#would love to be chill about this but I Cannot

[ma1dita]

love spells evol

wc: 1.7k summary: [sylus qin x reader based on nightplumes] there’s an ancient myth about seeing the first snow of the season with someone you (might) love; based on the crash landing on you k-drama plot a/n: here’s a gift after not being able to put any creative words to paper for months. fluff! kinda angst? title from evol by adrienne lenker

—

A myriad of colors reflect in your eyes as the night sky booms with color. Despite the noise, a peaceful silence occupies the space between you and Sylus at the Linkon riverwalk tonight, the wind swirling around you as if trying to push you closer. 

But you resist.

You can barely call him a friend, after all. 

You’re not sure if he’d let you even if you tried. The words roll around in your mouth— a confidant, perhaps? An ally, for sure at the very least. You’ve both come far from your initial faceoff with the big and bad Onychinus leader. Now, he’s just…. you still can’t find the right words. He’s not just anything to you—that, you’re sure of.

Right now though, he’s as still as a statue watching the fireworks display while you get knocked around by gusts of cold air. You bear down, grabbing onto his solid arm briefly, before realizing you’re tugging at the wool of his sleeve like a petulant child. So, you decide to hold onto the metal railing instead.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, still not looking at you. Sylus is almost picturesque under splashes of iridescent light as if an artist let loose to make a masterpiece of him. And you can’t do anything but watch, mesmerized by all of him, from the sweep of his silver hair, down the steep slope of his cheekbones, and the small smirk that always seems to surface when he’s about to taunt you.

“There she goes. Without even looking back. How ungrateful,” he jokes, lining up his pointer finger with your viewpoint so you can spot the feathered friend you imposed upon him days earlier. He’s gentle, you realize—- when he wants to be. Protective when it matters. Despite the chill that races up your spine, you feel warm huddled close to him, chin against his sleeve as you see your dove flap its wings in the sky, getting smaller as she flies away from Linkon. 

“Bye-bye, my dove. Do you think she’ll remember me?”

He looks down at you with something softer now, as you wave at the white speck in the sky, realizing that you’re nestled against his body heat. No matter how cold-blooded you say he is, his cheeks admittedly warm at your proximity to him. He clears his throat, finding his nerve as he says, “Well who would want to forget you, kitten?”

A smile spreads across your face before you realize it, instead, glancing at the flicker of sincerity that crosses his gaze. 

You catch him looking at you like this a lot when he thinks you don’t notice—like how someone tries to remember the melody of a song; subtly in broken parts and then intensely, all at once. Sylus’ stare is equal parts wistful and affectionate, if he would only let himself be caught by you—but at the last moment, right when your eyes catch a glimpse of garnet, he always looks away. 

“We could’ve gotten Mephisto a girlfriend,” you bite back a smile, and now he’s chuckling, eyes shut and turning away from you. He would never admit it anyway. There’s a part of him that stays locked where your hands still cannot reach. Like a hidden treasure you have to scavenge for. Maybe one of these days he’ll let you in on the secret. 

But you are nothing if not persistent.

“That’s impossible. You do know that Mephisto’s made of metal right? And your dove…is real. Down to the bone.”

“But he can feel, right? You programmed him to feel—I swear he laughs at me when I get lost at the base,” you reason. Your mitten prods at his side, wanting him to continue the banter. Only you can do this to him, and Sylus rolls his eyes almost grumpily because he knows it too.

“Dove,” he calls you, “They’re incompatible. It’s impossible for them to be together.”

Your brow furrows, “Can’t you pick already? Am I a dove or a kitten?” 

He doesn’t answer.

You’re everything.

“Ugh. But they were happy together. Right, Sylus?” you prod again, wanting to pull him back from wherever his mind has escaped to. Whenever you’re together, his focus is always on you, except in tiny moments where his eyes get glassy and contemplative, like he can see something you don’t. And then even when he’s next to you, he’s not fully there. Sylus goes somewhere far away, somewhere you could only dream to be. 

You wonder what he could be thinking of wherever he goes. 

He blinks, coming back down to reality and seeing the hope in your eyes. It tethers him more than the linkage you both unwillingly share. 

“Yes, they were. Even for a short moment.” 

A beat of silence passes again. It’s not uncomfortable at all, and you find yourself leaning against his bicep before something catches your attention. A white speck. Could your dove have come back? But there’s more of them, dotting the sky, falling slowly towards the both of you.

You gasp then, quite dramatically. 

It’s snowing.

“Oh no…” you sigh dreamily, cheek against his thick coat. Of course, this had to happen with Sylus here.

“What’s wrong? Are you cold, kitten?” Sylus pipes up, slinging an arm around to wrap your scarf around the base of your neck, up until it covers your head.

“Sylus!”

The sound of his laughter stokes the fire burning inside of you. It’s a nice, velvety tone. You think he should laugh more often, even if it’s usually at your expense. When you free yourself from the woolen trap, the softness hasn’t left his face.

“Is this the first snow? We’re in trouble…”

Your words confuse him a lot—sometimes he wonders if you do it on purpose, or if your words are intentionally reactionary. 

He’s never met a girl like you, ever. And he’s been around for a while. 

Sylus scoffs, poking at a puffed-up cheek, “Compared to everything we go through on the daily, Miss Hunter—I never thought you’d be scared of a little snow.”

