“Who recommended this?” Rhys asked, flipping through the pages. 

You tugged your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “Guess.” You muttered, carefully watching his reactions as he skimmed through it, Feyre leaning over his shoulder.

“Please tell me it wasn’t my sister.” Feyre groaned, but you saw how her eyes gleamed. 

“It’s not,” you managed to huff out a laugh. 

“Definitely Emerie.” Feyre shot you a sly smile. You didn’t confirm or deny. It was her, but you didn’t need to spill her secrets like that. Your non-answer probably told them everything they needed to know. Too late, you realized you could’ve just said it was your own book. 

“And what if it was mine?” 

“I’d be surprised.” Feyre admitted with a shrug. “But it’s not.” She continued flipping through the pages, pausing on one as her eyes widened. You knew exactly what part she’d gotten to, and groaned. You decided it was time for you to leave. Now. Before they said or did anything else that would embarrass you. Rhys shot you a look as you left, as if he was saying this isn’t over yet, and you ignored him, leaving both him and Feyre to keep reading over that damn book. You’d figure out how to get it back later. 

You avoided them for the rest of the day, being extra-cautious to stay out of their way. You weren’t too embarrassed, but it felt like a violation for them to come up and grab it from you. Your biggest secret fantasies, all exposed because they couldn’t mind their own damn business. Hours later, you were still stewing as the time approached for bed, and wondered if it made you a bit immature to avoid them over this. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you muttered under your breath as you approached the door, pushing it open. Thankfully, the room was still empty and you slipped into the bathroom. Maybe you could be asleep before they returned. 

Sleep didn’t come easy, or come at all, you tossed and turned, tucking your arm under the pillow with a groan. 

“Already trying to sleep?” you heard Feyre from the door, “I might think you’re avoiding us.” 

You let out another grumble, but didn’t move, cursing how they always seem to know. 

“Of course we do,” Rhys’s smooth voice slipped into your mind, and you shoved him back out - slamming the mental walls right up and ignoring his chuckle as a claw stroked down them. 

“If you like it, you don’t have to be ashamed,” Feyre sat next to you, pushing you aside slightly to give herself more room. She moved your arm, exposing your face. You blinked and readjusting to the light, ignoring how her soft hands stroked up and down your bare arm. “So do we,” she glanced at Rhys with a small smirk. He was leaning back against the dresser, watching your every reaction carefully. He gave a small nod to signal his agreement.

“There are some scenes I wouldn’t mind giving a shot,” he purred. 

You let out a slow breath, trying to regain your composure as heat shot right to your core.  “It’s not,” you sighed, “not necessarily that. It’s that you took it from me.” 

His hands braced the dresser as he pushed off it, stalking towards you. He stopped, standing right by your head. One finger traced your jawline, brushing over your bottom lip. His eyes gleamed as your heart sped up, your pulse fluttering and eyes closing at his touch. “I’d say I’m sorry … but it’s opened up a whole realm of possibilities.” 

“Rhys,” Feyre said in a warning tone. Your eyes opened as he shot her a look, as if to say you feel the same. 

“Do you trust us?” He asked you, straightening. 

“Yes,” you breathed, and had an idea of what was headed your way next. 

“And you know how to give your word, if you can’t speak?” 

Gods, you felt like your heart might beat right out of your chest as you gave a small nod. The corners of his mouth twitched up. He tugged you out of the bed, and you stood on shaky legs, your nightgown falling down to the middle of your thighs. He reached out one hand for Feyre, grasping yours in the other, and winnowed. 

You fought hard to keep your balance as you landed … in the Palace above Hewn City. A shiver ran down your spine, the breeze seeming to swirl around the room. You’d only been here once before. 

“Run.” 

You didn’t hesitate and sprinted out, weaving up the stairs and throwing yourself around corners. You had absolutely no idea where you were and quickly found yourself lost. Still, you didn’t quit moving. 

“Lost, darling?” 

You ignored him, but left your walls down still. 

“She has to be, poor thing.” Feyre answered him. 

You could sense their presence nearby, they had to be close. Your breathing grew ragged, and a tiny bit of fear slipped in along with the anticipation. It made it all the more exciting. 

One arm wrapped around your throat, tugging you back into a hard chest as you yelped. 

“Found you,” Rhys’s teeth grazed your neck as you struggled, trying to throw him off. As expected, it didn’t work - not one bit. 

Instead, you found yourself on a balcony seconds later. All of the winnowing was throwing you off, making you lose sense of direction. 

Your hips hinged, pressing against the rail of the balcony as he pressed you over it. His feet kicked your ankles wide, and his firm grip was the only thing keeping you from tumbling off. Feyre’s hand slid down your calf, laughing and gripping your ankle firmly as she gripped it. 

“Please,” you begged, “please stop.” 

Instead, silky ropes appeared, binding one of your ankles to the railing. She moved quickly to secure the other, ignoring your attempts to kick her away. 

Rhys’s hand landed firmly on your ass. “That wasn’t very nice,” he tutted, and another blow rained down on you. You yelped and wiggled underneath him, but you could move. Not as he yanked your right arm over your back, tying it off somewhere, before yanking the left across it, securing that one as well. You were left completely immobile and exposed - at their mercy. Thank the Mother it’s summer time, still, the chill made your nipples harden painfully. 

Your nightgown was bunched up around your hips, as he ran one hand up the outside of your thighs, firmly squeezing your ass before slapping it again. You yelped at the impact, your hips digging into the rail. 

“Please,” you begged again, but this time you were sure what you were begging for. 

“Please, what?” Feyre asked, a cruel hint to her tone, just as two of Rhys’s fingers slammed into you. A mixture between a scream and moan left your lips as he crooked them forward to hit that spot. 

“Little slut can’t even talk.” You looked over your shoulder as Rhys’s fingers pulled out, in time to see him offering them to her. 

“St-stop,” you managed to babble, and she shoved him away, gripping the back of your hair and making your neck arch painfully. 

���Really?” Her hand laid a slap down, right to your wet and aching pussy, and another whimper left your lips. “This doesn’t feel like you want us to stop.” 

Her laugh was cruel as she released your hair, crouching down and digging her teeth into your ass, harsh enough she left a bite on your ass. 

They had studied the book apparently, and were playing out the scene almost identically to how you remember it. “Anything for you,” Rhys’s voice slid into your mind as Feyre’s tongue licked one long strip through your folds. You tried to wiggle away as she slid over your puckered hole, but she held you in place, nails digging into your ass as a warning. 

For what could have been hours, Rhys and Feyre took full advantage of your position - completely bound and vulnerable to their whims. Your hips would have bruises the next day from him pounding into you, you were overstimulated and more sore than you had been in the past, but satisfaction ran through you too - completely sated and content. 

You sighed in relief as they undid the binds, your nightgown had been torn off completely at some point, but Rhys somehow pulled a robe out of thin air and wrapped it around you, tying it gently. Feyre gathered you in her arms, holding you tightly and winnowing you back to the River Estate.

[eddiebrockrambles]

Hey, void. I want to create something. I could do with a hand, perhaps. Not sure quite how - probably to bounce ideas, gather footage, etc. It would be at a snail’s pace, fitting around work, but ultimately aiming to become a completed ‘thing’.

I’ve had an idea for a Venom fanvid/tribute, which also includes an implied Venom 4/fix it.

Might be alright, might be as successful as Venom’s smoothie

18+ only pls, due to mental health and kink topics littered across my blog (…and psyche).

I’ve got 2-3 songs I’d love to use - obviously, copyright stuff comes into it, and all I can hope is that the fact that it would be fan-made, not for profit, and not looking to go viral would keep it in the realms of allowed poetic liberty and freedoms.

Ideas:

- Aim to create high production value snippets of footage to create a V4 fix-it plot. Resources I can utilise:

Black slime

Cool lighting

Colour grading with DaVinci

I have a lean to stocky build which might look similar in a hoodie

Brown waxed jacket

Various locations, some of which I’m in touch with the land owners, including industrial, rural, and potentially a pond

- Craft a V4 narrative

Music choice

Snippets of fan-made content if I can make it to a high enough production value

Snippets of deleted scenes added if they fit

Snippets of existing scenes added if we can modify them enough to seem like new footage (so it doesn’t become confusing and seem like a memory sequence or time skip)

Story device which could help (texts on mobile, pipette of saltwater droplet landing on phone as Eddie texts Anne, etc)

Use of stock footage (if need to know about copyright though)

Compositing over existing footage

Vocal impressions (Is that too weird?) to convey a narrative

- Main creative directives:

Gritty and cathartic

Realistic

Eddie breaking down / not doing so good

Venom finding his way back (likely as a cockroach, then a fish, then a bird etc)

As cinematic as possible given limited resources

Colour grade and film similar to Venom 1, with the darker, grittier, ‘Alien’ approach

Could give reference to certain Comic scenes, though I tend to want to stay away from the comic representation and some of the backstory in favour of Tom Hardy’s portrayal and the vibes in Venom (2018). I love those ‘The Hunger’ scenes, and the re-merging scenes though. I’d love to include visual references to all that somehow, even if the context isn’t the same

3-5 min or more fan video (live action), though ideally 5-10 mins!

- Collaborative approach

I love bouncing ideas

I could do with a hand collating stock footage which fits, editing, writing, maintaining inspiration and motivation, sound side of things, recording bits if we were in the same area but the chances of that are slim to none

Mood boards would be awesome

There are so many good fics and writers out there and it’s hard to know the best direction to take it in

Basically: a think tank

[papayatori]

Sorry…

Tsumu Miya x Fem!reader

Warnings: angst, heavy topics of depression

I never cried in front of people. It wasn’t something I did, not even behind closed doors did I ever make that mistake. Crying was something that people did in their weakest moments, and I did not have weak moments that I could not handle.

At least that’s what I told myself as I climbed the stairs up to my apartment building.

My fingers fumbled with the door handle, struggling to slide the perfectly fitted key into its lock to open it. Isn’t that something? An object made perfectly for another object, one that slides right in perfectly in a way so intricately designed that no other key could fit into said lock.

A dry sobbed escaped my throat at the thought.

I stumbled through the door to my room, crumbling into the floor with a heartbroken sob, not even feeling myself fall. I drowned out the crying with the thumping of my heartbeat, I swallowed my pride and allowed for the tears to simply cascade down my cheeks like rain filling the gutters of my soul. Enough had happened today, and yet, it somehow continued to shatter my resolve and loosen my grip on reality.

Another six months down the drain.

Was I crying because of another failed situationship? No. That wasn’t it at all. I couldn’t care less about the boy I knew didn’t want me for anything other than sex. I knew that all along. Hell, I only wanted him to prove to myself I was lovable; but these, these tears were the tears of someone who’s never felt the touch of another that truly loved them.

