#words that evoke so many emotions to me
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u ever read a book that has cool ideas and compelling characters and the writing itself is decent but. there is just a total lack of actual storytelling skill. and it's 1000+ pages.
#i shant say which book but#i got 600 pages in before i realized what had been bothering me about it#and why so many ostensibly meaningful moments fell sorta flat#the relevant info was just dropped on you all at once#so whatever emotions the writer wanted to evoke were just. absent#bc there was no build up there is no payoff#also there are no distinct voices#and all the characters monologue too much#sigh#the premise is interesting so i wanted to like it#i was struggling to identify what felt off about it#bc it wasnt exactly “structure” or “plot” per se#all that stuff is relative#it's the skill of storytelling#of using words and setting and plot and structure and voices to evoke something#not just lining up all the events and narrating them#anyways#i lost sleep over this :|
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i post from here (frank iero minecraft skeleton drag show)
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I was so absolutely targeted and gobsmacked off my rocker by the very specific "mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about" and the example that is straight out of something my indeed 12 year old self not only wrote but ADMIRED in others writing at the time.
This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.
e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.
I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.
This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.
And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.
#the fact that I can still construct sentences in early 00's Horse Speak from the Horse RP Dictionary is my least used party trick#and yet still it lives in my bones#I remember some of the RP advice I got when I was like 10 was to NOT USE ARTICLES#seriously#I would systematically hunt down and eliminate every instance of the word 'the' like it had killed my whole family#this also applies to the wolf RPers#also i cannot stress enough that so many of these RP dictionaries listed a substitute for 'lips' as 'labia' completely dead seriously#which when you are 10 and have not heard that word before makes retrospect and glancing over old writing a...sisyphean challenge#i guess it did expand my vocab rapidly but at what cost i ask you#also because i rambled about insane RP in the tags#I agree fully that we're starting to lose some vital description/poetic prose in favor of everything being so literal it feels like being#hit with a frying pan#i get really heated when people are upset about 'growl' as a description or 'their eyes deepened' like can you not see this as a movie?#in your head?#we can all have personal tastes OBVIOUSLY but the genuine hate/mockery i see for things like 'he bared his teeth' homie can you not just#feel the emotion of the words#can i read real people's facial expressions and tones properly? fuck no#but I know what the poetic descriptors are trying to evoke from me and it works#purple prose#pro-purple
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So there’s a trend that I absolutely hate in online discussions of (non-satirical) genre, particularly genre that’s influenced by the gothic. This trend makes my eyes roll back in my head until I can see through my own skull. It makes me want to bite a car in half. It makes me want to step into the jellyfish tank at the New York Aquarium and beg for the sweet sweet annihilation of a thousand stings.
I call this trend: Oh Just Be Sensible, and it goes like this:
“Why do vampires always end up covered in blood when they feed, I don’t spill soup all down the front of my shirt when I eat dinner. Real toddler energy.”
“Why do people always cut their hands to swear oaths, everyone knows it would hurt way less on the [insert body part with fewer nerve endings]”
“Vampires shouldn’t be feeding from people’s wrists, it damages the tendons, if doctors don’t take your blood from your wrist, vampires shouldn’t either! No one will be able to flex their fingers the next day.”
(This comes up a lot with vampires, I mention, as I stride purposefully into the glistening mass of jellyfish.)
There are direct answers for some of these when it comes to the practical visual language of a particular medium (for example, you cut your hand on stage / on set because you can hold a blood pack in there, and even if you don’t have an effect, the gesture and its purpose can be discerned from the nosebleeds) but what really gets me is how thematically boneheaded this sort of observation is.
Like, let’s go down the list here.
Why do vampires end up covered in their victims’ blood? Well Scoob, do you think it could maybe have something to do with their bestial, inhuman nature? Or with the erotic and sensual abandon with which they can approach violence, now that they’re untethered from human morals?
Why do people cut their hands to swear oaths? Aside from what I mentioned above, do you think maybe it’s because it adds a layer of gravity to see two people swearing an oath to one another with blood dripping from their clasped hands? Do you think it’s maybe to evoke a unity of body, something greater and more primal than a unity of word? Or maybe to remind us of the dire consequences of breaking a blood oath?
Why are authors having vampires feed from people’s wrists if it damages their tendons? Damn, maybe that’s because it’s where the pulse is. You know, the pulse? The heartblood, the thing that races when you’re scared or turned on or both? The thing that stutters when you’re close to death and could, should the author choose, ring in the vampire’s ears like a chime or a great pounding thunderclap. Maybe in a story about undead beings who drink blood, we can sacrifice a bit of sensible reality in order to enforce the emotion and thematic heft of a scene?
Images like these communicate what is happening between two characters, not just the events that are transpiring! No one making stories forgot to consider ~sensible~ little observations, because it would be absolutely inane to consider an observation with the creative value of a wet paper towel. This stuff is part of our visual language for a reason! Themes also need to be communicated!
God, like, okay, I’m exhausted and the aquarium staff keeps yelling at me when they find me here, but let me just wrap up by saying that relationships, character and meaning are expressed in so many ways beyond dialogue or internal monologue, and those expressions are so rarely sensible.
(Also all this shit looks cool as hell, do you really want your protagonists swearing to die for one another by dabbing their slightly bleeding elbows together, grow up.)
#me: don't make me tap the sign#sign: fun allowed#(thematic clarity and character relationships should trump sensible realism every time)#(realism is fine! but monocle popping smirky little 'hmm I think dan brown was an idiot' smugness is just....bad!)#(it's bad and it makes for bad writing!)#my thoughts about books
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🥂 - would you make a little moodboard for Spencer? any scenario you’d like to do is fine by me! 🫶
𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 ♡
Hope you like this, dear! ♡ It ended up pretty self-indulgent cause oh what I wouldn’t do to go on a museum date with this man, ugh!
Masterlist || Spencer playlist || My 2k follower celebration
You stand in front of the Monet, its swirling brushstrokes echoing the emotions you feel as Spencer talks. The museum’s hushed whispers create a soft background hum, but his voice, even quieter, commands all your attention. He’s tracing the contours of the water lilies with his finger in the air, his gaze fixated on the painting.
“The way he captures the ephemeral nature of light, it’s almost like he’s… dissecting the very essence of a moment,” he murmurs, his brows furrowed in concentration. “It’s fascinating, the way the light refracts…” He trails off, his eyes sparkling as he turns to you, the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. “But, I wouldn’t know. I’m no artist.”
You can’t help but laugh at his self-deprecating tone. It’s one of the many things you find adorable about him. “You wouldn’t know, huh?” you tease, leaning closer to him. “You, my dear, are a walking encyclopedia, capable of reciting facts about anything from Impressionist art to the intricacies of the human brain to how light refracts through different mediums.”
He blushes, a blush that spreads across his cheeks like a watercolor painting. “I don’t know about all that,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “But this… this is something I really understand.” He gestures to the Monet again, his enthusiasm shining through. “The way he uses color to evoke emotion, it’s…” He searches for the right word, and you can’t help but smile.
There’s something so captivating about watching him struggle with words, about seeing the passion in his eyes as he tries to articulate his thoughts. He’s a walking contradiction, brilliant and awkward, serious and utterly charming. It’s a combination you find irresistibly addictive.
“It’s beautiful,” you agree, squeezing his hand gently. “Just like you, Spence. You and that big brain of yours.” You giggle, leaning up to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek.
#springtyme writes#springtyme 2k celebration#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid moodboard#spencer reid x you#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid drabble#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds drabble#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid aesthetic#criminal minds moodboard#spencer reid x y/n#doctor spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#fluff#museum date
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PSA: Hate Message/Bullying
This will be my last message regarding the negative messages I’ve been receiving. To the person or group responsible, you’ve crossed a line. While this message is directed at you, it's also meant for others in the Hazbin Hotel community who may be experiencing similar negativity and feel isolated.
Please remember, you are not alone.
CW/TW: inflammatory language, suicide, death threat, provocative language
Annonie, when I woke up this morning to over 20+ messages, I felt confused. As I started reading through all the hate, I found myself wondering, "What did I do to trigger this?" But then I stopped and realized—it’s not me. It’s YOU.
For a moment, I thought about quitting. I honestly considered giving up writing here because it didn’t feel worth the constant barrage of negativity, especially when I’m already juggling so much stress in my real life. But there's something stubborn in me—a part that refuses to back down, even when faced with such blatant, childish hate. Maybe it's my age, or just my nature, but I found myself trying to understand you.