“Am not! Just you know how the story goes…”

“Do tell,” he drones, remembering he shouldn’t be so… vulnerable in his actions towards you. His hand lowers back to his side like he’s burned himself. 

Can’t get ahead of yourself, Qin. Just a while back, she was repulsed by you.

But your face inches as close as it can towards his, hands on his chest and tippy-toes in the snow as you speak as if it’s a big secret no one else can find out about. Despite the fact that there’s no one else out on the riverwalk, your voice is hushed, “Well, there’s a story…actually, I think it’s a myth, that whoever you watch the first snow of the year with will be destined for great love.” Your eyelashes are dusted with snowflakes, and Sylus has to restrain himself from brushing them away. And then your mitten extends upward and pats his hair clean like it’s nothing of the sort. Taking a step away and falling back to your natural height, you chuckle listlessly, “But well, it’s not supposed to work between us anyway,” you sniff, stating it like fact, “I mean, with what we both do for work and all.”

Eyes falling closed, you take a deep breath in of frozen air.

“Yeah. We would never work. It’d be a mess.”

One eye snaps open to stare up at Sylus nodding to himself, hand scratching his neck as he looks off into the distance again. His expression is unreadable, and the weight in his throat feels like lead.

“Wait a minute. I said we wouldn’t work, but why would YOU say we wouldn’t work?”

It feels like walking into a trap. Or better yet, a minefield with a blindfold on. Sylus blinks, trying to navigate through this conversation and he’s still unsure of how you feel.

“You’re one of the good ones. The best hunter in Linkon City. And I’m…”

Where should we begin? A convicted criminal, most wanted in all of Philos, actually. THE bad guy, head of Onychinus, and the list can go on…

“---My friend.”

Blood red eyes meet yours in surprise, but you show no fear. Not then, and not now. He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but you dust fresh snow off the lapels of his coat even as it continues to fall. Honestly, you just need something to do with your hands.

“Sylus, you know I trust you with my life right?”

It’s hard to read you sometimes. You chastise him on his way of life and criminal activity, and he can’t tell if it’s because you take your job seriously, or out of concern for his wellbeing. He doesn’t answer, letting you continue, “I wouldn’t have resonated with you if I didn’t.” And his signature smirk creeps back onto his face, any previous softness gone as you watch him build his walls up. He doesn’t take kindness very well, and some can say he even reacts badly to it. Sylus Qin is a man who loves to be in control, and that’s the truth. But two things can be true at the same time—the other is that when he’s with you, he can relinquish all of it so easily. 

You set the pace. 

You call the shots.

“Sure, kitten,” he drawls, “be honest. You’ve just been dying to get rid of me.” Your body vibrates underneath the coat you have pulled tight around your waist, and from where Sylus is standing, he’s unsure of if he’s said the wrong thing until you look up at him again and the sound of your laughter catches up with the rest of you. Sticking your tongue out, you say, “You wish! You can’t get rid of me that easily, you crow!” He grins now, shaking his head and turning away to start walking back to the car, because with everything in him he hopes that’s true.

“Hey! Sylus, wait up! Your legs are too long!”

No matter which way you choose to look at him— friend, or foe, you find yourself falling slowly, just like the snow that settles upon Linkon City.

—

“Deep in my enemy I find the lover.” -Pierre Corneille

[fawninthesnow]

Hey! I understand if not cuz you originally wrote the fic as a one-shot but I honestly think attention has the potential to have a part 2 or be a mini-series. Like i’d love to see reader x geta sneaking off or something despite caracalla. I also hope you’re having a wonderful new years and I love your writing 💗

Hiii! You are so sweet! Thank you! So, It was originally supposed to be a mini series but I forgot to finish my planning. I think I'll do 3 parts in total!

𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Part 2

𐙚 Emperor Geta x Fem! Emperor Caracalla x Fem! 𐙚 18+

Summary: As one of Caracalla's concubines, you find yourself in a bind when you grab his brother's attention.

Warnings/contains: fem dom (kinda), sub male, concubines, smoking, alcohol consumption, obsession, idealization, not proof read-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 1.2k

PART 1

More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

That night, Caracalla nestled into your warm embrace, his arms wrapped tight around your waist.  Droplets of saliva traced paths down your chest.  His breath, soft as his hair, lulled you into a peaceful exhaustion.  As usual, the emperor's door remained open—a fear of enclosed spaces a constant, and the bedroom air, consequently, cool.  Your nakedness contributed to the chill.

Geta stood in the hallway, just outside the door.  A servant held a torch, casting light on his perplexed face, his arms crossed in a posture of confusion. “Let us go.” He said to the servant, continuing down the hall.

You looked at the boy on your chest and rubbed his hair. Something in you wanted to stay, you knew on a personal level how it hurt him when, yet another person would leave. But simply the idea of Geta was enough to make you feral for sex.

You brushed a kiss against Caracalla's hair, then stepped off the bed.  Wrapping yourself in a robe, you slipped down the hall, a single candle your only light.  Reaching Geta's chambers, you requested passage, and the guards promptly opened the doors.