Was I upset? Absolutely; and it showed with every tear that dripped pitifully down my face in a way that definitely wasn’t attractive. My sobs could probably be heard by my neighbors, who I didn’t entirely care about that lived just behind the paper thin walls of the complex we shared; but who was I to care? My phone had been lost on the way through my apartment, my keys dropped off somewhere in the living room in a place I’d probably forget when I needed them again, my coat desperately hanging onto the rack I half-heartedly hung it on in a desperate attempt to keep in my tears. Now, here we were, lying on my bedroom floor with my face in my tear-dampen hands, praying to whatever higher being that would so much as spare me a pitiful glance that I’d finally stop kidding myself and come to terms with my feelings.

The gods didn’t so much as turn their heads. If anything, they’d probably shunned me by now.

My attention was taken by the sound of the door shutting, and I thought my luck might’ve turned around and someone had followed me home to put me out of my misery, wishful thinking? Possibly, but that didn’t stop a lonely heart from beating for it.

To my dismay, my bedroom door opened quickly enough to give me whiplash, and my best friend stumbled in and nearly fell on top of me.

One look at Tsumu’s face and all I could see was worry. This hit me like a brick.

“What the hell happened to ‘ya?” He asked. “I’ve called ‘ya about a million times… don’t ya ever answer your damned phone-“ and then he stopped talking. His gaze turned a little darker as he saw my pitiful position in the floor, and I didn’t even turn my head.

I let out another quiet sob as he stared at me with more worry.

“What…?” He said, walking over to me after hesitating, sitting down next to me on the floor. I shook his head in disbelief. “Y/n…?” He asked, his voice shaky and uneven.

I shook my head, forcing myself backwards in the floor. I couldn’t let him see me like this.

“Why are you here?” I said, forcing the seethe into my voice to keep the hoarse sound of sobs out of it.

“Why are you crying?” He said, answering my question with one of his own. I groaned loudly.

“Dammit I’m not fucking crying.” I said, obviously lying through my teeth. “I don’t cry, I don’t break, and I sure as hell don’t wallow in my own self pity.” I said, knowing I was doing all of those things, and by his silence, I knew he was aware of this too.

“You don’t lie either, y/n, so what’s gotten into you?” He asked softly, sitting down in front of my new position up against the wall. My head fell back against it, and I gave up on trying to hide my tears from his gaze, he could see them regardless.

“Another six months, gone..” I mumbled, sniffling and closing my eyes tightly to keep any more tears from falling. “Another six months.”

I heard him moving around, but didn’t care enough to lose my battle with my own tears to see where he was going. Instead, I heard the small thump of his back against the wall, and I felt his strong arm drape over my shoulders as he tugged me a little harder than usual into his side. As I tried to pull away, I was no match for his muscles, and he made that abundantly clear.

I could feel my face heating up, and another broken sob escaped my dry, cracked lips.

“I told ‘ya it was a bad idea.” He mumbled, rubbing my shoulder with his thumb. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I knew it was a bad idea, don’t lecture me Tsumu.” I grumbled, trying to calm my pulse.

“Then why the hell do you even do it?” He asked, grip on my shoulders tightening just slightly. “Why do you put yourself through hell every time you feel lonely? It pisses me off.” He said. I spared a glance at his face, trying to remind myself that his anger wasn’t sexy, it was anger at me and my own foolish actions. He was disappointed in me, and that hurt more than my crumbling pride.

I didn’t bother responding, I just let out another mangled sob. There wasn’t any point in trying to stop the tears now. Years worth of anger, disappointment, and resentment were now cascading down my cheeks in harsh, slick streaks that were staining them so horribly.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He said softly, loosening his grip and rubbing small circles into my shoulder again. “But I’m not sorry that I’m angry.”

Like a blunt knife to the gut, his words wounded me further.

“You shouldn’t have to be sorry at all.” I managed to choke out of my dry throat. I shook my head as I slumped against him, entirely giving up and feeling defeated. “You shouldn’t have to be here with me now either, holding me like I’m defenseless.” I could feel his glare before I looked up, so I didn’t even bother looking up.

“How could you say that?” He said, genuinely shocked. “Have you seen yourself lately? You’re painfully thin, you have no stamina or any sort of motivation whatsoever. You are defenseless! Do you know how many times my mother has asked if you’re eating enough? If you’re depressed? Do you know how many times Samu has asked me what’s going on with you? And you know, the worst part of it all is my answer, because I can’t answer them at all! You don’t tell me jack shit about what you’re going through, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He said, his voice breaking as he spoke to me. I tried not to let it get to me, I tried so damned hard to keep my tears steady and not the harsh ones that sting my cheeks, but the crack in his usual, steady and calm self is what pushed them over the edge of my tear ducts and pouring down my cheeks again.

“I know!” I said a bit harshly. “Dammit I know.” He barked a sarcastic laugh.

“Well dammit why don’t you start fessing up with you do know, because I sure as hell don’t.” I finally met his gaze as he said this. A tear fell down his reddened cheek, and I was met with eyes of cold, hard steel, that held so much emotion in them it was almost overwhelming.

He stopped rubbing circles in my shoulder again, and instead he let his hand rest there idly, almost limp.

“I.. I can’t..” I choked, giving him a look that held more remorse than it did anything else.

“And why not dammit?” He said, another tear streaming down his face. “Why can’t you tell me why you’re hurting so I can try and help you? Why do you go weeks without saying anything to me or answering my calls? I thought I was your best friend.” He said, his voice breaking again.

The truth is, I didn’t know why I didn’t talk to him, why I pushed him away from me after years of loving him so strongly. I didn’t know why I resented myself for it, I didn’t know why I was so head over heels for him that I tried so desperately to find love anywhere else I could. But the one thing I did know, is that he couldn’t know why either. He couldn’t know that I thought of him every second he wasn’t there. He couldn’t know that my fingers itched to text him every time I got in my phone. He couldn’t know how badly I wanted him.

I couldn’t lose the only person that I knew cared about me, and I wasn’t going to, not now or ever.

“I don’t know.” I said, not looking him in the eye. “I wish I could tell you.”

He dropped his arm from around me, and the next thing I knew he was turning to face me.

“Yet, you’re still lying to me, even when I’m the only person you let into your life who doesn’t just see you as something of use.” He said, holding my hand tightly. “I can’t force you to tell me the truth, god knows I would if I could, but I can tell you one thing…” he started, gulping down the sob he wanted to desperately to let out. “… you won’t get rid of me, even if you ignore me and make me feel like shit when you do, when I just want to make sure you’re okay, when I worry so much about you I make myself physically ill. You aren’t losing me, because I care too damned much about you to let you.” He said, standing and tugging me up with him. “When was the last time you slept?” He asked me. I shrugged, I didn’t even remember. He let out a deep sigh, walking me over to my messy bed, pulling back the covers gently.

“Get some rest… or try not to torment yourself with whatever it is you’re not talking about… I’m not going anywhere I promise.” He said, squeezing my hand again. I didn’t bother arguing. I laid down on my bed with a helpless flop, nearly lifeless as I stared up at him from the sheets. He tugged at my blankets, pulling them on top of me with so much care it almost broke my heart again; and just when I thought he was finished, he leaned down to kiss my forehead with a soft, heartbroken smile.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.” He said, his voice holding a sort of promise that I wasn’t sure how to decipher, a promise that forced me to speak later, one that he wouldn’t let me live down, so I nodded.

“I will.” I said softly, clutching the blankets tighter around me as he walked out of my room to sit on my couch until I was ready.

—————————————————————————

I woke up with sticky eyes and a swollen face. I drug my hand across it with a small groan, feeling the headache coming on already. I stared at the clock on the wall, not knowing what time I had fallen asleep but knowing I had at some point, as it was 3am, and I smelled food. It was a pleasant smell, and I was wondering which of my neighbors was cooking. Then it hit me.

Atsumu Miya, who had not left my house, was cooking in my kitchen.

With a jolt of anxiety, I sprinted from my bed into the kitchen of my apartment to see if the building was on fire, and why the smoke alarms hadn’t gone off yet. His eyes landed on my in an instant.

“Up already?” He asked, looking at his watch. “It’s only been a few hours…” he said. I shook my head.

“You’re cooking.” I mumbled, my throat dry from the crying and hoarse from being dry. I looked around in confusion. Where was the smoke? “Why is the apartment building still standing?”

I heard him snort from the stove, looking back at me again.

“Samu isn’t the only one that learned how to cook. You know I have to eat to survive, yeah? Especially playing professional volleyball…” he mumbled, the look on his face showed amusement, but I could still see the anger and resentment in his eyes. I tried not to flinch when I held them for a second too long before breaking away again.

“I’m sorry.” I said softly, catching my own ears by surprise as it easily tumbled from my tongue. His eyes widened, and he gave me a look I could barely process before he turned around to face whatever it was he was cooking on the stovetop.

“I don’t want you to apologize.” He said firmly, emotionlessly. “I just want you to tell me what’s going on and give me something to work with here. I can’t stitch a wound if I don’t know where it’s at.” He said. I think those were the most brilliant words I had ever heard him say, and it was a shame that they were directed towards me.

He turned to me now, two plates in hand, he put one of them in front of me and immediately started eating without giving it a second thought.

“Hungry?” He asked, looking at me with a little bit of shock. I nodded eagerly, trying to distract myself from the dried streaks of tears. Had he been crying while I was asleep?

“Famished.” I responded, gulping down everything he had given me, barely noticing that it was even edible, which was a shock given that Tsumu had cooked it. Regardless, I was grateful.

He gave me a look after I cleared my plate, one that was remorseful, pitiful, and equally as hard as steel. I knew what he wanted, and I gulped in response.

“Tsumu..” I started, my lips parted gently as I tried to find another easy way out of this. He shook his head.

“If you’re going to lie to me, either do a better job of it or don’t bother speaking.” He said, holding my gaze with that same pained expression. I stiffened, nearly throwing up everything I had eaten.

My mind had gone utterly blank other than my true feelings for the man in front of me. His brow was creased in such a good way, a way that boiled in my stomach like water, a way that left a residue in my throat and on my lips as it steamed throughout my being. I hated the way he looked at me because I absolutely adored it.

“I don’t want to lose you Tsumu-“

“You aren’t going to lose me. I promise that already.” He said, his fingers digging into his palms as he tried to steady his anger. I bit my lip. “Why do you think you will?” He asked, taking a deep breath.

“I… I’m scared Tsumu.” I said, my voice slightly trembling as I looked away from him with red cheeks.

“What have I done that makes you scared of me?” He asked; his voice trembling along with mine as he tried hard to keep his cool. I shook my head.

“I’m not scared of you Atsumu.” I said firmly. “I’m scared of my own feelings.”