I want to tell you to stop before it goes too far.
Words have power. Have you ever been taught that?
I don’t know if you write stories yourself, but if you do, you know how words can evoke so many emotions—joy, comfort, sorrow—giving someone an escape or a friend in the pages. But words can also destroy. They can crush dreams, steal hope, and even push someone to the edge.
I lost a friend to online bullying. One of my closest people was taken away because of hate-filled words from a stranger. Do you understand the weight of that? They were a lover, a friend, a family member, and in a single moment of hatred, that person lost their future. Someone’s thoughtless words robbed them of happiness, of possibility.
You see, while I can take your hate, I worry about the others in this community who might not. I’m more concerned about the impact you might be having on someone else who’s already struggling.
It only takes one bad day to ruin someone’s life. And isn’t that just heartbreaking?
I’m not asking you to be a hero or a saint.
I’m asking you to be a human being—to show some compassion.
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Emperor's Children have a sex drive
Boom! This is canon. It took me to read a lot of literature and write down all the hints, but it was worth it.
Here we go ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
First of all, we need to start with Julius Kaeseron, who experienced sexual attraction to Bequa, and later to the demonette. Fun fact. In my native language, because of the translation, not only Julius appreciated the delights of the composer, but also Lucius, lol.
JULIUS WATCHED WITH barely contained excitement as the blue haired composer crossed the stage and descended into the orchestra pit to take her place on her conductor’s podium. Dressed in a scandalously translucent dress of gold and crimson, the gossamer thin material hung with precious stones that glittered like stars. The cut of her dress plunged from her shoulders to her pelvis, the swell of her breasts and the hairlessness of her flesh clearly visible beneath. ‘Magnificent!’ cried Fulgrim, clapping furiously with the audience at Bequa’s appearance, and Julius was amazed to see tears in his eyes. Julius nodded, and though he had no real memory of feminine splendour or any frame of reference against which to compare her, the composer’s curves and obvious womanhood stole away his breath. Julius had felt such stirrings of emotion when he gazed upon his primarch, heard a particularly inspiring piece of music or went into battle, but to feel his senses aroused by a mortal woman was a new experience for him.
Bequa Kynska thrashed like a lunatic atop her conductor’s podium, jabbing and slashing the air with her baton, her hair a wild comet of blue as it whipped around her head. Julius tore his eyes from the magnificent sight of her and looked out over the audience to witness its reaction to this sublime, raucous music.
And yes, in all of these examples, you can see that Julius doesn't just find the girl and the demonette beautiful. He notes that he was delighted by femininity. Moreover, he even calls it seductive. Seductive. Not the most commonly used word in the Space Marine vocabulary.
Julius had never seen anything so simultaneously beautiful and repellent, a naked female creature that evoked both a potent loathing, and a perverse sensuality that gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Hair like needle horns swept back from her oval face, with its green, saucer-like eyes, fanged mouth and luscious lips. Her body was sculpted perfection, lithe and sensuous, but with only a single breast, and her skin was loathsomely tattooed and pierced. Each of her arms terminated in a long crab-like claw of glistening red chitin and moist flesh. Despite the lethal claws, the creature was disturbingly seductive, and Julius felt moved in a way he had not been since he had been elevated to the ranks of the Astartes. She moved with languid, cat-like grace, her every movement redolent with sexuality and the promise of dark pleasures and excesses unknown to the minds of mortal men. Julius ached to taste them.
And here you can see that the space marines did not yet know how to unleash their emotions. How to have pleasure other ways than battle:
The Astartes too were swept up in the surging power generated by the Maraviglia. Blood was spilled as the emotions of the Astartes were overloaded with sensational excess, and were vented in the only way men bred as warriors knew how. An orgy of killing spread from the stage, blood running in rivers as the power of the music thundered through La Venice.
But they learn quickly and start trying a lot of different things. This can be clearly seen in "Reflection Is Cracked". And yes, there is even a special place for more intimate things:
"Which was not to say that the observation deck went unused. Those who imbibed the toxically hallucinogenic cocktails brewed by Apothecary Fabius found enlightenment in its infinite vistas, and many indulged their freshly awakened carnal hungers with vicarious feasts of flesh and blades. Discarded bodies and torn heaps of broken glass lay strewn throughout the bay, and the occasional moan issued from a jumbled pile of clothing and leather restraints."
The same story mentions that they had fun with prisoners on one of the planets for several days. At first, one company abused the slaves, later handing them over to another.
During the Siege of Terra, the Emperor's Children also tortured mortals. Moreover, it is not specified exactly how. If this were ordinary literature, then “more direct and crude enjoyment” could be perceived as a, ahem, dubious agreement. But since Warhammer 40k is here, use your imagination.
Simple pleasures had given way to complex debaucheries. While their allies fought and died the Emperor’s Children slaughtered more than a million people and rendered them down to create endless varieties of drugs and stimulants. Countless thousands more died to give the Emperor’s Children more direct, if cruder, enjoyment.
How exactly did they have fun? Not specified. But I think that everything was there. And yes, this is an important point.
In Angel Exterminatus, Julius even emphasizes that they began to experience pleasure in EVERYTHING. They began to look for pleasure in all things.
The Lords of Profligacy had lifted the suffocating veils of the mundane from their eyes and shown them unlimited worlds of sensation and indulgence. Undreamed vistas of excess in all things: noise, music, bloodshed, hedonism, torture, violence, adoration and most of all, worship. Every second not spent indulging desires declared taboo in an earlier age was a waste of life, and Julius Kaesoron had long since declared that no act of indulgence would remain beyond his grasp.
And yes, sexual attraction is a matter for every person. While most Space Marines will be attracted to ladies, some will look at men. Yes, I can nitpick, but c'mon, just read this passage:
Lonomia Ruen detached himself from the advance, and Lucius cursed. Since the death of Bastarnae Abranxe, Ruen had transferred his cultish adoration to Lucius. For a while it had been an interesting diversion to have a slavish devotee, but Lucius was already tiring of the man’s desperate need. ‘Your body is a wonder,’ said Ruen.
In the first book about Fabius Bile, a lot is described about how the Emperor's Children have fun on the ship:
The observation deck had become a place of contemplation and experimentation for the masters of the Quarzhazat. A place to indulge in pleasures of body and mind. Slaves bearing immense narcotic generators staggered to and fro, filling the air with a pleasant fug. Emperor’s Children sat on marble benches looted from Imperial temples and eldar crone worlds, or lounged on cushions made from the flayed hides of prisoners, speaking softly to one another of past debaucheries and future ecstasies. They wagered on gladiatorial bouts, watching as unlucky crewmembers gutted each other with rusty blades or, in some cases,hands and teeth. Elsewhere, the crude gutter-poetry of lost Nostromo warred with ear-splitting songs culled from the manufactorums of Chemos and Cthonia. The more artistically inclined among them painted obscene murals on the wall and deck. Armour was peeled away from flesh, so that brands could be applied, or the bite of a tattooist’s needle.
And here we see this:
In the shadows, more intimate entertainments were being enjoyed, to judge by the screams of slave and Space Marines alike. The smell of blood and worse was strong on the air.
Moreover, their leader clearly loves his daemonettes too much. These are the interesting hints you can find in books.
The Radiant seemed to enjoy these occasional slaughters, and openly encouraged them, when he wasn’t leading a hunt or consorting with his Neverborn courtesans.
Oleander really distinguished himself, since apparently he started an affair with Fabius' daughter Melusine:
Oleander, it crackled. It has been so long, my love... come to me... come... He took a halting step forward, despite himself. Desire surged up in him, rising wild. His limbs trembled with need and his brain sparked with longing. A face swelled in his mind’s eye, inhuman and beautiful and terrible in that beauty, teased into the open by the electricfingers stroking his soul. He had danced to this rhythm before, however, and he recognised a lie when he heard one. He forced himself to stop, though his every instinct begged that he go forward. ‘No,’ he croaked. ‘No, I know her febrile stink, and you are not her,’ Oleander said. ‘She would not ask – she would demand.’
In the short story "A More Perfect Union" by Richard McCormick it's implied that some Emperor's Children are having sex (or something like sex). And not only with slaves but with each other.