The emperor smirked, pushing the two women from his bed. “Leave please.” He said rather condescendingly to the women before turning his attention back to you. “Come, come.” He waved you over to him, inviting you into bed. Geta calmed his breathing, attempting to stay composed although a goddess of a woman just entered his bed. “I- I always thought it to be unfair that the most beautiful women go to *him* first.” He said, his hands glued to your flesh. He pulled you onto his hips, resting his back against the bedframe.

“Wait. I need to say…Caracalla may not know about this. I will leave before he wakes.”

“That is fine.” He looked up at you, enjoying the weight of your body on his. “You smell heavenly. Your beauty…I cannot begin to describe. Where are you from?”

“Mauretania.”

“Ahh, I see. I will call you...Lotus.” You blushed as he moved the curls of your hair from your eyes, “Where did he find you?”

“I was shopping for fruits at the bazaar when he came into the city.”

He chuckled, “I…believe you.” He did not. However, he did not want to waste time with you.

Your hands hold onto the sides of his neck, “He is asleep, but he will notice in time that I am gone.” Geta’s eyebrows furrowed as you pulled away from him. “I did not come here tonight to have sex with you.” The man’s nostrils flared in frustration, his arousal only teered off as a result. “I told you I planned to leave before he woke. Now, tomorrow, he plays with his friends in the courtyard, lounging festivities. I will meet you here then.”

“N- no! I want you now. Please? I promise to satisfy you; such a beautiful woman…” He murmured; his mind rather scattered with the thoughts of losing you. You watched as he frantically placed kisses along your breasts and neck. He kissed hard against your skin—

“You are going to leave marks, your highness.”

“That is my point.”

“Think of Caracalla.” You groan and push yourself from him. The man reached for your arm, placing kisses along your smooth skin. “Geta.” He held onto you as you walked towards the door. You sigh, brushing his hair with your fingertips.

“Please, do not leave.”

“I will see you again soon.”

////

The following morning, Geta watched the courtyard, where his brother and friends engaged in a game of golf, their balls soaring across the garden and towards the city.  He noticed you lounging on a sun bed, apart from the other courtesans. You sat propped on one elbow, your toga tightly wrapped around your hips and chest.  The sun kissed your honey-toned skin, highlighting its smooth, supple texture as you relaxed.  You were breathtakingly beautiful, a simple radiance.  Geta wondered if you'd dipped in the lap pool; a subtle sheen suggested that you might have. Your skin looked both wet and luxuriously soft.

However, this wasn’t the plan! To just watch you from afar! No! You were supposed to sneak away by now. Sneak away and come to him! Why were you making him wait?! “Oh, my lotus…” Please do not do this, not in a time of such need!

You knew he was over behind a pillar, his eyes glaring from the copper-colored curtain. The man continued to fume with disgust as his brother made his way to you and sat beneath you. Your fingers in his hair, your hands ran down his neck and to your shoulder, your lips on his face. Every aspect annoyed Geta to a point of…arousal.

You ignored him, neglected your promise to be with him and it make his cock stiff under his garbs.

Eventually, his brother went back to his friends, but you continued to lay there. Your eyes drifted to geta; you always planned to go with him but now wasn’t the time! He looked unlike a sad dog as he rubbed himself under your gaze. From under his clothes, he held his cock with both of his fists.

You sat up, sipping your wine with a detached curiosity.  His private indulgence was undeniably entertaining, a far more engaging spectacle than the usual drunken antics of Caracalla and his companions, flinging objects – seemingly at random – towards the city.

Geta did not want to break eye contact with you for he might lose your attention. He licked his lips with desire in his low sitting eyes. The two of you traded looks, repeatedly until you each broke a sweat. You leaned forward, trying to relax the heat that rose from your core. Your nipples were pert and sensitive, unable to handle the clothing that held onto and rubbed you so gently.

His noises get slightly louder and faster, as his whole body gets more shaken up. His fists are moving faster and faster, and the amount of precum he’s releasing is not slowing down. There wasn’t any shame on his face either, just a look of pure excitement and extreme desire. His entire mind is fixated on the woman in his sights.

You could not see his manhood, only his moving arms and shoulders. Your mind ran wild with the ideas of how he looked; how well his hips grind against yours in bed, and how his soft pink lips would hold onto your breasts. You shut your eyes for a moment and felt the push of his cock inside of you in your imagination.

He frantically searched your face for your attention once more. He goes silent, and then lets out a soft gasp as he looks at you. He quickly looks back down again, as his entire body is slightly trembling. As he tries to hide his mess of precum from you, he stays silent for now, waiting for you to make a move of some kind.

You glared back at him and rose from your lounging chair. He let out a loud shuddering moan as your hand touched his cheek. His entire body shakes and quivers, and he lets out a loud whimper as his cum sprayed onto her dress right after. His hands are just covering himself, and he is still twitching a bit. Geta lets out another loud whimper, as his body starts to calm down and he finally takes control of himself. You checked for others in the hall. “Come here. I am not done with you.” You whisper and take his hand.

More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

Part 3 coming this week!! Out of Europe rn <3

[stxneflxwers]

I saw your post and came running 👀 I've been thinking about this since the end of December bc I really did not get into the holiday spirit until after it was over lmao BUT for any characters you want to write for: what are they like during the holidays? What traditions do they like to do? What gifts do they give you?