He looked at me then with so much affection and understanding that it nearly gave me whiplash compared to the look he had been giving me only seconds before. I swallowed the lump in my throat in a heartbeat.

“Tell me about them.” He said, letting go of his own hand. “Please.”

I nodded, steadying myself with a deep breath and leaning onto the table.

“I..I..” I stumbled over my words, and the only thing I was met with was a patient Tsumu begging me to take all the time I needed, as long as I said it. I breathed another deep breath, exhaling just as deeply. “..love you..” I said meekly, a tear threatening to fall again. I heard him audibly gasped.

His silence cut through me once again, and my heart dropped. Surely I had lost it now, surely I was alone forever and wouldn’t ever find the peace with myself I had wanted for so long. I looked up to see his eyes already on me, his mouth agape like a fish underwater. His eyes distant, trying to process it all.

“I shouldn’t have-“

“I love you too.” He said, cutting me off. Now it was my turn to look at him in shock, my heart racing through my chest as it threatened to break out of it.

Once again, we were silent. The only thing that could be heard was the soft sound of our ragged breathing. He was the first to stand, and I followed almost immediately as I walked to the other side of the table, meeting him halfway. Gently, his large palms met my cheeks as he stared down into my eyes.

“Why..” he asked, breath jagged and irrational. “why would you ever be scared of losing me over something like that?”

I met his eyes with love in my own, an emotion I never wanted to feel before, and now was all I felt. It was raw, and nearly painful, and I wasn’t sure why I enjoyed the feeling so deeply.

“Because you’re the first person that I’ve ever genuinely wanted.” I said softly, leaning into the warmth of his palms almost desperately. He seemed to hang on every word I said, trying to understand it and trying to trust it. I couldn’t say I blamed him, it wasn’t like I’d been honest with him to begin with.

“But you haven’t lost me… have you?” He said, rubbing my cheeks gently with the pad of his thumbs. I shook my head.

“No.. no god if I lost you…” I said, the lump forming in my throat again. “If I lost you Id-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” He said firmly, kissing my forehead. “Because you aren’t losing me, ever.”

Slowly, I nodded, wanting to trust him blindly and stop feeling the pain I had felt earlier tonight ever again. He cracked a smile.

“Atta girl, y/n.” He said softly, pulling me in for a tight hug. “I’m more proud of you than I’ve ever been.” He said. I smiled softly into his chest, my own hands wrapping around his torso snugly. My body fit perfectly into his, almost like a key to a lock, and suddenly the world made complete sense.

—————————————————————————

“I do…” I heard him say loudly, clearly through the sharp silence of the venue we had booked a year prior. My heart thudded in a way that it never had before as I looked up at him, his shaggy blond hair falling perfectly to frame his handsome face. He took my hand in his own, squeezing it gently as the priest spoke to me. I looked over at him with a confident smile.

“I do.” I whispered, locking eyes with Atsumu as he leaned closer to me, placing his lips gently to mine with so much passion that it nearly broke me.

“About damn time.” He said, breathing heavily as he pulled away from me. As the ring was slipped onto my finger for the first time and the last, I sighed deeply and stared into my husband’s eyes.

“You’ll never lose me, Tsumu.” I said. “Not now, not ever.” He gave me a look that told me he trusted me completely, a look that told me how much he loved me.

“You don’t have to tell me things I already know, y/n.” He teased with a lopsided grin, one that made me lightheaded.

“Well, seeing as you think you know everything, I just thought I should tell you.” I grinned, poking his chest. He gave me an offended glance, but his usual smirk stayed present.

“You wound me, truly I’m wounded.” He said, his hand on his chest dramatically. I rolled my eyes with a small smile.

“Whatever, Tsumu, just kiss me again.” I said, and without skipping a beat, his lips were on mine for the second time as our families clapped behind us.

I would never get tired of this feeling, I would never get tired of him, and I’d never push him away ever again. Was I scared of losing him? Absolutely not. He’d seen me at my best and my worst, and most importantly he’d vowed that he’d love me even then. With that, I had found the key to myself and my own locked heart, and that key was Atsumu Miya himself.

[makoredeyes]

Hello, I saw your response to my previous ask and it’s given me the encouragement I need to step out of my comfort shell.

So, like I said I absolutely love your characterization of Lord Timur and after reading every chapter of your various works, an interesting thought occurred to me.

Timur has a clear obsession with exos, and I can’t help but think that he would have a field day at exo science on Europa.

However, given what we know about the various experiments Clovis conducted in the pursuit of exo bodies how would Timur react upon learning about how exos were created (specifically clarity) and just how many atrocities were committed as a result.

cuss coming from someone who has read all the lore entires about the Deep stone crypt some of those logs sound like something straight out of a sci fi horror movie (billboarding being a particularly scary thought) and I’m convinced that if Destiny were angled towards a more mature audience those entires could have gone even darker (I don’t even want to mention the dead exo dialogue)

and while Timur may have an enthusiasm for the pursuit of science and discovery I like to think that even he has a line he will not cross.

also how would Felwinter react to all that (I’d imagine he’d want to put a few bullets thought the giant Clovis head)

HELLO AND WELCOME BACK! <3

And OOOUUGH Go and poke all my favorite topics at once why don'tcha! Battleship SUNK <3 Oh gawd you're getting such a rambling infodump here I should probably apologize but surely you knew what you were doing ahahaha... I'm still a little sorry heeh.

Rambling below the break, for the sake of everyone's sanity!

OK OK OK so First of all yeah holy shit ALL the stuff surrounding the Bray Family, but especially centering on Clovis (the Bray Family Bullshit as I like to call it) is all SUPER dark and yeah man going into Clovis' personal logbook and some of the Exo experiments, and even Willa's experiments with what was, or would become ('scuse my brain fog) SIVA are all shady AF. Even Ana and her big precious couldn't do a thing in the world wrong baby Warmind isn't immune and she's fucking adopted (EDIT: I’ve been informed she was only TOLD she was adopted , check zalia in the comments!) but it rubbed off on her just a little anyway imo. But BRAYTECH as a company was a massive conglomerate with government and military backing, and while yeah, the company's most questionable developments were hidden behind brighter veneers or on remote celestial bodies (coughEruopaCough) OR (REDACTED for Vespers Host spoilers), more or less there was kind of a universal Do What I Want and Get Away With It card. And they USED it. Not just with the exos, but that's particularly noteworthy because yeah, Clovis was freaking corrupted and led by the Witness via "Clarity". He was a self-centered arrogant prick all along but it led him right into megalomania to the point of assuming he could ascend to godhood. Freaking spectacular. But TIMUR. Well we don't know a whole lot about him for SURE but I would posit that he wasn't so much obsessed with Exos specifically as he was with Golden Age tech, Clovis (or more specifically his *Legacy*) and knowledge for the sake of knowledge. (You know, that obnoxious Warlock Trope Bungie loves so much) We have a handful of pretty intriguing quotes attributed to Timur regarding his perspective on the pursuit and use of knowledge as a weapon. His student Colovance eventually laments that Timur has gone mad with obsession (specifically over SIVA/Bray Co.)*** He also might have had a perfectly healthy fixation on Felwinter because the dude must have been able to smell this stuff. (no I'm not taking that exact analogy used in one of the weblores seriously but I mean, if the shoe fits) I'd infer that he sensed something was different about Felwinter, but he knew for sure that Felwinter KNEW THINGS that he did not and it drove him batty. The other thing he was, that we know for sure thanks to a idle line from Saladin, was a weapons smith. And it's inferred that he takes a disturbing amount of glee from it.

And of course he's got the mind-control thing, which if you're unfamiliar with D1 and that relic of his- the effect/ability that was attributed to was called Timur's Demons. Check out the imagery on the Memory of Timur item sometime if you haven't seen it, because wao. It's um. It's something.

Which leads me to some HEADCANONS

Zalia sold me on this but damnit she's right and I accepted it as gospel pretty much immediately: That mind control shit ain't the kind of voodoo that comes from the Traveler's wheelhouse. It's Darkness that touches on stuff like thought and memory and self-control. Was he doing that on purpose? Probably not or he'd have been violently ostracized from well. everything. Since darkness stuff and it's users were NOT Kosher until very recently in Destiny's history. Buuut....this might have given Timur a more open-minded perspective as well. Symmetrists were always a thing. Regardless of that specifically, I DO like to picture Timur as actually quite morally gray. I haven't had the chance to show it so much yet in my writing, especially because that sweet sunshine disposition is sooooo much fun, but that's only half the picture. The way I see it for him as there are his Family/Loved ones, and there are Objects. You are either with him or you are a target to test-fire his latest invention on. (ahaha oh I finally got booted into Orbit from the Tower while sitting here typing all of this up lololol) He's a black sheep with the other Iron Lords (perhaps a surrendered Warlord even) and probably the cause of a LOT of the hard moral creeds that have been written into their code. It's part of what makes Felwinter, as another lone ranger so to speak, so appealing to him, perhaps.

There's also a pretty stout handful of us that have clustered up on the belief that Timur WAS from Braytech, and very highly placed within the organization, probably working closer with Clovis than anyone would really care to be. (Why do we believe this? Because it's fun lol)

So me? I like to think he was actually involved in all of that, probably directly. I'm sure there was a whole lot about it he didn't like (we see that with most of the scientists with Braytech) but was it enough to outweigh the discovery? The innovations? Did it outweigh the price of his education? Or perhaps he did want out but couldn't break free. I would not for a second mistake him for a FRIEND of Clovis either way, and I especially enjoy picturing a situation where he encounters Clovis in his new life as a Lightbearer after pursuing that Legacy for so long, only to discover terrible truth about the man behind the curtain. I think he would keep the progress and the (somewhat imaginary) gilded perfection of the Golden Age, but reject Clovis himself entirely.

I think after living through the Dark Age he'd have a higher reverence for human life also, but any outrage he has to anything he learns is probably going to be more personal and self-centered ("I can't believe I idolized that creep!!") than taking into immediate consideration the lives that were lost or damaged in those experiments.

Felwinter would shoot Clovis dead on the spot without asking a single question after so much as 5 minutes with Elsie.

I don't think he'd be too personally troubled by how the Exominds are created because frankly, he isn't one. There is a very good chance that his body was not exposed to radiolaria or Clarity the way the human-bound frames were, because that process was done entirely in order to stave off billboarding from DER, which was never a risk for him. His frame was probably manufactured and immediately requisitioned by Rasputin for his own purposes, and he definitely knows enough about his origins that if he learned about this process he'd be able to put two and two together. BUT the moral issue of everything else that went on, with uncooperative, or transitionally difficult Exos were getting simply wiped into compliance WOULD rankle him, and he would deal out justice accordingly in his usual fashion.