Xantine to Euphoros:
'It has boon some time since you made your way to my bed chamber, my lord,' he said, draping a purple cloak around his naked body and drawing himself up to standing height with a predator's grace.
Euphoros to Xantine:
'I was worried, I hear pillow talk from from souls who tell me you are lost to your ...'* he looked at the empty containers. 'To your predilections.'
In the book Pariah, the simply amazing character Teke the Smiling appears. And yes, he not only notices the beauty of Beta and Judika, but also wants to “have fun” with the girl. He calls her "sweet" many times as if in mockery. And jokes that she should take her friend on board as "plaything".
‘My, but you’re beautiful,’ Teke said to me, regarding me intently. ‘As beautiful as the boy. Those eyes, that mouth. The hard absence of soul. It’s such a shame he’s been spoiled.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Bequin,’ he said. He paused. ‘Well, of course, I do. Very much. Right up to the unthinkable point where it becomes a pleasure for both of us. But I can’t. I’m not allowed to. You’re too valuable.’
‘You have provided us with it. Within just hours of knowing you, Bequin… sweet Mamzel Bequin… you have already performed an extraordinary service for us.’
‘Oh, he likes you, doesn’t he?’ said Teke, smiling at the Curst. ‘Do you want to bring him too, as your plaything?’
And I like how in the sequel the two girls talk about Teke.
‘I don’t have to imagine,’ she said. ‘I’ve met them. A brief encounter with the one named Teke. Thankfully, I was well warded. It was hard to tell what he wanted more – to kill me, or copulate with me.’ ‘Both, I should think. At the same time.’
Also worth mentioning is Telemachon, who was infatuated with Nefertari. Mostly due to the fact that she is a Drukhari. And he wanted to kill her for the Dark Prince. Is there any sexual connotation here? Well:
‘My angel. My lovely angel, you know nothing of what you speak. You’ve spent a lifetime running from the Youngest God. But he loves you, sweetling. He adores you and all of your kind. I can hear him sing each time you breathe. And one day, when you leave your flesh behind, you will be his. A concubine of spirit and shadow, claimed by your true love at last.’
Telemachon closed his eyes, breathing in her breath, drinking her every exhalation. Being near her was rapture. ‘Let me touch you,’ he said, shuddering. ‘Just let me touch you once.’
‘You live in defiance of his hunger, lovely angel... Let me taste you. Let me bleed you. Let me kill you. Please. Please. Please.’
Telemachon’s hunger for her was still a palpable thing, an aura that invisibly stained the air around him. He was imagining the salty richness of her blood on his tongue, and the thought made him shiver.
I want her, came the swordsman’s wish, as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud. He did not send the words to me, but his murderous desire was fierce enough that I couldn’t help but sense his thoughts.
A feather. A single black feather. I tore it from the fine golden chain that bound it to the pistol grip and crushed it in my hand. ‘Is this from her wings?’ I demanded. ‘But of course.’ ‘You diseased creature. Stalking her. Watching her.’ ‘And more.’ The onyx of his eyes flashed with reflected light. Telemachon was smiling. His facemask didn’t change, but I sensed whatever was left of his face behind the silver twisting in mirth.
And I really like that the Thousand Sons Space Marine stubbornly says that he doesn’t need Nefertari. That she is simply his property and she has no value to him in the Black Legion. Also he when Telemachon speaks of Nefertari:
I will end him. My mind inferred the tigrus-lynx’s violent eagerness as words, though as ever no words were spoken.
‘Do you value your life so little?’ I asked him, surprising myself with my own honesty. ‘This hunger for her will be the death of you.’
And the Chaosites have clearly expanded their vocubular. Just imagine what the Space Marines said smt like that during the Great Crusade:
‘Prey,’ the wych hissed again, echoed crudely by her sisters. ‘Oh no,’ Lucius grinned. ‘You are quite mistaken, my lovelies. I am not being hunted by you. It is you who are being hunted by me.’
Even Abaddon knows how to speak with ladys even if they are eldar which is really funny:
‘The Maiden of Commorragh,’ he greeted her.
‘They are gone.’ Nefertari broke in, still wearing her smile. ‘Their bodies hang in my Aerie if you wish to introduce yourself to them the way you have to others.’ Abaddon snorted in amused resignation. ‘What a wretched little darling you are, alien. And what of Falkus? Where is he, Khayon?’
I also found two interesting comments on reddit, but alas, I could not find exact references in the books. I'm still a human being and this is a Tumblr post, not a dissertation:
The Emperor's Children are quite possessive of the Daemons of Slaanesh. Fighting honour duels for a kiss of a daemonette or to catch the eye of a Keeper of Secrets. They showered even the least of Dark Prince's daemons with affections and gifts. It is because of this they are jealous of the Word Bearers like Saqqara who needed none of that to be beloved by daemons.
And another one:
The bile series straight up has the ec doing kinky shit only just off screen and one of the things Fabius gets accused of when he's setting up his new men is that he's just making a harem for himself.
I also like reddit about Fulgrim because it's true:
I’m pretty sure there is a pretty blatant scene in Slaves to Darkness that shows Fulgrim’s interest in EVERY excess and sex is part of the equation. It’s like a bunch of cultists and demons in the Webway essentially worshipping Slaanesh by experiencing excess including sex, gluttony, etc. Fulgrim is taking part, but it’s not exactly clear what he is taking part in. He’s a demon prince by this point obviously.
He was the only primarch who was married. He can lie himself that he didn't really loved his adoptive parents and wives but can't lie me:
Fulgrim sat back. ‘I was betrothed, once,’ he continued idly. ‘Several times, actually. Political marriages, of course. Made to seal binding agreements, or open negotiations with certain executive dynasties.’ Pyke didn’t reply. His tone had become sombre. A rare thing, for Fulgrim. The Phoenician seemed to always be smiling, laughing at some joke only he understood. But now, he seemed tired. He rubbed his face. ‘I outlived them all, one way or another.’ ‘Did you love them?’ Fulgrim smiled slowly. ‘Some. I think. At first. After a time, I stopped. Love was a weakness I could ill afford in those days. A billion lives rested on my shoulders, and any hesitation on my part would have doomed them all irrevocably.’ He laughed softly. ‘Or so I told myself then.’ ‘And now?’ ‘Now, I know it would have. There is no room for weakness in this galaxy. No room for imperfection.’
And do you know why this is a lie? Because after Fulgrim become a daemon prince, he immediately got N'kari as his consort:
Fulgrim reached the dais and flowed up its side. The bloated thing squirmed in greeting, uncoiling its bulk and twining it around Fulgrim as he embraced it. The thing purred up at the daemon primarch, baring its teeth. Fulgrim ran a hand over its hair. ‘There, N’kari, my delight… We will have bliss again once this is done with, but he is family, and that means I should listen to what he says, hmm? At least a little.' N’kari… It was not its true name – that was a thing that would have broken reality to speak – but in the realm of the warp it was like a signature drawn in atrocity. Layak had glimpsed it and heard it at the edge of bloody visions, but never seen it before. Now it sat before him. N’kari… Eater of Delight, the Son of Ruin, the Daughter of Delight, one of the Six Courtesans of the Dark Prince. Fulgrim settled next to the exalted daemon, their snake bodies intertwining with a sigh, then turned his gaze back on Lorgar.
Fulgrim squirmed, a hand running through N’kari’s hair, while another picked a wet, red fruit from a silver platter and held it out to the bloated daemon. Layak noticed that the exalted daemon’s face was a warped echo of Fulgrim’s own, a fattened parody of the daemon primarch’s primarch’s soul-breaking perfection. N’kari ate the fruit and licked Fulgrim’s fingers.
‘Which war is this, brother dear?’ said Fulgrim, running a finger over N’kari’s cheek.
Fulgrim snarled as soon as Layak willed him speech. ‘I will take your soul and–’ ‘Your consort has already issued the necessary threats.'
N’kari walked to Fulgrim’s side, its bull-headed form shrinking and thinning until it was a slender figure wrapped in red silk, its skin the colour of a shark’s belly, its eyes black orbs. A delicate crest of bone and skin ran down the centre of its scalp. ‘Where the Prince of the Princes goes, so go I,’ it said, its voice a melody that promised bliss and suffering. ‘I am bound to this and to him. As you command him, so shall I follow your will.