(Extra ideas you can take or leave if it helps your inspiration at all — How does Aventurine feel when you tell him you don't need any of those expensive gifts, just time with him? How does Sunday react when you sit him down to tell him he's stressing himself out too hard trying to find a perfect gift for you and that all you want is for him to be happy? How does Dan Heng respond when you tell him that the only gift you want for the holidays is him?)

^ I've just been rotating the hsr boys in my head all day at work lol so I have a lot of Thoughts™

gift of love.

summary. the greatest gift of all is his love.

a/n. tysm for the request!!! i decided to settle with gift-giving ideas you offered, since it sounded interesting and cute!! im just gonna stick with aven and sunday for this tho... i wanna test how sunday writes for me.

characters. aventurine. sunday.

cw. first time writing for sunday (this is more of a test with how much i enjoy writing him, sry for any OOC-ness). gift-giving. all lowercase. established relationship(s). PLS NOTE THAT I HAVEN'T DONE THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION STILL CUZ I'M A LAZY MFER...SORRY.

aventurine.

tries to be soooo sneaky about figuring out what you like as gifts. he wants all of his gifts to be a surprise, after all! it doesn't work. you see right through his game plan. he's a smidgen disappointed (with himself), and might be a bit surprised depending on the kind of person you are.

he still ends up showering you in expensive gifts of things you enjoy. he tries to find the most expensive edition of any of those things even though he, of all people, should know that expensive ≠ well-made. you have to tell him to chill out.

he immediately believes you're angry with him (why wouldn't you be?). but you're not, and you can see the panic flash in his eyes for the tiniest of moments. you sigh softly with a wary smile. you briefly give him some space before talking to him about it.

you tell him that all the most expensive gifts in the world are nothing in comparison to quality time together. you remain patient with an open-mind and a listening ear – you know he needs a wealth of both. you make sure to tell him you miss him.

his mouth hangs open in silence when you tell him that, for once he's at a loss for words. his mouth closes and he smiles. he takes you into a soft hug and whispers, "i miss you too."

he makes an evident effort to be around you more often when he does have the time. you know, instead of wasting half of it out in the casino.

and it makes all the difference.

sunday.

the most perfectionist to ever perfectionist. stop him before he literally keels over from stress.

thankfully, you notice how weary he's been. and you ask him what's wrong. because at this point – everyone knows, everyone notices how he's been stuck in his head (more than usual). he frets over little things, as usual. but now he seems almost snippy. birdie is cranky.

when he eventually gives in and confesses that he cannot find the "right" gift for you, you're smiling and shaking your head. you give him a very long moment of silence, testing him – seeing if he catches on what you'll say next.

he doesn't catch on "quick enough", much to his dismay. perhaps he hasn't adjusted to your praises and reassurances...yet.

you tell him that the greatest gift of all would be for him to be happy. to be relaxed. to be in the moment. you throw in a little whisper, "maybe by my side, too."

he's silent – his mind running amok with what to say next. he settles for an awkward yet genuinely affectionate, "thank you..."

and then he asks for your forgiveness once he collects himself. you laugh softly and forgive him, you've gotten used to him asking for your forgiveness rather often. only yours, though.

at some point, you're going to need to tell him that forgiving himself is far more important.

[atopvisenyashill]

Might be pretty puritan of me but i cannot bring myself to watch GOT completely by the absurd quantity of sex that there is in the show. I know that the books also have sex but idk It feels like if George actually wants to tell us something trough It and the one in GOT is just there to bait people in because sex sells.

YES like there’s no deeper meaning to like, bronn telling the rains of castamere story with a naked woman in his lap, they just did it that way bc they needed to fit their tiddy quota. and it doesn’t help that the sex scenes in got are kinda notoriously terrible to film & they also weren’t optional for women. they told sophie turner they were giving her a love story & then she got the scripts & she’s marrying ramsay & she’s said (and walked back in a suspicious way) that it was very traumatizing to shoot those scenes. it’s p common knowledge that esme bianco was not fond of being naked all the time. there’s very infamously a moment where the rape scenes w dany & drogo were so badly done that jason momoa had to yell “can someone get her a fucking robe” bc they just like. made emilia chill out naked when they called cut! it’s very difficult to get excited about like, the gendrya sex scene later on for example bc it’s like. did maisie feel pressured into this? it’s not like it’s uncommon! ya carice van houten is very sexy but if she at any point ever said “can i do this scene with my top on” would they have fired & replaced her like they did to the myrcella actress?

and it’s not even to say that george doesn’t have his own hang ups, but cersei isn’t just doing girl in girl to be titillating, there IS a reason for it! ya the way george describes the sex scenes like drogo/dany or the twincest sept sex is maybe kind of weird but there's a point to all of it, he follows those threads in a way the show really doesn't like to. like yeah of course part of jaime and cersei's divorce is jaime showing up and being um, incredibly pushy and rapey next to the dead body of their son, that's how those two use sex with each other, as a weapon, as a way to ignore their real issues, and jaime does it because he's upset about his hand and his attraction to brienne and the resurfacing of his feelings about being a knight and he's taking it out on cersei, while cersei lets it happen because she's grieving, because this is how sex is for her, its someone taking and her being forced to let them, at least with jaime it doesn't hurt. in the show they just like. basically just have him get mad and rape her and then never address it again. she kisses his stump. even when they adapt the stuff that's in the book, they strip it of all the context until it's just another rapey sexy topless scene.

it definitely doesn't help when we have hotd to compare either - yeah obviously they were really pushing the "look we had full frontal male" stuff (because sex sells) but aemond and sylvi and aegon are all Doing Something in that scene! they're not just talking shop at a brothel so we can have some sexy ladies in the back like decorations, like varys and littlefinger and bronn and tyrion are constantly doing.