*** as an aside: I am reading Lord Colvance's missive from the Ghost Fragment: The Dark Age 3 grimoire card and... Was? He? Left? Behind??? During the incursion on Site 6??? It sounds like they left him behind! Is he alive??????? Fellow Lorewhores can someone check on this and knock some sense into me??? ****also shitfuck I have OTHER thoughts reading this again HELP.

Edit: Naw he dead I’m dumb lmaooo 🤣

Edit2: check the comments folks, we’ve got some top-shelf insights Re: lore etc rolling in in there that I would be deeply remiss to let anyone pass by.

[readingadream]

Be The Light

Chapter 3

Word count 1,282

2 | 3 | 4

Master

 POV Wooyoung

A week had now passed by since I’d agreed to join a group of strangers life style of fighting for a ‘New World’ and in a week I’ve grabbed most of my items from my apartment, I’d quit my job, and lastly I told Changbin about everything but at the same time I lied because he wasn’t technically allowed to know the truth. Though what I didn’t expect was that he’d be upset about it, calling me foolish and that I was so irresponsible. 

I was hurt, I’d felt this tightness in my chest when my best friend raised his voice at me.

“Are you serious, Woo?! What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you just drop everything like that when you have just started to really become successful? especially with 7 others who clearly just have no life and probably have a shitty past” Changbin’s hands were in fist, he looked more hurt then angry though but I didn’t understand why. Why was he so upset? Why was he so pressed on the fact I’d moved in with others that wasn’t him and his friends. “You are so stupid. Honestly Woo, I never thought I'd be this disappointed in you. Just remember who your true friend is okay? If they hurt you in any way… I swear to god I'll hurt them.”

Thinking of the fact Changbin had even threatened to hurt the others was surprising because he'd never been one that was violent towards others. At least that's what he'd always thought. Changbin was a gym rat, he was definitely fit and had learned how to fight, learned boxing and even once did a competition. 

Sitting down at the table I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. Hongjoong and Mingi had been making a schedule for us all so we'd have time to train and so that they could teach me more about what they do. There were times where it was just Seonghwa and I who'd be going over paperwork of government officials or even just wealthy families in Korea. 

Honestly I was thankful they weren't too much in a rush to get me to learn everything, at times San, or Jongho would also join my lessons. They would explain things in different ways so that I could understand some of this information better. Since my role was to get the information for them I needed to not be seen much with the others out in public, Seonghwa and Yeosang had been trying to help me get into modeling since that was an easy way to hear all the gossip. Though I much rather just be a server or something for the parties. I wasn't that confident in my own body but the others would praise me telling me that I did look great. 

“I will send out some of your portfolios to the company’s I used to work with, Woo, you are definitely what they search for.” Yeosang said as he typed away on his laptop. I noticed that he usually would stick out the tip of his tongue when he was focused on something. I found his habit cute actually.

Nodding I leaned over to look at the photos we'd taken the day before, simple head shot photos, and some full body pictures that showed my body off a little better. I'd been wearing a tight white sweater and simple blue jeans, with very light makeup mostly just gloss on my lips to make them look a little more of a darker shade of red. I must admit the photos turned out well. “Man, who knew Jongho could take such good photos.” I praised the younger one as he just so happened to walk past us, going to the fridge he pulled out a banana milk.

Jongho smirks as he walks back, leaning down between us as he looks at Yeosang's laptop. “You are just good looking hyung, but for the record i enjoy photography but never really majored in it. I was almost a professional baseball player before meeting Hongjoong hyung and Mingi hyung.”

When Jongho left to go back to lounging on the couch I looked back at the screen, so much anxiety ran through me as I thought about the fact people would know who I was if I'd become a model and it was such an odd thing to think about as well. Knowing the boys meant good though I didn't voice my disagreement to their plan, though I swore that San knew by just looking at me. San had tried to convince them to let me work as something else like a chef since I'd done it before, or even as a private driver but sadly Joong didn't seem impressed. Hongjoong told me that being popular and well known will help their plans later on. Though I don't think he realizes the stress that I'd have due to it. For now though I just let it slide, I'll give it my best and work hard.

“Have you even eaten today Woo? You've been looking at the photos all day. Not to mention I can basically feel your anxiety from outside.” San was now pulling out the chair and sitting next to me. Out of everyone he and I actually are closest even though our first meeting he was a dick. 

Looking at my watch I noticed it was past 3pm, I'd been awake since about 6am and of course I've yet to take care of myself such as food and my usual morning shower. Honestly I was just nervous, I felt like I needed to diet or work out more now that I was being forced to be a model. “I haven't… I think I'm just too scared and nervous right now San… I didn't plan on putting myself out there to the world.”

“He tried to have Jongho do the same thing when he joined, but Hwa fought against it due to the fact he was only 19. Seonghwa was and still is very protective over the younger ones in the group.” The look San gave me made me realize he understood, patting my shoulder as he looked over to look at the youngest in our group. 

“I understand why Hongjoong thinks you are best for it out of us all. Wooyoung, no offense but you give off that type of vibe that you belong in an area that is very high maintenance. Out of everyone I think you, Seonghwa and Yeosang all fit that type of life. You are handsome and very easy to approach as well, so of course that just makes you the best to get information.” 

“If you don’t want to do it alone though, I’ll work with you. We could go to the events together. Make it where you and I could always be working together. Besides if we play our cards right most might think we are together. Trust me when I say this Woo, rich people love what they can’t have. Will do anything they can to get you.” Leaning back into his seat I watched as he fiddled with the silver ring on his middle finger as he sat there in thought. 

I liked the thought of San joining me, I didn’t like the idea of being alone without the others in the first place, I’d tried to explain that to Hongjoong but fuck was he so damn stubborn. So I nodded in agreement at his offer. 

“I’d feel safe if you were with me San” I admitted as I carefully leaned my head against the other shoulder, both of us just enjoying the quiet moment together.

[hinataoc]

KHOC Week Day 2 - New World

HEY! It’s the second day of @khoc-week​ Wooooo

So I have a lot to share for this. But I’m going to focus on the age old favorite of Halloween Town, because that’s where I just finished writing them at in FT. 

First, I want to start with Hinata. She arrived first in Halloween Town, along with Axel and Riku. They were in pursuit of a Replica and formed a shaky alliance to track her down. When they arrived all three of them got completely different looks. Hinata was mostly unhappy with hers, while Riku and Axel ended up looking pretty cool. 

I have this incredible piece by @amyhayanora that depicts them in their outfits from a scene in The Forgotten Traveler Chapter 17

Next is Sam. The poor thing does not have good luck with the ship’s magic drive. For some reason, she doesn’t get to be fully human. There is a reason, it’s just spoilers and such. Anyway, I am a huge fan of Legend of Zelda and when I think of the creatures in Nightmare Before Christmas I always think of the fish guy. So Sam got a fishy experience. 

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

Excerpt from The Forgotten Traveler Chapter 19—

(note: remember that crazy robot B.E.N from Treasure Planet? yeah he travels with them)

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

Halloween Town was just as gloomy as the name would suggest. Gravestones and gargoyles stood intertwined with black thorny vines and rotting pumpkins. In the center of the field was a hill that curled into itself at the end, the entire thing silhouetted by the full moon.

"I didn't think this place would take its name so literally." Sam sidestepped a smashed pumpkin, gagging at the sight of rats and maggots devouring its remains. "I don't even want to know how it made me look."

"Yeeeah, that's probably for the best," Ben assured her, a few steps ahead as he scanned the area for any signs of Riku and Hinata. He had made it off nearly scot-free from the magic drive, spare for a darker shade of rust, a brighter, eerie glow to his eyes, and crusted blood splattered over his joints. "If you ask me—"

"I didn't," Sam reminded him, but he continued regardless.

"—I'd say you'd be better off under water." He tapped his chin. "Maaaaybe near Neverland! I hear there's plenty of sea monsters there. If DiZ's world encyclopedias are anything to go by, which"—he laughed—"why wouldn't they be, amiright?"

Sam inwardly groaned, stopping mid step and allowing Ben to continue on as he walked further and further away. "Of course I get stuck with him tagging along," she grumbled under her breath, reaching up her hand to rub her hair. Then she paused, realizing there was no hair to touch. Instead, her fingers were met with a slick, slimy skin that reminded her of touching a fish left too long on the counter— something she had done one too many times. "Oh come on!" She held out her hand in front of her, seeing the bluish tint to her now long webbed fingers. Suddenly, Ben's comments on her belonging with other sea monsters didn't seem so far-fetched.

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" Ben called back to her, his hands cupped around his mouth.

Sam clenched her hands at her sides, shutting her eyes tight and taking in a long deep breath. "Please tell me Velcia's coming down soon."

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

Yeeeeah... she got to be based on a zombified zora. Sorry Sam. 

Velcia though, my husband had the coolest design idea for her and I was so excited to get the chance to draw it. 

An amazing ghost witch! She’s a potion maker by trade in Thebes, so it just fits so perfectly! All the ingredients hanging from the dress’ threads, the potions eerily glowing and dangling from the branches, ahhh so cool! I really need to up my design game. My husband has me beat. 

Here is some more art I have of Hinata in her Halloween Town look. It was originally designed by someone on DeviantArt by the name of VelvetCookieVT. I hosted an art contest for participants to design a new world outfit for Hinata, and whoever won would get their outfit and world choice put into the story. I held the contest years ago and it just finally got put in. Anyway, here is the original artwork of Hinata’s Halloween Town look.

I was absolutely in love with it. Hinata was not lol! But she managed. 

Also, bonus of Hinata’s Christmas Town look that was co designed by me and @amyhayanora.

OBSESSED

[reireichu]

I am so intrigued!!!!! Please write the story. Why is Will Jealous of Sophie (his own baby mama)? Why is Hannibal choking Sophie? Is Hannibal going to cheat on Will with Sophie? Is the story going to angst with Happy Ending? Something like Herringbone???

Hello anonny!!!

I’m guessing you’re talking about the excerpts about Soph that I posted somewhere in reference to the Ask I sent to @suchawrathfullamb about a Hannigram Baby Trapping Soap Opera.

Those are basically just the Hannigram coded traits that I couldn’t yank out of her character in the fic she originated in (it was for House of the Dragon, a modern AU, I think many people loathed it and it was also written within two months after my life fell apart).

I’m still thinking about how I’d write the story, mainly because I’m not a very happy endings type of writer, and also I tend to lean into the darker side of things. Soph’s background and story actually was quite dark and that was after I toned down a lot of things. She has her own traumas and her own outlook on the world and where she was at when I wrote her, she does NOT want babies because she doesn’t really know what parenting is even like.

Theoretically, if I wrote it, there would probably an attraction between Will and Soph that leans more into his narcissistic tendencies and his growing need and ability to manipulate and control people around him. Soph is quite used to giving people what they want, not because she’s a people pleaser but because it gets them to let their guards down and she in return gets a better sense of a person, to slowly nudge them in the direction she wants. It’s a different game to the one Will and Hannibal play.