By the way let's not forget the words of my man Tyrell, Renegade Lord of Arden IX (Codex: Chaos Space Marines (8th Edition, pg. 52):
Take care, lest your protests grow tiresome. I have asked for so little! Anyone would think that I have asked you to sacrifice yourselves and your sons! And yet, in Slaanesh's boundless and pleasing mercy, I have asked only for your daughters. Surely you would not deny me my small enjoyments?
And I don't care what fandom thinks about my beloved Ian Watson. I don't like he's other space marines. But his Children of Emperor are great:
Were the screaming tethered female prisoners hallucinating while abominations were perpetrated slowly and perversely upon their flesh? A few tormentors had shed items of armour, exposing grotesquely mutated rampant groins, their organs of pleasure bifurcated and more, with squinting eyes sprouting from them, and with drooling lips. Others had no need to shed armour. Chaos Spawn had materialized: wolf-sized creatures with legs of spiders and bodies of imps, with questing tentacles and phallic tubes. Jaq himself almost believed that he was hallucinating. A snake-like umbilical cord connected these spawn to the swollen groin-guards of their master – who stood back, roaring and whinnying with delight, as they guided the spawn in the ravishing of their captives, soaking up the sensations of these roving external members. Corralling other hysterical captives were beastmen slaves armed with serrated axes. A Chaos Tech-Marine monitored these slaves. His armour was studded with spikes. Each shoulder pauldron was in the shape of giant clutching fingers. He wore a nightmare helmet shaped like a horse’s head, eyes glowing red. One of the shaggy beastmen drooled and dropped his axe. The beastman reached out a paw to caress a particularly voluptuous captive. Immediately the Tech-Marine adjusted a control-box strapped to his forearm. The disobedient beastman’s metal collar exploded, severing his head. The head fell. It bounced and rolled amidst the captives even as the beastman’s body was tottering.
I almost forgot to add that in the book Renegades: Lord of Excess Xantine emphasizes that he is fascinated by love. He liked to kill, torture and just look at lovers. So much so that he was delighted with the way his personal daemonette of Slaanesh hugged him. The usual hug after sex, something personal and more sensual.
Later, he warms up to Cecile, a psyker, but not enough to not use her as a navigator. Although the book mentions that he didn't want to know whether she sighed in surprise or pain when he loaded the helmet on her.
He also called one woman, whom he had picked up a long time ago (she interested him because she laughed when she learned that she had become with the inhabitants of the world, who kicked her out of the city, calling her a witch) a muse.
So...
It is clear that, first of all, the Emperor's Children derive pleasure from murder and torture. But still this is not enough. Some may have their own personal obsession. For example, Lucius' fencing. A Space Marine was mentioned who sought satisfaction in the spiritual realm rather than the material. They may love music, food, or take drugs. Including fucking. It's just not their main goal.
So everyone who is against “sex among space marines” can relax. Yes, there is sex drive, but this is just one of the pleasures. Besides, only the Emperor's Children have this thing… at least I haven't found any other Space Marines yet. But judging by my excellent analysis, if I try, who knows.
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– to fall for the sun.
pairing: albedo x gn!reader
premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.
– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end
– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.
“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper.
“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”
but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.
albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.
with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city.
in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow.
venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.
albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.
“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”
he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering.
so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.
which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.
he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.
with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.
“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.
“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out.
“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”
albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.
“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”
“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages.
you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he’d comply.
by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.
“to my dearest, albedo
you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”
albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.
“like icarus, i found myself
flying straight into the pools of his eyes
with my wings made of wax,
i soared straight into his guarded heart
and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.
then i fell—or so i thought
my body did not meet the ground harshly,
for he caught me,
in all the gentleness known to mankind,
he treated my scorched skin with care.
i was icarus and he is my sun,
with gold and glitter in all his glory.
icarus is a fool in love.
why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?
because the sun is icarus’s love.
in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,
loving him despite it being too hot, too close.
icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,
he would have no reason to live.
why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”
albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.
he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.
with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.
for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.
© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.
#—stellaronhvnters.#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin impact headcanons#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact albedo#albedo x reader#albedo x you#albedo genshin impact#albedo headcanons#albedo imagines#( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ
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Reading the book, and I'm already loving it. I agree with a lot of the things y'all say in it (players control the characters, not the narrator, etc.), but I was surprised at the strong insistence on 3rd person play.
Personally I like 1st person play because it helps me with immersion. If I play in 3rd person then my mental camera goes 3rd person, which feels more like playing a video game and removes that thrill of embodying someone else and living in a new world.
Usually I see people either take a strong pro 1st person stance, or a noncommittal stance, but this is the first time I've come across a game that insists on the 3rd person. I'm curious about the reasoning behind it. Was it just a philosophical decision, or did it bear out in playtesting that 3rd person was the better method? In the book y'all acknowledge that 3rd person play doesn't eliminate the threat of griefing from bad faith players.
Y'all clearly put a lot of thought into the game, so that really interested me. Could be a good learning opportunity!
I passed this on to one of our team and this is what she had to say:
In addition to our own home table just preferring to play in 3rd person, we believe that perspective is an important element of TTRPGs that doesn't get explored very often in the modern landscape. The games we play are composed of language - not just the words on the page, but the words we say at the table. Changing the verbiage will create a different emotional space, and a different experience. That zoomed out mental camera you describe is part of the point! In any TTRPG, players are always two things: participant, and audience. The narration we employ at the table affects the game world, yes, but we are also the only people there to see it play out. Eureka strongly emphasizes the "audience" side of that equation, and wants to frame the "participant" side as an act of authorship and discovery rather than one of inhabiting the world.
Just on a fundamental level, perspective is a defining part of any media - the camera angle in a movie or video game, the person of a book's prose, who tells the story, and who they tell it for. The way we frame a story changes the response it evokes. As you say, you've seen either strong pro-1st-person stances or neutral ones, but not a strong pro-3rd-person stance. I don't think that's because 1st person is inherently better for this sort of game, I think its because there is a tendency in the hobby right now - for a variety of reasons - to treat TTRPGs like a form of improv theater. That's not a problem in isolation per se, but I think it's one that limits what the medium can be or do. TTRPGs can be improv theater, but is that all they can be?
On a final note, we have also seen the insistence on 1st-person play and the approach of "embodying" a character occasionally cause real harm when the people involved have trouble separating player and character. That's also part of the reason we're so insistent about these being two separate people, because investigators tend to do some pretty messed up things (this being a horror focused game, after all), and we don't want people equivocating their friends with the characters they play when that level of emotional intensity is involved. Many people who play in 1st person are able to engage with that in a healthy way and understand the difference, of course, but I think it's hard to deny that the language makes that equivocation easier.
- @ashweather (person from out team who doesn't normally run this blog)
Adding on myself, another thing that I always like to bring up in this discussion is that first-person verbiage did not used to be so universal! Playing in the hobby even 4 or 5 years ago, you'd see (or at least I would see) a mix of third and first person verbiage at tables, and even people who used both interchangably. It's only in the past few years that third-person verbiage for TTRPGs has gone practically extinct, and i think most of the blame lies at the feet of big-budget "actual play" shows like Critical Role being many people's only reference for how a TTRPG can be played. Critical Role uses first-person, so therefor that's how TTRPGs are played.
I've even had people tell me on multiple separate occassions "that's wrong" when I'm trying to use third-person verbiage for TTRPGs, when playing with rulebooks which explicitly say in their text early on "you can use 1st or 3rd person to describe your character's actions"! (most, if not all, D&D edition rulebooks say this!)
In closing, yeah, if Eureka were a video game, it would be in third-person. Eureka doesn't want you in its world, it wants a character.
#indie ttrpgs#ttrpg#tabletop#indie ttrpg#rpg#ttrpg design#ttrpg tumblr#ttrpg community#ttrpg character#prose#writeblr#writing#d&d#dnd#dungeons & dragons
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hi girl, congrats on 1k !!! wheel of aesthetics with mattheo riddle ? <3
hey babe, thank you sm 💘 and thanks for sending a request! your aesthetic is…
— lo-fi
(uses muted tones and mundane imagery to evoke a feeling of calm and nostalgia)
۶ৎ navigation ; masterlist ; mattheo m-list ; how to request ; 1k celebration
it felt like years had passed since you had last seen hogwarts, yet in reality, it wasn’t that much time – the repeat of your seventh year after the war was an opportunity that you happily took, despite never having been an exemplary student. everything felt… strange. so new yet so familiar at the same time, as if the battle didn’t happen.
the phantoms of the war still lingered in every corner of the castle, though. you were mindlessly wandering around by yourself – not many of your friends decided to return to hogwarts, choosing to start a life of their own, so you felt rather alone. that was, until you saw a familiar figure perched up on a window sill, one leg hanging off, cigarette smoke wafting above in thick grey clouds.