[pinep-ne]

Physically cannot stop thinking about your stuff <3, would love to see something with charthur hair care/braiding cause I know for a fact that Arthur is mesmerized by Charles’s hair

I wanted this to be cute but I had Adrianne Lenker playing the entire time I wrote it so... have something very flowery and sentimental instead... (Arthur gawking at Charles but poetically)

(i have this fic and more posted on ao3!)

----------

Arthur knows he can watch now.

They've camped near the chilled river nestled somewhere in the yawning valleys of the Grizzlies East. A gaping cove, holding their quiet love between two staggering hands, like the space between palms held for prayer. It shields their contentment from this world, their dance. Just so that Arthur knows without a word spoken that his gaze is welcome to fall anywhere.

Watching Charles bathe himself in any body of water is not a new experience for him. But watching Charles in general is no less arresting. He is fond of everything Charles is. He finds he can keep himself out of that narrative, selfish as it is, to rid the need of reciprocation he still cannot understand. Take what he desires and shut himself from accepting that very affection.

Watching never hurt anyone.

He wonders if Charles entertains it, even. The ease of his stature, of his presence. Some embodiment of something humble and grand that Arthur can't ever seem to pinpoint. Or neither. There is always something to admire. Whether showered in blood and anger and gun smoke or slack-faced and drooling on their shared pillow the few violet minutes before dawn.

It may be now, that Arthur could admire the rippling water around Charles' lower abdomen, or the soft flesh of it. The corded muscles of his back, shifting like divine machinery in every movement. The portrait of his face, aglow in the glaring limbo between afternoon and evening, blurred like velvet when the sun hits Arthur's eyes. It's an image he often indulges in, but not the one he has set aside for different worship.

Arthur is rightfully captivated by Charles' hair.

He stopped midway through undressing to simply watch the process. The care with which Charles washes it. The length it reaches when saturated and weighted with water. Pooling like a fountain of ink when the river reaches his neck. Snaking around like silken ribbons when he sinks beneath the water's surface. When they wake tangled in the morning, and he is veiled by the feathery strands. When they are close to one another, as intimate as Arthur's currently pursuing gaze, and he may find with his fingers where it meets the scalp. Burying himself there, clinging and carding through the strands, soft like nothing he's ever thought to seek nor hunger for.

Charles doesn't have to look back at Arthur.

"You're staring," he says.

It's hardly audible by the distance they are from each other. The timbre whispering against Arthur's senses, resonating only warmth. He decides enough is enough, and finishes peeling his muddied clothes off himself. Eyes averted down at the accusation, he joins Charles at the river.

The water could be warmer but he doesn't pay mind to it. He wades till his heels barely scrape the muddy sand and he must balance himself with his arms out in the current. Charles watches him, soap bar in hand. With a smile, he holds it out for Arthur to take, and kisses him firm. It leaves Arthur's chin wet.

Arthur takes it. Charles sinks down, nearly floating on his back, crown to Arthur's middle, looking up at him with the same brightness. Arthur looks down with plain reverence.

He hadn't thought it possible, to shrink himself in the narrow space of his heart that allows this sort of tenderness. To even relish in it without shame or reluctance. He lathers the hair above his hand, taking each section with undivided concentration. He watches Charles' features all the while, placid and quiet. Only sparing a few peeks at Arthur, relaxed and focused as he is, for the late sun that hits his eyes when he does. It is best to close them. Arthur thinks he might do the same, and they may both fall asleep to be taken with the current. He smiles at the thought.

Each time he feels he's become accustomed to the rhythm of their affection, it becomes apparent under the assumption of scrutiny. It is easier, more so on their lonesome trek, but still persistently resurfacing in dreadful bouts. They will bounce back like the collision of two universes. Arthur cannot handle the quiet. Charles can't handle the certainty. It's too true for either of them, and something they are both terribly inexperienced with.

But in this moment, like many others, it is the easiest thing to be true. Arthur works the soap in, infused with oils and herbs he's forgotten the name of. He thinks of all the times he's wished for something like this and thanks the world for letting him have it, small as it is.

When he's scrubbed most of the soap out, and the sun has hit below the jutting valley, Charles looks back up at Arthur.

He hums contentedly, beaming. A gesture which suffices as a thank you upon the surface. I love you woven beneath it. Dunks himself once more into the water, and leaves Arthur to bathe himself before the evening chill hits for good.

When they are both settled for the night, nestled against each other before the fire, Charles asks him to braid it.

"I ain't very deft," Arthur says.

Charles' voice fills every inch of him. "I want you to," he responds.

Arthur often returns to the knowledge that Charles' want is a force he's found only a certain devotion in. So Arthur sits behind him, all but wrapping himself, and tries his best to apply what he can remember. There are layers and a handful of errant curls all around, but the process is consoling and steady.

When he's finished, they meet eyes again. The braid leaves a thin, downy curtain in the front of Charles' face. Arthur watches the cascade framing his features, unmoving but dynamic, like strikes of graphite on paper. Charles feels for the braid with his hand, whispers his gratitude, and kisses Arthur again. It speaks everything needed to be said for the night.