The resentment and jealousy would be there as well, probably because Will has always been so discomforted around trying to fit in or at least DEALING with others that he doesn’t find engaging, and he’s terrible at faking it. Hannibal and Soph as individuals possess an effortlessness that he doesn’t have—it’s both attractive and irritating for him. Will also likes to be the smartest person in the room, but again, it’s a different type of mental game he’s up against this time.

This is all in consideration of the dynamic PRIOR to Will’s attempt to fix his shitty marriage with a baby plan. That part is just a whole other thing I’d have to consider and also, just. ITS A LOT.

I mean the likelihood of me writing this is just getting higher and higher. Send help plz. Dont let me write this. I will never escape it. Also you can blame Lambie if it happens.

[wibble-wobbegong]

ok. wibble. hi. hello. i am humbly asking for ur thoughts on gnc outfits for byler. 

first we have mike:

i was thinking abt taking these and maybe making the pants a bit more fun w patches or patterns but keeping it pretty similar to the refs otherwise. tho w that last one the outfit just feels SO mike to me,, bookbag included, i would keep it p much the same as the ref

now for will:

i will b honest it was significantly harder to find good refs that i think have the right vibes but i like these ones a lot. maybe w/o the tie tho? at least w the last one. but then again thats where ur opinion would come in 2 help guide me lol. it definitely gives influenced by jonathan vibes w the first one, like hes a bit more grunge than canon and i think that tracks personally but i also think he would definitely keep that bright colour palette that he has most of the time so i would throw in some bright striped shirts and the like.

i would show u more but alas the 10 image cap will not allow it </3

sorry if this is weird and out of the blue but u got me thinking and i ended up scrolling thru pinterest for probably a good 30-45 minutes afterwards

ok, so for mike i really like that style of shirt!! colorwise, i tend to stick to things he wore in S1 but in an edgier style. i can’t add images but he wears emerald greens, reds that are like a shade lighter than what you’d imagine for a typical dark red, deep navys, even some dampened yellows against black or white. although i can see him experimenting with brighter things, my analysis brain forces me to face the fact that mike wearing bright colors is a major indication that he’s not being himself. brightness seems to be something he associates with normalcy, but he’s still expressive with his darker color palette. in s2, he’s heavy on hiding himself under jackets, and we know he was dealing with intense survivor’s guilt and depression

basically, for mike, i like the fits but i’d suggest going for a darker palette if you’re going for accurate characterization and, exactly as you said, throwing in some punk elements

as for will, i struggled SO much with trying to figure out the style i wanted for him. on one hand, will has a history with wearing tighter fitting clothes over the past two seasons and generally wearing very form fitting things and i feel like that fits really well with denim skirts but i also had a few concepts for looser, longer skirts because i think of his will the wise costume which is very loose and, although it isnt swishy, it gives him room to make that effect.

i think, if will were to get to the place where he confidently wears skirts, he’d wear more stylized things reminiscent of his outfits in s3 and the first two outfits from s4. long skirts with artistic patterns he admired that he can swoosh around or shorter skirts that fit his form well are where i generally find myself thinking because skirts have so much more potential as an art form than men’s pants and shorts at the time did, at least regarding things he could wear casually.

in general, i don’t see will wearing a whole lot of baggy stuff if he has a choice. he wore loose stuff a lot in the first two seasons, though i imagine that was moreso a result of wearing jonathan’s old stuff and being kinda scrawny. in s3, the stuff he’s wearing most likely isn’t jonathan’s, even more so in s4 because we know the byers have the money for will to pick out his own clothes. even the jacket he wears in the st experience is more tightly fit

and, with will, he does definitely seem to lean int brighter colors a little bit more. not neon by any means, but definitely more eye catching than mike and his more muted colors still lean towards brightness. honestly, i dont think we ever see will choosing to wear anything particularly dark, maybe a little in s2, but that was also the Horrors Season so.

will is always tough for me because i havent studied him like i’ve studied mike, but my rule of thumb is form fitting and lighter/brighter colors unless you’re intentionally trying to break him out of that typical zone and explore new possibilities with his character

obviously that’s just how i perceive the both of them, but if you think those outfits fuck then draw them For Sure. never too much gnc byler in the world

definitely not weird!!! this was actually kinda nice. very different from my usual asks but in a good way :)

[lookismaddict]

Thoughts on Gun as a musician? What type of music will he make? Will he cause a controversy at any music award show?

Gun as a musician…? Tbh idk if you meant someone who plays an instrument, or someone who sings/raps/etc. But ugghhhh… I’m honestly torn at the thought of it at first. However, this is what I think Gun as a musician would be:

He’ll be a singer of some sort. His voice? Husky, lower octave than the average singer, and more of a bass tone? (If that makes sense, lol.) Overall, I imagine this man having a deep voice when he sings, and he’ll probably be one of those singers who sings sensual R&B or songs that revolve around getting fucked up or flaunting his money. Kinda like DEAN’s or some of TAEMIN’s (from SHINee) music. The theme that he wants to portray through his music is how being rich is powerful. More of a darker bad boy image than the typical “K-pop” vibes. Corrupt, confident, and definitely cocky.

God, I can go forever just comparing DEAN & TAEMIN’s outfits to Gun’s.

However, his manager would try and force him to sing actual love songs (yk the sappy songs), and then he’ll refuse because he believes that it doesn’t fit his image as a whole. He’s very picky at who he collabs with in his songs, and the probability of him choosing you as the featured artist for his song would be close to zero. 1% accepted, while the other 99% will most likely hate him and his ego for not being chosen. (He’ll make an exception for Daniel Park.) Okay, but imagine him PERFORMING these songs on stage. I feel like he’d be down to learn how to dance, just to show off how much of a “perfect” human being he is. He’s very confident in his own skills, so dancing shouldn’t even be a problem for him. This man’s a perfectionist down to the last T. Don’t even get me started on his actual lifestyle. If he were to become a musician, he’d definitely cause a lot of scandals. The guy is a walking problematic red-flagged artist. (I don’t know if you can even compare him to Seungri, from BIGBANG. Because his scandals had me shocked even to this day.💀)

And if he did go to a music award ceremony, he definitely would cause a LOT of controversy. But let’s be honest, this man doesn’t give a FUCK about what he says or does when faced in front of the camera. This man is too prideful to even thank anyone, but himself for his own achievements. And he will be challenging artists and call them out, saying that he’ll beat them to #1 on the Billboard Charts or something. Yeah, he’s THAT arrogant asshole that everybody HATES in the music industry.

Gun’s speech: “The only person that I’d like to thank is myself. Without me, I wouldn’t have been the best artist of this year’s ceremony. Why would they even give me the title in the first place, if I weren’t the best in the music label? Also, every other artist who isn’t considered to be #1 should just step down and leave the industry. There’s no way that they’ll ever BE in my level.” *mic drops then leaves the stage in silence, taking his trophy with him while walking back to his seat unbothered by the speechless crowd*

[dearfuturehusbandblog]

Barrier To Entry

Dear Future Husband,

I went to a wedding recently and the bride's mom and sister are convinced they know the perfect guy for me. 

But it’s not you. 

Let’s call him... NotMyPrince. 

So, the bride's mom tried pointing out NotMyPrince to me at the vort* but he was taking care of something in another room and based on her description of him I was sure I'd passed him in the hall and... he's just not my type. Physically at least.

I tried to brush it off like “oh, I’m sure I’ll see him around sometime” and since I was helping the bride with some stuff, I was able to ‘not happen to be around’ wherever he was until the end of the vort. I thought maybe that’d be the end of it, but that’s not how my life goes. 

So at the wedding, I was sitting with MotherLivelyHeart and BigSis when the bride's mom came over and we were all schmoozing and she mentioned NotMyPrince again. She was like “he's around here somewhere, I'll point him out if I see him.” And then he literally walked over like a minute later to say goodbye because he was leaving a little early.

And wouldn't you know, it's exactly the guy I thought it was.

And I’m probably the shallowest person on the planet but I just don't find him attractive. (That’s how I know it’s not you, Future Husband, if you even exist.)

Who am I to talk, right? I have a whole host of issues and I’m passing up a guy based on physical attractiveness? What’s my problem?

Well, technically, even in the Jewish world there has to be physical attraction for it to be a kosher marriage. One can’t feel forced into the marriage and often without physical appeal there’s always some kind of emotional barrier that is difficult to overcome. Sure, some people do it, but that’s not true of everyone. And it’s definitely not true of me.

Because, like I said, I’m shallow. 

I know looks fade. I know I’m one to talk when I can’t even stand how I look in the mirror most days, but I still have a type. And I’d say it’s a pretty classic type too. 

Using celebrities, let me show you what my "type" is:

I didn't used to think I had a type, but as clearly seen by the above images, that's patently false. There are some clear indicators of features I'm most drawn towards. Lighter skin, darker hair, often lighter eyes, eyes that kind of squinch when smiling, significant brows, primarily heart/oval shaped face... (It’s also interesting how many of those guys have widows peaks.)

Now, that obviously isn't to say that there aren't other guys I'm attracted to, because there's a whole spectrum of faces out there in the world and there are definitely good looking guys that don't specifically fit the images I just shared. There are guys with darker skin I find attractive, lighter hair, less squinchy eyes, etc... My taste isn’t completely monolithic, but I’m attracted to classic good looks and as someone who lives in a very visual world, I have to be attracted to a guy’s face to be interested in him romantically. 

And before anyone tells me that nobody in the frum community looks like that, I can easily say that’s untrue, because I’ve met guys who fit my type. And most of them are really sweet. And all of them are married. Or like 18 years old. lol

But using another celebrity as an example (sorry, David Mitchell) the guy they want to set me up with looks like this:

Except possibly blander. And balder.

This is a guy I’m not ever going to find physically attractive.

And you’re probably like “Girl, what the hell? Manage your expectations. No 10 is going to go out with a 2 like you.”

And you’d probably be right. 

Because I do have a list of qualities/characteristics that are important to me in a mate (most of which should just be standard, honestly) and when you combine those qualities with any of the faces in the first image above, you would have a 10. Or maybe even higher, while I’m still an obese, depressed mess with janky teeth and hair, and a family so screwed up that I want to kill myself regularly when I stop to think about it. So, a 2 at best.

And now you’re thinking, “Girl, what the hell? You shouldn’t even be dating, let alone thinking of marriage.”

And you’d be right. 

Which is why I regularly rebuff advances, because I don’t think I should be wasting anyone’s time or “tricking” anyone into settling down with me either. I’m a mess and I know it. And while marriage is something I do desire, I know I’m not ready for it yet.