"mattheo?"
your voice was filled with puzzlement, surprise and a hint of relief, a feeling you didn’t want to acknowledge, yet it was undoubtedly there, permeating every single word you spoke. the figure turned as soon as you spoke, and every bit of doubt left your mind – you would never forget this devilishly handsome face, a thick heap of curls adorning his head, a cigarette permanently stuck between his fingers… it was mattheo.
"i thought…"
i’d never see you again. i lost any chances i had to tell you how i really feel. i’d never be able to feel your warmth next to me. i’d never hear that contagious laugh reserved only for me.
you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your thoughts out loud, yet your eyes seemed to be telling the whole story, emotions coursing through them like a tornado. mattheo knew how to read you. despite his seeming lack of emotional intelligence and empathy, he had had enough time over the years to learn every single one of your quirks, the creases between of your eyebrows, the twitches of your mouth. his expression softened once he properly looked into your eyes, skimming through your innermost thoughts like an open book.
"me too."
your eyes widened ever so slightly, which led to a barely perceptible chuckle from mattheo. he took a drag of his cigarette, slowly exhaling a white plume, his eyes still fixed on you, as if they were boring into your very soul. you took a breath in, then out, then a tentative step towards him.
"didn’t expect you to come back," you said after a nervous bob of your throat, giving him a smile that was supposed to be friendly but turned out crooked and hesitant. he sighed lightly and extinguished the cigarette against the wall, holding out his hand for you to take. you carefully reached out with yours, your fingertips connecting with what felt like electricity crackling (although you were sure you were only hearing it). mattheo tugged you a bit closer, his leg coming off the window sill to stand firmly on the ground.
"i-"
he’d never been very good at expressing himself and sometimes wished you could just read his mind so that he wouldn’t have to utter the words himself. but unfortunately, you weren’t a legilimens, so he looked down for a second, gathered all his strength and tried again.
"i came back because…"
why was it so damn hard? it was the question that plagued mattheo’s mind while he tried to find the right words, and yours while you listened. finally, he realized that nothing would be better than the truth.
"…because of you."
you nearly felt your heart stopping in your chest. did you hear him right? did he meant it? did he-
you train of thought was cut off by a soft brush of mattheo’s chapped lips against your cheek. the small action did wonders for your racing mind because it instantly shut off, leaving you completely flushed and wishing you weren’t in a beautiful, unrealistic dream you’d soon wake up from.
"i really hoped you’d be here," mattheo murmured, pulling away from your cheek to meet your eyes with his again. you knew he was telling the truth – he’d never come back to hogwarts on his own accord after the war. "i need you to trust me on this. please."
"i couldn’t hope, but i wished so, so much that i’d see you again."
your eyes were gradually welling up with tears as you spoke, and mattheo hated that – you had cried enough, you didn’t deserve a single tear falling from your eyes anymore.
"this year won’t go to waste," he said in that soft tone of voice you knew was rare, meaning way more precious than anything else he could possibly give you. "i promise."
you believed him.
playlist
❥ technicolour beat by oh wonder
❥ downtown lights by the blue nile
❥ kaleidoscope by chappell roan
❥ death bed (coffee for your head) by powfu & beabadoobee
❥ fantasy by alina baraz & galimatias
#— witch’s works ☾#— 1k celebration ☾#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle fanfiction#mattheo riddle fanfic#mattheo riddle fic#slytherin boys#slytherin boys imagine#slytherin boys fanfiction#slytherin boys fanfic#slytherin boys fic
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WHAT MAKES THEM EMBARRASSED?
Mashle headcanon!
💌: GN!reader, fluff
⚠️: Ooc and maybe cringe, slight suggestive on Orter's part?
Requested by: @rainee-da
Characters: Orter Madl, Rayne Ames, Abyss Razor
Others: Guess who's back! I was thinking of finishing all the short stories before going back, though— but I don't want to keep you guys waiting! I'll feel very bad if I do so。:゚(;´∩`;)゚:。 Angst Rayne A. x reader coming soon! Still fixing a lot of errors<33 Enjoy reading, pookies!(≧▽≦) (this is my first time writing a headcanon so please do leave a message if there are errors!)
—
Orter Màdl
♡ It's almost impossible to make this man feel embarrassed; he hardly shows any expressions regardless of what others do—always wearing a straight and serious face! Many have attempted to make him laugh and smile, but their efforts have always been in vain, no matter how much they've tried. It almost seemed like expressing emotions is against the rules to him!
♡ And then there's you, his dearest, his partner, his beloved, his darling, his sweetheart, his sunshine, his angel, his lover, the one who melted his icy heart and kept it warm—the only one capable of evoking emotions within him that he never thought he would experience someday. (although, this rule-obsessed man cannot bring himself to admit it openly!)
♡ If there's one thing that can make Orter feel embarrassed, it would be your unexpected, sneaky and quick yet soft kisses and pecks!
♡ Whenever you peck his cheek, his brain momentarily stops functioning, and his heart flutters. His body freezes (and a faint blush is visible on his cheeks) at the touch of your soft lips against his skin.
♡ Your innocent and delicate feathered kisses drives him wild, but he would never dare to utter a word about his longing for more of those adorable little kisses!
Extra:
♡ Today was another busy day for the young man, Orter Màdl. Well— busier than usual that he had forgotten to bring his lunch with him.
And here you are, now in his office to deliver the homemade lunch to your hard-working lover, along with an encouraging letter you poured your heart into creating!
Upon noticing your presence, Orter averted his gaze from his work and looked up at your approaching figure with a small bag in your hand.
"What brings you here?" he asked.
"You forgot your lunch at home, and I won't allow my man to work with an empty stomach, so I decided to bring it here to you," you replied.
Orter remained silent, choosing to turn his focus back to his paperwork. However, his shoulders seemed more relaxed now, and his facial expression had softened. That sight alone was enough for you to know that he was grateful, and he doesn't need to express it through words or pay you back.
(The pile of paperwork on his desk bothered you. You seriously wanted to help, but this stubborn boyfriend of yours would not let you, and you were left with no choice.)
(Last time, you tried helping him, but it only ended up with you wrapped in his sand magic.)
"Here's your lunch, by the way. Don't forget to eat it at lunchtime," you said, placing the small bag with his lunchbox inside on his desk. When you heard no answer, you glanced at him, seeing that he was focused on his work.
This seemed to be the perfect time to take the chance and sneak a kiss.
As your lips were about to reach his cheek, Orter turned around (on purpose), causing your lips to meet his instead.
You were about to pull away immediately, only for the desert cane to grab your wrists, pin you down on his desk and deepen the kiss, preventing you from moving and keeping the kiss from breaking. Leaving you breathless and blushing, a flustered mess.
—
Rayne Ames
♡ Just like the rule-obsessed divine visionary, he's often cold and serious. But believe me when I say that he isn't cruel! He's just having a hard time expressing that he actually cares for the people, especially those whom he's fond of, interested in, and of course- you.
♡ Speaking of you, you are his everything. He'd do anything to keep you safe, make you feel loved, respected, and comforted! Even with his busy schedule, he'll find a way to prioritize you, no matter what. (You matter the most in his life, aside from his rabbits and Finn, of course he'll prioritize those who are important to him.) Though, there are times that he must attend to his duties first, but he'll be sure to make it up to you! It just takes some time, and hopefully you'll understand.
♡ And when I say you're his everything, I mean; you're his joy, his comfort, his warmth, his flower, his world, his dream, his reason to smile, his strength, his motivation, his star, his light—
♡ If there is something that makes this man embarrassed, it's the way you know or understand what he wants (sometimes mentioning it) and letting him know that you have given him your consent!
♡ He will hesitate at first, but will give in as soon as he knows that you are certain. Like those days where he was staring down at your lips with a troubled expression, and this will never go unnoticed by you.
♡ You held yourself back from laughing, it was truly an adorable and amusing sight!