[emailgremlin]

apartment hunting makes me want to explode

[ratatatastic]

oh ellie his fiancée made banana bread before every home game and thats what made him play well....huh well isnt that an interesting tidbit that doesn't remind me of anything at all...

Matthew Cup Day | 7.18.24 (x)

yeah this reminds me of nothing absolutely nothing at all (x)

absolutely nothing at all...

nothing really comes to mind actually...

[hana-bobo-finch]

erm…..posting about an OC via a rushed shitpost was not on my 2025 bingo card!! 😂😂😂😂😂😂get it??? 😂😂😂because his name is bingo??(GETS SHOT)

these are all things he has done or has attempted to do so consider this the full intro post for that freak for now. he’s still too undercooked to fully introduce but damn I love him

[neige-leblanche]

i honestly think the stress of my job is bad for my health tbh

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

tumblr glitched and spared you all the most heated rant of my entire hoa fandom tenure

[quaranmine]

the amount of math i put into figuring out my PTO is honestly so funny. i've probably spent like 2 hours this week and last week just playing with the leave calculator spreadsheet my coworker gave me. this morning i added a sheet for 2026 so now i'm calculating my PTO out that far. i basically already have a plan of how i'm taking time off for 2025 so as to maximize my time off in 2026. i dont think this is a normal level of attention to detail but at least i'm having fun

[fizzseed]

bmc bracelets i’ve made recently!!!!!

[smile-files]

i don't know if ralsei is a transfem or transmasc i just know he is trans

[sesamestreep]

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 1

Write about a first kiss (from this list) ➸ …this is a high school AU….? don’t ask me why, it just happened….

“I thought you’d be more excited about this,” Matt says, leaning his cheek against his cane.

“I’m excited,” Foggy says, from his spot next to him on the bleachers. He’d come over to say hi when he noticed Matt loitering there after he got out of rehearsal and now they’ve been shooting the shit for thirty minutes and his mom is going to be beside herself worrying about him getting home late. That’s still not motivation enough for him to get up and leave, though.

“It is exciting,” Foggy says, aiming to sound more firm about it this time. “It’s just nerve wracking too. I don’t know.”

“It’s just pretend,” Matt says, with a smile that Foggy has categorized in his head as his charming asshole smile, the one he gives people (mostly Foggy, as far as he can tell) when he’s giving them shit just for the sake of it. He’s never called it that out loud, though, to anyone but especially not to Matt so far, thankfully. He’s not even sure why he needs a well-organized mental database of all of Matt’s smiles in the first place. “Why should you be nervous?”

“I’ve got to kiss a girl on stage,” Foggy says, and he sounds twelve. This is so embarrassing. “I mean, not yet, but eventually. We’re going to have to practice it too. What if it’s gross? What if I’m gross and it makes her cry or barf or a third worse thing I haven’t even thought of? What if she’s gross and I cry and barf and also a third thing? What if I fall in love with her and she doesn’t fall in love with me? What if we both fall in love, date for years, have children together, and years down the line, we break up because we mistook the excitement of being on stage together for love and erroneously built a life on that and not real, genuine emotion and respect for one another?!”

Matt considers him, still smiling. “Well, when you put it like that, you’ve got a lot to worry about, actually.”

“That’s not helping!”

“Okay, sorry. The girl from the play you have to kiss is Diana, right? Diana Weisfeldt?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, stretching out his legs in front of him. Diana’s nice enough, though he doesn’t know her very well, but she’s two years older than him and just pretty enough that he’s got to worry about kissing her in front of people and not embarrassing himself. He’s never thought about her much before now, when he’s suddenly got to kiss her in the spring musical.

“Okay, well, between me and you, I don’t think you have to worry about Diana falling in love with you.”

“Ouch, thanks, Matt. Between me and you, your hair looks stupid today!”

“I’m not—” Matt laughs, thrown off like he wasn’t expecting it at all. “I wasn’t trying to insult you! I just…heard something that makes me think her affections are engaged…elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, scuffing his shoe on the metal bleacher. “Sorry. In that case, your hair looks fine.”

“Sure, like I’m going to believe that now,” Matt says, with a wide smile, like he’s being sarcastic, but he does brush his hair back from his forehead, like he actually feels awkward about it now.

“What did you hear?”

“Huh?”

“I asked what you heard,” Foggy repeats. “About Diana?”

Matt rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Oh. I couldn’t—it’s not for me to say, it’s just—don’t worry about kissing her is all I meant. I’m sure it will be fine. It’s just acting, and I’m sure you can manage a normal looking kiss with her. She’s cool, right?”

“Yeah, she seems like it,” Foggy says, hiding his disappointment. Matt always seems to know what’s going on with everybody, despite the fact that he only started at this school earlier this year.