So I would probably reject this match on principle, seeing as I don’t believe this is the right time for me to date either (one day, maybe, but today isn’t that day), but also I just really do not find this guy physically attractive in the least. 

He has a decent job and supposedly he has a great sense of humor, but at most I’d be friends with him. Maybe even good friends (if the frum world allowed such a thing), but definitely not friends with any sort of... um... “benefits.”

And it’s really nice that these family friends aren’t as shallow as me. That they can look at NotMyPrince and just see the amazing qualities he has. Either that or they see me as a 2 too... so I’m not sure how to feel about that... 

But I also have no idea how to properly tell them that I’m not interested right now. Or ever, really. 

It’s been a few weeks since the wedding and the mom just messaged me the other day with his resume and the note:

She’s so sweet, but I just... I don’t know how to word the fact that I’m not interested. 

And I think her daughter is on the same page as her, because I was still dealing with my back issue at the wedding**, so after NotMyPrince had come over to say goodbye and headed for the door, I waited a couple minutes and then excused myself to go get advil from the car because what I’d taken earlier was wearing off and I could barely focus on anything else. I ran into this daughter as she was walking someone to their car. She was like “wait, you’re leaving!?” So I told her no, just getting advil and I’d be right back in and she was like “great! cuz we haven’t spent any time together tonight!” She told me she’d be right back in and we’d get a chance to hang while the chassan and kallah were eating or whatever. 

But then she never came back in. 

On my way out to the car I actually passed NotMyPrince, as he’d stopped near the entrance to say goodbye to some other people, and as I walked back into the building from the car, he was walking out alone. 

So I’m guessing he ran into the daughter on her way back in and they got to chatting, because by the time I left over an hour later, I still hadn’t seen her. On our way out I messaged her “Where'd you go!? I wanted to say goodbye” and when she responded “Bro I missed you” I replied “You said you were coming back and then I never saw you again lol”

And then she messaged the following: “I was talking to your bshert. I’m not kidding”

I countered with a joke and she responded: 

So.... I think it’s safe to assume she bumped into him on her way back in and they got to chatting because there was no one else out there. 

And then we had this little exchange:

She then messaged that she was going to “set this up tomorrow” which didn’t happen, probably because she’d had too much to drink and also verrrry little sleep the week leading up to the wedding. But I’m like 98% sure she and her mom are on the same page about this and I don’t know how to say a definitive no without looking like a terrible person or offending anyone. 

So far I’ve just kind of left the mom on read and I did have a completely unrelated conversation with the daughter and she didn’t bring up NotMyPrince again, so.... thankful for that, I guess?

But I have to find a way to actually put this particular subject out to pasture. 

I guess I can hide how much of a mess I am pretty well if they want to marry me off to someone they really like though. So either I’m succeeding really well at hiding how much of a mess I am or I’m failing miserably at life because nobody can see how much pain I’m in. I can never tell with these things. Maybe both.

As always, I’m open to thoughts on the matter at hand. Feel free to share any advice you have.

-LivelyHeart

------

*I think the bride’s mom has actually mentioned him a few times to me over the last like 5 years, but I don’t really remember for sure. The vort was just the first time recently and when he was in the same place so she could point him out to me in person

**The back issue has mostly dissipated as I’m writing this, though over a month of this and it’s still not 100% 

***Also, just a random side note, but I also checked out NotMyPrince’s facebook page and most of the things he posts are sports related and I don’t want to marry a sports fan. I have hashkafic issues with it and I grew up with a father who has a disgustingly unhealthy relationship with sports and I thusly have a visceral aversion to it.

[callipraxia]

I’ve always been mildly confused by the idea that Ford looked down on Fiddleford as a matter of course…I mean, how many times does he go on about how brilliant Fiddleford is? He thinks the world of the man, even seems to think that Fiddleford is smarter than he is a lot of the time. He’s a bit culturally insensitive with regards to Fiddleford’s background and religion, but there’s not really any indication that he thinks less of Fiddleford because of these things besides the rant after Fiddleford left. Should he have said anything he said during said fit? No. Writing that journal entry was an objectively crummy thing to do. Doesn’t mean that one outburst made when angry, confused, frightened, and probably at least a little hurt is the Real Truth and everything else wasn’t.

As for Fiddleford…My view falls somewhere between the OP and the position being argued against. Do I think Fiddleford’s antics with the memory gun are on par with what Bill did? No. That doesn’t, however, make it any less true that Fiddleford absolutely also did a bad, boundary-violating thing that he should not have done.

OP is quite right that Fiddleford started the cult because he, in a warped, misguided way, wanted to help people; this is presumably why the early Blind Eye appeared to have been a voluntary thing, and I suspect it only turned to kidnapping and mass memory wipes after a power struggle that Ivan won which resulted in Fiddleford’s expulsion from the group. OP also points out, though, that much of his reason for mind-wiping Ford was to enable himself to keep self-medicating. That’s an inherently selfish thing to do. Perfectly realistic - everyone is selfish, to great or small degrees, sometimes, and this goes double when you are a metaphor for a functioning alcoholic who is desperate to keep his roommate from realizing he’s still getting the equivalent of blackout wasted every night - but not good, not something that can be chalked up to or excused on the basis of good intent or etc. Even if he did mean well, it wasn’t his place to do that for at least two reasons:

1) no matter how you slice it, he was sneaking around and lying to his partner. Ford shouldn’t have done that, Fiddleford shouldn’t have done that, it was bad behavior all around, and two wrongs don’t make a right, and

2) even in the most generous interpretation, it’s as if you started slipping Ativan into someone’s oatmeal because you think they need to relax when they have made it clear they do not want sedatives and are still of sound enough mind to make that decision. I’m not an anti-medication person in the slightest - I am almost over-enthusiastic about the stuff, I think it’s great and wouldn’t be able to function without mine - but I am quite opposed to the idea of someone else shoving a nerve pill down my throat when I don’t want one, and I really don’t think I’d give a solitary damn about the intentions of someone who did that to me. Or, if we get a touch darker and stick with the alcohol metaphor, it’s not unlike spiking your friend’s drink because you feel like he would have more fun and be less stressed and that he’d be a lot easier to live with if he would just partake, even though he doesn’t want to.

In a way, it is suitable that the thing Fiddleford created with some misguided notion of helping people ended up evolving into a kidnapping-prone brain-damage cult that did massive amounts of harm to the whole town. Very few people wake up one day and decide “I’m gonna become an out-of-control addict who hurts everyone around me today.” It’s a process of things evolving into worse things - and sometimes even doing so from a starting place of good intentions. That was the case for two of the severest alcoholics in my family history - both of them started drinking to try to self-medicate for immense amounts of stress and anxiety that were impairing their abilities to look after their families, and that worked for a while, but then they lost control and started doing things that hurt those very families, and that was even before (to the best of my understanding) their alcoholism triggered the family bipolar gene. Once it did, then things got even worse, for both of them and for anyone even remotely close to the situation. I have a lot of sympathy for these relatives of mine, because they were in really bad positions and pretty much without access to better options when they started having the nightcaps that preceded but led to the habit of getting regularly plastered before lunchtime. I have a lot of sympathy for Fiddleford for similar reasons. Doesn’t, however, change the fact that they all did more damage after things got out of hand than they ever prevented by stepping onto those paths in the first place. Good intentions don’t make good outcomes, and people who are basically decent still inevitably sometimes make awful decisions that have wide-ranging fallout, because everyone does, sooner or later. That, to my mind, is one of the morals of Gravity Falls, even. The bright side comes with the other side of the coin: even if someone makes a bad decision today, they can still make a better decision tomorrow, or even five minutes from now. It’s what all the central characters do at some point during the series - they make anywhere from merely “the worse decision of two seemingly unimportant options” to “a really, really bad, terrible decision with potentially cataclysmic consequences” at one time or another, or even many times over, in the case of the Stan Twins…but then they all reverse course and make the better choice the ‘next’ time, even knowing that the consequences of making the better decision will be anywhere from potentially embarrassing to potentially fatal. Everybody screws up, but you don’t have to keep on screwing up, either in that specific way or just in general. And I really like that, personally.

I’ve seen many people on here and other platforms severely misunderstand both Stanford and Fiddleford’s characters and how much they care for each other.

People have been saying Ford always looked down on Fiddleford but that is objectively false, he calls him his friend on multiple occasions [such as when talking about the trap in the bunker] and calls it a partnership. He only looks down on him due to Bill’s manipulation.

On that point Bill’s manipulation really needs to be considered when looking at Ford’s character, whilst Ford’s feelings towards Bill can be considered romantic or just godly worship or him confusing fear with love, Bill absolutely was obsessed with him and stroked his ego to get at him. He was able to get to this point because of his childhood.

Ford was bullied and isolated as a kid and it can be safely assumed he is not the best at social clues, adding this alongside him getting and craving praise when he gets older for his academic success and being isolated for years it was the perfect brew for him to be manipulated

Ths manipulation has to be considered when looking at his relationships with Stan and Fidds, Bill was deliberately trying to isolate him and was manipulating him against them. 

I’ve also seen people get angry at Fiddleford for using the memory gun on Stanford and taking away his free will, ‘just like Bill’. But in Fiddleford’s scattered brain it was all to help, the construction workers wouldn't remember so Ford wouldn't get mad at him and construction would be sped up which would make Ford happy as he had been continuously pressuring Fidds into focusing more on work, by doing this Ford could relax a bit. It also meant that Fidds could continue to work by self-medicating.

When Fidds would use it on Ford when caught it was because he was scared and addicted, it was not to hurt or take away his free will and saying its the same as Bill rifling through his brain and manipulating him and using his body for things he did not consent to, shows a complete and utter lack of understanding of him as a character.

Fidds is literally said to have a big heart and he even created the cult to help people, even in his declining mental state he still wants to help people and feels incredibly guilty about hitting someone with his car, it feels very wrong for people to even imply he would use it to take away someone's free will.

[sorrycory]

We were on a beach. It might’ve been the little one near my house, but it looked a lot cleaner than it ever had been before. It’s funny who shows up in my dreams and who doesn’t, because the friends in this one aren’t even people I’ve met in real life yet. They’re internet friends I don’t even think entirely like me because I’m off my rocker.

I over share a lot. It’s why I started this account, actually- guess you could say it’s a coping mechanism.

B was over near the beach, lying on a towel. She might’ve been suntanning. That seems like something she would do. B is the type of person who likes wearing perfumes, and having a specific signature scent. I’d be into that thing, if I ever got over my discomfort of spending money on fun short term items. I don’t really go outside all that much, anyways. I probably have a scent of funk- I’ve been told I smell like incense before. Not really sure what that smells like.

G was hanging out with W, which I guess makes sense since they’re dating. Well- not really dating, but you know- they’re kind of nervous to go public currently, which is fair.