♡ You would press your forehead against his, your lips parting to mutter the words that you have given him your consent.
♡ Rayne's face would turn bright red, his gaze snapping to you with a look of embarrassment. He cannot believe he got caught again!
♡ You chuckled at the expression on his face, but your laughter died down when Rayne immediately brought his lips to meet yours in a gentle yet firm kiss, the contact sending a warm shiver down your spine.
Extra:
♡ You were playing with Rayne's pet rabbits in your shared room, wearing the comfortable rabbit hoodie that matched with your boyfriend but in your favorite color.
"There! All done!" You chirped and stroked Usao's fluffy fur, staring at all the rabbits decorated with ribbons in awe.
"[Name.]"
At the sound of his voice calling your name, you turned around to face him. Once you did, you're met with himself close to you, the sudden closeness making your eyes widen in surprise and confusion. "Is something the matter?"
(It was hard reading him this time, not even a single clue was visible! Is he doing this on purpose?)
Said boyfriend shook his head before gently taking your hand in his, caressing it tenderly.
He closed his eyes and brought your hand up to his lips for him to place a soft and long kiss.
The kiss lasted for a while and it took you some time to process what just happened. When you did, you found yourself stunned and flustered.
—
Abyss Razor
♡ Believe when I say THAT THIS MAN GETS ALL FLUSTERED WITH EVERYTHING YOU DO. (You were just too much for his heart to handle, he might explode in embarrassment.)
♡ Even the simplest, smallest things you do, like getting close to him, holding his hand, or even a gentle poke on the cheek, headpats, or your compliments, cause him to freeze in embarrassment or leave him trembling and a stuttering mess. (Even your smile and voice!)
♡ The last time this happened was when you were combing his hair and you stopped when you caught a whiff of the scent of his hair.
You drew closer to him, hoping to smell that pleasant fragrance again.
"Say, Abyss, what shampoo do you use?"
♡ He responded with silence, you were just too close to him! Close enough that his brain stopped functioning!
♡ Abyss.exe has stopped working.
♡ You are welcome to shower this lover of yours with affection, but please have mercy! He has zero experience when it comes to this! (Your affections for him might be the cause of his death /j)
♡ He is so adorable, please don't ever hurt him. Cherish him with all your heart, for goodness' sake! He deserves all the love and care.<33
Extra:
Your fingers brushed the silky strands of your lover's hair, tucking it behind his ear before clipping it with a ribbon. (I live for the coquettish display<33)
Once you were done, you gasped at the sight of your lover with his hair neatly down and a ribbon clipped in place.
"My goodness! You look beautiful, my love, as always!"
"Even with my cursed evil eye?"
"Nonsense! I find your evil eye unique and beautiful! Even with or without that, you will always be a beauty in my eyes, both on the outside and the inside!"
Just as he was about to respond, you gently placed your finger on his lips and embraced him, burying your face in his stomach.
"Hush! Don't even think of saying those words. Your cursed evil eye has nothing to do with who you are! You have done nothing wrong! If no one else will accept the whole of you aside from Abel, then I WILL. I do not care what that evil eye of yours will do to me, I am willing to embrace everything in you. I will always love you, even with all your flaws. Nothing and no one can change my mind and my heart—"
You stopped yourself from rambling when you felt a sudden drop of liquid fall on top of your head.
"Abyss?"
You sat up to check on him, only for panic to rush through you as your eyes met his face that is soaked with tears.
"Did I say something wrong? Please, don't cry and tell me what's wrong! It pains me to see you in tears!" (You might cry too /j)
Receiving no response from him, you were left with no choice but to embrace him in a hug, hoping that it could provide him solace.
Abyss wrapped his arms around you in return, his tears soaking the fabric on your shoulder. (Which you did not mind at all.)
He could never be more grateful than being accepted despite the flaws he bore, especially his very own evil eye.
—
I'll add a few more characters for this headcanon after writing the second angst I'm planning to write! I hope you enjoyed reading my first headcanon! Have a great, wonderful day or night, lovelies!💌
#💌.astria writes!#💌.astria's hcs!#mashle x reader#mashle#rayne ames x reader#orter madl x reader#abyss razor x reader
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(originally written 8/21/24 on cohost)
there are actually a lot of things that john and aradia share beyond the bing crosbytop and fedora that are pretty intriguing to me like narratively. i was on the road and it sorta came to me as i was listening to music and i had to write it down when i got to my lab
both are the actual leaders of their session even though neither of them claim to be.
both are involved in the larger narrative of their story, on the “outside” or “above everything” with regard to paradox space. aradia’s leads with strategic understanding, watching how it unfolds, and john leads with a methodical one, putting the narrative into action. both of these end up leaving them feeling detached from everything in the end.
from andrew hussie commentary:
But even then, Aradia's only using him, too. She's playing everyone. She has a very advanced and pragmatic view of leadership when it comes to a Sburb session. She understands there's no such thing as a leader, just a bunch of sad kids getting played by Paradox Space. In a way, she's the most honest type of leader any session has. A leader by absentia, a cold orchestrator of preordained, controlled chaos, who creates the spaces for all the pieces to fall into place, and then just sits back and lets them fall. As Aradia's arc progresses and the ghostly freeze on her emotions and desires begins to thaw, one of the themes that starts emerging is the struggle over the nature of what is random in a universe where any appearance of randomness is prewritten as an essential result, and any act of destruction, no matter how violent or disruptive, only serves as a preconditional pillar for any foretold series of outcomes. As a robot, when she gets her emotional legs back under her somewhat, she gets more aggressive and starts lashing out, using acts of chaos, violence, impulsiveness, and randomness as a kind of protest against the bondage that existing in Paradox Space represents. In other words, there's no random act that reality hasn't accounted for, but aggressively enacting them is still kind of a Fuck You statement to the master. It's an attitude borne by a defiant slave, which she knows herself to be, just like her ancestor.
these evoke such similar feelings to me
(john art by @monteruu. lovely work by the way.)
john has an unconscious draw towards this information, his existence is a consequence of it, but is unable to weave it together into a framework. he doesn’t have the internal framework but he has the words so he’s confused. there was one post i once saw that had me clawing at the bars of my mental cage that's still somehow tangentially related to this general idea im trying to communicate.
(source)
and plato was.....LII. john expects reality to conform with the mental products of that guy, similar ideas that i have seen repeated throughout many other LII works, including carl jung and his idea of the collective unconscious and archetypes. and my own mind too.
“john expects reality to conform with his symbol language." that's literally how we could define the SUPER-ID block in socionics. the SUPER-ID block is the block where one is shaped by their most primitive impressions of what the world is, from the world.
for an ESE, john's type, their SUPER-ID contains -Ti → -Ne. erm...symbol language anyone? the ESE themself is the one spontaneously affected by that information, in contrast to LII, who can consciously follow this information and verbally deconstruct it.
(for description about these information elements and what they represent, refer to this. details about the meaning of the information element charges +/- can be read here.)
for me—and aradia, (and plato and jung too. also dipper pines. if you ever thought john and dipper have similar vibes youre not alone. someone pointed that out the other day i saw a tweet that said "John is kind of like dipper if he gave zero fucks what anyone else thinks of him" and i was like "im fucking telling you dude")— the SUPER-ID block of LII receives the aesthetic/sensory impressions that objects with certain energies give off (SUPER-ID block +Fe → +Si). to me the best i can describe this is receiving the dynamic, embodied expression of an individual object’s 'character' in motion and the impression it makes on me. many LIIs are musicians, or music is a big part of their life for this reason, because of this tonal + sensory impressionistic discernment.