He’d gotten assigned to Foggy’s homeroom and Foggy, in turn, had gotten assigned by their teacher to give him a tour of the school, which was fine. Foggy likes meeting new people and Matt seemed cool, especially after Foggy recognized his name from the newspaper all those years ago. He had the gangly half-starved look of the frontman of an emo band, just without the eyeliner or the tight clothes, which made him handsome in Foggy’s estimation, which itself was entirely based on what he heard girls saying when they thought no one was around. Matt’s clothes are always a little too big for him and a little faded and completely unfussy in a way that suggests he doesn’t worry about the way he looks ever, which is how Foggy kind of wishes he was. Even on that first day, he noticed all that, and the sort of folded up way that Matt carried himself, like he really didn’t want to impose in any way. He’s also the only blind kid at their school and, despite the evidence that Matt can manage on his own and maybe the fact that it was a little patronizing to even think this way, Foggy felt an immediate responsibility towards him, from that first interaction.

It didn’t help that Matt was sort of funny in a quiet way, where he’d say something under his breath that would take you a minute to really hear and then another to fully get and then you’d be laughing at a dumb joke that no one else heard way after he’d made it. That didn’t matter, though, because Foggy always caught Matt smiling to himself, secretly pleased, when he made Foggy laugh. It certainly didn’t help when a few days later, after this handsome, mysterious kid with dark glasses and perfect manners and an even more perfect jaw (according to the cheerleaders who sat behind Foggy in Pre-Calc, at least) arrived, the rumor got around that Matt had only transferred to this school because he’d gotten kicked out of his last one—a Catholic school, of all things—for fighting too much. Some people said he’d gone after a teacher, which sounded made up to Foggy. It wasn’t hard to imagine Matt getting into a fight in general because, despite his good manners, there was an edge to his pleasantries on occasion that even Foggy could sense, a limit to his good graces that no one had, luckily, discovered yet but existed nonetheless. But fighting a teacher seemed like an exaggeration on the part of the rumor mill, for sure. Foggy had never gone to Catholic school, so he wasn’t certain, but he thought the teachers there were, like, nuns and stuff. Surely, Matt wouldn’t punch a nun, would he? That would be kind of extreme.

Still, Foggy had been grateful that fate had thrown them together and given him a chance to befriend Matt before that rumor started, because Foggy didn’t want to be the guy who was only nice to Matt after he heard he had anger issues. Matt seemed to like him too, despite an abundance of cooler, better options. It was probably just loyalty that motivated him to keep seeking Foggy out. A lot of people think Matt’s cool and even more girls want to date him, from what Foggy’s heard. He could definitely do better, but he might not know that. Or maybe he just likes that Foggy didn’t ask him anything about his old school. It’s hard to tell. Foggy’s not complaining, anyway.

“It’s like I said, don’t freak out about it,” Matt says, oblivious. “It’s just kissing.”

“Right,” Foggy says, to the middle distance. There’s a pigeon on the sidewalk carrying a lottery ticket in its beak. He hopes it wasn’t a winner. “Just kissing.”

“I mean, you’ve kissed a girl before. It’s just like that, but…on stage…”

“Right. Exactly. Just like that.”

“Foggy,” Matt says, slowly. “You have kissed a girl before, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Foggy lies, and sees Matt wince. “I mean, kind of. More or less.”

“‘More or less’? What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve…you know…the concept of kissing is not foreign to me, not entirely, but…you know, technically, I’m not exactly—I haven’t precisely, well…”

“You haven’t kissed a girl,” Matt interrupts, flatly.

Foggy shakes his head miserably. “No.”

“Not at all?”

“I don’t think there’s degrees of kissing!” he practically shouts, before catching Matt’s expression. “Oh my god, there are! Okay! I’m going to go…walk into traffic.”

“Hey,” Matt says, grabbing his arm. “It’s fine! You don’t need to be embarrassed!”

“I definitely do, actually, because I am and I will be forever!”

“No, it’s really fine. And honestly, your freaking out makes way more sense to me now.”

“I don’t want my first kiss to be in drama club,” Foggy whines, now that the thing he’d been holding back is out in the open. “That’s so weird!”

“It’s not that weird! Think of it as practice!”

“That’s honestly worse. Your first kiss is supposed to be important and, ideally, romantic. Mine’s going to be in front of Ms. Calder!”

“Well, if it helps, my first kiss was not romantic either, so…”

“When was it?” Foggy asks, too eagerly. “What happened?”

Matt looks slightly uncomfortable. “It was, uh—I was 11. It was at a birthday party.”

“That sounds nice! And normal.”

“It was a part of a game,” Matt says. “So it wasn’t special or anything. The same girl kissed two other people at that party. So did I, actually.”

“Oh my god,” Foggy says, burying his face in his hands. “So not only did you have your first kiss five whole years before me, but your second and third kiss happened the same day? With different people?!”

“And my fourth,” Matt says, looking chagrined. “But that was the first girl again.”

“How many people have you kissed?” Foggy asks, turning to give him an awed expression. Matt pulls a face, and he realizes it’s a weird question. “Right. That’s not cool to ask. It’s probably a lot, though, right?”

“I haven’t kept track,” Matt mumbles, awkwardly.

“Cool,” Foggy nods. “Okay. Reminder to self: do not keep count of number of kissing partners. If and when I ever find someone who wants to kiss me.”

“You will,” Matt replies, looking pained. “It’s not—it’s fine that you haven’t yet! You’re just—!”

“So help me god, if you call me a late bloomer right now, I’m not responsible for what I do!”

“No,” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t going to—everyone matures differently!”