W asked if I would make a YouTube video, which is honestly kinda funny, because neither of us have YouTube channels. O tagged a long, and at some point I saw G with us again. I think we were tubing? But there wasn’t any kind of boat dragging us, the tube was just moving all on its own. It was fairly big- fit all four of us, though O was hanging off the back. W was laying off on his side with a big smile on his face, but I noticed that all the sudden we took a really sharp turn, and I got thrown off into darker sectors of the water. Shore was too far- I couldn’t make it if I tried. I can’t exactly properly swim- I look like a dog with a missing back leg half the time.

I just watched them uncontrollably drift away. I might’ve drowned, I don’t really remember. I remember there was a wooden cabin at some point, but I think I only saw it at the beginning of the dream. I just remember it felt like I was laying on the floor, and W was smiling and laughing in the corner of my eye that I just couldn’t quite see.

I woke up at 6:55 sharp. Usually I wake up at 10:00, or somewhere around that time when I’m up late. I have sleeping issues, so I’m always kind of up late because of them.

No one’s seeing this. I’m sure it’s safe to be at least somewhat vulnerable, right? I’m already documenting my dreams. You can’t really get any more vulnerable.

My name isn’t actually Cory. Not legally, anyways- I go by a couple names online, but Cory will do just fine here. I’m turning 17 in a month, and I’m not really sure if I should be excited or not. My past 3 or 4 birthdays have always gone wrong in some way. I jokingly call it “The birthday curse”. Note to self: stop consuming so much caffeine before/during the party. I wear a lot of green- and I mean a lot, but my favorite color’s pink. I can’t really explain why, but green just feels right on me. It’s something that makes me feel like myself.

That’s probably enough over sharing on the internet for one post. I’ll probably talk more on my next post- the next time I have a dream.

[c1nn4m0n-g1r7]

It’s better this way, I know

I was meant to be alone

I know I could never be with someone

I’d feel trapped

I’d find a way to break free

And then I’d be alone again

And I’d feel better, but sad

I wish there was a way

Where I could be okay

Okay with being alone

Okay with being with others

But really I’m neither

I’m Simply not okay at all

I never have been

And any faith of that changing is fading with time

Maybe it has less to do with the company

And more to do with me

But I shan’t be too hard on myself

For there isn’t any thing wrong

With who I am

It’s just the way I feel

That isn’t quite right

I have always been scared

Of growing up

And not being enough

And I’m not saying that I’m not enough

Because there’s not anything that I significantly lack

Of course there’s the will to socialize

And let myself experience things

Without having total control

But other than that

I do as I need to

And that is that

But now that I am in college

And have left my home town

And am doing what I’ve been scared of my whole life

I realize that my fears were all wrong

For I shouldn’t have feared not being enough

That isn’t scary

No one is enough

Everyone lacks something

It’s having everything I need to be successful and still feeling that gaping hole inside of me that I should have feared

It’s having people who love me express to me that I am flourishing

While still feeling completely alone that should have scared me

If I’m being completely honest

I am terrified

I still hear the screams of my younger self

From the time she had a panic attack days before her high school graduation

Hear the sobs of her sweet voice as she cried of overwhelming anxiety on her birthday when she turned 17

I feel her in the silence that she produced when she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital on her 16th birthday as well as the many times she had been admitted before then

I feel the emptiness she felt when she was put on a feeding tube because she starved herself till her body wouldn’t allow her to stand

And why did she do it?

She was scared

She didn’t know what else to do

She couldn’t breathe

She couldn’t eat because

She would rather slowly deprive herself of all nutrients and slit her cold pale skin

And swallow bottles of pills to insure herself

That she wouldn’t live to become me

And who am I to blame her

No, I don’t hate myself

I like the way I dress

I can control that

I love the way I dyed my hair darker

I think it fits me way better than blonde

And I know my friends agree

I love the people who I allow In my circle

They are lovely

And love the way I can control how deep I let them in

Not that they would want to be in deeper anyways

Because it’s when you truly let them in that they realize they’d be better off leaving

Or maybe I’d be the one to go

But I like the fact that I feel comfortable walking out if I ever want to

I like the way that I can control how everyone sees me

I like the way that I wake up early and clean the house on Saturday warnings

There’s nothing about me that is inherently wrong

In fact I believe that if I weren’t myself I’d probably befriend who I am

I’d probably have nothing negative to say

I quite like who I have shaped myself to be

And maybe if I weren’t me,

I’d even feel jealous

I’d probably crave to be who I am

But that’s only because I’d be naïve

For the one thing that I’ve learned,

After becoming all the things I’ve ever dreamed would make me better,

Is the fact that

No matter what I do to control my life

To control what I look like

And who I become

I will never be able to change the terrible feelings I hold inside myself

And that is something that can never be forgotten

Not by how many people tell me they love me

For people don’t love things that don’t love them back

Not for long anyhow

But I simply don’t have enough room in my heart to feel anything anymore

In my psychology courses

I’ve learned simply the basics

But I tend to dwell on things more than the average girl

Maybe that is why I feel things more deeply

But anyways

We learned about the Pavlov dog theory

I’m sure you’ve probably heard about it

The theory about the dog salivating at the sound of a bell after associating it with food over a long period of time

Such a simple way to describe classical conditioning

I’m afraid that a lot of the time it happens more unexpectedly

And more dangerously than what that story describes

I think I’ve learned to associate any feelings of joy and happiness with fear

It’s my body’s way of preparing me for what I’ve learned to be the only ending to a beautiful day

You see growing up in an emotionally unstable environment leads a girl to never let her guard down

Especially during the good times

Because in the times where she feels on top of the world

Have never not resulted in a painful fall

Actually

If i think back to one of my oldest memories

I can almost feel the way my cheeks boiled up as the salty tears rolled into my mouth

I would gasp for air choking on them as I screamed

Not at my father

But out of frustration In myself

I’ll never forget the raw feeling in my throat after yelling over and over at myself

“Your so stupid”

And I meant it

And i always told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again

I wouldn’t let it effect me like this again

I’d never let someone let me down again

I’d never let myself down that way again

“You’re so stupid”

“Your stupid”, I’d tell myself

And it hurt worse each time that I had thought I’d be smart enough to learn my lesson

But the self hatred would always come rushing back down my throat choking me the same way my tears did that day and all the other times I had allowed myself to be let down when I was still young enough and vulnerable enough to show how much it hurt

I’m stupid

I know that now

Because wether or not I let it show

And I don’t

It still hurts

It was stupid to believe that it wouldn’t

[lured-into-wonderland]

She internally freezes when Wes touches her shoulder. Nunnally is not used to this kind of attention. Why is he doing that? Is he so sympathetic to all his customers? She shakes her head as if to deny his words, but she remains silent. Though Nunnally knows his words are said only to cheer her up. No-one can promise anyone that it will be all right. No-one can keep safe another person, no matter the will and efforts. But in an odd way, she trusts that he will do his job well. That he will - at least - try to stop the man who’s stalking her while keeping her identity a secret. She doesn’t know why she thinks so; it’s so unlike her. Perhaps she simply wants that to be true. Perhaps she’s giving him (or rather herself?) a chance.

“Thank you…” – she says without looking at him – “I think I needed to hear these words…” – even if they are not true. Nunnally nods when he accepts to accompany her to the gallery, finally looking at him and sending Wes a shy smile – “The owner of the gallery is my father’s friend.” – she warns – “I would assume most of the employees do not know who I am…unless they have interests in politics…” – a sad smile – “I am not that recognizable… My father is.” – a small pause – “I go under Mathilde there. It’s actually my middle name.” – these are simple facts, right? Something that wouldn’t be too difficult for him to find out…? – “I’d rather not have…too much commotion there…” – she didn’t know how to explain that better to Wesley; if things get revealed there, they are likely to prematurely reach her father and the security officers. Something she wanted to avoid.

When Wes withdraws his hand, Nunnally immediately understands that was a wrong question she asked. Something she should have not inquired about. That Wesley Jade will not tell her a simple story that she had heard so many times. She almost regrets she asked, and, indeed, the story is different. Darker. Hiding a tragedy behind it? Despite the fact that Wes says nothing, Nunnally was close enough to politics (and its dirty sides) to be able to read between the lines. To understand the unspoken. It should scare her, but, instead, it provide some weirds sense of consolation. That he’s good. That he knows what he’s doing…and…

…does not concern himself too much with the law. He would fit her father’s team.

“I apologize.” – she says after a short moment of silence – “I shouldn’t have asked about something that does not concern me. Nor our business here. But… I knew many ex-cops and ex-soldiers. As well as the serving officers… I expected a different story.” – she doesn’t feel she needs to dwell on it. Probably Wesley knows many of them, too. And then a realization hits Nunnally that probably she doesn’t know the true stories of many of them.

“I am sorry about your brother.” – she suddenly adds – “I lost my mother when I was still a small girl…” – these words slip her lips, but the moment they do, she internally slaps herself. 

“I think I made a good choice coming here.” – probably unnecessary confession, but she started to gain more confidence. In him. And her own decisions – “You were a detective, right?”

It's obvious to Wes that she's feeling a bit unsure, though not about the job. He wonders if she's ever had any dealings with this side of life, talking to a P.I. to try and stop strange threats from coming her way. As the daughter of a politician, he can't imagine that it's the first, but she's anxious, proven more so by how she sinks into one of the chairs and covers her face. Goddammit, he hates when women cry, he's seen too much of it in his life already.

Carefully, he moves to where she sits and leans back against his desk, reaching out one hand to rest on her shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting manner. It's been a long time since he's been good at comforting people, and sometimes he still wonders if he'd actually done a good job back then. When things were different, better. Before Noah passed and Lydia left.

"It'll be okay," he says, trying to sound reassuring. He knows he can't actually make promises like that, because there is a very good chance that it won't be okay. But he isn't going to tell an already nervous woman that it might not turn out well. He thinks, based on everything said thus far, that she understands that fact. He doesn't need to drill it home when she's already vulnerable.

"I'll go with you to the art gallery and you can show me around." And he can talk to security to see if there's any security footage he could look through. He isn't going to press her for the rest of the money right now, won't even bring it up yet; it can wait until later, after he's done checking out the gallery.

At her question, he lets his hand fall away from her shoulder, and he tucks it into his pocket. He doesn't quite look at her now, his gaze shifting to look towards the floor, where their feet almost touch, his shoes scuffed next to hers looking nearly pristine. What a contrast.

He lets out a slow breath before starting. "The police ruled my brother's murder an accident and wouldn't investigate. I...took matters into my own hands-" he doesn't elaborate; she doesn't need to know that he hunted down every last one of Noah's killers, and beat the life out of them. Except the last three people. Those, he savored. Leaders of their gang, trapped and beaten before Wes dragged their bodies into their car, strapped them in, and lit it on fire. "Then turned in my badge and gun, and quit. Never looked back."