+Fe -> +Si is the information i require from the world that i use to consciously classify things or compare them using my EGO block -Ti → -Ne. i classify things by their actual embodied characteristics, which makes me able to compare things in nuanced ways. since i have these energy-sensory impressions as a sort of backlog to compare things to, i can creatively describe something's essence in a million ways, from a million different angles. i’m even doing that in this post right now.
john is doing that in reverse. he takes the raw essence / potential itself (including himself) and can physically embody that potential in a million creative ways. think of how quickly he figured out what was available to him with punch card alchemy.
aradia knows her position in paradox space, whereas john does not. john doesn't make this distinction himself. like any introvert aradia is able to plot herself on a “map” to identify her placement / relationships among other objects (be it interpersonal, logical, within a space, and—most demonstratively for her—throughout time). i guess it allows her to cope better, but for john, this causes his depression and anguish to find meaning in his life once the narrative of homestuck ends.
theyre some of the most narratively involved characters in the chain of events of the story, but just from opposite sides. aradia exerts this as a hidden force causing consequential ripples over events in time (and she is aware of this, which is where a core theme was for her as a character and trying to rebel against the inevitable that she has to do anyway because paradox space is cruel), while being quite modest and unassuming as an individual. i think this is why ive seen people "forgot about her" because she wasn't in the spotlight and wasn't well understood, the weight of the role she played. i've likened this to her (4/2) demonstrative +Ni and (2/1) vulnerable -Se pole in the socionics framework. we see her story told mainly through the past and how she came to be in this state. a huge part of her arc that people take away is how much transformation she has been through. changes and relationships things hold to each other over time is a Ni concept. aradia constantly demonstrates this as an individual. i guess why it's called the demonstrative function. haha? i have the same information element placements as aradia, so i can draw comparisons to flesh this idea out further. my friend told once me something very pertinent: "Honestly I think a lot of your bigger influence is subconscious and something that most people have to circle around to appreciate. Like they have to live a little to appreciate your wisdom"
john is the opposite — we follow him. we see his role as it unfolds, we're along for the ride with him. his impact in the story gets more spotlight, he is the main character after all. and it's so interesting how john spontaneously adopts these roles to live up to through his actions. it's like he subconsciously knows he's the main character in some way, and acts accordingly: he serves as a more active presence in the present moment of the narrative than aradia whose primary effects are a result of that which stretches back to the beginning of these chain of events. john's actual presence in major events are crucial. (e.g. getting the code for Quills of Echidna to scratch the beat mesa, sticking his hand in the house juju). this is his (4/2) demonstrative -Se. we see him involved in these things, right here, right now. not in the past, but his presence right now. but there's a shadow side to this. as jung says, "No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell". so given all of this, being an action hero constantly involved in the present, at the same time builds up as an inner experience of the self over time — (2/1) vulnerable +Ni, which we cannot see from the outside, but is a consequence of that presence that simultaneously evolves with every action john takes in the story. what do the collection of these experiences represent over time? who john is as an individual being in a narrative sense is something important to analyzing him as a character. what myth does he embody? what myth or idea is it that is essentially forced upon him by the world against his will, given his position among other objects? (1/2) suggestive -Ti → (2/2) mobilizing -Ne. this 1000% relates back to that symbolic language post. by the way.
when it comes down to it, it seems like outside world's mission for john's existence is because he is someone necessary. who else is going to do these things? john exudes optimism, capability, kinetic energy. this is why we see him spontaneously latch onto the positions (suggestive -Ti) that he finds himself in.
EB: but now they don't have dream selves left! EB: who ever goes will be risking their life for good, won't they? CG: THAT WOULD BE THE LOGICAL EXTENSION OF THOSE FACTS, YES. EB: this is unacceptable! EB: couldn't i do it? EB: i am apparently immortal, because of this god tier business, so the bomb probably would not kill me! CG: OK, BUT DON'T YOU THINK THERE'S A REMOTE POSSIBILITY THAT GOING ON A SUICIDE MISSION TO SAVE ALL OF REALITY WOULD COUNT AS A HEROIC DEATH? EB: hmm... EB: maybe i could try to be not all that brave while i do it? CG: YOU ASSHOLE, OF COURSE YOU'D BE BRAVE. THAT TENDS TO BE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DO SOMETHING REALLY FUCKING COURAGEOUS. EB: ok, well what about this. EB: since she is mortal, and i am not (sort of), and i don't need to do the scratch for a while, can i go help her? EB: maybe she could use some protection? maybe that is what dave was just trying to do, when he temporarily died. EB: remember, jack is still on the loose! he has killed rose and dave once, and me twice. CG: NO NO NO NO NO NO. CG: SWEET BLEEDING JEGUS, EGBERT, YOU KEEP BRAGGING ABOUT YOUR IMMORTALITY, AND THEN BRAINLESSLY ANNOUNCE PLANS TO GO OFF AND DO SOMETHING HEROIC! YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE THE SHORTEST LIFESPAN OF ANY IMMORTAL IN HISTORY. EB: sorry. :(
aradia’s trollian handle is apocalypeArisen. the final book in the new testament describing the apocalypse (book of revelations) is authored by a person named john. that’s all he refers to himself as, and nobody knows his actual identity. many iconic mythological figures come from there, like the four horsemen of the apocalypse and the biblically accurate angels covered in eyes from front to back and shit. like that’s the blueprint of the ‘apocalypse’ myths that pervade culture. apparently the book was written from his visions in patmos, greece. the only reason i made this connection was because of the amazing musical adaptation of it into the album 666 by aphrodite’s child (1972) that has be absolutely hooked, but still it made me do some reading since i wanted to know what was up since i'm secular, and that's where i found intriguing links to my thoughts about them.
because etymologically.... apocalypse (ἀποκάλυψις) is a greek word meaning "revelation", "an unveiling or unfolding of things not previously known and which could not be known apart from the unveiling.” sounds familiar to things i have been describing in this post, particularly from john (egbert)'s perspective. my friend said "john is like a guy lost in a desert without a map with random landmarks that don’t make sense and aradia is like watching him from a helicopter with a map".
one more thing. i read that the johnannine works took a more gnostic approach than other parts of the canon.
The origins of Gnosticism are obscure and still disputed. Gnosticism is largely influenced by platonism and its theory of forms. Many Gnostic texts deal not in concepts of sin and repentance, but with illusion and enlightenment.
and oh god and so much of homestuck has roots in gnostic thought AND plato's theory of forms. keep in mind that homestuck is a creation myth itself. like, yaldabaoth the denizen IS the demiurge. no wonder theory of forms is such a vital idea to homestuck's mythology. and that's why john seems to fit so well into that world, because he expects reality to conform with his symbolic language.
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"I had the pleasure of designing and illustrating the long sleeve for @julienrbaker’s merch capsule by @slowdowndrygoods for her current tour. This work was really special to me and I have some words about it if you’d care to continue reading As soon as Eli asked if I wanted to make something I knew I wanted it to have a nostalgic warmth. The whole project involving Memphis folks is already so special, I wanted to contribute to that in the most authentic way possible. We had the idea to run with a candle as the main focal point. I love illustrating rooms, furniture, and domestic scenes of all kinds (as I have emphasized ad nauseam through my tattoo work) The life and memories held within four walls can feel electric and evoke such varying emotions from person to person. Drawing particular spaces from memory, I find, adds a surreal and dreamlike quality that transforms it from specific to personal, reflecting and highlighting elements of a room that have stuck with me over the year, moving through and away from them. It is all at once vulnerable, specific, vague, and inviting. This space is inspired by The Seven House back in Memphis where I’d seen so many shows, seen Julien perform with The Star Killers and Forrister, and so many other keystones in the scene at that time. I included a bunch of other stuff that’s not so specific to The Seven House but to Julien herself. So, that said, there’s a lot of memories crammed into this room that I hold in my heart and now you can carry it with you too A few things I snuck in here include a painting by @arielwolfebaldwin, a smith7 sticker, Julien’s beloved Beans, a Dunkin’ Donuts cup, a picture of the Memphis College of Art building, and more. I don’t usually sign my drawings but I sort of put myself in here, in a more pictorial / literal sense. I also fully remember the 7 house having a busted standee of a basketball player? Can anyone confirm this? Anyway, now you know what your merch means. Thanks again for asking me to be a part of this, Eli. And thanks to Julien for always carrying your friends with you. Much love Layout and formatting for print by @mrdrewryan Thanks @smith7_wicker for all the memories" - via tattoosbyclover
#“thanks to julien for always carrying your friends with you” yeah ouch because exactly this exactly this!!!#i loooove this story so felt important to share in full!!!!#i tried putting the split images back together but it messes up the quality so ill just keep it like this#julien baker#side note i need this shirt a lot
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As much as I adore Dr Kry, like he is one of my favourites and I love reading every little thing about him, i think I’m most afraid of him, being forced to be sick and bed bound for the rest of my life just sounds so horrifying, it removes what little independence you have, which is probably what he wants 😭
I’m just really over thinking it because of the recent prompt about the woods, becuase I feel like with the rest of your ocs you Atleast have a little independence, you can walk around the house, the room, you have the choice to fight back or the choice to comply, you have a choice no matter how small or stupid it might by, you just have some sort a choice in your life, but dr Kry? Being bed bound and completely helpless sounds terryfing, I’d probably cry everyday, I think I’d feel more grateful if he wasn’t poisoning me like please let me Atleast have some autonomy and I’ll stay with you 😭😭
Yh sorry for the ramble the prompt really triggered a fear in me
I know that this isn't your intention with your message, but it makes me happy that you feel such emotions from my writing! It tells me that I've succeeded with the characters. Evoking emotions, even fear like this just with my words, is honestly a great compliment, haha
I also think that Kry is the scariest oc, because if how much control he demands. He wants to control every living thing around him. Why do you think he likes gardening?