Foggy shoves him and Matt sort of grabs his wrist to extend their scuffle a second longer. Yet another reason Foggy wouldn’t be surprised if Matt did get expelled for fighting: he loves to get up in people’s space. He does it innocently enough most of the time, being more tactile than the average guy, but Foggy can tell he kind of likes to push his luck now and then. Foggy yanks his arm away with more force than he needs to.

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles. “You’re kissing up a storm out there!”

“Not really. I mean, I do okay.”

“You’re doing more than okay from where I’m sitting,” Foggy says, and Matt has the audacity to look guilty, which makes Foggy feel bad. He’d meant it as a compliment, but it clearly hadn’t landed that way, so he attempts to pivot. “The answer is clear. You must teach me your ways, Obi-Wan.”

Matt snorts. “Well, first you’ve got to start by skipping the Star Wars references—”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“And then—wait, you’re as handsome as me, right?”

Foggy nods vigorously, even though the physical comedy will be lost on Matt. “Absolutely,” he replies. “One might even say more handsome. In the right light.”

“Perfect,” Matt laughs. “Then, yeah, you should have no trouble with girls.”

“And yet, here I am! Unkissed! The injustice of it is hard to bear!”

“You can always just wait around for your shot with Diana…”

“Who knows how many guys she’s kissed that she’ll have to compare me to,” Foggy complains.

“Probably not a lot,” Matt says, mildly. When Foggy gives him a pointed look, he smiles in a way that’s both vague and devilish and then shrugs. “Not everyone’s as easy as me.”

“That’s certainly true,” Foggy replies petulantly and Matt laughs. “No, I mean, Diana’s nice and all, but it’s not—” He sighs, even though it’s far too dramatic under the circumstances, and continues, “It’s just not what I thought it’d be. And I’m going to be so nervous until it happens.”

“Yeah, that’s no good,” Matt says, sympathetically.

“It’s fine,” Foggy says, pushing himself to stand. It’s probably past time for him to head out. He’s been whining about this for a while and his mom is definitely going to send out a search party soon enough. And Matt probably has better things to do than listen to his problems, anyway. “I should get home. I’ve got homework and stuff to—”

Matt stands too, very suddenly, and while Foggy is still yammering on about whatever just to fill space, leans in to press his lips to Foggy’s in a brief but utterly life-altering kiss. It’s not really passionate or anything like that, but it is insistent, which helps dissipate the immediate thought that Foggy has that this is somehow an accident, that maybe Matt tripped and fell and kissed him on the mouth. He didn’t see any evidence of that and he was looking right at him when he stood up, but bleachers can be precarious and Matt’s blind and maybe Foggy blinked and missed it? It could happen, but also it seems unlikely given the way Matt is just lingering there, as if to give no room for plausible deniability. It doesn’t turn into making out and there’s no passionate embracing, like in the movies and also like Foggy was sort of hoping might happen when he finally got around to kissing somebody, just because that seems more romantic. The kiss stays closed mouthed and respectful, friendly more than anything else, really, except that Foggy now knows how soft Matt’s lips are from touching them with his lips and he’s going to be thinking about that probably forever. And even though there’s no tongues involved in this kiss, he can feel how damp Matt’s lips are from running his tongue over them right before initiating the kiss and he’s also going to need to think about that forever as well. All in all, he’s got a lot to think about and little time to really react.

The moment it’s over, Foggy is overwhelmed by the urge to do it again, because surely now that he’s not surprised, he can do better. After all, that’s why the whole stage kissing thing was bothering him, because Diana didn’t deserve his first shot at kissing ever. She deserved someone with some skill, at least, especially since she was just acting. He didn’t want to put the burden of pretending he knew what he was doing onto someone who wasn’t even getting real enjoyment out of it. He feels the same instinct with Matt, not because it’s the same situation, but because he needs Matt to know he can rise to the occasion, that he’s not thoroughly pathetic. He improves with rehearsal and he wants that on the record.

Though, of course, he can’t do that. Matt might not be acting, but he didn’t kiss Foggy just now out of genuine feeling. He was trying to help him and be a good friend, but it was an act of pity. He was putting Foggy out of his misery, which was considerate, but it doesn’t mean he wants to keep kissing him. He’s the one who pulled away first, after all.

“There,” Matt says, looking pleased and utterly unbothered. “Now you don’t have to be nervous anymore.”

Foggy nods, not knowing how to articulate that Matt has, instead, given him several new reasons to be nervous. “Thanks,” he replies, faintly.

“I know it’s still not romantic, like you wanted, but…”

Matt trails off and he doesn’t look nervous himself, but there’s something anxious to the way his gaze, never really riveted on the person he’s talking to so much as angled in the general vicinity of their face, skitters off into the distance rather than staying on Foggy that betrays the smallest chink in the armor that is Matt’s confidence. Like he thinks Foggy might actually be mad at him for this, rather than just absolutely reevaluating everything he thought about who he is as a person as of two minutes ago.

“It’ll do,” Foggy manages to say, somewhat confidently, and the shadow of doubt passes from Matt’s expression, leaving him looking as charming and dear as he’s always been to Foggy and somehow entirely different at the same time.

[seakrisp]

I think Modern Au Suletta would be a Glass Child

[scalproie]

Domesticated Post-Tekken 2 Era Kazuya is my favorite to think about because this would be so good for him and everyone else but he would have an absolutely miserable time during it