[airplanned]

Soft Science Chapter 15

The final chapter, in which Link and Zelda almost have things figured out.

(smut)

Chapter 14

-

Link actually falls asleep on the sofa in the mostly empty lab.  He passes out sitting upright with the princess' bare feet in his lap and his head lolled back.  The last few days--months--years have been kind of stressful.  He's technically on vacation, so, yeah, it's fine.

He only wakes when she leans forward to show him the sketches she's been working on.  "You know how Robbie's been working on ways to recreate the ancient stonework and sculpt it for his own uses.”

His fingers wrapped around her ankle fall away when she decides he's not close enough to see and scoots closer.  He has to blink at what's she's showing him a few times before it starts to make sense.

“He wants to create weapons and armor, and I want to create buildings and new guardian prototypes."

Link nods.  It's an old argument with slightly more venom to it than most of the disagreements around the Sheikah lab.

So it's strange that she's showing him sketches of armor.

"What would you think if we made it the same shape as your knight armor.  We could use molds so it would have the same fit."

"Would it have the same weight?"

"Yes!  I mean I think so.  You see, the swirling tan sections have a lower density than the black sections, so I think I can even it out so it's not too heavy."

She points to a whole mess of hasty math and some rather poor drawings with a spiral across the chest that were then scratched out.  It looks as though the weight wouldn't be evenly distributed, but he keeps that to himself.

"What made you come around on Robbie's armor idea?" he asks.

"Oh.  Well, you're going to need new armor."  She flips to the next page and a drawing that takes his breath away.  It looks like his old armor, but shaded darker, the lighter texture edging each piece.  Across the chest, the swirls are adjusted into the more angular forms of constellations preferred by the Sheikah, except these form the bold shape of the bird wings that will be emblazoned on their family sigil.  With her colored pencils, the tan parts look almost gold.  But the most stunning part is that it looks...like him.

It fits his new station, and yet it's what he would pick if he had a dozen suits of armor from which to choose.

"You...How do you know all the different armor pieces?"

"I had to learn to make your Champion's tunic."

"What?"

"So that your armor fits over it."

"What?"

She laughs, and it's beautiful, and he can't quite make sense of it, and ends up looking back down at the sketch in his hands.  He can't quite make sense of this either.

"You designed this for me?"

"I saw your disapproving looks towards the more elaborate armor sets, so I thought I would save you some embarrassment.  Or--at least--I hope you won't be embarrassed in this.  Never mind!  This was a bad idea."

She tries to take back the sketchbook but he holds it out of her reach over the arm of the sofa and gives her an indignant look.

For a moment they stare at each other.  She's leaned over him to snatch at the pad, her other hand splayed across his chest, her body sprawled across his.  Her eyes are very green and very close.  Then suddenly her cheeks heat and she straightens, pulling away from him, adjusting her hair as if giving her hands something to do.

He swallows as he sits up.  In embarrassment, he hands her back her sketch pad.  "I really like it.  You're...This is a really good picture."

"It's not--"

"It is.  And the math.  It's really impressive that you can just do that, you know?  And you were..." He clears his throat.  "You were thinking about me.  And what I'd like."  

His face feels really hot.

The way she stares at him makes him run back through the last few things he said.  Why was she looking at him like--

She stands, patting his knee in a cheery, friendly sort of way, and chirps, "It's probably about time for diner."  She doesn't look at him again until they're seated at the diner table, and there she stares at him again, as if she's just noticed that he has an extra ear in the middle of his forehead and she's holding herself back from taking notes.

#

As he takes off his boots for the night, she's giving him that look again.  Maybe she's realized something new she can do with the armor.  And that makes her...not mad exactly, but...distressed?  Distressed and enthusiastic both at the same time?  It’s very hard to tell.

He pauses to give her a wary look.  "Are...you okay?"

She nods.  And suddenly her face softens, and it's almost a prolonged fall as she rushes forward, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him. In surprise, he kisses her back, and her breath comes fast and hot against his cheek, her body responding everywhere his hands drag. She's so reactive, so emotional and expressive in everything she does, and it's weird that she's been so precise so far in everything they've done in bed.  He should have noticed that before, because Zelda--his Zelda--is only composed when she's being judged, and when she's free and light and happy, she's a whirlwind of enthusiasm.  And now she revels in his arms, and a jagged, broken sound writhes from her throat.  He's not chasing her every stuttering breath, every twitch of her arms.  Because she's letting him catch her. It's all he can do to keep up with her, all he can do not to moan into it and hold her too tight. 

She pulls away, her eyes still closed, and breathes, "Say my name."

He--

It--

She opens her heavy eyes, shining with stars and hope, dark with a longing that she's never directed at him before, and he's undone.

All the fire and possessiveness, the devotion and the need that he's held back for so long rushes through him and burns into the word, "Zelda."

She gasps and tightens her fingers in his hair, pulling him into another desperate kiss.

She can't undo the buttons on his jacket because he's holding her too close for her to get her hand in.  He can't undo the buttons down the back of her dress because he keeps getting distracted, first by the skin of her neck revealed when he has the top buttons undone, and then by the knowledge that he can press his hands inside the back of her dress and hold her shoulder blades when he has half the buttons undone.  He gets them all by the time they've tackled each other onto the bed, and then they have trouble breaking apart to gather up all her skirts and pull the whole thing over her head.  As soon as she's free of it, he's sitting up and kissing her, hands framing her face and then her shoulders.  She uses the opportunity to get her hands between them and yank off his jacket and his shirt and then drag her hands over his bare chest as if she actually wants to touch him, as if she's appreciative that he's in good shape. He shudders and pants, needing to be closer to her, needing to touch her more, more, Zelda.

Her bra is a blue Sheikah band, and she pulls it over her head with practiced ease, her arms long and her hair tossed back.  She's glorious and soft, and he draws her down over him so he can press wet kisses under her jaw and down her neck, breathing her name against her skin, Zelda Zelda Zelda.  She braces herself over him, her breath fast and her arms trembling, and he scoots himself lower in a move that's probably not attractive at all, but her skin smells so good.  That's probably weird too.  He does not care.

His tongue strokes the underside of her nipple in firm, measured tastes, again and again.  When they make eye contact, she lets out a little "oh," her face reddening as his tongue keeps moving, stroking, stroking.  That look on her face goes straight to his groin, and maybe the look on his face does the same for her, because her eyes flutter, her nipple hardening against his tongue, until she throws back her head with a gasp, pressing her chest tighter against his mouth, her hand trembling in his hair.  "Yes, that's--yes."  She squirms, and he holds her tighter.

"How long have you loved me?" she gasps.

His chest squeezes, because somehow it's still embarrassing.  He has to stop licking her, instead rubbing his cheek against her.  "When did you realize I did?"

"When you basically told me, you dingbat."

Goddess, she's everything.  "Years," he groans.  "Years."  And he ducks his head and licks a thick stripe under her breast.

Maybe it's from his words and maybe it's not, but she moans and then pulls away--away!?--No, she's sliding down and to kiss him, deep and warm.  She's so warm.

"Zelda."

She hooks her fingers into the waist of his pants and shoves them down, and he does his best to kick them away without disturbing her.  He's barely free before she's stroking him, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"No thrusting," she instructs, but her directions are breathy, and she seems dazed and distracted, which is great because he's dazed and distracted too. He captures her mouth again, and it's a while before she finishes her instructions.  "Small movements are fine and expected.  You may touch my hair, but let me move my head."

It takes her moving down his body for him to realize what she means.

"You don't--"

"I want to."

And the heat in her eyes as she glares up at him paired with the hungry way she wets her lower lip makes him, for the first time, believe her.  She wants him.  She wants him.  His heart pounds so hard he thinks he might pass out.

She slides down, her skin dragging against his, trailing kisses lower and lower.  Her eyes dart up to his, and she shoots him a smirk that will be the death of him, and then she wraps her lips around the head of his cock.  His stomach lurches.  Oh Goddess, oh Goddess, oh Goddess.  The rhythm of his internal chanting matches the rhythm of her firm, measured tastes, again and again.  He moans realizing it's what he did to her earlier and she might be kinda evil, and it feels unreasonably good, and maybe this means he taught her something.  No, she's too good.  There's no way he could teach her anything.

She's so warm.  And she gets warmer the deeper she takes him.  She was absolutely right: she's amazing at this.  So good.  Too good.  It's too much.

One of her hands slides up his stomach, and he grabs at it, tangling his fingers with hers and gripping fast, desperate to be closer to her even though he can barely think about anything other than how she's already touching him, already enveloped him.  She's everywhere.  She's everything.  He needed more of her.  In understanding she reaches further up his body, bracing her forearm against his lower ribs to hold him steady.  He grabs at her arm too.

Her tongue ripples, kneading up his length in waves, and it's as if she's coaxing all the pleasure up from inside him, beckoning until his legs are shaking and sweat breaks out all over his body.

"I.  Oh no.  Watch out.  I."

He expects her to pull back.  But instead she looks him right in the eye, and hollows her cheeks, sucking the orgasm straight out of him.  All thought is gone except for the bliss of release that goes on and on. 

As soon as his vision returns, he realizes what he's done.  His eyes snap open, and he bolts up to find her struggling to swallow. 

"Here!"  He cups his hands together and holds them under her chin.  Instinctively, she spits into them.

And then they both stare at his hands.

Oh, that's...not sexy.

She slaps a hand over her mouth in horror and squeaks, "I'm so sorry!  I just..."

A laugh bursts out of him, because of course he would make the most perfect blow job weird.

He tenses his hands so he doesn't lose anything and leans forward to kiss her, sloppy and appreciative, and she squeaks and tenses before cautiously kissing him back.  

He pulls back to grin at her, dopey and starry eyed, then awkwardly shuffles off the bed with his hands still cupped together to go to the washroom and clean up.

He looks up as he's drying his hands to see her watching him hesitantly in the doorway, her arms wrapped over her chest, her hair windswept and her legs long and bare.

He pulls her in at the waist and kisses her before pressing his forehead to hers.  "You excel at that."

She softens in relief, and she almost sounds haughty when she drapes her arms over his shoulders and says, "I told you so."

"You excel at other things too," he says.

A blush shades her cheeks, and she looks away in embarrassment, giving him easy access to kiss her cheek.

Into her ear he murmured, "I love you for the other things."  And when she turns to give him a skeptical look, he shrugs.  "This is a bonus."

She laughs, and settles into his arms, her forehead against his temple.  “I love you to, you know?”

“You do!?”

She laughs.  “Yes. I’m lucky to have you.”

“We’re both lucky.”

She smiles, and it’s so pretty that he has to kiss her.