It's also because Kry is so eerily smart. You never know how many steps before you he is, never know what he's thinking. He KNOWS how to absolutely sabotage your body, how to break it in all the right places, and ruin it to his liking. And him NOT fulfilling it makes him somehow even scarier.
You should consider yourself lucky because things COULD be much worse than being bed bound by fatigue, nausea, muscle cramps, and dizziness.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere drabbles#yandere oc x you#yandere oc x reader#yandere doctor
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Good Girl..
Warning: A sprinkle of smut (18+)
Lying sprawled on the bed, her body draped over the soft cotton sheets, Yasmine nestled into the comfort of his oversized t-shirt. A subtle smile played on her lips as her iPhone buzzed in her hands, each vibration sending a ripple of excitement through her. It felt as if Joe's presence was right there with her, despite the miles that separated them.
Being on the road meant constant communication between them, whether through texts, Facetime, or phone calls. Though she missed him dearly, she appreciated the space that his road trips afforded them. She believes that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and every time they reunited, they cherished every moment together, knowing they'd soon have to part again.
Joe: So, what's on the agenda for tonight?
Yasmine: Hmm, not entirely sure yet. Probably just gonna whip up some popcorn, binge-watch a few episodes of Martin, and call it a night.
Joe: Sounds like a plan. Wish I could be there. As much as I appreciate the road, being home with you sounds way better. I miss you 😞
A blush crept across Yasmine's cheeks at Joe's heartfelt message. It never failed to amaze her how he could evoke such tender emotions with just a few words, even from a distance.
Rolling her eyes playfully, she typed out her response.
Yasmine: Pshh, quit playing Mr. Reigns. Traveling across the country sounds way more exciting than popcorn and tv 😒
Joe: Trust me, being at home with you, feeling your warmth, and hearing your laughter is all I crave right now.
Yasmine's heart fluttered at his words, her pulse quickening with every beat.
Joe: And if I were home, I'd have you in my arms..making you scream my name all night long...
Her breath hitched as she read Joe's message, her imagination running wild with the vivid imagery he painted.
Joe: I can't wait to have you all to myself again, baby girl. Just the thought of you drives me crazy.
Her face burned hotter. She swallowed hard, watching three dots appear on the screen, indicating he was typing again. The dots vanished, replaced by another message. She wasn't prepared for the words that lit up the screen.
God, you have no idea how badly I want you.
She shifted, rubbing her thighs together as she continued to read his message.
I swear, when I get home, I'm tying you to the bed, and you'll cum so many times you'll lose count, baby girl. I promise.
She immediately flipped her phone face down, locking it.
Believe it or not, she had never received such a text from Joe before, so she was taken aback when she read it. It certainly had her worked up, and those words were enough to have her swooning.
It had been ages since they'd been intimate. With his focus on work, there was little time for sex, and she found it cruel of him to send a text like that given their circumstances.
Thoughts of him being there with her, touching her, flooded her mind. It didn't take long before she found herself on her back. With just his t-shirt on, it was easy access for her to slip her hands into her panties. This was the only way she could find pleasure right now, so why not indulge?
Her phone vibrated not once, but twice, and she groaned in frustration as she read the texts.
Don't you dare touch yourself, baby girl. You better wait until I get home.
Buzz
I will tease you until you're in tears. I won't let you cum for hours.
Three more dots appeared as she whimpered at the text.
And don't forget, I still have those cameras installed, so don't test me.
Her hand moved away from where she desired to be touched the most. She needed release, desperately. She groaned, tossing her phone onto the bed and throwing her head back on the pillow.
Her phone vibrated one last time. Buzz.
Good girl.
--------
Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi
#wwe#roman reigns#roman reigns fanfiction#wwefanfic#roman reigns smut#romanreignsimagine#romanreignsoneshot#fanfiction
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Geraskier
So you know how Jaskier (Viscount Julian) left home and changed his name and since he’s always short on cash, one would assume he was cut off (or cut himself off) from the family fortune?
So what if when his parents finally pass away and and he comes into a substantial amount of money, it is right about the time Geralt is really starting to feel the wear and tear on his body and wonder whether he can be a witcher for much longer, and he’s feeling anxious and melancholic about it but hasn’t admitted that to anyone.
But then he gets an invitation from his dearest friend Jaskier to join him on the coast at a cottage for some rest and recovery.
And when he shows up and drops his bags, he is instantly in love with the place. It seems like something he would build himself. Its decorated with items from their many years of travels. Ciri’s first wooden sword is hung on the wall. There is swallow imagery reflecting her as well, in the paintings and etchings. There are buttercups interwoven with wolves.
When Jaskier takes his things, there are hooks and contraptions that are perfectly shaped to hold his swords and armor without scratching or damaging them. The table and chairs are his perfect height. There is even a fireplace styled just like the one at Kaer Morhen, evoking the memories of many nights drinking with Eskel, Lambert, Coën, and Vesemir.
Jaskier hugs him so tightly he coughs, but it warms his heart and he forgets about his melancholy. Then Jaskier leads him by the hand and takes him to the back garden and his brothers and friends and most thrillingly of all, his daughter, are all sitting around with ale and they shout and toast him.
After he is kissed by Ciri and squeezed in many strong arms, he takes Jaskier aside. By then it is dark and the candles and torches are twinkling illuminating the tables where all the war stories are being told with laughter and copious amounts of swearing.
“What is the occasion, Jaskier? What’s going on? When did you buy this place?”
Jaskier looks at him with so much love and fondness, Geralt’s knees feel weak. Its getting harder and harder to hide these damndable feelings for his dearest friend.
“I didn’t buy it.” He says. “I built it.”
“You built it.”
“Well. I paid someone to build it. Obviously. The important question, though, is whether you like it.”
“I do,” says Geralt. “I love it.“
“Good. Because I built it for you. And the occasion is your retirement, or semi-retirement, if you desire it.”
It takes a good half hour to convince Geralt that Jaskier is not joking with him or teasing him. Jaskier places a key in his hand with a wolf etched on it. Geralt walks around the house in a daze. Jaskier follows behind with a gleeful smile. Like Geralt imagines mothers look on their children’s birthdays and they’ve given them the pony they’ve aways wanted. When the tightness has cleared from Geralt’s throat and he isn’t afraid he’ll sound emotional, he speaks.
“Jaskier,” he says, “why? Why would you do this for me?”
“Because,” Jaskier answers, “you deserve it. You’re always doing for others.”
Geralt feels the tightness in his throat again. He looks into his dearest friend’s eyes and his hands stray to Jaskier’s hips of their own accord.
He has never touched him this way. But he is overcome. Not thinking.
Jaskier smiles. “And because I love y—-“
He does not finish the word because Geralt is kissing him.
Ciri and Zoltan have wandered into the kitchen to look for another barrel of ale and the see the two of them kissing.
Ciri whoops and starts clapping. Zoltan mutters “its about godsdamn time.” Geralt’s ears turn red. Jaskier grins proudly.
Geralt has never felt more content. But he still teases Jaskier relentlessly before he invites him to move in with him.
“Its pretty lonely in this place.”
“You know, no reason I bring this up, but I have always wanted to live on the coast…”
“Maybe I should hire a butler, so the house isn’t so quiet…”
“I loathe you, witcher.”
“Actually, I have it on good authority that you love me.”
Geralt does that for a day or two, teasing between kisses, pretending he doesn’t understand what Jaskier is hinting at in the afterglow, for Geralt to invite him to move in.
They set up two chairs on the porch where they can see the waves and sit next to each other, Jaskier fiddling with his lute and notebook, Geralt nursing his wine.
And it is more than he had ever dared to dream.
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